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leejihoonownsmyheart · 10 months

Text

Tattoo (M)

Happy Cheol day- I’m still not actually here 🫡

Summary:

Your ridiculously hot coworker gets a new tattoo

Please god have mercy and do not let any of my coworkers find out I wrote this because it is based in reality but I swear to god I am not actually attracted to Devon he just has the coolest fucking tattoo and I don’t care if Seungcheol isn’t a weeb I needed him to be for two seconds

I’m not joking I should be fired for writing this. Not only because I literally based it off of my coworker but also because I fucking spelled out our rule system and abused the punishment system. If my coworkers read this? Got to the points part. Jesus christ I really would be fired.

Tags: Inked!Cheol, coworkers au, y/n refers to Cheol a lot as a loser but is he?, 7.9k

Warnings: Dubious consent, impact play, omg dacryphilia?? Did I finally join the ranks?, y/n is a brat (can’t relate), lots of swearing like all y/n does is swear, kinda dom!Cheol, hint of jealousy, no protection, creampie, blowjob, cunnilingus, fingering

The first thing that you noticed about Choi Seungcheol Thursday at work was his fucking tattoo.

Jesus christ, you had been so strong when it came to him. Fighting every single day not to be into the fucking man.

If you were honest, really fucking honest, you would be able to say that you had been into Seungcheol since day one. Since he had walked up to you a little bit more comfortably than everyone else. Since you two had been introduced on the day of his orientation because Riley thought you two would get along.

She was right, how had she been right? How could she have possibly known simply from his interview that you two would get along? Because she had. You remembered her walking up to you after his interview, as one of the most attractive men you had ever seen was walking out the door, and she said, “You are going to love Choi Seungcheol if he starts working here.”

But regardless of that. Despite the fact that your fate had been drawn out for you like the pages of a coloring book you had remained in denial. Fighting not to find him attractive, because his silly little anime interest had left your coworker Jordan reminding you that you weren’t exactly his type one day when he had spent a straight hour with you giving you advice on working out and literally inviting you to the gym with him.

A Thursday was not the day that you should come into work and see the hints of a freshly drawn tattoo peeking out from underneath your coworker's shirt. And at 3:00pm stuck on register with said coworker you shouldn’t be taking sneaky glances at his arms, trying to see the tattoo better. And for goodness sake the first thirty minutes of your shift when you had wandered close enough to him that you could see the Aquaphor shining on his bicep was too fucking early to have these fucking feelings.

Being turned on at work was a literal fucking sin but that tattoo was the coolest fucking thing you had ever seen in your life.

“Have you noticed anything different about me?” Seungcheol asked, his eyebrows raising excitedly as the guest near him wandered away from the counter. You willed yourself to remain casual as a small smile crossed your lips.

“You got a new tattoo,” you said softly, playing right into his hands. He smiled, that characteristic one you were so used to seeing on his face when he was so excited about something that he just couldn’t keep it to himself. You loved the way he seemed to literally buzz with energy about things like this. Lived for the fact that he was so unashamed to love something so much.

“So, you did notice,” he said pleasantly. He turned his body a little to show you his arm, but most of the tattoo was hidden under the sleeve of his shirt. You could only see the edge of lightning bolts, but you suspected that the tattoo went further up his arm. Maybe onto his shoulder.

Fuck, you so desperately needed to see where that tattoo led.

You had seen Seungcheol shirtless before, and if you were completely honest? He literally looked like he was sculpted by a god. You knew that it was because he put a lot of work into his time at the gym, and that his dedication was unmatched but despite that it had still confused all of your coworkers.

Seungcheol looked so scrawny in his work uniform! Everyone had been surprised when Nicki hissed: “Have you seen the pictures of Seungcheol on his instagram?” And then you had seen the images of him and he looked like a literal adonis.

“Do you want to know how much it cost?” Seungcheol asked you and for once that smile was doing way too fucking much for you. You really, really needed to look away from him. You instead, squinted at the lines on his arm.

“Hmm.”

“Oh, you should guess,” Seungcheol said, running off of your curiosity. You pressed your lips together, mind going to the tattoo your friend had gotten on her arm. A star, some words, 75$.

“Uh...” Your mind was trying to gauge how long the tattoo was. It wasn’t very thick, the lines were admittedly detailed but couldn’t have been that much more expensive...

But then again it was long. All around the expanse of his arm.

“200,” you murmured. Seungcheol’s lips flitted up.

“Higher.”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“300?”

“Higher.”

“No way,” you said with a laugh. “400?”

He only smiled harder. You sucked in a gasp, shaking your head.

“There’s no way it’s more than 400,” you insisted. He laughed too.

“500.”

“500,” you gasped. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s not my most expensive.” You felt like your eyes bulged at his words, and you didn’t even have to express your surprise. “One of mine was only 250, but the other one was 1000... That one I was overcharged for.”

Your mind was racing to account for this new information. 1000 dollars for a tattoo? You had forgotten just how expensive tattoos were.

Your attention strayed back to Seungcheol’s tattoo and you swallowed hard, still itching to see where it reached. You shook the thoughts out of your head when a: “Hi welcome in.” rang through the store signaling that a guest had walked in.

You tried to shake thoughts of Seungcheol and his tattoo out of your head by busying yourself with your work. Luckily for you, today Seungcheol was working basically in a completely different area than you so there wasn’t much to be distracted by.

Regardless, of that, when you went to the office to get a drink and Seungcheol was standing just outside of it cleaning something your attention caught Seungcheol’s tattoo again.

You noticed that there was a thicker part of the tattoo that you hadn’t noticed yet. Your eyes narrowed.

“Hey... What’s that?”

Seungcheol instantly knew what you were talking about. He hummed glancing at his arm as if he could see it himself, even though you knew it was out of his eyesight.

“That’s one of my other tattoo’s,” he replied. “It’s an anime tattoo. Can you guess what anime?”

Your mind ran through shows that you knew.

“Is it a mainstream one?” You asked him. “Old?”

Seungcheol hummed and nodded, his smile growing over his lips again.

“Is it Naruto?” You asked. You didn’t know why you thought that you could see the rest of the tattoo in your mind when you had never actually seen it, but you couldn’t help but think it was a signa.

“No,” he replied his voice riddled in amusement.

“Uhm, One Piece?”

Another shake of his head and you felt your face starting to warm as you tried to picture his tattoo in your mind. You ducked into the office, your mind still racing. You picked up your cup and when you turned down Seungcheol was standing just outside of the office so that you could see him. Your escape plan completely evaporating with only a few steps from him.

“Is it My Hero?”

“No,” Seungcheol said. “I’ll give you a hint. The person’s powers have to do with lightning.”

You thought for sure that had to be My Hero, but you also knew that Seungcheol had no reason to lie to you over that. You stared at Seungcheol, letting your confusion show on your face.

“You don’t know?” He asked, and to be fair he did sound genuinely surprised. You shook your head, pulling your cup closer to your chest. Honestly feeling a bit embarrassed (shy?) that you didn’t know the anime he was talking about.

“It’s Hunter x Hunter,” he explained.

You honestly did feel stupid. Hunter x Hunter had flicked in and out of your mind so fast it hadn’t really been a consideration.

“Oh,” you breathed.

“You’ve never seen Hunter x Hunter?”

A smile was painted over your lips and you shook your head quietly. You turned your body away from Seungcheol slightly so that you could drink your drink without feeling too self-conscious. But Seungcheol was persistent, he peaked around your body a little.

“I’m surprised. It’s after one of the characters. He has lightning powers.”

You gave Seungcheol another pressed smile, giving up on drinking your drink without him looking at you.

“It really is such a cool tattoo,” you said softly. You put your cup down and shot him one last smile before rushing back up to the front.

You were lucky that day really. He left early that day, and without his presence you were able to mostly move past thoughts of Seungcheol and his tattoo... Stupid attractive Seungcheol with his stupid perfect face and his biceps that you had never thought of before but now were the only thing on your mind-

Cold shower. You couldn’t bring yourself to touch yourself to thoughts of Seungcheol. Not your coworker Choi Seungcheol. Not your friend. Not the dorky guy from work that everyone loved. No, instead you opted for a very, very cold shower and an abnormally early bedtime.

You were naïve, really. Thinking that a ten o’clock bedtime would be enough to get you over your sudden infatuation with Seungcheol... (And that tattoo. That damned tattoo that made you see him as more than just some guy you worked with).

“Your total is 10.69...”

You weren’t an idiot. The man at the counter in front of you had been taking sneaky glances towards you the entire time that you two had been interacting. You knew that he was flirting with you... And to be completely honest you were very aware of the fact that you were flirting back.

You had no regrets really. He was attractive. Ridiculously so, and you couldn’t help but preen under the attention of someone so pretty.

“You’ve got to tell me what you’re doing after this,” the boy drawled. “The weather is supposed to be perfect.”

You hummed, eyes flickering up from his card as the machine beeped at him to pull it out.

“I don’t have any plans,” you replied, your voice light. Playing to the fact that you knew he liked you. Playing to the fact that you knew he wanted you to flirt back. If not for the purpose of actually asking you out at least for the purpose of the thrill.

“Someone as pretty as you?” He asked, and he leaned forward, body slightly bent over the counter. “All alone for the weekend? And I’m supposed to just let that slide?”

You could feel someone staring at you and you honestly just thought that it was a coworker who had just walked in for their shift. You ignored it.

“What would someone like you do?” You asked, eyebrow quirking up ever-so-slightly. “Surely, you have plans for the weekend.”

The gaze on your neck didn’t disappear, so you took a quick glance behind you.

Your eyes caught Seungcheol’s.

Your gaze widened a bit and you quickly turned your attention back to the person in front of you. You tried your best to regain your composure, but suddenly you felt guilty. Like you shouldn’t be talking to the person in front of you like this.

“Maybe I do,” he said. “Maybe you could too.”

You could feel Seungcheol’s presence over your shoulder, and you suddenly felt the urge to turn away from the guy in front of you.

“I...” You weren’t holey sure how to get out of this situation. “I hope you have a good day.”

That teasing smile was still on the strangers lips, he was clearly liking the act you were putting on. He nodded slightly.

“You too.”

The minute the man was out of earshot, you tried to busy yourself stocking something but you felt Seungcheol’s chest brush your elbow. You turned back over your shoulder to look at him, a shy smile flickering across your lips.

“Hey,” you mumbled softly. Your fingers pressed into the counter, and while Seungcheol had a smile on his face you could see something else hidden beneath his eyes.

“You know that guy?” His tone was a little bit more constricted than you were used to.

“I was just being friendly.”

Not entirely true, and you both knew it. Seungcheol hummed, and nodded his eyes darting to the other end of the room.

Suddenly, you remembered the little piece of art that Seungcheol had recently bestowed upon himself. Your own gaze flickered down to Seungcheol’s bicep, the trails of ink make your mouth run dry.

Fuck, yesterday’s shift hadn’t been a wild wet dream about your innocent coworker after all.

Working with Seungcheol had never been quiet really. You two, as aforementioned, had been bonded in a way since the day that you two first met. It wasn’t really anything serious. You weren’t his closest friend at work. You really hung out outside of work but at work he was always talking to you.

He would ask to be put on positions next to you so that he could tell you about his interests and ask you about yours. He was so silly in that way. Always went out of his way to say hi to you. Always treated you like you were besties, with his sometimes lingering gaze and that look in his eyes as if he constantly wanted to say more.

And now? You were the one who was pushing the boundaries of your friendship. You were the one staring too long. The one who was letting your interactions drag a little bit longer than maybe they should.

“Have you seen Seungcheol’s tattoo?” You asked on break as if it hadn’t been the topic of everyone ever since he got it. Your coworker broke out into a small smile.

“It’s amazing,” she mumbled, leaning forward on the table. “Have you seen the whole thing?”

Your eyes were wide.

“Have you?” You asked. She laughed slightly, shaking her head.

“No, but what I wouldn’t give...”

“How far do you think it reaches?” You asked, and your fingers traced subcnociously over where you thought that tattoo might stretch over his body. “Over his shoulder blade? Onto his clavicle?”

“Do you want to see?”

Your eyes grew wide at the sound of Seungcheol’s oh so distinct voice. You pressed your lips tightly together, and glanced over at the man who was suddenly in the break room. You gave him a thin smile as if you hadn’t been caught rather openly fascinating (was it enough to be lusting?) over the tattoo that you knew wasn’t supposed to be leaving you soaked.

“You’ll show?” Your coworker asked. Seungcheol glanced at you and then joined you at the table. He pulled out his phone, seeming to take his time as he scrolled through it trying to find what you only assumed was photographic evidence of the ink on his arm.

After a few seconds that felt like hours Seungcheol turned his phone to your coworker, the screen out of your view.

“Oh my god.” You didn’t want to seem too interested. You fought the urge to crain your neck and look. “Oh my god. You’re hiding all of that under your shirt?”

Seungcheol’s laugh only made you want to see it more. He was so cocky, thriving under the attention she was giving. She leaned forward, the tips of her fingers brushing the bottom of his phone as if to see the photo better.

“That was money well spent Seungie.”

Seungie.

You had known that she was closer to Seungcheol than you. You had always known that. The two of them practically hung out every week.

So... Why did that stupid nicknmae make you bite down on your tongue?

Seungie. It wasn’t even a good nickname. It was reminiscent of that of first year high schoolers thinking their week long fling was something that would turn into a lifelong marriage.

You forced a larger smile on your lips to hide the tight feeling of something you could only truly identify as jealousy down into the pit of your stomach. You were being stupid. You hoped to god that neither of them could sense the energy change from you.

The two continued to talk, and Seungcheol kept that photo just out of your line of sight. You were too stubborn to lean forward and look at it. Too stubborn to just admit how badly you wanted to see this stupid boy without a shirt on.

You just wanted to see that tattoo. Really, just the tattoo.

“You should come over,” Seungcheol suggested as he tucked his phone away, your coworker disappearing out of the break room door. You let your eyebrows raise at the question.

“Why?”

“I’ve been wanting you to watch something with me,” Seungcheol replied. “And I think you want something from me too.”

You really ought to fake it better. You both had the same little smile across your lips. The ones that you always used with one another.

It was such a simple invite. Innocent. But then again it was always innocent between you and Seungcheol, wasn’t it? You two held the sort of banter that you always loved to have with people. Pure chemistry. The ability to easily fire back at one another, never a dull moment in the conversation, always harboring interest for whatever you two were talking about.

You nodded because, of course you did.

Seungcheol’s apartment was different than you had imagined.

He was a geek, wasn’t he? Always bragging about his room and how amazing it was. His you should come see someday’s had always felt like empty invitations. But now you were here. It was different. Good different.

Seungcheol turned on a show that he had spoken to you about many times before. A show you had always assured him you would watch. A show you never actually did turn on.

The characters began to dance across the screen, and you let your gaze focus on it. You two were silent for a little. He was wandering around his room and you were pretending like you didn’t desperately need him to take his shirt off.

“You really haven’t seen this show,” Seungcheol said, and you let your attention turn to him. He was leaning against his dresser, watching you intently. You pretended like you two hadn’t had this conversation a million times before.

“I haven’t,” you agreed.

“So hard to believe,” he breathed. He shook his head slightly, his hair brushing the tips of his ears. You turned your attention back to the television. Seungcheol rummaged around for a little longer before finally he took a seat next to you on his bed.

He kept a distance between you two.

You risked a glance at him, your eyes going to his arm, to that stupid tattoo that was still hidden beneath his stupid shirt.

“Come here,” Seungcheol mumbled softly. You scooted closer to him, your eyes focused on his tattoo. “You want to see it?”

You nodded, still not looking at him.

“If that’s okay.”

He breathed a laugh.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

You glanced at Seungcheol, eyebrows furrowing.

“I don’t have any tattoos.”

He just hummed his response, and with one hand dragged his shirt off over his head.

Finally.

To your delight, the tattoo was equally just as amazing as you had imagined, and more amazing than you had imagined. The black bolts of lightning inched up his bicep, up onto his shoulder. One of the bolts spreading across his clavicle. You felt your mouth gape stupidly as you looked at him, show completely forgotten in the background.

“You can touch it if you want.”

You didn’t need prompting more. You reached forward, fingers lightly running across the lightning streaks. As you did, Seungcheol leaned forward, his hand placed directly between your thighs. You didn’t pay too much attention, but his hot breath on your neck was sending heat right through your core.

“I would have thought you would be disinterested in my tattoo by now,” Seungcheol whispered, as his spoke his fingers inched forward, his thumb begginning to rub small circles into your thigh.

You swallowed hard, eyes flickering to Seungcheol.

“Nu-uh,” you murmured. “I hadn’t gotten to see it yet.”

You felt yourself inching closer to Seungcheol, silently urging his hand forward. Seungcheol got the idea and pressed his thumb over your clit through your panties. You bit down on your lip to prevent a whine from leaving your lips, and instead focused back on his tattoo, running your fingers up the length of it to where it spread over his clavicle.

His fingers pushed against your underwear, so that it was just slightly pressed inside of you, and then he began to rub up and down between your folds.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he mumbled. “It really took me getting a tattoo to get your attention, huh? 500 dollars later and you were finally looking at me the way I wanted you to.”

The confession caught you off guard but as you went to question him his fingers were dipping beneath your underwear. “So wet,” he breathed, so quietly that you knew it wasn’t for you.

He pressed two of his fingers into you and this time you couldn’t hold back the whimper that left your lips. Seungcheol’s response was immediate, a quiet shushing that just made you need his touch anymore.

“It’s okay, y/n,” he said softly. “Are you going to be good for me?”

A whine bubbled up in your throat and you nodded sharply. He practically purred in your ear.

“Then just hold on, won’t you?” He asked softly. You nodded again, your fingers tightening a little around Seungcheol’s bicep. Normally, you weren’t one so quick to silence... Or obedience for that matter, but your skin was burning. You couldn’t imagine doing anything but listen to him in this moment.

Seungcheol’s fingers dipped deep inside of you, his fingers curling once he was buried to his knuckles. You couldn’t help the way that your head fell forward, your nose brushing the nape of his neck.

“You sound so pretty for me,” Seungcheol mumbled, making you only just then realize that this whole time you had been letting the tiniest whimpers leave your lips. You pressed your lips closed tightly, tilting your head so that your lips brushed his neck. “No, no.”

Seungcheol’s head tilted down, his lips brushing your forehead.

“You don’t get to hide your little moans from me,” he mumbled. He set a slow, lazy pace really, of fucking his fingers in and out of you. His thumb brushed your clit, and you bit down hard on your tongue, determined to not humiliate yourself even more.

You had come here to watch a show with him... To see his tattoo and now you were being fingered on his bed and to be completely honest the embarrassment was dulled by the pleasure running through your body.

No matter how deep Seungcheol drove his fingers into you, it didn’t feel like nearly enough. Seungcheol’s fingers stilled deep inside of you, and you ignored it, thinking that it was just a passing tease. Seconds passed. A minute.

“S-Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol hummed, his lips fluttering across your forehead. You tried not to look at him. You fought it in yourself not to wriggle your hips in desperation.

“Seungcheol,” you pressed, your tone bordering upon begging. A small laugh vibrated through Seungcheol’s body. He pulled his fingers out of you and then pushed them back in. Surprisingly fast, surprisingly deep. You mewled, your head falling back a little.

Seungcheol’s head dipped down, and his lips brushed yours.

“How far are you going to let this go?” He asked you. “You gonna cum around my fingers?”

You pressed forward, chasing Seungcheol’s lips but he pulled away. Stupid smile spread on his lips. Stupid lips pressed to your cheek.

“I’m n-not gonna-” Your words faltered. Your body burning. You tilted your head up so that Seungcheol’s lips trailed down your cheek, across your jawline, and down to your neck. His lips pressed into a small kiss.

“You want a third?” Had his voice always been so hypnotic? You nodded, too eagerly. His lips brushed up and down your neck as you moved. “I need to hear your words. You’re so quiet when I’ve got my fingers fucking you open.”

“Fuck,” you whined, but you refused to give in.

“That’s not a very good word,” Seungcheol chastised. “What would they say if we were at work right now, hm?”

You were silent, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip.

“Now, now,” his voice came, and his fingers stopped. “I asked you a question yeah? Aren’t you my superior? Why don’t you remind me of the rules.”

Oh god, that shouldn’t be so hot.

“It’s a point,” you whispered back. Seungcheol hummed again.

“And how many points before our first punishment?”

A shiver ran through your body.

“Six.”

“Let’s hope you don’t get to that point.”

Seungcheol pushed a third finger into you, and it sent a slight burn through your body. Seungcheol groaned as he pushed his fingers into you, no doubt feeling how tight you were squeezing him.

“Baby-” Oh god. “If you’re squeezing my fingers like that... I don’t really know that I’ll be able to fit.”

You swallowed and lifted your head, your gaze meeting Seungcheol’s. Your mouth was still closed tight. You were still trying so hard to be quiet. But your eyes were wide, your curiosity at his words were undeniable.

“Which do you want more?” He asked you softly. You refused to answer. “You really need to learn to use your words. Your pretty little cunt is sobbing for attention, but those eyes are begging me to take my clothes off.”

Your fingers splayed over Seungcheol’s bicep, your eyes going back to the dark lines etched over him.

“Clothes off,” you breathed.

“Good choice,” he purred.

He pulled his fingers from you and got to his feet so smoothly that it wasn’t like he was moving at all. You let out a vocal protest towards the loss of him, but it only made him laugh at your expense.

“There’s your voice,” he teased. You could see your wetness glistening on Seungcheol’s fingers as his fingers hooked on the waistband of his pants. He pulled them down, and then almost immediately after, his boxers were dropped to the ground.

You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the strangled moan that left your lips.

Never in your six months of working with Choi Seungcheol had you imagined that he would be fucking hung, and yet here you were looking at his (pardon the lack of imaginative description) monster energy drink sized cock in both girth and length.

You had never been with anyone with a cock as big as his... You had never seen a cock as big as his.

You hadn’t even known that a dick his size was even real.

“I’m getting a bit self-conscious,” Seungcheol said, his voice dragging you back to reality. Your face reddened but you didn’t move your hand from your mouth. Seungcheol didn’t seem to care, not really. He walked over to you, his fingers balling in your shirt. “What do you want?”

You knew what you wanted from Seungcheol now more than you ever had before.

“I want you,” you whispered back. Seungcheol’s eyes glinted.

“I like it went you use your words,” he slurred. You let your hands fall lax at your sides, giving Seungcheol the room to pull your shirt over your head. Given the opportunity Seungcheol was fast with his hands. Your shirt and bra were tossed aside to the floor in moments, and you were helping him wiggle you out of your underwear immediately after.

You were hoping that sense of urgency would continue, but just as soon as your clothes were off to the side, Seungcheol was trapping you between his arms, staring down at you with an expression on his face that made you wiggle. His eyes flitted down your body, and as he inspected you one of his hands came between your thighs. He tapped your inner thigh.

“Let me see,” he mumbled. You obediently let your legs spread, and Seungcheol took that as an opportunity to slide down your body, the pads of his hands pressed even further at your inner thighs and his gaze fully settled between your legs.

A whine was ripped from your body, and it made Seungcheol’s eyes flutter closed for a brief second. But then, his eyes were open again.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Seungcheol said, his breath making you clamp around absolutely fucking nothing like a common whore. “Is this all for me?”

His thumb grazed between the folds of your pussy, and he spread you out so that he could see you better.

“’s fucking embarrassing,” you murmured out. Seungcheol raised an eyebrow in your direction.

“Two points.”

You let your head fall back into the pillow.

“Embarrassing,” you reasserted.

“It’s not embarrassing,” Seungcheol denied. You felt something brush between your folds and you glanced down in time to see the tip of Seungcheol’s nose raising his tongue darting over you. Another groan from him. “It’s only natural to make such a mess when someone is touching you like this. And you like it when I touch you like this don’t you?”

You nodded, and he pressed a kiss to your core.

“Words.”

“Yes,” you cried out, desperate for more. This time you felt his laugh vibrating through your core. He was messy down there, like he was in his own little world. He lapped at your pussy like it was water, literally fucking animalistic. His fingers dug into your thighs as he pressed your legs wide open for him. Pressing so hard that you felt like you were going to break.

Seungcheol didn’t care for that. He didn’t seem worried at all that he would break you. Instead, he was lost between your thighs. A glance down at him in between your little moans and you could see that his face was slick with wetness.

“You’re making such a mess,” Seungcheol mumbled into you as if it was your fault that you were like this. “Getting yourself all over my face. All over my bed...”

You wiggled under his touch.

“It’s not fair,” you whined. “You get to touch me all you want... I w-want to touch you.”

“Is that so?”

He didn’t have any right to be so cocky.

“Want to taste your dick,” you admitted, your words betraying the fact that your thoughts were just about as reliable as Nick Carraway’s words in the Great Gatsby.

He did have the right to be so cocky. At this point you didn’t think you would be able to do anything before getting his cock pressed into you. Whether in your mouth, or your pussy? You didn’t care. Just needed his cock to be somewhere inside of you.

“Seungcheol,” you pressed, annoyance vibrating through your body. Seungcheol hummed against you. Fucking bratty. You lowered your hand to his hair, tugging him off you sharply. He looked up at you, his eyes dark despite the general amusement riddled there. “Want to taste your dick.”

Seungcheol slapped your thigh, making you cry out in surprise and loosen your grip in his hair.

“Not very nice,” he chided. “You better put your money where your mouth is.”

Seungcheol pulled off of the bed, dragging you to the edge with him by a single hand on your thigh. When you got to the edge you pushed yourself off the bed, your knees hitting the ground.

You wrapped both of your hands around Seungcheol’s dick. You gave him an experimental tug, dragging your hands all the way up to the tip of his cock. You let your thumb flicker over his slit, teasing it until precum dampened it.

You pressed forward, your tongue darting to his tip, tasting the salty liquid.

Unlike you, Seungcheol wasn’t trying to stay quiet. A breathy moan escaped his lips, and he reached forward, both of his hands scooping your head in his hands. He pressed your head forward, slowly easing your mouth onto him.

You let your lips give way to girth of his dick as he pushed your head forward, your fingers tightening on his hips in anticipation.

“Your mouth is so warm,” Seungcheol mumbled softly. You let your gaze raise up to Seungcheol, and he was peering down at you from under his pretty long lashes. You gagged a little around Seungcheol’s dick and his movements came to a hault. You struggled to catch your breath, grasp tightening again but not pushing him off.

Seungcheol’s fingers stroked your head until finally you caught your breath and you pressed yourself forward without any prompting from him and he got the idea quickly. He started to guide your mouth down on his dick, not pausing again until his cock was buried completely in your mouth.

You let a whine vibrate your whole body. Seungcheol smiled down at you, one of his hands sliding down your face to brush the corner of your stretched out lips.

“You look so pretty with my cock down your pretty little throat.”

The veiled praise went right to your already soaked core, but Seungcheol was so blissed out that he didn’t even care. He began to ease himself out of you, taking his fucking time, pulling you all the way to his tip and then pressing you all the way back down until your nose was pressed to his lower abdomen.

Seungcheol started to press a faster pace. He wasn’t rough by any means, his grip on you was surprisingly gentle, and he was clearly in no rush at all. Not to cum, not to fuck you, not for anything. He was living in the moment, just grateful to have his dick down your throat.

Were you a whore for that making you so much wetter? The thought that he really was practically just using you. You were patient with him at first, but soon you weren’t able to keep that to yourself anymore. You whined and wiggled against him, patting his thigh until he released his grip on you.

“I can’t fucking wait anymore,” you bit out. Seungcheol raised an amused eyebrow.

“That’s three points,” he warned. Your eyes narrowed at him, which just made him laugh.

“Get on the bed if you need my cock that badly,” he murmured. “But I’m warning you. You’re sounding a little slutty when you talk like that.”

You didn’t care, a moan ripped from your mouth, and you scrambled up onto the bed. Seungcheol followed after you, a small push of the shoulder pressing you back onto his comforter. You wriggled underneath him, your eyes closing as you waited for him to move, to do something.

“Shit,” Seungcheol mumbled. Your eyes fluttered open, and you looked at him. He was staring at you, a pained look in his eyes and a hand stroking his cock.

“Did you bring a condom?” He asked you. Your lips pressed into a thin line, and you shook your head. Seungcheol gave you an apologetic smile. “I guess I’ll just have to make you cum a different way.”

A panicked feeling ripped through your body. You desperately didn’t want him to pull away. Not when he was so close to fucking you. You suddenly wrapped your legs around Seungcheol waist, pulling him closer to you, his tip dipping unintentionally into you.

You both let out matching moans.

“Need you to fuck me,” you mumbled, your face burning.

“Baby-” Seungcheol sounded wrecked. “I don’t have a condom.”

You were doing your best to avoid looking at Seungcheol.

“I don’t care.” Your voice was shaky, and even though you weren’t looking at him you could see the stupid cocky expression that had now appeared on his face.

“Yeah?” You were silent, but you tried to roll your hips down on Seungcheol to push him further into you. Seungcheol stilled you fast by digging his fingers into your hips- So deep that you were sure it was going to leave bruises.

“You want me to fuck you raw?”

You nodded, mouth still shut.

“I want to hear you say it,” Seungcheol pressed. You thought normally you would play against Seungcheol more. You thought maybe you would make him push you to say it more. But the tip of his cock still inside of you was making you so fucking desperate you really couldn’t hold back.

“I want you to fuck me raw.”

Seungcheol pushed fully into you without much more argument. You cried out at the thrust, wrapping your arms around Seungcheol’s neck, dragging him closer to you.

“You’re not doing very good baby,” he cooed. “Letting my pressure you into saying bad words? Begging someone to fuck you raw? So dirty... Shameless.”

He laughed against you but it was mixed in a loud moan.

“That’s another point. You’re at four.”

Before you could fight him back on it he began to slowly drag his cock out of you, pulling himself all the way out to the tip. You didn’t care about staying quiet anymore. You whined loudly

“Guess what baby?” Seungcheol whispered. Your hands slipped into his hair, fingers pulling at his strands.

“Close, fucking close,” you babbled, completely ignoring him. Seungcheol dipped his head, his lips brushing your ear.

“You hit six points.”

In seconds you were empty. Your eyes shot open and you pulled Seungcheol’s head up by his hair so that you could look him in the eyes. You must have looked fucked stupid under him. Your eyes wide and glazed over and your mouth gaping as you silently begged him to put his cock back inside of you. You two were quiet for a few seconds. Simply panting next to one another.

“Seungcheol fucking put-”

Seungcheol’s hand darted to your chin, and his fingers pressed into your cheek, forcing you to stop talking.

“What should your punishment be, hm?” He teased lightly. “Should I just get myself off and come all over you? Make you sit there covered in it?”

You tried to shake your head, but Seungcheol’s grip was tight- You were locked in one spot.

“Please,” you breathed. “Please Cheol. I need you to fuck me so badly. I need to come.”

Speaking with his fingers pressed into your cheeks was painful in a way that just spiraled down to your core, leaving you just that much more turned on and desperate for him to fuck you again.

“I could make you come,” he replied. His fingers darted down to your clit. He pressed down on you and began to rub your clit in firm circles. You threw your head back, shaking your head.

“No, no, no,” you protested. “Need to come with you inside of me.”

“But if I give you what you want then you’ll never learn,” Seungcheol teased.

“No!” You blurted, feeling pleasure coil through your body. You were fighting back against your own orgasm harder than you ever had before. “I’ll learn, I’ll learn.”

“No, you won’t,” he chided. “You had so many chances before punishment, and you didn’t learn then.”

You were co close. You didn’t even want to come at the moment and yet you were so fucking close.

Seungcheol pulled his fingers away from you and again you had your orgasm ripped away from you. Tears sprouted at the edge of your eyes and Seungcheol slapped your innerthigh.

“You’re going over my legs,” he mumbled. He pulled you to the edge of the bed, and dragged you over his legs. You whined and buried your face into the comforter.

“Fu-” Before you could get the whole word out Seungcheol’s hand came down hard on your ass. You cried out, a mixture of pleasure and pain running through your body.

“Why don’t you count for me?” He asked. You whined, shaking your head. Seungcheol hummed. “Unless, you’re not into this?”

His tone turned to a lighter one. For once he wasn’t teasing you.

Fuck.

“O-One,” you murmured. Seungcheol hummed again, and his hand came down on you again. “Two.”

Seungcheol’s hand ran over the curve of your ass, and two of his fingers dipped into your pussy. At this angle there was a slight burn despite the fact that not long ago something much bigger had been inside of you.

He pulled his fingers out again and suddenly slapped your ass.

Your whole body jolted.

“Th-three.”

“See? Isn’t it more fun when you listen?” Seungcheol asked you. “You could have come by now. Could have come around my cock just the way that you wanted to but no you had to be bad and break the same rules that you have to enforce everyday at work.”

“We’re not at work,” you protested, and Seungcheol slapped your ass again. You gritted your teeth together. “F-Four.”

“So mouthy,” Seungcheol tutted. “But you’re almost done.”

“Almost done,” you repeated, mimicking his tone in a way that you knew was in no way accurate. Your tone high and your body wiggling underneath him. His fingers slipped into your pussy again, spreading lazily.

“Isn’t this what you always complain about to the other managers at work?” Seungcheol asked. “People who can’t do something as simple as follow the rules...?” A whimper ripped from your lips. “If I didn’t know any better I would say that you enjoy getting punished. You like me being in control for once.”

You shook your body out in frustration, lightly biting down on the back of your hand and screaming into it.

“You’re wrong-” Seungcheol hit your ass again. And you bit down on your bottom lip to try and keep yourself from counting that hit. A hum of disapproval left Seungcheol’s mouth.

“If you don’t count you just get more,” he warned. As if to prove it his hand came down on you again. “And I’m not scared to turn your ass dark red. You look so fucking pretty over my knees like this.”

“F-Five and six,” you bit out suddenly, shaking your head desperately. “Please Cheol, I really, really need your cock.”

“No,” Seungcheol turned down. “You still have one more. That’s what you get for missing a count.”

More tears ran down your cheeks and you shook your head.

“I re-really need you,” you whined out. He hit you again. “Six.”

Seungcheol’s fingers threaded in your hair and he pulled you up. You dragged one of your legs over his legs. Seungcheol’s hands ran up your sides, and then he tightened his grip on your hips. He lifted you and then sunk you back down on his cock.

At this angle you literally felt like you were being split open on his cock, your whole body shook and you dropped your face into the crook of his neck.

“I-I-” You wanted to curse so badly. “Seung- Seungcheol.”

“I really hope that you don’t act out again,” Seungcheol mumbled. “Because I’m tired of waiting for you to come on my cock.”

You moaned loudly into Seungcheol’s skin. He raised you up again by your hips and slammed you back down on his cock. Your hands darted to Seungcheol’s shoulders and your fingers dug into him.

“You’re just s-so b-big,” you managed to get out. One of his hands raised to your chin and he tilted your head up.

“Ride me,” he mumbled. You nodded, your eyes darting to his lips.

“Kiss me,” you replied.

Seungcheol’s lips pressed to yours and you began to ease yourself up on Seungcheol’s cock. The stimulation of his cock and the burn on your ass from getting punished was just making you that much weaker. You couldn’t help the way that you were literally crying against his lips.

His hand raised to your cheeks, and his thumb swiped the tears across your cheeks. He broke of the kiss. “You need it badly don’t you?” He whispered. “Need me to take over again?”

You let your forehead fall against his. You didn’t really want to admit it but before you could voice that Seungcheol’s free hand pressed to your clit.

“Be good,” he warned. You nodded quickly.

“Pl-Please,” you breathed. “I need you to take over.”

Seungcheol grabbed your hips and began to raise and drop you on his cock. It didn’t really matter how long Seungcheol fucked you like that really. You were coming undone under him after only a few drops. You pressed your lips forward so that Seungcheol was kissing you again as he fucked you hard. With each drop he was forcing his hips up deeper inside of you.

Your whole body shook against Seungcheol’s and you went limp in Seungcheol’s hands. He still forced his cock in and out of you through your orgasm but even as you were blissed out you knew what you needed.

“Ch-Cheol,” you whimpered. “N-Need your cum. Inside.”

Your voice was weak but his wasn’t much better.

“Y/n-”

“Please.”

He didn’t make you beg anymore. You cried out as you felt Seungcheol’s cum spurting deep into your already sensitive pussy. Your whole body burned against Seungcheol and you shook your head against him.

“Oh fu-” You caught yourself and quickly shut your mouth. He laughed, exhaustion thrumming through his body.

“I told you that you wouldn’t learn unless you were punished.”

Seungcheol pulled you off of him, letting you roll over onto his bed. You whined, and shoved your face back into his sheets.

“Cheol your stupid tattoo is so cool,” you groaned. He laughed.

“You know, I really like it when you call me that,” he said softly. You felt him fall next to you on the bed, his fingers lightly brushing against your back.

“Yeah? More than Seungie?”

You wanted to hit yourself.

“Are you jealous?” He asked you with a laugh. You rolled over, letting your fingers twitch against his.

“I’m not jealous,” you denied. He grabbed your hand and tugged you closer to his body.

“Yes, you are,” he asserted. You grumbled, but turned into him anyways, wrapping your arms around his body and burying your face into his chest.

“No more than you are,” you retorted. “Can’t even chat with guests around you.”

Seungcheol hummed, but his lack of vocal disagreement just proved to you that you were right.

“What tattoo should I get next?” Seungcheol asked after a few minutes of silence. You looked up at him, pressing your lips together.

“Why are you asking me?” You murmured. His lips quirked up into a smile.

“So that I can drive you crazy wanting to see that one too.”

“Guess, what I heard.”

You looked up at your coworker, giving her a raised eyebrow, a bit annoyed that she was disrupting you while you were stocking but she didn’t seem to care really. She just leaned back on the counter.

“Seungcheol got another new tattoo.”

You looked back at what you were stocking, only so that she would not see the pained look on your face at the news. He had been mentioning that he really was going to get one. Every time he fucked you asking you where you thought the next one should be. Making you touch the places on his body that you wanted them to be. Teasing you with the fact that you were completely fucking obsessed with him.

“That’s...” Were you breathing easily? “Cool.”

“So cool,” she replied. “Everyone wants to see it but he’s refusing to show it to anyone yet, or even tell us what he got.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the news.

“Really?” You asked. “Why?”

“He said that his girlfriend gets to see it first.”

Girlfriend. You thought back over the last time you had seen Seungcheol. Two nights ago, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“I’m getting the new tattoo tomorrow,” he mumbled into your neck.

“I want to see it first.”

A laugh left his lips.

“Yeah? You think I’m yours or something?”

You hadn’t really meant your answer.

“Aren’t you?”

You pressed down the urge to smile, and instead rolled your eyes.

“What idiot would date stupid Choi Seungcheol?”

Your hand slipped and a bucket started to fall to the ground. Before you could do anything someone caught it and your eyes flickered up, gaze meeting Seungcheol’s. His voice dropped so quiet that you knew that no one but the two of you could hear it.

“An idiot whose ass is going to be red tonight.”

Your face blazed and excitement coiled through the pit of your stomach, but you hid it behind a coy smile.

“That’s going to be a point.”

You were just glad the next day no one asked you why you were walking funny.

#seventeen #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt fanfiction #seventeen smut #kpop smut

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mintmatcha · 6 months

Text

cw: cisfem reader, sex work mention, slight blood mention

“You don’t belong here.”

The man jumps, surprised, then dissolves into a chuckle as he brings his drink to his lips. There's something familiar about this face, hidden under the swollen cheekbone and bruised fat lip, but you can't place where you know him from. You apparently marvel too long, as the stranger cheeks grow redder by the second.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Um, yeah.” You gesture up and down him, “You’re stiff as a board and you tried to order food.”

The stranger scoffs into his drink, genuinely insulted for a moment before he dissolves back into his smile. There's no airs about him - a rare occurrence for the clientele here- and that knows you a bit off guard. "What’s wrong with ordering food?"

You ignore how the bartender shoots you a look when you slip into the seat beside your tall blonde and simply gesture to the place as if it explains itself- dim mood lighting, men in suits, women in dresses that barely cover anything. There's a woman on stage, perched on all fours and writhing ever so gracefully, arching her back as she slinks on the floor. Her quirk activates for a moment and her skin shimmers with a kaleidoscope of colors, a fairy under neon lights.

This place has the decency to call itself a gentleman's club. It has polished glasses and comfortable seats, but that doesn't change what it is. It's a strip club. Through and through. It's lacquered shine doesn't change anything underneath. It still reeks of malintent.

"What’s wrong with ordering food?" he repeats. He places his drink down and you take it before he can react, bringing it up to your lips with a playful grin. When he doesn't protest, instead just watching you with wide, wide eyes, you take a sip. It's strong enough to make your chest bloom with heat.

"I don't think they have food here."

"They do," he replies.

"Then you're going to pay six thousand yen for three bites of food." Your lipstick clings to the rim as you hand it back to him.

"Well," he sniffs, flinching at his own crinkled nose. It must be broken; there's flecks of dried blood lining his fulcrum. "Have you ever tried it?"

"Clearly not."

He takes a long chug from his drink and finished the glass. When he gestures for another, your lipstick has smudged on to his cheek. "Maybe it's worth the money then."

You laugh, and it's not your normal practiced giggle. It's real and loud enough that the bartender shoots you another look. He knows what you're supposed to be doing here, and it's not hanging with the slummiest man in the room. When you meet his eye, there's a bit of a silent conversation between you two.

I know, you try to tell him, Let me have my fun.

"What are you doing here?" You turn back to your current play thing. The man shrinks slightly, a sheepish smile creeping back onto his face.

"Long night," the stranger mumbles, "Needed a drink and, well-"

He looks towards the stage, where a mouse eared girl spins on her pole, dark braids the only thing covering her tits. She's short and thick in the places that make you look longer than you should

"Some pretty things to look at?" You finish for him.

He tears his eyes away and back to you. You don't miss how they flicker down, how they soften when you scooch closer.

"Does that make me a bad person?"

"I think it makes you a guy," you shrug. One of the better guys, in fact. The unashamed ones get grabby and mean; this one talks to you like he considers you a person.

"What's your name?" he asks suddenly. You debate giving him your real one for a second, but then you adjust your legs and feel the bite of your stiletto straps on your ankles.

"Star."

"I'm Taishiro."

You regard him again, soaking in all the little details about him. He's tall- insanely so. There's a fair amount of muscle on his frame and you think maybe, under those bruises, he's pretty.

"You a boxer, Tai?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I am," he hesitates, "How'd you know?"

"Well, your nose is broken, so you definitely fight, but you aren't a hero," you gesture to his clothes. Oversized sweatpants, and a loose long sleeve - he looks like someone that's cut weight lately. "I know all the heroes in the area, and you aren't one of them. I would have remembered your pretty face."

The stranger draws back a bit, brow scrunched with confusion, but a smile creeping across his face. He must not get compliments much. You slyly check his finger for a ring and find it empty. Good, but that doesn't mean anything. Lots of men take off their rings.

"And you aren't a bad guy or a villain. You don't have that scent to you."

He also doesn't smell like anyone else. If he slept next to someone, there'd be lingerings of them.

"Villains have a smell now?"

"To me, they do." You nap the side of your nose, "It's a quirk thing."

Your quirk sounds more useful than it is. There's a scent to bad intentions, something that lingers

He rolls his head to his shoulder and finally relaxes fully. "You can sniff out crime? Full on McGruff the Crime Dog?"

You mirror him. Ear to your shoulder, a slight grin tugged onto your lips, you say: "A dog? Are you calling me a bitch?"

The stranger blanches. His hand flies to his face so quickly that you're worried he's going to hit himself.

"Oh, geez, I didn't-"

You lean forward with a tinkle of laughter and pat his thigh. The muscle is tight and corded through the thick fabric. Messing with him is easy. Too easy. You almost feel bad for riling him up. "I'm teasing. I'm like a bloodhound."

"How does it work?" Taishiro asks, "What do I smell like?"

He smells like home cooking, with spices and herbs you can't quite place. It's homey, it's warm, it's familiar in ways you can't quite place. There's an edge in there you can't quite place, not quite sour or sweet, but just off enough that you know he's not being 100% truthful with you. You suspect his name isn't what he says, or his boxing career isn't exactly that.

You can't judge. Your name clearly isn't Star.

But, then again, he moves so earnestly that you have a hard time assuming he's bad in anyway, especially next to some of these men. One of them, an older man you unfortunately recognize, keeps looking at you. His smell is sweet in the same way rot is.

"It's a secret," you reply, "Just keep on behaving and you won't have to worry about it."

He laughs at that, big and booming enough that a couple of the girl walking around look your way, and you can't help but join it. You think, if you had met him anywhere else, if you were someone else, you'd pursue this further, let something develop between you.

But you aren't anyone else.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks, suddenly, and you suddenly are hit with the guilt of reality.

"I gotta be honest with you." You peel your hand from his thigh. "I don't come to strip bars for the tits, baby."

"Do- do you work here?"

"Men buy my time." He stares at you blankly and you sigh. "My companionship for the evening. And my boss is going to get mad if I don't start schmoozing paying customers."

Taishiro furrows his brow, then widens his eyes as the realization hits him.

"Oh. Oh." He swallows and nods, clearly thinking this through. Just as you start to get up, he reaches for you, wide, wide, wide hand on your hip to keep you in place. "How much?"

Something inside you sinks. You should have expected this. "I didn't think you were interested in that."

"I'm not-- I mean, I am, but not like- well-" He staggers through his thoughts, "I just want to keep talking. Really. Maybe even split my food, if you want, but I don't- not that kind of companionship- just, like, normal companion stuff."

You sniff. He still smells the the truth, for the most part. You're not sure if you pity him.

"Two hundred thousand yen for the night," you say. "Ends at sun up- no exceptions."

"Oh," he perks up, head tilted like a puppy again, "That's it?"

"What does that mean?"

"I thought it was going to be--" he pauses and shakes his head, thinking better of it, "Yeah, that's okay."

"Do you think I'm cheap?" you gape.

"No, I just--" he laughs again, clearly embarrassed. "You just look really, really, really expensive?"

Despite yourself, with a roll of your eyes, you smile too. "Nice save."

He mum les to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. Most of your clients are experienced with this life, but the new ones are always like him. Nervous. Scared. You step closer to him, trailing your fingers down his arm. You both watch your manicured nails trace loose patterns.

"You really want to spend that kind of money to just have dinner with me?"

You'd fuck him. Of course you would. You expect him to crumble under the flirtations, just like the others did.

But he surprises you when he nods.

"Yeah, I am," Taishiro says, "Is that okay?"

You shrug. "It's your night. Anything you want is okay."

The hand on your waist squeezes tighter, but it's not sexual. It's comforting, almost normal.

"I guess I'll..." he says awkwardly, "Get cash?"

"Cash is good."

Taishiro knows this is a bad idea.

A horrible, awful, terrible idea.

Using his real name was stupid; he's lucky you incorrectly guessed his career. If he wasn't so thin right now, you might have recognized him. He'll if he's not careful, you could figure him out anyway.

If the media gets word of this, his career would be ruined. His poor interns would never meet his eye again. The headlines flash in his mind: FATGUM CAUGHT WITH PROSTITUTE. OR ESCORT. WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?

Well, he's sure they'd be more creative than that.

He shakes it out of his head. This isn't about sex. He's just... lonely. So, unbearably lonely. It's just a dinner, just something to stop him from going hone and wallowing by himself again. Sure, you're the prettiest thing that's ever talked to him-

He shakes that out of his head too.

#spoiler alert: the character is revealed at the end #but its fatgum

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realmofimagines · 2 years

Text

Don’t Make A Habit of Dying (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

follow @cowboybxtch (my other account) for more ghost content, as i will not be posting on this blog anymore <3

Wordcount: 3241 Content: swearing, near death, graphic depictions of gore, blood, injury, ghost is in love with u, soap is oblivious, heroic ghost, pre existing relationsip, tension Request: no Note: *just wanna preface this by saying it is not proof read lol* i am absolutely unashamed to be jumping on the ghost bandwagon. i finished the campaign yesterday and honestly i sort of rushed through it bc it was a lot of fun so this is sort of based on one of the missions but it’s all from memory so if anything is wrong or out of place just ignore it and lets call it canon divergence AO3 version here

“Fox, how copy?”

You grunted, clawing at the rain-soaked concrete and grit beneath your fingers as you stretched to reach your communications device. Your head was still spinning from the impact, and your eyes blurred as if you were lying underneath a moving river staring at the wrinkled water surface above. A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, and you are intensely aware of the urge to vomit.

With a sharp breath, you are able to level yourself onto your knees. Your hand closed around the slippery radio, and you pulled it toward your mouth whilst collapsing your back against a slick brick wall. Your free hand pressed against the sharp, pulsating pain in your abdomen.

“(Y/N), I repeat, how copy?” Ghost’s voice crackled.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, before pressing the voice activation button on the radio. The strong rush of adrenaline burned in your chest, but it didn’t match the wash of relief upon hearing and recognising Simon’s voice. You closed your eyes and relished in the sensation for a moment.

“I read you.”

He audibly sighed. “Thought I lost you there.”

“Nearly did.”

“You injured?”

You stared down and shakily inspected the palm pressed against your wound. Your fingers came away glistening with rain and blood, and your undershirt was soaked a deep red around the site of the injury. You replace your hand on the wound, applying as much pressure as you can muster with a heavily clenched jaw. As much as you wanted to be honest, you knew that due to the personal obligations Ghost felt toward you because of your secret relationship, letting him know just how hurt you truly were could compromise his position. He would, without a doubt, make his way straight toward you.

“I’m alive.”

“That’s not what I asked, Sergeant.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Good. Are you in sight of the church?”

You blinked hard to clear your vision and glanced around your surroundings. Through a rusted, paint-chipped iron gate, you could see the distant glow of the religious building and gathered that it was about half a mile away. You weren’t sure how much steam you had left in the tank, but you sure as shit were going to use every last drop to get your ass to that church.

“Yeah, I see it.”

“We’ll RV there. Johnny’s on his way now.”

“Copy that.”

“Do you have a weapon?”

You fumbled with your gear, cursing to yourself when you found nothing but empty holsters. All that remained on your person was a singular, small combat knife hidden within your boot, and you silently thanked yourself for taking such precaution.

“A knife.”

“That’s all you need. Stay safe, Fox.”

“Sure, Ghost.”

You released the radio trigger and clipped it back onto the front of your tactical vest. With a deep breath, you managed to pull yourself to your feet with the solid support of the brick wall. Your bloodied hand mixed with the rain, dripping down your chilled fingers and spreading the blood down your arms. You looked like a damn mess. You felt like a damn mess.

You first attempted to push through the iron gate but found it chained and padlocked from the other side.

Never the easy way, you murmured to yourself.

Turning back on yourself, you stumbled through a fruit market. Bruised and trampled limes and apples rolled across the puddled floor, seemingly abandoned in a hurry rather than packed away in their crates. Upon leaning on a stall for aid, you noticed that the civilians, presumably the shopkeepers, had been shot dead in their stalls. It was bloody and gruesome and told the tale of just how relentless the military-for-hire group were.

Your wobbly vision was clouded, and your lashes were thick with rain droplets concentrated with the blood dripping from your head. Your lips and fingers were icy cold, and each breath felt like the air was taking shots at your lungs like they were punching bags. You pressed onwards, however, knowing that if you wanted a chance at living that you needed to make it out of the Shadow’s web, and you could only do so by pushing yourself forwards.

The detour through the fruit market leads you to a couple of Shadow mercs, who chatted idly amongst themselves as if they weren’t standing upon the consequences of their war crimes. Families, including children, cried and screamed in the distance. Gunshots followed, and you tried not to flinch against the sound.

The mercenaries were armed, and they were blocking the only route you had. There was no easy way around this, but you had to improvise given your lack of weaponry and physical power. Your body was betraying you, and try as you might, you’d never be able to take these men in your current situation.

You tossed a beer bottle down the alleyway, hoping to distract them enough to get the upper hand. The left merc stubbed out his cigarette with a sizzle under his boot, before trailing down in the direction of the smashed glass in pursuit of the sound. Noticing your chance, you steadily crouch-walked your way over to the lone hostile and plunged your knife into his side and then into his neck.

“Just an empty bottle. It’s nothing,” the other merc stated, then turning on his heel with a final glance at the broken glass before he whipped his head around with a double take to notice his friend in a gargling heap on the floor, and you standing above him. “What the fuck?!”

He raised his gun toward you, leaving you no choice but to slam straight into him to throw off his aim. His gun flew upwards as he pulled the trigger, spraying an arc of loud, bright bullets into the air whilst you attempted to disarm him. He retaliated with a hard shove, though not before you were able to get your hands on the pistol in his hip holster. You flew to the ground with a thud and splash, but before he had the chance to regain composure and take aim at you again, you’d blasted two rounds into his chest, and then his throat. He collapsed on top of you in a heavy heap.

Another soldier rounded the corner, but you didn’t quite have the energy to recognise the threat before it was a second too late.

You were just lucky that Soap barged through the cafe door on your left and took him down with a clean shot straight through the temple. He turned his gaze from the man on the floor after confirming his death and reached over to you on the ground. He heaved the dead mercenary off of your chest and offered you a strong hand. You grabbed onto him and groaned as he yanked you upright, a firm hand on your shoulder to steady you as you fell towards him. With a concerned eye, he straightened you with a gentle nudge.

“Christ, Fox,” Soap murmured, eyeing the wound on your side. You immediately clutched at it defensively. “You’re not lookin’ so hot.”

You wheezed a breath and mustered a smile. “I’m running on fumes, but I’ll be fine. Let’s just get to that church.”

“Aye, Sergeant. I’ll take front.”

“Be my guest.”

You trailed sloppily behind Soap, cursing yourself for your inability to be as sharp as you usually were. You hated being a burden, but you hated letting the team down more. Your carelessness in the fight that broke out with Graves had cost you a life-threatening injury in a team that refused to leave anybody behind, even if it got them killed. You only worried that if you weren’t going to make it, you wouldn’t be able to see Simon before you went and that you wouldn’t be able to tell him you were sorry.

Your heart ached at the thought.

You and Ghost had been dating, briefly. It happened slowly. First, there were inside jokes, and then there were gentle teasing pet names, and then more than friendly touches… until one night the tension seemed to break, and you slept together, which was just a week ago now before everything went to shit. You almost regretted doing so, for fear that now you’d never get to see him again, to touch him again.

You stumbled to your knees and caught yourself barely by planting your hand solidly on the gravelled floor. Soap spun around and cursed under his breath before reaching for his radio.

“Ghost, we have a situation here.”

He leaned forward and grabbed at your biceps, throwing your arm over his soldier for support.

“What situation?”

“Fox was WIA,” he grunted with a low voice, pulling your body towards cover as a squadron of Shadows passed by in pursuit of the gunshots from only a few moments prior. Any second now, they would find the bodies and be alerted of your presence.

“Don’t piss around the bush, Johnny. How bad?”

Soap studied you with an uneasy glance. “We’re gonna need backup if we’re gonna get the lass outta here.”

“What’s your location?”

“Uh—” Soap paused and checked for any noticeable landmarks. “We’re at the coffee shop just a ways from the fruit market—”

“Hang tight. I’m on my way.”

“What about the RV?”

“Stay put, Serg.”

“Yes, sir.”

The distance from the church to the market was about ten minutes, but Ghost cleared the distance in about four. His eyes were cold and steely behind his mask but became soft and expressive upon noticing your strained face and bloodied abdomen. He was gentle when he leaned for you.

“Jesus Christ, Fox,” he murmured, his tone an edge softer than usual. He leaned toward you to help stabilise you on your feet and apologised under his breath when you yelped in pain. “Who did this to you?”

You grunted and leaned against one of his large arms for support. You blinked the rainwater away from your eyes and maintained eye contact with him. Even now, at a time like this, you felt your stomach flip. You were so in love with him and that somehow made everything scarier.

“One of Graves’ boys. Not sure who. Didn’t get a good look before I killed him.” You answered.

“Atta girl,” Ghost praised. Your heart clenched.

Soap stared on with a worried look, his back tense with stress.

“Hold up,” Soap said, raising a fist before lifting his gun to level his eyes with the sights. mercenaries stormed past the windows, and there was a sudden series of heavy bangs on the cafe door that Soap had barricaded with bar stools. “We’ve got company, Ghost.”

Ghost nodded, and then turned to you with an urgent look in his eyes. “Can you walk?”

You cringed at the stabs of pain and clenched your jaw. “Simon, I’m a liability. Leave me here and I can hold them off—”

“I am not leaving you here!”

You blinked in shock at the intensity of his tone. His eyes beyond the mask seemed desperate, and he clutched your face in a gloved hand as if uttering his silent pleas through his palm. You truly believed him and his words, for there was no reason for a man like himself to lie to you at a time like this.

“I said, can you walk?”

You nodded stiffly.

“Then let’s fucking walk,” Ghost answered, tossing your arm over his shoulder to carry the most of your body weight as he essentially dragged you toward the exit point of the cafe. His other hand gripped his pistol so hard that his knuckles began to numb beneath his glove. “Cover us, Johnny!”

Soap tailed your backs with a raised gun, and Ghost was just able to tug you out of the door before the hostiles blasted through and started swarming the place with bullets. Ghost seemed to lug you along with desperation, as you were practically limping at this point.

“You stupid girl, getting me all worried like this,” he cursed, turning briefly to shoot one of the incoming adversaries before continuing onwards. “Do you know how lucky you are that I’m here?”

He was acting characteristically sharp and dry, but you knew that it was just to glaze over his worry. Ghost didn’t often lose his cool, but you were certainly shaking his faith. You couldn’t judge him for his words and simply offered a weak smile in response.

You heaved a laugh. “Let’s just say I owe you one.”

He seemed to soften. “Let me take you to dinner when this is all over. Call it even.”

“It’s a date,” you wheezed, your words accompanied by laboured breaths. The pain was intense and radiated in waves of white-hot pulses and aches that made you limp and shudder in the agony. Your feet and hands were starting to feel numb, and your head felt like it was full of TV static. You just needed a short break, and then you would be able to continue.

You began tripping over your feet, and albeit he tried to keep you upright, Ghost’s strength wasn’t enough to counter the sudden push of gravity as you slumped to the floor.

“(Y/N)!”

Your face was white, and your eyes rolled back. He was immediately at your side, grabbing your face in his hand to inspect your breathing, and then the pulse on your neck with fingers that he’d torn a glove from. He was momentarily relieved when he felt the feedback of your heart, regardless of how faint it was. It was enough to keep going, to revive the easily extinguishable flicker of hope.

Soap rounded the corner, seeming urgent as he fired shots down the alleyway.

“Ghost, they’re gaining on us!”

“Shit!” He cursed.

Without a second thought, he unsheathed his pistol and handed it over to Soap who took it without question. Simon scooped his arms under your legs and back and held you securely to his chest before nodding at his comrade.

“You keep us safe. That’s an order, Serg.”

“Sure, LT, but we need to get a move on— now.”

“Let’s go!”

You jostled in and out of consciousness. It was soft and gentle, like a slow beat of butterfly wings. You would open your eyes momentarily, but there wasn’t enough adrenaline supply in the world to keep you awake, and things would quickly return to darkness. Your grasp on reality started to slip when the blood loss became critical, and the only thing you were aware of was the bruising grip Ghost had on your flesh and the overwhelming fear that you were about to die.

You vaguely notice the sensation of cold marble on your body, and then the tightness of gauze and tape being wrapped around you.

Ghost was manic as he watched your pale, lifeless body show little to no reaction to his movements. He’d torn your battle vest off and inspected the damage beneath your vest. He’d swallowed his anxiety and wrapped you up as best he could with what little supplies himself and Soap had scrounged from the village and proceeded to perform CPR on you when he noticed your breathing had come to an abrupt stop.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You couldn’t move.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Crack.

A blooming pain in your ribs.

A warm press of lips on your own, and the uncomfortable sensation of being filled with air.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The thrum of helicopter blades. Distant shouting. Ghost’s voice.

Ghost’s voice.

“Simon…?”

——

When you next woke, it was a slow and unpleasant sensation. White, fluorescent lights pierced through your eyelids, which felt heavy to open. The sharp sensation of the gunshot in your side felt dull, and you could tell by the swimming sensation in your head that you were drugged. You vaguely recognised the sound of a beeping monitor, and you flinched. The smell of bleach filled your nose.

“Good mornin’, sunshine.”

Your eyes fluttered open, wincing against the harsh ceiling lights. You turned your gaze to the figure hunched over in a small brown chair— a heavily-built man, adorning a balaclava with a skull painted on it. Ghost.

“Simon.”

“(Y/N).”

You attempted to lift yourself into an upright position, and immediately felt a flare of agony that had you coughing out a broken sob.

“Hey, hey, take it easy there, Fox,” Ghost murmured, immediately reaching forwards to settle you back down. You grit your teeth together and blinked away the sudden onslaught of tears that were born from the shock of the pain. He tried to sit back down, but you caught his gloved hand before he could leave and he didn’t have the heart to pull away. His stature immediately softened, and his thumb smoothed over your fingers and knuckles in an attempt to comfort you.

“They outta put more drugs in you. They sure did a number on you. Surprised you’re still with us.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

Simon huffed through his nose and tugged the chair closer so that he could sit beside you and hold your cold hands in his. “I thought you were, too, sweetheart.”

“How the Hell did you get me out of there?”

You couldn’t see it, but by the wrinkle of his eyes, you knew he was smirking. “This old dog still got his ways.”

A concern suddenly popped into your head as bits and pieces of memories began to slot together. “And Soap?”

“He’s fine, unfortunately.”

You smiled gently, feeling yourself relax a little. You turned to him and held his gaze, suddenly feeling intimidated by his sharp eyes. The heart monitor next to your bed began to beep at an increased pace, and your cheeks flushed.

Ghost seemed bemused. “Am I makin’ you nervous, darlin’?”

You buried your face in your hands and only dared to peek through your fingers when you heard him start to laugh.

“Don’t hide from me just yet. You still owe me a date.”

You threw your hands down to your sides and smiled. “Look who’s gone all soft. I wonder what the boys would think of you right now.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“Don’t kid yourself, LT, you loved playing hero,” you retorted, a glimmer of mischief sparkling through your grin. You suddenly felt the atmosphere become slightly tense and heavy with the weight and reality of the situation. You could’ve and likely should’ve died back there. You weren’t aware enough of your surroundings to remember just what Ghost and Soap went through to get you out, but you could only imagine.

“Thank you, Simon.” You said, more serious this time.

He glanced away as if embarrassed. “It’s nothing.”

You reached closer and grabbed his masked face. In private, he would remove his balaclava just for you. You felt the selfish desire that he would do so just now so that you could kiss him but swallowed your urges for you knew he couldn’t compromise himself in the med-bay. Too many prying eyes.

He grabbed your hand from his face and kissed it, the warmth and pressure of his lips still present even through the fabric on his face. You were butter in his touch, practically melting through his fingers.

“Just don’t make a habit of nearly dying, you hear me? Nearly gave me a bastard heart attack.”

You smiled, staring at him dazedly. “Yes, sir.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #x reader #angst #injury #pining #ghost is in love #soap mactavish #john mactavish

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lanadelnegan · 7 months

Note

Omg I love your work so much, I check your page everyday to see the stuff u post and I love it!!! Could you maybe write some fluff for a reader that’s feeling a little depressed, and negan just is a real sweetheart to them and just wants to see them be happy? Thank you so much ❤️❤️❤️

Hiiii love, omg that is so kind of you. I'm sorry for being inactive lately and for this taking so long. School and work have been so busy but I'm trying!

The Notebook

Negan x Reader (Fluff)

Summary: Negan plans a romantic movie night for the two of you after you've been feeling down. No smut, just fluff and Negan being sweet and gentle with you.

"Y/n… Negan wants to see you."

You let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling as you tried to ignore Simon, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.

“Y/n?”

“I heard you.”

Simon stood at your doorway, waiting for you to get up but to his surprise, you remained still. Unwilling to move an inch from the bed you’ve been glued to for a week.

“Tell him I’m not in the mood.” You mumbled, flipping over on your side to face the wall.

Moments passed and just as you were starting to drift off, you felt arms slide underneath you, lifting you off the mattress and into the arms of your Savior.

“Negan… what are you..”

“Shhh, baby. Don’t ask questions.” You felt his lips press into the top of your head as he carried you down the hall and to his bedroom.

When you got to the room, he gently set you down and you rubbed your eyes before looking around and seeing candlelight and rose petals spread across the dimly lit room.

“Negan.. What is this?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I - I do, but to be honest.. I’m really not in the mood for..”

“For your favorite movie and some cuddling?” He asked innocently, holding up The Notebook dvd.

For the first time in a week, you managed to smile.

“Let’s get you showered and cleaned up first, yeah? Then we’ll relax and I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. Sound like a plan?” He asked, sliding his hand along your cheek before leaning down to give you a soft kiss.

A tear rolled down your cheek when you closed your eyes to kiss him. You tried looking down, but his finger caught your chin, tilting it up to meet his gentle gaze.

“Baby, look at me. I want you to be happy. No more tears tonight, got it? Too fuckin' pretty to cry.” His thumb wiped the tear off your cheek as he gave you another soft peck on the lips.

“Come on..” he said, and you felt slightly embarrassed at the fact that you hadn’t had the energy to shower recently. But Negan made you feel comfortable and unashamed, so you relaxed a little, letting him lead you to the bathroom.

Once he locked the door, he walked closely to you, gently pulling your shirt over your head. His gaze lingered on your exposed chest for a moment too long, but he kept his promise and comments to himself as he focused on guiding your pants and underwear down your legs. Once you were both naked, you stepped into the hot shower and he followed behind you.

You moaned softly as the water fell over you, washing your sadness away. He squeezed some shampoo in his hand before lathering it in your hair and massaging your scalp, tilting your head back under the water.

"I fuckin' love you, doll. You know that right? I'm here any time you wanna talk."

"I don't wanna talk, Negan. Just being here with you is enough."

"Well, my door is always open for you, baby."

Once your hair was rinsed, he pulled you closer, pressing your bodies against each other as he held you tightly. You leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your cheek against his hairy chest.

"Total transparency? I am tryin really hard not to get fuckin hard right now."

You giggled, glancing down between the two of you. "You're not doing a very good job."

He chuckled, looking down with you. "Sorry, doll. He has a mind of his own."

He finished rinsing you both off, and helped you step out of the shower. You felt much better now that you were clean and wrapped in a soft towel. You both got dressed, wearing the same thing - one of Negan's t-shirts and a pair of his boxers.

"You look so much better in my clothes than I do. And considering how incredibly sexy I am, that says a lot." He gave you a flirty wink, making you blush and roll your eyes. "Now get your cute ass in my bed while I put our movie on."

"Yes sir." You said happily, falling into his bed and curling up under the covers. After turning off the lights and starting the movie, he climbed into bed with you, immediately pulling you into his arms and snuggling you.

"Aren't you tired of this movie?" You asked him. "I've made you watch it a hundred times."

"And it puts a smile on your face. So I'll watch it a hundred more." He said softly, kissing the top of your head.

You giggled, scrunching your brows. "When did big, bad Negan turn into such a romantic?"

"After watching The Notebook a hundred times I guess."

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frameacloud · 8 months

Text

"The process of self-discovery means you have to be prepared and unafraid to let labels go. Most people don't have the courage of their convictions right from the bat, but jump into this label and that description because they feel some vague connection to it. 'Trying on' different labels and spiritual identities is all part of the Awakening process for many people, but you have to be unafraid and unashamed to say, when it turns out something isn't right for you, 'Okay, that didn't work. I tried, but it wasn't me. Let's try again.' Don't cling to old, ill-fitting labels because you're ashamed of seeming a turncoat or weak in your beliefs. It's better to be briefly seen as weak and have a chance at gaining something you can truly, strongly believe in, than to cling to a skin that will never truly be your own. Eventually, you'll find something that works for you. The process will be easier if you don't go around saying 'I AM!' straightaway, but rather say 'I might be…' or 'I think…', even though the temptation to shout 'Hallelujah!' when you think you've found something that might fit can be overwhelming."

- Excerpt from Sprite Rêvenchate’s article, “Identifying Your Otherkin Species: Ten Tips for the Terminally Tantalised.” Otherkin.net: Harmony & Discord. February 2, 2004. Read the full article here.

#otherkin #quote #queue #rated G #screen reader friendly #self discovery

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luveline · 9 months

Note

is there any way we could get badass!reader x spencer? except he’s injured this time? how does she react?

tysm ♡ cw hospital / gunshot wounds. 1.1k

"You have to let me see him."

"It's family only," the nurse says, shrugging sympathetically.

You grit your teeth. "That's what I'm telling you, I am his family. We've been together for four months."

"Sorry. Unless you're blood related or his next of kin, I can't let you."

"Spencer's next of kin is in a sanitarium in Las Vegas. I don't understand why you can't let me see him." You're trying not to shout at her, rage trembling in your aching fingers. "I understand that it's night time, and that he was admitted alone, but he was shot, he's not sick, and I can't make him worse. Please. You have to let me see him."

When begging doesn't work, you get mean. You'd be ashamed to admit you flashed your badge if it weren't for the fact that you have no shame when it comes to Spencer. Face flushed with heat from a good twenty minutes yelling, a different nurse escorts you to Spencer's room.

"I expect my colleagues will be arriving soon," you say. "And I expect they'll be met with less resistance."

The nurse smiles at you, as fake as they come, but you don't deserve a real one. You don't care. Breaking rules and bending policies means nothing to you while Spencer's laying alone in a hospital bed.

His heart monitor beeps steadily. He's sleeping, waxy face crushed sideways into a limp pillow, his stomach a lump under the sheets where he's been wrapped. He was alone when it happened —no one, BAU or otherwise, knows who did it or why. The hospital didn't know who Spencer was until he woke up after surgery and told them himself.

And you'd been sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself (and vaguely irritated) because he didn't answer your text that morning.

It's not hard being vulnerable with Spencer. He's your widely known soft spot, and you're unashamed. But it felt like a mistake, constantly checking to see if he'd answered your text. Good morning, I know we're supposed to see each other tomorrow but do you want to come over and watch movies tonight? Let me know had felt like I'm pathetic and in love with you and my day revolves around when you're free.

None of that matters now. In fact, it's all embarrassingly small.

You creep up beside his bed and reach out tentatively. His hair falls out of his face with the barest of touches. He's had blood wiped poorly from his cheek, orangey streaks lining his jaw. His undereyes are dark like he hasn't eaten for days, his veins spider legs stark against his eyelids.

You put your hand on his cheek, rubbing it lightly. "I'm sorry it took me so long," you say, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

Spencer stirs, a groan rumbling from the centre of his chest.

"I thought that was you," he mumbles, his fingers brushing your elbow.

"When?" you ask.

"You were yelling."

Yeah, well. You need to be disruptive sometimes. "They wouldn't let me in." You're not a big crier, just seeing him like this, knowing he was alone and probably scared, it has tears pricking. "Spencer, I'm so sorry."

"Hey." He clears his throat, your emotion starting him into wakefulness. "Hey, don't get upset. It's okay. It bounced off of me–" You groan and he laughs, though he grabs your elbow quickly after. "Ouch. Don't make me laugh."

"I didn't say anything." You pet his face. He looks pretty even when he's in a bad way. Your chest is a pit.

"It barely touched me. They said my feminine hips saved my life."

"Stop trying to make me laugh," you say pleadingly.

Spencer holds your gaze. "Stop looking so sad and I'll stop."

"Are you hurting?" you ask. You know you sound awful, a scared tone that he's never heard from you before, and you try to tamp it down as a lone tear breaks free, streaking down your cheek. "How's your pain? I can make them give you more–"

"I know you can. I'm fine now you're here."

You lean down to kiss the tip of his pert nose. Careful, you kiss his lips, enthused when he kisses up. "I'll take care of everything," you promise.

The door opens behind you. You give Spencer a last squeeze and find Emily in the entrance with a bag pressed to her chest, her hair windblown, shocked with worry.

"Spencer," she says, rushing forward to hug him.

He's in a hospital bed and still insists on comforting her as he'd done you, arms threaded over her shoulders. "Hey. I'm fine."

"Morgan and Garcia want to be here," she assures him, standing straight. "They're trying to keep the site clean. Spencer, what the hell happened?"

You drag a chair to his bed and sit on his right. You don't take his hand, he doesn't offer it, but the longer his story goes, the closer you find yourself. "I didn't even realise they were following me," he's saying. Emily nods with Hotch on the phone, listening intently, repeating anything Hotch misses.

You know you should be strong. Brave. You should be paying attention to his every word, ready to take the rains and solve the case, serve retribution against whoever it is that thought they could hurt him, but Spencer looks so tired. You can't imagine being anywhere that isn't his side right now. A blood bag fills at his side, a catheter runs under the bed, an IV line feeding pain medication and fluids into him mottled the skin on the inside of his wrist with bruise. Sometimes you have to stay put.

Emily hugs you before she leaves. You hug back.

"If I knew getting hurt would make you accept love from your friends, I would've done it sooner," Spencer says.

"If you ever get hurt like this again, I'll never speak to you," you say, bringing his arm to your lips and pressing a kiss to the crook of his elbow.

"Sorry for scaring you."

You lay your cheek on his arm, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "That's okay. That's fine. Wasn't your fault."

Spencer drops his chin to his chest. "Do I look bad from this angle?"

"No. You look just as nice as you always do." Your throat burns with sincerity. You might cry again.

Spencer nods like he's reading something else from what you've said. It's not that you'd meant to imply a double meaning, but he must see on your face how relieved you are, and how terrified you'd been. He brings his hand to your face, ignoring his cannula, to wipe the dried tears from your lashes. "You look pretty, too," he says. "Just don't cry anymore."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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stephenyoonkeeholdup · 16 days

Text

tentative title: hung hyung

Permanent 🔞 Ecstasy

MDNI

pairing: Intak (P1H) x male reader (dynamic up to individual interpretation tbh)

author’s notes: I am currently miles away from my comfort zone… I don’t think I've written MxM anything in around 10 years 👀😀. However, I made a vow to myself that I'd write a thing for my Intak-biased bestie whose birthday is this week. On top of that, last week we saw Piwon for the 3rd time, and this title is from Victoria Monét's "On My Mama" which Intak covered so deliciously. 🤭 There is an alluding to pup!Intak that’s been all the rage here recently – if you squint.

content warnings: profanity, semi-public blowjob (reader received)

Your friend has the midas touch, and you swear by that, as you enter into the dressing room backstage per said friend’s invitation. You expected to see all the members shuffling around to get ready for the show. However, you only see Intak rise up from his seat already dressed as the door opens, politely greeting you with that big smile of his.

You were not complaining in the slightest as THE Hwang Intak confirms your name that was given to him by word of mouth. “It’s so nice to meet you, Y/N! I heard you’ve been a fan since debut…” Intak says after you’ve greeted him back. His appreciative doe eyes stare right into your eager eyes as he thanks you for being so supportive since the beginning of his career.

“Of course, Intak,” you reply, “and you’ve always caught my attention… Your rapping is so good, and the way you move is incredible.” You don’t expect anything when your eyes subconsciously cruise up and down that toned body of his, but you find his eyes doing the same thing in that brief moment of silence after thanking you again.

You definitely don’t expect him to call you cute in such a shy manner before briefly peeking at his phone. As you continue staring at him, taking this moment in, you spy some naturally formed blush hitting his cheeks.

“You good, Intak?” you can’t help but ask him, that blush on his face getting a deeper pink, almost like the magenta on the UTOP1A concert logo.

“I’m… good,” he starts off, “but a bit nervous. Never had a one-on-one time with a fan before… especially a handsome one…”

His confession catches you off guard, the compliment at the end almost leaving you in disbelief. The moment you look down his body again, that disbelief intensifies as you notice a bulge forming in his pants.

Out of curiosity, you ask him, “Well… how did you expect this [interaction] to go?”

After pondering a moment, he begins to answer before trailing off in thought. “Not too sure… T-talking…” Honestly speaking, the moment Intak was informed about this encounter, and your friend showed him a picture they took of you, his mind started racing at a pace he was struggling to grasp. “Can we do something else though? We have time.”

You admired how cautious he was trying to be, eyes surveying his surroundings as he briskly walks over to the door, awaiting your confirmation before turning the lock on it. It was almost as if you both knew what happens after the locking of any door (in this type of setting) because it did not take long before his lips touched yours, and you granted him access to your mouth.

Moans escape the both of you as you trail your hands that were cupping his face down his seemingly chiseled body. Unlike Intak, you were a bit more unashamed with your actions, but tried to be just as cautious with your approach.

“Fuck,” Intak breathes out as you gently grab at his hardened bulge. His hand grips your thigh in response as you come to the realization that you’re just as hard. Intak’s soft lips graze down your neck, stopping at your chest before looking up at you (in part) for permission. You knowingly nod, admiring how he balances his shyness with his natural confidence so well.

Both of his hands rest on your thighs before congregating at the belt buckle atop of your shorts. Now, one would’ve solely unbuckled the object, but this showman here asks if you know about his solo stage.

“Of course!” you exclaim a bit breathlessly. “I… love that song… and what you did with it.” He smiles at the praise you give him for his hard work before he gradually pulls your belt out from your garments completely.

In a move similar to one from that performance, your belt is wrapped around his big hands before it’s discarded to the side. You both can’t help but smirk at the action before he guides you onto the vanity counter, leaning back on your hands as you anticipate Intak’s next moves.

He doesn’t even bother undoing the button of your shorts, he just pulls them down until they’re around your ankles. Mere seconds pass before your boxers receive that same treatment, your hard cock springing up, precum already dripping out of the tip.

He licks his lips, constantly looking up at you for permission. This time, you place a hand of yours on the nape of his neck before nodding at him to proceed. He sticks his tongue out, feeding himself some of your precum as an appetizer before taking you in his mouth.

You can’t help but curse out at him in pleasure, your legs planting themselves over his shoulders as he indulged in the feeling of your dick in his mouth. He moans around you in sheer delight before looking back up at your pleased expression. Your eyes were too closed to see how proud of himself he was becoming at the fact that he was clearly making you feel good.

While bobbing his head up and down your length, he caresses your thighs with varying degrees of roughness, feeling you shake ever-so-slightly beneath him. “Holy fuck, Intak,” you spit out, earning a quizzical moan from the boy, feeling the vibration rather deeply before you continue. “You’re really fucking good…”

Intak kept moaning as he kept sucking, one hand grabbing your nutsack with a bit more intensity than you would’ve been prepared for. What you may have missed was that Intak grabbed his still clothed hard cock at the same time, just barely thrusting into his hand in alternation with his bobbing head.

Both of you seemlessly transition from soft moans to low groans, your dick twitching in Intak’s mouth in a way that eggs him on even further. Once he hollows his throat to receive you to the hilt, you begin to lose it.

“I’m gonna cum, 'T-tak!” you manage to yell in a whispered state. Those same puppy eyes you were met with in the beginning approve of your next moves before they close tightly. He squeezes yours and his balls simultaneously before you both let out the most unabashed sounds, as you feel ropes of your warm semen enter Intak’s warm throat.

An echo of obscenities follows as you come down from your peak. Intak slowly backs away from you with a close-mouthed grunt, waiting until your heavy eyes reopen for him to open his mouth. You couldn’t help but moan at the pool of your release still resting in his mouth before he swallows.

For several reasons, Intak smiles in relief before slowly getting up. “I have to change my underwear,” he admits, chuckling so adorably. He begins to discard of everything on his lower half rather quickly, and that’s when you officially return to reality… To the practically vacant green room in the venue where you initially just came to enjoy a concert of one of your favorite artists.

Moments later, Intak returns clothed, almost running to you, whose pants… and belt… are back on your person (because you know timing is not of the essence in a situation like this). He seems to share a mutual interest in not wanting this moment to end anytime soon, as he manages to steal a couple more kisses from you before hearing the doorknob jiggle.

“Can you come back after the show?” Intak asks before unlocking the door. His gaze never leaves you as he awaits your response. You take it upon yourself to steadily get up from the counter to avoid any speculation before answering.

“If I can walk, sure!” you both laugh before the door opens and the remaining members of P1Harmony enter. You quickly greet them before scurrying out of the room to allow them some pre-show privacy.

This is already the best concert experience of your life, and it hadn’t even begun yet.

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fayes-fics · 11 months

Text

Mrs Bridgerton, Again

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU, sequel to Mrs Bridgerton. This is what happened in those fateful 8 months.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f, f to m), cunnilingus, blowjobs, vaginal sex. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy and parenting. Lovers reunited, healing from heartbreak, second-chance love, emotions.

Word Count: 7.1 k

Summary: Requested sequel to Mrs Bridgerton from Anon, HERE, that fills in some of the time jumps of the original story, including the smut scene when they first reunite. Best to read that fic first before diving in, as this starts up immediately as she arrives in his bedroom (before the prologue). Yes, we are starting with total filth and ending with romance, lol. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif. Oh, and by the way, in case you are not familiar, this is Eton Mess. Enjoy <3

“Don't…,” he pants wildly, removing the hand from his cock and holding it up in a stop gesture.

You freeze, and suddenly, a wave of doubt hits you. Have you misjudged this?

“Don’t touch me, or I’ll come,” he warns. “Stay right there, and just let me look at you.”

The relief and the desire are potent.

“Fuck, how do you look even better now?!” he sounds almost pained as he drinks in the sight of you in bra and knickers; his hands grasp the fitted bedsheet, his cock pulsing.

“Ben, I…” you stutter to begin an explanation for why you are here, mostly dumbfounded by the sight before you. Somehow, you had made yourself forget how much you love him naked. A coping mechanism, probably. Right now, you have no earthly idea why you walked away from the beautiful man before you.

“Talk later,” he intuits. “ I am so fucking glad I kept the same security code,” he rasps, and you smile.

“Same,” you whisper.

“Turn around,” he pleads. So you do, pushing up onto the balls of your feet and spinning until you face away. He groans at the view of lace straining over your bottom in just the right way. “Oh god, I need to have sex with you, but I’m so close,” he groans, and even though your back is turned, you can tell it’s through clenched teeth.

You twist to give a wicked smile over your shoulder, then unclip your bra strap as he makes a hungry noise. Pulling the straps from your shoulders and flinging the item aside, your back still turned. You hook your fingers into the sides of your knickers to pull them down but stop when he climbs off the bed, falling to his knees behind you.

“Allow me,” it's velvety and dark, and you want to bathe in that voice.

For the first time in years, he touches your skin, and you have to lock your knees to stop swaying. Expert hands map up the outside of your legs from your ankle to your hips, long fingers hooking into the lace and tugging down. You can feel his breath warm on your cheeks as the material relents and gathers around your feet. Then he pitches forward, his nose landing on the small of your back as he takes a loud, almost obscene inhale.

“I have missed your smell,” he asserts, “not just… you know, but your skin. You.” His nose trails up slightly; warm, soft lips kiss your lumbar spine, causing goosebumps to break out over your thighs.

“Ben…” you whisper his name, almost scared to look behind as if it’s somehow not real.

You groan as he sinks lower and runs the edge of his teeth over the globe of your left cheek. Somehow, again, you realise you'd made yourself forget how things could be between you when it was good. Feral, passionate, addictive. The best you've ever had. He has barely touched you, and your inner thighs are damp, that thronging feeling around your pelvis that needs relief.

“Mrs Bridgerton.”

He says it. Just as you asked—wanton, thick, and sweet. And it's too much.

“I don't care if you last ten seconds; I need you inside me… please,” you plead, unashamed, grabbing your breasts as he kisses your cheek. You know how much he always loved it when you would vocalise your needs, desires, wants.

That’s when two fingers slide between your legs and, without warning, plunge into your cunt, making you cry out loudly, the sensation exhilarating, his knuckles pushing you open just the right amount, that same intoxicating feeling as before.

“Fuckkk,” he stutters against your skin. “I forgot how you cling to my fingers like this, good god.”

You have to shoot out a hand diagonally to grab the wall, locking your elbow, as he keeps teasing with deep but slow rocking moves. You mutter his name, a shudder running through you as he hooks his fingers and hits that spot that makes you almost buckle. Sensing the weakness in your stance, his fingers withdraw, and you whimper, missing them so much.

“Go and lie on the bed,” he orders softly, squeezing your bottom, painting your dampness onto your skin as he does so.

You do as he asks, taking an arcing path, keeping your back mostly towards him so he does not see your front—an extra tease. Then you deliberately mount the bed on all fours, goading him, throwing a sinful look over your shoulder as you widen your stance, tilting your pelvis, knowing your damp thighs are shining in the late afternoon sun that floods the bed from the skylight above.

“You fucking tease,” he snarls, again sounding breathless. The sense of victory that races around your body is enthralling. “I said lay down,” he adds, the bed dipping as he climbs on behind you and spanks your cheek, making you moan.

“Well, I say you can eat me out from behind, just like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you riposte, drawing your knees higher and lowering your forehead to the mattress, the fluttering in your belly hard, the thrill of the chase so exhilarating. “Until you are ready to fuck me, that is.”

“Why the hell did we ever divorce?!” he rails.

“I have absolutely no bloody idea,” you exhale shakily, morphing into a lusty cry as his hands part your cheeks and his tongue swipes deep into your folds.

As he swirls your clit, greedily, mouth hot, you are not surprised that he has not even so much as kissed your lips before he makes you scream. Somehow, you know this is the only way a reunion would ever transpire. Primal, filthy, impossible to resist. A need to fuck before anything else.

And it's just as good as you now remember, it all flooding back to you. You grab the bedsheet, knuckles in bony relief as you moan a litany of his name and filth you would never admit to as he growls encouraging noises. That needy, tugging deep inside as his hands band around your hips and haul you back onto his whole face, the slight stubble on his cheeks catching your labia as he does so.

It only feels like moments until he has you dancing on the edge. It's been so, so long since anyone touched you; indeed, he was the last, and you're shocked at how little it takes. An explosive build-up of unmet needs bursting from within, like ripened fruit awaiting devourment. And that is what he is doing, devouring your body without remorse or concerns for propriety. There's an extra tinge of desperation to his movements, too, as if he needs your release as much as you do.

Then he sucks your clit hard into his mouth and uses an edge of teeth to bite down where you ache the most. And you are gone. Muffling your screams into his mattress, biting the sheet, your pussy flutters around nothing, wanting, leaking, the static racing across your scalp and down your body, making you shudder, and your fingers and toes flex hard.

He is vocal, so vocal, in his praise. Asking for more, pulling upright and plunging those two fingers back inside as you scream again, your body rippling in waves, fighting to expel them as he growls and pushes deeper, dragging against the place that sends you stratospheric. Your mind shuts down, your mouth snarling at him not to fucking stop in a throaty register that is all lust and instinct. He doesn’t; he strings you out until you shake and leak over his hand, eyes almost watering, deep, ragged breaths as your lungs burn.

You collapse down, your shaking legs unable to stay up on your knees anymore; his fingers withdrawing slowly as he emits a triumphant chuckle, lightly spanking your cheek for good measure as you lay face down, panting, attempting to recover.

“Fuck Ben,” you exhale raggedly. “Was it always this fucking good? Or did we just get better?”

“Honestly?” he opines as you feel him crawling over your body, covering your dewy skin with all of him as he kisses the back of your neck. “I have no idea, but I swear we must be better now.”

“No kidding… I think I almost left my body then.”

Your giggle becomes a moan as he rocks his cock against your cleft. It's like you had forgotten that, too, which seems criminally negligent—again, probably a coping mechanism. It's sizeable, and you liquefy at the thought of taking him inside you once again.

“I’m still on the Pill,” you babble quickly, lifting your head off the pillow, “and I haven’t been with anyone since we split.” It’s your shorthand to tell him you want him to fuck you without protection.

He stills. “What?!” the tone is skeptical. “No one?!?”

You twist to look at him over your shoulder. “No. I was just thinking of dating again,” you answer abashedly as he looks bewildered.

“Wow… I thought you would have them lining up,” he exhales with a head shake. “Have you seen you?!” he adds incredulously as he shifts his stance, placing his knees wider on either side of your legs.

“Hah! Not at all,” you deflect the compliment. “You?” you inquire as he drops stubbly kisses onto the sensitive skin of your upper back.

“Once. I was very drunk. We used a condom. It was so terrible I’m sort of pretending it never happened. I, umm, called your name,” he winces, pulling up from your body.

You roll over under him so you face him. “You did what?!”

“I… I called your name, when I came. I was thinking of you the whole time.” The matter-of-fact way he shrugs as he says so makes your chest ache.

Words fail as you realise how stubborn you have both been. If only you had talked to each other, things might have been different. On instinct, you push up and kiss him. On the mouth. A real kiss. The first in many years. And his response is instant and break-taking. He lowers you back onto the mattress as you wrap around each other, tongue entwining, breathing each other's air, hands running over each other, relearning the contours you used to know so well.

“I didn't like the idea of fucking anyone else,” you confess quietly over his lips. “I was probably just going to be a celibate single mum.”

“You deserve better than that,” he states fiercely, shuffling so he can cradle your face with one hand and kiss your cheeks, tender and loving.

“As do you,” you answer, eyes fluttering closed under his soft kisses and caresses.

After the utter carnality it began with, the dynamic has shifted to this slower pace—almost romantic, nostalgia swirling with a trace of trepidation of what all this could mean. So you take the initiative, needing to be rooted back in your body, in physical pleasure.

“I don't want to think anymore,” you mumble, recognising the telltale signs that he is wandering the same path. “I want to lose myself in your body.”

That handsome smile that hooked you in the first place all those years ago spreads over his face, a touch more character-filled now with the intervening couple of years but no less devastating.

“I want that too,” he concurs, moving his knees so he parts your legs, the back of your thighs sliding over the fuzzy meatiness of his quad muscles as he does so, hovering over you, engulfing you. This is what you have missed as much as anything. That feeling of being so wholly with someone else, a warm human body moving with, over, under, around you, skin and sweat, muscle and bone.

His lips are hot and wet on your neck when he nudges your entrance and slides in with one well-angled thrust, his sense memory of how your bodies fit together. Your inhale is sharp, and your fingers grip tight around his bicep as you feel that wondrous, heartstopping moment of being invaded viscerally, pushed open, your walls clinging to him.

“Oh my god….” It’s an unintended, uncensored, gasping response that tumbles from his lips. “You are on fire,” he hisses as he bottoms out.

“You did this to me,” you avow, wanting to fan the flames, to make him burn white-hot. A clawing need to make it unforgettable.

Your lips meet as he begins to move, and you are slightly overwhelmed. Not just by the physicality as you find a wonderful rhythm moving in unison, but as if you are floating between the world of the past and the very real present. A coming home, a full circle, a reunion. You don't vocalise it, but you swear you can see it in his eyes, too, as he moves over you. His gaze holds yours as he surges into your body and withdraws again, a tidal motion that makes you cling harder, chasing the moment you break together.

It seems strange this is happening during daylight hours. It feels more like the type of illicit, smouldering passion that can only come out after dark.

Your whole being rolls with the force of his thrusts, pleasure humming over you, so you push back, chasing sensations. Mapping the muscles of his back under your fingertips, his mouth rediscovering that weak spot on your neck that makes you shudder under him. His lips curl into a victorious smile as he surges harder, hissing as you dig your nails into his shoulder blades.

Sliding your feet higher on his luxurious soft sheets, you wrap your legs around his thighs, your heels nudging his shapely rear, letting your body plead for more. His movements become quicker as you grab one of his hands and suckle his fingers, his mouth open and gusting hot on your neck, watching you run your tongue over his fingernails. He groans as you suddenly suck them deep into your mouth, tasting the tang of your own juices and an undercurrent that is all him. When thoroughly soaked, you slowly pull those fingers from your mouth, little strings of saliva webbing between you.

“Touch me, Ben,” you plead, pushing that hand down towards the junction of your thighs, between your bodies.

With a devastating smirk, he does just that. Fingers sliding over your engorged throbbing pearl, just the right amount of pressure to make your cunt clench around him, a vice-like grip that has his hips and fingers stuttering to a halt.

“Fuck, do that again,” he begs.

With a smirk, you oblige, squeezing your internal muscles tight in a slow pulsing motion. His cock feels huge, hard, and heavy as you do so.

His eyes close, and a shudder you can feel runs through him, buried to the root, feeling his cock pulse heavily.

Then his eyes fly open, and the intensity there takes you aback as his fingers start to swirl at a dizzying pace, restarting his thrusts, urgent now, hunched over you, enveloping you, the air between your bodies hot and clammy as he pushes intently, pleading with you to come for him.

Your lips meet in an artless but deep kiss, tongues dancing, desperate hot breaths into each other's mouths. His fingers circling your clit pushes you towards your peak, the catalyst you need. The telltale ripples deep inside, clamping your body to his, his cries at the intensity fading as you are swept away, your vision whiting out. Ripples fan out to every fibre, that addictive mind-numbing bliss like nothing else.

You clenching on him is what pulls him over the edge, too. His grip on you is rough; his mouth slack on your cheek, curling his whole body into you as he cums, the warmth of it blooming deep.

No words are spoken as he collapses onto you, panting hard. As he recovers, you bury your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp until he is almost purring into your skin.

“Why the hell did we divorce?” you echo his line from earlier, and his responding laughter shakes your whole being.

Ravenous, after your exertions, he orders food delivery, insisting you both stay naked as you eat on the living room rug. Dusk slips to nighttime as you watch mindless, entertaining shows, chatting easily about everything and nothing, wrapped around each other like a vine, drinking excellent wine, and feeding each other.

He reaches for dessert, Eton Mess, and with a cheeky eyebrow raise, smears it over your naked breasts, using his tongue to thoroughly clean you up and tease you beyond distraction. Before you know it, he is covered, too, and you blow him right there, licking whipped cream from his leaking cock as his thighs tremble under your hands in that endearing way you remember. Before he comes, he begs you to stop, to ride him, and so you do - messy, sticky, giggling - right there on his living room floor, the rug abraiding your kneecaps, his large hands a vice around your hips.

“We definitely need to shower,” he opines as he watches you extract a shard of strawberry from his belly button as his cock slips from your body. You laugh in agreement as he reaches up and pulls a fleck of meringue from your hair.

Collapsing into bed with shower-warm skin, half an hour later, you fall asleep in an embrace.

The following morning

You awaken to his lips on your cheek, pulling you back into the curve of his body.

“Spend the day with me,” he implores, his voice rough with sleep.

“I want to,” you hum drowsily, reaching back to run your fingers through his luscious head of hair.

“Go on, be daring,” he goads into your skin. “Mrs Bridgerton,” he adds coquettishly, knowing those are now the magic words to make you do as he wants.

“Stop weaponising that,” you scold lazily, with zero vehemence.

“Not a chance,” he chuckles, rolling you onto your back and crawling over you, arms bracketing your shoulders, his mouth a lazy, lopsided grin. He looks positively angelic, his riot of hair backlit like a halo in the morning light leaking through the skylight. Even as he does the sinful thing of rocking his rigid cock against the apex of your thighs teasingly. Just as you push your legs out wider, welcoming him, he stills and instead reaches over and grabs your phone from the bedside table, handing it to you with a pointed look.

So you call in sick to work.

As a reward, he slips under the covers as you are apologising to your boss with a fake croaky voice and slides his tongue deep into you; you have to fake a coughing fit to disguise your groan. You grab a fist of his hair in silent reprimand, but it just seems to spur him on.

“If you had to call work today, I would have you in my mouth as revenge for that,” you slur as he works his magic, knowing he has gone freelance in the intervening years.

“I’ll happily put in a call to myself later,” he jokes unseen under the sheet, “and you can do as you wish while I tell myself I'm taking the day off.”

“Self-employment must be fun,” you comment wistfully, then cry out as he sucks so hard on your clit that you knock your phone off the bed, your leg kicking out so strong that he grabs it and pins you down.

“It has its perks,” his voice muffled into your body, “like I can spend all day right here… well, at least until you need some breakfast.”

You can't even form a response to that as his tongue spears into you; all you can do is hiss in agreement.

—

A little while later, Benedict is pulling ingredients out of the fridge to make brunch when your phone vibrates on his kitchen island.

“Oh god, it’s El,” you fret, putting down the cafetière you had just poured from.

“Why is she calling you?” he frowns.

“I was supposed to go on a date last night that she arranged,” you wince. “My very first one. But someone completely derailed that plan, didn't they?” you pout comically.

He chuckles. “Put it on speaker; this should be fun.”

“You had better have a damn good excuse for standing Dan up last night,” Eloise complains in lieu of a greeting.

“Well, good morning to you too, El,” you reply lightheartedly, taking a sip of coffee.

“Why does it sound so echoey?”

“You're on speaker while I make brunch.” It’s a slight lie; he’s the one making it; you are simply enjoying the view. Seeing as he is doing so in black boxer briefs and nothing more, your eyes mapping his torso with a covetous stare.

“Well, I'm waiting…” she points out.

“For what?” You giggle as Benedict pulls up behind you, crowding into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist, and planting a kiss on your temple. You sway slightly with his movement.

“For your excuse, and it better be a good one. That you are in a hospital somewhere, or you met the love of your life yesterday,” she warns, “and seeing as you are making brunch when you should be at work, I doubt it’s the former.”

“Maybe it’s the latter,” you breathe, her not realising how true that suggestion is, twisting your head to look at him, and he shoots you a molten look before your lips meet.

“Really? You met someone else?” her tone suddenly excited, forgetting her annoyance.

“It took me completely by surprise.” You exhale over his lips, and he smiles that crooked smile that makes your stomach flip.

“So… wait, are you at home?” she asks, suddenly very invested.

“Nope,” you pop the p in the word, and Benedict shakes with silent laughter, tilting his head to kiss down your neck, your hand sliding into his hair as you lean into his movements. God, he is good at this.

“Are you at his place?” she hisses, impressed.

“Maybe” you singsong.

“Take me off speaker, you nutter!”

“Why? Maybe he is enjoying hearing this,” you tease.

“He’s right there?” Eloise spits, disbelieving.

“Hello, El,” Benedict pipes up, between kisses of your skin, his warm fingers tugging on the knot of the borrowed silk dressing gown you wear. It's dark blue and swamps you, seeing as it's his.

“Ben?!?!” she splutters. “What the…? How the…? Whattttt?!?!”

“I'm hanging up the phone now, sister,” he rumbles as he opens your robe and slides it off your shoulders so you are naked. “Unless you want to listen to us making love over this kitchen island?”

“Oh fuck no,” she positively shudders and makes a retching sound. “Wait… you guys….what the…?”

“Don’t tell anyone yet, please,” your request squeaks, his erection pressing into the naked valley of your buttocks as he reaches in front of you to end the call.

“Goodbye, El,” Benedict laughs.

“You have a fuck tonne of explaining to d….,” her warning is cut off by him hanging up.

“She's going to be insufferable when she gets over the shock,” you point out and then sigh as his hands land on your hips and his warm, damp mouth is on your shoulder.

“A problem for another time,” he assures you as you feel him release you briefly to push down his underwear. He's now as naked as you.

“You meant it about the kitchen island then?” you simper over your shoulder and groan as he surges his cock between your thighs from behind.

“What do you think?” he teases, his voice pitched so low it echoes around his whole body and into yours.

“I think I could get used to this,” you whisper as he leans you forward over the cooling quartz surface and pushes aside your hair to suck insistently on your neck.

“Good,” he rumbles, “because I am going to fuck you right here every morning before breakfast.”

“Every morning?” Your breath hitching at the idea this might be something more than a one-time moment of madness.

“Oh yes,” he murmurs into your skin, “I want to spend every moment I can with you, beside you, inside you,” his tone smoky, and with that last word, he slips inside you, your responding moan so loud he huffs amused. “The noises you make, it's the same as years ago, so exquisite,” he smiles into your hair, the heated stretch as he opens you up, always so breathtaking.

“Feels so good,” you pant lightly as he bottoms out inside you—a solid weight pressing in all the right places.

“Yes, you do, my love,” the term of endearment slipping from his lips so casually, sounding so perfectly natural to your ears, you reach back and grab his left hand in yours, missing the sound your wedding rings used to make when you did so in days of old.

But then he starts to move inside you, and there are no more coherent thoughts in your head—just his name tumbling from your lips and his hands moulded to your body.

Nine weeks later

The hardest person to explain it all to is your daughter.

Everything snowballed so fast after that fateful day, you and Benedict spending every spare moment you could together—even sneaking into each other's homes after Emilia’s bedtime. It was no longer just sex; it was something much, much more. It's when she awakes one night and almost catches sight of him working in your home office while you sleep that you both realise the time has come.

Benedict turns up at your place as agreed. You open the door to him and place a lingering kiss on his cheek as he sweeps in, holding a bunch of your favourite flowers and a gift bag for Emilia containing all her favourite sweets.

“Bribery, what a genius idea,” you laugh quietly into his ear, knowing Emilia can see you both from her vantage point at the dining table, doing some colouring in.

“Daddy!” she calls out effusively when she looks up, jumping out of her chair and running over.

Benedict hands you the flowers and gift to pick up Emilia, swinging her up into his arms as her little hands wrap around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” her ask is one of happy confusion. “It's not one of your days.”

“Indeed it's not,” he smiles indulgently as you reach over and tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “Mummy and I here have some important news,” he adds, looking at you askance with an almost bashful smile.

“Let’s all go and sit,” you suggest, gesturing towards the living room as you place the flowers and gift bag on the kitchen island. Emilia won't release her grip, so Benedict walks with her in his arms. She only lets go when he reaches the sofa, snuggling against him as soon as he sits, grabbing one of her favourite cuddly toys from the sectional arm as she does so.

“I'm so happy you are here, Daddy,” she beams, and you already feel misty-eyed as he subconsciously places a hand over his heart and agrees with her sentiment.

You initially take a seat on the chaise at an angle from them, but Benedict shoots you a puzzled puppy dog look and pats the cushion next to him. So, with slight apprehension, you swing around to sit next to him, and he slides a hand onto your knee, which doesn't go unnoticed by your eagle-eyed daughter on his other side.

“Why are you touching Mummy like that?” she frowns. A tiny part of your heart cracking at the realisation that she has never known the love you once shared—the one you are rebuilding slowly, piece by piece, day by day.

“Remember I said that Mummy and I have some news?” Benedict begins softly, his long fingers wrapping all the way around to caress the crease at the back of your knee, a nervous tick of his you recall like a ghost from the past.

“Yes...” she responds warily, tugging on the ears of her toy, instinctively concerned.

“Well… Mummy and I have been spending time together as we used to when you were a baby,” he explains slowly, “and we really like each other again.” His lips twitch a beguiling smile as he turns briefly to look at you, his earnest face melting the anxious lump burning behind your ribs. “That means we touch each other and hug and kiss.”

“Emilia,” you join in, your voice a little tremulant. “How would you feel if Mummy and Daddy started spending time with you together rather than apart?”

She perks up, and she stops her fidgeting. “Really?” the hopeful tone makes your emotions bubble up again.

“Yes, really,” he replies.

“Every evening?” her hands clapping together with glee, climbing wholly into Benedict's lap. “Please, mummy?” she begs, the eyes she inherited from him pleading with you insistently as if the decision rests purely with you.

“If that is what you both want, then yes,” you offer tentatively, your look drifting from her to him.

“I want nothing more in the whole world,” he states sincerely, his gaze never leaving yours, his Adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow as he does so. You can’t look away from those soulful eyes, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

“Do you love Mummy, Daddy?” Emilia cuts in, breaking the hypnotic trance, looking at him expectantly.

“I never stopped,” he confesses truthfully, the hand on your knee feeling weightier somehow, the lump in your chest appearing again, but this time it's the furthest thing from anxiety. “We just lost our way for a little while, that’s all,” he says as much for you as your daughter. “Everything is working out as it always should have,” he ends, his tone wavering with emotion.

“Will we all live together?” she enthuses.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely believing it yourself. It's something you had discussed just a few days ago, the realisation this was very real coming to you both. “We will. Soon. We just have some things to sort out first.”

“Where would you prefer to live, Emilia?” Benedict queries. “We will keep both houses for now. So you can decide for Mummy and Daddy.”

“Is this where you lived when I was a baby?” she asks, pointing at the ground.

“No darling, Daddy and I sold that when we split up as part of the agreement we signed.” You see him wince at the memory, his fingers gripping your knee tighter reflexively. “But that is okay; that is the past. We want somewhere better for our future together anyway,” you assure, feeling the weight of his doting stare as you speak but keeping your attention fixed on Emilia.

She nods sagely, her little brain absorbing everything you say with the fearsome intellect she possesses. Then she swings over the arm Benedict has looped around your knee and clambers limbfully into your lap. You accept her embrace, grateful and relieved, Benedict's arm releasing your knee to slide behind your head, grabbing your shoulder, and pulling you both into his arms.

“I think we should all live here,” she nods decisively. “I like my room here better than at Daddy's; it's bigger,” she explicates, a touch sheepishly.

Benedict and you laugh together at her flawless reasoning, your heart melting as he nuzzles into your hair.

“I do believe the lady has spoken,” he chuckles, his lips grazing your ear.

And thus, it is decided.

Two weeks later

You ask Emilia to keep the news under wraps until her sixth birthday party two weeks later. Agreeing that if she does, she could be the one to break the news to your families—a bribe, indeed, but an effective one. Eloise is the only person with any inkling and has seemingly kept it secret, so this will likely be shocking news to many.

The night before the party, after Emilia is safely tucked up in bed, you are sharing a bath in your oversized tub.

“Is there anything else we need for tomorrow?” his question lazy as you lean back against him, his hands rubbing soothing circles over your tummy under the water.

“Hmmm, the cake and balloons should be delivered in the morning; I think everything is in hand,” you hum, closing your eyes and resting on his shoulder.

“I was thinking…” he begins.

“Uh oh…” You interject cheekily, popping your eyes open as he tickles your diaphragm in playful retaliation.

“Yes, yes, I know, brains are your thing…” he grumbles good-naturedly, “but I was thinking long-term; perhaps we should start to look for a new place? If we sell both of ours, we could get something nice right around here, with a big garden for Emilia, perhaps a home office and art studio space for me. And you know…. more bedrooms,” the last two words uttered in a throatier register, those fingers spidering lower under the water into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“More kids?” your breath catching.

“Yes, didn't we always say we would have three?” he murmurs, his lips on your earlobe, sucking gently. Weirdly, the discussion of it all - buying a place together, having more kids - seems entirely natural, not jarring, even though you are less than three months into your new dynamic.

“That was when we were in our twenties, Ben,” you point out, but it fades into a hitching, needy sound in the back of your throat as his lips map the cord of your neck and his fingertips slide over your clit.

“And are you saying at the ripe old age of thirty-four, we are past it?” he checks, bemused.

“Thirty-three for me, thirsty five for you, old man,” you point out, attempting a dry tone but mostly just breathy as he teases you expertly.

“I was averaging,” he states, pressing harder so you moan loudly.

“You are never average,” you flatter, rapidly losing the ability to converse.

“I love how I can just shut off that brain of yours doing this,” he exhales gustily into your ear, his fingers circling insistently.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you groan.

“With pleasure,” he simpers, suddenly looping his arms around your knees to pull you open so he can slip inside you.

The following day

Emilia can barely contain the secret as the various members of the frankly enormous Bridgerton clan arrive. Your family, consisting of your parents and just one sister, is tiny in comparison, even as she strolls in with her boisterous boys and harried-looking husband in tow.

“What is with Emilia today?” she queries, ever the sharp observer, as she hands you a cheese board she has brought.

“Birthday excitement?” you shrug, finding a space for her contribution on the snack table as you attempt to sound non-committal.

“Hmm,” her mien thoughtful, “it seems more than that. I wished her a happy birthday, and her response was, ‘Oh, thank you, auntie, I almost forgot.’”

“I'm sure she was joking,” you placate. “Help me plate up the sausage rolls?” An intentional distraction. “Colin just turned up; I'm not sure the hundred I have baked are enough.”

A couple of hours later, food has been consumed, the birthday song has been sung loudly, and the cake cut and eaten. Music plays in the garden, and an alarmingly large gaggle of kids are all bouncing over-zealously in the small bouncy castle you have rented as Benedict materialises at your side. It seems strange that his hands do not slide around your waist, but the announcement has yet to be public, so he maintains a respectful distance.

“You think there is a child capacity on that thing?” You nod at the colourful inflatable taking up a good third of your compact garden.

“Simon claims to have it in hand,” he breezes.

“And you believe him?” you skew your mouth into a slant.

“He’s rich enough; he can pay everyone off if there are injuries,” Benedict smirks, and you can't help but giggle into your wine glass.

Just then, Emilia comes running towards you, out of breath from bouncing. “Is it time, Mummy, Daddy?” she effuses.

Sharing a glance, you nod, and Benedict fishes his phone out of his pocket to turn down the music, then borrows your wine glass, tapping a knife against it to draw everyone's attention.

“Everyone,” he calls, “our beautiful birthday girl has a different but very special announcement.”

All the adults turn their attention, even as the excited childish squeals from the bouncy castle continue in the background.

“Mummy and Daddy have some news they want me to share,” she begins as your eyes drift over to Eloise.

“What could it possibly be, Emilia?” Eloise goads, her face so smug you almost want to shake her. You settle for a pointed stare instead.

“Mummy and Daddy… are in love again!!!!” Emilia yells. “We are moving in as a family!” She then bows deeply for her assembled audience, no doubt expecting rapturous applause.

The assembled, shocked, and quiet faces confuse her, and she twists to look at you both for reassurance. “Did I do it wrong?” she asks, her little face screwing up in confusion.

“No, no darling, it was perfect,” you reassure, stroking her hair.

Benedict reaches down and hauls her into his arms, giving her the comfort she needs, and she buries her face in his neck, her translucent costume fairy wings slightly obscuring his face from everyone.

“Are you serious?” Kate pipes up cautiously as if a spokesperson for all those gathered, Anthony shooting her an incredulous sideways look that she, of course, completely ignores.

“Yes,” Benedict confirms, shuffling Emilia sideways to his hip and wrapping the arm not holding her around your back. “About three months ago, we were reunited by accident.” Gratefully, he fogs over the details. You are not sure a misdialed masturbation call should be the start of any anecdote at a family gathering. “And… things progressed rather rapidly,” he admits, giving you a quick sideways smile and a squeeze of your waist, “and here we are…”

“You’re in love again?” Violet checks, her hands clenched hopefully over her heart.

“Yes,” you nod to her, turning back to look at Benedict, “very, very much so.”

She starts the applause, which soon ripples out to everyone as they absorb the news. From over by the bouncy castle, there is a supportive whistle from Simon as he effortlessly frees one of his offspring wedged in an upside-down position before giving the thumbs up.

Benedict nuzzles your temple, and you know you are blushing as he echoes a gentle “very, very much so” in your ear before the assembled masses move in to offer you their congratulations in turn.

Twelve weeks later

You are idly clicking through houses on Rightmove on a Tuesday evening when a wave of nausea hits you so violently that you barely make it to the downstairs cloakroom toilet in time. Same as the previous day.

“I’m never letting you convince me that tacos from a food truck are a good idea, ever again,” you grouse as you re-emerge into the hallway after splashing your face and rinsing your mouth.

“We ate the same thing on Sunday, and I’m perfectly fine,” he points out as he reaches the bottom step of the staircase, having finished reading Emilia's bedtime story.

“Well, I'm sick as a parrot,” you lament, dabbing your forehead with a damp flannel you snagged. “And I'm so hot. I've been feeling off for two days on the trot. Mornings and evenings. I swear I've been poisoned…”

He suddenly goes very still, and your brow knits.

“What?” Your confusion grows as he appears to be doing mental arithmetic, touching his fingers.

“Aren’t you late?” he says quietly, looking up from his hands with the oddest but sweetest expression.

“What do you… Oh…” you trail off, and suddenly, your whole body runs even hotter.

OH.

“Are you?” his whisper so hopeful but reticent.

“I… I could be…” You stutter, a little blindsided. It's the best you can offer.

He pulls you into him, surrounding you, cupping your jaw, his eyes always so expressive. “We should find out,” he murmurs.

“The big Sainsbury's should still be open,” you blurt, unsure of what else to say.

He tilts his forehead against yours with an amused huff at your eminent practicality. “You stay here with Emilia; I’ll go,” he smiles, kissing your lips tenderly before backing away and grabbing his wallet and car keys from the hallway table.

Within the hour, you are staring at a white and blue stick again. Dumbfounded by the news, just as you were almost seven years ago.

“Fuck me…” You sigh under your breath, belatedly realising you really shouldn't have been as cavalier with your Pill taking; now you are having sex regularly again.

“I think that's the probable cause, yes,” he jests softly, charmingly treading on eggshells until he can fully gauge your reaction.

You break into giggles, rolling your eyes but collapsing into his arms, and his relief is palpable.

“I know it's so soon, and we only talked about it in theory… but…. God, I’m so happy,” he admits into your hair, pulling back to look in your eyes. “Are you?”

“I'm feeling a million different things,” you answer honestly, then reach up to hold his face, “but yes, I'm happy, Ben. A little shocked, considering I thought it was just bad tacos, but happy.”

His responding smile is sunlight and pure devotion.

“I love you,” he declares, heartfelt, simple, genuine. It's not remotely the first time he has done so since you reunited, but it feels particularly appropriate.

“I love you too.”

Two weeks later

Benedict takes you to dinner in Covent Garden after a house viewing. You both know it’s the one you will buy. A handsome Victorian detached with dual bay windows that felt like home the minute you walked in, even before you laid eyes on the expansive mature gardens and the all-glass extension that would be the perfect art studio for him.

Only when you stroll past a fancy bank after dinner do you clock the date on a glowing display; it's the anniversary of the fateful day you met at a party seven years ago.

But, fifteen minutes later, it's still a complete surprise when he gets down on one knee, Thamesside, the city twinkling around you.

“Marry me once more, y/n? Please? Be Mrs Bridgerton, again?”

There was only ever going to be one answer.

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