#wedding blunder | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pierregazly · 25 days

Text

tying you to me ꨄ max verstappen

max verstappen x reader

warnings: sweet max, random coincidences to lovers trope, happy ending [wc: 4.3k]

[4 times] in which something coincidentally led back to max, and the [1 time] it turned out nothing was just a coincidence (in which everything has always tied max to you).

Time, curious time Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs Were there clues I didn't see?

It felt like a never-ending nightmare.

One thing after another, one bad day after another, one bad week after the next. It felt like it was never going to end.

The person that was supposed to be that person, the man that was supposed to be forever, the person that was going to be standing at the end of the aisle... leaving with a simple apology and a ‘I’m sorry, it’s me, not you’... it was incomprehensible.

It had been weeks, and you still couldn’t wrap your head around what had gone wrong. Was he telling the truth? Was it really him? Or was it you? Had you done something wrong? Had it been you that caused the blunder? The inevitable demise?

Everyone had been adamant that it wasn’t you, it was so evident it wasn’t meant to be. Nothing connected to him, there were no signs pointing to him being the one, there was no inevitable connection. But even with those words of affirmation, it didn’t change the internal feelings, the internal heartbreak that felt like it was never going to end.

All you ever wanted was that connection, that string, that feeling, that pulled you to another person, that proved they were the person meant to be for you. It was devastating to think back and know that it was so obvious, he just wasn’t that person.

The coffee shop you currently sat in had become a morning staple after the last few weeks. After coming back to Monaco for a much-needed reprieve from the rest of the world, the little coffee shop nestled into the charming walls of Monte-Carlo had become a necessary distraction to the outside.

The employees all knew you by name now, often passing by the table and inquiring about your day, inquiring about the book you were reading, or the work assignment shown on your computer screen. Always engaging in polite conversation back, it was one of your favourite places to be.

People-watching was the only negative of it. The loving couples who passed through, all cuddled up together as they ordered their drinks for their walk throughout the city, the older couples who sat just tables away and reminisced on their lives together. It was the only thing that drove you crazy about the charming little shop.

Watching them occupied your thoughts more time’s than you cared to admit. Daydreaming and losing focus on the outside world was a commonality, especially in the little coffee shop.

It was exactly where you found yourself currently, your eye’s peering to the left as you watched an older man place his hand over who you assumed to be his wife’s hand. Their wedding bands shining brightly in the Monaco sun, soft smiles on their faces as they peered at one another, your heart begging to be let out of this turmoil, begging you to turn away and focus on something else, anything else.

Its wish was granted when you felt the cold of a drink begin to sink into your shirt, instantly soaking your skin, a gasp of shock falling from your lips.

“Oh god, I am so sorry. I just turned around and you were right there, let me grab some cloths, please.”

You knew instantly it was your own fault, you hadn’t been paying attention, more focused on the elderly couple, prompting the person in front of you to spill their... was that Red Bull? On your shirt?

“Is this Red Bull?”

The man in front of you grimaced as he handed you the dry cloths, a small smile falling across his lips while his eyes crinkled with the movement of his face. A bit of a cute look, you thought to yourself while beginning to dab at your shirt as the smell of the energy drink wafted up your nose.

“Yes, I’m so sorry. I don’t drink coffee often, but my sister wanted to stop here because she had heard good things, I was just waiting for her drink while she took a quick call outside. I really only drink Red Bull in public when I have to, or when I’m getting paid to. I thought it was her behind me when I whipped around like that, I’m so sorry. Please, can I buy you a coffee as an apology? Or a tea?”

You weren’t entirely sure if the rambling was out of nerves that you were going to overreact over the spilt drink, or if he just simply felt like he owed it to you to explain the entire incident and how it came about in full description.

The frustration that was brewing was not at all a fault of the cute man in front of you, but an accumulation of days of sadness, an irregular appetite, and just a combination of heartbreak.

Trying to keep the tears of frustration at bay, you instantly shook your head towards the cute man in front of you. “Thank you, but no. Obviously this is a sign I need to go home, sorry for spilling your drink.”

Before he could get the chance to say anything back, you were forcing yourself to rush out of the coffee shop before an outburst could erupt from inside of you. You hadn’t even noticed the look of intrigue that the Dutchman gave you.

Bad was the blood of the song in the cab On your first trip to LA You ate at my favorite spot for dinner

The memory of the handsome Dutchman in the small coffee shop left your mind not long before the happy memories of your ex-boyfriend finally forced themselves out of your head. Things had finally begun looking up, the more time you spent with your friends, the more time you spent focusing on work and the hopeful promotion that would come with it.

Although, your boss had insisted you take a few weeks off, citing the fact you were there more than anyone she knew, and that burnout was inevitable if you didn’t take the much deserved and obligated time off. The amount of overtime and banked hours allowing you to take the time off with full pay just made it easier to agree.

Which was exactly how you found yourself just south of Zurich, the snow whipping past your face as the ski lift ascended higher and higher up the mountain. Your friends giggled beside you, smiles lighting up everyone’s faces.

Winter break, although cold and snowy, was always a fan favourite amongst your friend group. It was exhilarating, you hadn’t had the chance to attend the annual ski trip while you were with your ex-boyfriend, he hated skiing and anything including winter sports.

It’s what made the trip even better, getting the chance to catch up with your friends and their partners, the chance to laugh, and drink, and just smile again. It was all worth it.

The group of guys in the ski lift behind obviously had the same idea, hooting and hollering at each other as the ski lift continued its ascent. You couldn’t decipher what they were saying, the words in a different language, but the name ‘Max’ seemed to be a commonality. Maybe someone was missing their dog while on vacation? Who knows.

After hours of skiing, the alcohol in the ski lodge was flowing. The laughter and happiness from every group was prevalent, everyone there was so obviously happy to get away from the real world. It’s what places like that were for.

“That guy over there can’t stop looking at you,” jostled out of your thoughts by one of your friends, you followed her head inclination to one of the tables a few rows down, a familiar face looking back at you inquisitorially.

It took you a second to place his face, the day in the coffee shop floating back to your mind prompting a small laugh to fall from your lips.

“That’s the guy who spilt the Red Bull all over me when I ran into him in the coffee shop in Monaco, remember?”

It had been a running joke, a typical meet-cute in a coffee shop, but instead of spilt coffee... a spilt Red Bull.

“That’s the guy who spilt the Red Bull on you?”

One of your friend’s boyfriends gaped at you, as he continuously maneuvered his look between you and the man in question. Nodding your head, he continued to gape at you.

“Don’t you know who that is?” Giving him a look, you shook your head.

“That’s the Max Verstappen. Three-time Formula 1 World Champion? Dutch God? Second-coming of the Formula 1 Jesus?”

You recognized the name, having heard it at the few races you had attended, but you never would’ve been able to place the name to the face otherwise.

A laugh erupted from one of the other members of the group, a shove directed at the other man. “I think you've got Verstappen mixed up with Lewis Hamilton.”

“He’s kinda cute, huh?” One of the girls pointed out to you, a small giggle falling from her lips as she looked over towards the man in question, his eyes meeting yours as you looked in his direction again.

His hair was flopped over, obviously a combination of a long day wearing a ski helmet and a hat, mixed with the combination of the sweat and heat that engulfed the inside of the lodge made him look even more attractive. Windswept, tipsy, and overall, just happy.

“So much better than that last loser.” A mutual agreement of ‘yes’, ‘obviously’, and ‘fucking no wonder’, floated throughout your group at your friend’s words.

Shrugging them off, you just laughed and pushed the conversation in another direction and away from the man sitting across the room, who seemed as if he couldn’t take his eyes off you at all.

As the night started to dwindle down, you bid goodnight to the remaining group of friends and started your route back to your room.

“At least I have nothing to spill on you tonight.”

Directing your gaze to the voice at hand, your eyes made direct contact with the blue irises of Max Verstappen.

Quirking an eyebrow at him as a small laugh left your lips, “I’m sure the bars fully stocked with drinks you could spill on me. You’re just not trying hard enough.”

A loud guffaw fell from the man’s mouth, his hands instinctively covering his mouth as he laughed. You couldn’t help the heat that grew on your cheeks at his reaction, his smile directed towards you when he finally moved his hands from his face.

“I’m so very sorry. Next time I run into you, I’ll try to make sure I have a full drink in hand to spill on you.”

“Oh, you plan on running into me again?”

Shrugging his shoulders with a small grin, the Dutchman just laughed. “Well, I ran into the person I spilt a Red Bull in a coffee shop on in one of my favourite places in Switzerland, I’m sure I’m bound to run into you again. Things happen in three’s, don’t they?”

Max ran a hand through his hair as he smiled at you, before either of you could get the chance to say anything else, one of his friends was clapping a hand against his shoulder with a boisterous laugh.

“Time to get out of here, mate. Say goodnight to the pretty girl,” he said.

You felt your cheeks heating again, as Max smiled at you in farewell, a small wave from both of you any indication of goodbye as you both walked away.

Time, mystical time Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine Were there clues I didn't see?

F1 race weekends were as fun as they were busy. Any race you had attended since you were an intern was always focused primarily on working. Getting the opportunity to attend a race with your friends, in Melbourne, without having to worry about work or advertising, or anything else, was obviously the best way to spend it.

Lou, one of your friends linked her arm with yours as she basically skipped through the hospitality area, pointing out the different garages as she got a glimpse of them. Her boyfriend, Nick, had gotten both of you passes through his own work, a long-term employee of McLaren meant that the both of you had been spoiled for the weekend.

"Maybe you’ll end up running into Max again, imagine? A third little meet-cute,” she said, with a giggle.

Rolling your eyes at her, you just laughed as she grinned back. “Don’t roll your eyes at me! It’s totally possible, I’m sure Nick could totally convince Lando to convince Max to pass by the garage or the hospitality. We could totally orchestrate it.”

“Babe, it’s pure coincidence I’ve run into the guy more than once. I’m not like... going out of my way to run into Max Verstappen.”

Huffing back at you, Lou sent a mock pout in your direction as she continued to drag you through the hospitality center. Passing a stand full of travel cups of coffee, you were eager to grab one as you walked by.

Before you could even press the lid of the cup to your lips, you were interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice, yet again.

“Is it your turn to spill something on me, then? I’m having a pretty bad day, and I don’t know if I can handle that.”

Both you and Lou whipped around to the sound of the man’s voice, the man who just a short time ago had been forced to retire his race due to a faulty and on fire brake. You could practically feel Lou humming with excitement as she looked between you and Max.

Shoving her hand out in his direction, Lou introduced herself to Max who did the same back.

“With that, I’m going to see how everything’s going in the garage. Call me if you get lost, yeah?” Without giving you the chance to argue, she bolted away.

Silently groaning, you looked back towards Max. For someone who just retired from a race he was probably going to win, he seemed relatively calm and relaxed.

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?” You questioned back, confused.

“Are you going to spill your coffee on me, in retaliation for the Red Bull?” Instantly shaking your head, obviously the retirement from the race couldn’t have affected him too negatively, if he was already cracking jokes in your direction.

“You don’t even know my name, and you’re accusing me of wanting to go out of my way to kick a man when he’s already down?”

Watching his face fall, you could tell he was about to defend his words. A smile began to cross your face, his eyes jokingly narrowing in your direction.

Sticking your hand out towards him, you finally introduced yourself, your name falling from his lips as if it was a beautiful word from a testament as he took your hand. It would be embarrassing to say a small spark shot up your arm, but the racing driver had inevitably shocked you, an apology dropping from his lips almost immediately.

“Terrible race to stalk me at, though. You couldn’t have at least made it a race that I actually stood a chance at winning? Pretty embarrassing to have to retire for such a stupid reason, in front of such a pretty girl.”

If there was one thing other than racing that Max was good at, it was making your cheeks warm and the butterflies in your stomach spike.

“Well... I am here as a guest of McLaren... maybe I was just really hoping for a Piastri win. Gotta root for the hometown boy, right?”

Shaking his head, Max mockingly pressed his hand to his chest and looked at you like he was internally wounded.

“You’d support McLaren over me? The man who runs into you in the weirdest of places? Who gave you a free Red Bull without a can?” he said.

You could barely help the small snort that fell from your lips at his words, your hand instantly slapping against your lips in horror. Max openly laughed at your reaction, arm gently hitting your shoulder with a grin.

“Just for that, I’ll support Ferrari before I support you and your Red Bull’s. I don’t think Charles Leclerc would spill a Red Bull on me.”

In response, Max grinned and pointed in the direction of the Ferrari garage, the red and yellow prominent amongst the stone. “Shall I go introduce you to Charles, then? He’d probably spill an actual hot coffee on you, at least I didn’t leave any lasting damage.”

“The trauma of smelling like an original Red Bull for more than 2 hours isn’t enough damage?” you questioned, your eyebrows quirking up at him.

Max looked at you in horror, “You can’t possibly be saying you don’t think the smell of an original, cold, fresh out of a fridge, Red Bull isn’t just simply lovely. This is potentially the biggest red flag about you.”

You were quick on your feet, the words dropping from your lips before you could contain them.

“I guess we’re all on fire today, then. Red flags left and right.” you said with a smirk.

All Max did was laugh at your words, his head rolling back while his hands placed themselves on his hips.

Just as he had been the last two times, Max was interrupted before he could continue the conversation, a lady in a Red Bull sweater tapping him on the shoulder to let him know he needed to make his way back to the garage for some interviews that had been requested of him.

“Nice seeing you again, I’m sure next time I see you, you’ll probably heal more of my Red Bull soaked shirt trauma.”

The only response he gave was a loud laugh and a wave, as he walked away.

Time, wondrous time Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies

The FIA year-end Gala was exquisite. Everyone was dressed to the nines, the lights were twinking, the service was lovely, and the atmopshere was electric.

Even though, for almost all of the people there, it was a requirement of their jobs, everyone seemed as if they were having a wonderful time. Mingling with those around them, actively engaging in conversation with co-workers, friends, long-time acquaintances.

Your boss had elected that you and a fellow co-worker attend in her place, admitting that although she loved the excitement of the night, she needed a break from the glitz and the glam of Formula 1 for a tiny bit. She knew you were more than willing to take her place and do an incredible job.

Which is exactly how you found yourself at a table with Jack, one of your co-workers, a wide grin on his face as he observed everything going on around him. He was new to the company, just having recently completed his internship and been offered a full-time position with the organization. It was his first time at a Formula 1 event of any kind.

“Isn’t this brilliant? I’m a huge motorsports fan, I wanted to get into karting when I was a kid but it was just too expensive, my parents couldn’t afford that. I’ve never even had the opportunity to go to a race, and now I’m in the same building, the same room as literal race drivers. Have you been to a race before?”

You forgot how much he could yap, an almost over-eager human equivalent of an excited golden retriever. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer to his question.

“I’ve been to a few races for work, and a few privately with some friends. They’re always a great time, you’ll have lots of fun when you start going for work.” you said.

Grinning at your words, you began to tune him out as he launched into another rant. You were pulled out of your thoughts at the sound of someone saying your name, your head swiveling in the direction of the voice.

You were almost positive Jack was squealing out loud, as Max Verstappen once again entered your view. Smiling up at him, you stood up to greet the Dutchman, which resulted in him pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, his hand gently patting you on the back as he did so.

“I just wanted to come by and say hello. You look very beautiful.”

Unable to contain the anxious laugh that fell from your lips, you immediately smiled at him. Accepting compliments was obviously not your forte, especially when they were coming from Max, who looked more handsome than ever in his suit, and the wide smile on his cheeks pulling everything together.

“Never thought I’d see you in anything other than jeans and a Red Bull shirt, Max. You look lovely, as well.”

“Making fun of me, and a compliment all in one? I will say, I probably would’ve worn jeans if I could, but my public relations manager likely would’ve murdered me and I quite enjoy being alive,” he said.

Shaking your head in silent laughter, you barely even noticed as Jack thrust his hand out to introduce himself to Max.

“Your girlfriend is lovely, mate. This is what, the fourth time I’ve run into you?” Max said in greeting, a somewhat tight smile on his face.

Jack instantly shook his head, “Oh god no, we’re co-workers. I don’t mean she’s not lovely, she is. I’m not her type, or actually she’s not my type. I’m yapping, this is embarrassing. Mr. Verstappen, it was really nice to meet you. I need a drink. I’m sorry.”

He practically sprinted away, both you and Max looked on with amused grins present on your faces.

“So, if he’s not your boyfriend, does that mean one of the guys you were with in Switzerland are?”

Shaking your head, “God, no. Those are friends I’ve known for years. I’m very much single, right now.”

Max looked like he was in complete contemplation as he debated what to say next. You were secretly hoping he would take the bait, maybe ask if you were free after the gala, or ask how long you were going to be in town for.

Running into him again once was by chance, twice was a coincidence, and thrice was obviously a sign. The universe was obviously trying to tell you something, there was a reason this man, who had first shown up in your life just after one of the worst heartbreaks you had ever experienced, continued to show up. It was hard to not get your hopes up, to not get ahead of yourself.

It was hard to keep the butterflies at bay, truthfully.

“Hypothetically, does that mean you’re free after the gala?”

“Hypothetically... I man be free after the gala,” you responded.

Nodding his head, Max smiled in your direction. “I think it would be a crime to let this beautiful dress, and my efforts to wear a suit for something go to waste. I’d love to take you out after.”

And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me?

Max had been transparent from the beginning; he wasn’t overly affection nor was he a fan of excessive cuddling. He got warm often, and the moment he got too warm when he was in bed, he got miserable. But when he wanted to cuddle? You had to take what he would give you.

Which was exactly how you found yourselves right now, Max playfully attempting to whack your phone out of your hand, his other arm wrapped around your waist as he burrowed his head into your neck.

“Schatje, I just wanna cuddle for a bit. Give me a little attention.”

Slapping gently at his arm, you looked at him in mock exasperation. All you ever did was give him attention, he almost took the words out of your mouth when he muttered, “I know you give me plenty of attention, don’t yell at me.”

You just shook your head silently as you used your free hand to gently twirl small tuffs of his hair, a small hum of content falling from his lips at your movements.

“What are you looking at?”

Attempting to look over at your phone, you moved the screen so he could see it better. It was a video from your first ever Formula 1 race, back when you were still a little intern and your boss had wanted you to gain some exposure to the sport.

“I’m just looking back at some videos. Found this one from my first ever race. I didn’t even know I still had this.”

Max instantly perked up and looked at your phone, his eyes squinting as he tried to decipher something in the video.

“Do you remember which race it was? Looks like it’s a few years old, yeah?”

Nodding your head, you tried to do the math in your head, thinking back to what year you first started your internship. “I think it was 2016? It was definitely in Spain, but I’m pretty positive it was 2016.”

“Do you know what that means?” Max questioned, a soft smile on his lips as he pressed a small kiss to the junction between your chin and throat before looking back up at you.

Shaking your head in confusion, you tried to determine what he could be talking about, giving him the chance to continue.

“My first ever win in Formula 1, for Red Bull, was the 2016 Spanish Grand Prix. Isn’t that so ironic? Guess things were always meant to be.”

Maybe he was right.

Maybe there was always a string, a small, invisible string, tying everything together, tying you to him.

genuinely i got this into my mind and felt like i was legally obligated to write it asap. i hope you LOVE it and i would so appreciate it if you told me if you do. thank you, love you all 🫶🏻

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 one shot #max verstappen one shot #writing #f1 #f1 x you #max verstappen imagine #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 writing #max verstappen writing

1K notes · View notes

weddingplanningblog · 2 years

Link

Check out what wedding planners told about the biggest wedding planning mistakes that couples make. Wedding planning tips at ShaadiWish.

#wedding venue #wedding planning blunders #wedding itinerary #Wedding Planning #Shaadi Wish

0 notes

bonesmarinated · 3 months

Text

I like to explore ocs by drawing them as a younger age, it's like looking at family old albums and see all the blunder years. Cringe and free. teenage dirtbags at the mall in the 90s wearing his battle jacket covered in metal patches, bullet belts and all that spikes 😌🤘 his mom came to watch him play with his black metal band at the community youth center (she waited till the end of the fourth song. They played 11 songs 😑 ) Kristian become an altar boy mostly because it got him out of classes for weddings, and funerals, the former of which being the best, because the groom would usually tip the boys really well to show off to his new bride being accused by the Mosignor of stealing communion wine, when every altar boy knew that Father Martin took a bottle after every service once time, nearly burning the church down with the incense burner

#ocs #ocs art #kristian odegaard #kris

356 notes · View notes

blackwomanwriter · 8 months

Text

"Mine"

Read: Part I, Part II

It's been a minute, but I finally wrote something. And of course, I had to go back to this series because there is something about Thomas Shelby. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and let me know your favorite part. Happy Reading!

He entered quietly like he was on a mission. Although this one was unlike the ones he had performed during the war and after. No, this mission was different. Very different. Yet, Tommy performed it with the same intensity.

Eyes narrowed on the quiet interior, clocking each entry point and exit way, like a soldier, he assessed his environment. He hadn’t been in a house this small since his childhood. Even back then, the space had felt cluttered and cramped. Too noisy to think. Too busy to breathe. The stench of his father’s hangover in the air before it disappeared altogether.

He remembered talking Arthur out of trying to find their father. A man unworthy of carrying - no, sharing his surname. Tommy tensed his jaw, moving past the memory. Instead, he raised a brow at how devastatingly clean the entire place felt. Physically tidy, but clean in a way that made the house feel empty. Unlived. Unloved. Cold. The opposite of everything he thought of her. She was warm. Tender. Inviting.

Moving to the narrow staircase, he could hear the water running. The pipes pushing the water through the house. She was here. She was alive. She was avoiding him - again.

He hiked up the stairs, stepping one foot in front of the other. Like a soldier, he kept moving. He carried on with the task before him. His mind focused on the mission.

Opening the door quietly, Tommy leaned on the door frame - taking in the sight before him. Curved hips that were fuller since he had last seen her. A waist that tempted him to wrap his arms around her. It was now that he reached in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Jesus, Tommy,” she shrieked. The click of his lighter giving him away.

She rested a hand on her heart, shuddering as she closed her eyes.

Unbothered, he traced the stick along his bottom lip before lighting it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She pinched the bridge of her nose, as her breath steadied.

“You haven’t been taking my calls,” he stated. Gaze unchanged. Smoke filling the air.

“I’m in mourning,” she enunciated, grabbing a towel to cover herself. She didn’t bother hiding her frustrations as she shoved past him. She was angry. He liked her angry.

At first, when she didn’t answer his call, he had briefly worried that she was sad. Tearful over the sudden death of her husband, who the police found floating in the river after a night of drinking. His death ruled accidental according to the official report. A drunken man’s blunder. An unsurprising end of life. An expected death for a man who drank as much as her late husband did.

An easy lie to believe, but she knew the truth. The greatest mistake the dead man had made was marrying Thomas Shelby’s favorite whore. It was her mistake more than his. She knew what she was doing when she said yes. The risks she was taking by marrying while Tommy was off in America. Her moment of rebellion had cost a life.

Although, they had gotten past the letter. She hadn’t returned to him. She wanted to keep her promise. To stay married. To honor what was left of her vows. She wouldn’t work for him. She wouldn’t see him. The temptation of losing herself in him made her stay away. She had already ruined the sanctity of her marriage by sleeping with him in his office. She didn’t want to continue making a mockery of the words she vowed before God and man.

She was suddenly religious, which amused Tommy. He thought it was a game, but she clung on to every word spoken by the priest. At the funeral, she remembered his words at the wedding. How he had pressed upon her the importance of repentance. Before Thomas Shelby, she had been a good girl. Never told a lie. Prayed before bed. Devout daughter. Devoted sister. An upstanding and honorable member of her community. He had changed her. Corrupted her. Loved her. Destroyed her.

“It’s been weeks,” Tommy stated coolly.

She ignored him. Her hands focused on the cream she was applying to her skin. Smooth skin. Soft skin. Skin his lips remembered. The taste imprinted on his tongue. Tommy exhaled.

His patience was wearing thin. He loved her. She loved him. He figured out how to help her keep her promise and allow him to keep his. Her husband was dead, and she was free.

“I see you’re eating again,” he quipped, trying to stir a reaction out of her. She didn’t disappoint. He ducked as the bottle of cream nearly struck his head.

“I went from being a whore to being a widow.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a book.” Tommy shrugged then ducked again. This time, she threw a shoe.

“At least I can bargain my way into heaven as a whore,” she resolved, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Is that what your priest tells you?” He brought the cigarette back to his lips for another drag.

He knew. Of course, he knew. She wondered if he was having her followed again. How else would he know about her visits to the church. Her talks with the priest.

“My greatest sin is you,” she finished her thought.

Her words were meant to be cutting, but Tommy remained unbothered. His eyes stoic, jaw set as if he was watching a horse race. He brought his cigarette to his lip, letting it dangle as he neared her.

She stood up, ready to shove past him again, but he grabbed her forearm. Her eyes flared up at him as she tried to loosen his grip, but he remained firm.

“You want to talk about sins, ey?” He whispered against her ear. “You married a man who picked a pint over his life. A man who stowed you away in a house he couldn’t bear to live in himself, while he stayed three doors down with his brother’s wife.”

She frowned, hearing him confirm a suspicion she wouldn’t allow herself to believe. When he stopped coming home, she told herself that he was drunk at a pub or sleeping his hangover off at his mother’s house.

“A man who lost his wages betting on fights.”

So that’s where all their money had gone, she thought. Her face didn’t flinch as Tommy confirmed another truth. Her late husband was just another man who had let her down. All the words she threw at Tommy about him being a good man were lies. He was just better at hiding his wrongs.

Tommy softened his grip on her hand, as he relayed the sin that he couldn’t forgive. The sin that forced him to intervene without thinking of the consequences. “A man who was willing to sell his wife to settle his debts.”

Her eyes widened then glazed over. The shred of innocence he once found in those warm brown irises was quickly disappearing. He cursed at himself for the letter, but it wasn’t just the letter. It was the months he left her wondering if he could ever love again. It was the voice that told him to push her away. She married the man because of him.

Tommy released her hand. There was a part of him that wished he hadn’t been so honest. Her hardened eyes told him just as much. The look on her face was one he had seen before in the women who dared to love him. When his darkness eventually shadowed their light. When his world swallowed them whole.

She reached for the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Taking a long drag, she exhaled. The smoke covering Tommy’s face.

“My sin was marrying the wrong man,” she concluded.

His thumb brushed her skin, remembering when her lips pressed against his in hunger. His lip bleeding as their need took precedence. Her lip bruised from his appetite. Even when he had her, he needed more. Tracing her lip, he gently placed the cigarette between his fingers then lifted it to his mouth. The first puff was for the memory. The second was for his patience.

“No, my god doesn’t care about sins.”

“I didn’t think you believed in,” sighing, she looked up, “anything.”

Tommy closed his eyes. His patience wearing on him again. “You’re moving out of this house. You’re coming back to work, and you’re going to answer when I call.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” she answered.

His jaw ticked at the use of his surname. The smoke from his cigarette creating a haze over his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Tell me what your god thinks about whores.”

“Everyone’s a whore,” he muttered, as he moved toward the door, already thinking of his next order of business. The kiss would have to wait.

“Is that what your wife thinks?”

Tommy stopped walking. Leaning his hand on the door frame, he closed his eyes. His nose flared. His annoyance growing with her disobedience. He seemed to attract women who were determined to do the opposite of what he asked.

“She confronted me. Told me to stay away,” she admitted, and in that second, he realized why she ignored him. She was no longer his secret. He made his affection too obvious.

“I’ll take care of it,” he firmly stated, leaving no room for further questions. Yet, she continued.

“Does she follow any of the other girls or is it just me?” She asked.

He wasn’t ready to admit that there weren’t any other girls. That there hadn’t been other girls for a while. From the moment he declared his love, Tommy had made himself hers - only hers.

“You love me, but there are others,” she whispered. “I love you, but all I do is think of them. To be with you, I have to worry about them. I have to wait to be yours.”

“Is that what you’re doing then - waiting?” He asked, closing the distance between them.

Her hand dropped to her middle and Tommy’s eyes followed. He stared, then frowned before bringing his gaze back to her. “How far along?”

Her eyes softened. The grief coloring every muscle in her face. Tommy closed his eyes. She was in mourning. He understood her words clearly now. It was moments like this that made him miss Polly. She would have known.

Tommy muttered something in his Romanian tongue as he sat on the bed. He stamped his cigarette out in silent rage. There was never an end. Death seemed to find him at every turn. It hunted him. Craved him.

His hands went to her robe. Slowly, he pulled the fabric, revealing her body. A body that had prepared itself to carry his child. A body that had nourished him back to life. His fingers moved to her belly, tracing the skin there. The soft, smooth skin.

He looked up at her and saw the tears she wouldn’t shed. How long had she held them in, unable to weep. Unable to speak. Unable to fully mourn. Wrapping his arms around her middle, he pulled her in and kissed the place his hands had touched. He tried to do what she had done for him; he tried to make it okay for her to feel.

“I’m fine, Tommy. It’s better this way,” she said, her voice cold and void of any emotion.

“When?” He whispered, knowing it was his, and yet wondering how he’d missed so much in so little time.

“It doesn’t matter,” she stiffened. “It’s gone now, and I need to move on.”

She gave him a second to make peace with the reality she had lived with for weeks. Then, she moved from his touch, closing her robe as she distanced herself. Loving him was painful enough without the added grief of their lost child.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she folded her arms, avoiding his gaze.

Tommy raised a brow, staring at her before glancing around the room. It was as cold as the rest of the house - bare of any details or remnants of her. Standing up, Tommy found a new mission. He moved past her in search of anything that made the four walls more of a home.

His hands traced the metal bed frame. His fingers trailing the linen and cloth. He opened windows and tapped on wooden walls. He inspected the little furniture in the room, unsatisfied with the results.

“Tommy,” she started to say as he pushed open a wardrobe, finding it empty.

She was leaving. She planned to leave London. She planned to leave him. The thought stung in Tommy’s mind as he opened drawer after empty drawer. His anger taking center stage.

“Tommy,” her voice raised with concern.

He shoved the empty wardrobe back, watching as it crashed against the wall.

“Stop,” she yelled, as he shoved the wardrobe again and again. His grief coloring his anger. His anger coloring his grief. Her heart jumped as the wooden drawers finally cracked under the pressure. The splitting wood overshadowing her screams as the wardrobe completely fell apart.

“Tommy,” she cried, rushing to stop him from breaking the wood further. “Stop.”

“Please,” she whispered. Her plea full of a love she couldn’t deny him.

He exhaled. The sound of his heightened breath taking all the space in the room. His anger taking all the air. Tommy closed his eyes. The familiar whispers creeping in his head, telling him to put out the fire. To walk over to the other side. To let go of this life. To finally rest.

She swallowed, unsure of what to tell him, and yet, she persisted. “My sister found work outside of London. She thought it’d be good for me…”

Tommy shook his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“I wanted to tell you,” she stopped, lowering her head. There was nothing to say.

He scoffed. “Tell me.”

It felt like deja vu to hear him utter those words to her again. To hear the same command. The same request he’d asked from her when she told him about the wedding. Yet, this time, there was nothing left to say.

She stared at the back of his head. Her fingers yearning to brush his hair or wrap themselves around him. Her lips longing to kiss the nape of his neck.

Closing her eyes, she confessed. “There’s no life for me here.”

“You’re not leaving.” He pushed back, ignoring her words. “You’re mine.”

“When?” She sighed. “When am I yours, Tommy?”

He lifted his head, staring at the wall. His mind moving a mile a minute. She couldn’t leave him. His heart wouldn’t allow it. His body would protest. His hunger was contained to her. His thoughts all went back to her. How many minutes until he can think of her? How many meetings until he can dream of her? He suffered without her to be with her. Every hour he was away was an hour he promised to give to her.

He was a selfish man, who wanted what he wanted. A man who endured wars and monsters disguised as men. A cursed man. A broken man. A suffering man. A man who didn’t deserve her, and yet, he wanted her. He needed her. She was the cigarette on his lips. The pain tablets in his pocket. The shirt on his back. The razor blade on his cap. She couldn’t leave him.

“When your wife is gone? When you’re fucking other women?” Her voice continued in the background, but Tommy was half-listening. “When you’re bored? When the nightmares come? When the work is done? When am I yours?” She asked again, although there was no anger in her question.

“When you married him, you were mine. Every time you put on his fucking ring; you were mine.” His brows furrowed as he reached into his side pocket for a cigarette. “When you moved into this house, you were mine. When you had my fucking child inside of you, you were mine.” Tommy sniffed, turning to face her. “From the moment you entered my office, you belonged to me.”

She stiffened, as she traced her empty ring finger. His crassness didn’t bother her as much as his refusal to listen. He disregarded her words, only focusing on what he wanted. It was why she didn’t want to tell him about the baby. He would have stuck her in a big house that he would never visit. Given her everything except the thing she wanted, which was him. But now that nightmare wasn’t even a reality because she’d lost their child. She'd lost a piece of him.

“Is that all it takes…” she started to argue, but words were pointless. Their arguments were pointless. They had a love that was cursed from inception.

In this life, he was promised to another. In the next, he would be reunited with another. In life and death, she had no place in Thomas Shelby’s life. Her love for him didn’t save their unborn child. It reminded her that their love had no place to grow. It was wilted, and no amount of money or prayer could save them.

“You’re not leaving,” Tommy declared, cornering her until she had no choice but to look up at him. Her brown eyes sinking into him, full of a love he didn’t deserve.

“You made me a promise,” he whispered. His jaw tensing as he remembered that night in his office when he had made himself hers. When he had promised to live. To stop craving death. The gods had given him a second chance with her.

“Tommy,” she protested, but he continued.

“You gave me your word.” His lips brushed hers and her body shuddered. “You made promises to me. Promises I intend to collect.”

His hand slipped down to her robe, loosening the ties. His fingers marking a trail from her chest to her neck to her lips. “Promises you agreed to keep.”

She folded under his touch. Her head falling on his chest as she exhaled. Quick, short breaths that made Tommy pull her in closer.

“And what of your promises?” She grabbed his fingers before they could slip between her thighs.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, trying not to smirk. “Remind me again.”

Shaking her head, she moved from his hands. Her heart ached, but it would always ache whether she was with him or not. He was not wrong. It belonged to him. From the moment she entered his office, her heart had become his. Knowing he was promised to another, it still beat for him. It yearned for him. It acted without consequence.

Thou shall not commit adultery. A vow she’d broken within a month of knowing Thomas Shelby. But her heart didn’t care. It didn’t care about the commandments she broke. Her sins were plenty but her heart was full. Full of love for a man who couldn’t confess his love until she married another.

Turning away from him, she closed her robe. Her hand wanted to follow the trail he etched on her skin, but she didn’t. She could hear him lighting a cigarette. His eyes on her. His eyes undressing her. His eyes claiming her as his.

She wanted to run, but her heart wouldn’t let her. Instead, she willed herself to face him. Smoke in the air. His scent in every crevice of the cramped room. She inhaled and tried to tell him again. Her thoughts were on her lips, and yet, nothing.

Offering her his cigarette, Tommy stepped towards her. “Leaving London won’t cure you of me.”

She reached for the smoke. Grateful for the distraction. For the heat. For the vapors. For the way her lungs would expand and contract. For the cigarette they shared between them. His lips on her lips. Her lips on his.

“That priest of yours won’t help you either,” he added.

“What is the cure then?”

Tommy leaned into her. His hands on her waist, slowly moving her robe up past her knees then her thighs. “First, you have to stop running.”

“Running?” She asked, confused by his accusation.

“The wedding. The job. This house.” He counted. “And now these plans of leaving London.” His hands pushed the fabric of her robe from her skin, leaving her naked before him. “You mustn’t run.”

“And what if I do?” She questioned, not allowing her nudity to dissuade her.

Tommy brushed her cheek before taking the cigarette from her lips. “I’ll find you. Remind you of where you belong.”

“And where is it that I belong?” She asked. Her eyes gentle and pleading.

He brought her hand to his chest, placing it where his heart lay. “Here. Right here.”

She swallowed her nerves, terrified of letting her heart speak. “Second?” She went back to his list.

“Second.” He took a drag, exhaling the smoke before he continued, “You must know, I get scared,” he admitted, and she finally understood why he’d written her that letter. Thomas Shelby was scared of loving her. The first woman he loved died in his arms because of a bullet meant for him. Love was something to fear, and he was terrified.

“Now, it’s unpleasant and it’s unkind. But when I am…”

“I’ll remind you,” she finished, “of where you belong.”

Tommy cupped her face, placing a kiss on her head. “Good.”

She closed her eyes. Her heart too fragile for Thomas Shelby’s confession. He hadn’t proposed, yet they were already exchanging vows.

“Last.” He leaned his head on hers. “And the most important.”

“Yes,” she breathlessly whispered.

Tommy’s finger traced her bottom lip before he kissed her. His lips hungry to taste her. Selfish in his desire - his consumption of her. He groaned when he felt her kiss him back. Her own need just as desperate as his. She moaned when their lips parted, disappointed by her body’s need for air.

“I promise to have you pregnant by spring.”

Her eyes lit up as she laughed for the first time in months. She chuckled, not taking him seriously. “Tommy.”

“A boy,” he declared, wrapping his arms around her middle. “He’ll have your eyes and my charm.”

She giggled, playfully hitting his chest as he picked her up and placed her on the bed. Her smile widening as she gazed at him. She was returning to herself - returning to him. Weeks of grief slowly thawing from her heart.

Tommy stamped out his cigarette before joining her with a kiss. His body on top of hers. His hands on either side of her head. His mind fixated on the softness of her skin.

“I’ll be back at work in the morning,” she whispered in between kisses.

“You won’t be working anymore.”

She pulled away from his kiss, frowning at him. “What are you on about, Tommy?”

He sighed, already knowing he was about to start another fight. “I won’t have you working with a child of mine inside of you.”

“What?”

“You’ll be carrying my son,” Tommy repeated.

Closing her eyes, she realized he was serious. Of course, he was serious. She wondered how long he’d been planning to get her pregnant again.

“I don’t deserve you,” Tommy kissed her lips. “But, I promised to give you a life worthy of everything you are.” He reminded her. “I promised to let you in my head. I promised to do more than just wait to die. I promised to live.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but he remembered. Every word. Every promise. Everything they had discussed in his office.

“I promised to keep you safe.”

“To make us safe,” she corrected.

He kissed her again. “There are no other girls,” Tommy confessed, reminding her of his other promise. Tommy Shelby was hers.

Grabbing his collar, she pulled him into a long kiss. “No more running,” she vowed.

Tommy smiled. “No more.” He pressed his lips on hers before adding, “You’re mine.”

This time, she didn’t argue, simply letting him kiss her. “Now, where were we, Mrs. Shelby?” He asked, slipping his fingers between her thighs.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was a long one. If you made it to the end, thank you for reading! Let me know your favorite part.

#blackwomanwriter #thomas shelby #cillian murphy #tommy shelby x black reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #blackreader

442 notes · View notes

pianokantzart · 1 year

Text

Bowser’s Portrayal as a Hopeless Romantic

After my initial viewing of The Mario Movie, I couldn’t help but wonder what on earth was up with Bowser’s attempted wedding massacre?

At first glance it seems to be a highly miscalculated attempt to impress the princess; a social blunder, ridiculous even by Bowser’s standards. It’s an easy interpretation to make when he had the sweet puppy-love look on his face while explaining what he was about to do.

But then I noticed that when Peach turns to him with a look of horror, Bower’s expression and attitude shifts.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. This is backed up by this exchange earlier in the movie, when he first announced his intention to marry Peach:

Koopa Trooper: Doesn’t she hate you? Bowser: Of course she hates me! but that makes me love her all the more.

At surface level, Bowser’s lovesick behavior seems to indicated a misunderstood softie... the proposal rehearsals with Kamek, the flowers, the stupid hat, the power ballad love song, etcetera. There is no doubt that somewhere at Bowser’s core, there is a desire to be loved back.

But at the end of the day, being loved does not take priority. Bowser’s priority is to be in control, hence the power star being at the center of his proposal. He doesn’t want a partnership so much as he wants to be the undisputed victor in the war for Princess Peach, whether his opponent is Mario or Peach herself.

He has no interest in meeting her halfway. His entire courting process is thus:

“Marry me or I’ll destroy everything that you love.”

“I’m going to prove my absolute power over this situation by ordering a mass slaughter on our wedding day.”

TL;DR

“I would never marry a monster.”

SHE’S RIGHT, AND SHE SHOULD SAY IT.

#mario movie #mario movie spoilers #big spoilers #bowser #princess peach #*bangs pots and pans together* PEACH IS RIGHT TO HATE HIM #unpopular opinion: he doesn't need a 'gentle guiding hand' to show him how to behave and redeem him he NEEDS AN ASS KICKING #super Mario brothers #super mario brothers movie #long post #dumb ramblings I just needed to get this out

869 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 2 months

Note

hihi!! I hope you're having a great day and a new year!

I have a small fic request (u can take it any other forms u want, all up to you!) Can I request a fic where reader asked Hobie if he would rather elope instead of a normal wedding? Since he doesn't like the idea of getting marriage (My hc by the way). Eloping is still kinda like a wedding but just the two of them! No loud music, not alot of money spent etc etc! U can write on how they would do it!

(also I'd like to imagine this is them getting 'enganged' before having the twins HEEHHEHEHE) (i hope this isn't too much) (i would love to see on how you'd write this!!)

reader can be gn or FEM btw :)

Thank you for the adorable request 😘

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Brown/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: No use Y/N, no specific description of the reader (r is mentioned wearing makeup though), lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie watches you sing with the band that's currently playing further away on stage. He dragged you out behind all the crowd so you could properly enjoy the concert without getting elbowed by someone. He doesn't mind standing that far from the stage since he gets to see you dance unabashedly when there aren't a lot of people this far back.

The music isn't that loud from where you're both standing, helping Hobie hear your singing, providing a front row seat to your very own concert. He thinks you deserve top billing from how you belt out the lyrics.

The strobe lights illuminate your face, lighting up your best features, add it up with the moonlight shining directly at you like your very own spotlight, he can't get his eyes off you, lips softly smiling, fondness seeping out from his pores.

You feel his stare before you feel his featherlight touch atop your arm, knuckles brushing on your skin, goosebumps spreading through them like fire.

Grinning at him, you wipe sweat off your brow, guessing the summer heat has probably melted all of your makeup, thinking that you look worse for wear.

“Yeah, Hobs?” He once hated that nickname but with you saying it, it might as well be his given name. He loves it if it's you who says it.

Hobie has never seen you look so beautiful even with your mascara running down your cheeks. He's seen you at your worst, loved you more through it, and will continue to love you through your best too.

He loops his pinky around yours, clammy hands meeting equally clammy skin. He blames the weather for the lack of physical affection, if it weren't for the heat he'd be embracing you like a boa constrictor, taking your breath away without devouring you for dinner of course.

“You okay? You look like you're about to pass out. Do you want to sit down for a minute?”

His next words shocks you both.

“I have no idea where we go from here.”

“What?” You chuckle nervously. Maybe you should've worn waterproof mascara. “What are you saying, Hobie?” You forgo his pinky, opting to hold both his hands instead.

Your frown tells him he should've thought this through.

“Sorry,” he laughs shakily, none of the usual Hobie charisma you're used to. “I meant, fuck this is hard.” he's sweating, why did he decide to wear leather vest and heavy boots in this heat? He blames the weather for his shortcomings.

Your heart falls in your stomach. “Are you…are you breaking up with me?” words barely strung together with your tongue tied up.

“What? No!” Hobie backtracks in a split second. “No, love, that's not what I meant.” shaking his head, he removes his hands from yours, deepening your frown.

In an attempt to fix his blunder, he cups your face, thumbs rubbing just under your eyes, spreading the dark ink all over your skin. He definitely needed to think it all through.

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, mascara running with the wetness, turning you into one of the heavy metal band mates that played a couple hours ago.

“Shit!” He roams his face around the concert hall, not knowing how to fix the situation.

“What did you really mean, Hobie?” You sob, balling his shirt in your hands tightly.

Hobie inhales and exhales, collecting his thoughts properly. “We're living together.”

“Uh huh.” You nod, confused.

“We clearly love each other.”

“You're just stating the obvious.” you pause your weeping when he groans in frustration. “What is happening?”

“I–” his next words surprises you more than him. “I wanna fuckin' marry you, love.”

You blink rapidly, tilting your head, utterly flabbergasted. “Huh?”

“That's what I meant with ‘I have no idea where we go from here.’” he sighs, facepalming, pursing his lips. “I want to take another step forward with you, but fuckin' hell I hate the bloody pomp and circumstance of it all.” A smile spreads across your face with every word he says.

Did he just ask for your hand in marriage?

“At the same time I don't think we have to marry just so people would know how committed we are to each other.” He's rambling and you smile wider through mascara filled tears. “Not to mention the fuckin' government knowing about all of it, seriously, why can't they just mind their own business about—”

“Hobs,” it's your turn to hold his face, he stops speaking, his chest heaving, eyes glued to you. “Let's elope then.” Hobie mentally conks himself right on the head for not thinking that. “just us, no two hundred guests, no thousands of pounds needed for the ceremony, no stuffy officiant. Just us and our vows.”

Hobie laughs at himself before he places his head on your shoulder, he can't believe he just asked you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Nosing your neck, he embraces you fully, swinging you slightly to the music that's definitely not for slow dancing. Holding on to him, you kiss his hairline, tracing it with your lips.

While Hobie recuperates from his blunder, you on the other hand feel like you're about to burst out of the seams, flooding the entire venue with your love for the man before you.

After the song ends and they announce the new act, with the roar of the crowd Hobie has one last thing to add.

“Let's do it now.” Hobie lifts his head, facing you in all your glory, heart shaped eyes staring at him affectionately, face aglow with so much love that Hobie can feel it flowing directly to his chest. “Let's elope right now, say our vows, we don't need an officiant to declare us married when the band corroded coffin works just as fine.”

“With a few hundred witnesses and a cover band as our wedding singers?” You loop your arms around his neck, linking your fingers together just to hold him closer. Nodding, you can't help but giggle. “Sure, let's do it right now.”

“You first.” Hobie thinks he chose right.

“Nu-huh, you asked, you go first.”

With a joking huff and a thumping heart, he eggs you on.

“I think the bride goes first.”

“Yeah? You've been to a ton of weddings?”

He laughs, the sound is better than the band playing in the background. And in that musky concert hall, underneath the stars and strobe lights, you do your vows.

“Okay, I'll go first.” You clear your throat, hands shaking not from nerves but from excitement. “I vow to always mend your wounds when you get home.” He smiles, eyes shining with unshed happy tears. “But I can't promise that I won't complain and nag you the entire time.”

Chuckling, you continue. “I vow to always be understanding, and to love you until I'm six feet under ground and even then I'd continue to love the shit out of you, Hobart Larry Brown. Even love your government name.”

Hobie can't help in anymore so he leans in but you stop him with your hand shielding your lips.

“You're horrible.” His words lack venom, all love and endearment pointed at you.

“I just vowed to love you unconditionally and you call me horrible?” Your words are muffled that he barely understood it. Yet he still pecks the top of your hand, to satisfy his need to kiss you. “You're not allowed to kiss me, not until we finish our vows.”

He rolls his eyes comically and you laugh. Your lips hurt from all the smiling.

Face hot, (not from the weather) you wipe his cheek free from sweat, leaving your hand to grasp his face. You hope it's enough to convey how utterly in love you are with him.

“My turn?”

“Mm-hmm”

Hobie inhales, he has fought a bunch of villains who wanted to end him but asking you if you want to marry him has him more terrified than facing green goblin. He's exhausted just from that. But he's more than ready to do this, to make his vows. It's only you isn't it? The love of his life who's currently staring at him warmly.

He's glad you agreed to elope, he can't imagine doing this in front of a hundred guests.

“I vow to always come home even when I'm beat up and bloodied. I'll crawl just to get to you.”

If your makeup wasn't ruined before it's properly ruined now with how much tears you're letting out. A few people look at you two weirdly.

“I vow to make time for you, I'd sacrifice sleep if you ask me.” He whispers the next line. “I'm serious. That's how much I love you.”

You laugh through the tears, gripping his collar, it might look like you're about to beat him up but you're actually holding back from snogging the shit out him.

“I promise to love you as long as you let me.” Hobie takes one of his rings off his finger, a favourite of his, a promise to you. The word wife slips his tongue and it has you almost fainting.

That got you and now you're sobbing your heart out. But after a beat, he lifts your face by your chin to let him look at you, he's right, he chose the right one.

“How does forever sound?” you manage to let out, lips still wobbly.

“Perfect. Forever sounds bloody perfect.” He leans once again, this time you don't stop him.

“You may kiss the sweaty bride.” You laugh and you kiss your husband.

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #hobie fluff #hobie x reader #fanfic #spiderpunk

182 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 6 months

Note

Helped my parents in our garden today and just couldn’t stop thinking about König x florist!reader.

Just imagine peacefully working in your flower shop when a guy walks in, looking for the perfect bouquet for his date/partner but he’s accompanied by this massive mountain of a man. He is clearly far too big for the small space of your shop, and just looks so out of place. Whilst you’re serving his friend, König can’t keep his eyes off you, asking you everything and anything about flowers. What they mean, where they originally come from…just anything! And when you name a flower, he mumbles its German name. "We also have peonies for example." "Ah, yes, Pfingstrosen. They are very beautiful." like you

And shortly before he and his friend leave, this sweet giant asks you what your favourite flower is!!

Plus, picture me this: It’s a more rare or exotic flower, which you don’t easily get in normal flower shops. But he gets them regardless, just to see that ethereal smile on your face again!!

I had to share this, because I am melting…

This is so sweet! König bringing flowers to his heartthrob even if she’s a goddamn florist is canon for me now 🩷

I had another quick imagine with this setting, I hope you like it anon!

Florist!Reader who explains everything there is to know about flowers to this hulking man who seems so very interested in them that you could almost think he wants to be a florist himself.

But then you notice it’s you he looks keenly when you speak; not the flowers. You get flustered soon and start to prattle about stupid things such as how brides are the worst customers: so demanding and bossy usually, don’t they know that peonies are seasonal like every other flower, even if this is a flower shop you can’t get all the things with the flick of a wrist from December to May!

Then you realize you’ve just babbled nonsense about weddings and brides and floral wreaths for about 5 minutes straight... and the gentle giant is still looking at you like you’re the flower he wants to take home instead of all the beautiful varieties in the display cabinet. He’s smiling, too. Softly, as you close your loose mouth and look up at him with sudden shyness.

“And which flowers would you pick for your own wedding wreath...?”

There is an awkward silence that follows as your eyes widen from his question. He realizes his blunder immediately and swallows – suddenly shy just like you are.

“I’m sorry. I mean, if you are not yet married…”

“I’m not married,” you quickly say and swallow the following “I don’t even have a boyfriend” that tries to come out of your mouth.

Hope sparks alive in his eyes again, and you’re feeling like swooning right there on the floor of your old little flower shop. His smile is warm, even if everything else in this man is rather intimidating and tense. And Christ, no one has ever asked you that. No one except this big, silent, shy giant of a man – the kind of shy that probably turns absolutely crazy and feral in bed... Your cheeks heat up just from the thought.

“Ah. Is that so? Surprising,” he comments on you being free, or at least not yet married. “How come that is?”

“I guess I haven’t yet… found the right one,” you try to hint to this man that you’re absolutely single, free, with no strings attached whatsoever to anyone or anywhere.

“Hm. That makes two of us,” he says and smiles again.

The hotness on your cheeks only gets worse when the giant's friend sighs audibly a few feet away – he's just trying to choose a bouquet and didn't know he'd have to suffer the awkward but oddly successful flirting of his mate.

“Get a room, you two...”

#florist!reader x könig #cute hot and sweet #awkward flirting #answered

400 notes · View notes

dflogerzi · 1 month

Text

I must have lost my mind... my comprehension... or priorities.

I am truly reeling. Fully, and by all sides of the arguments over a photo. There has not been so much of a bruhaha since the hordes of humanity were storming stores in search of toilet paper. It truly is blowing my mind.

Okay trying this again after once before as a Reblog to another today. But I have a few things to say and then I am going to leave this lay. I have NO idea if this will be long or short. But I am dang well hoping I feel better afterwards.

So there I was this afternoon, early, the phone rings. And it is my daughter-in-law whom has not called me since the second week of November. I see her name on the caller id, take a deep breath, and... she wants to talk about Catherine. What???? How about home, hearth, family, and the state of relationships? But okay. I went with it.

I am going to start this, what I hope is a mini-vent off with what I think of the photo submitted first. There is NO doubt it was a huge blunder. The week proceeding was already a fire storm demanding proof of life, relationship, and just about everything else you could throw into the mess. This was no time to release anything touched up whatsoever, and even for myself who loves and supports this wonderful person... the lack of wearing at the least her wedding band was just not a good look to send out worldwide. I do not care WHEN she wears or does not her dang rings privately. But now was not the time. I do believe she had good intentions and was just being naive. But she has been around the block for over two decades and firmly involved and in the trenches to what amounts to a modern-day War of the Roses.

Someone did not have her back.

Now to my main points, real concerns, and what are the TRUE problems, according to just little me, sitting in my cheap director's chair and calling out the scenes currently playing on the world stage.

People. This is going to pass. This is just the latest in the drama and the saga since Meghan Markle hit the royal family. The real danger from my view is not the photo or Catherine's intentions. The escalation and apparent hysteria of what could be real danger is truthfully what is my focus. When news agencies are checking the place of origin, metadata, timestamps, editing, and making judgements on integrity and the future of the monarchy based on a simple photo for Mother's Day... we have a HUGE issue. It is now far past time for the Wales family to be better secured, the British government to step in and take care of the obvious dangers that are growing exponentially, and priorities addressed as to the future.

I am FAR more concerned about William and his family at this point being safe, secure in where they are living, and the future of each of them an absolute priority. It is time for all involved with their protection and well-being to deal with what is so obviously happening. And I feel for William who most likely has the world, literally, on his shoulders. But it is for him to take the first stand.

This is not about a photo. This is a shot over the bow on the global stage.

Catherine dearest. Just heal please. Take care of you first. I will continue to keep you close in thought. You have given everything in honor, love, and duty for over 20 years. You take the time you need.

Going to publish this bad attempt at writing I suppose. Hope the madness ends soon. And I do not mean about a simple picture meant as a greeting to Mother's around the world...

105 notes · View notes

book-addicted-thing · 8 months

Text

Dean: so, Castiel really is my type of gay- GUY I MEAN GUY

Sam, watching as Dean blunders through the rest of his speech, muttering: why the fuck else are we at your wedding

#supernatural #destiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #deancas

198 notes · View notes

bihansthot · 10 months

Text

Master list part 2:

Important general Bi-Han info

Bi-Han x f!reader:

Daddy’s Good Girl (smut, Daddy kink)

Relax (smut, woman on top)

Insecure Reader (implied smut, drabble)

Mid-Autumn Festival 1,000 Follower Spectacular! (smut, prostate massages)

Bathtime (smut, quickie, drabble)

Chains & Whips Excite Me (smut, quickie, drabble, light bdsm)

Bi-Han x gn!reader:

A Snowy Afternoon (no smut, fluff)

Dumplings Gone Awry (no smut, pregnant reader, fluff)

Bi-Han’s IKEA adventure (no smut, suggestive, fluff, swears, some anxiety)

Blowjob Drabble (smut)

Bi-Han’s Type (suggestive, kinks mentioned)

Goodbye, Father (suggestive, no smut just making out, mentions of death)

Taking Bi-Han to get piercings (fluff, piercings)

Wedding Headcanons (fluff)

Unfaithful (suggestive, swearing, making out)

Ooo Woah (fluff, bimbo reader, headcanons)

Bi-Han x Syzoth x f!reader:

Cold Blooded (smut, mmf threesome)

Guessing Game (smut, taking turns)

Mating Seaon (smut, technically just Syzoth x f!reader but the OT3 is implied)

Stay Warm (fluff, OT3)

Boo to You, Happy Howl-o-Ween part 2! (smut, mmf threesome, mxm, tetraphelia, a/b/o, knotting)

Bi-Han x Syzoth:

Understand My Ship (Bi-Han x Syzoth, nsft)

Relationship Head Canons (fluff)

Bi-Han Headcanons and ramblings:

Bi-Han as Grandmaster

Girl Dad!Bi-Han

More Girl Dad!Bi-Han

Bi-Han’s long hair

Scorpion is an assassin too

Mk1 Offcial Bio

Sareena 😒

Please don’t kill him Boon

The Problem with Noob

Anti-Cyber Initiative

Favorite Pizza

It’s an fing grilled cheese

K-Pop Bi-Han

Body Hair

More Dad!Bi-Han

Concept Art 1, 2

Canon Height

Still more Dad!Bi-Han

Kuai Liang x f!reader:

Yoga Blunders (fluff, pregnant reader, mentions of child birth)

Sub-Zero Bros:

Bi-Han is a GOOD brother

Past Bi-Han should have been in MK11

Kuai Liang is done with Bi-Han’s shit

Name meanings

No really, Bi-Han is a GOOD brother

Their relationship with their parents

Ethnicity and other stuff

Papa Zero

Reiko x f!reader:

Down time (smut)

Riding Drabble (smut)

Smoke x f!reader:

Confession (fluff, drinking, kissing)

First Impressions Can Be Deceiving (smut, first time)

Multiple Kharacters & Other One Offs:

For my Latinx Lovelies (Tomas, Syzoth, Kuai Liang, Bi-Han, fluff and Mexican headcanons)

Insertion (smut, Cyber!Sektor x afab!reader)

Self Ship and OC stuff:

Understand My Ship (Solarbear, Sol x Bi-Han, nsft)

Understand My Ship (Solizardbear, Bi-Han x Syzoth x Sol, nsft)

OC Hallvard Breivik, Face Claim

My Lin Kuei Tattoo

MK Discord Server

How Sol met Bi-Han (Solarbear, Bi-Han x Sol, fluff)

Super Self-Indulgent Shark Week Spectacular (Solarbear, Bi-Han x Sol, fluff)

The kids, Dating Bīngbīng, Bīngbīng’s hairstyles, still more about Bīngbīng, appearance, birth of the twins

Relationship Head Canons (Tomas x Hallvard, fluff)

Self Ship Art 1,2,3

Our Wedding (fluff, Solarbear, Bi-Han x Sol)

#mortal kombat #bi han #sub zero #og sub zero #noob saibot #kuai liang #sub zero bros #master list #part two #I’m sure I missed something

205 notes · View notes

tickles-ivory · 1 year

Text

BIlbo: I'm going to go pick up the wedding cake!

Thorin: Perfect. While you do that, I'll check on the ring bear.

Bilbo: ...

BIlbo: You mean ring bearer, right?

Thorin: ...

Bilbo: ...

Bilbo: Look me in the eye and tell me you're not bringing a dangerous wild animal to our wedding...

****************************

I wrote a one-shot fic based on this because I HAD TO! LOL I called it "Customary Blunder." It's over on AO3.

#bagginshield #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #isn't Beorn invited?

353 notes · View notes

bittermuire · 5 months

Note

Divorced rhysta angst plsss 🥺🥺

DIVORCED RHYSTA YOU SAID????

March 15th.

There are seven yellow roses on her desk.

Nesta runs her thumb over her left ring finger, where the band used to sit. She keeps it in a dish with all of the rest of her jewelry. It has little company. She wears little jewelry.

She was waiting in line at the pharmacy when they met for the first time. She’d noticed him blundering around, loitering a bit—it took him fifteen minutes to pluck up the courage to talk to her. But she’d been uncaffeinated and exhausted and he took the brunt of it.

She’d rear-ended him in the grad school parking lot when they met for the second time. She was mortified. He seemed relieved. He was funny. His name was Rhys. He taught in the physics department. She told him her name was Nesta, she taught in the literature department. What do you teach, he asked. She inspected the cars. She inspected him, hands in his pockets, sleeves of his button-down lazily rolled up. Medieval romances, she said.

She wanted tenure, so she was up til two most nights, flipping through worn copies of journals and reviews, scouring the internet.

They were serious by that time. They’d been seeing each other for about a year. She was researching, working on a book, working at coffee shops and the library, and he was sitting across from her, working with equations, working with numbers he kept like magic tricks in his mind.

Nesta’s book was on marriage in medieval romances. Ironically that was when Rhys was looking at engagement rings. They had a small courthouse wedding in January. They moved into a little house, a five minute drive from campus.

She should have seen it coming, really.

She married Rhys, after all. Dr. Rhys Irwyn. He was teaching level 300 or 400 or 500 courses called things like Thermal and Statistical Physics and Quantum Mechanics I and Quantum Mechanics II and Stellar Evolution. Gorgeous things she couldn’t touch, couldn’t conceptualize. And he was tall and handsome. He wore glasses. He wore slacks, button-downs.

Anyway—they’d been married something like seven or eight years when she saw him in the car with the TA for one of his courses. Nesta knew who the girl was. She was a pretty, bright student. Her husband was holding that girl’s face, kissing her like he loved her.

“What’s so special about it?” He laughed. “It’s a day. Neither of our birthdays, need I remind you.”

She sighed. “It’s just nice, don’t you think? March fifteenth. It sounds right. It’s beautiful.”

“Fine. It’s our holiday, then. It’s a day made for you.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“I love you.”

“Be quiet, I’m grading.”

She didn’t bring it up for a while. Months went by. She didn’t acknowledge it but she didn’t touch him, either. He bent his head to kiss her and she looked away.

On some windless autumn day she’d locked herself in a bathroom stall, squatting, hand clenched over her mouth. That evening she handed him the divorce papers and told him to sign. They had a fight. He lost quickly. He signed them by the end of the week.

There are seven yellow roses on her desk.

Nesta checks the calendar on her desk. On her bookshelf she has a small picture of her cat. A rosary, the last gift from her mother. Edith Wharton, Virginia Woolf, Alice Hoffman. Slim volumes of poetry about ghosts, and grieving, stacked atop each other.

She stands there a moment, then grabs the stems, stripped of thorns, and throws them out.

#more nesta centric than angst im sorry #BUT i do have a 2k divorced rhysta smut fic sitting in my drafts she's pretty angsty #to anyone: let me know if you want to read that #because i don't think it will be posted here #thank you for the ask gem💗💗💗

54 notes · View notes

shadowbriar · 2 years

Text

Bridges - Fred Weasley

Pairing : (F/M) || Fred Weasley x Reader Word Count : 3.5k Warning : Drinking. Notes : This story was posted first on my Ao3 account. In which Fred tries to spare himself the heartbreak from falling for someone he's supposed to love as a sister.

Fred Weasley has lost count of the tired exasperation he’d blow in the last twenty minutes. His mother has done it again, losing the plot just mere seconds before the train leaves for Hogwarts. In her defence, it isn’t easy living and preparing for 4 troublesome boys for school.

It was Ron’s blunder this time on forgetting his jumper that made their mother get haywired. As much as Fred wanted to get angry at his youngest brother, their mother’s nagging is much more than enough to scare him for a few weeks ahead. But that doesn't mean he wouldn’t give little Ronniekins some hard time later.

“Fred, off you go.” His mother said with a tired sigh, ushering his son to walk through the Platform 9¾.

He shot a silent ‘finally’ glare at his twin, earning a short snicker from him.

Fred readies himself, tightening the grip on the cart handle. He’s done the walking for a couple of times now, mastering the trick. And so he closes his eyes and starts to pick up a pace, running through the brick walls. But his eyes were abruptly opened as he leaped forward, his cart crashing into someone.

His belongings were scattered, along with hers. There’s always something bad waiting on the other side of the brick walls, he thought. They groan in pain, the hard contact was enough to give them light bruises tomorrow morning.

“You bloody idiot!” Fred spat, his annoyance was through the roof “What kind of daft are you to be standing right in front of the portal?”

The girl stared at Fred in fear. Tears were forming on her eyes, scared and hurting. Fred could tell from her emblemless sweater that she must be a first year student, the same age as Ron. Perhaps she was just confused and didn’t know where to go.

Fred sighs, forcing his anger to evaporate as he holds out a hand, “Are you alright?”

The girl nods lightly. She was trying hard to suppress her sniffling as she collected her trunk and placed them back in her cart. Her head was hung low, making Fred feel even more guilty.

“I’m Fred, Fred Weasley.” he introduces himself, not even apologising from his raised tone “I’m in third year.”

She nods, slightly smiling as she tells him her name.

Fred didn’t know then that their not so pleasant encounter would be the start of a complicated matter of heart. He couldn’t possibly know, he was a child. But one thing he was certain of is that this wouldn’t be the last of them. Her soft gaze and sweet smile would always be his personal gravity, he was sure of it.

----

Fred couldn’t wrap his head on the silly game the girls are playing.

The three girls were giggling in the living room, their laughter echoing through the ceilings of the Burrow. He finds it soppy that they were talking about their versions of prince charming. How they would like their weddings to be and how many children they would have. Although he is coming to the age where dating is not as appalling as it once were, listening to the girls’ unrealistic ideas of a man is still sickening for him.

Don’t get him wrong, he has his own preferences too when it comes to romance, but the thought of finding the perfect girl at the age of fifteen and spending the rest of his life with her seems to be too feeble. He wants to make mistakes first so that when he’s finally ready to settle, he won't blow everything up just like what he’s always done in life.

The thought sometimes bothers his sleep too. He wasn’t sure who he’s supposed to look for. Should he look for someone who has the same taste in jokes as he does? That way they could spend joy and laughter everyday. Or should he look for someone who is more entrenched, someone who could give him a better grip in life.

Fred averts his gaze to the quiet girl seated across from him. It has been years since they first met at Platform 9¾ and there surely have been some noticeable differences in her. She was less shy, albeit still the quietest among the other 2 girls.

“What unrealistic trait does your prince have?” George asks her, looking amused.

She says with a shrug, “I don’t really have a long list of criteria.”

“She only wants her boyfriend to be a redhead.” Hermione chimes in, looking rather bored at her friend’s taste “A little uncreative of her, don’t you think?”

“Red hair? Like us?” Fred asks, sounding intrigued “You’re saying you fancy one of us?”

“You Weasleys are not the only redheads in this world.” she defends nonchalantly, rolling her eyes.

George nods and smiles mischievously, “Yes, but we are the better looking redhead, wouldn’t you agree?”

Fred has to bite the growing grin as he watches her blush. Her modest demeanour has always been pleasing to his eyes. A stark contrast to his obnoxious and loud personality, she is calm and collected whilst still having a mischief side. A trait Fred was proud to have introduced to her.

“I’ve always liked seeing you with Charlie.” Hermione says to her, smiling at the thought “Maybe you could date him.”

“He’s old, is what he is.” Fred argues fast, sounding more annoyed than he had intended to.

The sudden change of tone was noticed by Hermione as she raises an eyebrow, yet as fast as it appears, she brushes it off in a blink. She bites her lip, trying not to smile at the not so subtle hint Fred accidentally dropped. He could only pray that Granger wouldn’t encourage this tonight on their girly night talks.

“Well older boys are always more charming, right Ginny?” Hermione says, turning to the youngest.

“We’re older.” George says with a grin, turning to the quiet girl.

“She can’t possibly fancy any of you tossers. She’s still got taste at the very least.” Ginny says with quite disgust on her face.

Fred was punching every foolish butterfly flying inside his stomach as he heard her laughter. She doesn’t seem to mind the teases his twin had thrown at her. Ironically aching him a little at the thought that she doesn't see him in a romantic way.

Well, she shouldn’t be, considering how close they are. She probably sees him as an older brother at most. Someone who would always put a smile on her face, but only as a brother, never a lover.

And with this realisation, Fred swore quietly to bury the budding feelings inside his chest. He shouldn’t be feeling jittery around her, he couldn’t. They’re a family, though not bounded by blood. Still, he couldn’t burn their bridge by painting it red. He ought to dim the light now before it gets anywhere more than puppy love.

----

Fred scrunch his nose in disapproval as he spots her entering Madam Puddyfoot’s Tea Shop, in hand with Cormac McLaggen. Now in her fifth year, she has certainly gained the attention of boys. None of those blokes are up to his standard to be frank, but bringing up the topic to her would only ignite another argument. Having known her for years, he couldn’t help but to feel a little bit protective.

At least, that’s the reason he’s so convinced of having.

“I’m yearning for some firewhiskey.”

George raises his brows at the sudden announcement his twin made, but follows him anyway as they head to the Three Broomsticks. They were never particularly fond of alcohol, but perhaps his twin could use a little bit of warming up. It is coming to the late weeks of December after all.

But as they sat down, it was clear to George that his brother wasn’t aiming for a light warm up, he wanted to get pissed. So pissed he wouldn’t remember who dragged him back to the castle in the morning.

“So am I only here to carry you back to our room or will you share your thoughts with me?” George says, pushing the empty glasses away.

Fred slurs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The doorbell jingles as someone enters the bar and as if on cue, Fred’s locked to hers. She was no longer with McLaggen. A sight he very much prefers.

Noticing the familiar redheads in one of the booths, she approaches them with angry steps. The state Fred was in is certainly displeasing. His hair was unkempt, face as red as his hair from all the alcohol. His head was hung low, only supported with one arm resting on the table.

Fred couldn’t make out the nagging she was giving to him and George. Her words were fuzzy, like buzzes of bees swarming his ears and trying to enter the hive that is his brain. He could see George trying to defend himself from her long train of moaning, looking defensive.

“We’re going back to the castle.” she says with a demanding tone “Now.”

“But you haven’t had a drink.” Fred argues through his hiccups “Here, have some of my firewhiskey.”

She slaps away Fred’s hand that was giving her his half-empty glass, staring at him with a displeased look, “I am very disappointed in you, Fred.”

Her words sting his chest like a poison.

With one last huff of annoyance, George finally agrees to close the bill and bring Fred back to the castle. Fred is in no state of sobriety but it isn’t as bad as she’s reacting to. He hasn’t told him the reason he’s pouring down the alcohol either. If it wasn’t for her pleas and desperate gaze, he would’ve let his twin have another round.

And so the two of them now carry Fred back to the castle. She was far shorter than him, so she stood as nothing but an arm rest. Still, she tries her best to support Fred out of any trips. As much as he feels protective of her, she feels supportive of him too.

Once they reach the bedroom, she helps him take off his shoes and lay under the duvet. George was out, trying to find an empty bin just in case his twin had to empty his stomach later on. She tucks him tight, sitting on the side of his bed as she stares at him with a sigh.

She was about to leave when Fred’s hand wrapped her wrist, “Please stay.”

“You know I can’t stay in the boys dormitory.” she reasons softly, gently caressing his hand.

“No one will know. George wouldn’t tell a soul.”

She pauses to contemplate. They haven’t spent much time together and she’s dying to talk to him. He has been acting quite out of character lately, picking up arguments every chance he’s got. To see him completely stewed tonight was the icing on the cake for her.

“One snore, and I’ll leave.”

Fred smiles, nodding.

She peels the neatly tucked duvet back and slid herself in, scooching close to Fred. He reeks of alcohol but arguing about the foul odour would tarnish the intimacy they are in right now so she chooses to mentally turn a blind eye on it. It’s a rare gem to finally have some alone time with him.

“You smell nice.” Fred says as he rests his chin on her head, pulling her closer to his chest “You always smell nice.”

“Right, you’re sounding very creepy right now, if we’re honest.”

Fred smiles before pulling himself lightly to get a better look of her. She was staring at him, worry still evident lightly on her face. She must have been holding in thousands of questions about his behaviour but he is not in the mood to entertain them. He only wanted her to be there.

“Are you really disappointed in me?” he asks, sounding pitiful to himself.

“Well you have been quite the stranger lately.” she confesses gently “Is there anything you’d want to share with me? Anything that’s been bothering your mind?”

Fred pauses for a minute, wondering if he should just dive in and ask the million galleons question now. He could always hide under the excuse that he was drunk tomorrow morning. But it would only be him who forgets about the night. She would have to live with it for the rest of her life and he isn’t sure if he’d want her to carry it.

But he has been standing at the end of the cliffs for quite some time now. He’s dying to get it off of his chest. He’d try every diversion and convenience himself of every possibility there is but he still couldn’t really accept it. He is ultimately and undeniably in love with her.

“Promise me you won’t look at me differently.” he whispers, voice cracking in uncertainty “Promise me you won’t hate me for this.”

“I could never hate you, you know that.”

Fred forces a smile.

He chews the inside of his cheek, still debating inside. His brain was scrambled, unable to make a coherent sentence that would best convey his feelings. He was never even sure how to portray it sober, so you could tell how hard it is for him now.

“Do you still want your prince charming to be a redhead?”

She squints her eyes, smiling as the childish memory washes her, “I can hardly remember I ever wanted that, but I suppose having red head children is adorable.”

“McLaggen isn’t a redhead.” he says, expression now unreadable for her “And so is Dean Thomas and every other bloke you’ve had a date with.”

“Really?” she asks in annoyance “Out of your head and you still have the will to argue with me about boys.”

Fred could visibly see the brewing exasperation in her eyes. But he wasn’t planning on arguing with her. No, he only wanted to take this silly secret off of his chest.

“I’m a redhead.” he says softly “Date me instead.”

She was thunderstruck. She searched for any trace of prank on his face, yet there’s nothing she could find but vulnerability and sincerity. He was studying her reaction, hoping they were just mere surprise and not a sign of rejection.

“You’re drunk.” she says softly, trying to convince herself that his words hold no meaning “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“If I tell you tomorrow morning, would you believe me then?”

Fred looks persistent, but she couldn’t give herself the benefit of the doubt and take his words more than empty drunken words. She couldn’t let herself go through the same hell again of hoping he would see her more than his extended little sister. It took her years to master the act of indifference and dull the affection she’s had since he first rammed her with the cart years ago.

“I guess if you could even remember to tell me then, we’d have this talk.”

He nods eagerly, mentally swearing to himself to not forget this promise. He wouldn’t be able to, no matter how hard he’ll try to forget in the morning, he’s sure of it. He isn’t the type to blank from a night of long drinks. He will surely remember each detail that’s happened tonight when the lights come on.

----

Much to his dismay, he did remember. Well it’s hard to not realise that something had happened last night when he had her snuggled close to his chest, her arms tightly wrapping his waist. This is the very first time they’ve ever been this close. Sure they have slept next to each other before, but never this intimate.

And it’s scaring him.

He silently peels her arms away, the absence is leaving an invincible scar on his heart, but it has to be done. He can’t let this go more than what it has already been. Hell, he’ll be cursing himself for the rest of his life for ever letting last night happen.

“Going somewhere?” she asks before he could reach the door.

“Yeah, I uh, I need to throw up.” he tries to make an excuse. She points at the empty bin by the bed with a smile, pointing out his lie “I wouldn’t want to make you disgusted by my puke.”

She rolls her eyes, “Your puke might actually be one of the least disgusting things I’ve seen of you.”

Fred flashes an unsure smile, doubting himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Her gaze was too captivating for him. Like a massive blackhole ready to engulf him completely with no return. But he knows that she’s waiting for him to finish whatever it is he started last night. He owes her that at the very least.

“Listen,” he starts with a heavy sigh, not having the heart to meet her eyes “I know what you’re thinking, but I just- I made a mistake last night. I was drunk, and if you could just pour them down the drain, I believe that would be best for us all.”

She makes a baffled expression, shaking her head in confusion, “Just so we’re clear, what exactly was the mistake you’re talking about?”

“Please, don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

“No, really. I am lost.” she says with a light raise of tone “Were you referring to the fact that you’re completely hammered, or that you made poor judgement on the boys I’ve dated with, or the fact that you basically asked me to date you?”

Fred stares at her in defeat. His secret is out. He knows it, she knows it. The only way he could make this any worse is to leave her hanging. If he wants to end it then he better cut straight to it, give her the crystal clear position of where he’s standing. Spare the poor girl any more ponders at night.

“Love, I’m sorry.” he says gently, finally looking up to her “But you must understand why this can’t go on.”

“What can’t go on?”

“This.”

“What is this?” she yells, throwing her hands through the air in clear bewilderment “Your half spoken words and strange gestures these days. What exactly are you talking about Fred? I am completely and utterly puzzled.”

Fred wasn’t aware that his fists have curled into a ball, trying to hold in the outburst that is so fighting to come out. Seeing her in this state has given him the sight of all the seven hells. But if just confessing his feelings has brought them this much squabbles then imagine the anguish it would bring the both of them should they take it a step further.

At least, in his mind that’s the scenario they would go down to.

“You know I love you.” he confesses with a defeated tone “But you also know why we can’t be together.”

“No, actually I don’t.”

“Love, come on.” Fred chuckles half heartedly.

“No, I really don’t.” she says firmly, eyes still locked on him for answers “What could’ve been so bad if we were together?”

“Everything! Everything would turn bad the moment we change this.” he argues, standing from his seat. He paces around the bed, rummaging his hair despair “This, this very delightful feelings we’re having right now would last only for a month. Two at most if I could hold in my mean pranks. And then one day, within a year or five, we would fight about the silliest thing and forget why we loved each other in the first place.”

She sighs with a bitter smile. He didn’t even ask what she wanted. He just has to be the one to make the decision for the both of them, just like he always did. And it’s worse to finally realise that he has known all along that of her sentiment yet choses to turn the cheek and look away.

“You knew all along about my feelings and you didn’t even ask what I would’ve wanted.”

Fred shrugs, forcing a thin line of smile, “I think I know what you want.”

“And yet you still deny me of it.”

His face fell.

He never intended to hurt her, not like this. But he knew how impulsive he could get sometimes. And though the only thing he’s ever been so committed to is his feelings for her, being together with her would mean that there would be consequences the both of them have to carry. And that may include the scratch and burns of his hasty decisions.

“Love-”

“Don’t call me that if you can’t mean it.” she says softly before peeling her off of the cover “If you want to end what could’ve been the best relationship in our lives before it even started then I respect that. I respect your decision. But please don’t project your doubts on me and make it seem like I have any part in this nightmare because I know what I want and it certainly is not this.”

With those last words, she finds herself out of the bedroom. His heart completely shatters at the sound of the door closing, though she closes it softly. Fred could feel the strings in his heart snapping, aching his very body as the realisation hits. He didn’t need to be in a relationship with her to completely burn every bridges they have. He just has to be a complete arse to do so.

A complete arse who’s broken not only his but her heart too.

#fred weasley #fred weasley angst #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley scenario #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley x y/n

980 notes · View notes