#wedding planner

Pairing: Kim Seokjin × Reader (Y/N)

Genre: Romance | Second Chance | Angst | Slow Burn

Synopsis:

You loved him for six years—through late-night study sessions, shared takeout boxes, and the quiet comfort of knowing you’d always come home to him. But life after graduation wasn’t the fairytale you imagined. With no jobs, no luck, and dreams crumbling faster than you could rebuild them, the two of you drifted apart.

Ten years later, you’re a wedding planner with a thriving career. He’s a celebrated chef with restaurants across the city. Your paths should never have crossed again… yet here he is, walking into your office with his bride-to-be.

It’s just another wedding.

Until it isn’t.

1 2 3 4 5 (completed)

Prologue

The rain had been falling since morning, turning the streets into a wash of gray and silver. Inside the café, the air smelled of cinnamon and roasted beans, warm enough to make you forget the damp chill waiting outside. Hoseok sat across from me at our usual corner table, his hands wrapped around a mug of black coffee. He always ordered it without sugar, claiming he liked the taste pure.

“So,” he began, leaning forward with the kind of smile that meant he was fishing for news, “you still haven’t told me about this mysterious new client. Is it someone famous? A celebrity couple? A chaebol’s daughter?”

I looked down at my latte, at the swirl of foam that had already started to collapse. My throat felt dry. “It’s a big wedding,” I said, slow and careful.

“You do big weddings all the time,” he teased. “Why are you saying it like you’re about to confess a crime?”

I hesitated, then met his gaze. “Because the bride-to-be is marrying Kim Seokjin.”

For a moment, the rain seemed to grow louder, or maybe it was just the rush of blood in my ears. Hoseok’s smile faltered, and he sat back in his chair. “Seokjin,” he repeated softly. “Your Seokjin?”

I nodded.

“Wow,” he breathed, running a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t know he was even in the city. What’s it been? Ten years?”

“Ten years,” I echoed. The words felt heavy in my mouth.

He was quiet for a moment, watching me over the rim of his mug. “You’ve never really told me the whole story,” he said finally. “I know you two were serious, but… not how it ended.”

I traced the edge of my cup with my fingertip. “We met in our first year of college,” I began, and before I could stop myself, the memory pulled me under.

It was late September, the kind of day where the air still carried a trace of summer’s warmth but the wind hinted at autumn just waiting for its turn. The campus quad was a tangle of color and noise. Flyers rustled against wooden tables, laughter carried from one end to the other, and the faint smell of roasted sweet potatoes drifted from a nearby cart.

I was at the photography club booth, half-bent over the table, trying to find the sign-up sheet buried under a chaotic pile of other papers. My fingers brushed page after page until another hand reached past mine.

“Here,” a warm voice said.

The paper slid toward me, neat and precise, like he’d been waiting to do it all along. I looked up.

Black hair fell slightly into his eyes, and his white shirt was crisp but not stiff, sleeves rolled to his forearms. There was nothing extraordinary about the moment, yet something about his smile—soft, easy, like sunlight breaking through clouds—lodged itself somewhere deep inside me.

“Thanks,” I managed.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and for the briefest second, it felt like we had known each other longer than the five seconds we’d spoken.

After that, he started appearing everywhere. At the library, leaning against the shelf in the exact row I was browsing. In the cafeteria line, holding a tray and asking if I’d tried the dumplings. On the bus after class, standing close enough that I could smell the faint trace of soap and coffee on him. I told myself it was coincidence, but the day he asked if I wanted to get lunch, I knew it wasn’t.

Lunch turned into coffee. Coffee turned into late-night study sessions. Those turned into walks across the quiet campus at midnight, our shoulders brushing in the dark. And then, somewhere in between laughter over cold noodles and the quiet moments when we shared a single pair of earphones, we fell in love.

By the time we graduated, we didn’t need to ask if we’d live together. We just found a tiny apartment near the river with peeling wallpaper and a kitchen barely big enough for one person. The windows stuck in the winter, and the water heater had moods of its own, but it was ours. We painted the walls a warm cream, strung fairy lights over the couch, and filled the cupboards with mismatched mugs from thrift stores. On good nights, we’d cook together, laughing when we burned the garlic. On bad nights, we’d eat instant ramen sitting on the floor, promising each other it was temporary.

But love didn’t keep the electricity on.

We sent résumés into the void, each rejection chipping away at the easy warmth we’d once had. Seokjin took restaurant shifts, sometimes not getting home until two in the morning, smelling faintly of grilled fish and soy sauce. I spent hours hunched over the dining table, writing cover letters until my eyes blurred. At first, we made jokes about our struggles. Then the jokes stopped.

We started fighting over things that didn’t matter—whose turn it was to buy detergent, why the sink was full of dishes, why we seemed to be running in circles. Every fight felt heavier than the last, until the walls of that tiny apartment seemed to close in on us.

The night it ended, it was raining. The kind of rain that fell in relentless sheets, making the whole world sound muted and far away. I don’t even remember what started the argument. Laundry, maybe. Or bills. But it built until it was everything we hadn’t said—every frustration, every hurt, every disappointment.

“Maybe we should take a break,” he said finally.

I didn’t ask how long. I just packed a bag, my hands shaking. I remember the creak of the old stairs under my feet, the cold air hitting my face, the rain soaking my clothes before I reached the end of the street. He didn’t follow.

I never saw him again.

Not until now.

Ten years later, I’m a wedding planner with my own office, a calendar booked months in advance. He’s a chef with restaurants scattered across the city. Our paths should never have crossed again. But the bride sitting in my office this morning, smiling as she told me about her fiancé, had said his name.

Kim Seokjin.

The man I once thought I’d marry.

The man whose wedding I now have to plan.

Chapter 1

Hey, Lovelies!

I’m starting a new fic! If you want to be on my permanent taglist so you never miss an update, drop a comment or DM me. Can’t wait to share this one with you! 🤍

Because there's no way she's doing it with completely pure intentions. She's doing it to stay in Ben's orbit and cling to him. Or even if for whatever reason audrey is planning the wedding out of genuine remorse/trying to be better. Isn't it just a bit cruel to have your ex girlfriend plan your wedding to SOMEONE ELSE? When you have had clear signs that she is NOT OVER YOU?

It just seems really against Ben's character to be that cruel and insensitive.

💚 Taylor Swift = Botanist 💚

This album is gentle and deeply observant, like it’s constantly noticing small changes. Like botany, it reflects that quiet attention to detail and appreciation for natural, unfiltered beauty. It’s soft, patient, and rooted in watching things evolve over time.

💛 Fearless = Teacher 💛

Fearless feels like guidance wrapped in optimism, the kind of energy that encourages you to try, fail, and try again. A teacher matches its warmth and belief in growth, especially the way it frames mistakes as part of becoming.

💜 Speak Now = Fashion Designer 💜

Speak Now is bold, expressive, and unapologetically original where every detail feels intentional and personal. A fashion designer fits because it’s about creating something that reflects your inner world outwardly, even if it’s dramatic or misunderstood.

❤️ Red = Speech Pathologist ❤️

Red is chaotic, emotional, and deeply tied to communication: what’s said, unsaid, and misunderstood. A speech pathologist fits because this album is constantly trying to articulate overwhelming feelings and repair emotional disconnects. It’s about finding the words when they don’t come easy.

🩵 1989 = Journalist 🩵

This era is sharp, self-aware, and very conscious of narrative and public image. A journalist fits because it plays with perception - who controls the story, what gets published, and what gets left out. It’s polished but curious, always chasing the truth behind the headline.

🖤 reputation = Lawyer 🖤

Reputation is all about defence, strategy, and reclaiming your narrative under pressure. A lawyer fits perfectly because it’s calculated, resilient, and unafraid to challenge accusations head-on. Beneath the armor though, there’s still something deeply personal being protected.

🩷 Lover = Wedding Planner 🩷

This album is detail-oriented in the most romantic way, obsessed with creating moments that feel meaningful and lasting. A wedding planner matches its focus on love as something you actively build and celebrate. It’s dreamy, but also grounded in making happiness real.

🩶 folklore = Nurse 🩶

Folklore carries a quiet, steady kind of care; the kind that listens more than it speaks. A nurse fits because it’s about tending to the emotional wounds with patience and empathy, often behind the scenes. It holds space for other people’s stories without needing to center itself.

🤎 evermore = Anthropologist 🤎

Evermore feels like studying human behavior across time: patterns of love, loss, and survival. An anthropologist fits because the album observes rather than reacts, piecing together meaning from different perspectives. It’s reflective, analytical, and deeply interested in how people endure.

💙 Midnights = Sleep Technologist 💙

This album lives in the space between exhaustion and overthinking, where your mind won’t turn off. A sleep technologist makes sense because it’s all about what happens in those late-night hours: cycles, disturbances, and the things that keep you awake. It’s clinical in its self-awareness but still deeply personal.

🤍 TTPD = Psychologist 🤍

This one dissects emotion in a way that feels both intellectual and self-indulgent. A psychologist fits because it’s constantly analyzing behavior, attachment, and internal contradictions. It doesn’t just feel things; it studies them, sometimes to the point of obsession.

🧡 TLOAS = Actor 🧡

Dream in Red 🌹 I Bridal l Beauty l The Looks Unlocked By Sonam 💞

—second secret fic is here! this one is for my dearest spotty 🥰 @spotsandsocks happiest of birthday’s! here’s a small gift for you beloved 🫶🏼 special shout-out to the anon who sent in this ask! your idea sparked much joy ✨

rated: t | words: 6.1k | read on ao3

summary

“Oh, you have to meet my wedding planner!"

Adriana rushed over to meet the guy, all but dragging him over to where he was stood, Eddie suddenly face to face with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, a pink splotchy birthmark above the mans left eye. A shy smile splayed across the guy’s face, Eddie watching as he ducked his head down.

“Eddie, I want you to meet the most amazing man in my life…well a part from my fiancé.”

The man next to her blushed, ducking his head away once more. “Buck, this is my brother, Eddie.”

Adriana all but nodded at Eddie, and this Buck guy, ushering them to shake hands and greet properly. He wasn’t sure which one of them stuck their hand out first, only that when they connected, they just fit.

—or—

Buck is Eddie's sisters wedding planner. Too bad all his plans involve Eddie

Look! What do you see? God wins the war against evil with justice and truth, and he weds his bride with purity and joy. Remember the future war and the future wedding!

See with spiritual eyes your future victory and behold with faith eyes your eternal Victor!