#thread ― the playboy.

[scattered-amongst-the-stars]

@n30n-le0n

[x]

Same fucking song and dance. Go to sleep in one world, wake up in another's dirty alley with nothing to his name. Figure out how to crawl his way from the dirt to an indulgent means of living. Such a pain.

Having stumbled out onto a bustling sidewalk of people had gotten him varying looks of concern and apprehension. Going on a drinking binge in slovish clothing definitely came back to bite him in the ass... It didn't take long for whispers and speculations to ring out around him, which just added to his bad mood and hangover. His temper began to bubble and getting the stigma of "homeless, volatile drunk" branded on him was not needed. He had to get away.

That's what led him to the secluded side streets. Well, as secluded as this city will allow. The blaring horns of traffic still reverberated in his skull with light assaulting him from every angle, but least he was alone.

Till this green sunnavbitch came crashing down out some magic bullshit-and was he seriously trying this right now?

A quirk of the brow. Either they thought he was that stupid or that they were that slick. Meh. His eyes drifted to the katanas for a split second before squinting at their owner. "Sure, and my hair is white from all the moonshine I drink."

"And I'm still not entirely sure if you're real or just a hangover hallucination, so I'll hold off on the screaming until I get confirmation. Or you try to stick one of those swords in me, whatever comes first."

[wretchedstraystars]

tag dump;;

🚬;; homeless mage for hire: Siris, 🚬;; you selling something? I don’t want it: asks, 🚬;; giving up or just accepting the inevitable?: musings, 🚬;; a chance to get some booze: threads, 🚬;; who has time for aesthetics anymore?: aesthetics, 🚬;; we all want what we can’t have: relationships, 🚬;; spilled from loose lips: headcanons, 🚬;; I failed you-I miss you: Lionell, 🚬;; ....who?: Hugo

🔪;; savage criminal with a playboy’s face: Lionell, 🔪;; nobody decides how my story ends but me!: musings, 🔪;; who are you going to be to me?: relationships, 🔪;; almost as hot as his temper: aesthetics, 🔪;; behind porcelain facades: headcanons, 🔪;; who will I be to you?: threads, 🔪;; make it quick and not asinine: asks, 🔪;; it hurts how much I miss you: Siris, 🔪;; dragged you down with me: Hugo

🌹;; the perfect victim: Hugo, 🌹;; be soft but be ready: musings, 🌹;; pieces of my heart: relationships, 🌹;; every rose has its thorns: headcanons, 🌹;; bullet casings and budding vines: aesthetics, 🌹;; can I help you with something?: asks, 🌹;; remake myself once again: threads, 🌹;; ...who?: Siris, 🌹;; celui qui s'est enfui: Lionell

[saturnmused]

powers reach out like psychic tendrils, probing gently at the sergeant's emotional state. keanu hopes bucky doesn't feel it, tries to make intrusion as gentle as possible; he knows he'll be in trouble if he's caught rifling around in other's mind. hands raise placatingly and keanu gives little nod of understanding. ❝ okay, that's ― that's fine. are you somewhere safe, at least ? ❞ he's asking on behalf of steve, but he's also somewhat concerned about this guy's well-being. the lines under his eyes say he hasn't been getting much sleep, a symptom that keanu knows intimately. ❝ 'cause if not, i can help you secure a safe place where you are, or wherever you'd like to be. i don't even have to tell the others where it is. ❞

his posture is rigid — in a sense : he is unwilling to move. bucky keeps a far distance between them , eyes equally as watchful of the empath. stressed. wary. “ i don't think you understand : i won't go back. i've tried — it's just not going to work. “

[furysprodigy]

Tag Drop!

乱 One-Eyed Dragon ;; Self 竜 乱 Loyal Retainer ;; Kojūrō Katakura 竜 乱 Mister Playboy ;; Magoichi Saika 竜

乱 Asks 竜 乱 Threads 竜 乱 Headcanons 竜 乱 Beckowsky Speaking! 竜

乱 The Warlord of Avia ;; Pokemon Conquest Verse 竜

[i-cant-sing]

Mmmhhh thinking about Yandere Batfam reacting to a reader who runs a very popular blog where she absolutely bashes Batman and Robins- and the batfam takes your criticism very seriously. Maybe not at first, but then Damian (the easiest to tick) got pissed off when you wrote how "he's just a kid in a cheap Halloween costume" and when Damian gets pissed off, he whines. He whines and whines and whines until Dick and Bruce finally listen to him and do something about it. That's when they find out about the extensive threads about them, criticising meticulously each and every action of theirs, how they're causing more financial harm to Gotham and allowing themselves to be idolised and causing more people to comit crimes just so that they could have their 5 seconds of fame with Batman. And ofc theirs a whole page about the Batsignal.

I mean, Damian and Tim have already found out who runs the page (though they had a little bit of a hard time sniffing u out. You were good at covering your tracks). While Damian and Tim are busy going to "have a talk with you", Bruce is at home reading your entire blog about Batfam and realising how some of your points.... kinda makes sense. So, he buys the app where you write your blogs, then has Damian bring you over to the Wayne offices, where he explains he just wanted to meet the person running the blog that generates the most readers on the app. You, just a 23 year old student who's blogging as a side hustle.

You're obviously stunned because why are you meeting Bruce Wayne and also confused because again, why are you here exactly??? Bruce just says that he likes your insights and would like to know more, and he's happy to pay you by the hour you spend talking to him and also on the blog.

He's very much determined to make Batman and Robins be good in your mind, and not that he cares much about what people think about him, it doesn't hurt to have good PR for heroes, lest people should try revolting against Justice league and only end up hurting themselves. There's only so much he could do to calm his metahuman friends.

You're again- CONFUSED, but you like money. The only thing you tell him is that you get to write whatever you want, complete creative control and that you can write about anyone you wish. Ofc, it doesn't register to Bruce that you could possibly write against his family- against his name.

So in the beginning, things are going great. Reader continues making calculated judgements and comments about Batfam and how they could possibly improve themselves, the batfam takes note and tries to do most of the things. Then you'd write something that could almost be seen as praise for "changing their old ways" and they all feel a little bit proud. They don't realise it but some members of the batfam (like damian and Dick) start craving your approval of their actions.

Perhaps something happens, maybe you don't find it fun to write about the bats anymore, so you shift your mind towards a new topic-

The Wayne's.

You research a bit, finding it a little odd at Bruve Wayne's generosity to be adopting random ass kids, a super duper clean record, no scandals or anything- it just- it doesn't feel right. No one's that clean. They have to be hiding something.

So when u can't find anything against them, you let your imagination go wild and start making conspiracy theories, kinda feel like reader goes in her gossip girl era to stir things up so that someone would come forward with something- anything.

Bruce's eyes almost bulge out as he reads the blog's headline-

"The secrets of Gotham's favourite billionaire playboy!"

Shit- did you figure out he's batman?

Nope. In fact, you covered everything but that. From theories about him adopting troubled kids for PR, to the Wayne family actually being a chauvinist cult, to conspiracies about his ties with the Rothschild, his philanthropic donations being a front for illegal activity, the Wayne Manor holding lavish nsfw parties, and even a classic "they drink virgin maiden blood!"

Bruce stood in your apartment, eyes narrowing at your sleeping form on the couch.

"Bruce? What- how did you get in?" You don't remember unlocking your door.

"What is the meaning of this?" He pulled up your article on his phone.

"Huh?" You took a closer look, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Oh. Yeah, I wrote that."

"Why?"

You shrugged. "I was bored."

"What?" Bruce could feel himself getting angry. How could you be so nonchalant about the lies you wrote?

"You know this isn't true." "I do." "Then why did you write it?" "I told you, I was bored. Besides, you told me I could write about anyone." You get up with a sigh. "I don't get why you're so worried about this. Barely anyone reads this stuff."

Bruce's brows went up. "There's a 1000 plus views on this already!"

"What?" your eyes twinkled. "A thousand already? Its not even been 24 hours since I posted. Wow, people really do enjoy conspiracy-" you shut up when you saw his glare. "Right, sorry."

"Take it down, now." Bruce orders, brow twitching when you just walk past him and into the kitchen, pouring yourself some coffee. "Why?" you asks after taking a sip.

He glares at you. "Because it isnt true-"

"Then give me something that is."

Bruce stared at you. Is this... is this your way of wanting an interview?

You sighed. "Look, just let me interview you family, I promise to only write the truth and only the truth. No conspiracies, I swear."

"Or I could just fire you. Better yet, have you sued for defamation."

You nodded. "You could, but honestly that would only bring more attention to the articles and more conspiracies would arise. Besides, you and I both know you cant stop me from writing even if I'm in jail."

Bruce watched you walk upto him, holding your phone in your hand. "Come on, just one week- one week at your place, I'll even let you read the article before I post it. If you dont like it, I'll delete it."

I mean... it did sound like a pretty good bargain. Besides, at his home, youd be in a more supervised space.

So here you are, standing in the lobby of the Wayne manor as a posh butler leads you to Bruce's office. Of course Alfred will be a part of your articles. He's too fancy to not be.

And so over the course of a week, you dont really find anything particularly intriguing about the family, even after you interviewed each member. You're mentally groaning at the thought of writing yet another boring article... that is until you accidentally discover the batcave (ok not accidentally, u hid a recorder in Bruce's office and u heard the man discussing about it with Dick)

Anyways, it didnt take long for you to discover the cave, and it took you even less for you to write a scandalous article.

"RICH MAN COSPLAYS AND PRACTICES HIS JUJUTSU SKILLS ON THE MENTALLY ILL! SEE PICTURES OF WHERE HE ROLEPLAYS IN MASKS!"

Unfortunately, before you hit "post", your phone is snatched and you're knocked out.

When you come to, Bruce is sitting in front of you looking beyond pissed while you're tied up in your seat.

"We had a deal, Y/n." Bruce gritted out.

"So? Deal was off the moment I found out you were Batman." You shrugged.

"We had a deal-"

"You really expect me to just pretend like I'm blind after I found out who you really are? Do you think anyone would just give up on a scoop this big?" You tilt your head at him.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you. "Scoop? Thats what this is to you?"

You nodded. "Sure, you're a hero who fights crime and brings "peace" to Gotham, but who knows for sure? After all, thats how you want the world to see you." You lean as far as your restraints allow you. "I dont trust you, Bruce. Not one bit. There's just- this gut feeling about you. Nothing personal, but I dont get good vibes from you."

"Is that so?" Bruce raised his brow before sighing. "I guess there's no reason to let you go then."

"What?"

He nodded to himself. "Yes, if I let you go now, you'll only cause more trouble for me, but also for yourself. If you post content like that, people will target you- yes, I definitely cant let you go. You're an impulsive idiot who'd endanger herself just to not be bored."

Your eyes widen. "You cant kill me."

Bruce scoffed. "Dont be ridiculous, I can, but I wont. I just want to take care of you, protect you from yourself." He stood up. "I did a little bit of research on you too, yknow? You keep your personal life super private, I have to give credit to you, it wasnt easy to find out about your family. But... money makes the mare go."

Your throat dried as you saw a glint in his eyes. He knew... he couldnt-

Bruce's footsteps echoed as he neared you and ruffled your hair. "Poor you... having to deal with a schizoprenic mom." He leaned down to smile gently at you, but you could sense the sinister intent.

"Dont worry, she'll be taken care of at Gotham Asylum while you stay with us."

girl idk where i was going with this, i just needed to get it out of my drafts (i have another long incomplete draft about platonic yandere dick x gymnast reader where he basically is intrigued by this mini tonya harding who lives for her dead beat father's approval who doesnt give a shit about her unless she comes first. so its upto dick to adopt u and make u a part of batfam)

[endless-ineffabilities]

casual*

a.k.a. your one-night stand with modern Aemond Targaryen

*18+ minors dnfi

main masterlist

The intimidatingly handsome-as-hell guy sitting all by his lonesome at the bar seems to be on the same wavelength as you.

His gaze has been oscillating between the rim of his pint and you. Your face, your hands, and yes—you're sure you saw it—your ass, too. You squirm in your place, several seats away, but not because his attention's unwanted. These fucking bar stools are just so damn slippery that you feel like your smooth jeans would slide right off, and you would embarrass yourself in front of blondie. Though, his hair veers closer to Santa's snowy beard than Rapunzel's gold locks. How unusual. How strangely attractive.

Silver hair coiffed neatly above his perfect, angular face, those naturally pouted lips, and those eyes—wait—that eye. One seemed to be a prosthetic, but it doesn't diminish his aura. Not even a little. The fucked up voice in your head might even think that it makes him look hotter. More dangerous.

Straight to the depths of hell it is for you.

He throws a shit-eating smirk your way when your eyes meet again, right before taking another swig of his frothy drink. But he doesn't look away this time, holding your gaze as his glass tilts in the air and inevitably finds its way back on the bar's surface.

Oh, he knows he's attractive. Worse, he knows that you know it.

Heat unfurls in your belly from all the eye-fucking, the tension, and from the very real possibility that your own fingers will not be your only source of pleasure for the night, as trusted as they are.

Too bad you just downed the contents of your drink. Or not, because it seems to signal the first switch of the night. Blondie gestures to the bartender, then to you, and before you know it, another one of your drinks materialises in front of you.

"Courtesy of that guy over there, miss."

"Oh. Thank you."

That guy over there, who is no longer over there, takes that as his cue to finally approach you.

"Hi."

"Hello." He sits on the stool next to you, inching it closer as he settles down. He's even prettier up close, damn him. His hair looks like spun threads of silk. His dark blue sweater, his snug black jeans, his lips which are tugging at the corners to form a sheepish smile. "Please don't hate me for this, but I'm about to throw you a line."

You swallow. He can throw you just about whatever he wants, and that's not just the alcohol talking. "Oh?" you half-shrug your fluster away. "I expected as much. Let's hear it."

"Hmm." He glances down, showcasing his remarkably long eyelashes, then back up at you. With his head tilted, he looks slightly menacing, but in a good way. Like he wants to eat you.

Your coworker is about to receive a luxurious gift basket for recommending this bar to you.

His line then goes, "I find it hard to believe that someone as goddamn beautiful as you would be sitting all alone in this bar tonight." His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, then released. "But maybe I should be grateful, because this would mean that you're perhaps single?"

You have to hand it to him. That line would normally be at the same level of poetry as a middle-aged dad's Facebook rant, but from him? From his lips, and with that smooth accent? A fucking Shakespearean sonnet.

Already prematurely swept off your feet, you know you have to up your game. "I'm married actually. Husband's on a business trip. Again. My three kids, bless their hearts, stress the hell out of me so I left them with the nanny and went straight here."

His mouth parts slightly, his brows furrowing. You wink at him and add, "Glad I did."

You watch as his mind whirs, as his eye darts to your obviously bare ring finger. For a smooth talker, he sure takes a moment longer than necessary to keep up with your humour, or maybe you're just that good of a performer.

"You're killing me here, beautiful."

"That's what you deserve for that line. Did you take that right out of your playboy handbook?" you say, laughing softly.

"Excuse me, miss, but I own no handbook of any sort," he responds in a stern manner, but his smirk betrays him. "And you might not believe me, but I don't do this often. I mean, I don't really do this at all."

"What, is that another line? You're on a roll, handsome."

"I mean it. I don't make a habit of approaching pretty girls at bars."

"Why, because they just flock right to you?"

He raises his palms in mock surrender. "Hey, you said it. Not me."

There is a beat of silence as you watch each other, both trying to gauge the stranger sitting close. You decide that he might be more than just a pretty face. He smells immaculate, too.

And, more importantly, he seems kind. You pride yourself in having a knack for these things. Though you hope that knack isn't deliberately fooling you because you want him to get into your pants.

He's the one to break the silence and start the flirtatious interrogation that normally happens before getting right down to business. "So, when you're not busy with your three precious kids—" he says, prompting an eye roll from you. "—what do you get up to? Are you from around here? Do you frequent this bar?"

"Woah. One question at a time."

He leans forward on the counter, until his hand brushes against your forearm. "Just one more question before you begin, and brace yourself, because this is the most important one."

You find it easy to laugh in his company, so you do. "Okay, give it to me."

"Are you sure you can handle it, babe?"

No. Not when he's calling you babe. "Try me."

"What's your favourite colour?"

You learn that his name is Aemond. He's twenty-nine years old, born and raised in London before moving to New York to become the head of the American branch of his father's company. He has two older sisters, one older brother and one younger. His favourite colour is green. He's an Aries. He likes both classic rock and classical music.

And he's a fucking phenomenal kisser.

You spent another hour chatting each other up at the bar, which didn't feel like an hour at all. You could talk to him about practically anything, and you would have, until you both decided that it was time to let your bodies do the talking.

It only took 10 minutes for him to drive you back to his fancy apartment, but that didn't stop him from groaning and mumbling fuck's sake under his breath at each encountered red light.

"Patience," you giggled lightly, but then he turned his lust-clouded gaze to you, and you immediately were on the same page, cursing at stoplights in your mind.

With your back pressed against his bedroom wall, he kisses you with a frenzied hunger that you're sure you have never experienced with any lover. He lifts you up, and you cross your ankles around his waist. Biting his lip, he slowly undoes the buttons of your blouse, marvelling at your exposed chest. You twist an arm behind to unclasp your bra and it falls to the floor.

After a sharp intake of breath, he lowers himself and sucks at your nipple, his tongue padding at your stiffened peak. Your neck cranes upward at the hot sensation, and you grip his locks, and moan, "Fuck yeah, keep going."

He nips and bites at your breasts, leaving a glistening trail of saliva in his wake. "Your tits are so fucking perfect," he praises. "You're perfect."

"Mhmm, yeah," you mewl, reaching for his face. "Come here."

His hand slides to the back of your neck to tilt your head just right, then his mouth is on yours once more. It's unfair, really, how good he is at it, every flick of his tongue intensifying your desire for him.

You let out a wanton, wanting moan when he pulls back suddenly. He smugly chuckles at the sound, and how you instinctively follow his movement, craving more.

Your legs drop from his waist, and you barely catch your balance, breathless and disoriented. "What—" you start, confused, but Aemond steps back just enough to fix you with a searing look.

"Jeans off, baby," he demands. Like he even had to ask. He tilts his head, that insolent smirk playing on his lips again. "Underwear, too. C'mon, now."

Your hands move on their own, fumbling with the button and zipper before pushing the denim down your legs and kicking them to the side. You're grateful you had opted out of wearing skinny jeans, which you would have had to unsexily wiggle out of. You hook your thumbs into your underwear and slide those down too. The air is cool against your naked body, making you shiver slightly, but Aemond's gaze—burning, all-consuming—keeps you rooted to the spot.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his tone dropping into something almost reverent. He drops to his knees in one smooth motion, and the sight alone nearly does you in—this ethereal, sharp-tongued stranger kneeling before you like he's a pilgrim who finally reached a shrine. His hands find your hips as he guides you to balance one leg over his shoulder.

You barely have time to process before his mouth is on your leaking cunt. He doesn't start slow, doesn't give you a chance to ease into the sensation. His tongue is hot and insistent, dragging over your folds with a precision that has your knees buckling almost immediately.

"Fuck," you gasp, your hands flying to his hair for something to hold onto. He holds you steady as he works you over like he's determined to make you unravel completely. And you don't doubt that he will.

The flat of his tongue drags up, circling your most sensitive spot before his lips close around it, sucking lightly. Your head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, a broken moan slipping from your lips as your free leg trembles beneath you.

You can feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, spreading outward like wildfire. His free hand slides up your inner thigh, his fingers pressing into the flesh there, holding you open for him as he works you over like it's his favourite thing to do. Like there’s nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing than ruining you right here, right now.

"Aemond", you gasp, his name falling from your lips unbidden. He groans at the sound, his tongue doubling down, faster, harder, dragging you closer to the edge. You try to fight it—try to hold onto the last scraps of control you have—but he shifts his angle, his nose brushing against your core, and the whole world tips sideways. The coil snaps, and your orgasm crashes out of you. Your body locks up, your pelvis shaking uncontrollably as you cry out, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Aemond doesn't pull away, his tongue easing you through it with slower, lazier strokes.

When you finally slump back against the wall, boneless and dazed, he leans back just enough to look up at you, his face glistening from his nose down to his chin. You're almost certain that you have never seen anything more sensual in your life. He licks his lips, and your eyes automatically follow the path of his tongue—the culprit of your sweet, little death.

"You taste as exquisite as you look," he says.

You know he deserves the sloppiest, most soul-sucking head after what he just put you through, so it's the easiest decision you have ever made to give him just that. Nothing more, nothing less. And anyway, it's for your pleasure too.

You don't relent until his warm, salty cum spills on your tongue, most of it sliding down your throat and the rest shooting out to cover the lower half of your face in milky streams.

The two of you laugh together when his leg gets caught in his trousers as he stumbles out of the rest of his clothes, making him land on his arse at the edge of his bed. The sound rings pleasantly in your ears, and you find yourself needing to hear it more often.

No. You know what this is. If all goes well, then you'll have the memory of this great night to keep.

But Aemond himself is not yours to keep.

Your face must have fallen, because he reaches an arm, coaxing you to him. "Hey. What's going on in that head of yours, love?"

"Nothing," you shake your head, closing the distance between you. He anchors his fingers at your hips and presses a kiss on your lower belly. Everything seems to pause for a moment. You both keep still as he rests his forehead against your stomach, and your fingers gently thread through his hair, massaging his scalp.

"I feel like I've known you for a long time," he murmurs, and you wish you could hate him for not making this easy.

"Is that another—"

"Not a line. I mean every word."

He rises slowly, his hands brushing the curves of your body with an aching tenderness that seems out of place for a night like this. He lays you onto the bed, then reaches in his nightstand drawer for a condom.

You nearly cry out in pleasure when his length first enters you fully, the sensation of him almost too much to bear. His face is lowered so his cheek is touching yours, and you hear every little moan that escapes him as he finds his rhythm. His thrusts are measured, not rushed or frantic. And it feels so damn good.

Aemond talks well, but he fucks even better.

"Faster," you plead.

He pauses and smiles, his lips ghosting over yours. "I'm taking my time, love. I wanna savour you."

His hips roll forward again, his cock sinking into you inch by maddening inch. "Don't wanna lose you, baby," he groans.

Oh, he is not playing fair.

Your hips soon rise instinctively, meeting his slow, deliberate thrusts, the need for more of him pulsing through every inch of you. He notices, his lips curling into a smug smirk.

"Okay, then," he says smoothly. "I'm going to fuck you as hard as I can now. You ready for me, love?"

Your breath catches, your body already trembling beneath him, and all you can do is nod, eyes widening in wonder at his promise.

"Answer me. I need to hear it," he commands.

"Oh, Aemond," you breathe, "what do you think I'm here for?"

His smirk falters for just a second, replaced by something darker. He lets out a low, throaty chuckle, his fingers digging into you. "Careful, love," he warns. "You’re about to find out."

Without another word, he abandons his restraint, and he claims you with a force that leaves you gasping, your spine arching as he delivers on his word. His hips snap against your pelvis, his body practically vibrating over you. He's relentless, just as you wanted, and he has to grip you tightly so he doesn't propel you upward into the headboard.

You feel his lips graze the shell of your ear before biting down, his breath ragged as he pounds his cock into your pussy with a heightened desperation that drags a moan from your throat. "Say you're mine, baby," he actually whimpers. "Say I'm the only one who gets to fuck you like this."

You would tell him anything he wanted. But he doesn't even have to ask for this one, because you wish so badly for it to be the truth. "I'm yours. Only you—aghhh—can fuck me as good as this—uhhhh yeah—Aemond."

He flashes you a boyish grin, and he looks so pure you have to take a mental image of the sight. Lips pulled back to reveal a perfect set of teeth, a sheen of sweat forming by his hairline as he keeps bucking his hips at a breakneck pace, hair unkempt and falling in front of his forehead.

You lose yourselves in each other, your sharp breaths falling in sync.

As before, he latches his mouth wetly over your breast, and you arch into him. His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing it in tight, merciless circles that make you scream, "Oh, Aemond!" into the air.

"You like that?"

"Fuck yes."

"You gonna come for me, beautiful?"

Aemond sure has a habit of asking for things that are already guaranteed for him, polite boy that he is.

It doesn't take long before he spills inside you, his body shuddering with the release. The feeling of his cock convulsing deep in your pussy sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you, and you follow him, your walls clenching around him as your own climax hits hard.

He collapses next to you, the weight of the moment settling in as the room grows still. His forehead rests against yours, and there's nothing but the sound of your shared breathing, a calm after the storm.

"Fuck," he breathes, sheer satisfaction audible from his voice. "That was…"

"Yeah. It was..."

"Yeah."

Months pass before you see Aemond again. When you do, it's in another, more crowded bar—a place packed with patrons and full of noise—but his eyes find you immediately. This time, he makes sure to take your number. No disappearing act in the morning, no hasty exit on your part while he sleeps because you're running late to work. He'll be damned if he lets you slip away again.

You both fall into something deeper over time, and three years down the line, you stand in front of family and friends, exchanging vows.

Decades pass, and when your grandkids curiously ask how you two met, Aemond would smile, eyes softening with the memory.

He would say, a quiet laugh escaping him, "I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Shame it took us a few months for our forever to begin."

Vhagar taglist 1 — @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @joyismm @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @all-for-aemond @alokaaaaa @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @inesdiary96 @weirdblob21 @lonelyladyghost @tssf-imagines @nurtargaryen @paula-lkr @queenofshinigamis @breezyjin @empfm @amanda08319 @unrealwinchester @optimizche @seamaiden @spoffyos @subliiminals @believeinthefireflies95 @ex0tic-vgh @anukulee @peachysunrize (cont. ...)

[saturnmused]

STEVE SEEMS NERVOUS, as if this kind of thing doesn't happen often ― and keanu doesn't know other's life, not really, so that is a possibility. empath hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable, but here they are, & now keanu wants to do what he can to fix it. steve hesitates, asks what they would even do, noting how they'd be limited from going out in public. honestly, keanu hadn't even considered that; while he's a part of the avengers, no one from the public has ever paid him any mind. the thought of having to work around how others, complete strangers, might feel about things makes things more complicated.

but it doesn't deter keanu, & steve's quick addage of it not meaning he doesn't want to further motivates him to try to make this work. ❝ we don't have to go out anywhere, then, ❞ keanu tries to assauge the blond's fears, not wanting to seem like he's being unnecessarily pushy. ❝ we can chill at either of our apartments, if you want. find a good movie to watch, make some popcorn & find where the conversation takes us. ❞ it doesn't sound horrible to keanu, but then he's trying to grasp at anything that might work here. ❝ we don't have to, though. i'm not gonna force you into anything you don't wanna do, steve. i want us both to have fun. ❞

get to know steve. it's been a long time since anyone wanted that. even sam still fan-girled about him being captain america. a warranted thing -- the credit is massive &* earned. it is something he should be , &* is , immensely proud of. but . . . under it all , he is still just a kid from brooklyn. a kid who was not asked on dates -- a kid who has trouble finding an answer even now.

so he clears his throat &* squints at keanu for a beat , then sighs. there is a nervousness to his being , but not out of disinterest. ❛   what would we even do ? i can't go outside without being in disguise on a normal day. i sure as hell can't just -------- not if it's ------- not if i'm on a date with you. the press would have a field day with that one. ❜

captain america -- america's straight , white hunk of a sweethearted man ! -- spotted out on a romantic evening with a man ! he wouldn't die for it -- probably -- but it would irreparable damage to his image , as much as he hates that fact.

❛   i want to ! ❜ he clarifies quickly , taking a half-step forward into the others personal bubble. he doesn't want his anxiety to be misconstrued. this was just . . . difficult. he'd have gone to the ends of the earth &* said to hell with everyone for bucky if he'd asked , but he hardly knows keanu at all. he can't throw away the faith the country has in him as a symbol -- even if it does not align with steve as a man -- for one date with a notorious playboy.

[saturnmused]

@miidnighters ― keanu & billie ― re: starter call.

HE DOESN'T KNOW if he'll be able to handle the honesty of her answer, but he knows he has to ask, lest he go mad thinking something potentially erroneous for this entire time. empath seems hesitant, but he pushes through the inner resistance, rubbing palms together & then scrubbing them along thighs, obvious nervous gesture.

❝ listen, billie ― i don't mean t'make it weird, okay ? but i have to ask, 'cause if i don't, i'll be thinking about the what-ifs for the rest of my life. ❞ he takes a breath, meets her gaze & his own is bright violet, expression showing anxious nature. ❝ this . . . thing between us. there is a thing, right ? or am i the only one who feels that way ? ❞

[scattered-amongst-the-stars]

@advnterccs

Why did he always have to start with him? Every time he makes the unfortunate mistake of entering the mad scientist's line of sight, the bastard makes it his mission to be as confrontational as possible. Did that massive narcissist ego of his just not comprehend that he had literally everything better in the world to do than argue with him?!

"OKAY! First? YOU," the word emphasis with a finger to the chest, "started the argument, ya drunken piece of old shit, not me. Second, being a piece of shit amidst a sea of shit throughout the multiverse is not the accomplishment you seem to think it is. Third, 'Go back to your own dimension' is the last thing you should say to anyone, hypocrite Rick. And fourth, better to not have control over where I go than to have it and abuse it."

He might not have started the argument, but he'll be damned if he rolls over and just takes the old man's bullshit.

[bittcrsuite]

percy took a moment to watch thea run ahead of him before he followed suit. he caught up quickly, long strides pushing him a few feet ahead of her. beautiful. he was obsessed with being around the blonde. he'd never felt so carefree, so open to exploring the unknown. as he tugged off his t-shirt and slid off his shoes, the brunette looked down at the other with a wide grin. with soft sand pressing against the soles of his feet, percy gave her shoulder a playful shove. "i bet i can beat you to the water."

open: anyone 23+ (older muses and trans muses get bonus points as always)

muse: thea camden, 23-27, professional street artist and / or singer, personal villain’s?? assistant (verse dependent), sabrina carp*nter fc

plot: y/m decided they needed to get away for whatever reason (vacation, needed a break, running from the law), which meant a spur of the moment roadtrip. currently the pair are pulled off the road, having taken a break from the drive to enjoy the ocean they’re driving by. cue hijinks, adventure buddies vibes, etc truthfully y/m could’ve taken thea captive and she would’ve just gone along with it for fun sake. connection possibilities, significant other, roommate, exe, best friend, boss, family friend, etc (no inc*st/stepc*st, and do not like my starters)

feet propped up on the seat in front of her, thea gave her sunscreen a few moments to soak in before she ran out to the achingly gorgeous waves calling to her. truthfully, she was enjoying this trip far too much already. impromptu swims in the ocean, 2am pie runs at random diners they stopped by, she loved this sort of thing. so it wasn’t any surprise that she was quick to climb out of the backseat of the car and run down the sand, turning to yell at her travel companion. “ya comin’ babes? or are ya gonna make me swim all alone?”

[theealbatross]

fight the alchemy (s.s)

Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.

or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back

An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.

Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.

But he was okay.

Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.

Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.

And he did such a good job at it.

The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.

The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.

It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.

But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.

Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.

He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.

Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”

“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.

Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.

“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.

“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”

“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”

“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”

“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”

Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”

Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.

“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.

As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.

In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.

“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.

Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”

“Sebastian!”

A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”

“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.

“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”

That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.

“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.

“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.

Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”

Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.

Well, at least one of them is.

He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.

The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.

“I was thinking –”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.

“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.

“Because! When I think about it …”

Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.

“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”

Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.

“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”

If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall.  “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”

Garreth winks.

“We’re still accepting members.”

He’s decided.

He needs to kill Garreth.

He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.

“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.

“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”

He stands up, escaping.

Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:

“Where’s the rest of you?”

He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”

Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.

Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.

That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.

“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”

He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”

Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.

Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.

It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.

But Garreth was right: he’d never thought about it before – hadn’t thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.

He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush. 

And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.

So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.

Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.

The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone? 

It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.

It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face. 

But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.

His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.

She can’t be that reckless, right?

He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.

There goes his late-night plan.

It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.

But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.

How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.

With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.

His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.

Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.

“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”

You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.

“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”

She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”

You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.

Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.

He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.

He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.

He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.

“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.

Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.

Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.

But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.

“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.

He smiles.

He was satisfied, he swore he was.

Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.

But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.

He feels it win.

“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.

“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”

“And?”

Leander was right: he really is a bastard.

But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.

“I think,” he whispers, at peace. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”

[causalitylinked]

    The moment Himari suddenly seizes his face with both her hands, Kobato would immediately freeze, for the reaction she exhibited was certainly much more different than what he was normally accustomed to; after all, on the off chance he ever said something absolutely shameless, girls would normally smack him, but instead, her fingers would go on to cover his eyes and lips, causing him to instinctively reach up to grasp her wrists.

    Considering he didn't wish to hurt her, however, his grip remains gentle as he subsequently pries off the hand that obscured his vision. Though, when it came to the other one, he'll first shift his hand around until he was holding the flat end of her palm against his lips, before giving it a kiss and pulling it away until they lingered over her knuckles.

    Afterwards, he'll then send a wink her way... completely oblivious to the fact Himari might be more so uncomfortable than embarrassed by his earlier remarks. Then again, this was the same guy who ended up hitting on Kiriko when she was crying back in Redo, so it could be argued his complete lack of discretion and consideration wasn't much of a surprise at this point. "Why? 'Cause I'm super crazy about you obviously~" Kobato finally whispers against her skin.

    "Whenever I'm with you, Himarin, my heart feels like it's on absolute faaaaiya! ♥̩"

The pitying expression on her face lasted for all of three seconds, every word that tumbled from Kobato's lips adding another notch of severe embarrassment.

She couldn't fault him for being out-spoken. He was brave and bold, speaking his mind rather than squirreling away his thoughts. It was a wonderful idea to compliment people shamelessly, but she supposed he could have gone about it a better way.

Could have gone about complimenting her in a better way too, but she hardly had it in her heart to stop him. She was too flustered, too foggy in the mind to properly put together a string of words that demanded respect and honesty.

She could, however, panic and act on that mess of feelings.

She didn't slap him. Violence wasn't in her nature, but she did reach out and cover his face with both of her trembling hands. She tried to focus on his mouth, but the horrible awkwardness of it all meant her hands had gone all over his face. His lips and eyes were covered, but she couldn't sprout an extra pair of hands to cover his ears. If she could, she would have and disguised her uneasy whimpers.

"St—Stop!" She pushed him away, hands still glued firmly to his face. "Why are you saying that?!"

[saturnmused]

@depictedblue // keanu & cassie // starter call.

❝ been waiting for you, ❞ leaves empath's lips before he can think to stop himself from saying what's been on his mind. the entire time she was gone, he feels like he's been waiting with baited breath, air held in lungs like time was frozen without her. it's been hard, but even harder has been the uncertainty of if she would return. but here she is, at his doorstep months later, and keanu knows she can feel the ache that he does, as the intensity of the emotion hits him. ❝ missed you . . . so damn much, cassie, ❞ and he reaches out to pull her into a tight hug, only relaxing once he feels her against him, and can smell her perfume in her proximity once more.

[solarecliipse]

atsumu miya x reader ramble :)

not proof read, english is not my first language!

hear me out, pro volleyball player atsumu miya in a love scandal with world recognized singer and artist y/n l/n, you know how to ball, i know aristotle.

it’d be the greatest of all!! cause imagine the headlines going out like: y/n l/n seen leaving the condos were atsumu miya lives, and then another atsumu miya supposedly spotted at y/n l/n backstage, and finally, y/n l/n and atsumu miya caught on the beach kissing

and everyone is just freaking out like, what do you mean?? because y/n had only been in one public relationship before, with an actor that after 3 years cheated on her, so why going out with atsumu “playboy” miya??

and meanwhile y/n and atsumu be chilling, having the cheesiest most romantic love story ever, even meeting each other’s friends and learning about the other’s career.

like, imagine atsumu staying after training with you just to teach you how to do the perfect serve, and then you teaching him how to play the drums (cuz is the first instrument you ever learnt p play and he would look so HOT doing it), even recording it and later using it to add into a song like a soft launch.

and fans would be going CRAZY over it, like twitter threads called “who is playing the drums at the end of y/n’s las single: theory” some even thinking you’re dating the guy who plays drums when you do tours¿ but he comes out to say he is married, and everyone is making all kinds of assumptions before you finally go to one of the msby’s games wearing the official jacket that has miya on the back, and then miya points you before doing one of his killer serves, and everyone is like “damn.”

and then atsumu goes to one of your concerts and is seen smiling lovingly as you sing THE single you wrote for him (cuz now everyone knows it’s for him) and you even change the lyrics to somehow making it more obvious it’s about him and then winking at him, and everyone goes crazy once again.

and I just love this they’d be so cute together and atsumu would look so hot and everyone would be so envious and they’d be such a power couple and its one of those “i don’t which one i want to be cuz they’re both so hot and awesome” situations.

anyways yeah, i love atsumu miya

[saturnmused]

@idnull ― keanu & bronson ― re: starter call.

❝ YOU'RE OKAY, REALLY. it happens t'everyone, even the best of us. shit's unpredictable like that. just take a breath, man. ❞ the empath lets a faint wave of comfort wash over the other, hoping that he doesn't notice the psychic intrusion & simply accepts the sudden relaxation. keanu keeps hands at sides, though he wants to reach for other, offer some kind of reassuring touch, but he knows it isn't the time nor place. this is a relative stranger, & even if keanu feels their similarities intimately, he does recognize the need for caution. ❝ i mean, really. i've had at least one breakdown every couple of months in the middle of walmart. it's not just you, pal. ❞ he pauses, then hesitantly adds, ❝ people have told me that 'm a good listener, if you need to just, like, dump something. ❞

[alternate-real-ities]

Would love to see what other versions of myself are out there!

Hey there, cutie. I've been carefully observing the timelines across the multiverse and I think I've found some interesting ones I would say. Let me first start with one not far from ours. 😉

Meet your brazilian self.

In this sun-kissed universe, your parents were Brazilian, and it shows in every sultry curve of your body. You're a free spirit, always chasing the next wave or beach party under the tropical sun, where the only thing hotter than the sand is the lustful gaze of the locals.

Your olive skin glistens with a sheen of coconut oil as you soak up the rays, and your dark hair flows in the ocean breeze like silk threads begging to be tangled in a passionate embrace. When night falls, you trade in your caipirinha and board shorts for a tight pair of jeans that hug every inch of your physique, ready to heat things up on the dance floor or in a private cabana.

Now, I want you to imagine a reality where Arabs dominate the world and shaped every corner of existence, blending all races into their superior form through generations of intermarriage and genetic manipulation, with lesser races either becoming arabized over time or enslaved.

In this universe, you're the epitome of Middle Eastern masculinity - strong, commanding, and unapologetically in control.

You're a wealthy and powerful alpha male at the pinnacle of this genetically superior race. Your dark hair is always perfectly coiffed, framing a face that exudes confidence, power, and an insatiable drive for achievement.

You exude an aura of confidence and dominance, attracting both admiration and desire from all who lay eyes on you. Every inch of your chiseled body is honed to perfection - from the defined ridges of your chest to your powerful bulge straining against your luxurious clothes.

Next, in another parallel universe, your DNA took a different path, resulting in athletic prowess and an unrelenting passion for the game of basketball.

You're an unstoppable force on the basketball court - lean, muscular, and dripping with sweat after a grueling game. Your chiseled muscles were honed from hours at the gym and a work ethic that leaves opponents in the dust.

Your dark skin glistens with sweat as you leap for a dunk, your brawn and agility making you nearly unstoppable. Off the court, you're charming and charismatic, always ready to charm your fans or give back to your community.

Last but certainly not least, meet your latino fuckboy self in a reality where you're part of an irresistible majority. Here, everyone's got that extra je ne sais quoi - those piercing eyes, that chiseled jawline, that uncanny ability to make anyone fall head over heels in love with just a wink and a smile.

In this realm, you're a tatted-up playboy, always high on life and weed as you navigate the vibrant streets of your city. Your inked skin tells stories of your adventures and conquests, while your confident swagger and sly grins leave women and men weak in the knees.

You're the ultimate player, always on the lookout for the next conquest... but deep down, you crave something real, someone who can handle your wild side without getting too clingy.

So there you have it! As we gaze into these alternate realities, we're reminded that our perception of ourselves is fluid and malleable. These versions of you challenge traditional notions of identity, proving that with a shift in perspective, even the most familiar aspects of ourselves can be reimagined in provocative new ways. So the next time you catch your reflection, consider the infinite possibilities lurking just beyond the mirror...