#als reads fics

[idyllcy]

sparkling green eyes, dazzling green lines

word count: 8.8k

summary: "Habibti." The words slip past his tongue naturally as he reads the text on your wrist, and you stare up at him, eyes wide, pupils blown, fascination all over your face— you're in love with him.

حبيبتي.

You trace it on your skin each morning, gentle smile on your face, dumb like a lovesick idiot. It reminds you that you're loved, even if you have never met your soulmate, ever, in your life. Even when you didn't know, you had panicked and asked your friends if they knew what it was, in which the next seven hours after your seventh birthday was spent crowded around a computer on your iPad, trying to imitate the foreign language on your skin.

After seven hours, your mother, bless her, had noted it was in Arabic. Your father returned home shortly after, helping you translate the word.

Habibti. It meant beloved in Arabic.

Your young heart swelled as your friends gushed over it.

Beloved. Your soulmate calls you beloved at first meeting.

You had clung onto it, heart full and spinning. You told yourself that your soulmate must be a romantic just from the fact that he would call you his love first meeting. You had dreams of a fairy tale meeting, falling in front of him in the hallway during school, accidentally bumping into him while out, a stranger offering you an umbrella in the rain, the list goes on. Your friends had gotten tired of you after the second week, all of them off to find their own soulmates. You didn't know anything about him.

But the passion for finding your soulmate wears off just as fast as it had arrived, quickly realizing that you wouldn't be able to find him if you were in a town where you knew everyone. No one would call you that upon first meeting. Even if it was halfway across the world, you stopped dreaming about meeting your soulmate after you started college. If you wanted to meet him, you'd have to travel. You don't know where, but wherever you were allowed, you went. Even if it emptied your pockets and left you desperate in the streets, you had some of the best experiences of your life, all in the name of looking for your soulmate.

Even at graduation, when you're throwing your cap into the sky with your friends, wrist out for the world to see, the characters traced and colored in gold thanks to your friends, the green of the letters shimmering, you're thankful for everything you've poured your soul into. Your soulmate was someone you no longer craved, the world at your fingertips, a job in your pocket, your life set out before you. Fate was strong in your hands, another string in your life. You followed it with fervor, spinning and chasing after it with some childish will in your life.

You push everything related to your soulmate mark back when you step foot into Wayne Enterprises, nodding slowly at the three men as they welcome you to the team. You had expected the older boys, but you didn't complain. Not when Bruce Wayne himself was part of the three men.

"These are my two sons. Tim Drake, he's my third," You shake Tim's hand. "And Damian Wayne. My youngest."

You smile at him too, taking his hand.

"Habibti." The words slip past his tongue naturally as he reads the text on your wrist, and you stare up at him, eyes wide, pupils blown, fascination all over your face. Damian raises a brow at the way you react, breath catching in his throat at how enthralled you are with him, features pulled back, eyes sparkling.

"Woah." You manage, a smile breaking onto your face as the words slip past. Damian does not know you. Hell, he's just met you, yet you were staring at him as if he was your world. You had that lovesick look that he had seen on Dick's face way too many times, and he was getting a little uncomfortable. It must be some sick joke. There's no way his soulmate could look at him like that the first time they meet. Yet, as you stare into his eyes, sun sparkling in your eyes, he finds himself breathless. Shit.

Bruce clears his throat behind the two of you.

"Sorry!" You let go of Damian's hand, the loss of contact knocking the air back into his lungs. "Not many people can read my soulmate mark here in the States. I was just surprised."

"So? Is he your soulmate?" Bruce's lip quirks upward.

Damian lies through his teeth. "No. My words are different."

Tim raises a brow behind Bruce, and Damian gives him a warning look.

"Well, regardless," Bruce hums. "You'll be working closely with my two sons for the next couple of weeks. We're very interested in the medical research you conducted while an undergrad in your major, so we'd like to sponsor your research. Your updates would go to my two sons, and I'll meet with you at the end of the month to see if you need more time."

You nod. "An honor, sir."

"The honor is all ours." Tim smiles, shaking your hand.

"Damian will lead you to the lab."

You follow behind his youngest, eyes still wide, trailing behind him like a lovesick puppy. Even if he wasn't your soulmate, he had called you beloved first meeting. You were enthralled. The two of you step into the elevator, and you wait for the door to close before speaking up.

"Are we really not soulmates?" You blink at him.

He shows you his wrist, your words in brown. "We are."

"Oh." You smile at him again. Damian grimaces at how bright you are. The universe sent him a sun because he was grouchy, didn't it?

"This is the lab you'll be using. It is all yours." He hums. "Requests can be sent through the computer, just type it on the notepad."

You nod, glancing around the room, fidgeting.

"What is it?" He raises a brow.

"You're not big on soulmates, are you?" You smile apologetically.

"Not really."

"Alright. Thank you."

Damian is half expecting you to pester him to the moon and back just based on how you looked at him the first time you met. Instead, you spend most of your time holed up in the lab, desperate to replicate results from your previous study. He can't deny that his heart sours a little at how easily you respect his boundaries, but he asked for it himself, so he finds no reason to complain. Huh, he would have to register the soulmate mark with you.

He knocks on the door to your lab, silence answering him. After a couple of minutes, you open the door.

"Sorry, did I make you wait? I had to put everything back." You blink at him.

"We need to register our soulmate bond."

"Ah. Right." You furrow your brows. "When are you available?"

"Tomorrow after work."

"So like... three?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Should I meet you up at the office?"

"I will come down to find you." He glances at the way none of your hair is visible from the cap.

"Alright." You hum. "See you then."

Damian is grasping at anything he can to try and talk to you. He can't believe he's like this, lovesick like some teenager, desperate to talk to you as if you were the only person that mattered in his life. He feels like Dick. It's awful. He loosens his tie as he stands on the elevator, irritation all over his face.

"You look like shit." Tim clicks his tongue.

"Be quiet, Drake." Damian grumbles.

"Registering your soulmate bond?"

"Yeah." He mumbles. "How did your registration go?"

"Smoothly. I told you."

"If only we had met under better circumstances."

"My soulmate didn't stare at me like I was God." Tim shrugs. "Good afternoon, Mr. Strawn."

The man nods.

The two men shut up as Damian steps off at your floor.

"Hey!" You've taken off all the clothes you wear in the lab, dressed for a date. Damian wonders if he's dressed too formal for this. "I brought all my documents. Do you have yours?"

"The city hall has all of my files on hand."

"Forgot, billionaire and all that." You laugh. "Let's get going."

The two of you hitch the next ride down, Damian taking you to his car, opening your door for you, head racing.

"There is always the possibility of us being platonic soulmates." Damian finds himself speaking up as he fastens his seatbelt.

"Yeah." You purse your lips to think. "Would you be alright with that?"

"We are soulmates. The universe obviously has something planned."

"Then what if we're romantic soulmates?"

"Then I suppose we would have to try." Damian pulls out of the parking garage, handing the guard his ticket, driving off. "Are you against it?"

"Oh, definitely not." You smile. "There is no downside for me."

"Not even the public's eye?"

"I've been scrutinized by my family my whole life." You smile. "I blew all my excess scholarship money on travelling because I wanted to meet my soulmate."

"Where did you go?"

"I went to Palestine, Israel, dropped by at Dubai, Egypt, and then my friends and I drove from Istanbul all the way to Western Europe." You count on your fingers. "I had a lot of people greet us first and then notice the writing on my wrist. The emerald green really stands out. I hadn't expected..." Your voice trails off, eyes staring into his, Damian unable to stare back because of the road. "I hadn't expected your eyes to match so nicely. They're breathtaking."

"Do you speak to everyone like this?"

"No." You hum, looking back outside your window. "But I have been told I have a way with words."

"Yeah?" He stops at the red light, turning to stare at your eyes. "I wonder what your eyes look like under the sun."

"Weren't you staring at them a couple days ago?" You pull out your phone.

"That wasn't directly under the sun." He mumbles, starting the car again.

"Do you speak to everyone like this?"

"No." He breathes. "Just to you."

You try to fight the warmth spreading up your neck to your cheeks, failing miserably as you resort to hiding your face in your hand for the rest of the ride.

"Is there any specific thing we need to do?"

"My brothers mentioned that we need our words scanned, but that was it." He hums. "You have your passport and license, correct?"

"Yeah." You hum. "Is that all I need?"

"Yes." He grabs a ticket and drives down to park, the two of you getting out of his car. "Come on." He leads the way, eyes pining down the paparazzi immediately. You glance in the direction he glared, only for him to move to block you from their view. The two of you make it into the building quicker, the elevator door closing behind the two of you.

"That was?"

"Paparazzi." He fishes out his phone, making a call." Yes. May we head up immediately? We will be there."

You blink as he presses the top floor, and for a second, you understand what it's like to live as a billionaire. A single phone call puts you at priority. You shift uncomfortably when the two of you arrive at the top floor, following Damian as he steps into the mayor's room, letting you sit down first.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne." He smiles, and you detect the lack of sincerity on his face immediately. Rather, the fake smile causes you to sit straighter, a smile lacking equal truth making its way onto your face. Damian shakes the mayor's hand, sitting down as well. "What brings you here?"

"Brought my soulmate to get our mark registered." He hums. "You have all my documents, so this should be quick, correct?"

"Of course. We just need both of your words scanned, and then the soulmate's legal documents — You're quite pretty."

You smile at him, laughing lightly. "Thank you. Here's the passport."

"Not a Gotham born, eh?"

"Nope. Moved here for work."

"Do you plan on staying?"

"Well, since my soulmate is here, I don't think moving is that big of a priority right now." You hum.

"May we have your wrist?"

You hold your wrist out, scanner registering the words, and Damian does the same, your words both popping up on the screen.

"What are the characters?"

"Arabic." Your smile turns sweet, bright, even, and the words come tumbling past your lips, like you had been proud to have those as your words your whole life, holding them dear to your heart. Damian's heart stutters in his chest at how enamored you look.

"Was the "woah" first or second?" The mayor turns to ask Damian.

"After. I had read the characters, and the only reaction I was given was "Woah."" Damian hums. "Are we finished?"

"Yes." The mayor laughs. "It's very much a romantic soulmate. Have the two of you..?"

"Not yet." Damian hums, standing up, holding his hand out for you. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor."

"Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Wayne. I hope to see the both of you at the Wayne gala later this year."

Damian leads you back to the elevator, music filling the air as the two of you stand there in silence.

"When would you like our first date to be?" Damian steps to the side, turning to look at you.

"Oh, um." You frown. "I'm not sure. I'd go, but I already submitted my leave for the weekend. My friend and her soulmate are getting married."

Damian raises a brow. "Not here?"

"They're getting married in the Maldives." You laugh awkwardly. "Her soulmate is loaded."

"More than me?" Damian raises a brow playfully.

"Well, loaded in the millionaire way." You smile. "Not billionaire."

"Do you have a date? Should I go with you?"

"Oh." You pause. "I could bring you, huh?" You press your fingers to your lips, pursing them. "I put down a plus one because I was expecting to bring another friend... I suppose it could be you."

"Did you put down a name?"

"No. They do not have a seating chart."

"Mm." He pauses. "is it too fast?"

"No, no!" You smile. "I'll send you the details... via email?" You grimace at how strange it sounds.

"May I have your phone? I can give you my number."

"Yes." You fish it out for him as he hands you his phone. You type your name in, typing habibti under company. You text yourself as he does with himself. The two of you trade phones back, and you send Damian the packing list and details of the wedding immediately. Damian scrolls through the list, pausing.

"Is there a specific invitation I am required to bring?"

"I have both. I will bring them." You smile. "Any other questions?"

The elevator stops at parking, and Damian leads you out. You make a beeline for the car this time, texting your friend to confirm the guest you would be bringing. She asks you if it's your soulmate, and you tell her to check the Gotham Gazette in the morning. She sends you a flurry of texts.

"Will our soulmate bond get leaked?"

"Perhaps by the paparazzi. Why?"

"I'd like for it to be a good photo of me."

"I will let my publicist know."

You check the news the next morning, beaming at how good you look in the photo. Damian looks protective of you, and as you rush to your lab in the morning, your heart is warm. You're glad he has a good eye for that, at the very least. The groupchat explodes with people looking for you, asking if it was true your soulmate was Damian, your friend private texting you to check if your guest was Damian. You only respond to your friend, confirming his attendance. She tells you she expects an expensive gift out of you, and you snort. You joke about relaying her message to Damian.

You tuck everything away as you get back to your experiment.

The end of the day comes quickly, and as you close the lab for the night, you blink when you stare at Damian at the door. You click on your phone, checking to see if you had missed any messages from him, but nothing appears. You raise a brow as you open the door with all of your stuff. "Something wrong, Mr. Wayne?"

"Damian is fine." He nods. "I was wondering what I should bring for your friend's wedding."

"Mm," You frown. "I was going to bring her a nice bottle of wine from one of my travels, but I'm sure you have something much better than that in the winehouse at your place."

"We do. We have a screaming eagle cabernet from the 90s."

"Woah." You blink. "That sounds like a lot. Isn't that like 500k?"

"We have multiple bottles." He insists. "I can bring one."

You grimace. "If you insist."

"It can be our gift. From the both of us."

"The tabloids have already started calling me a gold digger." You laugh.

"My publicist will take care of that. I will have father get you one."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He hums. "Where do you live? I can drive you home."

"Um." You give him your address. It takes him a moment to figure out where you live, and then the two of you are off.

"I will send someone for you tomorrow," He hums. "We can take the private jet. I already got your tickets refunded."

"Oh. Wow." You blink at him in awe. "That's really kind. Thank you."

"No worries." He hums. "You should get used to it."

"Do all your brothers spoil their soulmates like that?"

"Grayson, the eldest," Damian grumbles. "worships the ground his soulmate steps on. Todd does the same, though less obvious about it. Drake's known his soulmate forever so the two of them click too well. Duke and his soulmate are platonic soulmates, but the two of them get along far better than we do as a family. Steph and Cass both have not found their soulmates and father..." he pauses. "father and his soulmate are... an interesting two."

"So your family all spoil their soulmates?"

"There is nothing out of reach with the amount of money we have. It is not spoiling if we are simply letting them get whatever they want because it is not a burden on us financially." Damian takes a turn. "We do not consider it spoiling."

"That's sweet." You smile. "How big were their rings?"

"Grayson's soulmate got the biggest diamond in existence. None of us could believe our eyes." Damian hums. "How big of a diamond would you want?"

"I'd like you to hand make a ring for me." You grin. "Of course, if you don't have time, I want something the color of your eyes to match my soulmate mark."

"Why not both?" He stops at the door to your apartment.

"How about you?" You open the door, tilting your head at him.

"Whatever color your eyes are."

You hate how good he is with his words.

Damian drives home, your words in the back of his mind. A handmade ring. Maybe you'd be willing to wear his name on your skin if he makes you a ring with a gem the color of his eye. Though, he'd be rushing. Even if his skin burned to touch you and his heart raced to be held by you, he did not wish to rush it. Messing up with you was far scarier than getting hurt during patrol.

He texts the family chat that he would be using the jet the next day, to which Dick had asked eagerly where he was going. Damian leaves him on read. He finds you at the door in the morning the next day, taking your suitcase from you as you yawn.

"Did you have breakfast yet?"

You blink at him, rubbing your eyes. "No. Do you have food?"

"You can have some of Grayson's cereal."

You blink harder as he hands you a bowl with the cereal and milk, and you stare at the cereal brand.

"Wow. The amount of sugar in this could kill someone."

"Some days I wish it were enough to kill Grayson."

You pour out a little bit of the cereal, pouring the milk in, and then dig in. You read the ingredients as Damian goes upstairs, pulling his own luggage down the stairs, meeting you back in the kitchen when you finish. You clean the dishes, setting them to the side as Damian comes to get you.

"You did not need to wash the dishes."

"I didn't want to leave a mess." You reason.

"It's fine. We're leaving now. You ready?"

"Yeah." You grin. "Is takeoff rough?"

"It's very smooth." He hums. "I gave the pilot the address and everything already. We land in around three hours."

"Alright." You hum.

The jet, plane, was huge. You blink in surprise at the size as Damian leads you up the steps, and you blink quietly. "Woah."

"Surprised?"

"What's the use of having such a large plane? Isn't the carbon footprint huge?"

"We usually fly first class, but I figured since your friends all wanted to see what kind of a person you were dating, I shouldn't be stingy." Damian hums.

"There's really no need." You laugh.

"Also, more privacy." He hums. "I figured you deserve to know what kind of life I live outside of the tabloids."

You tilt your head at him. "Are you going to tell me you're Batman or something?"

The plane door shuts behind him, and he exhales.

"Robin."

Your eyes widen, lips pursing, surprise on your face.

"Is that too much too quick?"

"No." You pause. "No. That's. That's actually kind of hot."

Damian raises a brow.

"Are you still Robin? Because I think—"

"No," Damian shakes his head. "I run around with another name now, already graduated from the title, but I thought I would tell you since."

"Yeah." You exhale. "What about the weekend?"

"Todd and Drake are here. There is no need to fret."

"So your whole family is in on the business?"

"Yes."

"Wow." You mumble. "That's..."

Damian braces himself for the worst. He doesn't know why, your face is far from disgusted or terrified, but he still does. Maybe you would reject him or tell him to stop. That would be a nightmare.

"And you like doing it?"

"Yes." He raises a brow.

"Um, please don't come back to me dead. Ever. Please." You scratch your cheek. "If you like doing it, then I won't stop you. I'd just prefer you don't die on the job."

"Do not worry. If I were to die, my mother would simply drop me into the Lazarus pit." Damian jokes.

"That's some lore drop there." You blink. "That's real?"

"Yes." He raises a brow. "For the same reason my grandfather is immortal, by the same logic, so would I."

"Woah." You mumble. "I heard rumors of it when I was travelling. I didn't know it existed."

"Fountain of youth."

"Is that why you look so good?"

"No." He shakes his head. "I take care of myself."

"I don't doubt that." You smile.

"And you?"

"I told you I travel." You nod. "Oh, it might be good to tell you about the friend getting married."

You tell him details about how the two of you met, telling him about your other friends at the same time, mumbling about how you thought her soulmate was actually an asshole just from the way he treated her friends, and then casually mentioning his name, Damian blinking.

"Do you know him?"

"Drake has done business with his family before."

"His family's a nightmare. The only reason I'm going is because my friend is an angel. I wouldn't go for any other reason."

Damian finds peace in the way your voice floods his senses, gathering intel on your friends, understanding who he had to avoid and who he could make small talk with. He had a feeling he'd know a couple of the people there from the groom's side, and from the way you talked about him, it wouldn't be pleasant if they found out he was your soulmate. Despite that, he finds that there is no need to worry too much. You were close to the bride's side. That's all that seemed to matter to you. You pause at some point, almost as if you were thinking of something.

"Something wrong?"

"We brought the wine, right?"

"Yes. I had the servants bring it."

"Alright." You mumble. "I'm not looking forward to what the groom has to say to me about you."

"I will stay next to you the whole time. My publicist will deal with everything."

"Speaking of which, who is your publicist?"

Damian smiles. "Grayson's soulmate."

"Ahhh." You laugh. That checks out.

There's not much jetlag when the two of you land, and you stare at the afternoon sun through your shades, hand held up. It's nice and warm, a contrast to the spring weather in Gotham. Damian leads you to the car, making a call as he does, handing you the tablet for you to choose which suite to get upgraded to.

"Are we sharing a bed?" You blink at him.

"We can order a room with two beds if you'd like."

"Would that be rude?"

"Not at all."

Damian finds that you've selected a room with a king bed instead, noticing the way your ears were flushed as you stared out the window. He confirms with the hotel on the call, putting the charge on his father's card. He wondered if you would call this spoiling. His brothers had told him that his soulmate deserved the best treatment, and Damian couldn't really tell what they had meant. He never lived a normal life. He wasn't sure if his normal was their best or if there was something better that he could give them. He opts for staring at your face instead, taking in your features.

"The upgrade." He swallows. "It is alright, right?"

"Yes." You smile at him. "It's more than okay. Thank you, a lot."

"The best, for you." He mumbles.

The two of you settle into the hotel room. Damian glances at the clothes you bring, exhaling quietly to himself when he realizes he brought a decent palette of clothes. The wedding's theme was lavender, and he was starting to get worried that he wouldn't be able to match with you at all, but he's happy to find that you've got colors similar to his.

"Do I need to call you anything?"

"It'd be funny if you call me habibti," You grin. "The bride is a friend from when I first got my soulmate mark. She was there when we tried searching up what the word on my wrist meant."

"Ah. You go back a long time."

"A very long time." You smile. "What was it like for you? Seeing your soulmate mark?"

"My family was in my room at midnight, including my mother, and everyone groaned when I got the most generic word ever. They thought I would never find my soulmate. Todd joked that my soulmate must be blown away by my face." He hums in amusement, noticing you avert your gaze. "I still owe him twenty. Dick's soulmate word was "hello" and only Drake had something remotely entertaining."

"What was it? If you don't mind me asking." You blink at him.

"I quote "We should get married." It was quite the sentence." Damian chuckles.

"That sounds funny." Your lips pull up into a smile. "I had a friend get "we should fuck" as their first sentence. Then I found out my best friend at the time had "Yo." as theirs."

"Did you like your first line?"

"I did." You beam at him, unclasping the clip for your suitcase. "I loved it. When my father told me it meant darling or my love in Arabic, I was elated. I thought my soulmate would be the most romantic man in the world, and I was ecstatic."

"Am I?" Damian raises a brow as you pull out a dress.

"Yes." Your smile stretches impossibly wider. "I'm very happy."

"I'm happy to hear that. What's the dress code for tonight?"

"You brought a polo, right? Rich boy, old money vibes. Polo shirt and khakis."

"Got it." He nods. "What color will you be wearing?"

"Everything I brought is some variation of the color palette for the wedding," You hum. "I'll be wearing this."

"I am sure you'll look dashing in it, habibti." He smiles.

You flush at the word, hiding your face in your dress.

"Is it too much?"

"No." You smile at him. "Just enough. I'll get used to it."

Damian wonders what kind of friends you had at seven. Yet, he finds himself blinking in surprise when the two of you arrive at the event.

"Woah, he's an item..." Your friend's jaw drops, patting your shoulders gently. "Damian Wayne? Pleasure to meet you. I'm your soulmate's best friend."

"No, I am." Another friend butts in.

"You're all wrong." The bride scoffs playfully. "I am."

Damian nods at them.

"We'll bring the gift tomorrow at the wedding." You smile at the bride, rushing off with them as Damian heads over to the side, making small talk with who he assumed the groom was. He finds himself with his eyes on you the whole night, only sparing glances at the people he was talking to when you would stare back at him. You look pretty. He understands why his brothers had clicked with their soulmates so quickly now. He excuses himself at some point, pressing his chest to your back, hand resting on your waist.

"Having fun? That's your second margarita, not to mention your cocktails."

You grin at him, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. "It's actually my fourth."

"I think that is enough." He hums. "There's still a dinner."

"I can hold my alcohol." You mumble, and Damian takes the glass from your hand, downing the whole thing in one gulp. You blink at him, wide-eyed. "Woah."

"Let's get you seated, hm? Dinner starts soon. Cocktail hour is for after the dinner."

"Can I bring a drink to our room later?" You mumble.

"Yes." He excuses the two of you from the bride, settling down where your names were put, and he presses a patch into your skin, rubbing your arm as he waits for the neutralizer to course through your system. He probably should have asked if you were okay with it, but he has one on himself, so it's not like he was actively trying to drug you. You turn your head when you notice him rubbing the patch onto your skin, mind clearing a little.

"What is that?"

"Neutralizer. It helps with filtering alcohol."

"Oh, it works." You grin at him. "Thank you."

"Of course. I have one in my arm too."

"That sure explains why you didn't pass out from the sheer glasses of champagne you were having." You mumble.

"Who's at our table?"

"Two other girls and their soulmates. The two girls that were next to the bride and I earlier."

"Alright." He hums, letting his hand fall down to your side, staring at you as you wave your friends over. "Any exes?"

"Nope. I didn't date anyone that didn't greet me with what was on my wrist. It was pretty easy, considering that most people are ignorant. I also kept a bracelet around my wrist for the most part." You smile. "You?"

"Two. Maybe. I do not know if they count. I hooked up with them while..."

"In costume?"

"yeah."

You shrug, starting a conversation with your friend instead, catching up with her. Damian listens briefly, eyes focused on you instead, enamored with you. He's hopeless, he decides. He has no saving grace from you. He doesn't get to make fun of his brothers anymore, not when he was just like them. Your friends take notice of it, smiling when he notices their gaze. You're loved. Just from the way your friends had smiled at him and then at you, you're loved. He understands why. It'd be hard not to love you.

You excuse yourself early, exhaustion from the plane setting in late, Damian helping you up and leading the two of you back. You let the bride know with a hand on her back, and she shoos you away playfully, mumbling about how you should use protection. You sigh dramatically, telling her you'd make her an aunt on purpose. It was a joke from the way you had said it, but Damian wonders if you'd actually want kids of your own — shit, his brain was moving fast. He barely knows you.

"Were you actually tired?"

"Any longer and you would've seen how embarrassing my friends get when drunk." You mumble. "Embarassing bunch."

"How embarrassing?" He raises a brow. "My brothers are a nightmare when drunk as well."

"They won't shut up." You press your keycard on the lock. "About me."

"They love you a lot."

"They do." You turn to smile at Damian. "And I love them too, even if they don't shut up about my embarrassing stories when drunk. They're probably embarrassing the bride instead though."

"That would make more sense."

"They kept trying to get people to read the writing on my wrist last time." You hum. "That was after grad."

"So recently."

"Yeah. No one was able to read it." You laugh. "And the ones who could, they didn't say it to me. They called my friends habibti."

"You do not say it with an accent." Damian notices. "Habibti."

"Huh?" You pause while rummaging for your sleepwear. "Oh, yeah. I... my parents got me an Arabic teacher for a little while because I wanted to learn when I first got my mark. I've also visited... a lot of the countries? In part it's because I'd repeat the word to myself until I feel asleep until like..." You avert your gaze, going back to your suitcase. Damian notices you start flushing. "end of high school?"

"Ten years?" Damian exhales. "You whispered your word to yourself before bed for ten years?"

"Yeah." You finally find your pajamas in the baggage. "A little bit of a hopeless romantic, huh?"

Damian doesn't answer you, staring into your eyes instead, unmoving, barely blinking.

"Is it that bad?"

Damian breaks from his trance. "No. Not at all. It's..." endearing — but he can't say that, so he offers you a nod instead. He curses himself for the lack of game when it came to you, but as you rush to change in the bathroom, he sighs. It's hopeless. He's enamored. He understands why you had stared up at him with your pupils blown wide and lips parted upon first meeting. He does the same now, staring down at you like you were his everything, even if he knew barely anything about you outside of what you had told him. Well, he could always ask Drake to hack and gather intel on you. But it'd be a breach of privacy that he didn't want to cross with you. Ugh.

He pushes his hair back in frustration, opting for clearing his mind with work instead. Even if he had taken the weekend off with you, he should really do something that isn't thinking of all the ways he'd have your skin pressed to his at night — no, fuck. Damian opens his laptop, clicks on his VPN and the wifi, sorting through the emails from the WE teams instead. He barely notices the sound of the bathroom door opening and you step out with your sleepwear on. At some point, Tim texts him to get off his emails and enjoy the time with you, threatening to bench him. Damian grimaces, wondering how he could get benched in a company situation, but he doesn't argue back. He was trying to avoid talking to you, after all.

You're in bed on your phone, scrolling through something.

"What are you looking at?" Damian settles on his side of the bed.

"I'm watching my friend's wedding tiktoks." You smile, rolling over to show him. "The preparation ones. She's going to make more tomorrow."

Damian hums. "Can I put an arm around your waist? My arm..."

"Yeah." You grin. "You can touch me."

Damian's breath catches in his throat at how straightforward you are, arm wrapping around your torso slowly, resting his chin on your head, glancing down at your phone.

"Do you think about weddings?"

You close your phone, plugging it back in on the strand, settling yourself in Damian's arms. "Sometimes."

"What kind do you want?"

"I want your name on my skin at the wedding," You mumble, eyes already closed.

"Like bridal henna?"

"Mhm."

Damian struggles to sleep the whole night because of your words. Though, it's not like he's gone without sleep before. Instead, he spends the night matching his breathing to yours, wrapping his arms tighter around you, taking in the scent of your shampoo. At some point his eyes close, body betraying him and falling to the need. He wakes up to you shifting in his arms, turning around to get a look at his face better, lashes blinking on his skin, eyes staring up at him, sun reflecting in them.

Damian's breath hitches, and in his morning stupor, he rests his forehead on yours, staring into your eyes, nose touching yours, the love of the universe in the way he looks at you. His shoulders relax as he continues looking, sure that his pupils have expanded beyond repair, utterly enamored with how you looked in the morning. His arms squeeze around your waist affectionately, moving to bury his head into the crook of your neck, exhaling as he does.

"Good morning." He feels you smile.

"Good morning to you too, habibti." He mumbles back, smile mirroring yours, he's sure.

The wedding moves without too big of an issue, the two of you bring the wine and leave it at the gift table, Damian sits next to you the whole time, watching as you get the bouquet practically launched at you, catching it with a flinch, chasing after the bride with the bouquet as a weapon, messing up your hair in the meantime but getting a laugh out of it. Damian stands to the side, talking only briefly with the groom's family, introducing himself as your soulmate, not Damian Wayne. He was yours first before he was a businessman now. Yours. It rings nicely in his head. He was yours. He would be fine with that — being yours.

At some point you return to Damian's side, sighing with the bouquet in hand.

"When's our wedding?" You joke, putting the bouquet on the table.

"It'll take a while." Damian hums, smoothing out your hair for you. "We still have to date and get engaged."

"I should've dodged."

"You wouldn't have been able to. Your friend did it on purpose." Damian mumbles, finishing with your hair.

"Is it alright?"

"Yes." He presses his lips to your forehead. "You look great, habibti."

You smile at him, the moon behind you this time.

"When do we fly?"

"I booked the plane for tomorrow." Damian hums. "We can sleep in."

"Oh, bless." You grumble. "The shoes are killing me."

"Would you like mine?" He offers. "Or would you like for me to carry you back?"

You pause, glancing at the emptier hall.

"I wouldn't dare let you take off your shoes for me." You smile at him.

"Sit, please," and you do, settling down as Damian gets on a knee, slipping your heels from your feet, holding onto them with one hand, the other hooking under your knees as he tells you to wrap your arms around his neck. You yelp as he does, and you wave bye to the bride as he settles you in his arms bridal style, your arms around his neck for support as he holds onto your shoes.

"Please don't drop me." You mumble.

"I wouldn't dare." He steps toward the elevator, pressing your floor as you pull the room card out from your pocket. (you had shown him before, with a spin, that your dress had pockets. Damian made a note to remember you liked them.)

He sets you on bed, loosening his tie and placing your heels down by your shoes, taking off his blazer to hang up in the closet. He watches you shimmy out of the dress, naked form to his eyes, breath catching in his throat at the way the moonlight illuminates your skin. He doesn't move, watching as you pull the robe from next to him, body on autopilot as you step into the showers. He'd wash up after you, unbuttoning his shirt and ditching his pants, sorting through his own luggage to find a change of clothes.

You open the door to the bathroom, robe on, blinking at his bare back.

"You're built like a wall." You blurt.

"Am I?" Damian hums.

"Does this come with your family or something? All of you are HUGE." You rub the towel through your hair.

"I suppose it does." Damian stands up, change of clothes in hand. "It's also from the training."

"For night?" You try your best to be vague. Damian appreciates it.

"Yes." He nods. "Would you like to see when we get back?"

"Sure." You grin. "Is it big?"

"It's a cave." Damian closes the door to the bathroom.

"Woah." You mumble. "Wild."

You settle yourself in the bed, back on your phone, yawning as you respond to a couple texts, scrolling through your email, checking the CCTV footage of the experiment you were doing. You had someone checking to see if the experiment was working, and from what they had told you, everything had replicated perfectly. You let out a sigh of relief when you found out. It would be fine. You'd finish with it, and then you'd retire somewhere with the money promised you in the contract. You worked hard for the moment.

You feel the bed dip behind you.

"Looking at the updates?"

"The experiment is moving faster than before." You mumble. "I should be able to report to your father in around a week."

"And then?"

You blink. "Not sure. I was thinking of finding a high rise to live in."

"Not with me?" Damian wraps his arms around you, getting comfortable.

"Don't you still live in the manor?"

"It's comfortable there." He mumbles. "I also have an empty apartment of my own. Would you like to move there?"

"Would you move in with me?" You turn to face him, phone on the nightstand.

"If you'd like."

"Yes, please," You grin. "If you'd like."

"Then I'd love to." He mumbles, reaching over you to close the light.

Damian takes you to the Batcave first, having the servants take your stuff to the apartment without asking you, adjusting the grandfather clock and letting you inside the cave, shutting it behind him. The two of you arrive right before patrol, and you get to meet all of his siblings. All of them. Even Nightwing.

"Who's this?"

"Soulmate." Tim doesn't bother looking at you, pressing his mask on. "Showing her around already? And you call us whipped."

"Shut up, Drake." Damian spits.

"Are you on duty tonight?"

"We take turns." Damian hums.

"Are any of these liquids active?" You stare at the tubes.

"Those two are for Ivy when she attacks. Less these days, but she occasionally strikes us with sex pollen for fun. Those are neutralizers. That one's for Scarecrow's fear toxin, and that one—"

You nod along as Damian explains everything to you, waving at his siblings as they head off for patrol.

"Are you tomorrow?"

"Yes." He hums. "Did you want to come along?"

"That's too dangerous." Batman speaks up, and you pause.

"Mr. Wayne." You smile politely. "Didn't peg you to be the type to run around to try and fix crime."

"Desperate times call for desperate situations." He chuckles. "Damian, take care of her. The computer is off limits."

"Yes, father." Damian nods as he disappears too.

"Who's on patrol tomorrow?"

"Father goes every night, and then tomorrow is Spoiler, Orphan, Signal, and I."

"SOS..." You mumble quietly. "Sors. Ross. Ross."

Damian raises a brow.

"Your names." You smile. "You would be team Ross."

"If that makes you happy." He leads you back up the stairs.

"Do you have an intercom?"

"Oracle. She works every night."

"Is she a sibling?"

"No. She used to be Batgirl."

"mm." You nod slowly. "Oh, it's late, huh? I should probably head home."

"You can stay here for the night. I had the servants send your luggage to my apartment. I can drive the two of us to work tomorrow." Damian shuts the clock behind the two of you.

"You have the same hours as us?"

"Yes."

"Speaking of which, how come you and Tim don't go to work together?"

"Tim does not live in the manor. He lives with his soulmate." He leads you to his room. "This is my room. Make yourself comfortable."

You mumble something under your breath about how big the bed is before you head over to the bathroom to wash up. "Are there pajamas I can borrow?" You peek from the door.

"I'll leave them on the bed." He pulls a shirt and clean boxers from his closet, setting them on the bed, settling at his desk, reading through what he would be meeting about the next day. He had hoped Tim would've taken care of the meetings over the weekend, but he supposes he can't avoid everything. It's painfully boring. The meetings are always boring.

"Whatcha looking at?" You come out with a towel in your hair, maneuvering his shirt onto you, putting on his boxers. It's a size too big, and you have to use a hair tie to keep it in place.

"I have a meeting tomorrow."

You shudder. "I don't miss having meetings."

"Did you intern somewhere else?"

"I interned in England for a bit." You lean over his shoulder, staring at the meeting details. "Oh, on the product."

"Yes, the new birth control we're trying to release. The injection."

"It would be helpful. I can't say blocking hormones is good for the body." You mumble. "Does it work on males?"

"We're releasing both versions."

"That's good." You mumble. "It'd be really helpful."

"Dick's soulmate made us read through the entire list of possible side effects of birth control and scared us half to death." Damian hums. "Even father."

"I read through it once."

"Do you take birth control?"

"Nope. Never slept with anyone, didn't plan on sleeping with people." You shrug. "You?"

Damian pauses. "I haven't either."

"Oh, really?" You mumble. "You've dated before."

"Hooked up." He corrects. "I always felt bad after kissing."

You laugh. "That was the universe telling you no."

"Perhaps." He shrugs. "Let's get to bed."

You barely see Damian after that, the two of you busy with your own affairs in the company, busy with moving your stuff into the apartment outside of work. Damian drives you home and helps you with the boxes, but the two of you don't have substantial conversation. Even when you finish the trials and present everything to the board, Damian doesn't get to have a moment with you, invitations to speak at colleges and other locations flooding into your mail. Damian finally catches you as you finish moving into the apartment.

"Habibti." He breathes, arms wrapping around your shoulders, head resting on your head. "I was looking for you."

"You could've called." You smile at him, voice muffled by his chest.

"You were not answering."

"My bad." You wiggle to loosen his arms, smile on your face. "Bruce transferred the money to my account. I'll be taking a break for a bit before I go speak at all those invitations."

"I am going to retire." He grumbles. "I never get to see you."

"We live together." You grin. "You get to see me every day now."

"Not enough." He mumbles. "I will leave Drake to deal with the family business."

"You're needed, you know? They need you for all the charity you guys do now." You pat his chest gently. "All of the animal shelters you volunteer at too."

"Would you like to visit one with me? There's an event tomorrow at the shelter to bring a friend."

"Oh, so I'm just a friend to you?" You tilt your head at him playfully.

"A friend," He presses a kiss to the corner of your left eye. "Habibti," He presses another kiss to the corner of your right eye. "And my soulmate." He rests his forehead on yours, hands on your face, eyes on your lips. "May I?"

You press your lips to his in response.

You're a work of art. Damian finds himself with an arm around your waist much more than he could have ever thought, his own life mingled with yours to the point of no return. You meant so much to him. You were the world to him. Fingers laced with yours at events, lips pressed to your hair in the rays of the morning sun, there was little to complain about and everything to be grateful for. His own little ray of the sun to make his life a little better.

Which is why he finds himself checking for the quality of the diamond, discussing the price of the gem with the dealer, running it through tests just to make sure it was the best. The emeralds he picks are hand-selected too, calling his mother as she teaches him how to discern between the good ones and bad ones. You were still yet to meet her, but for some reason, she had not asked questions, only wishing him luck on the proposal. It would take a while between everything he had on his hands.

"You've been coming back later these days." You hum, resting your head on his chest.

"My apologies, habibti," He mumbles. "I've been busy."

"Even on the nights you don't patrol?"

"Yes." He mumbles. "I am not cheating, if you are worried."

"I wouldn't think of it." You close your eyes. "I trust you."

"I love you, a lot." He whispers, wrapping his fingers around your ring finger.

"I love you too." You mumble back, curling the finger.

Damian struggles with the first two prototypes, fingers too rough against the metal, groaning as he fails again, the jeweler only laughs affectionately, assuring him he would be fine. He tries again and again until the mold comes out how he wants it to look, the gold chosen so that it wouldn't rust. The chances of you wearing your engagement ring while working were rare, but he still wanted to guarantee that it would not rust quickly. You deserved the world, and he'd make sure of it, even in something as simple as the ring he would give you.

On his seventh try, he gets a mold that leaves him satisfied. He had gotten your ring finger fitted before on top of his nightly routine of wrapping his fingers around it, and he was sure it would fit. The gems arrive cut out perfectly, the green diamond compared to his eyes by Dick and his brothers' soulmates a hundred times, assuring him that the color matched his eyes perfectly. Damian almost got his eyes color matched had it not been Bruce himself stepping in, assuring him that it matched his eyes well. The emeralds would match his eyes in different lighting. He was fine. Only then did Damian let the jeweler settle the diamonds into the ring, making sure that the gems wouldn't just tumble out. Not that he didn't trust the jeweler — he was worried it'd fall out on accident — alright, he doesn't trust the jeweler.

On the day the ring was completed, Damian had checked it under the light, mumbling to himself about how he hoped you like it. He had made it by hand as you told him you wanted him to, and the gems were all hand selected and picked to match his eyes. You'd be happy with it no matter what he gives you as an engagement ring, he's sure, but he had held your words close to his heart. You deserved an engagement ring you had dreamed of as a child. On the inside of the band, habibti is written in Arabic, a reminder of your soulmate bond, his heart full.

"You're home on time for once!" You beam, throwing your arms around his neck.

"I missed you, habibti." He mumbles, arms wrapped around your waist.

"I made dinner for us since you promised you'd be home today." You pull him along.

As he follows you, the ring in his back pocket feels lighter, your fingers curled around his, lips pulled into a dazzling smile.

He's yours.

From the known past to the unpredictable future, he was yours, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

[some-stars]

took a couple days off to spiral but im back on the writing horse, have an excerpt from today's work:

"Al!" Wade hollers. "Slop's up! And you better be decent when you come out here, we've got company and Logan doesn't want to see your granny panties. I do, obviously, but you can show them to me later, when it's just the two of us and a big bottle of Boone's Farm Fiesta Strawberry."

A moment later a door opens. "Logan," Althea says, "give him the claws for me, would you?"

"Excuse me?" Wade squawks. "Stab me yourself, you coward!"

"I've tried. You always dodge like a little bitch."

"I've told you a million times, that's training! Do you want to become Geriatric Black Daredevil or not?"

Logan looks between the two of them for a second, then shrugs and lets the claws out. Wade tries to bend out of the way of the swipe, but his balance is off since he's trying not to drop the food, and Logan shreds right through his t-shirt and a little skin. Not too much, though. He doesn't want Wade dropping anything either.

Wade stares at him, his face a mask of cartoonish outrage. "Domestic violence! Under my own roof!"

"That's what makes it domestic, dumbass. Thank you," Althea says to Logan, sitting down at the table. "He's had that coming for a good long time."

Logan joins her, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch. "Happy to help."

[rewrittenwrongs]

Having thoughts about the League of Assassins. It’s pretty common among them to form hierchy/ranking around who’s a better fighter and who beat/killed who. I can’t remember if it’s canon but I like the idea that to prove your teacher has taught you all they have to teach you must kill them (not sure how that applies to history/math/whatever but. Moving on.) Working off of that idea, a lot of assassins in the organisation would already respect Tim for causing the death/defeat of the Council of Spiders; assassins that are so skilled they kill other assassins for fun. Him then TRICKING RA’S AL GHUL AND BLOWING UP (almost??) ALL OF HIS BASES, AND THEN OUTSMARTING HIM AGAIN WHEN HE TRIES TO DESTROY EVERYTHING BATMAN HAS BUILT, I feel like it’s reasonable to assume a lot of them would’ve decided Tim is the bigger threat or at least proved himself very formidable and a large threat. I imagine a lot of them would’ve sought him out in Gotham and pledged loyalty to him (kind of like Minions seeking out the evilest leader thanks for that thought brain), maybe doing full on traditional rituals to prove the transferring of their loyalty, like blood oaths or ritual spars idk, maybe giving him gifts or displaying their skills so he accepts them as allies rather than being disrespected and killing or maiming them since that’s the standard they expect in the League.

And Tim is uh. Very confused. Very surprised. And also trying hard not to show it. He accepts all the gifts and pledges and shit, because he sure as fuck ain’t gonna turn them back to Ra’s, but after that he doesn’t really know what to do with them. He hires a bunch of them at Wayne Enterprise and Drake Industries, tasks a bunch of them with working for Red Hood on the down low, maybe sends a couple on undercover missions to Arkham Asylum so they start treating inmates as actual human beings and stop using shock therapy or something, and makes sure to write them all up fair contracts and great pay with good work bonuses and plenty of leave, and makes sure most or all of them start going to therapy. The assassins love their new leader and would do practically anything for him.

But anyway, all that aside. I’ve had those thoughts in my head for more than a month. Something that just recently occurred to me is Mara al Ghul. Damian’s cousin. Another child raised by the League of Assassins, only this one never left.

Until, that is, she watches this freshly-immunocompromised vigilante arguably outsmart her grandfather twice, and decides he is the bigger threat, actually, I want to be on his good side when he takes over the world.

So now Tim is being forced into basically adopting this feral child, who’s only experience in American society was undercover missions to kill people, who thinks decapitated heads are reasonable gifts, who’s introduction to Tim was something batshit insane like dumping the Joker’s head in his lap because the Joker is Gotham’s most dangerous rogue and of course Tim will appreciate having him gone. But even with a well crafted facade she can tell Tim is unnerved and horrified, so she must be doing something wrong. Maybe it was because the Joker is Batman’s enemy and not Tim’s specifically? But Tim doesn’t have any arch nemesis aside from maybe Ra’s who she obviously can’t kill, so she does more research into Tim’s life and background and finds out Captain Boomerang killed his father so next she brings Tim HIS head and she can already tell he’s much more pleased this time. But there’s still that edge of unsettlement and wariness, and he’s acting so strange around her, so she digs deeper and finds out about the Titans Tower incident but Tim sent all these other assassins to work for red hood so they must be on good terms, and then she finds out about all the bad blood between him and Damian and Dick so she starts trying to kill them next, starting with Damian obviously (a mix of jealousy over him leaving the league and a good amount of cousin rivalry/cain instinct), but Tim stops the fight and tells her to stand down and now she’s scared that he’s going to punish her and Ra’s’ punishments were always so harsh and perhaps this time she can’t quite fight down the urge to hide.

Meanwhile, Tim is being dragged through a parent arc kicking and screaming, the bats are wondering why the hell there are suddenly so many assassins only after they scare off Ra’s, Jason is more or less vibing because he thinks the assassins are from Talia and the Joker’s dead so of course he’s ecstatic (even tho he wishes he knew who did it so he can thank them), Dick and Damian are still reeling from learning Bruce is alive/getting him back from the time stream when all of a sudden this masked child comes out of nowhere mid patrol and attacks Damian, and isn’t backing down even though Dick arrived quickly but when Red Robin arrives and yells stop she’s already three rooftops away by the time he’s done speaking. Everyone is tired and doesn’t know what the hell is going on except mayybe Oracle.

[introspectivememories]

my loyalty to talia is so strong that i will not hear a word against this woman. i am her defender, first and foremost. i refuse to even read fics with talia slander in it. oh you tagged your fic, "talia al ghul is a bad parent"? i'm not reading it. blah, blah, blah, you don't get her character and i hope dami shows up in your room in the middle of the night with a sword for talking shit about his mom

[bandanabiel]

for @wesslan and her fic, “cards on the table” featuring not-psychic-but-sneaky-enough-to-fake-it tim drake!! i didnt have the energy to finish this completely but i like it lots!

[magnoliasforyourmedic]

What if Gene was the one trapped in that barn in Nuenen instead of Bull? With all the chaos, how long would it take for someone to notice? Gene was always on the move, always floating between platoons and going whenever he was needed, so it might have taken them a little longer to realize he was missing.

In that case, who would be the first to notice? How would they react? Would they go searching for him or would they just assume the Germans got him seeing as how they had no qualms shooting Mampre? As a side note, with Al Mampre wounded and Gene MIA, Ralph Spina would be Easy Company’s only medic.

Gene doesn’t have a weapon, so how would he hide from the Germans? Or would that German have left him alone seeing as he’s just a single medic with no weapons or anyone accompanying him?

[corvidscreams]

A continuation of This Piece, which is an illustration of This Fic by @voidcat-senket, which was inspired by a handful of headcanons I threw at them light spaghetti to a wall.

[canthandlethishit]

in my other fandoms i would make coffee shop, convenience store, bakery, etc aus but istg you put one of the batkids in a customer service job (sans Barbara being a librarian) and they’d draw blood, lawsuits and lose the job in maximum a month

OR IT COULD BE AN UNDERCOVER JOB

this came to me while trying to make a tim barista au in my head and he’s having no restraint he’s just roasted 3 people fired the manager and taken over the chain store online system as hostage (he’s gathering intel to sue the brand for unethical labour practices)

jason as a grocer would be like pimento from br99 and it works holy shit he’d pull out a gun if you tryna bitch with him tho

steph could be like working at a cosmetics store she’d slay she gives good suggestions and the business is boomin but in my experience those stores get the kind of entitled karens and douche boyfriend/husband that boils your blood shes gonna let loose on a lady/man and lawsuits will be made

cass…. hmmm she could analyze what people want and need real fast she could be hairdresser utilizing the knife skill give you the sickest fade, stopping at the appropriate length from body language alone (no more nervous breakdown)

damian…… ????? y’all say he could he a vet but i dont see that the insurance paperwork, overpriced pharmaceuticals would kill my man he’d switch to law real quick pro bono n shit (the medical industry is so fucked in the US things are wayyy too expensive)

=> conclusion cass would last the longest with a normal job (excluding dick & barbs)

[alastorsfuckassbob]

Vulnerable

Alastor x Fem!Reader- Part 3

WELCOME TO THE LOWKEY FAN SERVICEY PORTION OF OUR BROADCAST🗣️! Sorry for the long wait..uh ANYWAY- Its just a silly little steamy make out session I felt like writing lowkey unnecessarily added into the plot. Its character development This is done mostly on the grounds of I felt bad for being slow with the plot and wanted to give you radio demon lovers out there some crumbs.<3

✨The plot✨(these are getting worse as we go)

Our depressed dear y/n self deprecates in front of a "hang in there" kitten poster. before bitching about the cold on her walk home.Oh shit her house is broken into. In this life its just you and your shitty pocket knife. Nvm its a cool dress! She then spends a good half hour thinking about their old relationship's spicy times.

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️

-Mentions of domestic violence

-Mentions of alcohol

-Fuckass Val

-A little make-out sesh (smut is scary so you can use your little imagination to figure out what happens after)

Mornings in hell were colder than one might expect, despite the nearly constant blaze of sinner set fire. At its heart, Hell was frigidly cold, especially at night. A part of you had gotten used to the way it clawed deeply against your skin. However, the other part of you secretly begged to some god somewhere you didn't quite believe in to make the sun rise a little faster. It wasn't necessary by any means, Hell wasn't anything more than a desert. All you had to do was wait. The crisp morning would lose its glacial influence as the sunlight reached out to touch it just as it always did. You just needed to be patient. You take in a deep breath, attempting to let go of your displeasure.The sharp frosty air pierced your lungs, unknitting the last strings of warmth from your skin on impact. Your teeth began to chatter. You curl into the softness of your wings, it wasn't much, but it helped.

From your recently awakened slumber, you had briefly forgotten the events of the night before. However, upon seeing angel slumped in bed beside from you, the realisation took root. The recollection flattened your heart like a careless truck running over a measly stray bit of garbage

Your performance last night was nothing more than a falsified forgery. It was adorned with the typical strokes and details found in your normal act, but it was so hopelessly fake. Valentino could always tell when you were phoning it in. Despite his fraudulent demeanour, he demanded authenticity from you. After your previous..altercation, you just didn't have it in you to thread your harsh edges in salacious intent. You were an excellent dancer, but you hated the prying eyes that glued themselves onto your figure. Val wouldn't be happy with that. You were already voiceless, he already owned your soul. He couldn't physically take much more, but he could still make your life a relentless nightmare. The punishments he so easily gave out always had a creatively cruel flair. The thoughts brought on a familiar uneasiness. You could take whatever he threw at you, you wouldn't like it but you would endure. You didn't have to like it. Your grounds were barren in the terms of genuine will. You didn't have a reason to keep living, you just refused to die. You would endure until the red toned city around you pathetically crumbled back into the ground. You would watch the world you lived in reflect the terms of your anguish in twisted perfection over and over again...All by the hands of Valentino. You couldn't do much else. Your dimly lit soul had grown more accustomed to calloused hands and absinthe than you wanted to admit..It was just the way of things.

Great now you were cold and stressed out.

Your mind drifted to Angel. His crumpled hair and soft arms outstretched in your direction. The night before, he had spilled a glass of gin soaked secrets, revealing more than you expected him to. His drunken tears leaked into the brimstone walls of your heart. You learned his name was Anthony in life among other things. He probably didn't remember opening up to you, you were surprised you did.

He had been in Hell much longer than you had been..he had been with Valentino much longer than you had..years longer. The thought held more pain than your sore bruise lined body could feel.

Valentino had the poor habit of misguiding his frustration. As much as you pissed him off, your groans of pain just weren't as satisfying as Angels. Even if Val dragged your limp body across the studio, his nails dug deeply into the flesh of your skull, he wouldn't be satisfied if he didn't hurt Angel too. You couldn't help but wonder how he put up with it all. He was a lot stronger than people give him credit for. How long had Angel been his favourite toy? How many other souls tied to Valentino fucked up as you so often did? How did he deal with the brunt of that frustration tipped in his direction? How many times was he hurt because you didn't give Val what he wanted?

He was an angry disagreeable man he would always find some excuse to take that out on others.You knew that, you just hadn't stopped to think how many times had you been the excuse he used to justify how he treated Angel. Your hand brushed a stray strand of hair from his peaceful face. You didn't want to cause him any more pain.

Angel at least looked warm. He still slept soundly curled up towards the edge of the bed. His legs were neatly cocooned into a pile of various blankets. You stretched, shaking the sleep from your eyes and the fog from your brain.

You stood up glancing back on his sleeping form. A part of you felt bad for leaving Angel wordlessly.. His night wasn't great either, even if it was your fault, you could still help make it better. You could also make it worse. You couldn't risk that. He would get over your sudden absence, but what if you said the wrong thing and he hated you for it. He should hate you, after all it was your fault the night went to shit.

I mean even if for some reason he didn't want you to leave, it would be easier if he didn't have to explain why you're here to the literal princess of hell. Its not like you could tell her yourself. You'd rather walk home a bit early and save him the trouble.

You glance at the digital clock stationed on his nightstand, It read 5am. Hopefully the other residents of the hotel weren't early risers. that would really be hard to explain.

You walked into his bathroom to at least attempt to make yourself a bit more presentable. You let out the breathy shell of a laugh; amused by the emotionally supportive posters and positive notes that adorn the wall around the sink. He was trying in some way, he was trying to make the best of things. He didn't have anyone to remind him it was going to be okay besides the small grey kitten saying "hang in there". on one of the larger posters. You pick up a note in Angel's swirled handwriting

"You're hot in more ways than just physically! Nice ass but nicer everything else"

It was a little silly, but it made you feel better for a second. Your eye gets caught on your hellish exterior in the mirror. God- you looked rough.

The mascara stains under your eyes did nothing but highlight the heavy bags that already resided there. Your hair had awkwardly shifted back into its natural texture in some places and erupted in frizz in others. You were still wearing that burlesque outfit Valentino had picked for you. Russet red dried blood and what you assumed to be half a fruity cocktail stained the front. You looked like an extra in a poorly funded zombie film.

Ironically the outfit had been one of your favorites before then. It reminded you of Alastor- big surprise there- almost everything does at this point.

The cut of the top and the off shoulder sleeves reminded you of the dress he had bought you to celebrate your new part time gig singing at that little bar downtown. The outfit's color reflected it marvelously as well- sadly the similarities seemed to end there. The outfit had numerous cut outs and a slit up each side. It didn't leave much to the imagination, but those subtle details kept it in your good graces. Not that it mattered, it was practically ruined now. Maybe you thought too deeply, but it started to feel painfully ironic.

You had sewn into the outfit memories of an ill-fated gentle romance and a shared cup of camomile tea, but ultimately it doesn't change what it really was, stained with the shadow of lust...Just as you had been.

The outfit would never truly resemble that dress. Even if you found an ounce of similarity. Even if you dragged it to the tailor and used its corroded bones to recreate the dress exactly.They weren't the same, they could never be.

You weren't the same.

You hadn't been for quite some time.

In the end, it wouldn't matter if he would ever consider accepting you in the condition you're in. Your skin will always sustain the weight of Valentino's hand. The vulnerability in your soul had been sparked by fear as opposed to love. Whats done is done. Even if you had been crafted with the object of love in mind your heart had been distorted beyond the point of recognition, it could never really be the same again.

With that, you didn't want him to find you anymore. It would be worse to watch him fall out of love with you as he realised you weren't the same. The love you had so protectively harboured in your heart for the devilish man was cut loose. It drifted away into the rotting sea of your soul surrounding it. You couldn't bring yourself to tear down the post you had previously tied it to. Even if you told yourself you couldn't love him any longer, the hole he left in your heart was too large for your will to cover.

You shrug on the coat you had slung on the floor before crashing last night and slide on your shoes.

You grab a pen from Angel's desk-if you could even call it that. It was nothing more than an old bar stool with a jar of pens and a pink glittery notepad. You scrawled a simplistic message. You didn't want him to worry about you. Even if he said he didn't care, he was sensitive. You didn't want to hurt him any more than you had already.

" Hey Angie! I went home- don't worry I wasn't kidnapped! Eat something for breakfast or I swear to god I'll make you eat an eyebrow pencil next time I see you..Love ya lots<3" Your handwriting was a bit messier than normal but it did the job okay.

You walked to the door, opening it it quietly, the lock behind you clicking as you shut the door to Angel Dust's room.

Finding your way out of the hotel was trickier than you expected but nothing you couldn't manage. Once outside you began to shiver. You tugged your coat tightly against your skin, not that it helped much. You refused to fly in such icy temperatures. The wind would be far less intrusive at a slower speed.

The walk from your apartment to the hotel was a little over an hour. Perhaps if you weren't so hung over it wouldn't have taken you as long.The sun just begun to peak out from the horizon, simultaneously allowing enough space for the nightly wind to have free passage, and the blinding light of the sun to assault your eyes; your own special little fuck you from the universe.

The steps up leading to your third floor flat were much steeper than you had previously recalled. Hauling your body up them took a lot more energy than you care to admit. Out of breath and slightly sweaty you were finally headed down towards your room.

Your steps creak in harmony with the ancient building's crumbling walls. You glance down the hallway at what you had hoped would be a chance to decompress.

You stop abruptly a few units from your own. The door was ajar. You pull a short pocket knife from the side of your shoe. The rusted knob looked no worse than it already did. The lock however, featured a few more scratches than you recalled.

You were too tired for this bullshit, You hadn't actually used a knife before. Stabbing people seemed like an intuitive thing to do, but your inexperience left you drenched in anxiety. Nothing within you wanted to go inside, but your legs begged for rest. There really wasn't any use in preventing the inevitable. Eventually you would go inside or whoever was inside would come out. Either way its stab or be stabbed. The door whines as you slide yourself inside. You knew the situation was dangerous, all you had was a shitty knife you mostly used to open packages. If someone was here to kill you..without your voice no one would even know. You pushed the thought aside. You could still run. You could still fly. You weren't hopeless.You crept throughout the apartment with the knife raised steadily in front of you- ready to fight whatever had arrived.. Nothing ever came. By the first two rooms you had lost your concern. It was just how you left it. You stepped into your bathroom, locking the door behind you. You must have just forgotten to close the door behind you the day before.

You glanced around the bathroom before you noticed it was not in the disrepair you'd left it in. A fresh bouquet of roses sat neatly in the vase, the old dried flowers tied and hung above them to use in your next bath. The radio you had so unfortunately melted been replaced by an antique model adorned in golden trim and a stained glass depiction of a small canary. Lastly, a neatly wrapped vermillion box sat on the opposite side of your vanity, a wax sealed envelope tucked between the box and the large velvety bow.

This was a bit ( really fucking) weird. Curiosity over took you as you reached for the dark inky envelope.

You trace the underside of the waxy seal with the edge of your knife, effectively tearing it from the envelopes dark paper. You unfolded the letter unsure where something like this would even come from. You had admirers, but anything they said or gifted to you went through Valentino first. He was the only one he deemed fit to give or take anything from you. He was greedy in the gifts he received and thoughtless in the gifts he gave. None of this felt thoughtless.

Dearest y/n,

I believe it is time you were compensated for all that I have put you through these past two days. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color. If it is to your liking, please wear it tonight. I hope to see you there.

With love,

-Yours truly

Val had gifted you dresses and other fashions in the past, more for his own satisfaction than as a reward. He rarely wrote the notes himself or even delivered the gift. He left it up to an unlucky assistant or just threw the garment in your face in passing.. Nothing about this felt like anything he would do. Perhaps one of his newer assistants didn't get the memo he is a massive piece of shit.

Regardless, you were curious to see what odd fantasy you were fulfilling tonight. You untied the ribbon. Upon lifting the lid, you realised today was going to end up much stranger than you'd hoped. Nothing about this made sense. The dress reminded you of something you might have worn out in your younger days..Was Val planning some weird 20s fetish night or just attempting to fuck with you? He knew the details of your past, with the exception of Alastor's involvement. Perhaps it was some form of psychological warfare you didn't understand.

Upon closer inspection , the dress was astoundingly quite tasteful. You pulled the item from the box pleased it kept going. Usually if the purchased dress was "too long" it would be cut short before it arrived in your hands, causing you a stressful few hours with your sewing machine fixing seams and hem lines.

You slid of the shell of your dirtied clothes and stepped into the dress. It fit you like a glove. The familiar 1920's silhouette and subtle inclusion of art deco threatened to pull you back into your old habits. It really was a gorgeous dress. The beaded scarlet fabric clung to your hips before slightly flaring at your knees. It sported a neckline adorned with crystals that dipped off of your shoulders and into the sleeves The back of the dress scooped down to your lower back a deeper toned train following it. Despite your otherwise disheveled appearance, you felt beautiful.

You look down at the red fabric pooling behind you, you don't want it to, but your mind begins to shift.

1929: New Orleans: The Bar

Your hands shake more than you wished they would, no matter how many times you sang here it always left you feeling anxious. The music sways in tandem with the bars patrons, mimicking the constant lull of conversation. You began to sing.Your voice cuts through the clinking of glasses and exhilarating cheers with a crystalline ring. You glance over to the bar in view of Alastor. His eyes trapped in a half lidded love led daze, filled with nothing but adoration for you.

You glance back down at your hands. They are covered in black velvet, contrasted by a simple pearl bracelet hanging loosely from your wrist. It was one of the many from Alastor on your birthday earlier that year. You had insisted it was far too much, and he insisted you were making far too big a deal of it. He wanted you to feel appreciated and loved, what better way to accomplish that than with a meaningful gift.

He wasn't fantastic with words when it came to you. His hands craved contact with your own. The sentiment he needed to convey didn't fully exist within the bounds of english, or french for that matter. You were worth more than any riches the world could offer you. He could spend his nights bottling starlight and collecting bits of moon and lay them at your feet, and he still wouldn't feel like it was enough. His mind drifted to your past. You were private with the majority of the details. He had collected the story over time from thoughtless anecdotes you mentioned in passing. He knew life before him hadn't been kind.Your mother had died during your birth, but her face stayed firmly in your grasp. Your father hated you for that reason, and he was not a pacifistic man. He felt you had taken the love of his life and left him alone with nothing more than a portrait you hadn't yet grown into. He had been sickly the majority of your life. The more you grew in likeness to your mother the less he fought to get better. He died when you were only 14, leaving you to fend for your siblings. You had raised them just as much as you raised yourself. If the world wasn't going to gift you a delicate existence. Alastor certainly would be. In that moment he vowed to make sure you never felt worried or lost ever again, he couldn't bare the thought of it.

He was shaken from his thoughts as the song climaxed into a loud jazzy finish. You glanced over at him again with a smile. You stepped down from the stage, the red fabric trailing behind you. You walked across the bar and into his arms. He instinctively wraps around your waist, his hand nestled into your own. The moment is pure ecstasy.

"If I could on pick one sound to hear for the rest of eternity it would be your darling voice mon cher" His honey toned voice whispered into your ear. You looked marvellous but the sound of your voice was entrancing.

Your eyes roll, a satirical air taking over your tone. "How many times did you rehearse that line Al?"

" Very evidently not enough. You've made i clear I needed a bit more rehearsal" His familiar sarcastic attitude evident in his tone. "For such a pretty face you have a hard time accepting a compliment"

You giggle into his chest.He placed a kiss against your forehead. Subconsciously you lean into his touch. You can't help but want to be closer to him. Your arms stretch around his neck effectively pulling him into a hug.

"My my, someones touchy this evening" his distinctive laugh following shortly after. It was the kind of laugh you could hear across a crowded room twenty years in the future and immediately know it was him. your hands travel to either side of his face, cupping it gently. Before you know it, your lips meet his. This kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is imbued with ever ounce of love you have ever felt for each other. His grasp on your waist tightens, pulling you in as close as humanly possible. The dark brown strands of his hair tangle into your hands. The kiss heats up faster than either of you care to admit before you finally register you're in public. He quickly composes himself, as do you. A sly smile stretches across his face. He glances down at your dress, his mind floating aimlessly searching for an excuse to be alone with you. Despite how deeply he loved you, he wasn't the type to display that in public. It felt a bit unsavoury. You were his and his alone.

"Darling, I think you may have torn your dress, during your wonderful performance. Would you allow me to help you fix it in a more, secluded location"

You looked down at your dress not entirely understanding what he meant. He always had your best interest in mind, perhaps he saw something you didn't. Besides, you didn't want to ruin the dress he bought you any further than you already had unknowingly.

"Oh I didn't realise it had torn. Of course, thank you love."

You take his hand in yours and lead him into the small dressing room. It was really just an extra office the owner had put a few mirrors, a changing screen, and vanity into. You stood in front of the taller of the two mirrors attempting to locate the tear.

"Alastor love, I don't see what you mean perhaps it was the ligh-"

Before you can finish your sentence his lips are pressed against your own. You lean into the kiss grasping onto his vest to steady yourself. You're caught in your own personal whirlwind. Your hands are glued against his sepia skin.

He breaks the kiss for a moment kissing the corner of your mouth trailing down your jaw and onto your neck. He sucks lightly against your skin

You're so precious to me y/n" his voice is deeper than it normally was. It held each desire he felt and simultaneously every ounce of adoration.

You let out a soft gasp as he lightly bites the side of your neck. He travels along it as your hands tangle themselves in his hair once more. God you didn't want this to end, but you wanted to feel closer to him. You drag him away from your neck placing your lips against his once more.Your hands trace the outline of his shoulders. His hands explore the curve of your spine and the softness of your waist. He lifts you up and sits you against the vanity. Subconsciously your legs wrap around his waist deepening the kiss. (scream)

"I have never loved someone the way I love you Alastor..thank you for letting me" You breathe out in between kisses.

He wasn't one to let people in. Not truly, he had a public persona and a private one. You were glad to get to know the esteemed radio host outside of the studio. You were so glad he let you seen him the way he was so afraid to be perceived as...Vulnerable.

A/N: LOL IM SORRY THAT ONE WAS KINDA SHORT. Also please let me know it the writing style and lengths are working. I've never really written before so Idk the right way to do this. Thanks for reading :) <3

-Also congrats to me for not using a song as the crutch to come up with a title.

[fruitydiaz]

whisper to me baby (tell me what you want) buck and tommy have been dating for a few weeks and they haven't had sex. and then...they do. 4,659 words ao3 link

Pressed up against the wall in his apartment, he feels alive. He moans into Tommy’s mouth when he rocks their hips together with purpose. He slides his hands through the short hairs at the base of Tommy’s skull and moans again when Tommy’s hands slide up his shirt, pressing into his back. He feels like an exposed wire, each movement so exciting and new that his body feels extra sensitive, earning a chuckle out of Tommy, who pulls back just a little. Buck chases his lips, making him laugh again. Buck feels obsessed. He wants to drink down every little huff and breath and laugh that spills from Tommy’s lips.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want, right, Evan? I know this is all new to you.”

He hasn’t told Tommy to call him Buck, yet. For some reason, it feels good to have some kind of delineation, to be Buck to everyone else in the world, and just Evan here with Tommy. He hasn’t said, but he feels a bit exposed with the way Tommy’s picked up on it.

“I—Yeah, I know,” Buck says, leaning in for a kiss again, getting lost in it for a moment, pulling away. “But I—I want to do everything with you, Tommy.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow, breathing out a quiet laugh. “Everything?”

“Well,” Buck ducks his head, blushing. God, he hasn’t felt this off his game in ages. It’s exhilarating. “Maybe not everything. But, you know, we can, uh, move this into the bedroom. If you—if you want.”

Tommy blinks and looks around as if suddenly remembering that they’d barely made it into the apartment before he’d pushed Buck up against the wall, and grins.

“Lead the way,” He says, his voice smooth and deep. Buck’s stomach swoops.

[seanchaidh7]

Joe & Nicky - inspired by @maddielle 's incredible fic HERE

[oneshotprincess]

i think a reverse damian wayne introduction story would be great. like a damian who's been raised by bruce his entire life is finally old enough and insists on meeting his mother's side of the family. and after many, many, many, MANY protests, bruce finally relents

i want damian to navigate meeting talia and ra's and nyssa and mara and the rest of the league and figuring out his place amongst them. i want shenanigans and culture shock and most of all

i want raised-by-bruce!damian to seriously consider ra's' philosophy, his vision for the world, batman's no-kill rule and damian's potential as heir to the demon and CHOOSE his own destiny, because no matter what he's of child of two worlds

[hetaliafucker]

Usuk Thought (Mini Headcanon?)

I hate England calling America fat, and I don't really care about the show or manga's canon a lot of the time for a multitude of reasons, but alas.

You cannot convince me that this immortal being who has seen the changes of beauty standards throughout centuries would One) Judge someone's body type all that much or give a single fuck. Or Two) Wouldn't be lowkey happy. His childhood was literally primal. So to him (And very likely most nations), more fat = Better fed, thus safety, and also more body warmth. His subconscious primal brain is likely thinking 'Oh fuck yeah, I bagged a good one. He'll keep me warm this Winter'.

So now I imagine Alfred getting insecure because he thinks he's gaining weight, and Arthur being like 'Absolutely not' and shutting down any insecurities Al would have, because he's hundreds of years old, dammit, and the beauty standard throughout history has changed so damn much. Plus, he can’t complain when Alfred's just comfier.

[hiemaldesirae]

i saw the goahead to make fanart and i immediately jumped at the opportunity

all doodles are of the latest chapter !!

[soonamisapphire]

Sorry, Wrong Robin (Please Don't Eat Me) - SummerKnight717 - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

Dick Grayson has always been the scariest Robins many people don't believe that you should read this story if you don't even red hood cows in the face of his baby brother

[sexlapis]

alvin olinsky x reader, ns4w, penetrative s e x, drabble

you didn’t hear this from me but…alvin is very vocal when he cums. he’s an old guy, so it may take him a little longer to get the job done and you have no problem taking it, but when he does it’s oh so glorious.

right before it happens he would mumbling, rambling against your lips, trying not to be too loud and stay in control. the way you clench around his cock definitely does not help either.

a lot of grunts and groans about how close he is, crying out to god, pinning you down gently while trying to keep himself in check but it’s simply not working, the pleasure too much.

when he finally cums, it is just…so much and he cums for so long. al moans so loud, pressing his face up against your cheek as he does so, still pumping himself deep inside when he finishes.

his thrusts slow down, turning shallow when he sighs, face sweaty and chest heaving and stops gradually. he pulls out, stroking himself and spurting even more cum, painting your lower stomach. al huffs before collapsing beside you, laying beside you closely.

alvin cleans you up, your stomach and using another tissue for your face. he kisses the top of your forehead when he’s done.

“let’s keep this between us...just for now.”