Ohh For The Bird Brains Event, How About A Meet-cute With Damian At A Wayne Gala/charity Event? Reader

Ohh for the bird brains event, how about a meet-cute with Damian at a Wayne gala/charity event? Reader could be on the wait staff or a party guest, whichever you prefer!

this turned out kinda weird BUT i’ma roll with it. i hope you like it babe!

𝓁𝑒𝓉’𝓈 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 ⎹ 𝓓.𝓦.

fandom dc / masterlist coming soon / @dollsdc-library

featuring damian wayne x reader ( f! )

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning Damian’s been aged up to about 19 in this, he’s a little rude and demanding, but no real warnings.

summary this was supposed to be an easy gig to make some extra cash, but you can’t help but notice Damian Wayne won’t stop staring at you.

word count 1.9k / mini musing

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

bird brains writing event !!

this had been a good idea in theory.

you’d always wondered what the Wayne Charity Galas were like— of course, you’d always imagined seeing them through the eyes of a guest, and not a waitress serving drinks to the sloshed socialites. still, when your roommate told you she’d gotten the job for the two of you, it had been hard to turn down. one of those opportunities that don’t just fall out of the sky for everyone, and the lucky ones must snag them whilst they can.

however, you underestimated just how much booze the .1% could consume in an evening. traipsing back and forth across the ballroom in a constant duck and weave routine to avoid twirling couples, you would get to one side of the party, only to find your tray of champagne completely barren, and would have to trounce back into the kitchen for more.

and, of course, there was the uniform. you felt like a penguin, clad in a black and white romper that was so tight to your body it was giving you a perpetual wedgie. the neckline felt gratuitous in its dip, as did the sleek, black pumps that were murdering your poor feet.

moreover, you could feel a pair of piercing eyes on you every time you made another round. he was posted near the corner, arms crossed and had been wearing the same scowl since you’d first walked in. you knew who he was because of course you did, but you couldn’t find the nerve to actually meet his gaze— keeping your eyes fixed at the flutes balanced on your crystalline tray, instead. why was he glaring so hard? did you really look so out of place? or maybe it was the sheer ridiculousness of your outfit that he was looking at with disdain. but, if that were the case, why did you feel his stare on your face, as if he were trying to catch your gaze? moments felt like hours as you prayed the remaining glasses would disappear faster so you might have a reason to escape to the back again, but it seemed like Lady Luck was having too much fun in watching you stand there, blushing like a fool, trying not to look like you knew he was staring at you.

you fix your eyes to the dance floor, crowded with gorgeous women in gaudy gowns and dazzling jewels and their dapper companions, twirling and dipping them. it was almost like something out of a fairytale, a royal ball where every man’s suit probably cost more than your dented, little Camry parked outside. for a moment, you try to imagine what it might be like to be there, instead of on the sidelines, serving drinks. was it fun? freeing?

“Do you even know how to ballroom dance?” it was a curt question that comes from your left, cutting through your daydream and pulling you back to reality.

it takes you a moment to realize Damian had stepped up beside you, but now that you were aware of his closeness, you couldn’t think of anything else. the warmth of his figure, the softness of his suit, and the hints of sandalwood and vanilla in his cologne. “Um… no, not really.” you replied, bashfully looking towards your feet, “Just what I’ve seen on, like, The Princess Diaries.” you tried to chuckle, to make a joke of it, but he didn’t reciprocate. your awkward laugh hangs in the otherwise silent air and you force yourself not to roll your own eyes. what a lame attempt. you clear your throat, looking at your nearly empty tray. three left. just three.

“Dance with me.”

three words that had you blinking incredulous, unsure if you’ve heard him properly as your attention is directed towards him. he’s staring at you again, eyebrow quirked, both arms folded over his chest and his clear eyes were narrowed. did he look this angry all the time?

“What?”

“I don’t like to repeat myself.”

blinking again, you zip your tiers for a moment, and that’s when his hand stretches out, palm up, practically commanding you to take it. and you want to, but your hands are full. “I— I’m working.” you offer, sheepish, just as the last flute is plucked from your tray. you’re supposed to rush back and get another round, so you hug the tray close to your chest.

“Clearly. But I didn’t ask, did I?”

“What if I… get in trouble?”

Damian’s gaze hardened, his fingers barely twitching. “You won’t.”

you look down at his hand, and then back up to his face, stoic and expecting you to accept, but you can’t bring yourself to abandon a wage and make a fool of yourself in front of Gotham’s Elite. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Wayne. But I need to… uh…” gesturing over your shoulder, you took a couple of steps back, bumping into a gentleman’s back and sputtering an apology before you turned and hurried towards your roommate. maybe you could walk back with her. she sees you coming, a partial smile forming on her face until she sees the tense expression on yours. you grasp her arm pulling yourself close to her whilst your footsteps fall into a rhythm with her own.

“Hey! Were you just talking to Damian Wayne?” she asks; she sounds starstruck at the mere prospect. “What did he say to you?”

you sighed, “He… asked me to dance with him.” you pause, before shaking your head. “Well, demanded I dance with him, actually.”

her countenance screws into bemusement, “And you didn’t?”

those three words made you feel ashamed; perhaps you should’ve. you frown, indignant, and gesture to the tray in your hands. “No, I’m a little busy, remember?”

“Yeah but, come on, you can’t just reject Damian Wayne.”

why not? you wanted to ask. what the hell made him so special, other than his family name, anyways? what gave him the right to talk to anyone the way he did to you? you reach the door to the kitchen, only for her to stop in her tracks, putting a halt in your step as well.

“Oh, my god, he’s coming over here!”

“What?” you don’t look, you can’t, because your face is already on fire with another blush.

“He’s coming over here!” she repeats, giddy, and urges you to turn around. “Good evening, Mr. Wayne!” she gushes. you follow her lead, sheepishly glancing back up at him. his eyes are just as hard cut, as if carved from diamonds, and his brows are knit together. he doesn’t even acknowledge your roommate, he’s much too busy glaring at you. making you feel two feet tall. you shrink beneath his stare.

you half expected him to tell you to get lost; after all, he could’ve kicked you out of the party, couldn’t he? but, he doesn’t. his hand shoots out, wrenching the tray from your grip with a swift snatch, and he tosses it on top of your roommate’s empty tray in her arms, which she catches and holds tight, watching with big eyes. your heart is beating like a drum, and you swear he can hear it. but Damian doesn’t say a word. his stone features fixed on you, he grasps your wrist, tight, and drags you to the dance floor. he was determined to get this dance. you stumble along behind him like an uncertain puppy dog, looking around. “Mister Wayne, I really shouldn’t…”

“It’ll only be one dance.” he says, matter of factly, pulling you close to his body. you hit his surprisingly solid chest with a huff of surprise, blinking. impressive.

“Everyone’s staring at us.” you mumble, sheepish, feeling gazes of disapproval. you must’ve looked hilariously out of place out there, stumbling, clad in a server’s pantsuit, amidst the modelesque women in their long gowns and sparkling gems.

“So?”

“So…” you exhale, incredulously, “you might be used to that but I’m more of a fade in the background type of girl.”

Damian’s eyebrow arches, both hands firmly taking hold of your waist. “So then only look at me.” he commands, and you find yourself compelled to obey, eyeline drifting back to his. you reach up, carefully bringing your hands together at the nape of his neck. “And let them fade into the background.” you give a little nod, and he takes the lead.

your steps are clunky at best, and the heels weren’t helping, but instead of allowing yourself to overhear what the other guests had to say about your lack of skill, you simply watched Damian. his eyes would lock with yours every now and then, but mostly he studied your face, as if examining every pore. you noticed he didn’t even flinch when you stepped on his toes, which you did quite a bit. “Sorry.” you whisper, face heated.

“I knew you couldn’t dance already,” he replies, almost flippant.

“Then why did you want to—“

“Because you’re the only one here I want to dance with.” Damian cuts you off, holding you close to his body. whilst the other couples had fallen back into their own waltz, and their partners twirled them, you noticed Damian was holding you too tight to do that. as if he didn’t want to let you go, even for a second. “If that means you trip over my feet a little, I’m willing to deal with it.”

it takes you a moment to realize your mouth is hanging open, and you close it promptly, feeling flushed. what could you say to that?

“I kinda feel like I’m one wrong step away from breaking my ankle in these things.” you admit halfhearted, glancing towards your feet. whilst his move with such certainty, yours are awkward and unsteady. you give a little, awkward chortle.

Damian leans closer to you, so close that you could feel his breath on your cheeks. “I won’t let you fall. I’ve got you.”

there was something about him that was oddly charming. sure, he was incredibly blunt and, honestly, pretty rude, but when he ensured that he’d keep you upright, you believed him. and you felt a wave of relief washing over you. you hug closer to him, giving in to the urge to rest your cheek against his chest while you sway in tandem. his heartbeat was steady; in contrast to your thumping one, he seemed cool and collected. you wished he could give you pointers.

“What happens when the song ends?” you ask, almost fearful to do so. this already felt like some lucid dream that you might wake up from at any moment, the last thing you wanted to do was hurry it along. “Will you still have me?”

for a moment, Damian says nothing. his fingers lock at the small of your back, his chin resting atop the crown of your head. finally, when you’re ready to kick yourself for asking, he responds. “Yes. For as long as I can.”

part of the program [bakugo x reader]

summary: katsuki comes home after a long day, finds open wine, and the destruction you've unleashed on the house.

warnings: aged up!bakugo, mentions of being wine drunk, bit of manhandling and ass slapping, 15+ to be safe, reader is gender-neutral for anyone to read!!

wc: like 600, maybe? idk

there was still sweat lingering on his skin as he shucked away the layers of his hero uniform, leaving it all in a single pile near the doorway until he could shower away the balmy summer evening, and the aftermath of an explosive bank robbery that left some parts of his arms and chest nicked, chaffed, bruised, and covered in debris.

he was immediately cautious when you didn't greet him by the door, despite an unanswered phone call and unread text sent an hour previous to let you know he was on his way, and not to cook. no delectable aromas wafted from the kitchen, nor an equally as oppressive heat from the electric stove top; nothing sat out on the counter for him in a huge heap, either.

what he did find was a pretty, long-necked bottle of uncorked merlot sitting undisturbed but almost empty. the clear glass magnified a trace amount of near red-black liquid that hadn't quite made it into a vessel. he didn't like how it looked like garbage on the otherwise barren, stone surface, and dropped it into the garbage on his way through to the next room.

"what the hell are you doing?" katsuki phrased this to you mostly from the fact that you hadn't replied to his message earlier, but now also that the floor was a treacherous maze of book stacks, and you stood amid that chaos with the stem of a wine glass in your hand while staring contemplatively at the bare bookcase. "this is what you've been ignoring me all evening to do? you drank our anniversary wine!"

you swiveled with a finger hiked towards him, like a parent about to chastise their child: "absolutely did not drink our anniversary wine, how dare you! it's still in the, uh... the, uh.... uh, the thing. you know, it keeps all the wine."

"right," he murmured, careful not to let his mass bump into any of the books as he navigated through to you. "did you drink that entire bottle?"

"maybe." you said with a coy, secretive smile, somehow managing to come across as mostly coherent and focused. he didn't miss the subtle way in which you head tilted and knees swayed occasionally, though. "I saw a program earlier; it was about how to keep your home tidy and how to reorganize it to make sense. I thought, "wow, that bookcase is always an eyesore, I should do that first. so, here we are!"

he could feel the itch of agitation climbing up the back of his neck and into his jaw. the dentist had told him not too long ago not to clench his teeth so much, so he tried paying mind to that while smoothing a calloused hand across the planes of his face. "there was nothing wrong with the bookcase, babe. I alphabetized it based on author to make it easier to find."

"I don't like that," you rebuffed with a noisy, nasally exhale. "I don't remember the authors! I remember the title of the book, so I'm gonna alphabetize it based off of that."

his shoulders slumped forward in forced defeat as his head bent back towards the floor. you weren't going to have it any other way, and god was your stubbornness as fucking annoying as it was sexy. couldn't say he was in the mood for it right now, though.

"you're not gonna do any of this right now. c'mon." he gruffed, narrowing the divide between your bodies until he had plucked the wine glass from your hand, braced his shoulder into your waist and picked you up. "time to put it to sleep for the night. you're supposed to be paying attention to your husband right now, remember?"

"you're such a bully, katsuki! I want a divorce! divorce! divorce!" you whined, shifting your weight around on his shoulder as his hand went higher on your thighs.

"we're not getting a divorce. I told you you're stuck with me until we're in the fucking ground." he replied in firm tone that almost felt appropriately serious, until the entire palm of his hand landed a rather sharp slap on your ass, making you howl and burst into laughter. "I'm not goin' anywhere, even though you do weird shit like this."

"what are we gonna do now?" you had relented to hanging off of him like an adornment. "I think I'm gonna puke."

"we're gonna take an ice-cold, freezing shower before anything else can happen."

----

a/n: part of the little challenge im doing to get back into writing. if yall liked, please support creators by reblogging or commenting on their stuff!!

Drinny (Draco x Ginny) Recs Part 2:

Wip:

Witch Weekly, Witch Wizard, 157k (the best characterization of Ginny and Draco and within their relationship, angst, slow slow burn)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9912956/1/Witch-Weekly-Which-Wizard

Completed:

One Shots

The Sleepwalkers, 6k words (mutual pining)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25739743

The Love We Deserve by @writerdragonfly, 4k words

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487365

There Is Another Sky, 22k words

https://archiveofourown.org/works/93221

Three Years, Two Months, and Seventeen Days, 5k words (sappy, falling in love)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453515

The Magic Of Rain, 9k words (marriage law)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35060095

The Neverending Shift and the Prat Prince by @writerdragonfly, 4k words (both healers)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141564

Short Multichapter

Three Peas In A Pod by @botherkupo, 13k words (Blaise and Ginny are roommates)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17847548/chapters/42115946

If you want to see my first set of Draco and Ginny recs, check out this post:

https://crookshankscrew.tumblr.com/post/662719449008422912/drinny-fic-recs-for-you

Mind all the tags and ratings of the stories!

If you have specific Drinny or Dramione fic requests, send me an Ask!

Maverick Down || Maverick

summary: When Maverick wakes up very sick with a cold, you take him under your care, and he receives a surprise visit from his 'air children'.

pairing: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x Wife!Reader

warnings: vomiting

✧ Maverick masterlist || My Library || My Kofi

When Maverick didn’t wake up at his normal hour of a prompt five o’clock in the morning, you knew something was wrong. Making your way into the bedroom, you saw that he was in the same position that you left him in last night– flat on his stomach. 

He had his arms curled around a pillow, a soft snore emitting from his mouth.

Checking the time, you realized that it was nearly six, and he normally woke up early enough for a quick run with Rooster who was more than likely about to knock on your door.

“Baby?” You call him gently as you walk over and touch his bare shoulder, only to find that he was very warm. Moving your hand up the length of his neck, you drop your palm against his forehead, only to discover a blistering heat beneath your hand. “Mav,” You whisper under your breath. Certainly so, the doorbell to your house rings, signaling Bradley’s arrival. 

Biting into your lip, you move out of the bedroom and rush into the entryway. You made a mental checklist of things to grab, such as headache medicine, cold medicine, and water. You pulled open the front door and met Bradley with a small smile. 

“Morning,” Bradley walks inside. “Is Mav ready?” 

Sighing, you shake your head.

“He’s burning up with a fever,” You inform him. “He’s hardly moved.” 

Rooster’s face softens. “Maverick? Sick? Should we call an ambulance?” He jokes as he catches sight of the freshly washed grapes you worked on before checking on Maverick. Plucking some of the green fruit from their vines, he pops a couple into his mouth. 

“Funny,” You chuckle. “I’ll be back, alright? You guys may have to skip out on the run.” 

Rooster waves his hand and shakes his head.

“No, we need Captain at his best.” He smiles. 

He waits in the kitchen by the bar while you take the necessary supplies into the bedroom. When you walked inside your bedroom, Maverick had begun to stir. A light groan fell from his mouth as he felt the sudden achiness developing across his body.

“Mav, I’ve got you some medicine,” You inform him as you rest a hand on his shoulder. He twists in your direction, the mention of medicine causing him to chuckle sleepily. 

“Sweetheart, I’m fine,” He assures you, taking your hand into his. 

He looks over at the clock, his eyes widening with the time flashing before his eyes. “I need to get up,” 

“Bradley’s downstairs, but you’re not going on that run, sir.” You push him back down. “You’re burning up with a fever.” 

“I feel fine,” He protests once more. Maverick looks up at him defiantly. His muscles ached, his legs throbbed, and he did feel nauseous, but he wasn’t going to sit there in defeat. He was going on that run, and he was going to work. 

“Listen, you may be the dangerous one between us, but you’re still my husband. And you’re staying here with me so that I can take care of you.” You lean forward and brush your fingertips through his hair. Cracking open the bottle of water, you dispense a few pain relievers and fever reducers into your hand to give to him.

Maverick looks between you and the water but finally takes the bottle and sips from it. The throbbing ache that resulted in his throat made his eyes close and a wince was undeniable. 

“Baby, I’m–”

“You’re lying.” You cut him off. “Drink up, Mav.” You encourage. 

Maverick sighs and finally takes the pills from you and swallows them with a chase of water. “I’ll go run you a shower,” 

“You don’t need to do that,” Maverick sighs. “I’m fine. I’m not sick.”

“You’re not going to work.” You tell him pointedly.

Maverick didn’t want to be babied. He was a grown man, 50, and he wasn’t going to sit there and take this. With a gentle huff, he is able to pull himself away from the blankets. It wasn’t until his feet made contact with the hardwood of the bedroom that the surge of pain filled his legs. He closed his eyes and stretched, the movement of his muscles generating a deeper ache he hadn’t realized was present until he stood upright. 

“I’ll call on your behalf and let the air boss know you won’t be at work,” You kiss the top of his head. “But I’ll go run that shower for you.”

However, Maverick was going to be impossible to stop. He walked over to the closet and retrieved his jeans and white tee, bringing you to furrow your eyebrows. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“After I shower, I’m getting dressed.” He says while rummaging through the top drawer. 

“Pete Mitchell,” 

“Yeah?” He responds. 

“Don’t make me call Hondo to humble you.”

Maverick squints in return. “I need to do something. The medicine will kick in, and I’ll be in the air by noon.”

“You won’t be in the air at all, Maverick!” 

From the kitchen area, Rooster can hear you two bickering as he continues to ravage your grapes. His eyes doubled in size when he realized that he had almost eaten the whole container, his eyes switching back and forth. He needed to make some phone calls, but first, he was going to add some humor to Maverick’s day.

“I’LL BE BACK!” Rooster yells before hurrying out of your and Maverick’s house. 

Maverick’s head shifts to the sound of Rooster and he looks at you.

“Darling, please don’t worry about me,”

You take his hand, guiding him to the bathroom. The quick motion causes his head to spin, and you can literally see your husband turning a deep shade of green. No way could he climb into a plane today. You see the way those green eyes spin out of control, the lightheadedness taking over his system. 

“I’m… Fine…” He whispers, but the thick bile that rises in his throat speaks otherwise. Moments later, you watch as Maverick files by, and he makes it to the sink just in time to empty whatever contents are left in his stomach. You sigh and rub his back in a soothing manner, never enjoying when either of you got sick.

While you drenched a rag in cold water to lay over the back of his neck, you hurried to the shower to turn it on. As you returned, he was already grabbing for the toothbrush and toothpaste, bringing a soft sigh to fall from your lips.

“Are you sick now?” You coax, running your fingers through his dark hair which you wet with your fingertips.

Low grunts emerge from his mouth as he cranes his head to the side to look at you.

“Okay, maybe I don’t feel good.” He admits breathily. 

Nodding, you kiss his back. “Let’s get you in the shower, honey,” You rub his bath soothingly as he stands upright.

You wait in the bathroom while he takes his shower, towel, and clothes at the ready. You replaced his desired outfit consisting of jeans and a white tee with a pair of shorts and one of his worn Navy shirts. Maverick would admit, being under the showerhead as hot water pounded against his back – did wonders. But when he stepped out of the warmth and immediately into the cool shower, he was a shivering mess. 

When you helped him get dressed, he looked at you with sorrow lacing his features.

“This is embarrassing.” 

Raising an eyebrow, you chuckle. “Embarrassing? Mav, I thought we said in sickness and in health in our vows?” You remind him. “You always take care of me when I get sick.”

Maverick’s back was throbbing when he made it out of the bedroom, hair still dripping from the shower. You threw the towel over his head and stopped him, roughly towel-drying his hair. His hands were rested on your waist, forehead coming to rest on your shoulder. He was still warm, but you accounted that to the hot shower he just took. 

“Yeah, but this is different,” Maverick contests. “I’m the man.”

“And men don’t get sick?” 

Maverick laughs quietly, a cough ensuing. 

“I’ll make you some tea, come on,” You guide him into the living room and make a spot on the couch for him with a pillow and a blanket. He was shuddering by the time you got him settled, and you promised that later on, you’d help warm him up. You weren’t sure where Rooster ran off to, but the moment you made the phone call to the admiral in charge, he said he already knew of Maverick’s absence for the day, and he wished him well. 

You returned to the living room with the hot tea that had milk and honey in it.

“The honey will help soothe your throat. Sip it lightly, I don’t want you to throw up again,” You sit beside him on the couch. He sits up slightly and takes the mug of tea from you, a soft smile on his face. You could see the heaviness of his eyelids. “Try and get some sleep,” You lace your fingertips around his cheek. 

Maverick nods his head. “I’m sorry for ruining whatever you had planned today,”

Sighing, you shake your head. “You needed me, darling.” You lean forward and kiss the crown of his head. Maverick eases into your touch and hands you the mug of tea. You place it down and start to rub along his shoulders, listening to the subtle grunts that fall from his mouth.

“Does it hurt?” You ask quietly.

“A little,” Maverick answers. “I’m just achy.” 

Nodding, you move between his shoulder blades once he turned onto his stomach, and that’s when he made very distinctive sounds that shouldn’t have had you thinking otherwise, especially when he was supposed to be your patient. 

But luckily, the back rub put him to sleep. When you stopped hearing him answer your questions, you craned your head over to see that he was knocked out, eyelashes fanned over the tops of his reddened cheeks. A bit of drool seeped from the corners of his smushed lips against the pillow, a smile spreading across your face. You kissed a trail up his spine from the small of his back before stroking your fingers through his hair, earning the soft snores to return from earlier this morning.

A couple of hours later when Maverick woke up, he thought death had finally come to take him. The deep groan that fell from your husband’s lips made your head snap up from your laptop as you were trying to get some work done. 

“Baby?” You put your laptop aside and walk over to the couch. 

He was irritated. He woke up and glared at you, shaking his head. His entire body somehow ached from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. The waves of nauseous returned, and before you realized what was happening, he was pushing his way from the couch, only able to make it to the kitchen sink this time. He was bent over the edge, fingertips flexed and gripping the granite. His head pounded with a vicious headache, the incoming bound of sunlight striking his eyes and generating a deep sense of pain in his emerald eyes. 

His forehead rested against the cold granite countertop as you hurried in before starting back with the cold rag over his back and neck this time. 

“You feel worse?” You ask him.

He nods violently, unable to produce a sentence. You bite into your lip, already prepared to make a phone call to the doctor to see if you could get him in. Once his stomach settled again, you were able to guide him over to the couch, where he practically fell into the cushions. 

His eyes were heavy, and he looked at you with such a pitiful expression, your heart broke into a thousand pieces.

“Oh baby,” You cup his cheek. His head lolls back to look at you. 

“I’m dying,” He groans.

Shaking your head, his fever seemed to have gone down slightly, but not enough that it didn’t concern you. 

“You’re not dying,” You promise him.

He was able to continue sitting there despite clutching his stomach, the threat of throwing up nudging him violently. Maverick didn’t want you to see him like this. He was a confident man, a man who was often prideful, but this was terrible. You lay there, stroking your fingers through his hair as he relaxed finally.

“If you’re not better by tomorrow morning, we’re going to the doctor,” You tell him.

He agreed. Maverick nodded, gulping. 

As you were about to open your mouth to say something else, to possibly offer him something else to settle his stomach, you heard a knock on the door. Checking your watch, it was just after lunch.

Making your way to the front door, you looked out the window, only to see that it was the Dagger Squad. Your eyes widened as you unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Rooster, Hangman, Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, and Payback stood there with smiles, each one with something in their hands. 

“Is Pops still alive?” Hangman chuckles. 

Smiling, you figured that a visit from his practical children would do him some good. 

Letting them inside, Phoenix walks over, and in her hands was a bag with a container. 

“I brought you some soup, chicken noodle.” She winks and goes to set it on the counter. 

“Flowers tend to make me feel better,” Bob shrugs. “Hope you like sunflowers, Mav.” He makes his way behind Phoenix to set the prepped vase beside the soup. 

Fanboy comes in next. “I wrote down some rather… Funny things occurred with some students today. Figured you’d want a laugh,” He winks and hands Maverick the journal he wrote in. 

Payback grins. “You might be out of commission for a couple of days, and as much as you love working on that plane in your shop? Got you a miniature one,” He sets the modeled plane on the coffee table, bringing Maverick to chuckle lightly. 

“I brought the sarcasm,” Hangman insists. “You look just like an old man, Mav. Frail and brittle.” He winks, plopping down into the chair in front of Maverick.

“And I brought the best thing of all!” Rooster announces. He pulls out a big Get Well Soon card and opens it. “We all signed it,” 

Your eyes widen as you look at the group who came over just to make your husband feel better. Maverick looks at every single one of them individually and chuckles. 

“Also, Hondo said you better not give Y/n any kind of look while she tries to take care of you,” Phoenix added with a smile. 

“Penny said you’ve got a free beer on her when you’re back too,” Rooster adds. 

You walk over and take a seat beside him.

“You guys are so sweet,” You hold Maverick’s shoulder.

Maverick grins at them. “Thank you,” He announces. “Really, thank you.” 

They all shake their heads.

“After everything you did for us? This is the least we could do,” Bob answers. 

“You’re like our Navy dad,” Fanboy chuckles. 

“Dad?” Hangman responds. “He’s a fossil. Granddad is the proper term.”

Maverick shoots him a glare, but they both dissolve with laughter. 

You look over at Rooster, knowing well that he was the source behind this. You deliver him a wink to which he offers one in return. 

Maverick knew he was in good hands.

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