#(slides Damian into view)

[methoughtsphantom]

halfas are the found family trope foster child

they all adopt each other. it’s the reason Vlad wanted so badly to have Danny as his son and the reason Danny immediately went with sure you’re my cousin now with Dani. it’s a survival mechanism from being so very few of their species. Sooo, halfa!Jason except he sorta isn’t yet cause Jason’s core is extremely ruptured from the lack of ectoplasm involved in his forceful resurrection. So when Danny finds Jason in his catatonic state he can’t quite tell the dude’s been dead and remains some, just that the guy for some reason seems very friend-shaped. Danny doesn’t mind his friend is braindead, and is also a john doe, he gives familiar vibes and that’s apparently enough for Danny to constantly find himself in the hospital doing his engineering homework on the room with the guy, and talking for hours about the updates on the absolute clusterfuck of the city and how he was from a freaking ghost town and he can almost even draw comparisons. he blabbers about how he’s not homesick enough times to even corner himself to talk about a ghost lore many times and how he’s just finding himself a little more prone to violence and in constant pain since none of the people he has adopted as his family are here with him and he can’t consider a place a lair if there’s isn’t someone of his in it.

But Danny could never drag someone with him just because of some it, after all it was Danny’s choice to come to Gotham to collage and not stay where at least his parents (good parents Jack and Maddie) were in Amity.

Ironically, Danny essentially can’t feel that his core has been spoon feeding ectoplasm to Jason. As months go on, the little ball of energy builds in anticipation practically vibrating in the waiting pulse of something (Danny doesn’t know but more often than not has he found himself laughing in happy confusion. it weirds him out in a good way) It’s really that he’s feeling the slow healing process of his friend (brother brother brother) ‘s core.Imagine it’s just about to properly, correctly heal when canon strikes back and Jason gets snatched by League assassins. Danny is left feeling like his core got torned out. His core had spend months helping another’s only to feel the other’s imprint and to not be able to protect it in return is— forget it being an obsession; thats like having your newborn baby being ripped out of your arms. An all assuaging feeling of helplessness that is devastating. Danny just beginning to feel like home lair when out of nowhere the rug is swept under him. Danny suddenly struggling to not flunk all his classes and beat every single liminal that he can feel crossing paths with him to the ground. Danny suddenly having his chronic pain (that hadn’t been so bad lately) dialed up to the point that there are just bearable and bad days.

The worse thing is he doesn’t know why.

Jason had only been a guy.

…

It’s only a three weeks before Jazz tells him she accepted a job offer in Gotham.

(and the guilt only makes him feel worse when he can feel himself feel better because of it)

…

now

whimsical time skip ✨

Danny is now on his feet again and friends with a Wayne of your choice (or maybe they were friends a little before Jay dissapeared and it was badTM cause Waynes? liminal 🥲) Danny definitely didn’t enjoy snapping off to his friend like that. anyways it’s been a year since that and he and his friend are having a grand time playing civvies, uhh let’s say dick because I want them to meet while ice skating, Also Dick because he definitely turns a blind eye when Danny goes airborne for a second there yep. He’s just having too much fun.

anyways as alwaysTM Danny doesn’t clock celebrities and like why would he, Dick is just the random guy who’s was fast to turn Danny’s slow day in the ice ring into a competition one day and brighten when Danny matched up his puns. So he totally doesn’t get why the guy’s so gloomy one day, anyways as you can figure, it’s Jason’s deathday and Dick is a deprecating bean, Danny tries to cheer him up by having him remember his brother instead and Dick attempts to, but even skipping through some photos in his phone make his eyes burn.

It is because of that that he doesn’t notice Danny absolutely freeze up at the photo of his friend Jay (Jay because he’s a John Doe, but that’s just too impersonal and so the first letter is J *wink wink*)

Danny absolutely doesn’t know what to do with this information, barely catches himself from asking Dick how did his brother die. Most importantly when because Danny just saw Jay—Jason less than a year ago, and this somehow doesn’t feel too recent.

Annd that how we find Danny digging into the Wayne second son tragedy. Staring at the date of death while the knowledge that they met almost six months after burns his forefront of his mind. Danny spends a day going over all the questions running through his mind over how the fuck he couldn’t sense Jay was a ghost—err was… in past tense?? what the fuck?? Danny would really like a refund on his ghost sense.

Anyways Danny goes check out the grave (now that he knows there is one) and boom although intangible he somehow triggers those shitty ass sensors/alarms that somehow didn’t go off when jason was literally digging himself out.

Obviously the bats get in the case immediately. And boy are they absolutely enraged that someone would steal Jason’s body.

[deadsetobsessions]

Hi! Party Planner! Danny has struck again.

——

Danny clambered onto the top of the building, eyes fixed onto the dimming Gotham City sky line. Electric blue eyes froze in concentration as his targets grappled into view. he quickly scaled the last rungs of the fire escape ladder to stumble onto the roof. Danny waved his arms, and his targets, catching sight of him mere moments later, began swinging towards him. Danny adjusted his bag strap.

“Hello, concerned citizen, what do you need assistance with?”

Danny faltered. Who the fuck was wearing Batman’s cowl?

Robin (with a sword) scowled at Batman before turning his attention back to Danny.

“Uh. Right,” Danny muttered, giving ‘Batman’ the most obvious and glaring side eye he could. Regardless, if the little Robin did not protest this Batman’s presence… it was good enough for him. “I’m a party planner.”

Robin spoke before Batman could. “And what of it?”

“The… uh, League of Evil or something, wait,” Danny fumbled while opening the bag and pulling out some papers. “Ah, Legion of Doom. Them.”

Little Robin and fake-Batman perked up. Fake-Batman tensed visibly. Danny grumbled. “Anyways, they’re contacting me- by they, I mean Lex Luthor- to see if I could plan a party in… God, why are Gotham’s names for shit so depressing?”

“Get on with it.” Little Robin snapped. Danny was reminded of Dani instantly and let it slide.

“Ah, right, they want me to plan a party in “Slaughter Swamp” on the seventh of next month. So… keep an eye on that, okay?” Danny asked Robin.

“Are you supposed to be telling us this?” Fake-Batman asked.

Danny shrugged, running a hand through his hair, practiced fingers brushing aside that little white streak of hair he got from the portal.

Little Robin’s gaze snapped up to his hair.

“It’s fine. They haven’t had me sign an NDA yet.” And, well, the devil is in the details but Danny is the devil.

“I’ll handle it.” Fake-Batman promised. Danny threw him a skeptical look.

“Uh-huh. Right.” He turned back to sword Robin, who looked torn between the supposed slight towards Batman and pride at Danny’s apparent trust in his abilities. “Look, here’s the stuff I have on them- copied them- and good luck and all that.”

He handed the file and some data in a usb stick to Robin, dipping away as soon as he could. He had a party to plan, and matching Luthor’s purple-gold aesthetic to Cheeta’s yellow and black spotted material wasn’t going to get done by themselves.

——

“Even the civilians outside of Gotham could tell you’re not Batman.” Damian scoffed as he watched their party planner slip back into his apartment.

“Hey, I thought I did pretty well!”

“I do not claim to know what hallucinogens you’ve inhaled, but do not come near me. I don’t want your stupidity to catch everyone else unawares.”

“Hey!”

“Get it together, Kryptonian. We still have half the night to patrol.”

Damian swung off, mind whirling along side Kent’s little hamster wheels for a brain. He’ll have to inform father. And Timothy. Red Robin had a grudge to settle with Scarecrow and will aid in Damian’s plot to obtain sugar gliders in exchange for the information. Yes.

——

Clark, thinking his Batman acting was bad: :(

Danny, has never met Batman: this can’t be Batman, he’s being midwestern polite

——

Also, I just want to say that the Flash has Georgia State patrol energy.

[dcxdpdabbles]

I reread Dauntless Matchmaker recently and I love it, could you please make another part? Either that or another part for One Hell of a Bellhop, Legal Compensation, or Mr Flavors Soda, any of the above would be great, your choice ^-^

Danny skips up the stairs towards Wayne Manor's front entrance with a binder, a few notebooks, and his laptop tucked away in his carry bag. Humming under his breath, he raises his hand to knock. Before he can touch the wood, the door swings open to the beaming face of his fake boyfriend, Tim Drake.

"Hi!" The other gasps breathlessly. He adjusts his cardigan from where it had fallen off his left shoulder. Danny has noticed something about Tim. He was always so nervous and clumsy. The poor thing was taking his heartbreak badly.

"Hi, Tim." Danny grins. He holds up his NASA theme bag with pride. "I brought the stuff!"

His boss' brother lets out a string of nervous chuckles that slowly dissolve, coughing when he chokes on his spit. Alarmed, Danny started smacking his back in hopes of helping. He wishes he could say this was a one-time thing, but Tim, unfortunately, does this often.

"Master Tim?" Alfred calls from down the left hallway.

"I'm fine! Everything-cough-hack- everything is fine!" Tim screams back, entirely red and looking a tad bit mortified. Clearing his throat, he straightens to full height, back pin straight and looking every bit the young gentleman of his standing. "Shall we move to the viewing room?"

Danny knows he's only trying to save face, so he only smiles and steps inside. As they had agreed on two weeks ago, Danny loops his arm through Tim's, pressing himself close to the other's side, just as Alfred walks by.

The aged man seems pleased to see them so affectionate, which Damian said Danny had to play up because otherwise, it would not be believable. Tim only dated men and women who showed their care through physical touch, and he was often seen holding hands or looping arms with his partners.

As it is, Tim does his part well, beaming up at Danny. He was taller after hitting a second growth spurt, but sadly, he seemed to take after his mother rather than his father. Danny was only two inches taller than Tim.

On the other hand, Jazz grew like a weed. Once it became apparent, she took after Jack in height. Dan's appearance gave Danny hope that he would break the six-foot mark in a few years—you know, if the madness and devouring Plasmius didn't affect his development too much.

"What are you showing me today?" Tim asks as they stride past Damian. The younger boy makes a face, the same one Danny made whenever Jazz brought over a boy, and they were being sickly sweet. He offers his boss a smile in return, watching those intense green eyes roll.

"I brought evidence of why Yetis' healthcare is far superior to ours." Danny pats his bag with a satisfied smirk. "Nothing beats Frostbite."

Tim melts. "That's amazing. I can't wait to hear all about it. Then we could go get dinner. How does Divine Palace sound?"

"The upscale restaurant? I would need to change before I'm allowed in there. It has a dress code, doesn't it?"

Tim snuggles closer. "You can borrow one of my suits."

"You know it's bad luck to wear someone else's clothes?" Danny tells him they have just arrived at the viewing room. The projector is set up, and Danny is waiting to plug in his laptop. A sizeable plush couch is pushed in front of the large empty wall, where Tim plans to curl up and watch Danny's presentation.

Meeting someone who adored all the educational information about Ghosts and their culture was lovely. Danny's parents were more interested in the aspects of biology and anatomy than the sociology and anthropology he studied.

After he finished his slide show—sadly without pictures as ghosts disrupted the camera—he would show Tim his notes, which the two could flip through together on the couch. Since his PowerPoint lacked images, Danny settled for some drawings and blurry photos he had stored in his binder while exploring the Zone.

He started it when he was fourteen, gradually growing over the years.

"Why's that?" Tim asks, throwing himself on the couch and crossing his legs underneath him. He places his elbow on the meat of his thigh and leans his head on his hand, his eyes never leaving Danny.

They seem to be shining, utterly captivated by the Halfa.

"It makes it easier for ghosts to overshadow you," Danny answers promptly, unzipping his bag to take out the materials from his bag. He had to look away from his friend because the way he was staring was making him a bit flustered.

"Overshadow?"

"It's another way of saying possession, but it's more politically correct." He responds, plugging in the wires to his laptop and watching the lock screen of his computer appear on the wall. "My sister's first boyfriend attempted to do that to her. Gave her some of his girlfriend's stuff so she could form around her and use Jazz as an anchor to stay on this plane."

"And you saved her before he could succeed," Tim sighs adoringly.

Danny puffs out his chest. "I did!"

Tim pressed a button on the side of his couch. At once, the thing expands, pushing the backrest down and expanding the bottom until it forms an even flat surface. Danny initially thought it was a recliner, but apparently, rich people had couches that could turn into beds in seconds.

He lays flat on his stomach, kicking his feet and leaning on both hands as he smiles like a loon at Danny. "That's amazing."

Danny bites his lip, trying to be modes,t but it's hard when he's being praised by someone like Tim Drake.

"Well, it's just what a good brother does. All I really had to do was use his bad luck against him, and really, Jazz sort of snapped out it when he tried to punch me," He babbles while scrambling to log into his account. He needs to do something before he bursts from all the giddy, mushy feeling in his chest. "It was nothing compared to when I had to win a pie-eating contest against Baker."

"Hmm?"

"Baker is a pasty theme ghost that is shockingly powerful. He locked me in a battle for five days before I convinced him to switch to a food theme contest." Danny laughs, shaking his head at the memories. "I was stuck in bed for a day with the biggest stomach ache, but I won that day. And victory was sweet."

Tim swoons.

Just as Danny is booting up the presentation, his superhearing catches the whispers of Tim's other siblings from the hallway. Damian had instructed him not to let anyone else in the household learn the truth of his contract because it would eventually get back to Alfred.

After meeting the man, he completely understands the paranoia.

"Who is that?" He's pretty sure that's the oldest Dick.

"Tim's new obsession." Answers Steph with a smirk in her words. "Apparently, he's some paranormal-obsessed conspiracy theorist."

"Why does he always go for the crazy ones?" Jason sighs dramatically.

"Have you seen Danny's biceps? Were it not for his health issues, I would have thought Tim found a secret off-duty hero."

Danny hastily focuses on his first slide, trying not to show his fear. Tim continues to watch him kick his feet and play with some of his hair. He has a habit of twirling his hair. Tim almost always does that whenever Danny sees him.

[sobbingscripter]

DAY 9: Nine Ladies Dancing

☃️Stuff My Stocking☃️

Tags: [virginity][AGED UP][vanilla?][friends to lovers][implied crushes][did I mention AGED UP]

A/N: idk who's art that is but I hope you get the sloppiest toppy.

❄️☃️❄️

"This is pointless. Everyone knows what they're getting." Damian grumbles, nimble and tanned fingers folding thin and vibrant coloured wrapping paper around yet another box. The eighth one so far.

Snow tumbles outside frost bitten windows, a beautiful view of snowcapped mountains and the soft howl of wind all remains beyond the sturdy, brick walls of the manor. The scent of cinnamon and ginger lingers in the air, a plate of half-eaten gingerbread cookies on an ornate plate, two glasses of unfinished milk accompanying the snack on the wooden surface of the nearest coffee table.

"This is your first traditional Christmas." You answer him, your brows knitting into a frown at the familiar and unwelcome pessimism that seems to seep from Damian's pores like sweat.

"Not to mention your last Christmas, before you move in with the Titans and then, you're never seeing me again." You add, the last tidbit being said with a hint of dramatism, and if you were more confident in your knitting abilities, you'd have rested your hand on your chest, wiping away a faux tear with your other.

"Imagine I'm—" "Yeah, I get it." Emerald pools roll in annoyance at your theatrics, and he pinches the corners, sharpening them on either side of the box's seams. "And you're being ridiculous. You'll see me."

His eyes lift to meet your gaze, and if you were feeling a bit more confident, you'd have commented on the hint of sadness lurking behind the leafy pools and stupidly long lashes. Those goddamn Arab genes.

"Yeah but then you'll be dating that goth girl in the leotard. And you'll bring her on all our hang outs, and when you don't, she'll tell you that I'm trying to fuck you."

"Aren't you?"

Damian's question causes you to miss a stitch, wooden needles poking into the wrong loop of the vibrant green yarn, and your eyes widen, long lashes fanning out around your doe eyes before you let out a snort of laughter.

"Yeah, but not if you have a girlfriend."

Your eyes lower back to the stocking you're knitting, carefully fixing your mistake before continuing, the soft sound of wood clanging against one another continues to ring out in the stillness, the only other sound being the crackling fireplace and the hum of the fucking gramophone Damian had insisted on turning on for...

Arm-bie-arnce.

"But..." His voice is quiet and his hands still. "I don't have a girlfriend."

He sets down the half-wrapped box, carefully extracting the knitting needles and yarn from your hands, and a hand wraps around your ankle, tugging you closer across the burgundy rug of Wayne Manor's entertainment room.

"And I'm not interested in Rachel."

He adds quietly, gaze locked on yours and you swallow. Your heart pounds in your chest, rattling your ribcage and your palms begin to get clammy as you grasp at the soft cotton of your (his) pajama pants.

"Can I—" "Yes, you can cast it off."

Damian's kisses are soft. Gentle, and all-consuming. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, the muscles in his arms flex with each of his movements, muscular fingers moving behind the fabric of your pants. The feel of his pounding heart against your back is the only indication that he's just as nervous and inexperienced as you, if not more.

Because GOD, you'd never guess.

Not from the way his fingers slowly circle your needy clit, just enough to keep you on the teetering edge of pleasure, soaking through your panties and definitely not from the way his free hand grasps your neck, just... Resting there. His thumb rubs that soft spot just beneath your ear, brushing over the sensitive skin as his tongue slides repeatedly against yours, painting the inside of your mouth with his taste.

Gingery cookies, full cream milk and the hint of mint from his toothpaste, and Damian pulls away, dark lashes fluttering and his lips reddened from being so... Coddled in attention. He can taste your lip balm on his lips, the hint of coconut oil and that sweet smell that always seems to get him dizzy whenever he gets a whiff of it.

You're so pretty right now. Big, wide doe eyes with long lashes, fluttering as you stare up at him expectantly, your back pressed against his broad chest and you can feel the hardness of his muscles through the fleece of your hoodie and the flimsy fabric of his long sleeved T-shirt. You're pliable, and each time his fingers curl, he gets to feel your pulse jump beneath your skin, and each time, it sends a delightful shiver down his back, making his cock twitch.

"You're pretty." Damian whispers quietly, smoky green eyes drinking in the flush of your cheeks, your body melding against his and slowly, he pulls his fingers out of your pants. Bringing them up to his lips and tasting you on his tongue and you get to watch the exact moment he falls in love with the taste of your leaky pussy.

Lashes flutter, eyes nearly close and that aching cock pressing against your lower back is so noticeable that when you shift, you can exactly feel the ridge of his flushed crown. And his hands move to your thighs, squeezing the plump flesh before he dips his head low.

Your nails graze the short cropped hair of his undercut, just as his tongue flicks against your pulse, before he presses a soft kiss to your pleasure-thrumming skin.

"Wait here," he hums, "I'm gonna go ask Todd for a condom."

You're sopping. It's an uncomfortable feeling when you feel Damian's plump tip stretching out your tight, untrained muscles, his hand anchoring your hips to the sofa and you frown, brows knitted tightly and your lips tugged into a cute little pout.

"Just—" You feel a particularly painful pinch and you wince, "—shove it in." You instruct. "Don't prepare me. Then don't move. Not even an in—"

Your wind is knocked out of you when Damian, quite literally, shoves it in. Your walls spasm and your eyes well up with tears as your teeth bite into your plump bottom lip to stifle any sounds, any tears.

"Shh shh, 'm sorry, 'm sorry." Damian mutters softly, leaning over you and peppers soft kisses to your red face, pressing gentle kisses to your watering eyes and his hands gently massage your waist and hips, trying to help you relax.

"Just...." Damian bites his lip as he thinks. Normally, in the porn he's seen, everyone's already broken in. But he takes a leap of faith, his hand resting on your mound and his thumb moves to your folds, finding that cute pebbled bud and slowly, he coaxes you into relaxation.

Slow circles that have your mouth forming a cute pouty 'o' shape, wet lashes fluttering as you look down at his hand. The pain is... Dull. Still present but so dull when compared to Damian's face, so... Expressive, for once and so gentle as he plays with your clit.

Gentle pinches, slow circles.

He pulls out every trick in the book, all while keeping his aching hips still, eager for you to enjoy this before he gets to fuck you.

He leans forward, hips snug against your own as he presses a kiss against your temple, your thighs over his and he hides his face in your neck when your hips rock to meet his thumb's movements and you just feel....

Warm.

Your brows crease when Damian lets out a shuddering breath before he lifts himself, grabbing your hoodie from the backrest of the sofa and he tosses it over your face.

"What are you—" "Don't look!"

Damian huffs, pulling out of you and he carefully tugs the already filled condom off, the latex filled to the brim with snowy white cum and he knots it, hiding it beneath the sofa.

Just for now.

He carefully and quickly rips another foil packet, putting on the condom just like how Dick demonstrated with a banana on one really... Shitty day.

And just when you finally manage to toss the hoodie off your face (he tucked the arms into the space between the cushion and the armrest), Damian's already sliding his thick cock back into your drooling cunt.

Your eyes roll back, your hips lifting and your knees move inward, pressing your knees into his sides as his thumb continues it's prior assault, teasing your sensitive button.

"Open your legs." Damian huffs, cheeks still flushed from the knowledge that he came so early, but as long as you don't know, you can't bring it up.

"I—... No..." Your hips buck sloppily, and he lets out a deep groan, but you're not sure if it's in pleasure or annoyance, but Damian's hands move to your inner thighs, spreading them obscenely wide and he stares.

Watching the way your puffed pussy lips swallow his cock whole, and he slowly pulls out of you, listening to that slick sound that nearly blends into the crackle of firewood and he slowly sinks back into you.

Damian.

He doesn't thrust, doesn't pound or piston.

His hips fucking roll into yours, a slow grind that has your brain melting and your nails digging into strong biceps, and Damian's eyes are locked on yours. It's a slow fuck. The slowest and so deep, each sloppy kiss against your cervix has your toes curl in those knitted socks, your yarn covered heels brushing against his muscular back.

"You're so tight..." Damian breathes out, his hips stuttering and your whines turn into quiet breaths, soft breathy moans and your hands interlock behind his neck, pulling him closer.

He's all you can smell.

That musky sweat, the oud he uses. Fuck, he smells so good. And you're barely paying attention when you whisper softly, lips brushing against his ear.

"Take off the condom?"

[itsgivingmami]

Rhea who’s been pining after reader ever since they met in NXT, reader was Damian’s best friend and gear maker.

Reader decided one day that she wanted to try making women’s gear and who’s a better subject than Rhea Bloody Ripley?

They get up close and personal in their first fitting and the champion gets flustered…

-Told you long requests were a bad habit, Maggie

A Measure of Love- Rhea Ripley

Enjoy!! Comments. Likes and reblogs always appreciated

Rhea picked up her pump cover from the bench and wiped her face, sweat running from her dark tresses down her temples. The air is cranked in her garage but it does barely anything to cool her flushed skin. The music is loud as she turns to face Damian, finishing his last rep of presses.

“You wanna grab lunch?” Rhea shouts and Damian slides his body out from the bar and sits up. He takes a moment to catch his breath and take a sip of water.

“I can’t I’ve got a fitting for war games,” Damian explains and Rhea feels her heart leap at the mention of her favourite person. “Speaking of which I don’t wanna go all smelly can I grab a shower?”

“You know where it is,” she teases in fake annoyance and he claps her on the shoulder and heads into her home towards the guest room. Once he’s gone Rhea deflates she leans against the bar with her hands clasped together holding her forehead up.

How many years, how many mentions, how many times had she thought of you and still, heart racing and if she wasn’t already worked up from the exercise she was sure she’d be blushing too. There was the assumption that she’d be used to it by now with all the time you spent in her head and not to mention all the time she’d spent scrolling your social media. For fucks sake you’d been to her house at least a couple times during parties, she could probably find you at Damian’s more often than not and you were constantly backstage during raw. That’s how you had met, and since that day not a single on had past that Rhea hadn’t thought about you in some capacity.

~

“Fuck,” Rhea arms were twisted behind her neck trying to get the buckle on her top closed but every-time she got the fascinator in place it snapped open. “Fuck!”

She’s rushing from the locker room towards catering, she’ll have to sprint to make it to gorilla before her fight but she can’t exactly go out topless either. Her bleach blond hair tickles the top of her hands as she holds her top, she’s relieved having it so short finally but it’s the perfect length to get stuck in the abysmal clasp.

“Priest!” Damian’s turns from the group he’s talking with to spot his friend yelling for him, he excuses himself quickly seeing the worry on her face and for a second he think she’s got some sort of neck injury.

“What’s wrong?” He asks trying to pull her arm from her neck, and she nudges him off. He stares confused,

“Stupid thing won’t stay closed can you try I’ve gotta be at gorilla,” she turns and he takes a moment to look before admitting defeat.

“Stay here,” he says before quickly running down the hall and out of view. Rhea bobbles impatiently as she feels time passing, maybe she should’ve just tried to find a merchandised shirt.

Damian’s boots are loud as he hauls back around towards her, there’s a quick glance thrown over his shoulder as a shorter woman’s comes trailing behind him. Her hair swings behind her in a ponytail, her large white button up, open on her shoulders acts like a cape as she and Damian run towards Rhea.

“Who’s this?” Rhea asks as they meet her in the hall, her eyes don’t leave the woman infront of her, staring up through round wire frame glasses.

“She does all my gear she’ll fix that,” Rhea squints for a minute before snapping back to reality, right her top, her match. She continues to stare at the woman as her brain catches up,

“I’ve got it I promise,” you tell her but her hesitancy has nothing to do with your skill and everything to do with the fact that she doesn’t want to stop looking at you. With a thick swallow Rhea nods and spins around, gently lowering to her knees and allows you to work.

She makes it out in time, the golden lights of nxt greeting her for the evening. Her tops holds strongly as she pins her opponent.

Damian congratulates her as she gets back to the gorilla but her eyes scan the room for you. As she makes her way back to the locker room she checks every hallway for the sight of you but nothing. She rips her gear off the first chance she gets and packs up quickly, throwing items into her bag before heading back out into the busy hallways.

~

She never did find you that night, but as a thank you she had sent you flowers a few days later come to find out you weren’t actually in town and they had died at your doorstep. That was the first on only time Rhea had decided to shoot her shot with you and years later you were still completely ignorant to the roses your building had removed from the hall.

From then she’d found every excuse to be close to you, came to Damian’s fittings when she could, offered to wait with you backstage at events. Everything but actually make a move on you or tell you how she felt.

“I’m headed out,” Damian leaned in the doorway with his gym bag in hand, she waves him off with a tired smile. She loves her closest friend but she can’t help the jealousy that creeps in. She finally leaves the garage to get a glass of water before heading off to a shower of her own.

She’s in her bedroom pulling out sweats and hour later with a table when her phone lights up with Damian’s contact photo. Probably wants to show off his new gear. She tosses the clothes on the bed and sits down, sliding to accept his FaceTime. Her phone nearly flys across the room when she sees your face light up her screen and she looks down at the towel covering her body.

“Hey gorgeous!!” You greet happily unaware the fluster you’ve put her in. “Do you have a second for me?”

She could laugh if she wasn’t caught so off guard. A second? She had years to give to you, years she’s waited stuffed under her belt. She runs a hand through her wet hair in attempt to look more presentable and nods swallowing thickly.

“Yeah always,” she tells you honestly, her mind tones brings a smile to your face.

“Are you loyal to somebody for your gear?” You ask quickly, Rhea furrows her brows and shakes her head.

“Not particularly I tend to shop around,” Rhea answers and you light up, Rhea hears Damian pipe in with a teasing ‘I told you so,” before you swatted at him. Rhea took your distraction as an opportunity to admire you.

Contrary to popular belief she was not all skulls, goth and black. She did occasionally enjoy the light and airy things in life, some might even call cute and one of those things, was you. The way your hair falls around your face and when you smile one side raises a little higher than the other. Your face had changed over the last couple years as did your habit for choosing contacts over your frames but to her you still looked as tempting as your first meeting.

“I don’t know how you deal with him,” your voice snaps Rhea back to reality as her phone comes back into focus. You’re rolling your eyes at Damian and smiling at her. “You’re never going to get married at this rate stupido!”

“Says the single woman,” Damian retorts and Rhea places her phone to view the ceiling. She hears you scoff as she pulls on a pair of sweat pants and a tee.

“I know how to treat a woman better than you!” And it was true, you did. You had more long term relationships than Rhea or Damian in the last few years and it gutted her every time. It both relieved and filled her with anxiety when you clarified that you were gay for the first time. Rhea had gone from worrying about you and Damian together to worrying about every other woman on the planet. “Where’d you go?”

Rhea tosses the towel into the hamper and grabs her phone and as she reappears you smile.

“Sorry you caught me out the shower,” You watch Rhea shuffle back and lean against the head board,

“I’m sorry I just really wanted to talk to you!” You explain and she feels her heart jump. She’s torn between watching you and watching herself ok her phone to make sure her face doesn’t betray her.

“I’m all yours,” Rhea admits, it feels nice to say aloud even though she really does mean it and you chuckle in response to what you assume is a joke.

“I’ve been thinking about moving into doing women’s ring gear,” you speak quickly a feeling of nerves flowing over you, “and since you and your terror twins are officially teaming up I was thinking that maybe I could do your gear too, could make them match and everything,”

Listen, Rhea knows she should be paying attention to your offer, and she hears you but the way you’re blushing and refusing to really look at her is something she hasn’t seen and it’s pulling the dominant side of her out of the hole she pushed it down into a long time ago in regards to you.

“You wanna make gear for me?” Rhea questions and you nod enthusiastically,

“Yes! Please what do ya say?”

~

“Hello?” Rhea shouts into the quiet room, her voice echoing back at her. She moves inside and closes the door behind her, the lights above her hum dully, a good sign that you’re here somewhere. She’s only been here a few times when tagging along with Damian but the studio is familiar enough, your loft hanging above the space.

“Hi!” She hears followed by the clanking of metal, she watches you descend the spiral staircase quickly and speed walk towards her. Your arms wrap around her neck, pulling her down your height. “Thank you for this,”

“Anytime,” she replies because any chance to spend time with you is a win in her book, getting new custom ring gear was an added bonus. “So what do you need from me?”

“I need your measurements and then we can look at some sketches,” Rhea freezes in place, measurements, her measurements. She wasn’t sure how that fact hadn’t crossed her mind, of course you were going to have to touch her at some point during fittings but measuring her? You were too busy floating around collecting your measuring tape and notepad to notice the (gay) panic happening. “Cool?”

“Oh? Um-“ Rhea forces a smile and nods as you look at her innocently, “cool,”

Half an hour later Rheas standing on a pedestal in her bike shorts and sports bra, her mind a mental minefield of trying not to think about you and simultaneously prepare herself for you to be so close.

“Okay so hold your arm out a little for me,” Rhea takes a sharp breath in as you gently touch her right arm, moving it to where you want it. “Perfect,” your hands are gentle as you measure the length of her arm and she can feel your eyes move along her skin.

“How come you decided to do women’s gear?” Something, anything, a distraction of any kind was better than the silence. You look up from the tape to her, her gaze remains stuck in front of her, stoic like a statue. “You’re pretty established with the work you do now,”

“I got inspired,” you answer vaguely and pull your tape along her arm back to your waiting hand, “there’s a woman I want to see in my clothes,”

“Gotcha,” she tries to say casually, throwing a quick answer out before her voice breaks. “So I get to be the guinea pig?”

“Hmmm,” you hum as you make your way around her, your finger tips are cold on the back of Rheas neck as you hold the tape and run it down the length of her back. You watch the muscle is her back tense and move and quickly advert your eyes back to the task at hand. “I wouldn’t send you out in anything I wasn’t confident in,”

“No I didn’t mean-“ your soft giggles cut her off as your forehead hits her back.

“I was kidding,” you rub her back gently to let her know she’s okay before moving to measure her waist.

“So who’s this dream muse of yours?” She can’t help but ask. Rhea tries to keep her tone playful but the way her tones drops towards the end of her sentence gives her away more than she’d like. Your eyes seemed focused on your tape and she hopes you weren’t plying close enough attention. “I’m sure Damian could put in a good word with pretty much anyone,” You avoid making eye contact with her as you return to your notepad to jot down her waist number and shrug.

“I’m sure he could knowing him,” you tease but say nothing else about it and it sends the gears in Rheas head turning full force. “Arms up,”

“If it’s someone in my division I could talk to them for you?” Rhea offers and she doesn’t know why, she doesn’t exactly want to share you but the way you’re measuring across her chest prompts her to start rambling.

“I don’t think so,” you giggle and smile at her. Now she was starting to feel antsy, all the past times a girl had shown up in your life she was blind sided, at least this time she had the opportunity to prepare herself for seeing you with someone else.

“Cmon just tell me who she is,” Rhea tries again ignoring your hands on her hips, “I know I could convince her,” why can’t she stop talking?

“I really doubt it Rhea,” you tell her, you lowering onto a knee in-front of her getting ready to measure her legs. You keep your eyes on her thighs as you measure them, refusing to look up. You write down your number before looking up. “Plus no need,”

“Why not?” Rhea asks, your vagueness is starting to irritate her, despite how cute you are how nice your touch feels.

“Because I’m already measuring her,”

To be continued…

[nightwngz]

Could you do an enemies to lovers NSFW with Damian?

p.s. I’d just like to say your writing is SO good for someone whose first language isn’t English! I would not have known

ANIMALS !

older!damian x fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. . . drabble. smut. porn without plot. Dirty talk, degradation. Dacryphilia, humiliation kink, praise kink, Damian is mean. Some bdsm. Aggressive sex, bondage. Oral sex and fingering, p in v.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. . . as I said in my other posts, English is not my first language. I have tried to make corrections with the translator, but as you all know, it is prone to making mistakes, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if anything sounds weird.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. . . Okay, I get it. Damian is your favorite character on my account, I get requests for him all the time and I love that because who doesn't love Damian? So here we go again. By the way, I'm glad you liked my writing! It is almost impossible for me to write without any grammar or vocabulary mistakes, but I keep trying! Thanks🌷 (Pd: if you reblog this post it would help me a lot) <3

��� Do you want to stop?

From the vulnerability of your bed, shackled hand and foot, you thought it was a bad decision to bother Damian for so long. You thought you were just being funny, that no one would care that you were harassing Bruce Wayne's son. You had no idea what he was capable of doing to you.

— No.

A mischievous smile played on his lips as he stood over you; you could feel his weight on your body. In an instant, however, you felt yourself fall hard against the mat in the room.

— What do you have to say now? — He admired you from on high. — Aren't you the same funny girl you always were?

The sole of his shoe brushed your cheek. You felt incredibly humiliated, as if you were an inferior being in his presence. He looked at your body as if it were worthless.

— This would be amazing for anyone to see you: tied up, naked, on my bedroom floor. I can see your dripping pussy from up here. Who knew the amazingly cool girl would like this? — His shoe began to press harder against the flesh of your face. — You like it rough, guess what, I'm the best at it when I put my mind to it.

The wetness from your pussy dripped down your legs, leaving gray stains on the carpet. Damian, aware of this, walked around to stand behind you to get a close-up view of your ass. He easily slid a finger through your swollen folds and instantly it was stained with so much accumulated moisture.

— Damian, what are you going to do? — you asked, somewhat anxiously, but received no answer.

He bent his face down until his breath was in contact with your pussy; you quickly felt a mere shiver from your nervousness. Soon you felt his lips, and not long after, his whole hand making an obscene sound inside you; sliding up and down your wet folds, not yet reaching the pleasurable point that made you go wild.

— Damian... — You moaned softly as you buried your face in the carpet.

He didn't stop moving, he just kept playing with every part of her crotch, making you wish he'd concentrate on the throbbing clit that needed attention.

One of his fingers hovered around your clitoris and began to caress it gently. Just as you thought you were about to come, he pulled away.

— Didn't I tell you, y/n? Bad girls don't have orgasms.

You quickly began to cry. You knew that if he didn't give it to you, it would be incredibly impossible for you to get that orgasm on your own. So from your position, you just moved closer and started begging.

Kneeling down, you approached him and looked at him with your tearful eyes. Lamenting, with your face at the level of his knees, you still looked at him from the ground.

— Damian, please... — You sobbed. — I'm sorry for all the things I've done to you, but I really need you. I want you to fuck me. I'll do anything you want.

The young man simply smiled as he watched his enemy from his clearly superior position.

— Lool at this, the famous y/n now begging losers for some attention? I feel sorry for you. — He said in reference to how you used to tell him he was a loser.

He cut your bonds with a knife. You felt relief as the blood began to flow again.

You didn't notice as he grabbed your neck, almost choking you. He pulled you roughly close to his face until his lips collided with yours in a dirty, loveless kiss.

Finally, he pushed your face to the floor and lifted your ass until it was in the ideal position to fuck you. Without further ado, he rammed you hard and began to move hard inside you. As hard and precise as if he were an animal.

— What's the matter? Is it incredibly hard to believe that only I can fuck you like this?

[caramara3]

How Could You | Damian Priest

Warnings: it's just sad.

A/N: Sooo... this is actually a rework of an old Seth Rollins one-shot I had made years back, but I decided to revamp it into a Damian Priest one-shot. This has absolutely no tie-in to Just Friends whatsoever.

Word Count: 2.9k

Enjoy!

DING!

The elevator comes to a halt upon the arrival of yet another floor. A robotic, yet feminine voice comes over the loudspeaker:

“EIGHTH FLOOR.”

The metal doors slowly open to reveal a black and gray hallway with artwork of abstract watercolor paintings hanging on the walls. Standing towards the back of the car, leaning against the safety bar, you watch your best friend and maid of honor Sydney step off the elevator. Placing one hand in front of the elevator door so it wouldn’t close she scans the hallway, looking left and then to the right, all to make sure that there was no one around.

After a few minutes, she finally turned her gaze back into the elevator. A small, loving smile softly forms and she extends a hand.

“Coast is clear,” she whispers.

You nod and push off the safety bar, throwing the thick strap of your purse over your shoulder. You grab hold of your carry-on and step off the elevator.

Sydney places a hand on the swell of your back while the other pulls her suitcase. Your gaze falls to the floor as the two of you walk down the hall, focusing on the hotel’s unusual carpet pattern as she scans the placards on the wall looking for the right room. Every so often you could feel her eyes practically burning a hole through before quickly turning away to look back up at the placards. 

She was worried. She had every right to be. Since leaving the arena over an hour ago you'd barely spoken a single word. Not to her, not to Rhea, no one. You were catatonic. 

But who could blame you? After what you had just seen, anyone would react the exact same way if they were in your shoes.

As you continued down the hall, you could feel the consistent buzzing of your phone through the thin fabric of the hoodie. Slow at first, but quickly becoming more often with every unanswered second passing by.

It almost felt like with every step you took, the phone would go off.

Step.

Buzz.

Step.

Buzz.

Step, step.

Buzz, buzz.

Normally you would have answered by now. But instead, you chose to ignore whoever it was and kept going. 

You finally reached the end of the hall and stopped in front of a door marked 827. Sydney pulls out a key card from the pocket of her jeans and slides it into the automated lock. A few buzzing sounds later, a green light flashes and a loud *click* signals the door had unlocked. She turns the handle, pushes the door open, and then moves to the side to usher you into the room, following close behind.

Placing your purse on the dresser, you look around at what would be your new home for the night. For the most part, the room looked like every other hotel room you’ve stayed in while on the road. Granted, this was probably the most luxurious of most of them, but still pretty standard. 

There were two Queen beds each donning a fancy purple duvet with no less than eight of the fluffiest pillows you’d have ever seen in your life, a giant flat screen TV mounted above a black dresser, cashmere floor rugs draped across cherry hardwood floors, a cozy little reading area near the windows with a small leather loveseat, and a wet bar fully stocked with overpriced snacks and tiny bottles of alcohol. 

The one thing that did make the room stand out was the incredible view. Floor-to-ceiling window panels centered on the main wall of the room leveled with the New York skyline, showcasing a near perfect image of the city. There was even a clear view of the Empire State Building in the background, lit up in red and blue lights as night blanketed the city.

You sit on the edge of the bed, looking out the window. Looking out at the city you couldn’t help to think about how different life was a few hours ago. You were engaged to the love of your life. You were in the final countdown before the big day, less than a week. You were at your rehearsal dinner downtown surrounded by your closest friends and family, all gathered to celebrate your upcoming nuptials. 

But all of that seemed so long ago now.

How could this have happened? How could he do that to me? 

But before you could think of an answer to your question, the sound of boots clacking across the hardwood floor brought you back to reality.

“Well,” Sydney says with a satisfied sigh, “this is nice. Really nice as a matter of fact, especially with it being super last minute.”

You brought your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them, never once looking away from the window. “It’s fine, I guess.” 

“Fine?” she snorts, “Y/N, come on! Look at what we got. Gorgeous view, fancy sheets, free Wi-Fi, a fully stocked bar...”

You hear movement from behind and see a light flicker on through the window’s reflection. “Oh my-, Y/N you’ve gotta see this bathroom! It’s got a huge shower and…” she pauses, “Oh. My. God. The floors are heated. Y/N the floors are heated!!”

But you don’t move. You don’t spring up from the bed to revel in her excitement over heated floors or whatever other fancy details the room had to offer. Instead, you stay seated in silence, holding yourself as you gaze out into the city and its nightlife. 

You observe the streetlights perched on the sidewalk creating an ominous glow on the pavement. The mixture of city cars and yellow taxis, halted by ongoing traffic as they struggle to reach their destination on time. The small groups of tourists stopping every few minutes for selfies with various buildings in the background, including this very hotel.

All the while your mind replays the events from earlier. A single tear manages to escape as your mind begins to torture you with a play-by-play of what happened. It all still felt like a dream to me, a sick twisted nightmare that no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t wake up from. Your brain searched and scanned through every single memory collected from the last three years.

You were desperate to find any little detail you missed, something that could explain just where everything went wrong. Something that could’ve prepared you for what would eventually happen.

But you found nothing.

No hints, no little clues. 

No hidden messages or blaring warning signs.

Nothing that screamed out: “Y/N don’t be alarmed, but the night before you’re supposed to get married… you’re gonna find your fiancé with some random woman bent over a table.”

Boy that would’ve been a great fucking warning now, wouldn’t it?

You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t felt the bed dip, nor did you flinch when you felt a set of arms pull you into an embrace, resting your head under Sydney’s chin. One hand settled at the swell of your back, tracing small circles with her finger, the other gently stroked your hair. Sydney had been your best friend ever since you were both in diapers, you knew just how much it pained her to see you like this; this deflated catatonic alien that had replaced her bubbly best friend. You knew she probably had a million questions for you, but rather than bombard you, she said nothing and just held you. 

Throughout your nearly three decades of friendship, there was never a time in your life where you couldn’t rely on her to be there for you wherever you needed the most. And tonight was definitely one of those moments when you needed her.

The two of you stayed in this comfortable silence for seemed like forever, just staring out into the night as she held you. 

“You feel like talking about it?” you hear her ask, her voice just above a whisper.

You say nothing.

“Ok, that’s fine, we don’t have to talk about it yet. We’ve got tomorrow to figure everything out, but tonight,” she pauses, leaping from the bed, “tonight we are getting shit faced.”

Once again you say nothing but watch as she makes her way over to the wet bar. You knew what Sydney was trying to do. First she would pump you with some top shelf liquor, order a bunch of room service, and then put on your favorite horror movies to get you in a relaxed and neutral state while she did damage control. 

Unfortunately, Freddy Krueger and tequila weren't going to fix this problem. Not this time.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I call Rhea and see where she and Bianca are with the rest of your things, and then I’ll see if I can wrangle us up some food. How does that sound?”

You think it over for a moment before nodding in agreement.

A smile forms on Sydney’s face. “Awesome. What do you feel like? We could do chinese, pizza, maybe some Thai food? I could see if room service is still available…?”

You look over at her, her hazel eyes meeting yours. “Could we do a little bit of everything?”

A small laugh escapes Sydney’s mouth. “Hell yea we can! I’ll even get some ice cream from that bodega we passed down the street. Why don’t you change out of that dress, take a nice hot shower, and I’ll start getting everything ready.”

You give her a small smile and with one final hug from her she grabs her purse and heads out, leaving you alone. You slide off the bed and walk around the large room. You stop in front of one of the many conveniently placed touch screen panels on the wall. Scanning over it, you find an app called Night and tap it. Instantly, large panels begin descending over the large window panel, slightly darkening the room and hiding the skyline away for the night.

You move about the room making your way inside the en-suite bathroom. Once inside, you shut the door and lock it. Sydney was right, this was an incredible bathroom, like something straight out of Architectural Digest. Apart from the aforementioned heated floors, there were heated marble countertops, eucalyptus scented plush Egyptian cotton towels, two complimentary plush bathrobes with matching slippers, full-sized bottles of luxury brand skincare and body products, & a huge glass walk-in steam shower with two large overhead rainfall showerheads and shower wall panels on the front and side walls.

On the outside of the shower was another touch screen panel to control the shower. You look it over for a few moments, looking over your choices before choosing the one labeled “rainfall.” The overhead showerheads come alive and water begins to rain down, quickly filling the bathroom with steam.

Moving back to the sink you look at the wide selection of skincare products laid out when you felt your phone begin its incessant vibrating once again. But rather than ignore it like before, you pull your phone from your hoodie pocket and stare at the screen.

The first thing you see is your background. It was one of your favorite pictures of the two of you together, Halloween 2022. The two of you had dressed up as Frankenstein and The Bride of Frankenstien. You were looking at the camera but his eyes were focused solely on you, a smile stretched across his face as he did.

You unlock your screen and view the notifications: over a dozen missed calls. Dozens of voicemails. Way too many damn unread text messages.

With a sigh, you begin scrolling through the list of missed calls, seeing one name appear more often than others.

Damian.

Damian.

Rhea.

Bianca.

Damian.

Damian.

Kayden.

Finn.

Dominik.

Damian.

Damian.

Damian.

Bianca.

Finn.

Damian.

Rhea.

Damian.

Damian.

Damian.

Damian.

The nerve he had to call you, the absolute nerve. What in the hell would make him think you wanted to hear anything that he had to say? Did he think that simple sorry was going to change everything? Or was he calling to explain that what you had seen wasn’t what you thought it was.

You toss your phone onto the counter in annoyance before walking back into the main room, not caring much where it landed. You free yourself of your hoodie, your dress, and the rest of your clothes. You grab two of the plush bath towels underneath the sink, placing one on the back of the toilet and place the other on a hook outside of the shower. You grab one of the bottles of complimentary body wash and open the shower door, the rush of steam engulfing you as you step inside.

You move to stand directly underneath the showerhead, letting the warm cascade over your body. The sound of water splashing against the tiles echoed off the walls but it wasn’t enough to drown out your own thoughts as your mind displayed every kiss, every touch, every ‘I love you’ ever said playing on an endless loop in your mind, attempting to pinpoint the moment where everything changed.

Meeting for the time wrestling on the indies. Meeting again after signing your WWE contract. The night he first asked you out, the night he first said I love you, the night you first made love. Meeting each other’s families. 

You try to shake these thoughts from your mind, but it won’t work. No matter what else you attempt to think about, no matter what other happy memories you attempt to form in your head, nothing can keep them at bay. A few stray tears push their way out but you’re quick to wipe them away.

No, you thought. You are not going to do this Y/N. This isn’t happening right now. Stop it!

You reach to grab the bottle of body wash from the shelf inside the shower...    

And that’s when you noticed it. The tan line on your finger, now completely visible on your left hand that only a few hours ago bore the beautiful oval cut diamond engagement ring. 

The ring that he claimed to have been carrying around for months, hoping to find that right moment that never seemed to come. 

Until the night of WrestleMania 37, just hours after you retained your title against Asuka and watched him compete in his first Mania alongside Bad Bunny. The two of you found yourselves back in your shared hotel room, bodies entangled with one another, holding you close against his chest when he would whisper in your ear the two words that would freeze time around you both:

Marry me.

He would reach over to the bedside table next to the bed and pull out a small black box. He would tell you just how much he loved you, how he has always loved you from the moment he met you, how he doesn't wish to spend another day on this earth without you. Then he would slip the dainty ring on your finger and ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.  

Now that finger is bare. The ring was gone, given or rather thrown back at him after what had happened.

And just like that, it all came crumbling down. That false sense of reality you created since leaving the arena had finally collided with actual reality and had smacked you dead in the face.

Damian Priest, the love of your life, the man you were set to marry tomorrow, had been cheating on you. 

And you had caught him tonight. 

Your legs carried you backward until your back hit the wall of the shower. A wave of nausea swirls all around your empty stomach and your chest tightens like someone was stomping on it repeatedly. The first sob was quiet, nothing short of a small childlike whimper as the tears fell. But more and more as reality continued to sink in, they grew louder. The tears flowed more, so much so that I couldn’t tell what were tears and what was from the shower. 

Three years of your life, all gone in a flash. Plans for the future, for children, traveling the world… all just illusions and fantasies that would never come true now.  

Your body sank to the ground and before you knew it you were curled up into a ball, sobbing into your knees as the water turned from warm to cold. 

But you didn’t care. Your head swam with half-formed regrets. Your heart felt as if your blood had turned into tar as it struggled to keep a steady beat. 

There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that now engulfed you in the swirling blackness.

And it was all because of him.  

TagList:

@terrortwinunicorn @damiansgoodgirll @rootedinrevisions @thedeboniardevistation @beibigirl124 @bonni-98 @queencherryberry @queenoftheworldisdead @kalliravenne @neversatisfiedgirl @mzv11 @sassymox @blueblazezz @madhatterbri @royallyprincesslilly @southerngirl41 @abadbitchblogs @miss-kuki-nz @shamaness11 @cookiebelle @flawlessglamazon @lavitabella87 @chaneajoyyy @adriennegabriella @gold--gucciempress @msbigredmachine @fivefootxo @joy-of-life88 @joannasteez @wrestlingbabe @daniiwrites @trippinsorrows @lorena26 @babiidee28 @yana3sworld @disc0fairy @eringobragh420 @bossbitch-22 @kultklassickiller @hotmessexpressssss @writinglionqueen @retro-rezz-the-est

[bijouxcarys]

Reina de mi Corazón [TEASER] (Damian Priest x fem!reader)

Main Masterlist

Description: She's the light of his life, the itch he can't scratch, and perhaps never will.

Notes: Please be gentle, this is my first time writing Damian and it was just sitting in my notes app on my phone so here you go lol. It's a short one, but I still hope it's okay!

Tagging: @thefairywithboots @eringobragh420 (let me know if you want to be tagged in any future Damian works I may do)

A chest so wide her palm could walk across it a full four times before it covered the expanse. Ink etched into caramel skin so beautiful Mick Rock would need to adopt a whole new method just to capture its essence. Her fingers itched to trace the grooves of his body, the taut planes of his torso—carved from obsidian and bronze. A man whose physique withstood the passage of centuries. Muscles rippling beneath the ink mapping his sinuous path of past lives. Ink so black it swallowed light, swirling like the last whispers of a forgotten prayer.

“Mi vida,” he grumbled as his calloused fingertips grazed beneath the hem of her shirt. “Tan suave…”

An impatient whimper fell from her lips, her hands remained splayed on his biceps. Keeping him at a distance neither of them really wanted. 

“No corras, mi amor.” His lips teased her temple, a singular inhale allowing her scent to overwhelm him. New shampoo.

“Damian,” she managed to whisper, squeezing his sinewy arms in yet another pathetic attempt at separation. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she told him she only understood a fraction of what he spoke in that bewitching native tongue of his, he would always do it. Of course he would, she loved it.

Nevertheless, he lifted his head, gazing down at the woman in his arms with a hooded glance. Even under such subdued lighting and uneven ground, the swaying of the bus prohibiting a stable view, he just looked so… irresistible. A black Killswitch Engage shirt, obviously a tad too small, hair pulled up into a loose bun, those blue jeans he basked in whenever he got the chance. Rings on. Every. Finger.

“You spend so much time tellin’ me why you can’t.”

“Because I can’t.”

Sighing, he angled his head to the side, bringing a hand up to cup the side of her face, the cold metal of his endearing accessories bringing her back from melting completely into his hold. She was so hyper-aware of his proximity, of the others’ proximity.

“Claro, qué sí...”

“Damian–”

He quickly shut her up just by sliding his hand down to the back of her neck, his thumb massaging just behind her ear. There was no way she could resist laying her head back against the wall behind her.

Lips feathered her forehead, the intoxicating aroma of Aqua di Gio forcing her thighs together, down to her nose, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

“You know I’ll stop if that’s what you really want, cariño.” Their hips met in one motion as his free hand gripped onto her lower back, careening her toward him. Finally, she felt the expanse of his chest, just as tough as she remembered it being, the shirt may as well have not been there. A smirk tugged at his lips, a deep chuckle rumbling from the back of his throat as her smaller hands clung to his shoulders.

“But you don’t want that, ¿verdad?”

Swallowing down the dryness that threatened to encompass her ability to utter a single word, she trembled under his touch, wanting nothing more than this gorgeous, hulking 6’5” leviathan to take her to another realm. Make her forget her name. Her birthday. Where she was. 

“N-No…” she finally admitted, meekly shaking her head.

“Then why don’t you just surrender to it, baby? It can’t harm you unless you let it.” Her lip was gently tugged downward with the pad of his thumb, only to bounce back against her teeth. “Dios mío, extraño esa boca,” he muttered, breathing in sharply through his nose.

“It’s not that easy,” she answered, glancing down at his lips as his tongue traced them like a water-starved lion. “You know it’s not that easy.”

They both knew it wasn’t so easy, and each time they acknowledged that fact, the magic faded. Every. Time. In a perfect world, surrendering to the Archer of Infamy would be the easiest thing one could ever do. But it wasn’t their world, and it wasn’t so perfect.

“I know,” Damian relented, but maintained his grip on her. “But you know it as well as I do.” He sighed her name, leaving one lingering kiss directly on her lips to hold onto until next time. “You’ll always be mine. Reina de mi Corazón.”

TRANSLATIONS Mi vida - My life/term of endearment Tan suave - So soft No corras, mi amor - No running, sweetheart/my love Claro, qué sí - Yes, you can Cariño - Sweetheart/love/term of endearment ¿Verdad? - Right?/No? Dios mío, extraño esa boca - My God, I miss that mouth Reina de mi Corazón - Queen of my Heart

[tsw1234]

We Can't Be Friends (part 2)

Word Count: 1598

Pairings: Vampire Slayer!reader x Vampire!Dick Grayson

Synopsis: It's been months since the apocalypse. Discovering your newfound powers as a vampire slayer hasn't been easy, and with these newfound powers came new responsibilities like protecting the remaining civilians in Gotham from the creatures of the night, killing vampires alongside your courageous friends, etc...Yet there's just one thing blocking you from fulfilling your destiny, the very vampire you've been sworn to kill.

Notes: (Quickly) Proof read by me

Warnings: Smut, Angst

You knew this was wrong. You absolutely should not be doing this. Lord knows if you were to be caught, not only would it end badly for you but also your friends, your commune, and your little brother. Yet, it's as if something is compelling you to do this. You walk through the abandoned park en garde. Most sane people would show up with some sort of protection--like a stake or rosemary. But you're not sane, and the things that you've done as a result of armageddon wouldn't classify you as sane either. 

Despite Gotham's ongoing events, its park seemed to be the one of few places unaffected by the apocalypse. The grass and tree leaves were coated white, due to December's icy precipitation. Following down the park's path of lights illuminating the snow-covered vegetation you arrive at your destination--- a bridge that provides a beautiful view of the park's scenery and its pond directly below you. It was truly spectacular. Nostalgia of kids and parents and images of Haley dogs running around resurface.

"I know you’re here Grayson?". You felt his presence when you entered the park, perks of being a vampire hunter. You know when they’re nearby. As soon as those words escaped your lips, he appeared in front of you; almost as if you summoned him, like a genie to its master.

“Hello to you too [nickname],” he says, sliding next to you. While you don’t turn to face him you can feel his eyes on you.

"I feel you staring at me."

"I prefer to call it admiring, princess," he states with a smug smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes at his smart remark.

"You lost your right to admire the moment you sent your brainless minions to wipe out most of humanity.". 

"You broke up with me."

"So that gives you the right to kill people?"

"No, but it makes us even."

"Wrong again, you killed the man I loved. That ups the score 2-1, me." you challenge. The contrast between the two of you is vast--the deadpan on your face compared to the amused look on his. One could interpret the both of you to be having two separate conversations just based on facial expressions alone. "And who might that person be?" he asks cockily.

Silence fills the air. Your immediate reaction is to say him but, he's not the same man you loved--looks wise yes, but personality...? 

"Why'd you do it...kill Bruce?". Dick's demeanor changes instantly, his body more tense; The once smug look on his face is replaced with a stoic expression. 

"That's not your business."

"It is my business. They mattered to me--You matter-"

"You lost that right when you broke up with me.". Silence once again. 

"Jason..."

"Alfred..."

"Damian-"

"Damnit [Name] I told you to leave it alone. Stop poking your nose in places it doesn't belong." he stern. The cold air details the exasperation in your conversation. The quietness between you felt odd, you don't never liked fighting with Dick. It was unnatural between you too and it seldom happened. But, when it did, it would get ugly. You were both passionate people and when your thoughts would rarely clash, it would take time for the person in the wrong to step forward and apologize. 

"Do you know I'm supposed to kill you?". His eyebrows perk up at the shock of your abruptness.

"It's a part of my destiny or something..." you say as you cast a stone across the park's pond. Silence again. 

"Why are you here [nickname]?"

"..."

"I mean you hate me. You hate what I am, what I've done--yet every time you ask to see me. Why?"

"I don't know..." you mumble. "What?" 

"I don't know!" you shout letting out a voice crack. 

"I don't know why I called! Maybe it's because I miss you...". To say that out loud hurt your soul. Of course, you've known that you had but to say it helped you come to terms with your emotions. 

"Everywhere I go, I have memories of you--of us. You are a constant reminder of the life that I had because you were my life I know that I broke up with you and it haunts me every day but...you were one of the few constants in my life and I just feel like the day I stop agreeing to see you is one less piece of my old life.". You break down, all the many months of pent-up emotions gone just like that to the blue-eyed monster whom you loved.

"Come here..." he says, pulling you in an embrace. There you are, the very own vampire slayer destined to end the war on humanity allowing the wager of the war to console you. Here he is comforting your sniffles and cries, knowing that in the end, you have to kill him. How tragic. 

"[Nickname], everything I do is for you or because of you. Whether or not you believe it. Why did I do it--kill all those people? I wanted to find a way to be with you forever and in the process, I had to sacrifice people I loved. You are what's keeping me sane, what's holding me back from killing the rest of humanity. It's you, princess."

You look up at Dick with your tear-filled puffy eyes. He rests his palm against your face, wiping away any tears that had trickled down your face. "I miss you too, like hell and I hate that you're going through this because of--"

You cut him off with a kiss. A much overdue one to say. Although caught off guard, Dick accepts it swiftly. Immediately his hand hugged your waist and ran up and down your back. Your fingers find their way to his hair, intricately running through them. The kiss between the two of you felt like a fever dream. It felt as if it was the last day on Earth and the both of you needed to kiss to survive. It was passionate, warm, and embracing. 

He starts to move down your neck, peppering kisses as he goes and making sure to linger on your sweet spots causing you to release a soft moan. "Just as I remember huh?" he says in between each kiss. 

"May I?" he asks, toying with the waistband of your panties. You feverishly nod, allowing him to help discard your clothes. After unclasping your bra, the icy winter air hits your nipples causing them to harden. 

"You're just as perfect as ever, my pretty girl," he says as he dips two fingers inside of you. You try to suppress your moans but he's quick to break your resolve as his fingers hit a spot that hasn't been touched since the last time you've seen him. He speeds up his pace, being aware not to go too fast, yet too slow. "Fuck, Dick" you whine. The combination of the weather plus his touch helps you reach your orgasm fast. 

"That's right princess, come on my fingers," he says as you let go. He sucks off the remnants of your release and proceeds to take off his pants. He lifts you and you wrap your legs around him. He rubs his tip up and down your entrance before putting it in slowly. You release a loud moan holding on to him--nails digging into his back. He starts steady and then goes faster resulting in you letting out several curses and shrewd moans. You both reach your climax in sync, letting go together. Too disoriented to move, he cleans you up and helps you put your clothes back on. Once you're both clothed, he pulls you into his arms--once more-- kissing your head and whispering sweet nothings. You both stay like that for a while, basking in the moment of bliss.

"[Name]" you hear a voice say bringing you back to reality. Dick is still holding onto your waist. But, instead of pushing him away, you secure his hold on you whilst looking into his blue eyes. You turn around to see your best friend, out of breath, bruised, and upset. You momentarily pushed whatever feelings for Dick you had aside and rushed to their aid.

"What happened?" you asked, helping them catch their breath. They said nothing but your sense kicked in, telling you something was wrong and for some reason, it gave you an inkling that Dick had something to do with it. 

"They found us...and they have T.J.". they say, eyes focused on Dick. Your eyes shoot to your ex (lover?) in disbelief. He knows where your brother is, he has to! They're his men. 

"How could you!" you yell, voice full of pain. You march over to where he stood, his face filled with confusion and guilt. "How could you let them take him? After everything that just happened!" you shout as you shove him. 

"Where is he?"

No response. Another shove. 

"Answer me! Where is he!". Silence once again. "I don't know," he replies full of melancholy. "You're lying. Tell me!" you urge. 

"I don't know [nickname]," he whispers. Dick is feeling a whirlwind of emotions. The biggest one is hurt. He can't believe that you would believe that he would do this to you. After everything he had just said and done? He's going to find which one of his men did this and they're going to face the consequences. You shove him one final time before running over to your friend. 

"Come on, we're going to find them and my brother," you say, shooting him a wicked glare, leaving Dick in a state of sadness, guilt, and anger. 

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

I found Bruce, we’re on our way back now. ETA 2 days. Have the med-bay prepped.

***

Damian rushed to the Batcave as soon as the alert came through on his phone, he found Grayson doing the same. Everyone had likely gotten the message, but they were the only two close enough to actually get to the Cave and read what was sent. When they arrived, however, they both froze. In big, bold letters on the largest screen was the confirmation that he had been waiting a year for. Drake had found Father, and is bringing him home.

He felt an overwhelming something overcome him. Father’s alive. Father’s okay. Father’s coming back. Drake is bringing Father back.

“Damian!” Grayson shook his shoulders, “Are you okay?”

It took a few more seconds, but Damian nodded his head, “Yes, Richard, I’m fine.”

Richard froze for a second. “What did you..call me?”

“‘Richard’?” Damian raised his eyebrow. “That is your name, isn’t it?” When Richard didn’t answer, standing there with a dumbfounded look on his face, Damian went to the elevator, “I will inform Alfred of Drake’s status report. You should tell the others.” The doors closed behind him, cutting off his view of the Cave, and he found himself able to breathe again.

Father’s coming home.

He was quick to leave the office, making sure the grandfather clock closed behind him. Finding Alfred was easy, telling him about the message Drake just sent was not. He stood dumbly in the kitchen doorway, half in the dining room and half in the kitchen.

“Is there something I can help you with, young master Damian?”

Damian’s mouth felt dry and his eyes felt wet. “Um,” A stutter? Really?

“Young master Damian?” Alfred approached him, “Is everything alright?”

He swallowed. “Yes, Alfred, everything’s fine.”

“Good,” the panic Damian hadn’t noticed left the old man’s face, but there was still an expression of uncertainty. “Drake sent an emergency message: He’s found Father. They’ll be returning in two days. He requested that the medical bay be prepared, but he did not specify.”

Alfred lost some of the composure he so dutifully held. His shoulders slumped and relief fell off of his frame like a weight. He suddenly seemed much older than he ever acted. Between three blinks, he was back to his perfect butler self. “I will have everything ready for your brother’s and father’s return.” he nodded.

Damian nodded back and turned to leave the room. He was numb all the way to his bedroom, only stopping to pet Alfred the cat, but only for a few seconds.

He closed the door behind himself, locking it, before sliding down it to sit on the floor. Father was coming home. He knew that he couldn’t be dead! He knew he wouldn’t have stayed dead! He curled his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs, buried his face in his knees, and cried.

*

They heard the Batplane before they saw it only because the doors opening to let it land let in a rush of wind.

Only Damian, Alfred, and Richard were in the Cave to receive Father and Drake. Todd hadn’t answered Richard or Alfred in nearly nine months, and the only way they knew he was alive was because Red Hood was still ruling Crime Alley. Gordon had been elated to hear of their return, but was currently otherwise occupied. Cain and Brown were still in Hong Kong, but they had promised to be back as soon as they could.

The next people Richard had contacted had been Superman and Wonder Woman. He alerted them that something had come up and that Batman and Robin would not make it to the meeting on the Watchtower the next day. In a very Batman fashion, he didn’t elaborate and hung up on them.

Damian had to wonder, though, through the preparations of getting everything ready for Father’s and Drake’s return, what would Father think about how everything fell apart after he went missing? Things hadn’t been perfect before, but they had held together. Now, they’d all fallen away from each other, despite Richard’s best efforts. Even then, he’d stopped after four months of almost nothing but rejection and static.

The second the drophatch was fully down, Alfred and Richard were on the plane, loading Father onto a gurney so they could wheel him to the med-bay. It was hardly a fight, with Father being as out of it as he was, so it was a quick process. Soon, Alfred, Richard, and Father were in the medical bay, leaving Damian and Drake together.

It was a quiet few moments, the two watching the three older men from across the Cave until they disappeared behind the door. Finally, Damian turned to Drake. “Thank you,” he said, “for bringing him back.”

Drake scoffed. “It’s not like you ever believed me that he was alive.”

“I did,” he ducked his head down, “but I did not help you, nor did I try to convince the others. For that I-” He’s been working on this part, actually, since Drake sent the notice of return. “-I apologize.”

“You,” Drake asked, his tone full of disbelief, “are apologizing to me?”

He nodded. “I recognize that I have been…uncouth towards you, and I would like to rectify our relationship going forward.” He inwardly scolded himself for sounding so stilted and awkward. Speaking to people had always been Danyal’s area of expertise. “I understand, however, if you would prefer to not have anything to do with me. In which case, I will do my best to stay away.”

Drake was quiet for a few minutes, not moving or speaking. Soon, though, Damian figured his older…brother wanted nothing to do with him, so he started to walk away. He didn’t let his disappointment show, though. He had no business feeling that way. It was his own fault after all, his own actions that pushed Drake away. He pushed everyone away, actually.

“Wait-!” Drake called. Damian turned slightly to face him. “I, uh, do you mean it?”

“Do I mean what, Drake?”

“Wanting to be…friendlier? You really mean it?”

Turning back fully. “Yes,” he didn’t meet his eyes, “When I was with Mother, she taught me to take what should be mine by force and or of elimination. Grandfather, when I saw him, taught me that my weaknesses should be quashed and that the weaknesses of my enemies should be exploited for all they would give. While you have been searching for Father, the Manor has felt empty, cold. It’s not at all what it was when I first arrived and I cannot help but feel as though a part of that is my own fault for pushing everyone away, even before Father went missing. Todd hasn’t communicated with any of us for nearly nine months, Gordon has been busy with her day job and her father, Cain and Brown have been in Hong Kong with low contact, you’ve been MIA for almost a year-!” He hated how tears welled up in his eyes. “Richard has been trying to keep everything together by being someone he was never meant to be, and the one person I was ever allowed to rely on probably hates me!” He hated the sob that escaped him. He hated that he was breaking down.

Drake sighed quietly. “You really are just a kid, huh.” Slowly, he approached Damian and put his hand on his shoulder. “Is this alright?” After a second, there was a nod. He pulled him into a hug, wrapping one arm around his waist and the other around his shoulders to hold his head to his chest. “What about this?” Another nod.

Damian wrapped his arms around Timothy’s waist, burying his face into the older boy’s chest, staining the material with his tears. He hated that he was showing weakness, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care at the moment. “I just want the Manor to be warm again.” he whispered.

Timothy pet his hair softly. “I know, kid. I think that can be arranged, but I don’t know how long that will take.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Damian sniffled and pulled away, wiping his tears as soon as Timothy’s hands dropped to his sides. “We will not speak of this.”

Timothy chuckled, “Alright.” His right hand moved to hold his bottom left ribs. “First step to taking care of that promise, though,” he wheezed, “is getting me some medical treatment.”

“You’re an idiot, Timothy.” Damian scolded with no heat behind his words. He carefully slid under Timothy’s left arm, lopping his right around his waist to hold him up. “You better not be hurt enough to be at risk of dying.”

“And break my new promise to you?” Timothy sounded offended, though he was smiling. “Never.”

“I will stab you in the spleen.”

“You’d injure me more, brat.”

“That would be the point, yes.”

“Did our heartfelt moment just now mean nothing to you?”

“Seeing as emotions are not labeled on a linear scale, therefore unable to be counted on a negative scale, yes. It meant nothing.”

“You hurt me, brat.”

“Good.”

Quiet covered the two for a moment. “Y’know, this doesn’t make up for the year’s worth of shit you put me through after you first got here, right?”

Damian nodded. “I know.”

“Good.” Timothy’s words were slurring now.

Damian shifted his grip to carry more of the older boy’s weight. “Rest, Timothy. Alfred will look over you when he is done with Father.”

Timothy shook his head. “No. I gotta- file miss’on ‘port.”

“You cannot even see straight, Timothy-”

“‘m bi.”

“...you cannot see gay right now, either. Sleep. You can file a mission report when Alfred clears you.”

“‘ou’re not gon’ let me go, are ya?” Timothy droned tiredly.

“That would be the correct assumption, yes.”

Timothy huffed. “Fine.” Then, he collapsed.

Had Damian not been ready, he would’ve dropped the older vigilante on the Cave’s floor. As it was, he’d already been holding most of his weight. While it was awkward to carry the taller boy the rest of the way across the Cave and into the med-bay, it was not hard.

He ignored the looks he got from Richard and Alfred as he laid Timothy down on an empty cot in the corner of the room furthest from the door. Without saying anything, he left them to go back to the Manor. He stopped by the Batcomputer, though, to see if any of the others had sent anything. There was one from Todd simply reading ‘The old man didn’t die? Tsk’. He left it on the screen and entered the elevator, taking it up to the Manor.

Father’s office was warmer now that the man was back home. The Manor itself seemed to be that much brighter, as though the building was aware of its master’s return. The constant hum of electricity in the walls seemed to have a cheerful not to it. Even the sky he could spy above Gotham City proper was showing dull blue through the smog!

Alfred the cat joined him as he walked up the stairs to his room. It was nestled in the corner a door down from Timothy’s, four doors down and across the hall from Todd’s, four doors down from Richards, two doors down and across the hall from Cain’s, and one door down and across the hall from Brown’s. The doors themselves seemed less imposing as before, ready to re-welcome whoever stayed behind them.

He hesitated in front of his own door, the slab of hardwood looming over him. Steeling himself took a moment too long, but he finally managed to open the door. “There’s nothing to be scared of; it’s just your room.”

Inside, nothing had been disturbed. The traps on the window and around the room lay ready to be set off, and none had been activated or disarmed. He found his attention drawn to his desk between the two windows, the silver chain around his neck feeling heavier by the second.

Danyal would want to know Father is safe and home.

Damian hasn’t even bothered to read Danyal’s last three letters.

Danyal would want to know that he’s okay.

Damian’s a coward.

*

One week after Father returned home, Richard made the official statement to the press. He told them that the Private Investigators they’d hired had found and brought him home. The kidnappers had all been incarcerated.

Father had yet to wake up.

Timothy had awoken three days later, completely cleared for civilian life and desk work. He wasn’t yet allowed to go out as Red Robin, but he did file his mission report. An entire year’s worth of adventures had only taken eighteen hours to log. Damian suspected things had been left out, but he didn’t mention it.

Todd hadn’t sent anything after his initial message, but he was now reading the messages sent to him by Richard.

Cain and Brown could not yet pull themselves from Hong Kong, but they were in near constant contact with Richard, Alfred, or Tim.

Gordon had managed to rejoin them as Oracle the day after Timothy awoke, jumping at the opportunity to talk to any of them.

Damian found a little part of him that was upset by everyone suddenly rushing back together, but he did not have a valid reason to be upset. Richard and Timothy had reason to be upset, and it was not up to Damian to be upset for them. So, he buried that little voice and went on with his routine.

He and Richard were still going out as Batman and Robin, but that would only last until Father was cleared for duty. Then, Father would retake the Batman Cowl, Damian would remain Robin, and Richard would go back to being Nightwing. Honestly, Damian had no idea how to feel about that. He ignored that voice, too. Instead, he focused on the WAR case he’d taken from Richard.

WAR; We Are Robin. A meta-human opened up the movement with his team, eight months ago. He seemed to have realized that Richard had takenFather’s place under the cowl and had acted accordingly. Or, this had always been a plan for him, but that was unlikely because the kid is fourteen and untrained. He acts during the day, leaving the night to the trained vigilanties, and he has a network that spans all of Gotham, probably already branching out into neighboring cities. As soon as he could, Robin reached out with intents to set up a meeting. The response was swift. Three days after Timothy woke up, Robin left the Batcave in the middle of the day to meet R.

He stood on the roof of Wayne Enterprise with Oracle in his ear, ready to call for backup if he needed it. He wouldn’t. After nearly five minutes of waiting, R landed on the rooftop in front of him, several feet of space between them.

The teen moved with all the grace of a sportsman, untrained in combat, but not wasting a single movement or breath. His suit was yellow and black, the visor of his helmet tinted white, and the Robin R sat proudly in the middle of his chest. The red stood out garishly against the bright yellow

“Robin,” the teen greeted.

“R,” Robin nodded back.

“I’m surprised,” R’s stance was casual, but ready to move at a moment's cue. “Last I heard, Batman was hunting down those of us involved in WAR. Then, he stops and I get a message from you a few months later. What do I owe the pleasure?”

Robin hoped that this child wasn’t nearly this insufferable as a civilian. He sniffed, still new to the whole negotiating aspect of vigilantism. “I wish to invite you to work with us.”

There was a beat. “Excuse me?”

Robin continued. “Batman has a rule of no meta’s in Gotham because the danger the city poses to you could potentially make you a threat to the citizens. You operating within city limits has upset him, naturally, but it has done the city good.”

R stared at him for a few seconds. “Does he know you’re here?”

“No, but he will if I need him to.”

Another few beats. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

Unfamiliar with the phrase, Robin ignored it. “In exchange for wearing the Bat Symbol on your chest, you will be under Batman’s protection, and, by extension, the protection and assistance of everyone who wears the symbol.”

“You don’t wear the bat,”

“It goes without saying that I work for and with Batman. I do not need the symbol when the title is enough.”

“If you say so, kid.”

“I do.”

“What will the big bad Bat think about you going off on your own like this?”

“He trusts my judgment,” Richard does, at least. Sometimes. “He will leave you alone as long as I can vouch for you. I will do so as long as you follow Batman’s rules to the best of your ability.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that as long as you are wearing the bat on your chest, you work for and with Batman and his allies. Courtesies extended to us will be extended to you, and vice versa. Once you are cleared, our identities will be shared between each other and your training will begin.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait. Training? Revealing identities? Isn’t that a bit too far ahead to be thinking right now?”

“Not in the slightest, Thomas,” The older kid noticeably stiffened, his stance ready to flee rather than fight. “I know who you are. Batman will likely find out when I present this proposal to him. It is in your best interest to agree to work with us.”

“That sounds an awful lot like a threat, kid,”

Robin tilted his chin down. “I apologize, that was not my intention.” His nose scrunched up. “I have been working to better my ‘people skills’, as the others called it.”

R snorted, relaxing a bit, “Since you know who I am, do I get to know who you are?”

Robin shook his head. “Telling you my name would reveal the others. I have cleared you myself, but Batman will need to clear you before we tell you who we are.”

“Doesn’t that mean I have to wait to get the bat, then?”

“No. It means that you will have to wait before we can start your training.”

“Alright. So, when do I get the bat? Because, and no offense to you, but this red R totally throws off my whole vibe.”

A smile quirked at the corner of Robin’s lips. “I will have to for you tomorrow. Meet me back here at fifteen-hundred hours.”

“Can do, kid.”

With the clear farewell, Robin jumped off the roof of the building and grabbed a few streets away, feeling like he was flying. Then, once he landed, he used the entrance hidden in the back of the empty parking garage to get down to the cave systems under Gotham. From there, it was an easy hour walk to the Batcave.

*

Once again, Damian finds himself staring at the locked top drawer of his desk. The key was in his hand, the chain dangling from it. It felt heavy, warm to the touch, though that’s probably because he’s been holding it for three hours.

There was a knock on the door, but he didn’t answer. Someone said something on the other side, but he didn’t hear it. The drawer was taunting him; the key was mocking him. He was stuck in a limbo between opening the drawer and facing the music or leaving it be and risking his brother’s wrath.

“Damian?” Richard had come into the room and was now standing in front of him. “Is everything alright, bud?”

Damian set the key on the bed next to him before standing. “Yes, I am fine, Richard. What do you need?”

Richard eyed the key, but didn’t mention it. “B’s awake. I thought you’d like to go talk to him.”

“Very well,” he left his room, waiting for Richard in the hallway, “Let’s go.”

Richard looked very much like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He quietly led the way down to the Batcave, using the fireman's pole in the first floor closet instead of the elevator in Father’s office. Then, he took Damian to the med-bey.

There, sitting propped up on the bed, was Father, brushing off Alfred’s insistence for a check up. He looked up when the door opened, his face softening at the sight of his children. “Dick, Damian.”

“Hey, B,”

“Father,”

Father opened his arms and waited a second. Richard didn’t hesitate, rushing into the man’s hug. “You’re an idiot, Bruce!”

“I know,” Father cooed softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you ever disappear like that again, do you hear me? Never again!” Richard cried, “And you can’t die, either! If you do, I’ll kill you myself.”

Father chuckled, “Alright, alright. I promise.”

Richard pulled away after a few minutes, wiping his sleeve across his face. “Good, good.” He sniffled. “I should let everyone else know you’re awake.”

“How’s Tim?” Father asked.

“He’s fine,” Richard reported, “He woke up a little over a week ago.”

Father’s next question was, “How long was I gone?” followed closely by, “How long have I been back?”

Richard laughed wetly, humorlessly. “You were gone for a year. We told the press that you were kidnapped. Speaking of, I posted an official announcement of your return; you can look at it later. As for how long you’ve been back, well,”

“Timothy recovered you three weeks ago,” Damian cut in, “After two days, you both arrived in the Cave. You were unconscious upon arrival, Timothy passed out shortly thereafter. He woke up after three days and was cleared to go out six days later.”

A dark look crossed over Father’s face. “How’s Gotham?”

“Not totally destroyed,” Richard’s attempt at a joke fell flat. “I’ll, um, I’ll let you two talk.” He was swift to leave the room, leaving Father and Damian alone.

Damian stared at his Father, taking in his appearance and noting down every injury he could see. He seemed haggard, tired despite having only just woken up. He wanted to ask what happened, but he didn’t. “It’s good to see you, Father.”

“Damian,” Father’s arms twitched like he wanted another hug. Damian picked up on it and walked forward, wrapping his arms around his Father. Father embraced him, his grip tightening around him. “Damian, I’m so, so sorry I left you alone. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” he responded, “I do not hold it against you.”

“You should.”

“Will it happen again?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“That I will not blame you.” He hid his face in his Father’s shoulder, “Do not leave us again.”

“I’m sorry,”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry!”

He didn’t say anything, opting to hold his Father close. He had been scared, but so was everyone else, so was Father. Damian couldn’t begin to imagine what Father had gone through. Where had he been? Why had it taken so long to find him? Why didn’t he come back? Why couldn’t he come back? Timothy hadn’t been forthcoming with any answers, but that was okay. Damian could wait until either Father or Timothy shared.

After several long minutes, Father pulled away and Damian sat on the edge of the bed. “So, when were you planning on telling me about your brother?”

Damian stiffened. “What?”

“I got thrown into the Time Stream, I think. A kid who looks strangely like you, if only a little older, helped me when he could. So, either there’s a clone of you with access to Time Travel running around, or you have a sibling you haven’t told me about.”

“I-” he found himself unable to form the words. After a few false starts, he finally managed, “He disappeared when we were children.” Father tensed. “I have only come back into contact with him fairly recently, but that is because he reached out first.” Father relaxed, but Damian didn’t.

“You’re talking to him now?” Damian didn’t answer. “Are you talking to him still?”

He shook his head. “No. Too much has been happening since you went missing; I did not have the time.”

Father frowned. “Tell me what’s been going on, and then we’ll contact him together. How does that sound?”

Damian didn’t know how to feel about that. “That sounds good.”

The door to the med-bay opened and Timothy came in. “Bruce!”

“Tim,” the man smiled smally, “Thanks for finding me.”

Timothy snorted and leaned against the wall. “Someone had to, old man. Besides, those clues you left were way too vague for anyone else to figure out.”

Richard came back in after Timothy, choosing to sit in one of the chairs in the room. He didn’t say anything, but he did have a sad look on his face.

Father met the eyes of all three children. “Tell me exactly what’s happened in the year I’ve been gone.”

Timothy groaned. “Where do we even start?”

“You can start by telling me your cover story,” Father said, “And then you can tell me where everyone else is.”

Richard grimaced, his nose scrunching up as if the idea of explaining anything was appling. It was, actually, but Damian didn’t say anything. “Well, we told the press that you went missing.”

Father waited for him to continue. When he didn’t he prompted, “And the Justice League?”

“They, um, didn’t know?”

There were several long seconds where Father stared on in disbelief. “You didn’t tell the Justice League that I’d gone missing?”

“We did tell them!” Richard objected. “We told them that Bruce Wayne had gone missing-!”

“-and that Nightwing was doing undercover work, and that Red Robin was on a mission overseas.”

“And what about Batman?” Father asked, though it didn’t sound at all like a question.

Richard curled back slightly. “Batman and Robin were the ones to tell them…”

Father sighed long and hard. “Batman went missing, and Robin went after him.”

“Batman went missing, and Red Robin went after him.” Damian corrected, “Nightwing went undercover, Black Bat and Spoiler went to Hong Kong. Batman and Robin watched over Gotham with assistance from WAR.”

Father took a deep breath. “I’m…I’m sorry you had to do that, Dick.”

“It’s- Well, it’s not alright, but I can forgive you. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, Gotham needs Batman.”

“And Batman needs Robin,” Timothy added.

Suddenly, Father turned his gaze back to Damian. “You..?”

Damian nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, boys,”

“So you keep saying,” Damian stated. “Father, I have been trained since birth to take over your mantle. Being Robin is just another step I must take. Timothy could not have gone after you as Robin without unwanted attention. Richard had no other choice than to become Batman because Gotham needs Batman. He will, however, be going back to Nightwing as soon as you’ve recovered enough to work, and after he’s had a break.”

“Baby bird-”

“You have been ripping apart at the seams, Richard,” Damian scolded, standing up to face him, “If you do not willingly take a break, I will knock you out and have Goliath watch over you.”

There was a moment of silence. “Um,” Timothy asked, “Who’s Goliath?”

“My dragon bat.” Damian answered as though it didn’t sound absolutely insane.

“You’re what?”

*

“You weren’t kidding, were ya, kid?” Thomas whistled.

Damian shook his head minutely. “I do not joke, especially not in uniform.”

Thomas sat on his new bed, taking in every inch of the room. “Yeah, but Wayne? How do you do it? The whole world thinks that there’s no way Bruce Wayne could be Batman, especially not after he went missing. How did you guys pull that off, by the way?”

“Simple,” Damian replied, “Father went missing, so Timothy went to look for him. I became Robin and Richard became Batman. Nightwing went undercover.”

“I-” he paused, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But what about the whole Bruce Wayne is Batman thing? How does he do it?”

“A trade secret,” was the answer, “You will learn eventually.”

“Damian! You can’t just leave me in the dark like that!”

Damian was by the door, so he turned the lights off. “Yes I can.” Then, he left. He could hear Thomas laugh for a few seconds before the older boy ran to match his pace.

“I thought you didn’t joke around?”

“I don’t.”

“But you just-”

“And no one will ever believe you.”

“No one will ever believe what?” Richard asked, coming out of his own room as they passed it.

Thomas blinked. “Damian made a joke.”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “Damian made a joke?”

The boy in question clicked his tongue. “Tt. Why would I make a joke, Thomas?”

“But you just-” Thomas spluttered, “-and the lights!”

“Lights?” Damian raised his eyebrow this time, “Lights are your thing, Thomas, in case you’ve forgotten.” He walked on, leaving the two behind him in the all.

“Hey!” Thomas whined, “Not funny, kid!”

He heard Richard laugh behind him, a smirk making its way across his face as he turned the corner. That was too easy. It will continue to be..fun, but only as long as Thomas plays along, willing or not.

Timothy joined him at the top of the staircase. “Did you really joke with Duke?”

Damian shook his head. “No,”

“Liar,” Timothy accused.

“I am not,” he denied.

Timothy shook his head with a sigh, following Damian down the stairs and to the dining room. Richard and Thomas joined them soon after. Father was absent, and so was Alfred. Todd had been leaving Richard on read still, which was better than not even looking at the messages. The girls were all missing, too, but they were otherwise engaged anyway. All that was missing, Damian thought as he looked around the table, was Danyal.

What would his family think about Danyal? Damian wondered. Father knew, but Damian wasn’t quite sure how, though he wasn’t too keen to ask because he didn’t want to answer. A part of him wanted to keep his twin brother a secret. A smaller part told him to tell everyone. The letters in his drawer agreed to being selfish and keeping him a secret. He wasn’t ready to share his brother with his family, even if Danyal had shared him with his.

“It’s good to have you back, B,” Richard said. When had Father arrived?

“It’s good to be back,” Father agreed with a nod, taking his place at the head of the table. The room felt warmer, more full than it had in a long time.

Timothy, who was a chair down from Damian, was typing on his phone, likely wording emails and trying to figure out the press. Now that he was back, that particular responsibility fell from Damian back to Timothy.

That was another thing Damian was slightly upset about, even though he felt he had no right to be. Everyone leaving had dumped all of their responsibilities onto him and Richard. Richard wouldn’t let him take some of the fall, so Damian had had to forcefully take some of the weight from his oldest brother, stressing himself out in the process.

“The press has been dying to get their hands on your story, B,” the seventeen year old stated, “Dick’s official announcement about you coming back has only made them more bloodthirsty.” He looked at Dick for a second before looking back down at his phone. “How did you deal with this?”

“That was my job, actually,” Damian said, “Richard was far too busy and stressed to be able to deal with the media properly, so I took it upon myself to do so.” He got looks from everyone at the table, though pity was the most prominent emotion.

“That explains why they weren’t hounding me as much as I thought they were,” Richardmuttered.

Thomas agreed, “That also explains your socials.”

“You follow my socials?”

“Everyone follows the Wayne socials, especially after Bruce went missing. Everyone wanted an update, and Damian was the only one to provide them via the family’s accounts and his personal ones.”

Timothy blinked, openly staring at Damian. “You don’t have any media training.”

“Not officially, no, but Grandfather praised me for learning in the moment; It prevented mistakes from happening again.”

A beat. “I’m gonna need to see all your posts in the last year from all the accounts you posted from, just to make sure we stick to the story you’ve created.” Timothy put down the phone he was holding and pulled another from his pocket. “Also, what’re the passwords to the family accounts? I’ll need those, too.”

“Good job, Damian,” Father said. Damian preened.

“Masters, if you’re quite through?” Alfred came into the room with the silver tray of mail that had been by the door. All new letters because the old ones had been sorted through and read shortly after Timothy woke up. “I will be back shortly with lunch.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Father nodded. He took the tray, sorting through the letters and handing them to their recipients. There was none for Damian. He tried not to let that hurt him as much as it did.

Part 5 Part 7

[melonlord98]

Love That Waits: Chapter 1 - Rhea

Summary:

"He had the type of smile that seemed to increase the light in a room when it reached his eyes. Brown eyes. Deep brown eyes that seemed to become molten when he spoke fondly of something. Though she rarely saw him speak much at all since she met him. She was surprised at her own attentiveness in that moment. When the fuck had she started to notice Jey Uso?"

~

A character study of the romantic relationship between Rhea Ripley and Jey Uso, through their eyes and the eyes of the people who love them. Starting from Smackdown 2023 to the present day. Somewhat kayfabe compliant, but also putting my own little spin on the most interesting love story in the WWE Universe!

~

These chapters are all written in third person, so if that bothers you, I'm sorry 😢. The first two chapters will be exploring Rhea and Jey's emotional states as individuals, but from the third chapter onward, each chapter will be split between both of them equally. With bonus chapters from the perspectives of Damian Priest, Jimmy Uso, Sami Zayn, and many others as they watch the relationship between Jey and Rhea blossom.

I will warn everyone in advance. This story is the textbook definition of slow burn and it will also not be including explicit smut. If anything sexual happens between the characters, it'll be more of a "fade to black" type vibe.

I wanted to write this fic to explore how Rhea and Jey truly fell in love with each other as they navigate through their own individual traumas. And since this story begins around 2023, I will admit that Rhea and Jey are not in the best place emotionally early on. So, be warned, "Fluff" is tagged, but it's not coming for a while 🤣.

My hope is to have a new chapter uploaded every week on Wednesday. This is my first fic and I hope you all enjoy! Please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

Btw, all the chapters will be posted on AO3 as well if you prefer to view it there 😊!

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

April 18, 2023

The shrill chirp of her alarm was what woke her. She leaned back, her arm sliding away from the slim contour of Dom’s waist as she fumbled to grasp the device. Cursing as it nearly fell off the nightstand. Rhea grunted as she pulled her other arm free from under her lover’s head, narrowly managing to catch her phone as it forcefully separated from the charging chord. She flinched back at the brightness of the screen and stamped the alarm off before tossing it onto the armchair just beside the nightstand. Sitting up dully, her shoulders sagged at the weight of what she now acknowledged was a rapidly growing hangover. Her head ached and she hissed as a sharp thread of pain shot from between her eyebrows and spread to the base of her skull. 

“Fucking, Damian.” She groaned, falling heavily back onto the pillows, with her forearm falling over her eyes. Somehow a room shielded by blackout curtains was still too bright. They had gone out the night before with the Bloodline to celebrate the beginning of their alliance. She wasn’t usually the most overzealous drinker. She typically left those duties to Damian and Dominik, but something about that night had just felt right and so she had indulged them. Fuck was that a mistake.

A throb, just barely there, began to pulse at the right corner of her forehead and she cursed again. She’d swear off drinking if it weren’t so damn numbing. The thought was interrupted, however, by the sharp snort from the man laying next to her. She laughed low in her throat, wincing as action went straight to her aching forehead. Dom was a rather enthusiastic sleeper with a likely undiagnosed case of sleep apnea. Any other person would have been rudely awakened throughout the night by the sheer volume of his snores, but Rhea, who lived in a constant state of bottomless fatigue, often slept with a deepness just on the cusp of death. A match made in heaven (or hell, perhaps some would say).

Turning onto her side, she reached out to stroke delicately at the hair cascading over his ear. She was amused at the state of him. His body was turned away from her, but his neck was tipped back rather awkwardly and his mouth seemed to follow, hanging out to the side as he continued to snore. Her eyes scanned him lazily, stopping occasionally to scrutinize the dark spots on his purple silk pajama top from the steady steam of saliva that dribbled off his lip. A man who sleeps as immaturely as he lives awake. Rhea shook her head fondly at the thought. Her fingers continuing to stroke her fingers absentmindedly through his hair as she fell face first into the usual cogitations.

Her mind drifted to the previous year, the thought of her new beginning. How she and Damian had betrayed Edge and welcomed Finn. There was always something about it that never sat right with her. They had done everything right. She believed that. Edge had never deserved their patronage and so they outgrew him. Yet, it still haunted her. Even as she, surrounded by her two closest friends, had looked down at her old mentor and laughed in his face, that look in his eyes had remained imprinted in her mind. Betrayal. One in what had become a disturbing pattern. Her mind flitted to Raquel, her first loss. Her partner that had chosen everyone else over her. And Liv, a dead weight she had needed to shed the way a snake sheds its old skin; reborn in new, more vibrant color. Friendships she had sacrificed to become better. She was in the right. Edge had reassured her in the beginning. Damian too. She had needed to be selfish. She deserved to be! She was right—

Dom suddenly shifted in his sleep and Rhea jerked her hand back in alarm. His body rolled back toward her, realigning with his head and he smacked his lips before settling back into his usual snores. Not yet awake. Rhea stared at him and she could feel that familiar coldness in her chest. She cowered away from it. Throwing her legs off the side of the bed and nearly falling over herself as she made her way into the bathroom.

The pulsing forehead spread back into her hairline and she sucked air sharply through her nose as she felt bile rising in her throat. She fought against it, knocking her knuckles against the carved marble of the bathroom sink. The bathroom went pitch black as the door slid shut behind her. She couldn’t see anything and yet she felt stripped naked. Her skin hot, yet damp from sweat. As if she had been laying on hot coals. It was always like this when she thought of them. The memory of her many lost friendships like a disease that clung to the darkest parts of her. Parts she had layered over with molten rock and steel. She had made herself a blade, to protect against the reminders of her own past heartbreaks. However, it was moments like these where she felt like a snake eating its own tail.

Edge had told her that to be warm and embrace comfort was weakness. You could never get too comfortable. He did. So she and Damian had showed him the fruits of his labor as they usurped him. Rocking back onto her heels, she flailed for the switch and nearly fell when the white light of the mirror hit her square in the face. Her eyes burned with it, but the pain of the headache had dulled. An old pain replaced with a new one. A cycle she knew well. She could sleep, but she never rested. 

She was able to blink as her eyes slowly adjusted and she finally caught sight of herself in the mirror. As she looked on, she realized that the dampness she had felt on her cheeks had not been sweat but were tears. The wet onslaught had flowed past her chin, soaking the collar of her t-shirt with a pale layer of foundation she had forgotten to remove the night before in her drunken state. Rhea sighed before turning her eyes down and flipped on the sink. She watched curiously as the water pooled in the cup of her hands before shoving it across her face. Repeating the process a couple more times before placing her hands on the counter and leaning fully over the sink. The harsh gush of the faucet a welcome buffer to the never-ending whirring that went on in her head. 

For a while, she just stood and breathed. The yelling chorus of voices in her head eventually came down to a more gentle stage whisper. This allowed her to move her attention to something much more important than her many past lives. She needed coffee! With two harsh pats to her cheeks, Rhea straightened her back and shed her clothes.

The chill of the hotel hallway could be felt even through the thick cotton of her hoodie as she made her way down to the lobby. This hotel was not as nice as the other ones they stayed at in the much larger cities. This hotel chain’s buildings were always old, but now haphazardly disguised with a new coat of a rather jarring orange and baby blue paint combo whose ugliness Damian often bitched about during his hangover-fueled breakfast rants. He was a surprisingly chipper alcoholic on the morning after a long night of indulgence. Grumpy, but eloquent. Rhea would typically call him in the mornings and they would eat breakfast as a duo, since Finn and Dominik was particularly unpleasant if not allowed to rise of their own accord. This morning, however, she didn’t feel that she had the patience to deal with what Rhea knew would be a good-natured parental lecture about how she “actively suppressed her negative feelings”. Followed closely by an accusation of taking it out on her boyfriend who was no where near as strong as she was. Damian could do it later, once Rhea had been filled with a minimum of three cups of heavily sweetened coffee. 

She stopped in her tracks just as she turned the corner into the lobby at the sight of a familiar face (or back rather). Jey Uso’s silhouette was hard to miss and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t snuck a handful of curious peaks backstage. He had his back to her, his arms hung bare through the cropped sleeves of his shirt and she could see the slight curve at the bottom of his spine that peaked out from the slit in the equally cropped bottom of his t-shirt. Her eyes moved back to the tattooed contours of his arms, the intricate line work shifting and bending with every minute flex. Art in motion. Rhea was always one to appreciate the artistry of a good tattoo. She and Jey had chatted enthusiastically at the club the night before about their many tattoos, though much of the conversation now only existed in jumbled scraps throughout her memory. His face had been so bright then. He had the type of smile that seemed to increase the light in a room when it reached his eyes. Brown eyes. Deep brown eyes that seemed to become molten when he spoke fondly of something. Though she rarely saw him speak much at all since she met him. She was surprised at her own attentiveness in that moment. When the fuck had she started to notice Jey Uso?

Rhea thought back to all the months before. All the confrontations, but nothing really stood out until yesterday. She’d known of him, but she didn’t know him. Even now, in the infancy of this new alliance. Last night was the first time she’d actually spoken to him outside of provoking him to Super Kick her in the ring. She looked at him wholly now. The coffee long forgotten as she pondered him. Apparently, this was a morning of way too much thought. But she’d worry about that later. Something about him drew her in. Made her want to know more as she continued to watch him prepare his breakfast. Now, leaning lazily against the counter as he waited for a paper cup to fill with orange juice. Rhea pondered Jey Uso’s appearance. His hair, his skin, his tattoos, his build. Once again, she had to admit that he was nice to look at. 

However, that was never what truly interested her about him. There was a heat to him. Something buried so deep, yet burned so bright that you could narrowly manage to avoid getting scorched by it. A longing for something that she didn’t think she’d ever be able to figure out without asking him herself; something she’d never even dream of doing. 

Rhea was brought out of her contemplation by the stiff jerk of Jey’s hand as he thrust it into his pocket. She looked on as he glanced around warily before pulling a small pill orange bottle out of his pocket. He hastily popped the white cap and levied the a couple tabs into his palm before tossing his head back and quickly downing the contents of his cup to chase it. Prescriptions from the looks of it. Considering who he fell under, she wouldn’t be too surprised if it was anxiety medication.

Jey bowed his head as he swallowed, the muscles of his back tensing under the thin black layer of his t-shirt. But it was his hand that truly caught her eye. The one not gripping the pill bottle lay open. She could see the patchwork of callouses that decorated the weathered skin there. But to her surprise, his hand was shaking rather violently. From the tips of his fingers to the curve of his shoulder. His whole body taught and coiled like a snake, poised to strike at the first sign of a threat. As her eyes made their way about him, she came to the unnerving realization that his feet were no longer facing away from her and when her head snapped up she was met eye to eye with him. The swiftness with which Jey moved had been what startled her initially, but her focus quickly pivoted to his eyes. No, what hid behind them. Or rather what didn’t. There was nothing there. A calculated emptiness. They both remained anchored in place. She wasn’t afraid to move nor was she afraid of him, but something was keeping her there. Something was keeping him there. Looked in at the eyes, but neither spoke. What was there to say anyway? Any individual with a single modicum of intelligence would tell you that it would be ill-advised to speak to someone who looked you the way that Jey was now. Like an animal. If he had gun it would be drawn. The empty heat she had been pondering before was now looking right at her and she couldn’t look away­–

“Hey, Rhea!” Rhea was embarrassed to think about the rather indignant noise she made at the sound of Damian’s voice that called from down the hallway. She whipped around. Her face set into a glower that deepened as she noticed the crooked-toothed smile Damian flashed back at her.

“Yo, take it easy. Did I scare you?” he teased, nudging her suggestively with his elbow as he came to stand next to her. She turned her head dramatically, her face pinched into a pout as she shoved him back. 

“Fuck off, Priest.” Her voice dripping with an exasperated fondness that she only ever offered to him. He shrugged before pulling his loosely tied robe closer around him and crossing his arms over his chest. His face the picture of amused curiosity as he said, “I called out a couple times and you didn’t answer. So, I got creative.”

Rhea blew air at her bangs, snorting a laugh as she said, “By creative, you mean loud, right?” He shrugged again, then he glanced behind her. Seemingly looking for something that he couldn’t find. She followed his gaze over her shoulder and almost audibly sighed in relief when she noticed Jey was no longer standing there glaring at her.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” she questioned with feigned innocence. Damian did seem to clock it in his hungover state, but he just shook his head. “Nothing. You just seemed lost in something.” he said matter-of-factly.

“Nah, just staring off into space waiting for our usual appointed breakfast date.” Damian scoffed, but made no objection to her explanation, moving past her toward the breakfast spread where Jey had once stood. She could still almost envision the perfect silhouette of Jey as he had been just moments before. A ghostly visage with some kind of death reflected in his eyes. An emptiness she now realized felt so familiar, because it was one she shared within herself. A loss of something. Of someone. A loss of innocence that only your greatest love can cause. A loss she’d felt twice but had been remedied by the new family she had now. Maybe Jey could use a new family too. She laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought and Damian fixed her with a concerned look but made no moves to address it. She resumed her pondering. Jey was too loyal to be fooled out of leaving his family. An absurd thought on her part. Impossible at worst. Yet another thing she’d add to the long list she chose to worry about at a later time.

Or she was full of shit, because even as she made her plate and get several cups of coffee in her system (maybe there was a way to just inject it into her veins first thing in the morning instead. She’d have to do research on it.), her mind wandered back to Jey Uso. More alarmingly, Roman Reigns. A man she had yet to lay eyes on in-person yet loomed large over the union of the two factions. The deal had been made by him. Paul Heyman had just been the typical obedient messenger. When she considered it, Roman was largely responsible for the man that Rhea had narrowly avoided a confrontation with just minutes before. He had beaten Jey down so completely that he was left with only his instincts to guide him. A weapon Roman had sharpened to act as an extension of himself. Jey was no longer an individual, but a cog in the great machine that Roman Reigns had built his now vast empire out of.

Roman was a familiar shadow to her. Like her own mentor, who haunted her even now. Roman Reigns did not seem like the type who took kindly to betrayal. Those who grew brave enough to stand before him was put down expeditiously. It’s why the Judgment Day had agreed to the alliance. Why try and fight a god, just to lose everything, when he’s willing to make you kings? Their faction was still young and while they didn’t have much to lose, fear was enough. Perhaps Edge would be ashamed of them now. The man who thought he was bulletproof. The one who taught them to fear nothing, but he showed his weakness then. He made them too strong, too strong to need him and they took full advantage. They had felled the king who believed himself to be the same god that Roman was. 

Still, maybe Roman’s time would be coming soon too. The tension radiated off all the members of the Bloodline in waves. Sami Zayn had opened a door inside a house that every believed to be forged shut with steel. A door no one had thought to check for. And answer to a question that she was sure none of the Bloodline had ever dared to ask. 

But that was none of her business. What choices the Bloodline members chose to make didn’t matter to her. So long as they stayed out of her way.

[ryah-wolfe]

Just Say It Three Times

When Alfred asked for volunteers to hunt down the old Halloween decorations, Tim was more than willing to go. He needed space away from everybody. 

When was the last time they had everybody back in the manor? He needed space to breathe; away from Dick’s hover, Stephanie’s poking and prodding. Away from Cass’ watchful eyes, and Damian snide comments. 

And just Bruce’s everything. 

But Alfred had asked. And so everybody dragged themselves back to Wayne Manor. 

It had been years since manor truly got decorated for Halloween. So the boxes were packed away in a unused room. It took him some time to find the room, it was a small room filled with boxes and covered furniture. The boxes were neatly packed and so Tim started to look through them;  lifting boxes to find the Halloween stuff. It was while he was shifting a box around, he saw the name. 

Jason Todd.

The name of a boy no one talks about. Well, sometimes Dick would when he was deep in his drink. But it was mostly crying. Tim knew the story from his own research, Jason died young and tragically. 

Curiosity killed the cat, Tim thought as his fingers traced the name. Alfred’s writing, not Bruce’s.  

But satisfaction brought it back, and all thoughts of Halloween decoration were long forgotten. 

He slowly pulled the box open, books. Old classic literature books, a comic here, or there. He gently shifted things around, he wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable fully pulling items out. That felt like going too far, like physically pulling the memories back into the present. 

His gentle rearranged the items to expose a thick parchment. Thick black ink, with bold red text, like some old newspaper ad?  His fingers snagged it and pulled it for clearer view.

RedHood, The Human Hunter for Hire

Are mortals disturbing your peaceful afterlife? 

CALL!

REDHOOD

REDHOOD 

REDHOOD

It was an ad? Seems rather morbid to be in a box about a dead boy. Alfred wouldn’t have placed it in here. 

Maybe Jason was into that kind of thing. The strange and unusual. Tim glanced a the well worn cover of  Pride and Prejudice, no that didn’t seem like something Jason would’ve been into. 

Tim dragged his finger across the name.

 RedHood. 

Another slide of his finger, but this time he was compelled to speak the blood red words.

“RedHood”. 

Tim jumped at his own voice, surprising himself. His voice and the name echoed around the room.

When had it gotten so cold? 

He’s supposed these rooms were further from the center of the house and just tended to be colder. He dragged his finger from the first to the second name. Identical to the first and just as blood red. 

“RedHood”. 

This time he whispered the name, his breath caught  in his chest. His heart thundered in his chest. His finger went to the third name, and  pressed into it. He opened his mouth for the third time to speak, but he choked. The words caught on his dry tongue. He swallowed a few times before he started again.

“Red-”

“ Timbo, did you get lost in here?” 

Tim startled forward, and shoved the morbid ad back into the box. Dick poked his head through the door, before he opened it fully to let the hallway light in. 

Tim blinked his eyes at the sudden flood of light. Had he been sitting in the dark? When did that happen?

Tim turned his head to look at Dick and opened his mouth before coughing. His tongue was sandpaper and his lips were chapped. 

“ Whoa, Tim, are you okay?” Dick  rushed forward and Tim quickly placed the lid back on the box and tried to push the box deeper into the pile. Hoping the name wasn’t showing.  

“ Sorry I guess I’ve just been  looking at the- Tim made a grab for the closest item, a santa nutcracker-   “ nutcrackers Alfred used to collect”. He holds up the nutcracker, a pink cheeked, jolly wooden figure. 

Dick cringed away from it.  

“ Please don’t remind me of those” The older man groaned as he kneeled next to Tim, and placed a comforting hand on his back. 

Tim is cold, Dick through with a frown. 

“ I remember falling asleep in front of the fireplace one year and the first thing I saw was the army of Nutcrackers, staring down from the shelf”. 

“Is that when Alfred stopped displaying them?”

“Oh man, I had such bad nightmares afterwards” Dick laughed as he looked at the santa in Tim’s hand. He kept his hand on Tim's back and Tim didn’t shrug his hand off. Dick thought about the tension in the family now, everyone trying to help Tim and Tim pulling away from them.

Tim’s accident, Dick thought somberly, really did change everything. Bruce has told everyone to give Tim space. And so they did.

“So, other than finding the creepy santas, did you see any of the old Halloween stuff” Dick asked as he glanced around the room. It seemed like it was mostly old furniture and stuff from when bruce’s parents were alive.

“No” Tim shivered as his body started to register the cold temperature.

“That’s fine” Dick replied as he shifted his hand from Tim’s back to wrap around the younger man’s shoulders and pulled him up off the freezing floor. 

“Maybe we can go shopping with Alfred for new stuff, doesn’t that sound fun?” He squeezed Tim’s boney shoulders. He’s definitely lost some weight, has Tim been eating?  

“Yeah lots of fun” Tim mumbled halfheartedly before placing the wooden figure back into one of the uncovered boxes.

His body felt drained and he was starting to feel light headed; that why he didn’t pull away from Dick’s warm hold.

That’s definitely why, Tim  thought as Dick started to pull them out the room and into the brightly lit hallway. 

He was only half listening to Dick’s rambling about planning the perfect Autumn family day. Filled with halloween shopping, carmel apples and pumpkins. Tim turned his head to glance back into the dark room and thought about the box with a dead boy’s things and that weird ad, sitting with Jason’s things.

RedHood. He shivered one last time before Dick closed the door. 

RedHood the Human Hunter

Are mortals disturbing your peaceful afterlife?  

CALL!

REDHOOD

REDHOOD 

REDHOOD

[hanahaki-disease]

Beyond the Farthest Reaches

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

“Bubbles”

Set After “There is a New Intention” (a far into the future upload, but can be read without spoilers)

Summary:

“A nick name is a term of endearment placed upon a person by family and close friends. It can also be given by members of a team, group, or among strangers to differentiate a person from the other, not to be confused with the malicious definition of ‘name.’”

“You look like a nerd,” Jason said.

Notes:

I have been told that this series needs a bit more fluff to balance out the angst…

They might be right…

**************************************

“Alright,” Stephanie extended the pointer she stole from Tim’s bag. “Percy and I have called you all here for an important meeting that has been a decade in the making on Percy’s side.” Percy nodded. “The topic we wish to discuss: nicknames. New additions and explanations for those already in use. Percy? Would like to start us off?”

“Yes, thank you,” Percy stood forward, letting Stephanie take over control of the laptop. The projector was blinding but he could see everyone in their unassigned assigned seating in the viewing room. Bruce sat front and center, his notebook and pen in hand and Percy couldn’t tell if he was being serious by taking notes or if he was just playing along. On one side of him was Cassandra and Damian, the other had Tim and Barbara, and sitting behind them were Dick, Jason, and Alfred.

That’s usually where Percy sat, too, he can see his seat still empty between Jason an Alfred. “We will begin with the definition for those of you who don’t know.” The slide changed behind them. “A nick name is a term of endearment placed upon a person by family and close friends. It can also be given by members of a team, group, or among strangers to differentiate a person from the other, not to be confused with the malicious definition of ‘name.’”

“You look like a nerd,” Jason said.

“A prime example of a malicious ‘name’” Percy called out, and with the most condescending tone he could muster he said, “Good job, Jason.” Which earned some snickers and quiet huffs of amusement. “We will now begin the segment of reviewing the current nicknames being used. First up—” A bad photo of Bruce in his robe popped up on screen. “Bruce. Oh, and thank you to Barbara who has supplied the pictures for this presentation.”

“I did everyone dirty.” She laughed.

They spent the next hour or so going over Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Jason’s nicknames. Voting for which ones were allowed to stay and if there were any that should be used. Bruce and Alfred’s stayed the same, but Jason demanded the term ‘zombie’ added to the roster. It was not.

“Next, is Tim.” Stephanie led the slide. Percy remembers the night the picture came from, it was the time Tim thought he could go against Condiment Man alone and ended up in a vat of Mayo. He laughed his ass of when he compared him to the Rainbow Dash Jar and Tim almost cried. “Before we get to the voting, I request an explanation of one particular name. The full explanation this time—” She looked to Tim and Percy. “Of the name ‘ducky.’”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“I call upon—Jason!” She pointed the stick at him. “Explain!”

“Jay, no, please.” Tim folded himself over the back of his chair, hands in prayer. Of all the nicknames he had, and he had a lot since his name was easy to mess with, this was the one he wished they could vote out. It was childish. It was demeaning. (He’ll never admit he likes it.) “Please don’t tell.”

Jason instead stood up from his seat, hopped over Tim, and took center stage. “So,” He clapped, “For those who don’t know, I was the one who started calling Timbit ‘ducky’ and there’s a very logical and simple reason for that, two, actually.”

“The first, his last name is a type of duck. Didn’t think much of it, I barely interacted with him until Percy started bringing him over after school more often,” Jason said. “When he did come over, the he would not stop following me when he wasn’t with Percy. No matter where I went, or where I hid, that stage five clinger was right there.” They turned their heads towards Tim who was trying to hide behind his chair. Percy, along side Jason, were outright laughing. “And with the knowledge that his name meant ‘duck’ I began to call him ‘ducky’ because he was following me like a little duckling.”

“I say we vote the name out!” He shot forward, ears tinted red from embarrassment.

“No! We are not voting out the name!” Percy defended. “It is a perfectly good name and encapsulates you in its’s entirety. And we can use it in public, unlike stalker, which is true as well.”

“I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you, bubbles,” Bruce smiled and Percy’s dropped, Jason’s growing even wider. He covered his mouth with a gasp, turning to face his little brother with the biggest shit eating grin he had, “I forgot about ‘bubbles!’”

Percy quickly found the edge of the makeshift podium interesting. “We didn’t have to bring up bubbles…” he murmured but it was ignored when everyone turned to Bruce to tell.

“Yes, I did since it wasn’t on your slide,” Bruce said.

“Explain bubbles.” Cassandra leaned forwards in her seat. Percy tried to interfere, but Jason was quick to put him in a head lock. His yells of protests went unheard to the main group as their play fight turned into wrestling.

“This was years ago when I took them to the aquarium for their first birthday in my care,” Bruce began, recalling the memory…

The aquarium wasn’t very busy mid-august which was a surprise. Bruce would’ve thought that since it was summer, more people would be able to take their children or spend the day with their loved ones. Walking through the different sections and interacting with the creatures and animals without worrying about work or school. He supposed he was one of the lucky parents who were able to take a Wednesday off for no reason other than to celebrate his son’s birthdays.

Bruce watched from behind the line of children, all of them pressing into each other on one half of the sting ray touch-pool. He could spot his boys at the very front. Jason’s little hand in the cool water just barely grazing their fingers along the slightly smooth skin of the animal.

Had it been other children at the front, Bruce was sure they wouldn’t be as nice to them as they should. Splashing the water, touching them a little too hard than necessary, or being too loud. He knows the children mean well, they were just excited to be able to interact with the string ray and didn’t really know how to channel it properly. But when he and the boys walked it, it seemed like it was the other way around.

The sting rays were swimming faster in the shallow waters. Zipping around each other and towards whatever side of the pool Percy and Jason were, as if they were excited puppies waiting to play. When the two of them reached the edge, Jason was the only one brave enough to touch them, and the sting rays seemed to fight for his attention. That was strange. Why were they behaving like that? Even the aquarium attendants were confused, whispering and the abnormal behavior.

When they finally ventured out of the sting ray zone, and Jason’s mouth was rambling a hundred miles a minute about every kind of stingray and their specific attributes, they had traveled to the jellyfish exhibit. Percy seemed to light up at the sight of them, pressing his face and hands against the glass for each one.

Bruce didn’t understand how jellyfish were the animal that captured Percy’s excitement the most. He could understand Jason with the stingrays, they swam, around and had cool tails and always looked to be smiling. But jellyfish? They were mindless creatures that did nothing but each plankton and bump into each other. Yet, when he looked at Percy’s bright face, smooshed against the unsanitary glass, completely enthralled and content to just stand and watch them for hours, he didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t understand.

Hours later and the aquarium explored thoroughly, Bruce and his sons left the building with bright smiles and a large gift bag full of gift shop items. Shirts and stuffies, plastic toys and postcards, bubble wands and a little tank that made plastic little jellyfish swim for however long Percy wanted. Did he spend an adsorbent amount of money on stuff? Yes, he did, it was for their birthday. Was he still going to buy them even more gift to make up for the years they spent without birthday presents? Absolutely. Bruce loves spoiling his kids. Dick wasn’t immune to that either, he constantly sends him packages filled with trinkets or objects that reminded Bruce of him. Percy and Jason were no different.

“Did you boys like the aquarium?” Bruce asked them as they walked to the car. They nodded their heads before blowing bubbles out of the wands he got them. Alfred was not going to like how sticky they were going to make things, but Bruce will take the blame. “That’s good. Tomorrow, Percy, you get to decide what we do for your birthday.”

His youngest titled his head, “I thought the aquarium was my birthday thing.”

“No, it was mine.” Jason corrected. “I wanted to go yesterday for my birthday, but they’re closed on Tuesdays because they clean the habitats. I asked.”

“So whatever you want to do, whatever you want to eat for meals, we will do because it’s your birthday.” Bruce poked Percy in the shoulder to emphasize his words. “We could go to the planetarium if you’d like?”

When Bruce had asked that, he didn’t notice Percy had taken out the bubble wand, the excess soap running down and over his hand, and was just about to blow. But instead of blowing out the air, in Percy’s excitement, he gasped. The sharp inhale of air that close to the wand made a bubble form into his open mouth, causing the child to cough and choke at the taste.

Immediately, Bruce went into Dad mode™. Patting at Percy’s back to help, handing off the bubble wand to his brother, who was quietly (or as quiet and eleven year old could be) snickering at his brother. “I knew you were excite, but I didn’t think you’d try to eat the bubbles, bud.”

“Maybe we should start calling you ‘bubbles’ now,” Jason laughed.

“No!” Percy coughed.

“Bubbles!”

“Stop!”

“Make me, bubbles.” Percy chased after Jason in the empty space next to the car, not fast enough to catch up as they circled the car ether. “Bubbles! Bubbles! Percy likes to eat bubbles!”

“You choked…” Tim turned his head to where Jason and Percy were a tangled mess of arms and legs. Jason’s arm was still wrapped around Percy’s neck, and Percy had one of Jason’s leg pulled back at and awkward angle. “On bubbles?”

“I was eight and thought only the super-rich could go to the planetarium!” Percy defended. “And like yeah, I knew B was rich when he took us in, but it didn’t click how rich till he said we could go for my birthday. But remember the context, Jason and I had only been living with Bruce for, what, two weeks, at that time?”

“No, not even,” Jason let go of Percy, who almost hit his head on the floor. “A week, I think, since he still needed to get the paperwork completed.”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded his head. “I had been living in a crate a week before, of course I didn’t believe he was that rich!”

“The point still stand,” Damian looked at Percy. “You choked on bubbles.”

He dropped his head on the ground with a thud, groaning “Oh my gods!!” into the floor.

**************************************

Stephanie does reference a moment that takes place earlier in the timeline, the only reason it’s not published yet is because I want to wait until the main series catches up to that point.

Expect the next main series to update sometime this weekend (09/07-08/24)

Hope you enjoyed it!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

[bubbleswrld]

Damian Priest Imagine

TW: Damian Priest X Shy! Wrestler! Reader, reader is POC (black), reader has anxiety, legal age-gap between reader and Damian, platonic! Rhea X reader

Y/N paced back and forth as she waited for her music to hit. She had a promo with Rhea Ripley and although they rehearsed it, she had stage fright. Rhea was already in the ring, talking a big game about how everyone was below her since no one had beater her for her belt. Y/N's music hit and she shook away her jitters before grabbing a mic and sauntering onto the ramp. "You're only at the top because you're hound dogs always protect you." Y/N cut off the raven hair woman. She climbed mat and stepped under the second rope. "With or without them, I can still beat your ass, Y/N." Rhea chuckled. "So why you duckin' my fade, mami?" Y/N asked as she smirked but the words came out shaky; she just hoped the fans didn't pick up on it.

"If you couldn't handle a simple interview, what makes you think you can beat me for MY title?" Rhea got in Y/N's face, albeit, she had to crane her neck to Y/N's short height. Rhea picked up on her shortened breaths and hoped being close to the girl calmed her a bit.

"Cause unlike y-you, I won't need back up when I'm whoopin' that ass!"

Y/N dropped the mic and threw the first punch; that was supposed to stun her opponent and knock her off her feet but the most it did was make her stumble two feet. Rhea tried to sell the move as best as she could by sliding down the buckles and rolling out the ring. Y/N climbed the buckles and struck her pose. She quickly got out of the ring and tried to get up the ramp whilst holding in tears knowing she fucked up the spot. Fans were cheering for her and tapping her as she passed, even holding out their phones for pictures.

The water works started before she could even leave the ramp but she had to turn and hit her final mark. Y/N wiped her eyes quickly and turned to face the crowd before scurrying backstage.

/////

Rhea had went on a search for her friend to see what had went wrong but nobody had seen Y/N since the promo. Damian was supposed to be on his way to the hotel earlier that night but after seeing the prom, he too was looking for the younger girl. "Randy, have you seen Y/N?!" Damian asked as he spotted the fellow wrestler coming up the hallway. "I think she was headed to medics--"

Damian and Rhea reached medics at the same time where they found Y/N huddled up on a gurney, struggling to breathe. Adam Pearce was beside her trying his best to calm her down but that just seemed to be making it worst. Y/N had been stressed out for the past few weeks dealing with training, back to back shows and personal issues pertaining to her family. It was a miracle that she had lasted that long without an anxiety/ panic attack. "C'mon bunny, ya gotta breathe. Follow my breathing." Y/N quickly clung to Damian as the loudest sob echoed through her tiny body.

"I f-fucked up b-bad."

She could barely get out her words.

"Nobody is mad at you, hon."

Rhea tried to console the girl.

The young girl was wheezing, grasping at her chest and throat. The medic finally came with a dose of meds to sedate the girl.

"Mi amor. I'm so sorry I wasn't there earlier." Damian kissed his girl's head and laid her on the gurney as she mellowed out. "What happened out there, Rhea?" Adam asked. He was fond of the girl; although she was a shy one, she brought light to everyone's day. He needed to know what triggered her.

"She was antsy before the promo, she did okay with it up until the spot... I saw her start to break."

Damian swiped her braids out of her face and ran his hand across her cheeks as if to let her know he was still there. "She mentioned something about family issues the other day." Dominik popped up. Damian muttered a quiet "Fuck."

"Take her back to the hotel; if she isn't better by Wednesday, I'm gonna pull her from the house show and from next week." Adam stated as he began to pace back and forth. "I need to be here for Rhea." Y/N slurred. "Bunny, you need to rest; the match will be here when you get back." Damian picked her up and left the room. He took her back to the hotel and got her cleaned up before tucking her in.

That was an abrupt ending... yikes. I might rewrite it later.

[specialinterestshows]

Join your girlfriend’s found family as they prepare Dom for his title match in this latest chapter of my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic, Absolute Smokeshow.

Warnings for this section: Social/crowd anxiety, stalking mention, jealousy, PDA, parasocial behavior

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 73 of ?): From One Show To The NXT

Rhea kept a comforting hand on you the entire ride over to the next show while you did your best to stay calm. Dominik was in the back with the both of you and Damian drove, his hand moving over to rest on Finn’s thigh whenever the cruise control was on. Your head was swimming with anxiety, but the warm, loving atmosphere in the car kept it from getting to be too much. Every time you tried to focus on the present, concerns for the future seeped in.

“Thanks again for letting me tag along,” it must have been the third time you’d said it.

Need to remember to call in sick for work tomorrow, but I’m not sure how many sick days I have left.

“Take it easy, chica,” Damian chuckled, eyes fixed on the road, looking like there was nowhere he would rather be.

I’m technically not insured to have someone who isn’t me driving my car, no matter how good Damian is at it.

“Yeah, you’re Rhea’s girl, so you’re pretty much part of the family,” Finn chimed in, smile evident in his voice despite the headrest blocking your view of his face, “Family takes care of family, no hesitation.”

I need to stop looking back, but what if someone’s following us again?

“We should make her an “honorary member of The Judgment Day” shirt,” Dom suggested.

I bet my apartment complex is going to be crawling with creeps when I get back. If it isn’t already.

“I’ll style it for her - I know exactly where to make the first cut,” Rhea insisted, eyes admiring your chest.

How many more panic attacks until they all decide I’m not worth helping?

“Don’t worry, love,” Rhea quietly reassured you, clearly sensing your anxiety, “This next show has a much smaller audience, and JD is getting there ahead of us to make sure we have a path inside that isn’t crowded by fans. We’re all going to do our part to keep people from getting too close to you.”

“Thanks, Rhe. Thanks everyone-“ you said again, before being cut off.

“Fuck’s sake, lass,” Finn’s sigh turned into an amused chuckle as he explained his interruption, “You’ve helped me and Damian get together and you’ve been nothing but good to Rhea - not to mention what the three of you did last night, because I know our man here had the time of his life” - he gestured to a blushing Dominik with a jab of his thumb - “So quit acting like you’re a burden and face it: you’re worth more than you realize.”

This coming from the man whose first words to me were about some money I allegedly owed him? The fact that Finn’s position on you seemed to have completely changed made it difficult to deny the sincerity of his words, leaving you in a stunned silence.

“Good one, babe,” you just barely heard Damian whisper to Finn.

Just as Rhea had promised, JD McDonagh was waiting for the three of you when you pulled into the parking lot, giving the group directions before taking the keys to park the car. JD seemed determined to help and Finn was happy to see him - but Damian definitely wasn’t.

“Cuidado, mi amor,” he muttered, a protective arm around Finn as he watched JD slide into the driver’s seat, “He’s still looking at you a little too long for my taste.”

“You know I only have eyes for you,” Finn reassured Damian, sticking his hand in his boyfriend’s back pocket.

“Yeah, but does he know-“ Damian jumped a bit, presumably in response to the squeeze Finn had given his ass.

Rhea quickly brought up the hand that wasn’t holding yours to stifle her laughter, muffling it just enough for you to catch Damian whispering “brat” to Finn under his breath.

The topic of conversation soon turned to Dom’s match to win back the NXT North American Championship, and before you knew it, you were backstage.

Rhea held your hand tightly as you all walked to the locker rooms. “That’s her” and “belt bunny” were whispered more than once as you walked through the groups of wrestlers, managers, and technical staff. Suddenly, you were self-conscious, trying to fold in on yourself away from all the curious eyes.

Someone whistled suggestively and the entire Judgment Day stopped to look for the source - to no avail. Rhea let go of your hand in favor of putting a protective arm around your shoulders. You held her tight until you were in a less crowded area. Rhea gave you a loving squeeze before following the rest of the group into the locker room to help Dom get ready for his match.

You were about to follow them, until an arm in a dark jacket blocked the closing door.

“Hey, you’re Rhea’s girlfriend, right?”

The question came from a woman dressed in black and silver ring gear. She somehow looked simultaneously bored and threatening, flipping her long, two-toned hair out of her face as she stared you down.

“… Yeah,” you answered reluctantly, “Why?”

“But you’re not a wrestler, are you.”

It was more of a statement, but you confirmed anyway.

“I’m not, no.”

The anxiety was obvious in your voice; maybe that’s what made the woman smirk and lean in before asking:

“So is it true what they say about Rhea?”

“What do they say?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Jacy! We still need to get ready for the match,” an excitable blonde in matching ring gear ran up and addressed the woman before she could answer you, “Come on!”

Jacy sighed, looking you over before letting out a short laugh and following behind her tag partner.

What do they say about Rhea?

“Babe?” your girlfriend opened the door in front of you, looking confused, “Come join us; we need to know where you are if we’re going to keep you safe.”

You walked in and sat in the corner of the locker room as the others talked strategy - the last thing you wanted was to make the wrong move when Rhea was getting ready for a match.

A buzz made you pull out your phone.

It was Marisol:

“Is this you? Or do you have a twin?”

The message had a photo attached of the same tabloid cover you saw at the hotel that morning, but this one seemed to be sitting at a checkout counter.

You sighed, tapping away at your phone’s keyboard.

“That’s me: Rhea Ripley’s girlfriend.”

Looking over your response as you hit “send,” it dawned on you that another part of this mess was weighing on you in a way you couldn’t have expected: Rhea had become a celebrity because of her own talent, but you were only interesting to the world at large because you were dating her.

Your phone vibrated in your hands: a reply from Mari.

“I actually had to look up who she was - not really into wrestling. Hope you won’t hold it against me.”

You breathed a sigh of relief and smiled as her follow-up text reached you:

“How are you doing, belleza?”

“Overwhelmed” you typed.

Then deleted.

“Stressed” you typed instead.

Then deleted that too.

“Wish I could just go home. But it doesn’t feel safe.”

You typed and hit send.

Marisol responded quickly:

“Let me know if you need to crash at mine, hermosa.”

You were thrown - she barely knew you.

“U-Hauling already?” you reply, avoiding giving an actual response to the offer.

“No need for a U-Haul when you have a truck” was her reply, a winking face ending the message.

By the time your eyes had read down to the emoji, another message from popped up from Mari:

“Kidding. But if you do move someplace, you can use my truck if you smoke me out after.”

“Did you hear me, love?” Rhea’s voice made you look up from your phone.

Not only did you miss what your girlfriend had said, you hadn’t noticed JD was now in the locker room as well.

“I didn’t, sorry,” you admitted, gauging her reaction.

“I said all of us are going to be out there,” Rhea said, unfazed, “So you might be on your own for a little while, but I’ll have JD run back to you after he’s done his part. Sound good?”

You nodded and she smiled before turning to Finn and Damian. Looking over at a slightly fidgety Dominik, you tune out Rhea’s lecture about postposing the eye-fucking until after the title had been won.

“Nervous?” you asked your metamour.

“A little,” he said, moving to sit next to you on the bench, “Everyone is counting on me.”

“Anything I can do to help you with your match?” you asked, knowing it was unlikely but still wanting to offer.

He looked away for a moment, a blush blooming on his face.

“A kiss for good luck?” Dom asked finally.

“…Don’t get used to it,” you replied, holding his chin gently as you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“So they get to be distracted and we don’t?” Finn asked, making Damian laugh.

“That kiss was more chaste than any single time the two of you have looked at each other since you met,” Rhea insisted, “Now let’s get back to business.”

[end part seventy-three of ?]

Part 74: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/751959352476368896/absolute-smokeshow-part-74-of-locker-room

-

Tag list (thank you!)

@littlemiss-fanficlover , @babybatlover , @girlofpink , @kagome2909 , @domripley , @wiccanpriestess , @falloutboy-lover , @aut0luminescence , @riverina69 , @itsrheasgirl , @1-800-sinister

[trekkele]

"# i think If you want a genuine critique of Batman then Leslie and her pacifism is far more interesting"

So true. Unfortunately nobody's been writing her well since the 90s or '00s. At least, I didn't come across anything featuring her in a well thought out way.

I'm split on counting War Games because 'she would not fucking do that' as people say. However, it is her position on morality taken to the twisted extreme. Still, intentionally killing or faking it, is very emotionally hurtful, like trauma inducing hurtful. Both for Steph and the Batfam and her mother.

Looked up the exact definition of pacifism and, well:

"Pacifism is a policy or doctrine of rejecting war and violence in solving disputes"

She kinda did use violence (emotional and body violating and zero consent from removing Steph from her life) to solve a dispute. Or to "free" Steph of her bat-duties, but it still counts.

Would love for Leslie to go after other batfam members and not just Bruce and argue with them about their methods.

Actually i think Stephanies death, either by medical negligence or a failure of her support system, is a natural consequence of Leslies brand of pacifism and while “She, personally, might not fucking do that” her philosophy might so its not as ooc as id like it to be.

So to discuss Leslie i think i have to establish two things 1. She suffers from being a (mostly) anti Batman character in a Batman comic* and

2. She and Jason are actually on two ends of a spectrum, with Leslie being “it is better to be the victim of violence then the perpetrator of it” and Jason being “it is better to enact unspeakable violence then be the victim of it”. With Bruce in the middle like “can we please get some nuance in here can we please get some fucking nuance” which is. Very funny actually.

(Its funny because Bruce, by being Batman, has basically decided to become the nuance - he will be violent for you, and by being so good at violence he can minimize the amount of actual violence needed)

So by letting Steph die, Leslie is essentially saying “no amount of violence can save us, isnt it better to die then without having inflicted it upon others?” Which is so very Ghandi of her, but also fucking insane and yeah Bruce was 100% right to never trust her again after that.

She is also - ok so the thing is, in-universe, being a teenage vigilante is. It’s basically like being a dance kid. Its going to have a profound and everlasting effect on the kids mental and physical health, there are side effects we still don’t entirely understand, but for the most part its just. Something some kids do!! Some of them insist on doing it (dick, damian (<-i have thoughts about why Bruce didnt want to give Damian robin ok) some of them realize it isnt good for them but cant really give it up (jason, maybe tim?) some of them are in it just for their stage moms (cissie king-jones) and some of them suffer long term consequences due to insufficient parental supervision (kon, pre-nu52) etc etc. Leslie is the mom in the corner who thinks allowing her kid to perform or even learn ballet in a studio is a slippery slide to abuse. She thinks no kid should ever be in that environment, and by Bruce allowing Dick to do so, despite Bruces reluctance in the matter and almost oppressive supervision, he has doomed an entire generation of kids.

She is never going to criticize anyone else in the batfam, because to do so would be admitting that kids have agency beyond what adults believe is best for them, and admitting that means being unable to push her “correct” views upon them.

Leslie is actually a pretty good stand in for fandom in that way; refuses to allow anyone but Bruce agency and independent thought, refuses to place blame anywhere but Bruce, insists a difference of opinion is grounds for dismissal of personhood and respect, and believes Gotham would be better off if Batman never existed.

(Once again i have no idea if i answered your question/addressed your ask. Sorry)