[angelmurmur]

❝ weird me out? you’ve weirded me in. ❞

em. english nerd. istp. reader. the smiths. little women. coffee addict. music enthusiast. virgo. certified horror movie watcher. damian wayne. future csi. unlabeled. pansy parkinson’s girl.

masterlist | blog + req rules | pinterest

[angelmurmur]

celine and sloane got married in tomodachi life so basically i just won the game

[aquivian]

[angelmurmur]

anything with lia im begging please

— WASTED

pairing: lia zhang x fem!statistician!reader

tags/warnings: mentions of alcohol, established relationship

honestly, you don’t even remember how you got here. all you know is that right now, you’re having the absolute time of your life.

the music is loud, the bass turned up so high that it feels like the floor is shaking beneath your feet. colored lights cover everything in shades of bright purple, red, and blue. judging by your quick, effortless calculations of the club’s dimensions, there has to be around a hundred people inside with you.

cassie stands a couple steps away from the dance floor, an amused smile on her face as she watches as you drunkenly dance to some song you clearly don’t even know. before walking out, she’d promised lia that she would keep an eye on you tonight. lia clearly wasn’t thrilled when she found out about your plans, but cassie had assured her everything would be fine. now, watching how you’ve been drinking like you’re trying to drown something heavy rather than have fun, cassie’s realizing that her reassurance was in vain.

a flicker of concern crosses her face. she pulls out her phone, scrolls to find lia’s contact, and presses the call button. she holds the speaker close to her mouth, preparing to yell over the music. the phone rings once before lia picks up, and cassie knows that lia only answered so quick because you’re with her.

“what?” lia’s voice comes through, sounding unbothered as usual. while cassie might not be an emotion reader, she can definitely hear the slight undertone of worry in lia’s voice.

“hey, she’s getting kind of wasted. i’m safe to drive, but i just wanted to let you know—”

“i’m on my way.”

cassie doesn’t get another word in before lia hangs up. she lowers her phone and looks back to the dance floor, only to find that you’re nowhere to be seen. her stomach drops. she furrows her brows and spins around, scanning the crowd before she sees you leaning against the bar, ordering another drink.

she sighs deeply and weaves through the countless bodies to get to you, wondering how tonight took a turn so quickly. cassie opens her mouth to speak but all that comes out is an inhale before you cut her off, just like your girlfriend had.

“cass!” your voice is unnecessarily loud, clearly drunk out of your mind. “hey, i was just about to order rainbow shots. did you even know they do that here? i’ve always wanted to try, you should totally do some with me. did you know they only really work if—”

cassie cuts in before you can give her 5 unprompted facts about god knows what. “tell me later. look, lia’s coming to—”

“my girlfriend!” you interrupt yet again, beaming like cassie’s just given you the best news you’ve ever heard.

“yep, your girlfriend. she’s on her way, okay? so how about we just chill before she gets here?”

“chill? we’re literally at a club, cass, let’s have at least an ounce of fun.”

“you’ve had gallons of fun,” she deadpans. “and,” she adds, “you’re gonna have a killer hangover tomorrow.”

“that’s tomorrow, though,” you reply with a dismissive wave of your hand.

cassie sighs and shifts her weight. “how about this: if you sit, you can tell me all your crazy facts about whatever you want. i don’t care what it is. deal?”

you nod eagerly and cassie lets out a long breath like she’s been holding it in for your whole conversation.

she leads you to a booth at the very back, and you immediately circle back to whatever fact you were about to tell her before. halfway through your rant, cassie discreetly texts lia your location and booth number.

at some point, the conversation becomes something of a trivia. you ask cassie obscure questions that no regular person would know, then tell her the answer before she even finishes her very incorrect guess. still, cassie plays along with patient amusement.

it’s like that for another seven minutes or so until lia silently strolls up to your table, arms folded. cassie mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “oh, thank god.”

your eyes light up once you see her and a smile graces your lips. “lia!” you drag her name out for two seconds. “why are you here?” you ask around a giggle.

lia raises a brow and glances over at cassie. “cassie didn’t let you know i was coming?”

you shrug, still smiling. “uhm… she might’ve.” you turn to cassie. “did you let me know?”

“yes, i did,” cassie exhales.

lia lets out a sharp breath of a laugh and turns her attention back to you. “okay. get up, we’re leaving.”

“i’m not even that drunk!” you protest, but the slur in your voice and the way you flail your arms for emphasis easily proves you wrong.

lia snorts. “and you’ve had how many drinks?”

“mmm, a couple.”

“right,” she says dryly, unconvinced. “you’re a terrible liar when you’re drunk and when you’re sober. let’s go, smart girl.”

reluctantly, you slide out of the booth. lia’s hand immediately comes to rest on your waist, keeping you balanced as you sway slightly. she shoots cassie a look behind your back, and cassie instantly knows that they’re talking about this later.

lia guides you through the crowd and leads you outside. the cold air of the night rushes over your body, goosebumps raising on your skin immediately. you shiver, regretting the choice you made to wear a short dress and no jacket. however, in your defense, the jacket would’ve ruined the outfit.

lia opens her passenger door for you, carefully helping you settle in before closing the door gently. she circles around to the drivers’ side, starts up the car, and pulls out onto the street. cassie, who drove the both of you, follows behind.

the ride home is quiet, the only noise being the occasional clicking of the turn signal. lia drives with one hand on the wheel, stealing glances at you every few minutes. before leaving, she grabbed a water bottle and left it in the cupholder. now, ever so often, she reminds you to drink some water in hopes of sobering you up. her reminder is followed by a groan from you every time. yet, you do it anyway.

when you finally get home, lia helps you inside and takes you straight to your bedroom, sitting you down on the edge of your bed.

“so, what happened? ‘cause we both know you’re smarter than that.” lia’s never been the type to beat around the bush. still, you’re caught off guard.

suddenly feeling exposed under her gaze, you shrug and look away. “nothing happened. just wanted to go out.”

lia just looks at you, completely unamused.

like always, you cave. “i’ve just been stressed lately. i thought going out would, i don’t know, help.”

“and you went to cassie instead of me?” lia has a way of phrasing her words that makes it sound like every conversation is an inconvenience. however, you hear the way her voice gets quieter on the last word, and you can tell she’s offended by the idea of you not coming to her first.

“i didn’t wanna annoy you,” you mumble.

lia rolls her eyes, though there’s no real anger behind it. “you never annoy me.”

she grabs your wrist, her grip firm yet gentle, and leads you to the bathroom. she takes your makeup off ever so softly, as if you’re a jewel to be protected. she wipes your face with more care than she’d ever admit, murmuring a soft, “hold still, genius,” when you sway. once she’s finished, she helps you out of your dress and into her baggy, off the shoulder, plain black shirt that you wear religiously. it smells like her favorite perfume, the one that has hints of egyptian jasmine and a bit of vanilla.

lia guides you into bed, pulling the cover over your body before she gets in next to you. you’re facing each other on the bed, simply staring before she reaches out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“i’m sorry i made you come get me,” you murmur.

“you didn’t make me. i wanted to. i’m not gonna let you embarrass yourself in front of everyone.”

you smile, knowing your girlfriend well enough by now to spot the true meanings in her words. “you were worried about me.”

“barely.” she pauses, then softer, she adds, “next time you’re feeling stressed, come to me. not cassie. i’m the one who gets to deal with you.”

you nod slowly, already feeling sleep pull you under. lia, ever observant, notices the way your blinks get longer, how your breathing gets deeper. she wraps an arm around you and gently tugs you towards her until your head is rested on her chest, tucked under her chin. like it’s pure instinct, you hook one of your legs over hers, wanting to be impossibly closer.

still not being fully sober, you sleepily mumble something about her being the best girlfriend ever.

despite lia’s scoff in response, a smile tugs at her lips as she presses a tender kiss to your forehead. you fall asleep like that, half on top of her, exactly how you always end up at the end of a long day.

[angelmurmur]

pansy parkinson x fem!reader

࿐ ࿔* slight nsfw, nothing explicit

pansy parkinson is vulgar.

and she knows it, too. she’ll tell you anything and everything she wants to do to you with a stupid grin on her face. she doesn’t care about who might be listening as long as she gets to see your pretty, flustered face every time.

it doesn’t matter if you’re in a skirt or wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, you’ll still feel her breath on your neck while she says a sentence that nobody should ever say out loud.

it’s gotten to the point where sometimes even professors have to intervene. pansy respects her house, of course she does, but there’s been countless times where points were taken away from slytherin because a professor (usually mcgonagall) overheard one of pansy’s little innuendos. with students, nobody’s even surprised anymore. they’ll just shake their heads and murmur something about how you two “need to get a room.”

at the end of the day, you always do.

[tashiunicorn7]

damian wayne x reader

synopsis: the cold hearted son of bruce wayne — also known as a master at hair braiding

gotham stood sparkling beneath your feet, the twinkling lights made the city people deemed the murder capitol look rather appealing. maybe it was the burn of the cigarette keeping your fingers warm, or maybe it was the appeal of sitting on your fire escape at night that made your evening seem a little more peaceful.

a sigh left your lips as you blew out a cloud of smoke, your worn out pyjama bottoms doing little against the biting chill of the city. the wind left the smooth tendrils of your hair to blow all over the place, and you wouldn’t have complained if your locks weren’t getting in the way of the nicotine between your teeth.

“fuck.” you murmured, holding the cigarette between your lips as your fingers fumbled with the hair tie on your wrist. in a futile attempt to get the strands of hair out of your face, you fumbled with the circular elastic, your eyes narrowing as the arctic freeze of your fingers halted you from gathering your hair into a ponytail.

feet firmly planted on the metal beams of your fire escape, you gripped your misshapen pony with one hand, pulling the cigarette from your mouth with the other and blowing a large puff of smoke that furled around you in a comforting embrace.

“those are going to kill you someday.”

a sharp intake of breath caught in your throat, your head turning slightly at the cold voice that came from your doorway. damian wayne stood like a mirage, his face impassive as he stared at your hunched frame. you looked raggedy compared to him — his pressed dress pants, white button down, and sleek peacoat royalty compared to your threaded pants, fuzzy socks, and old band tee.

the aesthetic of damian wayne was nothing compared to the allure of your bedroom chic, yet the youngest heir to the wayne name didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

his eyebrow lifted, seemingly intrigued by your silence as he stood imposingly in your door frame. lips tilting in a smile, you turned back to the gloomy allure of gotham, letting your hair fall from your fingers as you leaned your elbows on your knees.

“that’s the goal, pretty boy.” your voice was horse. from the cigarettes, you didn’t know. although damian would say otherwise.

feet shuffled behind you, the sound of expensive loafers hitting the ground of your cluttered bedroom. “if you die, then who will be left for me to bother?”

laughing sharply, you took a quick pull of your cigarette, releasing the smoke in a cloudy haze that you knew damian was twisting his lips at. “there’s plenty of girls in the city, damian. i bet you a handful would love for you to bother them.”

“too bad there’s only one i want to annoy.” his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but it seemed he was just prepping you for the following words that were about to leave his lips. “give me that hair tie on your wrist.”

“pardon me?” you coughed, turning slightly so your chin was on your shoulder. you could see damian’s silhouette, the curve of his jaw sharp in your dimly lit room. he looked like a gothic creature from a poe novel, and you wanted nothing more than to let your fingers dance across his dainty skin.

damian just scoffed, a soft clatter sounding behind you as he seemingly grabbed an unknown object off your end table. “your hair is a mess, beloved. let me fix it.”

my hairbrush. the clatter noise made sense now as damian advanced towards you, his looming frame sending electric bolts through your veins. it was as though you moved on autopilot as you lifted your elbow off of your knee, moving your arm until your wrist was in damian’s grasp. with the delicacy of a sculptor, damian removed the hair tie off of your wrist, fingers brushing your skin softly before the elastic was gone completely.

“hold still.” he breathed, his words being caught in the air as he gathered your hair into his fist.

with the precision of a surgeon, the youngest wayne brushed through your hair as though it was gold on a spindle. he didn’t tug, nor did he pull at your tangles. he brushed them out with a soft hand, making sure to start softly at your roots and move to the ends with sharp movement.

every so often, he’d run his fingers through your strands, softening them down against your scalp before cradling your head like it was a prized possession.

cigarette burning between your fingers, completely forgotten, you melted into his touch, mesmerized by the softness he was able to procure with his fingers.

another clatter was heard as he placed your brush back on your end table, his fingers starting to section your hair into three even strands. you didn’t question how he knew to braid, almost believing it was apart of a skill set he’d mastered as he grew.

silence blanketed the two of you like a warm hug, his fingers skillfully braiding the sleek strands of your hair. lips parting, you didn’t say a word as he went on with your braid, his methods so neat and orderly that you felt the tug at your scalp from where he’d made the braid so tight.

your head tilted back into his clutches, melting into damian’s hold as he tied off your braid with the hair tie he had so delicately taken off of your wrist.

when he finished, you could feel him fingering the plait, fingers brief as he felt the woven strands of your hair. in one swift movement, he gripped onto the braid with a fist, a gasp lodging in your throat as he tugged on his masterpiece. it was like he was teasing you, gloating that the art he had formed was neatly styled on your head.

as if that wasn’t enough, damian brushed the braid across your shoulder, leaning down and allowing his lips to dance across the back of your neck. a shiver danced through your body, the feeling of damian’s lips on your skin making you heat up with an electricity you’ve never felt before.

“there,” he breathed against your neck, his hand firm on your shoulder. “much better.”

you didn’t move a muscle as he backed away from your slackened frame; you didn’t move an inch as he walked with precision out of your bedroom, his shoes tapping graciously against the floor; and you didn’t even blink as your front door shut in the distance, the retreating physicality of damian wayne gone from your apartment, yet his aura still remained.

no part of your body moved until the burn of your cigarette singed against your fingers, a hiss leaving your lips as you dropped it to the fire escape below you.

“fuck.” a breath left your lips, fingers dancing across your braid as the feeling of damian’s lips on your skin slithered its way into the crevices of your mind.

[angelmurmur]

waterboy doesn’t stutter much around you, if not at all.

it’s something you’ve noticed over the past week, but he doesn’t even know he’s not doing it.

with others, he’s a stuttering, flushed mess. however, with you, full sentences tend to come easy to him.

ever since he’s joined the z-team, the others make fun of his stutter whenever they get the chance. still, waterboy always laughs along, not wanting to come off as a buzzkill. though, you see the way his shoulders fall, or how he sighs his sad, self-deprecating sigh after. it breaks your heart to say the least.

so, whenever you can, you always make sure that you give him little words of encouragement, whether it’s praise for doing something well on a shift, or reassurance that everything’s okay after he failed a mission. 

as you’ve started doing so, he’s grown more confident around you, more comfortable. he feels like with you, he can just exist without worrying about doing or saying the wrong thing. so lately, he’s been more clingy than ever. wherever you are, he just happens to be.

of course, you’re not complaining.

[perleaore]

earth dating ☆⋆₊

⋆ 🌺 . . . robert robertson x tamaranean!reader

“robert!”

he’s already going bright red before you’ve even made it halfway across the room. you practically launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his shoulders and dragging him into one of your customary post-shift hugs. his face ends up smushed against your chest— a position he absolutely does not know what to do with, even though it’s become a daily thing ever since you joined the z team.

not that he thinks it means anything. you’re like this with everyone. all that tamaranean warmth, all that bright, affectionate energy that still feels a little too big and too earnest for earth.

behind you, sonar and malevola are already whisper-giggle-snorting, while the rest of the team watches with knowing smirks. flambae, of course, looks mildly offended, convinced you’re eons above the dispatcher.

you pull back only after giving him one last enthusiastic squeeze, your golden skin catching the overhead lights as you beam down at him. “are you coming with us to the sardine tonight?” you ask in that sweet, lilting voice that always sounds like sunlight.

“hey! who said she could invite the little bitch?” flambae snaps immediately, only to get jabbed in the ribs by invisigal.

“ow! what— i am just saying!”

you just blink at him, head tilted, not understanding the insult but understanding the vibe clearly enough.

robert, still red, clears his throat like he’s about to melt straight through the floor.

“please say you will! we will be doing the drinking,” you insist with that earnest, otherworldly sincerity, your neon green eyes shimmering like you’ve somehow crammed two whole suns behind them. robert has never met anyone whose gaze feels that… alive. it’s almost overwhelming.

he rubs the back of his neck, trying for casual and failing miserably. “i can, yeah. just… can’t stay out too lat—”

he doesn’t get to finish. because you squeal, an actual, delighted squeal that rings through the room like a victory cry, and launch yourself at him again. your arms scoop him up so enthusiastically that his feet leave the ground for a split second. he makes a sound that might be a yelp. or a croak. or a prayer.

aaanndd he’s bright red again, clinging to your shoulders because if he doesn’t, he might actually pass out from shock. you set him down gently, hands lingering on his arms like you genuinely don’t realize how strong you are.

“this is most excellent news!” you say, beaming so hard it practically warms his face. “we shall have the joys and the fun and the sardines!”

“it’s… just the bar name,” he mumbles, dazed.

“yes!” you nod with the seriousness of a soldier. “the bar of sardines. i adore it already.”

he wonders (not for the first time) if you’re going to be the reason he develops a heart condition.

you stick out like a sore thumb— the brightest, warmest, most aggressively friendly sore thumb the sardine has ever seen. no one expected anything less. you’re a literal ball of sunshine in a villain bar that smells like cheap liquor, burnt ozone, and questionable decision-making.

but if you notice the stares, the double-takes, or the whispers, you give no sign of it. your attention is fixed entirely on the team.

…well. mostly on robert.

you all crowd into a booth, the vinyl squeaking under the weight of weapons, armor, and flambae’s very dramatic sighing. you slide in beside robert and immediately melt against his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your arm brushes his, your thigh pressed warm against his leg, your head occasionally drifting to his shoulder as if gravity itself has decided he’s your anchor.

robert, for his part, is trying very hard not to forget how to breathe.

punch up is halfway through a story about the time robert and the rest of the z team accidentally started a bar fight the size of a small riot. every time you laugh, it bubbles out of you like pure sunlight, bright and delighted, and robert feels each one vibrate through his ribs.

you lean closer, eyes sparkling. “you broke the man’s arms? truly? robert, i had no idea you were such a warrior of chaos!”

he hides his face in his hands. “only one arm, visi did the other. it’s— it wasn’t that crazy—”

“semantics,” invisigal says proudly, raising her drink.

“you guys are so fucking weird,” prism adds with a fond roll of her eyes.

“and yet astonishingly lovable,” you declare with a firm nod.

the team laughs. robert tries to. your hand finds his knee under the table. innocent, absentminded, warm. and he nearly ascends on the spot.

somewhere across the bar, a villain stares at you for too long, trying to figure out why someone who glows like a nuclear star is here of all places.

flambae glares him down until he looks away.

you don’t notice.

you’re too busy leaning toward robert, eyes wide, asking, “will there be more stories of the chaos? i desire to know all of the robert adventures.”

he mutters, “oh god,” but he’s smiling.

your little moment is shattered when prism suddenly shoots to her feet, chair scraping across the floor. she jabs a finger toward some guy across the bar.

“stop looking at us like that and say something, punk bitch!”

the whole place quiets just a fraction, enough for you to feel the shift, the pressure, the eyes.

the man smirks like he’s been waiting for this. he strolls over to the booth, cockiness in every step, gaze sliding over each member of the team before landing squarely on you.

“was just wondering,” he drawls, “who invited pinkie pie over here.”

your eyes blink. you don’t understand the reference, but the tone, the mockery, you feel that. and suddenly every stare in the room feels heavier, stickier, like invisible hands tugging at your skin. the noise of the bar swells, and your chest tightens in a way you can’t quite name.

the team tenses. flambae sits up straighter, ready to burn the guy alive. invisigal mutters, “oh, hell no.” even prism pauses, eyeing you like she’s waiting for you to say the word and she’ll deck him.

but you’re not hearing the team anymore.

you’re hearing your own heartbeat. too loud. too fast.

this isn’t like the training rooms or the tower. this place feels cramped and buzzing and full of eyes that don’t understand you. or worse, think they already do.

“i…” your voice comes out small, strange in your own mouth. “i will… be right back.”

before anyone can question it, you slip out of the booth and weave through the crowd, ignoring the confused calls behind you. your hands feel too warm, your glow sparking at the edges of your skin in that way it does when your emotions get tangled and heavy.

you push open the bar’s rusty back door and step into the alley, the cold air hitting you like a lifeline. you breathe, trying to steady yourself, trying to remember how to be big again, bright again.

you don’t hear the door open behind you. but you feel him.

“hey—” robert’s voice is soft, careful. “you okay?”

you turn, startled. he’s standing there with his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets, hair messy from rushing after you. his concern is written all over his face, even though he’s clearly trying not to crowd you.

“i… think i am overwhelmed,” you admit, hugging your arms to your chest. “the man was unkind. and then everyone was watching. and the bar is so… loud. i did not wish to be… a burden.”

robert shakes his head instantly. “you’re not. not even close.”

you look down at your feet, glowing faintly at the edges. “on tamaran, we are taught to shine brightest in unfamiliar places. but here it feels… too much. like i do not belong in the bar of sardines.”

he steps closer, and when you don’t pull away, he reaches out and touches your arm lightly.

“you belong wherever you want to be,” he says, a little breathless, like the honesty itself takes effort. “and if anyone makes you feel otherwise, that’s on them. not you.”

your eyes lift, shimmering in the dim alley light.

“robert,” you say softly, “you are very kind.”

he turns pink. actually pink. “i— i try.”

you smile, a small one, but real. “may i… stand out here with you for a moment more?”

“as long as you want,” he says immediately. and he means it.

the muffled chaos of the bar fades behind you, and for a moment it feels like the whole night narrows down to the two of you, breathing the same quiet air, letting the world slow down just enough to feel safe again.

after a few minutes of quiet, you turn your head toward him again. the alley light catches in your neon eyes, and robert swears they glow brighter when you’re thinking hard.

“robert…” you begin softly, fingertips tracing the wall beside you like you’re grounding yourself. “what is earth’s culture for the romancing?”

he blinks. once. twice. his brows pull together in this adorable, confused little furrow. “like… dating?”

“yes,” you nod earnestly. “the dating. the rituals for telling someone you wish to… spend affections on them.”

robert’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again like he’s buffering.

you wait patiently, hands clutched in front of you, glowing faintly with that tameranean sincerity you can’t mask.

“uh… well,” he finally manages, rubbing the back of his neck, “it kinda depends. usually people get to know each other, hang out a lot, maybe go places together. dinners, movies… stuff like that. and then if they like each other, they, um— make it official.”

you tilt your head, eyes narrowing in curious concentration. “official? is there a ceremony?”

“no! no, nothing like that. just… talking about it. saying you want to be together.”

you consider this deeply, looking at him like he just explained the ancient secrets of the universe. “tamaran makes it much simpler,” you say seriously. “when we feel the pull toward someone, we tell them. if the feeling returns to us, we kiss. sometimes many times. then we decide to be… joined.”

robert chokes on absolutely nothing.

“oh,” he squeaks. “cool. that’s— that’s cool. simple. straightforward.”

you step a little closer without realizing it, your warmth brushing his arm. “earth seems more complicated.”

“it is,” he admits weakly.

“and… how does one know,” you continue, voice quiet and thoughtful, “if the… liking… goes both ways?”

he swallows. hard.

“usually you, uh, catch hints,” he says, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “flirting, compliments, wanting to be close. sometimes people say it directly, but… that’s scary.”

“scary?” you repeat, confused. “on tamaran we simply ask. and if the feeling is not shared, we respect it. why is this frightening?”

robert laughs nervously, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “because… rejection sucks?”

you blink slowly, taking that in like it’s a new scientific discovery. “you humans fear the no so much that you do not ask for the yes?”

“uh… yeah. kinda.”

you stare at him for a long moment, your expression softening, curious and tender all at once.

“i think,” you say gently, “you are very brave for trying, even with the fear.”

his heart doesn’t just skip, it goes into full acrobatics.

you step a bit closer, looking up at him through glowing eyes. “robert… may i ask you something else about this romancing?”

“y-yeah,” he croaks. “anything.”

“can we,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “do the dating?”

he freezes.

not the cute little pause he does when you hug him too hard— no, this is a full system shutdown. the kind where every thought he’s ever had stops mid-sentence. even the night air seems to hold its breath, the alley shrinking around the two of you until it feels like the world has narrowed to a single question.

robert stares at you, eyes wide, lips parted like he’s afraid to breathe wrong and ruin whatever moment this is. “do the— you mean… with me?”

you nod, slow and certain. your glow softens, drifting warm and steady across your skin. “yes. with you. if you wish it also. if not, that is okay. but i would like very much to try.”

he lets out a tiny, involuntary noise,  something between a squeak and a strangled gasp, and immediately covers it with a cough that fools literally no one.

“i—” he tries, voice cracking. he clears his throat and tries again. “i mean… yeah. yes. we can. i… want to.”

the relief on your face is so sudden and so bright that he swears it could power a whole city block. your shoulders loosen, your posture unwinds, and for a moment you look like you might actually float off the pavement.

“you do wish it,” you say softly, almost disbelieving. “you truly do.”

“yeah,” he murmurs, cheeks blazing. “pretty sure I’ve been wishing it for a while.”

you blink, stunned. “but i am… strange here. i do everything wrong. i am loud and glowing and i say things incorrectly and—”

“and you’re amazing,” he cuts in before you can spiral. “you’re… you. and i really, really like you. even when you nearly break my ribs hugging me.”

you beam at him. that pure, dazzling, golden light that hits him right in the lungs. “in tamaran culture, that is a sign of great affection.”

“yeah, i kinda figured,” he says weakly.

a small silence stretches between you, soft and full and warm.

you step closer again, your warmth brushing his chest this time, not just his arm. “and may i hold your hand?”

he nods so fast it’s a miracle his head stays attached.

and when your fingers slip into his, carefully, reverently, like you’re holding something precious, the entire world feels suddenly quiet again, as if even the universe itself wants to give you space for this beginning.

you smile, kind and bright. “i like the earth dating very much.”

© 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐍𝐌𝐔𝐍 ﹒ est 2025

[shuploc]

Robert Robertson wip 🚨

[xoxochb]

daily reminders:

— you’re goated

— your body is tea

— everything will work out in the end

— you are not a bitch

— kindness is cool

— life isn’t that serious

— grades aren’t everything

— your hair is hairing

— your outfit is bomb

— stay hydrated

— you’re not depressed, you just need some sun

— if he’s a nonchalant loser then dump him

— I love you and I believe in you!!

[cherryseascns]

the naturals over the inheritance games, sorry not sorry.

[angelmurmur]

— DAYS IN THE SUN

pairing: grayson hawthorne x sunshine!fem!reader

tags/warnings: established relationship

pt. 2 ౨ৎ . . . nights in the rain

to most people, the sun’s a relentless pest—the scorching heat, the sweat that comes with it.

but you? you bask in the sun rather than burn in it. you soak in every ounce of the golden rays that you can before the moon takes over.

unbeknownst to you, grayson’s been looking for you. not for any reason in particular, but he occasionally finds himself missing your presence—especially the sweet melody of your laughter that’s been permanently ingrained into his mind since the first time he heard it.

grayson’s not searching for you for long, though. it doesn’t take him much effort to put two and two together. the sun is out, and you’re not in your room. where else would you be other than outside? the sun is practically a magnet when it comes to you.

he makes his way down the stairs and to the backyard, immediately squinting when faced with the brightness of the sun, his eyes adjusting to the light. he scans the area until his eyes land on you. something in him settles without him even realizing it. you’re laid on your stomach on a plaid, pastel yellow blanket, simply soaking in the sunlight as your fingers gently trace swirly patterns in the grass. he stands for a moment, simply admiring you and the way you glow beneath the sun, like it exists for you and no one else.

eventually, you hear the crunch of the grass as he walks towards you. you turn your head around. as soon as your gaze meets his, a smile spreads across your face. you sit up, propping yourself up with your arms, your legs stretched out in front of you.

grayson sits down next to you. “how long have you been out here?” he asks calmly.

you shrug. “hmmm… depends. would you be mad if i said over an hour?” your smile turns sheepish.

“i’d be concerned,” he responds. honestly, you can’t tell if he’s narrowing his eyes at you or squinting because of the sun. either way, there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“in that case, i’ve only been here for thirty minutes!”

he lets out a quiet breath, barely a hum. “you’ll get sunburnt.” you can hear the slight amusement in his voice, but it’s more concerned than anything.

you scrunch your nose, unbothered by his warning. “better sun-kissed than sun-starved!” you exclaim with a grin, tilting your head back and letting the light hit your face.

a ghost of a smile appears on his face and there’s something in his expression that softens—eyes steady, voice low. “you lose track of time when you’re out here.”

you scoff and lay back down on the towel. his gaze follows you, never once looking away. “you say that like it’s a bad thing!”

grayson tilts his head slowly, giving you a knowing look. “i say that because you always complain about your body ‘feeling like it’s on fire’ after.”

you wave a hand dismissively, shaking your head. “that’s a problem for future me!”

future you, in question, always ends up on his bed whining and groaning about the pain. all the while, he watches you with a gentle look that also says “i told you so,” but he takes care of you nonetheless. he always will.

grayson lets out a soft exhale through his nose—not quite a laugh, but something close. “you’re impossible.”

“you love it!” you smile up at him, practically beaming. he swears your smile is brighter than the sun itself.

“i love you,” he corrects you easily, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

you don’t say anything. you can’t, really, because the way he just corrected you with such ease and certainty replaces every other thought. grayson hawthorne isn’t the type to say “i love you” often. that’s what gets you, the way he just said it so casually. normally, he shows his love with his actions, with the way he treats you like you’re something heaven-sent. because to him, you are. the weight of his words lingers between you, light and heavy all at once.

the two of you sit in a softly intimate silence, your head now rested on his shoulder. time slips by—just as grayson said it does when you’re outside. you close your eyes again as the sunlight warms your skin and his presence settles beside you—gentle, constant, and quiet in all the best ways.

[angelmurmur]

MADDDDSSSS ☹️☹️☹️ i missed yew,, ( it's minorlyatfault / spcherryygirl btw ) took me a WHILE to find bc i wasn't aware that you changed urls 😭

AWH HII IVE MISSED YOU TOO LOVELY!! 💝

LMAO sorry about the url😭😭

[angelmurmur]

your account. oh em gee ITS SOOO CUTEEE >.<

LITERALLY YOURSS!! i saw ur theme actually had to follow right away it’s so gorgeous

[angelmurmur]

Heyy! Just curious do you still write Michael Townsend imagines?

i took a super long break due to school and such but im planning on writing fics again !! so yes expect more michael fics coming 💗

[iydiamartinx]

DRAWN TO YOU

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 972 synopsis: You get curious about what Damian is drawing. a/n: I low key feel like I fucked up the ending cause its so cheesy lol. Also again aged up Damian Wayne cause of the romantic subplots if you squint

The early morning light slanted golden rays through the tall windows of the library room, casting a warm glow across the usually dim room and making it feel brighter, more open. The manor was hushed, save for the distant clatter of Alfred preparing a late breakfast for the house’s more nocturnal residents, the occasional muffled footsteps of Duke pacing in an upstairs study, and the quiet mutters from Damian beside you.

Damian sat cross-legged at the far end of the couch, a sketchbook balanced on one knee, pencil in hand. His brows were furrowed in concentration, his bottom lip caught gently between his teeth as his hand moved in quick, practiced strokes. You’d been watching him on and off between scrolling on your phone, finding the soft sound of the scratches of his pencil on paper oddly soothing.

“What’re you drawing?” you asked eventually, nudging his ankle with your foot.

“Nothing,” he replied a little to briskly, not even looking up.

You arched a brow. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s not ready,” he said flatly, tone clipped and guarded. “It’s… unfinished.”

You smirked and leaned a little closer, craning your neck to peek over the edge of the page. In one swift motion, Damian tilted the sketchbook away, , shielding it against his chest..

“Don’t,” he said sharply.

“Why not?” you teased, lips pulling into a pout. “You never let me see.”

“Because,” he muttered, still refusing to meet your eyes, “it’s rough.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. You knew Damian well enough to recognize when he was hiding something. He rarely ever got flustered. Or if he did, it wasn’t an emotion he allowed to be seen so easily. But right now, it was obvious from the way he avoided your gaze and the flush of red creeping up the tips of his ears. Whatever he was drawing, clearly meant something to him.

So, you waited. Pretending to drop the matter and go back to scrolling on your phone casually. You patiently waited for him to relax. And when he stood to grab the eraser he’d left on the coffee table…

You struck.

Quick as a flash, you snatched the sketchbook off the couch and jumped to your feet, dancing just out of Damian’s reach. He lunged for it, but you were faster, already backing away with a triumphant grin.

“Y/N—don’t—!” he exclaimed, his voice rising—not in anger, but in something far rarer for him.

Panic. Pure, wide-eyed panic.

You grinned. “I just want to see. I’ve caught glimpses of the landscapes you paint, and they’re amazing. You shouldn’t be embarrassed about a ske—”

Whatever you were saying died on your tongue the moment your eyes dropped to the page.

You froze, your breath catching.

It wasn’t just a quick sketch or a casual doodle—it was a detailed portrait of you.

He’d drawn you the way he saw you when you weren’t looking. Curled on the couch, phone in hand, a faint smile tugging at your lips. The way your hair fell over your shoulder. The slope of your jaw. The softness in your expression. Every line was purposeful, every shadow carefully placed. There was a quiet reverence in the way he’d captured you—it made you feel as if you were something precious to him.

You looked up slowly, heart pounding. “Damian…”

He stood rigid a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes—his eyes were uncertain, almost vulnerable.

“It’s not finished,” he muttered, gaze dropping. “The hands aren’t right. The shading needs—”

“Damian.” You said his name again, softer this time.

When he finally met your eyes, you crossed the distance between you and held the sketchbook gently to your chest, like it was something fragile. “This is… beautiful.”

Damian didn’t answer. He stood stiffly by the table, arms crossed, expression tight with embarrassment judging from the flush on his cheeks.

“I’m serious,” you said, voice soft now. “I didn’t know you looked at me like that.”

He glanced up—just once. And then looked away again. “Tt. Of course I do.”

You closed the book carefully and stepped toward him, smile tugging at your lips. “You’re really talented, Damian.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he muttered, arms folding across his chest in a defensive habit.

You shook your head gently. “You didn’t. Not even close.”

When you reached him, you rose up on your toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek—just enough to send the flush returning to the tips of his ears. His hand twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to grab you or cover his face.

“Next time,” you murmured, “just ask if you want to draw me. I’m happy to pose for you.”

He studied you for a moment, brow still faintly furrowed. “You’re not just saying that?”

Your expression softened. “Damian. I mean it.”

You held the sketchbook out to him, and he took it slowly, fingers curling around the edges with a careful touch.

“You’re the only thing I want to draw lately,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Your chest fluttered, warmth blooming behind your ribs at the quiet sincerity in his words.

“Then draw me,” you said, gently. “However you see me. I want to know.”

He didn’t answer, but something in his posture softened as he sat back down—just enough for you to lean in and rest your head on his shoulder. Watching in contentment, as he opened his sketchbook again, pencil already in hand. 

And so the rest of the morning continued to pass in a peaceful silence, sunlight warming the room as you continued to watch him and the way his pencil moved across the paper. Steady and careful, drawing you in the only way he knew how— like you were the only light to his darkness.

[angelmurmur]

NEW THEME & URL HIISISISI MADS‼️‼️( it's vi btw )

HIHIHI VI, YESS TYSMM!! i missed you and your fics sm!!