#Damian priest

[eringobragh420]

added my current works in progress

🎉 = series 🎀 = parts of series 👑 = standalone/one-shot 🏹 = masterlist 🌹 = works in progress 💎 = divider love - @enchanthings

WIPs 🌹 Untitled Sequel — Roman x f!Reader x cuck!Cody 🌹 Untitled Sequel — Roman x f!Reader x Damian 🌹 WooHoo — Jey Uso x f!Reader 🌹 While One of Them is On The Phone — Damian x f!Reader (req) 🌹 Subservient — dom!Roman x sub!Reader 🌹 I Want It — CM Punk x f!Reader

CODY RHODES, ROMAN REIGNS 👑 Animal In Me — Roman x f!Reader x cuck!Cody (18+)

DAMIAN PRIEST 🏹 Masterlist (18+)

DEXTER LUMIS 👑 Panty-Sniffing — Dexter x f!Reader (18+)

GUNTHER 👑 Circles — Gunther x f!Reader (18+) 👑 Muscle Worship — Gunther x f!Reader (18+)

JEY USO, RHEA RIPLEY 👑 She Bad — Jey x f!Reader x Rhea (18+)

RANDY ORTON 👑 Lost in the Moment — RKO x f!Reader

ROMAN REIGNS, JEY USO, JIMMY USO 🎉 Coming Undone — Roman x Jey x Jimmy x f!Reader (18+) 🎀 Part One 🎀 Part Two 🎀 Part Three

SETH ROLLINS 🎉 Reputation (Just To Save Yours) — Seth x f!OC (18+) 🎀 Part One

WWE 🏹 KINKLIST - REQUESTS CLOSED (18+) 🎀 Muscle Worship — Gunther x f!Reader (18+) 🎀 Panty-Sniffing — Dexter Lumis x f!Reader (18+)

[itsgivingmami]

Heyy I was wondering if you could maybe write Rhea Ripley having a famous girlfriend?

Like they would talk about each other in interviews and such…

Love!! Hope you enjoy! Thanks for the request💛

The Public Eye- Rhea Ripley

Rheas leg bounces impatiently behind the conference table, the lights in the room feel altogether too bright and if she has to answer another dumb question from someone who doesn’t even watch the content they produce she might launch over the table at them.

“So Rhea,” she takes a deep breath and looks to where a man in a poorly fitted button down has a hand up, “how are you going to celebrate your win tonight?” She pretends to contemplate but she has a plan and is getting more and more antsy to get there.

“I have a date,” she boasts and the room erupts as people question her who it is and where shes going. She grins cheekily as she stands from the folding chair and makes her way behind the curtain. Her belt thrown over her shoulder she walks down the halls smugly, pausing for a moment as her phone buzzes in the waist band of her gear.

Babygirl: is it really a date if we’re just going to watch horror movies on the couch?

~

She racks her weights and turns back to her phone, hearts and text filling the screen as her fans watch her live workout. Compliments about her tattoos, questions about the dogs and plain old thirst commentary. She smiles at the depravity of her fans and answers a couple questions.

“What did I do this weekend?” She repeats and hums, “I took my girl to set Saturday morning, cleaned the house and then picked her up, we both had the day off Sunday,”

Her chat starts scrolling faster as her viewers start discussing you. Talking about your last movie or how cute the two of you are together.

“She’s your favourite actor?” Rhea chuckles and quickly double checks around her as if she weren’t home alone, she leans in close to the camera to whisper, “mine too,”

~

The flashes are blinding as you smile looking at them before turning to look at Rhea. Head to toe in a three piece black suit you regret picking out, she’s far too tempting in it. She’s got a firm arm around your waist but you suspect it’s more for her own comfort than yours. She had been on red carpets before but not nearly as many as you and being the lead in the film you were currently at the premiere for you hadn’t had half a second to breathe.

“You’re sure you want to come?” You ask her as you toss a couple dresses onto the bed next to her. It’s not that you don’t want her too, in-fact, you’d love nothing more than an opportunity to show her off but even you got overwhelmed by them sometimes. She reaches for your waist and pulls you between her legs as she stares up at you, your concerned expression makes her grin at you.

“Mhm,” she hums and you run a hand over her hair, “I wanna support my baby,” she tells you honestly and you lean down to kiss her. The emotion rushes over you in waves, feeling incredibly lucky to have the woman in front of you.

~

“Congratulations on the success of your new film,” the interviewer says to you and you smile at her. “It really is a beautiful piece of work,”

“Thank you that’s so kind,” you adjust in your chair, gently pulling your skirt down a little further.

“Of course,” she smiles again and looks down to her notes, “you can tell you put a lot of emotion and really felt your character that must’ve been difficult,”

“It can be,” you confess, some days it was harder to break character and return from that dark place, “but I have a really great support system,” you explain and the interviewer listens attentively, a nice reprieve from the shallow ones.

“You have a partner right?” She questions and you feel your heart flutter, a feeling that had never really stopped despite being together months now.

“Rhea,” you fill in for her, “she’s incredible and she understands the whole fame side of things, I’m so lucky to call her mine,”

~

“Got somewhere to be?” Damian’s question makes Rhea look away from the wall clock and he tries to stretch out his quads.

“No I just want to make sure I’m available, just in case,” she explains and Damian’s furrows his brows in confusion.

“Available for wh-“ the loud ringer of Rheas phone cuts him off and she sprints towards the corner of the practice ring. She accepts your FaceTime and she’s greeted by your teary eyes and your hand over your mouth.

“Hi love,” she greets, ready to tell Damian she needs to go until your hand falls and she sees the smile gracing your lips.

“Four nominations,” you mutter to her still in disbelief, you had hung up on your agent moments ago once she told you the news to call Rhea.

“Four,” Rhea repeats and you nod before she squats down and throws her hand over her mouth, you giggle realising she’s picking up on your habits. “FOUR OSCAR NOMINATIONS!”

You giggle at her and sigh happily, allowing some of the stress you’d been holding waiting for that call to leave you as you fall back on the couch. Rhea watches you in pure admiration, proud of you beyond explanation and relieved to see your skills be valued how they should. Some partners might see it as a threat, to date someone so famous but to her it only adds a layer of connection between you too.

Damian wanders away to chat with someone as he hears you and Rhea, the latter completely forgetting about his existence. He can’t complain, not when his best friend has clearly found the love of her life.

a/n: quick shout out to @possessedmagpie for the help brainstorming, go check out their book!

[incorrectwwe]

Damian, looking at a selfie of Rhea’s: I hate this photo.

Rhea: I’m cute as fuck in that photo! I’m smiling kindly.

Damian: You’re not smiling kindly; you look like you’re up to something.

Rhea: Up to kindness.

[joy-of-life88]

[magicalbuttertarts]

[you-got-me-star-lost-16]

Love when Big Daddy’s spiteful😚

[lov3rla03]

Taunting him by saying that he couldn't handle a plus size woman like me.

And then he proceeds to show me that he can by eating me out until I'm a crying mess, pounding into my pussy more than once, all the while whispering filthy things in my ear.

"I'm the Tribal Chief baby girl, I can handle this pussy with ease and I will continue to show you that!".

🥵🥵

Lawd yall just don’t understand I feel like him, Damian, and Jey could DEFINITELY handle plus size women 😩

[nubian-queen22]

The Archer's Song-Chp.2

The crowd in the arena roared as Liv Morgan’s theme blared over the speakers. She strutted down the ramp, the Crown Jewel Championship glistening on her shoulder. Dressed in a sleek and desperately skimpy black leather outfit, (giving that wannabe Mami energy lol) that mirrored her fiery mood, she climbed into the ring, grabbing a mic from the announcer’s table.

The boos from the audience barely phased her as she waited for the noise to die down. Her icy glare swept over the crowd before she raised the microphone.

“So, it seems RAW has a new shiny toy,” Liv began, her voice dripping with disdain. “Everyone’s been talking about Syrin this, Syrin that. About her debut, about her win last week.” She spat the last word as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and boos at the mention of Syrin’s name. Liv rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Yeah, cheer for her all you want,” Liv sneered. “She hasn’t earned anything. She’s just another wannabe trying to steal my spotlight, my division, my title.” She lifted the Crown Jewel Championship high into the air for emphasis.

“And Syrin,” Liv continued, pacing the ring, “if you think you can strut in here and rewrite history, you’ve got another thing coming. This is my house, my legacy. You’re just a ghost of—”

The arena lights flickered suddenly, and Liv froze mid-sentence. The Titantron lit up, revealing a shadowy figure seated in a dimly lit room. Syrin leaned forward into the light, her lips curled into a sinister smile.

“Ghost?” Syrin’s voice was soft yet haunting as it echoed through the arena. “That’s an interesting word choice, Liv. You see, ghosts are often fragments of the past. And if anyone knows about the past, it’s you.”

Liv’s expression shifted, a flicker of unease crossing her face.

“I’m not just some shiny toy,” Syrin continued, her eyes narrowing. “I’m your past, Liv. I’m the mistakes you thought you buried away. The choices you thought you left behind.”

The crowd buzzed with intrigue, and Liv’s confident demeanor wavered as she shouted at the screen, “What are you talking about?!”

Syrin’s smile widened. “You’ll figure it out soon enough. But for now...” Her voice trailed off as the jumbotron flickered again.

“Sweet dreams.”

The screen abruptly faded to black, plunging the arena into darkness.

When the lights came back on, Liv was no longer alone in the ring. Syrin stood behind her, cloaked in a dark leather trench coat, her eyes gleaming with icy determination.

The crowd erupted in a deafening roar as Liv spun around, only to be met with a devastating forearm to the face. Liv hit the mat, her championship skittering across the ring. Syrin didn’t stop there, delivering a swift, calculated series of strikes that left Liv writhing on the canvas.

Syrin picked up the Crown Jewel Championship, holding it up for the crowd to see. She looked down at Liv with a smirk before casually dropping the title beside her.

As Liv tried to recover, Syrin leaned down and whispered something into her ear, inaudible to the crowd but enough to send a chill through Liv’s spine.

With that, Syrin stood tall, her statement made, as the crowd chanted her name.

So I am getting back into these updates! I am also crafting up my masterlist page which will link all of my stories/drabbles etc. so be on the look out! I will plan on taking request soon just have some things in the works!

[magicalbuttertarts]

Her when they get home

She's With Me Now | D.P.

Summary: I was wondering if you could do one with Damian with the song She's With Me Now by David Morris. Maybe her ex is someone he has beef with?

Requested by: @lilsquatch7898

Author's Note: I'm literally obsessed with this song.

Damian Priest Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @mrsarcherofinfamy @terrortwinunicorn @brideofinfamy @miss-kuki-nz @hotwheels1108 @new-zealand-chic @magicalbuttertarts @eringobragh420 @missbmc94 @surdelcielo @hodgepodge-musings

Damian couldn't believe his eyes. The very guy that constantly blew up Y/N's phone had the audacity to talk to her at a bar they were at. She had begged him time and time again to just leave her alone. No matter how many times she told him to move on, the stubborn man wouldn't. Damian knew he had to step in now. He could always beg for her forgiveness later.

Each step he took towards him made Damian angrier. All the times she cried in his car because of what she went through with him. The trauma that sometimes kept her up at night when he wouldn't leave her alone. The days she would call sick from work to not leave the house. It was coming to an end tonight.

At first, before the harassment, Damian felt bad for the little worm. Y/N admitted she had never actually orgasmed before. She had to constantly fake it with him, or he'd accuse her of cheating on him. The guy lived in his mother's basement, and they would constantly argue when Y/N was over.

Damian was a major upgrade, even if the other guy didn't see it. He hoped the other guy suffered, knowing she was loving that body right. Knowing that Y/N would never have to lower her standards for the creepy guy ever again.

"Is there a problem here?" Damian asked. His deep voice ceased any conversation between the two of them. Y/N looked up at him with pleading eyes. She tried to get away when Damian had to step away.

"You the new dude? Come on, Y/N. Look at him," the guy questioned and laughed.

Damian mocked his laugh. "Go back to your mom's basement. She's with me now,"

The creepy guy glared at him before turning his attention to her. He acted like he had been betrayed. "You told him I slept in my mom's basement? I told you it was because I hit hard times. You are such a bitch,"

The ex-boyfriend fell to the floor. Damian shook his hand after delivering a punch to his cheek. The bartender told them they had to leave. They were planning on leaving anyway.

Damian drove them away from the club. His Y/N riding shotgun in his corvette. Her hand in his. They stopped at a red light. The wrestler looked at her with a smile and kissed the top of her hand.

[fantasticalleigh]

Look at these two dummies (affectionate) lol

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian’s fiancée receives a head injury during a match resulting in amnesia. (Part 3/5) 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 🛑 Warnings: Dirty thoughts 🖤 Taglist: In the comments. If you’d like to be added, please click here!  🖤 MASTERLIST

DAY TWO

“Can I please carry something?” you asked, watching Damian stack the duffel bags on the suitcases with rollers as he pulled them from the trunk. He smiled at you and shook his head. You weren’t sure you actually wanted to be responsible for anything other than getting yourself safely through the airport and aboard the plane, but you felt guilty—Damian had done everything for you up until now and would probably continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

“Hell, baby, if I could carry you—” He trailed off, glancing down at his shoulder before sliding his dark, mischievous eyes back to you.

“Don’t even think about it,” you scoffed.

Once Damian was confident he’d won the game of Luggage Jenga, the two of you entered the busy airport, and anxiety blasted through your veins, flash freezing everything in its wake. So many people hurrying about their lives, memories intact, trying to catch their respective rides home surrounded you, and you felt even smaller than you already were. Because you felt fear, your body reacted as if no head injury had ever occurred—you instantly reached out for Damian, gripping a flexed bicep as he tugged the suitcases behind him. He stopped, looking down at you, then your hand, and finally back at the luggage.

“Are you sure you can handle one of these?” he asked. You nodded quickly, and, whether he believed you or not, he reluctantly transferred the handle of your suitcase to your possession. He made certain you had a good grip, though he took your duffel bag from its place on your suitcase, packed it on top of his, and he looked at you. “You wanna do this how we normally do?” You nodded again, fingers squeezing the handle of the suitcase white-knuckle tight.

Damian placed a long, protective arm around your shoulders carefully, and you melted into his side, fitting perfectly, and your own arm snuck around his waist. He smelled so good, his body was warm and solid and big, and you understood why the two of you had such a physical relationship. His touch was electric, like a static discharge, but comforting, and you rested your head against his chest. The need for distance had long since been replaced by the need to be held and consoled and … loved, despite not reciprocating that love. The guilt only poured on. You hated what you had to be doing to Damian, but you selfishly needed him as close as possible if you were going to make it out of this airport alive. The big man sighed, pressing his face into the top of your head before kissing your hair.

“We don’t have to fly today,” he mumbled into your scalp. “We can wait if you’re not ready.”

You shook your head. “I wanna go home,” you determined.

Damian pulled away to look at you, smiling, nodding, and he kissed your forehead. “Me too,” he confessed.

The two of you meandered through the airport at your own pace, Damian having gotten you there with several hours to spare just in case. He held you closely to him, fighting the urge to cop a feel of your breast that was mere inches from his hand hanging over your shoulder, something he did almost on a daily basis, especially when you were in public because he loved to watch your squirm. Things were going swimmingly until Damian spotted the fans approaching, and he inhaled deeply through his nostrils, though it did nothing to soothe his raised hackles. Neither of you had ever minded interacting with fans—taking pictures, signing autographs, joining in bad-mouthing whoever you were feuding with—but now just wasn’t the time. And he’d ignorantly thought people would respect your need for distance and privacy considering your very public injury and your still—as of now—rumored diagnosis of amnesia.

“Just let me handle it,” Damian said to you once the small group of people noticed him and his giant frame, then you, and they immediately made a beeline toward you. “Don’t say anything.” His arm tightened around your shoulders, yours did the same around his waist, hand fisting the bottom of his t-shirt. “Listen, guys,” he said once the group was close enough to hear him, “I’ll sign some things for you, but just leave her alone, alright? She’s been through a lot.”

You watched as he scribbled his name on random items, and you thought maybe you should feel excited or flattered that the two of you were receiving this attention, but all you felt was tense and tired and nervous. You glanced in the direction of your gate, wondering how far you had left to walk, when Damian’s body suddenly became stock still. You looked at him, blazing fury in his eyes, and then your gaze fell to see what had upset him so—a glossy photo of you that had to have been snapped a mere millisecond after you’d begun to fall and before your head hit the floor had been presented to Damian for an autograph.

“Damian,” you said softly, your eyes still locked on the picture, but the unadulterated rage pulsing off the big man had you much more concerned. Your grip around his waist tightened.

“You think that’s funny?” Damian asked the man holding the picture, who shrugged and nodded. 

“I mean, it’ll probably be worth something if she never wrestles again,” the guy explained.

You gaped, tears pricking your eyes, but you didn’t quite know why. It was like your brain knew exactly what was going on, but it was playing keep-away with this vital information.

Damian dropped the Sharpie he’d been using to sign the autographs with before using that hand to shove the shorter man, who stumbled backward and eventually fell on his ass. The photo of you he’d been holding slid across the floor, and the other fans who had gathered erupted into gasps and murmurs. Damian’s arm was still around your shoulders, and you tugged at that hand and his waist, softly reminding him that you were there and close and the two of you had a plane to catch.

“Dude, you are so getting fired!” the guy on the floor hollered as he scrambled to his feet.

Damian lifted his arm from your shoulders to raise his middle finger as the two of you gathered your things and started toward your gate again. “Sit and spin, dickhead,” he tossed behind him. And then his mood changed, you could feel it in the ether between you. His focus shifted from the confrontation back to you, his arm securing itself around your shoulders, hugging you to his side, and while you weren’t quite comforted, you didn’t feel as destroyed as you had moments before.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, shaking his head. “That guy just—”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted, looking up at him. Damian’s expression was stony until you shrugged and said, “The dickhead had it coming.” He blinked at you a moment and then snorted, collapsing into giggles, and you had to join him, though your laugh was a lot less enthused considering your current situation and whether or not Damian was going to be fired over what he’d just done for you.

Damian led you the remainder of the way through the airport and to the correct gate, onto the plane, and he positioned you in front of him, his giant, clearly capable hands tenderly massaging your shoulders as he directed you to the correct row of seats. He gestured to the window seat, and you turned to him.

“You’re much bigger than I am,” you pointed out the obvious, “I should be the one to sit in the middle.”

Damian shook his head. “I bought the aisle seat, too, in case you didn’t wanna sit next to me,” he sheepishly explained, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking at every passenger but you. You could have made the argument that he’d been the one afraid to sit next to you when he’d booked the flight, but you did your best to ignore those intrusive thoughts.

You took the window seat that was offered, Damian packing your duffel bags into the storage bins above your heads before collapsing with a sigh into the middle seat. As much as you were prescribed sleep to heal, you felt like Damian needed it more than you. You knew he woke up in the middle of the night to check on you because, while it was mostly easy for you to fall asleep, it wasn’t as easy to stay that way. You wondered how long you’d both laid there silently—you pretending to sleep, Damian making sure you were still breathing and tucked in—trying not to burden the other. A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth—you were learning more and more about the man you were supposedly marrying in a few months, about the relationship you had, and all the fear and anxiety and worry and apprehension were finally beginning to melt away. Damian had been chipping away at all of it since the moment you woke up on the floor with not a clue in the world who the hell you were and he hadn’t stopped.

You turned to thank him for everything and for probably the millionth time, but your mouth ran dry and clamped closed, your heart pounding out of your chest like a damn cartoon. It was only a few inches, dwarfed in his hand—a stuffed dolphin with tiny black eyes that had seen better days. But your own eyes grew and continued to grow as you stared at it, slowly reaching out to touch it with the tips of your fingers. You recognized it. You recognized it! It was yours, you knew it for a damn fact, though you couldn’t remember when or where you’d gotten it, but none of that mattered because you recognized it. And not only that, you felt connected to it, you understood the importance of it in your life, and you knew, somehow, both you and Damian were tethered to this tiny stuffed dolphin.

“This is—” Damian began.

“Archie,” you finished in unison. Your eyes locked, and you heard his question without him having to ask it, so you simply shook your head in response—yes, you remembered Archie, no, you didn’t remember anything else. 

The weight of that thought—the one where you remembered a fucking stuffed dolphin and not your fiancé—promised to crush you. Your lip quivered, and you caught a quick glimpse of Damian’s pained expression before he pulled you to his chest.

“It’s alright,” he said, words muffled by the top of your head. “Come here. Put your legs like this.” You bent your knees, bringing your calves against your thighs, and he brought your arms around your legs. You then watched as he wrapped his own long arms around you, and you were enveloped in his warmth and love, your eyes closing, body relaxing, tears falling. “Sometimes this makes you feel better,” Damian said. You could understand why. “I think we have a few minutes before we take off … want me to tell you about Archie?” 

You nodded against his chest and listened closely to his hushed yet serene voice as he told you a beautiful story. He was taking you out of the country for vacation, he explained, and you’d been confident you’d be able to get on the plane and fly over water for the first time because what was really the difference between water and land when you’re traveling at roughly five hundred miles an hour at 30,000 feet? But while you were waiting to board, he could feel the fear radiating off you, so he’d volunteered to get you a cup of coffee. Upon returning, he’d given you the coffee and the tiny dolphin, which he’d glimpsed while passing one of many gift shops in the airport. You’d hugged the small stuffed animal to your chest, Damian remembered, smiling sweetly and thanking him. It was on that vacation, he said, that you’d confessed your love for one another, and later that evening, he’d taken you out to celebrate, complete with dinner on the beach, drinks, and a pod of dolphins frolicking in the distance.

“I think you said dolphins are our spirit animal, or something like that,” Damian chuckled, though he knew it was exactly what you’d said because he remembered every fucking detail of that vacation. He blinked and saw you say, I love you, Damian Priest. He swallowed, blinked again, and saw you gushing about the dolphins before turning and throwing your arms around his neck, saying, I’ll never forget this for the rest of my life. He shook his head, cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he sighed, “you don’t travel without Archie.”

You sniffled, so engrossed in the story that you only now realized how truly decompressed you’d become, how safe you felt in Damian’s arms. He placed the dolphin against the back of your hand, which was gripping your own upper arm, and as soon as you felt its softness, your hand opened and closed around it. “Does Archie mean anything?” you quietly asked.

“Yeah,” Damian breathed a laugh. “You wanted to name him after me.” Your brows furrowed and you slowly lifted your head, Damian backing away so you could do so. At your confused expression, his handsome, friendly face morphed into a smug smirk and wicked eyes, and he said, “I’m the Archer of Infamy, baby.”

Upon landing in Florida, Damian gathered your things from the overhead storage bins and again let you walk in front of him as you deplaned. He continued to carry the bags, and you slipped your hand around one of his flexed forearms, the pad of your index finger tracing one of his protruding veins, because apparently that’s what you did now—reach out for him. Maybe it’s something you always did, and Damian didn’t seem to have a problem with it, but the action still made your stomach tight. Just like all the hugs and forehead kisses. You liked them, you were even starting to crave them, but these gestures were still coming from a stranger. Your body wanted all the time to be pressed against Damian’s, but your concussed brain wanted to keep at a you at a distance. 

At the baggage claim, Damian pulled his phone out, and you watched him read the caller ID before sighing and shaking his head. He raised the phone to his ear. “Yeah, boss?” He tried to sound upbeat and unbothered, but failed miserably. He cleared his throat and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, and he glanced at you, attempting a smile that also failed. “Yeah, no problem … Absolutely … Thanks, boss.” He hung up, tucked the phone into the back pocket of his jeans, and smiled at you once more. You waited for him to explain, and when he didn’t, you asked what the call had been about. Damian sighed. “A video of me pushing that guy is already all over the internet. So …”

“Are you fired?” you instantly jumped to the worst case scenario because, at this point, why wouldn’t you?

“No, I’m not fired,” Damian replied, reaching down to grab your suitcase off the carousel, followed by his own a few seconds later. You squeezed Archie, the softness helping to ease the tension. “I just have a meeting after the holidays. So it can’t be that bad, right?” He grinned, and he was so fucking beautiful and genuine, and how could you not believe him? How could your knees not weaken and your resolve not crumble? How could you not follow him blindly to the sleek red vehicle awaiting you in the long-term parking garage, climb inside after he opened the door for you, and allow him to drive you to a home he claimed you and he had purchased together?

It was a gorgeous home—one you didn’t remember and felt no connection to, but gorgeous just the same—and when you stepped inside? It was as if Christmas had literally thrown up all over the cozy house. Wreaths, hanging holiday pictures, several Christmas trees of varying sizes and designs, miniature Santa Clauses, poinsettias, and, of course, a tree at least nine feet tall in the corner of the living room, dressed exquisitely, surrounded by gifts wrapped in shimmering paper and bows.

“Yeah,” Damian said, joining you in taking in the scene before you, “my girl really likes Christmas.”

And apparently you still did, because while the decorations may have been this side of tacky, you absolutely loved it all. Everything sparkled or twinkled, or made you feel nostalgic, and you had no memory whatsoever of this place or its contents, but you knew it was home. You were home.

Damian left you alone to shower, and to occupy your mind from thinking about Damian in the shower, you examined nearly every individual decoration before you made your way over to a table full of nothing but framed photos. You, sitting behind Damian on a jet ski with your arms wrapped around him, smiles on your faces and tongues out. Damian, carrying you on his back up what looked like a hiking trail, again both with grinning faces. The two of you in the ring together, on opposite sides, looking at each other, sharing roguish smirks. A few professional photos complete with color-coordinated clothing and fall foliage. A very happy couple, plainly in love, but still, nothing jogged your disconnected memory, so you were about to find another room to investigate when you heard Damian clear his throat behind you. You jumped, spinning around, and he put his hands up.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. He wore a white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of dark-colored joggers. His long hair was wet, curly, and dripping onto his shoulders, and your gulp seemed to echo off every flat surface in the room.

You wondered what the normal you would do in this situation, because the broken you didn’t bother fighting the image of hopping into his arms and simply bouncing on his cock mid-air, in the middle of the living room, or the image of you sinking obediently and wantonly to your knees before him, worshipping him, forcing him to have to take another shower. Your hormones were suddenly out of control. You felt your face heating up, the burn scalding all the way down your neck. Was it possible your body was having withdrawals from all the sex the two of you had? Or could this be the way the man always made you feel? Did you have the same effect on him? Was he experiencing the same desire, just better at hiding it?

“Shower’s free,” he rumbled, chocolate eyes glittering, tossing a thumb over a broad shoulder. “I didn’t know if you—”

“Yep,” you interrupted, head down, making a beeline for the general direction Damian had headed on his way to the shower. 

“Uh, do you wanna know where everything is?” Damian called after you.

“I’m sure I’ll find it!”

You located everything you needed, moving faster than, well, than you remembered ever moving in your life, or what you could remember of your life—panties and a tank top and shorts that were super soft and incredibly thin (was this a subconscious choice you thought would give Damian a taste of his own medicine?) Disappearing inside the apartment-sized bathroom, you turned the shower on, the temperature as hot as you could stand, and you stood below the waterfall, eyes closed, and you were able to zone out completely—no Damian, no injury, no amnesia—allowing the water to wash away the past couple of days. You visualized everything negative and stressful and overwhelming and scary swirling down the drain at your feet, hopefully gone or healed forever, or at least temporarily.

You washed, scrubbed, and even shaved before reluctantly exiting the comforting warmth of the shower. While drying and standing in front of the gilded mirror—one or the both of you had expensive taste, that was for sure—you did a double take upon spotting a smudge near your shoulder. Leaning closer to the mirror for a better look, you realized there was a small tattoo along your collarbone. You narrowed your eyes, trying to read the words through the reflection until you noticed you had no chance of figuring them out—the script was in Spanish, and you could only guess that it had something to do with Damian. 

“Yeah,” he answered fondly. He reached up to touch the ink, hesitated, and when he was sure you wouldn’t run away, his thumb caressed your skin. “It says el campeón. It was my nickname when I was the champion.” You shivered and your skin tingled where he was touching you. His hair was now up in a bun, the shoulders of his shirt drying.

“So where’s my tattoo?” you asked, expecting a laugh. 

Instead, Damian straightened a colorful, sinewy arm, turned it over, and pointed at his wrist. “La  ladrona,”  he growled. Your thighs clenched. “The thief.”

You looked at the script that matched your own tattoo. “… because I stole your heart?”

He guffawed. “Because you stole—”

“Oh, my god,” you whined at the tooth decaying sweetness that evidently was your relationship with this devilishly sexy man. 

The plane had arrived late, and neither you nor Damian felt much more than exhaustion—aside from your raging hormones—so you decided to head to bed early. Still on the path to normality, you again wanted to sleep however you normally slept together, and your fiancé was only too eager to accommodate. You figured out why when he explained that the easiest way for you to fall asleep was for you to cuddle into his side, head on his chest, arm around his waist, while his hand gave you what he referred to as booty rubs. He was perfectly fine simply holding you if that’s what you wanted, but who were you to turn down booty rubs from Damian Priest when that might be the very action that triggered your memories?

You could see how the booty rubs might be considered sexual, but right now, you felt sedated. Soft touches from his deft fingers over both your cheeks through the thin shorts were enough to put you to sleep within minutes, snoring gently against Damian’s chest. He kissed the top of your head, eyes closed and smiling. The TV playing a Christmas movie in the background was turned off, and he worried he woke you when you shifted, but you only lifted a leg over his, somehow pressing yourself closer. For a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, everything was normal.

[damiansgoodgirll]

proud to say that it’s almost done! (almost)

[incorrectwwe]

Jimmy, about Jey and Rhea: My god, would you two just get a room already?

Rhea: Excuse me, Jimmy?

Jimmy: You both just keep agreeing about horrifying things and relishing everybody else's misery. So seriously, when's the wedding?

Jey: ...

Naomi: I ship it!

Damian: CAN YOU NOT?

[joy-of-life88]

[ekmsoldier]