#the majority of the things i actually get to creating

[rootedinrevisions]

Jealousy in Motion: Part 2

SUMMARY: Your relationship with Damian is going great. That is until you're put into a storyline where you have to kiss Jey Uso. Damian's reaction to seeing you kissing Jey in the middle of the ring is less than ideal. Later that night he makes sure to remind you who you belong to.

WARNING: Jealousy. Possessiveness. Biting. Leaving marks. P in V Sex.

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to the person who requested this! (will refrain from mentioning anyone in case they wish to remain anonymous.) Hope you enjoy it!

TAG LIST: @miss-kuki-nz I @just-another-personal-side-blog I @caramara3 I @yana3sworld I @terrortwinunicorn I @hotwheels1108

The hum of the crowd already gathering outside the arena was palpable as you pulled into the parking lot. You parked your car, exhaling deeply as you took a moment to collect your thoughts before heading inside. The last few months had been a whirlwind of great storylines, and tonight, you were particularly excited. You grabbed your bag from the passenger seat and slung it over your shoulder, stepping out into the late afternoon light.

As you walked through the side entrance, security gave you a familiar nod, and you couldn’t help but feel the usual buzz of adrenaline that came with show days. Inside, the hustle and bustle of crew members, wrestlers, and staff filled the hallways, but you were quickly intercepted by one of the backstage producers.

"Hey, they need you in the meeting room with creative," he said.

You raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. You weren’t expecting to be pulled into anything major right away. Normally, you'd get time to settle in and catch up with some of the other superstars, but it seemed today was going to be different. You nodded and followed him, your mind already spinning with what could be on the agenda.

As you approached the meeting room, you could see through the open door that a few familiar faces were already seated. Jey was there, his usual confident demeanor slightly subdued, and around him were a handful of writers, along with Triple H at the head of the table. A quick glance from Jey gave you a hint of hesitation, which only made you more curious about what this meeting could be about.

You took a seat, nodding at everyone, and before you could ask what was going on, Triple H jumped right in.

"Alright, let’s get to it," he began, fo+5+lding his hands in front of him. "We’re shaking things up tonight. We’re putting you into the Rhea Ripley and Liv Morgan storyline.”

Your heart leaped a little at the mention of Rhea. She was one of your best friends, and working with her was something you’d always looked forward to. Plus, you had great chemistry with Liv, so the idea of being inserted into this feud was exciting.

But the excitement quickly shifted to confusion when Triple H continued. "You're going to turn on Rhea during tonight's segment."

You blinked, processing his words. "Turn on Rhea?" you echoed.

"Yeah," Triple H confirmed, leaning back in his chair. "You’ll go out to save her after Liv attacks, but then the twist—you're going to kiss Jey in front of Rhea and Damian. You’ll take off your shirt to reveal Jey’s underneath, showing that you’ve been aligned with him the whole time. Jey we’re going to spin it that you’ve been getting close to Rhea to get to what you actually want…her best friend."

You glanced at Jey, whose expression mirrored your shock. The idea of turning on Rhea, one of your closest friends, especially in such a public and dramatic way, made your stomach churn. And then the added element of kissing Jey in front of Damian, well… that complicated things even more.

Things between you and Damian had been going great for the past few months since that night in the club, and you knew Jey and Rhea were in a solid place in their developing relationship, too. This on-screen twist felt like it would blur the lines between real life and the storyline in ways that could create all kinds of tension.

"Are you sure?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Triple H gave you a knowing smile, as if sensing your hesitation. "This is going to push the feud to the next level. The audience won’t see it coming."

You could feel your pulse quicken, the weight of the storyline hanging heavily on your shoulders. "And we’re doing this tonight?"

"Yep," he confirmed. "First segment. You, Jey, Rhea, and Damian all in the ring. Liv’s going to attack Rhea. You run in for the save. After the dust settles, you turn on her. Kiss Jey, reveal your loyalty, and we’re off to the races."

Your head was spinning as you tried to absorb the full scope of what was being asked of you. Glancing at Jey again, you could tell he was just as thrown by the sudden twist.

"Any questions?" Triple H asked, looking around the table.

Neither you nor Jey said a word, both of you too stunned to fully process what was about to happen. Triple H took that as a no, standing up and signaling the meeting was over.

"Good luck tonight. This is going to be big."

After the meeting, you left the room, still reeling from what had just been laid out. You made your way down the hall toward your locker room, your mind racing. A storyline shift like this had the potential to be game-changing, but it also came with its fair share of risks. You couldn’t help but worry about how this would play out not just on screen, but backstage as well.

Once you reached your locker room, you set your bag down and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nerves. The wardrobe team soon arrived, handing you the shirts you’d need for the segment—Rhea’s signature shirt for the first part of the show, and Jey’s to wear underneath for the big reveal.

“Don’t worry, it’ll look great on camera,” one of the wardrobe assistants assured you, sensing your unease.

You nodded, managing a weak smile as you slipped into the outfit. You kept your black jeans and shoes on, not needing full gear for this segment, but the weight of the two shirts felt heavier than any ring attire you’d ever worn.

The plan was simple enough: you’d run out to help Rhea after Liv blindsided her, and the four of you would stand tall in the ring together—until you turned on Rhea in front of everyone. The kiss with Jey, the shirt reveal—it was all designed to shock the crowd and push the storyline into new, dramatic territory.

But as you stared at yourself in the mirror, wearing Rhea’s shirt over Jey’s, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at you. This storyline was about to blur the lines between reality and fiction in ways you hadn’t expected, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would affect your relationships off-screen.

Glancing in the mirror one last time, you exhale sharply and leave your locker room, your thoughts racing as you head down the corridor in search of Damian. You need to find him before the segment starts, to explain the last-minute storyline twist.

You weave through backstage, checking every corner, but he’s nowhere to be found. Frustration builds as you text and call him, but every attempt goes unanswered. The minutes seem to slip through your fingers. The show’s about to start, and the clock is ticking.

From your spot near the monitor backstage, you watch as Dominik and Liv make their entrance, smug looks plastered on their faces. The crowd greets them with a mix of boos and jeers. They take the ring and start cutting their promo, Liv with a mic in hand, mocking Rhea and Damian.

“Rhea Ripley? Damian Priest? Pathetic. Honestly, it's embarrassing how they think they can stand up to us,” Liv sneers, pacing the ring as Dominik smirks at her words. "At the next Premium Live Event, they’ll finally be put in their place, and we’ll prove once again that we run this show."

The crowd stirs, boos growing louder as Liv continues to berate your friends. You glance toward the Gorilla, just in time to see Damian and Rhea poised to make their entrance. Your heart races as you watch them, knowing the storm that's about to hit.

“Hey, I need to talk to you,” you start, grabbing his arm gently.

Damian turns, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Before you can answer, the producer barks, “Rhea, Damian you’re on, go!”

You watch helplessly as Damian and Rhea stride through the curtain, completely unaware of the bombshell you’re about to drop on them. Your stomach tightens as you realize you won’t have time to warn him before the kiss happens.

“Great,” you mutter to yourself, running a hand through your hair. Damian’s not going to take this well—especially not without a heads-up.

Rhea and Damian hit the stage to a wave of cheers from the crowd. As they walk down the ramp, Rhea has a fierce expression on her face, playing up the intensity of the moment, while Damian’s presence is brooding and confident. You can feel the electricity building in the air as they enter the ring.

“You two think you’re untouchable?” Rhea growls into the mic, glaring at Dominik and Liv. “You’ve got another thing coming. At the PLE, we’ll show you exactly why you should’ve never turned your backs on us.”

Damian steps forward, his eyes locked on Dominik. “Scared little kids playing in a grown-up’s world. You don’t even know what’s coming.”

Predictably, the promo escalates into chaos. Liv and Dominik waste no time in turning the verbal sparring into a full-blown brawl. Liv throws the first punch at Rhea, and before you know it, fists are flying. Just as planned, JD, Finn,  and Carlito emerge from the crowd to join the fray, jumping into the ring and overwhelming Damian and Rhea.

It’s only a matter of seconds before Jey’s music hits, and the crowd erupts. You spot Jey sprinting down the aisle from somewhere in the audience, slipping into the ring to even the odds. The chaos in the ring intensifies as the three of them—Rhea, Damian, Jey —try to gain control of the situation.

Then, your music blares through the arena, sending a surge of adrenaline through you. The producer waves you toward the curtain, and before you know it, you're sprinting down the ramp. Your heart pounds in your chest as you slide into the ring, jumping straight into the fight.

For what feels like a chaotic blur of moments, fists are flying, bodies are colliding, and the crowd is on fire. You and your thrown-together team manage to push back the new Judgement Day faction, sending them retreating up the ramp as the crowd roars in approval.

Just as you, Jey, Damian, and Rhea stand tall in the ring, victorious for now, you feel the cue from the cameraman at ringside. This is it. The moment you’ve been dreading all night.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Jey is standing just to your left, his breathing still heavy from the fight. You turn toward him, heart hammering in your chest. The crowd is still roaring, but in this moment, everything seems to slow down.

You step closer to Jey, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. His eyes meet yours, and for a split second, there’s a flash of understanding between the two of you—this is about to change everything. Without hesitating, you lean in and press your lips to his.

The reaction from the crowd is instantaneous. Gasps, cheers, and shouts fill the arena as Jey’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss lingers for a moment longer than normal, the way Triple H had scripted it to be, the tension between you and Jey was palpable. Neither of you was fully comfortable. When you finally pull back, the heat of the moment is still coursing through you.

You glance over at Rhea and Damian. Rhea, ever the professional, has perfected her expression of betrayal—her wide eyes and clenched fists sell the shock and hurt brilliantly. It’s almost too perfect, and for a moment, you’re grateful that she’s been fully briefed on the angle.

But Damian... Damian is a different story. He’s not acting. His jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed, and the look he’s giving you and Jey could burn a hole straight through the ring. If looks could kill, you and Jey would both be six feet under by now.

Your stomach drops as you realize the fallout from this moment is going to be far more intense than you ever anticipated.

The segment ends with a chaotic blend of cheers and murmurs as the crowd begins to dissipate. As the ring clears, you and Jey make your way out, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. You’re grateful for the moment of quiet, but the heaviness of what just happened weighs on you.

You navigate backstage, Jey’s presence beside you a comforting constant. The backstage activity fades as you spot Rhea, who is headed toward the locker room. She gives you a quick, sympathetic nod before disappearing behind the door. You hope she understands how hard this is for you, despite her well-played betrayal.

Your gaze scans the area, searching for Damian. Your stomach twists in knots as you think about the confrontation you need to have. The minutes tick by slowly, each one stretching into what feels like an eternity.

Finally, you spot Damian walking down the hall, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. Your heart races as you call out his name, “Damian!”

He doesn’t turn, his steps steady and deliberate. You quicken your pace, desperation mounting with each step. You reach out and touch his arm gently, trying to catch his attention.

“Babe, please—”

He jerks his arm away from you, his face still averted. “Don’t.”

The single word cuts through you like a knife. It’s sharp and final, the hurt and anger in his voice unmistakable. He continues down the hall, not sparing a glance back, leaving you standing there, heart heavy and eyes stinging.

You watch him disappear around the corner, the space between you feeling impossibly vast. The crushing weight of the night’s events settles on your shoulders, and you feel a wave of sadness that’s almost unbearable.

Jey, noticing your distress, approaches cautiously. “Hey, are you okay?”

You can’t find the words, only shaking your head slightly. Jey’s hand rests on your shoulder, a silent offer of comfort, but it does little to alleviate the ache inside you. You turn back toward the locker room, trying to steady your breath as you prepare for the fallout to come.

Back in the locker room, you sit down heavily on a bench, the adrenaline of the night giving way to a wave of exhaustion and emotional turmoil. The door opens and Rhea steps in, her face a mix of concern and understanding.

“I tried to talk to him,” Rhea says quietly, sitting beside you. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to hear it.”

You nod, unable to speak as your emotions bubble up. Rhea reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your back. “You did what you had to do out there. I know it’s hard.”

You take a shaky breath, trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t want it to end like this. I just wanted... I wanted to be honest with him. I tried to find him before the show–”

Rhea gives you a sympathetic smile. “He just wasn’t expecting it. I was briefed on the segment, but I don’t think he was. It’ll take time, but he’ll come around.”

You hope she’s right, but the uncertainty gnaws at you. As you sit there, surrounded by the remnants of the evening’s chaos, you can’t shake the feeling that tonight’s actions have set in motion a chain of events that may be impossible to fully unravel.

With a heavy heart, you prepare yourself for the long night ahead, hoping that somehow, things might start to heal before it’s too late.

Once you get back to the hotel after the show, you make your way up to your room on the fourth floor. The hallway feels impossibly long.. The dull hum of the elevator ride lingers in your ears, and your mind races, replaying every moment of the night over and over again. The kiss. Damian’s cold departure. His refusal to even look at you.

You reach your door, fingers trembling as you pull the keycard from your pocket. You hesitate for a moment, the thought of Damian not being there gnawing at you. The two of you were supposed to share this room, but after the way he walked away, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d found a different room—putting even more distance between you.

But still, hope lingers as you slide the keycard into the lock. You take a deep breath as the door clicks open. Stepping into the dimly lit room, you brace yourself for an empty, quiet space, but instead, your breath catches in your throat.

Damian is there. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. His head is bowed slightly, and the shadows from the dim light cast across his face, making it hard to read his expression. But you can feel the tension radiating from him—tangible and heavy in the air.

The door clicks shut behind you, and Damian’s eyes flick up to meet yours. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His jaw is clenched tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. The silence stretches between you, thick with unresolved emotions.

You take a tentative step forward, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on your chest. "Damian…"

He doesn't move. His gaze remains locked on yours, but there’s a storm brewing behind those dark eyes, a mix of hurt and anger swirling beneath the surface.

“Why?” His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but the pain in that single word cuts deeper than anything he could have yelled.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you search for the right words. “I didn’t want it to go down like that. It was the storyline—creative made the call.”

Damian’s lips twitch into a bitter, almost mocking smile as he finally stands, towering over you. “You think I care about the storyline? About what creative wants?” His voice rises slightly, the frustration bleeding through. “I care about what you did out there—kissing him in front of everyone. In front of me.”

You take a step back, feeling the weight of his words, and the hurt they carry. “It was just for the show, Damian. It didn’t mean anything.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his movements sharp, and agitated. “Didn’t mean anything?” He shakes his head, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “You expect me to believe that after what I saw out there? After how you kissed him?”

Your heart aches at the accusation in his voice. “Damian, I—” You stop, unsure of how to explain, how to make him understand that the kiss, while real, wasn’t what he thought it was.

He takes a deep breath, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "You could’ve told me. You should’ve told me before the show, before I had to stand there and watch it happen.”

"I tried," you plead, your voice breaking. "I tried to tell you, but you had to go out for the segment before I could. I didn’t want to hurt you."

Damian lets out a bitter laugh. “Well, you did.”

The air between you feels like it’s thickening, the tension palpable as Damian turns away from you, pacing the room. You stand frozen, unsure of what to say, how to fix this. The weight of the night crashes down on you, and for the first time, you wonder if this is something that can even be fixed.

“Damian,” you whisper, taking a cautious step toward him, “I’m sorry. Please, just talk to me.”

He stops in his tracks, his back still turned to you. For a moment, he doesn’t move, the silence deafening. Then, slowly, he turns around, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten.

“What do you want me to say?” His voice is quiet now, the anger simmering down into something deeper—something raw. “That everything’s fine? That I’m not furious? That I don’t feel like you broke something between us tonight?”

You feel your heart shatter at his words, the weight of them too much to bear. “I didn’t want to break anything,” you say softly, tears welling up in your eyes. “I just… I didn’t know how to make this right.”

Damian’s shoulders slump slightly as if the fight has drained out of him. He stares at you for a long moment, his expression a mixture of hurt and exhaustion. “Maybe you can’t,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

Damian sits back down on the bed, his frustration and confusion still thick in the air between you. His jaw clenches as he runs a hand over his face, trying to make sense of everything that happened during the show. 

You take a cautious step toward him, heart pounding in your chest. You don’t say anything, but the unspoken tension between you crackles with intensity. Gently, you place your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back just enough that he leans onto his elbows. He looks up at you with a mix of uncertainty and disbelief, his dark eyes searching yours for some kind of explanation, some kind of reason for your actions.

But instead of talking, you swing a leg over him, straddling his lap. You feel the tension ripple through his body the moment you make contact, his muscles tightening beneath you. He knows what you’re doing, and for a second, you can see the conflict flash across his face. 

His hands instinctively come up to your waist, as if to push you away, but he hesitates. “Stop,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, but there’s no real force behind the word. You can tell he’s trying to maintain control, to hold onto the anger that’s keeping him grounded, but you also know that you’re chipping away at his resolve.

Ignoring his half-hearted protest, you lean in close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whisper, “I want you to show me who I belong to.”

You feel the shudder that runs through him at your words, and a low groan rumbles from his chest. His eyes close for a brief moment as the temptation washes over him, the possessive side of him that you know so well stirring just beneath the surface. But still, he’s fighting it, trying to hold onto the anger that’s been keeping him distant.

He tightens his grip on your waist, trying to lift you off his lap, but before he can, you roll your hips down against him. The motion elicits another involuntary groan from him, his breath catching in his throat as you grind against him, making it clear what you want. His eyes snap open, dark and filled with both desire and frustration.

“Don’t,” he warns, but his voice falters, betraying the struggle within him.

You lean in closer, your breath hot against his ear as you whisper the words you know will push him over the edge. “I want you to have your way with me.”

His grip on your waist tightens as he inhales sharply, the possessive part of him rising to the surface. But there’s still a sliver of hesitation in his movements, as if he’s trying to keep a hold on his self-control, to resist the pull of the temptation you’re offering him. 

You know he’s torn between wanting to claim you and still being angry about what happened tonight. And then, you say the one thing that you know will break him.

“I want you to leave marks.”

The tension in his body shifts instantly. His eyes darken, and the possessiveness that’s always been just beneath the surface finally takes over. You’ve never let him leave marks on you before, always worried about appearances and what people might think if the cameras were to catch any during a match or promo. But now, you’re giving him permission, and that’s something Damian can’t ignore.

He exhales slowly, his hands still gripping your waist, but there’s a new intensity in his touch now. The anger may not be completely gone, but it’s morphed into something else—something darker, more primal. You feel the shift, and it sends a thrill through you.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice is deeper now, rougher, and you can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This is a line you’re both about to cross, one that will blur the boundary between control and release.

You nod, your gaze steady as you meet his eyes. “I’m sure. I want you to.”

Damian’s expression hardens for a split second, the last shred of restraint slipping away. In one swift motion, he flips you over, pinning you beneath him on the bed. His hands roam up your body, and you feel the heat radiating off him as he leans down, his lips brushing against your neck.

“You asked for it,” he murmurs darkly. 

Damian wastes no time once he’s unleashed. His hands move with purpose as he grips the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down along with your underwear in one swift, practiced motion. You lift your hips to help, and before you know it, your legs are bare beneath his gaze. He tosses your clothes aside, his eyes dark and unreadable as they trace the lines of your body.

You feel his hands slide down your thighs, rough and warm, before he spreads your legs apart. The vulnerability of the position sends a thrill up your spine, but it’s the look in Damian’s eyes—the possessive hunger—that makes your heart race. 

He leans down, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh. The anticipation of his touch is almost unbearable, and then you feel it—his teeth sink into your skin, not too hard, but enough to leave a mark that will last. The sensation sends a shiver through you, a low moan escaping your lips.

Damian pauses to admire his work, the dark bruise forming under his lips. Then, without missing a beat, he shifts to the other leg, repeating the same rough treatment. His lips press against your thigh before his teeth follow, leaving another mark that will be a reminder of this moment long after tonight.

Once he’s satisfied, he crawls up your body, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of you. His face hovers inches above yours, his breath warm and heavy against your skin. 

You’re still wearing Jey Uso's "Yeet" shirt, and as Damian glances down at it, a dark smirk curls his lips. You expect him to pull it off, to strip it from you in one fluid motion, but instead, Damian grips the fabric in both hands and rips it clean down the middle. The sound of the tear fills the room, and your breath catches as the cool air brushes against your newly exposed skin.

“Oops,” he mutters with a smirk, the smugness in his voice sending a wave of heat through you. His hands run down your sides, the pads of his fingers grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ribs, making you arch up into him. The intensity of his touch, combined with the sharp contrast between his anger and desire, has your mind spinning.

His hands slide around your back, and with one swift motion, he unclasps your bra, pulling it away. Before you can react, Damian leans in, his mouth finding the soft skin of your breast. His lips are soft at first, but then you feel his teeth again, biting down just hard enough to leave a dark bruise behind.

A gasp leaves your throat as Damian continues, alternating between soft kisses and rough bites. He takes his time, marking you as his, leaving evidence of his claim all over your skin. Each mark feels like a promise, one that will stay with you long after the night is over.

You feel the heat rising between you, the desire building to a breaking point. Damian pulls back for a moment, his breath coming fast, his eyes locking with yours. There’s no more hesitation in his gaze now—only pure, possessive hunger.

"You belong to me," he growls, his voice deep and commanding as he captures your lips in a rough, bruising kiss.

Damian’s eyes remain locked on yours as he leans up and swiftly pulls his belt free from the loops of his jeans. The metal buckle clinks against the floor as he drops it carelessly, his fingers already working to unbutton and unzip his pants. He pushes his jeans and boxers down to his knees, his movements rough and hurried, his need for you palpable in the tension rolling off his body.

You bite your lip in anticipation as Damian positions himself between your legs, the heat of him pressing against your entrance. His large hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer, and then with one smooth motion, he slides into you. The sensation of him filling you so completely draws a long moan from your lips, but Damian isn’t satisfied.

“No,” he growls, his voice deep and commanding. “Say my name.”

His thrusts start slow but powerful, each one driving him deeper into you. You comply immediately, moaning his name breathlessly. “Damian…”

But it’s not enough. His grip tightens on your hips, and he begins to move faster, harder, his pace becoming relentless. He’s hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, and your breath quickens as pleasure coils tight in your core.

“Say it louder,” Damian demands, his voice edged with authority. His hips snap against yours, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. You call out his name louder, your voice trembling with the intensity of each thrust.

“Damian!” you cry, your hands grasping at the sheets as your body arches beneath him.

A dark smirk crosses his face as he watches you, clearly satisfied with your response. “That’s my good girl,” he growls, his tone dripping with approval. His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, making your body tremble beneath him.

He continues to pound into you, his pace ruthless, every thrust driving you closer to the edge. Your moans become more desperate, and you can feel yourself unraveling, your climax approaching fast.

“I want to hear you scream my name when you come,” Damian demands, his voice husky and low, his possessive gaze locked on you as his hips slam into yours again and again.

The tension inside you snaps, and with one final thrust, you’re sent over the edge. You scream his name, your body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through every nerve.

Damian isn’t far behind. He groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. His grip tightens on your hips, holding you still as he pulls out just in time. He finishes on your chest and abdomen, his warm seed painting your skin as he releases a deep, satisfied groan.

Breathing heavily, Damian looks down at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as a proud, almost smug smile spreads across his face. He surveys your body, covered in his release, marking you in yet another way.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft now, but the possessive edge still lingers. He leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, a stark contrast to the roughness of the moments before.

As Damian catches his breath, his eyes soften as they sweep over your body, the intensity of moments before melting away. Without a word, he leans over and presses a tender kiss to your forehead before standing and making his way into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the room, and a few moments later, he returns with a warm washcloth in hand.

He kneels beside the bed and gently wipes the cum from your chest and stomach, his touch so tender it makes your heart swell. His gaze meets yours as he leans down and brushes a soft kiss to your lips, so different from the fiery passion you shared earlier. This kiss is slow, comforting, filled with unspoken reassurances.

Once finished, Damian returns to the bathroom to dispose of the washcloth, and when he comes back, he heads straight for his suitcase. Rummaging through it, he pulls out a pair of sweatpants for himself. After slipping them on, he tosses one of his oversized t-shirts to you. You smile, feeling a warmth in your chest, and eagerly slip it on. The familiar scent of him fills your senses as the soft fabric drapes over your body.

Damian climbs into bed beside you and immediately pulls you into his arms, his strong body enveloping yours. You nestle into him, resting your head on his bare chest. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat under your ear brings you a sense of calm, and you let out a soft sigh of relief, feeling safe in his embrace.

After a few quiet moments, you tilt your head up to look at him, your voice barely a whisper as you ask, "Are we okay?"

Damian looks down at you, his thumb gently stroking your arm as he meets your gaze. 

"Yeah," he says softly, his voice deep but tender. "We’re okay." He takes a breath, his expression softening further. "I probably could’ve handled it better. I just… seeing that kiss…" He trails off, shaking his head slightly. "I know it’s just a storyline, but it hit me harder than I expected."

You nod, understanding the conflict he must have felt. 

Before the tension can return, Damian gives you a playful smirk and gently nudges your side. "But let’s be real… you look way better in my shirt than Jey’s."

A small laugh escapes your lips, and the playful banter instantly lightens the mood. You snuggle deeper into his chest, feeling the weight of the night slowly lift as you share this intimate moment with him. His arms tighten around you protectively, and you close your eyes, knowing that despite the challenges, everything between you two will be alright.

[artbyblastweave]

If youre still doing it, heroify Lex Luthor

The fish-in-a-barrel answer is Tony Stark, but the intuitive answer, not to mention the version I've actually seen executed at least twice- is that you ask the question- what if he's right, about Superman being bad news?- and then you go from there.

I'm actually going to take this opportunity to talk up one of the few Mark Millar comics that I recommend wholeheartedly, Jupiter's Circle, which is interesting in that the setting's Luthor analogue, Jack Hobbes, is essentially playing Luthor's cope-and-seethe angle completely straight, as a thing which he legitimately believes and which he's ultimately basically correct to believe in spite of most superheroes being at least decent people.

What was interesting to me about this portrayal is that Hobbes eventually decides that he miscalculated, that he can do more good by working with the Utopian as his friend and confidant than by fighting him every step of the way. It's a straight-up Lex Luthor redemption story. But the thing is that the setting of the comic as a whole is predicated on the idea that he was actually completely correct- although he doesn't live to see it, although he dies thinking he was initially misguided, the long-term trajectory of the setting is that superheroes eat the world, politics and activism alike subordinated to their petty grievances and soap opera idiocy. A major plot point of the second volume of this was that Not!Batman's turn towards militant leftism gets completely written off by his 1960s contemporaries because they're so used to reading his behavior through the lens of whiny rich-kid superhero interpersonal drama that they just can't parse it correctly. The comic advances that there's a self-centeredness and egotism inherent to the superhero that makes them suck ass at effecting long term positive change, but they also aren't going away, and they can blow up skyscrapers. At the point where I stopped reading, the setting was implied to be caught in a kind of boom-and-bust doom cycle where the superheroes gradually create a singular hegemony, then collapse into hyperdestructive infighting over what to do with that hegemony once they run out of conventional supervillains to fight- the aftermath of which clears the board for a new wave of the classic silver age cops-and-robbers game, which then gradually hegemonizes, ad infinitum. (This is a line of thinking that crops up in a lot of Millar's capepunk work once you know what to look for- Wanted, Old Man Logan, and to some extent The Ultimates all being examples.)

Another example of Heroic Lex Luthor, which I've written about before, is the comic Edison Rex, a comic whose pitchline is that the setting's Luthor analogue, the titular Edison Rex, turns out to have been completely correct that the setting's Superman analogue was an unwitting sleeper agent for an alien invasion, and steps up to replace him as Earth's foremost protector after finally neutralizing him- but since all he really knows how to be is a supervillain, his management style and problem-solving methodology from his time as an ends-justify-the-means anti-superman crusader translate to the new job with extremely mixed results. The comic ran 18 issues and remains unfinished, but it was pretty good.

[reachexceedinggrasp]

I have a feeling you might relate to this or you might have even related this on your blog already, but I was just thinking of that Ghoul quotation water water everywhere and not a drop to drink

I think probably my favourite, maybe ever, quiet point of characterisation in a sort of villainous or Beast love interest is his or her having a poet's soul... whether that is conscious or unconscious romantic meditation. It's like Kylo musing to Rey when he says 'You have that look in your eyes. From the forest. When you called me a monster' I love that sort of wistful observation, especially because it evokes such potent imagery ('when we fought together in the forest and then you marked yourself on my face'). Or more literally something like Ghoul citing a line of literature, even when none around except for Lucy would know what he's referencing, it's for his own arrestment and amusement, this is how he sees/interacts with the world

I guess in that way, it reveals something new about their perspective on the world, even when they're somebody seemingly cut off from it - monstrous, othered, repellent, ugly - when they're able to articulate a certain beauty which other characters may not remark upon. It's sort of covetous in that sense, but I think it also sort of helps explain what might interest them about a Beauty, after all, there's something they long for and value (spiritual, aesthetic, existential beauty).

I thought you might be able to relate 🥰

Oh, totally. And with Cooper and Ben, specifically, which is a parallel I hadn't actually noticed until you've just pointed it out, we're being shown their sensitivity as characters. Not in the sense of being considerate, but that they're aware and alert to beauty and meaning in the world despite currently occupying a narrative role which might make us think they're simply destructive or nihilistic figures. Despite the cynicism they're both ostensibly espousing.

Cooper quotes or alludes to literature practically constantly relative to how little he speaks, always knowing people almost certainly won't understand him, and that's especially fascinating because he didn't make those kinds of references in the flashbacks. We could take this in a whole direction about how he created the Ghoul as a character to shield himself from the things he had to do to survive and is living within a meta-narrative deconstructing the reactionary anti-hero who overtook the white hat sheriff he used to play in his movies. The anti-hero he never wanted to be. He makes allusions because his life has become a story he's telling himself to stay sane. He's his own wry Dickensian narrator making asides to an imagined audience about dramatic irony and social commentary.

And an important part of his presentation to others before the war was painting himself as not sophisticated. Just a cowboy and then just a guy who plays a cowboy in the movies. He wants nothing to do with politics either in an interpersonal or broader sense, and disclaims any pretensions to being savvy despite being in a very theoretically powerful position as a rich, connected major film star. I think he was genuinely naive, but I also think he often played dumb to avoid social conflict. He was complacent and his image helped him remain complacent. Obviously he was very willing to be confrontational when he saw wrong or injustice right in front of him (he goes after Bud Askins directly to his face about marines getting killed by shitty equipment, he challenges Moldaver when she calls him out), but pre-bombs he mostly uses his empathic perceptiveness and charisma to keep everyone around him happy.

In the wasteland we often see him doing the opposite and deliberately riling people up in order to gather information and assess or eliminate them as threats, but he's also only gotten better at disarming people when he wants to. As a handsome charming film star he pretended not to know anything, as a scary intimidating monster he pretends he knows everything.

What I'm curious about as far as all this goes is whether Cooper had a secret nerdy side and read all the classics as a teenager or perhaps while waiting between shots when he was working as a stuntman or whether he wanted to fit in when he started to make it in Hollywood so tried to become cultured before realising that wasn't what anyone wanted from him. Or if he just spent 200 years alone and read anything he could find as a way to cling to his humanity. We know he was at least a bit intellectually curious before the war, because of his reading and retaining some article about studies on torture.

But YES, him quoting poetry and being so interested and insightful about Lucy, specifically is a huge part of how he's framed as a romantic figure. And he's already by far the most romantic figure in the show. If it were solely about his tragedy, you'd think they would emphasise the contrast between his pre-fallen and post-fallen state by stripping him of his heroic trappings, but they don't. He's actually more romantic post-'curse'.

It also gets me because he's an extremely smart, socially adept person who doesn't let others see him for who he really is both consciously and unconsciously on multiple levels and that layers of identity shit is my crack. He was a profoundly honest person who thought he was simple, but actually he was a glorious maze of contradiction and complexity waiting to happen who is now a master manipulator.

[unityrain24]

i have so much creativity in me and i cannot express it all and it's so frustrating

[taffywabbit]

i just woke up so i haven't actually watched the pokemon direct thingy yet, but i heard they mentioned they aren't pushing out another console release at all for 2024 and if that's true then frankly THAT news is way more hype than any actual game announcement could ever be. go girl let us wait!! this is genuinely what i've been begging for for years now

like, oh a new Legends game? that's neat i guess. oh wait it's being given literally ANY time to cook and they aren't crunching Game Freak to hell and back in order to pump out a bunch of half-baked annual releases for the first time in ages?? NOW we're fuckin talking. LOVE to see the torturous cycle broken

[hypermascbishounen]

There's a deep irony in Berserk being so admired by people who really really hate what Berserk is about on an emotional level, but especially when writers want to take influence from it. Because Berserk is very strong thematically, and someone who can't acknowledge subtext is going to whiff on emulating anything good.

[shivroy]

hello my second shivfic is underway. i am in shiv mindset. god i love shiv roy and also writing

[applebees4prez]

when i say that this was my 9/11 i fully mean it. i would pull out my computer and write it myself if it weren’t so personal to dan. i will go into debt to make this happen. @danielhowell if there is anything i can personally to get dan is not okay out into the world i will do it i don’t care if i’m a freshman in college i would die for this.

[musical-chick-13]

Well...it's been a good run for...every ship left involving a woman in this poll. o7

[themyscirah]

When you come up with the coolest concept except you can't let yourself think abt it because you have a major essay due in 3 hours 😡😡😡😡😡

Anyways. EMBASSY DAY AT THE THEMYSCIRAN/AMAZON EMBASSY. YOU SEE MY VISION

[pepprs]

having some time alone in the hotel this week (which is abt to end bc we’re moving back home tmrrw even though the renovation isn’t finished 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪) and being able to have the bedroom to myself has made me think rebellious thoughts my family would be very offended over. like maybe i listened to less and less music these last few years due in part to the fact that ive spentmore time at home than i used to and i also lived on campus w roommates in a very uncomfortable arrangement and im unable to move freely about the cabin when im living w other ppl whose needs don’t align w mine and so ive just gotten used to not having all of my needs met and always being the person to take the short end of the stick…. but i actually need to be able to sing and dance and draw and do whatever and when im alone (which is almost never) im able to do that and that’s actually legit and as important as anyone else’s needs in a space i share w them. idk if i worded that well but yeah

[skrunksthatwunk]

"hey HEY what do you have in your mouth!!! sit SIT. SPIT IT OUT GIVE IT—" but instead of talking to a dog it's me about my parents using the word overstimulated as nothing but another way to make fun of our anxious traumatized dog for doing things they find inconvenient or unreasonable or illogical (and, by extension, everyone who uses the term for legitimate reasons). (WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM!!!!!!!!!! AND ALSO WHERE THE FUCK DID THEY HEAR IT BECAUSE I DON'T USE IT AROUND THEM On Purpose BECAUSE I KNOW THEY'D BE ANNOYING ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

[lesbianraskolnikov]

twitter is bad for many things but as someone who mainly follows artists the art takes and complaints on there are in fucking suferable. Getting mad over a post saying passive fans of your work exist and going well if my dicks not being sucked every time i post ill get discouraged and quit!!! When i only get 100 likes i wanna give up!! Do you actually enjoy creating what are you fucking doing lol so many people will get like 1 or 2 likes per art post and keep drawing bc they enjoy it😭 wtf

[vulcanhello]

anyone trying to argue fanfic is inherently better than the films, books, and other stories they originate from i just KNOW doesn’t actually watch movies or read or engage with anything outside their favorite ao3 tags

[forwhatiam]

It’s actually ridiculous how hard it is to find comprehensive info on sex with an SCI online without having to go through Reddit. Fuck disabled people I guess. Or no actually I think they specifically don’t want you to and that’s why all the info on how to do it is hidden

[dredshirtroberts]

y'know. i don't often hate the way my brain is and how difficult it makes certain things for me.

i do a little today though.