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Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.
Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?
Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)
A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.
You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now.
And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be.
We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…
What?
No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.
You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”
Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird.
Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer.
You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street.
Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.
You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.
Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-
“Oh? Still open?”
“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing.
And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?
“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”
“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”
You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”
Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”
Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”
“Congratulations, Mr…”
“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.”
You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”
“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”
What?
You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”
“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”
There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”
Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”
Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”
“...you do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”
“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”
And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation.
“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”
That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?”
And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?”
You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”
---
And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from.
“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”
“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.
You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”
Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now.
“Alright. Plan B, then.”
Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”
Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”
At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”
“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”
“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”
It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you?
“Fine.”
The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”
And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”
He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.
Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner.
And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head.
You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.”
“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”
“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly.
“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”
Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”
With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house.
“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins.
Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”
You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app.
“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”
That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.
“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”
It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo.
“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”
Your home, for the next month. At least.
And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in.
“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner.
“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in.
“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”
It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual.
“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed.
Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”
And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.
“Ichiji.”
“Yes, young master.”
“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”
“Of course, young master.”
---
Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside.
Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.
Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…
“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”
Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you.
Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”
“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”
He…didn’t sound like he was joking.
Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”
At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”
“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”
He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”
“For the divorce.”
And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.
You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner.
“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”
And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit.
You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you.
But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.
The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”
Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”
“Only for you.”
Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.
Stammering out, “Corny.”
“Only for-”
“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders.
Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now.
Gathered here - for you.
Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them.
“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”
My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”
It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.
He wins.
“Congratulations. Let us begin now.”
You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.
It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.
Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second.
Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”
You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”
“A waitress, she said?”
“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”
“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”
The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”
“Mother, be quiet or-”
“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”
Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane.
Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”
Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”
“My wife and I are leav-”
“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.”
Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.
His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”
Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily.
“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”
Thud!
It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up.
“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru.
He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold.
“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”
You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”
What the fuck happened?
He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to.
Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.
“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list.
“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”
You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”
That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.
---
“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain.
The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands.
You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”
He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.
“It’ll be alright.” you nod.
And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.
---
Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight.
The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting.
But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it.
“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.
Something else also happened - something different.
Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”
“You wish.”
“Maybe I do.”
Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-
“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”
Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”
The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.”
“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~”
You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”
And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.”
Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger.
Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.
Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours.
“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”
Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table.
Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before.
“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”
Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.
Were you going insane?
Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”
“Thinking of me?”
Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today.
“Satoru?”
His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic.
Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.
Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”
A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”
Run away. Run away. Run away-
There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.”
“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.”
You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”
“So go with me instead.”
“What if-”
“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave.
Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”
And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.
It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-
And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips.
“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.
“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”
He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach.
“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it.
“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”
He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were.
But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.”
And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”
“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.
“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.”
Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”
You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.
“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”
Rip!
The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically.
Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”
“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”
“You’re awful.”
“And yet you married me.”
With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”
He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”
You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub.
Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you.
“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.
“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard. “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”
You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now.
And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?
Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-
“Sh-shit. Toru-”
“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”
“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.”
He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-
“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please.
“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”
And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”
“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”
“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”
One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him.
“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-” You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.
And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want.
Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue.
“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”
You weren’t going to make it out alive.
Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”
And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear.
“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time.
“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself.
And he sees right through you.
“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”
You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now.
Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.
“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all.
And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.
“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”
You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back.
Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.”
“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard.
You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.
And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything.
“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”
You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”
“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”
“All yours, Toru.”
And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.
With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot.
“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”
Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.
And exactly where you wanted to be.
You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much.
“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy.
“Close?”
“Mhm…”
“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”
And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.
Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.
And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper.
You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now.
And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him.
Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”
“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”
Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”
“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”
A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.
#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru#tonywrites
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After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.
Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.
Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.
By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.
When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.
Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.
Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.
Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.
For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.
Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.
That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!
So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.
People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.
Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."
They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.
Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.
#palestine#free palestine#gaza#free gaza#may allah protect them#may almighty allah see our pain#hopefully she'll message me tomorrow
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jeon jungkook fics that own my mind, body, heart, and soul
in other words, this is a collection of my favorite jk fics on tumblr! if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, pls remember to support the authors by interacting with their post. part 2 | other bts members
➺ bitchin - by @kinktae
summary: the 80s were a time of choices. which perm was right for you? what color neon would you wear next? none of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with jeon jungkook.
➺ idealizations concerning real life relations - by @venusiangguk
summary: jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return.
➺ hotter than hell - by @chateautae
summary: jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.
➺ jump then fall (into you) - by @writtenwhalien
summary: bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a years long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?
➺ too late to dream - by @kookslastbutton
summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.
➺ the forgotten spaces- by @oddinary4bts
summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?
➺ when the end comes - by @oddinary4bts
summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook? **sequel to the forgotten spaces
➺ falling - by @starshapedkookie
summary: soulmate (noun): a person who is bound to another through the strongest level of emotional and physical connection. one is given a name on the body upon 18 years of age and any transgressions against the laws of soul-bonding will not occur without harm.
➺ love alive - by @jamaisjoons
summary: a year after you and jungkook break up, the two of you meet at your brother’s party.
➺ changes in between - by @taegularities
summary: Becoming the roommate of Jeon Jungkook is the biggest change you’ve ever gotten thrown into - but little do you know that the addition of another man will bring even further turbulence into your (love) life.
➺ falling skies - by @fortunexkookie
summary: Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely. You used to be friends, but then he had gone from endearingly frustrating dumb boy to card-carrying fuckboy so fast it had given you whiplash.
Despite the teasing and fighting, Jiyeon realized how Jungkook felt about you long before he did - it was a twin thing - and if you were her sun, and he was her moon, then she just wished she could show you how he reflected your light.
➺ sugarplum elegy - by @bymoonchild
summary: You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while. Or, Jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.
➺ an abundance of mondays - by @diortae
summary: "why the fuck would it be easy? you’re disgustingly in love with your best friend. of course it’s complicated.” he pauses to roll his eyes, as if he hasn’t just laid out the most secret parts of you here in the middle of the campus dining hall.
➺ five dates - by @kpopfanfictrash
summary: “Ten dates,” he nods, smile tugging at his lips. “Ten dates, to decide if you want this – want me – or want me to go. Ten dates to get to know me. Ten dates,” he says, oddly soft, “to fall in love with me.” Which then becomes five.
➺ here comes the bride, all dressed in pride - by @hansolmates
summary: You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend
➺ if i told you - by @gukyi
summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.
#bts fic rec#fic recs#bts fic#bts fanfic#bts x reader#bts x oc#bts angst#bts smut#jungkook angst#jungkook smut#taehyung angst#taehyung smut#jimin angst#jimin smut#yoongi angst#yoongi smut#bts fan fiction#fic rec list#namjoon angst#namjoon smut#hoseok angst#hoseok smut#seokjin angst#seokjin smut#bts masterlist#jungkook x reader#taehyung x reader#seokjin x reader#hoseok x reader#namjoon x reader
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offer my hand and I'll take your name
Felix Catton x fem!Reader x Oliver Quick. (AO3)
It's yours and Felix's wedding night. That doesn't withhold you from inviting Oliver to join in on the fun of conceiving an heir.
pwp, breeding, threesome, praise, cum-eating, general filth.
“He’s good at that, isn’t he?” Oliver asks you, his voice calm and collected in the quiet of the bedroom you’re in. You choke on a sob of pleasure as you nod in agreement, feeling the corded muscles of Oliver’s thighs flex from where they are cushioned underneath your head.
Oliver’s deft fingers gently carding through your hair are a stark contrast to Felix’s, which are digging into your waist to stop you from sliding up the bed with each animalistic slap of his hips against yours. Felix’s brand-new wedding band gleams in the flames of the candles dotting the room, a welcome reminder that this is allowed now, that it’s even required of you two — the familiar slide of Felix’s thick cock inside of you unimpeded by a condom for the very first time.
“Our Felix knows exactly how to fuck your little cunny, doesn’t he?” Oliver teases you.
Above you, Felix groans, his sweat-slick skin like molten gold, “Jesus Christ, Ollie”.
Oliver lets out a pleased hum, his fingers giving a tug on your hair. His other hand wanders down your skin, first possessively curling around your throat before lowering to knead at your breasts. Your nipples harden at his attention, arching your back to urge him on.
“Look at how needy she is, Felix,” Oliver goads you, “Our pretty girl’s been begging you for this, huh? She’s been wanting you to breed her for ages, and she’s finally getting what she’s asked for. She should be grateful, hm?”.
You answer him with a desperate moan, eyes rolling back to glance up at Oliver through your eyelashes. His eyes are dark and stormy, his lips bitten red.
“C’mon now, darling, aren’t you gonna thank Felix for fucking you so well?”.
“Thankー oh fuck, thank you, Felix” you moan.
Oliver tuts, a sarcastic little sound that sends a delighted shiver down your spine, “I know you can do better than that”.
Oliver’s hand slides down over your tummy, fingers gliding over your puffy folds before thumbing at your sensitive clit, your slick easing his movements. You were dripping with it, making a mess of your marital bed. Felix’s hips stutter as he watches Oliver’s movements, entranced by the way his fingers slide against you.
“Thank you for breeding me,” you gasp in between moans, “Always so good to me, letting me have — oh god, right there, Oliver — everything I want. For making me your wife”.
Felix grinds his hips, slowing the drag of his cock inside of you. His impossibly large hands slide up, his arm brushing against Oliver’s as he gropes your breasts, looking you right in the eyes as he does, black pupils eclipsing his warm brown eyes.
“Tell me what you need,” Felix demands, looking like a modern-day Greek god as he towers above you and Oliver, his chest heaving from the exertion of fucking you, “Anything you want, you can have it”.
“Want you to fuck me full, Felix,” you moan, clenching around his cock, “want you to give me your babies”. The confession makes you blush, your already reddened cheeks deepening in color.
Felix groans at your words, a guttural sound that makes Oliver’s fingers twitch where they’re furiously rubbing at your clit. Felix readjusts you, tugging on your legs to place them on his shoulders before he leans in, almost folding you in half as he does. Oliver’s hand is squished between your cunt and Felix’s stomach, cramped but never-stilling against your sweat-slick bodies.
He fucks you with a force that makes your toes curl. The heavy press of Felix on top of you paired with the steady presence of Oliver below you is enough to make you feel dizzy. The muscles in your lower stomach clench deliciously, Felix’s cock now pumping into you even deeper than before.
Above you, Oliver has taken advantage of Felix’s new proximity to lick and suck at the taller man’s neck, adding to the smattering of red marks that were already there. Felix preens at the attention, his thrusts quickly growing sloppy.
“Fuck Ollie,” he moans, “I’m really fucking our girl raw. She’s gonna look so pretty with my cum leaking out of her little pussy”.
You sob out another desperate moan, hips twitching from the stimulation you’re receiving from both men. You feel yourself tipping over the edge, your orgasm suddenly so very close.
“There you go darling,” Oliver encourages you, “cum all over your husband’s cock for me”.
Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, punching the air from your lungs as Felix continues to fuck you through it, your walls twitching around him. Oliver’s praise barely registers for you, what with his fingers continuing to rub tight little circles on your pussy. The overstimulation sets in quickly, your hips twitching and whiny noises spilling from your lips.
“God, darling, your pussy is milking me,” Felix gasps, jackhammering into you as he chases his own orgasm.
It doesn’t take much more than that to push him over the edge, Oliver’s wet mouth against the column of Felix’s throat as he unloads inside of you with a drawn-out moan. Oliver’s hand stills its movements, sliding out from in between you and Felix to trail back up your torso. He brings them up to your face, Oliver’s digits shiny with your slick as he prods at your lips, prompting you to open up for him. You do as he wishes, obediently sucking his fingers clean from your own spend as you watch Felix pull away, your legs slipping from his shoulders as he pulls his softening cock out of you.
“Ollie, you should come see this,” Felix speaks reverently, sitting back on his hunches, bottom lip gripped between his teeth as he holds your thighs apart, watching as his cum slowly begins to drip out of your puffy pussy.
Oliver is quick to join him, sliding out from underneath you to join Felix at the foot of the bed. You feel exposed in a way that makes your skin tingle, having these two men stare at your dripping core like it’s the eighth wonder of the world. You throw your arms up to cover your eyes, blocking out the sight of your lovers, while you try your hardest to catch your breath.
When one of them leans in, their hot breath fanning over your cooling skin, you aren’t even sure at first if it’s Oliver or Felix who does it. All you know is that there’s a tongue licking broad strokes against your freshly fucked pussy, cleaning up the mess you and Felix had made. You choke out a shocked moan, lifting your arms to find Oliver crouched between your legs, eyes blissfully closed as he laps away at you. Felix sits next to him, lips parted in silent pleasure as his eyes flicker from Oliver to you, his cock soft but stubbornly twitching in interest.
“Look at our boy licking it all up,” Felix croons, reaching out to pet Oliver’s brown locks, pushing him closer up against your sensitive pussy.
Oliver’s hips gyrate against the plush material of the mattress, moaning against your folds as he licks and sucks at you like a man starved. Your thighs clench around Oliver’s head, a wanton attempt at keeping him close. He brings his fingers up to slide inside of you, pumping them at the same pace that he’s grinding his cock against the bed. Before long, Felix’s filthy praise and Oliver’s tongue and fingers pushed you over the edge a second time — your orgasm the drawn-out, toe-curling, shake-inducing kind that washes over you like a tsunami.
Between your legs, Oliver comes with a muffled shout, his face pressed against the sheets as his hips still their erratic humping.
“You’re both so fucking beautiful,” Felix praises, laying himself down on the bed next to you, an arm thrown lazily over your stomach. Oliver eventually scoots himself up, still breathing heavily, and lays down on the other side of you. His hand rests on your hip, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your skin. You feel calm and satisfied in a way that you know won’t last very long, what with Felix’s cock already back at half-mast next to you paired with the still-hungry look in Oliver’s eyes. You fidget with your wedding ring, feeling its unfamiliar grooves and diamonds with the pad of your fingers.
If this was your first night as Mrs. Catton, you couldn't wait to find out what the rest were going to be like.
#saltburn#saltburn smut#felix catton smut#felix catton x reader#oliver quick smut#oliver quick x reader#felix catton#oliver quick#mine
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Floof Attack
Synopsis: Xavier had always been a clingy kitty, one of the perks working from home is that he could always be at your side. But leaving for a few days to attend your friend's wedding had been a mistake. You find your sweet boy out in the garden. With his back turned to you, you try to draw his attention, but he only feels abandoned. How do you deal with a sulking Xavikitty? Well, you don't need any hints. You know exactly where to pet to get a cat purring.
Tags: xavier x afab!reader, MDNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED, no use of y/n, smut, porn with little plot, not proofread, guided handjobs, outdoor sex, fluff, use of pet names (kitty, sweet star, darling, sweet boy, my love), pouty xavier, yearning, soft sex, CATBOY!XAVIER, jeremiah and jenna mention
Words: 4.2k
a/n: in light of the new banner and my hyperfixation on catboys i have decided to release fics about them! i hope you enjoy! ive been sitting on these plots since they have been announced so they arent 100% accurate to the cards but they have my own spin on them!
ao3 | Yes, Cat Caretaker master list | kofi
You step out of the cab and as soon as your feet touch the ground you sigh, happily. You're home, finally. After a weekend away for Jenna's wedding you wanted nothing more than to climb onto your couch, stretch out and nap - but not without your loving kitty, Xavier. He had been upset with you leaving for the weekend, not able to bring him along, to the point he nearly stole your suitcase from you to force you to stay. The look on his sad face as you closed the door on him etched into your mind - the slight tremble to his lip, his wide blue eyes glossy, and his fluffy ears sagging as he stood in the living room watching you go.
Your mutual friend Jeremiah stopping by a few times a day with takeout, so Xavier doesn't burn your house down and to keep him company. Even sending you a few sneakily taken pictures of him napping, curling in on himself, fluffy tail resting over his stomach. It only made you miss him more and more each day, to feel his soft fur under your fingertips, his warm body enveloping you as you sleep, to see him perched on the counter as you make food. It only took you three days to realize how much he took up your life, how every little thing made you think of him.
But you were finally home, walking up to your front door as the weight in your chest finally lifts. As you make your way inside, noting the stillness of the house as you set your bags by the door. You want to call out to him, but the thought of waking your sleepy kitty stops you in your tracks.
An hour ago, Jeremiah left, messaging you that he left Xavier on the couch sleep as he left your home. Seeing that he wasn't there, only left you the option to go look for him. You make your way through your small, shared home, looking in all of his usual hang out and nap spots to find nothing. You peek out of your kitchen window, out to your garden. Seeing movement your eyes catch a glimpse of a pair of fluffy ears, and a thick swishing tail.
Grabbing the small gift bag you brought home for him, you make your way outside. Lush grass under your sandals, birds singing in nearby trees, the scent of flowers filling your senses. Xavier was found crouching by a patch of forget-me-nots, ears flicking back towards you, obviously listening to your footsteps as you approach. You sit behind him on the small bench next to a tree, placing the bag beside you as you watch your sweet kitty.
"I'm home," Your voice sweet, almost relieved. Xavier's tail swishes and his ears flick back towards you before they fixate themselves forward again.
''Hmph," He pouts, not taking his eyes from his flowers. Your sulking Xavikitty obviously isn't impressed with your leave, not wanting to even talk to you shows how upset he was for being left home alone. Time to step up your game and hopefully make it up to your sensitive cat boy.
You reach into the bag at your side, fingers brushing past the dried fish treats, small cat toys, and finally land on the cat wand. You pull it out, slowly in hopes the bell doesn't jingle just yet. Holding it out to his side you pause before you shake it. Watching the sun rays on his creamy white skin, making his light blond hair glow like an angel. The fluff of his ears almost creating a halo around his head. Times like this, you are reminded how blessed you were that he was your companion, having the most beautiful cat person at your side for a lifetime. With a smile you shake the toy, a soft jingle perking his ears high on his head.
"...A bell?" He questions, whipping around fast. His eyes find the toy, then slowly trail up to you making eye contact. His ears droop, a pout set on his pink lips as he looks at you. You take the opportunity to shake the toy again, summoning him closer to you. Luckily it works, Xavier turning more as you lift the toy in the air above his head. You watch him try to catch it, just out of his reach, hands clasping nothing but air as you move it away, closer to you. He follows it, crawling closer to you until you finally let him grasp it. One hand closing around the toy as the other closes around your hand, holding it still long enough for him to slip the wand from it.
"I'm pretty sure you got what you wanted. Why are you still shaking it?" Pouting as he places the wand at his feet, brows furrowed as he looks into your eyes. His hand never leaves yours, the warmth of his skin on yours already melting your heart, telling you that you're home, that your love is right here.
"I haven't, actually." You say with a shake of your head, his ears perking back up. "But I'm close to getting it." Taking his hesitation, you slip your hand from his grasp, other hand coming up to his soft ear. Xavier dodges your touch, moving his head to the side as he lets out a shocked gasp. But you reach back, his ear twitching just before your fingers slowly caress his soft fur. He hums, almost as if he's proving a point, leaning gently into your touch. Blush creeping up to his cheeks, painting them a beautiful soft pink as his eyes meet yours again. Shiny blue eyes with gorgeous long eyelashes landing on your face, obvious protest in them as he almost forces himself to still hold a grudge.
"So you remembered to be gentle with my ears," He pouts once more in an almost whine. Lips pursed, eyebrows scrunched, accusingly. You laugh, rubbing his soft hair, loving your pouty kitty. Though it wasn't often, Xavier could be one of the most pouty, whiny cats you've ever met. Usually after meeting stray cats or occasionally men, coming home and smelling them on your clothes and skin, always huffing with his ears flat to his hair.
Your hand travels back up to his ear, sensitive to the touch as always. Thumb pressing firm against his inner ear, fingers wrapping behind as you stroke up, thick fur slipping between as you make your way back down. Xavier's breath deepens, eyes closing in the sensation of his hypersensitivity. You glide your hand back up to the tip, rubbing the thin flesh between your hand - something that always drove him crazy.
"Why do you keep pushing your luck when you find an opening?" He pants out, breath heavy as he revels in your touch. Dragging your hand down, you cup his cheek. A sweet smile playing on your lips as your thumb swipes along his smooth, soft skin. He leans into you, wanting nothing more than to nuzzle into your warmth - something he has been denied for the entire weekend. As he tries, you pull away, his ears drooping, eyes softening into an almost pathetic plea for you.
"We don't stop halfway when it comes to these things, right?" His own way of begging you to continue, to please and love on him until he gets his fill. You obey with a soft chuckle, hand reaching up to his untouched ear to stroke it. Both twitching at your touch, an instant reaction as your fingers glide over the fur. Slowly, his composure slips, leaning his head against your arm as you brush your nails over him. His hot breath fanning on your skin as he moves his head to match your motions, intensifying the sensation. You watch as your kitty's eyes roll, lids fluttering shut as his lips part, his blush deepening under his pretty eyes. His fluffy tail behind him sways almost on its own in satisfaction.
"Yeah..." He moans out, lids lifting as his lustful gaze meets yours. Your heart pounds in your chest, his hand coming to caress your arm, urging you to continue. "Right there. By my ear..." He pleads, another breathy moan slipping from his lips, shooting right to your core. His head turns, unable to control himself as his rough tongue kitten licks up your forearm, lips placing a gentle kiss to your wrist. Wetness grows between your thighs, seeing him crumble so easily from just a touch made you want to consume him. Have him shake with you, hot bodies pressing together in a way you have missed far too much since leaving him.
"I think this cat likes other stuff besides bells," The heaviness in your tone couldn't be ignored, a crack in your composure as you slide your hand from his head, fingers gliding over his before they come to rest back on your lap. Ears drooping from loss of contact, he pouts, eyes drift to the ground. Xavier's warm, soft hands come to rest on your thighs, sad blue eyes looking back up to your own.
"But even if I like it..." He pauses, crossing his arms and resting his chin on them, sulking. "I can't forgive you for abandoning me. Not yet." Oh, how you wanted to scoop him up in your arms, kiss him until he was drunk, watch his face flush a deep pink. Your sweet boy still feeling hurt from your small trip, engraving in your mind that you will never leave him again.
You reach out, cupping his chin with all the love you have in you. His ears twitch once before standing high on his head, his big blue ragdoll eyes widen at the gentle touch. His plush tail swaying lazily behind him, showing how much he loved the attention.
"Then can you tell me what's the best way to comfort my cat?" You ask, voice silky and warm. Thumb sliding up, pushing his top lip so you can see his beloved canine teeth, a shocked gasp leaving his open mouth. Your kitty never being one to show aggression, but you wouldn't have minded a bite or two to ease his satisfaction.
"Not like this," He whispers, head falling as he mopes. Eyes laying back to the ground again as his ears fall, tail drooping behind him on the soft, lush grass, his face moving just out of touch.
You reach out again, fingers scratching under his chin. Nails grazing his skin, his eyes flutter closed at the comforting gesture, something he is all too familiar with. Soft swishing of his tail swaying faster in the grass as he leans into your touch for just a moment.
"Mmm, it's nice..." Xavier hums, almost appraising what you have to offer. "But this isn't what I'm looking for." More confidence leaks out of your usual soft-spoken kitty. He quickly grasps your hand, pulling it off of his chin, pressing your fingers to the base of his throat.
"You're good at dealing with your kitty," He rises from his sunken position, up onto his knees. Your lover's hand slowly guides yours to his clothed chest. "You don't need any hints, right?" Under your touch you could feel his heartbeat as you pass, quick and pounding in his chest. His breath quickening as you stop right between his ribs, clothed flesh brushing against your open hand as he heaves. You know what he wants, you can sense it in every way, from his voice to his touch, to the way his eyes land on you. But he also knows better, to use his words like a good kitty, ask you directly for what he wants - he knows you would always give in. So, since he refuses to speak, you scratch his chest, a low purr vibrating in his throat as your nails rake over him. He pants out, head lulling forward for just a moment before you look up at him. Face blazed in pink blush, blue eyes half lidded and glossy - so fucking needy.
"I guess you know exactly where to pet to get a cat purring, huh?" Xavier stands, using the tree beside both of you to steady himself as his large frame looms over you, He continues to trace your hand down his body, stopping at the waist of his pants, just your fingertips making contact now. You look up at his breathtaking face, his thin eyebrows knitting together in frustration, a famous pout on his kissable lips. He lifts his chin, cocking his head to the side as he waits, expectantly. "Why not try here?" He wastes no time placing your hand on the crotch of his pants, an obvious bulge in your hand as you cup it.
"Xavier," Your brows knitting together as you try your best to sound stern. His ears falter for just a moment, his big ragdoll eyes widening in worry of being punished. "We talked about you using your words. Tell me." You coo, thumbing over his erection. He takes a moment, shivering under your touch as he lets out a shaky breath.
"Please..." He begs, fingers tightening around your wrist, urging you to touch him. "Please love me..." His words coming out in an almost a cry, every emotion from the past weekend crashing through him as he pours his heart out to you in those simple three words. And how could you possibly resist, from the way he spoke to the sad look on his perfect face. You let your free hand slip up under his cotton shirt, fingers dusting over his abs as your other hand curled under the waist band of his sweatpants. He helps you tug them down, a painfully large bulge emerging face to face with you as it tents his boxers. Always needy, always for you.
You take a moment to admire him, something you had been denied all weekend but wanted more than life itself. Eyes trailing from the milky skin of his exposed stomach to the tuft of dark blond hair that trailed under the band of his boxers. If he hadn't needed your touch so urgently, you would've taken the time to run your fingers down it, placing lazy kisses from his navel to his pelvis on the slow mornings you usually shared. But from his hot flesh under your skin you could feel that there was no time, that you two had so much to say that didn't involve words. Curling your fingers under the waistband of his boxers you hear him suck in a breath. No matter how many times the two of you made love, every single gesture from you stole his breath away, just like how one look from him could do the same to you.
"Please..." His voice almost inaudible now, bottom lip quivering as you look up at him. You don't waste time, pulling down his boxers and setting him free, springing to life in front of your face.
"Oh, my sweet star," You coo, watching him twitch under your gaze, the pink tip leaking. With a whimper, he guided your hand to him, wrapping your fingers around the base of his already pulsing cock, soft bush of groomed hair tickling your flesh. Xavier lets out a gasp, a deep rumble of a purr humming in his chest as his eyes flutter shut from the contact. Here he was, your sweet kitty, right in front of you trembling under your touch. God how you have missed this, you didn't know how only three days would drive you mad without him by your side. But here he was, huffing as you slowly slide your hand from base to tip as his hold on you loosens.
You swipe your thumb over his sensitive tip, watching the shiver ripple over him, whimpering as his eyes squeeze even more closed. The juices helping you slip your hand back down with ease, slick enough for you to pick up pace and not need to worry about too much friction. The soft schlick every time you passed over his head making your thighs tremble, already so spent for you. It made you wonder how much it took to control himself while you were away, seeing the frustration on his face every time Jeremiah came to the door instead of you.
Xavier dragged his hand up your arm, fingers dusting your skin as they came to rest on your bicep, feeling your flexing muscle as you work him. The rumbling of his purring a steady hum surrounding you, broken up with small moans floating from his slacked jaw. You take the opportunity to delicately run your nails down the contours of his abs, drawing a lovely hiss from him that swarmed around your brain. His fingers tightening around your bicep for just a moment, a warning, before loosening once more. You see the faint red marks bloom on his pale skin, the way it moves with every heavy breath that graces his lungs. His cock jumping in your hand, telling you that he needed more, that he needed to cum just for you. Leaning in you place a kiss to your markings, lips barely touching before he cries out, hips thrusting into your hand, face bumping into his stomach.
You hum against him, the vibrations coaxing another whimper from him as his hand clasps on your wrist again, holding it still as he fucks himself into it. The growing slick in your palm only showing how close he was to release, not like the vein throbbing at a steady pace couldn't give him away. Xavier chokes out another cry above you, hips stuttering before they stop completely.
"M-more," Eyes opening as he begs you. You don't have the option to ask what more he needs, his hand lifts from your wrist as he pulls you to your feet, not letting you catch your balance before he crashes his lips onto you. The hunger, want, and longing that has been festering inside of him explodes on your senses as his lips fight against yours, sloppy and out of rhythm. He pushes you a few steps back, against the tree that shaded you from the sun hanging above. The feeling of the rough bark against your back, and his attack on your no doubt swollen lips only made every small sensation heighten. His soft, fuzzy tail swishing, brushing your ankle, the slight breeze kissing your heated skin. His hands running down your body, gripping you by your hips before grinding himself onto you. It all felt so much but yet not enough at the same time.
"I need you, Xavier," You breathe out as you break the kiss, huffing, your breath fanning over his face. Not wasting any time, he pulls the hem of your dress up and pushes your panties to the side, his lips latching onto anything it can find in a rushed sense of need - finding your neck. He hums against you as his long fingers swipe up your slit, finding how wet warm you were, your body telling him how needy you were for him in return. Eyes widening as you gasp out, hands clutching onto his shoulders as one of his fingers eases its way inside - pumping once, twice, before a second is added.
"Mmm, missed you so much..." The confession tugging at your heart, his delicate voice a harsh contrast compared to what his body was doing to you. A moan bubbling from your throat, the feeling of his fingers curling to your sensitive spot deep inside made you clutch onto him more.
Xavier pulled his fingers from you, leaving you whimpering and clenching around air. The empty feeling inside of you didn't last long, his still leaking cock slipped through your folds and into you, making your brain buzz from how full you felt. Xavier had always been big, filling you to the brim and hitting all of the best spots inside, but something felt different this time. Maybe because how close he had been before pulling you away, or maybe it's the passion that bound you two together, but the feeling of him inside of you, twitching against your walls, only made you want him more.
"Feel so good, Xavi," You praise, feeling his ear twitch against your cheek like a passing kiss. His long tail curled around your ankle, lifting your leg to tell you silently to move. You oblige, hooking it over his hip, sending his cock that much deeper inside you, making you toss your head back against the rough tree. He purrs, deep and rumbling, feeling it through his back as you hook your arms around his neck in a desperate attempt to be as close to him as possible.
Hips pulling back for just a moment, almost entirely out of you, then he snapped them back. Breathy moans fill your ears as he thrusts again, hot kisses trailing from your throat, up your neck, dancing over your cheek, and crashing back onto yours - spit wetting your skin in its wake. You allow him, swallowing his moans in your mouth, tongue lapping at his own, fingers threading through his feather soft locks. Nothing but love and longing shared between you, every touch pushing each other towards that delicious edge as he continued his fervent thrusts into you, soaking your thighs and his with your love.
The passion almost became too much for him as his hands gripped you tighter, desperate to confirm you were here with him again, that you were dancing this same old dance you have done hundreds of times before. He needed you, even now he needed more of you until you were the only thing that consumed him, the passion burning on his fingertips as he traced them up your bare thighs, over your panty clad hips, and onto your waist. He pushed you back towards the tree, the bark scratching at your bare ass cheeks but you didn't care, the only thing in the world that mattered held you there.
"Wanna cum in you," Lips brushing yours as he barely pulled back enough to speak, breath mingling with yours as you both pant for air. Who were you to deny your kitty that? The tight coil wound so much in your stomach you almost released at that, imagining being filled with his seed, and eventually with a swollen stomach from his litter.
"Mmm, want to put your babies in me, Kitty?" You tease, barely, not having enough in you to lighten your tone. His hips snap, cock pushing against that mouthwatering spot inside of you, making you arch your back and moan into his open mouth, eyes fluttering closed. Xavier purrs louder, hair and ears brushing against you as you feel him nodding fast.
"Please," Voice high and whiny as his hips begin to grow sloppy, his movements stuttering for a moment before he continues. "Please let me fill you, darling. Please!" He cries, burying his face into your neck once more, damp forehead against your sweaty shoulder. Your fingers tug softly at his roots, so fucking close to that edge you could see off of it, one small step and you would be flying through the air.
"Fuck..." Moaning, you arch your back off of the tree once more. "Cum in me Xavier, give it to me!" You cry, the last of your self control leaving as you shake around him, sex pulsing on his cock as you release.
His isn't far behind, you feel him twitch as the first rope coats your walls, a mewl muffled against your skin as his body shudders. Xavier empties himself entirely in you, seed dripping from your cunt as his cock softens inside, making a mess of both your legs and panties. Chests bumping together with every breath as you two attempt to control your rapid, speeding hearts. His hands never leave you, only softening his hold to a gentle caress, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your silky skin.
Xavier is the first to speak, saying your name so quietly you almost didn't hear him over the roar of your heart in your ears.
"Yes, my sweet boy?" Breathy, but calming, you brush your fingers through his hair, not forgetting to give a soft scratch behind his ear, rewarding your good boy.
"Please don't leave me again," You could almost cry at how helpless he sounds, how much this hurt him. With gentle hands, you cup his hot cheeks, pulling his face in front of yours so you can meet the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen. Glossy and wide, so beautiful yet fucked out at the same time. Placing a soft kiss to the tip of his pink nose, you smile, the corners of your lips pulling up.
"I'll never leave you again, my love." You promise, and mean it. Nothing should tear you apart again, he was so much more than your cat boy, he was your lover, your partner for life and you wanted nothing more than to have this man by your side forever. His features soften, the swishing tail behind him brushing at your still raised leg.
"I love you," He breathes, almost relieved at your words. A chuckle bubbling from your chest as you lay your damp forehead against his.
"And I love you, my kitty."
#love and deepspace#rafayel#lads smut#sylus love and deepspace#lnds fanfics#lnds smut#lads x reader#lads rafayel#lnds fluff#lnds angst#xavier x reader#xavier#lads xavier#xavier love and deepspace#xavier smut#xavier x mc#xavier x you#love and deepspace xavier#lnds#lnds xavier#xavier fluff#xavier lads#shen xinghui#lads xavier x reader#xavier x y/n#love and deepspace smut
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okay,,,, hear me out,,,, how being ford's and stan's younger sibling and maybe like- remember when ford asked stanley to take the book and sail away? maybe what if ford asked reader to do that instead? and what if instead of ford being pushed into the portal it was reader? idk man i justn want some sibling angst >:]
World/Insured
Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader
᧔o᧓ i told myself it was gonna be a short lil fic
᧔o᧓ its 3k words guh
᧔o᧓ i had a lil too much fun writing this
᧔o᧓ if i made a taglist, would anyone be interested in being in it? if so, dm me or comment :p
᧔o᧓ angst!!
᧔o᧓ gnreader!
᧔o᧓ thats really all, enjoy!
᧔o᧓ request r open!!
𝜗℘ “[Name]! There’s some mail, can you be a doll and get it for me?” Stan shouts from the living room, a loud cheer following right after. His favorite football team of his was currently playing out of state and by the obnoxiously loud whistling and joyful cries, they seem to be doing good. Moodily stomping your foot on the ground, you yell; “Why don’t you get you slob!” while furiously scrubbing the dirty dishes clean. “But it’s sooo farr.” He whines. You could perfectly imagine his hand lazily reaching towards the door, exaggerated groans leaving his lips. Letting out an annoyed groan, you drop the plate down in the sink and shut off the sink. Walking out of the kitchen and into the living room, you point an angry finger at him. “You’re washing the dishes since you’re being a lazy bum right now.” You walk away, ignoring his protests against washing the dishes. Opening the door, you pop your head out and see a single postcard placed on the floor matt. You picked it up, curious about the unfamiliar postcard. “Gravity Falls?” You read out, closing the door with your foot. You’ve never heard of a place called that before? Flipping it on its back, in bold big letters read ‘Please come! - Ford’ Your heart catches in your throat. You had to reread the message again to make sure you weren’t imagining things.
𝜗℘ “Stan!” You need to show Stan this. He’d be the one to make sense of this all. Maybe you were imagining things, so delirious on the sadness of your distant brother your brain chose to cheer itself up by hallucinating postcards by Ford. That sounds plausible, right? “What’s up? Did you change your mind?” You don’t bother responding and shoved the postcard in his face. His face scrunches in confusion as he plucks the postcard from your hand. “Gravity Falls?” The same lost expression was pulled on his face. “Now, flip it on its back!” You said, tapping the card eagerly. Stan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, slapping your hand away. “I will! If you’d let me.” He grumbled, turning it around. He reads the text, his eyes slowly widening. “FORD?!” He screams, abruptly standing up from the sofa. “He wants to talk to us now?” He glares at the postcard, anger swirling in his body. “What could he possibly want!”
𝜗℘ “I dunno but it sounds urgent.” You said, uncertainty in your tone. “You’re seriously considering seeing him?” He throws the postcard on the coffee table in front of him. “Is this something you really want to do?” Stan asks you, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s eyeing you carefully as if you have no idea what you’re talking about. “Yes, Stan! This is our brother. We need to go see him.” Stan pinched his nose, grumbling under his breath. “Fine,” He rolls his shoulders. “If we want to leave now, we better start packing.”
𝜗℘ While packing you wondered what Ford would have wanted. Did he want to reunite? Is this a sort of wedding invitation? Has he gone mad? So many scenarios filled your head and yet none of them felt right. Stuffing your clothes in your bag, you zip it close. “I’m done packing!” You announce, walking down the stairs. “Hurry, Stan! Or I’m going to leave without you!”
𝜗℘ “You better not!” Stan came rushing down the stairs, a bag strung across his body. “You ready?” You ask him, turning off the lights in the hallway. “I guess,” Stan shrugs, twisting the knob to the door, pulling it open. “After you.” He bows down to the floor. You kneed his shoulder, rolling your eyes. “You look ridiculous, get up.” You laugh.
𝜗℘ The car ride over to Gravity Falls was full of bostrious conversation from you and Stan. “Do you think he has a beard now?” Stan gasps, a grin pulling to his face at the thought of Ford with a beard. “Or a buzz?�� You add, moving your head to the beats of the song that faintly played on the radio. “Nah, he would never.” Stan shakes his head. “The chances are never zero!”
𝜗℘ Checking the weather for probable storms was something you should’ve done beforehand. Stan was the first to notice how much snow had been falling and how roughly the wind slammed against the car. Thinking nothing of it, you continued onwards, telling Stan that he was probably making a big deal. He wasn’t. Nearing Gravity Falls, a snowstorm plowed through the small town and unknown to you and Stan, you got caught in it. That led you to pull over onto the side of the road that was practically just a white forest wonderland. “And who’s fault is this?” Stan asked sarcastically, motioning towards the car that was stuck in the snow. Fortunately for you and Stan, you were right where you needed to be. “Whatever, we’re close anyway.” You scowl, treading through the thick snow. “I think I might get blown away!” Stan’s loud voice pierced through the loud wind. “Stop being so dramatic!” You latched your hands around Stan’s wrist. “Oh, you’re so sweet.” Stan said, covering his face from the snow with his forearm. “Sure,”
𝜗℘ Approaching the shack, you knock on the door. “Ten bucks he doesn’t—“ The door whips open and a crossbow gets shoved to your face. “Woah, woah!” Stan swiftly stood in front of you, his body shielding you. “Who are you? Have you come to steal my eyes!”
𝜗℘ “Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.” Stan said, unbothered with Ford’s unusual greeting. Standing on your toes, you peered your head over Stan’s shoulder. You warmly smiled at Ford. He saw you and Stan, his eyes softened and his shoulders untensed. And for a split moment, Ford had a comforting feeling settle on him. He thought everything was going to be alright, but a slight shadow moving behind the trees triggered his paranoia back tenfold.
𝜗℘ “Guys! Did anyone follow you at all?” He looks warily side to side. “Eh, hello to you too, pal.” Said Stan, annoyance evident on his face. With one final look outside, Ford grabs you and Stan by the collar and pulls you in the shack. He shines a flashlight in Stan’s eyes then yours. “Why did you do that?” You pushed Ford away from you. “Sorry, I just had to make sure you weren't... uh, it's nothing. Come in, come in.” He urges you in, darting away further into the house. You closed the door and surveyed his house. Skeletons of certain animals were hung around, various books were stacked on top of each other and thrown around the house, and loads of crumpled up balls were scattered across the hallway. “What a mess this is.” You whisper to Stan who chuckles softly. “I’m telling him you said that.” Stan cheekily smiled. Removing his hand from his jacket pockets, he held his hand palm up in front of you. “You owe me ten bucks from earlier.” You sighed, grabbing your wallet out of your pocket and grabbing a crisp ten dollar bill. “Thank you!” He grabs it, sniffs it and shoves it in his pocket. “You’re weird.”
𝜗℘ “Uh, you’re gonna explain what’s going on here?” Stan asks, as you walk into another room, your mouth going slack in shock at how messy the room is. “You’re acting like mom on her tenth cup of coffee!” An amused puff of air left your nostrils. “He’s acting way worse than her.” You say, your eyes locking on a large animal skull that laid on top of an empty tank. “Don’t touch that!” He already knew that look in your eyes, a look where it told everyone who knew you that you were going to touch whatever caught your attention. “Thought I could get away with that.” You mumbled.
𝜗℘ Ford fills his arms with stacks of paper and a thick journal with the number one drawn on it. “Listen, there isn’t much time.” Ford starts, looking back to see if he missed any papers. “I’ve made huge mistakes and I don’t know who I could trust anymore.” He glances over to the skeleton who was positioned to where it's empty eye sockets stared directly at Ford’s side. Uncomfortable with the skeleton, he turns the head around. Stan’s immediately off put with how Ford’s talking. “Hey, uh, easy there. Let’s talk this through, okay?” He says, placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder. A glimpse of conflict flickers on Ford’s face. “I have something to show you two. Something you won’t believe.” Stan claims he’d understand, you heavily doubted that, this is Ford we’re talking about. Whatever he has to show, it is nothing within the lines of normal.
𝜗℘ He instructs you to follow him down to his lab. “Is this what you’ve been doing for 10 years?” You pondered out loud, your eyes taking in every machine that covered the place. What you weren’t expecting was the big triangular portal that stood in front of you and Stan. “Do you understand any of this?” You harmlessly jested. Stan dumbly stared at the portal in front of him. “Nope!”
𝜗℘ Taking steps towards the machine, Ford began to explain why such a thing was built and why it should never be turned on. He opened the side of his trench coat, his hand grabbing the book that was tucked in a pocket. “There’s only one journal left.” The journal was in front of you. “This is why I’m entrusting [Name] to hold onto the book.” You grabbed the book and you instantly felt queasy. “I have something to ask of you both,” His hands lay on you and Stan’s shoulders. “Remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?” Your eyes glimmer with excitement. Was this the moment you and Stan have been waiting for? Are the Pines finally reuniting once and for all? “Take this book, get on a boat and sail away as far as ya can! To the edges of the earth!” He emphasizes this with a raise of his hands. “Bury it where no one can find it!”
𝜗℘ “You want us to get away from you?” You restated, voice slightly clipped with anger. “We just got here, Ford! And now you’re saying to get away from you?” You repeated, hoping your words held some kind of weight that would’ve shattered the ridiculous idea Ford had conjuring in his mind. “[Name], you don’t understand what I’m up against!” Ford says. “What I’ve been through!”
𝜗℘ Stan must’ve took what Ford said personally with how he was huffing out through his nose. “No, no!” Stan points at Ford. “I’ve been ban from three different countries! [Name] was outcasted by Dad because he didn’t bother taking care of them after you left! You think you’ve got problems? Me and [Name] have been struggling to stay afloat, Stanford.” He directs a finger to Ford’s chest. “Meanwhile, where have you been? Living it up in your fancy house in the woods! Selfishly hoarding your college money, because you only care about yourself!”
𝜗℘ “I’m selfish? I’m selfish, Stanley?” His eyebrows furrow inwards. Ford opened his mouth, ready to blow a few holes into Stan when you interjected. “I did not come here to hear you guys fight!” You stood in front of Ford, shoving his book in his hands. “Ford, I love you so much but we did not come all the way here just to do your dirty work.” Ford jerked his head back in disbelief. “My dirty work? Really?” He chuckles dryly. “And to think I could trust you with something valuable like this!”
𝜗℘ “Forget it,” Ford looks down at his book. “Forget all of this.” He waves his arm around his surroundings. “Why did I bother to ask you guys to come here? It’s pointless, everything is!” Ford babbles to himself, his hand that wasn’t holding the books was deeply entangled in his hair. You grew concerned over your brother, taking a step toward him, you reached a hand out. “Ford, are you o—“ A hand slams straight into your chest, pushing you back and stumbling over your feet. Stan grabs a hold of you, steadying you before yanking the book away from Ford. “You want to get rid of this book?” With his other hand, he digs it in his pocket. “Fine, I’ll do it then!” He pulls out a lighter. Flicking the lighter on, he holds the fire below the book. “My research!” Ford tackles Stan to the ground, the book flying out of Stan’s hold. You hurriedly rush over to where the book is and grab it. Ford removes himself off Stan and steadily approaches you like a wild animal. “Give me the book back, [Name].” He swipes his hand towards you, but you quickly back away into his lab.
𝜗℘ “Don’t let him get the book, [Name]!” Stan groans out, standing back up from the floor. “No!” Ford snarls. “Don’t listen to him, listen to me!” Ford took two steps forward while you took two steps back. “I’m sorry, Ford!” The back of your shoe slams against metal. Whipping your head behind you, you see yourself backed into a control panel of some sort. “Why must you do this to me? To your own brother!” His voice cracks with each word. “Whatever you’re doing here is slowly killing you, Ford. This isn’t right.” You shake the book in your hand. Whatever that’s in this journal must have something to do with Ford’s declining sanity. “Your brain can’t comprehend the sheer amount of important information that is in that book! You can’t destroy it!” Ford lunges towards you but you were faster than his fatigued body, you duck below and roll out of the way. His fingers brush against some controls, powering on the portal.
𝜗℘ Running back to where the portal stood, you threw the journal to Stan. “Catch!” You yell. Stan perfectly catches the book. “What do we do with it?” He questions, his eyes speedily darting to the book and Ford who was running up to him. “Destroy it!” You watch Stan stepsids Ford. “No!” Ford desperately yells out. Stan ran back into the lab but was pulled down by Ford delivering a well calculated kick to his ankle. “Give me back my book!” Ford cried out, kicking Stan to the back of the control panel. A guttural howl of agony left Stan, his hand flying to his back. He fell forward and you could see the upper right shoulder of his jacket was burnt off, a sizzling marking was blistering on his skin. “Stanley, oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, are you alr—“ Stan punches Ford in the face, causing him to stumble back into the lever, fully activating the portal. “Some brother you turned out to be!” Stan threw his book to the floor. Ford raised himself to his feet and was about to run to the book when you grabbed the back of his shoulder.
𝜗℘ “Stanford, do you really care more about stupid mysteries than your own family?” You spoke quietly, your sorrowful eyes locking with Ford’s erratic ones. “I—“ He gulps, his eyes shooting to the discarded book on the floor. “Don’t reach for the book, Stanford, please,” You beg, your voice shaky. “I can’t watch you guys fight anymore.” A look of sadness covers his face as he pushes you back, your feet overstepping the yellow and black caution tape. “I can’t let you take this away from me too!” Ford snatches the book from the ground, a relief sigh leaving him. The book was finally—
𝜗℘ “[Name]!” Stan screeched. “Stanford, what did you do!” He screamed, his hands grabbing his shoulder, fingers digging into Ford’s skin. Ford turns over to see you being pulled in by the portal. “[Name]!” Ford runs to you and he attempts to grab you, but you’re too far up. “Stan, Ford!” You call for them, your hand reaching to them. Stan fruitlessly tried snagging a finger, your sleeve, absolutely anything! But nothing. “What’s happening?!” You cry out in fear, seeing half of your body disappear within the portal. “Stanford, fucking do something!” Stan shoves Ford back. “I-I don’t know what to do!” He stammers. Stan grips the lever and with all his strength, pulls back, trying to switch it off but it wouldn’t budge. “Stanle—“ Your voice gets lost to the whirling wind of the portal and with a quick blink, you were sucked in, lost to time and space. The portal blasted Ford and Stan back.
𝜗℘ Stan groggily gets up, clutching his head in his hands. “Y-You!” Stan stumbles over his words, ears ringing loudly. “If it wasn’t for your obsession with this book, [N-Name] would’ve still been here!” His eyes water with tears. “Stanley, I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Ford glanced at the portal, it was still intact, there was some hope! “We can power the portal on!” Ford scrambles to his feet and runs over to the portal. “It’s not going to work, Stanford.” Stan says, clenching his teeth so tightly he would’ve chipped a tooth. Stan watches with blurry eyes as Ford pathetically puts all his nonexistent strength into pulling the lever. “Stanley, help me!” He pitifully pleads. “It’s not going to work!” Stan yells. “All you do is bring bad luck wherever you go! You-You don’t do—“ His voice dies in his throat, a shuddered sob leaving in its stead. “Forget it, Stanford.” If you were here, you knew you wouldn’t want them to fight anymore. He held back his words in favor of you. “Stanley, we can fix this! We just need to find the other books.”
𝜗℘ As Ford shouted out different ways they could boot the portal back up, Stan left the lab and stared at the bag you left near the door. Grabbing it, he pulled it to his chest and sobbed onto it. You were gone and he wasn’t sure he was going to get you back.
Part 2
#gravity falls#gravity falls x reader#stanford pines x reader#stanley pines x reader#stanford pines#stanley pines x sibling!reader#stanford pines x sibling!reader#stan pines x reader#ford pines x reader#stan pines x sibling!reader#ford pines x sibling!reader
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The wedding getaway
A mile in each other's shoes
"Oh, come on, you can't be serious."
Lance groaned and looked at Lisa, the bride's maid, who in turn didn't appear all that amused either, although for different reasons. She smiled a sweet and poisonous smile as she answered.
"Yes, I am, Lance. Dead serious. Apparently, you have no idea how difficult it is to find a hotel with enough free rooms on a Caribbean island in the middle of spring break."
Before Lance could answer anything, she continued with a sharp voice.
"Or how expensive. So, yes, I'm afraid you have to share your suite with one of the other singles for the duration of your all-inclusive stay. Deal with it."
Lance took a deep breath and fought down the urge to say something very inappropriate. Lisa was probably right, and he wouldn't die from having to share a room with one of the other guests for a few days. He would only go there to sleep, anyway.
"Ok, ok. No need to explode like that. So, who will be my... roommate?"
In an instant, Lisa had a list in her hand and looked at it until she found the name.
"Let's see... that would be Jamal, who also didn't arrive with a date. I trust the two of you know each other?"
"Jamal? Oh god, no! Why do I have to room with the n... with him? Isn't there any other option?"
Lance couldn't believe it. Jamal, really? Of all the guest, he had to endure Jamal?
"No." Lisa said firmly. "And now, if you excuse me, there are a thousand other places I need to be right now. Have fun and try to get along with your roommate, ok? I'm not gonna make any changes."
With a flip of her hair, she walked away.
Lance was fuming as he fingered the keycard to his room. This had to be a bad joke. Jamal and him... Let's say they never got along really well. And ‘never’ was quite a long time for them, actually. They've known each other since kindergarten and didn't get along very well even then, although they had arguably be friends back then. But ever since, their relationship became worse.
It wasn't Lance's fault, of course. That much was certain, he decided, as he drew the card through the door sensor. Jamal was just so...
The door opened and revealed the object of his disdain.
Black.
There was hardly any way to phrase it differently, Jamal had the unmistakable dark skin color of a dirty ... Black man. Lance didn't consider himself a racist, but the fact was that people who weren't white were less civilized, that was just the way it was.
"Lance."
Jamal's voice was just as dark as his skin as he glared at Lance. Unlike Lance, Jamal most definitely was racist. He was proud of his heritage and thought very lowly of Lance, no doubt because of his skin color. If things were allowed to continue like that, people like Lance would surely become even more oppressed by people like Jamal. He closed the door behind him.
"Yes, that's me. Do you have a problem with that?"
He approached the other man like a predator until he stood right in front of him. They were about the same size, and Lance could see the dark wide nostrils of the other guy flare.
"Yes."
Jamal spat the word.
"I do. What are you doing here, you white piece of trash?"
Lance gritted his teeth.
"What are you doing here, you filthy ni-"
Jamal's fist flew before Lance could finish the word and it was only due to the fact that Lance expected the hit that he could dodge and thus avoid having his teeth bashed in. He answered with a quick kick to the balls, and the two men began their brawl.
The fight was short and intense, but neither of them managed to seriously hurt their opponent. At the end, they sat at different sides of the large double bed, breathing heavily.
"Fuck."
Lance spit out a blood drop. Jamal had a surprisingly hard punch.
"Yeah, that about sums it up."
Jamal was massaging his wrist, and Lance guessed that his jaw would bruise pretty badly. He was more than surprised, however, when Jamal offered him his hand to help him up.
"It's no use, Lance. It looks like we're stuck together for the next few days, and I've got better things to do than beat your racist ass every time I go to my room. Truce?"
Lance considered the proposition for a few moments, before he nodded and grabbed the dark hand.
"Truce. At least as long as we're stuck in this room with each other, you fucking monkey."
A moment of silence followed before Jamal got up and went to the bathroom to take a shower. From inside, he mocked Lance again.
"You know, Lance, you really need to learn how to control your racism. I bet the only reason why you're so angry about me is the fact that I have a big dick."
"Oh, shut the fuck up, asshole."
These were going to be a few long days. The wedding wouldn't be for another two days to give everyone time to enjoy themselves a bit. Originally, Lance had looked forward to this opportunity, but now it seemed like these days were going to be more of an ordeal than anything else.
Of course, there was no way he was going to sleep in the same bed as Jamal, and, luckily, Jamal agreed on that without argument and moved his stuff to the couch. They didn't speak a single word to each other this evening, and Jamal left the hotel room shortly after, allowing Lance some time alone. He was still bruised up and dirty from the short fight and took the opportunity to take a shower himself.
The water was somewhat soothing, and slowly, Lance regained his composure. He certainly wouldn't let someone like him spoil his vacation, and perhaps Jamal was right, and it was a good idea to just ignore each other as much as possible. He could live with that.
When he was sufficiently clean and calm, he left the shower and reached for a fresh towel, only to see a small article of clothing fall from the rack.
With some disgust, Lance noticed what it was: A piece of underwear, a pair of boxer briefs to be exact. It was previously worn, and Lance had no doubts who the owner was. Jamal must have forgotten it when he took a shower earlier.
Lance tried to ignore the unwanted textile as much as he could, but his eyes kept returning to it. Truth be told, it wasn't all that small. In fact, especially the pouch area was rather large, and the fabric looked like it had been stretched somewhat. Without really wanting to, Lance had picked up the piece of underwear and inspected it from all sides now. Frustratingly enough, what Jamal had said earlier appeared to be true. If this piece of underwear was any indicator, then Jamal's dick had to be fairly huge.
That only angered Lance further. Who did Jamal think he was, with his stupid large penis, mocking him? Did Jamal think he could impress him with that?
The piece of clothing had a slightly damp feeling to it. Most probably it was because of the steam from two showers, but was that really all? His body acted on autopilot when he brought the foreign item of clothing closer and sniffed. It was a bit musky, that was for sure, but he wasn't quite sure yet. He buried his nose in the front part of the pouch, right where the dick had been before and took another deep breath.
Oh, there it was. Definitely, Jamal's scent was embedded in the fabric, and the smell was stronger now. Lance felt a rush of shame and anger. Did he really smell the underwear of his black temporary roommate? That was disgusting. He was just about to drop the garment, when he noticed something else. His own -rather small- dick stood proudly at attention.
"What?" Lance said out loud? He was hard because of a man’s underwear? No, not just any man’s. Jamal's, his arch enemies if he had any.
No, this had to stop. With a quick motion, Lance pulled the underwear over his legs and left the bathroom.
Only when he pulled on his pants over the baggy and mostly empty cloth that concealed his erection, he took note of what he had done. Why had he put on the thing?! Well, now it was too much of a hassle to change that, he decided and closed his pants, pressing the damp sweaty fabric against his groin.
Luckily, Jamal didn't come back until late in the night, when Lance was already asleep. He half noticed the other man getting settled on the couch, but he was too tired to care.
When Lance woke up the next morning, he was covered in sweat and his boxers were uncomfortably tight. He groaned as the memories of the day before came back. A quick glance confirmed: Yep, the black man was still there, on the couch, and still asleep, as it seemed.
With a throb, his cock demanded attention under the sheets. It had been quite a while since he had woken up with such a severe case of morning wood, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He wasn't alone, after all. He couldn't resist, however, to reach down under his sheets to readjust himself.
Only when he felt the unfamiliar fabric, again somewhat wet, by his own sweat and precum did he fully remember. Right, for some reason, he had put on Jamal's underwear after the shower. And later, when he went to bed, he hadn't fixed his mistake. There was something else, though.
Lance carefully felt the outline of his cock. This wasn't right. The stolen underwear pouch was filled to the brim with a throbbing organ entirely unfamiliar to him. This wasn't his cock! It was much, much too large!
However, every touch on the large piece of flesh felt good, and he couldn't resist stroking the length stealthily, if only a few times. Why did this feel so good? Lance failed to fully suppress a moan, and saw Jamal stir in his sleep. He really had to stop this. Only perhaps one or more stroke.
Were before, when rubbing one off, he often resorted to only using three fingers to stimulate his length due to his tools size. Now, however, he found that his whole hand was unable to fully close around the shaft, and there was a lot of space for his hand to move up and down, too.
He threw Jamal another glance, but the unwanted roommate still seemed to be asleep. Perhaps he could continue just a bit longer, and perhaps pick up some speed...
This time, too, he failed to muffle his moan completely.
"Ahh, fuck, yes..."
He breathed as he pumped the thick organ faster and faster, using his other hand to caress his balls through the underwear, which felt unusually large as well. Not being able to keep it down any longer, he pumped faster and faster, through Jamal's underwear, until, with a loud groan, he shot a generous load into the fabric.
Lance saw stars for a moment, but the noise had apparently been enough to wake up Jamal, and he turned around on the couch and remarked with a sleepy voice filled with annoyance.
"Dude, what the fuck? Did you just jerk off?"
"Uhh, no. I was... not."
"Yeah, right. And I'm the president. What the fuck, dude? Couldn't you wait until I was gone or something?"
Jamal groaned and got up to go to the bathroom. As he was walking, Lance got a short glimpse at the other man’s groin for the first time. If one thing was for certain, his dick wasn't as large as Lance had suspected. Most of the front of Jamal's boxer briefs was obviously empty.
Jamal spent a surprisingly large amount of time in the bathroom, and when he emerged again, he was - as far as Lance could tell - pale as if he had seen a ghost. He didn't speak a word as he quickly got dressed and basically fled the room, leaving a puzzled Lance behind. What had gotten into that guy again? He shook his head and, finally, removed the sheets and pulled down his borrowed boxer briefs.
And then, he looked at his crotch dumbfounded. He had been right. It wasn't his dick, even though it was flaccid again now, it was much too large. However, that wasn't the biggest problem. Despite being too big, it was decidedly... Black.
And it wasn't just his shaft that was suddenly dark skinned. His balls, too, and the rest of his groin as well. When he turned in front of the mirror, he realized that even his ass-cheeks were a rich dark brown color now, and his pubes dark and wiry.
Lance's head was swimming. What in the world was going on? Was it an infection?
No, even a guy as biased as Lance knew that dark skin was not a disease you got infected with. He simply had no explanation for what he was seeing. Luckily, only his groin was affected. Both his legs and his torso were still as white as they were supposed to be. And his face was fine, too.
Lance shook his head. He'd have to get to the bottom of it, but that had time until later. Today, he wanted to enjoy the beach a bit. However, as he tried to put on his swimming trunks he noticed a problem with his new anatomy. Neither his swimwear nor his pants would fit without being extraordinarily uncomfortable. Not wanting to cut off the circulation to his now much larger tool, he glanced over to Jamal's suitcase. Judging by the pair of boxer briefs, Jamal's stuff should be about the same size, even though Lance didn't really understand why the other man brought clothes this big.
After rummaging through Jamal's belongings for a bit, Lance found what he was looking for. A pair of swimming trunks and a pair of pants that fit comfortably as he put them on without a second thought. He briefly considered fully dressing from the other man’s trunk, but decided against it and took socks, shirt and sunglasses from his own stash.
Finally, fully equipped, he went to the beach.
Given the time of the year, it was rather full, just as he had expected it to be. Nevertheless, he found a spot to lay down a bit and sunbathe, and soon, the warm rays had him relaxed.
For a while, nothing happened. Lance felt at peace, and his thoughts returned to the morning events. He was no stranger to masturbating, but it was the first time that he had felt the urge to do so while in the same room as another guy. Even stranger though, he didn't feel particularly ashamed about it anymore. So, what if Jamal had seen him? He certainly jerked off, too. Put aside all the obvious things that separated them, that was one thing they had in common. They were both men, and men had certain needs. Nothing wrong with indulging in them, right?
In fact, in the morning sun, his thoughts about Jamal were less hostile than usual. It was really hard to be angry all the time when relaxing in the warm seaside sand.
A few hours later, Lance decided to take a swim. However, as he wiggled out of his borrowed pants, he was confronted with yet another surprise.
Apparently, the dark skin had spread. Now, the whole length of his legs was decidedly dark-skinned. Lance shook his head as if he would be able to revert the skin color of his legs like that. But it was no use: The pigment was there to stay. This couldn't possibly be natural, or even healthy! He needed to see a doctor, right now!
Half-panicking, he checked his upper body but was relieved to see that there, his skin was just as milky white as it was supposed to be, as were his feet.
Against all logic, his panic subsided. Sure, he looked ridiculous like that, but it wasn't that bad. In fact, once he managed to look past the weird color of his skin, he found his legs somewhat better looking even, packed with lean muscles. It wasn't bodybuilder level, but a whole new level of power that he never had before.
Originally, he wanted to run, search for a doctor as quickly as he could, but now, he reconsidered. He might as well go through with his plan and swim a bit in the inviting ocean. He could look for a doctor afterwards.
The water was wonderful, and the feeling of his legs powerfully propelling him through the waves was intoxicating. Lance lost track of time, and it was only when his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten all day that he turned back, all thoughts of a doctor forgotten.
He grabbed his stuff and went back to his hotel room to change, but was surprised to meet Jamal in there, when he unlocked the door.
The other man was sitting on the bed with his pants at his ankles and was furiously beating his meat. When the door opened, he quickly covered his groin with a pillow, but there were two things Lance had noticed: First, Jamal's dick was really small! And, secondly, from the waist down, Jamal's skin was colored a bright tone of pink, a stark contrast to his dark torso. There was an obvious connection waiting to be found, something really profoundly easy, but it escaped Lance persistently.
Instead, for the first time in God knew how long, Lance smiled at Jamal briefly.
"Don't mind me, just carry on. I'll just get changed really quickly."
"O...okay." Jamal replied, obviously confused about more than Lance's statement. Hesitatingly, he removed the pillow and continued his work, his eyes glued at the other man.
Since Jamal was occupying the bed at the moment, and Lance didn't want to disturb him by accessing his own suitcase, without thinking too much about it, he grabbed a new set of clothes from Jamal's: A pair of socks, pants, fresh underwear, a shirt and a baseball cap. He got dressed and nodded at the furiously masturbating Jamal again as he left the room just as Jamal came.
Dinner was somewhat strange for Lance. His upper body, arms and feet felt all strange and tingly, and below the borrowed cap, his hair felt like it was shifting and changing. He was really hungry today and was glad about the all you can eat buffet.
However, the more he ate, the more the strange feeling took hold of his head and face as well, and with it, another urge awakened. Lance's thoughts consistently went back to the picture of Jamal masturbating on their bed. Say what you want, but that white boy really had a cute body. That was something Lance had always liked about Jamal James.
Lance Lamar felt his groin get tight again. It was difficult enough to find underwear for his large black python, but when he got aroused, there was hardly anything able to contain the beast of burden.
Finally, he stood up in all of his black glory and went to the elevator. Time to see if James was still around and was up for a length of his loving boyfriends large dick up his cute tight ass.
He was.
As he left the dining hall, Lisa smiled a thin smile and changed an entry in her list. Two less troublemakers and one more happy couple for the wedding.
What a great couple, in the end! After all, racism never pays.
If you like to read about another great couple, in a magical story, perhaps check out this novel!
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MORE DEBUG OBJECTS
By poular demand, here are the rest of the prop and miscellaneous objects enabled for decorating! I don't have any pics right now, but the full list of objects is below the cut, and each package is merged by expansion pack.
As with my other debug objects, these can all be found under DEBUG > MISC. The catalog names are often something weird, because I haven't edited or added any strings.
These objects are technically not CC, it just allows you to access and decorate with objects that are already in game. Therefore you can uninstall these overrides, share worlds and lots using them, and they'll still remain wherever you've placed them.
Also, if you have a default replacement for any of these props, for example a plate default, then the object will also be updated to reflect that.
I highly reccomment using this in conjunction with my S3DT mod, since some of the objects are half sunk into the ground by default.
DOWNLOAD HERE
Object List Below
BASE GAME:
Guitar Case
Amplifier
Bottle Spigot (unused asset)
Child Ladle
Child Mixing Bowl
Cutting Board (slots do no work, unfortunately)
Fire Extinguisher
Fire Poker
Fire Lighter
Hammer
Bartending Bottle Prop
Ice Cream Cone
Microwave Meal
Paper Plate
Screwdiver
Sponge
Toilet Brush
Wedding Ring
Wrench
WORLD ADVENTURES:
Canteen
Chopsticks
Dig Site Brush
Flour Bag
Fortune Cookie
Map (looks like plain parchment)
Nectar Glass
Nectar Tray
Pamphlet
Pickaxe
Pungi (snake charming instrument)
AMBITIONS:
Chisel
Fire Axe
Blowtorch
Chainsaw
Detonator
Gnubb Bunny
Gnubb King
Junk Pipe Piece
Magnifying Glass
Notepad
Shovel
Tape Measure
Tattoo Gun
Triangle Ruler
Walkie Talkie
LATE NIGHT:
Drink Shaker
Drumstick
Party Glass
Round Party Glass
Bartending Bottle Prop
Juice Can
GENERATIONS:
Envelope
Love Letter Envelope
Cheap RAM Disk
Expensive RAM Disk
Beaker
Rolled Diploma
Flashlight
Game Controller
Greeting Card
Round Flask
Sparkling Juice (champagne)
PETS:
Hoofpick
Adult Pitchfork
Child Pitchfork
Plastic Pet Food Bowl
Cat Hunting Chip Bag
Cat Hunting Feather
Cat Hunting Leaf
Dog Treat
Foal Bottle
Horse Brush
Litter Scoop
Pet Brush
Stick (for playing fetch)
Freezer Bunny Ice Cream
Kitty Litter Pile
Rainbow Ice Cream
(forgot to do the chocolate ice cream, sorry!)
SHOWTIME:
CD Case
Record
Golf Ball
Juggling Pin
Microphone (grey)
Snack Bowl
Headphones
Golf Club Average
Golf Club Expert
Golf Club Old
Firefly Jar
FireflyJar Lid
Juggling Knife
Magician Sword
SUPERNATURAL:
Fly Swatter
White Glove
Bonehilda Key
Alchemy Bowl
Alchemy Package
Beehive Smoker
SEASONS:
Horseshoe
Child Rake
Adult Rake
Barista Bar Cup
Egg Hunt Basket
Trick or Treat Basket
Carving Knife
Fruit Punch
Hot Beverage Cup
Stack of Hot Dogs
Love Letter
Pie (from eating contest)
Snow Cone Syrup
Soccer Ball
Tissue
Spooky Day Candy
UNIVERSITY:
Clipboard
Red Juice Cup
Art Scanner
Bonfire Logs
Candy Bar
Cold One
College Letter
Energy Drink
Manilla Envelope
Macot Plushy
Ping Pong Ball
Ping Pong Paddle
Mistletoe (unused asset)
Protest Banners (3 versions)
Protest Flyer
Smartphone
Soda Can
Paint Sray Can
Suitcase
Whiteboard Eraser
Whiteboard Marker
ISLAND PARADISE:
Broom
Coconut Drink
Cold Beverage
Grim Reaper Trident
Pineapple Drink
Rescue Tube
Glass Bottle Pool Bar
Pool Bar Juice Can
INTO THE FUTURE:
Microphone (black)
OIl Puddle
Stardust
Paper Bag
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A House, A Home | CL16 & CS55
Summary: A loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. You've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you.
Word Count: 10.1k
Warnings: Hard Angst, Cheating, Mentions of Sex, Death.
Note: This piece has two heavy inspirations. The first is @lxclerc's amazing pieces 'Moth to a Flame' and 'Call out my Name.' They are both incredible pieces and I highly suggest you give them a read. The second is from a TikTok Account called 'ForPercival,' they are currently doing a social media AU which I cannot recommend enough.
PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'
Charles Leclerc is a husband.
At least, he was your husband on paper. One year ago, a hidden agreement had been put in place between Scuderia Ferrari and the Leclerc Household; their son, the ‘Il Predestinato,’ of the team, (albeit one whom had had the most terrible season,) could continue to drive for the team, so long as he married the daughter of one of their longest-running investors.
That so happened to be you.
You had been against the entire idea since the first day. After being introduced to Ferrari’s driver, you had instantly felt the divide between the two of you. You’d reluctantly shaken his hand and since then, had been thrown through a mixture of fake dates, a fake engagement and the fakest wedding that could possibly be imagined. The ceremony hadn’t even ended with a kiss, per tradition.
It didn’t take long for your walls to crack; living with Charles, seeing him at his highest and lowest points, his most vulnerable behind the four walls of your home had caused your heart to soften. Forget being forced into this marriage, you’d grown to care, to adore the man who’d once burdened you with his presence. You dreamed of the day he would return your affection; how long would it take for you to realise you lived in denial? In your late-night fantasies, lying alone in one of the guest rooms you’d sought refuge in on moving into this house, you’d dreamt of lying in his arms, lazy morning breakfast, slow kisses when he would come back to you. To your home.
A home, however, is where you feel safe, warm, protected. You lived in a house with Charles. The man who would barely glance your way and after three months of your marriage, started coming home, smelling of rich perfume and lipstick marks littering his jawline.
The first anniversary of your marriage should have been special, even if he despised you in every known form to man. You’d woken up in your room, slipped on the silk robe which had been lying on the empty bedside and slipped out of the bedroom. In your heart of hearts, you knew there would be no significance of today; no flowers, no card, not even a simple text from your husband to signify the date in question. The only text you had received that morning, was a stern reminder from your father, that you were due to attend the Monza Grand Prix in less than one week.
A soft sigh emitted itself from your lips; it was a routine you knew all too well. Every few races, the more significant ones; Monaco, Silverstone, Spa-Francorchamps, Monza, you’d play the doting wife; cheering for your husband whilst dressed in soft summer dresses, a forged grin if he managed to battle his way into the points. On those rare days when he would obtain a podium position, he’d greet you on the barriers with a soft kiss. It was all fake; a routine which had been performed so many times. Yet, each time his lips met yours, you could dream he meant something behind the affection.
The train of thought had played through your mind for so long that you were unaware of the tears pooling on your lower lash line. So, what if Charles wasn’t at home for your anniversary? It was your thought for feeling any kind of emotion towards him in the first place. It was a business deal, after all. Did your husband enjoytreating you like this? His disappearance on that morning was a cold reminder that he felt nothing towards you. No sentiment, no adoration.
Despite the tears which had bade your eyes that morning, until the mid-afternoon, you had a productive day. Of course, leaving the house was out of the question; what would the media say if devoted wife of Ferrari’s driver was seen without him, on their wedding anniversary of all days?
Instead, you’d played soft music whilst re-organising your wardrobe, something you’d put off for a while now. Cooking a meal whilst lazily treading around the kitchen, experimenting with the spices that Yuki had gifted to you on your previous visit to a Grand Prix. The meal itself was too big to eat alone. Instead, you boxed up the remainders of what was left in the tray, carefully placing it in the fridge, knowing Charles wouldn’t actually eat it.
Your evening had been…less productive. You’d found solace in a glass of red wine, lounging on the sofa of the main living area; usually, you kept as far away from that zone as possible. Charles would spend his evenings in the couch, eyes flickering between the television and his phone, no doubt sending longing messages to his mistress whilst his wife was in the home.
The third glass had just about been drained. You were adamant upon gaining a fourth, no longer caring of any commitments you had the next day. Instead, you sat up abruptly from the sofa, hearing the gentle click from the front door.
He had come back to the house.
His green eyes barely took a second to meet yours, slipping off his shoes and placing them into the rack situated by the front door. A rustle of his jacket signified his option to stay. You saw him carry the garment over his arm as he trudged into the living area, set to lie in front of the television for some personal relaxation.
With his entry to the room, you suddenly remembered your position. You’d hastily stood up from the couch, collecting the half-finished bottle from the low table, holding the glass to your chest to draw the attention away from your beverage.
Charles said nothing; he’d unlatched the top two buttons from his dress shirt; faint purple marks nestled on the lower joint of his neck; a clear mark that his mistress had previously made, a sinful reminder of his adultery.
“I left you some dinner in the fridge.” You mumbled, voice barely picking up over the sound of the television. “There’s some clean loungewear on the end of your bed, too.” You finish your sentence. Your husband doesn’t even attempt to tell you he’s acknowledged your words, eyes transfixed on whatever news was currently playing on the television.
“Happy Anniversary.” You mumble, feet leading you back to the kitchen, the bottle of wine against your chest now seemingly the only attention you’d ever get.
Charles Leclerc is an actor.
The entire drive to the track had been bade in complete silence; not even the radio had been switched on to drown out the undeniable tension in the car. You had originally tried to make light conversation with the man; he couldn’t even be bothered to make a sound in response to any of your questions.
You couldn’t handle the harsh tone he had snapped at you with the previous time you had been in the car; instead, you watched the rolling hills and glistening sun of Monza. It was always one of the highlights of the year. If not for the racing, you would have come here in your own time, to bask in the sun and to enjoy the secluded section of Italy as an individual.
The incredible views soon began to fade out, instead replaced by expensive cars and adoring fans, leaning over the barriers in an attempt to see their favourite drivers; there was an uproar as your husband drove past the crowds; he was clearly the home favourite, as any member of the Ferrari crew would be in this location. Silently, you slipped on the sunglasses which had been resting in the pouch of your bag, knowing the paparazzi would be blistering your eyesight sooner rather than later.
Charles effortlessly parked his car in the allocated spot. Silently, he switches off the engine, removing the keys and shoving them into his jean pocket. The man doesn’t so much as register your presence as he opens his door, leaving you to venture out of the car yourself. You’d carefully adjusted the flowing fabric of your dress; the patterned fabric flowing gently around your calves.
You looked beautiful. You just wished your husband would care enough to tell you.
Instead, his priority is the cameras leaning over the barriers. He doesn’t even look in your direction, instead firmly grasping your hand in his own; an act the two of you had performed for the crowd oh-so-many times. He waves towards the crowds; neither of you miss the adoring sounds, the coos for many of the fan’s favourite ‘couple.’ To so many, his affection seemed to clear to you, and yours did to him.
Charles didn’t hold your hand with any adoration. His grasp was harsh, palms roughly mashed together, no intent to keep your grip safe against his own. You were certain that if you were to let go, he wouldn’t think to remedy the situation. Your theory is proven when you gently let go, instead keeping in step, just behind his figure; Charles’ hand seems as if it’s gone into idle mode. His eyes, however, stayed alert, vigilant. Silently, the two of you pass through the paddock security, pausing every few moments for Charles to sign a cap, take a photograph with a fan.
It isn’t until you reach the outskirts of the Ferrari Building that you see her. Soft hair around her shoulders, clothing exquisite, her eyes flickering to your husband, offering him a sympathising smile.
He may have been a devoted husband towards the press, to Ferrari, even to the majority of his team. However, the moment that the cameras were turned off, microphones pushed away, he was sneaking to his mistress, one he had shamelessly invited to so many Grand Prix’s over the past nine months. She was what he wanted; a fun and fancy-free lady, rather than the wife whom stood by his side. There’s a glance between the two of them, as if a whole conversation is had in that moment.
You stay silent as you follow Charles into the Ferrari Building. Instantly, you’re overwhelmed by the welcomes that your husband obtains; so many of them pass onto you. Upon the questions of how married life is treating him, he smiles, fakes a laugh as he pulls you into his side, one hand firmly resting upon your waist.
“Married life is perfect.” He insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, one which you falsely giggle about, ignoring the butterflies which were nestling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s even better when she’s standing right here, beside me.”
The entirety of the room buys the staged scene, all except for two people. The first, obviously, is your father. He’s always there, watching that the driver is performing well. He knows of his affair, but in his mind, as long as the affair is kept out of the light, and his marriage was still official, their deal continued. Besides, he would speak to you both sooner rather than later upon extending the family; that would seal both of your fates towards one another. Nobody liked a husband whom left a wife and child.
The second was Carlos Sainz; the second driver for Scuderia Ferrari.
The Spaniard was all too aware of the affair between Charles and his mistress; after qualifying from Baku, Carlos had found his teammate behind the garage, his hands with a firm grip on her waist, their kisses entirely formed of tounge and teeth. The man had furiously ripped Charles from the woman, bellowing in his face about the wife he had, whilst this woman warmed his bed. A deep blush had formed over both of their cheeks, Charles explaining that you were aware of his actions.
Carlos didn’t want to believe it; he’d frantically messaged you that evening, to which you had answered his question, confirming you knew of the affair. That evening, you had revealed everything to him, watching his eyes get glossier as the cruel details were flickered in front of his eyes. It pained him; he’d cared for you since the moment you’d first stepped foot into the paddock alongside your father. His heart shattered upon finding out that you had been betroved to Charles, that he had missed his chance, all that time ago.
He waits; waits until later in the day to approach you. By this point, you had made yourself comfortable in Charles’ driver room. Of course, your husband isn’t actually there. After a brief encounter with most of the members on his team, he’d excused himself. Carlos knew that he had snuck away from the crowds adorned in red to see his mistress, likely stealing kisses and rough fumbles between one another. Whilst that was happening, you, were sat in his drivers’ room, skirts spread across the soft lounger, eyes engrossed in a book which had been enclosed in your bag alongside your sunglasses.
You were the epitome of beauty in Carlos’ eyes. He could have stood at the ajar door to the room, watching you as you engrossed yourself in the story. Instead, he offers a light cough, drawing your attention from the book in your lap. He’s engrossed by your eyes, how the light reflected off them, the glow they offered. Your smile, how you presented your real smile to him so naturally, not the one you forged next to your husband on every single encounter.
“Good morning, Carlos!” You greet him with a bright tone, standing up from your position on the couch. You offer him a hug, feeling his warm arms wrap around your waist, his breath against your face when he kisses your cheek gently. ‘In another life,’ you always tell yourself. One where you were happy, free to marry a man who would return your affection.
“Good morning, Mariposa.” The nickname rolls of his tongue; one he had presented ever since you had once showed up in the paddock, the most beautiful butterfly-imprinted dress flowing in the soft breeze of that Monaco weekend. “You’re hiding out in here today, yes?” He teases. You offer him a small shrug, eyes not able to meet those sweet brown ones of the man stood in front of you.
“Charles is…busy.” You finish the sentence abruptly. Carlos knows not to question further; the two of you have a mutual understanding as to where he would be at this point during the day; wrapped up in the arms of another woman. “He’s probably on his track walk…maybe. I’m just…keeping occupied.” You motion towards the window, looking onto the first straight of the track. “Plus…it looks windy out there.”
“Well…” Carlos invites himself into the room now, looking down at your attire, seeing that your feet were enclosed with the brilliant white trainers you’d left home in that morning. The man shrugs off his own windbreaker, holding it in his arm. “If I give you my jacket, would you like to come on my track walk?” He offers, holding out the garment to you.
You knew you would probably live to regret that moment. However, if you stayed resting in Charles’ driver room much longer, reading the same line of your book whilst your thoughts trailed away to how he would be with his mistress, you would go crazy.
“I’d love to.” You finally respond, slipping your arms through the large sleeves of Carlos’ jacket. Offering you a pat on the shoulder, he motions towards the exit of the driver’s room, determined to keep you on his side whilst walking across the track loved by fans far and wide. He hopes that everybody misses the longing gazes and soft smile on his face every time you make a comment, or your hands brush a little too closely.
Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser.
It’s not as if you would know this. The only kisses you ever had were those for show. Cold, meaningless interactions between somebody who attempted to show unconditional love and one who could dream of being anywhere else in that moment.
You’d carefully unlatched the front door of the house, your wireless earbuds resting comfortably in your ears, unable to hear any other sound apart from the music playing. Slipping off your shoes, hanging up your jacket; your only intention for the afternoon was to go through some of the notes you had made regarding education courses in the area; sitting at home day after day was truly aggravating. You couldn’t pick up yet another hobby. Maybe some form of learning would interest you.
But first, you needed a drink to cool yourself off from the sun. You’d remembered the smoothie packs you made earlier in the week; one of those and going through your notes seemed a perfect plan for the current moment.
The second you rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen, you wished that you could have taken the scenic route home.
His mistress was sat up on the kitchen island, back straight, legs wrapped around the waist of your husband, her hands grasping at the soft curls atop of his head. Charles’ hands slid across her back, soft grunts coming from his lips, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along her slender neck. She was loving it, at least, that’s what you could judge from the noises leaving her mouth.
Before either of them could clock your arrival, both too wrapped-up in their embrace, you’d stepped out of the kitchen, hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which were threatening to escape. In a moment, you’re out of the hallway, letting your feet carry you up the carpeted stairs.
The only intention now embedded in your mind was to drink so much you would forget the scene unfolding in front of your eyes.
Charles Leclerc is a slow replier.
The smell of tequila and sweat is strong in the cramped hallway of the club. It was insane to believe that less than three hours ago, you had been cocooned in your king-size duvet, lips slightly parted as you strung a meaningless thread of text messages to one another; you didn’t truly care how one of your friends felt in that moment, the heartbreak shattering in your chest was stronger than any other emotion you could begin to comprehend.
No, your sole reason for texting was to leave this god-forsaken house. You kept telling yourself not to care. Charles’ eyes were all you could think about as you picked out your shortest, slinkiest dress; one which enhanced every curve and dip in the most elegant way. Charles’ dimples were all you could think about when your attention was drawn to outlining your lips with a deep red gloss. Charles’ lips were all you could think about, your foot sliding into the black heeled shoe, your feet finding no solace in being propped up within six inches of their life.
Your friend had messaged you the location of the designated club. How anybody could enjoy one of those places sober was beyond your comprehension. Instead, you had taken the route of every other supposed being in that club; one shot of a suspicious-looking liquid had turned into sixteen – his number, you couldn’t help remembering. That was the reason you had found yourself stood motionlessly in the hallway, trying to navigate yourself back to the bar. At least seventeen wouldn’t have been tied to any other emotion.
The plan, however, was short-lived when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Turning too quickly in your ridiculous heels, you’re met with the figures of Kelly Piquet and Max Verstappen, hands linked together, clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as you were in that moment.
Kelly moves first; you had always enjoyed her presence, spending time with her around the Paddock when you were bade to attend. Penelope was one of the sweetest three-year-olds you had ever come across, always greeting you with a toothy grin and a story of her and ‘Maxie’s’ escapades. When her mother encloses you in a hug, you can feel the tears fall, your drunken façade falling immediately. The woman simply cups your hand in her face, delicately wiping the tears from your lash line, making sure to remove any heavy clumps of mascara. She asks you where Charles is, where your husband is. You can’t make any sound which you believe is cohesive, something about him being back at the house.
Max by now, has his own arm resting around your shoulder. You were Charles’ wife, after all. He knew Charles would do the same for Kelly if she was ever to be found in this state. Something strange stabs at his chest; maybe he was too protective, but he would have never of let Kelly get into this state, at least, not on her own. The driver carefully fumbles in his back pocket, unlocking his own device and filing through his contacts to phone Charles.
The phone goes straight to voicemail, not even a dialling tone. Max tries a second time, a third time. Instead, he leaves messages. How on gods earth did Charles feel relaxed, knowing his wife would be out, probably on some form of alcohol, and not think to check that she would be safe returning home? If only he knew.
The duo moves to a second plan. You needed some fresh air before they could attempt to get you into a car and take you home; standing in the corridor of a nightclub was not an ideal situation, instead moving you to the exit. Your eyes widen, looking up to Max and Kelly as if you had shrunk right down to Penelope’s age, as if they would be the saviours to get you home. By the way Max was holding you by his side and Kelly stroking your hair behind your ears, you may as well been their daughter.
Conversations are had; neither of them is sober enough to drive you home, nor do they think it’s wise to try and sneak you into their hotel room when they had already issues when checking in a little too late. Their prayers are answered when a group of men wander past, one of them stopping to smack Max, his fellow driver on the back. His dark eyes, ones you know so well, widen when he sees your figure, looking so fragile in the light of the early hours in the city.
“Mariposa.” He murmurs, running a hand across your cheek, wanting nothing more than to hold your frame against his chest. Your soft eyes meet his own dark ones, glossed in concern for how on earth you could do this to yourself. The man murmurs something to Max and Kelly, ensuring them that he’d been the sober friend out of his group; promising he would get you home himself. The duo has no reason to not trust him, both of them leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek before retiring to their own hotel.
As the couple walk away from the club, you can only feel the warmth of Carlos’ hand, still resting on your face. When he at last turns his attention back to you, he simply wraps a strong arm around your waist, supporting you to stand in those awful, heeled shoes. At the pace you’re walking back towards his car, you would get there just after the sunrise. Instead, he scroops you into his grasp.
The affection, the physical contact is all too much for you. It had been so, so long since anybody had held you, cared for you like this. Your clouded mind, now overwhelmed by warmth and alcohol allowed you to lean your head into Carlos’ sturdy chest. If you were sober, you’d be able to feel the way his heart raced when feeling you rest against him.
“Why do you do this to yourself, Mariposa?” He murmurs, settling you into the passenger seat of his car. He can’t help but remove his own jacket, wrapping the soft fabric around your arms, letting you nuzzle into the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Once settling himself into the driving seat, he begins the route back to the house, one hand gently resting atop of your leg, some form of comfort for the world in your mind which seemed to be caving in.
“I’d never do this to you.” He whispers, turning into the driveway that he had become accustomed to since the marriage.
Across the city, Max Verstappen is sound asleep. His phone, plugged in on the dressing table across the room buzzes once, notifying a text from his racing rival.
03:21: Charles Leclerc
Hey, sorry, was busy with something. Is everything good?
Charles Leclerc is a traveller.
You hadn’t expected anything to awaken you after the way your body had reacted to the previous night. A natural awakening, however, would have been a lot nicer than hearing the clicking sound of wheels against flooring. Whatever, whoever was outside of your room most certainly had a death wish to awaken you that morning.
It felt as if pins had been pressed into every square inch of your head, the task of even sitting up and forcing yourself towards the door of your bedroom, still dressed in your slinky garment and…somebody’s jacket? The night for you had truly ended as soon as you had that ninth shot of tequila; you thought you could remember Max and Kelly in the same location at some point, maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you, longing for people who enjoyed your company.
You were pulled back to the present when the figure of your husband appears at your doorway. He’s dressed already; loose hoodie and tracksuit bottoms cover his frame; his hand is clasping tightly onto a suitcase. There wasn’t a Grand Prix this weekend, you were certain. He would have left days ago for that. There was-
“I’m going to stay with…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the correct way to word the fact he would be staying with his Mistress until further notice. Even in your state, you understand, simply raising your hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t want to hear her name, you didn’t want to know that he would be spending the next nights wrapped in her arms, because for once…you didn’t care.
They say alcohol causes dangerous mistakes, but in this moment, your hangover seemed to be your best friend. Every single time, you would think later, Charles would come back from seeing her, would leave to spend an evening by her side or sneak away during your paddock appearances…and you would be focused, your sole attention being on when he would return. Now? Your sole focus was on throwing up the remains of alcohol in your stomach, placing on a facemask and ordering some kind of comfort food to your home.
You didn’t care about him, not right now. Your actions relay this, simply offering him a nod before speaking, your voice surprisingly clear for how much your throat was weeping for a drink.
“Okay.” You pause. There’s nothing left to say after that. What does he want you to do? Wish him a happy time? Charles looks equally taken aback, usually expecting some kind of warm drabble on how he needed to stay safe. In that moment, he can’t help but…want it.
“I’ll be back on Wednesday to pack for Singapore.” He pauses this time, taking in your appearance, your face so…gentle, soothing. “You’re coming, yes?” He remembers a conversation had many a time; his wife should be there to support him as much as possible, even if he wasn’t a fan of the sly ways he would have to leave her in front of his team members.
He isn’t expecting a shrug of the shoulders, bringing a hand up to rest on the door, clearly ready to close it at any given moment.
“I’m not sure.” You offer him, sighing as you begin to close the door yourself. “My father said that race isn’t a priority.” That was the last sentence you offered him before closing the door. You obviously do not see it, but on the other side of the wall, Charles stands in confusion for a full twenty seconds before snapping back to his reality, his clutch on the suitcase a little tighter as he begins his decent down the stairs, wondering where on earth he had seen that jacket you were wearing before?
Your own priorities that morning was in full swing; you had placed your phone on charge, messages beginning to thread through as you stepped into the shower, the cool water savouring your skin. A fluffy robe is tied around your waist, brushing your hair around your back whilst your attention focused on rehydrating your skin, brushing your teeth and cleaning the dirt from underneath your eyes.
The silence is strong when you walk back into your bedroom. In that moment, you opt for some music whilst changing into some comfortable loungewear, easy to roam around the house in and let your hair dry naturally. Sitting at the end of the bed, you’re able to check notifications, seeing Kelly had sent you a photo of Penelope that morning, smiling for her favourite aunt. You see your most recent text had come through from none other than Charles’ teammate, following one which had been sent early that morning.
03:45: Carlos Sainz
Sweet dreams, Mariposa. Let me know if you need anything please.
11:51: Carlos Sainz
Just seen on Twitter Charles is at the airport, he’s not off to see her, is he?
His message brings so many emotions to you, and also answers the question of who’s jacket you had been wearing that morning. Your heart can’t help but soften, knowing already that Charles is on his way to see...her. You think back to your mindset from earlier, how it was the last thing you wanted to care about. Why on earth would you care about them, when you could be focusing on ordering your favourite food and calling your nail technician to come to the house? That would make you feel better, better than he ever had.
You first drop a message to Carlos in response, wanting to let him know you had woken up from potential alcohol poisoning.
12:25: You
Yeah, he is. Didn’t seem so happy that I couldn’t care less. Thank you for the jacket last night, I hope you had a good evening.
12:28: Carlos Sainz
All the better for seeing you. Hoping the hangover isn’t too bad today.
The messages spring backwards and forwards between the two of you for the afternoon; you’re smiling whilst you go through your favourite meal, the taste of it filling your mouth in the best way possible. There’s still a smile on your face when your nail technician arrives, painting some delicate designs into your fingers and toes, subtly asking who on earth has you smiling that much.
It isn’t until that evening; you’re sat in front of the television, a series you had watched one-too many times playing, your eyes glued to the storyline as if it would change again. The notification on your phone instantly drew your attention away from the screen, looking down to see a text on your screen.
21:03: Carlos Sainz
Why don’t you come and stay in Madrid for a few days? I’m sure we could both do with the company.
Charles Leclerc is a stalker.
Well, maybe stalker was too strong of a word. However, his intentions were identical, having watched your latest Instagram story three- no, four times. Since leaving the home several days earlier, his mind could not stop thinking about the fact you truly could not care less about where he was going. This wasn’t you, was it?
He’d arrived at her house, being temporarily distracted by luring himself into her bedroom, an afternoon of escapades and touches until she had rolled onto her side, telling him she was going to shower, and he would be more than welcome to join her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, seeing if you had done your usual; texting him to check that he had arrived safely, asking when he could be coming back to the house.
There’s no messages, no notifications. Huffing to himself, Charles instead pulls up your Instagram, seeing that you had posted a new story that evening, a suitcase in hand, an emoji of an aircraft and a Spanish flag. You were off somewhere, and hadn’t told him? No, no. You always told him where you were going, you always-
“Are you not joining me, then?” Charles’ mistress’ voice suddenly draws him out of his trance, a towel wrapped around her body, hair around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as soft and as gentle as yours was, he realised in that moment. He eventually nods, pulling himself from his phone and following her into the en-suite.
He’s so…distant for the remainder of his visit. When the two of them go to a secluded spot for lunch, when they go for a drive in a car they had hired for the afternoon. When she’s lazily pressing kisses along his neck, trying to grind into his crotch, desperate for his attention. When she finally falls asleep, Charles pulls out his phone, looking through any of the photos you had posted from that day. The soft sands of the beach, a hugestrawberry ice-cream cone, a mirrored selfie of yourself in the most beautiful sundress, hair curled and clearly ready for an evening in the Spanish sun.
The routine continues, he sees your adventures, day after day. You’re touring small markets, trying local delicacies. One day, you’re simply lounging by a pool for the afternoon, a fat paperback resting on your stomach, clearly engrossed by the story which was resting on your stomach. Each time he sees a post, he can’t help but be drawn to how he wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe that’s why he drops you a text message, trying to gain some sort of traction from how you were doing.
23:54: Charles Leclerc
Are you home? I’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.
You don’t respond; now, your phone is at the bottom of your bag, resting on the inside cabin of Carlos’ boat. For your final day in Madrid, he had insisted on taking you for a boat ride. You’d shyly mentioned earlier in that week that Charles had never taken you on his own boat, despite the fact that you were indeed married.
The sun began to set over the rolling waves of the ocean; the boat is gently rocking, the sounds of water lapping over one another was music to your ears. You were sat at the edge of the now stilled boat, contemplating dipping your toes into the water. Your attention is so drawn to the scenery that you don’t hear him step away from the wheel, crouching next to you.
“You could just go in.” He teases, “rather than staring at the water. You know how to swim.” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, simply looking to the Spaniard on your right-hand side.
“What? And have you speed off without me?” You retaliate, using your shoulder to nudge his body. Carlos clicks his lips together, mumbling something incoherent, before he’s suddenly scooped you up into your arms; despite your sounds of protests, he simply holds you against his chest tighter. His dark eyes flicker between yours and the ocean water below the two of you. Before you can say anything, his feet have made their own choice, jumping off the edge of the boat, both of you tumbling into the sea. Your briefly submerged entirely, before your head pops out of the waves, blindly reaching around until two strong arms encircle your waist.
Both you and Carlos laugh for a moment, in pure awe that you just did that. He moves first, one of his hands releasing from your waist, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. There’s a silence between the two of you, where the only sound emitting from your surroundings is the gentle waves of the sea. In that moment, Carlos Sainz wants nothing more than to lean forward, pressing his lips to your own. They look so…soft. He craves to give them the attention they had been longing for so long. But…you’re married. And even if your marriage is loveless, to a point where your husband is openly in an affair, he would never do that to you. Instead, he settles for resting one hand on your cheek, gently kissing the top of your forehead, murmuring some Spanish wording you would never remember.
If you did understand it, however, you would have known that he said there and then that he would always be devoted to you.
Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter.
His voice seemed to travel for miles, you were almost certain the entirety of the secluded neighbourhood could hear him at this current moment. The man had returned home from his secluded stay with his mistress to an empty house; at that point, you were still in the depths of Madrid, packing up your own suitcase, wishing Carlos luck on the Singapore Grand Prix. You had intended to return to the house after Charles had left himself; the heartbreak of seeing him littered in love-bites, his eyes transfixed to his phone from her messages was too much for you.
However, if you had been at the house when he had arrived home, you would have seen his neck clear, phone shoved into his back pocket as he called out your name, wondering if you had returned home yourself. Charles notices your trainers haven’t been left on the shoe rack; there’s no music to signify your afternoon relaxation. A light knock to the door of your room signifies there’s nobody home. The house feels empty.
Maybe, Charles Leclerc was beginning to understand how you felt.
His first instinct is to message you. Surely, you would have seen his text from his previous message by now; what would it hurt to check in once more. The man feels against his rough jean pocket for the device, swiping away from the multiple notifications from his mistress, instead scrolling to your contact’s name, seeing you hadn’t been active in almost twelve hours. You hadn’t even opened his message.
His thumb hovers above the keyboard, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Instead, he opts to call your number instead; you had always picked up to him; whenever he needed you to stay away from the house, or to remind you to be ready to leave at a certain time. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, your voicemail comes through the speaker, signifying him that you were too busy to pick up the telephone.
Charles didn’t grow concerned during the evening; he grew angry. You were his wife. You were supposed to be at the house to greet him, to welcome him with open arms, ask about his day. Even if…even if he had chosen to ignore your welcoming’s and kind heart for over a year. The man found a distraction in going through the information that Scuderia Ferrari had sent him for his journey tomorrow, making sure his passport was in the correct place. He hadn’t needed to pack; you had made sure to do that for him before your own departure, making sure his comfortable clothes were packed and sunglasses safely secured in the pouches of the case.
It was late, late for you when the door finally opened, signalling the arrival of a second being. Charles immediately sits up from his slouched position on the couch, stepping up from the sofa, almost ready to give you a piece of his mind. Upon reaching the hallway, he sees you, slipping off your trainers, leaving the suitcase next to the front door. Even underneath your jumper, he can see your skin is glowing from the Mediterranean sun, yet your eyes are watering, tears leaking from your lower lash line.
“Where on earth have you been?” He snaps, not actually wanting to hear an answer. You open your mouth to respond, but the man cuts you off before you can speak. “I am your husband. You’re supposed to wait for me!” His temper is getting the better of him, green eyes flickering with anger.
At this point, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed from the news you had received on your drive home, and for this man to question your loyalties to your marriage? You can’t help the scoff which falls from your lips, the emotions building a little too much.
“You’re my husband?” You mock in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my husband was around at long last, not wrapped in the arms of another woman!” Your temper flares, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, grasping the suitcase to take upstairs and repack.
“You didn’t pick up your phone once.” Charles retaliates. Oh, the cheek of-
“Like when you pick up your phone when I call?” The tears are beginning to flow freely now, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs and completely ignore what has been happening. “You don’t Charles. You’ve done nothing to show that you’re my husband in the past twelve months!” You can’t help yourself now. Instead of seeking the new suitcase, you simply turn around on the step of the front door, slipping your trainers back onto your feet.
“Where are you going?” His voice is now laced in concern; you couldn’t leave yet, surely? You’d only just returned; you wouldn’t be safe to drive in this condition. Why on earth did he care now? His question is answered, but not in the way he desired.
“Like you would care.” It’s the last thing you say before the door to the house is slammed shut.
Charles Leclerc is an investigator.
When arriving in the Ferrari Garage of Singapore, there’s already an eerie feeling through the air; there are no smiles, sympathising looks thrown towards the back end of the garage. The driver isn’t stupid, he knows something must be wrong. He’s unsure of who to ask; who would know what is going on?
His original plan was to ask Xavi, maybe during their morning briefing, until he is told that his flight has been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the late afternoon. Eventually, he spots his racing partner, nestled in the corner of the garage, his eyes flickering across his own phone screen, rapidly typing a message to somebody he would rather not admit to.
“Hey.” He speaks softly, not wanting to startle the man. Silently, Carlos looks up from his device, offering his teammate a small nod, not wanting to prolapse the eye contact for too long. Charles can sense he knows what has happened, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why is everybody so…quiet?”
The look on Carlos’ face signifies he’s said something wrong. His eyes darken, shaking his head in disappointment rather than fury. It correlates to the kind of look his father would give him during a long talk, when he had broken something and not admitted to it. The Spaniard isn’t sure he should even tell his teammate what had happened. Instead, he changes his phone application to the Emails App, handing the device over to Charles. His eyes flicker across the screen, taking in the information.
Ferrari’s biggest benefactor, your father, would not be attending the race weekend after the untimely death of his wife. Your mother. It suddenly correlates; how the night before, you had seemed inconsolable, despite the fact you had obviously had an incredible vacation. You’d tried to simply walk away, to let yourself grieve without bothering him. Instead, you had found comfort in Carlos as he had driven you to the airport, whispering sweet words of comfort, promising that everything was going to be okay.
Charles feels his blood run cold, he feels sick. The look on the man stood in front of him tells him enough; he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Murmuring an excuse, he leaves the garage, stepping to the secluded back area, the realisation that he is everything his mother never wanted him to be, hitting hard. He still had the ability to run to her, to ask for her advice. You didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t have anybody, least of all your husband.
The first thing he does in that moment, is pull out his phone, scrolling to the contact of his mistress.
10:09: Charles Leclerc
We need to talk.
Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.
The past day had been filled of tears, clinging to your father, to your younger siblings, to your elder cousins. How on earth your mother had left this world early was beyond you. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Your mother was the one whom had been your rock for the past miserable year of your marriage. If not for her, you were almost certain that you would have thrown your silvery key to the house down a drain so long ago.
Without her guidance, without her tutoring, you felt like bird trying to fly individually for the first time; surrounded by fears and almost certain you’d fall into compromising position.
You hadn’t rested. Not since you had arrived at the bleak family home. As customed, every curtain was drawn close, doors to each room sealed, no natural light emitting to the large house, making every shadow and crook of the building seem more terrifying. Eventually, your father had retired to his own bedroom, your younger siblings tucked into their beds, butterfly kisses pressed against their foreheads, a silent promise you were only down the hall if they so desired you.
The bedroom you had grown up in remained almost identical to the one you had painted in your mind; pale pink wallpaper, a luxury bed lined with a rosebud-patterned quilt set. The vanity you had last used to get ready on your wedding day remained pristine, the perfumes and scents which had been your favourite still sitting atop of your shelf. And the photographs. A polaroid of your two closest friends from your childhood; one of your sisters on her christening day, the entire family dressed so elegantly; Charles is in that photograph, off to the side alongside his brothers; you had no idea there and then that boy with the ocean eyes would become your estranged husband.
You could have continued going down memory lane, if not from the buzzing which was coming from your bed. The phone you had carelessly thrown atop of the blankets when first entering the room had finally got some service, a thread of text messages and missed phone calls beginning to filter through. Silently, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes flickering across each message. Some are from members of the Ferrari team, others from family members you hadn’t heard from in what felt like centuries.
There’s one. One from the man whom you had spent the previous week with. The one who had consoled you whilst travelling to the family home. Your husband’s teammate.
23:05: Carlos Sainz
Mariposa, please let me know how you are doing. I’m so worried about you. Let me know if you need anything at all.
23:31: You
Thank you, C. I should be heading home tomorrow, with a bit of luck I’ll be able to swing by and say hello.
You hadn’t expected anything else that evening. You were settled, ready to focus on yourself for the remainder of the evening; in your eyes, there was a high likelihood that your siblings would be burrowing into your blankets later. Once dressed in nightwear, the makeup that had stained your cheeks removed, you noticed the soft glow of your phone screen. Another message had just been received, and in your wildest dreams, you could not have imagined whom it was from.
00:24: Charles Leclerc
I heard about your mother this afternoon; I am truly so, so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I mean it.
Your eyes had barely had time to view the message which had just been received, before your phone screen changes, taking the message away from your sight. The message thread is replaced by a photograph of your husband, his name lighting up on you phone screen. You don’t even think; instead, your thumb swipes across the screen, pressing the green button and holding the device to your ear.
“Charles.” You speak one word, hearing your husband visibly relax on the other end of the line. You realise it’s the first time you’ve said anything coherent in hours; the tone of your voices echoes around the room. Did you always sound that sad when you spoke to him?
“Hey.” He isn’t too sure what he wants to say; the lack of conversation between the two of you means he isn’t aware if there are any boundaries, anything you wouldn’t discuss with him. No, he just wanted to speak to you, to check in. In reality, he had realised how lonely the house was as an individual. His mistress was gone from his contacts, not inviting her around to fill the void had made him realise how you had felt for oh-so-long.
“How…” He pauses, not sure on how to finish his question. He doesn’t need to, because despite the lack of understanding of one another, you know he’s trying, trying to make you feel better.
“I’m…yeah.” You can’t find the correct words to say; ‘sad’ is an understatement, ‘fine’ is a rude response. Neither of you can find the words, but in that moment, you crave somebody who isn’t mourning the loss of your mother as heavily as you are.
“We have some new neighbours.” He’s trying to find anything to create some conversation. It’s almost as if he knows the quiet of the room is making you feel uncomfortable. “They left us an invitation to join them for a tennis session- not that I’m any good.” He laughs to himself, remembering the previous time he’d attended a tennis game alongside his fellow drivers; he’d had to step out after a few minutes, completely terrified he would end up breaking his hand.
He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the line but continues to talk. “Are you…” He catches himself for a moment. “Are you coming back soon?” His voice turns into barely a whisper, as if saying the wrong thing will cause you to hang up immediately. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, taking a gentle sigh and awaiting your response.
“Yeah.” You pause. Are you doing this? Are you having a conversation with your husband? “I’m going to fly home tomorrow afternoon. I think my father wants space.” Your sentence closes, looking around your room. The silence is deathly; in that moment, you don’t care about everything that’s happened. All you want is for somebody to hold you in their arms and tell you it would be okay.
“I’ll come and get you.” Charles has spoken before his mouth has had time to catch his brain. Your eyebrows quirk in confusion. The only time your estranged husband ever drove you himself was on your endless journeys to races; you would sit silently, curled away from his figure, eyes transfixed as the world passed by around you. The man not only offering but wanting to pick you up from the airport was a new-found curiosity.
“It’s okay.” You don’t let him continue. If previous standings have taught you anything, it’s that behind those mesmerising eyes cannot be trusted. You knew the secrets that lied beyond the ocean settled in his eye. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.” Part of your heart is craving to bring up his mistress; how she would probably be warming his bed in the current moment, walking around the house which you ached to find comfort in.
“You wouldn’t.” Charles is quick to respond; in his heart of heart, he knows getting you to trust him again would be a monumental task. He’d do anything to prove he would be the husband who would look after you. Who would love you unconditionally; the husband you deserved.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed, okay?” It’s your final compromise. The woman whom you had been twelve months ago would love nothing more than to run into Charles’ arms; whether he cared for you the way you did; you would always desire his attention and affection. You’d had to learn through the months that some of life’s biggest temptations had to remain untouched.
Charles Leclerc is your husband.
Landing back in the country was almost eerie; despite being away for only a miniscule amount of time, you felt changed; changed by the loss of your closest companion, changed by the fact your husband had been the one to call you, and not to throw some crazy request down the telephone line.
Arrivals, as always, were completely smothered; couples reuniting, children screaming at the sudden change of scenery. After obtaining your own bag, your eyes flicker through the never-ending crowds, desperate to find some recognition.
Standing apart from the crowd, looking effortlessly rugged in his athletic shorts and hoodie, hair pushed underneath a snapback. His eyes are trained on you, as if he had sensed your presence into the room in less than a moment. The breath catches in the back of your dried throat, a pair of eyes that you trusted undoubtedly. Stumbling, your feet carry you over to the arms of your favourite Spaniard, your head instantly finding solace in the joint between his shoulder and neck, the cologne you were used to from his attendances around the paddock creating a cloud of comfort.
Carlos’ hands effortlessly lock around your torso, pulling you tighter into his chest, one palm rubbing up and down your back. It was the first time, the first time in a long time that anybody had offered you this sort of affection. Mindlessly, the soft tears begin to pool at the bottom of your lash line. Soft snuffles emitting from your lips cause the man to hush you gently, pulling your face away from his body, cradling your head between his larger hands.
He mumbles something quietly, something about taking you back to the house. If it was him, the man would bundle you into his car and drive to his own home. He’d nestle you under his bedroom blankets, dress you in one of his hoodies. Instead, his rough palm finds your soft fingers, intertwining your hands together. Carlos takes your suitcase in his free hand, guiding you to his car parked outside of the airport.
Not much is said during the shortening journey back to the house; the tears glossing your eyes reflect the streetlights, transfixed on the roads which you had left for a few short days. The tears will continue to fall; her loss had taken a part of you that you would you never thought would return. The man to your right, eyes focused on the road can sense your heartbreak. He doesn’t wait to push you; he had spoken to you shortly after the news had originally broken, in that conversation, you had barely been able to say ten words before your voice cracked. Instead, Carlos rests a warm hand on your leg, a silent promise that he will be there no matter what.
The journey feels too short; eventually the driveway to the house rolls into sight, Carlos slowing down the car. When it comes to a halt, he steps out immediately, obtaining your suitcase from the rear of the car, placing it down on the wheels. By this point, you’d wiggled from the seat, ready to wheel your case into the house. However, before you can move, his arms engulf you once more, clinging so tightly, your feet began to lift from the floor. You had clung back just as tight, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek; a silent ‘Thank you,’ for everything.
The embrace ended, Carlos awaiting until the door had unlocked, nodding when he saw you safely enter the house. The building is practically silent; no television sounds, no gentle music, not even the whirr of Charles’ simulator in his downstairs office. Ears pricked, you could hear the jets of a shower from upstairs, the assumption that he must have been in the shower. Paranoia threads your mind, she wouldn’t be showering alongside, would she?
You don’t let your mind wander; instead, you focus on lugging the suitcase along the staircase, silently glad you had gotten further with it since your trip to Madrid. Beelining towards your room, the suitcase rolls behind you, resting it in the corner of the room, a silent promise you’d wash everything tomorrow. However, a delicate bouquet of soft, pink and fresh flowers decorated the vanity of the room; you knew you hadn’t bought flowers since Madrid, and these…They looked as if they’d been placed mere minutes ago.
Overthinking had always been dangerous; instead, you keep yourself busy, wiggling your skincare bag from the suitcase, padding into your bathroom with that and a fresh set of long pyjamas; the late-night breeze had begun to tickle your skin since removing yourself from Carlos’ warm arms. The relish indulges your body, shampoo trickling through your hair, body wash bubbles tickling your body. You’d stepped out a few moments later, changing into the soft clothing, sitting in front of the mirror, brushing your hair out as carefully as you could have.
Silently, your feet carry you from the en-suite towards the main bedroom. Standing at the head of the doorway, is none other than your husband, hair own hair damp from his shower, dressed in soft tracksuit bottoms and a tight tee-shirt. He’d seen your suitcase nestling in the corner of your bedroom, your phone had rumpled the blankets of your bed. Charles had been the one to hear the shower this time, deciding to wait, just to see your soft eyes.
They’re bloodshot; you look so…frail. The years of heartbreak littered across your face. Charles’ heart practically breaks; before you can say a word, he’s across the room, arms pulling around your torso, pulling your head under his chest. Your instinct tells you to fight it, why on earth would you accept some form of affection from a husband who had openly destined you for so long?
And yet, you subcome to his affection, hesitantly holding your own arms to his chest. His scent, his warmth.You felt as if you were dreaming, eyes wet from the overwhelming care, feeling gentle kisses press to the top of your head.
You don’t remember when Charles scooped you to his chest, tucking you into your fresh blankets before nestling in behind you himself. You remind yourself; this is a one-off. You’re almost certain that by tomorrow, he’ll be back in the arms of his mistress, your moment tonight will be an absent moment to your husband. You’ll take it; if it’s one night in his arms, feeling his breath against the back of your neck, tip of his nose pressing into your back, one hand pressed against your stomach in comfort, you’ll take it.
Some point during the night, your phone buzzes, the sound barely audible on the blankets of your bed. You groan slightly, the bubble of yourself and Charles giving you a true form of sanctuary, a true form of home. Curiosity in the night takes the better of you, lifting the dying device to your eyes, slightly blinded by the glow of the screen.
Despite being wrapped in the arms of your husband; you can feel your blood turn cold when you read the one sentence which had been left for you to find.
01:46: Carlos Sainz
I’m in love with you.
#F1#Formula 1#F1 x Reader#Carlos Sainz#Charles Leclerc#CS55#CL16#Charles Leclerc x Reader#Carlos Sainz x Reader#Charles Leclerc Imagine#Carlos Sainz Imagine#Charles Leclerc One Shot#Carlos Sainz One Shot#Reader Insert#Reader x Charles#Reader x Carlos#Formula 1 Imagine#F1 Imagine#Ferrari#Mercedes#Aston Martin#Fanfiction#Carlos Sainz x You#Charles Leclerc x You#Charlos
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Prompt: Buck taking Tommy's last name after they marry and being absolutely obsessed with being Evan Kinard 🙂
“I can take your order whenever you’re ready,” the new barista smiles cheerfully, as Buck steps up to the counter. At least he thinks she’s new, he hasn’t seen her here before. He and Tommy both have the day off and after an eventful night, he’d decided to surprise Tommy with coffee from their favorite place a few blocks from their house. He might have worn him out, because Tommy was still sleeping when Buck left. He blushes at the thought, but sue him- he just got married to the love of his life.
Buck quickly rattles off their orders and gets ready to tap his card to pay.
“Can I get a name for your order?” The barista- Buck glances at the name tag- Holly (she/her)- asks as she finishes typing.
“Buck,” he replies on autopilot. But that doesn’t feel quite right. “Wait, no, Evan-“
“Evan, got it; thank you!”
“-Kinard,” Buck finishes sheepishly.
Holly raises a quizzical eyebrow at him, verging on annoyance, and Buck doesn’t blame her.
“Evan Kinard,” he tries again, this time more steady and smoothly. “Sorry, it’s just, I got married recently and it feels good, having my husbands name, saying it out loud.” He knows his cheeks are red, the blush spreading down his neck as he rubs a hand down it.
Holly’s face softens at the explanation. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard all week! Not a problem,” she beams at him. “And congratulations, to you and your husband, Mr Kinard.”
Buck’s smiles wide, as warmth blooms from his chest, down his arms to the tips of his fingers, engulfing him from head to toe.
Mr. Kinard.
“Uh thank you,” he stammers, raising his card to actually pay this time, but Holly holds out a hand to stop him.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house!”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to-“
“Absolutely, think of it as a belated wedding present.”
“O- oh okay, well, thank you. I appreciate it,” he smiles shyly. “I’ll just wait down at the bar. Have a great rest of your day!” He tucks his card back into his wallet as he heads to end of the bar.
“You too!” Holly calls back to him, before turning to take the next person’s order.
Buck pulls out his phone to check for messages, as he waits for the drinks. He sees Tommy’s name on the screen and opens it up immediately.
My husband seems to be missing from our bed. Any idea where he went? :(
Yeah, Buck’s face cracks into a smile so wide his cheeks hurt.
Your husband will be there soon. Promise 😘
He locks his phone and looks up just in time.
“Order ready for Evan Kinard!” The barista making the drinks sets the two cups on the edge of the bar for him. He grabs them and waves to Holly as he walks out the door.
“Bye, Mr. Kinard!” Damn, he’ll never get tired of hearing that.
When he gets home, he finds Tommy curled on their couch, looking all cozy in his favorite sweatshirt and boxers. He’s got his reading glasses on and a book in his hand. And god he’s so gorgeous like this. Buck thinks he’s gorgeous all the time, actually, but seeing him all soft and rumpled does things to his heart.
Tommy notices Buck right away, and promptly saves his place in the book, before setting it down on their coffee table.
“There’s my husband,” he says smiling softly. “Hi sweetheart.”
Buck walks over to him and bends down to kiss him before sitting down next to him. “Hi, missed you.” He holds out one of the coffee cups and Tommy eagerly accepts it. “Coffee from our favorite place? You sure know how to treat your husband right,” Tommy smirks.
“And don’t you forget it,” Buck quips back.
Tommy raises the cup to take a sip but stops halfway to his mouth, as he notices the writing on the side. “Hmm, didn’t know they did last names at the shop now, Mr Kinard.” Yeah, Tommy’s smiling like a goof.
“They don’t,” Buck chuckles. “Uh, I kinda confused the new barista. When she asked for a name, I said Buck, like any other time? Except, it felt, I don’t know- lonely? And Evan Kinard? That sounds right, that felt right. It was the first time saying it to someone else out loud. So. Yeah.” Buck shrugs his shoulders, and takes a sip from his own drink.
Tommy sets his cup down and reaches out to tilt Buck’s chin up with two fingers, just like their first kiss. “I happen to agree, Mr Kinard. In fact, I love it. I like you with my name,” he murmurs before kissing Buck for it, sweet and soft. “And you know I’m as much yours as you’re mine, right?”
“Oh yeah, Mr Kinard?” Buck kisses Tommy, this time, right on the corner of his mouth.
“Oh absolutely, Mr Kinard.”
Tommy takes Buck’s cup from him and sets it down next to his. Then he pulls him to lay on top of him on the couch, finding his lips again. Their coffees will definitely get cold, but Buck can’t find it in himself to care.
#bucktommy#evan buckley#tommy kinard#tevan#kinley#fluff#my fic#ask#30somethingautisticteacher#dailykinley
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First Mother's Day
Note: I decided to do a special post in what is now my OP Men as Dads series, and do a Mother's Day headcanon/blurb post. I understand this day can be rough for some, but I hope that whether you celebrate or not, whether your mom is in your life or not, that you have a lovely day otherwise and if this isn't your cup of tea, I hope there's something else that can entertain you today. <3
If you'd like my thoughts on other OP men as dads (Shanks, Kid, Usopp, etc.), please just ask and I'll give an answer! I'll include Luffy in this despite my viewing him as a son or brother, but it probably won't be x Reader based. Requests are being worked on as well.
I am using baby Ace image to break up this and the actual content from now on lol. He's just so cute. 🥺
Ace is going to go all out for your first Mother’s Day. He’s buying flowers, candies, and cards, all from him and your daughter. Even if you tell him you don’t want anything except a quiet day at home with the two of them, he’s buying you gifts.
He’ll likely buy you a bracelet with your daughter’s name on it, or maybe a charm bracelet with her birthstone, so you can add any more in the future if/when you have more children. Ace will try to make you breakfast in bed, but he ends up burning the bacon to the point your smoke alarm goes off, and you have to open all the windows to air out the house the rest of the day (at least it’s a nice day out). He orders out breakfast from a nearby diner to make sure you have something that morning, he’ll even try to take your daughter out for a walk or to Luffy and Sabo’s place for the day to give you a break, but you insist on going along.
“You should have the day off though!”
“Ace, I don’t want a day off. Rogue is only three month’s old, and I’d much rather spend the day with you and her than alone. That’s not a fun Mother’s Day to me.”
The three of you end up at Luffy and Sabo’s place, the two uncles absolutely adoring their niece as she coos and lets them hold her without any crying or fussing. When you get home later that night, Ace watches you get Rogue ready for bed. He knew from the start that you would be a great mother, and sometimes, he just wishes his own mother was around to see it, and to meet her granddaughter.
~~
Law has a plan that gets thrown off when your son decides to be born a week earlier than expected, on Mother’s Day itself. He still tries to do something for you, even though the original plan of taking you out for brunch and giving you a quiet day at home while you waited for your baby to be born was now out the window. He should’ve known, ever since he met Luffy all his plans go haywire at some point. At least it led to you two meeting eventually.
Once you’ve gone to sleep and your son Rosi is in the nursery at the hospital, Law slips out to quickly put something together. He has a gift for you, a mother’s ring that will fit into your wedding band, he just needs flowers, or chocolate, or something to add to it. He doesn’t really like to be cliché, but he ends up with flowers, at least they’re something pretty you can have in your hospital room and when you’re released to take your baby boy home.
The girl in the hospital gift shops tells him he looks happy, even if Law doesn’t really show it. She swears it’s just something in the way he speaks while he asks her to pull together a small bouquet for you. He is happy, beyond that actually, knowing you two have a son, you both are healthy and safe. He has a family again, his very own. The flowers and ring aren’t enough to convey his gratitude to you for giving him a family to call his own, but it’s a start. There will be plenty more times for him to do so in the future.
When Law gets back to your room, you’re awake again and in the middle of nursing your son, a nurse helping you when you need it. She notices the flowers he’s brought and leaves you both with a smile, saying she’ll come back in a few minutes.
“Where’d you get off to?”
“Had to get something,” Law comes over and presses a kiss to your forehead, giving you a smile, “Happy Mother’s Day.”
~~
Penguin has thought of what to do every day since your daughter Wren was born. He’s come up with multiple ways to celebrate your first Mother’s Day, but nothing seems just right to him. He’s thought of brunch, breakfast in bed, giving you a day out with your friends while he watches your daughter, or even a weekend trip away, leaving your baby with her grandparents, but nothing works out. Restaurants and diners he calls are all booked up already, you hate eating in bed because of crumbs, your friends all had plans either with their own mothers or their spouses and kids, and your own parents were out of town for the next two weeks.
He ends up with no real plans for the day and feels terrible about it as it approaches. Its going to be another normal Sunday for the three of you, he hates the idea of that because it’s your first Mother’s Day, it should be special, shouldn’t it?
When the day finally comes around, Penguin is up first, hearing Wren’s little babbles through the baby monitor, and going to pick her up. At nine-months-old she’s figured out how to stand up on her own, still no steps being taken by herself, but when she sees Penguin enter the nursery, she grins and starts bouncing up and down, holding the rail of her crib and shouting “da” over and over. It makes Penguin smile as he picks her up, kissing her chubby cheek which makes her squeal.
“Good morning, Wren! Let’s keep quiet, mommy’s still asleep, okay?”
“Da!”
He laughs a bit, lifting her up over his head to make her giggle again, as she reaches her little hands towards his face.
“You know…a great gift would be for you to say ‘mama’ for the first time, yeah?”
“Ma?”
“Yeah, you’re close! Now, just say ‘mama’.”
Wren sticks her tongue out while she tries to speak, Penguin helping her along for several minutes until she finally says something close to ‘mama’.
“Mm…ma.”
Penguin sighs a bit, but nods as he brings Wren down and kisses her cheek again, making her giggle as she wraps her arms around his neck.
“You two sure have been having fun.”
Both look to you in the doorway, no shortage of smiles among the three of you, as Wren lights up and starts to reach for you, trying to say she wants you to hold her. You both take just a moment too long to get her to you, and it makes her fuss and kick her legs a bit.
“Ma…ma!”
You didn’t even get her in your arms, you and Penguin both freezing in place for a moment while Wren continues to fuss and whine, almost in tears since you haven’t held her yet.
“Mama!”
“I—”
“Her first word!!” You quickly take Wren from Penguin and hug her close, kissing her cheeks and forehead telling her how proud you are of your little girl. “This is the best Mother’s Day gift!”
At least that worked out, even if he didn’t have a plan in mind.
~~
Sanji wouldn’t have waited nearly a year to celebrate you as a mother if you hadn’t forced him to. With fraternal twins to now take care of and raise, you’ve both been through bouts of exhaustion and elation over the two babies you brought into the world. Sora and Angel, your precious blessings, were nearly a year old, and you’d already started planning a birthday party for them, completely ignoring the fact Mother’s Day was a few weeks prior to their turning one-year-old.
Sanji didn’t forget, he had a plan, one that included your twins scribbling away to make cards for you, though he didn’t expect the two to be so fussy about it and mark each other up more than the papers. He learned very quickly to not give babies or toddlers markers, unless they were washable. You still don’t fully realize how Sora ended up with a bright green mark over his right eye and Angel had a hot pink line down her left arm.
The rest was simple, breakfast in bed, made by your professional chef husband of course, and whatever else you wanted for the rest of the day. If you want to lay in bed and watch TV without interruption, he’d put your twins in the stroller and take them to the park. If you wanted to turn your phone off and sleep the day away, he’d take over and leave you alone until you needed anything. Whatever you want, it’s a day to celebrate you as the mother of his children, he wasn’t going to deny you anything.
But when you do tell him what you want, after finishing off breakfast, Sanji’s a bit surprised.
“Are you…sure?”
“Mm-hm,” you nod and try to keep Sora from grabbing the butter knife on the tray, making him whine while Angel slept in Sanji’s arms, “I want to spend the day with the three of you.”
“You…do that every day though, my love.”
“So?” smiling, you kiss the top of Sora’s head and watch Angel as she starts to stir awake, rubbing her eyes with her tiny hands, “You guys are my family. I hate the idea of not being with the three of you today, so I’d rather just spend it like we always do.”
Sanji nods a bit, seeming to understand, greeting Angel when she wakes up fully with a kiss to the forehead. It makes you happy to watch him with both your children, but especially your daughter. How could he ever think you’d want to spend the day alone? Not when you had these two blessings as your children and Sanji as your husband.
“We could still take these two to the park later, maybe burn off some energy so they nap at a decent time.”
“Of course! Whatever you want, my love.”
~~
Zoro doesn’t even fully realize that its Mother’s Day until Nami says something to him. The past few weeks with your son have been exhausting for both of you, but he can’t believe he forgot that this was a thing. He has nothing planned and isn’t sure what to do. He’s running out of time, it’s literally just a few hours away before Nami offers to take you out for the day wherever the Sunny docks in the morning. Zoro will stay with your son on the ship, and you’ll get a day off from being a mom and wife, the two think it’s the best thing to give you on such short notice, though Nami does up the interest on his debt again for this.
You don’t even get to say good morning to your husband or son before Nami has dragged you off to whatever she has planned, its really just a normal girl’s day out with shopping and lunch. Most of what you buy isn’t even for you, it’s baby items that you need or clothes you think are adorable. It just ended up making you miss your son more as the day went on.
When you do get back to the ship, your son is wailing and no one has been able to calm him down, not even Zoro while he tries his hardest and lightly bounces your baby as he shushes him gently. As soon as you drop your bags you’re taking him from your husband and holding him close to calm him down.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, mommy’s here, Keitaro. I’m back.”
He slowly calms down once he realizes its you, burying his little face in your shoulder and keeping a tight grip on your shirt. When you ask Zoro what the deal was with Nami dragging you off the ship so early, before you even had the chance to hold Keitaro that day, he explains the situation and it just makes you tilt your head.
“…it’s Mother’s Day?”
You hadn��t even realized it. That just makes Zoro feel bad that it caused your son such distress, and he and Nami both apologize for not talking to you about it beforehand. They both assumed the other had discussed it with you. You didn’t really care to celebrate, all that mattered was being with your husband and son, the rest of your day spent with just the two of them.
Note 2: Out here dropping names like I didn't say I'd make a post about that at some point lol. So, the firstborns in order of character are Portgas D. Rogue, Trafalgar D. Rosinante (called Rosi cause it's too damn cute), Wren, Sora and Angel, and Roronoa Keitaro.
#one piece x reader#trafalgar law x reader#zoro x reader#law x reader#sanji x reader#penguin x reader#op penguin x reader#reader insert#black leg sanji x reader#portgas d ace x reader#ace x reader#mother's day#op men as dads#roronoa zoro x reader
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John Price x Reader
Summary: When John gets an unexpected invite to his ex-wife’s wedding, he scrambles to find a suitable date to take with him to ward off old ghosts from his past.
Notes: trans John, fat reader, subtle transphobia from minor characters
John sat alone on his couch, his mail left forgotten on the seat to his right, as he tipped his drink back and looked over the thick card stock in his hand. He rubbed his thumb over the names embossed across the top, his grimace pulling just tight enough to be mistaken for a snarl.
He placed the glass down on the coffee table in front of him and reached for the cigar burning away in the ashtray. He felt sick to his stomach as he took a deep pull; it was one of his habits that she had never liked, especially in the house. He’d promised time and time again that he’d quit for her, but he never had and now it was too late to matter.
She’d frowned and huffed and ignored him for a week when she’d first caught him smoking. Freshly seventeen, the pair of them, and she’d practically begged him to not copy the other boys they’d grown up with, to never do it again. But he hadn’t listened.
Childhood sweethearts, John had boasted when they’d been married. Their whole lives planned out together, just waiting for them to get going.
But after sixteen years together, twelve of those married, she’d finally had enough and asked John for a divorce.
It had broken his heart to sign the papers, to have her look him in the eyes and bravely tell him it wasn’t going to work anymore. She couldn’t keep going on like this, it wasn’t a life. Always relegated to second best, forever waiting for him to keep his promise that he’d finally prioritise her over his work.
She wasn’t selfish for wanting commitment, she’d insisted and John couldn’t have agreed more. But he’d been young and stupid, and assumed his wife would always be safely his until suddenly she wasn’t and he was left only with regret for not changing sooner.
He’d suggested couples therapy in a last desperate effort and she’d tearily shaken her head. She was adamant, settled firm, unmovable. Ironically one of John’s favourite things about her.
What made the cold, lonely nights after that worse for John was that they’d ended it on relatively good terms. There was no other man he could blame, and she hadn’t been able to cut ties completely either, keeping in touch and stringing him along through the odd habitual text after the initial separation. She didn’t seem to hold it against him that he was unable to switch off from work, able to swallow the bitter pill easier now that they were separated, and he was desperate enough for even a sliver of what they’d had that he ate up any interaction she gave him.
Even six years later, she still sent him a message on his birthday or at Christmas, wishing him well. And he knew his family still spoke to her; hard not to given they all lived in his home town. He’d moved away, left her the house; it wasn’t like he wanted it or the memories that came with it and it meant he could get somewhere a little more convenient for work.
His eyes flickered back down to the card without his permission. The invite. He felt his throat grow tight.
Charlotte Price & Tom Smith would like you to join them to celebrate on their wedding day...
He dropped the card onto the table next to his glass before he could keep reading and make the pit in his stomach any bigger; took another puff of his cigar and wished his drink would magically refill itself. He’d always taken it as a good sign the fact that she’d never bothered to change back to her maiden name. More fool him.
Pulling out his phone from his pocket he hesitated before ringing Kate.
“John,” she answered, surprise in her tone. “You’ve been home for less than... three hours by my estimate.”
“Need some time off, Kate,” he said without preamble.
“Finally taking that holiday I’ve been pushing for?”
He laughed humourlessly. “Not exactly.”
She hummed, but didn’t push. John could hear the clacking of her laptop keys when he told her the dates he was requesting.
“Charlotte’s getting remarried,” he said eventually. His voice unusually quiet. “Got the invite through in the mail.”
“Shit,” Kate swore. “You're going?”
“Never was able to say no to her,” he admitted with a chuckle, like it was a joke and not a sad fact.
“Do you need a date?” She offered.
He was already shaking his head before she finished the sentence. “I’ll be fine.”
“Fine?” Kate scoffed. “John, I’ve met your family and I remember Charlotte. Nothing about this will be fine, you’ll need a friend.”
John winced as he thought about the amount of voicemail messages he’d left unplayed from his mother since getting back that morning. Now that he could guess what they were about he was even less inclined to listen to them; he knew she’d be asking if he got his invite, what he was planning on wearing, how long he’d be staying, who he’d be bringing as his date.
Despite all of his quick climb of the ladder and many accolades within the military his mother had never acknowledged them, always focused on something else to worry over instead. And for the last six year it had been the idea of her eldest dying alone after he was divorced; she did so love Charlotte.
If he went alone, his mother would be on the cusp of insufferable the entire time he was there, but if he brought Kate, she’d be outright intolerable to the both of them.
“She’d be worse if I brought a mate instead,” he said, not needing to clarify who ‘she’ was. “If I go alone I can always lie about a new partner or someone I’m seein’; it’s not unbelievable that she’d be too busy with work to get the time off to come. The benefit of the doubt goes away if I bring you or, God forbid, bloody Simon.”
Kate snorted down the phone.
“They won’t believe you,” she said matter of fact. “One look at your face when you see her and they’ll know.”
John stayed quiet.
“Maybe.”
“Want my advice?”
“Not in this case, no.”
Kate ploughed on regardless.
“Don’t go, John. You’ll only hurt yourself and potentially ruin her day. It’s selfish,” she said plainly.
“Don’t pull your fucking punches, Kate.”
“It was selfish of her to invite you,” she clarified, hearing the hurt disguised in John’s voice. “But it’s selfish of you to go too. We both know how you want it to end and it’s not in her fiancé’s favour.”
“This might be the last time I ever see her,” John said softly. He didn’t visit home often, it had been years in fact and he doubted he’d want to stick around long enough in future visits to bump into Charlotte with a new man’s ring on her finger. “I have to go. I want to.”
Kate sighed. “You’ve got the time off, there’s nothing stopping you.”
In a bid to change the subject John looked at his watch and winced when he worked out what time it was for her. With a quick apology for calling her at such an awkward time he waited for her to say goodbye before hanging up.
He looked at the invite one last time before standing up to refill his drink.
---
John only had to deal with three weeks on leave before he was called back in and was once again able to throw himself into work as a distraction. He was able to forget about the wedding most days in the months leading up to the date, only reminded when he checked his civilian phone and saw the calls and messages he’d missed while away or sat in his office pouring over paperwork.
He kept his replies short, clipped and to the point; tired of having to repeat himself, but he tried not to be mean even when his mum sent an unintentionally hurtful, “Maybe you’d have had better luck finding a date if you hadn’t made the switch. You were always so pretty xxx”.
He turned his phone on silent and pushed his knuckles into his eyes, hunched over his desk as he felt anger and despair in equal measure bubble and boil behind his teeth.
By chance, he managed to catch his sister’s call.
“Bloody finally, John,” she sighed down the phone. “Mum’s going mad over here. She doesn’t know whether to make up the spare room for you or not.”
“Tell her not to bother,” he said. “Said already I’ll stay at a hotel nearby. Easier for all of us.”
“Don’t be an arsehole,” his sister chided.
John gritted his teeth. “She’s just been... A lot, over these last weeks.”
“Wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn’t have cocked it up with the one person on the planet willing to deal with all your bullshit,” Lizzy said unsympathetically.
“Cheers. I’d forgotten completely. Thanks, Liz.” John ran a hand over his tired eyes. “Is that all you rang for?”
“Mm,” she hummed. “Give Kate my regards, I’m sure I’ll get to catch up with her at the wedding.”
“Actually, I’m bringing a date, a woman I’m seeing,” John said without thinking.
His sister went quiet for a moment before clearing her throat. “Oh? You’ve never mentioned her before.”
“Wasn’t sure if it was serious,” John lied, cursing himself for it. “But she’s got the time off, so hopefully she’ll be coming with me. Another reason we want the hotel room.”
“Of course,” Lizzy laughed. “Should’ve guessed. Mum will be pleased.”
“I’m sure.” He waited for a moment and she scoffed, annoyed at his none-answers.
“Well, are you going to tell me anything about her?”
“And have nothing to talk about when we get there? No chance,” John deflected. “I’ve got to go, got a meeting starting soon.”
“At this time?” She asked, surprised.
“New intel just came in. Can’t say much more.”
“Of course, of course. See you soon then, John.”
He massaged his temples when she hung up, his oncoming headache leaving his jaw tense and eyes squinting.
He looked at the clock above his office door and cringed when he saw the late time. He contemplated crashing in his room and potentially rolling around wide awake for another couple of hours or traipsing to the rec room in hopes of finding a bit of company to take his mind off of things for a while.
With a groan, he stood stiffly from his desk and headed towards the shared rec room.
He sighed in relief when he saw his team sat around the small table, cards in hand and a bottle of whiskey off to the side only half empty.
“Mind if I join next round?” He asked as he pulled out a chair.
“Only if you don’t mind Soap cheating,” Gaz said, sending his fellow sergeant a mucky look.
“Jus’ admit yer shite at cards, Garrick,” Johnny laughed, unperturbed by the accusation.
John smiled as he watched the three of them finish the hand before he was dealt in. His phone rang, but he left it to go to voicemail as he studied his cards and considered his options, thanking Simon when he poured him a drink. It rang a second time when Soap won, then a third immediately after. John clenched his jaw and checked the ID, putting it back down when he saw mum flashing across the top of the screen.
Lizzy hadn’t waited to spread the news then. Fuck.
He noticed the three men eyeing up his phone and tense shoulders, but he didn’t acknowledge it. It wasn’t until the fourth call that Soap spoke up.
“Yer certainly popular tonight, sir.”
“A mission we don’t know about?” Kyle asked, eyebrows furrowed.
John shook his head. “Nothing like that. Just been invited to a wedding, is all.”
The three of them focused on him at that, eyes peeled away from their cards at the reminder that their Captain had a personal life outside of these walls.
Before any of them had chance to ask, John sighed. “Family’s been nonstop calling me the last month or so, putting pressure on me to bring someone along,” he admitted.
“If you wanted a date so badly,” Johny started, puffing up his chest only to fold over wheezing when Simon elbowed him, hard.
“Told them I’m bringing a woman, Soap. But thanks for the offer, think I’d have asked Gaz first though,” John joked.
“Your loss,” Simon said gruffly. “I’ve been told I’m very charming.”
“They have a gun to their head at the time?” Johnny said under his breath.
“My sister might be available to go with ya,” Gaz offered. “And unlike our ‘charming’ Lt here, she can actually talk a stranger’s ear off.”
“I couldn’t ask her to do that, Gaz. Could make things awkward for you,” Price hedged, hesitant to agree.
“She loves weddings, sir, any excuse to get dressed up and have a few free drinks,” Kyle said with an easy shrug. He grinned and continued, “And not like it’s a real date, wouldn’t have to pull you aside for the shovel talk. She’d just be doing you a favour. Could pay it back by having Ghost go easy on us in training after the break at Christmas this year.”
John huffed a laugh as Simon grumbled, but it felt a little forced as he thought about the offer. With a sigh he took a drink of the cheap beer Soap had nabbed them all from the communal fridge once the whiskey started getting low.
“No ‘arm in it,” Simon added, watching their captain closely.
John nodded shortly at Kyle and watched with growing anxiety and embarrassment as the young sergeant tapped away on his phone. Johnny shuffled and distributed the cards for a new game, giving John a moment of reprieve to look away, but when he turned back and caught Gaz’s frown his stomach sank.
“What?” He asked a little too sharply. It would be one thing to be rejected by a woman he’s never met, but another entirely for it to happen in front of his men when he was already feeling unsteady from the oncoming wedding.
“She’s busy that weekend, some festival’s on that she’s got tickets for,” Kyle winced. He sent John an apologetic look before his phone buzzed again. “Wait, she said her mate might be up for it.”
Johnny leant heavily against Kyle’s side, arm thrown over the back of his chair, and read the message over his shoulder.
“Though apparently the friend said you hafta pay her £100 f’r it, pick her up and drop her home,” Johnny huffed through a disbelieving laugh. “Cheeky, that. Don’ even know what she looks like and she’s chargin’ ye.”
“Could ask for a photo,” Gaz offered again, but John waved him off.
He was still unconvinced, the acidic bubble of embarrassment at the back of his throat caused by having to buy his fucking date to his ex’s wedding left him cautious. He was handsome, he knew, but he just didn’t have the time or the desire to go out looking for someone that wasn’t Charlotte.
His phone lit up with a notification for a new voice mail and he thought about the streams of calls and unanswered texts from his family and his ex-wife, all asking about his plus one in some capacity and ranging subtlety.
“Send me her number.”
---
The pair of you decided to meet up a month before the wedding, not long after you’d first started texting and covered the basic introductions, figuring it would be easier to fake a relationship if the wedding wasn’t the first time you’d both met.
And before committing to the role you wanted a better idea of what kind of man John was.
Safety first and all that, it didn’t matter that your friend kind of knew him through her younger brother, you wanted to know who you could potentially be spending a full weekend away with.
He’d agreed without fuss and let you pick the spot, in public and during the day obviously. This wasn’t your first blind date, though the circumstances were a lot different and it had you feeling nervous even though you didn’t really have anything to lose.
John had arrived at the café early, not wanting to make a bad impression. However the extra time meant that he had longer to stew over the events that had led him to meeting a stranger to negotiate whether she’d be willing to lie to his family for him or if he wasn’t worth the time.
He’d sat at the back where it was quieter, needing the privacy as he ruminated over his lack of options, though he stared across the room out of the large front windows onto the street.
John’s eyes caught onto a plump young thing jogging across the road, and he let them wander across her frame languidly. He mourned his ex-wife’s touch as he watched the woman enter the café with sweat just beginning to bead at her brow, her eyes flickering around the room nervously. He couldn’t help but notice how she was exactly his usual type, similar in some respects to how Charlotte had looked early on in their marriage even, with a round face, thick thighs and soft tits hidden beneath her cosy jumper.
John froze when the woman met his gaze and smiled, lifting a hand in a small, hesitant wave.
“John?” She mouthed, and he found himself nodding automatically. She looked pleased before heading to the register to make her order.
John straightened up in his seat and frowned down into his tea. He wasn’t interested, hadn’t been interested in anyone but his ex in all the years since she’d left, but he was tempted all the same to tell Gaz to thank his sister for introducing what was likely her most beautiful friend.
He had to stop himself from glaring daggers into his tea, frustrated with himself and his thoughts, as you came over from the counter with your drink in hand and an apprehensive smile on your face as you took your seat opposite him.
“Sorry if I’m a little late, I thought we’d said half past,” you apologised, looking to his mostly empty cup.
“I was early.” John cleared his throat. “Sorry, I haven’t done this in a long time. ‘M a little rusty.”
You let out a soft laugh and shrug. “Don’t worry about it, there’s no pressure. It’s not a real date, right? And there’s worse things you could be than early; I mean I wanted to meet mainly just to make sure you weren’t a raging arsehole or planning on murdering me on our way down South.”
“Can tell all that meeting someone over coffee? Might have to employ you to help with our interrogations.”
“Not sure I’m cut out for the military life. I’m no good with blood, I get faint at a paper cut,” you joked.
John huffed, not enough to be considered a laugh but you knew he was amused.
You watched as he took in a deep breath, his shoulders stretching as he leant into the back of his chair, steeling himself for the next part of the conversation.
“Thank you… for considering doing this. I know it’s not exactly conventional and we don’t know each other all that well,” he started, jaw tense even as he spoke.
“I think it might be fun,” you said with a hopeful smile. “The only weddings I’ve been to were when I was a kid, so I’m kind of looking forward to it in a weird way.”
John stared at you for a moment and you worried you’d put your foot in it. He was obviously hesitant about the whole deal and there you were talking about how you were excited to go on your little day trip like it wasn’t John’s family you’d be intruding on.
“You’re always smiling,” he muttered finally, breaking your building tension.
“What?”
“Mm.” He blinked and focused once more. “Sorry. Yes, it should be nice. The wedding. Charlotte always had good taste.”
“Charlotte, is that the bride?”
“And my ex-wife.”
“Oh fuck, ok,” you said with raised eyebrows. Your friend had mentioned John having some old connection to the bride to be, but you hadn’t been expecting that. John had told you about himself a little in his messages, but he’d not mentioned much about the wedding past the date.
“My family will be there, they’ve all stayed close after the divorce. Think they prefer her over me and I can’t blame ‘em,” he explained. Your frowned and although he was taken back by the sudden switch in your mood he didn’t touch on it. “It’ll be easier with a date to keep my family off my back for a few hours while we’re there.”
“Are they a little more, uhm, traditional?” You asked, then tried to lighten up the potentially heavy question. “Not keen on divorces or bachelors?”
“You could say that,” he agreed nonspecifically. “They’re not Catholic, if that’s what you’re thinking; it’s just a small town, everyone knows everyone’s business.”
“Small town like Gilmore Girls or small town like Twin Peaks? Wondering if I need to be cautious of the locals.”
John smiled; your attempts at trying to get him to open up and laugh with you fell flat. “I can pick you up in the morning, drive down in time for the ceremony. We’ll have to stay the night for the celebration the next day as well but after that we can head back. I’ll get you home by the evening.”
You nodded along, fidgeting with your cup. “Great, uhm and about the money, I’m sorry to ask but I’ll be missing work for this and I don’t get paid leave. Plus I’ll need a dress—”
“It’s not an issue,” he said firmly, waving off your worries.
Your shoulders dropped in relief and you nodded again.
“Never requested a down payment on a date before,” you said with a laugh.
“I’m happy to pay it.” He tapped his thumb on the edge of his empty cup. “Does that mean you’ll go?”
“Yeah. Yeah, unless you say something truly awful over the next few weeks, I’d be happy to go.”
Price felt his headache ease at that. One less thing to worry about.
The stilted conversation continued as you discussed the details of the wedding, the dress code, and his family. John had stood mid way through as you tried to remember the names he’d mentioned and bought you both a second drink each.
“So there’s your mum, Shirl, Lizzy’s your younger sister, and your dad is called Richard,” you repeated back to him, taking notes on your phone. “Anyone else of note?”
“Not family, but there might be a few names of people I’d have probably mentioned to you; neighbours, teachers and the like.”
“Ok, cool. You can text me them if you’d prefer.” You finished tapping away before taking a swig of your drink. “So what’s our backstory?”
At John’s befuddled silence you sat back in shock.
“Have you never seen any romcom ever?” You asked in mock outrage. “We need to figure out how we met, how long we’ve been dating, etcetera etcetera, otherwise your family is gonna sniff out this lie like pigs hunting for truffles.”
“Right, makes sense,” he hummed. “We’ve been dating for almost six months and met through Gaz and your friend. Keep it close enough to the truth so we don’t get confused.”
“Good idea. Uhm, you asked me out to coffee and we hit it off because you like how endearing and witty I am,” you said with a cheeky grin.
“Always did think modesty was overrated,” he played along. “I’m busy a lot with work, so we don’t see each other much but we’ve made it work for us.”
“Do I get to know much about your work other than your title and apparently that you do interrogations?”
“You know I’m a captain of an SAS task force and I’ve been in the service for almost twenty years. Kyle said he texted his sister about me.”
“Yeah, yeah he did. She told me what he said, I just wasn’t sure if I’d know more as your girlfriend. We can keep it vague though if you’d prefer.” You tried to move on. “What about your friends?”
“Kate, Simon, Kyle and Johnny. Teammates. They’ll recognise the names if you mention them,” John said. “They’ll probably be more convinced if you mention Farrah, too.”
“Will I have met them yet?”
John hummed as he thought about it. “Kate and Farrah are busy like myself. But you’ve met Simon and Kyle; I’m keeping Johnny off your tail for now, dog of a bloke,” John decided.
You snorted at his description and nodded, continuing to add to your notes.
After a minute of silence and no further questions coming from you, John leant forward onto his forearms.
“Have you not got a boyfriend at home that’ll be jealous you’re doing this?” He asked.
You let out a loud, bitter laugh. “No, I’m single. I was put off dating pretty recently, actually, after trying my hand at a couple of apps. The whole online schtick really isn’t for me turns out, was just a long stint of dead end dates.”
“I’m sure there’d be someone on there that’d be worth your time,” John tried to reassure you awkwardly.
“Oh there’s plenty of fish in the sea, but I’m retiring my fishing pole for the time being. I’m happy enough being single; and hey, it beats having to sit through a two hour dinner with a guy that won’t stop talking about the rash on his dick.”
John slumped back in his seat in shock with raised eyebrows. He quickly lifted a hand to clamp over his mouth to hide his burgeoning laugh, but his shaking shoulders gave him away.
“Please, feel free to laugh at the state of my dating life,” you encouraged, rolling your eyes playfully. “It’s like a raging dumpster fire.”
“At least you’re not hiring someone to go to your ex-wife’s wedding,” he said, biting his cheek afterwards. He felt the uncomfortable pit in his stomach shift and stretch with guilt at his sudden ability and ease to joke about it. Christ, what was wrong with him?
You noticed his face shutter back to being blank as he looked out across the café and decided not to push. It was all obviously still a sore spot for him.
“What were you thinking touch-wise?” You asked instead, willing your voice to stay even. God help if got flustered over the idea of kissing a man still in love with his ex. You’re an adult, you can hold hands and pretend to be in love without being childish and getting giggly over it. John was stern enough you couldn’t doubt his lack of interest, and you weren’t about to get yourself tangled up in an unavailable man, even if he was handsome.
John cleared his throat.
“I’ve always been pretty big on PDA,” he admitted almost sheepishly. “And I mentioned it’s a small town; it’s likely they’ve all seen me fawning over a woman before. It would be… suspicious if we didn’t kiss, I think. But I was a teenager back then, so I think a more reserved approach wouldn’t be unreasonable.”
“Ok, cool. So like, the usual coupley stuff, honeymoon phase kind of staying close by and kisses on the cheek kind of thing too.” You took another drink and tried not to think too much about the weight of John’s gaze on your face. “Just if you could try not to sneak up on me and do it? I tend to lean into fight more than flight, especially when it comes to strangers’ hands on me.”
“I don’t have to touch you if it’ll make you uncomfortable,” John offered immediately.
“No, no! I’ll be ok, I’m just out of practice I guess, not used to it at the moment. I don’t want to slap your hands away without thinking and ruin the charade. Or worse, I watched too much Muppets growing up and likened myself to Miss Piggy’s attitude, wouldn’t want to put your training to the test,” you said, making a small karate chop in between the two of you. John hid his smile behind his tea. You shrugged a little self-consciously afterwards and started speaking again. “I’m fine with kissing, and having your hands anywhere on me.”
John coughed as he choked back his drink, fervently shaking his head. “Oh, uhm. No, that won’t—”
“Like over my clothes, I just meant like my waist, or my arse at most. I didn’t mean— Keeping it PG13.”
John chuckled nervously and rubbed a hand down over the scruff of his thick mutton chops. “Right, right. Sorry, I jumped to conclusions there.”
“No, I think that was on me,” you huffed, embarrassed. You grabbed your bag and stood. “I think I’ve got enough to work with here, I’ll message you if I think of anything else I might need to know. But… It’ll be ok, John, or at least not as shitty as it could’ve been having to go alone.”
John scoffed. “Thanks, Sunshine.”
“Sunshine?” You ask, tilting your head like an inquisitive puppy.
“Always got that sunny grin on, haven’t ya?”
“Oh please,” you rolled your eyes again, biting back the very same grin he spoke of. “Practice the story, yeah?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded.
“Oh! We should probably take a photo together, right? For our lock screens, real couples have each other on their phones.”
John’s smile turned brittle. “Right.”
You moved to sit in the seat next to John instead of opposite and clicked on your camera, aiming it at the pair of you, you grinned wide and nudged John when he kept frowning.
“Try and make it convincing, c’mon,” you encouraged lightly. He smiled thinly and you took a few quick snaps. “I’ll send them to you later. Thanks for the coffee, John.”
“See you later,” he said and watched you walk out of the café and down the street.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished he felt better about the wedding than he did. Although it was a relief to not be going alone anymore, it felt worse somehow now that he’d met you and hadn’t immediately disliked you.
series masterlist
#i’m a lil nervous posting this but idk why 🥺#shout out to kai for opening my eyes and inspiring me to make cute banners for multi fic works on canva#that shit rocks and it was so fun!#part 2 out hopefully sooner rather than later#john price x reader#john price#fat reader#female reader#trans john price#fucking finally at least it worked this time#also if anyone caught the weekly planet pod reference i’ll give you a big ol’ kiss
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Too Damn Young: Part Two
Summary: You and Spencer have been separated for three years, is that enough time to move on? For you, it would appear it is. Spencer doesn't know what to do when he gets your save-the-date in the mail.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Category: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst
Warnings/Includes: talks of divorce, keeping secrets from partner, alcohol consumption, impulsive decisions, breakups, argument with intoxicated Spencer, happy ending
Word count: 14k
a/n: sorry this took so long i got a very specific case of writer's block for this story ://
main masterlist part one
Three years had passed since Spencer Reid had moved away from you, but despite the physical distance, the love and bond you shared had managed to survive. Though the romantic part of your relationship had ended, your friendship remained strong and unbreakable.
Spencer kept you updated on his work at the BAU, sharing stories from the field and the challenges he faced. When your mom got married, knowing how difficult that event was for you, Spencer took time off from work to attend the wedding with you. His support was unwavering, even when he couldn’t be there in person. You would visit Diana when Spencer couldn’t, helping out in ways that kept you connected not only to him but also to his family.
Spencer continued to speak with your father regularly, keeping that connection alive even as your lives had diverged in different directions. In all, the two of you remained close, and your friendship had evolved into something even more profound, built on shared experiences, trust, and the deep understanding that comes from truly knowing each other.
A rock was thrown into the friendship you shared with Spencer, however, when he received a save-the-date card in the mail, addressed to him. As soon as he saw your name on it, so many emotions swarmed through his body that it made him physically ill. He scanned the card, his hands trembling as he tried to process the words. You were getting married. Again.
Spencer hadn’t even known you were seeing anyone, and now you were marrying someone? The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. His stomach twisted, and before he could stop it, he wretched and threw up, the shock and emotions overwhelming him completely.
He knew, logically, that the two of you were long since over. He had tried to move on. He had seen people off and on, but never took anything too seriously, never fully allowed himself to fall. Because, in the back of his mind, Spencer had always assumed that the two of you were destined to find your way back to each other. He never let go of that hope, and now, seeing your save-the-date, that hope was shattered.
In a moment of sheer panic and desperation, Spencer dialed Derek’s number, his voice breaking as he begged, “Please, Derek… come over, I—I need you.” He was crying, the words tumbling out incoherently, leaving Derek no choice but to rush to his best friend’s side, not knowing what had caused such an outburst of emotion.
When Derek arrived, Spencer had managed to somewhat compose himself, though the distress was still written all over his face. He motioned for Derek to sit, and with shaky breaths, he spilled everything. From the day you and Spencer met in Tahoe, to the whirlwind of dating, to your marriage, and ultimately, the divorce. Spencer had kept this part of his life hidden from the team, only ever referring to you as a “friend from college,” never revealing the deep connection the two of you once shared.
Derek listened, taking it all in with wide eyes, surprised but trying to make sense of it. Spencer had never been one to open up about personal matters, let alone something this big.
Then, Spencer threw the save-the-date card onto the table in front of Derek, the final piece of the puzzle falling into place. Derek picked it up, his face softening with understanding. He could see why this had devastated Spencer, why the younger man had broken down.
“Man… I didn’t know,” Derek said quietly, his voice filled with empathy. “I didn’t know you were still holding onto that.”
Spencer rubbed his eyes, his whole body slumped in defeat. “I thought… I thought maybe one day… we’d find our way back to each other. But now… she’s marrying someone else.”
Derek shook his head, unsure of what advice to offer. How do you console someone who’s just realized the future they’d been holding onto no longer existed?
“I’m sorry, Reid,” Derek sighed, pulling Spencer into a tight hug, feeling the weight of his friend's emotions. He didn’t know what else to say. He could feel how deeply this was hurting Spencer, and it pained him to see his best friend like this. “What are you going to do?”
Spencer leaned into Derek’s embrace, his body still trembling slightly as he huffed out a breath. “I guess… I’m going to the wedding,” he said, his voice filled with resignation. “She’s my best friend. I can’t… not be there for her.”
Derek, trying to find a way to lift the mood, jolted Spencer a bit, grinning mischievously. “Excuse you? I thought your best friend was sitting in front of you right now.”
A small laugh escaped Spencer, a brief moment of light in the middle of his turmoil. “You're right,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “Thank you, Derek. Really.”
Derek smiled, glad to have gotten a laugh out of him, but he knew it would take more than that to pull Spencer out of his spiral. So, for the rest of the day, Derek stayed by his side, doing whatever Spencer wanted—whether it was playing chess, watching documentaries, or just sitting in silence. Anything to keep his mind off the fact that the love of his life was getting married to someone else.
And, perhaps worst of all, she hadn’t told him anything about it until the save-the-date arrived. That, Derek knew, was what was really eating at Spencer—the idea that he wasn’t as much a part of your life as he once thought.
—
Spencer hadn’t reached out since receiving your save-the-date, unable to find the right words. Instead, he threw himself into spending more time with his colleagues and friends, agreeing to every social outing they planned. He was trying to distract himself, to drown out the constant noise in his head about what your upcoming marriage meant for him.
Tonight, he found himself whiskey tasting with Rossi, Hotch, and Derek. As the evening wore on and the whiskey flowed freely, their conversations grew looser, more personal. Rossi and Hotch began comparing their divorce stories, laughing about their past pain and the fleeting joys of their marriages. Derek looked over at Spencer, knowing full well the turmoil going on beneath his quiet exterior, being the only one who knew about Spencer’s secret heartbreak.
Spencer seemed to be somewhere else entirely, lost in his own world, not really listening to the conversation. Derek wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he was silently relieved when Spencer excused himself to go to the bathroom. Maybe it was better if he didn’t hear the rest of this conversation.
But instead of heading to the bathroom, Spencer stepped outside, pulling out his phone and making a decision he would soon regret. His fingers fumbled as he dialed your number. The alcohol had loosened his inhibitions, and all the pent-up frustration and hurt were boiling over.
The worst part? You answered.
“Spencer? Hi!” Your voice was warm but slightly distracted. “I’m still at work, is everything okay?”
Of course. The time difference. He hadn’t even thought about that. “I’m fine, Y/N,” he hiccuped, clearly not fine at all. “Well, no, I’m not. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?”
You were silent on the other end for a moment, the weight of his question hanging in the air. Finally, you sighed deeply. “Spencer… can we not do this right now? I can call you tomorrow.”
“No!” Spencer's voice was louder than intended, his frustration rising. “We need to do this now. I deserve an explanation.”
You sighed again, and Spencer could hear you moving around, likely retreating to a quieter place in your office. “Okay. Fair enough. I started seeing Noa about two years ago. They’re amazing, Spence. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“So you thought sending me a save-the-date was better?” Spencer’s voice raised again, the whiskey fueling his anger. “That’s messed up, and you know it.”
“I know,” you said quietly. “I was scared. I’m sorry.”
Spencer’s brain was spinning, but one thought stood out. “Wait… you’ve only been together for two years?” His voice had grown darker, accusatory.
“Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, okay?” you said, your voice strained but still calm, trying to diffuse the situation.
“You’re just rushing into marriage again!” Spencer shot back, the words spilling out before he could stop them. His frustration, his heartbreak, everything he had buried for the last five years, it all came pouring out.
“What?” you asked, your voice coming out small and weak, despite the fact that you wished it had been strong, confident, maybe even cold. But it wasn’t. The hurt you felt made it tremble.
Spencer scoffed, his frustration bubbling over. “You’re just jumping into another relationship without thinking about the consequences.”
You blinked, shocked at the accusation. “How would you know what I’m doing? I haven’t seen you since my mom’s wedding… that was three years ago,” you shot back, your voice firmer now, though still tinged with hurt.
“Right, how could I forget?” Spencer’s voice grew louder, his emotions spiraling out of control. “You were flirting with every pair of long legs that walked by, in front of me!”
You were taken aback, your heart pounding in disbelief. “What? No, I did not! And besides, what would it matter if I did?” you spat out, the pain in your voice evident now. “You left me, Spencer.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and full of unresolved heartache.
“Is that how you remember it?” Spencer asked, his heart breaking even more, his voice softer now but filled with sorrow.
“That’s how it happened,” you said, a tear slipping down your cheek, because as much as you loved him, as much as he had been a huge part of your life, the wound of his departure was still raw.
“Well, I’m very sorry that’s how you see it,” Spencer said, his voice steadying now as the alcohol-induced haze began to lift, leaving behind the weight of reality.
You nodded, even though you knew Spencer couldn’t see you, and tried to keep your voice from breaking. “Mhm,” you managed, holding back the sob that was lodged in your throat.
“That’s it?” Spencer pressed, his frustration giving way to something closer to disbelief.
“Mhm,” you repeated, not trusting yourself to say much more without unraveling completely.
“You don’t have anything else you want to say to me?”
A quiet, almost broken, “Mm mm,” was all you could offer. The tears were too close now, and speaking felt impossible.
There was a long pause on Spencer’s end, the tension between you both palpable even through the phone. “Bye, Y/N,” he said finally, the weight of those two words heavier than you’d ever imagined. And with that, Spencer hung up.
He returned to his friends at the whiskey tasting, but his heart wasn’t in it anymore. He opted out of the rest of the drinks, choosing instead to just sit in their company, trying to find some comfort in the camaraderie, even though his mind was miles away, back with you, replaying the conversation in his head.
—
As you sat in your office, the weight of the conversation with Spencer bearing down on you, the flood of emotions finally broke free. Your body shook with barely concealed sobs, and as much as you tried to hold it together, it was too much. The truth was painfully clear—you knew why you couldn’t bring yourself to tell Spencer about Noa. How could you possibly tell the man you were still in love with that you were marrying someone else, someone who was there to fill the void he left behind?
It wasn’t that you didn’t love Noa. You did—deeply. They were everything you could ask for in a partner—amazing, generous, loving, and you were genuinely ecstatic to marry them. But that didn’t change the fact that Spencer was still there in your heart, occupying a space that no one else ever could.
A knock sounded at the door, breaking through your thoughts. “Y/N? Sweetie, can I come in?” Alexi’s voice came from the other side. Your assistant manager, your number two, and more importantly, your best friend.
You wiped at your tear-streaked cheeks, trying to pull yourself together. “Yeah.”
Alexi pushed open the door, taking one look at your broken figure and immediately coming over. “Oh baby, what happened?” they asked, their voice soft with concern.
You sighed, pushing yourself up to sit on the desk beside them. “Spencer called… he’s upset.”
Alexi didn’t need you to explain more. They knew everything—they had been there after Spencer had left, helping you pick up the pieces of your life. They wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close in a comforting embrace. “I told you he wouldn’t react well,” they said, never one to sugarcoat the truth.
You let out a tearful laugh, nodding. “You did. And I should’ve listened.”
Alexi rubbed your back, offering silent support before they asked, “Are you going to tell Noa?”
You shook your head immediately. “No. Noa doesn’t need to know.”
Alexi’s sigh was deep, full of the understanding but firm truth they always brought to your conversations. “Yes, they do, sweetie. Spencer is always going to be a part of you. Noa deserves to know all of the person they’re marrying.”
You swallowed hard, feeling the truth of their words but resisting it all the same. “Spencer is… he’s mine, you know?” Your voice cracked slightly. “He’s a part of my past, encapsulated like a snow globe just for me. I don’t want Noa to know all the details. What if they don’t want to marry me if they do?”
Alexi squeezed your shoulder gently, looking you directly in the eyes. “Y/N… keeping secrets isn’t a good way to start a marriage. If Noa decides they don’t want to marry you because of what happened, then that’s how it’s going to be. But they deserve to know the whole person they’re committing to.”
The weight of their words sank in, but it didn’t make it any easier. You knew they were right. But admitting the depth of what Spencer still meant to you, and risking ruining another relationship because of it, felt impossible. Spencer was yours—a part of you that no one else could touch. And you didn’t want to lose anyone else by dragging him into your present, when he was meant to stay in the past, locked away safely in your heart and mind.
So you went along with the wedding planning, trying to stay present, but the excitement you had once felt for this kind of event was dimmed. Your moms, both of them now, took charge, pulling you and Alexi along for dress shopping. You went through the motions, smiling when you were supposed to, but in the back of your mind, it felt like something was always missing. Maybe it was because you had done this before—planning a wedding, preparing for a future you thought was set in stone. That time, you were marrying your best friend, your soulmate. Nothing could have brought you down.
Now, though, it felt like everything was falling apart.
You found a dress you didn’t hate, but when you discovered it wasn’t made in your size, your heart sank. The tailoring bills would be through the roof. And there was no way you could ask your parents to help with another wedding, let alone explain that to Noa. So you settled for a different dress, something more practical, less special. It was a compromise, and one of many.
Then there were the flowers—your (second) favorite flowers, the ones you had dreamed of having at your wedding since you got engaged. But you couldn’t have them. As it turned out, Noa was allergic. How that had eluded you for two years, you’d never know, but it felt like another loss, another thing you had to give up.
The food? That was another issue entirely. Noa was vegan and gluten-free, which was fine—you supported them in that. But it meant you couldn’t have any of the dishes you wanted at your wedding, and the excitement over picking a menu disappeared entirely. It wasn’t about the food; it was about the mounting compromises that made you feel like you were losing more of yourself in the process.
Then, as if the universe wanted to add insult to injury, the live band you’d booked canceled last minute. They refunded half the deposit, but it wasn’t nearly enough to book a new band, and you were left scrambling for a backup.
It was all a mess. And through it all, the only RSVP that mattered to you—Spencer’s—still remained unanswered. Even Diana had agreed to come, and your father had offered to travel with her from Nevada. But Spencer’s name sat unmarked on the list, and the weight of his silence felt heavier than everything else combined.
—
It was late, and the bullpen was eerily quiet—long after everyone else had gone home for the night. The soft, dim glow of desk lamps was the only light illuminating the space, and Spencer sat hunched over at his desk, staring blankly at a stack of files, though his mind was miles away. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t shake the thoughts of you that had been circling his mind like an endless loop ever since that phone call. The way your voice had cracked, the words you hadn't said hanging heavy in the silence afterward.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the weight of it all pressing down on his chest like a vice. Spencer didn’t notice Penelope walking out of her office until she was standing right in front of him, her bright pink coat draped over one arm, a concerned look etched on her face.
“Hey, Boy Wonder,” she said softly, leaning against his desk. “What are you still doing here? It’s way past your bedtime.”
Spencer glanced up at her, forcing a small, weak smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Just... thinking, I guess,” he murmured, looking back down at the files in front of him, though he wasn’t really reading them.
Penelope’s eyes narrowed slightly. She knew Spencer well enough to recognize when something was wrong, and this didn’t look like his typical bouts of insomnia. “Uh-uh, that won’t fly,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. “What’s really going on, Reid?”
He hesitated, his fingers nervously tapping against the edge of his desk. He didn’t know where to begin, how to explain the mess of feelings tangled up inside him—the regret, the longing, the fear that he’d lost you for good. But Penelope had a way of pulling things out of him, and before he knew it, he was talking. Telling her everything.
“It’s... it’s about someone from my past,” Spencer admitted, staring down at his hands. He could feel the heat rising in his face, the weight of the secret that he’d kept for so long bearing down on him. “Her name is Y/N. We... we were close.”
Penelope’s eyes widened as she quickly pulled out the chair across from Spencer and sat down, leaning in closer. “Wait, wait, wait, slow down,” she said, a look of shock and curiosity flashing across her face. “Who is Y/N? And how do I not know about her? You’ve never mentioned her before, Spencer!”
Spencer ran a hand through his hair, fidgeting nervously. “That’s kind of the point. I never told anyone. Well... except Morgan, recently. But... it’s complicated, Penelope.”
“Complicated how?” Penelope’s voice was gentle, but there was an urgency to it—a desire to understand. “How... close were you two?”
Spencer hesitated, his fingers tapping anxiously against the edge of his desk. He knew he couldn’t keep everything bottled up any longer. “We were... really close. We met when we were both eighteen, and we... got married. And then divorced. And then stayed friends,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out all at once. “And I never told anyone because it felt like... like this part of my life that didn’t fit with everything else. Like a different person I used to be.”
Penelope’s jaw dropped, and for once, she was speechless. Her eyes darted around his face, as if trying to comprehend the enormity of what he’d just shared. “Spencer Reid, you were married?” she finally managed to say, her voice squeaking at the end. “And divorced? And you never... you never said anything?”
Spencer gave a small, helpless shrug. “Yeah. I know, I should’ve told you all a long time ago. But it’s... it’s a lot to explain, and I guess I just... buried it.”
Penelope blinked a few times, trying to process everything. “Okay, okay,” she said, holding up a hand to stop herself from spiraling. “So... Y/N. You were married to her. And now you’re... friends?”
Spencer nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety at finally sharing this part of his life. “Yeah, friends. We kept in touch over the years. But she’s... she’s getting married again. And I... I found out through a save-the-date in the mail.”
“Whoa, wait, wait,” Penelope cut in, holding up her hand. “She’s getting married? Like, married married? And she didn’t tell you?”
He nodded, the pain in his chest tightening at the memory. “Yeah. And I got upset, and I—I probably said some things I shouldn’t have. And now... I can’t stop thinking about her, and it’s driving me crazy.”
Penelope’s expression softened, her eyes filled with understanding. She reached across the desk, placing her hand over Spencer’s. “Spencer,” she said softly, “you know why you can’t stop thinking about her, right?”
Spencer sighed, biting his lip as he nodded. “Because I still love her,” he admitted, the words feeling both like a relief and a weight off his shoulders. “I never stopped. I thought I was fine with just being her friend, with us being apart, but...”
“But you’re not fine,” Penelope finished for him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “And you don’t have to be. She was your first love, and that kind of thing doesn’t just go away.”
“I know.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “But she’s engaged, and she seems happy. I can’t just... disrupt her life like that.”
Penelope let out a soft huff, her eyes full of determination. “Spencer Reid, I know you like to overthink things, but this is one of those times where you need to be honest. If you have feelings for her, if you think there’s a chance—any chance—that she feels the same way, then you owe it to yourself to tell her. Before it’s too late.”
Spencer looked up at her, a flicker of hope mixing with fear in his eyes. “But what if it is too late? What if... what if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I just make everything worse?”
Penelope’s smile was soft but firm, her voice steady as she spoke. “That’s a risk you’ll have to take, Reid. But it’s better to take that risk than to spend the rest of your life wondering what if. You deserve to be happy. And if she’s the person who makes you happy, then you need to fight for that.”
Spencer didn’t respond right away, the weight of her words settling over him as he considered them. He had spent so long running from his feelings, trying to bury them under the guise of friendship, trying to convince himself that he was okay with you moving on. But the truth was, he wasn’t okay. And maybe, just maybe, he needed to do something about it.
“Thanks, Penelope,” he said quietly, a small, genuine smile finally tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I... I think I needed to hear that.”
She grinned, standing up and patting his shoulder. “Anytime, genius. Now go home, get some rest, and think about what you’re going to say. You’ve got this.”
And with that, she walked away, leaving Spencer alone in the quiet bullpen, but with a sense of clarity he hadn’t felt in years. He knew what he needed to do. It was terrifying, it was messy, but it was right.
He needed to talk to you. To tell you how he felt. Before it really was too late.
—
The hours of the night ticked by slowly as Spencer lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his apartment. Every attempt to sleep had been thwarted by the constant thoughts of you—the weight of the conversation with Penelope, the memories of your time together, and the sharp, raw feeling that he was running out of time. He couldn’t shake it. Every breath felt heavier than the last, and the silence of his apartment only amplified the whirlwind of emotions crashing around in his head.
At some point, the moonlight gave way to the faintest hint of dawn, but still, Spencer didn’t sleep. He just lay there, feeling like a boy again, filled with that same sense of panic and yearning he hadn’t felt in years. But there, in the early morning light, it finally hit him—what he had to do.
He shot up in bed, heart pounding, the idea forming fully in his mind. He had to tell you. He couldn’t wait any longer; he couldn’t let the fear, or doubt, or whatever this was, stop him. He had to tell you how he felt, face-to-face. Whatever happened, whatever you said, at least then he could say he tried.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet, pacing the length of his room, grabbing his phone, his wallet, hastily packing a bag. He barely had time to think the plan through—there was no plan. There was only the need to see you, to make things right, or at least to make his feelings known. He booked a flight to California within minutes, his hands shaking as he entered his credit card details, the urgency pushing him forward with every click.
The airport was a blur of noise and motion. The world seemed to move around him while his focus remained narrowed to a single thought—you. Spencer sat in his seat on the plane, the hours of the flight feeling endless as his knee bounced restlessly, and his fingers drummed against the armrest. He had no idea what he would say to you, how he would find the words to make sense of everything. He only knew that he had to see you.
When the plane finally landed, the sun was bright and warm, the California heat a stark contrast to the cool air of Virginia. He didn’t even take a moment to collect himself; he just grabbed his bag and rushed through the terminal, out into the familiar streets he hadn’t seen in years. The world around him blurred with motion and sound, but none of it registered. His only thought was getting to you.
But as Spencer stepped outside of the airport, the rush of determination he felt on the plane quickly started to fizzle out. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—he had no idea where you lived anymore. The apartment you had shared when you were married was long gone, and though he kept up with you through your phone calls and letters, he didn’t know if you and your fiancé had found a place of your own, if you were living together at all.
He stood on the sidewalk, the California sun beating down on him, making him feel both restless and lost. There was no time to panic, though; he had come all this way, and he couldn’t just stand there like a fool. He needed to find you. And fast.
The next best thing was to hail a cab and give the driver directions to the one place he knew you would eventually be—your bookstore. He paid the fare quickly and grabbed his bags, rushing inside the shop, his eyes darting around, scanning the familiar shelves, the worn floorboards, the comforting smell of old books.
A bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, and a young employee behind the counter looked up, offering a polite smile. “Hi, welcome in,” they said, but their voice didn’t really register. Spencer was too caught up in the whirlwind of his thoughts, in the desperation that had brought him here.
“Is Y/N here?” he rushed out, his voice high with nerves, his hands clenched tightly around the strap of his bag.
The employee’s smile faltered slightly at the urgency in his voice, and they gave him a curious look, one that seemed to ask who the hell he was and why he seemed so frantic. “Um, no, she’s not here,” they said slowly. “She’s wedding planning today.”
Spencer’s heart sank further. Of course, you’d be busy with wedding planning—it was all you were doing these days. But the reality of it stung, like a reminder that he was too late, that you were already too far gone into your new life.
“Do you know where I could find her?” he asked, trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice but failing. He was holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could track you down.
But the employee just shook their head, their face softening into a look of pity. “No, sorry. I really don’t. I think she’s meeting with a wedding planner or looking at venues, something like that.”
Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the walls of the bookstore closing in on him. He had been so sure of what he needed to do, so convinced that coming here would give him the answers he was looking for. But now, standing there, with no clue where to go next, he felt like a man adrift, a stranger in a place that was once so familiar.
“Okay,” he managed to choke out, trying to keep his voice steady. “Thank you.”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” the employee replied, their eyes still fixed on him like he was a puzzle they couldn’t quite figure out.
Spencer turned on his heel and walked out of the store, the bell chiming behind him as he left. He stood on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath to steady himself, to fight back the rising panic. He didn’t know where you were. He had no idea how to find you. And he had no plan.
But he wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.
Spencer stood on the sidewalk, the desperation clawing at his chest like a living thing. His heart pounded, the reality of his situation finally starting to sink in. He had come all this way, but he didn’t know where to find you.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his fingers shaking as he quickly dialed Penelope. She picked up on the first ring, her voice chirping through the line. “Hey, genius, what’s up?”
“Penelope,” he said quickly, the urgency in his voice making it clear that this wasn’t a casual call. “I need your help. I need to know where Y/N lives. Can you find her address?”
“What? Wait, why? Spencer, what’s going on?” Penelope’s voice was full of confusion, and he could hear her clicking away on her keyboard in the background.
“There’s no time to explain. Please, just... please, Penelope, can you find it?” He knew he was asking a lot, putting her on the spot like this, but he didn’t know what else to do. He needed to see you.
“Okay, okay, hang on,” she said, the rapid clicking of her keyboard growing louder as she searched for your information. “Got it. She lives at XXXX S Higuera St.”
“Thank you,” Spencer said, the words rushing out of him like a breath he’d been holding in. “I owe you one.”
“Yeah, you do,” Penelope said, her voice somewhere between worried and annoyed. “Now go get her, cowboy.”
Spencer hung up and flagged down another cab, rattling off your address to the driver, who sped off in the direction of your house. The drive felt longer than it should have, every minute dragging on like an eternity, the silence in the car filled only with the beating of his heart and the hum of the engine. He watched the city rush by in a blur, every moment bringing him closer to you.
When they finally pulled up to the row of houses, Spencer fumbled with his wallet, throwing bills at the driver and mumbling a hurried “Keep the change,” before jumping out, his bag slung over his shoulder. He stood in front of your house, staring at the navy-blue door that stood between him and you. This was it. There was no going back now.
He lifted his hand and knocked, the sound echoing louder than he anticipated, every thud ringing in his ears. And then he waited, holding his breath as he heard footsteps approaching the door, his whole body tense and shaking with anticipation.
The door swung open, and there you were. You looked different than he’d remembered, yet exactly the same. Your eyes widened in shock, your phone still pressed to your ear.
“Uh, Alexi, I’m going to have to call you back,” you said into the phone, your voice thick with surprise. “Yeah, I’m fine.” There was a pause, and then you said softly, “Thank you, love you too. Bye.” You hung up, your eyes never leaving his, the weight of the moment hanging heavy between you.
“Spencer? What the fuck?” you finally said, and the sound of your voice hit him like a punch—familiar, angry, bewildered, and all of it wrapped in a painful confusion.
He took a breath, trying to steady himself, to find the words he’d rehearsed in his mind a hundred times, but they all fled as he stood there, face-to-face with you. He was speechless, overwhelmed by everything he felt, and everything he hadn’t let himself feel for so long.
“I—” he started, but his voice faltered. He took another breath, gathering his thoughts. “I know this is... a surprise. I know you’re mad. But I had to come, Y/N. I had to see you. I just... I need to talk to you.”
“You couldn’t call?” you asked, the mix of surprise and annoyance evident in your voice. You were clearly caught off guard by his sudden appearance, and you had every right to be. Spencer was out of breath, the tension between you almost unbearable as he searched for the right words.
“It’s too important,” he managed, his voice a blend of urgency and regret. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the desperation to make you understand why he was here.
You stared at him for a moment longer, a storm of emotions flashing across your face—confusion, frustration, and something softer that he couldn't quite place. “Okay... come in.” Your voice was softer now, but guarded.
You stepped back, allowing him to walk into the foyer. The smell of your home washed over him—familiar, yet different from the last place you shared together. He followed as you led him into the living room, the warmth of the space feeling like an extension of you. The cozy seating, soft lighting, and small personal touches made it welcoming and lived-in.
“Just... stay here for a minute,” you said quietly before disappearing into another room, leaving Spencer standing awkwardly by the couch. He took in everything—the framed photos on the walls, the plants that seemed to thrive under your care, the comfortable arrangement of the furniture. It all felt so you, and so foreign to him at the same time.
After a few minutes, you returned, carrying two cups of tea in your hands. You set one down in front of him and sat down across from him, holding your own cup tightly, as if it was anchoring you. “Sorry,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t have your brand anymore.”
Spencer gave a small, understanding nod, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay,” he said softly. He cradled the cup between his hands, feeling the warmth seep through his fingers. He didn’t know how to start, how to break the silence that felt so loud between you. All he knew was that he needed to be here, to find the right words, to make sense of this tangled mess of feelings.
The only sound was the faint clinking of the spoon against the porcelain as you stirred your tea, neither of you looking at each other, both waiting for someone to break the silence.
Spencer glanced down at the steam rising from his cup, feeling the burn of your words more than the heat of the tea. He knew you were right—the last time you spoke, things were... ugly. Painful. He had been angry, and confused, and felt like he was losing you all over again.
“Why are you here, Spencer?” you sighed, your voice carrying the exhaustion of all the times you’d thought about him, about the complicated knot of your past. “Last time we talked, you seemed pretty pissed.”
He winced, gripping the cup tighter, feeling the porcelain edge bite into his skin. “I know,” he said quietly, finally daring to look up and meet your eyes. “I was... I was angry. And I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to take it out on you like that. I—” He paused, fumbling for the right words. “I shouldn’t have called you, not like that. It wasn’t fair.”
You stayed quiet, your eyes searching his face, waiting for the explanation you knew was coming. Spencer felt himself shrinking under the weight of your gaze, but he pressed on, knowing this was the only chance he had to make things right. “I came here because... because I need to talk to you. To see you.” He took a breath, the words coming out more rushed now, desperate. “And I know it’s selfish, but I couldn't stop thinking about you—about us. About everything we never said.”
The tension hung in the air, like a line pulled taut between you, ready to snap. He leaned forward, his voice pleading. “Please, just hear me out. Let me say what I came here to say.”
You felt your blood drain from your face, a cold, tingling numbness spreading through your body. This was it, the conversation you’d been dreading—and yet, somehow, you knew it was inevitable. Your heart hammered against your ribs, your skin prickling with anxiety as sweat began to bead on your upper lip. You swallowed hard, gripping your cup tightly, using it as your anchor, grounding yourself in the reality of this moment.
All you could do was nod. There were so many things you wanted to say, to shout, to demand from him—but the words lodged themselves in your throat, refusing to come out. So, you stayed silent, allowing Spencer to speak, knowing you needed to hear whatever he had traveled all this way to say.
He took a deep breath, his fingers shaking slightly as he set his cup down on the table. He couldn’t look at you directly; it was too much. Instead, his eyes darted around the room, focusing on anything but your face, as he tried to gather his thoughts.
“I know this is... a lot,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I know that I have no right to come here and just... drop all of this on you.” He ran a hand through his hair, a familiar nervous gesture that made your heart ache. “But I need to be honest, because I can’t keep living with these... feelings and regrets.”
He finally forced himself to look at you, his eyes searching yours, pleading silently for you to understand. “When I called you that night, I was angry. Not only at you, but at myself. Because I realized I’ve never let you go. I thought that maybe if I stayed away, if I just... buried everything, it would go away. But it hasn’t.”
You felt your breath catch in your throat, his words hitting you like a wave, pulling you under. Your heart pounded harder, hope, fear, and dread swirling in your chest.
Spencer’s voice shook as he continued, the vulnerability in his words cutting through the tension. “I came here to tell you that I still love you,” he said, his eyes burning into yours, his face a mask of raw emotion. “I don’t know what that means for us, or if it changes anything. I just... I needed you to know. Because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least tell you the truth.”
The silence that followed was deafening, your mind racing as you absorbed his confession. This was the moment you had both avoided for so long, the moment where everything hung in the balance. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, each beat echoing in the room as you processed his words.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Just... tell me what you’re thinking. Say something. Anything.”
“What do you want me to say?” you choked out, your voice strained and small, the whirlwind of emotions clawing at your insides making it impossible to find the right words. Everything he was saying felt like it came from a different lifetime—a different you, a different him, a different version of the love you used to share.
“Anything, please,” Spencer begged, his eyes wide and frantic as he searched your face for a hint of what you were feeling. “What are you thinking?”
You swallowed, feeling the words spill out before you could stop them. “I’m getting married,” you said, the reality of it crashing down on you like a wave.
Spencer’s head dropped immediately, his shoulders slumping as if all the life had drained out of him. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, sounding as if saying the words broke something inside him. “I just thought maybe—”
“Maybe?” You couldn’t keep the sharpness from your voice, the anger and pain flooding through your system and finding their way into the space between you. “Maybe what?” You snapped, your emotions boiling over, unable to place what exactly you were feeling—love, anger, guilt, sadness, all at once, and none of them making sense. “You think you can just show up here and what? That I’d—”
But before you could finish, before either of you could continue spiraling down this road of raw and messy confessions, the jingle of keys being put into a lock pierced through the tense air, and both of your heads snapped toward the front door. Your blood ran cold as you realized what it meant.
Noa was home.
Your fiancé stepped inside, the warm light from the hallway spilling in behind them, painting the moment in a surreal glow. They were smiling, the familiar, comforting smile that you had come to know so well—one that could normally bring you peace. But now, the sight of them there, standing in the doorway while Spencer sat on your couch, made your heart plummet.
“Hey, babe,” Noa’s voice was light and warm as they shrugged off their jacket, the smile still on their face, though it faltered slightly when they saw Spencer sitting in the living room. “Who’s this?”
Your throat tightened, your mouth suddenly dry, and you felt your voice catch as you tried to find the words to explain, to introduce, to do anything that made sense.
Spencer, too, had gone completely still, his face pale, as if the reality of your life without him had hit all at once. This was the moment he hadn’t prepared for, the part of your life that he didn’t fit into, and it was staring him straight in the face.
“Hey, baby,” you said, the words catching in your throat, but forcing them out with a smile that you hoped looked normal, even as you felt Spencer flinch beside you. He knew that phrase all too well—the way you’d say it when you greeted him after a long day, the warmth and comfort that came with it. But now it was meant for someone else, and the reality of that cut through him like a knife.
Noa’s eyes darted between the two of you, clearly trying to make sense of the situation, their smile wavering. “This is Spencer,” you continued, trying to keep your voice steady, trying to make the introduction sound casual, like this wasn’t a huge, life-altering moment. “Um, he’s an old friend. He was in the neighborhood and... stopped by.”
You hated the way the lie sat on your tongue, the way it felt so heavy, so wrong. But what choice did you have? How were you supposed to explain who Spencer was to you—what he was to you? Especially now, when everything was in chaos and your heart felt like it was being split in two. So, you forced yourself to smile, to make it seem like there was nothing more to it than a surprise visit from someone you used to know.
Noa’s face softened a bit, their guard dropping as they took a step closer, holding out a hand to Spencer. “Oh, nice to meet you,” they said kindly, their eyes gentle and curious. “I’ve heard a lot about Y/N’s friends from back in the day, but I don’t think your name ever came up.”
Spencer managed a tight smile, shaking Noa’s hand as he fought to steady himself. “Yeah, it’s... nice to meet you too,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, the discomfort and awkwardness bleeding into every word. It was all so surreal, so painfully normal on the surface when everything underneath was chaos.
Noa looked between the two of you again, oblivious to the tension, and then smiled wider, turning their attention back to you. “I picked up takeout from that place you love on 5th. Figured we could have a low-key night in.”
“Yeah,” you nodded quickly, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat. “That sounds perfect. Really... perfect.”
Noa’s hand slipped around your waist, and you could feel Spencer's eyes burning into you, the unspoken words swirling around all of you like a storm. You knew you had to get him out of here—this wasn’t the time, and now was definitely not the place for whatever this was.
“Actually, um, Spencer was just leaving,” you said quickly, turning to him with pleading eyes. “Right, Spence?”
He looked at you, his expression unreadable, so many emotions passing through his eyes that it made you dizzy. But finally, he nodded, standing up slowly, the movement heavy with everything left unsaid. “Yeah... right. It was, um... nice seeing you, Y/N. Thanks for the tea.”
“Nonsense,” Noa cut in with a laugh, and you felt your stomach sink. “Join us,” they insisted, their voice warm and friendly as always. “I got enough for leftovers, but we’re fine with sharing, right, Y/N?” They gave you a light squeeze around your waist, completely unaware of the tension in the room, or the storm that had just been brewing moments before.
You felt your throat close up, the air around you becoming thin as panic gripped you. This was not supposed to happen—Spencer wasn’t supposed to stay, wasn’t supposed to be a part of this cozy, intimate meal with you and Noa. Your lives had already diverged, the gap too wide to bring together in a setting like this.
“Uh...” you started, your voice wavering, trying to find a way out of this without raising suspicion. But Noa’s hand was on your back, rubbing comforting circles, and they were looking at Spencer with nothing but open hospitality in their eyes.
“Come on, the more the merrier,” Noa urged, already turning to set their bags down on the counter, oblivious to the pleading look you gave Spencer.
Spencer’s face twisted with hesitation. He looked at you, then back at Noa, clearly torn between what he wanted and what he knew was best. “Really, I don’t want to intrude. I just... came to say hi.” His voice was small, and the vulnerability in it broke your heart all over again.
“No intrusion at all,” Noa said, already moving to unpack the takeout, arranging it on the table with a careless ease that made the whole situation seem almost normal. “I insist. Besides, you came all the way here. At least let us feed you before you head back.”
You felt a lump forming in your throat, the pressure of everything unsaid building up to a point you could barely contain. You could see the strain on Spencer’s face, the conflict in his eyes as he glanced between you and Noa. He didn’t want to be here, and you didn’t want him here either—not like this, not when it felt like every word spoken was laden with a secret.
But Noa’s smile was so open, so genuine, and your fiancé was already pulling plates out of the cabinet, laying them out for the three of you. You didn’t have it in you to make a scene, to start an argument you didn’t know how to finish.
“Spence... please, stay.” The words felt foreign as they left your mouth, and you hoped the slight tremor in your voice wasn’t noticeable. Noa didn't seem to pick up on it, too focused on setting the table and serving the food, but Spencer’s eyes caught yours, and you could see the depth of confusion and pain swimming behind them.
After a long moment, he gave a reluctant nod, sitting back down on the couch, his movements stiff and uneasy. “Okay... yeah, sure,” he said, forcing a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll stay.”
“Great!” Noa’s voice was bright and full of excitement as they motioned for you both to come to the table. “Let's eat.” They sat down, already starting to pass out food, while you and Spencer found seats across from each other.
The table felt small, impossibly so, as if there was no space for all the emotions crammed into the room. And as the three of you sat down to eat, your mind raced, wondering how you were supposed to navigate this impossible dinner, with the man you once loved—and maybe still loved—sitting across from you, and the person you were supposed to marry right by your side.
“So, Spencer,” Noa began as they served out portions of food onto each plate, completely oblivious to the tension coiled like a spring between you and Spencer. “How long have you and Y/N known each other?”
You nearly dropped your fork, your hand trembling as you pretended to focus on your plate. You couldn’t look at Spencer; you didn’t know what expression he’d have or what he might say. All you could do was silently will him to keep it vague, to stick to the basics and not let anything slip that could unravel everything.
Spencer cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat, poking at the food on his plate with his fork. “Uh… a while,” he said carefully, his voice steady but low. “We, um, met when I moved for college.”
“Yeah? That’s awesome!” Noa beamed, seemingly thrilled to learn more about your past. “What did you study, Spence?”
You winced at the nickname, one you’d used so many times before but now sounded wrong coming from someone else. You could see the way Spencer’s eyes flickered at the mention of it, but he smiled tightly, glancing over at you for the briefest second before looking back at Noa. “I, um, studied a few things. Math, engineering, some psychology…” He trailed off, clearly trying to keep it as bland as possible, but the tension in the air was palpable.
Noa continued, blissfully unaware of the underlying currents in the conversation. “Wow, that’s impressive! And you’re just in town for a visit? Or work?”
Spencer hesitated, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he searched for a response that wouldn’t set off alarms. “Uh, just… passing through, actually. Thought I’d… catch up with Y/N while I was here,” he finally said, each word feeling carefully weighed, trying to sound nonchalant but unable to hide the slight tremor in his voice.
“That’s so nice,” Noa said warmly, looking between the two of you. “Y/N always talks about her old friends, but it’s great to finally meet one in person. I’m glad she keeps up with people from back then.”
You gave a tight, forced smile, your stomach churning as you felt like you were teetering on a knife’s edge. “Yeah, you know me, always staying in touch,” you said quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from Spencer, away from the past, away from everything that felt like a ticking time bomb ready to explode if prodded too much.
“So, how long are you staying?” Noa asked, turning their attention back to Spencer, still friendly and curious. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, hoping Spencer would take the hint and not make this any more complicated than it already was.
“Oh, not long,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Just a short trip.” He paused, glancing at you again, the weight of his gaze almost too much to bear. “I, um… didn’t plan on staying long.”
“That’s a shame,” Noa said, completely missing the tense undercurrent between you two. “It would’ve been nice to spend more time getting to know you. Seems like you two must have been pretty close back then.”
“Yeah… something like that,” Spencer said softly, his eyes drifting down to his plate, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe, every second of this conversation digging you deeper into a pit you weren’t sure how to get out of. You just prayed—silently, desperately—that Spencer would keep his words guarded and that Noa wouldn’t start connecting any dots you weren’t ready to explain.
“Y/N, sweetums, you’re being awfully quiet,” Noa teased with a playful nudge to your side, and you saw Spencer’s eyes flicker as he tried to mask a cringe at the pet name. You never liked that one; it felt odd to you, and Spencer could tell. But Noa had started calling you that long ago, and it was one of those things you’d grown used to.
You forced a smile, praying it looked genuine. “Just letting you and Spencer get to know each other,” you said, but your voice came out strained, barely holding up under the weight of the situation. You could feel your nerves fraying, as if every word that left your mouth was the wrong one.
Noa, still blissfully oblivious to the palpable tension, brightened with an idea. “Oh! Spencer, are you coming to the wedding?” they asked, and you felt your stomach twist in knots. You knew Spencer hadn’t RSVP’d, and you were terrified of how he would respond. You could see him falter for a moment, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and you quickly jumped in before things could get worse.
“Spencer works for the FBI,” you said, hoping your voice sounded casual, steady, anything other than what you were really feeling. “He said he’d come if he doesn’t have a case.” You looked at him meaningfully, praying he’d go along with it, hoping he wouldn’t take this opportunity to say something more revealing.
“Oh, wow!” Noa’s eyes lit up in admiration, turning to Spencer with genuine curiosity. “That’s incredible! We’ll save a spot for you just in case.”
“Uh… yeah, thanks,” Spencer mumbled, the awkwardness in his tone barely masked by the polite smile he forced onto his face.
Dinner went on like that—Noa doing most of the talking, you scrambling to keep things on track, and Spencer struggling to navigate every question without giving too much away. You couldn’t stop fidgeting, feeling like every minute was an hour as you tried to balance between keeping up appearances and making sure nothing slipped that would reveal the tangled web of your history.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, dinner ended. Noa, always the gracious host, brought out tea and ushered everyone to the living room. The three of you settled onto the couches, the warmth of the tea doing nothing to ease the tension in your body. You noticed how close Spencer was sitting to you, his knee almost touching yours, and how Noa, in contrast, seemed so relaxed, not sensing any of the chaos swirling beneath the surface.
“I should probably get going,” Spencer said suddenly, setting his cup down on the coffee table and pushing himself up from the couch. He looked between you and Noa, the tension clear on his face, the evening clearly wearing on him.
“Where are you staying?” Noa asked, genuinely curious. “Do you need a ride?” They sat up straighter, eager to be helpful, and you held your breath, knowing that Spencer likely didn’t have a plan—he rarely ever did.
Spencer hesitated, clearly trying to come up with a response. “Oh, um… I’m not sure. I, uh… hadn’t really thought that far.”
The silence stretched thin, your heart pounding as you prayed Noa wouldn’t say what you were terrified they would. But they did, without a second thought, without hesitation. “You can stay here!” they offered brightly, smiling at Spencer. “We have a guest room—it’s no trouble at all.”
Spencer froze, glancing over at you, his eyes wide with surprise. And you were sure yours mirrored the same panic. This was not part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to have him here, under the same roof. And yet, it was all happening too fast to stop it.
“Uh… that’s really generous, but I don’t want to intrude—” Spencer started, but Noa waved a hand dismissively.
“Please, it’s no trouble,” they insisted, their smile still warm and inviting. “You’re more than welcome to stay. Right, Y/N?” They looked to you for confirmation, and you could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, begging for an out.
“Yeah… of course,” you managed to choke out, your voice weak, betraying every emotion you were desperately trying to hide. “It’s, um, fine.”
And with that, Spencer was staying for the night, and you had no idea how you were going to get through it.
The three of you sat in the living room, forcing your way through some show on TV. But the tension in the air made it impossible to focus on anything other than the uneasy silence and the occasional awkward attempts at small talk. You laughed at all the wrong times, and every time your eyes met Spencer’s, you felt your stomach twist into knots. Noa, oblivious as ever, eventually declared they were ready to call it a night and headed to take their nightly shower.
You took the opportunity to help Spencer get settled in the guest room, your movements jerky and stiff, the weight of the day pressing down on you. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck as you pulled spare linens out of the closet. The silence hung heavy between you, every unspoken word echoing through the small room.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer whispered finally, his voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t plan any of this… obviously.”
“No shit,” you replied, your tone sharper than you intended, but it was impossible to hide the anger and frustration building up inside you. It felt like everything was spiraling out of control, and you didn’t know how to fix it.
Spencer hung his head, staring down at his hands. “I’ll leave tomorrow,” he said quietly, like he was admitting defeat.
“I know you will,” you murmured, the words hollow as you hugged yourself, arms crossed tightly around your torso as if that could hold everything together.
With nothing left to say, you left the room, and went to bed. But sleep eluded you, the feeling of Noa’s arms wrapped around you offering none of the comfort you desperately needed. Their touch felt so different from Spencer’s—where he’d been gentle, familiar, their embrace felt confining, and the sound of their breath on your neck was a steady reminder of all the ways it wasn’t him. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, and you felt the guilt flood through you for even comparing them.
Eventually, Noa must’ve felt you finally drift off, because when they woke in the early morning, they carefully slipped out of bed, planting a kiss on your forehead before heading down the hall to start their day. They hadn’t forgotten about Spencer staying over, but they didn’t expect to hear his voice so early in the morning.
“Penelope, what do I do?” Spencer’s voice was muffled through the guest room door, and Noa’s hand froze on the doorknob to the bathroom as they listened. “I told her I love her, and then before she could even tell me how she felt, her fiancé came home. It’s… it’s a mess.”
Noa’s blood ran cold, their stomach dropping as they tried to process the words. Their breath hitched, and they pressed their back against the wall, suddenly afraid to be seen. They knew they shouldn’t be listening, but they couldn’t stop now.
Penelope’s voice came through faintly from Spencer’s phone, but they couldn’t make out her response.
“No, they don’t know Y/N and I were married. She clearly hasn’t had the guts to tell them.” Spencer’s words came out raw, full of frustration and sadness.
The confession hit Noa like a freight train. Married? They felt the walls of the hallway close in on them, the realization that they had never known the full truth of your relationship with Spencer, the truth that you’d never shared. It made their mind spin, and they backed away from the door, desperate to escape the overwhelming emotions crashing over them.
Noa didn’t confront you then, didn’t barge into the guest room or demand an explanation. Instead, they made their way out of the house quietly, slipping out like a ghost. They moved through the motions of their morning like a zombie, their mind racing, heart aching with every step. They needed to be alone, to think, to understand what they had overheard. And they would talk to you, eventually—but only once Spencer was gone.
When you woke up to the sharp sound of your phone ringing, you felt like you were swimming up through murky water, the events of the day before crashing back to you all at once. You squinted at the screen—it was Alexi, their name flashing insistently. You didn’t need to answer to know they’d be demanding an explanation for yesterday’s abrupt hang-up.
“Hey,” you croaked out, voice heavy with sleep and emotion.
“What the hell happened?” Alexi’s voice was stern, a mix of worry and frustration. “You hang up on me, and then I don’t hear from you all night. Spill.”
You sighed, running a hand over your face as you leaned back into the pillows. “Spencer showed up at my door yesterday… unannounced. He’s… he stayed the night,” you admitted, your voice cracking.
Alexi’s reaction was immediate. “He what? Y/N, what is going on?”
You spilled everything—how Spencer had flown out to see you, how Noa had unknowingly invited him to stay, how you’d spent the whole night on edge, and how every touch, every word, every look seemed to tear at your carefully built life. Your voice wavered as you confessed how hard it had been, the emotions you’d buried for years bubbling back to the surface in a way you couldn’t control.
“Okay,” Alexi’s voice softened. “So… do you still love him?”
The question hung in the air like a challenge, and you felt your breath hitch as a tear slipped down your cheek. You’d spent so long avoiding the answer to that question, convincing yourself that everything had changed, that you’d moved on. But when you finally spoke, it felt like the words had been buried for years, clawing their way out.
“I think I do,” you whispered through the tears, your voice trembling. “It’s like… being with Noa was always so easy, you know? I never had to compare the two. But seeing them together… talking to Spencer again… I see how much love he still holds for me, and I know I’ll never be able to give Noa that. I can’t… I can’t love them the way I loved Spencer.”
Alexi was silent on the other end, and you could hear them carefully thinking over their response, searching for the right thing to say. But before they could get a word out, you gasped, cutting them off mid-thought.
“I gotta go,” you said in a rush, sitting up so quickly that the room spun around you.
“What? No—Y/N, you can’t just hang up again! What is going on—?”
“Spencer,” you breathed, staring wide-eyed at the doorway. He was standing there, framed in the early morning light, his expression one of utter disbelief, and you knew instantly that he’d heard every word you’d just said.
“Do you mean that?” he asked, stepping into the room with slow, careful movements like he was approaching a fragile creature. His voice was so quiet, so vulnerable, you felt like it was wrapping around your heart and squeezing. “You still love me?”
You couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. All you could do was sit there, your phone slipping from your fingers as you met his gaze, your heart pounding like it would break free from your chest. And you knew, in that moment, there was no more hiding, no more pretending that everything was fine. It was just you and Spencer, standing on the precipice of everything you’d left unsaid.
“Yes,” you whispered, voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes.
Spencer felt his own tears begin to blur his vision, his breath catching in his throat. “I love you too,” he said, the words spilling out like they’d been buried for years, his voice thick with emotion.
You let out a wet giggle through your own tears, and before you knew it, Spencer was sitting on the bed next to you, his hands reaching out to clasp yours. The warmth of his touch was comforting, familiar, and for a moment it felt like all those years apart had never happened. The weight of everything you’d both been holding in pressed down, making this moment both heartbreaking and hopeful.
“Can we… can we try again?” he asked, his voice hopeful, eyes searching yours as if waiting for a lifeline.
You shook your head, sniffling softly. “I’m still engaged, Spencer.”
His face fell slightly, but he stayed close, not letting go of your hands. “You just said you’ll never love them like you loved me.”
“I know,” you admitted, your voice a fragile whisper. “And it’s true… but I still have to talk to them, figure out what to do.”
Spencer nodded slowly, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles, grounding himself in the contact. “Do you… do you want to be with me?” he asked, voice trembling with the fear and hope of what your answer might be.
You stared into those beautiful, familiar eyes, the ones that once held your world, the ones you thought you’d never see again. “I think so,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips. “But, Spencer, I have my whole life here now. More so than ever… and you, you have a life in Virginia.”
“I don’t care,” he said with finality, his voice strong and certain, all doubt gone. “I don’t care, I will go anywhere to be with you. No job is more important than you.”
“Spence…” you murmured, your heart torn between what was and what could be, feeling the pull to him so strong it almost hurt.
“Sweetums,” he teased, the familiar grin spreading across his face, a flicker of the boyish charm you remembered.
“Too soon,” you laughed, shaking your head, but the sound of his voice, the way he said it, made it impossible to hold back the smile tugging at your lips. Even as your heart wrestled with the enormity of the moment, the warmth of Spencer’s presence wrapped around you like a comfort you never wanted to let go.
True to his word, Spencer left that morning, but he didn’t go back to Virginia. Instead, he checked into a hotel nearby, giving you the space he knew you needed while not quite ready to leave you behind.
When you finally heard the jingle of Noa’s keys in the door that evening, your stomach twisted with nerves. You had spent the entire day pacing, replaying the conversation with Spencer in your head, wondering what you would say to Noa, trying to untangle what you really wanted.
“Hey, baby,” You called, your tone neutral as they entered, hanging up their bag.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” Noa asked casually, turning to face you, their eyes sharp with an edge you hadn’t heard before.
“What?” you stammered, feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of you. “I didn’t—”
“To Spencer,” Noa clarified, cutting you off, their voice still eerily calm. “You know, the man that I invited to dinner, who I let stay the night. The man who I made an absolute fool out of myself in front of. The man who told you he’s still in love with you.”
You felt your throat tighten, words failing as the weight of Noa’s calm anger pressed down on you like a heavy stone. Noa had never yelled—they didn’t need to. The steady, even tone made every word land like a blow.
“I didn’t—I don’t…” You struggled to form a coherent thought, desperate to defend yourself, but the truth was right there, undeniable.
“Do you love him?” Noa asked, and for a moment, their voice cracked, the tears finally shining in their eyes.
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
“Do you love me?” they pressed, and the desperation in their eyes broke your heart all over again.
“Yes,” you said again, your own tears falling freely.
Noa took a shuddering breath, looking at you like they were seeing you for the first time. “Do you want to get married?” they asked, and the question hung between you like a fragile thread.
You shook your head, your voice breaking as you whispered, “No.”
Noa nodded, silent tears streaming down their face, and the acceptance in their expression was devastating. “Well,” they said softly, swallowing hard as they looked away, their world—your world—crumbling with that single word.
“Noa, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling as you took a tentative step closer, hoping to reach them somehow through the hurt.
Noa nodded, but the gesture was more resigned than understanding. “It’s… what are we going to do?” they asked, their voice thick with uncertainty.
“What?” you asked, your confusion breaking through the tension.
“The wedding,” they clarified, their words heavy with practical sadness. “We have people coming, we paid for everything, we have a house together.”
“Yeah…” you sighed, feeling the weight of all the things that needed to be undone. “You, um, you can keep the house. And I’ll pay you back for the wedding… somehow. I’ll figure it out. And, uh, I’ll send out the cancellations… this is all my fault.”
“It is,” Noa agreed bluntly, and the truth of it stung. “Was the whole relationship a lie?”
“No! God, no,” you panicked, reaching out as if the truth could stop the pain. “Everything was real, I… I didn’t realize I still loved Spencer until I saw him again.”
“That’s it?” Noa’s voice wavered between disbelief and bitterness. “One night, and you’re calling off a whole wedding?”
You sighed, the exhaustion of the situation weighing you down. “I know it’s crazy, but… I’ve already been divorced once. I don’t want to do that again.”
Noa let out a hollow laugh, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the person you’d spent years with, a flash of understanding in their eyes. “You’re already planning our divorce?”
The ridiculousness of the whole situation caught up to you both, and despite the pain, you found yourself laughing too—softly, helplessly—as the tension cracked just enough to let some humor seep in. “Maybe?” you offered with a weak smile.
You both laughed then, a bittersweet sound that hung in the air, and for a moment, it felt almost okay—like the world wasn’t falling apart around you. When the laughter faded, you looked at them, your voice soft and hesitant. “Are you… are you going to be okay?”
Noa paused, looking down at the floor before meeting your eyes again. “I mean, this sucks,” they said honestly, their voice raw. “But yeah, I’ll be okay.”
Noa was still possibly the best person you knew, even in the midst of everything falling apart. The two of you sat down together, canceling everything for the wedding, each phone call and email pulling at your heartstrings. But Noa was calm and patient, working through the logistics with you, getting deposits back where you could, dividing your shared assets. Luckily, the separate bank accounts made that part easier.
“What are you going to do now?” Noa asked one day, after you’d gone through another round of cancellations. “Are you moving?”
“I’m not sure,” you admitted, trying to mask the uncertainty. “I hear Virginia is lovely…” You know it is, you’ve visited many times.
Noa nodded slowly, a teasing scoff escaping through the lingering hurt. “Like, where the FBI is?”
“Is it?” you said with a laugh, playing innocent.
“And what about your stores?” they pressed, leaning back as if to put some distance between the weight of the question and the reality of your situation.
You groaned, the stress of it all hitting you at once. “I don’t know… I could sell them? Then give you the money for the wedding.”
Noa laughed softly, elbowing you gently in the ribs. “Y/N, you don’t have to pay for the whole wedding—just, like, ¾ of it.”
You couldn’t help but laugh along with them, grateful for how easy they were making this break. “Okay, deal,” you agreed, grinning through the heaviness. “Maybe Alexi would want to take over.”
That night, you called Alexi, filling them in on everything—Spencer, Noa, the wedding, the whole mess you were working through. They listened patiently, and when you finally finished, they couldn’t hold back their excitement.
“I knew it!” Alexi practically shouted, causing you to laugh, the tension melting away as you shared the absurdity of your current situation with them. After laughing and joking together for a while, you brought up the idea of selling your business. To your relief and surprise, Alexi was more than willing to buy it from you, excited at the opportunity. And just like that, another piece of your life clicked into place as you prepared to move forward.
While all of this was going on, Spencer paced his hotel room like a caged animal. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t concentrate on anything except the racing thoughts of what could happen—what your decision would be. His phone sat untouched, and though his fingers itched to call someone for support, he was too scared to share any good news before knowing the final verdict. He couldn’t let hope take root, not yet.
The hours dragged on until, late at night, his phone buzzed loudly in the quiet room, lighting up with your contact photo—the one he had never changed, with that adorable smile he couldn’t forget. His heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to his ear urgently.
“Hello?” he asked, trying to steady his voice, but the anxious excitement was impossible to hide.
“Hey,” you breathed out, the sound of your voice washing over him like a wave of relief.
“How’d it go?” Spencer’s voice trembled with hope, his nerves hanging on every word.
“Good… good,” you said, and he could hear the faint smile in your voice, something lighter than he’d heard in days. “Um, remember when I visited a while back? And we saw that beautiful red house with the flowers out front?”
“Yeah?” he replied, holding his breath, his mind racing to piece together what you were saying.
“Should we see if it’s on the market?”
Spencer’s chest tightened with joy, and for a moment, the world stood still—just the possibility of a future, of a home, of everything he’d ever wanted with you.
—
“Spencer!” Derek yelled from down the hall, wiping his hands on a rag after finishing up some work.
“Yeah?” Spencer poked his head in the door, dust smudged on his face from their hours of labor on the house.
“I finished this room,” Derek said, gesturing to the newly painted walls and freshly installed trim. “Which one’s next?”
“Let me check,” Spencer said, ducking out for a second before coming back with a checklist. “Bathroom.”
Derek grinned, wiping his forehead. “Y/N’s really calling all the shots, huh?” he teased.
Spencer’s smile softened, his eyes reflecting nothing but warmth. “This is her dream home.”
“What about your dream home?” Derek asked, eyebrow raised.
“She’s my dream home,” Spencer said simply, the words carrying a sincerity that Derek couldn’t help but appreciate.
“That’s sweet, man,” Derek said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder with a smile. “But I’m never letting you live that down.”
Spencer chuckled, shaking his head as he picked up a paint roller, knowing full well Derek meant every word. And that was fine with him—because this was where he wanted to be, building a life with you, step by step.
“Spencer!” you called out urgently from the other side of the house, your voice ringing through the hallways.
Spencer’s heart skipped a beat as he rushed over, worried you might have hurt yourself. “Yeah, baby? Everything okay?” he asked breathlessly as he rounded the corner to find you standing by the bedroom window.
You turned to him with a playful smile, holding up two curtain swatches. “Which curtain do you like?”
Spencer let out a relieved chuckle, shaking his head at his own worry. He walked over to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Whatever color you pick will be perfect, my love,” he murmured against your skin.
“Well, obviously I have the final say,” you teased with a grin, “but I still wanted to know what you like.”
“Thank you for considering my opinion,” he laughed, looking thoughtfully at the swatches. “Uh… that one,” he said, pointing to the one in your left hand.
“Thank you! Correct choice,” you teased, dropping the swatches on the floor as you grabbed Spencer’s shirt, pulling him close for a deep, lingering kiss.
He hummed softly against your lips, smiling into the kiss. “Mmm… what was that for?”
You broke the kiss just enough to whisper, “I just love you.”
“Yeah?” Spencer asked with a soft smile, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Enough to marry me again?”
You laughed, caught off guard by the sudden question. “Was that your proposal?” you teased, raising an eyebrow playfully.
Spencer leaned back, pretending to consider his words thoughtfully before nodding with a chuckle. “I think it was,” he admitted, laughing at himself. “So… how’d I do?”
Giggling, you pulled him in for another kiss, your lips meeting his with warmth and certainty. “Amazing. But we’re eloping this time,” you said, resting your forehead against his as the words slipped out between kisses.
“Whatever you say, Mrs. Reid,” he murmured back, his voice full of affection and promise.
—
After months of hard work, the renovations on your new house were finally finished. It had taken time, effort, and a lot of patience, but with Derek’s hands-on help and guidance, you and Spencer transformed it into a home that truly reflected both of you.
The front of the house, a charming red structure framed by an explosion of colorful flowers, felt like something straight out of a storybook. A mix of vibrant yellows, pinks, purples, and reds surrounded the quaint porch, and the white picket fence added a classic touch, making the entire exterior feel warm and inviting.
Inside, the home had become a true sanctuary. Your bedroom was bright and serene, with airy, light-filtering curtains draped over wide windows that bathed the room in soft, natural light. The bed was draped in a red and white blanket that matched the cheerful energy of the house, and shelves lined with books and little mementos from your life with Spencer filled the walls.
The kitchen was a dream—a beautiful, open area filled with pale blue cabinets and golden fixtures that glinted under the soft morning light that poured through the wide, farmhouse-style windows. Wooden open shelves displayed dishes and decor, and the island in the center was the perfect place for shared meals, morning coffee, and cooking side-by-side, something that you and Spencer cherished.
Spencer’s office was a space of calm concentration, tucked into a corner of the house that offered peace and quiet. The walls were painted a deep forest green, and vintage touches—like the rustic wooden desk and traditional-style chair—gave it a classic, studious feel. The large windows allowed in just enough natural light to make it a comfortable, thoughtful workspace, while the thick greenery just outside provided a sense of privacy and focus.
After the renovations were done, you and Spencer knew there was no better way to celebrate than to invite all your closest friends and family for a “housewarming” party. The BAU team, your parents, Alexi, and a few other close friends gathered at the house to tour the renovations, see all the changes, and share in the excitement of your new beginning. Laughter filled the rooms as everyone admired the work you’d both put into the home and marveled at the way it reflected both of you so perfectly.
But the tour was just the beginning. As everyone made their way to the backyard, the sun started to dip below the horizon, the sky turning into the golden hour glow of soft oranges and pinks. The moment felt magical, and you knew it was time to share your real surprise.
You stood beside Spencer, a wide smile on your face as you addressed your loved ones, your voice carrying across the yard. “We’re so happy that you all could come to celebrate our home with us,” you started, your eyes twinkling as you looked to Spencer. “But, actually, that’s not the only reason we asked you all to be here today.”
There were murmurs of curiosity and excitement, eyes darting between you and Spencer as he took your hand. “This is our version of eloping,” he announced, his voice warm and steady, and there was a collective gasp from the crowd as they began to realize what was happening.
“We’re getting married,” you added, barely able to keep from bursting into laughter and tears all at once. And as you turned to Noa—your now close friend and recently ordained officiant—you saw the beaming smile on their face as they stepped forward to take their place at the center of the garden, ready to join you and Spencer in marriage once again, this time surrounded by the people who meant the most to you both.
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— SUNBURN
SUMMARY : you're the wedding planner for sam's wedding, it's at the beach and… well, dean at the beach
PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader
CHARACTERS : sam winchester, jessica moore
WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, some suggestiveness, shy!reader (lmaoo, or awkward, if you'd like), angst if you squint
WORD COUNT : 1.8k
A/N : title is a muse song. part of the @alphabetquest beach party prompt and the @jacklesversebingo square wedding planner au. y'all, this was new to me, but I liked embarrassing the reader and making her embarrassing and shy xx
You felt slightly guilty for not telling Sam about you and Dean.
To be fair, you didn't know they were related when you met Dean.
You met him at a local cafe, had your laptop in front of you, a couple of notes scribbled on photographs and other sheets of colourful paper strewn over the table besides a warm cup of coffee from your third refill, and a slice of pecan pie that was quickly getting colder and colder.
Dean came in when you were been busy arguing with the local florist over the phone about what Jessica wanted the flower arrangement to look like. The florist wanted to give his opinion, as if it even mattered. It wasn't his wedding, it was Jessica's.
You started to stress over having to consider calling a different florist.
Phone calls just weren't your thing despite all the work and phone calls you take due to your job, but it's still the one thing you're always nervous about doing.
You buried your fingers in your hair and nervously rubbed your fingers against the strands between your fingers as you looked through the checklist for something you'd much rather focus on.
"Careful there, sweetheart," Dean's voice turned your attention away from the screen of your laptop. "You'll pull your pretty hair out." You stared up at him, that flirty smirk on his lips made you smile subconsciously, and you turned hot with embarrassment.
You untangled your fingers from your hair to hold your wrist over the table and brushed your fingertips nervously over photographs of the beach Jessica was interested in.
You stared into his green eyes, his expenctant face made you freeze. He was smiling—tightly now, and began chewing on his lip the longer you stared like a deer caught in headlights, the amusement in his eyes dimmed, and he suddenly appeared unsure.
"Sorry, am I botherin' you?"
"No! I-" you cleared your throat, hoping the blaze in your cheeks would cease. "I was just… distracted." He smiled and looked down at the small cup of coffee in his large hands. You bit your lip to calm yourself, but then he looked up at you again, and all the words you were forming in your mind for a sentence, suddenly vanished.
"Alright," he murmured shyly, then reached into his black jacket, and pulled out a small card. "I'm gonna be straightforward here and say that you're cute." He stared down at the small rectangular paper between his fingers and placed it above the pile of papers. You blinked up at him dumbly, turning hotter and hotter. "Call me when you're not… distracted," he teased, biting his lip before stepping away and leaving the cafe.
You blinked down at the business card he left for you, his name was printed in black, his number. He was a mechanic from Kansas. A sexy one. And he thought you were cute.
And that was really what started this whole secret of yours.
You met him, not knowing he was Sam's older brother until a few days after. Days after you anxiously called his number to give him your name and plan a date. Days after you'd already had a date with him. Days after you'd both already made out heavily in his car.
You found out Dean was Sam's brother when Jessica had begged you to have dinner with them.
You were happy that she liked you that much, half-shocked and half-uncomfortable with getting closer to a client than professionally required, but you couldn't help being drawn to Jessica and her friendship after all the months that had passed.
When you got to their home, after nervously navigating through Google Maps, you'd entered to find Sam smacking Dean over the head with a rolled-up wedding magazine because he'd dozed off on the couch with a half-empty beer.
You and Dean stared at each other across the table as the four of you ate, slowly and stupidly putting the pieces together.
Dean left Kansas to come to California for Sam and Jessica's wedding. He was staying for a month before returning to Kansas as you prepared everything for the special day. You weren't sure what you were expecting, but this was definitely not it.
Of course, after your initial shock, Dean quickly became more comfortable around you.
And you were half-sure Jessica was trying to set you up with Dean while Sam tried to sway you away from his brother.
To say the least, it was a mess. One that Dean was loving.
It made you cringe to remember the day you met him, but Dean made a point to remind you as much as he could about how it happened, whenever he deemed it the right moment.
It never was the right moment to you.
To him, the right moment was whenever anyone asked how you and Dean met. You'd freeze up and be vague about it, or you'd lie and say it was through Sam and Jessica, but Dean would wait for them to leave before reminding you how it actually happened.
You came to find that with Dean, it was nearly impossible to keep something quiet.
He was so…
Well, he stole kisses whenever he had the chance, reached out to touch you whenever he could, and whispered things to you knowing he wouldn't get caught.
He wouldn't get caught.
But you, you were obvious. It was impossible to hide the way he made you feel, and really, you hated your body for betraying you that way.
You swallowed your pride and fumed internally for being so… fucking shy.
Now, here you were.
Finally, on Sam and Jessica's wedding.
Jessica had insisted that you enjoy yourself now that the main part was over. She was glowing and absolutely beautiful.
Jessica found out about you and Dean not long after, when he thought he could get away with making out with you in the hallway of Jessica's house after you'd innocently exited the restroom.
He'd surprised you, waiting a few feet away from the door. You lifted a brow at the way he casually leaned against the wall. When you stood closer, he'd turned to you, grabbed your jaw, and kissed you until you almost couldn't breathe. And Jessica had gone up to check on you and found… well, that: Dean leaning over you with his tongue shoved in your mouth while you clung desperately to his soft flannel with his fingers pressed carefully into your cheeks as he led the kiss.
At that point, you were convinced the universe enjoyed putting you in embarrassing situations.
You only dreaded the beach party, the reception that Jessica had insisted you relax and enjoy after all your hard work.
The dread wasn't really because of Dean, it was because of you. The way he made you feel so… shy. It was annoying.
What happened to the way you couldn't shut up when someone pissed you off? What happened to the way you stood your ground and held a man's gaze whenever he flirted with you?
Of course that may be because Dean was Dean, he was hot, and he was funny, and he was smart, and he was kind, and he was confident, and he was sweet, and he was romantic. Basically, it was because you liked him, but you begged the universe to tell you why you had to get tongue-tied and turn scarlet in his presence. Even after all the time that had passed. Why couldn't you just get used to it?
You couldn't really complain. Seeing Dean… almost naked… with those fucking shorts hanging low on his hips. His toned stomach and the trail of light, fine hair leading downwards…
You were thirsty.
You took a sip of your cool piña colada.
Jessica and her bridesmaids continued to gush about weddings, romance, their boyfriends, and their future dreams.
All you could do was focus on Dean. You almost didn't want to think about what they were talking about and associate it with Dean…
He was excited.
About the sand crunching beneath his feet, about the salty breeze that stuck to his skin and tousled his brown hair, about the kiss of bright sunlight against his gorgeous freckled skin.
It made you smile and like him even more.
Eventually, Jessica and her bridesmaids got drunk enough that they started to dance and sing with each other.
And you'd found yourself falling into Dean's gravity.
He held you in his arms and swayed slightly to the song playing on the speakers, his beer hung loosely in his hands behind you. He seemed sober as he gazed down at you, arousing that stupid hot blush on your cheeks.
You huffed and looked at the waves as they rolled and swayed, away and towards you.
You heard the dull glass thump of his mostly-empty beer bottle hitting the sand. One of his hands was warm and the other was cool as they moved up your back. You sivered at his touch and bit your lip, smilling to yourself as your gaze moved up towards the horizon.
"You okay?" He asked quietly, playing with the thin strap of your bikini. Your breath hitched when his fingers suddenly crossed over your shoulder to graze the side of your breast.
"Huh?" You stared up at him.
His intuituve green eyes looked into you. Instead of repeating the question, which took you a few moments to process anyway, Dean took your hand, and gently kissed your salty wrist. You clenched your hand tightly, your heartbeat thudded loudly at his affection, and you bashfully pulled your hand out of his grasp.
He was sneaky and brought his other hand to your cheek. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his fingers tangled lightly in you knotted hair.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, stepping so close to you, flashes of hotter images of being this pressed up against him flooded your mind.
You uttered his name quietly, hoping that no one was watching you. The water lapped at your feet, cooling you down and urging you to give in.
You didn't know if the small waves were making you dizzy or if it was Dean who tenderly brought you closer to his lips.
He kissed you slowly, breathed you in deeply, and mumbled against your parted mouth, "do you want me to stay?"
In an instant, you imagined morning and evenings with him. You imagined visitng the beach more often, getting older, kissing more, loving more of him. He kissed you as you pictured the life you could have if he decided to leave his entire life behind in Kansas and move to California with you.
Would he regret it? Would you?
Dean pulled away from your mouth and licked the taste of you from his plump, pink lips. You smiled and hid your face by looking down at his freckled chest, tracing a random path of freckles with your eyes and fingers. "I'd like it if you stayed, Dean. Just know… I'd go anywhere with you, too, if it's what you want."
Dean chuckled softly, his calloused hands cupped your hot cheeks, and he kissed your forehead. He held you close, placed his chin on top of your head, and mumbled, "Yeah, we still have time to figure it out."
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Dream Of The Grassland
In the grassland full of breezes, you by chance become Sylus's bride-to-be. Yet you no longer remember anything that ever happened between the two of you and find yourself falling for him all over again.
── .✦ Sylus x Female Reader|MC
♡︎. Tags: R16, MDNI, suggestive themes, fake engagement, memory loss, light angst with a happy ending, a little hurt/comfort, fluff, pet name - kitten.
♡︎. Word count: 4k5
── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - currently closed.
── .✦ Ky Ky’s notes: This story is based on his Grassland Romance card.
This is also my entry to Love and Deepspace - Wander In Wonder Fan Art Contest. I really appreciate all your support on my X <3
When you opened your eyes, you found yourself standing in the middle of a vast prairie. The green welcomed you, into the wind’s embrace. But the voice that just called your name from behind was not at all pleasant like the nature here.
You turned around. A completely unfamiliar face said to you:
"Let's go. Don't stand there anymore. It's late!”
You did not like her at all.
Giving her a glance, you turned and spurred your horse forward, where the yurt roofs of the neighboring tribe created a brilliant red line on the horizon.
That was where your group of people were headed. That was where your betrothed was waiting.
Except that it was not truly your betrothed.
Tribes on this grassland often intermarry to strengthen harmony. And as the daughter of the chief of a small tribe, you were expected to marry the most powerful warrior in the neighboring region. The official wedding would be held in Tala, where every tribe on the grassland was gathering to attend the festival.
The problem was, you were not the chief's daughter at all.
You did not remember who you were anymore. All previous memories were like a white mist engulfing you. You only remembered your name, since before being swallowed by the grassland, you had heard someone calling it so earnestly. You did not know where you came from. Narat, the girl who had just urged you to go faster, found you and brought you back to her tribe. As for you taking the place of the chief's daughter, that was another story.
The chief of the clan only had one daughter, and she already had a lover. Because he loved his daughter so much, he begged you to take her place. You had no history, no memories, no attachments. For you, life would be the same regardless of wherever you went. When you witnessed the young woman cry till she nearly collapsed because she wanted to be with her beloved, somehow you felt her pain as well.
But you did not want to marry someone you had never met. You only agreed with them since you had your own escape plan.
When your group arrived at the Kael tribe, the sky was a vibrant crimson. After a brief greeting ritual, you were escorted to a yurt and instructed to wait there alone. But you had no intention to follow their order. You hastily grabbed your luggage and sneaked away. Everyone was hurrying to another place to greet guests, so no one paid attention to you. You spotted your horse drinking from the trough and was able to take him away without causing any alarm.
But as you were ready to climb into the saddle, you heard multiple sets of distant horse hooves approaching. Afraid of being caught red-handed, you had to leave the horse there and hide behind the piles of straw. The men of the Kael tribe just led their horses into the stable, laughing and praising one of their warriors.
You had faintly heard the name Sylus. You were impressed by this name since you had heard Narat's group mention him, your betrothed. Aside from that, you felt an unusual feeling, as if you had some connection to that name. In any case, you had no plan to run into him, especially in the middle of a runaway.
You crept out from behind the mound of straw to investigate. The group of men began to depart. The last person leaving was the tallest, and he appeared to have heard you foot on a dry branch of wood nearby. He paused, his head turned to your hiding place.
You curled up, as if holding your breath. His slow, powerful footsteps grew closer and closer. That enormous dark shadow fell on you, and you gradually lifted your head.
Eyes as brilliant as two rubies stare at you. A look of astonishment crossed that person's face, but it was swiftly replaced by a joyous smile.
"Were you here all this time, kitten?"
He spoke up. You became a little bewildered and immediately stood up. In comparison to him, you suddenly felt quite small. You took a step back, and before you could say anything, he grabbed your wrist hard.
“Since I found you now, let us go home.”
You attempted to get away from him, shouting: “Let me go! Do I even know you? I am... the bride of Kael's mightiest warrior - Sylus! If you dare to offend me…”
He released his grasp somewhat, but then drew you even closer to him. You lost equilibrium and leaned into his arms. He grinned and replied:
"Oh? Really? How convenient. I am Sylus.”
Having said that, he lifted you onto his shoulder and carried you back to his yurt like a bag of rice.
In the yurt, you confronted Sylus, the Kael warrior and your betrothed. You used your fist to start the conversation, but you immediately understood why that man was honored as Kael's strongest warrior. The only thing you could do was give him a few scratches on his face and body. He refused to fight back, instead constantly evading attacks until taking advantage of your weakness to pin you down on the bed with both hands bound and placed over your head.
"It's only been two weeks since we've last seen each other and you're already so aggressive?" Sylus said. His muscular body covered yours, obscuring the light in the yurt.
"I don't know you!" You yelled furiously. Danger was all you felt from this man, the one who compelled you to stay. “Let me go! I don't want to be here! I don't want to be with you!”
Disappointment was clearly visible on Sylus's face. He looked at you for a long time, as if his expectations were all in vain. When you felt his hand loosen somewhat, you took the opportunity to break away from him. Sylus grasped your waist fiercely and threw you back into the bed. But this time, you were able to seize the dagger he held at his side.
Red.
Drop by drop, each scarlet and burning drop seeped from Sylus's chest, where the tip of the dagger had just penetrated. Blood ran down your quivering palm and dripped across your pale face. Sylus's flaming pupils gazed down upon you. Pain. Disappointment. His lips opened slightly but no words came out. Instead, you stammered and said:
“I… I…”
Sylus removed your shaking hand from the hilt of the dagger. The corner of his mouth twisted slightly. A bitter smile.
“I didn't expect you to do that, again…”
He gripped the dagger tightly and pulled it out. Blood splashed on your torso and the dagger was thrown to the ground.
Sylus had been looking for you for a long time.
He and you were not originally from this meadow. Both are from somewhere else. Another planet. And he was still seeking for you.
You sat on the bed, mindlessly dressed in spotless fresh apparel. You witnessed Sylus wipe blood from his exposed upper torso beneath the light. Your face turned crimson. You attempted to turn away, but your gaze remained fixed on the wound that was closing on his chest. Like a miracle.
"I won't die that easily." Sylus said. The towel in his hand was drenched with fresh blood. "I won't die without you remembering who I am."
Since encountering that gemstone, or the protocore fragment, you had lost all of your memories and been transported to the grassland. Sylus was also drawn here, with you. The person calling your name was him. The person searching for you everywhere was him. But the person who wounded him was you.
You felt a little guilty. Because Sylus's reaction when he met you again made you believe he had dreadful intentions for you. That made you fear and loathe him so much. Meanwhile, he had no idea that you had forgotten everything. He was quite miserable when he realized that you no longer remembered who he was.
"Sorry…" You murmured.
Sylus inhaled deeply. The wound you caused him was not life-threatening, but it was fairly torturous. He asked:
"Now that you've heard my part of the story, what do you want to do next?"
You remained silent. There was a tint of confusion on your face.
“Living a simple, free life in this grassland is not a bad idea.” Sylus said. “If you want, you can go anywhere. You can even leave the Kael tribe. But I'm determined to follow you no matter what. After all, you are my betrothed.”
"You do realize that I'm not your true betrothed, right?” You frowned. “Besides, don't you want to return to your real world?”
“Do you want to?”
A moment of silence passed between the two of you. You did not remember anything in that world to feel a single tint of nostalgia, but would choosing to stay here forever be the right thing?
“You don't have to answer right away.” Sylus saw your struggle. “I have a hunch that the gemstone in Tala is what we need to find. Perhaps if I manage to get it, your memories will return, and we'll be able to go back. Thus, you now have a better option than to traverse the grassland by yourself—which is to help me get the gem.”
You looked up at Sylus for a moment but still did not say a word. Everything he had told you was both strange and familiar at the same time.
“There are still a few weeks left before the festival takes place. Perfect time for you to consider what you want to do next. Now, sleep."
Sylus said nothing more. He quietly spread a blanket on the ground, next to the bed where you were sitting, then lay down.
In your temporary role as Sylus's betrothed, you reside in the Kael tribe. Before their formal marriage ceremony, two engaged individuals might share a home freely. However, Sylus appeared more aloof following the evening of your initial encounter, during which you stabbed him in the chest. It appeared as though he was allowing you more time to truly recall your previous connection before traveling to the grassland.
Every day, Sylus would practice fighting with other men in the tribe. You went to herd sheep and embroider with Tarna, a new acquaintance you made in the tribe. She showed you how to sew a little pouch for the person you loved. In the grassland, every time a woman set her eyes on a man, they would give him a pouch as a token of her love.
"A lot of girls have wanted to give their pouches to Sylus since he came here!" Tarna said. She had just demonstrated to you a sample of the pouch she intended to present to her lover in another tribe.
"Is that so?" You made a random comment.
“But they dare not do so, because Sylus already has a betrothed—you! Actually, the strongest warrior in the Kael tribe was someone else. Sylus had taken that position from the moment he arrived. Upon hearing of your marriage, he became enraged and declared that he already had a lover. He intended to call off the wedding. But after you appeared, Sylus didn't mention it anymore."
Tarna's yurt's curtain billowed in the wind. Before your eyes, the black and crimson threads mingled together. You took them off while your heart was so confused still. Who else would be the girl Sylus was always looking for; the girl he claimed to be his lover? Even though he never mentioned it, was it conceivable that before coming here, the memory you had lost was the love story with him?
In the afternoon, you found Sylus at the stables. You said you wanted to ride with him, but the fact was that you wanted to get away from here for a while. While riding on horseback, you seemed to remember something.
On a deserted highway, Sylus and you, on his motorbike. The wind remained as severe as it was here.
The two of you stopped by the stream to rest for a while. Drops of cold water slid down Sylus's face, neck, and chest. He wiped his face, noticed you were gazing at him, then grinned.
"Your hair is all messed up," he remarked. "Let me fix it."
You were silent and simply sat with your back to Sylus. He meticulously unraveled and brushed your wind-tangled hair. His rough hands were clumsy and at times hurt your scalp. You caught two reflections in the water. His eyes were always compassionate towards you. These past days, he was never far away for you. Even if you were unable to recall what had happened before, in the little time you had been together, you had most likely learnt to trust him, and even developed some complicated feelings for him.
“Sylus…” You spoke up, then hesitated again.
“What's wrong, kitten?”
You exhaled. You had intended to ask him some questions earlier but were unsure of where to begin. So you redirected it to something else.
"I wonder, how many girls have their hair braided by you?"
Sylus snorted. His facial expression became more relaxed. He replied:
“Do I look like someone who braids women's hair very well? But I can practice every day, if you allow me.”
Your cheeks heated. You hastily covered it with both hands, although in Sylus's position, he wouldn't have seen your blushing face. You added:
“Tarna said that many girls in the tribe wanted to give you their pouches.”
“They should know that I already have a betrothed. I will only accept her pouch.”
Sylus stared at your reflections in the water. You did the same, and suddenly, your gazes met. You hesitantly looked aside, yet lips unable to conceal a smile. Your hand wandered to find the pouch you had just finished embroidering, which was hanging by your side. You had no intention of giving it to Sylus so soon, though.
In the following days, Sylus frequently departed early and returned after the sun had completely set. He competed and practiced hard for the forthcoming festival. You were also used to living here. If you could not retrieve your memories, staying here as a girl of the grassland would not be a terrible choice. Especially when you had Sylus.
Evenings on the grassland were often the time when tribe members gathered together around a large campfire. You found Sylus sitting alone in a far corner, watching young men and women dancing to the music. You came closer and sat down next to him.
“How is life in the grassland? Do you like it?” He asked.
You raised your head to look at the stars. “It feels free.”
Sylus grinned quietly beside you. The two of you did not say anything for a long time. Then, you broke the silence:
“What was my life like before?”
“Let's see… You're a very busy Hunter. You don't have time to sit and look at the stars or hang out with the sheep like in here. You always go headfirst into danger, working until you're weary every day. You always try to do your duties well... But sometimes, you would be like any other normal girl, craving a walk in the park full of red leaves, or delicious roasted chestnuts."
Hearing it, you could immediately see the cozy scenario. You inquired again:
“So what about you, Sylus? Were you... also by my side like this?”
Sylus gazed at you for a minute. The smile on his face was melancholy.
“I was afraid this place would separate you and me. But now, it brings you closer to me than ever. I can see you every day. I can share a yurt with you. There's more. I can call you my betrothed.”
Sylus remarked the words “my betrothed" in the language of the Kael tribe, halting briefly to examine your expression. Your face went crimson in the light of the fire. You turned fast away.
“If you ask me, at this moment, I will tell you that I don't want to return to that world anymore," said Sylus.
Because in that place, you and Sylus fought against each other. In that place, Sylus and you could not have such simple moments like these.
“But I…” You responded reluctantly. “I want to go back… I want to reclaim my lost memories… It's not fair that you're the only one who remembers everything that happened between us…”
You slowly turned towards Sylus. When you looked into his deep eyes, you knew just what to do.
“I want to remember Sylus and how special he is to me. I want to reciprocate what you have done for me with full memories of us, not with just patched stories.”
You believed that throughout your time in this grassland, a bond that was hard to put into words had formed between Sylus and you. You wanted to get to know him in a formal way; the Sylus in the grassland, the Sylus in N109 Zone, each and every of Sylus's identities.
It seemed that he was also considering the possibilities that could happen between the two of you.
“Understood.” He replied briefly. “I shall win that gem. For you.”
You grinned and grabbed Sylus's hand to join the couples dancing blissfully together. Under the moon and stars, beside the fire and in the laughter of everyone, Sylus and you were like a genuine couple.
Sylus had become accustomed to sleeping on the floor since you arrived. As it was extremely cold at night, you might sometimes find him curled up in a corner. At this rate, he would undoubtedly become ill before reaching Tala. So you suggested:
“Sylus. Come here.”
He widened his eyes as he watched you retreat deeper into the corner of the bed, leaving an empty spot for him.
"Unless you prefer to lie on the ground, of course." You shrugged, pretending to act like you did not care too much.
Sylus's massive body quickly sank into the bed. He twisted his lips and responded, "And there I thought you would never ask."
You cracked a smile and cuddled yourself into the covers. That was your first time lying so close to Sylus. The warmth emanating from him offered you comfort and safety. He carried the aroma of grass, wind, and sunshine. You unintentionally drew closer to him. Your fingertips brushed his chest, where you had once stabbed him. That place was completely healed without a scar.
“I remember you said… ‘one more time’… Have I done the same thing before?” You lifted your eyes to gaze at Sylus. “Have I hurt you before?”
Sylus's half-closed eyes gradually opened wide. He looked at you. His breath warmed your cheeks.
“You shot me. In the same spot.”
The fingers placed on Sylus's chest curled up. He grabbed them before you could withdraw your hand. He continued:
“If we go back there, there's a good chance you'll do the same thing and point your weapon against me. Do you truly want that to happen?”
"I…"
For a moment, the only sound was the wind flowing around the yurt. Sylus said:
“I really like the people in this grassland. They are always honest with each other. Love. Hatred. It would be great if we could be as straightforward as them.”
You closed your eyes tightly, then slowly opened them. You replied:
“Well then, from now on, let's be honest with each other.”
“Huh? Do you have something to tell me?”
Sylus's eyes met yours, and that half-smile of his felt so much like a tease. You hesitated for a moment then decided to follow your heart:
“I… like having you by my side. Like these days. Even if we are no longer here and must face each other in the real world, I will still be me. You are still Sylus. The time spent here will not vanish, right? I guess I would still like to be close to you. Like this moment…”
You paused and gazed up at him for a long time. You could not recall the past, and the future was unknown. But you knew in that very moment, what you wanted was Sylus. That was all.
You slowly turned around and leaned against his dominant chest. You could hear your heart, Sylus's heart. They were beating at the same rhythm.
You started kissing him. And Sylus responded by dragging your entire body on top of him. Your kisses landed on his face, neck, and chest, particularly where you once injured him. Sylus's physique was sensitive to your every touch, yet he calmly observed what you desired to do to him, wearing his so distinctive alluring half-smile.
The endless night in the grassland suddenly became cold no longer.
All of the tribes came to Tala for the celebration, which was filled with excitement. After several skirmishes amongst the warriors, Sylus emerged victorious, as predicted. Amid the cheers of congratulations from the tribes, you rushed to his side and were lifted into his arms.
“Are you running to me so quickly in fear that another girl will give me her pouch?” Sylus taunted you by making your cheeks sparkle in the sunset.
“What are you dreaming about? I'm just glad that… we won the gem!”
Sylus carried you with one arm, the other hand at some point reached into your garment and took out the pouch embroidered with the image of a crow that you had made for him. He held it up high where everyone could see it and said to you:
“So this pouch isn't yours?”
“How did you?… Give it back to me!” You tried to reach for the pouch, only to lose your balance and leaned entirely on Sylus.
“Why do you want it back? To give it to someone else?”
You blushed. The pouch was originally made for Sylus. Only him. But it was your intention to give it to him later, when you were certain of how you should name the feelings you had for him. Yet he found the pouch so quickly. He held it tightly in his palm and said:
“Whoever takes it, keeps it. It's mine now. Don't even dream of giving it to anyone else."
Sylus carried you in his arm to receive the prize. Your cheeks became scarlet, and you failed to say anything more the entire time. Following that, the largest festival on the grasslands took place. Sylus brought you to a secluded spot, holding the prize in his palm.
The sparkling ruby radiated charm as if calling your name, and you knew it was time for you to return. Yet you were still attached to this place. Somewhere inside you, you were trying to cling to every blade of grass, every wind here. Were you ready to leave this free life, leave Sylus?
Sylus's soft fingers delicately brushed your cheek. He gently caressed your face.
“Are you ready, kitten?”
You met his eyes.
“I still have one more thing to do before we go back…”
“What is it?”
You stood on tiptoe, one hand tugging Sylus's neck down close. You sealed his lips with a kiss. So deep. Time seemed to stop. The stars halted revolving. You just broke away from him to catch your breath before erasing the silver thread that existed between the two of you with another kiss that was a little more eager.
Your other hand rested on the ruby he was holding. Your fingers and Sylus's were interlaced with the gem in the center. You started to resonate with it. The gem heated up and gleamed. Soon, Sylus's warmth slowly left you.
When you opened your eyes, you found yourself standing in Sylus's armory in N109 Zone.
A tear rolled down your cheek. The memories that the protocore fragment had stolen from you were all restored. You searched around.
“Sylus?”
He was not there. Where had he gone? Did he let go of your hand? Was he still in the grassland, living a free life with no attachment? Without you? That thought clenched your heart. Yet you felt the protocore fragment was very close. You followed its energy source to the exit.
Standing by the entrance was Sylus. The red gem was in his palm. Almost immediately, you ran to his side. Without waiting for any words to be spoken, you flung yourself into Sylus, arms tightly wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist. He was taken aback, but then began spinning around with you in his arms. The cold armory suddenly became so cozy.
You did not dare to believe that that dream of the grassland was a real thing, until you buried your face in Sylus's neck and inhaled the scent of grass, wind and sunshine. He whispered into your ear:
“Good to see you again, kitten.”
“It's good to see you again, Sylus…” You whispered, before squeezing him again.
After that, Sylus put you down. His palm opened and the ruby was revealed:
“Here you go. Spare me the trouble and don’t casually resonate with it anymore.”
You held it tightly in your hand. The vast grassland and the days with Sylus were just like a dream. Time in this world remained constant. Yet your heart had changed.
You looked up at him and said:
“Sylus… What would happen after we leave the grassland?…”
“Perhaps people of the tribes would spread the story about the Kael warrior and his betrothed. They would say that the couple used the ruby to travel to another place, and lived happily ever after.”
You were amazed that Sylus could come up with such an answer. Nevertheless, it brought you contentment. You prompted another question:
“Say… What if we don't meet up because of my missions, or because we need something from each other? Basically, we can meet up just because…”
“We want to see each other?”
Surprise after surprise, you stared at him for a moment. Then you nodded. Sylus grinned. He took out a pouch with a crow embroidered clumsily on it.
“Since I have your most prized possession, I should return the favor, right?” Sylus replied. “We did agree to be honest with each other back in the grassland. It's my turn now.”
His massive hand reached out in front of you. He said:
“Red autumn leaves and roasted chestnuts. I can already imagine a walk in the park on a beautiful day like this. What do you think, kitten?"
You smiled and sheepishly held his hand. At that moment, a bright crimson glow surrounded your and his wrists. Sylus scowled as he noticed the Evol Linkage between the two of you again at this point.
“Hmmm. Should we postpone our outing?”
You shook your head. Your fingers were intertwined with his even tighter.
“Actually I know a place that offers a buy-one-get-one free deal!”
Sylus smiled. “Let's go then.”
Without waiting for him to ask for more, you drew him forward. You were once worried about your connection with him being exposed, and you never dared to admit how much you desired to be with him. Yet, at that moment, you were ready to tell the world the story of you and Sylus.
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