#gait trainer

[positivelyqueer]

if you feel like you’re ‘getting in the way’ as a mobility aid user, particularly with larger aids like wheelchairs, rollators/walkers, gait trainers and service dogs, That Is A Fault Of The Space (and potentially the people), not of you. You deserve all the space you take up and more.

[shellsinadune]

mobility aid research is so hard agh

does anyone use a gait trainer or posterior walker for chronic fatigue? i pace around a lot and i can't stop (don't understand why, just can't), but i'm thinking if i could take some of the weight bearing off it'd help?

the conclusions i've come to are: the lifeglider hasn't got enough back support, the zeen has too much bulk in the back, and other gait trainers seem really complicated to navigate (buying wise) without a doctor's help and idk if they'll approve of me using one. seriously, if the lifeglider had a back of some kind so i didn't have to use my core, i'd get it. i don't think i really need the amount of support the more 'medicalised' (for lack of better word) ones have, like chest prompts, but i know my torso isn't really super strong and when i get tired it flops my spine weird if i don't have something to lean on.

if anyone knows of other types of mobility aid that allows walking without full weight bearing, i'd love to hear about them!!

(requirements: my arms are weaker than my legs so no pressure on the arms, my torso is kind of floppy unless i use energy keeping it upright, need to be in a comfortable walking position/not sitting)

[barbreypilled]

there’s something soooo uncouth about tagging certain posts w #writing like someone will be talking about something serious and here comes ramblings-of-a-befuddled-whovian storing it for the most offensive ofmd fic ao3 has ever seen

[the-rest-is-silenc3]

shout out to the people who DO look autistic

to the people who have different facial features from autism or conditions that often occur with autism

to the people who need padded equipment, gait trainers, or other highly noticeable aids

to the people who are ignored in favor of talking to their parents/guardians/carers

to the people who have been told they shouldn’t be seen in public because of their autism

to the people who are told they don’t exist by low support needs autistics

there is a place for you in the autistic community <3 [heart]

[spooksforsammy]

Geniuenly like. So many people claim support disability. But then say something completely untrue

Y’all support autism? So what about when the person has intellectual disability or need help walk talk eat bath use bathroom? Does your support end when you see someone with higher needs?? Someone who actually genuinely won’t survive without support from others n that support is sometimes having other people do everything for them.

Y’all support depression? What about when the person can’t bring themself to get out of bed for days on end? What about when that person goes days weeks months without cleaning self because can’t get up even though need to?

Yall support schizo-spec disorders & psychosis? What about what the person get violent because of their delusions n hallucinations? The ones know are fake but still can’t help but believe in? The ones genuinely believe in their delusions/ hallucinations? What about the ones don’t don’t get violent to self n other because of the disorder? Those that just sit scared about the hallucinations n delusions. The ones that won’t leave their room/ house out of fear of their delusions/ hallucinations?

Y’all support those with physical disabilities? What about the housebound bedbound ones? The ones need gait trainers walkers wheelchairs? What about the ones who full time users? Or the ones that need power chairs to independently move around? What about the ones crying screaming throwing up from their pain?

What about the disabled that always have a horrible attitude because tired of the disrespect? Tired of having to explain everything about them to everyone even if personal? Tired being told get over it n just educate others?

The disabled ones tired telling people not use certain terms. Tired of being spoken over n for without being thought about or asked. Tired of hearing their communication isn’t valid for ‘xyz’

Y’all support but act very picky about who deserves support and who’s not worthy of it. It’s not support if you pickin n choosing

[briarpatch-kids]

My friend Tay asked me to help him teach people about the kinds of mobility aids he uses. Tay has a autism and profound intellectual disability, along with a seizure disorder and a chromosomal disease, so he can't use the same kinds of mobility aid you normally see. Not many people know about this kind of aid, so we're going to teach you!

The first aid Tay uses is called a Gait Trainer. Gait trainers are a lot like walkers, except they follow you instead of you pushing them. They're also built in a way that helps teach you to walk better when when you're not using the gait trainer. Tay's gait trainer has a saddle and straps on it to make sure that he's safe and supported. He also chose a cool green color. Gait trainers are commonly used by children who take longer to learn how to walk and people with intellectual disabilities who can't use a traditional push style walker.

Tay says his favorite part of his gait trainer is playing at the park with his friend. His friend ALSO uses a gait trainer like Tay, which is really cool.

The next kind of aid Tay uses is called an adaptive stroller. Adaptive strollers are a lot like wheelchairs, but with smaller wheels because they're made to be pushed by someone else. These are great when you're like Tay and can't figure out how to push a manual wheelchair or steer a power chair safely.  Tay's adaptive stroller, a convaid rodeo, has the same feature my powerchair has, tilt, so that he can stay comfortable and safe when he has to sit in it for a long time. There's also buckles and straps that help Tay stay in the adaptive stroller, he gets help getting the buckles and straps done. Tay says that he can even be tilted back and go to sleep while everyone else is walking when he's in his adaptive stroller!

Finally, there's the Rifton Activity Chair! Activity chairs are most often used in places like school or developmental centers because they're great for getting people up close to the table and you're able to adjust the how tall or short you want the chair. A lot of high support strollers and wheelchairs aren't able to get as close to the table, but an activity chair is made just for that! It can go up and down and some of them can even tilt closer to the table. Tay says he uses it to make snacks and play in the water table and do crafts at the developmental center he goes to, he really likes his activity chair.

Thank you Tay for helping teach us! I learned a lot while writing this, and I hope it helps a lot of people learn about what these mobility aids are and why people use them!

[ranticore]

some more horse guy fashions, specifically historical

erased the mandolin for this one goodbye mandolin i couldn't be bothered drawing you

so my thought process for this is like what would a society of, lbr, british ppl who are horses value and how would that translate into what they wear if they specifically don't have a taboo against nudity. these fashions are pre-florian conversion (florian was the guy who gave them all government-mandated shame) and considered traditional (the full coverage dresses are also traditional but to a post-florian period so those would be called like. idk. classical). they were still in use in the enclaves north of ironwall for quite a while. anyway returning to the point, the answer to 'what they value' is movement. in actual horses, herd hierarchy and social function is based off movement - free movement for animals for whom the flight response is so strong is an incredibly important thing. dominance in horses is expressed and reinforced by controlling and curtailing the movement of subordinates. for these people, free movement was enhanced by kinetic fashion - free-flowing garments like capes, loosely-pinned headgear with feathers and floaty cloth, and noise-generating devices like bells and chimes were all used to elaborate and enhance the appearance of somebody's gait. the overall look was mostly based off of morris dancers (pheasant feathers, bells on the legs, handkerchiefs) because i like the tie-in to suppression of folk dance by puritans. i think these guys would have some great folk dances

in much the same way trainers are just normal everyday footwear now, game kerchiefs/flags were worn in non-sports contexts because it suffused into the mainstream and became Cool. the flags were used in a game similar to tag rugby if you've ever seen that played (where snatching people's flags is used instead of full contact tackling, forcing someone who's been 'tagged' to stand still until the flags are returned). as i said before somewhere, centaur team sports go incredibly hard.

the tail ornaments were status symbols and in appearance a bit like the traditional show turnout of shire horses. woven grass and straw could be used for a temporary ornament like these, but metal or carved wood were really impressive, and very common gifts of favour between romantic partners. more flags could be hung there if you wanted to be really cool

variations of this style of mane décor were also employed (they loved their ribbons)

in the same time period, Ironwall fashion was a little bit different. These expensive caparisons were usually purchased secondhand after a real horse was done wearing them, with distinct front and back halves of different length. The garments would usually have the original liveries removed and replaced by generic religious iconography as few centaurs would ever have their own heraldry. Later, in the Georgian and Victorian eras, full coverage to the pasterns with a single undergarment was the only acceptable option (that's the classical style now) The rest of the picture is self-evident, but centaurs at the time wore additional... equipment on the withers which were called a variety of very colourful names but mostly referred to as gelding bars (as in, they will geld you if you sit on them). they were metal and spiked. these were introduced by the florian government to discourage the grossly inappropriate contact of one person's legs around another. previously there was no great taboo against riding on a centaur's back, it wasn't super common but nobody was like "this is basically public sex" until our pal centaur cromwell i mean florian came along and decided this was the work of the devil. young people were also made to wear these to discourage the homosocial behaviour very common to the mid-20s age groups of both sexes, and they also had a place in preventing stallions from wrestling (ironically increasing the danger of their fights because well now all we can do is stand back and kick). the wearing of these devices was mandatory. headcoverings were not strictly necessary, and neither were fully-wrapped tails, but some especially devout citizens took to it quite well.

[hellsburners]

stumblin' back to bed

summary: peter's partner is very drunk and very clingy pairing: tasm!peter parker x gender neutral reader word count: 1.2k warnings: alcohol consumption, drunk reader, some kissing, mentions of sex, slight smut a/n: from another lovely request! (btw this is a scheduled post im on a semi-hiatus rn bcs life)

masterlist | more peter parker

Peter kisses you with your back against the door. His hands cupped your face as you cling on his shirt. His lightly stubbled face pricks your cheeks while his warm lips weave into yours, tongues dipping into each other—the hallway filled with the sound of sloppy kisses, some whimpering as your centers rub. 

“Let’s get in first,” he said, fumbling for his house keys. 

You stood beside him, the floor spinning around, your head confused. The alcohol had done its magic, your gait was funny, your joints loose, and you almost fell before entering his apartment. 

“Woah, those tequila shots were something—,” you slurred, Peter held onto you for stability. 

You grabbed him by his belt loops for another kiss, like your own personal bottle of liquor, you took Peter Parker’s lips like the freshest glass of tequila, bitter and addicting. You stumbled to his kitchen counter, he lifted you so you were sitting on it, your legs on his hips. 

“I need some water,” he said in between kisses. He pulls away, much to your dismay, to grab a glass. “Want some?” you shook your head, your head still spinning. 

He comes back to you, his head mounted on your neck, sucking and kissing, leaving marks. His hands roam your back, large hands warm on your cold skin. Your hands roam his torso, feeling his muscled abdomen until you reach the barrier between his skin and underwear. Later, your touch fell to his growing hardness. 

“Woah—baby,” he moaned. 

“Fuck, Peter it’s so hard,” you ached. 

“Only for you—” he whimpered, nibbling on your neck. His hands came to cup your ass, pulling you in so your crotch rubbed on his. He started to hump in between your legs, using the friction for pleasure. Your fingers trail through his soft brown hair taking in his scent, a mix of alcohol and musk. 

“The room is spinning like crazy,” you said. You felt yourself become more sensitive, the hairs on your skin erecting, his mere touch made you shudder. 

“We can stop,” he lets out. 

“No. Don’t stop—,” you gasped, his hand going underneath your underwear to touch your sex. You moaned from his fingers, moving so gracefully to pleasure you. He pulls back but you wrap your legs around him pulling him in. Your hands find his neck, pulling him from there as well. 

“Let’s take this to the couch—more comfy.”

You move on his couch, straddling him. The two of you are in the middle of a heated make-out session before you feel your stomach turn, and bile rising to your throat. You suddenly pulled back, covering your mouth. Peter sat there confused. Your body shuddered as you made a gagging sound. 

“Oh god, let’s get you to the toilet,” he said. You refused, waving your hands. 

“I’m fine.”

“Water then? Let me get you a glass,” he said. You later took the drink, downing the water alleviating some of the dizziness and the gagging. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I promise babe I’m good.”

“Let’s go to bed then,” he pleads. 

“I’m fine!” your words start to slur again. He pulls you to the bedroom, the sudden change in speed almost made you throw up. He sits you down on the bed to get you a change of clothes.

He kisses you again, “I’m not fucking you like this, too messy.” 

He hands you a cold glass of water. You chug on the liquid like a parched dog, the cooling sensation tracing down your warm throat. 

He takes the empty glass, your body swaying loosely. You look up at him, lips pouting. He looks down on you with a smile, stroking your hair before your body betrays you, eyes going dark as you fall back on the soft sheets. 

——————

You wake up to the smell of bacon. You check to see your clothes changed to a pair of trainer shorts and a Star Wars graphic tee. Your breath reeked of alcohol as you let out a yawn. 

You check to see Peter standing near the stove, his torso bare with only his boxers on. His hands skillfully flipping bacon and eggs on a greasy pan. 

“Hey handsome,” you called out. 

He turns around, a smile plastered on his face. His arms spread wide to take you in his arms. His skin was warm against yours, your cheek flush against his chest. 

“You slept well?” he asked. “You were knocked out good.” 

“Oh god, that bad huh?” you gasped. He places a kiss on your forehead, hands through your hair again patting it over and over. 

“Yeah, you said something about how madly and deeply in love you are with me and how you wanted me to and I quote stuff you up.”

“I did not!” you hit his chest with the base of your fist. He laughs hysterically. 

Smoke started to gather behind him, and the smell of charred meat started to fill the room. The two of you checked to see the bacon starting to turn black. “Shit. shit. shit!”

Breakfast was spoiled. Peter tried to salvage it but those were the last pieces. He tried to look for anything in his cupboard to eat but he found nothing. 

“It’s alright Pete,” you coo, smoothing his back

“It was supposed to be a perfect breakfast!” 

“Well, we could have something else,” your hand traced down his spine, teasing the edge of his boxers. 

“Oh,” you pin his back on the kitchen counter, pulling his underwear after. His hard cock springs free, aching red. 

You look up at him with the same pleading gaze from last night, slowly inching your lips closer to his tip. You gave it a few licks, your wet tongue dragging on his frenulum, Peter’s body heaved from the pleasure. 

His grip on your head was getting tighter, guiding your mouth as it bobbed on his cock. The thick shaft rubbed smoothly on the flat of your tongue, the head barely hitting the roof of your mouth. 

You hollow your cheeks to create more suction, Peter lets out a groan, his head falling back. You held onto his thighs, your neck pulling back to suck up to his sensitive tip. A string of clear liquid connects your lips to his sex. 

“You’re so good, baby,” he moaned. “Taking me so well.” 

Sweat trickles down from his forehead to his toned abdomen, your fingers tracing the lines to his sparse hair near his belly leading to his crotch. 

Your other hand went to stroke the remaining length of his cock, the combined sensation led Peter to the edge. He was a panting mess, chest heaving, toes curling, his long fingers digging into your scalp.

“I’m gonna—“ he gasps, cum shooting down your throat. His body convulsed as you held your stance, tears forming in your eyes as he fucked into your mouth. 

You stood up to wipe the spit all over your lips and pecked Peter’s lips. “So what’s good food around here?” 

[disabled-disaster-king]

Disabled bathroom psa:

When I and other wheelchair users are talking about how abled people should not be using disabled toilets I can almost garente that they are not talking about your standard slightly larger stall in a bathroom with only two stalls. Im talking about separate bathrooms designed entirely for disabled people. Handicap bathrooms are different from handicap stalls. They are a separate room with its own toilet sink and mirror all positioned with the equipment designed for those with mobility issues and mobility aids such as walkers, gait trainers, wheelchairs, and crutches. A handicap stall is a stall ment to be wide enough to alow a wheelchair to fit (most don't though especially if you are fat or in a power chair.) With one or two grab bars placed. I don't care about people using the handicap stall if others are taken, they need the extra room (bags don't count, I mean things like strollers, todlers, fat, and autistic people not your shopping) those who need the grab bars like people with mobility issues, back problems, and invisible disabilities. I also don't care if you use it because all the others are in use. I care when people use it to make stupid videos on their phone, hang out, smoke, or just cause they like it when there are a dozen other stalls available. I swear most of you never think of anything besides making sure that you are never the one in the wrong.🙄

If I'm not talking about you, IM NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU.

I am talking about those who use those bathrooms as a fashion changing stall. The ones who smoke and film tik toks talking about the crazy disabled person knocking on the door. I am talking about the people who, after telling then I am going to pee myself decide that acting like I don't exist or that they can't here me will make me go away and guess what? Make me pee all over myself.

[jolalibrary]

midnight strikes, where is my prince?

frankie morales x reader

summary: he had been your neighbour. a man you'd stare at through blinds when he’d been on the front lawn. a man you’re now staring at through splintered shards of your mirror—because he saved you.

wordcount: <1k words warnings: happy Drabble Sunday—this week, ANGST 😂. there’s mentions of a break-in. frankie is there and he has a gun, so you know we’re okay. angst. inspired by a scene from scandal-if you know, you know (written on phone so apologies for spellings)

The clock by your bedside shows three minutes past twelve, marking another Saturday night in. One hand cradling your phone and the other reaching out to the cool embrace of the sheets.

You can almost feel the warmth they should hold, the gentle caress against skin that's missing. That promised to be back earlier—but earlier had been hours ago.

Now you’re alone, nestled in bed, having surrendered to its comfort for the past couple of hours.

No bustling club scene with sticky floors or the mingling scents of sweat and cologne as you attempt to order a Coke with ice at the bar. Instead, there's a quiet tranquillity, a peacefulness in the simplicity of your evening spent in restful solitude.

Or, there was.

Your back ripped up from the bedsheets at the first sound of glass shattering; something, in a room that isn’t this one, knocked over, crashing against tile or floorboards. Spilling—making a mess.

Then, there are footsteps. Loud—unashamed in their recklessness as they make their way through your home. The gait not matching what you’d expect, the sound nothing like one you listen out for with giddiness and a grin.

These sound like heavy boots. Not trainers or cowboy boots. Mind scrambling, searching for the things you've been told, taught—all just in case's and likely non-eventualities.

Nothing coming with ease, not as you imagine they're leaving invisible trails in whatever mess they’re making. Purpose-driven for what they're seeking, from the way you can hear them nearing—a quest for something specific, significant.

Slipping out of bed, your hand trembles as you slide the lock on your bedroom door. Standing there, bare feet planted on the cool wooden floor.

Panicked. Lost.

Uncertain of your next move or what it should be, courage dwindling. More small, helpless, than you’ve ever felt before—two things you cannot be if you have any hope of surviving this, making it through this, them.

Because you suspect they know you’re here now.

The lock turn had been loud. A click that had punctured through silence, fragmenting it, forcing attention to the door at the end of the hallway in the house they were moving through.

The one they chose deliberately.

Likely spotted that there was no vehicle on the drive—no light on. A home hand-picked for intrusion, likely assuming emptiness, all set to fill it with fear and loss.

Phone, you think. Moving, hand fumbling through the sheets, searching desperately for your phone until it finally rests in your palm. It emanates warmth, a comforting reminder of the aimless scrolling you had been immersed in before, as you unlock the screen with a hopeful swipe.

There's one number you think of. One.

As you dig for it, nervousness thrums you as though it’s been plucked like a string. It vibrating, chiming against bone, creating a song full of fear that’s made worse by the try of the handle—metal grating in their attempt.

Eyes focused on it.

It illuminated, catching a sliver of light from a nearby street lamp. You briefly admire its intricate details, unable to tear your gaze away, even as your chest tightens and pulse quickens with the realisation of their attempts to enter, pick, and force their way in.

It's too late when you become aware of the breeze of something moving past you.

A scream grows to escape, but a hand slides around your mouth—thumb over your nose, the noise buried and muffled against a palm.

Until your head turns. Landing on eyes that make you relax, make you calm. Brown, framed by loose curls and usually a smile.

“Shh, it’s me.”

He's here, close.

All pressed to you, hand remaining a cover to your panicked breaths—as the scent of him, all wooden, familiar, swarms you. It makes your heart hammer a fraction less; it makes your fingers grasp his thigh when he holds up a gun—his gun. The jeans are rough, worn, the pair so familiar to your palm as you ground yourself and seek stability.

You whimper his name, it muffled against his skin—each letter of it sketched across his hand.

It’s then the door splinters.

A set of things happening, one after the other. All seen through wide eyes and panicked breaths, a scream there, but never greeting the air as he releases you, shoves and moves you away.

It's a flurry, a rush, the person entering and then there being a struggle, things falling as your back meets the wallpapered wall, still cautious not to rip it, to make a mark—remembering what a fucker it was to hang.

You jolt at a thud.

It followed by silence, horrible, room-swallowing silence.

You should blink. Close your eyes. Turn away from it. The mess of crimson and the empty, open-eyed stare looking up at you—but you can’t. Compelled to hold it, watching the light fade as your ears ring, a persistent noise that refuses to fade, even when he stands before you, dominating your vision.

It doesn't quiet until Frankie says your name, a hand on your cheek, speaking it with urgency, all sharp letters, followed by: “Wait here, querida. Okay?”

And you do.

Arms gripping your waist, nails digging—hindering the shaking, desperate to force the falling apart to slow. To halt, as much as you can, the pieces of you fracturing from within as they crumble like pillars, falling to the floor of you in dusty chaos that brings only instability.

Thread by thread you undo, delicate fragments of your being splintering and dispersing within, falling like fragile petals, drifting to the depths of your core in a silent ballet of disintegration.

A soft, fading melody of dissolution plays, leaving behind a gentle dust of memories.

Of him. Frankie.

How once, a long time ago, he'd been just a neighbour. A man you'd stare at through blinds when he’d been on the front lawn. One who made you laugh at the mailbox.

Now, he's a man you’re staring at through splintered shards of your mirror—one you're in love with. One who had saved you.

"We should go," he suggests, breaking the silence with a gentle tone. Adding something akin to not safe.

His words don’t absolve it, not prompting your arms to release from your waist. A part of you, distant and desperate for control, somewhat fearing whether your knees will buckle if you let go.

If you slowly pry finger by finger whether you'll shatter, break—

"Hey, it's okay..."

Your mouth hangs open. Anger rising, balling up and clog in your throat as fingers grasp and crumple his shirt until it's a tight ball in your hands. Horrible, bone-wracking cries washing through you—like you’re being drowned—all uncontrollable as you attempt to mouth the word, "Why?"

But you know, just as his wide-brown eyes do.

Colombia.

Colombia had followed him home.

an: I can’t say a gift as that is mean, but @joelsgreenflannel likes angst and so here. 😂

[thepenultimateword]

Skin Crawl Part Two

Part One

CW: bugs, shedding skin (the description has the possibility of grossing people out)

Hero pinched themselves hard in the thigh, managing to snap our of their gawking stupor.

Ok. This was real. Villain--their Villain--was here and a criminal and apparently in a relationship. Not that that mattered, it wasn't like they'd ever been anything anyway. It'd been 8 years, and Hero had gone on plenty of dates in that time too; it would be weirder if Villain hadn't, so smooth and beautiful and interesting as they were. And Hero was the one who cut contact, so they didn’t really care what Villain did or who with, though maybe they should be focusing more on the criminal part of things, namely the imminent danger they would be in if they were found out, not just as a member of the agency but as Hero.

"Y-you don't want to make an appearance?" Hero said, attempting composure. It was not their best work.

"And ruin all your hard work?" Villain said with a tsk. "Despite what you think, I'm not that ostentatious. Come."

Hero sauntered closer, uncomfortably aware of their longer gait. Shedding one's skin could do many things, but it could not alter height. Bones were stubborn, painful things to change. Most people didn't notice a few-inch difference, and slouching, heels, or any manner of things could hide it. A familiar face blinded even the closest of friends and family. After all, shapeshifting wasn’t exactly a go-to suspicion. But Villain knew. Eight years ago they'd gotten good at picking Hero out of a crowd. If anyone was to notice that Remy was too tall, it would be them.

They consciously shortened their steps.

Villain dropped into a seat behind their desk, tossing the moth wings to either side of them. Hero carefully stepped over the curling tails and hesitated behind the criminal's shoulder. They were even more breathtaking up close. Hero had to fight the urge to run their hand down the velvet stretch of one wing. When had they learned to extend their power this way? At least, Hero had to assume the new appendages were due to their power. Abilities tended to have more angles than expected when properly trained. Did that mean Villain had found a trainer? Hero couldn’t imagine it. Their old friend had been so sensitive about using their gifts in front of others, and they’d had no relevant career plans to motivate further development. Though obviously neither of those things were the case now with Villain a criminal and flaunting their buggy affiliation to the world. People could change a lot in 8 years. Maybe Hero just didn’t know them anymore.

Had they been standing here too long?

Lover, Hero! they snapped internally. You're their lover! Do something lovers would do!

Their insides twisted.

They had played lovers dozens of times in their career and all that role entailed. Stepping into another's skin was like stepping into another reality, completely separate from their own. It didn't matter what they did or said, it wasn't them. But suddenly the idea of touching Villain hitched their breath in their throat, and they knew that reaction didn’t come from being Remy.

They would not slip through the cracks in this mask.

Hero gently draped themselves across Villain's back, wrapping their arms tenderly around their neck and tucking their chin against their lean shoulder. Hopefully, Vilain couldn't feel their heart pounding violently into their leather duster.

The centipede on Villain's shoulder took the opportunity of a new nearby surface and skittered up Hero's cheek, tangling its long body between the strands of their hair.

"You can quit the act," Villain said, shrugging Hero off. "No one else is around."

Quit...

Hero's stomach dropped. Did Villain know? How long? When they touched them? Since they entered the room?

"I--"

"And yes, I've checked for cameras. I don't accept building rentals from your family without thoroughly looking it over first."

Hero blinked.

Wait.

No.

They weren't referring to Hero's act. They meant Remy's. Remy's act of affection. Because... Oh. Oh! The relationship was fake!

The relief was intense, unexpected, and quickly smothered. They had a job, and if Villain was a part of it, that was too bad, but it didn't change anything.

Hero hastily grasped for the little they knew of their cover's personality. They'd hosted this party, their family rented this building, and they looked great in a silver ribbon tie.

"Well,” they said sitting on the edge of the desk and crossing one leg cavalierly over the other. “You can never be too careful. Also bug." They tipped their head toward Villain. "Bug."

Villain sighed and parted Hero's hair with careful fingers, manicured nails just scraping their scalp, and plucked up the centipede by its squirming middle. Then, tipping their head way back, they swallowed the entire massive creature in one gulp.

“John Macias is here.” They held up a rose gold tablet to Hero’s face. The screen displayed several panels of camera footage taking place in and directly outside the building. “And Lottie Blake.”

Hero knew both those names. The first was a generous donor to the agency. His funds had bought them a new combat training gym and updated the medical wing. He'd hinted at making the donations more regular, so now he was invited to every banquet, award ceremony, and exclusive event the agency held; he had even been given an extensive inside tour of the facilities. The press and the higher-ups liked to make a big fuss over him, but somehow Hero had the impression he wasn't giving money out of the goodness of his heart. As for Lottie, she was an ex-hero turned celebrity. Hero had been a rookie when she stepped down from the role of team leader and agency posterchild and turned to modeling and influencing, so they'd never met personally. However, they had enough associates in common for Hero to know she had been well-loved.

"Ok, so what's next?” Hero said. The faster they figured out Villain's plan, the faster they could get out of this situation.

“Your favorite part," Villain said. "Shopping.”

***

Hero had been prepared for many things tonight, but they had not prepared to be kneeling on the floor of Lottie Blake’s walk-in closet, rapidly stuffing designer heels and dresses into a garbage sack.

"You take the upstairs, I’ll take the downstairs,” Villain had said once inside--a disconcertingly easy task since Miss Blake's security was with her at the gala. A few guards were posted at the door and around the perimeter of the glamorous building but none had thought it very important to look up.

Villain's wings were even more gorgeous unfurled, pitch black against the night except for a faint silver lining that caught the moonlight, creating a glimmering outline from underneath. If that wasn't enough, the things were enormous, even larger than Villain's armspan. Hero supposed they would have to be to get them into the air, especially holding Hero under the arms. Once again, Hero had feared exposure by the difference in weight, but Villain hadn't said anything.

Inside there had been cameras, but a swarm of ants could look an awful lot like static when they crawled right against the lenses.

Hero shoved one more pair of glittery heels into the sack and then crawled to the closet door, peeking out into the bedroom to ensure they were alone. Finding the room empty, they fished their earpiece out of their pocket and pressed the call button.

"Hero?" came Other Hero's voice.

"So I figured out the heist," Hero said. "It's a robbery. The gala is just a distraction for both Lottie Blake and John Macias while Villain breaks into their houses."

"Seems like a lot of work for something as simple as a robbery."

Hero shrugged but then realized that Other Hero couldn't see them. "Maybe. I'll keep you updated when I find out what Villain is stealing. They're downstairs." A sudden image of the other agency members bursting in flashed across Hero's mind. Shoving Villain down. Crumpling those long moth wings like tissue paper. Revealing themselves as Hero. They suddenly felt nauseous. "I should probably stay undercover for as long as I can. That way I can gather more info."

Other Hero paused. "If you're up to it, I won't complain. But we can't just let criminals rob prominent agency affiliates."

Not if they wanted to continue getting donations.

"I think we should allow at least one hit, so Villain doesn't get suspicious," Hero said. "But we're going to have to come up with a plausible reason to alert Macia's security. One that doesn't involved Villain getting arrested."

"Leave that to me," Other Hero said. "You work on keeping your cover."

The call cut off, leaving Hero in anxious silence on the closet floor.

"Remy."

Hero's stomach leaped and they peeked out of the closet a second time. Villain stood in the bedroom door, carrying nothing but an apple.

They took a large bite and jerked their head behind them. "Ready?"

Hero pushed themselves to their feet and swung the garbage sack over their shoulder."Yeah. Let's go."

Villain peered at the sack as they headed out onto the bedroom balcony. "Quite the haul this time."

"You said to take the upstairs, so I took the upstairs." Hero gave them another quick once over. "Did you get everything you wanted?"

Villain fished a sleek black thumbdrive out of their pocket, rolling it over their fingers with a smile. "You could say I'm satisfied."

Not just any robbery then. But what info could Lottie Blake have that a criminal wanted. She wasn't exactly secretive. In fact, she seemed to enjoy flaunting every little detail of her life. Perhaps it was bank account information? Or past hero records?

No, they shouldn't overthink, all in good time.

"Good," they said.

Villain shoved the drive back into their pocket and stepped up behind Hero, casually wrapping their arms around their middle. Hero held their breath.

Calm down, calm down. You are Remy. Remy is not in love with Villain. Are they?

Villain's chest pressed sturdy and warm against Hero's back as they unfurled their wings, and that second pair of arms, or legs, grabbed their hips, securing them completely as they took flight. Hero had been too focused on their weight the first time to notice just how much care Villain put into transporting them comfortably, no dangling lower-half or painful pressure on one point of their body. Villain had always been thoughtful that way, not that anyone back at school recognized it.

What would it have been like to do this back then? To be held as themself. Before the secrets. Before the fallout.

"Do you ever get tired of it?"

"What?" Villain said.

"Being able to fly. Is it just normal for you? Or is it always amazing?"

"I thought it made you sick?" Villain said.

Hero choked. "Right. It does. But objectively, flying is amazing. So I was just curious. Forget it."

Villain's wing movements were soundless. And along with the long pause, all Hero could hear was the breeze brushing past their ears. Great. They'd screwed up.

"It's always amazing," Villain said suddenly. "I'm not saying I don't take it for granted, but if I was to ever lose this... It would be unbearable."

Villian had always been trapped in their life. In more ways than one. By parents, by circumstances, by expectations. Even if Hero was tricking them right now, possibly leading them into another cage, they were happy that Villain had found some freedom. Is that what had turned him to crime? A search for freedom?

"Villain--"

"Crap." Villain pulled up higher into the sky. Blue and red lights bathed the entire street in flashing blue and red.

Hero cranked their neck back to look up into their frowning face.

"How did they figure out we were coming?"

"Do you think someone saw us at Lottie's house?"

"Maybe. But even so, I don't know how they would've figured out our next target."

"Coincidence? For all we know everyone was tipped off, not just Macias."

Villain didn't respond to that. They just sighed heavily. "Well, that's that ruined."

"What do we do now?" Hero asked tentatively. "Go back to the party?"

"No point. The heroes probably have set up a trap. Hotel?"

Hero's insides went electric. Did Villain not have their own place? What about Remy? Didn't they have a rich family? But the way he was asking made it sound like a plan, not spontaneity. Great, Hero really hadn't wanted to wear this skin overnight.

"Hotel." Hero agreed. "But when you say that, you mean two separate rooms, right? Because you know I need my space--"

"You have your room, Remy."

"Ok, ok, just making sure."

A few minutes later, Villain landed them in an alley. They walked the rest of the way to a hotel just up the block. Not too shabby, but nothing extravagant either.

"Give me your jacket," they demanded just before reaching the door.

"What?"

"Your jacket. Unless you want thrown out before we even check in. People don't always take kindly to a bugman walking through their door. Especially hotels."

"Right!" Hero quickly shrugged off their wool, black coat, and passed it over to Villain. Villain threw it gingerly over their shoulders. It was a bit small for them, so the woman at the desk stared at them a bit strangely, but Hero supposed it was better than moth wings and an extra pair of legs.

Rooms 203 and 204. They walked together up the flight of stairs, stopping just outside their doors.

"I'll check the drive tonight and let you know what I've found in the morning," Villain said.

Or Hero could find out now and report it to Other Hero before morning.

"I could help."

"Ha! No offense, Rems, but I don't trust you with my laptop. You've broken my technology one too many times."

"Ah, well, I offered. Don't complain that I didn't help tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Remy," Villain said, rolling their eyes.

Hero knew that Villain wasn't talking to them. Not really. But for a moment it was so reminiscent of their teenage years. Staying up late. Not wanting to go back to either home.

Their heart squeezed. "Goodnight."

They gently shut the door and let out a long breath as they trudged over to the bed, flopping down face first.

What a nightmare. They couldn't wait to be back in their own skin. They forced themselves off the bed and into the shower where the evidence would wash away quicker. They stripped out of their clothes and rolled their muscles gingerly feeling the skin loosen like wet plaster. It sloughed off in dead sheets, revealing a more freckled skin beneath. Within a few minutes they were back to themselves again, They grabbed a towel from the hook, leaving the water running to break up the shed skin and wash it down the drain.

As they exited the bathroom, Hero dragged the table chair to the vanity and surveyed their face in the mirror. They tugged gently at a stubborn piece of skin, half-peeled under their right eye.

Next, they rubbed at their throat ponderingly, weighing pros and cons. Eventually, they decided to leave the vocal cords intact. Their throat might feel weird and cottony in the morning but hacking up bloody tissue was the last thing they wanted to do right now. Not to mention they’d just be shifting right back tomorrow. Best not to put too much strain on them by overshifting

A loud rap on the door made them leap in their seat.

"Just--just a second!"

They looked rapidly around the room. Clothes…clothes… Where were their clothes?

Hero scrambled toward the bathroom, snatching up water dropped outfit, chasing as the fabric caught on their damp skin. After a lot of hopping and maybe also a bit of fabric stretching, they strode to the door.

They were already grabbing the handle when they remembered their face.

The bit back another curse, and their face exploded with prickles as the newly shed skin encased them once again. Just in time to meet Villain’s off-in-thought face.

Their expression snapped back to alertness with the creak of the door.

"Hey, Remy--"

They froze.

"What?" Hero said, heart pounding. Was the face wrong? They’d spent so long studying it today, surely it wasn’t wrong?

"You're bleeding."

Hero felt their face. Sure enough, a warm streak of blood smeared across their forehead.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Oh, yeah. Just cut myself. You know...shaping my eyebrows."

"Right..."

Hero pressed their palm over the tear and with their other arm leaned casually against the frame. "Did you need something?"

Villain stared at them a moment. "Just curious if you wanted something from the vending machine. I'm asking the desk for an extra pillow and thought I'd grab some drinks or snacks or something on my way back."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Maybe a Coke?"

Villain smiled. “Sounds good. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” They paused. “I’ll bring back a bandaid too.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Sure.”

As they stepped away, Hero quickly shut the door. Had Villain reacted strangely? Were they overthinking because of their close call?

Hero sped to the mirror turning their head from side to side. Yep, still exactly like the picture, well except for the cut across her forehead.

There would have been no reason to question them, right? They probably didn’t need to call Other Hero and worry them over nothing.

Hero sat back on the bed, only vaguely annoyed that they’d need to rushed part of their body all over again. The annoyance was eclipsed by the gnawing worry inside of l them. They really hoped they hadn’t gotten anything wrong,

[stellas--symbols]

disability, disability pride flag, cane, forearm crutches, rollator, walker, gait trainer

Here you go!

I won't be making any more pride flags, but if you want to make your own in my style, here's a template!

[spooksforsammy]

Happy holidays to everyone!

Even the ones who elope. The ones who have to leave the room because become overwhelmed & overstimulated. The ones who need to move and fidget or use fidget toys.

Even the ones who need other forms of communication like AAC or sign language. Or just can’t communicate at all even if need or want to.

Even the ones who need/have mobility aids. The ones who use wheelchairs because walking isn’t possible/ cause to much pain. The ones who used canes or forearm crutches for extra support. The ones with walkers, rollator and gait trainers.

Even the ones who need help eating or using the bathroom. Who need to be watched 24/7 because otherwise would have life at risk. The ones who needs help opening presents.

Even the ones who can’t eat the dinner. The ones who have feeding tubes. The ones who have to many sensory issues revolving around food. And even the ones with eating disorders!

Even if you have chronic pain or fatigue. Or a chronic illness that makes it so can’t do anything even if really want to.

Happy holidays to all! Or a good day if don’t celebrate!!

(Happy holidays to all! Or a good day if you don’t celebrate )

[wrestlersownmyheart]

Heyyy~ saw your requests were open and was lookin for some Damian Priest content! Definetly Judgement Day vibes, maybe he’s looking to recruit Y/N? I wanna read this and BLUSH, FLUSTER ME I DARE YA!

I DOUBLE DARE YA! 😂 ok thanks!!!

Thanks for helping me hammer out the title on this @auburnwrites!! Hope you enjoy what I came up with! 😀

Title: Love & Conquests Pairing: Damian Priest X Reader Summary: You work as a trainer for WWE. You notice competition between Damian Priest of the Judgement Day, and wannabe member, JD McDonagh, but you don't realize why. Till they both start hitting on you. Then you feel like a conquest and decide to shun them both. But will you grow feelings for Damian as he spends more time around you? And will JD take the hint that he never stood a chance? Or will his actions go too far, causing the Archer Of Infamy to unleash his pent up rage on him? Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Content/Trigger Warnings: Some violence toward men and women.

Note: I saw someone on Tumblr call JD a Funko Pop and I thought it was funny so I used it in this story. Sorry, not trying to be a thief or anything!

Love & Conquests

"Have you seen the new trainer," Dominik Mysterio asked Finn Balor, Damian Priest and JD McDonagh in the locker room Saturday night. "She is a looker, hermanos."

The group was all getting ready for the Fastlane pay-per-view that was to start any minute.

"Really," JD asked. "I'll have t' go check 'er out later."

"Dream on, Pipsqueak." Damian said, his base voice going even lower in pitch. "Keep your mind on business."

"Yeah, okay," JD said reluctantly, buttoning up his black dress shirt. "I'll take care o' business first."

"Why'd you have to go and get his mind off work, bro," Damian said to Dominik. "It's hard enough getting him to pull off a win around here. Why does Finn even want him in our faction?"

"Damian."

Damian looked up to find Adam Pearce standing in the doorway to the Judgement Day's locker room.

"Yeah?"

"I need you to go to the trainer and see how that knee is doing."

"It's fine," Damian replied, giving said knee a pat.

"I still want it checked out. I know you wouldn't tell me if it was still hurt."

Damian rolled his eyes and stood from the couch he'd been sitting on. "It's fine. I'm barely limping."

"But limping nonetheless," Adam shot back. "Go get it checked out or you're not cashing in tonight."

"Wait, what?"

Rhea stood up from the seat she had on the floor. "What do you mean? I thought you were waiting!"

"Chill, Rhea," Damian said, glaring at Adam. "It's not a for sure thing. I was just thinking about it. And if I do cash in, I want to do it on my own." He held up his hands when Finn and Rhea and Dom all three gave him a look. "Look, I just want to win it on my own merit. If y'all go out there and help me, I'm gonna be called a transitional champion. No. I have to do this on my own."

With that, he left the room, a slight limp in his gait.

He headed straight for the trainer's office ready to get this over with. Just as he stepped through the door he was greeted by a beautiful doctor.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

You watched as a very tall, handsome Puerto Rican man entered your office. You felt your face flush, and hoped he didn't notice.

"Hi, Are you Damian Priest," you asked shyly, checking your appointments list.

Seemingly quiet, Damian only nodded as he stared at you.

The fact that he stared at you only made your face heat up even more.

Dang it.

"I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, Y/N," he replied.

His voice was so deep and sexy!

He reached his hand out to you to shake and you gently took his hand, and shook. You couldn't help but notice how his hand swallowed yours whole.

"So, Adam Pearce said you'd be stopping by. Let's take a look at that knee." You said, motioning for him to sit down on the exam table.

You watched as Damian took his seat on the table. "Now, don't be nervous. We're just going to do a couple of exercises to make sure your knee is stable."

"That's fine. In fact, my knee is fine. I know it."

"I hope so," you said softly, taking a rubber mallet to test his reflexes with. Then you had him hold his leg out straight for thirty seconds to see the strength in his knee and leg. Then you had him stand to his feet and perform a few squats.

Then, you were feeling his knee to see if anything seemed out of place.

"Any pain at all when I do this?"

He shook his head and smiled at you. "The only time it hurts at all is when I walk on it. But the pain is negligible."

You nodded with a hum. "I see. Well, I can't find anything really wrong. I'd still advise you to not cash in your briefcase tonight, but if you do, just use caution."

"Thanks, Doc," Damian smiled at you and reached for your hand once more. You gave it to him and were surprised when he raised the back of your hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Oh," you couldn't stop the half-moaned word if you tried. Then you were flaming red again, you could feel it.

Flustered, you tugged your hand back gently and spoke "If… If you do cash in tonight. Stop by here afterward so I can recheck your knee."

Damian smiled again. "Sure thing, cariña. Thanks again, for checking me out," he said with a wink.

Your face would not stop burning this night.

Especially thanks to Mr. Priest.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

"You weren't kidding, bro. That new trainer is a knockout. I think I'm in love," Damian said, chuckling. He punched Dominik lightly on the shoulder and grinned as if to say, "You know how to pick 'em!"

"I told you," Dominik responded, with a laugh.

"So are you going to ask her out?"

Rhea asked the question with her arms crossed across her chest. She was protective of her family and wanted to make sure the woman in question was good enough for her "terror twin".

"Of course! Maybe tonight after the show. She wanted me to stop by anyway if I was to cash in. So I figured I might stop by regardless."

"I may have t' stop by m'self," JD grinned. "I love a challenge."

"Excuse you!" Rhea scolded. "Did you not just hear Damian say he was going to ask her out? And women are not challenges, jackass."

"Hey, all's fair in love an' war, love."

"Don't call me love," Rhea spat back.

"You'd better back off," Damian growled, stepping toward JD. "The only reason you're here on the outskirts of the group is because you are Finn's friend. That's the only thing keeping you safe right now."

"Easy, lad," JD said, raising his hands defensively. "I just want t' see what all d'a fuss is about."

Damian took another step toward JD, threateningly. "Leave. Her. Alone."

"Alright. Alright, partner."

"I'm not your partner. And you're not part of the Judgement Day!"

A loud, piercing whistle whizzed through the air then.

Everyone stopped in their tracks and looked at Finn.

"Ever'body, just calm down!" He nearly shouted the words. "I'm gettin' tired of d'a mayhem! Can we all just get on d'a same page?"

Sighing, Finn left the room before anyone could answer him.

"He's right guys," Rhea said. "Get it together!"

She stormed out next.

Which meant Dom was running after her.

Which left JD and Damian.

Not wishing to piss Finn or Rhea off any worse, he simply left the room as well, knowing full well that if he stayed, he'd probably kill JD.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

Damian was setting Cody up for JD to hit him with the Money In the Bank briefcase on top of the announce table. But JD screwed up yet once more and slammed the briefcase into Damian's sore knee. Damian instantly went down as his knee buckled and he held onto it.

In the next instant, however, Cody had lifted Damian up and performed a Cross Rhodes onto the announce table. Rhea was beside herself as Jey Uso maneuvered Finn into a double-team Cody Cutter. Jey rolled out of the ring and Cody covered Finn for the 1…2…3!

There were new Undisputed Tag Team Champions!

Rhea sat on the floor looking toward the rafters as if to say, "I can't believe this!"

Finally, after Jey and Cody celebrated in the ring, it was time to head backstage.

Finn and Dom helped Damian backstage and to the trainer.

JD trailed behind them apologizing up and down–only to Finn, not Damian.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

You watched Damian's match on the little tv in your office and immediately after JD hit Damian with the briefcase, pulled his file from your drawer and prepared to see him in the next few minutes. You watched as Finn Balor and Dominik Mysterio helped Damian backstage with a shorter man–JD McDonagh if you remembered right–following behind looking to be very apologetic.

Minutes later, Damian headed into your office, a more noticeable limp this time, and waited for you to direct him.

"Have a seat," you told him, motioning to the exam table.

"You don't sound surprised to see me," Damian said to you, as he sat down.

"Well, I was… watchingyourmatchontheTV."

You flushed as you said the words as fast as you could.

"Checkin' me out again, huh?"

"Stop it," you smiled, as your face burned even more. "Now, let's take a look at that knee."

"Miss? Can I have y'r assistance please?" came an Irish voice from the hallway. The man that had trailed behind Finn and Damian on the ramp, stepped into the room holding his head.

"Yes, I'll help you in just a few moments," you replied. "If you'll have a seat in one of the chairs, I'm with a patient at the moment."

You heard Damian grumble under his breath as JD took a seat and waited.

"What are you even here for," he demanded. "I was the one who took a hard hit to the knee. Because of you!"

"Hey now," JD sounded defensive. "I took a hard hit t' d'a head. I need t' be checked f'r a concussion.

"Your big head could take a few hits!"

"Guys," you said, squatting down and gently rolling up Damian's pant leg so you could better see his knee. "I'm not equipped to break up a fight. So, please calm down."

"Don't worry, cariña. We're not going to get into a fight. In your office." Damian specified. "The hallway, now that's a different matter."

You frowned as you checked over Damian's knee. There was a bit of swelling, but as you examined it, you couldn't find anything wrong with it–other than the swelling.

"Ice it down tonight and put some heat on it tomorrow, and it should be fine," you said, with a sigh. "You guys need to be more careful."

"Tell that to Funko Pop over there," Damian said.

"Hey, it's not my fault I was given a big head."

There was an odd tone to JD's voice and you looked over at him, saw him smiling an almost perverted grin at you. There was unmistakably an innuendo in his choice of words.

Your face burned drastically, and you frowned again.

Damian seemed to notice and instantly tensed. "Keep the language PG in front of the lady, pendejo."

"Yes, please do," you commented uncomfortably. You went back to looking over Damian's knee and still could find nothing wrong.

"I think you're good, Damian," you said, rising to your feet. "Just ice it and then heat it like I said and rest it till the next show and it should be fine."

"Thanks, cariña. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

He got up and surprised you by taking a seat in one of your chairs. You gave him a puzzled look.

"I'm just staying here to make sure Funko behaves himself."

You grew even more uncomfortable. You felt as though they were competing for your attention. And that made you feel like a conquest. Right then, you decided to shun them both. You weren't going to be treated in such a way.

"Okay, have it your way," you said finally. You took out a pen light and tested JD's pupils against the light. They dilated perfectly. You performed other tests to check him for a concussion and there were absolutely no signs of a concussion at all.

"I think you're fine," you said, putting your pen light back in your pocket.

"I think you're pretty fine, too," JD flirted, his blue eyes went dark and he reached out, traced the cross necklace at your neck.

You stepped back, growing more and more uncomfortable.

"Stop it," Damian instantly said from his chair.

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. "Seriously, I think you are… okay, JD. There are no signs of a concussion."

"Okay, chill, darlin'. It's all good."

"JD. Leave. Ahora," Damian spoke up once again and stood to his feet. His eyes flashed fire.

"Alright, mate. I'm going."

Damian grabbed him by the collar of his dress shirt and escorted him out of the room himself. As he shoved JD out the door, he turned and looked at you. "Would you maybe like to get some drinks tonight? After the show?"

You looked over at him and gave a slight shake of your head. "I don't know what's going on with you two, but I'm not a conquest. And I won't be treated like one. So, no. I wouldn't like to go out for drinks."

With that, you slammed the door in Damian's face and went to work on filling out the medical reports on Damian and JD.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

"Eres tan estúpido!"

Damian swatted JD on the back of his head and gave him a shove into the wall right next to Finn.

"I swear if you two don't stop it!" Rhea exclaimed. "What is going on now?"

"He screwed things up with me and Y/N," Damian spouted off. "He started hitting on her and made her think we were making her a conquest."

"Maybe you should stay out of Damian's business, JD," Finn said, "After all, he'd made it known his intentions to ask out Y/N."

"But, I wasn't asking her out, per say," JD protested. "I was only hitting on her a wee bit."

"You nearly touched her chest when you were checking out her necklace!" Damian growled, getting in JD's face. "I'd say you weren't hitting on her a "wee bit". You were nearly assaulting her!" He stepped closer, forcing JD to step back against the wall. "And now she thinks I'm a scumbag like you!"

With a roar of rage, Damian lifted JD off his feet by his throat and proceeded to choke the life out of him.

Finn, Rhea and Dom all three freaked out and began trying to get Damian to release JD. He only did when he was good and ready. Which was a full minute later. He finally set JD back on his feet.

"Now, go apologize to her. NOW!"

Nodding silently, JD left the hallway and went in search of Y/N, so he could apologize. And hopefully live after the fact.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

You were filing the reports into the file cabinet when you heard a knock at the door. Striding to the door and opening it, you saw JD McDonagh standing on the other side.

"I just want to, uh, ap-apologize." JD started before you could close the door again. "I'm sorry for d'a way I acted."

He wouldn't even look you in the eye. Some apology.

"Thank you JD. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm quite busy."

"Would you want t' catch a late dinner lat'r? After d'a show?" He asked suddenly. Hope lighting up his bright blue eyes.

"I-I don't think so, JD. I've already eaten," you lied. Why you didn't just come out and say you weren't attracted to him, you didn't know. Probably to keep from hurting his feelings.

"Oh. Well, if Damian's a problem, we don't have to let him know, ya know?"

"It's not that. I just really don't feel up to another meal."

"Okay, I see," JD smiled softly. "We can go another night. Catch ya later!" He was off down the hall before you could object to going out with him another night.

Sighing in frustration you sat down at your desk and began working on the remaining reports for the night.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

Weeks passed with JD continuously badgering you for a date. You always came up with a lame reason why you couldn't, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. He seemed adamant that the reason you weren't going out with him was because of Damian's temper.

Which couldn't be further from the truth.

Damian had been nothing but kind since the night that JD and Damian were at each other's throats.

He'd come by a while after JD had, and said he was sorry, himself–in detail–not just some flimsy apology. You'd noticed that he also looked you straight in the eye and took your hand–not in a sleazy way either–giving it a gentle squeeze.

He'd won you over in the past weeks, plain and simple. He'd been there in your office when a fight broke out between Jey Uso and Drew McIntyre. If Damian had not been there to put a stop to it, you didn't know what you would've done. You were slightly shaken up because you'd never been around a fight before. Especially so up close and personal. Damian had hugged you afterwards and made sure you were okay.

He'd been coming around your office more and more hanging out, and one night he asked you out again. This time for dinner after the show.

"Yeah, I'd like that," you said softly with a smile. You failed to mention that JD had asked you out earlier and you'd turned him down yet again. In fact, you'd not said anything about JD hitting on you at all. You didn't want to start a big row between the two.

So, later, the two of you went to a nice restaurant and had a sit-down meal so you could talk and get to know each other better. You were seated next to the restaurant's front window facing the street, and your menus were brought to you. Within minutes, you had both placed your orders and then were waiting on the food.

"So, how long have you been a trainer," Damian asked. "I heard you used to work for TNA."

"About twelve years. Yes, I worked at TNA from the time I graduated till about a month ago." You took a sip of water. "What about you? How long have you been doing this?"

"Almost nineteen years," Damian answered. "I debuted in Monster Factory Pro Wrestling and trained there for about ten years and then went on to ROH for a few years, and from there, I signed with WWE and started in NXT. I've been on the main roster for about two years and I am loving it."

"You're very good, I've seen your work here in WWE."

"Thank you. So, tell me about yourself. And how did you come to be a trainer for WWE?"

"There's not much to tell. I am single. I live alone in an apartment till I get ready to settle down and buy a house. I grew up an only child and got into athletics at a young age. Got a torn ACL playing baseball when I was fifteen and had to get out of sports due to the severity of the injury. But I had an amazing PT that helped me through the healing process, and I decided I wanted to get into the same line of work. I worked my butt off and did just that. And here I am."

Your food came then and you both decided to eat a few bites before continuing on with your conversation.

However, you didn't notice the car in the street drive by extremely slowly, a pair of blue eyes watching you both angrily…

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

"I had a great time with you tonight, Y/N," Damian said, walking you to your hotel door.

"I had a great time too," you replied, giving him a shy smile. "It was really nice getting to know you better."

Damian nodded, "Do you want to go out with me again?"

You nodded, a flush creeping up your face, "I do."

"Aaaand… would it be okay to kiss you goodnight?"

You giggled, you couldn't help it. He made you feel like a school girl all over again. "Yes."

He smiled and leaned downward, instantly catching your lips with his, giving you a firm but gentlemanly kiss. No tongue. That was interesting, you thought. Most guys just rammed their tongues down your throat, no questions asked. Damian was full of surprises.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Damian."

With that, he made sure you were safe in your room, before turning and going down the hall to his own room.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

At the next show, the following night, you walked to your makeshift office and was surprised–though not deeply–to find JD standing at your door, waiting on you.

"Hi, JD… What can I do for you?"

His eyes seemed to go dark as he answered you, though he kept up a cheerful appearance. "You could let me take ya out t'night."

"I'm sorry, JD, but no." You said softly, reaching around him to unlock your office door. "I have plans tonight. I've just started seeing someone, and I don't want to discourage them by going out with someone else."

You unlocked the door and stepped into your office, but JD ddin't take the hint. He stepped into the office with you and slammed the door shut to your utter shock, and then locked the door.

"JD, get out." You said, trying to sound firm. "Unlock the door and leave."

"Let me guess, d'a mystery man is none other than Damien. Am I right? I saw ya together at d'a restaurant last night."

You tilted your chin up in defiance despite your growing trepidation. "That's none of your business. Now leave, before I scream for help."

Growing enraged, JD stepped forward and swept his hand along the surface of your desk, raking everything to the floor. Then he pounded his fist against the desk, hard. "I asked ya out too! You should be going out with me!"

"I didn't want to," your voice rose in your indignation. "You make my skin crawl!"

JD charged at you then and slapped you right across the cheek. Stunned, you fell across the desk and held your throbbing face in your hand.

"You're so in trouble now," he growled, unbuttoning his dress shirt from the collar, then undoing the wrist's buttons.

Not knowing exactly what he had planned, but not wanting to find out, you screamed, "Help me! Somebody HELLLLP!"

You knew that you were heard when the buzzing outside your door stopped. Suddenly there was a pounding at the door.

"Y/N? Cariña, open the door!"

You rose from the desk to make a mad dash for the door, when JD latched onto your hair. "LET ME GO!"

The door was being pummeled then. "Who's in d'ere wit' her?" You heard Finn Balor faintly from behind the door.

Then Damian, "JD. It has to be. The little…"

JD ignored the bustle outside the door and bent you backward over the desk. Immediately, his mouth was on your neck.

"STOP IT!" You cried loudly, and struggled against him. He yanked your head back by your bangs, severely arching your back, and bit into your neck. You screamed in pain and fought him even more.

The pounding at the door intensified as JD licked where he bit.

"NO!" You screamed and managed to claw JD's face. He let out a furious roar of pain as he punched you square in the jaw.

Your head bounced back from the blow just as the door busted open and Damian and the rest of the Judgeement day and some policemen came bustling into the room.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" Damian roared at JD, seeing the predicament you were in.

He lunged at JD and tackled him away from you, his face contorted in his rage.

The police stopped Damian before he could get more than a punch in, but a hard punch nonetheless.

You lay against the desk, scrambling to right yourself and fighting tears as the police handcuffed JD and prepared to drag him away from the scene.

Damian went to you, instantly pulling you into his strong embrace as JD was led away. Your legs weren't strong enough to hold you up and buckled. You fell in a dead faint as he caught you up in his arms, cradling you against his muscled chest. He immediately carried you over to the exam table and laid you on it, settling the pillow underneath your head.

"Despierta, cariña. Estás a salvo ahora." His long fingers traced the already formed bruising at your jaw, rose up to the welt forming on your cheek. He also took note of the bite mark on your neck. "I want to kill him."

"Rhea grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini fridge and handed it to Damian. Finn and Dom fumbled around the medical supplies looking for smelling salts. When they finally located them, they handed them over to Damian as well. He snapped them open and waved them frantically under your nose, willing you to awaken.

You jumped awake and before your eyes even opened, your first instinct was to fight. So you did. You swung your arms out and struck out at anything that was around you.

"Hey, easy now," came Damian's soft voice. His large, warm hands caught your wrists and gently held on. "Easy, baby. You're safe."

You sobbed and latched onto him, hooking your arms around his broad shoulders as he pulled you into a close, intimate hug.

"Shh-shh… You're okay. You're okay now."

"I-I was so scared!" You couldn't stop crying to save your life. You felt another hand rubbing your back comfortingly–probably Rhea.

"I know pequeña, I know. But you're safe now. I won't let him hurt you again. I swear it."

Hunter hurried through the door then. "I just heard about what happened…" His attention turned to you in Damian's arms. "Y/N, are you okay?"

You nodded slightly and snuggled closer into Damian's hold. His chin rested atop your head. "I'm okay now."

The police asked you so many questions your head spun but you managed to answer them all. Then you were finally free to leave and go back to your hotel room. Hunter had given you the rest of the night off–and the rest of the week if you needed it.

You went to move off the table, but Damian kept a hand on your arm to guide you. When you threatened to crumple again, he lifted you up and carried you out of the room, and all the way to his rental. Once he had you settled in the passenger's seat he turned back to the rest of the Judgement Day who'd followed him to his car. "Can one of you guys get my things out of the locker room and take them by my room? I'm staying with Y/N tonight."

Dom nodded in reply and said, "Sure, don't worry. I got this. You go take care of your girl."

With that, Damian got into the driver's seat and drove the two of you back to the hotel.

He carried you inside, and followed your directions as to where your room was. Minutes later, he was settling you on your large bed and was climbing in beside you.

"Is this okay, amor? Do you want me here, or do you want me to sleep on the sofa?"

"Here!" You cried, pulling him against you. "Don't leave me."

"I won't. I'll be right here. Just relax and get some sleep."

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever for, cariña?"

"He'd been hitting on me for weeks. I should have told someone–you. I kept putting him off but he kept asking me out. He wouldn't take no for an answer."

"It isn't your fault, sweetie. It was all him. He…has issues. But none of this was your fault."

"Thank you. For being here. For saving me. I don't know what would have happened if you'd not shown up when you did."

A tear spilled out of one of your eyes, and Damian wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. "I couldn't let him hurt you." He leaned forward, lightly kissing away your tears. "I could fall in love with you."

His lips trailed down with a feather lightness to your mouth. He captured your lips with his and applied a soft pressure. When you didn't protest, he pulled you even closer and kissed you more deeply, gently slipping his tongue past your lips and tasting your mouth fully. You moaned softly, and encouraged him to continue by curling your fingers into his muscled biceps. Finally, he pulled back, only to find that he couldn't get enough of your taste, and moved in for another kiss. And another. Another.

"I could fall in love with you too," you uttered softly between his kisses that travled down to your neck. He gently kissed the place that JD had bitten so roughly, a show of tenderness.

"He'll never touch you again. Ever."

You smiled softly and snuggled closer against him as sleep overcame you.

THE END

Translations:

"Cariña" ~ "Sweetheart" "Eres tan estúpido!" ~ "You're so stupid!" "Despierta, cariña. Estás a salvo ahora." ~ "Wake up, sweetheart. You're safe now." "Pequeña" ~ "Little one"

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[randomslasher]

I LOVE THAT UOURE STILL HERE!!!!! I followed u from sanders sides wayyyyyyy back when like three main blogs ago and i had noooooo idea u were still active!!! 😭😭 u had such a big impact on my life and i’ve told my fiance stories abt some of ur posts as recently as this year!! I wanted to ask— how is your back!! /nfta am i thinking of the right person when i remember you talked about chronic back pain? I hope either way ur doing well and also ur rocks are cool!!

OMG this is an amazing message to receive!!! Yes I'm still here!!! I'm not super duper active (or haven't been for a bit) but I'm definitely still around. I mostly lurk these days but recently decided I'd share my rock paintings. As for my back, you are definitely remembering the right person, and I have a major update. So it turns out I have Bertolotti's Syndrome (can't remember if I'd gotten that exact diagnosis back when I was talking about stuff) which is a congenital condition where the transverse process of lumbosacral vertebrae don't unfuse from the sacrum--basically bones that were supposed to separate in utero didn't?--which causes mobility problems and whatnot, and over time can also lead to arthritic symptoms where the bones meet. My pain was a combination of arthritis and poor gait that led to other issues. Well, I started walking a lot in 2020 and dropped a lot of weight and did a lot of physical therapy and core work and work with a personal trainer and now I'm actually off all pain medication! My back still likes to complain at me a bit, like if I sleep wrong or I dunno, sneeze the wrong way or something, but I've gotten to where I can manage the symptoms with ice, over-the-counter medication, and walking. I try to walk 1-2 miles every night. So yeah thank you SO much for asking, you're so incredibly sweet omg, and yes, I'm doing great!!! <3 I hope you're also well!!!