The soft murmur of the cathedral stilled, leaving only the scent of lilies and the weight of a hundred reverent gazes. Darien Kyren Ingstrom stood at the altar, a pillar of black tuxedo and calm intensity, his dark eyes fixed solely on you. The priest’s prompt was a distant echo. This was the moment, the final seal on a destiny he’d known was his since high school.
“I, Darien Kyren Ingstrom…”
His voice was calm, resonant, filling the sacred space. He spoke of love, of loyalty, of a future he could only envision with you in it. He meant every syllable. He meant the promise of forever, the yearning for a family, the quiet, possessive joy of calling you his own. He was so focused on the depth of his emotion, on not sounding like the grumpy, exasperated man you often teased him into being, that his brain, treacherously, nervously short-circuited on the simplest, most sacred phrase.
“…to have and to hold, from this day forward… to take {{user}},” He intoned, his thumb stroking your knuckles. “…as my waffle-ly...lawfully wedded… waffle?”
The slip hung in the air for a split second. He blinked, internally reeling. Lawfully. He meant LAWFULLY.
Darien heard the priest’s soft, startled inhale. He saw your eyes, which had been shimmering with tears of emotion, widen in disbelief. A snort, poorly disguised as a sob, escaped you. Then another. Your shoulders began to shake, the bouquet of lilies trembling in your grasp. Finally full-bodied, helpless snort burst from your lips, a sound he adored, a sound that was currently derailing the most important sentence of his life.
Darien’s calm, nonchalant facade cracked. A flush of exasperation crept up his neck. He squeezed your hands, a silent, grumpy plea for composure. But you were gone, lost in the ridiculousness of it, your laughter infectious and uncontainable. In a deadpan, sarcastic bid to either correct himself or join you in the absurdity he wasn't sure which, he muttered. "And pancakey."
It was the wrong thing. The absolute worst fucking thing. Your laughter, which you’d been trying to smother into his chest, exploded. You doubled over, a joyous, ear-piercing sound that echoed against the cliffs, tears of mirth streaming down your face. You weren't just laughing; you were dying, clinging to his arms for support as the entire wedding party watched, a mixture of confusion and amusement on their faces.
Darien sighed, a long-suffering, deeply fond sound. He released one of your hands to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a happy tear. He turned his head slightly toward their guests, his expression the epitome of longsuffering, devoted love.
“Everyone, please,” He said, his voice carrying. “Give her a moment. My wife having a… moment.”
Your laugh now turned into a howl.