#its an eyesore i know

[pineapplegummies]

was i sad when i did this? yeah, but did it make me feel better? it distracted me so what else can i ask for🤑

[ganondoodle]

so i didnt watch the game awards (bc i dont care really, also it was at 1am for me)

but i went back to see the bit where they talked about totk bc it did win an award (sadly bc i frankly dont thik it deserved that) and heard how totk was about "the player making their own story" which is.... ???

like it very much HAS, undenialbly, a story, its pretty clear about that, and its a bland and boring and also illogical one at that, you as the player influence what? how many sages or tears you get and that doesnt change fuck all?? building a hoverbike is making a story ??? huh?? do mean reenacting king kong with toys and glue?? i guess i CAN do that now but i dont play ZELDA for that????

it honestly, looking at the game as a whole too, sounds like "make one up yourself" bc they didnt care enough to write a good one themselves, much less give you any ground to work with bc they treated botws lore like it never happened

but its also so very much contradictory "making your own story" with WHAT, WITH WHAT?? there are no choices that matter and again, there IS a boring ass story, i literally cannot make it my own bc theres no option to do that bc it very much is dictated what happens?? you destroy the good groundwork from botw and old titles that you COULD work with and now tell me "we didnt bother writing a good story bc you should make your own" what the hell am i playing the game for then?? why make it a zelda?? why should i bother playing through a game for its story that you didnt bother to write?????? and you also DID?? but a bad one bc you didnt actually care??? why make one at all??? i could have worked better with an actual sandbox game

"lol i wanted to fuck around with game physics, if you want a story make it up yourself despite there being absolutely one as much in your face as it can be and everythign the previous title was discarded so nothing actually matters, do what you want lol nothing matters" really huh, this is were we are at now

why the fuck did you not make it an actual sandbox spin off then, at least we wouldnt have to deal with this missmatched cocktail of stuff you didnt bother to care about

just please, make your dream sandbox game, just make it, you know you want to, just do it, but dont pretend its a canon story focused zelda title, a sequel to one of the most -full of potential to be elaborated on- zelda games no less

[epicqtefail]

every time i draw it feels like i'm committing so many aesthetic sins, but especially so when i'm colouring. and every time we kiss i swear i could fly

[oilcolor]

I know I said Id post more oc stuff but I'm being a weenie about it ok (crops of a bigger set of scribbles)

[vaultsixtynine]

we're gonna call this an attempt at my astronaut thot from yesterday. yes i am wearing my alien earrings ofc

[mothmanmalewife]

did you know that the official radiation trefoil is supposed to be magenta, by the way

it's supposed to be specifically different from any other warning symbol. the yellow and black of many modern trefoils is dangerous because it's the same set of colors as a lot of other warning symbols!

[starvingcl0wn]

how life feels after not breaking my fast even when faced with a plate of my favorite most mouth-wateringly delicious binge foods

[jelreth]

just got a papercut drawing out the armour fuck this gay earth

so i wrote a longgggg post even before i got to my thermodynamics rant but . whatever. anyways. exoskeleton, belt of first aid and misc junk, little skirt wrap to implicate wings, segmented armour for flexibility and airtime maneuvering , i think you get the drill

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 2

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a–less–oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: Ok, I’ve decided to make this by series, so this one’s just going to be purely Sylus. I hope nobody minds the specific names/places/etc. I wanted to create a personality for the “player” and add a bit of backstory work (loosely based on yours truly lol) for the sake of storytelling, but there won't be any distinct description of the player’s physical appearance <3 Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, bouts of delusion

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8

Riiiiing– RiiiNGGGGG––

“Huh… whazat—?” 

A shrill—earsplitting, headache-inducing, completely fucking loud—noise wakes you up rather rudely from your peaceful slumber at… Jesus Christ, what time is it? 

You blink your bleary eyes open, once… twice—fuck, all you know that it’s too goddamn early for all this ruckus. Groaning, you clumsily try to find the source of the unexpected wake-up call—quite literally in this case. 

Your hand bumps the vibrating phone straight off the edge of the mattress – along with the charger cord still attached to it – and you cuss up a storm when you hear it clatter on the hardwood floor.

The ringing finally stops, and you��re perfectly content to just leave it there and fall back to sleep when, not even ten seconds later, the blasted thing rings back to life, taunting you awake. 

Angrily, you wrestle against the threadbare blanket wrapped around your body like a warm cocoon, pushing yourself out of bed with all the rage of a sleep-deprived insomniac who’s been up til the buttcrack of dawn to grab your—huh, relatively intact—phone off the ground, while the charger cable swings haphazardly from the weight of the power brick on its tail end.  

Without checking the caller, you swipe right to answer. “What?” 

“Don’t use that tone on me, young lady,” Your mother grouses on the other end of the line. “It’s almost noon! Did you just wake up?” 

Barely five hours of sleep. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shut your eyes and sigh. “No, mom. Sorry, just had a late night,” you clear your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, dear. Is it because of work again?” Something akin to sympathy replaces the sternness in her voice, and you dread the all-too-familiar spiel that comes next. “You know, honey, there’s a job opening for a– what was it again? I have to double check, but it’s where your Auntie Helen works. You know your Auntie Helen—” 

“Mom,” you interrupt, before she could go off on a tangent. “Work is fine, don’t worry. Why d’you call?” 

“Should I need a reason to call my only daughter who's living by her lonesome, a country away from—” 

“Mom!” 

“Oh, alright,” she finally relents, sounding slightly exasperated. “Were you able to book me and Jodie the roundtrip flight to Orlando? Your cousin’s wedding is barely a month away and I want all the documents ready by now, sweetie.” 

Shit. “Ah— yeah. I’ll email you the flight itinerary in a bit, I’m just–” you catch sight of your protruding hamper, innocuous but an eyesore nonetheless, right by the doorway of your humble studio unit. “I mean, I just left the condo. To do errands and stuff. I’ll send the details to you when I get back home, okay?” 

“Okay, honey,” she sighs. “You stay safe outside now. Don’t talk to strangers.” 

“I am a perfectly responsible adult—” The call disconnects. “Hello? Great.” 

You rub away the remnants of sleep from your eyes, fully aware that your day’s already started, despite your reluctance. Might as well get a head start on today’s agenda.

First thing’s first– brunch. Oh, it’s almost one. Lunch, then. I could maybe grab a hotdog from the corner store before heading to Landers. Oh wait, your laundry– gotta pass by the laundromat downstairs, too. Ugh, c’mon, chop-chop. 

Just as you’re about to stand up from your supine position on the floor, another ping! pulls your attention back to your phone. 

“Mom, I swear–” 

Ah, you’re finally awake. You’ve had a very long night, kitten. Take it easy for the day – make sure to get enough rest between errands.

I’ll know if you don’t.  

Your heart skips a beat.

Oh! Um. That’s… new. 

… Apparently another one on the growing list of “new features” from the latest update. It doesn't sound like an invitation for you to open the game, strangely enough. It's not a call to action to claim your daily stamina, nor a prompt for you to check your Galaxy Explorer rewards. 

It’s nothing more than a greeting, really. Just one that’s particularly targeted at you, with unnerving accuracy.

You recall the weird (?) events from last night, and the now-erratic beating of your heart suddenly picks up a notch. From the unexpected dialogues to the outrageous amount of dias you’ve somehow ended up with—something you still think is some kind of glitch in the system—you can’t shake the feeling that you’re living out the plot of a Black Mirror episode, as fucking dumb as that sounds. 

Not to mention during Quality Time, Sylus_v2.0 (as you so lovingly dub this version of him in your mind) had been acting more aware of you.

And you’re not talking about the pre-programmed glances that you usually get. No– it’s like he actually hears you. 

He doesn’t say anything. But whenever you make a comment, or utter something under your breath, he reacts with a huff or a hum–depending on the context. If it’s a slew of expletives aimed at your boss, the reaction you’re met with is one of amusement. A snort; sometimes a quiet laugh, if you’re lucky. When you say something self-deprecating, however, it elicits the heavier sighs, the sharp clicks of the tongue. 

At one point, you heard him make a low sound of dissent, something close to a... growl, almost, after making a casual joke about being just another cog in the machine and how offing yourself wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of late capitalism. As you oft do. 

Your eyes met, and for a split second, it felt like you weren’t looking at just pixels. His gaze weighed heavy on you–almost accusatory. 

It made you feel… naked, somehow. Perceived. 

You recall how quickly you averted your eyes from his, face flushing hotly from a feeling you couldn’t put into words. 

Bone-tired from last night’s (morning) overtime, you didn’t have the time to look up the news on this recent version update—although you really don’t remember any notifications in-game—so you quickly Google, “sylus acting sentient in rcent update loveamd Deepspace???” on your phone browser.

You scroll down for a bit, but none of the search results yield any relevancy, nor are they in any way similar to your current… predicament. 

(Okay, so calling it a predicament is a little unfair. You’re not exactly complaining about anything per se. No complaints from you. At all.)

Deciding that you’d do a deeper dive on Twitter (X) at a later time instead – probably tonight when you do your daily login – you briefly press the side button to lock your phone… not without a final peek at the banner notification from Sylus. 

You press your lips together in an effort to hold back the stupid giggle bubbling up your throat. 

Unfortunately, all the self-control in the world can’t help you and your need to have the last word—girl, from what even—so you ask aloud, to no one except the person you've deluded yourself into thinking is a valid recipient of your one-sided conversation: 

“... Yeah? And what if I don’t?” 

You’re not really waiting for a response (or were you?), but the nervous flutter in your stomach betrays the impatience you're trying to mask with casual indifference. It’s small, unassuming–but there. 

Impatient for what, exactly, you’re not sure. But maybe, just maybe—

Feeling a bit braver now, are we? How bold. Care to say that to my face, sweetheart?

Oh. 

Oh.

An inhuman noise escapes your throat, embarrassingly loud, almost a keen, and you fumble with the device in your hand; the new banner notification still in full view—taunting you. 

You don’t know what to think, you don’t know how to feel. You–

Spring up, like an agitated jack-in-a-box, and the sudden rush of blood in your head leaves you dizzy. You’re a molotov cocktail of emotions; one more bombshell dropped on you and you might just blow. 

“I’m– later, okay? Uh,” Whew, girl, keep it together. “I need–I need to go.” You almost stumble as you speed walk towards the bathroom.

-

-

-

If you didn’t switch your phone to silent, didn’t make the conscious effort to ignore any incoming messages, notifications, and whatever else, in a rush to get dressed and go about your day as if it's just like any other weekend–nope, nothing unusual here–you would’ve seen one last cheeky reply:

Of course, sweetie. You take care now. 

Don’t talk to strangers. X

Endnote: This one's pretty short, but I’m world-building, trust. 

Thanks for reading! 

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (1)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Word count: 2.8k

Chapter Warnings: jungkook is kind of an annoying jerk in the beginning, but we still love him. as of now, i have no warnings, but i will mention them when necessary as the series goes on.

A/N: hello, welcome to my very first series. i've been reading fics for as long as i can remember and i've always wanted to start a blog of my own. please read through this and let me know if this story is worth continuing <3

my blog is still "work in progress" and i have many ideas and plans that i wanna give life to, so please stay tuned. your opinions, constructive criticism and suggestions are always welcome.

thank you.

part 1: throttle and stem

The quiet hum of the early morning filled your flower shop as you stood by your workbench, your hands deftly arranging a vibrant bouquet of stargazer lilies, queen of the night blossoms, and delicate sprigs of baby’s breath. As you tied off the bouquet with a soft ribbon, you pulled your phone from the pocket of your apron, glancing at the screen.

"8:09 am."

You sighed to yourself, shaking off the early morning grogginess that still clung to your mind. The air around you was sweet with the mingling fragrances of the flowers, an invisible balm for the weariness you hadn’t quite shaken.

The shop was your sanctuary. Its walls were adorned with climbing vines that had been lovingly nurtured over the years, and its shelves were lined with terracotta pots of miniature bonsais, fiddle-leaf figs, and succulent terrariums. It wasn’t just a workspace… it was your rhythm, your peace. Here, surrounded by blooms and greenery, the world felt like it moved just a little slower.

You turned towards the bay window, where golden sunlight poured in, illuminating an assortment of hydrangeas and snapdragons on display. It was the kind of morning you cherished… peaceful, predictable, and entirely yours to savor.

Shifting closer to the window, your gaze naturally drifted to the storefront beside yours. The faded "For Rent" sign, hanging crookedly in the glass, caught your eye like always. Ever since Mrs. Lee shut down her cozy little bakery and moved away with her husband, the space had remained lifeless, the once-welcoming aroma of fresh pastries replaced by silence and dust.

You couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia as you remembered the way the scent of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls used to drift into your shop every morning. Now, the vacant building had become an eyesore you had grown used to ignoring… a dull, empty reminder of what had once been.

Turning away from the window, you wandered through your shop, watering the orchids in their clay pots and adjusting the arrangement of lavender sprigs by the counter. You opened sharp at 9, but these quiet moments before customers arrived were your favorite. It was a time to bask in the stillness, to let the beauty of your flowers fill every corner of your mind.

You settled back at your workbench, pulling another bundle of roses and eucalyptus stems from the cooler. Your hands moved automatically as your thoughts wandered, appreciating the rare silence that surrounded you. Most of the shops on your street wouldn’t open for another hour, leaving the block in a peaceful lull.

The quiet wasn’t just comforting, it was necessary. It was the space where you could breathe, think, and just be.

And just when you were basking in the silence you oh so appreciated, your train of thoughts are harshly interrupted by a sharp growl that tore through the air, so ridiculously loud that it startled you into dropping the shears you were grasping in your hand. The noise grew louder, rising and falling with an almost deafening rhythm. Engines revved outside, followed by the sharp, repetitive beeping of trucks reversing.

Frowning, you stepped towards the window, peeking out from behind a display of yellow roses. Two enormous moving trucks had pulled up in front of the vacant building, their engines rumbling as a group of workers began hauling furniture and equipment onto the sidewalk.

Your chest tightened as you took in the scene: huge wooden crates, motorcycle frames, and oversized toolboxes haphazardly scattered across the pavement.

The stillness you were treasuring just a minute ago was shattered in less than a second by the disgusting sound of chaos arriving at your doorstep.

Still confused, your eyes suddenly fall on the huge stack of oversized toolboxes placed on the sidewalk, partially blocking the entrance to your shop. You scoffed, your mind unable to wrap itself around this bizarre situation.

Before you could fully process what exactly was happening, your feet carried you towards the front door of your shop and you stepped outside, breathing heavily. “Hey!” you called out, trying to dodge around a burly man carrying a huge box labeled FRAGILE. “What’s going on here?” you question, still looking around, trying to take in the state of your surroundings.

The closest person to you wasn’t a mover or a worker. You could easily conclude that just by the way he was leaning lazily against one of the trucks, scrolling through his phone as if oblivious to the commotion. A thick leather jacket, adorned with intricate patches and scratches that told untold stories rested on his left shoulder.

Tattoos crawled up his toned forearms, disappearing under the ripped sleeves of his black t-shirt. A loose silver chain around his neck glinted as he shifted his weight, and when he glanced up, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a mix of curiosity and disinterest.

"What's going on here?" you ask again, this time trying to sound as civil as possible. Your fists are balled and you regulate your breathing as you observe the man in front of you. “Moving in.” he simply answers, his voice smooth but laced with indifference. “What’s it look like to you?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by his audacity. You're generally a calm person, that is, until someone provokes you in the weirdest ways. “It looks like you’re turning the sidewalk into an obstacle course.” you snapped, unable to remain civil like you had previously planned. “My customers won’t be able to get into my shop!” you added.

His lips curved into a faint smirk, the kind that instantly made you think, this was someone you would never get along with. “What customers?” He chuckles, glancing theatrically up and down the empty street before meeting your gaze again.

Your blood boiled as you heard him mock you. “Excuse me?” He stepped closer, the faint scent of leather and motor oil lingering in the air between you. “Relax, sweetheart. We’ll keep it tidy. Don’t get your roses in a twist.” he says, eyeing a bouquet he was able to spot through the window of your store.

You bristled. “First of all, don’t call me sweetheart. Second, those are lilies, NOT roses.” You jabbed a finger towards the bouquet in the window. “And third, I don’t need your promises. I need you to move your chaos somewhere else and not disturb my business!”

He tilted his head, clearly amused. “You really care about those flowers, huh?” he asks. You can easily tell he thinks nothing of your business. “Of course, I do! Unlike some people, I actually respect my work and the space around me.” you argue.

The man rolls his eyes, and that only drives you more mad. His nonchalance and his lack of empathy itches your brain the wrong way. “Whatever.” he casually shrugs, turning away as he hears one of the men call out to him. “Jeon, where do you want the bike stand?”

Jeon? You realize that's probably his surname. “Right here.” he replies, pointing towards the storefront. Without sparing you another glance, he strode over, his gait relaxed and confident, as if he hadn’t just ruined your morning.

You stood there, fists clenched, watching as the chaos unfolded further. The reality hit you hard—the quiet, vacant space beside your shop was no longer empty. It was now home to this infuriating, leather-clad biker who had just walked into your life like a hurricane. And somehow, you knew, your peaceful little flower shop would never be the same.

//

The rest of the morning passes in a haze of irritation. Every time you tried to return to your flowers and reclaim the peace you once cherished, another burst of loud noise would jolt you out of focus. The metallic clang of tools, the rumble of engines being tested, and the shouts of movers unloading endless boxes were relentless. Even the cheerful chime of your shop door opening, signaling the arrival of your first customer, couldn’t lift your mood entirely.

“Busy morning out there, huh?” Mrs. Park, one of your long-time regulars, quipped as she admired a bouquet of tulips on display. You forced a smile, standing up from your workbench. “You could say that.” you answered, looking back at the window that gave you a view of the happenings next door

She chuckled, picking up a small pot of baby succulents. “Looks like someone’s finally opening a business there. Hopefully, it’s something good and the owner is nice. I miss Mrs. Lee’s bakery, though. Her strawberry tarts were divine.” she says, walking towards the counter with the pot she had just picked out.

You bit back a sarcastic retort about how this newcomer was something way from from “nice” and nodded instead. “I miss her too. But yeah, we'll just have to wait and see what the new business is going to be about.” you sigh.

//

By the time the clock struck noon, the chaos outside had died down enough for you to risk stepping out again. Boxes had been cleared from the sidewalk, though a few crates still lingered near the entrance of your shop, their presence a glaring reminder of the morning’s disruption.

You spotted him immediately—Jeon. He was crouched next to a sleek black motorcycle, his hands busy adjusting something near the engine. A few workers milled around, chatting, but this man seemed entirely absorbed in his work.

You purse your lips and stepped back on the sidewalk to get a better view of the building. The sign "Throttle and Torque" hung up high, right beside yours that read "Garden's Grace."

You look back down at the man, who still seemed so immersed in whatever the heck he was doing. Against your better judgment, you marched over, fueled by lingering frustration. “Excuse me.” you say, waiting for him to respond. He didn’t look up. You stepped closer, crossing your arms as you tapped your foot impatiently. “Excuse me!” you snap.

This time, he glanced up, wiping his hands on a rag before standing to his full height. Up close, he was even more infuriatingly confident, his dark eyes glinting which barely concealed any sort amusement. “What?” he asked, completely unbothered. You gestured towards the lingering crates. “Your stuff is still blocking part of my entrance.” you reply, trying your level best to keep your voice at a respectable volume.

He glanced at the crates, then back at you. “Looks fine to me.” he shrugs. “It’s not fine. It’s in the way.” you argue, fighting the urge to just run and kick the crates away from your entrance. His lips curved into that maddening smirk again. “You’re really particular about your space, huh?”

“Unlike some people…” you pause, taking a deep breath “I respect boundaries.” you state. He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly casual. “Alright, alright. I’ll move them. Don’t blow a gasket, sweetheart.” he says causing you to roll your eyes at the nickname but you bite your tongue, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your temper again.

As he turned to call out to one of the workers, you noticed something—a small, intricately designed patch sewn onto the back of his leather jacket that he was wearing. It depicted a phoenix rising from flames, the design bold and vibrant against the black leather.

Shaking yourself out of the observation you had just made, you look around and finally question him. "What exactly is your business?"

He doesn't answer, still busy with the worker as he guides him on where to place the crates. But as you stood there by yourself, you feel the realization dawning on you as you took in the scattered parts and tools. "Is this a motorcycle shop?" you ask again. He glanced over his shoulder, finally nodding. “Custom bikes. Repairs. The works.” he answers, his tone still the same, low and unbothered.

Of course. The universe had gifted you a neighbor who was the exact opposite of everything your flower shop represented—loud, chaotic, and disruptive. “Just great.” you muttered under your breath, feeling yourself get a headache as you imagine the wild things that you will have to go through with a store like this right beside yours.

“Something to say?” he teases, as he looks at you, finally taking in your appearance. His eyes roamed over you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the effortless beauty you carried. There was something captivating about the way your long, dark hair framed your face, the sunlight catching in the waves and adding a soft halo around you. The earthy tones of your apron only highlighted the warm glow of your skin, and the faint blush on your cheeks gave you an endearing, almost ethereal charm.

You don't say anything and just stand there, trying your best to stay calm. "I'm Jungkook, by the way." you hear him say. You bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to introduce yourself to him, but you think that might be a little immature. "Y/n." you simply say, avoiding his eyes.

"Didn’t realize such a pretty flower came with so many thorns." he comments, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he crosses his arms, observing the way you tried so hard not to throw hands. You rolled your eyes, brushing off his comment. “Didn’t realize bikers had this much trouble respecting other people’s businesses.” you retorted, matching his tone.

Jungkook chuckled, clearly unfazed. He leaned against the wall beside him, his dark eyes gleaming with something between amusement and challenge. “Well, sweetheart, I guess we’re stuck with each other now. Might as well get used to it.” he says, almost like he's challenging you.

You huffed at that stupid nickname again, your fingers tightening around the hem of your apron. “I would REALLY appreciate if you wouldn't call me sweetheart." you pause, slightly stepping forward. "And for the record, being neighbors doesn’t mean I have to put up with your... chaos. My shop values tranquility, something your—” you pause again to gesture towards the motorcycles and tools scattered around, “whole vibe seems to be allergic to.”

Jungkook tilts his head, pretending to consider your words, though the teasing smirk never leaves his features. “Tranquility, huh?” he echoes, his tone mocking. “I can see why you’d like things quiet in there.” His eyes flicked toward your shop window, where the vibrant display of flowers created a stark contrast to the metal and oil-laden aesthetic of his business.

You cross your arms, as you firmly stand your ground. “Exactly. Garden’s Grace is a place where people come to find peace and beauty. Something your Throttle and Torque doesn’t exactly scream.”

He snorted, looking genuinely amused for the first time. “Peace and beauty. Cute. I’m more about the adrenaline and grit side of life. Opposites, huh?” You frowned, refusing to let him get under your skin. “Maybe opposites, but that doesn’t mean you have to make my life miserable.” you said, glancing pointedly at the workers still unloading equipment nearby.

“Alright, alright.” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll make sure my guys clear out your entrance. We wouldn’t want to scare off all those peace-seekers now, would we?” he says, in a tone that irks something ugly inside of you.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to come up with something but you know it would be of no use to argue with someone like him. “Thank you.” you breathe out curtly, turning on your heel to head back to your shop, not wanting to deal with him anymore because you clearly had a business to get back to.

“By the way…” he suddenly calls out, stopping you in your tracks. You turn over your shoulder with a brow raised. “Those flowers in your display…” he said, jerking his chin towards the window. “Whatever they're called... they’re pretty. You’ve got an eye for detail and beauty.” he admits.

The unexpected compliment threw you off guard, and for a moment, you couldn’t find a snappy comeback. Instead, you muttered a soft, “Thanks.” before disappearing into the safety of your shop.

Inside, your heart thudded a little harder than you cared to admit. You shook your head, pushing the moment aside. “Nope, not falling for that.” you mumble to yourself, bringing your focus back on the vibrant bouquet in your hands.

From the corner of your eye, you glanced out the window one last time. Jungkook had gone back to his motorcycle, but there was a faint smile on his face now, one that didn’t carry the same teasing edge as before.

You sighed and shook your head, determined to forget the way it made your stomach flutter. "It’s just day one..." you reminded yourself. "I can survive this." you affirm.

Little did you know, this was only the beginning of a storm neither of you saw coming.

part 2 ->

series masterlist

[sanaexus]

social's as sae's girlfriend

-liked by shiidoryu, isaichii and 125.2k others

yourusername: don't be fooled he actually enjoys being with me (the last image is him when he sees me)

tagged: itoshi_sae

itoshi_sae: fuck off ↳yourusername: don't fuck off, fuck me instead ↳itoshi_sae: oh god i hate you ↳yourusername: no you don't ↳itoshi_sae: i don't

shiidoryu: wow sae you've never looked at me like that?? 💔💔😔😔 ↳itoshi_sae: you're an eyesore ↳shiidoryu: and she's not?? ↳yourusername: RUDE ASF?? YOU LOOK LIKE A TOMATO TFYM ↳itoshi_sae: as much as i hate saying it out loud she's pretty i guess ↳yourusername: was the "i guess" necessary? ↳mikka.kaiser: did you use the tomato as tomato or tomato? ↳yourusername: i used it as tomato ↳mikkar.kaiser: ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID? ITS TOMATO ↳yourusername: BOY STAFU ITS TOMATO ↳mikka.kaiser: NO??? ↳yourusername: SQAURE UP BITCH I'LL FUCKING FIGHT YOU ↳mikka.kaiser: BET

nikkoki: who got bro smiling like that? ↳yourusername: the waitress ↳nikkoki: elaborate ↳yourusername: she was approaching us multiple times, we thought she liked sae nah turns out she's gay thought i was cute thought sae was my brother and asked for my number lol ↳eita.otoya: ohhhh that's why he looks like he's ab to fight someone ↳yourusername: he don't bite 🥰😋 ↳itoshi_ sae: yes i do tf? ↳yourusername: no you don't

isaichii: he's secretly a hopeless romantic (it's canon you won't change my mind) ↳yourusername: frfr (it is i caught him watching shoujo) ↳isaichi: (NAH WAIT FR?) ↳yourusername: (DEAD SERIOUS) ↳itoshi_sae: for context she put it on, forced me to watch it with her and then left the room ↳yourusername: BOO HOO PARTY POOPER

-liked by kuniisuke, chigi.who and 139.7k others

itoshi_sae: cute (the cat)

tagged: yourusername

karasu_tabito: OH EMM GEE SAE POSTING SOMETHING THAT ISN'T SOCCER?!?!?! ↳mikka.kaiser: for FUCKS SAKE MATE IT'S FOOTBALL ARE YOU AMERICAN OR SOMETHING? ↳megubachi: RAHHH WHAT'S A KILOMETER🔥🔥💯💯🦅🦅💣💣🔫 🔫🔛🔝🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸 ↳isaichii: FREEDOM RAHHH 🔥🔥💯💯🦅🦅💣💣🔫 🔫🔛🔝🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸 ↳itoshi_sae: sigh

yourusername: OMGOMGOMGOMG IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING SAE'S POSTING ME?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?! ↳shiidoryu: you might have won the war but i'll win the battle ↳yourusername: that's the wrong fucking qoute dumbass ↳reo.miikage: quote* and it isn't even a quote it's idiom ↳rin.itoshi: fucking dumbasses it's a phrase ↳yourusername: kys 🤬🤬

user1: she's🎀so🎀coquette🎀 ↳yourusername: ikr sae called that bow stupid :( ↳itoshi_sae: and i apologized and watched inside out with you ↳yourusername: i know i just like making you feel bad

julian.loki: sae apologizing wasn't on 2024 bingo card but love to see it ↳user2: fr now all that man needs to do is apologize to the better sibling ↳itoshi_sae: fuck off ↳yourusername: what he meant to say is "yes of course" his autocorrect must be acting up ↳itoshi_sae: no, i said what i said

-liked by itoshi_sae, rin.itoshi and 144.3k others

yourusername: did you know i like the beach? i like the beach also sae in his photographer era 😝

tagged: itoshi_sae

itoshi_sae: i was taking picture of the food and you had to ruin it ↳yourusername: you're not gonna say allat when you legit forced me to pose for like 15 minutes ↳itoshi_sae: shut up

user2: her eyelashes are so pretty ☹☹ ↳yourusername: stop im gonna kiss u 👉👈 ↳itoshi_sae: not on my watch ↳user2: boo hoo your js jealous i got a chance ↳itoshi_sae: fuck off ↳yourusername: that's not nice

reo.miikage: damn that looks fine ↳hiyori: what the fuck . ↳kuniisuke: what. ↳reo.miikage: THE FOOD I MEAN YALL ARE SO PERVERTED?? ↳kenyu.yukimiya: MAYBE YOU SHOULD SPECIFY??

nagi.seishiro: who took this pictures though ↳yourusername: idk it was in sae's gallery so i took it lol ↳rin.itoshi: y/n wtf what if some creepy old bald oily man took it? ↳yourusername: that's my type 🥰 ↳itoshi_ sae: wtf? ↳yourusername: shh look away

shiidoryu: i thought he hated the beach? ↳yourusername: HUH?? BRO THAT MAN PLAYS FOR A SPANISH TEAM?? HE'S ALMOST ALWAYS SURROUNDED BY WATER? ↳shiidoryu: IDK BRO HE TOLD ME HATED BEACHES WHEN I ASKED HIM TO COME W ME ↳yourusername: I THINK THAT'S BC YOU ASK HIM AND HE DIDN'T WANNA GO W YOU ↳shiidoryu: THAT'S SO RUDE??

itoshi_sae: you're pretty ↳yourusername: OMGG IT'S HAPPENING OMGOMGOMG CODE RED ↳isaichii: WOOO HOOOOO ↳nikkoki: ITS HAPPENING !! ↳nikkoki: WAIT WHAT'S CODE RED AGAIN ↳chigi.who: js cheer her on ↳itoshi_sae: y/n why are your friends like this ↳yourusername: THEY'RE YOUR FRIENDS TOO? ↳itoshi_sae: nah

wooo we're finally done?? idk how i feel ab this but i hope you enjoyed it <3

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (11)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player!Rafe & Supermodel!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.4k

Aliyah's Notes: LIFE IS GOOD DONT KYS GUYS!!!!!

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing Rafe’s penthouse in all its cold, modern glory. You stepped inside, arms full of a precariously stacked pile of boxes, your eyes scanning the pristine place. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping view of the city, but it was the sterile, minimalist decor that always caught you by surprise.

“Wow,” you muttered, setting the boxes down with a grunt. “So this is where personality comes to die.”

Rafe appeared behind you, carrying a single suitcase and looking annoyingly relaxed (and sexy). “You’re welcome for letting you upgrade your life,” he quipped, tossing the suitcase onto the sleek leather couch. “From your childish apartment to the lap of luxury. I’m a real hero.”

“Hero, my ass,” you turned to him, hands on your hips. “And this place has all the warmth of a dentist’s office.”

He grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Clean, sharp, and no clutter.”

“Well, get ready for that to change,” you shot back, heading to another box. You pulled out a bright orange vase with swirling patterns and held it up with a triumphant smile. “Because this is going front and center.”

He froze mid-step, staring at the vase like it was radioactive. “No.”

“Yes,” you replied, your smile widening as you marched toward the nearest shelf.

“No,” he repeated, moving to block your path. “You’re not seriously bringing that ugly vase into my penthouse. I have standards.”

You held the vase above your head, as if presenting it to the decor gods. “Typical white man behavior,” you declared. “This must be the colonizer in you that’s stopping me from doing what I want—”

“I knew you’d start saying those things,” Rafe shook his head.

“Just because it’s colorful and unique, it’s ‘ugly’ to you.”

He crossed his arms as he looked between you and the vase. “It’s not colorful, YN, it’s an eyesore. It doesn’t ‘pop’—it assaults.”

“You wouldn’t know real art if it hit you in the face,” you retorted, setting the vase down triumphantly on a shelf. “This is staying.”

“It’s not art—it’s a cry for help,” Rafe muttered, shaking his head as he reached for the vase.

You smacked his hand away. “Touch it, and I’ll bring all of my colorful vases here.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You leaned in with a devilish grin. “Try me.”

The standoff had been interrupted by a loud thud as another box had toppled from the stack you had brought in. Rafe turned to survey the mess, raising an eyebrow. “What else did you bring? Your collection of weird cat figurines?”

“I’ll have you know Lady Purrsalot is a legend,” you said, brushing past him to rescue the fallen box. “And yes, she’s staying too.”

Rafe let out a dramatic groan, running a hand through his hair as he surveyed the pile of your belongings filling the space. “Perfect. My penthouse is about to turn into a shrine to bad taste,” he muttered.

You shot him an incredulous look, hands on your hips, before flashing him a playful but smug smile. “This isn’t bad taste, it’s cute.”

“If I find anything glittery, it’s going straight in the trash.”

Your eyes narrowed, giving him the full force of your best glare. He winced, immediately muttering a sheepish “sorry,” his hands up in surrender. You gave him a satisfied nod, knowing he'd learned his lesson.

“You agreed to this when you accepted to marry me,” you said, your voice smooth but laced with a challenge. You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow as though daring him to argue.

He sighed dramatically, leaning against the wall. “I didn’t know ‘marriage’ meant signing up for interior design hell.”

Your lips quirked upward as you threw a glance at the now-established vase. “Don’t worry, fiancé, I think you’re handling it really well for someone who just got a major upgrade in life.”

“Can’t help it,” he smirked, and stepped closer to you. “You’re kind of hard to resist,” he paused, eyes glinting with something that wasn’t just playful teasing. “Even when you’re trying to torture me with your cat figurines.”

You chuckled, stepping around him and tossing a few more things onto the shelf—mostly knick-knacks and personal items that would soon add a sense of comfort to the otherwise sterile space. You could feel the tension between you two, a quiet undercurrent of attraction, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“You have hands, and a cold shower to help you, Rafe,” you told him, rolling your eyes. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Who said something was going to happen?” he smirked, and you wanted to wipe that smirk off his beautiful, beautiful face. “Are you thinking of naughty—”

“That’s enough communication for right now,” you clapped your hands. “We have more stuff to do.”

You both continued to unload boxes in comfortable silence, the sounds of moving things around punctuated by banter every now and then. Rafe was doing half of the work—he said he’d prefer you standing back and watching him take charge—and you did not mind, at all. The penthouse was big enough that it gave you space to spread out your things. Eventually, though, the once-overwhelming pile of boxes began to dwindle, and the place started to feel a little more like home.

“Alright, I think that’s the last one,” Rafe said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as he stacked the final few boxes in the corner. “I’m exhausted.”

You nodded, and gave him a smile. “Thanks for the help, big arms. I would’ve taken 24 years to finish it all,” you told him and laughed. 

“You’re going to make me blush,” he joked, and you laughed some more. “Alright, now that the worst of it’s done, how about I give you the grand tour? I know you’ve been here a few times, but not everywhere. Let me show you the full deal.”

You sighed and gestured dramatically. “Lead the way.”

With a self-satisfied grin, Rafe led you down the sleek hallway. He threw open the first door with a flourish, revealing a space so minimalist it was almost sterile. “My office,” he declared.

You peeked inside, noting the barely-touched desk, the pristine shelves, and a gaming console taking up prime real estate. “Wow,” you deadpanned. “Really grinding out those business emails, huh?”

“Hey, I do plenty of work,” he said defensively. “Like checking stats, signing autographs… crushing high scores.” You rolled your eyes but followed as he moved to the next door, revealing a home gym. “State-of-the-art equipment,” he boasted. “Not that you’d know, since you don’t lift.”

“Rafe, I’m literally a model. I do pilates, yoga, and weight training.”

“Pilates doesn’t count,” he shot back, smirking. “That’s just stretching with extra steps.”

“Asshole,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He took you through a theater room, complete with plush recliners and an oversized screen, and then to his master bedroom. The sheer size of the space made you pause. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a stunning view of the city skyline, and the decor screamed effortless luxury. You hated that it impressed you.

“Alright, you’ve had your little brag session. Can I go back to unpacking now?”

“Not yet,” he said, walking ahead of you. He stopped in front of the guest room—your room now—and pushed the door open. “Saved the best for last.”

You stepped inside, your eyes immediately catching on the changes. Gone was the sterile, hotel-like vibe. Instead, the space felt warmer, more personal. The bedding was a deep crimson red, bold and striking, and a textured rug covered the hardwood floor. Your favorite candles were neatly arranged on the windowsill, and a small vase of fresh flowers sat on the nightstand. Even your books, the ones you thought you’d packed, were already shelved on the built-in.

Your brows furrowed as you took it all in. “Why are the covers red?”

Rafe, leaning casually against the doorframe, hesitated for a beat before replying. “You know… because you…”

A teasing grin spread across your face. “Are you racially profiling me because I’m South Asian?”

His eyes widened slightly, and then he let out a laugh, shaking his head. “What? No! That’s not—”

You cut him off, crossing your arms with mock seriousness. “Oh, sure. Just because I like vibrant colors, you think red is my personality now?”

“Okay, first of all,” he said, “you do like vibrant colors. Second, red is bold, classy, and badass—like you. So stop making me sound like a jerk.”

You raised a brow, still trying to stifle your laughter. “Smooth recovery, Cameron. Real smooth.”

“Thanks,” he said, flashing you a grin. “I aim to please,” he teased, though his smirk softened slightly. “Maids come every three days, by the way, so you don’t need to worry about keeping the place spotless.”

You crossed your arms, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. “You mean I didn’t have to bring a box of cleaning supplies?”

“Nope,” he said with an unapologetic shrug. “But it was cute watching you haul it up here.”

Your mouth fell open. “You let me carry that thing around when you knew I wouldn’t need it?”

“You seemed determined,” he said, his grin widening. “I didn’t want to crush your little homemaker dreams.”

You groaned.

You collapsed onto the oversized sofa with a dramatic sigh, sinking into the soft cushions as though they could swallow you whole. Your body ached from the day of unpacking and dealing with Rafe’s incessant commentary.

Rafe plopped down beside you, equally worn out but still managing to look annoyingly composed. He stretched his long legs across the coffee table, earning a glare from you.

“Feet down,” you muttered, voice muffled by the throw pillow you’d buried your face into.

“Make me,” he quipped, but the usual edge of teasing was dulled by the clear exhaustion in his tone.

You turned your head to give him a tired look, too drained to argue properly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re bossy,” he shot back, though there was no real heat in his words. “But look at us. Day one of living together, and we didn’t kill each other. I’d say that’s progress.”

You snorted, turning to face him fully. “Barely. That vase almost did you in.”

He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief despite his fatigue. “You’ve got a lot of nerve bringing that thing into my house. It’s offensive to art.”

“It’s staying,” you declared, closing your eyes and sinking further into the couch. “I’m too tired to argue anymore.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, a stark contrast to the usual whirlwind of your dynamic. The dim lighting in the penthouse bathed the room in a soft glow, it was peaceful, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. 

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Rafe turn his head, his gaze resting on you. But it wasn’t fleeting—his eyes lingered, studying you in a way that felt tender. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you, his usually sharp blue eyes softened by the warmth of the moment. It was as if he were memorizing the curve of your cheek in the dim light, the way your hair fell over your shoulder, the quiet calm in your expression. It made your skin tingle under his attention, your pulse quickening despite the stillness.

“You did good today,” he murmured, his voice stripped of its usual cockiness, leaving only a quiet sincerity that caught you off guard.

You opened one eye to glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “Thanks...”

He shrugged, his lips curving into a small, crooked smile that made him look younger somehow, softer. “I mean it. This place… it already feels different. Warmer,” he admitted, his eyes flicking briefly to the room before returning to you. They lingered, holding yours in a way that made your breath hitch—like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing. “And not just because of that god-awful vase.”

A laugh escaped you, light and unguarded, filling the space between you. It felt good—freeing, even. The knot of tension in your chest began to loosen, melting away under the weight of his rare vulnerability. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Cameron,” you teased, though your voice lacked its usual sharpness.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a quiet chuckle, leaning his head back against the couch.

The peace was interrupted by the faint buzz of your phone in your pocket. You groaned, pulling it out to check the screen. The sight of the message made your stomach twist all over again.

“Mom and Dad are flying in next week. They want to see you.”

Rafe noticed the change in your expression immediately. “What’s up?”

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the screen before locking the phone. “Nothing. Just… family stuff.”

He didn’t press, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if trying to figure out what you weren’t saying. Instead, he let his head loll back again, closing his eyes.

“Family stuff, huh?” he murmured. “Well, if it’s anything like mine, I recommend a lot of wine. Or tequila.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, though your chest still felt tight. The idea of seeing your parents again—after everything—was a storm brewing on the horizon. But for now, with Rafe beside you and the weight of the day finally catching up, you let yourself push it to the back of your mind.

“Noted,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You always wear socks indoors.” he said suddenly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

He nodded toward your feet, wiggling his own toes for emphasis. “The socks. You’ve been in them all day. Do you ever just… go barefoot?”

You looked down at the patterned socks you were wearing—yellow with tiny sunflowers. “I like socks. They’re cozy,” you replied defensively. “Not all of us can just parade around barefoot like some child.”

Rafe snorted, shaking his head. “You’re missing out. Bare feet are freedom.”

“Freedom? That’s dramatic,” you shot back.

“Dramatic is wearing sunflower socks in a penthouse,” he countered, gesturing toward your feet.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Alright, since we’re apparently sharing quirks, what’s with the candle obsession? You’ve got, like, ten of them over there.”

Rafe followed your gaze to the collection of candles on the coffee table and nearby shelves. “What can I say? I like a good vibe,” he said, shrugging.

You raised an eyebrow. “Big, tough basketball player… lighting candles to set the mood?”

He grinned, leaning slightly closer. “I’ll have you know those candles are luxury. That one—” he pointed to a sleek black jar, “—is oud wood. Costs more than your vase, I’m sure.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “You’re just scared of the dark.”

“Not scared,” he corrected. “Just prepared. You never know when the power might go out.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you said, sinking further into the cushions.

For a moment, the banter lulled, and you both stared at the flickering flame of one of the candles. Then, out of nowhere, Rafe spoke again. “I can’t whistle.”

You turned to him, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“Whistling,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “Can’t do it. Never could.”

A grin spread across your face, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Wait, really? You’re telling me Mr. Perfect Athlete can’t whistle?”

“Laugh it up,” he said, though there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Everyone’s got their thing. What about you? What’s something random you can’t do?”

You thought for a moment before admitting, “I can’t snap my fingers. Like, no matter how hard I try.’”

Rafe’s eyes lit up, and he immediately sat up straighter. “No way. Let me see.”

You demonstrated, rubbing your thumb and middle finger together in an attempt to snap. The result was a sad thud.

He laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “That’s terrible.”

“Shut up,” you said, trying not to smile. “At least I can whistle.”

“Debatable,” he teased, leaning back again. “Bet your whistle sounds like a dying bird.”

“I know you’re not the one talking right now—you can’t even fucking whistle,” you shot back.

“Touché,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

The conversation flowed as easily as the soft light from the candles, meandering through odd confessions and surprising revelations. You were tucked into one corner of the oversized couch, legs crossed beneath you, while Rafe sprawled in his usual casual way, one arm slung along the back of the sofa as he toyed with a loose thread in the cushion.

“So, wait,” he said, his brows furrowing in mock disbelief. “You’re telling me you’ve never watched a single episode of The Office?”

“Not one,” you replied, unapologetic. “I’ve seen the memes. Isn’t that enough?”

Rafe placed a dramatic hand over his chest, like you’d just personally insulted him. “No, Y/N, that’s not fucking enough. You’re missing out on peak comedy.”

“I prefer my comedy with a little more effort, thank you,” you teased.

“Effort? It’s genius! Dwight Schrute alone could carry a show.”

You smirked. “Is this your idea of a personality test? Judging me based on sitcom preferences?”

“Yes!” he said, deadpan. “It tells me everything I need to know about you. And so far? Not looking great for you, wife.”

You reached over and shoved his arm lightly, laughing. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am, willingly living with you,” he shot back, grinning.

“Willingly might be a stretch,” you countered, leaning your head against the back of the couch. “Alright, since we’re trading weird facts, here’s one: I can recite the entire opening number to Wicked by heart.”

His brows lifted in surprise, but there was amusement in his gaze. “No way. Wicked? That’s the one with the green witch, right?”

“Yes, that’s the one with the green witch,” you said, mimicking his tone. “It’s a masterpiece, by the way.”

“If you say so,” he said, holding his hands up. “I just… didn’t peg you for the Broadway type.”

You shrugged, a little defensive. “What can I say? I like stories that stick with you.”

“Okay, fair. But you’re gonna have to prove it one day. Full performance.”

“Fuck no,” you said quickly, chuckling. “Your turn. What’s something no one would guess about you?”

He hesitated, looking away like he was searching for the right thing to say. Finally, he said, “I used to draw. Like, a lot.”

Your head tilted, curiosity piqued. “You? Draw? That’s amazing… but I can’t picture it.”

“Yeah, no one can,” he said with a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I stopped when, uh, I got serious about basketball. But back in the day, I was obsessed. I even sketched my own sneaker designs once. Thought I’d have my own line or something.”

"That's actually really cool," you said, your voice warm with genuine admiration. Your eyes stayed fixed on him, sparkling with a curiosity that made his chest tighten.

For a moment, Rafe just looked at you, taken aback by the way you seemed so invested in his words, like what he said actually mattered. No one had ever looked at him like that before—not with real interest, not like this.

He cleared his throat, glancing away as a flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression. “Nah,” he said, his tone lighter than the weight in his eyes. “They’re long gone. Just... a stupid kid thing, anyway.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you said, surprising even yourself with the firmness in your tone. “You should try it again. Who knows? Maybe you’d still be good at it.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment, before a small smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe.”

The moment stretched between you, warm and unspoken, until you finally broke it with a grin. “Okay, random question: what’s your weirdest food combination?”

Rafe laughed, the sound low and genuine. “You’re gonna judge me for this.”

“Definitely,” you said without hesitation.

“Alright, fine. Peanut butter and pickles.”

Your jaw dropped, and you stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” he said, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“No, thanks,” you replied, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s some white people shit.”

“Your loss,” he said, smirking. “What about you? What’s your weird food thing?”

You hesitated, then admitted, “Okay, don’t laugh… but I dip fries in milkshakes.”

His face lit up with mock offense. “And you call me disgusting?”

“Hey, it’s a classic!” you defended.

He opened his mouth to say something, probably asking another weird question, but before the words could leave his lips, the sharp chime of the doorbell cut through the cozy atmosphere.

Rafe groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Who the hell—”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe it’s one of your girlfriends that you didn’t tell me about.”

“Funny,” he deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth twitched as he stood up.

Before he could reach the door, the muffled sound of voices filtered through, followed by another ring—longer this time, like someone was leaning on the buzzer.

“Open up, Rafael!” a familiar voice called out.

“Oh, great,” Rafe muttered, his hand reaching for the door.

Sarah, JJ, and Aisha entered, bringing the kind of chaos only they could manage. Sarah deposited a pizza box on the living room table with a dramatic flourish, while JJ hoisted a takeout bag in the air like a trophy.

“Food’s here, peasants,” JJ announced, dropping onto the couch beside you as though he owned it. He nudged your leg with his knee, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off a prank. “You’re welcome for saving you from whatever sad dinner you were planning.”

“JJ, be polite,” Sarah muttered as she flopped onto the rug with a container of fries. 

“Polite is boring,” JJ retorted. “You’re welcome for making your life exciting.”

“You’re fucking annoying,” Rafe said, sitting next to his sister.

“See? That’s gratitude,” JJ replied, leaning back and helping himself to the fries Sarah had claimed.

Aisha rolled her eyes as she set plates on the table. “I didn’t know people like him existed until twenty minutes ago.”

“Thank you, beautiful,” he said, winking at her.

“Anyway,” Sarah cut in, already swiping a slice of pizza, “what were you two up to before we so graciously interrupted?”

“I was gonna ask her dream place to live,” Rafe said, his voice carrying a teasing edge as he leaned against the counter. “But I guess we’ll never know now, thanks to you guys.”

“Oh, we’re not letting that go,” Sarah declared, pointing a fry at you. “Spill it. Where’s your dream home?”

You waved her off. “It’s not that interesting.”

“Now you have to tell us,” JJ said, sitting up straighter with exaggerated curiosity. “Somewhere glamorous, right? Like Paris? Or Cleveland. I feel like you give Cleveland energy.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “What does that even mean?”

“Cleveland has a vibe!” JJ insisted.

“No one says that,” Aisha shot back, throwing a balled-up napkin at him.

Sarah shook her head, laughing. “I’m guessing you’re a Milan or Tokyo kind of girl. Am I close?”

“Closer,” you admitted, smiling despite their relentless pestering. “London. Somewhere with smarter, and more fun people.”

“Cool,” Sarah said with a grin, nodding approvingly.

“Basic,” Rafe quipped, earning a pillow to the chest from you.

“Say that again, and I’m redecorating this whole place with vases,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“Vasegate continues,” JJ deadpanned, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “What a tragic tale.”

“Can we talk about how you two are already bickering like an old married couple?” Aisha said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s very domestic in here.”

Rafe snorted. “Please. If this is domestic bliss, I want a refund.”

“He’s been annoying since this morning,” you countered, smirking at Rafe. “He’s been critiquing my interior design all day. He’s very invested.”

“Someone had to be,” Rafe shot back, but his eyes softened when they met yours, the teasing edge in his voice blunted by something warmer.

“I think it’s cute,” Sarah interjected, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “You guys are like one of those sitcom couples that secretly loves each other but spends every episode pretending they don’t.”

“Excuse me,” JJ said, raising his hand like a teacher’s pet. “If this is a sitcom, I’m the fan-favorite supporting character. Just putting that out there.”

“You wish,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

“And what does that make me?” Aisha asked, feigning offense.

“The responsible one who keeps everyone from burning the house down,” you said with a laugh, nudging her shoulder.

“Accurate,” Sarah replied, grinning. 

“But seriously, this is nice. All of us hanging out. It feels... cozy,” you said, with a small smile.

JJ gasped dramatically. “Is that sentiment I hear? Someone mark the calendar!”

“Watch your mouth, Maybank,” Rafe warned.

The conversation flowed easily after that, bouncing from JJ’s ridiculous anecdotes about being chased by geese to Sarah recounting a disastrous double date she’d been on. Rafe chimed in with sarcastic remarks that made everyone laugh, and even Aisha’s usual composed demeanor cracked when JJ impersonated Rafe’s annoyed voice.

At one point, Aisha leaned over to you, her voice low. “You seem happier,” she said, her eyes soft.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“With him,” she said, nodding subtly toward Rafe, who was currently trying (and failing) to win an arm-wrestling match with his sister. “I don’t know. There’s just... something lighter about you.”

Your gaze shifted to Rafe as he laughed at something JJ said, his shoulders relaxed, his grin unguarded. He caught your eye for a moment, his expression softening in a way that sent a ripple through your chest.

You turned back to Aisha, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said simply, and she gave you a knowing look before standing to help gather the empty containers.

By the time everyone started leaving, the penthouse felt fuller, warmer. Sarah and JJ bickered their way out the door, and Aisha hugged you tightly, her smile lingering as she said, “You deserve this. Don’t forget that.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, you leaned against it, the quiet settling back in. Rafe glanced up from where he was stacking empty pizza boxes, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head as you pushed off the door. “Just... thinking.”

“That’s never good,” he teased, his smirk softening as you joined him to help clean up.

And as you cleaned side by side, the thought lingered: maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the chaos you’d expected. Maybe it was something better.

chapter twelve

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[bumblesimagines]

War Between Kin

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When Rhaenyra Targaryen takes her throne back, she ensures to take care of the remaining Greens in the Keep. Jacaerys attempts to figure out the whereabouts of the Usurper King Aegon by questioning his younger sister.

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers, F!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, AU where what happened in the Gullet does not occur, for plot purposes Jace and Baela are not engaged, potential spoilers for S3/events in the books, mentions of Targcest, brief mention of arranged marriage, bastardphobia,

I'm about to fill up the fucking tag because of this man. Super short but here you go for my fem readers!

~~~

"Where is Aegon Targaryen?"

"I've already told you, I do not know."

Jace had long grown tired of repeating himself, and he knew for certain his aunt had grown tired of the questioning the first time he asked. A rough near twenty minutes had passed since he'd first entered the bedchambers she'd been confined to when his mother returned to her rightful home, and he'd learned nothing new about the whereabouts of his missing uncle nor who could have had a hand in smuggling the usurper out of King's Landing.

Truthfully, Jace's patience always had a tendency to run out. He certainly felt it reaching the end of its line as he bounced his knee and laced his fingers over his stomach, eyes tracking his aunt as she paced the room back and forth clad in that godsforsaken shade of green Dowager Queen Alicent often wore. His legs ached just watching her continuously move, although he suspected if she stopped and sat across from him as he'd asked her to numerous times, she'd likely strike at him until someone tore her off him.

"He is your eldest brother, is he not?" Jace spoke through near-gritted teeth, the bouncing of his leg intensifying with each passing second.

The longer they went without locating Aegon Targaryen, the longer his mother went without rest. He remained a threat to them all, even in his battered and ruined state. Half his body burnt, they'd said, and hardly able to walk by himself without help. Jace hardly understood why anyone would desire someone in his state on the throne.

"I am not my brother's keeper." (Y/N) seethed lowly, voice laced with irritation and legs continuing to move back and forth across the room. Her hands tightly clutched the skirt of her dress, keeping it barely lifted to avoid tripping over it.

Despite the rather eyesore of a color reminding Jace of her traitorous family, he'd be a fool to deny it wasn't a beautiful dress that suited her well. She looked regal, if not incredibly furious with him and the rest of his family. It'd been expected after all the fighting and bloodshed between their families even before the war began.

"Do not lie to me, Aunt." Jace scoffed, bracing his arms against the table before him. "All my life, you've always been the watcher amongst your siblings. I doubt not a single thing happened in this castle, in this city, without you learning of it. You must tell me where your brother has fled before Daemon's patience with your stubbornness runs thin. He will not be as kind as I have been."

(Y/N) scowled at him and finally ceased her mindless pacing, her back turning to him and hands raising to her face. In all the years Jace had known the beautiful woman before him, he'd only ever seen her lose her icy demeanor once when Aemond's eye was taken and she'd bitten the skin around her nails until they were raw. He disliked it. He much preferred her snarky attitude over her anxious habits unbefitting of a lady such as her.

"What of Helaena?" She questioned abruptly, her dress swishing when she spun around to face him and her eyes squinting with an unspoken accusation. "You have kept your dogs at bay, have you not? She is not of sound mind." 

"Helaena is the most innocent out of the lot of you! Her Grace would never bring harm upon Helaena, of all possible people." Utterly absurd! Jace hardly believed his ears, hardly found it within himself not to snap at her and remind her it'd been her brother who'd killed Luke mercilessly. Still, (Y/N) released a dry laugh, her shoes smacking against the ground as she stormed up to the table.

"Do pray tell, Nephew," She spat the word venomously, as if it were full of filth. "What were Rhaenyra's intentions when she hired those animals who forced Helaena to choose between her sons? What were Rhaenyra's intentions when those animals killed my nephew before his siblings, mother, and grandmother? Helaena has lost her mind. She relives that night every waking moment. A son for a son, they claimed, justice on behalf of Rhaenyra the Cruel."

Jace shot up from his seat, nearly knocking the chair back from sheer force, and slammed his palms against the table with his lips pulled back into a snarl. "Her Grace did not order the death of any of Helaena's sons!" 

"Oh, even better, she cannot keep a leash on her own people, then?" (Y/N) laughed again, dry and bitter. "Let us pray Aemond and Daeron arrive quickly with their army, shall we? At least then we will be spared the reign of a queen who cannot control her own allies. It's pathetic, Jacaerys, utterly pathetic. Even if the Realm allows a queen to sit the throne, they will never accept a bastard."

"Mind your tongue, Princess, before I-" 

"Before you what?" (Y/N) rounded the table swiftly, gliding along the floor until she reached his side. He managed to turn sideways to face before their chests pressed together, their faces mere inches apart and noses threatening to brush against each other. Jace stiffened, his hands rolling into tightly clenched fists and eyes struggling to remain focused on the lilac of her irises. "Before you cut my tongue out as your grandfather once threatened? Do it, then. Cut my tongue out, here and now, and show your subjects you will not be a king of words alone."

Jace remained silent, his nostrils flaring with his deep inhale and jaw clenching. A challenge, a rather blatant one from his aunt of all people. His cheeks warmed against his will, the embarrassment trickling in because he'd never dare to lay a threatening finger on a lady, much less a beloved princess of the Realm. Jace stared into her eyes and swallowed, his mind searching for words he could shoot back at her. 

"A bastard and a coward, then? You will be the end of our dynasty with your tainted blood." She hissed lowly, her breath fanning against his face. "The Gullet did not make you a warrior, did it? Not when you had to be dragged out of the waters full of arrows by another bastard."

"You-" 

The sound of a sword unsheathing filled his ears and made his blood bubble with dread, unable to do anything else when she stepped back and pressed the tip of his sword against his throat. Jace's head instinctively tilted up, his heart beginning to drum against his ribcage when his adams apple dragged along the sharp blade threatening to cut his skin. Her lips curled up cruelly and she shook her head slowly, her earrings swaying with her movements.

"The Realm will never a bastard such as yourself to sit the Iron Throne. It'd be an insult to each of the Great Houses. I could end this pathetic display of a boy pretending to be man right here... but your inheritance would fall on the shoulders of young Joffery, and Gods know what Daemon would do to that boy with the line of succession so close to reaching his own sons. I would rather witness Daemon stew in his desperate desire to see his own blood on the throne than offer him up a child on a platter. Unlike your mother, I am not that cruel."

"Daemon knows his place." Nobody would ever believe those words, not even Jace himself. "He is King Consort. He's achieved what he's always desired."

"Has he?" (Y/N) slowly retracted the sword from his throat and tossed it onto the table with a clatter. "Or is he merely lying in wait as he's done time and time again? When he was refused the throne, he waited for the opportunity to arise to bring humiliation on your mother. When he was exiled, he waited for Ser Laenor to be no more so he could take the heir for himself. You are not his son, Jacaerys. You are an obstacle, and Daemon obviously despises obstacles. It will only be a matter of time before he realizes if something were to occur to your mother, he would rule as regent, and as regent, he'd do whatever he desired."

(Y/N) turned away from him once more, her skirt dragging along the stone floor as she walked toward her open window and stopped by it, staring out into the long expense of ocean. Jace took his sword and slid it into his sheath again, internally scolding himself for having grown distracted before he approached his aunt, his steps slow and cautious. 

"Rhaenyra should have never been named heir." (Y/N) murmured, and Jace's eyes fell down to her hands, watching her scrape her nails along the skin of her fingers. Her eyes danced, never focusing on one thing for longer than a second as her mind continued working with thoughts and ideas Jace surprisingly longed to hear. 

"And yet, she is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms... and by late morrow she expects you to bend the knee publicly before the court." 

"Or what? She shall behead me as she did my grandsire? I hear the executions have become a daily occurrence. Rhaenyra the Cruel's bloody reign, they shall call it. You will see in due time that we would have all been better for it if she had accepted the terms for peace. Your brother may have yet lived, and you would not have nearly met the Stranger in the Gullet." 

"We are still at war, Princess, and we'd be fools to keep traitors in our midst," Jace spoke, but he could not stop the tremor in his voice. It'd been satisfying at first when they spilled the blood of Otto Hightower and his son, as well as the Small Council members who'd so openly opposed his mother. But then, blood continued to be spilled, and neither Rhaenyra nor Daemon would stop to hear of it. "It is... for the good of the Realm." 

(Y/N) shook her head but otherwise remained silent, the fury she'd contained in her body dissolving. She continued watching the distant waves in the water, her nails only digging harder and harder into her skin until they threatened to break through to her flesh and blood. Unable to help himself, Jace clasped his hand over hers to stop the constant scratching, his lips pressing together and a quiet sigh escaping him.

"I am here to question you about Aegon Targaryen's whereabouts... but I suppose I should also inform you that your mother has made a proposal in an attempt to stop the bloodshed and put an end to the war. She's offered up a betrothal between you and I so that both sides may come together in marriage. Her Grace agreed to some of the terms that came with the proposal, among them a promise to not bring harm upon Helaena, Jaehaera, or Ser Daeron if he bends the knee. She will have the heads of Aegon and Aemond regardless." 

His aunt stared at him for a good long while, her body eventually tilting to face him fully. Her arms dropped down to her sides, forcing Jace to drop his hand as well. She wet her lips and turned her gaze away, the news finally beginning to settle into her body. She opened her mouth, looking back at him: "I would rather fling myself from this window than marry a bastard and further tie myself to a hopeless cause." 

[frudoo]

Literally obsessed with your Slasher 141 series, its been giving me so much brainrot

I have a few ideas;

reader feels a bit self conscious about her body and the boys make it their mission to show her how beautiful she is in their eyes (could be fluff or smut)

OR

Reader decides to be a brat over text to the boys as they were out for the day, and hides from the boys once they arrive home, resulting in them hunting and chasing her down 👀👀 ( smut and a lil fluff )

This is very self-indulgent because I've been feeling bad about my own body lately. This is for my fellow fat girls <3

Warnings: Mentions of skipping meals, food in general. Self-deprecating thoughts, somewhat poor communication. Fem!Reader is fat (in all of the slasher!141 AU). Fluff!

You’ve been off lately. During mealtime with the boys, you barely eat, just poke at the food on your plate. It isn’t like you—you’re usually the one to cook and try out all kinds of new recipes to share with your lovers, or baking sweet treats to give them after a hard day—so for you to suddenly have no interest in food is concerning. Tonight is no exception. John made your favorite, beef stew and cornbread (a southern delicacy you taught him how to make), but you just mindlessly stir the stew with your spoon, eyes focused on nothing at all.

     “How was your day, dove?” Kyle tries to break you from your trance, but you only nod.

     “Helped a chicken give birth today,” Simon stares straight at you, ignoring the incredulous looks the other three men give him.

     Still, no sort of reaction from you, other than an uninterested hum. 

     “Ah went tae the doctor earlier,” Johnny says next. “Turns oot ah’m pregnant.”

     “Nice,” you deadpan, completely oblivious to the outrageous lies these dumbasses have been telling you. 

     “Enough,” Price furrows his eyebrows, dropping his spoon with a clang. “Darlin’, you haven’t eaten in two days.”

     This time, you listen. Immediately, you rush to defend yourself, eyes narrowed at the bearded man.

     “I’ve just been fe-”

    “Don’t you give me that bullshit about bein’ sick, either. I’ve seen you sick, and it was completely different than this,” he interrupts, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Speak, baby. Tell us what’s goin’ on in that pretty head o’yours.”

     “It’s nothing,” you grumble.

     Simon sighs dramatically, slapping his palms down on the dining room table to push himself up out of his chair. Before you can protest, he picks you up and sits in your seat, then settles you in his lap. You try to wriggle free, but his hold on you is unwavering. 

     “Stop strugglin’ and tell us wha’ the fuck is wrong w’you,” the blond man grunts, strong arms wrapped around your waist so you can’t move as much. 

     “I hate my body!” You blurt, and the room falls silent. “I-I don’t know what you all see in me. I just… I look gross.”

     Tears build in your eyes and spill past your waterline, streaming down your round cheeks. All four men look at each other wordlessly, unsure of what to say. Their silence breaks your heart, and you manage to wriggle out of Simon’s lap. 

     “I’m going to bed,” you mumble, wiping your eyes with your sweatshirt and moping your way upstairs.

     Your bedroom is the furthest down the hall, the longest walk. Usually this fact doesn’t bother you, but with your state of mind the way it is right now, you can’t help but feel like it’s purposeful. You slam the door shut and lock it, purposefully avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror as you flop into bed. It creaks with your weight, and you let out another sob. 

     You end up crying yourself to sleep, clammy face stuck to your pillow. When you wake up, you find that your door is still locked and try your hardest not to burst into tears all over again. Not one of the boys came to check on you last night? It makes you feel even worse—are you that much of an eyesore that they don’t dare come see if you’re okay? The thought makes your stomach churn. A knock makes itself known on your door, pulling you from your thoughts.

     “Dove? Can you let us in?” Kyle’s soft voice sounds from the hallway. “Please?”

     “We wanna talk to you, sweet girl,” Price’s voice comes next, followed by more pleas from Johnny and Simon.

     With a shaky sigh, you oblige, unlocking the door and swinging it open. When your eyes fall on them, you bite back a gasp—they all look exhausted, puffy bags beneath their bloodshot eyes, frowns tugging their lips downward. You can’t imagine you look any better, but still, your heart aches seeing them look so down.

     “Hey, bonnie,” Johnny instantly brightens up when he sees you, and you have to fight the urge to push him off when he wraps his arms around you. 

     “Hi,” you mutter, impartial to the kiss the Scotsman plants on your temple.

     They all trail into your room nervously, and it’s just then that you notice a large jar in Simon’s arms. Your eyebrows furrow as you sit on the edge of your bed, waiting for one of them to speak up first.

     “I want to start by apologizin’, sweetheart,” John begins, sitting beside you on your bed. “We were all… well, none of us were expectin’ to hear you talk about yourself like that, and we panicked. That wasn’t fair to you.”

     You shrug, eyes focused on your lap. Price reaches out to grab your hand, gently running his thumb across your knuckles. 

     “You are absolutely stunnin’. You are the farthest thing from gross, dove,” Kyle sits on your opposite side, grabbing your unoccupied hand. 

     “Ah think ah speak fer all of us when ah say tha’ we love yer body,” Johnny hums.

     “I’m fat,” you frown, and Simon scoffs.

     “Yeah? And?” He narrows his eyes at you. “We like y’like tha’. More t’grab, more t’love.”

     “I don’t understand why,” you whisper, chewing on your bottom lip anxiously. 

     “What’s not to understand?” John squeezes your hand. “You’re soft, and warm.”

     “The fuckin’ best at cuddlin’, too,” Kyle grins.

     “Great tits,” Johnny butts in, earning himself a jab to the ribcage from Simon. “Och- wha’?! It’s true!”

     “Wha’ the wanker is tryin’ t’say is tha’ you’re perfect. For us, in general—y’complete us, love. Your body is jus’ a plus,” Simon concludes, finally stepping forward to offer you the jar.

     “What’s this?” You ask, carefully pulling your hands out of Kyle and John’s. 

     “We spent all nigh’ gatherin’ up pictures of you tha’ we love,” Kyle explains, watching excitedly as you screw the lid off. 

     Inside, the jar is filled to the brim with photos and polaroid pictures—candids of you baking in the kitchen, napping on the couch, tending to the garden or the animals, even selfies you sent to Johnny when the two of you first started talking online. Mixed in with those is printouts of text messages they’ve all sent each other, fawning over you, some of which dating back to even before you met the others. Tears stream down your face yet again, but instead of being sad, you’re overwhelmed with love and joy from these men you get to call yours.

     “I-I don’t know what to say,” you sniffle, setting down the jar to wipe your eyes.

     “Don’t say anythin’, darlin’, just let us hold you,” John murmurs, pulling you onto the bed and wrapping an arm around your waist.

     Maybe being dogpiled by your four huge husbands on an already creaky bed isn’t the best idea, but hey, all that matters is that you’re happy.

[eyesorefortheblind]

I FORGOT TO POST THEM TOGETHER I GOT ANOTHER ONE

Might have been hooked into something...

[sanguineterrain]

sunset anew | dick grayson

Summary: You're a little nervous to become the Mrs. Grayson. Luckily, your husband-to-be knows just what to say to soothe your worries. 

Pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!reader 

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: wedding, anxious reader, the batfam actually gets along, fluff!! (dick is my wife.)

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

Contrary to popular belief, Gotham isn't a complete eyesore. 

Sure, it's no vacation spot, and it's probably not the ideal place to settle down. But there are beautiful parts within the grunge. 

Your wedding planner had shown you multiple locations, from Napa to the Bahamas. Bruce had insisted cost was no problem.

But that wasn't what made you choose Gotham. 

Your forearms rest on the polished stone-top railing that surrounds the rooftop of the nicest hotel in the city. Thirty-two floors, all rented out for you. 

You look down at the tiny cars and people below. Your heart swoops. 

Your heels are in one hand. The sun crests the horizon; soon, yellow will melt into buttery orange and pink. It’s the first sunset you knew. The only sunset you know. And it’s the same one you saw the first time you met your almost-husband.

You'd come up here so you wouldn't miss it. Just this one time.

“Found her!”

You jump as the roof access door opens. Damian and Duke walk out. Duke gives you a warm smile.

"Jesus, you guys," you say, hand on your chest. “Way to scare a girl.”

“Sorry. You look really nice,” Duke says, smoothing his bowtie. 

Damian crosses his arms, clearly unimpressed.

“Frightening you is the least of our concerns. We thought you’d run. Which would be understandable, considering the family you’re marrying into, but Father spent a lot renting the hotel. Plus, Grayson would’ve been inconsolable, and extremely annoying.”

“Dude,” Duke says, elbowing Damian. “Chill out. It’s not like she was actually going to leave him at the altar.” He squints at you. “Were you?”

“No! I wasn’t going to leave him at the altar, oh my God.”

Damian nods. “Good." He taps his watch and speaks into it. "Grayson, our work is done. Come to the roof.”

Duke gives you a wave and they wordlessly leave the way they came. You sigh and start to slip your heels back on. There’s some whispering at the bottom of the stairs, and Damian shouts “no!” before it’s silent. 

You have one heel on when Dick emerges.

He’s unfairly handsome in his tux, hair somehow both neat and tousled. He also has what looks to be Damian’s tie wrapped around his eyes. You step out of your heel, unsure.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to scare you."

"It’s okay, baby. Why are you blindfolded?"

"Bad luck to see the bride, duh."

You can't help your idiotic grin at that. "I think it'll be fine, Gray. You didn’t have to take his tie.”

"Maybe you haven't met my family; we're not known for our good luck streaks.”

"I'm madly in love with you,” you say, feeling gooey.

Dick beams, and you nearly forget about the sunset altogether. 

"I'm madly in love with you too." 

You kiss him and he blindly returns it, following your lips even after you step back. You cluck your tongue and nudge him away. He obeys, though not without sliding his hand onto your waist and tugging you away from the roof. You follow because he's such a worrier.

Dick reaches for your hand and squeezes. 

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. Sorry I disappeared. I didn’t know the calvary would be sent after me.”

“Yeah, uh…” Dick rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Again. I got worried.”

The guilt sinks its claws deeper. You frown and touch his cheek. 

“I would never leave you at the altar, Dick.”

“I know! I know that. They’re idiots; don’t listen to ‘em, whatever they said."

You cup his face with both hands and kiss him again. He squeezes your wrists and you can feel the relief rolling off him in waves, as much as he tries to hide it. 

“Was my absence noticeable?” you ask.

"Just to us. Don’t worry about it. The Wayne family are professional crowd entertainers."

"I take it Bruce is doing card tricks?"

"Yep,” Dick says. “He’s pretty good too. Might retire the suit." 

You laugh. "Sorry I'm missing it."

"Trust me, you'll get your fill soon."

“We can go down now,” you offer, even though you’re still waiting for that sunset. 

He shakes his head. “There’s no rush.”

You smile and rest your head on Dick's shoulder. He accepts you instantly and wraps his arm around your waist.

"You feel really beautiful," he says. 

"Charmer."

"I'm serious!"

"I know. That's why I'm so damn sweet on you, Gray."

"I've got a shot with you, then?" he asks. 

"Oh, big time." 

He nuzzles your neck. You breathe in his scent: wine from earlier, detergent, the hair gel he uses to effortlessly capture the bed head look. 

"We didn't have to do this today, you know,” he says, voice vibrating through you. 

You pick your head up in alarm. 

"What're you talking about?" 

"If-if you're getting cold feet, I mean," he adds. "Second thoughts. We can always reschedule."

"Dick, no, I'm not getting second thoughts. I want to marry you today. I will marry you, okay? We've been together for almost four years."

"So? You know how long Batman and Catwoman have been skirting around each other? We've all got a wager going. Including Alfred!"

You snort. "Okay, well, excuse me if I don't want your family to bet on how long it's going to take us to marry."

"Afraid that ship's sailed."

"Of course it has."

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in. His arms drape over your hips. You trace the shape of his lips with your index, up his Cupid's bow and up the tip of his nose. Dick has such a lovely nose. You've always thought so. 

“So who bet that I’d actually made a run for it?”

“That feels like a trick question,” he says. 

“Jason?"

“Jason adores you, actually. He didn’t doubt your loyalty once.”

“Damian had his doubts." 

“Damian's thirteen, he doesn’t know shit.”

You snort and kiss his cheek. “Well, I forgive him. He was protecting you, that’s all.”

"If it helps, everyone else was certain of your loyalty," Dick says, letting you paw at his face. “Myself included.”

"That does help, actually.”

Dick stops your hand in its journey and rests your palm on his cheek. 

"What were you thinking about?" he asks quietly. 

You stiffen a little. "Nothing. Just needed some air."

"You sure?" 

You know what he's doing: feeling your pulse to see if it changes, listening to your breathing, watching if your shoulders tense. He's a detective first, and a damn good one. 

You slump in defeat. 

"What if I'm not… good at this? At being… us?”

"What?" Dick asks in disbelief. "What are you talking about? Of course you’ll be good at it. The real worry is me, babe. I mean, you're incredible. I'm the one who runs around in spandex at night." 

"Gray, I'm serious," you say, resting your head on his heart. "All those people who’ve been watching us, waiting for the future Mrs. Grayson to slip up. I just—I can't help but wonder if it's prophetic. I wonder if maybe you deserve more." 

"Hey. Now I can't predict the future. But even if I could, I don't believe there is a timeline out there where I could ever want or need anyone but you. And you're not alone in this, you know? I'm scared too. I'm terrified I'm putting you in danger. Of fucking up completely. But I also know that sometimes… we get good things, you know? It's not all doom and gloom. I mean, you being in my life is proof of that." 

God, he always knows how to make your heart ache just right. 

"I really want us to work," you whisper, clutching his suit coat. "I just don't wanna let you down, Gray." 

"Baby," Dick says, curling around you. "Sweetheart, where did this come from? What makes you think that? You've never let me down, not once. I love you. It's okay if you feel like you don't know what you're doing, 'cause I don't know either." 

You reach to untie the tie. Dick lightly grabs your hand, but you continue to tug anyway. 

"Wait, babe—"

"Dick, it's okay. I want to see your eyes. Please?" 

He lets you pull it off. He squints at the light, adjusting. Then his gaze drops to you and his lips part.

"Wow," Dick says, hands sliding up your arms. 

You smile. "Like it? Selina helped me pick the dress, so it's all thanks to her."

"Fuck, baby. I wanna marry you right now. Screw everyone down there. Let's elope."

You laugh, combing back his hair with your fingertips and tucking loose strands behind his ears. 

"Gray, you know we can't do that. What about Bruce? He'd be devastated and more than rightfully pissed."

He shrugs. "So what? I'm the favorite, I can get away with it."

"Well, what about Alfred? You'd break his heart."

Dick pauses, mulling that over. You kiss his chin. 

"Damn it," he says. "You're right. I couldn't do that to him. He's arguably more excited about our wedding than we are." 

"Mmhm. But I appreciate your attempt to be spontaneously romantic," you say, smiling. 

Dick tugs you closer still, rubbing your back. 

"I would elope," he says. "If you really wanted to. You could convince me to do just about anything. Even if it unleashed Alfie's wrath."

"Don't tell me that," you chide playfully. "You'll give a girl all sorts of notions." 

"Oh, I'm counting on it."

Dick starts to kiss up your neck and you happily let him, eyes slipping closed. It's good, until—

THUMP!

You jump. Dick immediately pushes you behind him. 

The roof access door swings out so hard it slams against the wall. Jason glares, bowtie already loosened. 

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're gonna miss your own wedding, dumbass!" He nods at you. "Hey, future sis. Looking good." 

"Thanks, Todd." 

"Mm. Everything okay?" 

You smile. "Everything's wonderful."

"Yeah, I'm okay too, thanks," Dick says, scowling. 

"I know you're fine, idiot. Now come put a ring on it before Alfred hunts you down himself." 

Jason turns on his heel, shaking his head. "Responsible one, my ass…"

You look at Dick, grinning. 

"Seems like we should go do the marriage thing," you say.

"Seems like." He squeezes your hip. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah, Gray. I do. Thanks. I love you."

"Love you too, baby. Let's go marry the hell out of each other." 

The sunset has morphed into a violet night. But you don't mind that you missed it; you know there will be countless sunsets to come.