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wraithdance · 1 month

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The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Synopsis: When your fiancé breaks up with you, you start to question your timeline; who needs a man when you can have a baby yourself? Who better to ask for help on creating one than your arch-nemesis Kyle Garrick?

Note: F!Reader, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: none; besides a terrible grasp of british-isms

Chapter One: Piss off Kyle

It was while sitting beneath the awning of your favorite bistro that you’d come to a great realization. Hugo Montclair, your fiance of three years, was not just a bore but a bit of a jackass.

Also, the lavender cake was no longer listed on Le Misa’s menu. So, technically two great realizations. As bad as it sounded, one concerned you more than the other.

Squinting you give the laminated sheet another thorough read to confirm your suspicions and… ah, yes. It’s not there. Where it should be between the ladies fingers and the lemon cake is an empty, discolored space.

With a manicured finger you chip away at the corners to reveal the sloping letter ‘L’ beneath the meticulously placed correction tape.

This was no good.

“Siggy, darling have you heard a word I said?”

You hum in reply, still deeply baffled with the current conundrum. Hugo calls your name again, not satisfied until you’ve given him your attention.

He leans his head down to be in your line of sight. He’s a bit too blonde and polished for you not to focus your attention on. Like a shiny beacon. You try not to sigh deeply and instead plaster on a smile.

“Yes, I heard you darling, you want to break up because you’re seeing Maddie from downstairs.”

Hugo extends his dainty manicured hands across the small table to cover yours above the menu.

“I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you this way.”

His eyes are carefully soft and his expression does that awkward stretch people do when attempting to project a facsimile of contriteness. In this case it just makes the skin around his mouth pucker oddly, displacing the filler he swears he gets for preventive measures.

You pat his hand politely with a smile “It’s fine, Hugo, really. Do you think I can borrow your menu? I think there's been a bit of a mistake.”

You are sliding the paper to your side of the table before you can finish the sentence. Hugo is a bit taken aback and blanches.

Another sweeping glance at Hugo’s menu reveals much of the same.

There’s no lavender cake.

“Look, I know this is hard to take in but I want us to try to at least be amicable. We’ve been together for years and your parents and friends adore me.”

At this you snort but quickly cover it with a cough. Your parents tolerated him at best and your friends had made it well known they disapproved of Hugo. (Something about being a posh chihuahua enamored with its own self importance.)

You frown thinking of the dramatics his mother would put on inevitably, so sure you’d ruined the engagement to her son on purpose.

But really what could you do?

It wasn’t the most convenient thing to have your boss's beloved son kick you to the metaphorical curb, but technically you were the one who had been cheated on. Totally not your fault this time!

“I said I got it, you can’t help who you love and etcetera.” You give a cluck of your tongue before looking up once more hoping to catch the circling barista's eye.

The mid afternoon lunch crowd at Le Misa’s is blessedly tame for a Thursday. The gloomy weather outside makes it easier to spot the jittery teen in a crimson red apron. The poor girl is glued to a corner, hunched over and clutching a notepad in white knuckle grip.

She sees you shift in her periphery and snaps terrified eyes to your half raised arm. You do your best to smile sans teeth as you wave her over, coaxing her closer with small fluid movements.

You hope you’re projecting calming vibes because she looks a bit green around the gills from the very thought of being needed by a customer.

When she’s meters from your table you lean forward, your tits and belly squash a bit over the table causing your empty saucer to clatter before settling. Hugo, despite his offended chittering, stops long enough to stare at your chest. With a roll of your eyes you ignore his open panting. Typical.

“Hi darling,” you chirp in an octave higher than your usual. “I just had a quick question about the cakes? There used to be a lavender one here, I’ve been ordering it for years. Can you tell me what happened to it?”

“Um w-well.” The trembling girl blinks are twitchy and rapid, sputtering out um’s and oh’s.

‘Oh, no’ you think to yourself.

You might have broken her. Still, you nod your head in support waiting for her to gather her wits. The poor thing was obviously a new employ with a bitch of a case of social anxiety.

Your efforts are for nothing in the end because a loud clearing throat causes you both to freeze, just as it’s seem she’d gotten up her courage.

Your cheek ticks as you watch the skittish girl clam up again. Hugo’s gaze has pried off your cleavage long enough to laser something disapproving and pointed at the side of your forehead.

He’s even doing that thing with his face that you’ve always hated. His cheeks suck in like a goldfish and he does the eyebrow raise and head cock that screams ‘I am very displeased.’

“What? I just need to ask her something. I'll be just a sec.”

Hugo’s frown only deepens and he lets out the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard from a thirty two year old man.

It causes you to roll your eyes. Really, why couldn’t he just break up with you through text? This whole kerfuffle was starting to drag on and ruin your already limited lunch hour.

What happened to just saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me?’ or ghosting like a normal person?

You give the hovering teenager a tight smile and lift a single manicured finger to signify the need for a moment. She scurries back into the safety of the French doors into the cafe's interior before your hand has a chance to lower.

“Hugo darling,” Your tone is careful, neutral like the one you use to disarm your irate clients.

“I’m really not upset I promise, we’d barely begun planning the wedding and we never got around to moving in with each other. Really there’s no harm-”

“She's pregnant.” he blurts out suddenly.

A record scratches in your brain because, “What?”

Hugo grimaces. “She’s about three months pregnant. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

One blink. Two… before you’re sure there wasn’t a punchline coming.

“Are you taking the piss right now?”

“Sweetheart,” His hands raise in defense “don’t get upset-”

“Oh what the actual FUCK Hugo? You told me you wanted to wait until marriage before considering children!” Your hiss is low and dark.

More than a small part of you is satisfied with his flinch back to avoid your venom. You're slightly aware of the scene you’re causing but really! The man had kept his sperm under lock and key like his swimmers were precious jewels!

It’s the one thing he’d put his foot down about, content to let you drive the relationship otherwise.

‘I have to be considerate of my legacy as a Montclair, Siggy.’

‘We can talk about it after the wedding, Siggy.’

You didn’t understand the hang up because the Montclair clan were as distant from the crown as you were to Beyoncé! Still he’d been adamant about not having a child out of wedlock.

You’re not very kind about reminding him of the fact either.

“I did mean that, I swear,” he ruffles his coiffed blonde hair, the pomade holding firm but is no match for the havoc his slender fingers trail. “It just happened and Madelyn and I decided it was a good thing.”

He huffs “I mean let’s be realistic Siggy, she’s different from you. She’s a bit more equipped to take care of a child than you are.”

Oh ho! Now that was rich. You were chomping at the bit to hear how the barely legal heiress was better equipped to birth a baby than you were!

“How so!” Your tone is one translating the utmost disbelief and sarcasm.

Hugo waves a hand in the air, it’s so dismissive and you consider punching him in the nose for it. “She’s just much more flexible.”

Well ouch?

There’s a Rolodex of adjectives your litany of exes used to describe you before they dumped you.

Uptight, strict, aloof, intense. ‘Heartless harpy who feeds on the souls of innocent men’.

The last one came from a starving poet who’d been freeloading on your nice suede green couch before you'd kicked him and his lute out. How you managed to find the one man in London with dreams of being a modern day bard, who knows.

(You did admire his ways with words and his tongue was capable of art). It had admittedly stung a bit more than the others and you needed an extra hen session with the girls to unpack the resulting feels.

Nonetheless, you’ve never been called inflexible.

Matter of fact, you were pretty fucking flexible! Your Pilates teacher had crowed about it several times during class, thank you very much. (Maybe he was just trying to get you to put out but still, a compliment was a compliment.)

Momentarily you consider if that was actually supposed to be a dig at your weight but Hugo frantically rambles on as if reading your mind.

“I just mean that you work long hours at Mum’s firm and you’ve told me yourself you wouldn’t stop working even if you were pregnant.”

“So what!”

“So, that’s an awful way to raise a child Siggy! Madelyn works for herself and has the time to dedicate to a baby that you don’t.”

“Of course she has the time!” you cry out in exasperation, ignoring Hugo’s shushing. If he wanted you to react better he shouldn’t have dropped this bomb in public!

“She teaches yoga to the elderly in her perfect fucking apartment! I’ve been a barrister for all of 2 seconds and I can’t just give up my position!”

Hugo rolls his eyes with the dramatic flare only an aristocrat could pull off. “I’ve been trying to work on our relationship for months; you’ve blown me off every time saying you were working or there was a crisis with your friends.”

“I thought proposing would change things but…” The sad look does make some guilt well up into your veins.

Hugo’s shoulder drop and his blue eyes are a bit misty. It makes your throat close with panic. Hugo was prone to sobbing and you really needed to intercept that train before it derailed.

“Hugo-”

“It doesn’t even feel like you like me sometimes!” He’s hiccuping and throwing his hands in the air in exasperation before you know it.

Oh for fucks sake!

“It’s like you view me as more of a convenience than a partner. I’ve only ever seen you truly happy over coupons or work or cakes!”

Fat tears roll down his face and you’re handing him your linen napkin with a sigh. He thanks you and blows his nose loudly enough for other tables to glance your way. Wonderful.

When he composes himself you try to refute him.

“Hugo, that's not true, I like you,” His gives you a look of complete disbelief that sets you on the defense. “Really I do! I just…”

Your brows furrow as words evade you. You really wish he would have just broken up with you via text.

“I show it differently that’s all.” Your shoulders sag in defeat.

Hugo gives you a sad smile. It’s watery and his face is still a bit splotchy.

“But not like Madelyn does. Be honest, did you ever love me?”

You feel like an absolute bitch because you can’t answer him. After a while you both accept that it was about as much as you could say.

It’s only when you’re halfway to the office that you realize you never did get an answer about the cake.

Kyle Garrick had a radar for when you were about to make a fool of yourself. The man had somehow been privy to every embarrassing moment you’ve had in your shared building. You couldn’t prove it, but he had to have some kind of sixth sense for your personal humiliation.

There was no other explanation because the entire six years you’d lived across from him, he was always conveniently near when shit went awry.

Like that time you locked yourself out wearing only a ratty towel when reaching for a parcel. His stupidly pretty face only twitched in amusement seeing you hunched over and dripping wet.

You’d been attempting to jimmy the cheap lock with a stray paper clip you found discarded nearby. It hadn’t gone well, as you’d been more focused on trying to keep your tits and thighs within the thin, cotton fabric.

(They really should make towels for bigger girls more accessible, honestly it was ridiculous!)

It hadn’t been your finest moment but he could have had the decency to look away. Instead, he leaned his broad shoulder against his doorway, content to watch you struggle.

You’d snapped at him asking what his problem was and his only reply was ‘nippy in here, isn’t it?’

He did eventually help you break into your flat, but only after you’d called him as many names as you could think of. He’d waited out your tantrum without as much of a twitch. He’d simply taken the paper clip from you and sank to the floor in front of the doorknob.

His big hands were surprisingly much more dexterous than yours. You’d never admit to the lump in your throat or the shudder starting at your toes while staring at the long brown digits.

It didn’t help that his whiskey colored eyes bore into yours with an unspoken question when you made a panicked sound. The side of his head had grazed your breasts and the back of the hand holding your towel when he shifted on his knees. The light touch was clearly accidental, but still molten lava shot through you like a rocket on fire.

Intrusive thoughts of him kneeling before you in another context caused you to choke on your saliva. You tried so hard to clear your throat subtly but an embarrassing wheezing sound still managed to escape. Add insult to injury, the infuriating man had to pat your back when your body wracked with coughs.

You weren’t proud that you told him to fuck right off when he finally got the door open. You ignored his sarcastic ‘You’re welcome, luv” and slammed the door in his smug face.

That was nearly two years ago and the start of your vendetta against the irritating neighbor.

Per usual, he finds you just outside your doorway causing a scene. This time, you’re being clung to by your now ex-fiancés mistress.

Madelyn’s wails are loud, keening things that are razor sharp against your eardrums. Her tearful pleading is loud enough for you to miss the ding of the elevator as it stops on your floor.

Kyle strides from the lift like a living bronzed Adonis.

With gritted teeth you curse every deity known to mankind.

Wonderful. Truly, amazing actually!

He’s clearly coming back from a run, His arms are comically large and gleaming with a thin layer of sweat on his brown skin. You’re able to make out the intricate tattooed shield containing the numbers ‘141’ on his bicep. It’s the first you’d seen of it (not that you were keeping an eye out for it before).

His sleeveless jumper is damp and half zipped to show off a view of his firm pectorals and the first row of his 6-pack. You’re about to peak lower to his loose gym shorts when he catches your stray perusal and raises a singular brow.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Just peachy, Kyle, thank you.” you snipe in a clipped tone. “Please feel free to run along.”

Your snarky dismissal is prickly enough that most people would call you a cunt but would blessedly sod off.

The disgustingly fit nuisance just removes his headphones from around the cartilage of his ears and continues to linger just outside his door with crossed arms. Behind Madelyn’s trembling back you make a harried shoo-ing gesture. It’s meant to somehow relay that you had everything under control.

You did not of course, but the last thing you could stand right now is Kyle fucking Garrick in the mix of this shit-show. No matter how angelic the bastard looked in the dim lighting of the hallway, he had an uncanny ability to piss on all of your emotional reserves.

“Siggy!” Madelyn’s blubbering cuts off Kyle's next words. “I’m so, SO sorry!” She immediately descends into another fit of sobs against your cleavage.

There’s a bit of an awkward lull when Kyle snorts out a laugh.“You think she can breathe in there?”

With closed eyes you lean your head back to look at the ceiling, shooting a ‘fuck you very much’ to the universe.

You’d come home 20 minutes prior with murderous miasma cloaking you like a second skin. After being publicly dumped (without even the comfort of sweets to soothe the humiliation) you’d gone straight back to work just to deal with piles upon piles of paperwork.

Your only reprieve was Hugo’s mother canceling her standing appointment with you. You’d still been forced to work with the old woman’s assistant and to your disdain, he was just as persnickety as his employer.

By the time you’d made it home on aching feet and a splitting headache your thoughts were filled with the desire to stuff yourself with a big fat American cheeseburger. Specifically one from the shady shop around the corner that you suspect may be a mafia front. They made damn good cheeseburgers though.

Your mind had then of course wondered to the possibility of being caught up in a police raid and if ‘wanting to support local business’ be a good enough excuse to get you off the hook.

It’s how you missed the pint sized ambush lying in wait for you.

Madelyn had been planted outside your door in electric pink spandex and light up sneakers. She’d spotted you coming out of the lift and attached herself onto you before you could make a proper run for it.

Since then you’d been stuck holding her instead of the greasy end of a heart attack masquerading as a sandwich. Fat tears continue to wet the collar of the fleece outer coat you’d nabbed at a bargain sale.

“How long has she been like this?” Kyle asks with a raised brow.

Ignoring him, you do your best to wrestle Madelyn’s stiff form back enough to meet her eyes.

The younger girl’s face is red and splotchy, snot and mascara darkened tears stain her usually fair skin. Her mousy brown hair could use a wash as well but you aren’t unkind enough to point it out. Even though she did shag your husband to be, it was clear the girl was torturing herself with guilt.

It is a bit unfair that the smudged makeup does nothing to detract from her beauty, much to your petty disdain.

She’d make gorgeous babies with Hugo…

The thought makes you scowl. It was time to make a retreat.

“Madelyn, I’d really like to get into my flat. I don’t want to speak to you to be honest and I need you to let me go.”

More helpless wailing comes out of the younger woman.

“P-Please Siggy, I just need you to know I never meant for this to happen! Hugo and I tried to keep away from each other and I don't want you to hate me or the b-baby!” By the end she’s blubbering herself into hyperventilation.

From the corner of your eyes you can make out the door of your neighbor adjacent to you crack open. Whipping your neck to get a look at the nosy pissant gets the older woman to slam the door closed with a fearful squeak.

This had gone on too long.

Forcibly you use your hip and extra weight to maneuver the hysterical woman from your person. You hold her flailing arms to prevent her from launching herself back to your front. When she whines you’ve finally reached your breaking point.

“For fucks sake, you’re making a bloody scene!” You bark out, “I don’t care about Hugo!”

Madelyn flinches.

“But you care that we’re having a baby, right?”

It’s only when Madelyn lets out a whine of pain that you notice you’d been holding her thin wrists in a vice-like grip.

A forgotten Kyle chooses that moment to slink closer, his hands cup Madelyn’s shoulder carefully, despite your death glare.

“Maddy, darling, why don’t you let go for me.”

The brunette woman startles having finally noticed his presence in the vicinity.

“Oh, Kyle! I didn’t know you were here!” It’s insulting how quickly she wriggles from your hold to catapult herself into Kyle’s waiting arms.

With disgust you watch Kyle pat the shorter woman’s hair much like one would do a pet. Something about watching him with her makes your hackles rise farther.

“Why don’t you come in and calm down, hm? I’ll make you that tea you like and we can watch something.” Kyle makes a humming noise meant to soothe. It pisses you off but seems to work like a charm.

Madelyn’s sniffles subside dramatically and she rubs her hand across her button nose.

“Yes, that does sound lovely, but I need to talk to Siggy...”

You flinch as the two turn towards you once more. Kyle must see the cornered look in your eyes because he rubs his hands along Madelyn’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear.

Madelyn nods and enters Kyle’s flat without any further hesitation.

It’s like the nearly thirty minutes of being held hostage outside your own home means nothing against his soft words.

God, you hate this man with every fiber of your being.

With a scowl you rummage through your bag for your house keys. Why did you have so many gum wrappers inside? You really need to clean your bag out.

It’s not until you hear a throat clear that you realize Kyle still watches you from the threshold of his home.

“What?” Your tone makes a muscle in his cheek twitch. You hate to say it but it satisfies you to know at least you have some effect on him.

“Are you alright, love?”

That causes you to abandon your search. You squint at his open expression and the genuine concern you see there. It’s unexpected and makes you a bit uncomfortable. How pathetic did you look that even your enemies pity you?

“I’m fine. Not like you actually care anyways.”

The last part was said in a mumble but Kyle’s sharp ears catch it.

“Oy, what is that supposed to mean?” He steps closer to you crowding your space.

Your senses are bombarded by the heady scent of the bergamot and cedar wood notes in his cologne. Coupled with the tangy smell of his natural musk, your brain does that thing where it shuts off and reboots itself.

“Siggy.” Kyle reaches out to touch your arm sending an electric current between you two that causes you to jolt back. He frowns, stepping closer, crowding you before you wield your bag in front of you like a shield and sword.

“Garrick, I really, really don’t want to talk right now.”

“Sig-”

“No, no, no! I don’t want to hear it! I’ve had a shite day and the cause of it is currently waiting for tea and cakes in your flat! I’m the one that deserves bloody tea and cakes for fucks sake!”

Enraged, you shove your hand through your bag and come in contact with the puff ball attached to your keys.

You’re frantically unlocking your door and shoving inside your home, refusing to give the universe another moment to make a mess of your ruined day.

You look at Kyle as he stands in utter confusion and give him the dirtiest look in your arsenal.

“Cheers, I hope you enjoy your sweets with Madelyn but you can piss right off, Kyle!”

You slam the door with finality.

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#the five year plan #I promise there's a point to the cakes conundrum!#baby face #kyle gaz garrick #wraith writes #kyle garrick x black reader #kyle garrick x reader

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