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pathologicalreid · 2 months

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in sickness and in health | S.R.

Minutes before your wedding is supposed to start, Spencer gets cold feet, and you have to find out why.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (a smidge angsty) content warnings: alzheimers, weddings, children, babies, sad!spencer, reader wears a dress and makeup, cursing word count: 1.8k a/n: so this became sadder than I had initially intended. also i decided to try something new and write in a different POV and i don't know if i like it. this is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins' new beginnings challenge, because nothing says new beginning quite like getting married! thank you for having this challenge!

If it were up to you and Spencer, your wedding would’ve taken place at a courthouse with no fuss, just rings and a certificate. Especially after he shot down your idea of a 24-hour wedding chapel in Las Vegas.

In your defense, you pitched it to him as an intimate wedding in his hometown, but he didn’t take the bait.

But when the team found out that the two of you were planning what they deemed unsuitable, they all volunteered to help throw together a ceremony and reception. Everyone was under the duress of Penelope at the time, but they all volunteered.

She could be very formidable when she wanted to.

Your now maid of honor’s eyes were shimmering as she carefully adjusted some of the last few strands of hair upon your head, you had managed to talk her out of a tiara, but to Penelope Garcia, a veil was non-negotiable. “You look gorgeous,” she says, “the perfect bride.”

Laughing uncomfortably, you turn to look at yourself in the full-length mirror and take a deep breath, “Thank you, Pen.”

“I know I may have slightly nudged you in the direction of a bigger wedding-“

“More like punted,” you interrupt, an affectionate smile on your face.

Rolling her eyes, she leaned over to grab her buzzing phone on the velvet chair in your ready room. “Whatever, I just think that after everything you and Spencer have made it out of, you deserve a celebration that reflected that,” she speaks passionately, as she always does when discussing people in love.

Turning around to look back at the mirror, the tulle of your veil cascading over your shoulders as you grew giddy. Your dress was a whimsical, white chiffon that fell to the floor and moved with you as you walked. Small straps of fabric were delicately draped over your arms for an off-the-shoulder effect, you had never felt more glamorous. Although, if there was a day for glamor, your wedding day would certainly qualify.

You snap your head around to see Penelope furiously typing on her phone, “Uh oh,” she whispers, looking at the screen.

Humming, you step off of the pedestal and over to her, careful not to trip on your dress, “What’s wrong?” You murmur, trying to see what was distressing her. Dread built in your stomach; the team couldn’t be getting called away? Two of its members were about to get married. This is why you should’ve just gone to the courthouse; you never should’ve let Garcia talk you into this.

Jolting you out of your panic induced stupor, she answers, “Something’s up with Reid.”

Your heart clenches, “Reid? My Reid?” You whisper, “Is he okay?”

The two of you jump when someone bangs on the door, and she moves to open it, just a crack at first – to see who it is – and then all the way open to reveal Luke on the other side. Naturally, the members of the BAU made up your wedding party, and Luke as the best man was the easy choice.

He was mostly dressed, save for the bowtie that remained undone around his neck, “I need to steal Y/N.” His shoulders were rising and falling quickly like he had run across the building.

“She’s getting ready for the wedding. Her wedding,” Penelope answers, gesturing back to you. “Besides, it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”

Really, you were mostly ready, you just needed to put your shoes on and line up. “There won’t be a wedding if we can’t get the groom out there,” Luke replies.

You warily approach the doorway, peeking around the door, “What’s wrong?”

“He just needs you,” Luke explains, gesturing toward you with his hands.

Nodding determinedly, you step out the door and run over to the other side of the building to where the groom’s ready room is, pulling the fabric of your dress up so that you don’t trip. Along the way, you pass a few guests, but you don’t stop.

It wasn’t news to most of them that you were a grounding force for Spencer, the two of you had been put through, as Luke put it, the wringer together and still managed to come out the other side. You skid to a halt in front of the door and knock quickly, “Spence, it’s me.”

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony,” he murmurs through the door, echoing the earlier sentiments of Penelope. You know he doesn’t believe in it, which only adds to your concern.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, fidgeting with the doorknob just to discover it’s locked. “If you don’t unlock the door, I’m going to go find Derek and have him kick it down for me,” you threaten, wondering if the reminder of all of the people here would coax him out.

There was no response from the other side of the door.

Sighing, you turn to look at Luke, “Can you give us a minute?” He nods, letting you know he’ll talk to Garcia before walking down the long hallway.

Once he’s gone, you hear the tell-tale click of the door unlocking, “Garcia will kill you if you walk in here.”

“Penny isn’t here, baby. It’s just you and me, okay?” You speak lowly, “What’s wrong, my love?” Dropping your hand on the doorknob, you startle slightly when it turns and the door swings open.

You yelp when Spencer pulls you in, closing the door behind you before he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. Immediately, you feel his body relax against yours, “Isn’t this supposed to be bad luck?” He murmurs.

Humming, you return his hug gratefully, “We’ve had enough bad luck, don’t you think? It’ll be okay.” His arms loosen around you, and you pull away slightly so you can look up at him, placing your hands tenderly on his chest, thumbing the satin fabric of his lapels. “And besides, I’m not fully dressed yet. I’m fairly certain that means it doesn’t count.”

“You look beautiful,” he whispers, holding you out at arm’s length. “You’re perfect, and I’m…” His voice trails off as he takes a step back from you, sighing as he takes a seat in one of the white chairs in the ready room.

Tilting your head to the side, you felt the fabric of your veil flow to the side, “You’re what, Spence?” You ask, slowly approaching the chair he was sitting in.

He furrows his brows in apprehension, “I think I might be scared of you,” he answers candidly.

You couldn’t help the giggle that spurted from your lips, “Am I really that scary?” You inquire softly, seeking more answers from him. You saw him better now, the darkness of his tux offset by the purple bowtie and handkerchief, joined with the light florals of his boutonnière. Spencer’s hair was a mess, a tell-tale sign that he had been running his hands through it.

Clearing his throat, Spencer looks up at you with a look in his eye that you can’t quite place, “I passed by your room earlier, and I heard you laughing.” He took a deep, tentative breath, “I thought you sounded so happy, and now I’m not sure I can keep you happy.”

Sighing, you duck your head slightly, “Spencer,” you say seriously, “are we still getting married today?”

“What?” He says in disbelief. “Of course we are, that’s not- I’m sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “We’re still getting married; I’ve quite literally never wanted anything more in my entire life. I’m just worried,” he speaks quietly.

Gingerly, you step closer to the chair before he reaches out for you, placing a hand on your waist and gently guiding you down until you are sitting on his lap. “You make me so happy, Spencer Reid. I know that somewhere in that gorgeous brain of yours you know that, but I also know that you are your own worst critic.”

You’re sitting sideways on his lap with your legs latticed on top of each other. Gingerly, he places a hand on your thigh and another on the small of your back, “You deserve everything you want in the world.”

“And I want you. Doesn’t that count for something?” You ask him, emotion beginning to rise in your throat – you cannot cry, then the wedding would really be delayed. “Spencer, I’m so ecstatic that at the end of today, I get to be your wife. That’s such a privilege to me. You and I, we get to be so fucking happy today. We deserve that.” You tell him gently, “We get to be married and go on our honeymoon and come home and we can tell all of your stories to your mom, and we’ll have a baby or two and we’ll be so fucking happy.” You swallow your emotion, looking up at the light in the hope that it will clear your tears. “For the rest of our lives, we’ll be so happy.”

Then it came, “I don’t want to forget you.” His voice is almost imperceptible, but you hear him still.

The ache in his voice feels like a stab to your heart, you were well aware that his mother had Alzheimer’s. She wasn’t having a good day today, but the two of you had gone to visit her in the morning. Ever since she was diagnosed, it’s been like Spencer has a storm cloud hovering over him – he can’t be tested for the gene markers, not for a few more years. Taking a deep breath, you reach over and smooth his hair back, “If you get Alzheimer’s, I will sit down with you every day and remind you. I’m going to walk down that aisle today and tell you that I’m going to love you in sickness and in health and I’m going to mean it.”

“I’m scared,” he murmurs, leaning into your touch.

Using your free hand, you reach up and tenderly wipe a tear from his cheek, “We can take it.”

He nods in agreement with you, “Together, as a team,” he concurs, a slight amount of confidence returning to his voice.

Resting your head on his shoulder, the two of you take your moment. The last moment before you officially unite as one, and you let that moment take as long as you need. “I should go,” you whisper, looking over at the clock, the ceremony was supposed to have started by now.

Spencer leans down and kisses you, “I’ll see you out there?” He asks expectantly.

Nodding assuredly, you reach up and wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth, “I’ll be there.”

During the ceremony, you impressively were able to keep yourself together, until you promised him you would love him in sickness and in health.

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #wedding!spencer #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #mentioningmargins #spencer reid x fem!reader

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spacedace · 6 months

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Quick dp x dc prompt:

The BatFam finds out via getting tagged a million times on any and all social media sites that Damian apparently got drunkenly married to Jon & Elle while the three were in Las Vegas.

And that alone is making them all lose their collective minds, but somehow there's yet still more on top of that punch in the face because apparently the three didn't get married as Damian Wayne, Jon Kent and Elle Nightingale.

Oh no, that'd be way too easy to handle when it came to how the press and wider world reacted to the youngest son and until very recently one of the most eligible bachelors in the world getting married at three in the morning in a haunted-house themed 24-hour Vegas chapel by a guy dressed up like Zombie Elvis.

No, instead the three of them got married as civilian Damian Wayne and very much not civilians Superboy/Jon-El the Son of Superman and Nomad/Stella Phantom the Crown Princess of the Infinite Realms.

also bonus meme stuff, this is absolutely how Damian, Jon and Elle greet the paparazzi upon stumbling out of the chapel and the images being shared absolutely everywhere. Steph frames them and hangs them up as the three's "Wedding Photos" because she finds it absolutely hilarious:

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc writing prompt #super serious chaos #Super Serious Chaos #damian wayne #jon el kent #jon kent #dani phantom #danielle phantom #superfam #batfam #ghost king danny #batfam & superfam are losing their collective minds over this #meanwhile the rest of the justice league is playing rock paper scissors on who is gonna have to break the news to King Phantom #Danny for his part thinks its hilarious #but its even *funnier* to not tell anyone that and let them think he's pissed about it #Dick *specifically told* Damian not to get wasted and marry anyone when the three of them went on this trip #He said it as a *joke* but *still* what the hell Damian

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pucksandpower · 6 months

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What Happens in Vegas

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: the morning after the Las Vegas Grand Prix, you wake up with one new wedding ring and zero clue about what happened … or who your husband is

You wake up with a pounding headache, the sunlight filtering through the curtains feeling like daggers in your eyes. Groaning, you roll over and glance at the clock on the nightstand.

12:37 pm.

Far later than you would normally sleep, but given the circumstances, not entirely surprising.

The night before was the Las Vegas Grand Prix and things had gotten a little out of hand afterwards. Okay, more like a lot out of hand.

The details are fuzzy but you vaguely recall dancing on a table at some point and did someone get pushed into the hotel fountain?

Ugh. You make a mental note to apologize to whoever ended up taking an unexpected late-night swim last night.

Sitting up slowly, you rub your temples, trying to ease the jackhammer currently going off in your head. Getting blackout drunk maybe wasn’t the most professional move, but hey, what happens in Vegas and all that.

You stumble into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water on your face. As you reach for a towel, the glint of metal on your left hand makes you pause.

No. It can’t be.

But there it is, a simple gold band around your ring finger.

A wedding ring.

Your wedding ring, apparently.

“What the hell?” You mutter, staring at your reflection in disbelief.

You rack your brain, trying desperately to remember what happened last night. But it’s no use, the details are lost in an alcohol-induced haze.

You married someone last night. In Vegas. While ridiculously drunk.

This is bad. Really bad.

Your career, your reputation, everything is on the line here. Who knows what kind of scandal this could cause if word got out? You need to figure out who you married and do damage control, fast.

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm the rising panic. Freaking out won’t solve anything right now. You need answers and sitting here panicking won’t get you any. Time to do some investigating.

You quickly throw on some clothes and head downstairs to the hotel lobby. The drivers had agreed to meet for brunch today before getting thoroughly wasted last night. Maybe one of them knows something.

As you step out of the elevator, you immediately spot a group of your friends chatting in the lobby. Max, Charles, Lando … the usual suspects.

Lando is the first to spot you. “Well good morning, Mrs. Lando Norris,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You freeze. No way. There’s no way you married Lando. The kid is like a little brother to you. An obnoxious, hyperactive little brother. But Lando just laughs at your stunned expression.

“Kidding! You should see your face right now,” he giggles. Little punk. But at least that rules out Lando as your surprise husband.

You roll your eyes and shove Lando playfully before turning to the others. “So, crazy night last night, huh?” You say, aiming for nonchalance.

Max shrugs. “I mean, it’s Vegas. Things do tend to get wild.”

“Right, wild,” you echo. Time to cut to the chase. “So wild that I ended up getting married apparently.”

You hold up your left hand, wedding ring glinting in the light. The others stare at it then at each other, puzzled.

“Wait, you actually got married last night?” Charles asks incredulously.

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “Yes! And I have no idea who I married. Come on mates, you must remember something from last night that can help me figure this out.”

But their faces are blank, everyone shaking their heads. Useless, the whole lot of them.

You turn to Max, who averts his eyes, looking uncomfortable.

“Max, come on. You always know everything that happens on these nights out. Help me out here,” you plead.

Max shuffles his feet, not meeting your gaze. “I mean, it was pretty crazy. I was very drunk too,” he mumbles.

You sigh in frustration. Clearly you’re not getting anywhere with this group. You need to try someone else, someone who maybe left the party early last night.

You recall Fernando complaining about the horrible music at one point. Bingo.

“Alright, I gotta go see if I can find someone who can get me answers,” you announce. “You drunkards are no help.”

As you turn to leave, Charles calls after you, “Let us know if you find out who the unlucky guy is!” This earns snickers from Lando and Max.

You shake your head and head out to find Fernando. That Spaniard better have some useful information or there will be hell to pay.

One thing is certain, you will get to the bottom of this. You need to find out who this mystery husband is, sort out this mess, and most importantly, get this ring off your finger before the media catches wind of your drunken Vegas wedding.

This is going to be one hell of a day.

***

After leaving the unhelpful group in the lobby, you set out to find Fernando. The Spaniard has always had a keen eye for details. If anyone saw what happened last night, it would be him.

You find Fernando sitting alone at a table in the closest coffee shop, sipping an espresso. He looks irritatingly fresh-faced and put together given the wild night you all had.

“Well good morning, chiquita,” he says with a smirk as you plop down across from him. “You look like you had quite the night.”

You scowl at him. “No thanks to you. Leaving the party early again, I see.”

Fernando shrugs. “What can I say? I’m getting too old for these Vegas nights out with you crazy kids.”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “Oh yes, grandpa, you’re soooo old at 42. Anyway, I need your help figuring something out.”

You hold up your left hand, the wedding ring glinting under the lights. “Any idea how this might have ended up on my finger last night?”

Fernando raises an eyebrow, looking far too amused. “Well well, our little Y/N got married in Vegas. Who’s the lucky man?”

You huff in annoyance. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out! I don’t remember anything from last night. But I woke up this morning hungover as hell with this on my hand.” You waggle your finger for emphasis.

Fernando sits back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, interesting. And you say you remember nothing?”

“Nothing!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up. “Everything after the third tequila shot is a total blank. Please tell me you saw something that can help me out here.”

You give Fernando your best pleading puppy dog eyes but the Spanish driver just shakes his head.

“Sadly, I did not witness this alleged wedding. I turned in early, unlike you wild youths.”

You groan and let your head fall to the table. “This is bad, Fernando. Really bad. I could lose my seat over this if the team finds out I pulled a stunt like this. I need to figure out who I married!"

Fernando pats your head condescendingly. “There there, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Your secret is safe with me.”

You peer up at him suspiciously. “Just how secret is this? The smirk on your face makes me think you know something.”

The smirk widens. “Maybe I know something, maybe I don’t. But I’m not going to spoil the surprise for you.”

“Nando!” You smack his arm as he laughs. “This isn’t funny! Just tell me who I married!”

“Nope,” he says, popping the P obnoxiously. “It is too entertaining watching you squirm.”

You let out a frustrated growl. “You’re the worst. I don’t know why I bothered asking you for help.”

“Because you love me, that’s why,” Fernando says with a cheeky wink.

You can’t help but smile a bit at that. You’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for the menace.

“Ugh fine, keep your secrets,” you concede. “I’ll figure this out without your help.”

You start to stand up but Fernando stops you. “Leaving so soon? Stay, have some breakfast with me. You’re going to need your energy today.”

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of food so you sink back down into your seat. “I guess I could eat something while I plot my next move.”

A waiter comes by and you order a massive plate of food to soak up the alcohol still swimming in your system. As you tuck into your meal, you notice Fernando watching you from across the table, looking thoughtful.

“You know,” he says. “Whoever you ended up marrying ... they are a very lucky man. Underneath this hungover mess, you have a good heart. Don’t be too hard on yourself over one wild night, eh?”

You pause mid-bite, touched by his sincerity. “Thanks, Nando. That really means a lot coming from you.”

He smiles and squeezes your hand briefly before returning to his coffee. The playful twinkle returns to his eye. “Even if you did get married like an idiot last night.”

You snort. “Wow, thanks. Way to ruin the moment there.”

Fernando shrugs, unrepentant. “What can I say? I live to annoy you, little sister.”

You finish up your meal, feeling slightly better with some food in you. As frustrating as that encounter was, at least you can count on Fernando to keep this quiet. Time to go gather more clues.

You stand and point an accusatory finger at Fernando. “This isn’t over. I will get to the bottom of this mystery marriage!”

Fernando just smiles enigmatically. “I have no doubt. Good luck, Mrs. Whatever Your New Last Name Is.”

You stick your tongue out at him maturely and flounce away. That man is infuriating. But the quest continues. Time to find the next driver on your interrogation list.

***

You decide to try your luck with Daniel next. The Aussie partied hard but he’s also a notorious gossip. Maybe he caught wind of something that can point you in the right direction.

You find Daniel lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, basking in the Vegas sun like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

So unfair.

“Hello there, sunshine,” he drawls as you walk up. “Don’t you look fresh as a daisy this fine day.”

You glare at him from behind your own sunglasses. “Stuff it, Ricciardo. I’m only here because I need information from you.”

Daniel gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me! Here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” you roll your eyes. “When you’re not being a pain in my ass.”

“A pain in that fine ass of yours? Perish the thought!”

You smack him lightly upside the head and he chuckles. “Alright alright, what do you need from old mate Daniel?”

You plop down in the lounge chair next to him and hold up your left hand. “I need you to tell me anything you know or can remember about how this got on my finger last night.”

Daniel lets out a low whistle. “Well tickle me pink and call me Sheila, Y/N’s gone and got herself hitched in Vegas!”

You shush him frantically. “Keep your voice down! The last thing I need is for this to get out.”

Looking far too delighted by the situation, Daniel leans in conspiratorially. “Right, top secret and all that. Who’s the lucky fella then?”

You sigh. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Everything after we moved on to OMNIA is a total blackout. Please tell me you know something.”

Daniel taps his chin thoughtfully. “Let me think here ... I may have some recollection of the night’s events.”

You perk up. “Yes? Go on then, tell me!”

“I do seem to remember ...” he pauses theatrically, “... that I was your very own ring bearer for the occasion!”

Your face falls. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

Daniel grins cheekily. “What can I say, it was a beautiful ceremony. I was truly honored to be part of it.”

You smack his arm. “You’re no help at all! Come on, I’m desperate here.”

Daniel laughs and puts up his hands. “Alright, alright, I’m just having a bit of fun with ya. Truth is, I was as pissed as the rest of you lot last night. Don’t remember much myself.”

You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

Daniel must take pity on your crestfallen face because he places a hand on your shoulder. “Chin up, Y/N. So you got a little wild in Vegas, it happens. I’m sure you’ll get it all sorted out.”

You nod but can’t keep the worry from your face. “I know, it’s just ... this could really screw things up if anyone finds out. I don’t even know who I married!”

“Well then it’s a good thing you’ve got the Honey Badger on the case!” He proclaims cheerfully. “I may not have the details but I’ll sniff around and ask some questions on the down low.”

You smile gratefully. “I appreciate that. Hopefully someone around here knows something.”

Daniel pops to his feet and offers you a hand. “Too right! Now come on, up you get. Let’s go scrounge up some greasy food and hair of the dog for that hangover, eh?”

You let Daniel pull you to your feet, feeling bolstered by his positivity.

As you head towards the sports bar in search of a burger and fries, Daniel slings an arm around your shoulder. “Cheer up! This’ll make for one hell of a story someday. It might even become a Grill The Grid trivia question.”

Despite everything, you have to laugh. Trust Daniel to look for the bright side.

But you still can’t ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You married someone last night. For real. It’s not just some random hookup you can laugh off. There’s a living, breathing person out there who you pledged your life to and you don’t even know their name.

What kind of person did drunk Y/N choose as a life partner? Are they worried about this too? Or are they some opportunistic sleaze looking to take advantage of you?

You shake your head, realizing Daniel is watching you with a quizzical look. No use speculating. Just keep searching for answers, one driver at a time.

***

After saying goodbye to Daniel, you set off in search of Lewis. As the life of every party, surely he has to know the details of your wild night.

You eventually track him down just outside the hotel, walking his beloved bulldog. Lewis grins when he sees you approaching.

“Ah the bride awakens at last! We were wondering when you’d emerge,” he says with a chuckle.

You roll your eyes. “News sure travels fast. I’m guessing Nando blabbed?”

Lewis shakes his head. “When you have an impromptu wedding in the middle of a rager in Vegas, people are going to talk.”

You wince, dreading how far word of this has already spread. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, you need information.

“About that ...” you say. “I don’t suppose you happen to know who I ended up marrying last night?”

Lewis’ grin widens. “Now what kind of best man would I be if I spilled the beans?”

You stare at him in shock. “Best man? You were there?”

“But of course!” Lewis declares. “Had to lend my impeccable fashion sense for your dress. Pulled some strings with a stylist I know and got you all hooked up last minute.”

Your mind is reeling. You got married in an actual wedding dress? This just gets worse and worse.

You wrack your brain trying to picture it. But you have zero memory of any dress. Lewis must read the confusion on your face.

“Don’t worry, I had it safely delivered to your room after you started taking it off in the middle of the club. Though I’m guessing you were in no state to keep track of it,” he chuckles.

You shake your head, still stunned. “I didn’t see any dress in my room. What did you do with it?”

Lewis taps his chin. “You know, I did pop in this morning to check on you but you were still passed out cold. So I had the dress boxed up and sent off to be preserved and framed as a gift.”

He crouches down to scratch Roscoe behind the ears. “That’s from me and this good boy right here. Couldn’t let such a work of art go to waste!”

You’re touched in spite of yourself. “That’s really sweet, thank you. But I would really rather just know who I married right now.”

Lewis stands back up and wags his finger. “Ah ah ah, where’s the fun in that? This is the most entertainment we’ve had all season!”

You groan as Lewis laughs. “Come on, Lew. Have mercy and put me out of my misery here.”

But Lewis just zips his mouth. “My lips are sealed! Don’t you worry though, he’s a great guy. You’ve got my stamp of approval.”

You cross your arms in frustration. Of course Lewis would drag this out like a sitcom. But his clue gives you pause.

“He’s a great guy,” Lewis said. So your mystery spouse is someone Lewis personally knows and actually approves of. That narrows it down a bit.

Lewis gives you an apologetic smile and checks his watch. “I’d best be off. But don’t worry, you’ll figure this out!” He tosses a wink over his shoulder as he saunters away with Roscoe in tow.

You watch them go, mind spinning.

Lewis doesn’t just compliment anyone. So apparently drunk Y/N didn’t marry a total disaster. That’s something at least.

You absently twist the wedding band around your finger. You wish you could remember anything about him, about what happened between you.

Did you have a beautiful ceremony? Exchange heartfelt vows? Share a magical first dance as spouses?

You shake your head ruefully. If so, what a shame not to remember any of it. Here’s hoping that this “great guy” turns out to be someone who can make you fall in love all over again ...

***

You decide on a new approach — find the person who actually married you and your husband last night. Whoever officiated the ceremony must know the identity of your mystery groom.

The only problem is, you have no idea who that could be. It’s not like Vegas chapels employ actual priests or judges to perform marriages. It was probably just some random person licensed to perform marriages.

You start making the rounds of the chapels on the Strip, showing your ring and asking if anyone remembers you coming in during the night. But you have no luck — most of the chapels you try to check in with aren’t even open yet, catering to the drunk impulsive crowd that comes out after dark.

After hours of fruitless searching, you plop down on a bench in front of the Venetian, racking your brain for what to try next.

A group of women in matching Bride Tribe shirts walk by, laughing and chatting in that way only tipsy daytime bachelorettes can.

One of them pauses as they pass and calls out to you. “Hey hun, you look down. Guy trouble?” She gestures to your ring.

You debate waving her off but then reconsider. Maybe a bachelorette party would know their way around the Vegas wedding scene.

“Yeah, you could say that,” you reply. “I’m trying to find the person who married me last night but it was a bit of a ... wild impromptu thing. I don’t even know where it happened.”

The women gasp excitedly. “Oh my god, a drunk Vegas wedding? That’s epic!” Says the one in the rhinestoned Bride To Be sash.

“Epic disaster more like,” you mutter but can’t help smiling. Their enthusiasm is infectious.

The bride puts her arm around you. “Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll help you sort this out! I know all the best chapels.” She turns to her posse. “Ladies, let’s help her track down her mystery hubby!”

You find yourself swept up in the bachelorettes’ mission to assist you. After barraging you with questions about the wedding (“Please tell me you at least had a cute dress?” “Oooh was it Elvis themed?”), they decide that the most likely chapel was The Little Vegas Wedding Chapel off the north end of the Strip.

You all pile into their pink party bus and soon pull up at the aforementioned chapel. The receptionist greets you with a smile. “Welcome ladies! Who’s the lucky bride today?”

The girls nudge you forward. You clear your throat awkwardly. “Well actually, I’m trying to find out if I was a bride here last night.” You show her your ring. “I don’t remember much but I know I got married. I was hoping you might have a record?”

The receptionist types away on her computer, then frowns. “Hmm doesn’t look like we had any late night weddings yesterday. Our last was at 10 pm.”

You sigh but thank her anyway. So much for that idea. At least the bachelorettes are still upbeat as you climb back on their bus.

“No luck there but it was still a fun adventure!” The bride-to-be seems to have all the enthusiasm in the world.

You nod, grateful for their attempts to help. As the bus starts moving, the bride gasps.

“Wait, girls, I think I know where we need to go!” She turns to you excitedly. “There’s this little all-night chapel down on Fremont Street. Our friend Val got married there on a total whim a few years ago and she said it was fabulous!”

A chorus of squeals greets this news. You aren’t sure this is a solid lead, but hey, it’s not like you have any better ideas.

“Alright, let’s give it a shot!”

Twenty minutes later you’re climbing out of the bus in front of a small chapel with a neon 24 Hour Weddings sign. Taking a deep breath, you push through the door into the kitschy Vegas-themed space.

At the front counter is an older man in an Elvis costume that must be at least a size too small. Bingo. You hurry over and show him your ring.

“By any chance did you marry me and some guy last night?”

The Elvis impersonator peers at you for a moment before his face lights up in recognition. “Well slap me sideways, you’re the lovely lady I helped get hitched last night! What a shindig that was!”

Your heart leaps. Finally a lead! “Yes that was me! Do you by chance have a record of who I married?”

Elvis frowns. “You mean you don’t remember the young fella? He was real handsome, said some mighty sweet vows if I recall correctly.”

You shake your head in frustration. So close and yet so far.

Elvis pats your arm. “No worries darling, old Elvis remembers. I gotcha hitched to ...”

You lean forward eagerly as Elvis taps his chin, racking his memory.

“Now let’s see ... young fella you married. He was oh ... a bit taller than you I’d say. Had one of them European accents — German, Swedish, or somethin’ like that. Brown hair I think. A pretty good lookin’ chap. Dressed real sharp too.”

Your heart sinks as Elvis delivers the extremely vague description. Brown hair and a little over your height? Well that only narrows it down to about half of the paddock!

You groan and smack your forehead in frustration. So close! Elvis gives you an apologetic look.

“Aw shucks, wish I could tell ya more little lady. But I was croonin’ so many love songs last night that all you couples started to blend together.”

You force a smile, knowing he did try his best. “That’s alright, I appreciate you checking for me.”

Back outside, you fill in the eager bachelorettes on Elvis’ less than helpful clues. Their excitement deflates a bit.

“Dang, that could be like, anyone!” One says, voicing your thoughts exactly.

The bride-to-be squeezes your shoulder. “Don’t worry hun, we’ll keep thinking! Your mystery man is out there somewhere.”

You give her a grateful hug. “Thanks ladies, for all your help today. I should probably get back to my hotel and keep investigating.”

The gaggle of girls walks you back to the bus, firing off more wild theories about your potential groom.

“Oooh what if it’s that sexy Spanish driver … Alfonso?” Suggests the bridesmaid named Amy.

“It’s Alonso,” you correct with a laugh. She may be way off but you appreciate the enthusiasm.

As you say goodbye to your new friends, your mind is spinning once again. So Elvis confirmed this wedding really happened, though his clues weren’t particularly enlightening.

But he did say one thing — whoever you married gave sweet vows. So apparently in your drunken state, you picked someone who could be sincere and romantic.

That has to count for something, right?

You glance down at the wedding ring on your finger, the physical reminder of the huge secret you’re unraveling. Did you really promise to spend your life with someone here of all places? And do they plan on holding you to that promise?

Your gut twists with anxiety but also a trace of curiosity. Who is this mystery man who can make drunken Elvis shed a sentimental tear?

Whoever he is, you’re going to find him.

***

Exhausted after a day of fruitless searching, you decide to head back to your hotel to regroup. You slump down onto one of the plush couches in the crowded lobby, mind still spinning over the bizarre situation you’ve found yourself in.

Who exactly did you end up pledging eternal devotion to in your drunken stupor last night? So far your quest to unravel this mystery marriage has led nowhere.

But you can’t rest yet. You need answers.

As you sit there contemplating your next move, your phone starts blowing up with Twitter notifications. You blink in surprise. Must be big news dropping for this much activity.

You open the app and nearly swallow your tongue when you see the top trending hashtag: #Y/NMaxWedding.

Your stomach drops to your feet.

No no no, this cannot be happening!

But with a sense of impending doom, you click on the hashtag. Immediately you see the bombshell that has sent your world into a tailspin.

It’s a tweet from a fan account, featuring photos they somehow obtained of a Clark County Nevada marriage certificate between you ... and Max Verstappen. Your teammate.

You stare slack-jawed at the images of the official document signed by you and Max as spouses, clear as day. Your drunken Vegas escapade isn’t a secret anymore. It’s public record, blasted all over social media.

Numb with shock, you scroll through countless tweets analyzing, freaking out over, and cracking jokes about you and Max’s surprise nuptials. Some fans are outraged. Others seem delighted at this bombshell gossip.

You groan, head in your hands. This is an absolute disaster. What was merely a drunken mistake is now immortalized online. There’s no hiding it or hoping it will blow over quietly.

You married Max freaking Verstappen in Vegas. The sometimes arrogant and standoffish but always crazy talented driver you’re teammates with. No wonder he was acting so squirrelly this morning when you asked about the wedding.

Some logical part of your brain knows you need to talk to Max, start figuring out what to do for damage control. But the overwhelmed emotional side just wants to crawl under a rock and hide.

In a daze, you make your way up to your suite. Once inside, you toss your phone onto the bed, not even bothering to read the likely hundreds of texts blowing it up. You are in no state of mind to talk to your manager or team right now.

Collapsing onto the couch, you stare blankly at the wall, feeling numb. Despite all your investigating, a part of you still hoped that maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe the ring and certificate were just part of some elaborate prank.

But there’s no denying it now. You’re well and truly married to Max Verstappen.

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. Of all the drivers, of course you had end up with him. Max, your fiercest rival, constantly pushing you to be better. The teammate who drives you crazy but also loves to compete with you and rile you up.

God, your friends are never going to let you live this down. Married to Max. It’s like some cheesy fanfiction brought to life.

You glance over at your silent phone. The logical part of your brain knows you need to call him. You’re going to have to talk about this and figure out what the hell to do next.

But the overwhelmed part wants to put that conversation off indefinitely. You need time to process the bombshell that just upended your life before you can face Max.

Your inner debate is interrupted by a knock at your door. You freeze. No doubt it’s the Red Bull PR team come to scold you or paparazzi looking for a comment on your no-longer-a-secret marriage. Well you have nothing to say to them!

“Go away!” You yell but the knocking persists. With an irritated huff, you wrench open the door, fully prepared to give whoever’s there a piece of your mind.

Instead, you come face to face with the person you least expected but probably most needed to see. Max stands in your doorway, sheepish and awkward.

For several tense beats, you just stare at each other, the weight of this life-altering moment hanging between you.

Finally Max breaks the silence. “So ... quite a day, huh?” He gives an uneasy chuckle.

You continue gaping at him, stunned into silence. Max shuffles his feet, not quite meeting your eyes.

“Can I uh, come in? I think maybe we should talk.”

Wordlessly, you step aside and let him enter the suite. Max perches on the edge of an armchair while you sink onto the couch. More tense silence.

Max clears his throat. “So I’m guessing you’ve seen it?”

You nod mutely. Max sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look, Y/N ... I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But I woke up just as confused as you this morning. Wasn’t totally sure it was even real.”

He hesitates then continues softly. “You were pretty out of it last night. We all were. Getting hitched was obviously crazy but I guess it seemed fun in the moment.”

You shake your head, finding your voice at last. “This goes way beyond fun, Max! We’re married! Actually married!" Your voice edges up hysterically on the last word.

“Yes it was a ... crazy night,” Max laughs nervously.

You scoff bitterly. “That’s putting it mildly. I’d say a drunken Vegas wedding to my teammate counts as more than just crazy!"

Max winces at your tone. “Look Y/N, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. But we were all wasted last night. I didn’t even remember at first—”

You cut him off sharply. “Well I don’t remember any of it! As far as I’m concerned, this so-called marriage never even happened.”

You begin pacing. “We need to get this annulled immediately before things get worse. It was clearly an idiotic mistake.”

Max frowns, looking hurt. “Whoa, no need to be so harsh. It may have been drunken impulse but ... maybe it was also fate.”

You stop pacing and stare at him incredulously. “Fate? Are you insane?”

He stands and steps towards you. “Hear me out. We’ve been teammates for years now. Maybe deep down we both wanted this.”

Your jaw drops open. Max keeps going.

“I know it’s crazy but what if this marriage was meant to be? We owe it to ourselves to give this a real shot before bailing.”

You gaze at him in disbelief. Is he seriously suggesting ...

“Give this a real shot?” You repeat faintly.

Max takes your hands earnestly. “Yes! We’ve always made a great team on track. Just imagine how great we would be together off track too.”

You open your mouth to argue but Max presses on. “Plus, my children need a mother.”

You yank your hands back in shock. “Children? You have kids?”

“Well, not human kids,” Max admits sheepishly. “But my cats, Jimmy and Sassy! They need a maternal influence.”

Your head spins as you try to keep up with Max’s ramblings. Is he pranking you right now?

He fixes you with his most charming smile. “Come on, wifey. Just give it a chance! We’re clearly compatible if drunk us wanted to get married.”

You stare at him like he sprouted a second head. Max gazes back hopefully. His smile really is kind of adorable ...

No! Snap out of it! This is crazy.

But he does raise some valid points. And backing out now would cause an even bigger scandal ...

You slump down onto the couch with a groan. “Fine! We’ll stay married for now. But we explain to the team it was just drunken foolishness.”

Max pumps his fist. “Yes! See, we’re already compromising with each other. It’s like we’re meant to be husband and wife!”

That finally breaks through your haze of shock. Oh god ... you have to tell Christian Horner that you married Max Verstappen.

***

You take a deep breath as you stand outside Christian’s hotel suite, arm raised to knock. “Ready for this?” You ask Max.

He grimaces. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Might as well get it over with.”

You steel your nerves and rap sharply on the door. After a moment, it swings open to reveal Christian mid-yawn.

“Y/N, Max, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asks curiously.

You shuffle your feet, not sure how to start. “Uh, hey Christian. Max and I have something we need to discuss with you. Mind if we come in for a minute?”

Christian narrows his eyes but steps aside to let you both in. “What’s this about? I just got off a conference call with the factory team in Milton Keynes and I was finally planning to try my luck with the slots downstairs.”

You perch awkwardly on the edge of an armchair while Max stands next to you stiffly.

How do you even begin to break this kind of news to your boss?

“So Christian, funny story ...” you start lamely.

Max jumps in, deciding to just rip the bandaid off. “We got married last night.”

Christian’s eyes widen comically. For a long moment he just looks between you two like you each have three heads. Then he throws his head back and laughs heartily.

“Good one guys, you almost had me there! Trying to pull one over on your poor old team principal, very funny,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes.

You give a weak smile. “No uh, we’re actually being serious. We got married for real last night.”

Max nods. “It just sort of ... happened.”

Christian collapses onto the sectional, looking between you in shock. “This would be a great time for you to stop with the prank.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Max says solemnly. “We were drunk and it was all really quite fast ...”

“No no, this must be some kind of joke!" Christian protests, though he’s starting to look uncertain. He grabs his phone off the coffee table. “Let me just check online, there’s no way ...”

His voice trails off as he scans his phone screen, eyes going wide at the headlines. With a low groan, he collapses back into his armchair.

“It’s true? You two actually ...” He drags a hand down his face. “Please tell me this is all some elaborate hoax the internet cooked up. Please tell me that two other people named Max Verstappen and Y/N Y/L/N happened to get married in Vegas last night.”

You shake your head helplessly.

Christian drops his head into his hands with a groan. “Unbelievable. Two of my drivers running off and eloping in Vegas! The media is going to have an absolute field day with this.”

He fixes you both with a stern glare. “Do either of you have any idea the position this puts the team in? The scandal it could cause?”

You hang your head, properly chastised. Max speaks up tentatively. “We’re really sorry, Christian, it was incredibly stupid of us. But it’s done now so we just have to deal with it.”

Christian sighs heavily. “You’re not wrong. The last thing we need is more media drama so we will have to get out in front of this.”

He pauses, regarding you both shrewdly. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll pursue an annulment right away and we can pretend this never happened?”

You glance at Max, who takes your hand and shakes his head. “We’ve talked it over and want to make this work. It happened for a reason.”

Christian makes a strangled noise. “Make this work? You plan on staying married??” His voice rises in pitch, verging on hysterical.

“We want to try,” you confirm, squeezing Max’s hand.

Christian looks desperately between you two once more before his eyes roll back and he slumps over in a dead faint.

You and Max rush over in concern. “Christian!" Max taps his face urgently. “C’mon, wake up!”

After a few tense moments, Christian’s eyes flutter open. “Wha ... what happened?” He mumbles.

“You passed out when we told you we’re staying married,” you explain sheepishly.

Christian groans, covering his face with his arm. “God help me, this is a nightmare ...”

You have to bite back an inappropriate laugh. Seeing your usually unflappable team principal so flustered would be funny if the situation wasn’t so serious.

Max helps Christian sit up and hands him a glass of water. “Sorry for springing this on you. But we’re going to make the best of it.”

Christian fixes Max with a weary look. “Just promise me no more reckless surprises from you two.”

You and Max raise your right hands in unison. “We promise!”

Taking a deep breath, Christian straightens his shirt and smooths his hair, regaining his composure. “Right. Well this is certainly an unexpected development. But the show must go on.”

He adopts his usual businesslike tone. “We’ll need to draft a press release announcing this immediately and get ahead of the media cycle. No commenting publicly until we strategize.”

You both nod obediently. Christian checks his watch. “I needed to get our PR team on the phone five minutes ago. You two, order room service and lay low until you hear from me.”

He ushers you politely but firmly out the door. As it shuts behind you, you turn to Max with wide eyes. “Well ... that could’ve gone worse?”

Max winces. “I thought Christian was going to burst a blood vessel at first. But it seems he’s taking it in stride.”

You both burst into slightly hysterical laughter, the stress melting away.

Looks like you have a marriage to figure out how to actually make work.

***

One year later

You take a deep breath as you knock on the door to Christian’s office, Max by your side. It’s time to break some more big news to your team principal.

“Come in!” Christian calls.

You enter to find him sitting at his desk surrounded by the usual organized chaos of strategy plans and data analysis.

He looks up, blinking in surprise. “Y/N, Max, what brings you by?”

You glance at Max, who gives you an encouraging nod and tentative smile. Turning back to Christian, you clasp your hands together nervously.

“Hey Christian. So, remember last year in Vegas when we promised no more reckless surprises?”

Christian’s eyes narrow warily. “Yeeesss ...” he draws out.

You look at Max again who blurts out, “Well we have another surprise coming your way. You’re going to be a grandpa!”

Christian’s jaw drops. His gaze darts down to your still flat midsection then back up to your nodding, beaming faces.

“You ... you’re ...” Christian stammers, looking like all the blood has drained from his face.

You take pity and confirm it for him. “Pregnant, yes. Surprise!” You add with an awkward chuckle.

For a few long moments Christian just sits there, mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish. Then, his eyes roll back and he topples forward, head thunking down on his desk.

You and Max rush forward. “Uh no, I think we broke him again,” Max winces, gently shaking Christian’s shoulder.

After a few tense seconds, Christian stirs with a groan. “Oww, my head ...”

“You passed out when we told you about the baby,” you explain sheepishly.

Christian blinks blearily up at you both hovering over him anxiously. “The baby ... so it’s really true then?”

You place a hand on your stomach. “Yep! There’s going to be a little Verstappen running around in around seven and a half months.”

Despite his obvious shock, Christian manages a weak smile. “Well how about that ... we’re expanding the Red Bull family.”

Max claps him on the back. “I know it seems a bit crazy but we’re thrilled.” He squeezes your hand and smiles softly.

Christian lets out a long breath, straightening his rumpled shirt. “Well, I appreciate you both coming to me first this time. We’ll need to strategize how to share the happy news.”

You can’t resist teasing him gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll do our best to avoid making you faint again in the future.”

Christian levels a stern finger at you both. “See that you do. My heart can only take so much.” But his mock glare melts into a warm smile.

You exchange a grin with Max.

It turns out that sometimes what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas … but neither of you is going to complain about that.

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babyleostuff · 3 months

Text

stupid in love | jeon wonwoo

song rec: stupid in love

fluff 𐙚 established relationship 𐙚 idol!wonwoo x gn!reader 𐙚 wc: 928

“why don’t we get married in las vegas?”

you looked over at your boyfriend who was doing his usual gaming business, while you laid on the bed upside down with your head hanging down from the edge of the bed, bored out of your mind.

“whatever you want baby,” he sighed, clearly not paying attention to what you had just said. your boyfriend wasn’t the type to make rash decisions, especially when it came to something as important as marriage, hell - he was scared of getting married, so it was clear as day that he was ignoring you.

you pursed your lips, and rolled your eyes annoyed. your plan on pranking wonwoo clearly wasn’t working, and sadly that was your last idea of keeping yourself occupied while your boyfriend was busy playing cute cat games instead of spending time with you.

“it’s not like we need a guest list, right?”

he only hummed in agreement, still not paying much attention to your words.

“mingyu could be the groomsman,” you kept talking to yourself, twirling one of your hair strands around your finger. “oh, and we could get matching tattoos! that’d be so much-”

“we could get what?” wonwoo turned around in his chair at the speed of light, looking at you with pure horror in his eyes.

“seriously? out of everything i’ve been saying for the past twenty minutes that’s what you chose to hear?” you huffed, and pulled yourself up to sit properly on the bed, fixing the sleeves of the sweater you stole from him.

“chose to hear?” he tilted his head, and took off his headphones, looking at you with the biggest puppy eyes. now he’s giving you the full attention. bastard. “i’ve been listening to you for the whole time, honey.”

liar.

“okay,” you smiled innocently, walking over to where he was sitting. two can play this game. “so who do you want to be your groomsman? i was thinking mingyu, but you know,” you sighed dramatically, cupping his cheek. “maybe you don’t agree with me, maybe you want someone else.”

you plopped down on his lap, still cupping his cheek to make sure his eyes were on you, although that wasn’t really necessary anymore. wonwoo was looking at you with big, scared eyes with his glasses at the tip of his nose. it seemed that the word “groomsman” had caught his attention now.

“and after the wedding we could get matching tattoos,” your hands quickly found their way into his hair that was getting so long. not that you were complaining. “as a wedding gift,” you smiled sweetly at him, kissing his nose.

even though his eyes were screaming send help, your boyfriend looked like the cutest bean ever. sometimes it was worth being a menace.

“baby you know i love you,” he said slowly, obviously trying to figure out how to tell you that he did in fact not want to get married in las vegas without hurting your feelings. “and you know i’d do anything for you,” he continued, mirroring you and cupping your cheek as well.

“but don’t you think it’s a bit too soon to think about marriage? and no offense, but i don’t want mingyu to be my groomsman,” he swallowed nervously waiting for your reaction.

wonwoo frowned as you bursted out laughing, your whole body literally shaking. you buried your face in his neck, and wrapped your arms tightly around his broad shoulders. “why are you laughing? stop making fun of me,” you could hear the cute pout in his voice, something that happened a lot more lately.

“i’m not making fun of you, i promise,” you cooed, kissing his cheek. “i was just trying to get your attention.”

“why didn’t you just tap me on the shoulder or something? you really scared me with all of that marriage talk!” he exclaimed, trying his best to look offended.

“and where’s the fun in that, hm?” you smiled and tilted your head. “besides, you heard only the last part of my “marriage talk”, jeon wonwoo, so don’t be a baby about it.”

he sighed, running his thumb over your cheek. “sorry i wasn’t paying attention to you, i jus-”

“it’s okay,” you laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “i was just bored, and in a mood to annoy you. don’t worry about the whole marriage thing, i was just joking. besides, las vegas is the last place we’re getting married,” you bumped your nose with his, and heard him exhale in relief.

“you know,” he murmured, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “valentine's day is coming up and i have a few days off from work then, and you've always wanted to see paris, so maybe instead of the wedding in las vegas, we could fly to paris for a few days?”

you placed your chin on his chest looking up at him. “what did i do to deserve you?”

“i’m asking myself the same question everyday.”

you both stared at each other for a moment before you both burst out laughing again.

"that was so corny, jeez," you snorted, finally adjusting your boyfriend's glasses, pushing them further up his nose. wonwoo just shook his head and kissed your cheek.

“but if i'm being honest," he said shyly. "no matter how much i fear marriage, i can't wait for the day when we share the last name,” wonwoo cupped your cheeks again, pulling your face to his until his lips were hovering over yours.

“i’m just so stupid in love with you.”

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @soul-is-a-strange-kid @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday

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skzdarlings · 1 year

Text

04. sharing a bed series ; skz ; hyunjin

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 4/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: sexual content. friends2lovers, sharing a bed trope. penetrative sex n the pull out method lol. also hyunjin n reader were drugged the night before, premise is based around them getting married in vegas under the influence and not remembering how it happened in the morning. drama llama antics ensue.

Hyunjin has the heart of a sentimental corvid; he loves his people, but he’s weird and sneaky about it. His propensity for dramatics is only in certain situations and the rest of the time he is quiet and tends to balk at grand displays. He definitely does not like cuddling or hugging. He will only begrudgingly suffer through it when his more physically affectionate friends get the bright idea to attack him with their loving arms.

So you are wildly confused when you wake up in your hotel room with Hyunjin plastered to you, hugging you so tightly that you are halfway convinced he glued himself there. His chin is nestled on your shoulder, his breath coming softly against your neck. The hood of his grey sweatshirt is pulled over his head but some of his long blonde hair still falls on your face. You blow at it unsuccessfully, getting some in your eye. He holds you tighter.

What the hell?

You arrived in Las Vegas yesterday and while most of last night is a foggy blur, you do remember the room had two twin beds. Sure enough, there is a second bed just a few feet from yours, the covers completely untouched. The neatly made bed is a stark contrast to the mess of your bed: the duvet sliding off the foot, the pillows on the floor, the bedding partially untucked. All the sheets are wrapped around your body like a cocoon while a shivering Hyunjin clings to you, presumably for warmth.

You try to roll over but your bedsheet-burrito has you trapped, never mind Hyunjin’s death grip of a spoon.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper. “I can’t breathe.”

He grumbles and squeezes you, making you squeak.

“Hyunjin,” you say, a bit louder. “Wake up.”

He groans in his sleep and buries his face further in your neck. His nuzzling sends shivers shooting down your spine.

“Hyunjin.” It comes out like a croak. You try wriggling your shoulders. “Hyunjin, wake up!”

He makes a disgruntled sound but doesn’t move.

“Oh my god,” you say. “How are you such a bitch even when sleeping? Wake up!”

When he stays sleeping, you are forced to take drastic action. You turn your face and blow, hard. His face scrunches up and he finally stirs.

“Ew,” he says, slowly blinking his eyes open. His mouth draws into a sour pout, his brow tight. “Stop. Your breath is so disgusting.”

“Ahem.”

He makes a fist and rubs his eyes. His dark brows are still furrowed but there is modicum of clarity when he looks at you. It takes a minute to fully register your proximity, his eyes flicking here and there. Finally, they open wide.

With remarkable speed, Sleepy Hyunjin concedes leeway to Drama Queen Hyunjin. He mewls like a frightened cat, ripping away so quickly that it knocks the air out of you with an oof.

“What—” he starts.

He is interrupted when his thrashing makes him slide. You are still bundled in your bedsheet-prison and can only watch as the clumsy oaf slides backwards right off the bed. All those long limbs make a frantic windmill as he shrieks on his way down, hitting the floor with a heavy crash and groan.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Ugh,” he replies. “My head.”

“Are you dying?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well, when you’re done, come help me.”

His hand appears first, thumping onto the messy bed. His head follows with an exhausted peek over the mattress. His hood has fallen back and his long hair is infuriatingly neat considering everything. Hyunjin is so beautiful that it is ridiculous. All he does is run his long fingers through his hair, shake his head a little, and he looks picture perfect.

“You’re staring,” he says with a scowl.

“It’s because you’re so ugly,” you say.

“Liar,” he says. He makes a V with his fingers and licks between them. “I’m sexy and you love me.”

He is correct, so it is only natural that you try biting him.

You chomp at him when he approaches, threatening to bite his fingers when they get too close to your face. He pinches your nose between two knuckles and squeezes.

“Hyunjiiiiin, staaawp,” you say in a nasally whine.

He does, but only after playfully snapping his own jaws in your direction.

“I should just leave you here and have a peaceful day,” he says.

“I’ll kill you and bury you in the desert.”

“Gross. Can’t you bury me on the strip?”

“I’m gonna feed your carcass to some desert scorpions.”

“Ew.”

It takes some effort, but Hyunjin manages to find where your blanket-burrito starts. He grabs it and tugs like the annoying bimbo he is. Your protest comes too late and he whips the blanket open, sending you flying off the bed. You land with a heavy thud of your own.

“Oops,” he says. He rustles through the sheets to peer over the edge of the bed. “Are you okaaaa—whaaaat are you wearing?”

You were already dizzy before Hyunjin decided to throw you around like a human tennis ball, but now it’s even worse.

You have no idea what happened last night but it clearly involved a hit of something way, way, way stronger than usual. It takes you a minute to come back to reality. After shaking your head a few times, you are able to push yourself into a sitting position. You finally look down.

You freeze.

“Hyunjin,” you say. “What the fuck am I wearing?”

“That’s what I just—”

“Hyunjin. What the fuck am I wearing?!”

It is an utterly useless question because it is abundantly obvious that you are wearing a wedding dress. A big, poofy, princess wedding dress with giant puffed up 1980s sleeves and enough cleavage on display that Hyunjin almost falls off the bed because he is tilting his head so much.

You yank up the skirt as if that will offer any answers. You find a pair of white stockings, one still neatly clipped to a thigh garter and the other halfway down your calf. You stare at that stocking for a long moment, the vaguest recollection of something fighting its way through the fog of your druggy, drunk memory.

“Uh,” Hyunjin says.

You look up at him but his eyes are downturned to his own wrist. You look there, your own eyes widening when you see what he sees.

Your missing garter is looped around his wrist like a silky white bracelet.

An image comes flooding back. The periphery is still in smog, but you distinctly remember Hyunjin kneeling in front of you, gathering his long hair into a ponytail as he smirked up at you. You remember him lifting your skirt, his head disappearing under the pile of white lace.

You look at each other at the same time. Did he just have the same memory? Does he remember more? You have no idea and you can’t bring yourself to ask. Your voice is shot to hell, swallowed up by the heart that seems to have jumped into your throat.

The silence is tense. It is hotter than the desert in here.

“We didn’t…?” he finally says, pointing between the two of you.

“No way,” you say. It sounds very uncertain.

He lifts his other hand to tuck some hair behind his ears. That’s when you see it. Hyunjin wears so many rings so often that you completely missed it at first. But right now his hands are bare save for one unfamiliar ring in a very particular spot.

Hyunjin follows the trajectory of your horrified gaze and freezes when he spots the wedding ring. He slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“Oh my god,” you say. You are afraid to check your own hand but it is imperative. Hyunjin looks at you, his shocked hand still covering his mouth. Together, you watch as your hand shakily rises out of the pile of white princess lace.

There is a wedding ring on your finger too.

You and Hyunjin scream at the same time, him clapping both hands over his ears as he hollers and you shaking your head and kicking your feet. After your mini-freak out, you wave your hands to silence him.

“Stop, stop!” you say. “It’s okay. Be calm. Be quiet. This is okay.”

“We got married,” he wails, dragging his fingers down his face. “My mom is gonna kill me.”

“Your mom? YOUR MOM? Hyunjin, I’m gonna kill you before you even leave this city, so don’t fucking worry about your mom.” You mime throttling him because he is too far to reach.

Hyunjin flops down on the bed. He lays on his back with his arms folded like he is ready to be mummified.

“Oh my gawd,” he says. “Oh my gawwwd…”

“Look, we might not have even done it,” you say. It takes a lot of effort and you fall on your ass twice, but you manage to stagger ungracefully to your feet. “Some rings and a dress don’t mean anything. We were probably just goofing around. What do you remember?”

He is still in a mummification pose, his eyes closed.

“Nothing,” he says. He frowns. “No, wait. You were hitting on some ugly bitch of a man and didn’t listen to me, as usual, and the loser put something in your drink so I drank it to prove a point. But then you still drank it because you’re the worst, and I dragged you out of there.” He covers his face with both hands. “Then we got married and ruined our lives.”

“Okay, the last part you don’t know for sure,” you say. You stumble around the bed. “I’m gonna go wash up and clear my head and sort this out, because there’s no way we—” You stop when you spy something sitting on the television stand. It takes a few clumsy steps to reach, but you get there.

“Uh oh,” you say.

“Is that a marriage certificate?” Hyunjin asks.

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.” He rolls over so he is facedown on the bed, his voice muffled by the messy blankets. “I love this.”

“I’m gonna… go… wash up still,” you stay. You sigh and gather up your dress to stomp over to the bathroom door.

“Brush your teeth,” Hyunjin says. “Your breath is gross.”

“I hope you suffocate over there and make me a widow.” You close the door with a pointed shove.

You want to disobey him on principle, but there is a truly nasty taste in your mouth so you brush your teeth before anything else. You avoid your reflection for as long as possible because the crazed madwoman in the mirror is a terrifying sight to behold.

You reckon with her monstrous appearance eventually, tidying up as best you can. You remove the stockings and garter, gulping when the memory returns. You splash a lot of cold water on your face and it helps ground you.

Just as you begin to feel cleansed, you feel an itch on your throat. You crane your neck and tentatively touch the sensitive indentation, the raised bruising of a hickey. Touching it awakens another memory, one that strikes hot at your core.

Hyunjin. You. This hotel room. He pressed you against the door and caged you in, forearms on either of your head. Despite his presence looming over you, you did not feel nervous. You touched him as if that intimacy was something you always shared. You remember him cupping your face in one hand and turning your head, him kissing you softly on your temple and cheek, him breathing lightly over your throat before sucking a hard kiss under your jaw. He was all teeth and tongue, drawing moans out of you while you bucked against him. You remember him grinding against you, remember him pinning you to the door. You remember stringing your arms around his neck and him picking you up, then it all goes black again.

You turn away from the mirror, still holding your neck.

Did you… no.

Did you?

No.

You didn’t fuck Hyunjin. No way. You would have remembered that much. If nothing else, there would be evidence now. A used condom or a mess somewhere, a twinge between your legs. You are both fully dressed. You even have underwear on. It’s not the underwear you were wearing when you first left the hotel room, but it is underwear nonetheless.

One thing is certain; you did not go that far. He took a bite out of you and carried you to the bed where you probably passed out. How you got into a blanket-burrito, you are not sure, but at least it protected your dignity. Whatever was left of it, at least.

You step out of the bathroom only to walk straight into a pacing Hyunjin. You bonk heads and cuss each other out, swatting the other person out of your way.

He walks over to the bathroom and is about to step inside when you release a sigh.

“I have a hickey,” you say.

He pauses in the bathroom doorway.

“You gave it to me,” you add.

You cross your arms when he turns around, his gaze suddenly too hard to meet. You tap your foot and stare at the wall.

“I know,” he says. “I remember it.”

That draws your attention. You look right at him and plant your hands on your hips.

“Well, what else do you remember?” you ask.

“I—I—ugh! This is so annoying! Ugh!” He grabs his head and shakes it like a snow globe.

His stupid beautiful hair is barely ruffled and he still looks amazing when he surfaces. He runs his teeth over his plump bottom lip and you suddenly remember him grabbing your face with both hands, him smiling at you as a hot breeze fluttered around you, him holding you steady as he planted a big, wet kiss on you. It makes your whole body lock with tension, barely paying attention to the Hyunjin in front of you now, the Hyunjin on the verge of a meltdown as he intentionally smacks his head against the doorway.

“We came back here,” he says. His whole face is scrunched up with disgust like he just ate something bad. “Then I gave you that.” He slaps a hand over his face. “Then you… tried…” He puts the other hand on his face too.

“I tried what?” you ask, heat creeping your neck.

“You put your hand down my pants,” he croaks, hands over his eyes. “I said we should wait until morning and you started crying. I think you tried to give me a lap dance while crying, actually.” That does sound like you, drugged or not. “Then I…” He points to the messy bed. “I wrapped you in the sheet to protect your honour.”

“My honour? Ewwww. Don’t call it that.”

“I’m gonna go drown myself in the shower.”

“Hyunjin, wait.”

Once more, you stop him before he crosses the door. He sighs and his shoulders deflate. Pushing a hand through his hair, he turns around.

“What?” he says.

“I’ll take care of this, okay,” you say gently. “We weren’t ourselves. Thank you… for taking care of me. Seriously.”

He sniffs and looks aside, the tips of his ears turning red. You try to ignore the pitter-patter of your heart.

“It’s Vegas,” you say. “I bet they have drive-through divorces. I’m just… I’m just sorry this happened.”

“You are?” he says, staring at the ground.

“Of course,” you say with as much sincerity as you can muster. “Hyunjin, I know you. You’re a goofy old romantic. I’m sure you’re not happy about your first technical marriage happening while you were drugged up, and to someone you don’t even love. Right?”

He looks a little panicked when he meets your gaze. It flashes in his eyes for a second, then he looks away. He crosses his arms protectively over his chest.

“Hyunjin,” you say. It feels like someone just lit fireworks in your chest. “You… don’t… love me, right?”

There is a long moment of silence then he throws both hands in the air.

“Why do you say it like that?” he demands. “Would it be that bad if I did?”

“What.” Your jaw falls open. “You love me?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Sorry for inconveniencing you with my goofy romantic feelings.” He snarls at you. “It just happened. If I could have stopped it, I would have, but I can’t. So live with it.”

“What kind of love confession is this? You’ve watched like a million romance dramas and that’s what you come up with?”

“I’m a painter, not a poet. Good-bye.” He is quick this time, jumping into the bathroom and slamming the door closed.

It leaves you standing there, jaw still hanging open.

Hyunjin loves you.

Of course Hyunjin loves you. How could you be so stupid? All this time, you had yourself convinced your best friend was unattainable because he’s the most gorgeous creature on earth, but all this time he loved you and you didn’t even notice. He drank a drugged drink just to protect you. He got a bit nutty in the head and married you, but even at his most fucked up, some intrinsic part of him sprung to your defense. No matter how out of his mind, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything that could potentially hurt you.

Oh my god.

Hyunjin loves you. You love Hyunjin.

You are pacing when Hyunjin exits the bathroom and smacks into you. You bonk heads and curse, again, then he brushes past without saying anything more. You watch him go to the clean bed, watch him fold back the covers. He takes off his hoodie and his pants. Despite how many times you have casually dressed down around each other, this time you find yourself looking away, hot in the face. When you look back, he is in a t-shirt and his boxers, sliding under the covers.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“Going back to sleep,” he says. “I’m tired.”

He doesn’t look at you once. He rolls onto his side and faces the wall, laying stiff as a board.

You touch a finger to the mark on your neck and shiver.

“Hyunjin,” you say, to which he just grunts in reply. “I want to sleep too. I’m sorry, but can you help me with the dress?”

He exhales and closes his eyes, shoulders dropping, but then he flips the covers down and gets out of bed. He still doesn’t meet your gaze. His strides are long and quick and, before you can blink, he is in front of you.

You open your mouth to speak but he grabs you and spins you around. It feels like an electric zap from your heart to your pussy, hands instinctively clutching your chest in surprise.

You can feel him fiddling with a few buttons, muttering expletives to himself.

He is still wearing the ring. So are you.

“Hyunjin,” you say softly. “I love you too.”

He has his fingers on the zipper. He stops.

“What?” he asks. He stops touching you entirely so you look back at him. He is tucking hair behind both ears, shaking his head. “Don’t just… say it,” he says, still staring sideways. “That’s worse than not hearing it.”

“Hyunjin,” you say. At least he looks at you this time, even if it is with uncharacteristic uncertainty. You smile at him. “Unzip me please.”

You turn back around, chewing on your bottom lip.

It takes a second, but Hyunjin does what you asked. You feel one hand on your back, the other circling the zipper. He tugs it down slowly and you shiver as the cool air conditioned air kisses your back. His fingers brush your bare skin when releasing the zipper.

“Thank you,” you say, glancing back at him.

He nods curtly and spins around. You smile, watching him march back to the bed. You turn your back to him when you let the dress drop, then you remove your bra. His open luggage is nearby so you slip a t-shirt out of the suitcase. It smells like him, his favourite cologne, and that alone gets you hot.

With a final tug on the hem of the t-shirt, you turn and walk up to the bed he is in. He is sitting upright but under the covers, his hands folded neatly in his lap while he stares at you.

“Can I sleep here too?” you ask. “The other bed is a mess.”

He nods. A second ago, he refused to look at you and now he can’t stop staring. It makes you grin, beaming at him as you slide under the covers.

“You’re staring,” you say.

“I’m not,” he lies, still staring at you. He slumps against the headboard and slides down until he is laying flat. His hair pools around him on the pillow. Ridiculously gorgeous man.

You lean over him, staring back. You rest a hand on his chest and can feel his heart palpitating as quickly as your own.

“You are staring,” you say, then giggle a little because his expression is still wide-eyed. “You look like you’ve never seen a woman in bed before, and I know that’s not true.”

You say it jokingly but he doesn’t laugh. He tilts his head, his expression softening. His tongue touches his upper lip then he smiles at you.

“Not like this,” he says with heart-stopping sincerity. “Not you. Not… my wife.”

Oh god. People always act like there is something supremely unsexy about wife or husband, some stagnant nothingness that kills sex appeal. But the second he says that word, it feels like an electric storm ignites between the two of you. His gaze is dark, his breathing hard, his heart still pounding under your palm. You suck in a deep breath, a shuddering release. You are already aching.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper.

His hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. It passes over your bottom lip and tugs at it. It feels like you have a heartbeat between your legs.

“Fuck,” you say, and swing yourself over him.

He makes a noise the second you are straddling him, both his hands dropping to hold your hips. You lean down, your hands on either side of his head. His eyes are already closed when you start kissing him. You rock against him, feel him getting harder in his boxers as his hands run up and down your thighs.

The kiss breaks for a second, just to breathe, and he sighs.

“Good,” he says. “You brushed your teeth.”

“You are soooo…” You try to sound annoyed but it’s impossible. He laughs, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Ughhh, the worst!”

You roll off him as if you have any intention of denying him, but he doesn’t give you a chance to tease him. He just follows, rolling on top of you so it’s you pinned under him, the weight of him between your open legs. He goes right back to kissing you, taking his time, almost torturously slow while pressed so intimately against you. He licks into your mouth, nips at your bottom lip, steals your breath and comes back for more.

“Hyunjin.” You are out of breath. You grab his face with both hands, gasping against his open mouth.

“Mm?” he replies, pecking your lips.

A part of you thinks you could lie in bed all day doing nothing but kiss Hyunjin. Just a small part. The rest of you is burning up with the need for much, much more.

“Make love to me,” you whisper. His breath stutters. “Please,” you say.

He nods frantically. If you weren’t so hazy with want, it might have made you laugh. As it is, you string your arms around his neck and pull him down for another kiss. This one gets heated quickly, wet and sloppy and pressed messily to the corner of your mouths, your hands moving over each other, trying to find the hems of your shirts without breaking apart.

It happens in a frenzy, but you somehow get down to just your underwear. His boxers land on the lamp and the shirts could have flown out the window for all that you care. He is laving kisses all over your body and you are so wound up that you get a little teary, arching under him and tugging on his hair.

“Hyunjin, please,” you say, dragging your nails up his back. “I need you.”

He looks up at you. You smile and bite your lower lip.

“I need my husband,” you say.

You are pretty sure you can visibly see his brain short-circuiting. The next second, he is fully above you, pulling your panties down your hips. It stays hooked around one ankle but the thought of it leaves your mind quickly. He slides his hands under your thighs and spreads you open, leaning down to kiss you as he finally eases inside you.

You both look down at where he inside you. It feels like your clit is jumping for attention, your whole body shaking when he gently rubs you there while sinking fully in.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says, mostly to himself once he fully inside you. He closes his eyes and breathes a little harder. “Don’t move,” he says. He leans down so his chest is against yours, your faces close. “If you do, this is gonna be over really quickly.”

“Really?” you say with a giggle, pleased he is as unravelled as you.

He just nods, his eyes still closed. You kiss his cheek and hold the back of his neck, stroking there lightly and giving him a minute.

“Feels good,” you say, because it does, even just like this, pressed so tightly together, him so full and hard inside you.

He just groans, dropping his face to the crook of your neck and shoulder. You rake your fingers through the hair at his nape when he rocks a testing thrust into you. You have only just adjusted when those hips starting rocking with fluid determination, rolling steady and deep. He feels almost impossibly good inside you, driving you into the mattress again and again.

“Oh my god,” you squeak, putting both arms around his neck and clinging tight. “Hyunjin.”

He just makes noise, unintelligible sounds that make him sound crazy despite how deftly he is moving. You feel a bit crazy yourself, blinking at him with your mouth open when he lifts his head. He kisses you, swallowing up your gasping moans, and presses his forehead to yours. For someone who claimed to be close, he lasts a long time at a steady pace, the subtle, corded muscles of his slender frame holding taut as he moves.

“Touch yourself,” he says, and kisses you without waiting for an answer.

You kiss him back, very messily at that, but you do what he said. You lick your fingertips and slide that shaking hand between your bodies, getting yourself off just seconds before his hips get erratic and he has to pull out. He strokes himself to completion just over you, coming on your thighs. He manages to reserve his strength long enough to gather you in his arms and roll over. He guides you to rest on top of him, your face in his sweaty neck and your rising-and-falling chest against his own.

“Why haven’t we been doing that for years?” you mumble.

He laughs, his hand flying to his face to cover his mouth while he giggles. The ring catches your eye and you reach for that hand. He gets quiet, watching you.

You lace your fingers with his, looking at the ring then looking up at him.

“We’re a little crazy if we stay like this,” you say.

He leans in and kisses you for so long that you almost forget what you were saying. You remember when he smiles down at you, when he squeezes your hand, when he leans in and says, “That’s okay. I like a little crazy.”

In agreement, you smile back.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut

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