Scene: Welcome to the Peverell Estate
Location: The Peverell Estate, Gotham — 9:48 PM
The Peverell Estate didn't whisper luxury. It monologued. It flexed. It glared at Gotham from its hilltop perch like it had personally reviewed the city's fashion sense and found it lacking.
Black marble towers clawed at the night sky. Enchanted ivy snaked along the walls, glowing faintly like it had secrets. And the front gargoyle? Perpetually annoyed. (Honestly, relatable.)
When the limo pulled into the circular driveway, the obsidian front doors swung open all by themselves, slow and dramatic, like they had read too many gothic novels.
Beta-8's voice filtered through the ambient crystal speakers embedded in the walls: silky, smug, and dangerously close to a purr.
"Welcome home. Try not to light anything on fire until dessert."
Diana stepped out first, radiating goddess vibes in shimmering silver. Mera followed, draped in bioluminescent sass. Karen came next, blonde, bold, and stomping like the Earth owed her tribute. Then Shiera, who didn't stomp—she prowled. Nyra and Lilith flowed out behind them, all red curls and amber eyes and the kind of walk that should come with warning signs.
And then there was Harry. Or Eidolon, if you preferred the dramatic moniker. Cloak fluttering. Emerald eyes gleaming. Smirk dialed up to twelve. Basically, if British charm had a final boss level, it wore black leather and had this face.
Waiting at the top of the stairs was Dobson. Butler. Legend. Possibly made of sarcasm and shadow. Tailored to within an inch of his life and standing so straight he made statues feel lazy.
"Master Harry," he said. Voice: dry. Accent: lethal. Posture: superior. "I trust the evening's fashion-related destruction was... productive?"
Harry nodded. "Three dresses exploded, one mannequin fainted, and I was threatened with death by corset."
Dobson didn't blink. "Excellent. Beta-9 has activated Date Night Protocol, Tier Seven. The garden has been selected. Candles, pillows, strategic lighting, and seating optimized for..." He cleared his throat. "Thigh contact."
Lilith's eyes lit up. "I knew I liked this house."
"Of course it's the garden," Diana said, slipping her arm into Harry's. "Stars. Privacy. Space to slap someone if they kiss him before I do."
"Oh-ho, challenge accepted," Mera purred, sliding in on Harry's other arm. "I play to win."
Karen cracked her knuckles. "I brought lip gloss and a competitive streak."
"And I brought a dagger," Nyra added sweetly.
Harry, ever the gentleman (and the chaos magnet), just sighed. "I swear, I used to have quiet nights with tea and terrible British television."
Beta-8 chimed in through a column speaker. "You also had trauma and no abs. Grow up."
The Garden
Ridiculous didn't even begin to cover it. The garden was what happened when magic, wealth, and questionable impulse control got together after too many drinks.
There were floating lanterns. Self-pruning hedges that moved politely when you walked by. A koi pond where the koi all looked judgmental. (Seriously. One of them had an eyebrow.)
At the center: a firepit surrounded by plush pillows, wine glasses that refilled when you sighed dramatically, and a soft orchestral hum that might have been enchanted Prince covers.
Naturally, Harry took the center cushion.
Diana curled beside him like a queen on her throne. Mera draped herself over his other side, half cuddling, half conquering. Karen sat on the armrest, legs crossed, cleavage weaponized. Shiera loomed protectively behind the couch. Nyra and Lilith sprawled on floor cushions with all the grace of lounging predators.
Dobson appeared, as if summoned by sarcasm.
"Refreshments," he said. "Flavored aphrodisiacs. And a reminder: I stop watching when the heavy petting starts."
Karen blinked. "Did he just—"
"Yes," Harry said.
"I really like him," Karen murmured.
Diana gave Dobson a nod. "He's Harry with restraint and hip alignment."
Mera sipped from her glass. "So. First kiss. Who's it going to be?"
Lilith licked her lips. "Vote."
Nyra cracked her knuckles. "Duel."
Karen tossed her hair. "Wrestle."
Shiera, deadpan: "Survival of the hottest."
Harry refilled his wine. "I love democracy."
Diana leaned closer, eyes locked on his. "Still aloof, Eidolon?"
He tilted his head. "Always. Until I'm not."
And then he kissed her. Slow. Sure. Smoldering.
The garden practically applauded. Lilith gasped. Karen swore. Mera hissed like a sea serpent denied a crown.
Diana pulled back with a smirk. "Your move, sea queen."
Mera didn't wait. She kissed Harry like she owned the ocean and wanted to claim the land, too.
When she pulled away, Harry blinked. "Wow."
"You're welcome," she said sweetly.
Lilith downed her wine in one gulp. "I'm next. And I'm poisonous."
Nyra unsheathed a knife from somewhere and smirked. "I brought props."
Karen was already climbing into Harry's lap. "Hold still. For science."
Beta-8's voice interrupted them all, clearly exasperated. "Reminder: Consent is still a protocol. Also, I'm logging this as a Group Mission."
Dobson, from nowhere: "My betting pool is now closed. Thank you."
Harry just grinned, surrounded by goddesses, sipping magic wine, and wearing the look of a man who knew chaos intimately and flirted with it anyway.
Above, the stars twinkled.
Possibly in awe. Definitely in gossip.
—
The fire crackled like it had backstage passes to this drama. A slow, sultry violin started playing itself (magic: the most extra kind of playlist), and the garden fell into hush mode. Cushions shifted. Wine refilled itself. Somewhere in the distance, a rose bush sighed dramatically.
Diana leaned against Harry's shoulder like she belonged there. (She did.) Mera swirled her drink with the elegance of a queen and the threat of a tsunami. Karen was still in his lap, legs crossed, pout on point, very much plotting murder via lip gloss. Shiera? Towered silently behind them, arms folded, cheekbones sharp enough to slice bread. And Lilith and Nyra lounged like temptation made sentient.
That was when Nyra Vale stood.
And boy, she didn't just stand. She rose. Like a jungle goddess summoned for vengeance, or date night. Her obsidian dress shimmered like dark water, split high enough to make gravity feel shy. Her amber eyes locked onto Harry like she was about to ruin his peace, his pulse, and probably his shirt.
"Dance with me," she said.
Harry blinked. "Right now? In front of the thirst squad?"
Nyra tilted her head, smile sharp. "Unless you'd rather I demonstrate how I hunt."
Shiera muttered under her breath, "Definitely a trap."
Karen sighed, flopping sideways over Harry's lap. "Definitely unfair."
Lilith licked her lips. "Definitely hot."
Harry stood, brushing off imaginary lint. Tom Welling could've taken notes. Cloak fluttering, jawline carved by centuries of sins not yet committed, eyes glowing faintly green like magic itself flirted with him.
"I don't usually dance with apex predators," he said.
Nyra purred. Actually purred. "Then consider me your very educational first."
Their fingers touched. The garden held its breath. Lights dimmed. The koi judged. And then?
They moved.
It was a dance, technically. But more like a very classy prelude to a war crime of desire. Harry guided, Nyra followed—or stalked, depending on the step. She wrapped one leg around his calf like she was claiming real estate. He spun her. She slid back in close, nails grazing down his spine.
"That was gratuitous," he whispered.
"You loved it," she replied, full purr-mode.
Harry raised a brow. "Are you vibrating?"
"Touch my back and find out."
He did.
And she arched.
Diana choked on her wine. "She's actually purring."
Mera squinted. "That's cheating."
Lilith sighed. "I wish I purred."
Karen growled, halfway to standing. "I wish I was dancing."
Shiera didn't even blink. "I wish I brought popcorn."
Harry ran his hand lower. Nyra made a noise that probably violated three Gotham sound ordinances.
"Oh my," he said. "I seem to have located your brooding off-switch."
"Don't stop," she hissed.
"Now that..." he said, spinning her again, "is how you start interdimensional wars."
She landed against his chest. Breathless. Dangerous. Gorgeous.
"Still think you're in control?" she asked.
Harry leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Darling, I live in a house with six demigoddesses, multiple judgmental AIs, and one gargoyle with rage issues. Control is a fantasy I let other people have."
Nyra kissed his neck. Not lightly.
"What I want..." she whispered, "is to wake up tangled in sheets with my claw marks on your body and my lipstick on your abs."
Harry smirked. "And what I want... is to survive long enough to write poetry about it."
They didn't break the moment. They practically radiated heat.
Lilith stood slowly. Liquid grace. Red hair catching the firelight like she'd walked out of a forbidden dream.
"My turn," she said. "I brought vines. And questionable boundaries."
Mera set down her wine like a threat. "I brought salt. And jealousy."
Karen yanked off Harry's jacket and declared, "Nobody gets another kiss until I do."
Beta-8's voice dropped from the sky like a reality check in heels.
"Group Reminder: Consent is protocol. Hydrate between emotional thirst spikes. Also, I'm recording this for... archival integrity."
Dobson emerged from behind a rose trellis, utterly unbothered, holding a tray of champagne, strawberries, and what looked suspiciously like aloe vera.
"Refreshments. Resuscitation tools. And a defibrillator near the orchids, should anyone get overexcited."
Karen blinked. "Did your butler just prep a makeout triage station?"
Harry twirled Nyra one last time and dipped her so low Diana swore.
"And Dobson?"
"Yes, Master Harry?"
"If I die tonight, make sure the tabloids say I died fashionably."
Dobson didn't miss a beat. "As always."
Above them, the stars twinkled.
Possibly blushing.
Definitely judging.
And absolutely not looking away.
—
Nyra Vale was still plastered against Eidolon, a.k.a. Harry "British Sass Incarnate" Peverell, when Karen stood.
Correction: rose.
She rose like she'd just been handed a crown and a battlefield. Blonde bombshell hair gleaming in the firelight, lips curled in a smirk so lethal it should've come with a Surgeon General's warning. She looked like someone who once slapped a dragon and got invited to dinner afterward.
"Alright, lovebirds," Karen announced, cracking her neck with a predator's grin. "Playtime's over. Queen's turn."
Diana leaned over to Mera, eyes glittering. "She's about to weaponize cleavage, isn't she?"
Mera sipped her wine, lips curving into a smirk. "I'm just here for the casualties."
Lilith, lounging with the grace of a jungle panther in human form, whispered to Nyra, "Tag me in if there's oil involved."
Karen didn't wait for the banter to land. She stepped forward, peeled off the sleek black jacket she'd previously hijacked from Harry, and tossed it onto a cushion like it was beneath her. Then came the gloves. Fingerless, obviously. Because Karen didn't do full coverage unless she was punching asteroids.
"Harry," she purred, voice low, sultry, and dipped in danger. "Sit."
Harry blinked up at her, emerald eyes gleaming with amusement. "That's usually my line."
Karen circled him slowly, smirk dialed to goddess mode. "Tonight, you just watch."
He sat. Smooth, confident, very much giving off 'Tom Welling in black leather with a smirk that could melt resolve' energy. The kind of British charm that made bad decisions feel like good ideas.
Karen climbed onto the center table like it owed her rent. Firelight licked her curves. She grabbed a floating wine glass, took a slow sip, and let the silence stretch just long enough to be scandalous.
Then she moved.
It wasn't a dance. It was a declaration of war. On subtlety. On gravity. On anyone not appreciating the power of a confident woman with full control of her assets—including the very impressive ones currently distracting Harry's higher brain functions.
Her top slipped off one shoulder. Casually. Treacherously. Like the fabric knew it was participating in history.
"Is this legal?" Harry muttered, mostly to himself.
Beta-8, piped through a discreet garden speaker, responded in Rihanna-level sultry sass. "We've entered Grey Area Protocol. Legal team has been alerted. Also, hydrate."
Karen crouched on the table, eyes locked on Harry. Her voice was a velvet dagger.
"Do you know how hard it is to find waterproof lip gloss that survives heat, combat, and divine judgment?"
Harry gave her a slow once-over. "I'm starting to understand."
She knelt, bracing her hands on his knees. Her smirk was lethal. "You kissed the others like they were dreams. I'm about to make you forget how to breathe."
Lilith fanned herself with a napkin. "I love a girl with priorities."
Mera leaned over to Diana. "I might be rooting for her. And I say that with deep, oceanic resentment."
Karen leaned in, lips ghosting across Harry's jaw. "You smell like danger."
Harry tilted his head, voice low. "You are danger."
"Perfect," she whispered. "Then we're evenly matched."
And then she kissed him.
No warning. No wind-up. Just a full, deliberate, toe-curling, head-spinning claiming.
Her hands framed his jaw. His fingers twitched on the table edge like he wanted to grab her and never let go. When she pulled away, the garden was silent. Even the koi looked scandalized.
Diana gave a single clap. Slow. Appreciative. "She wins this round."
Nyra raised her wine glass in salute. "I concede with dignity. Barely."
Lilith whistled. "She kissed him like she's already writing her name in his will."
Karen stood and dusted off her hands like a queen post-victory. "You're welcome for the lesson in kissing like a boss."
Beta-8, voice somewhere between purr and exasperation, said, "System rebooting from thirst overload. Please stand by."
Dobson emerged from the shadows, looking like Bond if he were trained by Alfred and exhaled judgment. "Hydration, Miss Karen. Also, your silk robe. And a fan, should you wish to continue asserting dominance theatrically."
Karen winked. "You're my favorite man in this house. Sorry, Harry."
Harry smirked. "He's got a better jawline. I'll allow it."
Mera crossed her arms, fake-casual. "Are we done, or is someone planning to lapdance on the koi pond next?"
Lilith raised her hand. "I could grow some water lilies."
Nyra twirled her dagger. "I could part the water."
Shiera, arms folded, eyes unreadable, said, "Wake me when someone explodes."
Diana sipped her wine, smiled at Harry, and said, "I hope you stretched this morning."
Harry chuckled, leaned back, and looked around at the collection of warrior goddesses all currently eyeing him like he was the last slice of enchanted cheesecake in Gotham.
"Stretching is for the weak," he said. "I plan to go down dramatically and possibly shirtless."
Above them, the stars twinkled.
Possibly in awe.
Definitely in gossip.
And absolutely not looking away.
—
Lilith rose like temptation had just been given stilettos, stage lights, and a personal wind machine. The garden practically gasped. The firepit crackled louder. Somewhere, a sentient hydrangea tilted to get a better look.
She moved through the mist like she owned it—and honestly, she probably did. Her red hair tumbled like drunken wildfire, her forest-green dress clung like it was afraid of heights, and her smile? Pure, concentrated mischief with a hint of "botany has teeth."
Karen slid off Harry's lap with a pout and a wink.
"Tagging out. Try not to set the place on fire. Actually, never mind. Set it on fire. He deserves it."
Harry blinked. Slowly. Like a man who'd just had his senses short-circuited by ocean royalty, and now the embodiment of seductive chlorophyll was striding toward him barefoot, the plants coiling lovingly around her like fans with a crush.
Lilith reached him. The vines around the garden seemed to lean in, clearly on Team Chaos.
"Harry," she said, in a tone that could have melted glaciers or incited revolutions, "remember that thing you said about quiet nights and tea?"
He nodded. Warily.
"You're not getting that tonight. You're getting me."
And then she straddled his lap like she'd RSVP'd to the throne.
The vines crept up the couch like they were angling for the best viewing angle. One wrapped gently around Harry's wrist. It didn't squeeze. It hugged.
"Beta-8," Harry said, voice dry as the Sahara. "Am I being kidnapped by a houseplant?"
"Technically," the AI purred from a speaker disguised as a moonstone lantern, "you're being cuddled by magically-sentient foliage. Mist engaged. Backup seduction playlist initiated."
"Is this the part where I panic or enjoy myself?"
"Both," Beta-8 offered cheerfully. "But hydrate first."
Dobson arrived with impeccable timing and cucumber water, placing the tray beside them like he was serving tea to royalty who might commit light treason.
"Mist: operational. Champagne: cold. And the aloe is enchanted this time, should things... escalate."
"Escalate?" Diana arched an eyebrow.
Lilith ran her fingers down Harry's chest, every movement slow, like she was sculpting art with heat. "My pheromones are at a respectful half-strength. For now. Unless I'm provoked."
Harry tilted his head, amused and clearly considering his life choices. "And what constitutes provocation?"
She leaned in until her lips brushed the edge of his jaw.
"Ask me again after round one."
Then she kissed him.
Not a smash, not a clash, but a slow-blooming wildfire. The kind that started in the blood and worked its way into the bones. The vines coiled tighter, the mist thickened, and the garden suddenly smelled like rain and trouble.
Mera swore under her breath. Diana narrowed her eyes.
Karen actually gasped. "She kissed him like she was planting a flag!"
"Correction," Shiera said dryly, "she kissed him like she was claiming the kingdom."
Nyra tossed a grape into her mouth and muttered, "Remind me to poison her with envy."
Lilith pulled back slightly, her breath ghosting across Harry's skin.
"Still with me, hero?"
Harry blinked. "You taste like temptation and... strawberries?"
She smiled innocently. "Lip gloss. And maybe a dash of sorcery."
Beta-8's voice buzzed in like a gossip columnist at a royal scandal. "Hormonal overload detected. Logging this under: Things That Made Gotham Blush."
Harry looked around, still somehow composed despite having literal goddess thighs on either side of him.
"Right, then. Who's next? Anyone want to wrestle my dignity for it?"
Diana drained the last of her wine. "Try me. I have lasso skills and I'm not afraid to use them."
Mera stood. "He's glowing. I want another turn. And this time, without the fog machine."
Karen flounced back toward the couch. "Step aside. It's time I brought out the heavy artillery."
"Your fists?" Nyra asked.
Karen smirked. "Please. These?" She motioned toward her chest. "These are diplomatic assets."
Harry groaned. "One day, I'll die from a well-meaning innuendo. This is not that day."
Dobson returned with champagne refills, casual as ever.
"Reminder: the rosebush near the fountain is showing signs of emotional instability. And the koi have stopped blinking. Again."
"Let them stare," Lilith said, still in Harry's lap. "We all are."
He leaned back against the cushions, letting out a long breath as the mist swirled lazily overhead.
"Ladies," he said, British sass dialed to eleven, "we are not starting a war tonight."
A beat.
"Unless someone kisses me upside down and sets the wisteria on fire."
—
The mist curled thick around the garden, swirling with the drama of a soap opera finale and the lighting budget of a K-pop concert. The firepit crackled with suspicious enthusiasm, like it had money on someone losing their shirt. Lilith slid off Harry's lap with all the grace of a satisfied jungle cat, red hair falling like a curtain of mischief. Karen reclaimed her perch with a smirk and a bounce that was at least 40% smug chest energy.
And then the atmosphere shifted.
Because Shiera moved.
She didn't walk. She prowled like the wind had to ask permission first. Her golden-brown skin shimmered slightly in the garden light, her toned figure wrapped in deep bronze fabric that suggested armor but screamed elegance. Her wings, currently retracted under a magical glamour, shimmered faintly like they were trying to break through.
Karen elbowed Lilith. "Okay, how is she both terrifying and insanely hot? Is that, like, an Egypt thing?"
Lilith gave a slow nod. "It's a Shiera thing. And we're doomed."
Harry—a.k.a. Eidolon, chaos magnet, British sass-master, and walking jawline carved by ancient gods with good taste—watched her approach with a lopsided grin. His emerald eyes gleamed with interest and danger, like he was deciding if this moment ended with a kiss or a lawsuit. Maybe both.
Diana, lounging like a Greco-Roman painting come to life, arched an eyebrow. "This ought to be good."
Mera sipped her wine, cool as the sea before a hurricane. "Ten dollars says she makes him blush."
"Fifty says he makes her blush," Diana replied.
Nyra crossed her legs and purred, "I'll pay either way."
Shiera finally stopped in front of him. Her gaze was steady, unreadable. Like she'd already mapped the outcome of this encounter down to the second breath.
"Your turn," she said, voice low and precise. "Try not to embarrass yourself."
Harry tilted his head. "Sweetheart, I once tried to flirt with a Veela while being chased by an invisible basilisk. Embarrassment and I are old friends."
She didn't laugh. She smirked. Which, coming from Shiera, was the equivalent of a standing ovation.
She stepped into his space. The air around them tightened. The garden leaned in. So did the koi. (One of them might have been hyperventilating.)
She reached for his cloak, fingers tracing the collar with a softness that did not match the sharp gleam in her eyes.
"Prove it," she said.
Harry leaned in, all devil-may-care charm and posh boy menace. "With pleasure."
The first touch was a whisper. Fingertips on cheekbones. Hands sliding against silk and tension. Her fingers tangled in his hair. His thumb brushed her jaw. A breath passed between them like a dare.
Then came the kiss.
Sharp. Clean. Hot. Like lightning wrapped in velvet.
Karen let out a noise that might've been part squeal, part battle cry.
"She kissed him like she was about to take a trophy," she said.
Lilith raised an eyebrow. "She kissed him like she was keeping him."
Beta-8 crackled in through a lantern speaker, voice sultry and smug. "Warning: Emotional thermonuclear levels approaching. Initiating fan protocols. Literally."
Tiny enchanted fans sprouted from the wine table and began flapping delicately.
Dobson, unbothered, appeared with a tray of rosewater and what might've been smelling salts. "For whoever swoons next."
Harry, very much not swooning, grinned against her mouth as they pulled apart.
"I think I've been hunted," he murmured.
Shiera stepped back, straightening his collar like she hadn't just short-circuited half the garden.
"You still don't know when," she said simply.
Harry exhaled slowly, eyes gleaming with genuine admiration. "Noted. And I love a good mystery."
Mera fanned herself with her hand. "That was illegal. I demand equal time."
Karen stood. "Alright, ladies. Time for the assets to make a statement."
Lilith groaned. "This is going to be loud."
Nyra purred. "This is going to be fun."
Beta-8: "Group reminder: Chest-to-chest impact velocity must remain under concussion threshold."
Harry leaned back, cloak draped over his shoulders like a throne, voice dry as a martini.
"Ladies, please. This isn't a competition."
He smirked.
"It's a demonstration."
The stars above? Yeah, they weren't blinking anymore. They were watching. And taking very detailed notes.
—
The garden had just survived Lilith's botanical flirtation, which was impressive considering a koi had literally flung itself from the pond, apparently skipping ahead to the "holy crap, I'm not prepared for this" chapter.
Lilith lounged on a cushion like a victorious cat who just knocked over all the priceless vases. Karen was suddenly suspiciously quiet—which, knowing her, meant she was either calculating the exact moment to pounce or fighting the urge to combust entirely. Nyra watched with the smirk of a jungle cat eyeing a particularly slow gazelle.
Then Diana stood up. Slowly. Purposefully. Like a goddess who just decided the stars could pack it in because she was about to turn up the heat.
"We need to have a chat." Her voice was regal, calm, and full of the kind of authority that made even the firepit snap to attention.
Harry—Eidolon, master of the British smirk and disaster magnet—adjusted his cloak, brushing Shiera's lipstick off his jawline. (Spoiler alert: It wasn't coming off anytime soon. It sparkled like a war paint declaration.)
"Uh-oh," he muttered, eyeing the gathered goddesses like he just found out they'd decided to rewrite the laws of physics and his bedtime.
Diana faced the group. "Ladies. Garden's been divine. The ambiance? Ten out of ten. Mist? Sensual AF. Lighting? Photoshop-level flattering. But it's time to move on."
Mera raised one elegant eyebrow. "To where?"
Diana's smile was the kind that could start ancient wars and romantic comedies simultaneously.
"To the suite."
Lilith's emerald eyes flashed like a forest fire. "The suite suite?"
Karen bounced on the balls of her feet, blonde hair catching the light like a highlighter commercial. "With the sky ceiling and the champagne tub?"
Shiera's wings flexed in the kind of subtle 'game on' that made Harry's pulse skip—if only because it reminded him he wasn't just playing for fun anymore.
Nyra grinned like she'd been waiting for this exact moment since birth. "Finally. I was wondering how long we'd pretend subtlety was still a thing."
Harry's grin flickered into his classic, perfectly British blend of charm and chaos. "Wait, hold on. Are we... democracy-ing this? Because I'd like a formal vote."
Beta-8's voice erupted from every hidden speaker in the estate, dripping with Rihanna-level sass and smooth as silk. "Unanimous yes from the Council of Goddess-Level Flirts. Motion passed. Please proceed upstairs before I start throwing shade."
Dobson appeared, sharp as Daniel Craig on a bad day, carrying a tray of freshly folded towels and what looked suspiciously like silk ropes. "Motion seconded. And if I might suggest—avoid the east corridor. The gargoyle is sulking, and trust me, you don't want to anger a brooding statue."
Karen looped her arm through Harry's with the kind of grin that said this was her battlefield. "C'mon, Boy Wonder. Time to test the bounce rating on that mattress of yours."
Lilith twirled her fingers as vines lifted a basket of strawberries and wine glasses, floating like they were auditioning for a botanical Broadway. "I'm bringing snacks."
Nyra smirked, eyes glinting with delicious menace. "I'm bringing handcuffs."
Harry blinked, voice dipped in dry humor. "Wait. We are not actually—"
"Yes, we are," Diana interrupted, gripping his other arm like a queen claiming her throne. "And don't pretend you're not into it. You literally own a bed carved from meteorite wood and spell-stitched Egyptian cotton."
Mera leaned in, voice teasing. "Yeah, and you named it the Eidolounge. Own your aesthetic, darling."
Harry sighed like a man who just realized resistance was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. "Fine. But if anyone redecorates my nightstand—again—I'm filing a magical restraining order."
Karen winked. "Sure, sure. Right after I claim the left pillow and your hoodie."
The group melted into the estate's sleek elevator, laughter and playful jabs echoing like a well-tuned orchestra of chaos. Dobson gave a nod of approval as the platform lifted.
Above, the stars twinkled like they were taking bets.
Somewhere, the moon whispered, oh honey, this is one of those nights.
And Gotham? Gotham just got a whole lot hotter.
—
The elevator dinged open, and the group spilled into the suite like a pack of utterly fabulous predators.
Harry—Eidolon, Emerald eyes gleaming with equal parts "I've got this" and "please don't trip over the enchanted rug"—stepped inside first.
The room was everything you'd imagine for a guy who named his bed the Eidolounge: a colossal meteorite-wood four-poster draped in spell-stitched Egyptian cotton, a sky ceiling projecting a perfect starry night (complete with occasional shooting stars for dramatic effect), and enough mood lighting to power a small disco.
Mera, her curls still catching the ambient light like a living flame, dropped onto the chaise lounge with a satisfied sigh. "This place screams 'victory lap.'"
Karen, already slipping off her jacket with the precision of a skilled negotiator, smirked. "And I'm here to negotiate terms."
Lilith moved like a shadow with a spotlight, weaving between the others. "So, Eidolon… do meteorite beds come with warranties? Asking for a friend."
Harry's grin was pure mischief. "Only if you survive the first night without accidentally setting the sheets on fire."
Nyra stretched, feline and flawless, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "I'm betting on a catastrophic win for the fire hazard."
Shiera's hawk eyes scanned the room, calm and commanding. "Focus, please. This isn't a playground. It's a battlefield of desire."
Beta-8's sultry voice purred through the speakers like Rihanna herself was narrating their impending chaos. "Hydration reminder: liquids are your friend, but so are strategic retreats."
Dobson, ever the picture of icy control, appeared with a tray holding cucumber water, champagne flutes, and an assortment of what might be called "recovery tools" in polite company. "And should anyone require medical attention, I've stationed the defibrillator next to the orchids."
Harry raised an eyebrow at the butler. "You're spoiling us."
Dobson's smirk was all charm with a razor edge. "Only the best for the master of chaos."
The room shifted, the air thickening like a storm just before it breaks.
Diana approached Harry, her eyes locked on his with the weight of unspoken promises. "Your move."
He stepped closer, voice low and teasing. "Ladies, I'm beginning to suspect this was a trap designed to make me look dangerously charming."
Mera laughed softly, her hand brushing Harry's chest. "Dangerous and charming? That's your brand."
Karen's smirk deepened as she tossed a silk robe aside, revealing more than just skin—a challenge. "Careful, Eidolon. You're playing with fire."
Lilith's voice dropped to a velvety purr. "And I brought the garden."
Nyra's grin was all teeth and temptation. "I brought the wild."
Shiera's calm gaze never wavered. "I brought the hunt."
Harry's smirk turned into a grin so full of promise it might've been trademarked. "And I, ladies, brought my British stubbornness and a spectacularly poor sense of self-preservation."
He reached for Diana's hand, his touch electric. "So… shall we start the night or just keep admiring the scenery?"
The first laugh was a spark. Then the room erupted into a symphony of teasing touches, playful challenges, and the kind of heat that made the meteorite wood bed look like a safe haven.
Because here in the Eidolounge, clothing was optional, but keeping the sass sharp was mandatory.
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Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
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