Alright, let's start the week!
"Free pizza is life." Terra whispered.
Beast Boy's pupils flickered, the playful shine in them dimming. His whole expression shifted into something serious, calculating.
"Code received." He nodded and looked at Damian with a calm smile. "Good to see you again. I've got news you'll want to hear."
The hotel suite these three characters engaged in was in no other place but Central City, far from Raven's influence. The suite looked less like a room and more like a private apartment for someone who didn't believe in budgets. The walls were pale cream with a soft sheen that caught the afternoon light; the floor, a thick grey carpet that swallowed footsteps; the windows, tall panes of glass that drank the skyline and served it back in silver. There was a proper dining area—a square table of smoked glass with four modern chairs, a fruit bowl nobody had touched as it should be, a place setting that matched nothing because nothing here needed to match. A long couch sat facing a wall-mounted screen; a narrow kitchen stretched behind a breakfast bar with two stools. The air smelled faintly of citrus and something floral from the suite's automatic diffuser, even though Garfield and Terra had made the place smell like sex a few hours ago.
"Beast Boy," he said, speaking with an easy politeness that never fooled anyone. "I hope you've been well?"
"Dude, define 'well,' because—" Garfield was halfway to a joke, but the excitement hit him first.
"Am I well? I'm better than before. Stronger than ever." He turned, scooped Terra into his arms like it was second nature, and kissed her.
It was not a quick peck. It wasn't filthy, either. It was full and hungry and warm—mouths parting, breath mixing, Terra's hands sliding up his chest with that slow, greedy pressure that says he'smine. Her fingers pressed into his shoulders and then into his hair; her thighs brushed his hips as he leaned into her. She rose on tiptoe without thinking, her body finding his body like a habit. The kiss deepened by degrees: a savoring first contact that softened into a wetter pull; then a firmer seal, as heat travelled from lips to throat to sternum, making them shiver in the same place at the same time.
Terra made a sound—a low, surprised hum—and the sound changed the room. The air grew heavy. Her cheeks flushed pink; her lashes fluttered closed; her belly tightened, then loosened. When Garfield's thumb slid just under the hem of her shirt at her waist, she trembled. He didn't push it. He stayed respectful, stayed romantic, but he let the kiss say everything: I want you. I missed you. I am here. The kinds of things people exhibit when you know they are in love.
When he finally pulled back, Terra was a defenseless, blushing blonde undone in the softest ways. Her lips were fuller, damp. Her breath came light and quick. She tucked her hair behind one ear and tried to glare at him for the ambush. It came out as a shy smile she couldn't control.
"Hey, don't stop on my account. I was never here." Damien said sarcastically with an annoyed expression while the couple chuckled nervously.
Damien watched with a face like a carved door—smooth, controlled, unreadable. Only his eyes moved, bright and observant. The sight pulled him sideways into memory before he chose to go.
It had been two weeks before Raven left for Gotham to meet Batgirl when Damien returned from a mission completed in New Orleans to the city that always tried to eat him: Gotham. The air tasted like gloom and rain. Even on sunny days, Gotham was Gotham.
Scarecrow had been busy—too busy for his own good. He'd been cooking up a mean batch recently, classic fear toxin blended with a new aerosol delivery and an algorithm that pulsed the gas in intervals mapped to the city's public transport timetable. Everyone needed to be at one place or another at different times. The working population was more than any other class of population, and wherever the working populace was, that was where the rest was.
This was a well-thought-out scheme; anything less would be unbecoming of a Gotham villain. After all, the requirement to become was very high, either you were a PhD holder at least or someone with multiple PhD, or someone who understood human nature and how the mind works and how to manipulate it.
Every time a train braked into a station, the platforms breathed the fear toxin. Commuters saw the worst possibilities bloom at the edges of vision—their children falling; their throats closing. It was elegant, in its way. Chaos unsued in scheduled bursts, since the trains were automated and made to stay that way thanks to Scarecrow's henchmen. Batman and Damien had to work tirelessly to break the chain of events.
First, the distribution nodes hidden beneath service panels; then the cloud seeding that Scarecrow had tried to slip into the weather report. The final showdown had been in a maintenance hall deep under Fourth and Dox. Scarecrow had talked too much like the run-of-the-mill Villain to Batman in front of him, while Damien had all the time in the world to sneak around and jump him from behind. Damien had been tempted to break a little more bones than necessary and hadn't, thanks to Batman. Scarecrow had a lot to be thankful for that night.
As usual, Damien never agreed with Batman's methods of meaningless mercy and left as soon as Scarecrow was down for the count to go and cool off in the streets of Gotham. If he was lucky, he would get a chance to take out his pent-up frustration on the regular lawbreaker tonight as he smiled wickedly to himself in hopes of that. In fact, he looked like a prowler just waiting for someone to fuck up.
A group of hobos had gathered around a barrel fire under a concrete overpass. They spoke half to him and half to the air. "Make way," one said, eyes wide and too bright. "Make way for the new goddess."
"She'll come… collect everything," another added, rubbing his hands together like he was cold inside his bones.
"Everything we kept under our tongues. Everything we hid in our pockets." They didn't point, didn't name, didn't specify. They were afraid and excited in the same breath, like prophecy had borrowed their mouths. Damien had stood for a minute longer than necessary, listening to words that felt like drafts blowing through an open door. He would usually dismiss talk like that as an effect of fentanyl-induced banter. This time, it stuck.
After Scarecrow, after the barrel-fire banter, he finished reviewing and wrapping things up at the Batcave with Batman and soon made for Jump City. Jump City felt almost clean. Almost. The tower was high, austere, full of rooms that remembered too many voices, cheeks being clapped, solo sessions, food fights and whatnot. Damien walked through its corridors and felt the subtle wrongness at once. Not noise. Call it a Wayne instinct for these things if you will. But still, he didn't trust feelings alone. Feelings lied.
He found the panel he'd installed years earlier—an indulgence he'd justified as prudence. The camera in the corner had never seen it; that had been the point. He moved along the wall, fingertips counting the seams, then slid them into a thin crack. The panel lifted and came away with a soft, reluctant sigh. Behind it was darkness, and the cool breath of air from narrow ducting. He stepped in sideways and closed the panel behind him. The space was mean and tight, but he liked it that way. The dark closed around his shoulders like a coat. He reached forward and pressed his palm against the small pad he'd cut into the drywall, then spoke in a low voice.
"The Dark Prince." Said the edgy Wayne in a halloween costume.
The floor lit beneath his boots in a thin, even strip, guiding him five steps forward to a second hidden seam. A door slid back without sound. A security keypad brightened on the wall, patient and precise. Damien keyed the sequence from muscle memory. The door opened.
The room could fit a queen-size bed if you didn't mind pressing against all four walls at once. There was no bed. There was a chair—a good chair, low-slung and supportive. There were six monitors, quiet and black until they woke. Silent cooling fans lined the base, purring like domesticated machines. It was a crude setup by the Batfamily standards, but it was enough.
"A crude setup, but a setup I made myself." Damien murmured with pride, easing into the chair. "And it works."
He started the review. Files. Audio logs. Motion-trigger caches from external cams. Internal cams. Door logs. Comms fragments. Kitchen camera footage. He doubled speed, then tripled it for the parts that were just corridors and elbows and people forgetting things in kitchens. The mundanity of other people's days slid past like rain. He stopped when patterns changed. He rewound. Watched again. Slowed and watched.
"Oh… no." The words left him softly before he arranged them. "Oh, fuck. Not Raven. Not again."
A little history on how Damien gets tied up in all this. Read ahead on patreon.com/futamommy
Here's a bit of what you are missing on the Patreon, a christmas special Elsa fanfic:
...Of course, Kristoff wasn't the only one stealing glances at her new look, after all, there were guests in the wedding, but she saw them as mere background characters who were allured by the nobility of royals.
Creak!
The chair made of ice she sat on shrieked under her weight. She had gotten thicker, and the chairs made for her previous slender frame weren't cutting it now. Elsa chuckled to herself as she waved her hand, and ice magic traces followed her fingertips like fairy dust. With that, her chair became much sturdier to support her thicker frame.
Uuuggghhh!
"Easy, you brute!" Elsa said as she spat on her fingers on her right hand and began massaging her boobs slowly and softly as she moaned again.
Krisoff was trying to force his very thick five inches into the poor bride while Anna hissed in pain and pleasure.
"Of course, that thing is not going to enter like that!" Queen Elsa said as she pressed her nipples, which elicited another soft but sharp moan from her.
"Fuck, that thing is huge! It should have been me, not her! I know I can take you easily!!!" Queen Elsa moaned as she discovered the joy of teasing her nipples and spat on her left hand so she could attend to each boob.
"Mmmm…. Look at the size of his balls… if he unloads in her, she is sure to carry the next heir. With seed that potent, if he unloads in me… Unnggghhh…" Queen Elsa moaned as she observed the couple try and try again, but to no avail, through her looking glass...
Read more on patreon.com/futamommy