#chap. 20 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

knightjpg · 1 year ago

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Brick by Brick

You have his favourite tea on hand. You ask him what he'd like for dinner this weekend. One time you opened the door for him within seconds of buzzing, like you'd been as eager for his visit as he was.�� And maybe most devastating of all: you routinely start making too much food for even Simon to finish.

tags: 🔞construction worker simon/neighbour reader, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), size kink, brief mention of simon's childhood abuse

part 1 | part 2

After that things shift, just a little. You still sit with Simon while he works, handing him tools he teaches you the names of; still try to convince him to get pay for his work around the house.

But you have his favourite tea on hand. You ask him what he'd like for dinner this weekend. One time you opened the door for him within seconds of buzzing, like you'd been as eager for his visit as he was.

And maybe most devastating of all: you routinely start making too much food for even Simon to finish.

“Thought you might want some leftovers for lunch,” you tell him, holding out two tupperware boxes. “If you're working those long hours you have to eat right, you know?”

When Simon opens them at home, just before tucking them away in his work bag for tomorrow, his chest clenches. It's not just leftovers. There's dried beef jerky, a pack of crackers that go well with coffee, and a fist-sized chunk of banana bread. And—

A little note.

His heart hammers against his chest when he unfolds it. It's nearly dark out, crickets chirping soft and low somewhere beneath the window. The only sound in his kitchen is the ticking of a clock.

Good luck today! Don't work too hard :)

“Christ,” he mumbles, fingers tracing over the ink. Pretty. Like you. Like every fucking thing you do.

Summer is nearing its end, and Simon is running out of excuses. Part of him feels proud to see the house shape up to the best it can be, but over the months the boxes have nearly all disappeared. He knows—has helped you unpack God knows how many books. Helped you put together a new bookcase, even.

But if he's no longer useful, what's keeping you from closing your door on him? Dread rises sharp and fast in Simon's throat when he thinks about a dark, cold home waiting for him as his only company. He passes your door on the way home, more often than not sees your silhouette against the warm light of your window. Illuminating the hard dirty edges of him.

You've started feeding him, this big mean watchdog, and he might choke on his leash if you stop now.

“Hello, what is that?”

Simon sharply yanks his lunch away from Johnny's grabby paws.

“None f’your business.”

“Is that bloody banana bread? You've got to be fuckin’ me.”

“That's homemade,” Kyle says unhelpfully from just behind Simon's shoulder.

“Piss off,” Simon grumbles.

Johnny does not, of course, piss off. Instead he grins, cheeky and wide. “Didn't know y’had a bird, Simon.”

“Fuck,” Kyle groans. “Is that roast beef? That smells so good. Where'd you get this?”

Johnny snorts. “More like who's he blackmailin'.”

Simon glowers at Johnny, then says through a mouthful, “My girl.”

If there'd been any hope of them dropping it, it's gone now. Simon realises his mistake as soon the words leave his mouth and Kyle and Johnny light up.

They're incessant. Dog him at every opportunity—who is she? What's her name? What's she look like? Show us a photo, Simon, dinnae be so selfish.

Simon suffers it for a week until he slams his gloves on Price's table and threatens someone's going to end up in the cement mixer by the end of the day if he doesn't do something about it.

They quiet down after that, though they can't help but ask after you every now and then—even Price, who despite his congratulatory shoulder clap admits he wishes he had a sweet thing of his own.

And the lunches keep going. As do the notes, every one of which Simon keeps carefully tucked away in a box at home. He didn't find one last night, and he suppresses the wave of disappointment. Maybe you forgot. Maybe you were just tired, and maybe he's grown too comfortable with your casual affection.

So when a little piece of paper that was stuck to the bottom of the lid flutters onto the ground the next day Simon is unprepared. The two seconds of surprise cost him—Johnny dives after it like a hawk and scoops it before it's barely touched the concrete.

“You little shit—”

Simon's at him immediately, and Johnny, delighted by what he thinks is a funny fucking little game, twists and dodges while fumbling the note open with one hand.

“Looking forward to dinner tonight. Be safe today,” Johnny reads before Simon snatches it from him with a hard shove to his head. “Aww, Simon, you lucky shite. C’mon, give us one o’ those cookies, aye? If you're goin’ home to a candle lit dinner.”

“Get your own cookies,” Simon huffs, and curls one arm around his tupperware protectively while he eats.

Looking forward.

So is he.

“Simon!”

Simon whips his head around and catches you stepping out of your car with a wave. You've arrived home just after him today, and his breath catches in his throat when he sees your dress flutter prettily around your legs.

You're dressed up all nice today—must've been at university, then. Simon doesn't know which he likes better: the shorts you wear at home or the glimpse of cleavage he gets when you wear a nice work blouse.

His dick throbs when he holds his own hand up in greeting, hanging back just to get those few extra seconds with you.

He's not sure why today is especially bad. Probably doesn't help that every time he jacks off in the shower you're the one he thinks of, imaging your pretty lips wrapped around his cock. It's hard to resist the indulgence after a long hard day of sweating and laying brick, then coming home and only getting to look, not touch. He doesn't want to stain you with his filth, but what's he supposed to do? He wants you.

And his desire has sat festering in the confines of his rib cage for months. It curls his hands in tight fists so he doesn't reach for you by accident the way he does in his dreams, keeps him from leaning in to taste your lips to see if they're as sweet as your cobbler pies.

“Alright?” he asks when you get closer. You feel off, distant, and when you nod it feels like it's more for his sake than for the truth of it.

“Yeah. Um.” You adjust the strap of the bag on your shoulder, shifting on your feet. “I wanted to let you know I can't do dinner tomorrow. I'm, um, I have a date, so...”

The spin of the world stutters for a second.

Simon sucks in a quiet breath. “That so.”

“Yeah.” You look up at him with a sad little smile. Not the kind of face you'd expect from someone who just scored a date, but Simon is too wrapped up in his misery to notice. “How was your day?”

Normal. Unsuspecting. Good, even, until you told him some twat is taking you out to dinner.

“Fine,” he hears himself say. Adds, “Watchin’ a match tonight.”

An excuse—an out for both of you. You won't have to feel obligated to ask him if he'd like to come ‘round for a meal, and he won't have to pretend he doesn't feel like throwing up.

“Go Manchester,” you reply with a smile.

Just like Simon, they don't score.

He waits up for you. It's pathetic, really—that of all things this is what gets him to dig around for a pack of smokes. Been mostly clean ever since you moved in next to him, his half-hearted attempts to quit finally mounting up to something with real resolve.

He doesn't want to taste nicotine when he eats your meals.

Even threw out his lighter. Which means when he finds a crushed, dust-caked pack with only one cigarette in it behind his couch he has to light it with a match and shaky hands.

It tastes awful. But it's familiar, and sometimes he craves the burn even when he sees his dad putting out his own cigs on Simon's legs behind his eyelids.

The evening grows colder around him, late summer skies tinted with dark purples and blues. It's quiet in the neighbourhood. He's the only one out this late—everyone else has retreated to the comfort of their homes, ready to turn in for the night.

It should feel peaceful, but all Simon feels is anxious and on edge. Not even the smoke calms his nerves.

Should he back off, leave you to the happiness you deserve? Throw everything away in one last shot, ask to take you out like he's wanted to forever?

Words are no good, but he's tried so desperately to show you that he'd do just about anything if you asked. To let you know that underneath his gruff silences he doesn't bite the hand that feeds him and that he'd rip anyone else to shreds for raising a finger against you.

Simon's head lifts when his ears pick up the rumbling of a car. Is it...?

It is.

Lamplight flashes over the cobbled street, and then the rumble of the engine turns off with a click.

You're alone—thank God. Simon doesn't know what he would've done if you'd taken your date home.

You look worn out, and not the happy kind after a successful lay. Just tired—to the point where you almost don't notice him and jump when you do. You take a startled step back from his hulking silhouette leaning against the stone little fence curling around all the houses along the street you share, before pausing and asking in a soft voice:

“Simon?”

And because he's a masochist he asks, “Y’have fun?”

He expects a yes. At best a non-committal shrug—at worst an enthusiastic smile. But you look down at your shoes, chew your lip, and say, “No.” A breath. “No. It was awful. He was a twat, and he tried to feel me up under the table, and he's been hounding me at university for months, and I got so sick of it I just said yes but now I'm going to have to email HR and ugh—!”

Your voice breaks on the last sentence and you sniffle, turning your face away from Simon so you can give it a quick wipe with the back of your hand.

He's up on his feet in an instant, trying to take slow breaths so he doesn't act on the overwhelming urge to hunt down the wankstain and crush his fingers so he can never fucking touch you again. Your dog bites without warning or remorse, and everything in him wants to show your sad excuse of a date just how sharp his teeth are.

But he can't. You're hurting, and that's more important than breaking some bloke's nose.

And so Simon tries for softness as much as he's capable of it, large scarred hand hesitantly landing on your shoulder. It's all the coaxing you need to lean into his touch, and when Simon shifts a little closer your head falls on his shoulder. He burns with a different kind of fire.

“Sorry,” you sniffle. “I'm okay, I really am, it was just such a—such a—”

“S’alright,” Simon rasps. He pets your hair and strokes your back with a clumsy touch, unsure of how far he should, can, is allowed to go. “Y’should've called me. Would've come t’pick you up, maybe sock him a new one.”

He'd do more than that if you'd let him. He'd take you home and made sure the only time you cried was when he worked his fat cock inside you.

Christ, he's going to hell.

“I didn't want to bother you,” you say in a small voice.

“Sweetheart. You're never botherin’ me.” You let out a shaky sigh, and Simon tucks your head under his chin a little more securely. “Woulda made sure y’got home safe.”

It's quiet, then, save for the sound of a car driving away somewhere down the road. Simon doesn't say anything else. He doesn't want to break the spell that you're under. You feel so soft in his arms, his sweet bird, finally come home to where you belong.

“I kept wishing it was you.” Your voice is so soft he almost doesn't catch it, but before he can process it you pull yourself out of his embrace, cursing under your breath. “Sorry. Sorry—forget I said that. I'm... I'm gonna go home.”

Simon's hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. You stare at him with big wet eyes that has the pit of his stomach swoop low.

“Y’wish it was me?”

His voice is low and rough, strained with want.

Your cheeks burn and you avert your eyes, though you don't pull your hand away. “Sorry. Ignore me, I'm just...”

“I'll take you,” Simon says a little too quickly. “Anywhere you wanna go. Dinner. Movies.” He pauses, trying to remember what people do for fun. “The library.”

There. You hiccup a little laugh, finally, and the beginnings of a smile tug at your mouth.

“The library?”

Simon smiles a little, too. “Anywhere you want,” he repeats. Even the fucking library.

Your gaze drops to your hands, and you carefully turn your palm against his. “I think I'd like that.”

Simon swallows and lets his fingers intertwine with yours. “Yeah?”

“I don't really care where we go, though. If it's with you.”

Jesus bloody Christ.

“Okay,” Simon says, voice tight. “Alright. We'll—we'll figure it out. We'll go somewhere.” A breeze hits you as he says it, and you shiver. “...Right now let's just get you home.”

You nod, the fatigue overtaking your features again. Simon walks you all the way to your door, squints against the night sensor he installed himself.

You hover in the doorway before opening your mouth, closing it, then take a small step forward to rise on your toes. Simon's heartbeat kicks up under your hand where you steady yourself on his chest, and then he feels your lips press against his cheek. It's his bad one, the one with the nasty scar from a bar fight long ago.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“Yeah,” he manages, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “’Course.”

The door closes with a soft click.

When you mention wanting to hike out on a trail nearby Simon, true to his word, makes it happen. It's not so bloody hot anymore and it's nice, hearing the birds chirp overhead. Nice to exist in a world where everything is washed in shades of mottled green, hearing the dirt crunch under his feet.

It relaxes him. Makes his muscles untense. You promised him a picnic at the end of the trail, and to Simon's delight he succeeds in coaxing you to feed him bites of your homemade sandwiches in the midst of tall grass and meadow flowers.

When you get home, sweat and sun lingering on your skin, Simon has full intentions of dropping you off at your doorstep and wishing you a good night. Maybe get another kiss if he's lucky.

And he does—but you linger, soft lips hovering over his cheek. His fingers curl and uncurl against his sides, waiting and wondering.

“Please kiss me?” you breathe on his skin, and that's all it takes.

He surprises himself with the intensity of it, but fucking hell, he's wanted you for so long. His shoulders hunch, neck bent low, and he slots his mouth over yours. Your little fingers grab at his shirt for balance, and he pushes you against your doorframe. Every time he pulls away you make a small noise of protest and chase his lips, and though Simon hasn't had a drop of alcohol today he feels well on his way to hammered.

“Do you want to—please come inside—?”

Simon groans and rests his forehead against yours. Fuck. “I want to—want t’do this right,” he rasps.

You exhale with a shaky breath. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes glittering like stars. Simon's stomach lurches at seeing you want him. “Right, um. Of course. I just—I've thought about... about you. For a—a really long timmf—”

Simon groans into your mouth. He cups your cheeks, one hand sliding to hold you at the back of your neck. A sweat breaks out along his spine when he imagines you at night, in your bedroom, fucking yourself with your little fingers. Whimpering his name...

“Yeah? Y’want me to take you to bed, sweetheart?” he murmurs, and you shiver.

The two of you barely make it past the door until Simon is stealing the breath from your lungs again. He's wanted this for so long it's a little hard to stop, even if it's to break apart for air. Miraculously you seem to want it as much as he does, seem as desperate for his touch as he is for yours.

When has anyone wanted him this bad? When has he ever felt like he'd die on the spot if he didn't get inside you right the fuck now?

He doesn't need to ask you where the bedroom is. This place has felt his touch almost as much as yours, has shaped up into a cosy little home that is part of him, too. Like he wants to be part of you.

Simon simply scoops you up and carries you straight to bed, forgetting to be gentle when he deposits on the mattress. His head is buzzing, his heart is thundering, and he needs you now.

Fortunately you don't seem to mind much. Your hands immediately fly to his belt, tug at the metal impatiently, then fumble with his zipper with trembling hands. Simon pulls your top over your head, throws it somewhere on the floor without a care followed by his own.

“Lie back,” he husks, and makes quick work of your trousers. Pauses just for a second to take in the growing wet patch of your panties.

“Simon,” you whine softly.

He drops to his knees and slides his large hands over your thighs, transfixed. He smooths over the goosebumps on your legs, presses a kiss to your knee.

“Want me t’take these off?” he rasps, snapping the band of your panties. You lift your hips in silent assent. Simon helps you shimmy off your underwear and suppresses a moan when a string of sticky arousal clings to the fabric—then follows it right to the source.

You gasp when he kisses your folds before gently spreading them with big warm fingers. “Sweet little cunt,” Simon mutters, and then he goes to town.

He starts with slow, wet licks, feeling out what you like and what's too much. He keeps it light for a while just to feel you squirm and to hear your breathing turn ragged, then backs off just when your knees start trembling. He smiles when you whimper his name with a desperate little “please".

“Such good manners.” His breath washes over your clit, and your hips try to twitch away from him. “Proper sweetheart, yeah?”

It's great fun, playing with you, but his cock is throbbing painfully and he's leaking everywhere, and he very much intends for you to end the night feeling so blissed out you let him sleep next to you.

So Simon hoists you closer, hooks your thighs over his shoulder, and sucks on your clit until you're sobbing his name. He holds your hips down by splaying one big hand over your stomach because you're a sensitive little thing, bucking away from him when he's not nearly done with you yet.

It's cute, seeing you lose yourself to the pleasure. It's also really fucking hot. Simon slowly pushes one finger in you and groans when you clench around him.

“Simon,” you whimper. “Oh, please, please—”

Such a good girl, begging without him telling you to. Simon crooks his finger, and your next breath is a stutter of moans before your whole body tenses and you cum on his tongue.

Simon hums approvingly, keeping his motions slow and steady so you ride it out all the way. When you whine and wriggle away from him he lets up, wiping at your slick covering his chin.

Best meal you've cooked him by far.

“Oh,” you sigh. “That was... Give me—give me a minute...”

Simon chuckles and rises from his knees to crawl over you and steal a kiss. “Feelin’ good, princess?”

“Princess—” you let out a breathless laugh, but even in the low light of your nightstand lamp Simon sees the colour rise in your cheeks. Liked that, did you? You blink up at him, a sweet satisfied smile on your lips. “Mhm. So good. Come here?”

Your hands trail over his sides, stroke over the light hair trailing down his stomach. Simon shudders when your knuckles brush over his cock and he shucks off his trousers further to give you better access.

When you wrap your hand around him he drops his head into the crook of your shoulder and moans. The twitch of his hips is involuntary, too desperate to chase his pleasure to stay put.

“Next time,” you whisper while pulling him forward, spreading your legs wider to fit around his hips, “I want to feel you in my mouth.”

“Jesus,” he groans. It takes everything in him to not just slide in. “We need a condom?”

“I'm clean,” you murmur against his jaw. “On birth control. If you want we can—”

“Fuck yeah I do,” Simon says, and you laugh. Soft eyes when your hands slide over his shoulders, brush through the short hair on his neck. Simon watches your face while he lines himself up without blinking, and he's rewarded with the flutter of your eyelashes, the parting of your soft lips.

Your brows scrunch together at the first few inches, and he kisses you sweetly to make you relax. Simon knows he's not small, and he groans when you clench around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your hair. “Good girl. Just like that, yeah? Takin’ it real well. Just like that.”

He slides in a little deeper. You shiver and mewl and beg him for more, and he gives it to you. Anything you want.

“Simon,” you whimper. “Feels so—oh, you feel so good. More, please, please—?”

Simon brushes the hair from your forehead, keeping his thrusts long and slow and making sure to kiss your cervix each time, just because your breath stutters so prettily every time he does.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, you're so—such a tight little cunt. Couldn't wait any longer, could you? Jus’ had to have me?”

You nod immediately and empathically, eyes glassy with arousal. You try to answer him, but the only thing you manage are airy moans that sound like his name.

That's alright. Don't need to talk. He knows what you want to say; he feels the same. Simon catches you in a messy kiss while lacing his fingers with yours. Yours. Mine.

He shoves his free hand between your two bodies and finds your clit, circling it until he's found the right rhythm that has tears gathering in your eyes. He could live on that for the rest of his life, of hearing you mindlessly stuttering his name while your body tenses up and your head drops back and those pretty lips part in a choked moan—

“Christ,” Simon grits through his teeth, sweat dampening his brow. Your cunt flutters around him, soft little flower in full bloom that, with another thrust or two, has him falling apart as well.

Both of you moan at the feeling of his cum spurting hot and thick in your waiting womb. Simon rocks against you slowly to make sure you get every last drop—birth control or not.

He kisses you on the comedown. You melt into his touch, butter and honey, running your fingers through his hair until Simon shifts you around so you're curled up against him.

In another minute he'll get up and get you a washcloth before tucking you in and kissing your bare shoulders. He'll wrap himself around you before sleep takes you, make sure that he's the last thing you see and hear and touch.

For now he lets himself bask in the present. In having a sweet little bird clinging to him for comfort and giving him more than he could ever ask for in return.

Simon doesn't think you quite realise what you've gotten yourself into, in giving this big ugly watchdog your affection. He's not a king or a prince; not even a knight, not like the ones you read so much about. Simon wouldn't exactly call himself chivalrous or genteel.

But he's just as devoted and twice as vicious. He'll belong to you, and you to him, and from the moment he saw you he was oath-bound.

He'll have to steal a ring or two to measure which size is right. It'll take some work to knock down the walls between your two houses, but he'll ask the lads for help. Simon knows you'll win them over right away if you cook dinner or bake them something sweet.

And maybe in time he'll have to try his own hand at baking. He always did want to put a bun in the oven, and Simon just knows that if you're the one to do it with him—

It'll come out perfect.

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #this should've been a 20+ chap slowburn but I'm just not patient enough for that

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untaemedqueen · 1 year ago

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At Your Service

Escort!Jeongguk x CEO!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 20.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Angst, Fluff, Cold Heartedness, Emotional Trauma, Healing, Smut, Dark Humor

Warnings For This Chapter: Revelations

There's a long pause just seemingly waiting in the wind this afternoon as Jeongguk puts on his dress shirt.

The recent wedding events clarified just how in love he is with you. He's protective and emotionally charged with anything and everything that has to do with you. Standing up to the people that tore you down only solidified how far he would go to make you comfortable.

He would have beat Jasper into the lower rings of hell for even looking at you wrong.

He almost did.

So now as he gets ready for his trip to the office he's worked for for years, he isn't afraid to think that this will take a burdensome load off of his shoulders.

"Almost ready?" you inquire, peeking into the walk in closet.

"Yeah, I'm good to go," he breathes, grabbing his watch and turning toward you.

A smile creeps over his handsome face, watching how you lean against the door frame with both of your arms crossed curiously.

"What?" you ask, lifting your hand to brush off any crumbs that might be on your face.

Your boyfriend strides over, taking your hand as it inches upward and bends down to press his forehead against yours.

"You're beautiful and I love you," Guk whispers, closing his eyes.

"I love you too," you reply, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"That's all I need," he murmurs, pressing his chin to the top of your head and sighing happily.

Stepping into At Your Service, Guk is hit with the overwhelmingly familiar scent of vanilla and jasmine. It brings back nostalgia in waves and he can almost remember the exact day he began working here.

He was wearing these grey slacks that were way too big for him and a cardigan that was pimply and knitted weirdly. He didn't know anyone and all he knew was that fucking was making him a lot of money already. Now years later, strolling past the front desk with a black striped dress shirt that has three buttons open and fitted black dress pants that accentuate his thick thighs, he's come a long way.

"Lydia," he greets pleasantly.

She gives him a polite nod, not really looking up from her magazine.

She was always the only receptionist that had dignity about her.

"Hey," she murmurs, grabbing her sparkling water.

He continues down the long hallways, sometimes casually peeking into one of the clear office rooms where a random woman or two is meeting their next date or hook up.

Now that Guk thinks about it… this is all so impersonal.

'Hey, how are you doing?'

'I'm doing fine, thanks. And you?'

'I'm great. Wanna bang?'

It's astounding.

He consciously chooses to take the path that would keep him away from Jimin and Taehyung. He doesn't feel like hearing Tae's mouth and he's not in the mood to listen to Chjm ramble on today.

He just wants to get in here, say his peace and go home with you to cuddle and fornicate until he's spent under silk sheets.

The father of your child nods to a few of his other coworkers that aren't in meetings, taking in their fresh faced looks.

He's been here such a long time that some of these faces he doesn't even remember.

Finally, he comes to the two cloudy glass double doors that he's been seeking and he knocks gently but firmly in hopes that he's heard.

"Yeah? Come in."

With the order, he gently pushes in the door.

He hasn't seen the inside of this office for years. It's changed a lot since Guk has been here.

Rounding the desk is the man Jeon Jeongguk has known since his college days. He's decked out in a three piece suit, his blonde hair slicked back just enough where it doesn't look greasy and he has this air about him that bleeds money and begs for people to fuck with him.

"Tony," Guk greets professionally, extending his hand.

"Oh stop that shit!" Tony laughs, he grabs Guk's forearm with a friendly smile and the father of your child does the same, giving a big smile back.

"Sit down, dude! Please!" Tony fawns, waltzing over to the drinks caddy he's had time to put in since his parent's were the owners.

Your fiance does as told, looking around the professional office shortly before turning back to the man he's known for years.

He watches him pour two big glasses of whisky before striding over to the glass desk and sliding it across.

"So what's up, my man? You look really good these days! I've seen your numbers, I knew you would be perfect for this even back in our good ol' college days!"

Guk doesn't want to take a trip down memory lane. He doesn't need the reminder.

"I wanted to come in and talk with you because-"

"Is it the old cronies we're sending you out to? Cause they request you, dude. I get it, the old bags aren't the kind of eye candy you want to be having to go out and meet but they do have cash," Tony interrupts, lifting his glass with a wink.

"Oh. No. I don't care about that, some of them were really nice. I'm just here to tell-"

"That's good! As long as the cash is flowing then daddy's happy!"

Guk forgot just how annoying Tony can be and right now it's coming back in waves. In college, he's not sure anyone the blonde man was talking to could ever get their point of view across -- ever.

The father of your child chuckles awkwardly, taking a sip of his whisky to quell the frizzled nerves that are starting to sprout up.

"So what can I do for you, big dog? How can I help one of my star money makers? Cause that's what you are. A star," Tony chuckles, clapping his hands loudly and rubbing them together in some sort of bizarre, seemingly gross manner.

"I just need to tell you that I'm q-"

"Do you want a raise? Is that it? Because I can get you a raise! It might make poorer women look over you in the look book but I can do that for you!"

Guk sighs softly, shaking his head at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

Holy shit, the escort feels like his head is going to explode.

How can one person be so infuriating? Jesus Christ.

"I am quitting!" Jeongguk enunciates, holding up his hand and pressing his index and thumb together.

The look on Tony's face is like he just got shot. His perfectly handsome features twist and change into pure shock and horror at the words. His mouth drops open and he blinks several times for it to sink in.

"What?" Tony hisses, standing up. He begins to pace behind his large desk chair, propping his hand beneath his chin, "Big dog, you're my star quarterback here! You're my team captain! You can't quit, dude! You've worked here for years! Look, man, if it's the money I can get you more money! I can get you hotter clients that want to bone. I can-"

Now it's Jeongguk's turn to interrupt and it's written all over his face how good that feels.

"I'm getting married and I have a baby on the way, I don't want to be an escort anymore," he simply states, finishing off his whisky with a cringe.

Tony stops pacing to turn around. "Oh, man. That's crazy. It's crazy cool, though! I mean… congratulations that's super sick but… I'm just surprised I'm losing you like this!"

Guk simply shrugs, fixing his watch. "It's gonna give me peace of mind and ultimately make me happier so I have to do it for myself."

The blonde man nods, holding up a finger before digging into the desk. "Here! Take this!"

He holds out a couple of thousand dollars and Guk tilts his head. "Tony, no. I'm not taking your m-"

"Oh, come on! It's a wedding and baby gift! I've known you for like a million years! Take the damn money, big dog! You deserve it!" Tony insists, shaking his hand.

Guk sucks an unsure breath between his teeth, grabbing the money. "Thank you, it's very kind of you."

"Yeah, I'm a giver," the blonde man agrees, sitting back down at his desk, "Y'know Applehyme is gonna be crushed."

Guk laughs then, rolling his eyes at the prospect of the older woman. "I think she'll be just fine."

Tony chuckles, folding his arms. "It was a pleasure to have you work for me, man. Really. You're dope."

The father of your child blinks. "Yeah… you too… man."

The boss smiles widely, winking at him. "Go on. Go have a real life then."

"Thanks," Guk mumbles, putting the money in his pocket.

As he goes to leave, his attention is called back to Tony as he grabs the door handle.

"Yo, Guk?!"

He turns his attention as he opens the door, tilting his head.

"Is your girl hot?"

The father of your child snorts softly, catching himself as he goes to roll his eyes. "Super hotm very gorgeous."

"Niiiiice, big dog. Very nice!"

As Guk leaves the office, he feels as if he's stepped out of a frat boy alternate universe and he can only shake his head at the past encounter.

That man has not changed for a single damn second. That's crazy.

He begins his brisk walk back to the car where you wait for him and he goes over the meeting once more and all that's transpired.

He never once remembered Tony like that and now that he has he can't stop thinking about it.

It's really astounding how people stay stuck in their ways for years on end. He wonders if the blonde man has ever gotten married, he wasn't paying attention to a wedding band but he doesn't seem like the type to settle. Although, Guk could be wrong and he's a super loyal guy to his woman.

Tony is kind of an enigma.

As Guk climbs back into the car, he greets you with a gentle kiss before sliding his hand over your stomach.

"How did it go?" you inquire, pushing some of his hair back.

"It was like a blast from the past. Wasn't terrible, though," he announces, kissing your temple.

"Well, that's good!" you cheer happily, giving him a smile.

"You would never interrupt me when I'm talking, right, baby girl?" he asks, putting on his seatbelt.

"No, that's rude," you breathe, starting the car up.

"Yeah… it is," he murmurs, lacing your fingers together.

It isn't everyday you get to go out to a lovely fancy dinner with the father of your child. Nor is it normal for his two best friends to show up either.

This feels good though, it feels healthy and you like that.

From the moment you stepped out of your closet, Guk cannot keep his hands off of you. Your dress is incredibly short, incredibly revealing showing off all the swollen, wonderful body parts that are growing because of his baby and the dress is tight enough around your stomach to make you seem probably more pregnant than you are.

He's obviously very happy with the choice of clothing and you're very proud that he is.

The private room that shelters you while you eat in this luxurious restaurant gives him enough courage to constantly have his hand dipping between your thighs as he talks to his two friends.

You were surprised Taehyung showed up and so was Guk to be honest. Maybe Tae is getting over the pain of having him taken away. You can only hope.

"I'm happy to see you," Guk tells the handsome man, leaning back in his chair with his glass of scotch close to his face.

God, everything he does is just so attractive. How does anyone in the world stand a chance when Jeon Jeongguk exists?

"Yeah I didn't know if I should come. I was an asshole lately," Tae bleats, combing his fingers through his hair.

Jimin just folds his arms, shrugging at you with a toothpick snuggly between his plush lips.

Guk tilts his head and sips his scotch unsure of what to say other than agreeing. "What's so wrong with me being happy, Tae? Everyone makes mistakes. You're not above it all. You know that."

"No, I know!" Taehyung agrees quickly, watching how your fiance angles himself closer to you to drift his hand over your stomach, "I was just feeling bitter."

"Why?"

The question is so simple and you and Jimin almost choke on your own spit at the word. Jimin hastily guzzles water while you find it apt to shove a piece of buttered bread into your mouth.

Guk doesn't seem to notice, taking his friend's thoughts and feelings as the most important thing right now.

The handsome man across the table from him simply shakes his head. "I just… I can't tell you. I don't want to ruin our friendship even more then--"

"You didn't ruin our friendship! Don't say that! I invited you here tonight, didn't I? Please… Tae… C'mon," Guk practically begs, wanting so eagerly to understand what's been going on.

Sure, it's one thing to be protective and defensive of your friend but to be that vicious about it? It's concerning.

Taehyung sighs heavily, picking up his expensive brandy and guzzling it for liquid courage of some kind.

He shakes his head, seeming like he's having some deep inner conflict.

You decide to just look down at your lap, tracing the outline of your stomach that seems to peek out in this tight dress.

Jimin guzzles his own drink, closing his eyes at the thoughts swimming through his mind.

"Tae?"

"Just hold on!" he snaps, running his now sweaty palms over his suit pants.

Jeongguk widens his eyes, taking a sip of his scotch wordlessly.

"I just… am very protective of you. I…" the handsome man stops himself before starting again, "Jimin and I have been a thing and we were wondering if you wanted to be a thing with us but then you started dating and I got upset."

You nod to yourself for a moment, happy that the truth has come out and that it can stay that way but then there's silence.

There's silence for a long time.

An incredibly long time.

You don't have the courage to look up at the rest of the people at the table so you just sit patiently and wait for someone to say something.

"What do you mean 'a thing'?" Jeongguk inquires finally.

His voice is very hollow and short, not judgemental but inquisitive.

"A relationship thing. We fuck… often," Jimin clarifies and when the youngest's eyes snap to his, he makes himself smaller in his chair.

"How long?" Jeongguk asks, folding his arms.

"Three, almost four years," Tae murmurs, staring down at his plate.

"FOUR YEARS," Guk booms.

You look up quickly to see the sparkling water within your glass quaking at the force of his voice.

Taehyung and Jimin both flinch in kind, staring down.

Guk runs his hands over his face, taking a deep breath to steady the betrayal and nerves within him.

When he stands, your eyes follow him. He stalks towards the private room double doors, the muscles in his back are tense.

He grips the door handle for a moment before collecting himself and turning around.

"Listen to me," he calls to his best friends, they both turn to him with weary eyes and he sighs at the sight, "I'm not mad you're in a relationship. I'm happy about that. If you guys are happy then that's great. You know I don't judge, I've done stuff with guys before understanding it wasn't for me. But I'm fucking pissed that you hid this from me for four years! And I understand if it's something you're not ready to tell the world yet. I understand that. But I still feel betrayed and hurt. Period."

He leaves the room in a single second and you shift awkwardly in your chair.

Taehyung goes to stand but Jimin simply plants a hand on his chest. "He's not ours to look after anymore. Y/N is his choice."

The handsome man diagonally from you looks over at you and the wicked gaze you expect to get doesn't happen. He nods understandingly, grabbing Guk's drink and chugging it all with a flinch.

You slowly stand up and make your way out of the room, looking for Guk through the now busy, loud restaurant. You check in certain little alcoves but ultimately step outside only to find him sitting on one of the benches near the front door. His head is down between his knees and his hands are in his hair.

The night air is brisk and chilly, sending goosebumps shooting up over your skin. When you approach, Guk looks up.

"You're gonna catch a cold, baby! What're you doing out here!" he hisses, pulling off his suit jacket and standing up in a flash.

He wraps the jacket around you, running his hands over your arms to transfer some semblance of warmth. You simply hug him tightly and he sighs loudly above you.

Jeongguk buries his face in your hair, eyes fluttering shut. You can feel his heart hammering inside his chest but you stay silent.

"Fuck," he curses, hugging you tighter.

"They're happy," you whisper in his ear and he solemnly nods, pressing his face into your sweet smelling neck.

"Good. They deserve to be, it's just going to take me a minute to wrap my brain around it," Guk replies, taking a large calming breath.

The truth is out now and there's nowhere to go from here but up.

#at your service #ays #chapter 20 #chap 20 #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeongguk #jeongguk fic

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