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ROBERT PATTINSON as BATMAN: 

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you would never dare tell him, but right now, in the way that atsumu speaks and leans in with laughter, in the way he scrunches the bridge of his nose at the scent of the wine in his hand, in the way his suit fits him just so perfectly beneath those dimmed, romantic lights—he looks pretty.

he’s had you on his arm all night, the insistence of well, i can’t exactly go to this wedding alone, still dripping off of the phrases that he whispers to you. you’d told him you wouldn’t, that you would never, that he could take a stranger well before he could ever try to pass you off as a date.

but then the night before, with glittering eyes and an apologetic gift in his hand, a wine bottle held between nearly-white knuckles and a box in the other, he pleaded with you once more. only when he was met with the brief sigh before your defeated okay did he dare hand you the box, brown and thin and light enough to hold the dress that you wear now.

and now he’s managed to get you close, hands sweet enough to pass as easy affection—fingers tracing red silk and dipped-open backs. your laughter mixes with his, his eyes meet yours, and you desperately want to tell him he’s pretty.

you won’t, you swore you never would. but that can’t help the silent prayer at the back of your throat—words that press against every nerve, that beg to be spoken, that wish to betray you with every whisper, every mumble of some half-baked adoration, every time he leans in close enough that you can smell his cologne.

he hums at whoever he’s speaking with, crossing the space that rests between them to hear them just a little better, the tilt to his head to reach over the music.

“oh! of course, yeah we started dating um,” he turns to you, brows furrowed, something resting on the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite muster out-

“just a few months ago,” you finish, and then lean into him, pressing your head against his chest and a hand against his heart. if you had given yourself a moment to think about it, perhaps you would’ve swore that it burned. “what is it, five months now?”

he laughs, fingers dipping beneath silk to meet your waist. you swear it burns there, too. “right, april’s already so far away, isn’t it?”

and the couple ahead of you, older, with gray hairs kissing at much darker ones, laughs in reply. they mention something about young love, about time slipping away too quickly, about how the two of you should take these moments as you would the tide—don’t fight it too much, but don’t let it carry you away, either.

atsumu’s fingers are on your spine now, a nail drifting between the two halves of you, like he could tie you together if only by the trace of his hands. and terribly, in the worst way that you know, he could. because right now, beneath this romantic light and the silk of your dress and the deep burning red of it all—the wine, your clothes, his tie, your heels, his hands, his fingers, his touch—you feel more whole than you have in a while.

you turn to him, handing your champagne flute off to him in a hurried flush of hands.

“i’ll be right back, i just have to step outside.”

you notice the furrow of his brows before you leave, notice the prick of confusion that dares dot at his voice as he lets a sound of confirmation cross his lips, but you step away before he can begin to say anything more.

you desperately want to run. you don’t, but you trip over your heels and stumble over rolling fabric that twists around your knees, and you mumbles half-spoken apologies as you turn your body to avoid everyone else’s.

and then you’re met with it—the chill of september air. something that leaks past every inch of your skin and into your lungs. you take one gasp, and then another. you look up at the star-crossed sky, catch glimpses of something much larger than you between desperates little blinks of your eyes.

you will not cry over atsumu miya. someone passes by you, their date laughing on their arm—and you remind yourself that will not cry over atsumu miya. the wind drifts between your back and your dress, leaving the places where he touched you to turn cold.

but there’s the sound of footsteps behind you, the suggestion of something apologetic and remorseful and forgiving that dares to creep up and touch your shoulder.

“i’m sorry if that was too much, i’m being stupid, aren’t i?” you don’t respond, but he moves around you until he’s in front of you, a hand still on your arm, and he’s tall enough that you can see the tilt to his head and the furrow to his brow all over again. “i know, i shouldn’t have pushed. i guess i just got caught up. i don’t know.”

and you still don’t speak. you let his hair mix with the night sky, you let his skin reflect every star and every blade of grass. atsumu goes to say something again, to fill the silence with anything, you’re sure.

“you look pretty tonight,” you say, because you’re starting to realize that it wasn’t just the lighting inside that made him like that. you want to convince yourself that it’s the champagne on your breath and not the desire from your chest that finally releases those words, but you never were one to favor lying to yourself.

“you look pretty tonight. it was a lot, and i swore i wouldn’t let you hear it, but i want you to laugh again like you did in there.” you gesture back inside, the distant sound of music making its way out and onto the grass. “so i just wanted you to know.”

he smiles. “you wanted me to laugh?”

you swat at him, taking a step forward as you do, and your hell catches on the soil and sends you stumbling into him. he catches you and pulls you back up, sweet whispers of alcohol slipping past his lips as he stands you back up.

and you wish, deeply so, that you could blame this on alcohol, but you can’t, and so you won’t even try.

“anyways,” you say, “sorry for all this, um, wanna head back inside?”

and atsumu stills, you can see the way he swallows, know by the way he leans in for a moment that he’s considering something dangerous.

“yeah, just, let me try something first.”

and atsumu, who you swore would never do this to you, who you swore would never know that you think he’s pretty, brings a hand up to your cheek. his fingers leave a little trail of static along your skin, his thumb kissing your lashes and fingers finding home along your jaw and somewhere in your hair.

and atsumu, who you swore you would never allow, not once, to get your heart to beat just a little bit faster, brings himself close enough to you that you can smell the alcohol on his breath—close enough that you can feel the air that escapes his lips, no matter how unsteady it is.

and atsumu, who you swore you would never kiss, kisses you. he kisses you like it's something holy, like every prayer that has ever pressed into your throat is being let out in a final moment of revelation.

and so you kiss him. you break promises to yourself and to no one else—you let them snap beneath the weight of your own desire and your own glimpse into something more.

so you kiss atsumu. you kiss him like you never thought you would.

reblogs and interaction are super appreciated ❤︎

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fanfiction was such a good idea. like put those guys in situations

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A guide to the dcmk universe men.

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The Raven Cycle Asthetic

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in light of the [second book of the dreamer trilogy] cover+name coming out, i decided to reimagine the raven cycle covers! i always thought they were so ugly lol

also, yes, i did re-write the bllb summary, the original one focused on blue but bllb is adam’s book and he deserves his name on the back

all the pics can be found on my trc pinterest board 

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this was fun to make !!!

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gansey gansey gansey gansey

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virginia in the summer

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late nights at Nino's

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squad squad squad

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Gansey for the heart

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TRC fandom thinks Adam Parrish is a sweet soft boy forgetting that this kid murdered a man, framed another man for some of the vilest crimes known and is also portrayed to be the coldest, most ruthless of all them.

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no because i've dreamed of cheers like this

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seb and mick hugging lewis post-race ;___;

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And the best agent of FBI ? He's so cool !

I’m getting tired of people talking about nothing but akai

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Ok, Can we talk about the brother of Shuukichi Haneda ? Or maybe the first son of Mary ?

I’m getting tired of people talking about nothing but akai