#seven x reader

💀 The risk of being found by the OSIC is very prominent, but your cooperation and compliance for him lessens that risk greatly. He really does love it when people know their place, like how your place is with him.

💀 Intimacy is definitely not Seven's forte. Even with the possibility of him accidentally popping your head like a grape, he just simply has an aversion to touch. At most you'll get an affectionate pat on the back; while the most you can give him before he grows uncomfortable is a couple minutes of handholding - in private. However, your company to him is not unwanted. Despite his need for independence and space, just knowing you're around puts his mind at ease. Given time, perhaps he can appreciate your comforting touch.

Morning hits the same way it always does: that slow, painful realisation that the day has begun, the city already humming with life down below, and the warmth of your bed fleeting. The sun doesn’t bleed in through the blinds, and you can hear the faint tapping of rain against the windowpane, a lullaby that drowns out the gentle din of the outside world. 

You roll slowly onto your side, eyes adjusting to the dark room, and you can just about make out the chaos of your living room from behind the half-closed door. There are still things strewn about the floor that neither of you has had the energy to clean, and you can picture the splintered front door, the way the lock is busted and the frame out of place and dented. Forced entry, but not by the criminal. 

David had done most of the damage, an instinctual aggression triggered by panic. 

And now, he’s pressed behind you, arm tight around your middle, keeping you against his chest. 

“David?” Your voice is barely a whisper, as though you're afraid of disturbing the fragile peace you’ve both found. 

You feel him shift behind you, the sheets rustling with the movement, but his grip doesn’t loosen. “You’re awake.” Not a question—the exhaustion in his tone is prominent, the words coming out rough and dry, concern flooding through you.

“Did you sleep?” 

A pause that feels longer than it needs to be, followed by the tell-tale sound of him shaking his head. “No. Couldn’t.” 

Your eyes slip shut once more, the heavy weight of fatigue settling in, the action almost instinctual. Images from the previous night flash behind your eyes, a numb panic settling deep inside of your chest, nausea rolling in your stomach. 

“That was all real.” You mumble. “Last night.” 

“Yeah.” 

You pause before adding. “He was here.” 

“Yeah.” Quieter this time and more dejected, like you’d told him he’d failed his job entirely. 

Slowly, you move onto your other side, not slipping from beneath his arm but simply turning so that you can gaze up at him. His brows are drawn together, heavy lines marring the skin beneath his eyes, hours of unrest finally taking their toll. His eyes hold a silent, lingering panic, skin entirely pallid. 

“Does anything hurt?” 

You shake your head, forcing a tender smile, though it’s strained. “Just my head–” 

“He didn’t—” 

“No, David.” You cut him off, taking his outstretched hand in your own and lacing you fingers together. You pretend not to notice the scabs on his knuckles when they’d made contact with the front door just moments before he’d come bursting in, gun already out, orders ignored. 

“You’re lucky they didn’t fire you.” You remark gently, and David scoffs, pushing himself up onto his elbow, gazing down at you. 

“For what? Doing my job?” 

“You ignored orders.” 

“He came here because of me.” 

The silence that falls then is heavy, and the harrowing expression tainting his features is enough to make your heart clench. You reach out, cupping his cheek with one trembling hand, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “No, honey…”

“He knew where we lived.” 

“That’s not your fault. He could have asked anyone.” 

You push his chest softly, forcing him to lie back down once more before settling against him, your weight grounding enough for his heartbeat to slow beneath your ear. Your fingers trace idle patterns against his skin and he lets out a steady exhale. 

“You know,” You begin. “I’ve written about people like him before.” 

David hums and you continue. 

“But you never assume you’re gonna be the centre of one of those stories.” 

“You’re not.” he snaps, not maliciously, but stern enough to make a point. You didn’t become another victim, another name printed on headlines. You didn’t complete his twisted “masterpiece”. 

“I could have been.” 

That transient expression crosses his face once more, a fleeting anxiety that is replaced just as quickly by a steady certainty. He brushes your hair back from your face, and you’re aware of the state you’re probably in, strands sticking up in every direction. 

You notice the slight tremble in his hand as he lingers, that restless twitch of his fingers, like he’s itching to grasp hold of you and never let go. “You’re still shaking.” 

“I’m not.” He drops his hand, suddenly defensive. 

“David.” He ignores you, that reticence returning, the kind that you feel the desire to challenge in order to break through it. “What happened when you got here?” 

He closes his eyes briefly, as though it pains him to recall. “Don’t.” 

“Please.” Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt. “I want to know.” 

David hesitates, remaining quiet, and for a moment, you think he’s going to stay that way, that he won’t open up to you and his account of last night will forever remain tacit. 

“I thought I was too late.” The words come as barely above a whisper, inaudible if you weren’t listening out for every small sound that echoes through the apartment. “I couldn’t hear anything. The door was locked…” He trails off, and there’s a distant look in his eyes, as though there are vivid images playing before him that only he can see. 

“But you weren’t.” You take his face in your hands once more, redirecting his attention. “You weren’t, David. I’m okay.” 

“He had a knife.”

“He didn’t use it.” You keep his attention on you, not letting him drift off into that distant, unfocused state where his mind runs rampant. David nods once, and you watch him deflate against the mattress as exhaustion finally takes over his body, his eyes hazy with fatigue and hours of unadulterated panic. 

And now, with you beside him—breathing, talking— he can finally relax. You let him pull you close once more, and you feel his hand settle against your hip. After a moment, you move it higher, letting it rest just over your stomach instead; his brow furrows with confusion, and you flash him a seraphic smile as realisation slowly dawns on him. 

That fear thaws into understanding, a fond, almost wondrous, expression overtaking his features. 

“Jesus…” He exhales shakily, something akin to a breathy laugh escaping him, and you can’t help but return it, the joy verging on hysterical. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“You can relax now.” You whisper, lips grazing his jaw delicately, and David turns his head just enough to capture your mouth in a tender kiss, one that lingers just a few moments too long.

 “I am relaxed.” 

You hum against him. “You can let go, you know.” 

The look that washes over his face then looks almost offended, and he pulls back, looking down at you as though you’d slapped him. “No.” He glances towards the window, then to the cracked door, out into the dim apartment beyond.

“We’re moving.” 

Your brows shoot up, heart stuttering. “What?” 

David seems entirely serious. “We’re not staying here. Doesn’t feel right.” 

And despite the fact you’d both moved in only a month ago, you know he’s right. This apartment doesn’t feel anything like home, just a temporary break in a city that never sleeps—but, as David’s thumb traces over your stomach, you realise then that you both need something a lot more stable than this. 

And if he’s willing to supply that, then you can’t argue. 

⋆˚࿔ 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The apartment is filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the scrape of cutlery on plates and the gentle cadence of rain hitting the windows. The city hums below, tyres on wet pavement and the occasional blare of a horn, everyone rushing home for an evening with their only family. 

You take another bite of food—you tried to keep the meal simple: steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, the kind you know David loves, the sort you cook when you know he’s on edge. However, tonight, he’s in one of those moods where everything feels light.

Somerset sits across from you. You’re not sure what possessed you to invite him, but he’s grown to be part of the family. That, and the fact that his presence may soften the blow of David’s reaction when you tell him about the phone call you got over lunch. 

You’d been expecting it for weeks, hoping and waiting, the emancipation so strong that you made yourself feel sick with nerves. You planned what you would say and how you would manage it, yet when the call finally did come, you could only go silent and grin.

“You want more wine?” 

You glance up suddenly, meeting David’s gaze, and realise for the first time that he’s been watching you, his brow furrowed in something akin to curiosity. You nod once, clearing your throat and plastering on a tight smile, a cheap semblance of composure.

“Please.” He fills it. You take a sip. “Is the food okay?” 

“It’s perfect.” Somerset responds, voice impossibly calm, cutting through the tension you hadn’t realised was simmering. “Best I’ve had in weeks.” 

“That’s not hard.” David scoffs, finishing off his beer and taking another bite. He continues to speak through his mouthful, and a part of you wants to reprimand him for his manners, yet you bite your tongue, not sure you’ll be able to even attempt normalcy when your blood is thundering in your ears. “Microwave food ain’t exactly comparable to this.” 

Somerset chuckles faintly, glancing back at you. The pull in his expression tells you everything; he can see right through you and knows exactly what’s going on, and if it weren’t humanly impossible, you’d expect he could read your mind. “Yes. But I have a feeling I wasn’t invited under the pretence of eating good food.” 

The silence returns—David’s eyes return to you, the curiosity replaced with concern when he catches the way you shift in your seat. The rest of the steak suddenly seems unappealing, and you find yourself pushing it around your plate much like the way a fussy child spreads out their food to leave the table sooner. 

“I have news.” 

The announcement feels heavy, as though someone has just dropped a weight on your shoulders unexpectedly, knocking the breath from you completely. Your stomach churns, butterflies startling awake and fluttering wildly as though disturbed, and the smile you give both of them is suddenly filled with such genuine excitement that David’s own lips twitch out of instinct.

“News?” he repeats. Somerset wisely remains silent.

You nod, wiping your palms on your thighs. “Yeah. I got a phone call at lunch from the law firm in Chicago.” 

Immediately, the smile disappears from David’s face, replaced with something unreadable. His eyes darken, though not with anger so much as fear. “Chicago? What for?” 

“I applied for a vacant position there last month as the assistant attorney in the homicide division. David… They want me to start next month.” 

The rain outside grows louder, a heavy onslaught now that pounds against the glass, droplets racing down the steam-hazy panes in rivulets. The traffic continues to crawl on the road below, horns still blaring, the occasional person yelling muffled profanities; the world continues on as normal, everyone going on with their lives as though yours wasn’t currently teetering on the brink of something colossal. 

“That’s amazing.” Somerset grins, the genuineness behind the words allowing you to exhale a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. He reaches over to squeeze one of your hands. “Really. That’s a big achievement. Congratulations.” 

“Thank you.” You smile politely, and while you genuinely appreciate his reaction, how happy he is for you, he isn’t who you want to hear it from. 

Slowly, you turn your focus back to David; he looks pallid, eyes distant as though focused on something miles away that only he can see. He drags a hand through his hair, swallowing thickly as he flicks aside the damp label he'd peeled from the empty beer bottle. 

“David?” 

“That’s amazing.” He manages, offering you a smile that on the surface might seem proud, like he’s thrilled at the prospect. 

Yet, the selcouth shimmer in his eyes tells you that, beneath the pride, there’s a dread that’s washing over him and dragging him under, like he too has anticipated this, though not with the same sickening excitement as you. 

Somerset rises from the table then, glancing towards the dogs who are stretched languidly on the rug, entirely content. “I’m going to take them out for a moment. Better now than later before the rain gets worse.” 

Neither you nor David mentioned that the dogs are in no need of going out or that the weather is already at its peak with no sign of letting up. Instead, you offer a gentle thank you, waiting until he's out of the door and it’s just the two of you, alone. 

“You don’t seem happy.” 

David shakes his head sharply, straightening his posture and reaching across the table to take your hand in his. Your wedding ring glints under the aureate glow of the overhead light, catching the reflection just right. 

“That’s not—” he trails off, gaze dropping to the table top, to your conjoined hands and the ring he’d put on your finger with a promise to stay with you forever. “I’m happy.” 

“David…” 

“I am,” he interrupts. “I just didn’t know. I didn’t realise that you were thinkin’ about leaving.” 

You realise then how it sounds, once it’s put into words and spoken into the oppressive silence. Worse than you’d intended, like you were moving cities and leaving him behind with a life half-finished before it’s even truly started. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No.” He shakes his head feverently, squeezing your hand tightly, a weak attempt to ground you. “It’s okay. It’s a good thing. You deserve it.” 

You hesitate for a few fleeting seconds, eyes scanning his features for a limina of anger; all you find is pride and a quiet sadness, neither quite what you’d expected. “But?” 

“Chicago is miles away.” 

A crack of thunder sounds outside, a deep rumble that shudders the walls of the tiny apartment, making you aware of just how tight the space is, how your world has been reduced to a crumpled, claustrophobic world in the midst of a city that never slows down nor sleeps. 

“I know.” Disappointment tinges your tone, because despite the achievement, despite how hard you’d worked for this, you always knew this would happen. That you’d have to have this discussion and inevitably come to a conclusion that would pain the other. “You could come with me.”

David huffs a gentle laugh, reaching out and gesturing for you to come around the table—you do, sinking into his lap as though all of the energy has been drained from you completely. The warmth that radiates from him thaws out the chill in your bones and soothes the constant buzz beneath your skin. 

“The department won’t transfer me just because my wife got a better job.” He mumbles, honesty seeping into the words. He tips your chin up so that you meet his gaze, lips grazing your temple. “Especially not after a few months.” 

“So what?” You whisper. “You just stay here?” 

For a second, he’s silent, and you can practically see the question turning over in his mind, followed by a thousand others, all of which can’t be answered. 

“I don’t know.” He admits finally, shoulders deflating. He reaches out to brush a loose strand of hair back from your face. “You accepted it yet?” 

“No.” You toy with the open collar of his shirt, exposing a slither of tanned skin beneath, not meeting his gaze until he drops a kiss to the corner of your mouth, featherlight and barely there. 

He offers a weak smile. “You should.” And though it clearly pains him to say so, the tightness in his shoulders telling you just as much, he continues, voice impossibly soft, pride still intertwined in each word. “You’ve worked your ass off for this.” 

You swallow thickly, struggling to bypass the lump forming in your throat, your eyes stinging with a concoction of pent-up emotion, all finally able to seep out as the first tear slips past the dam. David catches it with the calloused pad of his thumb, and you lean into his touch like a cat. 

“What about you?” The us lingers between you both, unspoken but clear nonetheless. David’s expression doesn't waver, that usual confidence returning once more. “What if we can’t make it work…” 

“We will.” He sounds so certain that you can’t help but believe him. His hand settles at the nape of your neck, pulling you close enough that your forehead rests against his, your lashes fluttering. “I’ll drive to Chicago every weekend if I need to.” 

“David…” Your laugh is wet with tears. 

“What?” 

You shake your head in disbelief, fingers running through his hair slowly. “That’s your plan?” 

He grins, eyes shining beneath the aureate glow of the lamp, and he shrugs once. “It’s worked pretty well so far.” 

⋆˚࿔ 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?”

You placed the bottle of lube back on the bedside table and looked over at where your boyfriend stood next to a tripod that held his phone. There was a small red dot near the camera that told you the phone was recording.

You let your eyes rake over Seven’s body. He’d been on the verge of easing into you when he’d stopped and asked if you minded if he recorded the two of you. You were still quite worked up and, even though it was sweet that Seven wanted to make sure you were comfortable, you really just wanted him to press you into the mattress.

“I am. I think it’s hot that you want some videos of me to keep you entertained while I’m away.”

Seven’s already flushed face burned brighter. “Don’t tease me. You know I miss you.”

“I know. Now come over here. I’ve waited long enough.”

Seven smiled and crawled across the bed towards you. “Alright, alright. Where were we?” You spread your legs open and Seven’s grin widened. “Ah, that’s right.”

He lined himself up and leaned forward, pressing into you. You threw an arm back, grabbing at the headboard above you, mouth open in a silent moan as your eyes closed. Seven gave you a moment to adjust before he began thrusting gently. This time, an actual moan slipped from your mouth.

“You’re doing so well. You’re perfect for the camera.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you smiled up at him. “I could say the same for you.”

Seven shook his head. “You’re the star here, my dear. So pretty. So hot. You have no idea what you do to me.” To punctuate his statement, he thrust his hips forward with more force.

He’d already been worked up before turning the camera on and with the knowledge of the recording, Seven knew he wasn’t going to last long. Something about having footage made the sensation of every action even more heightened. From how you were tightening around him, he hoped you were feeling the same.

The point of this video was to capture you in ecstasy, not him and Seven would be damned if he was going to ruin this perfect chance by coming before you did. He slipped a hand between your legs and began teasing you to work you along faster.

“You’re going to have to work with me here. I’m not going to last like this.” Seven met your eyes and was surprised to find you already looking back at him with a teasing glint.

“I think I can do that.” And you wrapped one leg around his hips, pulling him close and twisting around so suddenly you were on top. Seven’s eyes widened and he felt himself bury deeper inside you with a throb at the new position.

You ground your hips down and suddenly Seven was the one moaning and grabbing at the bedsheets. You were teasing yourself and your rhythmic clenching was becoming more sporadic.

Just as you seemed to be reaching your peak, Seven's hands flew to your hips, pulling you down against him with more force. You shuddered atop him as you came undone and a few grinds later, Seven followed you into bliss.

You laid down on his chest as you both came down from your highs, breathing heavily.

“That was so hot.” Seven’s voice was shaky and his breath was hot against your ear. “I’m so glad I got that on camera.”

You pushed yourself up just enough that he could see your face. You still had the same teasing look in your eyes and you wiggled your hips. Seven felt himself begin twitching back to life inside you.

“Maybe we’ll get something else on camera as well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey, did you enjoy this? If you like my writing, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi page! This will allow me to make some money off my writing, something I enjoy doing.

ko-fi.com/justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t impressed at how quickly he whipped up snowpeople of everyone. Impressed, but not surprised. You think you even see Vanderwood a little ways back, isolated from everyone else, and you feel a stab of pity for the poor guy.

Working with Saeyoung can’t be easy, but he’s always been nice to you. Even up until the two of you ran away, you know deep down Vanderwood cared for Seven.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, not wanting to get too caught up in the nitty-gritty of the situation when Saeyoung had it handled. You trusted him to protect the two of you, You know he can. You’re incredibly lucky for each and every day you get to spend at his side, even though you’re nearly always aware that each day could be your last.

But you chose this life when you chose him, and you would have it no other way.

And so, you show your love by winding up and throwing your perfectly crafted snowball as hard as you can at Saeyoung.

It hits him square in the back of the head, wetting his vibrant hair and sliding down until it hits the inside of his hood.

“Yikes!” he yelps, flailing his arms around his back as he springs away from snow-Elizabeth, “Enemy attack! God Seven is down!”

You laugh, already scooping up more snow and pelting him with your (much more sloppy) snowballs. Saeyoung makes a big show of gasping for air and pleading for mercy, occasionally playing dead and waiting for you to come over and poke him before smacking you with snow as well.

It doesn’t take long till the two of you are out of breath, your fingers ice cold but intertwined through your gloves.

“Want to head inside?” you murmur, kissing his snowflake-sprinkled brow, “We can have some of your very special hot chocolate.”

Saeyoung’s eyes light up and he gives you that big goofy grin you fell in love with.

“One thing first.” he whispers, the quiet of his voice exaggerated and theatrical.

And for a moment, you expect a snowball to the face, but he kisses you instead. It’s soft and sweet and tastes like an unholy combination of energy drink powder (which...now that you think about it, likely explains how quickly he crafted everyone out of snow.)

Although he ultimately struggled to express it sometimes, Seeing you all bundled up on the couch, face scrunched up in discomfort, he could feel his own mood souring. You had your nose buried in whatever manga you’d wrapped yourself up in this time, but your focus was all over the place with how much your abdomen hurt. There was no way to think straight through the pain, no matter how much you tried to ignore it, and it bothered him almost as much as it bothered you. It had been a bit since he had slipped out through the entryway with a promise to return soon, with the grin on his face that only meant he was up to something, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to pay too much mind to it.

After about a half hour of you sitting on the couch, stomach aching and barely even reading your book anymore, the jingle from the doorway ensuring your boyfriends return had you directing your gaze to the hallway that led to the door, where said red-haired boy poked his head around the corner, watching you for a reaction.

“Seven…?” You asked, confusion evident on your face as you stared at him, manga now forgotten as it lay abandoned at your side.

He smiled at you, eyes closed while he beamed. “I got you a couple things~” He said, reaching out a hand to showcase the full shopping bag that dangled from his arm.

“Eh--? Why did you--”

He strode over to you, sitting down on the floor next to the couch you sat on as he shushed you, before turning to open the bag. He seemed rather proud of himself as he pulled it open, reaching in and handing you a freshly bought, fluffy blanket in your favorite color, offering it to you with the cutest grin on his face.

“I got you a better blanket, some extra supplies, some hot chocolate…” As he spoke, he laid each item out in a pile, eyeing you from time to time to make sure you were watching him and his little performance. “I got you a heating pad too, Jaehee mentioned once that those are useful. Do you want me to make you the hot chocolate now, or wait a bit?”

You stared at him, completely still as you watched him stare right back, puppy dog eyes on full display. “W- What is… Why……?”

He grinned at you as if it was obvious. Leave it to Seven to make you feel stupid even on your period. “You looked uncomfy, so I wanted to help~ Is that okay?”

Well, how are you meant to say no to that?