#arab!reader

[adrunkskeletonsduck]

I do hope you're feeling better now

I was thinking about sasuke × Arab.f and they are married together and they are both in their last mouth's of college. Sasuke is getting a degree in math and female reader is getting a degree in physics, and with their finals coming soon they both are having more study dates (they share the same dorm ) and they have book dates and take care of one another cuz it's getting cold outside.. Just a bunch of fluff

Thank you! I am, I just have a small cough now :) This is making me think abt my finals that are coming up soon and Im so scared for them. Thank you for the request!

6:04ᴘᴍ

➜ Pairing: Sasuke Uchiha x f!arab!reader

➜ Warnings: Established relationship (marriage), fluff

➜ Word Count: 0.8k

➜ Notes: The thought of Sasuke calling you 'habibti' is to good, i couldn't help myself ahhhh

Nᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

“Y/n its freezing in here,” Sasuke said as he closed the door behind himself, pulling his coat tighter around himself as he entered the shared dorm room. Setting down his stuff on his bed he turned to you. You were bent over your desk where textbooks, a strewn paper and an open laptop lay while you looked at them with heavy eyelids, wrapped in a bundle of blankets and fighting sleep. Snow trickled down from the sky in the window in front of you, some flakes landing on the glass and sticking itself to the surface. He shook his head at the sight, turning on the space heater in the corner of the room, it buzzed to life as hot air began to flow out.  

“Common,” he said, approaching your exhausted figure and placing a hand on your shoulder, coaxing you to stand up, “let's take a break hm?” You wanted to shake your head, tell him you needed to keep studying and continue with your task, but instead you found yourself sluggishly nodding your head, letting him pull you up and take you into the bathroom.  

“Long night again baby?” he asked, setting you down on the counter and turning on the shower, then beginning to wipe off your makeup. He hadn't seen you at all today, falling asleep earlier than you and then waking up after you’d left for your morning class shortly before he had to leave for his. It wasn’t uncommon not to see the other till afternoon these days, with both of you studying overtime for your finals while trying to balance the rest of your classes along with it.  

Leaning into his touch you replied with a small, tired ‘yeah’ that tumbled from your lips, and it pulled a small chuckle out of him before he moved on to removing your jewelry. Slipping off your necklaces and bracelets, and running a finger over the wedding band that sat on your left hand but not removing it. Its presence was one that you found grounding; it was something you never took off unless absolutely necessary and Sasuke knew that. He would never admit it, but your attachment to the ring made his heart swell with love. 

“You really shouldn’t keep staying up so late,” he scolded you gently. You just snorted at his words, recalling all the times he had stayed up doing exactly what you had just been. He would even wake you up sometimes. 

“You’re one to talk,” you snipped back, a weak amused smile adorning your face as you did. Sasuke just shook his head, not bothering to defend himself because he knew you were right. The two of you fell into an easy silence as he helped undress you and then tested the water to make sure it was a nice warm temperature. He helped you in, whispering a ‘carful habibti’ as your foot touched the slippery tiles of the shower. 

Once you were in the shower, hot water running down your body and melting away the tension in your muscles Sasuke left to pick up your work space and tidy up the small room the two of you shared while you lathered yourself with soap, rubbing your shoulders for a short moment before moving on. You’d have to ask him for a massage after you got out, your shoulders and back were beginning to ache from the slumped position you had been sitting in.  

You would’ve stayed under the water until it ran cold if Sasuke hadn’t pulled you out. Gently asking if you were done and helping you out. He wrapped you in a warm towel, helped dry your hair, rubbing the locks between a smaller towel gently while whispering sweet nothings and praise into your ear. And once you were dressed, bundled up in your – his – favorite sweater and a comfortable pair of sweatpants he helped you with your hair. Running a comb through it and working out the knots as best he could without hurting you. You pressed your back against his chest, slipping your eyes shut as he set down the brush and wrapped his hands around you.  

“Thank you, Sasuke.” You whispered, moving to lay down on his bed, tugging at his sleeve in silent question, asking him to join you. He did, of course, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into hi m. You curled your fingers into his chest, hands balling up the fabric as you inhaled his scent, letting your sense be flooded with him. The smell of him, the feel of his fingers as they traced unknown patterns on your back, the warmth of his body against yours as it lulled you to sleep.  

He hummed in reply from where his head rested on top of yours “Of course, my love.”  

[littlecub9666]

Damian: أحبك. (I love you.)

Y/N: I love you, too.

Damian: You-How did you-?

Y/N: Guess this is a good a time as any to tell you I'm fluent in Arabic.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Nah, because everyone says that Damian speaks Arabic. LIKE, OF COURSE, BUT WHICH DIALECT THOUGH? Lebanese? Palestinian? Yemeni? Saudi? Or perhaps the league has its own accent and dialect? Does he understand the different North African dialects???

[bunnyscrypt]

“why do you write jason speaking arabic?” “why is jason speaking arabic he’s not arab.”

fun fact : jason canonically knows a little arabic. so this confirms what i already know that people don’t actually read comics and only take fanon as gospel.

all the languages comic!jason knows:

russian (lost days #5) some arabic (rhato #21) german (lost days #3) portuguese (batman eternal #13) spanish (rh: the hill)

⠀𐂯

note: i’d still write him speaking arabic even if it wasn’t a canon thing. in my head he’s a very romantic person and arabic is the language of love to me so it suits him

[boiohboii]

Logan: the true American

(Logan Sargeant x rich!arab!reader)

Fans have spotted Logan with someone new in Abu Dhabi, then again around his hometown and then once more in England, and while they mourn the lose of their favorite American, they also get impressed by his choices.

or

in which Logan should leave his career in Formula 1 and switch over to the white House.

WARNINGS: not proof read, obviously not realistic, very very very short, stereotyping america, ps: i know nothing about politics, i barely know shit about my major.....could've been better if I just slept on it but I unfortunately don't have the time, just something that came to mind at midnight and had to do itt..... HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT!

Facecalim: yara mustafa

masterlist

Logan Sargeant added new stories

caption: my passenger princess

[spadeskitty]

arabic poetry that reminds me of how men should love:

They asked "do you love her to death?" I said, "speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life"

"How can words carry to you what I carry in my heart?"

"If you are not mine, then why does your name beat in my heart like a pulse?"

What do I have to do to get a man who speaks to me like a poet?

[l0vergirls]

What pet names do you think the batboys would have for their s/o?

i think dick would have the most petnames in his vocabulary, only using the cheesiest ones just to tease you in public, like cupcake or honey bunny. but he definitely uses babe, baby, sunshine; he sticks to the classics. though don't be surprised if he calls you his sugar bear in front of everyone.

jason, i cannot see using anything more than babe or doll (ive seen this one around a lot and i cant say it didnt grow on me; i quite like it now), usually at least. perhaps a darling or beautiful, if he's feeling particularly romantic. maybe a nickname derived from your name too.

tim, i also cannot see going further than babe, or a nickname.

damian, by default, gets the best ones! things are just more meaningful in arabic. definitely a classic حبيبي or حبيبتي in there, it means my love iirc; حياتي is one of my favourites, it means my life; and probably قلبي too, which is my heart. and of course, beloved. safe to say he would probably say the arabic ones in english as well.

ty anon 4 this adorable ask <3 putting my very minimal knowledge of arabic to use!!! that said, i had to type all those out so if there's any typos im sorry orz

[punkeropercyjackson]

Resources for non-malicious Batfanon blogs that're genuinely confused on what to watch/read/play

Bruce:The Batman 2022

Dick:Teen Titans 1966,New Teen Titans,The Titans and Outsiders 2003

Tim:Lonely Place of Dying,Robin 1993,Young Justice 1998 and Red Robin

Cass:No Man's Land,Batgirl 2000 and Shadow of The Batgirl

Damian:Son of Batman 2015,Streets of Gotham,Supersons,Gotham Academy(only gueststars but features his 1st civillian friend),Robin 2021 and Batman and Robin 2023

And i made my own complete manual for Jason which includes reading lists for Duke and Stephanie by other users

Here is pre-Morrison Talia,aka the only Talia as Morrison is a raging islamophobe

And Selina by @pyrocortex who's as dedicated to her as i am Jason(platonically that is)

When i say 'non-malicious',i mean Batfam fans who've been lied to about canon to rope them into perpetuating the mass and inherent bigotry in Batfanon and placated into fence sitters by old whites that don't understand Batman lore any better than your average fake geek guy.Bruce has 6 canon kids and isn't a serial adopter but an adopter of abused or orphaned kids only,Dick has Eldest Daughter Syndrome but actually(as stated by me and a friend)and includes tgirl swag,Tim isn't a white male power fantasy and that includes not one for white racist gays either,Cass was invented specifically to DEFY easian woman stereotypes,Damian is only a monster if you hate brown people,Jason is quite literally the other way around of everything Batfanon says of him,Stephanie is audhd bpd-coded and should be black based on personality alone,Duke is a 2000s cartoon protagonist that only gets ignored because he's black and Talia and Selina are way more than your 'haha Bruce is gay' joke,trust

Oh also,'Batman and Robin are slang for gay' isn't a thing actual comics writers did.It was purely spectulation specifically on ADULT Batman fans' part and Devin Grayson who is frequently cited on why Batcest is canon and therefore good has apologized for her Nightwing runs and said it was a bad coping mechanism on her part.Worth noting the Batrobin rumors were created at a time when they had to take out Batcat from the Adam West Batman show due to recasting Selina as Eartha Kitt and the segregation laws that were a thing back then.So take that as you will in how it reflects the mentality at the time,including regarding children's rights as child abuse was even more extreme due to it being 'normal' and 'justifiable' due to 'history'.Holy decontextualization,Batfans!!!

[rafeyswrd]

a quiet place au, series one

. . . from my pogue!reader x rafe cameron universe.

SUMMARY. all you wanted was to spend a day work free. a tragic expectation really, when the screeching and dreadful screams sounded through the island. and after painful trudges and sour wounds, it didn’t take long to figure out that all you needed to do was stay quiet — and simultaneously take care of a terrified and overly scared cameron.

day one. chapter one.

CONTENT WARNINGS. gore. blood. violence. death. wounds. vile monsters (?). starvation ( not an ed ). puking. false methods of healing. overuse of medication. drug addiction & withdrawal ( rafe ). diseases. implication of mental health disorders ( depression, anxiety ). attachment issues. mention of parental abuse. sexual relationships ( smut ). bad friendships. romance through horror ✍🏽

PLEASE READ AUTHOR’S NOTE. despite the content warnings, rafe and reader’s relationship is actually the healthiest thing amongst all of this. tooth rotting yearning, fluff and longing is present through and through. ———— rafe is not fully ooc (?). it’s just this is set in season 1 right before he killed peterkin, and i truly believe he’s very fragile through that time period due to his father’s abuse and drug usage. — so this is just how i *honestly* imagine he’ll behave.

tag list still open ! . . .

[cutielando]

always and forever | c.l.

synopsis: in which it's you two forever

my masterlist

It had always been the two of you.

You had known each other since you were kids, starting as best friends and then evolving into a beautiful couple that stuck with each other through everything.

You were always there to cheer him up and make him feel better after bad races, he was always there when the hate from the fans was too much for you. You were a rock to each other.

Charles has had a bad year. Ferrari was doing worse than ever, he couldn't win races because of the car, people were putting pressure on him to perform and he just felt like he couldn't do it anymore without breaking down.

He's had his fair load of bad strategies, long pit stops, feeling like the team didn't support him and prioritized Carlos instead of him, overall just doing him dirty all year long.

It was now time for the last race of the season, Abu Dhabi. 

Like always, you were right next to your boyfriend, having taken time off work to make sure you could be there with him for the entire weekend.

You were currently in your hotel room, getting ready to go with Charles to the paddock ahead of qualifying that afternoon.

"I don't want to go" Charles said while he watched you do your hair, his heart swelling when he saw you wearing a Ferrari shirt with his name and number on the back.

"Why not? You love Abu Dhabi" you frowned in confusion, just now seeing how truly miserable he looked.

"I know how things will play out, so I don't even see the point of racing when I just now I'll disappoint everyone yet again" he shrugged, looking at his feet and playing with his fingers.

You put down the hair straightener that you were holding and stepped closer to him, taking his face in your hands and making him have no choice but to look at you.

"Mon amour, I know you've had a tough year, and nobody is blaming you for your results. Everyone sees that Ferrari is letting you down and they know you are doing the best you can with what you have. Stop worrying about what people are going to say and just go out there and do what you love the most. Race, have fun. Screw the results, I'm going to be proud of you no matter what place you end up on. But just go and have fun one last time this year and we'll come back stronger next year" by the time you finished speaking, Charles was biting his lip and a tear was threatening to spill from his eye.

"I love you so much, you know that?" he whispered and chuckled, his voice cracking at the end.

"I love you too, and I'm so proud of you, baby" you whispered before leaning in and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

Charles wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pulling your body flush against his, wanting to be as close to you as humanly possible.

You were holding him just as tightly, your arms securely wrapped around his neck while one hand played with the small hairs at the back of his neck.

"Ready?" you asked once you pulled away, outstretching your hand towards him with an encouraging smile.

He nodded and took your hand, placing a kiss on the back of it.

"Let's go"

♡♡♡♡♡

The Ferrari garage was buzzing.

Engineers were running around, Charles and Carlos were deep into a conversation, Frederic was trying to keep everyone under control and you were just hanging around with Arthur, Charles' brother, shaking your head at the chaos that was the red Italian team.

"It's amazing hos disorganized they've been the entire year" Arthur quietly said into your ear, making sure nobody from the team could hear him.

"I know, it took a huge toll on Charles. He didn't even want to come today, it took me half an hour to persuade him to just go race and have some fun" you said, your eyes finding Charles every now and then.

He seemed a little calmer than he was back at your hotel while talking to Carlos, knowing that he enjoyed the Spaniard's company and honestly valued their friendship outside the track.

"I wonder if he'll stay at Ferrari next year" Arthur wondered, now also looking at his brother.

"You know he's still under contract, he wouldn't just leave them like that after 5 years" you explained, but on the inside you wished he would do just that.

Charles was one of the best drivers on the grid, everyone knew that. A lot of teams would love to have him in their line-up, including Red Bull and McLaren. You've spoken to Charles about potential offers and what he thought his future looked like, but you knew he would say loyal to Ferrari until the end of his contract.

"I know, but maybe he'll change his mind once the next season is done if Ferrari don't get a grip and improve, you know" Arthur explained, and you nodded.

"I hope so. We've talked about it, but he said he didn't want to think about that just yet" you said, dropping the subject once you saw your boyfriend making his way over to the two of you.

"What are you two plotting?" he teased, hugging Arthur before wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing your cheek.

"Nothing you should know" Arthur said, winking at the both of you before leaving to give you a moment before the start of the race.

You turned to Charles, studying his face.

"How are you feeling?" you asked quietly, taking a hold of his hands.

"I'm fine. I'm just going to go out there and drive the best I can, like I always do. Have some fun, just like you said. Have to listen to the wifey, right?" he smiled teasingly, the nickname making you blush heavily.

Charles had recently started calling you his "wifey" after having been together for 3 years. You often talked about the future and knew that you both wanted to spend the rest of your lives together and would take the next step when you both felt ready.

But what you didn't know was that the day might come sooner than you thought.

♡♡♡♡♡

Contrary to what everyone was expecting, Charles had managed to win the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. He drove so well, like his life depended on it and you couldn't have been more proud of him.

When it was time for the podium celebrations, you couldn't take your eyes off him as he received his much-wanted trophy, holding it up in the air and blowing you a kiss once he found you in the huge crowd.

Before the champagne shower could start, however, Charles asked for a microphone, putting his trophy down and looking nervously at Max and Lando, the teammates he shared the podium with.

"Wow. I can't believe we did it. We had a tough year at Ferrari this season, not being quite where we wanted, but we ended the season on a high note and I want to thank every single member of the team that made this all possible" he said, putting the mic down to give a round of applause for everyone.

You followed suit, your eyes never leaving him.

"Secondly, I want to thank a special person, but I need her up here with me. Y/N, will you come up here, please?" he asked, the lights suddenly finding you in the crowd.

Your eyes widened, a heavy blush coating your cheeks. Charles' PR manager found you in the crowd and helped lead you upstairs towards the podium, giving you a silent encouragement before she let you step out.

The crowd was cheering when they say you standing next to your boyfriend, prompting you to give them a small wave before turning to Charles.

"Y/N, there aren't enough that can express how much I love you and how deeply grateful I am to have you in my life. You've been with me throughout this entire journey, 4 years now already you've put up with me. You know me better than I know myself, you always know what to say and how to make me feel better after a bad race, you're always there for me, cheering me on and supporting me through everything and I can't thank you enough for it all" he spoke, putting his hand in his pocket and taking out a small, velvet box.

Your eyes instantly widened and filled with tears, knowing what was about to happen. Your hands went up to your mouth, not believing it was finally happening.

"I never want to know what my life would look like without you in it because I plan on spending every second left of it cherishing you and being by your side. So, Y/N Y/L/N, will you make me the happiest man on Earth and marry me?" opening the box, you saw the most beautiful diamond ring you had ever laid your eyes on, making your tears freely swim down your cheeks.

You didn't trust your voice, so you nodded your head feverishly, falling to your knees in front of him and collapsing into his arms, holding on for dear life.

You cried into his shoulder, holding onto each other tightly. The crowd erupted into loud cheers, Max and Lando opening the champagnes and spraying everyone around them, congratulating the two of you.

You pulled away from the hug and kissed Charles, pouring every single emotion you felt in that moment into the kiss. 

"Do you want the ring?" his tone was teasing once you pulled away and he still held the ring in his hand.

You laughed, nodding and extending your hand towards him.

He took out the ring and gently pushed it onto your ring finger, it fitting like it was made just for you.

"I love you so much, amour. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my days with you" you whispered, bringing him in for another hug.

"I promised you always and forever, I intend to keep that promise"

And as you stood kneeling in the middle of the podium, celebrations taking place all around you, the only thing you focused on was each other, nothing able to burst your little bubble of bliss.

Your always and forever love.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐒.

💞 — in which jamil realizes that no matter how hard he avoid the oasis, the thirst will not disappear till it is quenched.

💞 — jamil viper x reader

💞 — warnings: hurt/comfort type fic. some descriptions of gore to emphasize yearning (the arabs be dramatic, what can i say)

💞 — 1.7k words. inspired by "sawwah" the song by abdel halim hafez. you should listen to it while reading tbh. first in a series of me assigning old school arabic songs to various characters. and yes, arabic speaking jamil is back. the translations are italicized with the arabic, and i changed some lyrics to fit third person, instead of first.

Wa ana mashi fil bilad, sawwah.

And I walk through countries, a vagabond.

Jamil had a job. He was bound to eternal servitude to the Al-Asim family—practically property to Bait (house/clan) Al-Asim. He had a job, and yet he spent his nights away in his mind, wandering like a vagabond. Purposeless, jobless. 

All those nights toiling in the kitchen of Scarabia made him forget purpose and work were different things. He would never call working for that spoiled boy his purpose. He was made for more—to be praised, to rule and command. He deserved more. Jamil deserved more than having to push away his moon, his qamar (moon). 

You were like an oasis in the desert expanse that he called his mind, and yet he walked away from you. He walked away when he desperately needed a sip. When he desperately needed rest and dates from your palm.

“Qad jinint? (Have you become crazed?) I have too many things to deal with. And you’d be better off without the burden of my title. Imshi (Go on/walk off).”

Jamil saw it. He saw the way your expression faltered, the softest twitch in your brow, the smallest tremble of your lips. It was cruel, he knew it, and it hurt him to say it. But in the end, he knew there was nothing else he could say. There must have been a better way to delicately reject your confessions, and yet he took the harshest route. Jamil plucked the dates from your palm and trampled over them.

He hurt himself by doing so, denying himself the one thing he desperately wanted. In the end, it was simple. Mishwar baeed, wa hu gareeh. His life was a long journey that only injured him. He did not want it to injure you as well.

Still, his charcoal eyes would seek you out. He would still ask Kalim about you, wanting to know how the distance was affecting you. Did you become a vagabond as he did? Were you avoiding oases?

Did you ask about the brown-skinned boy who broke your heart? He just wanted to be reassured—tamainu (reassure him)—that his qamar was doing alright. Wa in la’akum habibi, salamuli alai, he wanted to tell Kalim. If you see my love, wish them peace from me.

He would never ask you himself, nor did he get the chance to since you would scurry off whenever he passed by. The one place he could not avoid you was the kitchen of Scarabia, his domain, during one of Kalim’s parties. You were hiding away from the madness, and he had been trying to hide away from you. It was the same spot in which you cooked with him, listened to him, and were eventually rejected by him.

Jamil froze after walking in, and you turned your head up from your phone once you saw him, “I’m sorry,” you said, pushing yourself off of the counter and heading for the other door. You could not face him, not after that rejection. Not after he told you that your feelings were that of a crazed djinni (genie/jinn).

He shook his head and walked to the stove top, turning it on, “Stay. I’ll make chai,” he muttered. He did not even look at you.

You still wanted to leave, but instead, you just nodded. Honestly, you were a fool for the man, for that long dark brown hair which he braided so perfectly, and his aquiline nose which you desperately wanted to trace your finger along, “I don’t want to trouble you—”

“It’s no trouble. It gives me an excuse to get away from Kalim.”

You swallowed and nodded.

The silence was horrifically uncomfortable. The only sounds in the kitchen were the boiling water in the kettle and the sound that the mortar and pestle made while Jamil began to grind the herbs for the tea. Chai, cloves, cardamom—he added cinnamon this time. The scent always made everything more cozy.

Ya qamar, ya nasini. Oh moon who forgets me. Jamil hoped you would have gotten over your feelings for him and forgotten about the rejection, but he could tell it stung. The way you looked around the kitchen proved that enough. He poured the evaporated milk into the tea, let it simmer with the racing of his heart, and then poured both of you cups. He was gentle as he set your cup in front of you, unlike the savagery that he handled your heart with. 

Jamil leaned against the island, his eyes trailing over your face, “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” you blurted, holding the cup of tea. Waseitak, waseiya, ya shahid aleiya, “I promised you—you heard. You saw,” you elaborated, “I’m fine.” Tekilu ala beiyak. You could have told him of the state you were in after the rejection, but you opted for lies veiled by a fake grin.

He understood. He did not let you see past his veil either, “I see.” 

“The tea is great.”

“Thanks.”

There it was, another uncomfortable silence. His eyes said it all, though. Had you looked close enough, you would have seen how they ached to sacrifice themselves for you. He wished his worries for you would leave him alone—he would have gouged his eyes out just to make the aching in his heart disappear. It was curling in on itself, threatening to burst with the violence of a desert storm, sand filled his lungs, suffocating him. The weeks felt like years, and he was just a nomad in the night.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he set his cup down.

You immediately frowned and put your teacup down as well, scared you would drop in, “You don’t get to say that now,” you mumbled.

Jamil nodded in agreement. It was cruel, rejecting you so harshly just to turn around and claim he did not mean any of it. Especially when he still did find you crazy for loving him as ardently as you claimed, “It’s wrong. I know,” he said, looking away from you and to the door where all the commotion was. The music was muffled by the shut doors, making the kitchen feel like an entirely different building, “But I… I feel the same.”

That was another lie. He did not just feel the same, Jamil longed for you. He yearned, his heart ached and his veins begged to be torn out for your sake. Every cell in his body called for your name, his hands begged to grasp your waist, kiss your neck—his hands which artfully painted henna, wished they could trace every curve and every dip on your body.

“Jamil…” you trailed off.

He merely shook his head, “It is because I feel the same that I must reject you. You—you have so much more waiting in your life without me. My suffering should not be yours,” he said, and he said it as if it were the law of the universe. He was a vagabond eternally bound to avoid the oases because the oases were not meant for him. They were meant for Kalim Al-Asim.

Despite all that, he did not push you away when you cupped his face. He did not protest as he drowned. He did not thrash, he did not fight. His body did as it wished, leaning into your hands, “Ya qamar… you are making this more difficult than it needs to be,” he muttered, the disdain dying before it could embrace the quiet air of the kitchen.

You frowned at him—sevens, he wanted to kiss that mouth of yours—and your brows furrowed, “Let me, Jamil. Just let me,” you said. What did you want him to let you do? You had no clue, or perhaps it was just too broad to describe.

Nawarli, wararili, seitak al-habayeb.

Enlighten and show me the path to the beloveds.

He was so weak when it came to you. Before he knew it, his hands were at the small of your back, pulling you closer and forcing you to arch against him as his lips met yours in a fierce kiss. He sighed into your mouth, his tongue slipping in when you gasped in surprise.

Jamil needed you even closer. His hands made their way down to your hips, his thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to feel your skin. It was just as nice as he dreamed it would be. What made it all the better was how you kissed him back.

One of your hands gripped his shirt, right at his chest, right above his cruel racing heart, and the other held the back of his head. The quietest of whimpers escaped you as he bit your bottom lip, causing him to groan. 

He pressed you against the counter, causing your hand to slip from his chest and move to hold onto the surface behind you. You kissed him till you could not breathe, “Ja—Jamil,” you stammered when your lips parted from his. 

Greedily, he went in and kissed you some more. Jamil had taken a sip, and now he wanted it all. He only pulled away when your hands pressed against his chest to push him away. His eyes widened and his hands fell back to his sides. He pulled the hood down to hide his face from you as he turned his head, “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s—It’s fine,” you replied, fixing your clothes and hair, “Are we…” you let the question hang like a date on a palm tree.

He nodded, “If you’ll still have me,” he replied. What he wanted to do was get on his knees and beg you to use your lips to end his suffering—beg that you use those hands to pull the sand out of his chest.

“Of course, I’d still have you, Jamil,” 

Your words were like a soothing balm. It was the salve that you spread over his burns, over his scars, and over the bruises that his yearning created, “Okay,” he said, and it was all he could manage to say for now. 

He picked up the kettle of tea and poured you some more. No matter what he did, he could not run away from you, his purpose. You forced the vagabond to stop and pulled the title right off of him, before pushing him into the waters of the oasis.

“We have some ma’amoul (semolina biscuit stuffed with date filling),” he says, after some silence.

[glittering-moonlillie]

My Beloved (Damian Wayne x Reader)

Word Count: 2740

Warnings: None

Summary: Not knowing how to express his feelings any other way, Damian resorts to calling you pet names in his mother's tongue in order to air out his pent up affection.

“Habibti, can you hand me the yellow frosting?” Damian was in deep trouble - absolutely terrible, hideous trouble. 

“Of course!” You reached over to your left and handed him the buttercream, the arabic pet name flying over your head. 

In his language, Habibti was a sign of endearment given to your lover, usually meaning something along the lines of My Love or Darling - but to you, he was utterly convinced that you believed it was a form of belittlement similar to Idiot.

Of course, Damian was too afraid to correct you and he was not sure if you would believe him if he tried. He would rather keep it a sweet secret to himself, even if his fragile heart was practically leaping its way out of his rib cage to expose itself to you. 

“You know, if you want to call me something mean at least make it so I can understand you.” You laughed, a noise that would certainly haunt him late at night when he was alone and longed for your presence. 

“But it’s much more fun seeing you like this.” You scruched your nose, your forehead creasing with the movement. Your lips were parted but no words came out. It was an adorable look he had grown to love despite how dorky you appeared. 

You retaliated with a poorly placed handful of orange frosting along his cheek, your lips twisting into a pout that only served to make the fantasies of kissing you worsen. 

Orange was an obnoxiously disgusting color but he would bathe in a lazarus pit full of orange frosting if you wished it. 

He ran his thumb along his cheek and licked away whatever frosting was there. Alfred’s special buttercream frosting really was to die for. Damian enjoyed the way your eyes slightly widened, relishing in the fact that it wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else. He liked to think that the scarlet decorating your face was because of him being undoubtedly sexy, and not the fact that it was because it was a hot summer’s day. 

“You’re staring, ya amar.” He smirked. “And I believe that cookie has way too much frosting, it looks like Picaso threw up all over it.”

Ya Amar had to be Damian’s second favorite pet name for you, translating to my moon. He often recalled the way his mother praised the moon for its beauty, treating it similar to a guiding life force. More than anything, Damian wanted to be the sun that illuminated your countenance - to be the man who kept you steady and loved you even if you just saw yourself as a clumpy rock. The name suited you perfectly. You were his beautiful, crated moon with star imbued eyes and a body that reflected the power of an inescapable black hole. 

“Hey, are those cookies almost finished? B wants them set out within the hour-” Tim walked in, his under eye bags accentuated further with the distasteful dark blue sweater he threw on. 

His brother paused, rolling his eyes at the state of the dining table. Damian hoped that the kitchen disaster was enough of a distraction for him not to notice the lovey-dovey eyes he assuredly was giving his best friend. 

“We’ll clean it up, Tim. Sorry about that.” You replied quickly. “But most of the cookies are done, Damian still has a few to finish though.”

You nudged him with your elbow, grinning wildly like the Cheshire cat. 

“Just don’t get distracted flirting with each other, I don’t want to deal with an irritated Bruce.”

“Shut up, Timothy. At least we aren’t aggressively making out like how you and Conner were at the last gala.” Damian shot back. 

Tim frowned. “I’m too tired to deal with this. Try not to explode anything, okay?”

Damian waved off his brother and went back to decorating one of the cookies for the large event at Wayne Manor tonight. It was a charity event to raise awareness of the increase in homeless population on the streets of Gotham, and alongside the event, his family was hosting a soup kitchen for any struggling person on the streets. Along with a hearty, full course meal, they would be served one of the cookies being decorated by the two of you. 

Although Damian’s father normally did not allow any friend’s to charity events, you were always an exception due to the fact that if you weren’t there, Damian would blow a gasket and murder someone if he was in a suit for too long. Your presence beside Damian was often looked over when you were both younger, but now that a few years had gone by plenty of journalists speculated the possibility of “a secret blooming relationship.” 

The common theory circulating around Gotham was the idea that his father was disapproving of them being together since you were a “commoner,” therefore excusing the lack of concrete evidence of the relationship existing. Damian had found the notion completely ridiculous; even if his father disapproved of you in that context, that would not stop him from loving you the way he always dreamed, consequences be damned. 

You treated the whole situation with carefree ease, giggling at the awful pictures and wack job theories concocted by 40 year old men looking to sell half-baked news. On one hand, Damian was pleased that the unwanted attention did not bother you, but deep down he also felt a pang of poison seep its way into his bloodstream. Was the idea of being his lover that much of a joke? 

The clicking of a phone keyboard brought him back to reality. Damian peered over your shoulder and saw Safari pulled up.

 “What ever are you doing, habibti?” 

“I’m trying to decipher what you are calling me.” You said. “Can you repeat that last word for me, please?”

The youngest Wayne felt every single pour in his body drip in sweat, excess saliva pooling in his mouth. Perhaps if his blood was functioning properly, then he would have found a better response other than a simple no. 

It was very rare for Damian to be properly caught off guard. He should have thought that you would have looked up the words he was repeating, should have come up with a game plan instead of looking like a strangled goose. 

His first instinct was to snatch the phone away and cut it up with the plastic, buttercream decorated knife. Damian could pretend to be possessed by a ghost and buy you a better phone with specially installed programs that inhibited your ability to look up any Arabic term. Yes, that was a wonderful idea-

“How are there zero search results?!!” You exclaimed, turning to him. “Did you make up a language or something? Why are there absolutely zero results??”

Damian looked at your phone again. You certainly took some liberties with the spelling of the pet name, letting him relax into his seat. It was nowhere close to how the word was spelled. He couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Why are there two y’s in the word?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Well maybe if you told me the other 20 languages you spoke I’d get somewhere.”

For the next 15 minutes, you angrily punched in 17 different ways to spell Habibti, all massively incorrect and leading to nowhere. You eventually threw your phone on the ground with a huff while he cackled. 

“This is so unfair. I demand restitution for the amount of time I have lost thanks to you.” Damian hummed.

“I can’t give you back those missing minutes, but I can pay you back with your favorite meal and my full attention tonight.” 

You pretended to ponder over the offer, but Damian knew you could not say no to Alfred’s cooking. “Okay, fine. But only because I love Alfred’s food and nothing else.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon peered over the horizon, the stars twinkling like falling fairy dust on a navy blue canvas. Hundreds of Gotham’s richest filled Wayne Manor, most of which were dressed with gaudy colors and bedazzlements, with feathers and overpriced jewels. 

Damian was dressed in a dark green suit, one that Alfred had picked a little while ago. He was fully aware of the lustful stares he was given by the woman (and some of the men) there but he could care less. There was only one person he cared about impressing and that said person was “discreetly” stuffing themselves with a plate full of food in the corner. 

As an attendant of the Gala, you were in a stunning dress that fit every single curve of your body marvelously, all courtesy to Stephanie who helped you pick out the dress to begin with. Heat rose to his cheeks and he began fumbling with his tie. 

Damian was not the only one there to notice your beauty either. As you were trying to polish off your plate of food, several men had made attempts to woo you onto the dancefloor. Thankfully you declined all of their advances - Damian was not sure what he would have felt if you did. If it weren’t for the hundreds of other people present, he would have unquestionably sliced off the suitors hands if they tried to touch you again. 

“Ya Helo, you look…” His throat clogged as you stared up at him. “You look stunning…”

Damian was convinced that your smile was the brightest thing in the universe; he was also sure that it could cure any bout of irritation or sadness possible. 

“About time you showed up! Are you done flirting with the 70 year old women yet or does your dad want you back in there?” You poked his chest, the touch feeling like an electrical transfer. 

“You know that I would never flirt with those women back there, Habibti. My dad just wanted me to manipulate them into giving more of their money to charity.”

Before you could pull your hand away, he clasped it and brought it closer to his heartbeat. Your hands were a pebble compared to his own and yet they still managed to fit perfectly together like Incan architecture.

“I-I…” You looked away with a crooked smile. “I know that, obviously. I just wanted to tease you a bit!”

When you turned towards him once more, he noticed the way your eyes trailed down his visage, strawberry lips parting ever so slightly. Your laughter died in your throat. The scene felt like the ridiculous romcoms he analyzed from time to time while you were over. All he had to do was lean in a little bit closer and his dreams would be fulfilled-

The tight grip of someone’s hand seized his arm, effectively pulling him away from his darling. The movement caught Damian off guard (the second time that day). There was only a select handful of people who were able to sneak up on him like that…

“Mother.” Damian seethed, turning to gaze upon the woman with a cold glare. “What are you doing here?”

Fitted for the occasion in a sleek black dress, Talia crossed her arms and matched her son’s glare. “Is a mother not allowed to visit her son, especially when he has not messaged her in months?”

Damian stood in front of you, his hands slightly raised in case Talia decided to activate her mother bear mode. Talia’s eyes furrowed, her lip pursing. 

“How about you and your little friend follow me upstairs. You can tell me all about how you two met.” She suggested but her voice made it sound more like a threat. 

Damian hated how your smile disappeared and was replaced with an apprehensive grimace. He reached for your hand and squeezed. 

“Dami…” 

“It’ll be alright habib albi…” He whispered, squeezing your hand once again. As the three of them climbed up the stairs, the soft tune of the violin faded into nothing, not even background noise. 

“Mother, I find this hardly necessary. Could you have interfered in my life some other day?” Damian groaned. 

“Of course not, my son.” Talia shut the door of the room they entered. “If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to meet the girl who stole my beloved’s heart.”

Damian’s heart dropped. “I- what?”

“Y-you must be mistaken. Damian and I…Damian doesn’t like me like that!” You stuttered out with nervous laughter. 

Talia raised a single eyebrow. “I find that extremely hard to believe considering what I heard him call you.”

Fuck. Damian mentally slapped himself. He should have known that his mother would have heard him call you that. The pet name was just so natural to him, slipping off his tongue like sweet honey, he forgot that his mother would have been able to understand. 

You tilted your head towards Damian then back to Talia, reflexively playing with your hair. “I…maybe you misheard? He calls me these made up names, they really have no meaning.”

“Wait, so he has not told you what they meant?”

“No, he refused to tell me and when I looked it up, there were no search results.” You said. 

“Mother, please-” 

Talia raised her hand to silence him. “I can’t believe you have been lying to her, Damian! I have raised you better than that. She deserves to know that you are calling her Love of my heart and Darling in Arabic!”

You snapped your head towards Damian, who was internally screaming a colorful variety of cuss words towards his mother. He expected you to look horrified and slap him away, to run for the hills and never speak to him again. 

Instead you had this beautiful awestruck look in your galaxy-filled eyes. Your face was a deep crimson.

“Dami…” You hesitated. “Is this true?” 

The hopeful tone in your voice was as intoxicating as a few shots of bourbon.  

Damian imagined that the day he confessed to you would be atop a starry hill with perfectly blooming jasmines and evening primroses. He would pull you into his arms and whisper his love for you when the moon was at its peak, ending it with a kiss if you let him. It would have been perfect, if fate allowed it to be.

However, there were no starry hilltops or sweetly smelling fragrances - no moon that would peer over them and give its blessing. But you were there with him, an arm's reach away. As long as you were there, wasn't that all that mattered?

Damian glared at his mother, who was in the background with a smug smile, pretending to not overhear the conversation. When she didn’t get the message, he cleared his throat as loud as he could. 

“Fine. I suppose I’ll leave you to it - but I expect you to message me afterward since I did the hard work for you.” Talia sauntered her way out of the room, leaving you and Damian alone.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dami…” You glanced up at him with a shy smile. “Were you really secretly giving me pet names in Arabic?”

Reaching for your hands, Damian pulled you close to create a few inch gap. “Yeah…I wanted a way to show you how much I…how much I loved you without you figuring out.”

You giggled, the vibrations of it causing his heart to flutter. “You’re a dork, you know that? I would have reciprocated your feelings no matter what, but it would have been nice if you had told me sooner.” 

Your finger trailed down his neck to his collarbone, leaving a trail of lightning in its wake. “I demand more restitution for the time lost.”

Damian hummed, pretending to think of the perfect solution despite him already having one. You edged closer to him. 

“How about,” he began, “I kiss you until your lips are as blue as this night sky?”

But before you could respond, Damian already brought his lips to yours.  The dreams and fantasies he had did not live up to the actual softness of your lips - the subtle taste of raspberries filling his senses. 

Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “Shouldn’t we go back to the Gala?”

Damian looked back at the door, contemplating how mad his father would be if he ditched the rest of the party. It was waning closer to midnight anyway and he could just say you were tired. 

He turned back to you, his smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “He’ll be fine. Besides, I would rather be with you than flirt with 70 year old women.”

Your attempted giggle was covered with the rougher press of his lips against yours, causing you to fall backwards onto the guest bed. After years of calling you Habibti, now he could finally say it without you thinking it was an insult.

Damian is a simp with huge dimples. Fight me.

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[glorified-red]

Auburn Traditions (Damian Wayne x Reader)

summary: After your wedding, Damian spends the night finding his name in your bridal henna. In the safety of your presence, he can share his true feelings to you. word count: 1,550~ warnings: none Special thanks to @quillsareswords for bouncing ideas around until this fic was born. I am soft for this man. This is the mushiest thing I've written in so long. Literally kicking my feet writing this.

It came as no surprise when Damian popped the question. 

You two flourished beside each other, growing individually in the comfort of each other’s embrace. For years you stood beside Damian. Through high school you helped him study every exam season, said quick greetings in the halls, and even helped him find all his classes his first year. In college you motivated him through finals, went to every pesky orientation, and cheered the loudest when he walked across the stage one final time. 

Almost in tandem, Damian returned the favor. He asked you to Prom your senior year, holding up a shy bouquet of flowers and a corsage. He attended every performance of yours, big or small, because the mere presence of him was more support than you could ever wish for. Damian dragged you to bed on long nights and held you through so many tough ones, never letting go through it all. 

You moved out together years later after you found the perfect forever home and finally made it yours. The walls were painted deep into the night, muted tones swiped onto his nose only for him to fling it back at you. Together, Christmas lights were hung across the house year after year as you danced to the upbeat tunes in your own living room while the fireplace warms you up after a long day in the snow. 

So when Damian kneeled before you, his heart pouring out of his chest as he spoke words of reflection and his own green eyes shining with affection, you had to say yes. A year of bliss with Damian Wayne, your fiancé, soon to be husband. You carved out a section of this chaotic world and made it your own, a section full of adoration and unwavering love. 

The wedding night was one to remember. It was an extravagant night filled with family, music, and laughter. Damian couldn’t keep his eyes off his bride for very long, far too many of the wedding photos showed Damian’s soft gaze towards you. 

Your vows were heartfelt and private, opting to say your true feelings in the comfort of each other and no one more. Damian Wayne, the man of very few words, had the most poetic words fall from his lips that day. Damian Wayne, the man with ironclad emotions, cried in front of you when the vows continued forward—not that he’d ever admit that, but you knew. 

So here you were, the wedding night bliss still radiating off of you as you sat in front of Damian—your husband—on your shared bed. Your outfits were hung up ages ago, torn off the second you could and changed into something more cozy with softer fabrics and looser seams. Bobby pins were scattered across the bathroom sink as you let your hair rest. Damian’s own hair was ruffled, the gel long since worn off. 

Neither of you minded, no amount of makeup or luxurious outfits could make Damian fall for you any harder than he already has. 

“You’re really intent on finding it,” you commented playfully, your voice dipped into softer volume. Your hands rested in his, decorated in vibrant amber. Delicate florals weaved their way across your fingertips and palms, vines twirled across the negative space until their leaves grew on your hands. Mother Earth herself had kissed your hands and let her beauty flow across your skin—her own blessing to the marriage. 

Henna: a tradition that was nothing short of mesmerizing. You remembered the day Damian asked for this, a small portion of his heritage incorporated into the best night of his life. And of course, you said yes, accepting every part of him happily. 

His hands traced along the arabic style that seeped into your skin, spaced out leaves and florals that left a gorgeous amount of free space to show off your own beautiful skin. It wasn’t nearly as intricate as Mehndi, for this style of henna focused on the palms to bring in love and cherish memories. But every dot on your skin was as fascinating as the one before it, carefully placed into a beautiful design. 

“Of course,” Damian responded, his gaze incredibly focused on the detailed pattern on your hands. He flipped over your hands to look at the top. “The fate of the marriage rests on this moment.” 

You snorted, “You just don’t want to admit that I’m the dominant one in the relationship.” 

Damian tsked, “You wish.” 

“Well,” you looked over at the clock, “you have five minutes before that superstition comes true. Better hurry up, bird boy.” 

“There’s no need to rush me, I will find it before the night is over.” 

You hummed in disbelief, a playful tone falling from your lips. The room fell to comfortable silence once more, the only sound was the soft breathing that landed onto the tips of your fingers. 

His hands were so gentle as they touched yours, a faint warmth emitting from his own hands and transferring to yours. Even as he turned your hands this way and that, his fingertips traced along the design. The touch was feather-light, almost tickling the surface of your hand. 

He never touched with much pressure. Even though the dye was a deep rich color, beautifully stained on your hands and wrists, he didn’t dare to wear it thin. Talia herself told you every tradition as she crafted the henna on your hand, happy to play such a significant role in her son's marriage—and welcoming you to the family? She was overjoyed to receive that call. 

So when your henna turned into a darker tone overnight, you immediately knew the deep connection between you and Damian was gorgeously on display. The color signified more than just love and an unwavering bond, but it also represented your place beside your new family, and the love you will surely receive from them. 

“You look beautiful with this on, Zawjati,” he spoke just barely above a whisper, as if the amber design had Damian mesmerized. The words fell from his lips absent-mindedly, a new term of endearment taking flight in an instant. The gesture meant more to him than he could ever explain, from the reconnection to understanding, all the way to acceptance, his heart was unbelievably full. 

You glanced up at him, your eyes met the softened gaze of a man so deeply in love, the rest of the word slipped away. That gaze conveyed more to you than any poetic vow. 

Your heart was equally as full. His simple wedding band was smooth against your fingers, the new shimmer of metal was vibrant against the tan of his skin. Your own traditions having melted into the wedding with the rings, a permanent symbol of the promise Damian made to you each and every day: to love and cherish you.

“That’s a new one,” you said, pushing past the breathless feeling in your lungs. 

He rolled your fingers in his and sparks flew up your chest just like the first day you met him, even after all these years. He hummed in question, his eyes scanning the patterns with deep concentration. 

“Zawjati,” you continued. “What does that one mean?”

Damian shifted slightly, not uncomfortably so, but as if his brain was mulling words around behind his eyes so his body swayed on instinct. “My wife.” 

The smile that broke across your face happened in an instant, a full gleam of happiness filled your body that you couldn’t possibly contain. “Oh?” you teased, as if the words didn’t burrow themselves in your chest to create blossoming trees, “I’ve upgraded now.”

The corner of his lip ticked upwards so slightly you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t staring. There was a tint of your lipstick stained on his lips that you didn’t notice before. His fingers toyed with yours, they slipped in between yours with a ticklish touch. 

“I’ve been wanting to call you that for years,” he said it so simply, like that profession didn’t take the air out of your lungs and make your heart flutter alongside it. 

“Years?” you breathed out, stunned by his words. You knew his love for you was profound, but to be looking forward to spending the rest of his life with you for years? Your head whirled from the whiplash. 

“Yes.” Just as simply as the words that came before. “My heart knew who it belonged to the second you entered my life. You were the only one who ever saw me for who I really was, not who I could become. You were the only one who made me look forward to living, not for the sake of saving lives to simply do it again the next day, but to keep coming home to you.”

“You make the future seem possible. You,” he breathed, “you make me want to be better, not because I have to, but because I truly want to. That is why I’ve always been more partial to the other translation of Zawjati.” 

The word rolled off his tongue and your heart danced. “And what’s that?”

His thumb swiped across your pulse point where his name was imprinted on your skin in subtle cursive, easily blending into a vine. He gently brought the point to his lips. 

“My better half.”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

[scarthefangirl]

Luscious locks

Pravitr Prabhakar x G/N!reader

Description: Pravitr is the new spiderman, and he wears a suit to hide his identity. But the suit isn't enough to throw you off and you see right through it.

Warnings: Not revised, getting dragged into an alley by a guy (not much description),

Story type: Drabble

A/N: Literally just whipped this up to hold everyone over while I work on part 2 of admit it

Masterlist | REQUESTS OPEN (and appreciated)

"Pavitr, is that you?" You asked the masked vigilante, your head titled to the side. You knew there was a new hero around Mumbattan but you'd never really seen any pictures if him, let alone up close and in person.

"I don't know any Pavitr." Spiderman tried to deepen his tone so you won't be suspicious, but failed.

"Pavitr, I know its you." You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms across your chest. His shoulders slumped in defeat and he takes his mask off.

~ earlier that night ~

"Help! Help me! Someone help me!!" You screamed as a thug dragged you into an alley. You tried to fight the man off, but to no avail. You struggled in the mans arms but he was far stronger than you. "Help! Help-" Your screams were muffled by his hand clamping over your mouth.

"Stop fighting me." He growled and forced you to turn your body facing him, and you try to bite his hand. You kick and struggle but he holds you tightly. He slaps you, hard. "Shut up." You wince but continue screaming into his hand and fighting against him.

Before he could do anything worse to you, a web pulled him away from you. You stumbled back and watched as spiderman quickly defeated the creep who'd dragged you to the alley. You were just walking home from work when that perp grabbed you. But now you stood in shock as spiderman beat up the man. You noticed the details of spiderman, his beautiful long brown hair and body structure- you knew them. You'd know them anywhere.

Suddenly you were snapped out of your thoughts as spiderman rushed to you, putting his arms around your waist (sending butterflies fluttering around in your stomach) and told you to jump, and when you did he wrapped you around his torso. You knew him! He was Pavitr, your long time friend and crush. And he was spiderman, who had just saved you and now was swinging you to your apartment building. It wasn't hard to ignore the sickening feeling of being swung through the sky as you leaned onto him, his arms holding you firmly.

He arrived at the roof of your building, setting you down and putting his hands on your upper arms. You could practically feel the concern radiating from him as his big white eyes stared at you widely. He watched every detail of your shocked face, studying you. He noticed the way you were staring at him, studying him as well. He felt like you could see right through his mask and he tentatively stepped away from you.

~

"What the heck?!" You slapped your hand over your mouth in surprise as Pavitr removed his mask in shame. His stomach was twisted in knots, unsure of how you were going to react. He stumbled back in surprise when you rushed him into a hug. "You're a hero!" You whispered in awe.

"I guess I am," He smiled gently, hugging you back. You stepped away and looked him up and down in pride. Despite the night sky, his face still glowed and you could clearly make out his colorful suit. He watched you back, wishing he could kiss your stupid grin right off your face. He didn't have to though because it quickly turned to a scowl.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You scolded and he rubbed the back if his neck sheepishly.

"Its not safe for you to know." He frowns and you shrug,

"I don't care!" You smiled again, teasingly this time. You can still see the concern in his eyes so you add, "I promise I won't let anyone know I know. And I'll take self defense classes in case some jerk tries to hurt me or whatever!"

"How did you know it was me?" He asked after a moment, causing you to scoff.

"I'm offended you thought I wouldn't!" You hold your hand in mock offense and then answer more seriously, "I would know you any where Pav, no matter what silly get up you're in."

"It's not silly! And I seriously don't know how you knew."

"You have very recognizable, pretty hair. And I know the way you're built," You replied nonchalantly, then realized it was a little strange and felt your cheeks heat up.

"I didn't realize you paid so much attention." He smirked and you groaned, shaking your head. He did know you paid so much attention, and he paid attention too.

"Whatever."

"What was it you said about my very recognizable hair? It was.. Pretty?" His smirk widened and he stepped closer to you, sending tightness through your chest and stomach.

"It's very.... Luscious, what can I say?" You grin and he took his turn to blush. He laughed which made you feel embarrassed, "What? It is pretty, you say so yourself all the time!" There is a long silence of Pavitr smiling at you before he takes another step closer.

"You're pretty." He said softly and your eyes widened as you stood stiffly.

"Oh, um... Thank you." You said awkwardly. "You too." You cringe at your own words, mentally smacking your forehead.

"I'm sorry for any trouble knowing I'm spiderman is going to cause you." He mumbles sadly. You notice the proximity between you two, only a few inches of distance. It was dark out but you could see him clear as day, his hair blown slightly from the cool breeze. It really was pretty.

"I don't care if it gets me into trouble. I don't care if it gets me killed. I'd do anything for you." You admitted, gazing into his eyes. He practically melted at your words.

"I'll protect you." He smiled slightly, holding the eye contact.

"You're gorgeous," You said quietly, as if in a trance as you stared at him. It was like you weren't even hearing yourself.

"You're beautiful," He replied, in the same trance as he stared at you in awe. You both could hear each other but it was like it was said by someone outside of the two of you and you guys were just gazing at each other, all starry eyed.

"You're perfect," You continued.

"I really like you." He broke the trance and you both expressed surprise. You didn't even blink, frozen. "Sorry, I, sorry.." He rambled, face as red as yours.

"I- uhhh, Ilikeyoutoo." You blurted then clenched your eyes shut for a moment in embarrassment. Why were you so darn awkward?! But it didn't matter to Pavitr, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. Was this real? He pulled away and then hugged you tightly.

"You're adorable." He smiled into the hug and you reciprocated his touch.

"You're not so bad yourself spidey." You smiled as well, feeling yourself getting a little more comfortable. "You could never cover your identity from me Pav."

"I would never want to." He sighed dreamily, happy to finally know you felt the same as him and he didn't have to hide things from you.

~

Tags: // @liliummz // @themarvelprince // @misselsbells06 // @american-sataness // @cr0ssoverf4n4tic // @depressednoob // @cerene-ciderr // @leighanne03 // @inluvwithfictionalwomen // @singhfae // @mythixmagic // @itsyourboymicheal // @ravensinthedaylightt // @dai-tsukki-desu // @url0calw3irdo // @daisydark // @snzzysstuff // // @0-n-1-x // @darkdakota8998 // @narcissticassidy // @abbiejoker10 // @bellabnuuy // @alex—awesome—22 // @edgyficuselastica // @zombieblogx // @lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache // @koalaray // @justareader18 // @hobiespick // @sukisprettyface // @furblrwurblr // @grellshottieboyfriend // @i-love-ptv // @inspace1 //

Join my taglist!!

[punkeropercyjackson]

How to best design the Batkids

Dick:Romani features(including significantly brown skin!!Very important because of colorism!!!),wolfcut and dress transgender(in which direction is irrelevant,Dick Grayson is like Link)

Jason:Afrolatino punk dilf who's visibly autistic(if he can't pass for Percy Jackson you're doing it wrong)

Tim:Biracial swag,ska punk and nonthreatning goofy friend vibes

Cass:Chinese features,butch as fuck and big naturals but from estrogen instead of dudebro shit

Stephanie:Darkskin jamaican-korean,pastel punk and fat flat queen because us small tiddied femmes deserve rep

Duke:Faggy ass black punk dude with dreads(He's literally og Hobie Brown)

Damian:Arab-chinese slay,shortie and undoubtable gender fuckery