He was strongly considering changing his name to Ricardo I-am-so-fucked Martínez.

It had been two days since he encountered the vigilantes and established himself as a mole in the cult. Ooooh fuck they would skin him alive if they found out-good thing he was doing all in his power to remain inconspicuous...

Apart from the suspicious circumstances in which he and the others had returned to the cult HQ.

And his general inability to act.

And the stolen dress he currently clutched in his sticky, sweaty hands.

"Oh no do not spread that nasty sweatiness over my girdle heathen!"

The goddess in his head chided him endlessly as he snuck un-sneakily to his 'quarters'- in truth, a glorified broom cupboard. On one hand, having the Greek goddess of love and passion and general sexy-things was great for curing virginity; on the other hand, she had a habit of micromanaging his life when she thought he wasn't handling 'things' properly- aided by her ability to control his body at will.

Evidently not trusting in his abilities to hold a dress properly, Aphrodite took the reins, holding it by her fingertips like a newborn baby.

"Is this necessary?" Ricardo mentally huffed (surprisingly echoey in his head).

"I have never been so insulted!- or perhaps I have, but that is of no matter- of course this is necessary! Do you not know what you hold in your unsightly digits?" Ricardo did know, he just didn't share the same adoration for ancient frocks that Aphrodite did. "That is-"

"Your prized, beautiful, love-enduring magical girdle. I know. You have explained so countless times."

"Do not sass me mortal. I invented the concept." She might have lifted her nose at him and stomped had she a physical form of her own,

Ricardo glided through the corridors (under Aphrodite's control of course, had he tried to move on his own in such a manner, he likely would have fallen flat on his face and broken his nose), "I thought you said Poseidon invented sass?"

"No dear, that's sea bass."

"Oh."

Trainers now squeaking against the linoleum floor (not particularly cult-aesthetic but hey, it's hard maintaining a sombre medieval vibe in the era of twerking and big Tech) Ricardo was handed back control of his limbs, pushing his door open with his shoulder.

Temporary-home sweet home.

A single bed with plain sheets shoved in to one corner, a faded grey cabinet against the opposite wall, and crooked bookshelves lining the wall directly in front of him- a stool underneath the lowest shelf. A tight fit, but not too bad considering they had communal bathrooms and dinners.

Ricardo sat down on his bed, sinking in to the mattress (damn, the occultist knew some good material softening spells). He sighed, looking up and his ceiling then around his room.

Wide eyed, Ricardo noticed evidence of a few nights ago left on the floor. He scrambled to reach the scrap of black clothing by his bed, as if at any moment one of the cult leaders would walk in. Holding the offending material out before him, Ricardo felt heat rising to his cheeks. Black lingerie...Marie...shit...

"Never mind that- although she was terribly fun and we will no doubt be revisiting that one again- my girdle! Oh how I long to wear it again! I took Lucifer in that once- my my was Mazikeen vengeful."

"Aaand by 'took' you mean..."

"Oh yes- it was so badly torn by the time we were through it took four of my handmaidens sowing for a week to mend the skirt!" More to herself, Aphrodite snorted, " Where is that demon anyway?"

While Aphrodite's musings were often entertaining to listen to (mostly shocking) Ricardo still hadn't found out why she'd had him steal it for her. See, the cult had tried to take it from a collector of magical artefacts in downtown Gotham- which is when the group Ricardo was with were confronted by the Big Bad Bat and his posse. The intention of the cult (as Ricardo had discovered during a rather intense session of naked yoga *cough cough* with Kennith the leader of covert operations) had been to use the girdle to amplify the connection to the Greek love goddess for the translation spell- the spell that would translate her in to the body of one of the occultists.

Considering Aphrodite was happily tucked away in Ricardo's mind, that may have caused some issues for them. Naturally, intervention was required.

And so, much to the dismay of Ricardo's sleeping pattern, Aphrodite had dragged him out of bed at an ungodly hour to get her stupid dress (his words, not hers) and do absolutely jack shit with it other than leave it lying around his room as proof of his mutiny.

"Tsk. If you would allow me to explain simpleton...", Aphrodite chastised. "My beautiful girdle is not going to stay here. No, no, no; we will call our newly found friends to take it in to their care!"

Burying his head in his palms, Ricardo shook his head. He dragged his hands down his face and laughed in disbelief.

"You mean... I have just risked my life...in the middle of the night... to give this "girdle" to the superheroes...when they could have just gotten it themselves. No, scratch that. They probably were going to get it themselves for safekeeping. Are you fucking kidding?"

His armed pinned themselves to his sides. He fell backwards on to his bed, immobile.

As the goddess of beauty, Aphrodite lived almost entirely under the influence of pride. The goddess when offended was not a pretty sight.

"Do not offend me human," gone was the alluring softness on her voice, "I could melt you and mould you and mount you on a mantelpiece if I wished. I could consume you without a moments thought." She cleared her throat.

"Now," the lovely warmth returned to her voice, "we shall call the bat-people and dear Anubis tomorrow. You need rest. Keep my girdle under your pillow, it will bring you good dreams."

Ricardo sighed, but followed her command all the same, drifting off with ease.

***

"It's a dress." Robin tutted.

"Girdle." His girlfriend corrected.

Rubbing the feather-light fabric between her fingers, the witch audibly exhaled. She bit her lip? Stopping another similar sound from escaping, resisting the melting sensation that captured her insides.

Damn love magic.

She had heard that her eyes sometimes changed colour when she experienced strong emotions, darkening and lightening with her aura. Perhaps now her eyes were changed: the clear indigo speckled with red, altogether creating a more purplish shade. Perhaps the entire iris had been consumed by a pinkish light.

There was little way of determining how Greek love magic would impact a demon.

It was clear as daylight, however, when she looked at Damian.

Oh gods she wanted to kiss him.

Scratch that, she needed to kiss him.

Those cinnamon lips were calling to her, drawing in her eyes and her heart, turning her resolve to mush.

Who she was, what she was doing, and where she was were irrelevant. For all it mattered, she may as well have been the wind. But were she the wind, her soul purpose would have been the kissing of tree blossoms- all other causes of existence be damned.

Oh how very very kissable he looked. How very lovable.

How very...viable of an option. That face was so so...marry..able...
Yes. She wanted-needed- to marry him and love him and kiss him and-

"Raven?"

She blinked, "Sorry what?"

Pushing himself out of his BatChair (Tm) Batman repeated, "Are there extra magical security measures that need to be placed on it?". Standing, he reached for the girdle.

Raven dropped the garment on to the table, eyeing Batman's ungloved hand. An echo of the overwhelming emotion that had met her when she had touched it caused her to blurt, "Don't touch it!"

Robin and Batman froze for a moment, unused to such outbursts, while Dick spilled some of his hot chocolate on to the Batcave's rather luxuriously futuristic floor.

"Truly Master Dick, you wish to break my back from clearing your spillages."

Apologising profusely, Nightwing promised to clear the mess himself, returning to the conversation as Batman (now fully gloved) sealed the girdle in a compartment in the wall. Nightwing happened to know that Bruce also kept jelly beans in one of the poppy-outy compartments in the wall, unfortunately, he had not been able to figure out which one.

Raven having given the promise of researching Greek-friendly defensive charms and enchantments to place upon the compartment, it appeared that the uncharacteristically daytime vigilante work was done for the time being; until a crime alert sounded and they would inevitable be dragged out of the comfort of the Manor and in to the world of crime fighting.

Lucky them, the crime alert did not sound at that moment.

But the Alfred-Alarm (Tm) did.

"Master Bruce! You have a visitor!"

Standing in the corner, behind Alfred and out of punching range of Batman, Superman grinned nervously, "Heya Bruce." And half-waved.

From behind Clark, out stepped a mini replica of the man in blue, donning circular tinted shades indoors.

"Whoah." Conner whistled. "Sick l'air Batman!"

A.N:

Hello my darlings!!!

I hope you've enjoyed that chapter! What havoc are Clark and Kon about to wreak on Wayne Manor??? Stay tuned to find out!!!

Look forwards to some bonus ones in the near future! If you have any ideas for them (basically like one shots but dotted around this book!) pop them down below, I'd love to get some of your ideas in to writing- I know you lot have great imaginations!

Thank youuu!

-Bats