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thesuperiorrobin · 2 years ago

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Winter season~

‪‪❤︎‬ Pairing: Single Dad!Damian Wayne x Fem!Nanny!Reader

‪‪❤︎‬ Word count: 1.5k

‪‪❤︎‬ Warnings: none!

I do know know if I spelled the write term from father in Arabic correctly, asked a friend who speaks it and she told me she calls her dad “baba”. But if I did use the wrong term or spilled it wrong let me know please!

Christmas seemed to be the only holiday the twins looked forward to all year, but then again what kid doesn’t? The twins are settled beside you, on their feet with red and white plastic balls in hand, debating on which color should cover the tall tree.

“Red should go on the tree,” Amir says, placing the red ornaments on the tree and watching it dangle. The little girl huffs slapping the ornament onto the ground. The plastic ball makes a noise as it comes in contact with the wooden floor. You frown.

“Ew no!” Fatima sticks her tongue at her brother, who’s older by seven minutes. “Red was last year! We do white this year!”

“Nuh-uh!” The boy shakes his head roughly, kneeling to pick up his decoration before waving it at his sister's face. “It’s Red! It’ll look so much cooler!”

“I don’t want cooler! I want pretty! So white!” You listen to the twins bicker back and forth for a few minutes before sighing heavily, snatching both decors off their hands and placing them on the tree.

“We’ll use both this year and that's final” the young set of twins let out grumbles as their little hands pick up their color ornaments and start decorating the bottom of the tree while you stick with the top part they can't reach. A normal person would take about thirty minutes to an hour to finish decorating a Christmas tree, but being stuck with two stubborn children took a lot longer than it should have been. You take a step back to admire the work you and the two children have put in, most of the ornaments fell at the bottom a clear indication that the twins did help while yours were scattered around—barely touching.

Fatima tugs at the hem of your shirt—taking your attention off the tree and onto her. She’s holding something in her hand—they look like Christmas ornaments but they weren’t from the boxes that you had initially picked out. “We made some in class for our last day! Can we put them on the tree?” She seemed to hesitate with the last sentence and all you could do was nod, a bright smile on your face.

“Of course! Where do you want to put them”

“on the top!” They shout. A chuckle erupts from your throat as you pick them up one by one, Amir’s then Fatima's. Their homemade decoration is placed next to each—you examine them carefully. You can tell who’s who by the snowmen are lined up. There are four snowmen on their balls, which leaves you confused.

“Who’s the fourth snowman?”

“That one’s you!” The little girl, who’s still in your arms, giggles. A soft smile forms on your lips as your heart warms.

“Can I light up the tree now?” You nod down at the little boy who gives you a toothy grin and skips behind the tree. It takes a few before the lights around the tree light up and green, red, and white fill your visions.

“Still think we should have gone with white, but this will do” You roll your eyes playfully, bringing Fatima onto the ground carefully.

“Do you have your Christmas list done? Or do you two need more time?” you question, they answer quickly “mines in my room!”

“Mines in my backpack!” And before you can set an answer the twins are sprinting off in different directions. You leave behind and with a sigh, you sit done on the comfortable couch in the room. A smile paints your lips the longer you stare at the colorful tree in front of you. Not long after the twins leave they come running back with a piece of paper in their small hands.

Fatima hands you hers, and you aren’t shocked by the many things she’s asking for this year. You read the list carefully and your eyes land on a certain bullet point.

“A real-life shark?”

“Mhm!” She hums “We learned about them and I thought they were pretty so I want one!”

“Well let’s wait and see what Santa can do” You smile at the little girl and Amir hands you his, he doesn’t ask for much but you are surprised to see only four things on the small piece of paper.

“No toys this year?”

“I’m too old for them” he huffs “I’m a big kid now so I don’t need any toys” You hum

“Not asking for Nerf guns?”

“I outgrew them” his answer hesitated. You scan their list one more time before you send them to get ready for bed, they protest but go on their way, dragging their behind them. A small laugh comes from your throat as you shake your head. The Christmas tree disappears from your sight as you leave the room with the letters still in your hand. The walk to his office is short, as you are faced with the dark brown wooden door you bring your arm up—hand in a fist as you knock on the door three times.

You wait until there is a faint ‘come in’ from the other side. The door lets out a small creek as you open it, stepping foot into the room, there Sits the infamous Damian Wayne, at his desk signing away at papers that lay below him. He places his pen down, forgetting about the papers once he feels your presence.

You wave the letters around with a bright smile “I got their Christmas list!” The letters slide across his desk as you pass them over to him, and with an exhausted sigh, you drag yourself to the couch a few steps away and plop yourself down, head resting on the arm set. Damian scans his children's list, chuckling at His daughter’s list as he reads a few things off hers.

“A shark?” You hum in response. He moves on to his oldest son, head tilted in confusion. “Four things? Not even a single toy?”

“He secretly wants more Nerf guns” He hums. Damian takes a look at your exhausted form, chuckling.

“I assume my stubborn children burned you out today?”

“Wasn’t so bad today, just a small argument about the tree ornaments”

“Fighting over what color they should be again?”

“Yeah, but in the end we went with both red and white. So no more arguing” It’s silent between you two, taking in the quietness before it’s gone. The sound of pen against paper stops and it goes unnoticed by you. Damian’s paper is forgotten once more, taking in your figure as you lay still on the couch with an arm over your eyes. Your breathing is even but you aren’t sleeping, he could tell by the way you softly hum to keep yourself from dozing off.

The soft sound of steps breaks his gaze, green eyes land on his closed door, seconds before it’s slammed open to reveal his blood dressed in colorful sleepwear. Their giggles fill the room—each running to whom they land their eyes on first. Fatima runs to her father, running behind his desk and jumping in his arms, trying to get a look at what lies on top Thankfully Damian hid the letters as soon as he heard them. Amir Runs to you, finding a place beside you seeing as you’re no longer lying down.

“Did you see the tree baba?!”

Fatima exclaims eyes shining brightly as she stares up at her father, Damian shakes his head, much to the little girl's disappointment. “Not yet ‘Amira, I’ve been busy” his accent runs as he pinches the small frown off the little girl's face, Fatima lets out a small giggle, slapping her father's hand off her cheeks.

“The white kinda ruins it” Amir murmurs quickly, and you cover his mouth, frowning. Fatima sends a glare at her older twin, green eyes staring at the side of his face viciously. The small boy takes your hand off his mouth turning to his sister to repeat his sentence to her face.

“I said-“

“he said ‘let’s go brush our teeth!” He cuts him off, not wanting to deal with the Wayne twin's outburst so late in the night, you grab ahold of his hand before reaching your hand out to the little girl who jumps off her father's lap and runs to you—grasping your hand in hers.

“But that’s not what I said” he protested

“Yes it was, now come. Your father has work to finish, us interrupting him means he won’t be able to read you stories before bed.”

Damian can only stare at the scene in front of him, his children clinging to you as you drag them out of his study. His children were never the way they are now, always quiet and kept to themselves, but once you came you seemed to break them out of that habit. You were what they needed and it’s a Christmas miracle that you were able to win them over so easily. The other Nannies couldn’t do what you did, quitting after a week or so his children were so difficult, but he couldn’t blame them they got that trait from him.

Once you’re out of his sight he goes back to signing, but something tells him to look over their list one more time and he does, scanning over until he flips over the paper. His ears tune red and his skin feels warm when he reads the single bullet point.

“Make Miss Y/N our mother!”

Written in bold letters.

#damian al ghul #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian x reader #robin x reader #damian scenarios #damian wayne headcanon

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samhellebore · 7 months ago

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shocking

we talked about Amir liking a shock collar in the Amir discord chat and that his warframe would put that extra electricity into pleasure. i wrote about that so enjoy the spoils of those big brains in Discord.

Slight nsfw / Also I just put in Drifter as the name because Idk it feels weird to share this with my Drifters name.

The collar wasn’t designed as a restraint or a tool for discipline; no, it was something far more intimate—a conduit for electricity and sensation. Amir’s warframe body thrived on energy. Every pulse, every spark, every jolt fed directly into his core, filling him with a charge that sent ripples of pleasure coursing through his being. It wasn’t about pain; it had never been about pain.

The first time Drifter pressed the button, his reaction was immediate. A sharp intake of breath, his body tensing for a fleeting moment before the energy settled, spreading like wildfire. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, trembling as a low, involuntary whimper escaped his lips. His warframe’s parts glowed faintly, tracing lines of light across his body as the collar did its work. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, a cascade of impulses his enhanced frame translated into something exquisite.

Drifter hovered over him, thumb poised over the button again. His gaze met theirs, pupils blown wide and expression desperate—not in fear, but in anticipation. “Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling. The word was almost lost in the sound of his ragged breathing, but it was there, clear as day.

Drifter pressed the button again.

The jolt this time was stronger, longer. His body arched, his hands clawing at the floor as the charge flowed through him. The warframe’s parts hummed in harmony with the energy, amplifying every sensation, every pulse. His moans filled the air, raw and unrestrained. He wasn’t resisting; he was surrendering, giving himself over completely to the sensations Drifter was gifting him. Each spark was a reward, a promise that they understood his needs, his desires.

By the third press, Amir was a trembling mess. His body quivered, his warframe’s glow pulsing in time with his heavy breaths. Drifter knelt beside him, fingers brushing against the collar. He tilted his head slightly, offering his neck, his trust. There was no fear, no hesitation, only the unspoken understanding that this was what he craved. This wasn’t punishment; this was indulgence, ecstasy.

And Drifter obliged him, again and again, until he was utterly undone, a whimpering, radiant tangle of pleasure and light on the floor. They knew, as they watched him tremble beneath their touch, that they weren’t hurting him. Every press of that button was a gift, one he cherished more than words could express.

It felt so good for Amir—so right. And in his electrified haze, his gratitude shone brighter than any spark.

#amir beckett #warframe amir #warframe 1999 #warframe drifter #Amir

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years ago

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Napoleonville [Chapter 1: The Fall-Down House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, alligators, kids, parenthood, smoking, cupcakes!

Word Count: 7.2k (she's very chonky for a first chapter).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Since this is the first chapter of a new series, I'm going to tag a bunch of usual readers, but I won't tag you again unless you want me to. 💜

@persephonerinyes @tinykryptonitewerewolf @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @marbles-posts @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @dd122004dd @jetblack4real @joliettes @mariahossain @minttea07 @please-buckme @florent1s @tempt-ress @wintersire @w3ird11 @eltherevir @florent1s @maii777

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰🧁

“What do you want to do to me?” you whisper through the phone, stretched out across your bed like a cat as George Michael’s Faith plays from the baby pink Panasonic boombox out in the kitchen. It’s late afternoon, and fading daylight falls in tiger stripes through the window blinds. The May air is hot, muggy, golden; cicadas hum in the southern live oaks, an ancient earthen music like rattling bones.

A few seconds pass before he can reply. It was a bold way to begin. You are admittedly a little impressed with yourself; an idea like this has been pacing around in your skull like a beast behind bars for years, but you’ve only now set it loose. “That’s difficult to explain in words,” he says; and in the low, teasing purr of his voice you can hear that your gamble paid off like striking oil. He has a British accent, which you never would have expected. You only recognize it from clips you’ve seen of Prince Charles and Princess Diana on 60 Minutes. “But I’d enjoy showing you.”

It’s laid open beside you on the bed, his personal ad in the Bayou Journal: Educated white male in his mid-20s. Single and not looking to change that. Seeking an open-minded, adventurous, and spirited lady for short-term D/s arrangement. Be prepared to answer the following riddle: I’m small but loom large, I’m Italian but French, I give away much to gain little. Who am I? Best regards, An Indecent Gentleman. “I’m waiting.”

“You understand what is meant by D/s?”

“Of course,” you say, your best feigned flippantness. You only know because Amir told you; he’s been daring you to call for three days.

“Thank God,” the man on the other end of the line sighs. There is an inhale like a drag on a cigarette. You imagine what he might look like: broad or slight, dark-haired or blonde, striking or average or homely, treacherous or safe, forbidden fruit or just plain forbidden. “I’ve had four different women ring me thinking I’m going to be their boyfriend, dinner and flowers and everything. They’re functionally illiterate down here.”

How unfortunate, you think. He’s highfalutin. But alas, no one is perfect. That’s no prohibitive obstacle. He doesn’t need to be faultless; it’s not as if you’re planning to marry the guy. “I like when someone else is in control.”

“Why?” This is a test, you can feel it. You can sense his rapt attention across the wire, through the electricity and the lush treetops and the rust-amber sky.

“I have a lot of…responsibilities in my real life,” you explain. “A lot of pressure. I make the decisions, I look out for other people. Sometimes I want to be the one who’s told what to do.”

“I can make that happen. And the riddle?”

“It’s Napoleon.”

The grin is sharp and triumphant in his voice. “Good girl.”

“He was short but an emperor. He was born in Corsica to an Italian family, but he ended up ruling over France. He sold off a bunch of French colonies to focus on conquering Europe and still couldn’t quite manage it. But the U.S.A. got this charming little corner of the world as part of the bargain.”

“You’re a historian,” the man says, sounding pleased.

“No sir, we all had to learn about him in school whether we wanted to or not.”

“Sir,” he echoes, tasting it, savoring it. You imagine a pink tongue flicking out to skate across his lips. Then he is abruptly cool, impersonal, businesslike. “Listen, I’ve got a scar down the left side of my face. It’s thin, it’s clean, but it’s noticeable. The eye is glass, although you can’t really tell unless you look closely. Is that a problem?”

A scar? Is he a veteran? A lion tamer? A motorcycle enthusiast? You try to remember what kinds of hobbies British people have. Isn’t there some kind of sport where men swing sticks around while riding horses? That sounds like it could put an eye out. Perhaps to your own surprise, you find that you are more intrigued than uneasy. Oh, you realize, dull like dawn through mist. I like him. I want him. Not just THIS, but HIM. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Brilliant. I don’t want to talk about it again.”

“That’s fine.” You hesitate. “There’s actually something I should tell you too.”

“Hm?”

The hum of his voice is arrogant, hungry. You try not to get distracted. Blood rushes hot and ashamed into your cheeks. “Um, well, uh, sometimes it’s difficult for me to…you know. Finish. Not when I’m alone, just when I’m with a guy. Especially if I’m anxious. And I don’t want to feel worried about faking it or making sure it happens or dealing with you getting offended or upset or whatever. Because it’s fine, really. It doesn’t mean I’m not having a good time. I’m just…stuck in my own head.”

There is a sound you can’t quite match to an expression, an exhale, a scoff. “Obviously I wouldn’t be mad at you. But you’ll come. I know you will. I’ll make you.”

And you’re flooded with a relief that you never dared to hope for. A confession spills out in a trembling whisper: “Please.”

“When?” he says, eager, urgent.

“I think if we don’t do it now, I’ll lose my nerve.”

There is a razor-thin pause, and then he asks for your address.

~~~~~~~~~~

You haven’t had a man in your bed in years; you are abruptly and unkindly reminded of this when you paw through the top drawer of your bedroom dresser and find only practical, deadly unsexy cotton Kmart underwear. You dash to the closet, yank open the squeaking door, and—tucked away in a cardboard box of winter clothes like sweaters and jeans, forgotten, needless—unearth a sprinkling of insubstantial silk and lace, all in luxurious gemstone hues: amethyst, ruby, sapphire, onyx, emerald.

“Oh, hallelujah.” You throw off your sunshine yellow shorts and tug on what were once upon a time your favorite panties. They don’t fit nearly as well as they used to; they fit horribly, in fact. They evaporate the thrill and leave nauseous trepidation in its place. “Oh God. Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” You steal a harried glimpse of the clunky black alarm clock on your nightstand. The flashing red numbers inform you that you have approximately ten more minutes until he arrives.

You jog pantsless to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea—ice cold, bright with a squeeze of lemon juice—and pace back and forth across the wooden floor as you sip it. The pine boards slope at just the slightest angle; if you laid an apple by your feet, it would roll. The house is sinking. It was built at the turn of the twentieth century, but it won’t live to see the next. Ailing sunlight casts your shadow against the wall, mint green, spider-leg cracks inching through the paint. Outside cicadas buzz and doves coo in long, mournful whirrs.

You pick up the phone—pink to match the boombox that is now playing Poison’s Nothin’ But A Good Time—next to the refrigerator and dial with one finger, your other hand still clutching the frosty glass of sweet tea. It rings twice before he answers.

“Wassup?” Amir says distractedly. You can hear a commotion from his living room on the other side of town: his grandmother squawking, ambient applause, Wheel Of Fortune.

“Quick, what should I wear?”

“Huh?”

“The guy! The guy from the ad! I called the guy! What should I be wearing when he shows up?”

Amir cackles. “Ho, you must be truly desperate, why the fuck are you asking me?” There is some shrill protestation in the background. “Grandma, don’t you dare try to act like you’ve never heard that word before, we just rented Aliens.”

“You know what men like,” you plead.

“Not the straight ones!” And then, not to you: “Grandma, calm down. Grandma, Grandma! It’s my homegirl. She has an emergency. She’s got a man coming over and she doesn’t know what to wear. What did you wear for Pop Pop? What? What?! You expect me to believe you got seven kids out of that dude with just some old floral nightgown?! Prairie girl fabulous? Looking like you’re on your way to join the Donner Party? Okay, if you say so! Phyllis knows best!” Amir’s attention returns to you. “Grandma suggests a nightgown.”

You are skeptical. “That seems slutty.”

“You’re inviting some stranger over for an all-expenses-paid ride on the Pussy Express and you’re concerned about looking slutty?!”

He has a point. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. You’re right. Okay.”

“You wear that nightgown with confidence and you take that random kinky man directly to bed, do you understand me?” Amir orders.

“Totally,” you say, gulping sweet tea with a shaking hand.

“Good luck. I gotta go, it’s the Bonus Round. Hope you have a few rounds to tell me about tomorrow.” Then he hangs up.

Back in your bedroom closet, you find a black satin slip that runs to your ankles and flows like a ballgown. You put it on some nights when you’re feeling desirable, after a bath of bubbles and steam, candles and Madonna, freshly shaved legs and shimmering with Pond’s, when you want to lounge around daydreaming, when you want to remember the fantasies you once had about what your life might turn out to be. Now you wear it in the fading daylight, nothing underneath and golden sunbeams turning your skin to something that warms and glows.

You appraise yourself in your dusty dresser mirror, and you think: Not too bad, actually. You’ve had your hair up in a haphazard bun. You reach to take it down, then stop yourself. You like the wayward wisps, the I-don’t-care-too-much casualness. Your breathing is slow and calm again. There is a noise outside: tires crunching on gravel. Your glass of sweet tea, now mostly just ice cubes, is sweating on top of your dresser. You grab the glass, swipe the Bayou Journal off your bed, and take both to the kitchen counter, still speckled with flour, powdered sugar, flecks of cinnamon. Then you pad across the sloping wooden floor in your bare feet to open the front door. Amber dusk streams in; you can hear bullfrogs croaking and the hoots of the long-eared owl that lives in the collapsing, overgrown shed behind the house. Spanish moss hangs like cobwebs, like chandeliers. The tree swing rocks idly in the breeze. The first notes of You Shook Me All Night Long play from the kitchen boombox.

His car is red, sporty, with a logo on the grill that you don’t recognize, a series of circles intertwined like rings. He cuts the engine and steps out into the driveway as you watch from behind the screen, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. He’s tall, trim, blonde, wearing Adidas sneakers and light-wash jeans and a Marlboro jacket that it’s far too hot for. He peers around, taking in the trees and the house through his black aviator sunglasses. He puffs one last time on a cigarette before putting it out on his own windshield and starting towards the porch. And immediately, primally, you crave him like water or air.

He climbs the groaning steps, splitting wood and rusty nails. You open the screen door to meet him in the threshold. And he takes off his sunglasses so he can look at you, stowing them in a pocket of his jacket, his gaze not wavering from yours, his lips not saying a word. Yes, he has a scar, but it doesn’t diminish him in the slightest. Yes, his left eye may be glass, but you wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t already told you. You’re too tangled up in the right. His iris is a brisk greyish blue, not like the ocean, not like the bayou, more like the sky before a hurricane, heavy with the threat of wind and rain. His face is strong, jarring, beautiful in a rare way. His full lips are curling into a grin.

At last, you speak first, an inane observation that feels somehow significant. “You found me.”

“I did.” He nods towards the large lavender sign out by the mouth of the gravel driveway. Hand-painted on it are the words Hummingbird Bakery and a logo that Amir designed, a hummingbird feeding on the frosting swirl of a cupcake as if it’s a flower flush with nectar. “You told me to look for the sign. That helped.”

“What kind of car do you drive? I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s an Audi Quattro.”

“Audi,” you repeat, like a hopelessly distant place, New York City or Los Angeles or Paris or the moon. “Is that British?”

“German, actually.”

“You’re from a very different world.”

“Yeah, I am.” His eye flicks up and down your body, black satin that curves and clings; his grin widens. “But I could learn to like yours, I think.”

You step back so he can follow you inside. The screen door shuts with a bang. Under the shadows, as the sun sets into the west, he unzips his Marlboro jacket and tosses it onto your living room couch. Underneath he wears a white t-shirt. We’re opposites, you think dazedly, wondering what he will taste like when he kisses you. He grazes his fingertips down the front of your throat, continues to your chest, stills when he hits the satin of your slip.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want to,” he murmurs, and you breathe in his smoke and cologne and dauntless, dizzying self-assurance. “But until you say stop, I’m gonna keep going.”

Your heartbeat is drumming beneath his hand, part exhilaration and the rest nerves. You are afraid of disappointing him; you aren’t sure what to expect. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Aemond.”

Aemond. Foreign, like Audi, like Paris. You give him your own in return. He leans in, presses his hips to yours, denim and satin that you can feel his heat through. And you think he’s going to kiss your neck, or bite it, bruise it, mark it, claim it, claim you; but he only ghosts his parted lips from the edge of your jaw to your bare shoulder, inhaling slow and deep, drawing your atoms into his lungs until they tumble down the narrowest corridors and into his capillary beds, into his bloodstream. You moan softly, helplessly, and turn your face to kiss him.

“No,” Aemond growls, teasing you, catching your chin with one hand to hold you still. His other hand glides down the front of your slip and stops between your legs. Through satin the color of a starless midnight, his fingers stroke you roughly, commandingly. Animalistic yearning bolts low to weaken your knees, high to rip a gasp from your throat. “Nothing underneath,” he notes in approval.

Oh, I like him, you think, in equal parts ecstatic and petrified. I REALLY like him.

But are you going to be able to impress him too? Are you going to ruin this?

You whimper, unintentionally and almost inaudibly. Aemond is studying your face; furrows appear in his scarred brow, so faint and fleeting you might have imagined them. Then his hand retreats as he says: “Show me your toys.”

You gape up at him; this is not what you anticipated. “What?”

“I want to see how you make yourself come. You have toys, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit, though you’ve never used them with anyone else before.

Aemond smirks mischieviously, then commands: “Show me. Right now.”

You lead him to your bedroom and slide open the middle drawer of your dresser. You glance at his reflection in the silvery glass of the mirror; he’s staring, not at your body but at your face, his gaze locked with yours, his mouth open, entranced, hungry. You move to stand against the wall, smiling sheepishly as Aemond shoves aside folded sheets and pillowcases to reveal your collection. It’s nothing too adventurous: five vibrators in different colors, styles, sizes.

“Quite the assortment,” he praises.

“They were gifts from a friend.”

Now Aemond is dubious. “A friend?”

“Don’t be jealous. He doesn’t like women.”

Aemond laughs, warm and boyish like he’s breaking character; and you are alarmed by the wave of fondness for him that crashes through you. It’s something that could pull you under. It’s something you could drown in. He picks up the largest vibrator: long, thick, pink like soft feminine vulnerability, like love. Then he is darkly, deliciously stern again. “On the bed.”

“No.” Not because you’re genuinely protesting. Because you want him to make you.

Aemond grabs you around your waist and drags you towards the bed as you squeal, giggle, fight him halfheartedly. He throws you down onto the wildflower-patterned duvet and climbs between your thighs, parting them as he pushes the hem of your black satin slip up to your waist. Abruptly, you are bare for him, exposed, fiery dusk air cool against your wetness. Aemond is still fully clothed, white shirt and pale blue jeans. He is holding your legs open with his own. You can see the bulge of his cock beneath the denim: at least as large as the vibrator and hard with insistent longing.

I want him, you think as you hear the vibrator click on. I want him, I want him…

Aemond brings the pink silicone tip to your flesh, and instantly you’re ravenous. It shocks you how much more erotic this is when someone else is holding it, when someone else has you entirely at their mercy. You cry out, loud and shameless, euphoric. Your back arches; your fingers twist into the duvet. As he presses the vibrator down more forcefully, Aemond braces his hips against yours, grinding into you through his jeans, taunting you, conquering you.

You fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans. “Please—”

“No,” Aemond snarls, beaming, snatching your hand and pinning it up by your head. His other hand is still circling your clit with the tip of the vibrator. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Aemond, please, I need you—”

“No,” he says, defiant. He makes the rules. He has the power; he’s in control. Suddenly, he pulls the vibrator away. You yelp in dismay. “You know,” Aemond quips cavalierly. “It’s a shame you have such a difficult time finishing when you’re with a man. I bet you’re not even close.”

“I am,” you whine, in agony, in ecstasy.

Aemond pretends to be surprised. “Hm.” He returns the vibrator to your skin, slick, hot, aching in the most wondrous way. You sigh as the pleasure surges through you, as you soar up to the previous plateau and then begin to ascend beyond it. You must have repositioned yourself without noticing; Aemond releases your hand to smack his palm against the inside of your thigh. “Keep your legs apart. I want you wide open for me.”

“I will, I promise.” I’ll do anything you tell me to.

Aemond’s hand ventures lower. Two of his fingers glide inside you and thrust in time with his hips. “Fuck,” he hisses, breaking character again; and something rocks through his shoulders, his spine, a divine temptation that he is battling.

“Aemond, more,” you plead, looking at the massive outline of his cock under his jeans.

“Not yet,” he pants, fucking you with his fingers as the vibrator hums against your clit. “You have to come for me first, baby. You have to earn it.”

And you’re close, you really are, you’re closer than you ever would have imagined you’d be with him tonight, this stranger, this elusive British man, this man from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal that you almost never replied to. Your hair has come undone and is wild around your face; your heart is pounding frantically; your skin is bathed in a sheen of victorious perspiration. When was the last time someone made you feel like this? You can’t recall; the answer might be never. There is a spellbinding, intensifying sensation of warmth, of opening, you’re only seconds from the brink, you’re ready to step off the precipice and into open blue air the same color as his eyes—

Aemond yanks the vibrator away again, grinning toothily down at you.

“No!” You scrabble for him with shaking hands, pulling yourself up as you reach for the vibrator. Aemond pushes you back onto the bed. Despite your protests, you love the feeling of his weight on top of yours; you love the organic symphony he’s built of, muscle and bone and skill and power. His fingers are still pumping in and out of you, keeping you soaked and throbbing, pinning you to the edge of an orgasm without permitting you to succumb to it.

“It’s going to be so good for you like this, baby,” Aemond insists, low and raspy. He’s reading your face, attentive to every detail, drinking up your desperate body and quivering voice. “I swear I’m not torturing you for no reason. Let me show you. Let me take care of you. When it happens, it’s going to blow your fucking mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes, now, please, do it now,” you whimper as you lie beneath him, open, bare, senseless, vanquished.

Aemond drags his tongue over the tip of the vibrator, moaning with lust as he tastes you. Then he at last presses the pink silicone to your clit once more. In your electrified nerves, in your scalding blood, there are sparks and momentum and currents rushing towards the cataclysmic breaking of a rogue wave. “Nice and slow,” Aemond murmurs. “Let it build.”

Instead of the peak, you reach another plateau, so high and so rapturous you can’t stand it, you can’t fathom climbing any farther. It’s becoming so sharp and intense it’s almost painful. Fresh anxiety flashes in your mind like lightning. The momentum begins to dissipate like dewdrops under the late-morning sun. Oh no, I’m going to lose it, I’m going to disappoint him—

Aemond lifts the vibrator off you again; before you have time to collect yourself enough to speak, to apologize, he’s slipped his fingers out of you and carefully guided the vibrator inside, stretching you, filling you, thrusting rhythmically but not too viciously or too deep. He places his thumbprint on the place where the vibrator was just seconds ago and circles quickly, once, twice, again, and then…

You try not to scream, but you can’t help it, can’t stop it; the climax wrenches out of you indescribable pleasure, vanished fears, awe and relief, twisted muscles and gasping breaths, every electrical impulse of every atom, and each time you believe it’s over it rolls a little farther like an endless summer afternoon. When it’s done—truly done—you aren’t sure exactly how it happens but suddenly you’re sitting upright on the bed and the vibrator is lying forgotten on top of the duvet and Aemond is laughing, kissing you—sweat and nicotine, smoke and salt—and caressing your face with his hands, saying: “You were such a good girl. You did amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“Okay,” you exhale unsteadily, smiling. You nod to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans. “Your turn.”

“No,” Aemond says primly.

“What?”

“No,” he repeats. “Not today.”

“But…but…why?”

The curl of his lips is crooked and playful. “To prove I’m not just here to get myself off.” He kisses you again, far more tenderly than any random dom from a personal ad should. “You don’t trust me. But maybe next time you will.”

“How could I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

“We’ll have to spend more time together.”

“You seriously aren’t going to fuck me right now? Me? A mostly-naked stranger you met up with exclusively for the purposes of fucking?”

“Are you dissatisfied?”

In truth, no; your pulse is slowing, your thoughts are calm, your lust is satiated, you’re reasonably certain that you’ve sprained no less than four muscles. You feel like the sky after rain: emptied, unburdened, untroubled, at peace. “Not at all.”

“Then you shouldn’t be complaining.”

You reach out to touch Aemond’s unscarred cheek and he smiles. You try to ghost your fingertips over the left side of his face and he flinches away, leaves the bed, takes the vibrator to the bathroom to scrub it with soap and water. “Can I at least pour you a glass of sweet tea or something?” you call after him. “I feel guilty. I feel like I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain.”

“You exceeded all of my expectations,” Aemond says with a strange sort of somberness. “But sweet tea sounds great.”

You take five minutes to clean up and change into real clothes—ratty denim shorts and a red, white, and blue Pepsi t-shirt, chaotic hair, no bra—and then meet Aemond in the kitchen. He’s surveying the large circular table, which is littered with covered cake plates in a hodgepodge of sizes and colors; you found most of them at yard sales and thrift shops. The sun has set and the stars have risen; the kitchen is illuminated by yellow-hued florescent light. Night air flows in through the screens of the open windows. The boombox is currently playing Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now.

“What’s the deal with that?” Aemond asks about the cluttered kitchen table.

“They’re the baked goods. For my bakery.”

“Right,” he says, remembering, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “The sign out front.”

“Would you like anything? Today we had butterscotch chiffon cake, coconut custard cake, blackberry dark chocolate cupcakes, pecan pie, red velvet brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, lavender black tea cookies, chocolate meringue pie, butter pecan muffins…”

“How about those?” He points.

“Oh! Those are banana bread cupcakes. One of my favorites.”

“Banana bread…cupcakes?”

“Here.” You plop one on a plate for Aemond, then go to the refrigerator to pour two tall glasses of sweet tea. “A lot of people put chocolate chips in their banana bread, but I feel like any chocolate really eclipses the banana flavor. It’s so subtle, you know? So what I do instead is cinnamon, honey, cream cheese frosting, and a tiny bit of sea salt mixed into the batter. If you get the ratio just right, there’s this really great blend of saltiness and sweetness, and the banana is still the star of the show. Of course I’ve fucked up plenty of times too and almost given myself dangerously high blood pressure. If I ruin a batch, I’m the one who has to eat it. We can’t let anything go to waste. Our profit margin is thinner than a crescent moon on the best months.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He’s taken a bite and is now gawking at the banana bread cupcake. “You made this?” He gestures to the table. “You made all of this?”

“My best friend Amir runs the business with me, but most of the recipes are mine. My mom used to bake all the time when I was little. Now she has rheumatoid arthritis and has given it up, more or less, but that’s where I learned a lot of what I know. And I try to come up with new ideas each week to add to the rotation.”

“This is exceptional,” Aemond says. His mouth is full of the rest of the cupcake. He washes it down with a few gulps of sweet tea; ice cubes jangle in the misty glass. “This is, like, insanely good. Can I have another one…?” He’s already lifting the cover off the cake plate.

You chuckle. “Yeah, seriously, have as many as you like.”

“How much do you sell them for?”

“The cupcakes are $1, but you don’t have to pay me. You get the unrequited orgasm discount.”

“Just $1 each.” Aemond is incredulous. You aren’t sure what that’s about. He sets the second cupcake down on the table, tugs a black leather wallet out of his jeans pocket, and gives you a $10 bill.

“Aemond, really, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Take the money. Stop talking about it.”

You smirk up at him. “Is that an order, sir?”

He grabs your jaw with one forceful hand, kisses you roughly, bites your lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He tastes like cinnamon, honey, sugar, sex. “Yes,” he says, grinning wickedly. Then his hands drop to unbutton your shorts. The idea of stopping Aemond doesn’t even cross your mind; your desire for him—him specifically—is back, flaring red and primeval and irresistible. “I want you on top of that counter—”

Outside there are footsteps bounding up the front porch, loud on the creaking boards. You tear away from Aemond and hurry to re-button your shorts. What? Already??

You know exactly who it must be.

Well, now I’m definitely never going to see Aemond again.

He’s terrified, he’s wondering whether he should try to jump out of a window. But really, he’s already been spotted; his Audi Quattro is still waiting for him in the gravel driveway. “Please don’t tell me that’s your homicidal armed boyfriend or something.”

“No,” you say. “It’s my daughter.”

“Wait, your…?!”

The door swings open; you hardly ever lock it. Cadi trots in just as you are flipping over the copy of the Bayou Journal on the kitchen counter so Aemond’s personal ad is no longer visible. Instead, what now faces up—dotted with flour, powdered sugar, cinnamon, grease stains of butter—is a column about the rigs opened in Lake Verret. Just what this town needs, you think distractedly. An environmental disaster.

“Mom, whose radical car is that—?” Then Cadi spies Aemond and blinks at him a few times. She is ten years old but thinks she’s your age, short hair, short temper, denim overalls and a t-shirt underneath patterned with multicolored horses.

“This is Aemond,” you explain. He waves awkwardly and then resumes nibbling on his second banana bread cupcake, avoiding her scrutiny. “He’s a friend.”

“But you don’t have any friends,” Cadi replies.

“Watch it, Child Of The Corn. I have friends.”

“You have like one friend.”

“What happened to your sleepover with Mawmaw? I thought you were excited to trick her into watching Hellraiser.”

“Blockbuster didn’t have it. Then Great Aunt Ethel called and said she broke her hip. Mawmaw dropped me off here on her way to the hospital.”

“And she didn’t even think to check with me first, huh?”

“As if you’d have anything better to do.” Cadi races to the refrigerator—careening around a shellshocked Aemond—and heaves open the door. “What’s for dinner?”

“I think we have some Swanson’s meals left. Oh, and spaghetti.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Who made it?”

“You’re in luck! Not me. Amir.”

“Yay!” Cadi trills, then drags out the pan and begins spooning mounds of spaghetti onto a plate. Aemond looks to you, intrigued.

You say: “I bake, I don’t cook.”

“She really doesn’t,” Cadi concurs.

“Completely different skillset.”

Cadi places a few paper towels over the heaping plate so sauce doesn’t splatter all over the microwave and then sets it to three minutes. As she waits to eat, she wanders over to where the Bayou Journal is lying on the counter and scans the page: Viserys Targaryen, three state-of-the-art oil rigs, Lake Verret, an additional 50 employees hired, Jade Dragon Energy. “Those bastards are going to get their way, I guess.”

You sigh. “Yup.”

Aemond is alarmed. He polishes off the last of his cupcake, frowning as he licks frosting from his lips. “You don’t approve?”

“They’ll blow up the whole town,” Cadi says matter-of-factly.

You smile wanly at Aemond as you sip your sweet tea. “You work for Jade Dragon, right?”

He stares back at you—stunned, perhaps even fearful, a deer flooded with headlights—but doesn’t speak.

“It’s alright. I figured you must. Some smart British guy way out here in Cajun Country? It’s gotta be for a job. Don’t worry. We won’t shoot and skin you or anything. It’s not your fault. You’re just collecting a paycheck, it’s not like you’re running the company.”

“Right.” Aemond grabs a third cupcake and gnaws at it. After a moment he adds: “I have a degree in petroleum engineering. I just moved to Napoleonville last week.”

“I knew it,” you say.

“Boo!” Cadi heckles jokingly. The microwave beeps, then she disappears into her bedroom with her plate of spaghetti. You hear Cadi turn on her little television and flip through the channels until she finds Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond watches her closed door for a few seconds—still processing, you assume—and then turns back to you.

“Her name’s Katie?”

“Cadi. C-a-d-i. It’s short for Arcadia.”

He is impressed. “Greece?”

You titter nervously. You don’t know what he means. “It’s a town up by Shreveport, it’s where Bonnie and Clyde were arrested or killed or something. I’m not sure. Her father picked it.”

“You didn’t have an opinion?”

“Um, I wasn’t really…uh…conscious for a few days after she was born. By the time I was up and around again, he’d already filled out the birth certificate.”

What is that you see flicker across his face like the transient surge of a lightning bug? Curiosity? Apprehension? “I see. And her father is…” Aemond raises a blonde eyebrow, the one his scar cuts through. “On an aircraft carrier somewhere?”

You laugh. “He’s not deployed. We’re divorced, Willis lives about fifteen minutes down the road. It’s amicable.”

“So I don’t need to worry about him showing up on your front porch to murder me with a 2x4 full of nails.”

“No. Although he is the town sheriff.”

Aemond smirks. Is this a challenge or an inconvenience? “Why’d you two split up?”

You shrug, glancing at Cadi’s bedroom door. She is quite aggressive with her television volume; you’re confident she won’t be able to listen in if you keep your voice low. “It’s not that interesting a story.”

“I’m extremely interested.” And he sincerely appears to be, head tilted to the side, eyes fixed on you (though you know the left one sees nothing), thoughts whirling like storm winds.

“Well…we only ever got married because of…” You gesture towards Cadi’s room. Aemond nods, following along. “And I was too young and I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know what I wanted out of a man, I didn’t even know I had the right to set standards to measure a husband by. Willis wasn’t terrible. He didn’t hit me. He just wasn’t really who I wanted.” You chew at your lower lip, peering down at the kitchen counter, drawing circles in the sparse flour dust. “He never even proposed to me. Not properly, I mean. I told him I was pregnant and he said: Well, guess we oughta get married, huh sugar? and then drove me to the Kmart up in Gonzales to pick out a ring.”

“Classy,” Aemond mutters.

“I had to buy it myself, actually. Willis didn’t have enough cash on him. He paid me back later, but still. It wasn’t about the ring. I don’t need gold and diamonds. But I need someone who really sees me and understands me and chooses me, you know? I’ve never felt chosen. And I decided I didn’t want to settle for that. If I ever get married again, I want the whole goddamn thing. The real thing. I want the candles and the flowers and a boombox blasting Heaven Is A Place On Earth. And if that’s not in the cards, I guess I’m not the marrying type.”

“And you’ll make do with occasional visits from your friendly neighborhood dom.”

You grin up at Aemond. “Yeah, exactly.”

“You really hate Jade Dragon?”

“Companies like that…they just use us. Our land, our labor. And then when they decimate the place they pack up and disappear overnight, no pensions, no retirement, no unemployment, no meaningful cleanup, just Thanks for the millions! Bye! and we’re left to live in their filth.”

“That’s a rather cynical perspective,” Aemond says.

“It’s a realistic perspective,” you counter. “In 1965, there was a pipeline explosion in Natchitoches, in ‘79 there was an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, in ‘80 a Texaco rig accidentally drilled into a salt mine under Lake Peigneur and destroyed the whole ecosystem. Two weeks ago there was a refinery explosion an hour east of here in Norco. 4,500 people had to be evacuated from their homes. So no, the jobs sound nice, but in my humble estimation they’re not worth dying for.”

Aemond considers you, a look that is not patronizing or combative but not convinced either. And there’s something else too: a caginess, a nervousness.

“And these Jade Dragon people, the Targaryens? They have a history,” you continue. “I read about it in the Bayou Journal. Last year they had an oil spill at an offshore rig near Ketchikan, Alaska. They poured hundreds of thousands of barrels of poison into the ocean and killed a bunch of dolphins and whales and everything. Fishermen went bankrupt, people committed suicide.”

“Mistakes happen.” Aemond places his empty sweet tea glass in the sink.

“But they didn’t make it right. Their lawyers blamed a defective piece of equipment and kicked liability back to the manufacturer. They’ll be battling it out in court for the next decade. And meanwhile, the people of Ketchikan get nothing but misery. I don’t want Napoleonville to end up like that.”

Aemond gazes out the kitchen window and into the cicada-rattling night, faraway, pensive.

“But seriously,” you say, more casually now. “I get that it’s not your fault, Aemond. I don’t hate you or anything. You’re working for a living like anyone else. You can only do so much.”

He looks back to you and smiles vaguely. “I just go where they tell me to.”

“And that’s why you like to be in control when you’re with me.”

“Yes,” Aemond says; and on his face—strong, scarred, perfect—you can see that he is reminiscing, that he is planning what he wants to do to you next. But he can’t do any of it. Not here, not now.

“I’m sorry about…you know. The kid thing. I really didn’t think she’d be home tonight. I would never subject her to something like that, walking in to find a strange guy in the house. And I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable either.”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“I don’t usually do this. I’m sure you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I’ve had two boyfriends since I got divorced seven years ago, and both times it didn’t last long and Cadi never met them. And it wasn’t…like it is with you. The dynamic, I mean. The…control thing. They were just normal dudes.”

“And they couldn’t satisfy you,” Aemond says, taunting, proud, setting your blood on fire.

“No. They couldn’t. Not even close.”

You both stand silently in the kitchen amidst a cascade of inconsequential noise: Eurythmics from the little pink boombox, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from Cadi’s room, cicadas and bullfrogs and the long-eared owl from the world outside that is primordial and feral and green. For the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel not like the piecemeal potential of a desirable woman but whole. Aemond’s right eye traces every curve and edge of you in a way that makes you think: Maybe I will see him again after all.

“Come on,” you say, turning towards the front door. “I’ll walk you out.”

But when he steps onto the creaking porch—pulling on his Marlboro jacket, watching lightning bugs bloom like daisies in the yard—Aemond seems to be stalling. “This is lopsided,” he says, tapping the wooden boards with his Adidas sneakers.

“I know. The whole foundation is, it’s sinking. We’ll have to move eventually. But we’ve been in this place since Cadi was five, it has a lot of memories. She calls it the Fall-Down House.”

“Cute,” Aemond says, but he’s pondering something. “Do you own it?”

“Oh no, God no. We rent.”

“Are you saving for a down payment to put on a new house?”

This is a rude question. “A little,” you reply curtly. Not enough. You need to make money to save money.

“Okay.” Aemond senses your discomfort. He’s good at that; it’s an advantageous skill for a dom to possess, knowing when he’s approaching a limit long before you have to shut him down. He descends the porch steps. “I’ll be back for more of those cupcakes—” There is a shrill, alien hissing from out by the tree line. Aemond shouts and scrambles back onto the porch, throwing an arm in front of you to shield you from his enigmatic nocturnal adversary. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Just a gator,” you reassure him, amused.

“A what?”

“An alligator.” You show him the shadow that lurks beneath a young oak tree draped with Spanish moss. “She’s over there. Just stay on the gravel once you get off the porch.”

Aemond is puzzled. How does anyone live in this hellscape? his face says. “How do you know it’s a female?”

“She’s not too big, and she doesn’t bellow. But she sure loves to hiss.”

“I think alligators should have gone extinct with the rest of the dinosaurs.”

“Well, there’s a secret to dealing with them.”

“Yeah?”

You smile, skating your fingers into the sleeve of Aemond’s Marlboro jacket and up his forearm until you feel goosebumps rise on his skin. “If she gets mean, you just have to bite back.”

Aemond chuckles, turns your face towards his, kisses the apple your cheek…and then, for only a moment, his teeth close around the sensitive flesh there leaving a whirlpool of pulsing, forbidden heat. He whispers through your hair: “See you soon.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” he says, severely now. It’s a commandment, it’s a need. “I absolutely will.”

Aemond leaves you, strides across the gravel driveway without glancing back, ducks into his car, lights a cigarette; you can see the rust-colored glow through the windshield as he takes a drag. You wait in a flurry of moths under the dim florescent bulb of the front porch until his Audi Quattro veers onto Route 401 and disappears.

I hope he meant it, you think as a lightning bug lands on your knuckles and illuminates there like the gemstone of a ring. I hope I’ll see him again.

Then you shake away the insect and go inside to see if Cadi wants to help you clean up the kitchen and get a brown sugar pie baked for tomorrow. As compensation, you’ll offer her the $10 bill Aemond gave you for the cupcakes.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

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fallstaticexit · 1 year ago

Text

Dating two werewolves means you'll get your fair share of scratches and bruises but at least the love is sweet and tender.

prev / next

Jacob: Hey.

Ian: Hey! You’re early!

Jacob: Oh, am I? The flyer said the show starts at 9.

Ian: Well, yeah! It’s exactly 9 o’clock. That means be here by 10:30, silly. That’s ok, I’m happy to have company while I set up.

Ian: Ok, what’s with the shirt?

Jacob: Heh...Amir made me wear it for tonight.

Ian: I should have known. Our guy is something else.

Ian: Aww ouchh...sorry. My arm.

Jacob: Are you sure it’s ok for you to play tonight?

Ian: Yeah, just gotta take it easy. Plus, it’s only 3 songs then I’m gonna take a knee. No worries.

Jacob: [sighs] I feel like shit when we hurt you, Ian...wouldn’t it be easier if you just turned?

Ian: Of course it’d be easier but, I can’t do something like that when I know my heart’s not in it- yet! I still want to tour and be a no name rock star. It’s the only thing I can commit to right now besides you and Mir.

Jacob: Yeah...

Ian: Dude, I respect your culture. Like, alot. I know how important is it to be fully immersed in it and when I join your pack, it’s because I’m ready to dedicate everything to it.

Jacob: No, I get it. You’re right. You’d make a great wolf, Ian. You’re loyal.

Ian: Yeah? Wait, do you think I’d have blonde fur?

Jacob: I don’t think that’s how it works. It’s kind of random.

Ian: So there’s a chance I could be a ginger wolf...?

Jacob: You could, and you’d be so cute.

Amir: Guess who got half off the liquorrr to celebrateeee!

Amir: Like our shirts?

Ian: I love them! I’m glad you’re back in time to see me play, babe. How was Batuu?

Amir: Fun until my little cousin got lost again. I saw at least 20 other kids with leashes on, I don’t know why she doesn’t wear one.

Ian: Maybe it’s because-

Jacob: Sorry, Ian. Can’t get enough of Mir’s scent.

Ian: [laughs] It’s ok. I get it. Wolf stuff.

Lana [bandmate]: You ever get jealous seeing them together?

Ian: I don’t think so. Not anymore, anyway. I love seeing them together. They’re so happy, it makes me happy. We’re happy.

Lana: That’s cool man.

Amir: [giggling] Get over here, Ian!

Ian: Okie!

#missing moments #the briar legacy #Ian is so golden retriever coded 🥹#sims 4 simblr #sims 4 stories #ts4 simblr #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 community #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 #A lil something sweet before the angst next episode 😵‍💫#jacob volkov

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queenfandomtrash · 2 months ago

Note

go on Cassie, you've got to share your Date Everything! blorbos 😉💖

ASDFGH- OH MY GOD!

Thanks Star for the ask! And I'll answer it right now!

On Deviantart, I made this collage with all of the the potential hubbies/waifus, or as some people like to say blorbos.

Right in the middle row are the ones I talk about the most! I will go in order from my number 1 to my number 5!

Bodhi Windbreaker

youtube

Bodhi broke me the most out of everyone I mentioned! I'm a sucker for 80s stuff whether movies, bands or singers! Bodhi won my heart the moment I saw him! His design is so cool! From the cassette tape hair (kind of reminds me of my bf irl~), the pride flags on the cassette tapes, the Blockbuster tattoo, the rubix cube bracelets, etc! And oh my god can we talk about his voice?! His VOICE! (I seriously can't wait to date him in the game!!!) 😍💞

2. Freddy

youtube

Freddy was the very first character I saw for this game and OMFG HE'S SO CUTE!!! He's like a gentle giant! Or should I say, a gentle yeti~? For those that may or may not know, ice themed characters are one of my types for fictional guys/gals. After going through the tutorial on the demo, I spoke to him first! He's so silly, sweet and so tall! (another one of my types, tall characters) And if I'm not mistaken, I think he's the tallest character in this game? also the "I like big bundts and I cannot like" line makes me laugh and blush every time! 😊💞

3. Scandalabra

youtube

Fun Fact: Ray Chase voices him and he's going to a convention I'm going to in July! I'm planning on meeting him! ^w^

(Ray Chase is also one of the lovely voice actors that worked on this game!)

Scandalabra is so sassy, silly, cute and charming~ He really gives off Preminger vibes and I'm all for it! And as you can see from the third picture, he already starting to fall for me~ I'm already planning on seeing Scandalabra more~ And I'm making a headcanon that Scandalabra treats his lover like a princess/prince! 🤭💞

4. Betty

youtube

Betty broke me pretty hard the moment I saw her! She's so sweet, beautiful and enchanting! She also looks super cuddly! Course I went back to speaking to her the next day.

"All I care about is knowing you're sleeping soundly. I just want you to be comfortable and happy when you're with me." These two lines alone nearly made me cry.

Besides Scandalabra, Betty's taking a liking to me too. I also happen to have a thing about pink haired gals, and especially plus sized gals. (I am plus size irl so I'm glad there's representation in this game!) 😍💞

5. Amir

youtube

Amir admiring the player's beauty did in fact make me tear up because I've had moments where I hated the way I look. Also him calling the player "darling" asdfgh-

"Oh my goodness... that boost of confidence... I can actually it spreading over your face like the most invigorating flush!" And I was blushing hard!

Amir also reminds me so much of Dmitri from Blush Blush (which is another dating simulator game I play)~

If I ever need to boost my confidence in the way I look, I know now to go to Amir! 😊💞

And yeah, that's all five that have caught my eye/have been gushing over for a while now! I may or may not make a follow up post related to this in the future when the game comes out later on this month (depends if I can get the pre-order and possibly the DLC)! 😊

#fictional crushes #date everything #bodhi windbreaker #freddy date everything #scandalabra date everything #betty date everything #amir date everything #Date Everything Spoilers

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schrijverr · 2 years ago

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Batman Fatale

While on a mission with the Justice League, Batman (who hasn’t revealed his secret identity) pulls out his Brucie voice, shocking the others.

Inspired by Head Problems by That_One_Curly_Haired_Fangirl on AO3.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

The Justice League is going for stealth, something Bruce didn’t think they were capable off, but so far he’s been pleasantly surprised. Though, maybe the promise of a good brawl later is what is keeping them quiet.

They’re infiltrating into Luthor’s office, underneath which he is building a robot army to overtake the world in the name of peace. Hacking in to disable them means sounding the alarm and Bruce has already calculated that it will take too long for him not to get swarmed by them, before he can take them out. Hence, the League, who will keep them off his back while he works.

However, they’ve run into a bit of roadblock in the form of the security guard, who is manning the front desk during the night shift.

Everyone has thrown out ideas to take him out, but Bruce wants to attract attention as late as possible and there are likely human operatives further down as well. They’ll notice if the guard were to disappear.

Besides, the guy, Amir, cleared his background check when he was planning this mission. He doesn’t know what he’s guarding and is just trying to make ends meat.

So, he holds up his hand and the whispered deliberation quiets down. As he pulls out his phone, he says: “I’ll handle this. Wait for my orders.”

They all shoot him confused and wary looks as he sets to dialing on his phone, keeping the screen away from them. He can say that it hurts that they don’t fully trust him, but he doesn’t care. He has his own family/team back in Gotham and if being a mysterious prick keeps his kids safe, he’ll gladly play the part.

He knew this roadblock might come up, so he prepared in advance. So, within seconds he is bringing the phone to his ear, while the others continue to look between him and the guard that’s on the other side of the glass doors.

Bruce mentally laughs, they probably expect assassins to swoop down and drag the man into the shadows.

Which is the opposite of what happens, because instead Amir startles then looks down at his now ringing phone. He smiles, then looks around a bit, checking that the coast is clear and completely missing the League, before picking up.

As Amir looks around, Hal hisses: “What the hell are you doing, Spooks? You don’t call the guy you wanna sneak-”

He shuts him up with a hand over his mouth, because Amir has picked up now. “Hey, hi, uhm, how are you doing, John?”

John is the fake name he used on the dating profile with the doctored photos. He feels a little bad about catfishing him, it’s slimy and Amir is actually cute too. Still, can’t be helped, so he puts as much Brucie charm into his voice as he flirty replies: “Hi, Amir, I’m good, just lonely. Would be better if you were with me. I’m practically indecent here for you.”

Immediately all the League’s heads snap his way, but he ignores them in favor of observing Amir. He is blushing, but looks pleased, before he sags a little. “I would love you, you’re so handsome-”

“I’d prefer pretty,” Bruce interrupts. “If you’re letting me down, at least call me pretty so I’ll know what it’ll sound like from you.”

Now Amir’s darker skin gets even more dark as he continues to blush. He stammers: “No, no, no. Not letting you down. Fuck. You’re so pretty, John. Of course I’m not letting you down. I’m just working, pretty boy, just working.”

“Booo,” Bruce whines, knowing how to sound appealing instead of annoying, albeit a little spoiled. “Can’t you just have a little break? Where do you work? I can come over, little blowie in the ally on a smoke break never hurt anybody.”

Amir groans at the offer, leaning back in his chair and looking at the ceiling, feeling a little despair by the look on his face. “I could get fired,” he protests, but it’s weak. Got him.

Bruce knows that he’s going to get fired anyway for letting them pass, but at least like this he’s out of harm’s way. He’s planning on offering him a job anyway. So, he insists again: “Promise I’ll get you off before they notice. It’ll tide me over until they let you go and you can show me what a proper good time is.”

Now Amir is looking around, no one except the League (who are all still staring and he wishes they’d stop) to see. So, he relents: “Alright, I work at the Luthor office. Uptown, you know it?”

“Oh my god, you’re kidding?” Bruce laughs in his most ditzy Brucie voice. “I’m literally at one of the bars down the street.”

“And what are you doing there?” Amir asks, trying to sound flirty, but coming across as a little insecure. It’s cute on him.

Bruce imagines himself twirling the phone cord at this point as he bats his eyes through his voice as he says: “Feeling lonely and thinking about you.”

Amir looks relieved at that, straightening up again as he asks: “Well, I can change one part of that for you. How fast can you get here?”

“Like two minutes,” Bruce answers.

“Meet you in the alley on the left then,” Amir says. “See you soon.”

“See you soon, handsome,” Bruce greets back, before hanging up. The second the line is dead, he reverts back to Batman’s voice and grunts: “Get ready to move.”

“What the fuck was that, Batman!” Hal is unsurprisingly the first to break. He never does know how to keep his mouth shut during stealth missions.

“Are you still Batman? Please tell me you’re still Batman. Because if you’ve been replaced by some alien, shape shifter or pod person, I don’t know what to do with myself. So you have to be Batman, even though Batman is creepy and mean and stand-offish and not flirty and-”

“Flash, quiet,” Bruce cuts of the rambling of the speedster. He’s not in the mood.

“You can at least tell us how you know the guard,” Clark speaks up, going for firm leader. Bruce can respect him for trying to lead these people who are all obviously not used to working as a team nor good at it. But the boy scout act sometimes gets on Bruce’s nerves.

He’s sure his kids and Alfred will have something to say about it, pointing to his trust issues that makes him perceive everything as an interrogation, but they aren’t here right now. Plus, he knows Damian at least will be on his side. He has people in his camp.

… Though that might not be a good thing. Hm, should he talk to Damian about it?

“It seems familiar somehow,” Oliver comments and Bruce hopes Amir moves soon. The last thing he wants is for Ollie to figure out who is under the cowl, the man is insufferable enough as it is.

“Batman?” Clark prompts, apparently he’s been quiet for long enough.

Falling back on one of his contingencies, he says: “Everyone should have skills in the acting and grifting department. Contact is sometimes unavoidable. I study people and I plan ahead. This is planning ahead.”

Right at that moment, Amir finally moves. Bruce feels a little bad about standing him up, but is glad to grapple away from the rest of the League. He hopes there will be a fight soon, because that way no one can ask him more questions.

#rr writing #batman #bruce wayne #brucie wayne #clark kent #superman #hal jordan #green latern #green arrow #oliver queen #flash #barry allen #justice league #jl #jla #dc #dc comics

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bodybeyondstories · 7 months ago

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story prompt: a couple of witchy gay guys are sat on a beach people watching and making minor modifications to passersby until the beach is suddenly a catalogue of hunky men with outrageous proportions

Witchy gays are a large part of my friend group! This was fun, also made me realize I need a more coherent mechanism for how magic works (beyond verbal suggestion lol). Ended up a quick mix of dick growth, ass expansion, a little bit of macro if you stick around til the end.

1101 words

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"He could start a small country with that thing."

"Was that one you or me?" Olly asked, his head slowly following the sight of an overstuffed speedo bouncing between two tanned thighs moving with sudden awkwardness across the beach. Its owner glanced down with a look of worry as the waistband of his swimwear drooped farther from his actual waist, weighed down by the unexpected mass stretching them to their limit. The worry turned to a flush of embarrassment as he made eye contact with Olly, who wasn't even bothering to hide his attention behind the pair of sunglasses dangling just below his chin. "Either way, fantastic work," he said with a wink at the overendowed beachgoer.

"That might have been a group effort," said Amir, turning to his friend. "He's always here when we are. Bad timing, I guess."

"Tragic, really. Not to mention he's definitely a grower. Must hit fifteen, sixteen inches when he really gets going."

"Let's not go overboard," Amir warned. "This isn't exactly in the rulebook."

"It's not against the rulebook, either. It's just practice, right?"

"Yeah, of course. They kept warning us that body mod spell work is complicated and risky..."

"So we get the feel of things by trying out minor shifts."

"Inconsequential changes."

"Negligible adjustments. No one gets hurt. Unless our regular ends up tripping over his own--"

"Careful! The spell's still active."

"Oh...shit..." Olly trailed off at the sight of a silhouette walking towards the sunset, a third shadowy limb swinging down past his knees and seeming to droop even further towards his ankles. The tatters of a speedo blew across the sand as he tried to hold his gargantuan cock complacent through a panicked scurry back up the beach, onlookers not hesitating to unapologetically hit record.

"We're gonna be hearing about that, aren't we?" said Amir. "This beach is already developing a little bit of a reputation for its...proportions."

"Well ok, we might be getting better at this than we thought," offered Olly with a smirk. "Maybe too good."

"You're sure it's not just because we're sitting on top of a half-assed transmutation circle?" Amir lifted a corner of their shared beach blanket to reveal a softly glowing sigil partially buried in the sand.

"A half-assed transmutation circle of our own design," corrected Olly. "Besides, there's nothing half-assed within a half mile, thanks to you."

"I like what I like," Amir blushed, gazing around at a landscape of astonishing bubble butts. Each a unique variation on themes of perkiness, roundness, muscle, and mass, yet most all of them visibly beyond the realm of quotidian normalcy. "At least most of them can still reasonably shove into normal pants. We learned our lesson after, well,"

"Right," said Olly, eyes drifting up to the lifeguard tower. "I think 'beachball buns' may have been a bit much."

"He broke the sides of the chair," said Amir, thinking of the lithe, toned lifeguard who had been trying to play it cool for as long as possible as his cheeks inflated to catastrophic proportions. "He could barely make it down the stairs."

"Yes, and now we know about sudden shifts in centers of gravity," said Olly, reminiscing on the sight of the lifeguard's bodacious bubble butt jiggling out of control, throwing off his momentum as he tried to make it down the steps.

"Where's he even going to find new swimwear that fits?" asked Amir, still fixated on the memory of those stretchy trunks ripped to shreds as he trudged up the beach with his newfound counterbalance, trying and failing to hold the pieces together and cover up his globular cheeks. "Or anything that fits."

"And the look on his face trying to squeeze back into his car... Someone had to shove the door closed from outside. It went viral overnight. Definitely your best work," Olly smiled at his friend.

"Ugh," Amir fell back onto the towel, resting on his elbows. "We need to be more subtle."

"Fair enough." Olly locked eyes on a beachgoer waist deep in the water, his impressive musculature glistening in the setting sun. "Like just improving what they're already going for." The swimmer paused for a second to wriggle his shoulders as they inflated into noticeable boulders, his back widening with striated muscle.

"Right, just little boosts here and there," said Amir, as their new target turned around to reveal a juicy pec shelf expanding inches in front of him. With one hand worriedly kneading his sensitive tits, he started moving to the shore. As he emerged from the water, he seemed to keep rising, stumbling awkwardly as his body lengthened upward by a foot and a half. "Was that you?"

"Like you said, just little boosts."

"I think that was more than a little. I meant just enough for a little wardrobe malfunction." As if on queue, a comically large dick fell out the leg of his trunks. He hurriedly tried to maneuver his hog back above the hem, positioning it around one thigh, tears showing in the thin fabric as it jumped a couple inches in girth.

"Not two in one day," Olly mocked.

"I don't know, maybe it's something in the water." Amir gestured dismissively on the last word, only noticing the sparks of chaos magic fling off his fingers when it was too late. "Hm. We...should...go. I think that's enough for today."

They began packing up their beach supplies and knocking sand off the sigils, carefully placing them in their packs as a growing panic crept its way from the water up the shore, beachgoers slowly and inexplicably inflating with mass. The new lifeguard, whose buns were already on their way to beachball size, blew the whistle, calling in swimmers from farthest out. His face flushed as they approached the shore, rising fifteen, then twenty feet out of the water, Olly and Amir narrowly dodging the shadow of one kayak-size foot that came crashing down onto their stuff.

"Oh, uh, sorry," came a deep booming rumble from above, massive finger daintily brushing off the remains of their sigils, their glow fading away with the setting sun.

"No problem, dude!" Olly yelled up at the giant only to be met with the sight of a gargantuan prick swinging just above his head, oozing a small river of precum.

"Wait..." his face was slowly turning to terror as he realized his chest cleared the lifeguard tower. "What's...happening to me??"

The two friends looked at each other for a long moment then turned and began digging through their backpacks.

"Ok," said Amir. "Let's jot that down."

#male tf #dick growth #ass expansion #macro #growth #prompt

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chunkzdeluluwife · 9 months ago

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𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙛 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙨

You go mini golfing with your husband Chunkz and two kids.

Warnings: none‼️

You arrive at the mini golf course with your family, your husband Chunkz carrying your 5-year-old daughter on his shoulders while you hold your son’s hand, both of you excitedly looking at the colorful course ahead.

Chunkz sets your daughter down and helps her choose a putter from the rack before handing everyone their clubs.

“Alright, who’s ready for some mini golf fun?” he asks with a grin, making your kids giggle.

“We are!” you say, speaking for everyone as the kids giggle.

Chunkz smiles wider and high-fives the kids, leading the way to the starting hole. Your daughter excitedly swings her putter back and forth while your son admires the brightly colored obstacles.

You bend down to whisper in your daughter’s ear.

“Amara, who do you think is gonna win?”

Amara ponders for a moment, then whispers back with determination, “Daddy!” she exclaims confidently.

“Oh really! You don’t think your mommy will win?” you tease.

Amara playfully shakes her head, her ponytail bouncing with the motion. “No way! Daddy always wins,” she says matter-of-factly.

You laugh with your daughter and lead her over to Chunkz and your son, Amir.

“So, is Daddy going first?”

Chunkz nods, taking a few practice swings with the putter. “Yep, I’ll go first and show you all how it’s done.” He smiles confidently and steps forward to the tee, placing his ball on the starting mark.

Chunkz focuses for a moment, takes a breath, and strikes the ball. It rolls smoothly forward, approaching the hole and… just misses by a hair. He grunts in disappointment, tapping the ball a few times with his putter.

“Okay, guys, clap for Daddy! He did really well—so close to a hole-in-one!”

Amara and Amir applaud enthusiastically, cheering for their dad. “Wow, that was so close!” Amara exclaims, clapping her small hands together.

“Okay, who’s going next?”

Your son, Amir, eagerly raises his hand and excitedly shouts, “Me, me, me! I wanna go next!”

“Okay, Daddy will help you set up how to hit the ball since he’s such a pro,” you chuckle.

Chunkz playfully rolls his eyes but smiles, glad to help his son. He positions Amir’s hands on the putter, offering guidance on where to aim and how to follow through with his swing.

Amir listens attentively, soaking in his father’s words, and then takes a few practice swings. With a determined expression, he lines up his shot and takes a swing, sending the ball rolling forward.

The ball doesn’t go straight into the hole, but it comes closer than any of you expected.

Amir’s eyes widen with excitement. “I almost made it!” he exclaims, grinning proudly.

“Good job, baby!” you say, clapping.

Chunkz ruffles Amir’s hair, chuckling. “See, there’s a future mini-golf champ right there.”

“Okay, Amara, is it your turn now?”

Amara nods excitedly and pushes her way through, eager to play her turn.

“I’m doing it! I’m doing it!” she exclaims, hopping up and down.

You help Amara place her ball on the starting mark, and she eyes the hole with determination.

“Watch this!” she boasts before taking a swing with her putter.

Amara’s swing is surprisingly strong for her small size, and the ball rolls forward, but it veers off to the right, landing in a patch of sand just beside the hole.

“Oops!” she giggles, not at all fussed by the miss.

“Maybe you should have waited for Daddy’s help, right?” you chuckle.

Amara pouts, realizing the truth in your words. “Yeah, maybe… but I still did good, right?” she asks, looking for reassurance.

“Yes, honey, very good.”

Amara beams with pride, pleased with your compliment. Chunkz moves closer and playfully pokes her nose.

“You know, it’s okay to ask for help sometimes,” he says, offering a wink.

“I know that!” Amara protests, pretending to be annoyed, though a smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

“Okay, watch out, it’s Mommy’s turn!”

Amara and Amir step back to give you some space while Chunkz watches with a smirk, eager to see your shot.

With a firm grip and a confident stance, you strike the ball with a smooth, controlled swing. The ball rolls smoothly across the green, approaching the hole with purpose… and then drops in, disappearing into the darkness of the hole.

“Oh my gosh!” you exclaim.

Amara and Amir erupt in a mixture of surprise and celebration, clapping and cheering for you.

“You did it, Mom!” they scream in unison, jumping up and down in excitement.

Chunkz saunters toward you, a look of playful dismay on his face, but he can’t hide the twinkle of pride in his eyes.

“Well, well, look who’s the new mini-golf champ?”

“I’ve always been, just the pro that flies under the radar.”

Chunkz pretends to be hurt, gasping and placing a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded, truly wounded. I thought I had the title for life!” He grins and wraps an arm around you, squeezing you playfully.

“You’re my favorite mini-golf pro, it’s okay,” you tease.

Chunkz pretends to wipe away a tear but then grins, pulling you closer. “Well, I can’t argue with that. I’ll gladly take the title of ��Y/N’s favorite mini-golf pro.’ It’s got a nice ring to it.”

Amir speaks up, “Mommy, I thought I was your favorite mini-golfer!”

Amara bursts in, “No, I am!”

You laugh at the adorable display of sibling rivalry. “Hey, hey, calm down. You’re both my favorite mini-golfers! You each have your own special strengths on the course.”

“Come on, guys, let’s finish up the courses and see who wins!”

Amara and Amir quickly forget their disagreement and eagerly return to the course.

They resume their mini-golf match with renewed enthusiasm, taking their shots and cheering for one another.

As the final score is tallied, it’s revealed that Amara and Amir have tied for the lead. You and Chunkz exchange a knowing look but opt not to reveal the truth, letting the kids bask in their victory.

Amara and Amir are ecstatic, leaping into the air with excitement.

“We did it! We tied! We’re the champs!” they declare in unison, pumping their fists in celebration.

“My little golf pros,” you say.

You envelop your kids in a big hug, their tiny arms wrapping around you, their little faces beaming with pride. Chunkz joins in the group hug, chuckling.

“You sure are,” he confirms, patting them on the head. “It was a tough match, but you both played great.”

Amara and Amir bask in the praise, their chests puffed out and wide grins on their faces.

“We’re the best mini-golfers ever!” Amara proclaims, earning a hearty laugh from Chunkz.

As the family steps back from the hugs and high-fives, a feeling of happiness and accomplishment fills the air. You look at your kids, still radiating with excitement, and then over to Chunkz, who has a warm and proud smile on his face.

“Alright, mini champs,” Chunkz says, placing a hand on each kid’s shoulder. “What do you say we grab some ice cream to celebrate? Our treat.”

Amara and Amir’s eyes light up with joy. “Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!” they chant in unison, dancing around in circles. You can’t help but laugh, sharing in their excitement for the sweet reward that awaits.

Chunkz chuckles, amused by their enthusiasm.

“Alright, alright, let’s go get some ice cream before you two bounce off the walls anymore!”

He leads the way to the nearby ice cream shop, your kids skipping beside him, still high on their mini-golf victory.

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something-in-blue · 1 month ago

Text

The Rot Sets in part 3

After the concert and small reunion of the three former sidekicks, the plans for following day were set.

With Lil Biggie's concert going off without a hitch, Eike has decided to invite Sawyer and Amir out to dinner to celebrate the success of the concert.

Eike's true intention however, was to enlist the help of his two friends to investigate the new drug on the streets of Vera city; Dozer.

He informs of all he knows of the drug, that its main purpose to activate the latent meta genes in humans and grant them superpowers. If it is used by someone who already has powers it greatly amplifies it.

It's highly addictive and if left unchecked, the rise of new superpowerd individuals will a global threat.

Eike spins a story about how his work as a mayor is already taking too much of his time and his already existing duties as Catalyst suffers because of it. And now with Dozer on the streets he could use the help.

Of course, Sawyer is immediately on board with but Amir is hesitant. He has to continue his tour soon and can't really take detours, Sawyer tries to convince Amir that this is more important but Eike assures him he understands and simply asks to keep an eye out for anything and let him know if he encountered Dozer outside of Vera city.

After that the conversation moved towards more positive things. Amir is eagerly talking about his next performance, Sawyer talks about their latest travels and Eike chimes in with fun stories and fond memories.

The conversation eventually heads towards the whereabouts of Ghoslting and Multidude.

Sawyer says Lilith started a youtube channel and is an active content creator, but Derek seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. Eike assures them that Derek is definitely working on something, he is not the type to sit idly. In fact, he bets he's working to trying to find out to the Omega Responders. Besides, it's not like he'll get a job. This is Derek we're talking about.

Amir and Sawyer smile at each other, Eike intended to add some humor in the mood. It's clear Sawyer is taking the separation of the sidekicks a lot harder than they're letting on.

A few more laughs and jokes and the three were ready to call it a night. Amir has to get up early in the morning for his next tour and Eike cited he had a meeting early in the morning as well. He asked Sawyer to stop by around lunch time to discuss the Dozer situation and bade farewell and safe travels to Amir.

As he was getting ready to fly back to Vera city Sawyer offered to teleport them there and before they go home. Eike thought of rejecting the offer, knowing Sawyer only has two long distance charges per day and didn't want them to waste it on him but quickly figured out a compromise.

Eike offered to let Sawyer stay in his penthouse if they teleport them so they won't waste their teleportation charges in case he needed them.

Sawyer happily agreed but remarked they didn't bring any clothing since they weren't expecting a sleepover and Eike assured them they'll find something their size.

He totally did not fantasize Sawyer in one of his oversized shirts.

One swosh away and the pair were in one of Vera City's numoerous parks. Since Sawyer never visited the penthouse they could not teleport to it but Eike instructed them to teleport to a park closer to it. Then, the pair begin walking towards the penthouse.

It is late at night, the moon shine in the sky above and a serene silence falls on the park.

The silence is broken up by their footsteps as they continue their walk side by side. Saywer takes in the clean air and the smell of plants, and notice a few more couples going about in the park despite how late it is.

Sawyer remarks that the park is surprisingly peaceful this time of night. Eike says it is thanks to combined efforts of Quintessence and the people working in tandom to make the city a safer and better environment and the people feel safe enough to be out at this time of night.

He says that this is what he works to protect, this sense of safety and unity the people of Vera have.

Sawyer says they hope the entire world could be a better place like this, Eike tells them to not give up hope and it took a lot for Vera city to get where it is now. In future, he hopes mankind would come together and the world better than Vera city, but for now all he can do is lay down the foundation and hopefully those who would come after will continue his work.

Sawyer looks at them strangely, as if Eike won't around for long. Eike assures him he's fine but he's self aware enough to know he can't accomplish his goal in a single lifetime, Sawyer jokes since when they became self aware and Eike jokes back since the first time he had Amir's cooking.

They both laugh it off until they reach the penthouse. Sawyer asks if it belonged to Quintessence but Eike denies it, says he bought with his own money. He made a few investments and his paycheck as a mayor afforded him the money to buy it, and before Sawyer says anything about it being frivolous he motions to them to take a look at the balcony.

Aside from how breathtaking the view is, it provides an excellent viewpoint on the city and the building is conveniently in the center of the city. Allowing him to move quickly to any location and keep and eye out on the city. tactical watch point, if they will.

Sawyer is impressed with Eike's reasoning and says the wonderful view is a bonus.

The elementalist returns with a set of sleepware, having gone to retrieve it while Sawyer was admiring the view on the balcony.

Sawyer questions if he really found something his size and Eike jokes they're about to find out and hands it to them.

He ignores the look Sawyer gave him when he handed him the set, how his hands touched and lingered on theirs a moment too long, how Sawyers eye's sparkled under the faint light of the moon

He felt his cheeks heat up before he quickly turned away and told Sawyer to follow him to the guest room. Sawyer conflicted gaze didn't leave Eike as he moved away and followed him towards the guest room.

do they want to do this again? After what happened in their last relationship, are they ready for another one? Do they actually have feelings for him or is it just loneliness?

Once in guest room, Eike bade them good night and left and closed the door behind him.

He lingers for a few moments before going to his own room, he puts a hand on his heart and tells to be still. Now is not the time love, no matter how he desires it.

Tomorrow, he will take Sawyer to investigate the drug and hopefully take out of the hands of so called "vigilantes" before the Thaumaturge attack. Especially from someone the Man in Red warned him of, his first friend and childhood friend, Blair Turner.

The Man in Red tells him of what they become, Shimmer, one of the Adversary's strongest enforcers. Their views on superpowers and the addictive nature of Dozer made them an easily manipulated individual by the Adversary. The nature of powers they've got made them incredibly dangerous to deal with and the addiction made them very unstable. Blair is unfortunately, a threat that must be taken out of the equation. Along the other top enforcer of the Adversary.

Non other than his formal teammate, Nora Sblaza, formally known as Cutlass, currently known as Vorpal.

She is also a victim of the Adversary's manipulations and unlike Blair, there is a small chance to save her from herself. Eike has to play his cards right and he can potentially turn her to his side, and as much he hates it, if she refuses to betray the Adversary, well, she always wanted to see her family again and he'll grant her that wish.

The meeting tomorrow morning is about increasing the disaster relief budget. The Thaumaturge attack could happen any day now and Eike wants to make sure the city can survive it with minimal casualties. Though he must to be careful to not let this particular knowledge slip in case someone tries to dig some dirt 0n him, like Red Harry for example.

The Man in Red tells Eike that he killed the man in his timeline because he has no regard for anything other than his next big scoop. He exposed several superheroes identities and put their loved ones in danger and ending some of their careers.

In fact, when the Man in Red killed him he was recorded by his partner and exposed to public. He warns Eike to be very discreet if he want him gone.

The Red Harry of Eike's timeline is very much the same. Eike thinks he might be useful, give the man a scoop so big he won't pay attention to anything else, better yet, use him to spread misinformation about his enemies so they won't get in the way.

He changes to his own sleepware and sighs. Right now he needs sleep more than anything because tomorrow is a big day, and with Amir and Lilith out of picture it's only him and Sawyer. Derek remains unaccounted for but Eike is absolutely certain one of his Dudes is in Vera city, keeping an eye on him. Derek is a smart man, and he will definitely find a way to connect Eike to Propaganda's disappearance if he is not careful.

There are too many moving part for his liking.

As soon as his head hits the pillow he feels his body relax, clearly he was more exhausted than he thought.

Tomorrow is a big day, then again, so is every day in his life.

#unsupervised choice of games #unsupervised #unsupervised cog #unsupervised if #cog #eike harlow/catalyst #dante hargreaves/tempo #unsupervised sawyer suresh #unsupervised amir roy #unsupervised derek dumas #unsupervised lilith brooks #the rot sets in

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