Reader! Who enters the bar in a large and poofy princess wedding dress, face full of makeup, and hair slicked up snd out of your face, veil and phone tightly gripped in your hand.
And makes almost everyone in the half empty room do a double take as you make your way to a free bar stool, small ‘sorrys’ as you lift your dress that keeps brushing against tables.
The bartender gives you a questionable look, “Can-Can I help you ma’am?”
“Can I get a strawberry daiquiri, and- do you sell wings here?”
“Then that too. The biggest basket ya got. With a side of barbecue sauce. Oh, and ranch!” You plop your veil in your lap and you set your phone down on the counter, that’s still rapidly buzzing.
If the 141 would have imagined such a beautiful and blushing bride walking into their live — in a dingy bar on a Thursday evening no less. Had Gaz not shoved Soap over to you, the four men would’ve all thought they were under some type of hypnosis.
“Bloody ‘ell yer bonnie.” Soaps words fall out before he can catch them.
You look over at him, half stoic from running away from your own wedding right as your ex soon to be husband said his vows in the last 45 minutes, and half thankful— you let out an airy giggle, “Well I did pay the makeup artist to do a good job.”
John comes around to you, he’s steady, poised, “Are you sure you’re alright love?”
“I feel alright, I think.” You say, sipping the fresh frozen drink sat infront of you. Okay, maybe more than two sips, but your hearts still pounding.
“No- I mean- you’re in the wrong place. Shouldn’t you meant t’ be-“
“—At a wedding?” You finish, finally meeting eyes with this beared stranger. You tap your fingers at the bar, shrugging, with an exasperated laugh, “I thought so too, before I found out that the guy cheated on me. Numerous times. And even when my mom tried me to convince me, I had to ask myself, ‘what is this for? What is any of this for?’ I didn’t want the big ass wedding to begin with, but I wanted the poofy dress. But I couldn’t even get the one I really wanted, so what’s the point? I’m fucking Barbie, and your trynna marry me to fuck all, when I want Ken!” You take another swing of your drink, burping it out and covering your mouth.
“I want Ken, and Denzel, and Keanu, and David Beckem in his prime with a big ass house and pool and not being forced to have kids for some company with no money promised to me for- some cheat! Next thing you know, I’m running and calling a fucking taxi to a bar I’ve never been to and then I got a slurpie on the way. And I’m craving wings. And I hope they enjoy that 4 tier cake cause I know for fucking sure, I chose a damn good cake.”
And maybe you’re in a movie or something because you got a handful of cheers and applause. Your cheeks burn underneath your skin with embarrassment but you’re unashamed. Eyes only matching to the other handsome men at the end of the bar who seem to be with the beard stranger.
Simon snickers and raises his pint to you, “Got a pair of balls on ya luv.”
You stick your nose up, ends of your lips cracking into a smile, “they’re pretty heavy.”
Gaz smiles, “Next one’s on me then, anything’s better than a shite wedding, yeah?”
John gives you a warm smile, hand slipping onto your upper back, “mind having your reception with us then? Don’t think we’re too shabby compared t’ the bloody muppet who fucked you over, are we?”
Your eyes swirl over the four men in front of you, biting the inside of your lip, it can’t get any more than an hour ago, can it? “No, I’d greatly appreciate it actually.”
a/n: reader having an ego death and singing Bitter Sweet Symphony terribly and drunk by the end of the night while four big military men hype you up. This is dumb.
