#Questions For Wedding Planners | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

setsugekka · 1 year

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❥of floral lace (m)

↳ Wedding planning is a stressful enough job as it is, without the added trouble of a handsome best man who can't seem to take his attention off of you.

But when it comes to 'meant to be,' maybe he knows something that you just don't quite know yet.

best man!bang chan x wedding planner!fem!reader — strangers to lovers, meet-cute, unrequited (?) pining, explicit sexual content. [11,2k wc] cws: alcohol consumption, protected penetrative sex, Chan wants it bad-bad, a lot of teasing and wanting and flirtatious banter.

In February, the weather is still cold. Bitter and icy, some days. Windy, with occasional snow, and it’s days like this that make it feel as though the warmth of spring and summer may never come. Sometimes, it’s the small reminders that life – the world itself – is ever changing. Spring will always come, winter will always end.

Such is life, isn’t it?

Walking up to the glass and platinum plated front doors of the expensive building, Chan muses the thoughts. Despite it not being for him – simply being an accomplice, of sorts – being involved in the wedding party tends to bring about the thoughts of ones own, personal love life. Life in general. Cycles of love and loss, all encompassing. A tall, white, building in a busy and upper class side of town – not where Chan is from, but where the bride-to-be was from. Completely foreign while simultaneously being familiar in proximity. Stepping forward and reaching for the door with his dominant hand, opening it for the couple and attempting to push his long, blonde hair out of his eyes with his other hand, the woman that his best friend would marry looks towards him kindly and chuckles – a comment about knowing the struggles of women with long hair versus the wind, and Chan smiles in response to her.

He likes her. Always had. Nothing romantic, but he was proud of the choice that his best friend of many years had made in a life partner. Chan often found himself hopeful that he, too, may one day make such a choice for himself.

The three enter the building as he continues the attempt of wrangling his hair – best friend in question, Lee Minho, laughing under his breath as to not disturb the quiet ambiance of the room they had just entered.

“Are you gonna cut it before the wedding?” he asks, lightly nudging Chan in the arm, and Chan looks at him in a slight state of shock, as if the thought had never even dawned on him for a second previously.

“Should I?”

“You don’t have to.”

Looking around, briefly at their surroundings: white furnishings, carpeting, walls – gold accenting mostly, with hints of forest green among the well-kept plants and coming together along the counter outline of the desk – he feels wholly out of place. It was much too expensive for him, and if he ever were to be planning a wedding in the future, it likely would not be here.

He brings himself back to the conversation, “does she want me to?” referring to the bride in question, and Minho only shakes his head. “No, she doesn’t mind.”

“I’ll be with you in just a second!”

A woman’s voice calls from another room – back behind the desk they stand before. Beige envelopes and paperwork lightly strewn across it; it’s somewhat messy, but nothing completely unmanageable, and the phone begins to ring at that moment.

Chan hears the same voice that had just called to them curse lightly under it’s breath. He cracks a smile at the break in character, as it were.

It’s in that moment that he finally lays eyes on you – beige pant-suit and hair in a ponytail, pen in mouth as you fly around the corner and attempt to answer the phone with the item still snug between your teeth before you realize that that simply will not do, hurriedly tugging it from your lips and lightly tossing it on the desk in front of you. You look up to the party of three in front of you, waiting patiently, and smile.

“Just a second.”

“No problem, take your time,” the bride insists.

Chan can only watch on in awe, though.

It’s a relatively quick phone call, confirming an appointment for flower arrangement the following week and then it’s all eyes on the individuals in front of you. You look at the bride, the groom, and then Chan – quite obviously not the one getting married. Messy, wind-swept golden hair and beady brown eyes – but in jeans and a hoodie with a small spot on it that looks akin to a child who had accidentally spilled some sauce on himself and forgot to clean it up.

A little charming, due to the fact that he’s good looking. Turns out that can get one pretty far in and of itself.

“Right so,” you begin, taking a deep breath before continuing, “what can I do for you?”

Minho and his soon-to-be wife begin the discussions that they had gone there for, Chan listening on and truly as if he were playing the part of the son that had been dragged along for the ride due to no childcare being available. Your eyes can’t help but creep towards him every now and then – watching the way that he looks around the room, almost as if in awe of the sights – not that the interior was anything to call home about. You found it charming, his simple appreciation for…white, you supposed.

Calling for them to come into the back with you, the group sit at a table filled with thick binders with numerous labels atop them. Things like “reception,” “flowers,” “lighting,” anything that you could think of and even many that you hadn’t lined the table, and Chan considers for a second that maybe he won’t get married, after all.

He brings his attention to Minho, who happily dives into one of the binders – evidently delighted by the prospect of wedding planning. A complete disintegration from the stereotypical male response – the response that had just immediately come to Chan, himself.

He figures that maybe you have to be there, then.

“These are the more basic, common options up at the front on these pages, they’re labeled with this color,” you point out towards one of the binders displayed in front of Minho’s fiancee, “the further back, the more expensive and intricate the options become. It’s good if you have a budget in mind so that we can plan accordingly, of course.”

And of course, Chan is listening. Of course he is. But he can’t help but get lost in his own thoughts, as well as he watches you work. Taking notice of your smile and how pretty it is, the few loose strands of hair that have fallen away from the rest that lie bundled up into a tie at the back of your head. Chan watches your eyelashes when you blink and notices their length, and how pretty the color of your eyes are. Your earrings – expensive looking, hopefully not expensive in price, he thinks to himself as he loses himself in wishful imaginative thought – because if the two of you were to date, he wouldn’t be affording anything of the sort, and Chances are, that if they were expensive, then you wouldn’t be interested in dating him, anyways.

Chan had a habit of romantically getting ahead of himself, that much was evident.

“Chan?”

A sudden, vocal intrusion once again pulling him back to earth, it’s the sound of his best friends voice calling towards him. “You okay?”

“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat and sitting himself up in his chair properly. “Yeah, sorry, was spacing out. What’s up?”

“What do you think of this color? We need an outside opinion, that’s what you’re here for.”

Chan leans himself forward and out of his chair to look over the shoulders of the couple. Napkins. They forced him to stop fantasizing about dating the cute wedding planner for napkins.

Because obviously what he had been doing was of much more importance.

“Um, I like the lavender.”

“See, I think I like the pink, actually,” the fiancee replies.

“Keep in mind you don’t have to commit to anything today,” you remind them, “this visit is really only to get an idea of where we want to go, we’re not setting anything in stone.”

“Says you, I’m planning our own wedding,” Chan thinks to himself in response.

With pinks and roses decided among numerous other items, it’s a couple of hours later that the four of you bid farewell. You shake the hand of Minho, and the bride-to-be hugs you – much to your surprise, but with Chan, it’s a bit more awkward of a goodbye – due to the necessity of his being there in any capacity being up for discussion. However, you smile, thank them all for coming, and wish them well on their day.

Little do you know, however, the plans that the airhead friend have already set into motion.

According to him, of course.

The sound of the doorbell rings through the room as you look up from your paperwork in the back office. Gently pushing things aside in an attempt to find your schedule book, you gaze on in confusion to find that you have nothing on the agenda for this hour – and with the firm not taking walk-ins, you fail to guess what it could possibly be.

It does, however, make more sense upon finding out what the wind had blown in today.

“Hey!”

You’re shocked to find Chan standing at the door. Less the shock of it being him, and more the shock of him looking just as disheveled as he had the few days prior when you had met him. How could an adult man be so not put together, and especially on this side of town? It’s something you contemplate but only for a moment, as you are forced to address him now that he is presented before you.

“Uh, hey, so we don’t take walk-ins—“

“Oh no, it’s not like, a thing, I was just asked to drop by to relay some information.”

“Why you?”

“Was in the area.”

“You were in—“ and you pause, trying to think of a polite way to carry on with the thought, “—the area.”

Chan sort of realizes that the gig is up at that moment, in his shorts and his hoodie in twelve degree weather, and smiles gently. “Yeah.”

You roll your eyes, but motion for him to follow you into the back office with you nonetheless in order to take notes about whatever it is that he had gone there for – chuckling to yourself about the fact that he showed up to a very expensive office in winter, wearing shorts.

You don’t even want to do the soul searching it would take to figure out why you find that endearing, perhaps best left for therapy.

Sitting down in your chair, you pull out the file for the bride and groom in question and pick up a pen. “Has the client changed their mind about something we had discussed the other day?”

“Yeah,” Chan begins, but it’s slow, as he looks around and takes in the sights of the somewhat chaotic back office space that you call your own. You gently, playfully, call out a “hey” towards him to bring him back to the topic at hand. “Oh uhh, yeah, so instead of the pink, they decided on the lavender after all.”

“Interesting, your choice,” you respond.

“You remembered?”

Realizing what you had done, that you had, in fact, remembered what his input had been, you feel a bit of the heat of embarrassment rush into your ears – but attempt to play it cool.

“Of course, you were a part of the planning.”

He doesn’t respond, and only smiles down at you, shoulder holding him upright against the wooden frame of the doorway.

“And they decided on lilies instead of roses, also.”

“Good choice,” you answer, scribbling onto the paper in front of you and quickly penning something over the mark to replace it. “I preferred the lilies, myself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chan answers, and it’s so smooth it sounds as if he never said anything unusual at all.

You know he’s flirting with you, you simply choose to ignore it.

“Is there anything else?”

“No, just those two things.”

You stop, furrowing your brows in confusion and taking a moment to truly consider the oddity of the scenario before you. “Why…didn’t they just call me, why did they send you in person? These sorts of matters can be dealt with over the phone.”

But Chan merely shrugs and continues smiling at you. “Dunno, didn’t ask.”

You don’t take yourself for much of a detective, but figure it’s pretty simple to see what’s going on here. It’s cute, but you’re not interested.

You stand, motioning out towards the main lobby of the building and walk ahead of the man.

Chan takes it upon himself to view all of the ways in which you exist before him. Your hair, your eyes, your clothes.

Perhaps a moment where most men would objectify you, Chan is merely finding all of the intricate details, all of the little things – tiny ways in which he can talk himself into falling in love with you.

And you’re just trying to get the work day over with.

“I think if it were my wedding,” Chan begins, elbows on the desk and chin placed into his palms as you sit at your swivel chair and gently look up towards him as if he’s somewhat of an inconvenience to you. “I think, forest green and gold, a bit like this,” he says, pointing towards the detailing of the marble just under him. “What about you?”

“You think about wedding planning?” you can’t help but ask, unusual for a presumably straight man. You consider for a moment that you had been picking up all of the wrong vibes from him. Maybe he wasn’t into you, after all.

“Yeah, well,” and he pauses, thinking again, “well, truthfully, I hadn’t until the first day we all came here. I have been since then.”

“That’s cute.”

“So what about you?”

“I have work to do, if we’re done here,” you respond, ignoring his question entirely and instead meeting him with a tonally cheeky reply, avoiding eye contact as to not laugh.

“Answer me and I’ll leave then!” Chan whines in response, and you really wish you didn’t find this sort of behavior endearing in any way.

But you sigh in defeat, putting the pen that you had just picked up back down in a huff and looking up at him in gentle irritation, “fine.”

“Burgundy,” you start, pushing papers around to find a tablet of color swatches beneath them, and you point to a color on it with a freshly manicured nail. “Similar to this, more blue-toned. and then—“ you pause, pushing the present swatches aside in favor of different ones that you had located in the meantime. “Gold accenting, like this. And yellow roses.”

“Why yellow?”

“I just like them.”

Chan knows that he responds to you, although if you asked him just after he had left what he had said, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. Instead, the man loses himself immediately in thoughts of a quickly developing crush. He watches your fingers dig through papers and point to colors – watches the way that your lips move with the words that you speak and the way the corners of them pull up when you talk about the things that you like in particular. It’s all in the way that you so matter of a factly say that you “just like” yellow roses – no other thoughts, no other reasoning. Just because.

Chan wonders if this is love – an absolutely, mind-numbingly, all-encompassing smittenness for another person that you barely know anything about. Juvenile and reckless and for all of the wrong reasons. Love at first sight. The honeymoon period that hasn’t even begun yet, and Chan was full-swing all the same.

And you wish it had been different for yourself – a child-like innocence to him that you found so charming and disarming in so many ways. a cute crush that surely would never develop past the phase in which it had already reached – you found yourself daydreaming about cute dates and picking out colors with him regardless, before shaking yourself out of it and returning back to your work.

bad idea, dating the clientele – even if only tangentially related as such.

“Hey.”

The smile on his face carries through the simple, verbal notion and you manage to pick up on it, even with all of the hustle and bustle going on around you.

That doesn’t stop him from having scared the shit out of you, though.

You watch Chan grin in response to your sudden yell and turn, “Jesus Christ,” escaping through your lips in exasperation and he still only carries a hopeful, happy curl of his lips.

“Bad time?”

The irony of the question being, of course, that he is asking it all the while you pick up the numerous sheets of paper, spools of lace, and other such items from the floor – items that had been suddenly relinquished from your grasp at the ill-timed intrusion of a man, a man not even getting married.

“Yes, you could say that—“ you respond, an attempt not to sound rude but perhaps failing ever so slightly. He was being irritating, after all. “—if we’re going to talk, then we’ve got to talk and walk,” you say, finally pulling everything into your bag and swinging it over your shoulder just before hurriedly rushing out from behind the desk and past the man before you – nearly dumbfounded in appearance at the way you move about in the middle of the day – even if for work. “I’ve got places to be, so make it quick.”

Rushing down the sidewalk, heeled shoes clattering against it, Chan watches in amazement at his inability to keep up. He wonders how you muster up the strength and ability to do this day in and day out – and with a smile on your face, at that.

“You need to take this,” you finally say to him, stopping only briefly enough to push some of the things in your hands, into his own. “Make yourself useful.”

“Happy to,“ he begins to respond, but only to watch as your back turns towards him again – ponytail in full swing, rushing back towards where ever it had been that you had been roped into stumbling towards.

Chan stops to smell the flowers – literally. As a few of varying different types had been thrown into his arms – but it’s quickly off to the races again, as to not disappoint.

And he can’t help but watch in complete, smitten, awe of you as you dart in and out of shops and doorways as you go. He never goes in with you – waiting patiently out front of where ever it is that you end up in the next moment, but he finds that he is never waiting long – that you work quickly. And he knows that he doesn’t know the workings of your job, your career, really at all, so maybe this is normal, but he smiles to himself at the way that the details of the situation don’t even really matter to him. Chan makes sure to watch you in a sort of make-shift slow motion that he crafts himself from scratch in the moment – capturing you and your essence and all of the things that he finds himself oh so quickly becoming enamored with, even just the way the wind some times catches your coat, it feels like a movie to him…the way his heart seemingly gets swept away in the same gust.

You step out of a building, as Chan is mid-thought, watching your every movement as he does. You don’t even notice it. Notice him. Not really.

He knows that.

Smiling, you bid the client farewell and give a sigh of relief towards the man that had aided you in your short, but fast-paced journey. “Thank you, sorry to make you—“

“Go out with me.”

The question arrives as a shocking on, albeit looking back on the situation, perhaps it should not have. You actually do give it some thought, as well – which in and of itself comes as a bit of a surprise to you, as well.

And you’re almost disappointed when you have to turn him down.

“Tonight, let’s get a drink.”

“Chan, that’s nice of you but—“ pausing briefly, you consider how to word the dismissal delicately…and sort of in a way to not shut down the possibility of going out in the future. “I have too much work to do tonight, and tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

You don’t want to talk to him like a child. Like someone to pity, but the refusal always finds a way to come out that way anyways. You watch Chan smile at you all the same, nodding to himself and simply saying “okay” as a response.

“You have a good night then, alright?” he adds, turning to head towards where home would be, and you’re not sure which part it is that’s yelling – the head or the heart – but one of them certainly is not being quiet about it’s desire to change it’s mind about the drink matter.

But you stand strong. There’s always more men.

“I will, you do the same.”

“I will.”

Chan loves watching you work. Hell, suffice it to say Chan fell in love watching you work. And perhaps it’s too much, too quick — something he tells himself from the logical part of his brain. You don’t even know her, dude. Which is true and he knows it, but the truth is that Chan has sort of taken it upon himself to fill in all of the blanks in the most shining, beautiful ways that he can. A man that lives on the precipice of a romantic comedy at all times — he’s always only been waiting for this moment. for someone like you. Someone to come in and sweep him off of his feet, as it were.

Just a hopeless romantic, that Bang Chan.

“Now’s not really the best time—“ you manage out towards him, mouth full of safety pins and fingers attempting to fumble through loads of white, shimmering fabric.

Dress fittings, the best part of the whole getting married gig, to some.

He doesn’t reply, carefully discarding himself from the doorway as to not be an obstruction physically in the same way that his presence is in every other way. He does smile, though. Halfway. A sly curly of the lip that you catch before pressing more pins into the bodice of your client.

Chan watches the whirlwind before him — feeling like the exaggerated display of floral lace and shiny shoes being tossed up and around like in the cartoons one sees when growing up weren’t actually that far from the truth — he smiles all the same, because he’s charmed by it all.

He especially takes note of your tied back hair and the way your jacket had been discarded probably long before he had arrived. How it appeared as though your day had already been a long one, despite it only being the early afternoon.

It’s the first time that Chan thinks to himself that you might really be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

But his attention is pulled back to reality, a woman gently leaning towards him and softly addressing him — as if she had known that his thoughts weren’t there with them at the time.

“Are you with the bride?”

Taken by surprise, Chan shakes his head — hands up in submission. “Oh, I’m with her!” he says, and points towards you as you continue diligently working on the fitting before you.

“Oh my God,” the client suddenly exclaims, turning towards him so suddenly that it sends you reeling. “You’re getting married, too!?”

Fuck sake.

“Wow, what a coincidence, huh?” the staff smiles towards Chan, before heading towards the small cooler behind the counter and pulling out a bottle of champagne. “We certainly have to celebrate this!”

It’s a roller coaster, for sure — and as hilariously charming the confusion is, Chan’s eyes can’t help but stay glued to your figure. Scanning your reaction. A chance you don’t hate this? A chance you might be willing to play along? Play pretend? Just for him, just for today?

The staff member comes back over to Chan without any time wasted, handing him a glass of bubbly gold liquid before sauntering over to you and handing you the same. Drinking is pretty strictly against the rules while on the job — except in situations where not drinking could cost you the job, of course. It’s up to your own discretion, case by case basis.

Suppose we’re pretending we’re getting married today. Just another check mark off of the list of completely insane things that the job every so often required of you.

Chan finally makes his way to the back and towards you, gently smiling — it says sorry that this happened, but it’s kind of fun, right? And you wish that you could deny him the pleasure of being right.

“So, have you started dress shopping yet?” the bride asks, eyes sparkling and excitement lacing her voice. You found it so lovable — the absolute delight that she seemed to receive from just the mere prospect that someone else might be just as happy as she was — who were you to ruin her day, then?

“N-no, not yet,” you stutter out, bashfully smiling towards Chan and then quickly away from him, because what the fuck? “I’m quite picky.”

You can see Chan trying to reign in the curl of the corners of his mouth at the response. He’s enjoying it way too much for your liking, possibly more than the client before you.

“You should try something on with me! Oh my God, please!” she gasps, grabbing at your free hand and shaking it gently. “Please! It would be so fun!”

“Oh, I—“ suddenly looking up towards Chan — full on smiling, now — and back at the client, you feel a bit outnumbered. “I shouldn’t, I’m working…”

“Yeah, for me!” she answers, hands on her hips in a playfully authoritative way, “so I think if I want you to try on a dress with me, that you should probably do it!”

It’s a mischievous threat, not backed by any actual ill-will, but you do have to consider any possible implications behind it — she is a big client, an expensive client.

You should probably just do what you’re told, right?

Running your hands down the front of the beaded bodice, it’s sort of an impulse to avoid your own reflection in the numerous, angled mirrors before you. Set up to show you every inch of yourself — you find irony in the fact that you wish to see none of it, because it feels wrong. It’s out of place, and not how you had dreamed your first dress try on to be — to appease a rich, pushy client and for a man that for all intents and purposes, you don’t even know. Playing dress up and pretend at your big age, it wasn’t the ideal outcome.

You hear the woman call out for you — indiscernible words that you know the meaning of all of the same. Hurry up, come out, become a spectacle. But you had already agreed, and the faster you begin, the faster it will end. You look up, finally making eye contact with yourself in the reflection, and your heart drops — but not for any of the aforementioned reasons you had expected. In a flash, all of your previous concerns simply melt away, just like that.

You looked beautiful. Ethereal.

And in the moment, you became painfully aware of all of the years that you had spent attending to the romantic wants and needs of everyone but yourself. Seeing yourself in the dress became an acutely stark reminder that maybe — just maybe — it was time to allow yourself to focus on you.

And despite barely knowing the man before you, watching the way his eyes lit up at the sight of you as you gently strolled into the room — as if he had never seen a sight more beautiful in his life — you think to yourself that if this guy can look at you this way, then imagine the way that someone who loved you would look at you.

Irony.

A few hours later into the evening, the sun setting and air cooling, the four of you say your goodbyes as the staff locks up the shop and the client joyfully heads off and on her way. When only the two of you are left — you and Chan — you let go a heavy sigh of relief, one that feels as though it had made a happy home in your chest, never to be evicted or removed in any way.

“What a horrifically stressful day,” you start, as to set the tone of the conversation and not let the man before you get any ideas that you may have actually enjoyed any part of the goings on of the day. “But she was happy, that’s all that matters.”

“Is that so?” Chan replies, a hint of doubt in his tone. “You really hated it that much? You looked pretty.”

The compliment sends heat rushing to your face. Since when was that a side effect of engaging with this gentleman?

“I guess it’s good that you played along,” you say, pulling your messy ponytail out and beginning to put it back up into a more well-maintained one. “It’ll be a really positive memory for her, and that’s my job, after all.”

Chan simply watches you, taking in every moment as if it’ll be the last because really, who knows.

“Anyways, since she was so happy, if you don’t have anything going on tonight—“

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” you respond in a playful-yell, slapping at his arm, but Chan only laughs.

“I do know what you were going to say! You were going to ask me out! I said yes!”

“I wasn’t going to ask you out!” you quip, slightly embarrassed by how transparent you had seemingly been. “I was going to agree to going out with you, since you had asked me before, they’re different things, actually.”

“Ah, I see,” Chan replies, only playing along with your asinine explanation but not willing to push it any further because in the end — he was getting precisely what it was that he had wanted all along. “Well in that case, I know just the place.”

Only a few blocks down the street and a quick right, Chan stops and holds his hand out as if you usher you ahead of him. Gray, stone steps trailing down into what appears to be a basement, hole in the wall type establishment — you’re almost a little concerned. This is an upper class area of the city, and this is where he takes you? And it’s as if the man just behind you is capable of reading your mind, chiming out “just trust me, you’ll like it.”

You open the door, holding it for him to follow, and the dimly lit atmosphere almost sweeps you just off your feet. A beautiful, antique adorned establishment, decorated as if to appeal to numerous generations before; but in the most swanky, high class, way. The type of surroundings that just about anyone from any walk of life could find charm in.

So shocked, you forget that you had stopped to take in the sights.

“Come on, let’s not linger in the doorway,” Chan says as he passes, cheeky-toned and knowing that he had caught you.

Shrugging your coat off, you hang it on the rack and take a seat next to him at the bar. Drinks are ordered and quickly served due to it not being a busy night, and Chan wastes no time getting into the nitty-gritty of what it was he was interested in: you. Everything about you. Where you’re from, where you live now, where you went to school and what you studied and your hobbies — it’s all things that he, of course, has a genuine interest in — but that doesn’t change the fact that they are but stepping stones to the meat and potatoes of what it was that he really wanted to know.

Your relationship status. Are you single. Are you looking. Are you open to the possibility of falling in love, and not just with anyone, but with him, specifically.

Although, perhaps he would not be one to lean so hard into the tail end of the obvious.

“Truth is,” you begin, shimmering glass of red wine pressed delicately to your already stained-red lips. “I’ve been single for a while. Sort of on purpose, I suppose. I wanted to focus on work and really get my career going for a while before I put time and effort into adding another person into my life.”

“Is that serving you?” Chan questions, his own glass mirroring yours against his mouth.

You pause for a moment to consider the answer — remembering how you felt in that fleeting moment back at the dress shop, seeing yourself in that dress. Was it serving you?

“Yeah, I think so,” you finally answer in an accompanying nod, “I think it’s important to be able to be happy by oneself before attempting cohabitation of some sort.”

And Chan chuckles in response, much to your surprise. “'Cohabitation’ makes it sound so clinical, like the concept of dating someone is a science experiment.”

“Isn’t it sort of?”

“Yeah, suppose it is, in ways.”

“What about you?”

And now he pauses, thinking himself through the slew of potential replies that bounce through his mind in an instant — some more insane than others, admittedly.

“Happily single, but always open to the possibility.”

“I think that’s a good way to look at it.”

Chan takes a slow sip from his glass and eyes you intently, as if trying to gauge your interest in his answers based purely off of a single, minute, change in facial expression. Hell, he wanted it so bad he was willing to make it up himself.

It’s the gentle curly of your lip at his reply that catches him off guard — burned into his memory forever and always — or at least until a moment were to come that the two of you would have made enough memories together that such an insignificant one need not be held onto for so long anymore.

Drink glasses emptied and coats slung back over shoulders, the two of you head back out and onto the chilled sidewalk to head your own separate ways. You can’t help but take notice of the way Chan looks at you — eyes shining in the florescence of the street lamp just behind you — the first time that you acknowledge to yourself that you think he is handsome, as well as the first time you acknowledge that feeling in your chest that you get when he happens to come around.

It’s a bad time.

“Look, I had a nice time but—“

Chan rolls his eyes in response already, and you haven’t even finished the sentence.

“What? You’re a client…kind of.”

“I’m not, and on top of that, I can assure you that they would not care at all! They’d probably think it was cute, actually. I’m sure Minho would already have so many stories to tell at our wedding from the first consultation.”

“Well that’s not reassuring,” you snort, “telling me I was already so memorably unprofessional from the beginning, huh?”

“Only in my eyes, don’t worry, they loved you.”

“Chan!”

“Come on, I’m kidding,” he replies again, “it’s not a big deal, they wouldn’t think anything of it. You’re making it into a bigger deal than it would be in your head.”

You know that that is likely the case. You also know that it’s just so easy to say one thing — like that one is ever so willing to look for love — and then construct the simplest walls given to you to avoid it at all costs.

The two of you still in silence for a moment, as if in a stand-off of sorts, but you more than capable of breaking the silence and constructing just one more wall — for good measure, of course.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say, with finality. “Thank you for tonight, I had a nice time.”

Chan thinks to himself as he watches you walk away, that if it were any other woman, in any other circumstance, he would have already live and let live. That even in watching the way you turn him down and walk away, that you’re still simply the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Musing about every word that you said and the way in which you said it — how your glass of red wine stained your lips just the perfect amount that it made it nearly unbearable to not kiss them, how pretty your hands looked around the wine glass and how cute your smile was every time he said something that — purposefully, of course — you found mildly irritating.

Making his way to his empty apartment again, and standing just outside, Chan knows that there is progress made.

But what are you running from?

When you hear the jingling of the front door, and look down to your planner to find nothing having been scheduled for that time, you know that trouble is awaiting you in the lobby — trouble in the form of a kinda beefy, 171cm handsome gentleman by the name of Bang Chan.

Eh, suppose things could always be worse.

Lazily buttoning the deep maroon button of your vest as to look presentable, you look up and lock eyes with him as you come around the bend and into the front of the establishment. Chan — in all of his glory — a fitting pair of jeans for once and a shirt to match, you’re a little surprised. Had he made the effort all for you? Charming, if not for the fact that you told him you weren’t going to date him only a week prior to now.

Some men have a problem taking ‘no’ for an answer, unfortunately, sometimes it’s kind of charming when that’s the case, as well.

“Honey, I’m home!” Chan chimes, and you roll your eyes as you make your way to the front desk and seat yourself down.

“Yes Chan? Can I help you?”

“Always.”

“With something involving my job in some capacity.”

“Oh, right, that!” he answers. You know that he knows what you mean, he’s always just doing his utmost to be as much of a problem as possible. You’re not happy about how charming you find that, either.

“So, rehearsal dinner is in two weeks, on Thursday.”

“I know that, it’s my job to know that, I already talked to the bride two days ago.”

“Well I’m not here to tell you about it, I’m here to ask you to be my date to it.”

The brazen admission takes you off guard. It wasn’t really the first time Chan had ever asked you out, but this felt…different. Perhaps because of the night at the bar not too long prior.

You weren’t particularly fond of the way it made your stomach flip, either.

“I’ll be there, but for work, not for fun.”

“For pleasure, I think is how they call it,” he corrects, and you’re not proud of what the implications of that do to your mind.

You clear your throat, Chan watching all the while with a grin, and avoiding eye contact altogether, you stand again — pulling some items from the counter top into your arms and heading into the back from where you came.

“Right, well,” you say, attempting to play off how flustered you’ve now become in his incredibly flirtatious presence. “I have work to get back to, so, I will see you at the rehearsal — because it is my job and I suppose that you will also be there.”

With a smile on his face and eyes never leaving your form, before you’re able to scurry off to freedom, one last thing leaves his lips — because of course it does.

“Do a little something nice with your hair, it’s an occasion, isn’t it?”

You had never felt the need to keep a pillow to scream into in the back end of your office prior, but perhaps now were as good a time as any to invest.

On rehearsal night, catching your reflection in one of the mirrors of the wedding venue, you sort of wish that you had been a stronger person. You wonder how it was, exactly, that this man that you truly, barely knew, had managed to wear down your resolve in such a way that you were playing dress up for him. No, your attire not different than a typical work day — you were still on the clock, after all.

But your hair. And you can’t stand the way Chan looks to the floor with a smile when he first catches glance of you. Well, can’t stand it, and also sort of adore it.

“So, the brides mother, father, and sister we’re thinking of having here — but if there’s something that I’m missing, let me know so I can arrange it in a way that—“

“Hey there.”

Frozen in place, you don’t have to turn to check who it is anymore, and meeting eyes with the catering planner you had been speaking to, you smile gently before motioning that you need a moment, and turning towards Chan. “I’m working, can you give me a moment?”

“We need you to sit in for rehearsal, we’re missing someone.”

“Absolutely not, are you crazy?”

“Come on, you only have to pretend you have a crush on me, you don’t really have to have one.”

Turning back to the caterer in an instant, you insist that you’ll email the finalized plans over to him right away in the morning before finishing your conversation with Chan.

“If you keep interrupting me at work, I might not have a crush on you, real or make believe.”

“I think it’ll take more than that,” he replies with a cheeky grin, and nodding his head over towards the table, “now get over here and pretend you’re in love with me.”

It’s sort of sick, how easy it is for him to talk you into it. All of it. Any of it.

When the seating plan goes smoothly, and all of the wedding participants stand to take in slow views of the rest of the venue ahead of the big day, as you finish off some notes, Chan saunters over towards you with two glasses of wine in hand. “Come out with me?”

Stepping out and onto the large, white stoned balcony, you sigh in relief at how smooth the night had gone. You explain to Chan that — even in spite of having done the job for years, there’s always parts of every new client experience that feel brand new, that you feel as though you’ve never done before. Chan gazes on intently as he watches you speak with vigor, with self-respect, and with love and adoration for yourself. He thinks, in that moment, it might truly be the sexiest thing about you — at least, thus far.

When the gentle wind blows your lightly curled hair to one side and sends a shiver down your spine, Chan reaches out and pulls you towards him — into his warm embrace.

“It’s still chilly this time of year, yeah?” he says, and it’s almost a whisper. Perhaps the quietest you think you’ve ever heard him.

You opt out of responding verbally, and silently enjoy the warmth the man brings to you.

“Hey,” he says again, suddenly, and pulling you from him ever so slightly. Again, you choose not to reply, assuming that there were to be more words following up such a statement.

But you were soon to find that to not be the case — as Chan leans down and into you, plush lips gently pressing into your own.

The warmest you had felt all evening, you think to yourself — and perhaps interested in more where that came from, after all.

A short drive in Chan’s car lands the both of you in front of your apartment building — a gentleman, having offered his services of bringing you home in one piece — albeit, the thoughts of being torn apart by him figuratively becoming more and more of interest to you as the moments near him pass. Surely, one glass of wine wasn’t enough to throw all caution to the wind.

Unless…?

“Can I walk you up?”

Grabbing your belongings from the floor of the front seat, you chuckle. “Not much to walk, my building has an elevator.”

“Wow, fancy,” he replies smugly. “Didn’t know you had elevator-money in this sort of economy.”

“Go to Hell, yes you can walk me up, sheesh.”

His playfulness was what really had you, and you hated to see it. Broken down by the childlike innocence and joy of someone who was becoming more intriguing, more desirable, and more sexually attractive by the second. Truly, what had happened to your resolve?

Manicured finger pressed into the up arrow button, the elevator is silenced completely — no indication of it ever having registered the button being pressed at all. You press it again, and still nothing.

You sigh.

“Broken?” he says.

“Probably just asleep,” you quip back, “yes it’s broken. Have to take the stairs I suppose — you don’t have to come, I live on the fourth floor, I’m sure I can make it.”

“Better safe than sorry, really.”

Rolling your eyes, the both of you head towards the stairwell — all the while you hoping the slamming beating of your heart against your chest won’t reverberate through the echoing halls of the winding concrete cave that you are about to enter.

Floors two and three go without a hitch — well, mostly. It’s between three and four, that you realize there was never any Chance of you getting out of this stairwell unscathed. Or un-somethinged, at least.

He had plans all along.

“Hey,” Chan quietly calls towards you from behind, a hand reaching out and snatching your wrist from behind. It’s gentle, but enough to have you stumbling ever so slightly. He catches you — turning and pressing your back against the cold, white, wall — and them himself even harder against you.

Hot breath ghosting against the skin of your face, Chan’s lips fail to make contact with your own — instead opting to press into your jaw, and then your neck — and not without the direct contact of his hard thigh wedged into the apex of your own.

You’re a little ashamed of how little it took for him to pull from you a verbal response. It wasn’t much, but a breathy whine all the same — and you can feel the curling of his lips against you in affirmation that he had, in fact, heard it.

“I want you,” he whispers into your flesh, and the admission makes you dizzy with desire, pressing yourself down and against his leg for friction even more — as if to say that you felt the same way.

“Do you want me?” he follows up, mildly irritated at the fact that he’s asking, given the physical cues, but you still manage the breathy “yes” that he had been waiting oh so long for.

Chan thinks that it sounds so much better than he had ever even imagined it would. Unfortunate that this was not to be the time nor the place.

Pulling away, the loss of body against your own leaves you confused and frazzled — chest heaving and eyebrows furrowed, but you choose not to speak, because surely he would.

Because what the fuck?

And right on cue, “not now, I mean—“ he pauses, looking down at the tenting in his own pants and adjusting as for it to be not as obvious in the case of running into other people. “Not here, or now.”

“My apartment is right there—“

“I know,” he nods, “trust me, I want to — obviously — but I like you, so—“

“You can’t have sex with someone you like? Are you one of those Madonna-whore type guys? I knew there had to be something wrong with you.” You spiral off, adjusting your pants and trying to gather yourself properly. Chan merely laughs in response for a moment.

“No, it’s nothing like that, I’m perfectly capable of fucking you,” he answers clearly, and with decisiveness. “And I will, presumably. But let’s get to know each other a bit more first, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, a little annoyed at the games that Chan seemingly loves to play with you, and yet, willing to continue playing them on his terms all the same. “Fine, I guess I’ll get to know you or whatever.” Playful sarcasm dripping from the tail end of your response.

He laughs, gentle smile taking his features — and in his mind, all of the ways he plans to have you when the time is right.

When Chan shows up to your place of employment only three days later, it’s bad timing. The truth of the matter, is that it’s always bad timing, that’s the nature of a fast paced job such as your own, though. Shoving items into a bag and slinging it over your shoulder — followed by desperately trying to free your ponytail from the confines of the sling as you run towards the door, you only manage out with a “let’s go, move, move!” as you rush past the man in the doorway.

By now, Chan knows better than to ask very many questions. He’s quick on the uptake. He knows what he may sign up for upon arrival. Today? A handful of miscellaneous binders — sticky notes and fabrics sticking out of the tops, bottoms and sides of them.

“Already comfortable with bossing me around, huh?” he says, a brisk stride catching him up to you on the sidewalk as the both of you hustle down the concrete path.

“You know how it is,” you say, “if you’re gonna be here then I’m gonna put you to work.”

“I kind of like it,” flirtation lacing his voice. “Being told what to do by a beautiful woman definitely isn’t the worst way to spend the day.”

“That’s what you like? I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Maybe, can’t give everything away on the first date, I’m not easy.”

“So I noticed.”

You take notice of how easy it is now to engage in these types of conversations with him. Cute, curly blonde hair flowing in the breeze as you both run-walk towards the destination a couple of blocks away — you’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t a charm point — his absolute willingness to go above and beyond already. Carry things. Help you at work. Hell, he had sort of already showed up for you better than a lot of the guys you had dated in the past.

And now the flirting — playfully toying with each other in tone and topic that borders, if not fully crosses, the line of appropriateness — especially with you being on the clock.

Not that anyone is with the two of you to monitor the conversation. Or know that he took you home the other night. Or any of the other misdoings of that particular evening.

“Place is up here, did you come by for a reason or do you have a sixth sense for when I need help carrying things?” you ask, finally slowing down when the time on your phone insists that you have perhaps a minute or two to spare extra.

“Yeah, actually—“ he starts, slowing down next to you and stopping to face. “I wanted to ask you to be my date to the wedding.”

And you’re floored. That’s your immediate, gut, response anyways, but the more you grant a second to it, the more unsurprising you become.

He either genuinely does not understand how your job works and what proper boundaries are, or he just truly does not care. You’re fairly certain you know which it is.

“Chan, I’m working the event—“

“No, I know!” he interrupts suddenly, and for the first time it appears as though he had actually put some thought into it, and the inappropriateness of such a situation. “It can be our little secret. Just between us two.”

Looking down at your phone to check the time, and following it with an exhausted sigh, you roll your eyes. “Then what’s even the point?”

One corner of Chan’s mouth pulls up, and now you know he put thought into this. Which may or may not be advised, after all.

“The real fun would be after the event, obviously.”

Visually, you give off no tells, that of which you’re sure, but inside? Screaming, at the top of your lungs.

You’re not entirely sure if he means sex, or a date, or sex and a date or what he means at all. A man with something sly constantly up his sleeve, you simply had to assume: all of the above.

And so, you agree.

Weeks pass, and you’re surprised by the fact that when the night of the wedding comes around, Chan is actually no where to be found all of the time prior. The man that could not resist the urge to bother you at work, suddenly ghosting you? Were you being ghosted? Did he lose interest? Perhaps the allure of sleeping with the cute wedding planner had worn off all just before the big night itself. Tragic, you think to yourself, you didn’t even get to sleep with him, after all.

But when he meets you for the first time at the reception near the open bar — a smooth hand brushing the small of your back — so brief that no one nearby would ever catch it, the glimmer in his eye is enough to let you know that the plan is, in fact, still on.

And through the sound of a private bathroom door slamming against the wall, and your back up against it — met once again with the enticingly crushing weight of him against you as his mouth meets your own in fervent, needy kisses — you forget why you thought it was ever off anyways.

“W-we have to go back out there, Chan—“ you manage out between mouths and gasps of breath, fingers curled into the white coat of his blazer. “You wore white? That’s so tacky.”

“Not my choice, bride wanted it,” he answers back in similar neediness and much more expressed disinterest in the topic. “I want you.”

“Last time you said that—“ and Chan kisses you on the mouth hard again. “—last time you said that you didn’t do anything about it.”

“And I can’t again, not yet anyways.”

“Not into exhibitionism?”

“I don’t perform well under pressure.”

You laugh as he pulls away from you, allowing you to straighten yourself up to go back out into the public eye. “You’d be terrible at my job.”

“I know, just the most soft-dicked wedding planner ever, it’d be humiliating,” Chan chuckles, leaning back to check himself in the mirror as well before reaching forward and placing his hand on the door knob. “Good?”

“Good.”

As the reception carries on, you stand back to watch from a distance — available when necessary but for the most part, out of the way. For all intents and purposes, the large portion of your job was finished. The clients were happy, and the night a beautiful one — dimly lit fairy lights and silver plating along white, linen tables. You watch as Minho and his bride share a dance together, smiling into one another's eyes. Truly and madly in love.

A moment later, you catch Chan’s from across the room — a look held in time longer than it would typically be held. You feel it in your chest more than anything, and more than that, you’re hopeful that he might be catching the same.

When the night festivities finally come to a close — shaking more hands than you remember ever having mingled with in all of your time working with the client, Chan finally makes his way over towards you as the crowd dissipates — two glasses of wine just as he had offered on the rehearsal night, and you grin at him knowingly.

“Remember what happened the last time I had a glass of wine on the terrace with you?”

“Nothing much, as far as my recollection goes.”

Following him out and looking out towards the view, a breeze passes by the both of you — warmer than the last time, inviting, almost. Your gaze pulls from the trees and the buildings before you and towards the man next to you — handsome and charming and seemingly full of love and passion.

Had he…all of the things that you were looking for in a man?

Feeling your piercing gaze, he turns towards you — ashamed at your gawking, you chuckle lightly and bring your wine glass to your lips, but Chan only smiles in adoration of you.

Inhaling, Chan begins to speak.

“I’m not going to sleep with you—“

It’s sudden, and sends Chan visibly reeling — so much so that you feel the need to amend the statement in earnest.

“What I mean is like, like a one night stand…hook-up sort of thing.“

Eyebrows gently furrowing, Chan remains silent as he watches you talk through your thoughts in real time, not wanting to interrupt where ever it was that you were intending on going with this.

“I— I have feelings, so,” you stutter out, avoiding direct eye contact and instead, choosing to speak to the golden liquid in your glass. “So I don’t think it’s a good idea, is all. Sorry.”

Silence takes the balcony briefly. Seconds that feel like years to you, but in real time, Chan responds quite immediately. To that, you are thankful.

“What? Of course I’m interested in you. I’ve always been interested in you,” he says, “I don’t carry around binders full of color swatches just for any ol’ woman I want to sleep with, are you kidding me?”

“Chan shut up! I’m being serious!”

“I know, I know—“ he giggles, avoiding your playful slap to his arm. “I am, too. I’m serious.”

And taking a step forward, Chan leans down into you once again. It’s not the first kiss that the two of you have shared, and hell, not even of the night.

But it was different. It was new in all of the ways that love is and can be. The blossoming feeling of being seen and held by the one person that you wish to perceive you.

Walking back inside as the catering staff begin cleaning up the remains of the evening, Chan turns to you and takes a deep breath, as if somewhat insecure about where to go now.

“So,” he begins, the word exhaled through his mouth as if attempting to mask it to be as unheard as possible. “Want to come back to my place, then?”

You look at him with feigned surprise before replying, “aww, look at you. You look so shy now. What happened to tough guy in the bathroom a few hours back?”

“Tough guy has to perform now, if you say yes. Remember what I said about pressure?” Chan laughs in response.

You lean in to whisper, as to not allow any passerby into your banter. “Are you warning me of something?”

“Doubtful, but imagine how good it’s going to be if you go in with low expectations.”

“You’re so annoying.”

Turning off his car, you take a deep breath before grabbing your bags and moving towards crawling out of the passenger side of the vehicle.

“Nervous?” he asks. It’s obvious, after all.

“A little, I guess? Kind of silly since I’m a grown woman.”

“Not really, pretty normal,” he says, opening the car door and ushering himself out as well. “On the bright side, you don’t have to climb any flights of stairs, my building elevator works.”

“Elevator? After everything you said about mine! Jerk.”

Finally stepping foot into the mans apartment, you realize in the moment that you had never given even an inkling of a thought to what it would look like prior.

Nice furnishings, a clean kitchen area, and a bed that’s made — despite a relatively small apartment, it was well kept, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that he weren’t a single man at all.

“Want anything to drink?” he asks from behind you, rustling around with keys and coats by the door. You hum in response that you don’t need anything.

The next thing you know, you’re being hauled off towards the bedroom, in a set of arms much more muscular than you ever remember them being.

Dropping you back first onto the mattress, Chan wastes no timing climbing up the length of your body and nestling himself between your legs — mouths making contact yet again, and more needy than ever before — Chan only stops long enough to pull his own shirt off and over his head, thrown across his bedroom before settling back down and against you.

It lasts only momentarily, however — the heat of the moment quickly over taking him as he becomes acutely aware of how much clothing you are wearing and how much he desperately does not want that to be the case. Ushering himself up and onto his knees, he begins fingering at the buttons of your blouse, and smiles as your own hands reach down towards the buttons of your slacks.

“Can I take this off?” Chan asks hurriedly, already gently pulling you up and off of the mattress as if he anticipates the affirmative response. He receives it, of course, and slings the fabric along with the previously discarded of his own.

“In a rush?” you giggle, lying back down and watching his hands work in a rush against all of the confines keeping the distance between his skin and your own intact.

“A little bit, should I slow down?”

“No, it’s okay, we have more time for slowing down in the future.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Chan responds, motioning himself in reverse to create space to pull your pants from your legs. “That reminds me though, be my girlfriend?”

“You’re asking me now?” you laugh, the only clothing remaining on your body a pair of panties.

“Should I wait until i’m in?”

“You should shut up.”

“I’ll take that as a 'yes’ then.”

Chan makes fast work of his own jeans, kicking them along with his boxer briefs off before climbing back onto the bed, and you realize that you’re staring.

And unfortunately, that he notices, too. A cheeky grin, followed by a bright redness to his ears. It’s not often that you see him shy, but you can’t help but enjoy the sight.

Well, both sights.

Reaching down and hooking fingers into the remaining fabric, he pulls them from you and wastes no time pressing two fingers against — and then into you. A dull stretch, relieving in a sense — the feeling that this is finally going to happen, and apparently you had desired it much more than you had thought going in.

Chan leans down, pressing his mouth against yours only to trail his lips down your jaw, up and over towards your ear. Gently pressing his hand into you, you exhale a whiny — and you can hear the way it makes his own breath hitch.

“I want you,” he whispers into you, and if not for the fact that you knew it would finally happen, you might be annoyed by the admission.

“Please,” is all you can groan out, but thankfully, it’s all that he needs.

Pulling back and off of you again, Chan leans over to his dresser, opening the small wooden drawer and fishing out a plastic packet before ripping it open with his teeth and gently motioning it along himself.

As Chan leans back down into you, you feel the beginning of his gentle intrusion — guided by his hand in the beginning, then by the sharp inhale of your breath at the stretch. Forearms flat against the mattress on either side of your head, biting into your lip and eyes screwed shut — Chan groans under his breath as he presses himself all of the way into you, fully buried in your warm, wetness.

“God—“ he exhales into your mouth, you swallow it down happily, his admission of submission to you. “You feel amazing.”

“You feel—“ you begin, feeling as though it necessary of you to meet him halfway in the discussion. After all, no one likes to be left hanging all alone. But it’s the slow, drag of his pull out, followed by another velvety push inside that catches the words in your throat and only allows them out in the form of a groaned out “fuck.”

Only a few more strokes before Chan is able to get his head screwed on properly again — enough to make use of himself at least — and settles into a slow, strong pace against you. Bringing a hand up, he finds your hair and wraps fingers into it — not pulling, but as if you keep you grounded, keep you in place for him — for the both of you, in a way.

“Ch-Chan, I—“ you whisper against his cheek, voice shaky and seemingly already fucked out.

He snaps his attention to, albeit a bit surprised by the fact. “Already?”

You nod quickly. Followed by a sigh of relief from him.

“Oh thank God, I'm so cl-close—“

Digging your nails into his strong shoulders, you feel your abdomen tighten in impending release, and it’s only a few more strokes before he’s pulling it from you — teeth gritted hard, unsure about the potential of a noise complaint from any neighboring people and not wanting to risk it — you groan loudly into the flesh of his arm, only causing him to meet you the same — three, four especially hard, rough pounds against you before he’s clenching his eyes shut and emptying into the barrier between you.

Rolling off of you to lie in next, chests heaving even in spite of the short session, Chan tosses his arm across his face and chuckles to himself after only a minute or two of silence between you.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for weeks.”

You giggle, snuggling up towards him. “Yeah? I could tell.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” he snaps back, bringing his closest arm to you up and around you. “Give me time, it’s been a while, alright?”

Tying off the condom eventually and getting up for glasses of water, he hands you one as the both of you sit at the edge of the bed.

“Burgundy and gold, right?”

The sudden thought catches you off guard, because what does that have to do with anything?

“Wh-what—?”

“Your wedding colors, burgundy and gold, was it?”

And now you’re really caught off guard, because he…remembered that?

“Yes, how do you remember that?”

You watch him smile, looking down into his glass of water before turning back towards you with his grin never diminishing. Chan leans in and kisses you on the forehead delicately before answering the question.

“Gonna be important,” he begins, “can’t hire you to work your own event, now can I?”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

2K notes · View notes

cosmicdahlias · 19 days

Text

🌜ford x reader headcanons🌛

part 5

• you watched titanic and he spent the entire time telling you facts about the actual ship

• when he gets a phone he’s constantly sending you OLD memes, like “i can haz cheezburger” old

• when you’re on your cycle he’s busting out all the remedies. heating pads, herbal tea, ibuprofen, chocolate. you’re getting PAMPERED

• you make him feel young again

• loves taking romantic baths with you. goes the extra mile with candles, rose petals, bubbles, and wine

• genuinely can’t tell when you’re flirting unless you explicitly tell him

• knew he wanted to marry you from day one

• actually got very into planning your wedding, mabel helped him create a scrapbook/planner

•

this is all he hears when you try to explain streaming services to him

• the 30 years he spent in other dimensions left him with severe PTSD, you’re the one who convinces him to get a service dog. it’s a german shepherd named orion

• was the first to say “i love you”

• gets so wrapped up in his work that he sometimes forgets to eat unless you remind him

• does enjoy going out with you but prefers cuddling up with you at home watching a nature documentary or something

• if you’re an artist he’s very supportive and always shows off your art to just about anyone, he’ll be talking to the cashier at the grocery store and be like

“look what my partner made, aren’t they so talented?”

definitely has a handful of your pieces in his study

• when you told everyone you were dating mabel knitted you two matching sweaters

• smells like fresh pine and leather

• stan was the one who convinced him to tell you his feelings

• before you dated he knew you and dipper had gotten semi close over your shared interest of the journals. he would ask dipper questions about you, this always confused dipper who completely didn’t see how glaringly obvious it was that ford was into you

• insecure about his tummy and scars on his body, you love both of them

• you know that thing that dads do where they fall asleep literally 5 minutes after sitting down? yeah that’s ford when you cuddle with him on the couch

• when ford was considering proposing stan told him to do it for tax purposes

• very attentive to you when you’re sick. researches what you’ve come down with so he can best take care of you

• always reminds you to take your meds

• had a hard time enjoying watching jurassic park with you. constantly complained about how it was inaccurate.

“velociraptors and t-rexes didn’t exist in the jurassic era, it might as well be called cretaceous park! and they didn’t even live at the same time as the brachiosaur!”

• had night terrors for months after weirdmageddon. hearing your voice telling him that everything was okay and that bill was gone was a huge source of comfort.

#ford pines #ford pines x reader #ford pines headcanons #gravity falls

335 notes · View notes

afyrian · 15 days

Text

my plus one atsumu miya x fem!reader (fluff) m.list | wc: 871 | prompts: fake dating

"just act natural!"

"anyone acting natural wouldn't be dating you-"

"okay, could you just shut up then?" you question, arm wrapped around atsumu's, a fake smile gracing your face.

the two of you enter your cousin's wedding reception, the old italian atmosphere garnering a romantic feeling... if you were with anyone other than atsumu miya. the inside of your elbow interlocks with his arm, hand resting in front of your ensemble. "you are the one who invited me, remember?" he whispers into your ear, keeping an obnoxious smile on his face.

"only because you were the only one in town after the tournament," you whisper back, giving your other cousins a wave, trying to hold your smile.

he turns to look at you, stopping you in your tracks. his eyes are wide as his hand rests below your elbow, fingers grazing your upper arm. biting his lip, the tips of his shoes touching yours, “you’re such a charmer.. now if you really want to convince them, you’ll let me wrap my arm around your waist.”

“taking this boyfriend role a little seriously, aren’t you?” you question, narrowing your eyes, hands reaching up to his biceps.

atsumu shrugs, raising his right hand to push back pieces of your hair. “only as much as you are sweetheart,” he looks past you and at your cousins, the bride included.

they’re standing together in a group, chowing down on hors d’oeuvres featuring classic italian flavors. the maid of honor leans against the table, eyes wide open as she spots the two of you together. inciting a domino effect, she alerts the rest of the bridal party to your presence, making note of the man attached to your hip.

atsumu smirks to himself as you roll your eyes. trying to play it up, his hand moves smoothly from your elbow to your back, pushing you slightly towards him. “now, your cousins are watching, you want to go say hi?” he smiles, raising his eyebrows, reveling in the acting performance of a lifetime.

“oh i would love to hon,” you tilt your head, tapping his chest with your hand before turning around to meet your fate.

atsumu’s hand stays on your back, lowering only slightly to reach your waist. the rest of the reception runs smoothly, people dancing on the floor, the groom talking to a few of his friends. walking up to your cousin, you hold out your hands, moving into a hug, “alisa! i have to say, your wedding was beautiful. and this reception? i’m so happy i was able to come.”

“i’m so happy you could too y/n! god i haven’t seen you in forever, and especially not since you’ve gotten with your boyfriend… who is??” she sets down her plate onto the table, hands clasped together with an excited smile on her face.

“atsumu miya, you might’ve seen me, i’m on japan’s national volleyball team. that’s actually how we met, right babe?” he squeezes you into his side, making sure your family can see just how ‘in love’ he is.

looking up at him, you purse your lips, sighing. “yes, i remember like it was yesterday. i was doing some paperwork for their team, and i ended up having to stay late. when someone,” you look up at him, a soft smile on your lips, “brought in some food, and offered it up. although, it wasn’t the perfect meet cute. he ended up spilling chili oil all over me.”

“to be fair, you were trying to take some of my food and i was just protecting it-”

“you had way more food than i did, besides, i know for a fact that the meal planner didn’t want you eating any of that because of the upcoming games,” you lean back, shaking your head.

the bridal party watches with amusement as you bicker, already acting like an old married couple. reaching her hand out, you grab ahold of alisa’s hand, giving her a soft smile, “okay okay, atsumu, would you mind getting us a few drinks so i could talk to my cousin?”

nodding his head, he lifts his hands up, “yes, i can definitely get those for you. i’m assuming from the punch table. have fun babe.”

watching as he walks away, alisa immediately starts badgering you for more information. your first thoughts of him, how long you’ve been together, whether you’ve gone to any of games as his ‘girlfriend’ yet. the question that stood out to you the most is when she asks ‘do you love him?’.

“love him? i don’t know, maybe? i mean he annoys the living hell out of me. and i probably won’t tell him this, at least not till we’re dating longer, but i do think i care about him. in our own way, you know?” you shrug, rubbing your thumb against her hand, “but enough about me, how’s it feel to be married to the love of your life?”

atsumu peeks over at the two of you, holding a few glasses on a tray he was able to steal from catering. listening to the sweet sounds of you figuring out that maybe you don’t actually hate atsumu for the night he ruined your favorite sweater…

a/n: thank you so much for requesting @thestorytellercattie !! i hope you like it

gen. taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfic #hq #hq x reader #hq fanfic #☆ fics #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu atsumu #hq atsumu #atsumu miya #atsumu miya fluff #atsumu miya fic #miya atsumu #☆ writing event

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luvinescent · 10 months

Text

Stealing Time

Pairing: Modern!Robb Stark x fem!Reader

Summary: Weddings should be an event full of joy and happiness for everyone involved. Especially for the bride and groom, who are the main focal point of it all. So, what is the reason for celebrations if they both have gone missing?

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, sexual content, smut, p in v, dirty talk, etc.

Word count: 3933

Additional: M/H/N stands for Maid of Honors Name.

A soft melody of a strong quartet could be heard through the air like a soft breeze as more guests continued to arrive. The venue was decorated with fairy lights that cascaded down, a crystal chandelier in the middle of it all, creating an inviting and dreamy atmosphere. The celebratory music pulsated on the dance floor, enticing visitors to sway and swirl in a joyful celebration. The air was filled with laughter and lively discussions that mixed with the sound of glasses clinking as toasts were being offered in honor of the newlyweds.

The only problem was that neither one of them were present in the room.

Catelyn Stark, mother of the groom, stood scanning the room next to the wedding planner— a young girl who looked to be on the verge of pulling out her hair. Catelyn could hear the small anxious mutters of “we’re off schedule now” as the girl kept analyzing the clipboard she held in her hand. Excusing herself from the girl and her husband, Catelyn went towards the hallways connecting to the venue. She was stopped in her travels by a distant relative on her husbands’ side, smiling at the old man.

“Catelyn!” he greeted heartily. “Where is that boy of yours? I haven’t seen him or the new Mrs.”. He let out a great laugh, holding onto his rounded beer belly for support. Catelyn returned the laugh, nodding at his question, “I was just about to go get him. I’ll be right back”.

She turned around; the sound of her heels clicking on the shiny floor echoed, causing any guests in her path to quickly shift aside. Catelyn walked with a confident stance, her chin up, shoulders back, and a big smile covering her face. A smile that was very deceiving and Jon Snow knew this when she came faced with him.

“Where is your brother?”

He stared wide eyed at her, caught off guard by her presence and her question. His face was a ballet of nervousness, revealing the false confidence he was trying so hard to keep up. “I-I, uh… I don’t know...”, Jon shrugged his shoulder, wincing a little at the look she gave him. Catelyn smacked her lips, grabbing a hold of Jons ear, “Don’t lie to me. Where is Robb? The nerve of that boy! Disappearing at his own wedding, and you covering for him. I thought I raised you both better than this!”. The entire time, the bride’s maid of honor had stood next to Jon, witnessing him get a scolding from his mother, but Catelyn could care less about his embarrassment. Before Catelyn could continue her interrogation, she was stopped by the sound of a familiar voice within her distance. “Have you seen Y/N?”.

Turning around, Catelyn saw the mother of the bride asking a family member before she turned and saw her. “Oh, Cat!”, the mother rushed towards her, “Have you seen my daughter? I can’t find her anywhere”.

Putting back on that wide smile, Catelyn turned her head to Jon and the maid of honor. “What a coincidence. I can’t seem to find my son either.”

The two looked like deer’s caught in headlights. Both their words jumbled out fast, inaudible to the human ear. Thinking fast, M/H/N leaped into action, her words both a hasty attempt and holding a somewhat truth to them. “Y/N went to go change from her wedding gown to her reception dress”. Jon nodded vigorously in agreement at her explanation, “A-And Robb wanted to change his shoes”. M/H/N whipped her neck and gave Jon a glare, his add on not helping as Robb did not bring extra shoes. Y/N’s mother did not have time to question any of what they said—being brisked away to go greet a great aunt.

Catelyn stood in front of the two adults once again. She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by their statements.

“Y/N went to go change?”

“Yes”, M/H/N said instantly.

“And Robb went to go change his shoes?”

“Yes”, now it was Jon.

“…and they went together?”

“…yes”, they both replied. Humming to herself, she continued observing them, knowing very well they were hiding something. “How long ago did they leave?”. They once again exchanged looks with one another, face flushed with embarrassment, “Uh, not that long ago…they’ll be here soon”. Catelyn’s skepticism deepened, her eyes darting from M/H/N awkward performance to Jon’s increasingly guilty expression. Letting out a sigh and rubbing her temples, she turned to return to the party, “Fine”.

With one hand tangled in his auburn curls, you panted against Robb’s lips, “mm you’re insane”. Robb chose to ignore your words, his lips choosing to instead attack your neck and his fingers gripping hard on your thigh— surely to leave bruises come morning. Craning your neck back for more easy access, you tried reasoning, “they’re probably looking for us now—“. You couldn’t even finish your sentence, his cock having thrusted into your walls so deep it left you gasping for air, “f-Fuck, Robb!”

He groaned against your neck, his hips moving in rhythm against yours, “Who cares what they’re doing when I get to have you like this to all to myself”. You almost bit your tongue when his hand slipped between the two of you, fingers rubbing at your sweet spot, “Fuck, I love it when you moan my name”.

It was almost close to an hour ago when your maid of honor took you to change out of your wedding dress into your reception dress. Coming out of the dressing room, you were met with both your newly brother-in-law and newly husband. While M/H/N and Jon engaged in some conversation about the band arriving soon, Robb and you took to wrapping each other up in arms. With a huge grin on his face, he planted small kisses all over your face, “My gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous, wife”. Laughing at how his stubble tickled against your face, you laid your palm up against his cheek, “Aye, watch the makeup”, quickly giving him a kiss on the lips before pulling away and looking into his blue eyes, “but thank you my very handsome, good-looking, very very very attractive husband”. You two shared a moment of silence and intense gaze before you both broke out in giggles, capturing each other’s lips in one another, moving tendering and deeply. Pulling away, Robb stared down at you, both love in his eyes but also a hint of something else.

“You know you really do look gorgeous. You look equally as beautiful in this dress as you did in your wedding dress”. You thanked him once again but gave him a puzzled look when he said he had other opinions, however.

“And what other opinions are those?”, you said, smiling while waving at a cousin who just entered the building. Turning back to Robb, you noticed the way his eyes had slightly shifted in emotion; something more carnal behind them. Bending down his head towards your ear, he whispered softly, “If we weren’t in public right now, I’d have you naked with my head between your thighs”. His voice brought chills up your spine as he blew a soft gust of air on your earlobe before going back to height. Biting your lip and playing with his tie, you titled your head to the side and chuckled softly “You would, huh?”. His only reply was a nod, watching your every move like hawk and gulping as your fingers started to trail along his neck now. Robb was being unfair; he knew just how much his words had an effect on you. But yours did too. Bringing him down by his tie, you’d thought best to return his teasing—fighting fire with fire.

Slowly, you leaned up, “…I want you inside of me. I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do right now”. You could hear his breath hitch behind his closed mouth. Both of you were once again stuck in an intense stare down, this time only desire and want in your gazes. You were quick to fix yourself up, distancing yourself a bit from Robb and plastering on an innocent smile as more guests arrived, “Hi. Thank you for coming”. You snickered to yourself; feeling Robbs eyes on your back as he hadn’t moved a single inch from his spot. Jon and M/H/N ended their conversation and turned to face you both, nodding their head in the direction of the main area, “Alright, let’s get going”.

You took one single step before Robb came up behind you, grabbing you by your forearm and pushing you towards his chest. “Actually”, he started, “Y/N told me her dress is bothering her”. M/H/N had stepped up, examining you from head to toe, “Oh, let me help— “. Robb had interrupted her by raising his hand and shaking his head, “No, it’s fine. I got it. Besides, we want to spend some quiet time together, don’t we babe?”. Looking up at him, you quickly assessed the situation and nodded along, “R-right, yeah. We’ll be right back. You guys go and have fun. Who cares about us anyways.”

Jon and M/H/N didn’t have time to argue back— the new couple running down the halls of the building, hand in hand with laughter being echoed throughout it. Jon tsked his tongue, shouting at his brother and sister-in-law who were still in view, “What do you mean who cares about you guys?! This is your wedding!”. They both turned to flip Jon off, turning the corner and disappearing to the next connecting hall. Sighing, Jon rubbed his face as M/H/N came to stand next to him in silence.

“You know there was nothing wrong with her dress”. “… Yeah”.

And that’s how you found yourself with Robb in some random office room in the building of your wedding reception. Robb’s patience was running low as he pushed you up against the wall and against the corner of what some seemed to be some bookshelf. Both your lips hungrily going at each other very frantically. A loud moan was swallowed by his mouth when his fingers went down, pushing your panties to the side and starting to play with your wet folds and opening. Wasting no time, you trailed your hands down towards his belt, quickly trying to undo it. Robb pulled away entirely from you, using the distance to unbutton a bit of his dress shirt and to take off his belt. Breathing heavily, you grabbed him back down by the neck for another kiss, biting his lip and sucking on his tongue. Pulling away, you raised an eyebrow at Robb with a smirk present on your face and his lips darkened and wet with saliva, “I’m almost positive this kind of tradition is reserved for tonight. You know, after the reception, not during”. Robb laughed slightly, pushing up against you and grabbing a hold of your thigh, wrapping your leg around his waist while the other stood for balance. His other hand was used to bunch up the fabric of your white party dress and to pull down one of its straps. “What can I say”, he bit along your neck, “you’re just so damn beautiful. So damn sexy. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold myself back when I saw you walking down that aisle”. His lips returned to yours. This kiss was messy with teeth almost clashing and tongues fighting. Both your hands were everywhere they could be felt; his on your thighs, ass, hips, breasts, and yours on his chest, neck, and back. Pulling away, Robb looked at you from head to toe and gave you a teasing smile, “And what’s all this?”. With both your body movements and clothes shifting, Robb had finally taken noticed of the white lace lingerie you had underneath the entire time of both your wedding dress and your reception dress. Rolling your eyes, you gave him a pointed look, “It was supposed to be for tonight. Way to ruin the surprise”. He pouted mockingly at you and let out a small chuckle, kissing your forehead before his previous lustful look returned, “We can keep it on for now. And for tonight, I’ll just pretend it’s my first time seeing it”.

The way he spoke and stared at you had sent something straight to your burning core and had made you shifted closer to him unconsciously. “Such a gentleman”, you spoke running a thumb along his bottom lip and started kissing him again. With his belt already undone, it only took a few seconds to push down his clothing layers just enough to free his cock. As a brief warning, sliding your panties to the side, he slid his tip through your wet folds for a couple seconds. The whine you let out was all he needed before he pushed entirely inside you. You gasped loudly and screwed your eyes shut as Robb gave you a few seconds to adjust to the sudden fullness. Shaking your head, you bit down on your lip, “Don't be gentle with me—I like it when you're rough”. Robb wasted no time, gripping your thigh and fucking deeply into you, “Ah, fuck”, he moaned out, “you feel so fucking good. My good girl. My fucking wife”. He moved his lips along your collarbone, groaning and biting down. “Mm, fuck” you muffled out as your pussy clenched around his hard cock with every thrust he made. Robb took a second to look down, watching the way you took him in and your sleek and arousal that coated him every time he reentered. He was in heaven. Looking back up, you stared at Robb whose pupils were dilated in rapture with a little sweat coating his forehead. You probably looked the same to him as well. Your standing leg was starting to lose balance, causing you to slightly shift. Robb was quick to grab a hold of you, causing the tip of his cock to hit your most sensitive spot and just what he was looking for. “Hmm!”, you moaned out, “fuck Robb, right there!”, you truly felt like you were seeing stars. He started to fuck into you even faster and harder, increasing his movements, your pussy clenching even more, indicating your release. Eyes rolling back, you let your head fall back against the wall as you let out a mixture of curse words, moans, and Robbs’ name. Your body filled with warmth and pleasure, trembling as Robb held onto you and continued trying to reach his own climax. His movements were starting to get sloppy; you knew he was reaching his dissolve soon. However, he had to stop his movements abruptly; the doorknob to the room shaking vigorously.

Despite having locked the door beforehand, it was Robb’s natural reflex to reach over and hold onto the knob. At the same time doing so, he had let out a groan, and you a squeak as he slightly pushed you with his body. You were caught off balance but were able to hold onto the corner of the bookshelf, giving Robb a glare while he raised his finger up to his lip.

“Is somebody in there?”

Both your eyes widened in mutual shock; mouths agape as you two exchanged a horrified glance. You both recognized that voice as Robb’s Aunt Lysa.

She started banging harshly on the door now, “I know that someone is in there. I can hear you! This is a private event! If the cops need to be called, I have no problem- “.

“It’s me Aunt Lysa”, Robb spoke out, slightly cringing. Your face was flushed red; both because of your current activities and because of shame. Looking down, Robb’s left hand still had your thigh wrapped around his waist and his cock still buried inside you.

“Robb?”, Lysa questioned, “Is that you? Your mother has been looking everywhere for you! What are you doing in there?”

Robb gave you a once-over before clearing his throat, “I’m just…changing”. Your grip on the shelf was losing itself, causing you to readjust and move — which caused you to slightly sink down onto Robb’s cock. He was quick to bite his lip to stop the moan coming from his mouth, almost drawing blood in the process. Robb knew you too well and covered your mouth with his hand, knowing you would do the same. The only probably was that he wasn’t as quick.

“Now, hold on,” Lysa loudly said from the other side of the door, “I can hear another person in there and it sounds like a woman. Robb Stark you may be my nephew but I swear to God if you’re doing what I think your doing - “

“It’s me Mrs. Arryn”, you finally spoke out too. There was a moment of silence from the other end before Lysa started speaking again, “Oh, Y/N. Of course… Your mother was also looking for you…”. There was some awkwardness to her tone as you tried your best to clean up the situation, “I’m just changing too. Robb’s helping me”. Another awkward silence passed, “Of course he is…”. You and Robb gave each other a side glance; it was clear she didn’t believe you two and knew what you two were really doing. “Well”, Lysa began, “I best let you two get back to uh…changing…oh, um, where are the bathrooms?”. Robb was the one to answer her question, “On the other side of the building”. With a quick thank you and goodbye, you could hear the distant sound of her heels from the other side before she was gone entirely.

Turning back to Robb, you slapped his chest, groaning into your hands, “Ughhhh, that was so embarrassing”. He only laughed, making you peek at him from the gaps of your fingers. “What are you laughing at? You heard her; our parents are looking for us, so we better go”. Robb’s only response was to kiss you sloppy, pushing back once more inside you. You gasped into his mouth, his tongue playing with yours. Robb then pulled out of you completely, making you whimper from the sudden emptiness. Grabbing you by the forearm, he dragged you towards the desk in the room, bending you over it, pushing your dress up and your panties down— exposing yourself fully to him. He caressed your ass before smacking it hard; making you huff, “Let them wait a few more minutes”, his fingers played along your glistening folds. Standing up behind you, he pushed himself back into you, thrusting in, and out, and in again. Each time rougher than the other as he stretched out your cunt. Grabbing ahold of your hair and arching your back for him, he spoke into your ear, “This is our special day, isn’t it?”. Your only answer was a loud moan, his fingers being placed in your mouth to suck on. “Besides, I’m not fully done with you”.

About twenty minutes later (some of which took up of M/H/N fixing your makeup and concealing your bite marks), you and Robb entered the main room holding arms. Guests were raising their glasses up to you in cheers— some already clearly starting to get tipsy. A close friend of yours came up to you both, hugging you and giving you your congrats while Robb shook hands with her boyfriend. Once they pulled away and moved aside, you both had clear sight across the room of the one person who was looking for you two the most: Catelyn Stark. To make matters worse, she was also conversing with her sister; both whispering and giving you two the side eye.

“Crap” both you and Robb said in unison, watching Catelyn with her wrath make her way towards you. Your sight was cut off by the wedding planner standing stressed and tired in front of you, “Okay, we can get back on schedule if we just follow with the original plan. Bride, it’s time for the father-daughter dance”. Your ears perked up at the familiar sound of the music you had chosen for this occasion and turned to see your dad already on the dance floor. Turning back to Robb, you gave him a sheepish smile, “Would you look at that… gotta go”. He was quick to grab a hold of your hand, “You can’t leave me. You vowed to be with me through anything”. Pulling your hand back, you raised both hands up in defense, “I had my fingers crossed when I said that”.

Seeing his pouted puppy look made you laugh, quickly blowing him a kiss, “I’m kidding. I love you”, turning to go dance with your father. Robb didn’t even have to turn around— already feeling his mother’s presence behind him. Wrapping arms with him, many passersby would see the scene as a mother coddling her son. But Catelyn was actually pinching Robb’s side, and hard. “You are so vulgar I swear. At your own wedding Robb, really? You couldn’t wait until after?”, she spoke through gritted teeth.

Robb winced a little at the pain, but his eyesight was also focused on you. Smiling and laughing with your father. “Why are you getting only me in trouble? Y/N was equally in on it”. Catelyn could only roll her eyes at her sons’ immature response, “Please, knowing you and knowing her it was probably all your doing”. Staring up at him to continue her scolding, she stopped momentarily at the look in her sons’ eyes. Following his line of vision, she was meet with you. A tender smile graced Catelyn lips. Nothing short of captivating was the way he gazed upon you. His unspoken proclamation of love seemed to go beyond words, and his eyes radiated an undying commitment. “Are you happy?”, she asked Robb. The song was coming close to the end. Robb turned to face his mother, a stern look on his face and nothing but seriousness was his tone, “Yes. I am”. From the corner of his eye, Robb could see your father leading you to him. Standing up higher, Catelyn gave him a quick peck on the forehead, “Good. That’s all I’ve ever wanted”. You and your father came face to face with the both of them, Catelyn giving you a peck on the cheek and your father handing you over to Robb, “She’s all yours’ son,” he patted his shoulder, “take care of her”.

Robb led you to the dance floor where the band had started to play a slower and more romantic song. Swaying to the tempo, you spoke up, “So, was she angry?”. Robb let out a small chuckle, smiling down at you. “She was,” he began, “but she said she’d forgive us if we gave her a grandchild”. Staring at him agape, you slapped his chest with a small gasp, “She did not say that!”. Now you both were laughing. The world around you two seemed to fade into a soft blur as you moved, lost in the embrace of your love. Resting your head against his chest, you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I love you”, Robb spoke up, his hand tenderly placed on the small of your back. Sighing deeply, inhaling his scent and allowing yourself to bask in his warmth, both of you feeling safe in each other’s embrace, you let him know your feelings, “I love you too”.

Enjoying the moment's beauty, you both stayed in each other's arms as the music softly faded into the night. You both understood that this dance was only the start of an endless journey together.

#robb stark #game of thrones #robb stark imagine #robb stark oneshot #robb stark x reader #richard madden #robb stark fanfic #robb stark x y/n #robb stark x you #got imagines #robb stark fic #robb stark scenario #got x reader #got scenario #robb stark smut #modern!robb #modern!robb stark #modern!robb stark x reader

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beansprean · 10 months

Text

I forgot to put these on tumblr lol! These romcom posters were made as an 'anonymous' gift for returnofthelu for the 2023 Halloween Exchangeapalooza! Check out all the entries on AO3 here!

These are also avail as posters, prints and stickers on my RedBubble!

Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

(ID in alt and under cut)

1. Movie poster based on Practical Magic, with the title in the top center and the names Guillermo de la Cruz and Nandor the Relentless along the top. Nandor is close up in the center, face worried and thrown into harsh shadows by candlelight. Guillermo is just behind him, staring determinedly at the viewer with a stake raised. Nandor's left hand is held out behind him, the back of it pressed to Guillermo's chest as if to hold him back. In the foreground in front of them is a cluster of lit candles and the silhouettes of dozens of bats flying past. A tagline reads 'for a vampire with a lifetime of heartbreak, falling out of love is the trickiest spell of all.' Text at the bottom says 'a beansprean production.'

2. Movie poster based on While You Were Sleeping, with the names Guillermo de la Cruz and Nandor the Relentless along the top. Close up of Nandor in his super slumber robes, eyes half open, drooling and looking barely awake, head surrounded by question marks. Guillermo, a vampire, is beaming and hugging him around the neck from behind, a smear of blood on his cheek. The title 'While You Were In Super Slumber' lays across them in white with the tagline 'a story about love at second sight.' Text at the bottom says 'a beansprean production.'

3. Movie poster based on The Wedding Planner, with the names Guillermo de la Cruz and Nandor the Relentless along the top with the tagline 'a romantic horror comedy about love, wishes, and other events you just can't plan for.' Waist up of Guillermo and Nandor on a background of white roses dripping with blood, pooling and staining at the bottom. Guillermo is leaning heavily against the bottom of the poster with both elbows, one hand holding up his face as he stares blankly into the middle distance, tired beyond belief with dark circles beneath his eyes. Nandor is leaning into him from behind, one arm propped on his shoulders and holding a pen while he gestures vaguely. The other hand is holding up a notebook. Nandor, also with dark circles beneath his eyes but with a more manic expression, is looking upward and appears in the middle of reciting some new list of demands. The title 'The Wedding Planner' is scrawled over the top of them in fancy font. Text at the bottom says 'a beansprean production.'

4. Movie poster based on Pretty Woman, with the names Guillermo de la Cruz and Laszlo Cravensworth along the top. The title 'Pretty Vampire' is printed vertically on the right side with the tagline 'he flew into their lives, off the balcony, and needed medical attention.' In the center, Laszlo floats midair, facing left with one hand in his pocket. He is wearing a black suit with a patterned purple waistcoat and embroidered loafers. He is wrenched backward with a shocked and angry expression, bent almost in half, as Guillermo grabs onto his tie from behind. Guillermo, wearing a pink and red patterned sweater, black chinos, and black boots, is flailing midair, held up only by his death grip on Laszlo's tie as he pumps his legs back and forth in an effort to regain flight. His eyes are wide and panicked, teeth clenched together, and there are shadows of bat wings at his back. Text at the bottom says 'a beansprean production.'

5. Movie poster based on The Vow, with the names Guillermo de la Cruz and Nandor the Relentless along the top. Nandor and Guillermo are facing each other in profile, intimately close and with their foreheads pressed together, smiling gently and staring into each other's eyes. Nandor has his hands on Guillermo's hips and Guillermo has one hand on Nandor's waist and the other tucked around the back of his neck. Several top buttons of Guillermo's shirt is open, and there is blood staining the collar and dripping sluggishly from two holes on his throat. Blood is also smeared around Nandor's mouth and chin. The title 'The Vow' is overlaid with the tagline 'his word is their bond'. Text at the bottom says 'a beansprean production.'

6. Movie poster based on The Breakup, with the names Guillermo de la Cruz and Nandor the Relentless along the top. Nandor and vampire Guillermo are both sitting up on either side of a massive king-sized coffin with a double lid. A line of duct tape runs down the adjacent wall and divides the coffin down the middle. On the left, Guillermo, hair a mess and wearing a blue striped pajama set, sits with his knees to his chest, hugging his balled-up corner of their shared comforter to his chest and glaring off to the side, away from Nandor. On the right, Nandor, wearing a loose cream blouse, sits pouting with his arms crossed, glaring over at the side of Guillermo's head. The title over their heads says 'the break-up' with the tagline '…pick a side.' Text at the bottom says 'a beansprean production. coming on a sheet near you November 2023.'

7. Movie poster based on Failure to Launch, with the names Guillermo de la Cruz and Laszlo Cravensworth along the top. Full body of Laszlo and Guillermo as Laszlo, wearing a burgundy and pink suit, cheerfully pushes Guillermo across the screen from behind, grinning at the viewer. Guillermo, wearing a teal and brown patterned cardigan, beige chinos, and boots, is leaning back into Laszlo, body fully straight and rigid, digging his heels in as they scrape along the ground. He looks anxious and terrified, hands up in front of him as if to protect him from whatever he's headed toward. The title above their heads reads 'failure to launch' with the tagline 'to leave the nest, some fledglings just need a little push.' Falling down from the title is a little black and orange bat, a dotted line following it down as it fails to fly upward. Text at the bottom says 'a beansprean production.'

8. Movie poster based on 10 Things I Hate About You, with the title '10 Things I Ate Instead of You' large in the right center of frame with the names Nandor the Relentless and Guillermo de la Cruz above and below it, respectively. A tagline along the top reads 'how do I resent thee? let me count the ways'. In the center is Nandor from knees up, curled in an armchair with his knees tucked to one side, his left arm resting on the chair arm and his right elbow braced on the other to play idly with his hair. His expression is a practice in aloofness, looking off to the side. Behind him stands Guillermo, left arm leaning against the back of the chair and right elbow braced to lean his head against his hand. He stares longingly at the side of Nandor's head, face flushed and lips pressed together nervously. Text at the bottom says 'a beansprean production.'

9. Movie poster based on You've Got Mail, with Guillermo and Nandor. Their names are listed at the top. They are walking casually toward the viewer on far sides of the image, looking off to the side away from each other with dreamy smiles, ignorant of the other's presence. Nandor is wearing a brown and gold belted tunic and boots, twiddling his fingers together. Guillermo is wearing black boots, gray chinos and vest, and his trenchcoat, a stake loose in his hand as it swings at his side. The background is blurry green and white, shadows stretching out in front of them. Between them, a tagline reads 'Someone you pass on the street may already be the love of your afterlife.' and then the title 'You've Got Mail' beneath. 'Text at the bottom says 'a beansprean production.' /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #laszlermo #romcom #exchangeapalooza #mlm #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #laszlo cravensworth #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described #the super slumber one is not avail in rb right now bc its under copyright review lmao #but im sure it will pop back up in a few days

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nhlclover · 10 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒 | 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

summary: at a wedding, you and jack are forced to reunite, bringing up the question of whether or not you are truly over one another.

warnings: not entirely proofread, a bit of angst, kissing, probably more i just don't know

a/n: based on ‘the story of us’ by taylor swift. kind of obsessed with this...

word count: 2.19k

If you asked your past self where you saw yourself in a year, you likely would’ve said this scenario. You would’ve been at the end of the aisle, Jack waiting for you to join him at the other end.

Instead, you’re standing heartbroken in a pink bridesmaid dress, waiting for the groom and his groomsmen to appear. You hear the grand doors of the church open, and loud, boisterous laughter enters the hall.

“There you are!” You say, spotting Quinn amongst his groomsmen. You try not to look past him knowing that Jack, being his best man, would be right behind.

Quinn looks down at his watch, scrunching his brows. “We’re right on time.” He says.

“Early is right on time. Right on time is late.” You tell him. You fix his crooked tie, also adjusting his boutonniere.

You look up at his face, reading a tinge of nervousness. “You ready?”

Quinn and Sara had been dating for 6 years before he finally proposed. Being childhood friends with Sara, you had been there from the beginning of their relationship and their very first dates, to just a year ago when you helped Quinn pick out the ring.

Their love had coincidentally brought you your own. A couple of years ago, Quinn introduced you to his younger brother, Jack, and the sparks flew instantly. It was near instant attraction for both of you, Jack asking you out after getting to know one another. You used to think one day, you’d be in Quinn and Sara’s shoes, getting to tell people the story of your relationship for years to come.

However, you and Jack were now standing on opposite sides of the room, doing your best to avoid the other.

It had been a while since you guys had broken up, and if you were being honest, you’d forgotten exactly how you guys ended. The last month of your relationship was filled with constant fighting. It was something of a simple miscommunication that led to your fallout and the story of you guys was now looking more like a tragedy.

You hadn’t spoken to him since the day after the breakup when you exchanged items left at one another's place. And now you were being forced to walk down the aisle next to him as you were Sara’s maid of honour and Jack was Quinn’s best man.

“Yeah, so ready.” Quinn replies, a familiar grin forming on his lips. You couldn’t imagine someone more perfect for Sara to get married to.

“Okay, get in your places guys!” The wedding planner says.

Quinn stood at the front, the rest of you guys lining up behind him. You felt him accidentally bump your shoulder as he stood beside you. His familiar cologne was overpowering your senses.

“Take my arm.” Jack mumbles, sticking out his elbow.

You do as he says, linking arms. The doors open, revealing the beautifully decorated interior. The organ began and Quinn made his way down. You and Jack were next, making your way down the aisle at a painstaking pace. You spot Jim and Ellen in the front row of the pews. Jim shoots you a smile while Ellen places a hand on her chest, whispering something to her husband.

You loved Jack's parents. You still love them. At the engagement party, happening just after you and Jack broke up, they spoke to you, letting you know how upset they were when they found out. They had always been the nicest to you, from the moment Jack introduced you to them. Even now as you were broken up, they made sure to keep up with you and the happenings in your life. You easily recognized where Jack got his traits from in the kindness of his mother, as well as the passion and drive of his father.

You reach the end of the aisle, splitting from Jack as he stands behind Quinn, you going to where Sara was about to be. You felt his eyes still on you, but you didn’t dare look at him.

Soon, Sara walked down the aisle and read the vows you’d helped her perfect. The ceremony was beautiful and you were over the moon for your friend and her now husband.

Everyone from the wedding party headed back down the aisle, Jack not linking arms with you this time. You head back into the lobby, and the wedding planner informs you that there is a car outside to take you guys to the reception venue, which is a restaurant a couple of minutes away.

Sitting in the back of an SUV, you and Jack remain silent towards one another. Luke was a welcome presence, being a buffer as he was forced into the middle seat despite his large stature. He kept the conversation going, mostly with Jack.

You’re thankfully kept busy the moment you’re in the restaurant, helping greet guests and guide them into the room. As dinner comes, you are somewhat thankful that Quinn and Sara placed you in between Luke and Brady, two guys who have seemingly endless topics to discuss.

Dinner is soon over and the newlyweds enjoy their first dance. You can’t help but find him across the room. He had abandoned his tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He’d obviously abandoned the urge to avoid tousling his hair, now a wavy mess compared to the styled state of earlier.

Sara and Quin find you shortly after their dance. Sara engulfs you in a hug. “I’m a married woman!” She squeals.

“Yes, you are! You’re a married woman who’s clearly had a couple of glasses of champagne.” You chuckle. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

You give Quinn a hug before Sara pulls you close to her. “Have you talked to him yet?” She asks.

“Um not really, he said about three words to me when we walked down the aisle and that’s it.” You reply.

Sara groans. She was one of the biggest campaigners of your and Jack's relationship. Sara was the one who pushed Quinn to introduce you two, saying she ‘had a good feeling’ about the pair of you.

“Quinn get Jack to talk to y/n/n.” She says to her now husband.

“I can try but… I don’t know he’s weirdly cagey when people bring you up.” He says.

Both you and Sara furrow your brows, Sara speaking the words you are thinking. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know. The other day my parents started asking Sara about you and they asked him why you guys broke up and he didn’t want to talk about it.” Quinn explains. “Then he just left the room.”

“Oh my god, he hates you.” Sara gasps.

“Wow, thanks Sara.” You say sarcastically.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Quinn says, dispelling what his wife said. “If he hated you he would not hesitate to trash talk you.”

“He doesn’t trash talk me?” You ask.

“No, definitely not. He just doesn’t like to talk about you for some reason.” Quinn shrugs. “Listen, we’ve gotta go see some other people but… If I were you, I’d try to talk to him.”

You bid goodbye to Sara and Quinn as she moved on to talk to his aunt and uncle. Suddenly you were left alone, despite being in a crowded room. Your normal comfort would be to find Jack, as he was always so good at talking to anyone. You recalled the many times Jack effortlessly introduced himself to people, becoming friends with them in less than a couple of sentences.

You stood to the side, your hand fiddling with the satin strap of your dress. Trying to look busy, you pull out your phone, scrolling through social media and responding to random texts. You were grateful when two familiar-spirited boys joined your side.

“Hey y/n!” Trevor practically shouted, scooping you up.

“Trevor, put me down!” You squeal, kicking your feet that are a couple of inches off the floor. He set you down, Cole pulling you into a hug right as you were on solid ground.

“How are you boys?” You ask them.

Cole and Trevor tell you about their lives, speaking about their respective seasons, their summers so far, as well as their love lives.

“So are you and Jack back together yet?” Trevor asked.

You nearly choked on your drink as he asked that question. “What?” You ask.

“When are you and Hughesy gonna smarten up and get back together?” He rephrases.

“We’re not getting back together, Z.” You tell him.

“Bullshit,” Cole says in a sing-song voice.

“I’m serious.” You say. “We’ve both moved on.”

Cole and Trevor exchange doubtful looks. “Yeah? And how come neither of you brought a date even though you both had plus ones?” Trevor asks.

“Just because we’ve moved on doesn’t mean we’re necessarily seeing other people at the moment.” You say.

“Well, I happen to know that somebody also hasn’t dated since the break-up…” Cole says, sipping from his beer bottle.

You’re rendered silent, looking down at your pedicured toes peeking out of your heels.

“Aha! We got her.” Trevor grins.

“Just go talk to him, please,” Cole says. “It’s honestly painful watching this. It’s like you’re in a contest to see who can act like they care less. And you’re both losing.”

You catch his eyes from across the room, his pride forcing him to pull his gaze away. “Yeah, not happening.” You sigh.

You throw back the rest of your drink, going over to the bar to get a refill.

“Quinn and Sara would like to invite all couples to come to the dance floor and celebrate their love with our newlyweds!” The DJ says into the microphone.

You take a seat, watching couples crowd the dancefloor, Jim and Ellen joining hands as a perfect example of love.

“Come dance with me.”

You look to your right, Cole standing there with an extended hand. You give him a soft smile, taking his hand and following him to the dance floor. His right-hand rests innocently on your waist, holding your hand in his. You sway to the music, slow dancing with the boy who has become one of your best friends over the past couple of years.

Suddenly, there’s a familiar figure to your left. “Mind if I butt in?” Jack asks.

Cole drops his hands from you, passing you off to Jack. He gives you both an enthusiastic thumbs up, walking off.

Jack’s hand finds its familiar spot on your hip, yours resting on his shoulder. Your hand still fits comfortably in his, calloused skin bringing an odd sense of comfort. You find it hard to meet his eyes, his gaze bearing down on you.

“You look really pretty.” Jack says.

You finally bring yourself to look up at him, his soft eyes meeting yours. You yanked back to a time when you were his. His features are all the same, all the more comforting. You resist brushing back a lock of hair that falls over his eyes, no longer your job to do that.

“Thank you.” You say softly.

The pair of you sway to Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton, an oddly comfortable silence filling the air between you. You can’t help but think of both Quinn and Sara, as well as Cole and Trevor urging you to confront Jack. Whether it was the alcohol in your system or the proximity of Jack that was driving you, all the thoughts you’d had decided to spill out.

“How’d we end up this way?” You ask.

You feel Jack still, no longer gently swaying to the music. His gaze looks over you and to the other side of the room at nothing in particular, his eyes just needing to look at something that’s not you.

“I’m not scared to admit I miss you, Jack.” You continue. “I just want to know if it’s killing you the way it’s killing me.”

Jack finally meets your eyes, and you try to read what he’s thinking. You don’t know if it’s just you trying to see what you want to see, or if it’s what’s really there, but you swear you can see a tinge of happiness from your words. Jack stays silent just staring into your eyes, so you speak again.

“It’s in your hands now. I’ll lay my armour down if you’d rather try this again.” You say. You can see Jack thinking, and processing your words. “I don’t want to fight you anymore.”

In one motion, Jack sweeps down and connects your lips. The familiar feeling of butterflies fills you, something you got any time he kissed you, even when you had been dating for over a year. Jack’s hand drops yours and instead comes up to the side of your face. His attempts to pull you closer are futile, your bodies already pressed against each other.

The song comes to an end, your lips leaving Jack’s. A small smile, one you’d missed having in your life, is present on his face. You can’t help but grin back, happy to start a new chapter in the story of you and Jack.

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #new jersey devils #nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey #quinn hughes

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gb-patch · 2 months

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Hello! I have a question about the OL1 wedding DLC I hope that's alright... Is there a way for Baxter to give a speech at the wedding?

You can ask Baxter to give a speech, but it only adds a couple extra lines. He congratulates the couple and that's it. There's really nothing else he can say about them since he's only their wedding planner and they haven't hung out for real in five years, aha.

#gb patch #gb patch games #our life #ask #our life: beginnings & always #baxter ward

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dreamwritesimagines · 6 months

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The Eye of the Hurricane [13] - Cupcakes

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: There are many ways to plan a wedding.

Word Count: 2500

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, stabbing, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Apparently, the fact that you had been in a car chase with bullets flying around last night didn’t change the fact that you had to go cake tasting the next morning.

Even if you were in desperate need of some sleep.

Bucky had brought you back into the honeymoon suit last night and put around twenty bodyguards in the hallway before leaving, and even if you wanted to go with him to question the captives, you were way too tired to do so. Since he was nowhere to be found in the suit after you woke up, you figured he had gone to his apartment instead of here after he was done. You heaved a sigh as you filled your cup with coffee, then walked to sit down on the couch and pulled your phone up to check the schedule for the day. Taking a sip of your coffee, you sent a quick text to Becca, and looked over your shoulder when you heard the door open.

Bucky offered you a small smile as he stepped into the hotel suit, and you tilted your head.

“Hey,” you said. “I was wondering where you were.”

“Hey,” he rasped out, exhaustion laced in his tone and you frowned slightly.

“Why do you look like you haven’t slept last night?”

Bucky shook his head, making his way to the coffee pot before grabbing a cup from the cabinet.

“Because I haven’t—” He stopped talking when he looked down at the red fingertip stains on the white porcelain cup he was holding, then cursed under his breath and went to wash his hands in the sink. You took a better look at him, now noticing the blood on his clothes and pulled back slightly.

“Bucky?”

“Not my blood,” he said. “I was uh—we were questioning the guys.”

“The whole night?”

“Mm hm,” he said, wiping his hands with a paper towel before grabbing another cup to pour himself some coffee. You leaned back to the kitchen island, cradling your cup in your palms.

“You should get some rest.”

“No time for that,” he said, taking a huge sip of his coffee. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and go to work. How do you feel? Could you get some sleep last night?”

“Are you trying to divert the subject?”

“Yeah, is it working?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “You need to sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” he joked, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Bucky.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I don’t,” you said quickly. “I don’t worry about you as a principle. It’s just that if you get sick because you haven’t slept or whatever, we’ll have to postpone the wedding and I know you haven’t met our wedding planner but she is not the type of person you cross.”

“Noted,” Bucky said. “Do you have any plans today?”

“I’m going cake tasting with Becca,” you said. “So did the guys say anything?”

“One of them will, eventually,” Bucky said. “We’re being very convincing.”

You hummed. “Do you have a preference?”

“In weapons?”

You blinked a couple of times.

“In cakes,” you said. “Flavor wise.”

“Ah,” he said. “Sorry, my mind is still at the warehouse. Anything but banana.”

“Very helpful,” you muttered. “You don’t have a favorite flavor in cakes?”

“Not really, I’m good with all of them—” he started but his phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, then his eyes skimmed the lines before he let out a groan.

“What?” you asked and he rubbed at his eyes.

“I forgot I had a meeting with Stark,” he said and cleared his throat. “Great, okay. So doing wedding stuff today then?”

“Yeah I gotta take a shower and get ready, but I can wait. You’re the one who looks like a horror movie killer.”

He grinned. “You know, if you ever wanted to save water…”

“You’re about to pass out from exhaustion and you can still make sex jokes?” you asked with your brows raised and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I have my priorities,” he said. “So if you—”

“That will never happen,” you pointed out. “Go.”

He held up his hands.

“Okay, okay…” he said as he climbed the stairs and you shook your head slightly when you heard the bathroom door close.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, taking another sip of your coffee. “Can’t believe I’m marrying him.”

When you planned this cake tasting with Becca, you were sure it would be fun for you but safe to say, Becca’s mood wasn’t the best after last night. When you first talked about it, you had said Leila could join as well but since she wasn’t here, you could only guess they had a big talk last night, after the car chase incident.

“So,” you said as you sat down and grabbed the nearest cupcake, then read the label that informed you that it was walnut and carrot. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” Becca said, turning the cupcake in her hand and you pressed your lips together.

“How is Leila after last night?”

“Uh, she went to work,” Becca said, still staring at her cupcake. “And hasn’t texted me yet so I wouldn’t know.”

“Did she say anything last night?” you asked as you bit down on the cupcake, then shook your head and put it aside while Becca heaved a sigh.

“Yeah we talked.”

“And?”

“She says—I mean obviously she was terrified but she kept saying it wasn’t my fault.”

You hummed. “But you don’t believe her.”

“Well she has been in zero car chases with bullets flying around before she met me, so…” Becca trailed off and you reached out to hold her hand.

“Becca…”

“She’s going to leave me,” Becca said and cleared her throat. “You know what, she should leave me. That’s the right choice there.”

“Becca!”

“I never thought I’d say this, but maybe mom was right.”

You rolled your eyes. “I love Winnifred, but I wouldn’t take her advice on romance.”

“No no,” Becca said. “She kept saying this life is no fit for civilians, and she’s right.”

“You’re not even officially in the business,” you told her. “I mean I can see why being with a civilian would put them in danger if you’re one of the bosses, but you’re not. You don’t even want to be.”

“It doesn’t matter though,” Becca insisted. “I put my girlfriend in danger—”

“HYDRA put your girlfriend in danger,” you said. “And everyone is fine except those guys. I don’t know where Bucky took them but—”

“The usual warehouse.”

“Ah,” you said. “Well apparently he questioned them all night last night, so I can assure you that we’re taking revenge.”

“My girlfriend’s safety is more important to me than revenge,” she said and you pulled back slightly.

“Right,” you said. “No I know. But they’re never going to hurt anyone else, I assure you. And Leila is safe.”

She pursed her lips together and shut her eyes before squeezing at your hand.

“Sorry if that came out snappy.”

“No I get it,” you said. “Trust me.”

“It’s just…” she muttered and swallowed thickly. “Is this going to be the rest of my life? Always looking over my shoulder and worrying I might get someone killed?”

“Of course not,” you said in a rush. “No way. We had truce so far and it never happened before right? It’s just until we get rid of these assholes that we need to be extra careful, that’s all. After that, it will all be fine.”

She scoffed a small laugh.

“You sound like Bucky.”

“That might be the worst thing you ever said to me throughout our friendship,” you deadpanned and she let out a giggle.

“He looked pretty worried last night.”

“I mean I’d say so, you’re his little sister—”

“No no, for you,” she said. “We had a talk when he took me and Leila home.”

You pulled your brows together and shook your head.

“No way, Bucky doesn’t worry about me,” you said. “Why would he?”

Becca blinked a couple of times, and opened her mouth then closed it again to lean her fist on her lips, as if trying to control herself.

“Because we’re picking cakes for your wedding right now?”

“Oh yeah but that’s the only reason,” you said. “If I get killed, he will have to do business with Ian and he won’t do it so… It’s in his self-interest rather than my wellbeing.”

“I can’t believe I used to accuse Bucky of being oblivious.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Okay so, my relationship issues aside, let’s pick the perfect cake for you and my brother’s wedding that is completely pragmatical on both sides, nothing more.”

You nodded fervently, then turned to look at the table.

“Not the bananas though, apparently he doesn’t like banana flavor in cakes.”

Becca raised her brows and tried to bite back a smile.

“Right. Uh huh.”

“Anyways,” you said and grabbed the next cupcake. “Let’s do a pragmatical cake tasting then.”

By the time you were done with everything you were supposed to do, it was already evening. You and Becca had picked two cakes but you couldn’t be sure so you had asked the bakery to give you a box of them so that you could get Bucky’s opinion as well.

Even though the idea of making his slice banana flavored just to mess with him was tempting, you were going to play nice.

Well, as nice as you could.

You pulled over in front of the warehouse and left the car with your bodyguards following you. Bucky’s men rushed around as soon as they saw you walking there with the small bag thrown over your arm, and one of them opened the door to no doubt let Bucky know. You smiled at the men by the door.

“May I?”

“Of—of course ma’am,” one of them said, opening the door for you and you stepped inside to see Bucky approaching the door.

“Charm?”

“Hi there,” you said looking around the warehouse. You had been here a couple of times while you were still the heir, and it looked as huge as you remembered. You could see the tied up figured on the chair far away in the room as the familiar scent of blood hit your nostrils, and you scrunched up your face before turning to Bucky’s men. “Could you leave us please?”

They turned to look at Bucky who nodded, so they all left one by one, leaving you with him and the tied figure that almost looked unconscious. Bucky went to the table to grab a towel so that he could wipe his bloodied hands.

“What are you doing here?”

“Wedding stuff,” you said, putting the bag on the table to open the small cardboard box. “I’m supposed to let them know tonight about which flavor we picked, and I figured I wouldn’t have the time if you decide to spend the whole night here again.”

“Okay but—”

“Also what kind of a question is that? We’re getting married and I can’t visit you at work, asshole?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Here,” you cut him off by pushing a piece of cupcake into his mouth before he could say anything else and he pulled his brows together as he chewed on it, obviously deciding that arguing with you was useless.

“This is amazing,” he said. “What is this?”

“Lemon coconut,” you said as you tore a piece of the other cupcake in the box while he nodded.

“We can go with this one—”

“No so fast buddy, try this too,” you said, pushing the piece of the other cupcake into his mouth again and he chewed on it, deep in thought.

“And this?”

“Chocolate blueberry.”

“Fuck, this is a hard decision.”

“I know right?” you asked while the guy tied to the chair let out a whine. “I’m more leaning towards lemon coconut but…”

“Yeah no, chocolate blueberry is delicious too—why don’t we have two cakes?”

“Because the cake is symbolical Bucky!” you whispered while the guy let out another groan. “This marriage is going to require us to take some decisions about business together, how are we going to do that if we can’t decide on—shut it asshole!”

Bucky looked over his shoulder at the guy. “Yeah prick, we’re having a conversation here.”

“Fuck you,” the guy managed to wheeze out and Bucky shook his head slightly.

“You’d think he’d be more cooperative since I killed the other guy in front of him.”

You hummed, picking at the cupcake. “We are killing him too right?”

“Obviously, he put you and Becca in danger.”

“He also made Becca upset!” you said. “You know how I feel when people make Becca upset.”

Bucky popped the piece of cupcake into his mouth, then nodded his head.

“Lemon coconut it is,” he said. “Can I go back to beating the fuck out of him now?”

“Yeah don’t let me stop you,” you said and grabbed another cupcake from the box to follow him to the guy.

It was quite obvious that Bucky had broken every single bone in his face considering how he looked. Blood was dripping from his nose and mouth, his breaths were leaving his bloodied lips in pained groans but he still managed to look up at you while you leaned sideways to the column close to you, nibbling on the cupcake.

“Oh isn’t this the princess?” he said with great difficulty but let out a groan when Bucky grabbed his throat to squeeze it.

“I didn’t say you could look at her,” Bucky said calmly and you grinned.

“Hi there,” you said, chewing on the cupcake. “You seemed more confident while you were chasing me with a car, huh?”

The guy let out a choked noise and Bucky tilted his head, then pulled his hand back so that he could breathe again.

“You fucking bitch…” the guy started but he didn’t get to finish his sentence when Bucky punched him in the stomach, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He coughed while Bucky shook his head slightly.

“He just doesn’t learn,” he told you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“They never do,” you said, turning to the guy. “That was very rude by the way. Someone should teach you some manners.”

The guy scoffed and spat out blood.

“Maybe someone should teach you, you spoiled slut—”

He didn’t get to say anything else when Bucky pulled out his knife and rammed it right into his kneecap, making him let out a howl of pain.

“Maybe,” you said, your voice completely calm. “It’s not going to be you who teaches me anything though.”

He tried to catch his breath while you popped the rest of the cupcake into your mouth, then tilted your head.

“Bucky?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Yes sweetheart?”

“Make him do it again.”

Bucky shot you a grin and twisted the knife, the guy’s scream echoing through the warehouse again.

Chapter 14

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob! bucky #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes x reader #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky #mob boss!bucky #mob bucky x reader #mob boss bucky barnes #mob!au #mob au

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lurkingshan · 3 months

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Bestie @my-rose-tinted-glasses sent me an ask but tumblr is being a weirdo and won't let me publish it, so let's try it this way. The ask:

Wonderful day in Thailand. but now for the important questions. Of all the ql thai couples, which wedding would you like to be invited to and why? Rose💜

So let's talk QL weddings!! First of all, I would like to give a shoutout to a few excellent weddings already depicted in Thai QL:

And I would have liked to have been personally invited to every one of them, thank you very much. I'm a very fun wedding guest! I drink like a fish, I'm a happy drunk, and I love to dance, and on top of that I'm a mom friend and consummate problem solver who will absolutely take over and handle shit if the wedding planner is incompetent.

As for the weddings I would still like to see, oh I definitely have a list:

Oyei and Cher, Wandee Goodday: This is within the realm of possibility in the very near future and I will be lighting all my candles and manifesting hard for the next month.

Ten and Prem, Cooking Crush: Those were definitely engagement portraits on the wall in that epilogue and I would like to see it! I feel strongly that if I don't see at least one pair of OffGun characters get married onscreen I will simply perish.

Patts and Tai, La Pluie: You just know Patts is gonna be so extravagant and Tai is gonna be such a drama queen about it. To restore balance to the universe, Tien should get to throw a tantrum and make Tai's wedding all about his latest fight with Lomfon.

Tian and Jiu, Khun Chai: I just think Tian deserves it!!!!

Every couple in The Warp Effect: We can make it a dorky group wedding if we have to, whatever it takes to see all those beautiful queer people lawfully wed to their chosen partner.

Phumjai and Yang, Love in Translation: They are business partners in love, they should get to have a wedding with a silly photoshoot in the aisles of their store.

Any pair, Knock Knock Boys: Stay with me now, I think the bl boys should get to partake in the time honored het tradition of getting drunkenly married on a bender and regretting it.

Khanin and Charan, The Next Prince: If this show does not deliver an extravagant royal wedding, what are we even doing here??

I recognize that some of these shows are long over, but I see no reason why we can't have the things that we want. Happy endings and wedding specials for everyone, I will pay!

#wandee goodday #cooking crush #la pluie #khun chai #the warp effect #love in translation #knock knock boys #thai bl #thai drama #thai gl #marriage equality #shan answers

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dejwrldarchived · 5 months

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⤷‧₊˚ ʚ₊˚‧ ✿ ꒱ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 / a late night chat between the soon to be married couple.

┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — female reader, her/she pronouns, black reader (with descriptors), influencer!reader, profanity, mentions of insecurity, wedding nervousness, mentions of microaggressions/racism, mentions of online harassment, angst, usage of y/n, unedited because i'm posting this so late and i will fix it over the weekend, mdni

╰┈➤ song for this part: your best american girl, mitski, bonus songs: flaws & all by beyonce, all because i liked a boy by sabrina carpenter

masterlist

You felt like you were running on autopilot. Granted, you had a wedding planner and a lovely assistant helping you through one of what’s about to be the most important moments in your life—but you still felt stressed. You tried to blame it on that you were getting married soon and everything wasn’t going as planned. Surely, that was a lie. Everything was perfect down to the gift bags you were going to give to guests. So what was the problem? What was wrong with you?

You were about to marry the love of your life in two days. That’s what you wanted, right? You dreamt of this day since you said yes to the big question. You imagined your life with him. Kids, if that’s what you guys wanted. Or maybe a pet. Travel to different countries was a must. It’s what you deserved. You deserved to be loved by the person who gave you the world.

But, a lot of people online didn’t agree. That’s what was wrong. You broke your own social media break and got your feelings hurt. Correction, it felt more than your feelings getting hurt. This felt more painful. Going online seeing masses after masses of comments claiming how you don’t deserve your fiance felt gut wrenching. You’ve received hate before, the usual comments influencers get.

Go get a real job.

You don’t even have a real job.

The usual that you can just delete and go on about your day.

But these comments weren’t like that and they just kept coming. You didn’t think it was this bad and usually your assistant would clean up your social media for you. But you just been so busy with the wedding and things just got out of control. Your hands shake with each scroll holding back tears of hurt and anger. How can someone say such things about a person they didn’t even know?

Does she really deserve to be with someone like him?

She can’t possibly think he’ll want to marry her.

He was supposed to marry someone like him.

You sat on your walk-in closet floor flipping through the wedding planning book she practically held onto since he popped the big question over a year ago. Even though you can feel your fairytale ending in the palm of your hand, it felt like it was slipping through your hands like golden sand. Your own insecurities and doubt was clinging you down and the only thing you can do is attempt to calm yourself down by reminding yourself that Ushijima Wakatoshi wouldn’t have gotten on one knee to ask this question. He wouldn’t have watched you compile your dream wedding in this flimsy journal book for nothing. He wouldn’t do that to you, right?

Maybe you were just overthinking. You’ve received hate messages regarding dating Ushijima but it never got this bad. It was a quick block and then you went on with your life. You locked your phone as soon as you heard footsteps and the calls of your name. Bringing the corners of your sweatshirt up to your eyes to wipe away any form of your crying because you didn’t want Ushijima to see you like this. He never knew about the messages you received because you thought he wouldn’t have understood.

“Babe?” His voice calls out in the apartment, he was close—usually knew if he didn’t see you lounging in the living room on your fourth Bob’s Burgers rewatch, you were either in the closet hiding away another pair of shoes you’ve brought or in the study working on something.

“Babe..” His head peaks into the closet seeing you. He parted to brag about how well his final fitting for his suit went, but when he saw how puffy your eyes were—worry decorated his face swiftly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he stepped in at the sound of your sniffling.

“It’s nothing, I just was going through the planning book and got emotional. Can you believe that we’re getting married. I’m so excited…and emotional.” You let out a weary sigh and glance down at the book in front of you to avoid his eye contact.

He was good at knowing when you were lying. He once figured out that you planned a surprise birthday party for him in less than three minutes. That’s how well he knew you. So why couldn’t you tell him this simple thing? Why couldn’t you let the love of your life know that many people in the world just didn’t like the thought of you two together?

“You’re lying to me. Come on, let’s get out of here so we can talk.” He extends his hand that you abruptly took because he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. If you don't come, he’ll throw you over his broad shoulders and carry you out.

“I’ll make you some of that tea you like.” Ushijima suggests. He stops mid walk to the kitchen to turn to you, large hands cupping at your warm cheeks. “You can tell me what’s wrong when you’re ready, but we’re not going to bed until you speak to me. I refuse to let my soon to be wife go to bed upset.” He pecks you on your forehead before strolling into the kitchen to make tea.

You took a seat in one of the stools basking in the silence alongside the noise Ushijima was making while making tea. You were searching in a sea of words on how to explain the situation. As you sat playing with your own thoughts, you could hear Ushijima go on about the final fitting for the wedding. That included all of his groomsmen and his best man. From the way his face lit when he talked about the wedding, it brought a form of warmth upon you. Like a freshly dried blanket was pulled on your body after being in the cold all day. You enjoyed this look on him.

Relaxed…Calm…Happy…In Love.

The cup of tea was sitting in front of you and you knew that you didn’t even have to add extra things into it because he always made you the perfect cup of tea to your liking.

“Waka, I’ve been getting some hate comments lately. Well, a lot of them.” You let out a sigh. “I know I can always block them and just go on about my life, but these ones were much different than the others.” You sipped from your mug before watching him take the seat next to you.

His body turns towards you so that he can have your full attention. You didn’t expect him to talk, but he was a good listener.

“They’re saying I don’t deserve you.” You started. “Or things like how can you be with someone like that? Or you should be like someone like you.” Your bottom lip quivered and you were trying not to cry. “They see that I’m black and deem me unworthy of their prince charming, their favorite volleyball player…I just don’t understand.”

The warmth of Ushijima’s hands calmed you immediately. The second his hands were on yours, you felt your heart that felt like it was aggressively attempting to claw out your chest calm down. But it didn’t stop tears from dribbling down your cheeks.

“Baby, why didn’t you tell me? How long has this been going on?” The pad of his thumbs wipes away your tears before he’s pulling you off the stool and in between his thighs to embrace you.

Ushijima wasn’t very much a social media type of person. He hardly even liked during press days for the volleyball team when he had to. He knew he had some quite aggressive fans, especially fans of the opposite gender. If he would have known about the hate she was receiving, he would have put an end to it immediately. His face was hot in embarrassment from his own fans' behavior, but also anger because his wife to be was upset—hurt and practically on the verge of a panic attack.

“I just didn’t want to put you in an awkward position. They’re your fans. They practically help you get endorsement deals and shit.” You mumbled in his neck before pulling back to look at him, you expected the look he was giving you.

He was on the brink of saying fuck them. That they didn’t sign his checks nor gave him his volleyball abilities. You can sense his harsh words staining his tongue and even you were too afraid to pitch in that maybe it wasn’t worth it to bring it up. For all you know, your assistant were already adding people’s name to block chains. The messages were most likely getting deleted right now as you were having this conversation with him.

“Fuck, Y/N. I don’t care. You’re about to be my wife in less than forty eight hours. If they can’t accept you for you and for me, then they’re not a fan of mine.” Ushijima said. “Give me your phone. It’s time for you to get some rest.”

“Waka…”

“You have an early and busy schedule tomorrow.” He let you go and picked up your mug of tea to lead you to the bedroom.

“I don’t want to blow the situation out of proportion. It won’t be good press for the wedding and-”

“I don’t care, Y/N. This is a situation to be blown out of proportion..” He walks into the bedroom and you watch as he’s pulling the blanket off the bed and motioning for you to get in. “Get some rest.”

“Please don’t get on social media causing any drama. ” You mumbled as you practically got tucked into bed like a little kid.

“You know I’m not that knowledgeable about those things.” He assures you before he pecks your lips, your cheeks, and lastly your forehead. “Sleep well, okay.”

You went to argue against his words, but instead decided to get some rest. Especially when it flashed through your mind that you had an early appointment with the wedding planner to finalize everything. Pulling the cream colored duvet further on your body, you fell into a brief slumber until you can hear Ushijima’s voice from the master bedroom’s bathroom.

“How’d the hell I put this phone on this tripod? She makes it look so easy when she’s taking her photos.”

You rubbed the sleep out your eyes and you didn’t want to get out of bed, not wanting to disturb whatever tasks he was doing. Deciding to stay in bed just to listen to his late night rambles because the sound of his brass voice calmed you. You turned your back away from the bathroom, pulling the blanket further on your body. Wanting to stay up so you can cuddle, but the long hours of planning, wedding dress try-ons, and then the online harassment. finally caught up to you. You fell right back to sleep without hearing Ushijima’s words.

“Okay, I figured this out. I think I’m live. Tendou why are you the first person in my live, that’s so creepy. Okay, more people are joining. Now that I have an audience, I want to address something before I get married. The love of my life, the woman I’m about to marry, has been receiving hate. Not just typical hate about her career, but hate about her race from a group of individuals who are supposed to be my fans and supporters. Many of you know I can be a private person, hardly even post on this account. Many of you, get a glimpse of my life because of my fiance. I’m as important in her life as she is in mine that she’s comfortable enough to have me a part of her career journey. It’s extremely disappointing, disrespectful, and frankly ignorant as fuck reading about the things that you guys have said about her and our relationship. We’re getting married in two days and I don’t need any more ignorant people's opinions on my relationship. Go get a life, a hobby, hell—I would even say adopt a pet, but I wouldn’t even want a pet in some of your spaces if you’re spewing nonsense publicly like that. Moving forward, I will be standing alongside Y/N no matter what, and anymore hate messages will get you blocked and reported. Goodnight everyone and Tendou.”

⤷‧₊˚ cuties that wanted to be tagged | @salaciousdoll @honeybleed @threezzyo @diamondoidxx @shyartnerd564

@superslutny @bloodysamaritan @ryukenzz @starlitsawamura @stingsslut

@owoasis @kristvns @chrrypink @hon0vi @miiyahmonae

@peachesncats @jellymantra33 @markleedreams @theinnerthoughtsofalonesomegirl @oneeew

@motherofozzsworld

#ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi fanfic #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq fanfic #hq x black reader #haikyuu x black reader #ushijima wakatoshi x black reader #anime x reader #anime fanfic #black reader #female reader #⊹˳⁺ ♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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Dirty Work 52

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I always come back to Loki.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Loki lingers, his head against your arm as you sit in the hue of spring. You could be calm if he weren’t there, if he hadn’t just altered your irrevocably. His wife?

You could’ve never imagined it. You can’t be his wife. You’re the maid. You’re lost and hopeless and unimportant. Yet he wants to marry you? You? Even your own father doesn’t want you. Until just then, you may have thought the same of man kneeling by your feet.

Should it feel special? Should you be happy? Doesn’t every woman dream of her wedding day? You didn’t. You never expected a husband. You never had the thought to spare marriage. It just didn’t seem realistic to you. It was never a possibility you had to weigh.

“You’re quiet,” he lifts his head slowly, looking up at you with his gemlike eyes, “aren’t you excited?”

You suck in your lip then let it out, “yeah, I’m just... surprised.”

“Mm, I’m sorry it wasn’t a better one,” he looks around, “no candles, no champagne... but there are flowers.”

“Yeah, I guess, er--”

You hear the doors and before you can face the intruder on your scene, Frigga’s voice unleashes in a shrill squeal, “did you do it? Oh, please, Loki, what did she say?”

He shifts and clears his throat. He grips the arms rest and pushes himself to his feet. He plants a kiss on your forehead before he straightens. He lets out a breath as he turns to his mother.

“We are getting married,” he says plainly.

“Oh, how wonderful,” she chimes, “oh, a daughter-in-law!... Again.” She chuckles lightly, “it will be like a fairytale.” She flutters over to you as Loki moves out of her way, “darling,” she takes your hand, tugging you up to your feet, “this will be even grander than Walpurgisnacht. Oh yes, this will be unforgettable.”

You look at Loki as he returns your helpless gaze. You pout in his direction as he shrugs. Your mouth curves deeper downward. Please help!

“I’ve got some silhouettes in mind,” she pulls you away from the table, “Hela showed me this app, Pinterest I believe it’s called. I have all these splendid things saved.”

‘Sorry,’ Loki mouths and turns his hands out as you’re dragged away from the sunlight and the serenity of nature. Back to the dark house where you can’t breathe.

Inside, she takes you into the kitchen. She leaves you by the island as she flits around, dropping black tea into a pot and putting on the kettle to boil. She hums gleefully as you just stare. ‘Daughter-n-law'. That’s what she said. Would that make her your mother?

“Dear,” she turns to you and exhales, her expression dampening, “I recall you said your mother isn't with us anymore. I understand that may make this bittersweet for you but I will be here for you. Whatever you need, whatever questions you have, I’ll be happy to help. A wedding is a big thing. There’s much to do.”

You nod, “should we... should we hire a planner?”

“A planner? Gods no! I fancy myself a bit of an amateur but more than adequate,” she tuts, “we could have it at the house. Or perhaps we might seek out a nice chapel.”

You frown. It’s all so much so fast. She stops and puts her hand to her chest, “oh sorry, darling, I’m just so excited for you. I’m not trying to take over. Don’t be afraid to speak up. What do you think for a venue? Oh, perhaps a destination? Somewhere tropical?”

You cross your arms and peer over, your eyes catching the sheen of sunlight.

“The garden,” you murmur, “the gazebo. It’s all fixed up. We could put flowers around the rails.”

“That’d be a beautiful ceremony but what about the reception? We need space.”

“Oh,” you babble.

“Certainly we could make it work. We could fit people into the garden, we may have to sacrifice a few hedges.”

“Not many,” you mutter.

“Pardon, dear?” She asks as the kettle clicks and she turns to grab it off the burner, “what do you mean by that?”

“I...” your shoulders slump at the realisation, “I don’t have anyone to invite.”

She’s quiet as she pours the steaming water into the tea pot, “that’s not true. You have us and oh, Bragi seemed quite fond of you.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why not? Dear, we love Loki because we have to, we love you because we want to,” she smiles.

Your eyes drift away wistfully. She can’t understand. She has people, she has everything you ever wanted. Even with the promise of a pretty house, a gorgeous garden, and all that comes with it, it just doesn’t make you feel any different.

You want a dad who loves you. You want a mother who’s alive. You want anyone who isn’t just obligated to you.

“I’m sorry,” her voice goes low, “I’m not meaning to upset you. I’ll slow down. I understand it’s a lot--”

“How could you want me to marry him? I don’t belong—I shouldn’t-- I can’t be your daughter.”

“Why ever not?” She asks.

You scoff and push your shoulders up, “I’m not good enough.”

She laughs, but not a taunting laugh. It’s disbelieving. She takes you by the shoulders and makes you face her head on, “darling, let me tell you, you are. You... you have no idea.”

“No idea?” You shake your head as you look at her from beneath your lashes.

“About what you do to my son. No, you cannot see it but I do. My Loki. I’ve seen him married, I’ve seen him heartbroken, I’ve seen him through everything, but something’s different about this. About you,” he brings a hand up to caress your cheek and hairline, “you have a power over him. Once you claim it, this will all be so much easier.” She cups your cheeks and tilts her head with a coy smile, “that’s how a marriage should be, you will see. He’ll never admit it but my son is more like his father than you would think.”

You scrunch up your nose. You don’t believe her. You can’t. You don’t have power. You’re just you. You’re not special or anything like that. You now what you are to Loki. The same thing you’ve always been to him, whether his maid, his plaything, or his wife; convenient.

“You will see,” she assures as if she can hear your doubts, “and what always clears my mind is tea.”

✨

Frigga expounds at length about all the possibilities ahead of you. She has grocery list that goes beyond a mere wedding. An engagement party, a bridal shower, the rehearsal, and not to mention, a scandalous bachelorette. You only sink further into anxiety. What have you gotten yourself into?

Well, you never did say yes. You weren’t asked, were you? Doesn’t matter. It’s not like you have anywhere to go.

You hold your chin, gnawing on your lip as Frigga rambles on about wedding colours. Green is nice but what about something subtle. Oh, or metallic. You simply nod, offering little to her monologue.

Your eyes wander past her to the windows. The afternoon wanes as evening cools the air. You mourn the sunlight as it shifts and the curtains dull.

“Ahem,” the clearing of a throat draws you away from your detachment.

Frigga quiets as she glances at her husband. He stands in the doorway, greeting you both with a subtle smile.

“I hate to interrupt, dear,” he says to Frigga, “but I was hoping I might be spared a moment with our future daughter before the sun sets. It has been a long day and I’d hate to keep her later than need be.”

“Oh, uh, certainly,” Frigga pushes her shoulders back, her cheeks tinging a dainty pink, “time must’ve got away from me. I’m so sorry, darling.” She reaches over and squeezes above your elbow, “I have been going on and on.”

“You will have lots of time to do so,” Odin chuckles, “but I feel the rain coming soon and I would like a walk in the gardens before then.” He tilts his head towards you, “may I have the honour?”

Frigga nudges you dips her head, “go on.”

You stand and swallow tightly, crossing the room to Odin as he waits patiently. You offer a sheepish look as he offers his arm. You thank him and walk with him into the entryway. He lets you retrieve your shoes before you go to the back doors and he ushers you outside.

You’re quiet as you descend the steps and stroll between the hedges. You feel the cool dampness creeping in the air. He’s right about the rain. You cling to his arm as a shiver crawls up your spine.

He draws away briefly, slipping off his thick cardigan, and he slips it over your shoulders. You murmur a thank you and he loops his arm with yours once again. You carry on, uncertain. You can sense he means to say something and you think you know what. He isn’t as happy as Frigga about this union.

You brace yourself for it. For him to put all your doubts to voice. You’re not good enough for Loki. This is a mistake. You are a pretender and you don’t belong in this family.

“My son is a fool,” he begins, shaking you with his soft but deep tone. You exhale, somewhat comforted that you were right. For once. “The way he’s behaved, foolish. And that’s to put it lightly, my dear.” He reaches to pat your hand in the crook of his arm, “you deserve much better than either of my sons.”

You keep your chin low as you watch your feet. A twig crushes beneath your sole as leaves rustle to your left. You glance over and stare after a short tail before it disappears. It’s only then you realise where he’s leading you.

The gazebo rises ahead of you with it’s domed roof. He stops you at the bottom and turns. He lets you go and lowers himself to sit on the step. He pats the wood next to him. As you sit, he looks up, admiring the structure.

“You did a good job,” he says.

“What?”

“On this,” he touches the railing, “looks sturdy.”

“Oh, well I... I only called the carpenter.”

“You did what needed to be done. What my son would not.”

“Mm, I guess,” you shrug.

“You did,” he insists, “do you not see it?”

“See what?” You twiddle your fingers.

“You are much stronger than he thinks you are. Than you think you are,” he shakes his head, “you underestimate yourself. My son, as much as I hate to think I raised him that way, while whine and whine before he gets anything done. If he can avoid it, it won’t be done. But you, I see it clearly, you do things. You know what life is. You just get through it.”

You hum and bite down on your cheeks. Not having a choice isn’t bravery. If anything, it’s the opposite.

“You shouldn’t. Just get through it. You should have some joy. You shouldn’t be locked away in the dark away from the sunlight. You should flourish in it,” he leans against you, “don’t let this marriage be like everything else.”

You dip your head. He sees right through you.

“You’re wrong, I’m not strong. I’m weak. I only do things because I’m afraid,” you sniffle.

“But you can admit that fear. You can face it. Not many people can.”

You sighs and drag your hands up and down your calves, hunching over your knees.

“If you want to marry my son, I will not say a word to stop you, but I do want you to make a promise to me,” he continues, “a small one. Rather, think of it as a promise to yourself.”

“Okay,” you wilt as you look over at him. His eyes are a bluish grey with flecks of slate. His gaze is gentle.

“It’s what we spoke of before,” he says, “you must tell my son no.”

“No?”

“Ah, yes, I do regret he didn’t hear more it earlier in his life but he does need to hear it. Especially from you,” he intones.

“But I...”

“You will. And when you do, he will listen.”

“How-- no, he wouldn’t.”

“Ah, I know. My son is isn’t very good at that but he will. He must. He has reason to listen now. You are not his wife yet,” he puts his hand over yours, just atop your knee.

You give a strained look, somewhere between a smile and frown. You’re flattered that he believe in you but you don’t. He doesn’t know the way it. He doesn’t know the way you are.

“Alright, let’s practice,” he pulls his hand away and claps. He pushes himself to his feet with a grunt and spins to face you. He adjusts his collar and lifts his chin, putting on face, almost a pinched look, “now, wife,” his voice is slightly off, “what I say is law and you will do as I say.”

You stare at him, confused. You purse your lips and shake your head. What is he talking about?

He grins and shows his palms, “I am him. Pretend I’m my son,” he lowers his voice, “now, we’ve had enough of this conversation and I have made my decision.”

You pick your nail, watching him dumbly.

He breaks character again, “say no.”

“What?”

“Say it,” he orders then once more his poster shifts. “Wife, I will not tell you again.”

You blink and take a deep breath, “n--no?”

He sputters, “pardon? What was that?”

“No,” you say firmer, heart beating, “no, I—I won’t.”

“But I said so--”

“Oh, um, okay--”

“No, no, no,” Odin waves his hands, “keep going.”

“Uh, okay, uh, no,” you say again.

“No? You’re telling me no?” He puts on a display which does remind you of Loki. “How can you tell me no?”

You look at him and blanch. His grey eyes stare back, goading you on. He bows his head slightly.

“Yes, I mean, no. Yes, I am telling you no. No,” you steady your voice, “no.” He spins his finger and you repeat it again, loudly.

He arches his brow and puts his hand to his chest, “no?” He sounds almost pathetic, “but darling,” he comes forward and lowers himself to his knees, one at a time. He takes your hand in his, “darling, please, don’t be mad at me.”

You scoff as his theatrics turn ridiculous. You make a face and roll your eyes, “he wouldn’t...”

“He will,” Odin assures. “If he knows you’re serious, if you don’t give him what he wants right away, oh, I think you could give him a right scare. As I have it, you already have done.” He lifts himself slightly and angles to sit beside you again, “just perhaps this time you needn’t scale the roof.”

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