#Black Knight Ghost imagine

[fangirltothefullest]

How many AUs have you made? Any and all fandoms, if you had to count them. And also, what was the first AU you ever made?

If I went down the list of AUs for EVERY fandom I have ever been in it's going to turn into this:

I have WAY too many, I have ADHD, and if I invent an au for one fandom it's been reused in EVERY fandom I've been in....

[cryptidblue1]

Now that I've slept on this stupid idea, it branched into two paths in my head. I'm going to call them Balanced and Imbalanced for AU names and I'm just going to word spew for a bit in here.

This is probably going to be long, but maybe someone else will scream with me over these ideas. Thus joining me in this trash can I created and fell into.

So Balanced is basically what would happen if the Higher Beings would actually try and win the "Don't fight one another for territory" challenge. Mainly with Radi and the Void. Because let's be real with the few contextual clues we get in game regarding Radiance and the Abyss, Radi def fought some aspect of the Void when she moved in and took over the Hallownest area before Pale King showed up. Which actually gets into my thoughts on the entire Higher Beings need to balance one another out to keep their kingdoms from dying out like they have been in the canon timeline.

Like we kinda figure the Abyss was there first and had its worshipers and such, but since it's the Void that all will return to, it kinda had no checks or balances to keep it from doing what it naturally does. Add in my thinking that the Void got its Will and Mind from its worshipers at first it means that when they kinda started to die off from Void poisoning or got taken/killed off by those who came with or started to follow the Radiance it lost a lot of its ability to think and reason. Thus why Radiance actually won whatever slap fight they got into when she rolled on up.

Now if we go with the process that each Higher Being needs one to Balance it and they actually knew this on an instinctual level and didn't go "MINE" first when settling into a place I think that the Void and the Radiance are like that two halves of a coin thing. Their difference being Light/Dark and Dreams/End. But I am certain both use some form of a hivemind/togetherness regarding the mortals that follow them and empower them. (Which is a thought that goes into a whole Rant about why I think it's this hivemind aspect that actually explains a lot of why the Vessels behaved the way they did in canon.) That and imagine the kind of religion that would spring up when the followers get like the sweetest of a final dreams from the Radiance before the Void takes them at the end of their lives. Like that kinda sounds pretty comforting knowing that when your time comes that due to your faith you're going to go out dreaming the best dream you ever have before you just become part of the Void.

So with this partnership settling I could see them sorta halving Hallownest in general. Like from where Dirtmouth is down to what would be the City of Tears in game would be more Radiance inclined due to her whole Sun motif and thus her worshipers would want to be closer to the sky. (I'm going on the assumption that Dirtmouth actually can see the sky or is where you can go to get access to the sky.) Then from City of Tears area on down would be more where those that lean more towards Abyssal followings would be. Deepnest, The Hive, Greenpath, and City of Tears Area (Which I just know likely had a different name at some point but I"m too lazy to find/make one up right now.) would be more like neutral areas and not really part of either. Especially when Unn kinda vibed in and both sorta just let em because they weren't harming anyone and their influence actually helped out everyone in the long run with the vegetation and wildlands that were created from them existing there. (Fungal hellscape I'm pretending to not perceive for my own sanity.)

Which then kinda leads into the White Lady showing up from wherever she came from. Because I'm pretty sure she kinda was already there when the Pale King showed up. And White Lady kinda becomes the balance for Unn in that Unn is of the wilds and untamed wilderness and White Lady helps show how to cultivate and nurture wildlife for the benefits of the masses. Aka I'm making White Lady the one people ask for blessings to for agriculture and other horticulture aspects and thus make her whole Queen's Garden less her just yoinking land from Unn but them vibing and sharing a domain due to how similar their aspects are and being a lot more chill since they are a balance of one another. (I still think in canon WL just stole that land without a second thought but that's Thoughts for another time.)

So with all this everything kinda already has a strong foundation and flourishing kingdom set up that in no way needs the Pale King right? Well, not exactly. Because outside of the White Lady, and even then you could argue she also kinda does since Roots and such. All these Higher Beings are kinda a hivemind mentality. Which didn't rock the boat with Deepnest and the Hive since the Hive is all for that and Deepnest pretty much has the whole for the clan mentality alongside their survival of the strongest set up. So individuality isn't really a thing, and that kinda feels like a big part of the Pale King's schtick alongside with intellectual pursuits.

So Pale King is definitely needed to allow for individual growth which is what leads to innovation and growth of a kingdom through advancement. Though it likely was a bit Tense when he showed up, especially as I am 100% certain that wyrm kinda started simping very hard and quickly for White Lady when they first met. Though, I have no idea if there is any canon Higher Being that could balance Pale King in this regard since I think Grimm with how they set up the Nightmare Heart it would be more in the Hivemind aspect then individuality. So probably would just need an OC who is like creative inclined and likes to enhance people's individual artistry and likely drives Pale King up the wall because they are pretty opposite in how they do things/personality wise, but like after they get used to one another they basically do what friends with opposite personalities do. Where the OC would help drag PK out of the lab and get air, actually connect with people, etc. While Pale King would make sure the OC would stay on task and such.

So, yeah Hallownest goes through a really odd sort of growing pains era with all these beings all converging on this area. Which probably means that like there is something Significant with this area for why even in canon everyone keeps trying to own this area. Like a leyline or something that makes Hallownest like spiritual powerful.

The Vessels still happen, but in a more controlled and actually all of them living sort of way. Aka they kinda act as bridges/heirs/etc. for the various higher beings. Like some are full on children of the PK and WL and some are kinda created as a means to show the bugs of the kingdom that all the higher beings are you know working together. So like PV/Hallow would like be PK's heir and eldest and like Ghost is like a knight of the Void and Radiance hence why they have the Dream Nail and have a lot of Void powers. Hornet is still a child of PK and Herrah, more as a political move to tie Deepnest more to the rest of the kingdom when Herrah's husband die. So like various vessels have various abilities due to whichever group of deities helped create them.

So like it's a lot of political drama and small fights between factions as everyone kinda test boundaries and sets up what area of life falls under someone's domain. This kinda makes a pantheon of sorts within Hallownest which probably makes the Godseeker kinda try and roll up in here even more then they did before. Which could be interesting considering like bruh y'all could just join the society without that whole make everyone fight and assimilate thing.

Though, that could be like a cool antagonistic aspect that would cause the vessels to have to go feral on a hivemind. More so Ghost and Hornet would would both kick down the door with a few of their more violent siblings to go "This is the wrong neighborhood" at Godseeker when they all kinda realize what exactly Godseeker is up to in regards to their collective parents.

Also this is getting long and I haven't eaten lunch yet/done my dailies in XIV so I"m going to just leave it here for Balanced and do a different post for the Imbalance AU branch where things follow canon, to a point and it's up to the vessels to basically take over domains and balance Hallownest before it just falls apart.

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny Fenton is so damn sick of rich fruit loops. It’s worse now, since he’s one of them.

It’s not Vlad that he’s with, thank the Ancients, but Danny isn’t sure that this is better.

Because he’s Timothy Drake, a baby, and he’s been reincarnated after the Ancient of Reincarnation accidentally drank too much wine.

He’s going to kick their ass so hard when he gets back.

Danny huffs. He rolls over, ignoring the silent manor. Sure, he’s read the comics. Sure, he laughed and imagined being adopted by Batman- come on, Danny had black hair and blue eyes even back then, he was totally adoption bait- when his parents gave him reason to lose trust in their love. But that’s it, that’s all he thought it was. A day dream, a wish for a universe that didn’t exist.

Danny hadn’t understood the reality of the whole Infinite Realms thing, a place he was now the King of. Batman? Real. Danny? Reincarnated. Hotel? Trivago.

Like, this wasn’t what he meant, dammit.

And now he’s stuck as Timothy Drake, and Ancients, he was starting to see parallels.

——

Danny tried photography. He really did. He wanted to at least stick to the source material. But that’s not who he is. Even with the shiny new brain that memorized, catalogued, and put together clues at the snap of his fingers, but Danny’s never been one to take photos. It’s a respectable art, for sure, but Danny preferred to live in the moment instead of capturing it to remember forever. It’s just-

He watched the Graysons fall. He watched Dick Grayson turn into Robin. And Danny can’t and won’t ever betray his Obsession like that, ever again. He can’t let Jason die for his “story” to begin. That’s not how Danny works.

He’s there to protect.

Danny hasn’t ever been just Tim. Danny was also Tim and the Ghost King without a haunt. But now? Gotham is his haunt. He, in lieu of an actual city spirit, is Gotham. He’s also a Drake. And Drakes were meant to hoard.

Batman and Robin? They are his.

He claimed them, as a Drake. But that claim is weak. So he claimed them as their city, and that is a claim that will never be able to be challenged.

Danny’ll be damned before he allows some lanky starved clown beat the life out of one of his Robins. So, for the first time in his nine years on this planet, Tim-Danny goes ghost and flies.

“Who- who. Are you?” Robin slurred from his place in Danny’s hold. He is broken, yes. But not dead. Danny infuses some of his vitality, his ecto, into Jason’s injuries to help them heal.

“Gotham.” Danny replied, layering his ghostly voice with those of the city.

“Goth’m?”

“Gotham. Sleep, little bird. Your city has got you.”

When Robin, Jason, settled with a sense of trust that tugs at Danny’s core, Danny carried him to Batman, whose eyes were wild and manic. He glared menacingly at the green and white ghost in front of him, who was holding his broken and beaten son-

Well, it’d be menacing if Danny hadn’t watched him eat bricks and mortar, crashing into a building while using his grappling gun.

“You-”

“I am Gotham.” Danny cut him off. Despite his wary nature and natural paranoia, Batman settled at his city’s gaze rested on him. Danny knew that Batman recognized his city. Batman’s head bowed, but his eyes stayed on Robin. “You were supposed to take care of Robin.”

“I- I know.” And that voice was all Bruce Wayne the Dad instead of Batman the Vigilante. Danny gently placed Robin in Batman’s arms, taking in the tremors as he held his son close.

“Go back, Bruce. And make sure Jason knows how much you love him.”

He laughed as Bruce whipped his head upwards. “I am your city. You are mine as much as I am yours. I’ve known of you before you were born.”

Technically? Not untrue. But Bruce will chalk it up to weird magic shit. It’s not like it’s a secret that Gotham’s kind of curse. Besides, this way, Danny will be able to help out more often. And Bruce won’t be able to connect Tim Drake to the “Spirit of Gotham.”

“Return, my knight. This is not your city. I can not protect you as well as I can in Gotham.”

“Thank you… Gotham.”

Danny sighed. He wondered when he’ll have to field questions from a John Constantine. He’s pretty sure Bruce will call in magical help, even if it was his own city he was investigating.

Batman’s lucky Danny liked him enough to allow it.

[hwan-g]

( 𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑯 ) ୧ ⠁

ೀㅤ۪ pairing. biker/drug dealer! chris x fem! reader : genre. age gap, dark romance, angst, smut : warnings. read at your own risk — mdni ! use of pet names, smoking, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, obsession, severe anger issues, violence, flawed characters that make mistakes : word count. 10.1k

ೀㅤ۪ synopsis. he was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. it’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. no. peace is a foreign word. reserved only for you.

PROLOGUE.

You cannot begin telling this story if you don’t first punch your own mouth. His gun, safety off, shiny and awful in the dead of night, the barrel of it pointing at your temple, a patient irony. It’s three in the morning and the red bleeding is sweet, oh so sweet.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know? He loves you so much, he’ll kill you. He loves you so much, you’re calling for help. Of course, it cannot be your voice, and if he gives you another chance, you’ll say everything differently this time around like—this bed is where he fucked me slow and rough, I think he was trying to bury some part of himself in me, and here, you see, the sheets smell just like his cigarettes, and this, here, is where he brushed my hair, just like this, so careful, but never mind the cracks in the mirror, the shattering is always the same, it has nothing to do with me, everything to do with him.

You hear his voice in your head all the time, haunting, your dutiful ghost; he’s there when you sleep, he’s there when you wake up, a nightmare concealed as a daydream, and you want him to do his worst, you want it to hurt, to scar, to be a permanent mark, because it’d mean you’d loved him; that love has been here and it was ugly and terrifying, and you survived it, even if you could never survive him.

Upstairs, the bed is unmade, stained with wine and your climax. Chris is gentle in all the ways he is not, which is to say he kisses you with teeth, he holds you with fists. You saw him on a black motorcycle once, an impressionable girl in a dark place, lost, searching for purpose, and he looked like a knight in shining armor, he looked like hell and heaven combined, a savior and captor, and you’d wished to crawl inside, to make a home out of him. You’d smiled and waited, you've always waited, you always will.

When he came, he was so cruel, he burned brighter than fire—you believed in him; after all, how can a man be so consumed by flame and not put his own hands around his neck, not succumb to his charcoal painted flesh? You were a fool, and he saw it, and you paid the price for it. He wants to keep you forever now, he’s never going to let you go, do you understand that? Why, why, why did you go ahead and do that?

For what? A scrap of metal heart and a ribcage, bone and muscle?

What about your own heart?

What about the eternal winter residing when he's not there?

ACT ONE: before.

He smiles and the world expands. His face blooms into a thousand different shades; the pink of his mouth curving, the red of his cheeks rounding, the dark of his brow straightening. A stop motion picture, the beginning of autumn, the turn of the leaves, the crisp air replacing warm winds.

His fingers weave through yours, interlocking, thumb running down index, mouth a breath over yours, so close he could graze your lips if he wanted to. You look between you, noses touching, then back to brown so deep you imagine raw honey gliding, real amber in the face of the sun.

Chris. You whisper his name in your head. It sounds like a secret. Your best kept one. Chris, Chris, Chris . . .

There’s blood on his shirt underneath the leather jacket. There’s a loaded gun on his belt strap, a knife tucked in his boot, a razor engraved on the ring he wears, and he’s not so careful with it, and you don’t think you want him to be. You assume it’s normal to want this—if his blood mixes with yours, well, isn’t that enough to take you with him? Isn’t that almost a wedding ceremony, isn’t that almost a declaration of war?

Do you think I’m crazy, you think to yourself. Do you think I’m crazy, would you want me if I am, would you want me, do you want me? You don’t dare say it out loud, but he’s staring at you as if he could eat your face raw—a demon, a demon—and shove the rest of you in the deep freezer, so you decide to bite him instead. You get on your tippy toes and nuzzle into his neck, biting the soft flesh underneath his earlobe.

He doesn’t exclaim, not a hiss, not a gasp, not even the slightest of inhales. He withstands the pain you inflict him, and you feel his desire digging into the inside of your thigh. His arms reach out around you, pulling you to him in that all-encompassing way, and you’re left to witness what can only be the slow consumption of your beating heart. His bike groans under the sudden weight, but he’s got you. You don’t think, then, of what that entails.

“(Y/N).”

The night sky comes into focus, all dark indigo, starless, and the streetlights flicker bright, sounding the late hour. The light never seems to go anywhere near you two, it refuses, it hesitates, and back then you found it all so mysterious and exciting, ignoring the warning bells, swallowing down the instinct of danger, danger, danger.

“Yes?”

Your eyes fall shut at having his rough palm grabbing hold of your face, thumb tilting your head upwards to meet his sizzling gaze. You hold onto his wrist for support, your body floating, mourning the loss of his body heat against the biting cold. He notices this, and moves to shrug off his huge jacket, wearing it over your shoulders in one swift move.

“What will I do with you?” It’s a plea. A threat. Both.

Chris looks down at you, and the earth shakes to its core. He looks down at you, and you don’t want to be alone anymore. You want this, this, this, every day, all the time, forever. You wish to wake up in bed next to him and know he’s yours, wake up and not wish for some other dream so you can find him again. To be awake and want to be awake.

His big hands caress your face, sink into your hair. He stares at you intently, as if he’s holding back from saying whatever’s turning over and over in his head. It can switch so fast, that look, faster than you can blink, a clipped temper, a quick anger. 

You’ve only seen it once, and you’d been quickly turned away. He’s got people watching everywhere, he’s been haunted by darkness and shadows long before you served him that drink in The Bloody Muse. You almost forget about returning to your shift, time slipping away, responsibilities fading whenever you’re near him.

Seungmin will be missing you, Felix will be looking for his good luck charm before he goes on stage. Midnight means you return from dreamland. Still, you have a couple of minutes left. Enough to hear the gunshot, enough to panic and let out a scream and have Chris slap a hand over your mouth, willing you with his gaze to calm the fuck down.

You breathe hard, stiff with fear. He appears perfectly composed, relaxed even. It’s then you realize who he is and what he does, and how this is probably his or his club’s doing. There’s misdirected anger in you ricocheting on all corners. You want to bite his fingers, you want to demand an explanation. You work here, dammit, and he’s kept his bullets away from this place so far, for what you thought was your sake.

Chris was a handsome hypocrite, a skilled liar.

“It’s not what you think,” he says simply, removing his palm from your mouth, shaking his wrist off. “Don’t overreact.”

All of his previous warmth disappeared, instead, the cold, menacing man you know very little of and have never dealt with taking its place. You understand he has to be this way, but you hate that he has to act like this with you too. Because of your reaction. Because you couldn’t keep your cool.

Silly girl.

“What is it, then?” A naive question, so many untrue answers he could give you.

He passes a finger over the cut on your cheek. The cut he gave you. You lean into his touch, desperate for anything, hungry, starving, even. You don’t want him to leave, but he won’t stay. You hate, hate, fucking hate this part.

“Something that needed to be taken care of,” he chooses the words carefully, you can tell, and you decide that, if he wants you to stay in the dark, you will. You have to.

You love him.

“Someone,” you correct, quietly.

Chris smiles, mouth curving, and his hand moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is tender, affectionate. Something inside you cracks and caves, it melts. You would withstand too, you think then. You would deal with anything, put up with everything, for that single touch. For that one single look.

“Someone,” he echoes, his own voice smooth blue velvet, an overture. “You should get inside.”

A sharp pang of bitterness in your chest. “I should?” Because I questioned you?

He drops his hand, and brings his arms over his broad chest, crossing them there. Closed off and done for the night. You unconsciously take a step back, hurt from the sudden change, whiplashed and upset.

“If you don’t want to be late,” he states matter-of-factly, but he says it in this kind of open tone, a mere suggestion rather than a complete dismissal. Yes. “Don’t look at me with those damned eyes, sweetheart, what can I do against them?”

You wipe at your cheeks, and try to fix the mess, try to smooth over, to make right again. “I’m not, I’m sorry.”

“Come here.” A command. 

You go like a kicked puppy, your leash short, your loyalty unshaken, despite the scolding. He reaches out and slams you to his chest, a hand pressing the back of your head there, and you inhale him, all of him, memorizing his scent, trying to hold on to whatever parts of him you can in case he decides to never come back for you again. It’s pathetic and it’s pitiful, but this is what you know. This is all you know.

“You’re my girl, you know that?” He mumbles in your hair, his breath hot on your scalp. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around him, and almost cry yourself dry from the prospect of ever losing him. 

You’d die. You’d die, it’s entirely unthinkable. It’s the worst pain imaginable. 

“You’re my girl, baby. I’d never let anything happen to you. Do you believe me?”

You nod your head yes. He squeezes you against him tighter. You feel so safe, then, the safest you ever have. Of course you believe him. You’d believe his every word, you’d follow him into anything, blindly, willingly. You want to please him. To make him happy.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, suddenly and pulls you back to look at him. His eyes are manic, black. “I need your words, (Y/N). Do you believe me?”

“Yes. Yes,” you yelp, your mouth falling open from the sting.

In your stomach, something lights on fire. You rub your legs together, trying to relieve it. He glances down between you, curses. 

You started it. 

The descend. 

It was your fault. 

He’d never touched you so savagely before that night, he’d never shown the same need you had. That he could want you the same way you do. . .You felt so giddy you could squeal, so happy you would gladly reduce yourself to schoolgirl-and-her-stupid-little-fantasies.

“Is this fucking getting you wet?” And he pulls harder, tilting your head all the way. His tongue comes out to lick from the base of your neck all the way up to your lips. You’re on fire, you’re on fire! You moan hoarsely and try to keep your footing. “You like me being rough with you, sweetheart?”

You’re too embarrassed to respond. So, you guide his hand under your skirt. Chris curses again, more lewdly this time, nasty things, words you’ve never heard him say before. Oh, this fucking cunt, fuck me . . . So goddamn wet, baby girl, I bet it tastes so sweet. Will you let me? Will you let me have a taste right here?

“I— I have to go back, I’m—” but his fingers are already dipping into your underwear, his palm cupping your burning sex.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls into your ear. “You hear me?”

You jump, and look around, paranoid. He grabs your face and forces your eyes back on him. He’s got that crazed look again, the one that lets you know he’ll stop at nothing to have this. Out here, in the open. And he’ll fucking make it worth it. You succumb, too flushed, too bothered, unbecoming in his arms, as he backtracks you into the wall next to the exit door, and gets on his knees, tugging your undergarments down with both hands, hooking your leg over his shoulder.

Your fingers dig into his hair, dark eyes staring up at you. In your mercy, kneeling in front of you. Do you love me? Is this you, saying it? Is this your way of showing it? You caress the soft strands, staring back, overwhelmed. The beginning of the end for you. You’ll never escape him after this. He’d never accept it. You’d never survive it.

When his face gets lost in between your legs, you almost collapse, your entire body shaking with the forceful need to come. He licks and laps and sucks your clit into his mouth, and it’s too much, it’s fucking unbearable, it’s incredible, it’s so much, it’s everything, you want more, you want him to stop, more more more, oh my God, please, please—you’re being so loud there’s no way they haven’t heard that, that Seungmin hasn’t, he’s really only around the corner, and what about everyone else, oh God, oh God, you’re close, you’re so fucking close, if he could just—oh, fuck yes, fuck yes . . .

Chris pulls away, his lower face glistening with your juices. You whine at the loss of contact, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching. 

“Don’t fucking come,” and he’s getting up, he’s unzipping his pants, and you’re eager to help, you’re eager to reach inside and grab him, free him. “I have to get inside you, baby.” 

His cock is standing rock hard, angry. He wraps one hand around your neck, and the other slides over his length once, twice, you’re so entranced you can’t look away; he’s so big, he’s so erect, and you want him so fucking much, you’d do anything right then, you’d be anything.

He turns you around, and you barely have time to get a good grip on the wall, before he’s entering you with one long, violent thrust. You scream out, pressing your temple on the cool brick, allowing him to take whatever he needs. His fingers squeeze around your neck, tighter and tighter still, until all you see is stars, until all you feel is him slamming into you, his hot body over yours, your mixed moans of pleasure.

I could come to this image forever . . . Look at this fucking ass, you beautiful fucking girl, I never want to stop . . . fucking tear you apart, lay inside you . . . Taking cock so well, made for me, made for me, made for this . . .

His movements turned sloppy and primal, reaching the end, and you, forever following him, forever after him. He was no more than beast, pistoling into you with vigor, all animal, your sides bruised from the way he was holding onto you, but you loved it, you wished he’d never stop, exploding into a million pieces, coming apart under him in vibrant streaks of color and tears. His head dropped on your lower back, whispering there she is, there you go, sweetheart, there you are, my baby, as he gave one, two, three final thrusts, before reaching down and removing himself from your soaking cunt, flipping you around, and forcing you on your knees, his cock in his hand, on the verge of climax.

You open your mouth wide, and he shoves in, fucking into it no more than three seconds before you feel his cum hit the back of your throat, warm and salty. 

“You fucking vex me, woman. Look at the sight of you.”

You breathe through your nose slowly, as he grabs your face and makes sure you swallow, fingers rough, before pulling out at once, tucking his softening length back in his jeans, and lifting you up by the waist.

He fixes your skirt over your ass, and smoothes over the edges, making sure no indecent part of you shows. When you catch his eye, he winks at you. You bubble over like a soda can, spilling everywhere, and he chuckles low and raspy, before reaching for your hand and pulling you flush against him, trailing kisses on your shoulder, your knuckles, your cheeks, your brow.

This is the Chris that looks at you and sees you. The one you love, the one you miss the most when he’s gone. This Chris comes out only when you’re alone, when he’s forgotten what else there is, what he has to do after you go back to the club. For now, he loves you, no violence, no hunger.

You almost weep at the sight of him.

“I’ll talk to your boss,” he murmurs, pecking your lips over and over.

You giggle, and he twirls you once, your arms extending as you try to go towards the door. He pulls you back in at the last minute, handsome, glowing, smiling.

“I haven’t lied to you,” he says, and half of you doesn’t miss the solemn way in which he says it. “I won’t let anyone touch you. Ever.”

You pause for a split second, still remaining in the post bliss of your orgasm, but then you’re moving again, slipping from his grasp, heading back to your drinks and suggestive conversations.

“I wouldn’t want to be touched by anyone else, Chris,” you retort, blowing him a kiss, and disappearing through the big black door, letting it close behind you.

You don’t see the way you leave him standing there, how he closes his eyes and has to breathe through the loss of you; how he drags his feet to go pick up his jacket from the floor. How he inhales your sweet smell, and instantly wants you back, a corpse in his arms that can’t go nowhere.

The corruption began when you told him your name. It invaded his bloodstream and blackened his mind.

He’d rather kill you than have you walk away from him like that.

ACT TWO: in the midst.

Chris fucks you with the purpose of possessing you.

There’s not a minute of peace when you are with him, he envelops all senses, he erases all other thoughts, until all you know is him, his touch, his cock. Months into sharing a bedroom, and coming apart underneath him every night, he’s never once mentioned that incident, the first one.

He’s never apologized for how he treated you, never brought it up. But he’s never once treated you the same since. Now that you live together, he gets to call all the shots, know your exact whereabouts, control what you wear, what you eat, how you come, how many times—he’s fucked you in places you never thought possible. He’s fucked you in front of people, shamelessly; on the banister, in the pool, on the kitchen counter and the office. Against walls and on the hood of his car, parked in the garage, Changbin, the road captain, working on his bike not a few steps away.

No one ever said anything to you, tried anything. They didn’t have a death wish, or they respected Chris too much. His influence was a testimony to his abilities. No one questioned him, but everyone obeyed him. They treated you like one of their own, they protected you when their sergeant would leave the house.

Other things—the shitload of drugs hidden in every trinket, every crevice, places you’d never think to check, and the meticulous way they deliver said product, how the trucks come in the middle of night, motorcycles deconstructed, filled to the brim with cocaine and sent to wherever, distributed to whatever unfortunate person. Chris never touched the trucks, you never saw him near them.

That was Minho’s job.

You spent entire days in bed after the deliveries, fucking, improvising stories of hunters and angels falling in love, how the hunter is always attracted to the angel’s light, how the angel forgives the hunter for his nature, and willingly dies by his axe. Chris bathes you and washes your hair with lavender, then carries you over to the vanity and brushes the strands with such care, you think he’s always loved you, in every life. That, perhaps, he was born loving you, and that this was predetermined; inescapable, inevitable.

He doesn’t sleep. He spends hours making love to you, feeding you; he works for even longer, meetings with the president, meetings with the suppliers, mountains of paperwork that you see him burn afterwards in the fireplace downstairs. If he does close his eyes, it’s flitting, twenty minutes here, an hour there; after he comes down from the high of being buried inside you, after a shower, at night as he watches you sleep, you pretend to close your eyes and feel him get comfortable on your stomach, his lips kissing any spot of naked skin he can find. When he does drift off, you lift your head and observe a man such as Chris Bahng sleep, how he does it, so unaware and off guard, so unlike his usual self.

It’s endearing. You love him the most when you find him in those positions, so peaceful, and a part of you thinks, ashamed—at least no one is dying by his hand tonight. His soul is something you think about a lot, the wretched, poisoned thing, paying for his actions. You asked him once; what keeps him up, why is he so unable to fall asleep?

“Nightmares,” he mumbled against your neck, teasing the sensitive flesh there. “Every time I close my eyes . . . someone is waiting for me. It’s always different, but they always end up dead. Everyone I care about— you. When you’re in my dreams, I can’t stand it. I’m always the one holding the gun. You’re always falling, or— fucking . . . walking away from me. When I wake up, I always check if you’re next to me,” his hand travels to yours, interlocking your fingers. He avoids your gaze. “If you’re not, it’s . . . it gets hard to breathe. I think I’ve killed you, that I’ve finally fucking lost it and, and done it, and the walls close in around me . . . Christ, I sound fucking insane.”

It’s difficult for you to say anything after that, so you slowly make your descend at the foot of the bed, making sure to kiss every inch of him, to let him know you’re right there, that he’ll never lose you, that the day it’ll come to that you’d rather he does kill you, that he does make that decision for you, because you’d have clearly gone mad; you cannot see yourself beyond him, cannot see a future where he’s not there, even as a fixture, even as someone who’s loved you once, a very long time ago. A friend, a lover, it’s all the same, and it’s all him, and you’ll always get whatever version of him you can.

You know you sound crazy, and maybe you are, maybe you deserve each other in that way, but it’s irrelevant to this story. This is not for the faint of heart—loving someone like him does not come easy, it’s not one of those ridiculous words—fate or destiny—or anything simple like that; loving him is hard fucking work, it’s torment and agony, it’s excruciating, and it’s a choice you make every single day, because you need it to live. An addiction, perhaps, though you’ve never been an addict.

You know this is how it feels. The needle in the vein. The snow on your nose. The smoke in your lungs. The burning, the boiling. This is it. When you take his cock in your mouth, when you hear that broken gasp fall from his lips, the familiar groan, the guttural sounds from the back of his throat, and how he grabs the back of your head, forcing you down to the hilt of him; when you’re so full you might as well inhale him entirely, become part of his crotch, his most private part, the one he keeps to himself—you think this is what it’s like to wait on someone’s steps, a beggar, a desperate girl giving her heart on a silver platter for the one in the house, the one holding the reins.

Chris is kind and generous. He opens the door, he allows you to come inside. There’s light and warmth here, but there’s also shadows in the corners, there’s locked doors and no one else around. It’s a lonely house, but he’s right there, all you need, all you’ll ever need. He welcomes you with open arms.

You get lost in the labyrinth of him.

“What the fuck was I doing before you, sweetheart? Who was I, who was I without this fucking mouth, fucking hell, baby . . .”

It’s a savage act, some would call it cannibalism, but it’s only been known as love to you. Your insides are aflame, roasting a pretty crackling orange, when he finally comes on your tongue, his hips lifting, eyes shut tight, your head in his big hands, keeping you there, making sure you’re swallowing every last drop. You do. You do. You‘re licking circles around the shiny, swollen tip one moment, and he’s got you bouncing on it the next, manhandling your ass, facing you away from him, wrapping muscular arms around your waist, ravaging your back with his teeth, biting and soothing, putting out the forest fires himself, braving the danger.

A devouring hunger. Stripped to its most primal state. Everything within you is jumping. No one talks about this—screwing for the sake of the flesh. You need to come, and keep coming, and he does too. There’s no other thought, no other reason. He’d mount you if he could, knot in you for hours, pump you full of his seed. If this is the way it’s meant to be, then let it be. Let him fuck you until he’s satiated. Let him fuck you into your last dying breath.

But his words. You want those for yourself. He whispers them in your ears, his mouth everywhere, the hotness of his breath, the raspiness of his voice—just as lost as you. This is how you need him.

“This cunt is mine, fucking mine, mine . . . Say it,” he drills into you, skin slapping on skin, sweat like water, and your tears, so uncontrollable, so many— “Say it, damn you.”

“Yours,” you comply, your arm reaching out to wrap around his neck. He kisses your shoulder, he bites, he marks. “All of me. Forever.”

“Swear it. Don’t ever leave me.”

“No . . . no . . .” You moan loudly as he reaches deep inside, to spots that make you see stars.

He shoves your face in the mattress, and gets on top of you, pistoling his length into you, hard and fast, chasing after the high he craves. You cry out and take it. The pain is so intense, bleeding into pleasure, overwhelming your body. You can’t feel your own heartbeat anymore, only Chris, only his pounding.

“Such a goddamn slut. Look at you,” he slaps your ass once, “fucking look at you,” twice, three times, four. You sob into the sheets, grab onto them. He’s relentless, he’s so close, you’re so close— “Why are you crying, huh?” He pulls you by the hair hard, lifting your head. You gulp down air, you’re glutinous, deprived. “Did you need my cock that bad? Have I not fucked your needy little hole enough?”

“You have, you have, please . . .”

Let go for me, sweetheart, fuck, you feel so fucking good . . . Never get tired of this pussy, taking me so well, baby, so fucking well, come on, one more, one more, that’s it . . .

Coming felt like the gates of heaven liquifying inside you. Your orgasm tore through you so savagely, you forgot how to breathe for several moments, your limbs unresponsive and extremely sore. Only thing you could do was convulse under Chris’ massive body, and let him ride his own, his nails digging into raw flesh, voice groggy and incredibly deep after three rounds of sex.

“Did I hurt you? Did I hurt you, baby?”

You hadn’t realized you were still crying ugly, terrible sobs. You immediately missed the weight of him as he got off you at once and flipped you on your back, panic-stricken honey eyes searching your face, your chest, any part of you he might’ve harmed.

“Where does it hurt? What have I done?” He kisses your temple, your eyes, he tastes your tears. He’s so worried you almost feel guilty for not responding. “(Y/N), I need you to tell me, sweetheart, I can’t see it, I can’t—is it your—”

“I’m fine,” you pacify him, placing your hands on either side of his face. You’re still breathing abnormally fast, but so is he. The room is spinning. “You didn’t hurt me anywhere, I’m fine, Chris.”

“But if you were, you’d tell me, yeah?”

He was so handsome, so handsome when he loved you.

“I would.”

His gaze was piercing, honeycomb giving way to molasses. His hands were trailing off again, doing their own thing, what they knew best; how to please you. His thumb on your clit, rubbing soft circles, your creamy entrance making lewd sounds that had the man over you growing impossibly hard again.

“And what about this?” A warm, tingly sensation grew low in your belly. “Does this hurt?”

You trap his hand with your thighs, and he smiles. You smile back.

“Maybe a little,” you lie, stretching.

He doesn’t let up. His fingers slip inside again, his other hand moving on himself, veiny and sure. Chris masturbating to the sight of getting you off is perhaps the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Your body is a tool he’s acquainted well with, and has made his sole expertise. So many hours on this bed, learning each other naked.

“Your cunt says something else,” he smirks, pumping his fist over his girth slowly, deliberately, growling low in the process, making you wetter, making you want, want, want. A chain of chemical reactions, you’ve become. “I wanna eat you out, (Y/N), you think you’ll be able to handle that?”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he mumbles on your stomach, placing a kiss there, and traveling down, nose dangerously close to where you want him most. “Your face when you come apart on my tongue—I wish I could die between your legs, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” you hide your face in embarrassment, as you feel him get in position, opening your legs wide, staring shamelessly at your swollen pussy.

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want,” he licks it once, tongue pressing flat on your clit and flicking, and you’re fucking gone. You’re writhing, trying to get away, moaning so loudly the whole house must’ve heard you. “This is mine, you’re fucking mine, and you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

He doesn’t get to work much on you, you’re coming apart in minutes. You’re so overstimulated, your legs are shaking uncontrollably, the muscles twitching. He doesn’t seem to care though, because he’s fingering all of your cream on his cock and finishing himself off, an ungodly sight, something out of a renaissance painting, the most explicit one, all well defined abs and veins popping on his neck, mouth formed into a perfect silent scream, as he pumps, and pumps and shoots on your thighs, white thick streaks, hot and sticky.

There’s a knock on the door, a throat clearing.

“Bahng,” Changbin’s voice. “It’s important.”

The room drops in the negatives. You see the abrupt change on your boyfriend’s face, his expression freezing over, his jaw clenching, moving, as he stares at the door like he wants to break it, and then beat his friend’s face in. You get on your elbows and whisper softly, “It’s okay,” to which he ignores.

“What the fuck do you want?” He calls out, furious, getting off the bed and grabbing a pair of discarded jeans from the floor.

“Meeting in ten,” his captain replies, and then there’s footsteps shuffling away.

“I need to shower, anyway,” you try to lighten the mood, reaching over the bed for your shirt. “We’ve been holed up here for hours. I don’t even know what time it is.”

“Why do you need to know?”

You don’t let his tone ruin what you’ve been building for the entire day. He was perfectly fine up until two seconds ago, it has nothing to do with you. You repeat this to yourself as you move around the room, clipping the hair away from your face, wiping the makeup from your cheeks.

“It’s really alright, Chris, you’ll only be gone for a bit.”

He ignores this as well. What he does—he takes two big strides towards you and grabs your face roughly. You meet his eyes, dark and menacing, and keep your cool. You don’t let his anger scare you, you’ve seen it all before. It has nothing to do with you, it has nothing to do with you.

“All you need to know, is I’m still in this fucking room and you smell like my cum, and there’s a lot of fucking things I can do in ten minutes,” he snarls, patting your hair down, bringing your hips together. “All you need to know is you have no use for clocks, because you’re not going anywhere. Am I fucking clear?”

You try not to let your body take over your mind, as it’s happened many times before. He knows your weak spot, he knows how good he can make it feel, and he uses it to his advantage any chance he gets. 

You will not be manipulated. You will stop falling for his words.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” you retorted, suddenly sad. “You’re only being like this because you want to stay.”

To that, he visibly calms, he mellows. “Of course I do. I never wanna be anywhere else. I wanna fuck you until you’re on the verge of passing out, and then I want to take you in the water and make it all better,” he tries to kiss you but you turn your head. There are no words to describe the hurt etched on his face, then. “You’re the only thing that matters, (Y/N). The only true thing.”

“Why do you treat me like this, Chris? Hot, then cold, again and again.”

You might’ve as well slapped him. He untangles himself from you at once, and walks over to the closet for a shirt. Your stomach drops. You definitely said something you shouldn’t have. Who knows how he’ll be now, what he might do. You might not see him for days. He knows how to hurt you and keep hurting you. One coin, two sides.

Nevertheless, you have to know. He never gives you any answers. You’ve given away so much to be here, to be with him. He walks the thin line of having something like that, a line between holding you—broken glass on his shaking palm, recklessly picking up the pieces when they fall, unafraid of the blood, of the cutting and maiming, and the repercussions afterwards.

His self destructiveness has never been more prominent before. Now it’s all you see.

“One true thing, Chris. Please.”

He looked so severe, the set of his jaw, the glint in his eye. When he punches the closet door closed and smashes the mirror with his fist, you don’t think he’s quite there in the room with you anymore. He’s in that faraway place again, in that hole, so hard to find.

Of course, the blood. The blood is always there. It’s been there from the start.

He motions for you not to move, his hair a mess sticking in all directions. Such violence and it’s all within him, there’s nothing you can do to pull it out of him. Only when it lashes out, only when he becomes the weapon.

“Don’t fucking come near me,” he barks, and you stop, you remain perfectly still, your gaze locked to his knuckles, bleeding profusely, staining the carpet. “I will never hurt you,” he rasps, and there’s iron will behind his words. “I will never fucking hurt you, I’d sooner die. I’d sooner fucking die . . .” His eyes fall closed, his breathing deepens, and you’re pretty sure you only have a few seconds before this all goes to shit.

You grab your clothes, and shoes, and where’s your phone, where’s your stupid phone—

“Get out of here. Get out of here now.”

You bite your lip until you taste copper. You won’t cry. You won’t fucking cry. This is not your fight. This is not your problem.

“I love you,” you squeeze out, before you throw the door open and spill down the stairs, the beast bellowing behind you, “GET THE FUCK OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Changbin puts his hands out, grabs your shoulders. 

Felix doesn’t even have to look at you; he curses, and climbs the stairs three at a time, calling for backup. The demolition has already begun.

You won’t cry. You refuse, you refuse, you refuse.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know?

ACT THREE: intermission.

In a fight, he’s devastating.

You’d told him time and time again, none of it meant anything, not a thing, just some mindless flirting to get better tips, it was part of your job, it was silly, little, nothing, nothing at all. You’d warned him against coming inside the Muse. It’d only cause trouble.

He would only cause trouble. It’s why he had Minho permanently positioned in there, it’s how the club was under Strays payroll, it was his excuse for visiting that night.

Making sure the product was being distributed properly. Keeping an eye out. Bullshit. You were so mad at him. He never showed up for these things, they went through other people. Chris was too important for it. And yet, here he was, disrupting your workflow, beating your regulars into a pulp.

You didn’t recognize anything from the man he was the last time you saw him. He had none of the tenderness, none of the ember in his gaze, no softness; only sharp, obliterating cruelty and the gun on his strap. His fists were bloody, his anger palpable.

Your tables had emptied out, unpaid. You were so angry.

“Try it, motherfucker,” your boyfriend smashed the poor guy’s head against the hardwood floor, repeatedly, in succession, until your voice was scratched raw from shouting for someone to stop him. “Try getting near her again, let me see you. Walk a straight fucking line to my girl, see if you get to live another goddamn day.”

“I didn’t know she was your girl, man! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man had been reduced to tears, his face so beat up you could barely make out his features under all the blood.

Minho stood in one corner, observing passively, while Seungmin tried to keep his friend back, ever the security guard. Chris was gone, though. There was no way to bring him back. There’d be a death tonight, and all of you would have to pretend it never happened. You think about that. About the first time you lied for him. For them.

“Bet you wanted to fuck her, hm?” He pulls his head up, only to bring him to his knee, kicking his nose broken, and throwing him back on the floor, chairs wobbling and falling over in the storm of him. “That’s what you’ve been coming for, isn’t it, you sick fuck?”

The whimpering is what did it for you. “I didn’t know. Please! Please!” You couldn’t just stand aside; you couldn’t let this go on.

The stage was empty, the band long finished with their set, now sitting at the counter over at the bar, glancing curiously your way. It was infuriating how none of them wanted to get involved. It was too late for this. Too fucking late, and you were tired.

So, you walked over to where Chris was stomping on the man’s ribs, making sure you were in his line of vision. When you got as close as you could, you called out his name. Nothing. You tried again.

“Chris. Chris.”

“I’ll fucking kill him, baby, he’ll never look at you twice, he won’t be able to, I swear it to you.” In what dark, dark place have you crawled into, my love? How do I get there?

You try to keep your voice steady, reasonable. From the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin shaking his head at you, motioning you to step back, away, out from the line of fire. 

“I don’t want that, Chris. I want you to let him go.”

“What?”

“And then I want you to go home.”

In retrospect, you should’ve heeded the bouncer’s advice. This version of Chris does not belong to you, it has nothing to do with feeling or logical thought. It festered in some terror-stricken hole he’d found as a child, and grew into a large open wound, the heart tree of all inhumanity in him. You’d have to carve it out if you’re to ever save him. But to carve it . . . No. You couldn’t. Not you.

Two terrible things happened that night, things that you’d quicker forget than let yourself remember fully.

His calloused hand attacked your neck, wrapping around it with such brutal force, it knocked the air out of you. Immediately, four men jumped to your rescue, circling you like hounds, yelling at Chris, trying to snatch him away from you.

“Stand the fuck down,” he snarled at them, never taking his black eyes off you. “You think I’d actually fucking hurt her? She can take this, can’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod, willing yourself to breathe through your panic, to combine this touch with the one he uses when he makes you feel good, the pain only pleasurable, only flitting, almost enjoyable. He watches you do this, and something flashes in his expression, a recognition, a moment of clarity. It’s gone as soon as it arrives.

“Don’t ever tell me what the fuck to do, you understand? I’m doing this for you, so you can be safe,” he’s never raised his voice at you, and he’s not doing it now, either. You’d take the screaming over this eerie calmness, this polite rage.

This is the monster under your bed, the demon in your closet. You can’t do anything about this, you don’t even know what’s hiding there.

“I didn’t ask for that, Chris,” you manage to say, placing a hand over the one on your throat. No one speaks, no one moves.

“You’ve no fucking idea what’s good for you, do you?”

“Clearly,” you reply, calmly, bitterly.

You see him swallow, and fight with the shadows clouding his judgment. You see the split decision—and the way he shoves you away, the way he refuses to look at you any longer. 

“Have it your way,” he snaps. He’s still so beautiful to you, even like this, the way a severe thunderstorm is, the way gray clouds can cover an entire sunny day in minutes. Not despite, but in spite.  “But this fucker dies today.”

In a split second, your life—an infinite whirlwind, a dizzying dance with no end in sight—it changes, it shifts, because—Chris takes his gun out, a single click, and shoots the man on the floor beside you. All it takes. A blink of an eye. No one seems to get what happened, probably accustomed to the death looming over, but you—you’re covered in blood now, blood that’s not yours, and you’ve never seen someone die before. You don’t even think it registers in your mind, really. You just stare, and stare, and hope that he’ll get up and go to a hospital, because he looks terrible.

“Don’t feel too bad, princess,” Felix whispers somewhere from behind you. “He was a registered sex offender. Boss found out today. Chris had to do it.”

“Chris is not a hit man,” you say mechanically, paralyzed, something else looking through your eyes, inhabiting your body. 

Where are you? Where’d you go?

“No, he’s not,” he agrees. You faintly feel a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react. “But he’s the one that’ll always get the job done. No matter what.”

This is the second thing. Learning that your boyfriend might be more of a collection of ghosts than an actual person. That the blood sprayed on your legs could be anyone’s, could be yours. The thing is, you weren’t truly scared before, but you are now.

And the terrifying truth—you still love him. You love him, you love him, it beats as sure as your heart, it fills you with guilt and despair, because . . . you don’t even really care. You should, surely. This is a horrible situation. But Chris is standing a mere few feet away from you, and he wants nothing to do with you, not when he’s like this, and somehow that’s more severe, that’s—that’s the real tragedy.

“Take care of it,” he cracks his neck, addressing no one in particular. Any of these men would do anything for him, for the club. Honor and loyalty, above all. “Bring me the books. There’s still business.”

Minho and Seungmin get to work, while a third person goes in the back. You don’t know who, you don’t see them, your gaze hasn’t moved from Chris. You whisper his name again, like back in the alley, over and over, and hope for him to turn around, to look and see, to dance with you, to shake you and make you spill. But he doesn’t. You don’t think he ever will again.

You’re one of them now. He didn’t keep you away, he failed, and so now you know.

“And for fuck’s sake, someone take her the hell away from here.”

You kickstart. “No, I won’t go.” You’re here, you’re here, where would I go if you’re here?

He won’t even spare you a second, a moment. He’s walking towards the bar, he’s lighting a cigarette, his hands are still raw and bleeding. The club is closed for the night, you’re no longer needed. Just another witness, just another person in the room. He can make you feel so small, so incredibly small, like you never mattered at all.

Felix steps up and offers to drive you.

“To the house,” Chris instructs firmly, skimming through pages of numbers. “Stay with her until I come back.”

There’s tears stinging your eyes. You fight not to let anyone see them. There’s so much movement around you, it’s making your head spin. Red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue—the lights never stop turning, they bleed over everything, a dream, a technicolor dream. You lift your hand to your cheek to confirm you’re still real, that you’re still breathing.

You’re sick to your stomach. Not enough. Not enough.

“Why are you sending me away?” You try again, foolishly hoping he’s going to pay you any mind, give you any explanation.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Felix mumbles close to your ear. “You don’t wanna be here for the clean up, trust me.”

Why are you sending me away, why are you sending me away . . . You don’t remember the ride to the club house. You don’t remember much of anything after the click of that gun. It echoes. The man’s eyes roll to the back of his head, a loop of red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue, redfuschiaorangeyellowblueredfuschiaorangeyellowblue

Someone screams.

ACT FOUR: after.

“I’ve never had a moment’s peace.”

Shirtless, with bandages running down his chest and over his shoulder, he looks like a tortured man returned from war. Burned. Turned inside out.

He was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. It’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. No. Peace is a foreign word. Reserved only for you.

You listen, you let yourself become the body he loves. You can’t find it in you to be angry at him, not anymore.

“How can I hold a thing like you in my hands and not break it? When you asked me for the truth . . . I couldn’t think of anything, (Y/N), not a single fucking thing,” he wraps a towel around your head, sure, capable hands pulling you up and helping you out of the bathtub. “What I feel for you is poisonous, it’s disturbing. You don’t want that. You shouldn’t want that. It’s not what you deserve.”

“You’re saying all this like you’re saying goodbye,” you whisper, letting him dry your skin, noticing the way he won’t allow himself to linger too long.

You see his mouth curve, his brow furrow. A strange image. It’s almost as if . . .

“I’ve only ever been a monster. A pathetic fucking excuse of a man, and I cannot keep you caged, I can’t keep being selfish with you,” when he’s once again met with your silence, he circles around you, hides behind your back. “You’re incredible, you know that? Other girls would’ve been running for the hills, but not you,” when he lets your hair fall, there’s a horrifying sound, like the earth ripping apart, the heavens falling—

Chris is crying.

Chris is crying and something is very, very wrong. Nothing feels right. He won’t let you turn around. His hands hold you still, his face is buried between your shoulder blades, and he.won’t.let.you.turn.around.

Your eyes sting with the effort it takes not to break down alongside him.

“You just—won’t—fucking—leave. You won’t give up,” he sobs, and then he’s hugging you, he’s hugging you so tight your ribs burn, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because you never in a thousand years ever pictured this man crying, much less in front of you.

“I’m never giving up,” you reassure him, trying to soothe the boy trying to come out, to escape. “Because I love you. Whatever that means for you, Chris. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He feel him shake his head, his hand wraps around your throat, bodies flush against each other. “I want you. I want you without . . .”

He lets go.

You turn to him, tilting your head, looking for his eyes. He exhales shakily, and moves away, grabbing his lighter from his back pocket, the cigarette from behind his ear. He rubs his face raw, then lights it, tip cherry red and burning fast, and he uses a hand to sit on the tiled floor, one arm resting on his knee. You get in front of him, towel forgotten, numb, completely numb.

“The club?” You say, quietly, so as not to anger the spirits, the demons. For no one else to hear but him. “You want to leave the club?”

He chuckles bitterly, and scratches his brow with a thumb, avoiding your gaze completely. Smoke swirls around you like snakes hunting for prey, an ominous presence. “I can’t even fucking say it. It’s been my whole life, my whole life. This fucking place—I know nothing else.”

“We‘ll figure it out. If you want out, we’ll find a way. Chris, these people look up to you, they trust you—”

“No, the fuck they don’t. That trust goes out the fucking window as soon as I walk. If I leave I’m a fucking traitor. If I leave I’ve betrayed all of them.”

You reach for his empty hand. He pulls away. You can’t ignore the Deja vu of this action. “And what about you?” You press, still. “What about what you’ve given for them, for their laws and rules? Your soul, Chris—”

He laughs, then, a proper laugh. When he does, finally, meet your eye, you see it all. The tortured, the choked, the repressed. It will never be easy. Ever. He might not ever make the decision, he might not ever leave. But dreaming about it . . . He has the right. No matter how unattainable, how unrealistic it seems to him. Why has no one ever shown him how?

“That battered, old thing,” he muses at his cigarette. “Lost it a long time ago, baby. Nothing there.”

“I don’t believe that.”

His smile breaks your heart. It looks so defeated, so devoid of any real happiness. “This is why I can’t let you go,” his fingers reach out and touch your bottom lip, the intention pure, nothing more than a reminder you’re still there, still his, but his gaze speaks of something darker, something you’ll never be able to quit.

“I got charges against me,” he says. “If I take the fall, the club remains. If I don’t, it all goes to hell.”

No. No. “Let it,” you choke out. “Let it! Chris, we can leave. We can go. Let’s just go. Please, I don’t—I can’t, I don’t want to lose—”

The biker puts his hands on your shoulders, shushes you, cradles you like a baby. You comply, a million different things bubbling inside you, ways to get him out, words you never said, everything you didn’t get to do yet. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.

“Listen to me,” he continues, cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. “It’s already done. I’ll be gone for a long time, alright, and I need to make sure you’re fucking taken care of. Be a good girl for me, yeah? Listen to me, (Y/N).”

You couldn’t. You were crying too hard, you missed him already. What you two had was nothing but burrowed time, you knew this, and you still mistook it for forever. This was why he didn’t want to get too close. This is why, every time you tried to hold onto him, he slipped away like quicksand. It was all coming down to this.

“Sweetheart, come on, stop crying. You know who I am, yeah? Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Listen to me—I’ve hidden money away. I want you to have it, okay? Use it to get yourself a place, somewhere safe. And don’t fucking go back to that club, I don’t wanna hear you went back, you hear me? Do something for yourself, go to school, I know how fucking smart you are, you’ll fucking blow them away. Hm?” He lifts your chin with his thumb, kisses your forehead, staying there, lingering for one, two, three seconds, before he pulls back and looks into your eyes, willing you to agree, to accept the money, to go on living without him. “I love you, alright? You got all of me, whatever’s still there, it’s all yours. Don’t wait for me. Live.”

“I don’t want to.”

He deflates, sighing heavily. “Don’t make this harder than it is, (Y/N). Do what I say.”

You shake your head, sniffling, wiping at your cheeks. “Not without you. I’m not doing any of that without you. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”

His expression is pleading, his nails digging into your skin like he wants to crawl inside and change your mind. “It’ll be years, baby. Too many. You’ve no fucking idea the shit I’ve done. They got it all, some fucking snitch went and gave it all away. I’m turning myself in tomorrow, I’m not—I’m not fucking asking you to wait. You’re not. Find some lucky boy that’s got nothing to do with this life, and be normal. I never meant to bring you into all of this. You didn’t—didn’t fucking deserve it.”

“Just like that?” you ask, defeated. You could never picture yourself being with anyone else, no one at all.

After Chris, nothing. Alone. Lonely, forever.

He chuckles, crushing you to him, his arms strong, and steady, and home, home, home. “Just like that. I’ll wring his fucking neck out if he’s not good to you, though. I’ll always keep an eye out, always make sure you’re safe.”

“Can I hear it again?” Such a quiet request, barely anything.

He knew exactly what you meant. Your heart broke, fresh tears making their descent on your face. He wiped all of them away. He held you as if, if it was up to him, he’d never, ever let go.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, sweetheart. You’ll be alright. I got you. I got you.”

You reach to where you know he keeps his gun. His hand flies out to stop you, gaze flaming with fear, with anger. Ash burns your arm, but you don’t even feel it. You’ve seen him use it; undo the safety, press down on the trigger. It was so easy for him. It’ll be easy for you too.

“Shoot me, then,” you bellow. “If you’re not gonna let me do it myself, shoot me! I don’t fucking want this, I’m not losing you, I’m not getting with someone else! What about me? You got this great plan—did you ever stop to think about what I’d want? If I’d be able to move on like how you’re expecting me to? I can’t just switch off my feelings for you, Chris, it doesn’t work like that, okay? I’ve gone through too much, I’ve seen too fucking much to just—to just—”

He wrestles you down, pinning your body on the floor, and getting on top of you, his smooth, cold gun resting on top of your heart. His mouth had curled into a tortured snarl, a bitter smile, his eyes shiny, crazy. You were shaking, he was shaking. You started crying, he started crying. With his thigh against your cunt, you felt his erection, hard and twitching.

“You think I didn’t think of this first?” He said roughly. “Christ, (Y/N), I’m trying to do the right thing here. You think I’ll be able to fucking kill you? I fucking adore you. I’d rather shoot myself in the head first, get it over with. Don’t ever fucking ask that of me again. I’ll be a dead man the second I do such a thing. I’ll be a dead fucking man if I’m not able to have you. Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

“Coward,” you spit in his face, and fight against his death grip. “Sentence us both then. I’ll be dead either way.”

He smashes your lips together. It hurts, it hurts, you wanna say, but you don’t think it’ll ever stop. There’s nothing in his way, everything in yours. In the time it takes to unzip his pants, grab his cock and guide it inside you, you’ve mourned him a thousand times over. To never have this again—him, again. . . You’ll die from missing him. You’ll cry yourself dry. There’s absolutely no way to escape this fate. You’re not ready, you’ll never be. How ridiculous it all seems in the end, faced with losing him.

He makes love to you slow, gentle, like he’s never done before. It’s not so much to get you off, than it is to make you understand. He could kill you both, but he’ll never be able to see you again. His place will be hell, the lowest level, the one he’ll have to keep walking for all eternity, while you’re up with the angels. If he doesn’t, if he hides the gun and never thinks of it again, at least he knows you’re somewhere out there, where there might be a one in a million chance he gets to be with you once more. If you’ll take him. Old and grey. He’ll never see you again as you are underneath him right now.

You stay like that on the floor for a while, with his seed spilling from between your legs, your scent all over him. You kiss him and for the first time, he kisses back. No teeth, no fists.

When he moves you over to the bed, he sleeps for the first time since he was born.

He sleeps and he dreams of you, of little hands reaching out, of being away from all this, far, far away. What he would give.

Everything. Everything.

[jason-todd-rh]

Masterlist 12

It's been a while (4 years to be exact) since i have done a masterlist but I wanted to do one. Here is the link to the other ones. My organization for each post is random. Also some didn't have names so i just did a short name (sorry in advance). There isn't a specifc order to them and these are just some i liked from the last year-ish.

As a reminder, make sure to follow these blogs :)

Series "Birds of a Feather" (part 1) (part 2) by @zyhkoo "Guard Dog" (part 1) (part 2) by @mostly-imagines "Shower Surprise" (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) by @twilight-orchid "Learning to Love Slowly" by @to-the-stars8 (honestly one of my favorites 10/10 recommend)

Jealous/Protective Jason (love me this category) "Don't Tell Jason" by @siddyyyyyyyy "Who are your boyfriend" by @prongsx

Fluff "Moonstruck" by @mostly-imagines "Favors in exchange for kisses" by @prongsx "Scenes from an afternoon odyssey" by @mostly-imagines "MIA" by @indulgentdaydream "Hungry?" by @montagoves "How He Shows He Loves You" by @mistymisfit "Amnesia and Flustered Jason" by @sanguineterrain "Eat Your Heart Patrick Swayze" by @kitkatscabinet "Physical Touch" by @luv4jason "Bluetooth j.t" by @cipheress-to-k-pop "Falling Asleep for the 1st time" by @patchiko "Hiding Nightmares" by @stararch4ngelqueen "Perfect Match" by @msfantasy-comics "SFW Fluff Alphabet" by @kimberly-spirits13 "Late Night Bouquet" by @killxz "We Got Love" by @makethatelevenrings "For the hell of it" by @lambsouvlaki "As long as you're with me" by @maivolpe "Shelter in the Rain"

Angst/Angst-ish "Don't Go Disappearing on Me" by @rambling-at-midnight "So This is Love" by @mostly-imagines "Not hot enough" by @writeriguess "Kidnapped" by @sanguineterrain "Where Are You" by @millyhelp "Ghosts of Gotham" by @sexsylexi "Domestic Betrayal" by @yourlocalcringydaydreamer "The Arkham Knight" by @mostly-imagines "Never Let Me Go" by @froggibus "Misunderstandings" by @sanguineterrain "Broken Heart of Gold" by @jasntodds "Be with You" by @chaotic-birds "Text me when you get home" by @sanguineterrain "Puzzle Pieces" by @makethatelevenrings "O Me! O Life" by @makethatelevenrings

NSFW "Jason Birthday fic" by @spidernuggets "Trying to get s/o's attention" by @gay-dorito-dust "First Time" by @igotanidea "Doesn't Always Have to be So Black and White" by @hanasnx "Lazy Morning" by @k2ntoss "Soft" by @stararch4ngelqueen "Don't make me cover your mouth" by @patheticbabie "Shower's on" by @icameheretoreadstuff "For the Hell of it" by @lambsouvlaki "NSWF Alphabet" by @sunlight-wing

[ink-n-shadow]

[ DAD'S BEST FRIEND ] 𝜗𝜚 the one where ghost is your dad's best friend

𝜗𝜚 pairing: dad's best friend!Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: slight smut (minors—DNI), age gap (reader is in 21; ghost is late 30s/early 40s), degradation (if you squint), knight-in-shining-armor!ghost

dad's bsf!ghost didn't even know you existed until you turned 21. he's honestly shocked when your father tells him that he had a kid back home. he's even more shocked when he finds out you aren't just some little kid.

dad's bsf!ghost starts coming around your house more often for holidays now that he's officially retired. he says it's because your mother makes the best roast dinner he's ever had, but it's really just to catch a glimpse of you in those sleep shorts and tank top you wear to bed.

dad's bsf!ghost often teases you for being an only child, calling you a 'spoiled little brat' and chastising your father for giving into your every whim. how else were you gonna learn about the real world if your father hands you everything on a silver platter?

dad's bsf!ghost can hardly believe his eyes when he's out at a bar one night with some of his other military buddies, shooting pool in the back when his eyes land on you sitting pretty at the bar. he can hardly believe the tight clothes sticking to your skin, leaving little to his imagination.

dad's bsf!ghost doesn't hesitate to storm over once he sees some drunk twenty-something getting a bit too handsy with you, leaning between the two of you and looming over the poor guy with a snarling, "do we have a fuckin' problem over here, eh? is this prick bothering you, doll?"

dad's bsf!ghost insists on driving you home that night, leading you out to his sleek black pickup truck with a hand on the small of your back as the other holds your coat. he can't help but ask why in the world you were in that dingy pub, scoffing as you threw the question back at him. "i'm a grown man, doll. you, however, are just a pretty little thing waiting to be eaten alive in there."

dad's bsf!ghost can't help the hard on he gets while driving down the deserted streets that night, trying not to use the height advantage he has on you to peer down the exposed skin of your cleavage.

dad's bsf!ghost has to control his breathing when you press a lingering drunken kiss against his cheek, jaw clenching when you explain it away as a 'thank you' for being your knight in shining armor.

dad's bsf!ghost spends the night sprawled out alone in his bed, dragging his fingertips teasingly along his cock as he focuses on the way your lips felt against his skin, the way you thanked him, the way you looked all pretty sitting alone in that bar.

dad's bsf!ghost spills his cum along the soft planes of his abdomen as he thinks about just how much he wants to spoil you. because after all, you were just a spoiled little brat, right?

[sexsylexi]

Reunion with the past

Jason Todd x Reader

The wind howled through the narrow alleyways of Gotham, sending a shiver down your spine as you clutched the crumpled letter in your hand. The edges were frayed from the number of times you’d folded and unfolded it, tracing the sharp, angry handwriting that you could have sworn was a ghost’s. It had to be some kind of sick joke—a cruel prank by some heartless soul who knew just how deeply Jason’s death had scarred you. But as much as your mind screamed for you to dismiss it, something in your heart couldn’t let go.

“Meet me at the old warehouse, midnight.”

There was no signature, just those words scrawled in the same script that had filled countless notes and letters from the boy you once loved—the boy who was supposed to be dead. It felt impossible, but after everything you had seen in Gotham, was it really so unbelievable? Batman had told you Jason was gone. The city had mourned him, and you had spent years trying to heal from the void he left behind. Yet, here you were, standing outside a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the clock inching closer to midnight.

The air was thick with tension, the shadows seeming to stretch out toward you, as if the darkness itself wanted to swallow you whole. You almost turned back, more than once. Your mind raced with thoughts of what this could mean—if it wasn’t Jason, then who was it? And if it was Jason… how? Why?

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the heavy metal door open. The creak echoed through the empty space, amplifying the silence that followed. The interior was dimly lit, only a few sparse bulbs flickering overhead, casting long, ominous shadows across the concrete floor. You scanned the room, your eyes searching for any sign of life, but the warehouse seemed deserted.

For a moment, you felt foolish for even considering this was real. You started to turn back, when a figure stepped out of the shadows.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the silhouette—a tall, broad-shouldered man, clad in black armor with a helmet obscuring his face. It was the Arkham Knight, the villain who had terrorized Gotham. But something about the way he moved, the way he stood… it was familiar in a way that made your heart ache.

“Y/N…” The voice was distorted through the helmet, but you would recognize it anywhere. A voice you had thought you would never hear again. It was deeper now, rougher, but still unmistakably Jason.

“Jason?” Your voice trembled as you took a tentative step forward, every part of you screaming that this couldn’t be real, that it had to be some cruel trick of the mind. “Is it really you?”

He hesitated before lifting his hands to the sides of his helmet. With a mechanical hiss, the helmet unlatched, revealing the face beneath it. The face of the boy you had loved. Only, he wasn’t a boy anymore. His features were sharper, harder, his once-bright blue eyes now clouded with pain and anger. His skin was paler, a faint scar running down his left cheek—a mark of the horrors he had endured.

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was low, almost emotionless, as if he was holding everything back. His eyes flickered over you, taking in every detail, and you saw the way his jaw clenched, like he was bracing himself for something.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. For years, you had imagined what it would be like if you could see him again, if you could just have one more moment with him. But now that he was standing right in front of you, you didn’t know what to say. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—relief, disbelief, anger, sadness.

“I thought you were dead,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice barely audible. “We all thought you were dead.”

His expression hardened at your words, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I was,” he said flatly. “At least, the Jason Todd you knew was.”

“What happened to you?” you asked, your voice breaking as you took another step closer, your eyes searching his face for any trace of the boy you once knew.

He looked away, his gaze drifting to the ground. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, the cold edge to his voice making your heart sink. “I’m not that person anymore.”

“You’re still Jason,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “You’re still the person I… I cared about.”

Jason flinched at your words, a flicker of emotion flashing in his eyes before he quickly masked it. “You don’t know what I’ve become,” he said, his tone laced with bitterness. “I’m not the same person, Y/N. I’ve done things… things you can’t even imagine.”

You reached out to him, your hand trembling as you gently touched his cheek. He stiffened at the contact, but didn’t pull away. His skin was cold under your fingertips, and you could feel the tension in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“I don’t care,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t care what you’ve done, Jason. I’m just… I’m just glad you’re alive.”

His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of vulnerability in them—an echo of the boy you once knew. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a steely resolve.

“You shouldn’t be,” he said, his voice harsh. “I’m not the person you remember, Y/N. I’m not… I’m not good for you. I’m dangerous. You should stay away from me.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I can’t,” you whispered. “I can’t just walk away, Jason. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after losing you once. I won’t lose you again.”

Jason’s expression twisted with pain, and he closed his eyes, as if trying to block out your words. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You don’t know what I’ve done. The things I’ve seen… the things I’ve been through… they changed me. I’m not the same person anymore. I can’t be that person for you.”

“But I still love you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Jason’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His expression was a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else—something deeper, more painful.

“You… you still love me?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I never stopped,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “Even after everything… even when I thought you were gone… I never stopped loving you, Jason.”

He looked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit. But all he found was the truth—the raw, unfiltered truth of your feelings.

“I don’t deserve that,” he muttered, his voice choked with emotion. “I don’t deserve your love. Not after everything I’ve done.”

“You do,” you insisted, your voice firm despite the tears. “You deserve to be loved, Jason. You deserve to have someone who cares about you… who sees you for who you are, not what you’ve done. And that someone is me.”

Jason shook his head, his eyes filled with pain. “I’m not the same person,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’m not the boy you loved. I’m colder, harder… I’m not sure I even know how to feel anymore.”

“You’re still Jason,” you whispered, your hand still resting on his cheek. “You’re still the person I fell in love with. And I’m not going to walk away from you. Not now, not ever.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, as if he was trying to process your words. Then, slowly, his hand came up to cover yours, his touch hesitant, as if he was afraid he might break you.

“You’re too good for me, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of awe and sorrow. “You always were.”

You shook your head, a soft smile breaking through your tears. “And you were always worth it,” you replied.

Jason’s expression softened, and for the first time since you’d seen him again, you saw a hint of the old Jason—the boy who had made you laugh, who had been your best friend and so much more. It was fleeting, but it was enough to give you hope.

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t know if I can be that person again,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You don’t have to be,” you assured him. “I just want you to be you—whoever that is now. I want to be with you, Jason. We can figure it out together.”

Jason closed his eyes, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. You could see the conflict in his expression, the war he was waging within himself. But after a long moment, he opened his eyes again, and there was something different in them—a resolve, a tentative acceptance.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said quietly. “But… I want to try. For you.”

A sob caught in your throat as you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

For a moment, Jason hesitated, his body stiff and unyielding against yours. It was as if he was afraid to let go, afraid to allow himself to feel anything beyond the cold anger and bitterness that had kept him alive all these years. But then, slowly, almost reluctantly, you felt his arms wrap around you, holding you close. It was tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure how to touch you, how to be close to someone in this way again. But then his grip tightened, and you could feel the raw, unspoken emotions in the way he held you—a desperate need, a longing he had buried so deep within himself that he’d almost forgotten it was there.

You buried your face against his chest, feeling the hard armor beneath his clothes, but also the steady beat of his heart. It was real. He was real. The boy you had lost, the boy you had mourned, was back in your arms, and despite everything, despite the coldness and the pain, you knew he needed you as much as you needed him.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. The words were heavy with years of grief, of longing, of nights spent staring at the empty side of your bed, wondering what could have been.

Jason didn’t say anything, but you felt him press his face against your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. For a long time, neither of you moved, simply holding on to each other as if afraid that letting go would shatter the fragile moment. You could feel the weight of his pain, the burden he carried, and it broke your heart all over again. But you also felt something else—a flicker of the boy he once was, hidden beneath the layers of anger and hurt. It wasn’t gone, just buried, and you knew that as long as you were with him, you could help him find that part of himself again.

Eventually, Jason pulled back, though his hands remained on your shoulders as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go completely. He looked down at you, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and something that looked almost like hope.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice quiet and raw. “I’ve been alone for so long… I don’t even know how to be with someone anymore.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears that still threatened to fall. “You don’t have to do this alone, Jason. You never did.”

He nodded slightly, his eyes filled with a sadness that made your heart ache. “I wish I’d known that before,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I pushed everyone away… I thought that was the only way to survive.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that anymore,” you said gently, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “You don’t have to push me away, Jason. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if he was savoring the simple, human connection. For a moment, he looked so vulnerable, so lost, that you wanted to take all his pain away, to somehow erase all the terrible things he had been through. But you knew that wasn’t possible. All you could do was be there for him, to help him find his way back, one step at a time.

When he opened his eyes again, there was a determination in them that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t know if I deserve this,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “But I want to try… for you, Y/N. I want to be someone you can love.”

“You already are,” you whispered, your heart swelling with emotion. “You’ve always been that person to me, Jason. No matter what’s happened, no matter how much you’ve changed… you’re still the person I fell in love with. And I’ll love you no matter what.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, and for the first time, you saw the walls he had built around himself begin to crack. It was just a small fissure, but it was enough. Enough to give you hope, enough to make you believe that you could help him heal.

“I don’t know where to start,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything feels so… broken.”

“Then we’ll start with the pieces,” you said softly, taking his hand in yours. “We’ll pick them up, one by one, and we’ll put them back together. We’ll make something new, something strong. Together.”

He stared at your joined hands for a long moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you were offering him. Then, slowly, he squeezed your hand, his grip firm and reassuring.

“Together,” he repeated, the word a promise, a vow.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that you hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t going to be easy—you knew that. The road ahead would be long, and there would be setbacks, challenges, moments of doubt. But you were ready for it. You were ready to fight for him, for the love you shared. Because no matter how much he had changed, no matter how dark his path had become, you knew that the Jason you loved was still there, beneath it all. And you would do whatever it took to bring him back.

As you stood there, in the cold, empty warehouse, holding onto each other as if the world outside didn’t exist, you felt something shift. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a change in the air, in the way Jason held you, in the way he looked at you. It was as if, for the first time in a long time, he was beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way back from the darkness.

And as you looked into his eyes, you knew that you would be there, every step of the way. You would walk with him through the shadows, through the pain, through whatever lay ahead. Because you had found him again, and you weren’t going to lose him. Not now, not ever.

“Let’s go home,” you whispered, your voice filled with a quiet determination. “Together.”

Jason nodded, a small, almost tentative smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was a start—a fragile, precious beginning. And as you led him out of the warehouse, into the cold night, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together.

Because some things, some loves, were worth fighting for. And Jason Todd was worth every battle, every tear, every moment. You would rebuild, you would heal, and one day, you would both find peace.

Together.

[gothic-thoughts]

Shameless

Sukuna Ryomen x Black Fem Reader Smut

MDNI, Enemies2Acquaintences, King!Sukuna, Knight!Reader,

CW: rough sex, dirty talking, 💦ing, unprotected cream🥧, implied 😻 eating, on the bed, against the wall

TW: blackmail

Word Count: 1828 (give or take)

"For someone that claims to hate me you seem to always find your way back to my castle."

(Y/n) squints at him before groaning heavily and hanging her head in annoyance. She looked up at him, knowing that bargaining was futile, but unfortunately, she was the only one brave enough to speak to Sukuna and return outside unscathed. His only request was that she come alone.

"I do hate you. You're a tyrant and a brute with no sense of mortals or human life. I loathe you as a king and individual."

The King of Curses chuckles, "And it is entertaining to say the least."

"You're unbearable."

"The last human to say that I turned them into a puddle, you should be praising my generosity, but I digress. You are here because I overheard your little plan with those friends of yours."

(Y/n gasps softly, before composing herself.

"I came to make a deal with you."

He smirks evilly, "Really now?" He sits up straight on his throne, "Never pegged you as the type to negotiate. I'm intrigued by the thought of what you could possibly offer me in return for any of your friends' foolish lives."

"That's what I came to ask; what would you want in return?"

"Hmm..."

"Something sensible, Sukuna. I'm not killing or allowing you to kill anyone."

He leans back in his chair, feigning empathy in an exaggerated pout.

"Last I checked, you were desperate enough to come to me for help. Not vice versa."

"So what...?"

"Beggers can't be choosers, now can they? With that said, you don't seem to be in any position to be making demands."

"I don't have to do this. But your help is the best way we can win this war without losing more than half our people."

"Oh. If that's all, then no."

"Thank-- I- wait what? Did you just say no?"

"If you don't have to, little one, then I don't either. I should just send you on your way."

"What?"

He stood up from the large golden throne and walked down the stairs in the opposite direction. His boots reach the floor and as he prepares to walk down the halls of his castle, (Y/n) gives in.

"Alright! Fine, fine, just tell me what you want and we'll go from there!"

He chuckles, knowing he won. He turned on his heels and walked closer and closer to the mortal woman, stepping around and behind her, holding her against his strong, body. His breath ghosted the shell of her ear making her tense with fear.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"How dare you."

"Was it not you that said killing was off the table?" He whispered in her ear, "Other than that, dear I don't desire much else. I already have a kingdom, an army, immense power that your mortal brain will never comprehend... My only desire left is to bed you."

"Absolutely not."

"The way I see it, I am quite the saint for helping you. The only thing I ask in return is to break your puny mortal imagination with ecstasy."

"Pick. something. else. I am not fucking you."

"So vulgar. But in that case, I'll be happy to send you back. Let me know where you're ready."

She stutters in confusion before groaning heavily in exasperation.

"Fine, just know I would never do this if the world wasn't at stake."

"Sticks and stones."

"Let's just get it over with."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After making a meal of the sweetness between her thighs, I stand from my bed and lick my lips clean, savoring every last second as it fades from my taste buds. I stared down at (Y/n)'s trembling form as she panted lightly, knowing she was glaring right back, focusing on every flexing muscle on my upper body making me chuckle at her lack of subtlety.

"Staring is impolite but I won't stop you."

(Y/n)'s cheeks burn with embarrassment, "Fuck off, it's not like I've been devoured by a fucking god before."

"I can tell."

"Whatever, we're finished here."

"Finished?" I chuckle, "I haven't reached my climax yet, darling."

"What, but you said my pleasure!"

"I can't help myself, I have the desire to stretch you apart. Don't worry, I plan to keep my promise after the deal is sealed. But, of course, that implies that they've been sealed first..."

"Ugh. Fine, whatever just...."

She sighed heavily in exasperation before she propped herself on her elbows, boldly staring at me as she spread her beautiful legs apart to reveal her delicious dripping parts to me.

"Just hurry up and get it over with..."

I give a cocky smirk at her newfound eagerness as I rip my pants from my body, making my 10 inches of girth flop out. (Y/n)'s eyes widen, legs tensing in fear as I climb across the bed, large, heavy cock bouncing with every movement until my hips are settled between her deliciously plump thighs. I rub the head of my shaft along her sensitive, saliva-slick bud before I push it past the tight, clenching entrance. Her hole seemed to be already struggling to take it in, but the expression on her face told me she was in pleasure-filled pain.

"All I did was slide in the tip."

"It's just a little th-thick..."

"Hm, but I'm only 3 inches in. Since I 'like' you, I'll be nice this once."

"W-what? What do you--"

"Let's try for at least 6. And don't worry, I don't break the toys I intend to play with for longer than a night."

Before she can question me, anymore, I grab her right hip to hold her still while guiding a few more inches into her, watching as it stretches her hole wider and wider with each new inch. I finally stopped once my tip was pressed tight against her cervix and looked down at her blissed-out face, eyes scanning down to where she was stretched around me.

"S-Shit...."

"Don't tell me you're done already, Lady (Y/n). I've seen you get stabbed worse than this."

"Shut the hell up and just m-move already."

I smile evilly. My hips draw back before plunging back into her, making her throw her head back into my mattress and pull at my sheets. I raise my eyebrows at the sensitivity of her body making the situation that much more surreal. I laugh at the feeling of her pussy desperately clenching around me as her gasps adorably morph into moans. I wrap my hand around her throat, holding tightly to see how her moans sound when her air's been restricted.

"You make the most delicious sounds, (Y/n)."

"Sh-shut... Ngh, y-you don't get to call me that."

"Do you like it?"

"I- ngh... N-no~"

"Well that can't be the truth since you're moaning so very loudly. Tell me honestly; your friends are not here to judge." I lean down to whisper in her ear, "And trust that this night will stay to me, alone."

She wraps her ankles around my waist, inevitably pulling me a couple of inches deeper as she tightens around me and reaches her clmax with a yelp. I looked down at where we were connected and saw a patch of slick on my pelvis. Hmm, that was...mmm. After making sure I had a good grip on her body, I moved our activity across the room and pinned her against the wall, continuing to thrust with my heavy balls slapping and grinding against the plush of her ass with every stroke.

"F-fuck, hah~!" She panted.

"How the mighty have fallen, I recall you saying that you hated me."

"I-- f-fuck- do."

"Oh but darling, that implies you hate all of me. But look at you, against the wall in my room, gushing on my cock. You talk so big, that's what I like about you really."

"Sh-shut up."

"I'd admire your stubbornness more if it wasn't bordering on stupidity. But I do admire this body and brain of yours, not broken yet despite roughly taking 10 inches of a god like it's nothing."

With a raised eyebrow, I push the last inch of my cock inside of (Y/n)'s and make her drop her head to my shoulder. She uses all her willpower to lift her head and look me in the eyes while weakly attempting to push against my hips but she's so weak from pleasure it only makes my hips go faster to spite her efforts.

"Where are you going? You're off the ground, darling, you can't run from me."

"F-fuck~!"

"Hm, someone has seemed to go dumb. What happened to that attitude you had when you entered my castle? What happened to that?"

"Y-You fuckin' bastard..."

"You just needed me to fuck it out, didn't you? Don't worry, wench, I'll fuck you back to a state where you can watch your tongue a little better."

"Sukuna~!"

I continue drilling into her hole, watching as her enchanting eyes swell with ecstasy-filled tears before rolling back into her skull. I take her back to the bed, placing her ankles on my shoulders and thrusting deeper, even taking it upon myself to softly kiss her calves when she suddenly gushes again making her cunt even easier to slip into while she convulsed and screamed my name.

"There we go, ugh~ even better. that feels really good. It's been forever since I had such a willful, tight lover in my bed."

I start to lose my own mind at the feeling so I grab the headboard to find some semblance of control while she looks for some herself by tugging at the sheets, and babbling incoherently underneath me.

"Will you give me the honor of being the first mortal I happily give my seed to? I need to hear you say it cuz I'm getting ready to put my seed deep inside your womb so you can be mine.”

My cock starts to throb, dripping more and more precum inside her with every slow deep thrust. My lips ghost the shell of her ear while I pant and whine about how good she feels squeezing the life out of my cock. (Y/n)'s breathy whine makes me chuckle between more deep thrusts.

"You ready, mortal?"

"Uh-huh, p-please..."

"That's more like it~” I bury my face into her neck, kissing at the love bite I left earlier, "Ooh that's it."

My balls tense finally ready as hot, thick cum rushes inside her walls, filling up all the space. (Y/n) claws at my back as she trembles underneath at the sudden heat rushing through her insides.

"Oh yesss..." I moaned, "Take it, mmh, take it all just like that, little one."

"Sh-shit, too much...."

"Shh, I know you can.”

My seemingly endless stream of my divine cum continued filling her insides to the brim, making her lower stomach bulge out from the amount I grind into her pussy, sealing every last drop inside. (Y/n) head lolls on the pillows, her mind trying to produce more thoughts or insults as some cum started to seep out in trickles down her thighs. A few more spurts of cum were shot inside and I sighed, finally finished and panting.

"There we are. Now I feel more inclined to help you."

[stealingyourbones]

Submitted Prompts #99

Jazz went to Gotham to finish her degree away from her parents, as their obsession with Ghosts started becoming dangerous to everyone. So, of course, she brought Danny with her, so he's also far away from them and the GIW.

Danny held out a whole year without going out on patrol, just establishing his haunt in the new city. Lady Gotham was very happy to be able to show them to their new place, almost giddy that the little King and his Queen Mother have come to live in her beloved city.

Of course, the first time Phantom floats out of his window and into the night, he has a new suit, made of padded black leather, and a fluffy white cape with a hood (imagine the Lightkin Cloak from Destiny2, but snow white, rather than black and grey), along with a facemask engraved with a fanged design. New haunt, new look, and the new look fit right in with the viciousness of Gotham City.

And, as luck would have it, his first Gotham Rogue was Poison Ivy. Thinking back to his fight against Undergrowth, Pantom opened with his ice, forming a double-sided axe to better cleave her vines apart, and locking Ivy herself down with ice.

To further distance himself from his identity as Phantom, in case the GIW somehow became smart at some point, instead of blasting ice like most ghosts fire ectoblasts, Danny asked Pandora for lessons on fighting with weapons, and Frosbite taught his how to channel his element as an aura, or a freezing breath. He even sat down to listen to Nocturne speak as they wove spells and ectoplasm, and the Personification of Dreams softly taught him how to use his powers through objects acting as catalysts, or as manifestations of his will, rather than throwing his affinities around by brute force.

With his new abilities and look, rather than fight like a feral raccoon, Danny took to fighting more like a spellblade, slinging around ice shard and spells to enhance his physical strikes, controlling the pace of a fight to get the upper hand on his enemies.

Suffice to say, Poison Ivy hadn't expected the Avatar of Icy Vengeance to lock her in a pillar of ice up to her neck while her vines withered into frosty sculptures.

Gotham's newest hero got awarded a new name by the news the next day: Ymir, Frozen Progenitor.

Danny thinks it's too pretentious for a random ghost, or random halfa, like him. Joke's on him, the perception of Gotham's people slowly starts empowering him, slowly enough that the only reason he notices his oncoming Ascension to myth as a Protector Spirit is when a terrified kid begs for his help, and he hears them loud and clear out of nowhere.

The Bats are confused by this Entity. Constantine stepped one foot in Gotham, felt it's cleaner air, the sharp bite of ice in his nose and lungs, and the overwhelming pressure of the new Godling training under Gotham herself to control his new powers, and ran out screaming about not getting paid enough to deal with divine beings. Zatanna is trying to contact Ymir to ask them to join the Justice League Dark.

Jason is vibing with the tall redhead Amazon he's met at Babs' library, and her feral little brother who cured his Pit Rage by biting his arm when they first met. One time Jason is in a pinch after a stakeout gone wrong, Bellona (Ancient Roman Goddess of War) takes the fight to his captors to free him, dressed in golden armor and wielding a spear Pandora and Firght Knight made for her. Nocturne and her brother worked together to imbue a spell into her back to give her wings she can use to fly or fight with. The fact it left a badass tattoo on her back, is just another way Jazz rebels against her parents. It also has Jason weak in the knees when he first sees it.

[ceilidho]

I am also sweating at the image of knight!Ghost putting a golden collar on his pretty little wife 😮‍💨 and that moment when she finally comes crawling to him, begging him to take her, she can’t take the sexual tension anymore and desperately needs him? I imagine Ghost would be just oh so gentle with her that first time, doesn’t want to break her 🥺 giving her little forehead kisses the whole time

Ghost would be so good to his princess when he finally takes her virginity :))) and the whole lead up to it would be so delicious.

You'd probably finally cave after he'd been away on a month long campaign, no way to contact him except for whenever a messenger returned from the battleground to bring news of any successes or losses. You spend the entire month absolutely petrified that Ghost won't come back from war, and for the first time since meeting him, you don't dread the sight of his black Friesian coming up the long path towards the manor house.

That's probably when he first puts the collar around your neck. One of the spoils of war that he brought back with him to adorn you with and remind himself what he went to fight for. And that would be just too much for you; you'd have to clutch his hand tight and whisper that you'd like a private moment with him (because he fit the collar around your neck while surrounded by his troops and the servants).

He'd be so gentle that first time, so conscious of his size compared to you. Ghost would lie down on the bed and drag you up over his mouth to make sure you were properly wet and stretched enough to take him.

Maybe he'd make you sit astride him so you could sink down onto his length the first time and set the pace, and it would come as a complete shock to you because you'd expected to have to grit your teeth and suffer through it (you trusted him enough to not hurt you too much, but you'd heard nothing but horror stories from your sisters and mother when they'd first married you off). You didn't even think ladies could sit on their husbands this way - it seems so crass and unseemly. But Ghost seems so content under you, your barrel-chested, hirsute husband, finally secure enough to let you see his face and trace over all the white scars across his skin.

[catpriciousmarjara]

Dp x Dc fic idea

Part 2

So I've been re-watching Yu Yu Hakusho lately and was struck with an idea. What if there was a tradition in the Infinite Realms that the Ghost King would conduct a multiverse level fighting tournament? It probably started as control measure of some sort or stress relief for extremely powerful beings and the Ghost King is the only one who's true neutral enough to judge and powerful enough to kick their asses if they misbehave.

And the final prize is that the Ghost King would grant you a wish? As well as one time access to Zeroth Hour? And that's a reward no one can resist.

I'm imagining a scenario where Darksied or something was gearing up to once again invade Earth, and the JL and affiliated all prepared to defend the planet but before the attack could be launched, a green blob appeared right in front of Darkseid and somehow it actually makes the tyrant flinch. That made everyone pay attention. And then the blob announces the beginning of the tournament and Darkseid promptly packs up and leaves, leaving the heroes dumbfounded.

So something like this:

The air was rife with tension. All eyes were on Metropolis, at the gaping maw of the portal opening right above the city. The forces of Apokolips were once again invading. Darkseid had declared war.

Earth's heroes stood grim, ready to give their lives in defence of the planet. Their gazes were fixed on Darkseid, standing in front of his army, surveying his opponents. His general stood behind him, primed for combat.

Abruptly the pressure doubled, and the heroes tensed, readying for battle.

Darkseid raised his left hand, to light the spark of war. But before he could bring it down, the space between the two factions, right there in the middle, twisted.

And from the distortion, a titanic, green, humanoid...blob appeared.

The heroes stared. The New Gods stared. The creature did not stare, as it had no eyes, nor did it care.

It then spoke, with a solid, booming voice completely incongruous with its make.

"Uxas of Apokolips!"

The heroes watched in bafflement as their greatest foe jolted.

"The Infinite Realms hereby declares the beginning of the Grand Tourney. You are cordially invited to participate on behalf of Apokolips."

Among the Earth forces, one John Constantine felt dread overcome his body as he realized what exactly was happening. Shit, was it that time of the millennium already?

Captain Marvel seemed to be on the same vein of thought as the Wisdom of Solomon as well as the knowledge of his predecessors filled him in on what was going on.

The Dark members in the know had similar reactions. All across the planet, and in the dimension, magical entities who had tuned into watch the fatal confrontation, felt excitement racing through them as they realized what this meant. Other beings? Not so much.

Batman was cataloguing these strange turn of events carefully. Superman was puzzled but still held himself ready. Green Lantern was trying to figure out why exactly his ring was behaving strangely and giving out sparks. Martian Manhunter was analyzing the curious psionic readings he was getting from the creature.

Wonder Woman and Aquaman however had the dawning expression of recognition on their faces, which did not go unnoticed by their Gothamite colleague.

Surprisingly the Flash was looking at the creature as if it wasn't the first time he saw it. That too was noted by the Dark Knight.

On the Apokolips side however, there were no signs of puzzlement. Instead it looked like excitement was spreading like wildfire through the army, and even Darkseid looked eager.

The creature took note of none of these developments and continued.

"The first event is the Great Hunt. As an invited participant, a hint would be provided to you should you accept".

It bent its great, gelatinous head towards the Apokoliptian ruler.

"Do you accept, Uxas of Apokolips?"

In response, Darkseid stepped forward. "I accept."

And in a flash, before the New God appeared a pitch black card, and the creature announced, "Uxas, Ruler of Apokolips, Participant Number R813."

It straightened to its full height. "Your first hint is on Apokolips, young ruler."

And the next second it was gone, with the same exact warping of space it had come from.

The two factions were left alone, sans eldritch green goop.

Most of the heroes had one thought: What the fuck just happened and did the green goop thing call Darkseid young?"

Darkseid did not waste anytime however. He turned to his army and ordered, "Retreat!"

And just like that the great army filtered back through the portal they had come from, and the mortals heroes of Earth watched, perplexed. They still held themselves at the ready, in case this was all a ploy of some sort, and half of them believed it was. After all, what could make an obsessive tyrant like Darkseid turn back?

A good portion of the heroes were trying to figure out what the Grand Tourney the creature had mentioned was.

And those in the know? Well they knew chaos was incoming.

The portal closed and just like that, Earth lived to see another day. Via interruption by magical goop.

..............................................................................................................................

And there you have it! Personally I think a scenario like this is hilarious. Imagine you're on the battlefield, facing a gargantuan, godly army, readying yourself for a battle that could kill you. And then the battle was cancelled cause your opponent had somewhere urgent to be.

I don't have a clear cut idea on what Zeroth Hour is beyond it being a great timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly thing, so any ideas are welcome.

The Tourney only happens once every 100,000 years, and it takes place across the omniverse, on different terrains, different timelines, different dimensions and so on. The card that Darkseid got acts as an access key to tournament sites he doesn't normally have access to. The card also monitors participants and is programmed to hell and back to not allow the participants to misuse it. There are dire consequences if you do.

There are 14 stages in total, and the final, combat stage is conducted in a ever evolving, ever changing battle ground on the edges of the Ghost Zone.

Faerie here is not the Fair Lands in DC, and does not follow the dc fictional mythology.

Infinite Beings do not take part in the Tourney.

The last victor was a half dragon, half god prince from Dimension 976123065. He asked for the opportunity to court Princess Dorothea. It was a reality show moment for the Ghost Zone.

Also some extra details:

The JL would of course come to know what the Grand Tourney is, and then realize that if Darkseid won, he would get the anti-life equation that way. And before they could panic their mind would be blown by the fact that apparently, Darkseid is not likely to win at all, cos there are bigger players in the game.

Constantine would be forced to admit that even if you don't get an invitation, you can still participate if you register. Though you won't get the opening hint or any other boosts until Stage 5. He can't understand why anyone would want to considering that those who do get invitations are on the level of Darkseid and higher.

Batman would insist they check it out.

Constantine would say that he has no idea where the registration office is.

Captain Marvel would chime in that the office was most likely in the Faerie.

Constantine would then insist that they have no business messing around in the Faerie. JL Dark would nod vehemently in agreement.

Batman insists they at least watch the tournament. Constantine gets conned into organizing a watch party.

PART 2

[arioloyal]

Yayy you're taking requests now!! If I may, can you write one where Baldwin's health improves and every woman wants to try their luck with him. But he remains loyal to the one who was with him all the time.

I love it that the fandom is growing have more talented writers so thanks in advance 💕💕

Hi!. Thank you for your words♡. To be honest, the fandom activity has decreased recently, so I decided to start writing by myself. Although it doesn't get enough notice, I will try my best. I hope you like it💖

(King baldwin iv x reader oneshot)

Warning: mention of d×eath and blood, leprosy

[Persia empire- 1181]

...About 3 months had passed since my father's death and the time did not help. Millions of thoughts passed through my head every day. Did he die because of the heavy burden of my sins? Is this God's punishment?

This morning at sunrise I kissed my mother's hand and set off. I always heard from pilgrims who had returned that Jerusalem is the best place to ask for forgiveness.

I jumped on my black horse and galloped forward. My mother's tired face flashed in my mind like lightning for a moment and then went off. I knew she was worried about me, but honestly, I didn't saw any reason for her to worry. As far as I know, we should worry about those who are moving away from God and love, not those who are always moving quickly towards love and destiny.

I didn't know what was waiting for me in Jerusalem. But I was ready to embrace any destiny the holy land had for me. Even with all the difficulties and sorrows.

...the night before leaving home, I opened the windows of my room all the way. The smell of darkness filled the room. I sat under the flickering light of the candles while looking at a large mirror. I braided my hair, cleaning my skin and put the red robe and turban by my bed.

When I was done, I checked my face. It had become more tender and beautiful. I had nothing left from the past. Just for now, I was ready forever.

I went to my mother's room and asked her to pray for me. When she saw my new face, she said: "I see that your journey has changed you, even though it hasn't started yet.

I said: "Love is a journey. The traveler of this journey, whether she wants it or not, will change from head to toe. There is no one who goes this way and doesn't change."

My mother smiled faintly and called me. Then she gave me a wooden box. Inside the box were three things: a mirror with a silver frame, an embroidered silk handkerchief, and a crystal little glass.

:"These will help you on your journey. Whenever you need, use these. If you ever feel ugly and lose your self-confidence, this mirror will show you the beauty inside you. whenever You feel that have no credibility and you are alone, this silk handkerchief reminds you that the most important thing is the purity of heart and soul and that medicine inside the glass, which is very rare, can heal any wounds."

After I caressed these three things. I thanked my mother, kissed her hand and walked towards destiny...

[Jerusalem- 1183]

About two years have passed since I arrived in the Holy Land. I didn't even imagine that I would be able to stay here for so long, and that was thanks to the royal court, who let me in as an advisor and mentor. I would be lying if I said that all of them liked me. Lord Lusignan and his followers looked at me as a witch who has bewitched and trapped the king.

I talked day and night with the leper king, that wandering ghost of the palace who has not sat at the dinner table with his knights for years. He always challenged me mentally, which of course was not easy, but his peaceful nature was always behind his beautiful calming voice, which made me more fascinated by him day by day.

But I only came here to seek forgiveness from God, not anything else...

Fate took me to another place that I did not even imagine. I gave him all the contents of the box. Those three valuable things. I used that ointment in the glass for his wounds. That box was destined to have another owner.

it worked...

After weeks, the purulent wounds and infections dried up. i think he was feeling better

:"Gather all your strength. God will make better things for you," I said as I bandaged his arms.

:"God, doesn't know me." His eyes never stopped staring at me and even penetrated to my bones.

- : "Yes, but I do."...

The news of the King's recovery spread across borders and seas and reached Damascus, Syria, France and England. Almost every day, the nobles and their daughters came from far away to congratulate the king and presented him with all kinds of gifts. But they were surprisingly rejected by Baldwin iv.

:"... Right now, all these gifts should be sold to the merchants, only that small fund will remain. From the cost of selling these, grains should be prepared for the people."

Tiberias asked with a surprised expression: "Is there any problem, my lord?"

:"No...by the way, where is lady y/n?"

....

Tiberias's face closed like an iron door. The question that he was afraid of was finally asked...

:"Tiberias?!

- :"Lady y/n ...honestly.. she's not here anymore. She's gone." Words tumbled out of his mouth like incoherent puzzles.

:"What do you mean she's gone?"

Baldwin's breathing became heavier and his voice more frightening. After staring at the box for a few moments, he broke the silence again.

:"Take the letter that I'm writing to her and bring y/n back to me anyway. If necessary, search this land from stone to stone. Bring her to me. I'm begging you..."

...I had reached Damascus and decided to stay in the caravanserai temporarily tonight. I shouldn't have forgotten my goal and stayed in a place where I don't belong. But I am nervous at the thought of Baldwin's concern, but I don't think that there is any need for my presence, while those beautiful and noble girls are hanging around him.

:" Please don't forget your turn y/n!"

- :" Oh, I'm sorry. Yes..." I looked at the chess board. I used to play chess there with one of my old friends. The more I looked, the more I saw that I had no choice but to get closer to Checkmate. With a bold move, I moved my queen forward.

It was at that moment that I felt a shadow above me. I recognized him.

:"it's Nice to see you again, Tiberias.

I said without looking up from the chess board. He wasn't a man who wanted to talk indirectly or make excuses, but I honestly didn't expect him to find me so soon.

:"Please come back. He makes so many excuses. He asked me to look for you everywhere. I couldn't lie to him that you were gone forever and I couldn't find you. But anyway...

He asked me to give you this letter."

I glanced at the scroll that Tiberias had pulled out from under his black cloak and handed to me. I accepted it and started reading:

"...the beauty of Jerusalem, my ruler, my padishah, my sultana, my y/n.

I wish now that instead of the smell of blood and dirt, I could smell your beautiful hair to revive this half-dead body. You are the light of my dark nights. I desperately ask you to come back to me for the last time.

I inevitably marched to the border of Kerak to prevent a w*ar. I am alone and the fear of losing Jerusalem does not leave me, but the fear of losing you is much worse than that. I still hope that you will come back and heal the wounds of my heart and soul like before."

("Baldwin iv of Jerusalem")

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Trying something new

Marc Spector x fem!reader

Warnings: light bondage, consensual non-consent, p in v, light touch on horror themes(?), Marc being scary, light threats, soft-dom Marc, smut.

You didn't do alot of roleplay with the boys, only some Moon Knight roleplay with Marc and some Professor Grant roleplay with Steven. Jake isn't into roleplay, but he is the one who would give ideas to the other two, and that's exactly what he did to Marc.

It was a stormy night, the wind and rain hitting the window in waves. But what made this a bit more scary was you on the couch, wrapped up in a cozy blanked while watching Terrifier 2. You sipped on your hot chocolate, the storm outside and the horror movie making you cuddle yourself in the blanket. As the movie progressed, your eyes began to grew heavy due to almost being 1 AM.

But suddenly you heard a crash coming from the kitchen. You jumped in your seat, your brain whirling with 'Did that just happen or did you imagine it?'

So you paused the movie, your heart went to your throat as you felt the adrenaline floot your system. You slowly got up, grabbing your phone and clutching it tightly. Looking into the small dark hallway, you suddenly heard the floor squeak, heavy steps coming towards you. You thought about turning on the flashlight on your phone, ready to scream. But then the person flicked on the light in the hallway, a figure dressed in black, wearing a balaclava stood before you. You could only see the eyes, the brown eyes.

You started backing off slowly, but the intruder did the same, slowly walking towards you. "Don't even think about it." He said threatingly as he saw your gaze fell upon the mug with the still hot chocolate in it. You froze in place immediately, watching as the man advanced to you. Only then did you notice the hunting knife in his hand.

The man stopped a couple of steps away from you, "Never thought you'd experience what it's like to be in a horror movie, did ya'?" He asked amused, nodding towards the paused horror movie, meanwhile you just stood there, unable to move from being shocked and scared at the same.

"Don't piss your pants yet, I only broke in and you're shaking like a leaf." He chuckled, leaning down to your level, his brown eyes looking straight into your eyes as his other gloved hand came up to pinch your cheek softly.

After what felt like hours you finally spoke up, "What do you want?" your voice trembling in fear as the man straightened up again, reaching behind himself, reaching for handcuffs before showing them to you, "Turn around and put your hands behind your back." Was the order he gave. You complied, slowly turning and putting your hands behind your back. He grabbed your wrists and clicked the handcuffs around them, but making sure they had enough space as to not scrape against your skin to hurt you.

He leaned down and placed both his gloved hands on your shoulders, making you jump slightly "I assume you'll be good for me, right? Don't wanna end up like that girl in the movie, hm?" He whispered into your ear, his hands on your shoulders squeezing gently as his breath ghosted over your shell through the balaclava.

"N-no, sir..." You replied, shaking your head. The man stepped back, his eyes roaming over your body, "You got quite the beautiful body." He began to whistle teasingly, making the hair on your neck stand up.

"And now, tell me where you hide your good valuable stuff, princess." He demanded in a firm tone, crossing his arms over his chest as you slowly turned around, unsure if you were allowed to.

"I don't have anything valuable." You murmured, eyes flicking to his brown ones before meeting the ground.

He tilted his head slightly, definitely not buying your excuse, "Who are you kidding? Nothing, eh? Bullshit."

"You can turn the whole place around if you want, I got nothing." You defended, trying to reason with him.

He uncrossed his arms and began swiping his fingers across the sharp blade of his hunting knife before looking at you, "You're telling the truth and got nothing, huh?"

You nodded, looking back on the ground.

"So you're telling me I just wasted my fucking time breaking into this place, only to find you here telling me you got nothing?" He asked frustrated.

You remained quiet.

The man stopped playing with the knife, "You know...you're wrong about that."

You looked up, giving him a puzzled expression "What?"

"You said there is nothing..." He trailed off. "But who do I got here standing infront of me?" He asked, the grin in his voice was audible. "You..." He pointed to knife at you.

"No-wait..." You backed off as he walked towards you, quickly stopping you by grabbing your shoulder, "Ah-ah, no running off for you tonight, come with me." He scolded gently, dragging you towards the bedroom.

Inside the bedroom he gently pushed you towards the bed, locking the door afterward. "You know what comes now, don't you?" He walked over to you, grabbing your cuffed wrists with one and your chin with the other hand, "I'm gonna cuff your wrist to the headboard now. And you'll be a good little captive and do what I say, alright?" He informed before freeing one wrist and forcing you to get on the bed.

He knelt behind you, taking your wrist and leaning over you to cuff it to the headboard. Your backside accidentally brushed against his crotch, letting you feel the notable bulge in his pants. "From now on you keep your eyes infront of you. Don't look back or things will get pretty ugly." He warned, patting your ass cheeks before giving each a soft squeeze.

The man slowly removed his balaclava, keeping his eyes on you to ensure you didn't look before grabbing your ankles, tugging at them to make you lay down on your stomach.

"You do got something for me, sweetie." He removed his gloves, throwing them onto the floor before undressing your lower half. His warm fingers sliding along your skin. "Since you've been so good for me, I'll be gentle with you." He assured softly as he removed the last piece. His fingers ran up your spine with just enough pressure to make your back arch as he leaned over you, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding your head gently in place "This is how we will start; I'll get you all dripping wet and ready for me before I slide my cock into your tight little pussy inch by inch..."

You nodded, accepting whatever is going to happen, feeling yourself getting wet by even thinking about it.

Marc pulled back, his hands trailing down your back, earning a small squirm from you. He pulled off his shirt and undid his pants, sliding them off, only wearing his boxers and returning to his position behind you. He slowly ran his hand upwards along your inner thigh, feeling the heat from your core. He chuckled when he discovered you already dripping onto the sheets.

"Does that turn you on?" He ran two fingers along your wet folds, making you choke out a moan

"Fuuck~" Your back arched on itself, trying to get more friction.

"Yeah it does turn you on..." He drawled, moving both his hands to your hips to pull your backside up. His fingers returning to your core, moving to rub your clit slowly.

"Feels so good-please don't stop~" You moaned as he pressed down slightly before removing his fingers from your clit.

"Relax, or I will fuck you so hard, so good, you'll either beg me to make you cum or to stop." He chuckled, reaching inside his boxers, pulling his rock hard cock out. Marc got closer to you, rubbing his entire length along your slit, slicking himself up with your wetness.

Your eyes rolled back, arching your back instinctively as the tip of his cock pressed against your entrance.

"It gets you all dripping, hmm?" He pushed inside, "Knowing that," he pushed another inch inside "if you tell the intruder," another inch of his thickness, "there is nothing to grab," he pushed another inch into you, "that he will fuck you." His hips snapped suddenly, burying his whole girth into your pussy.

"O-oh my g-" You cried out, your mind instantly getting fogged with the sensation of him.

"Mhhmm, you dirty little thing..." He pulled out almost entirely, "I'll fuck you senseless." He pushed inside all the way once more, grinding his hips against you.

A loud moan escaped you, his hand swiftly came up to shush you gently, "Shh, you gotta stay quiet for me." He slowly started moving, making you moan against his hand with every drag of his shaft inside you. "Oh no, imagine what people might think what's happening inside here..." He started moving faster, the volume of your moans got more silent again "There you go." Marc stopped, making you whimper at the loss of friction.

"Please..." You whined. He leaned closer, "Please what, princess?" He teased, starting to thrust into you again.

"Want me to fuck you, huh?" He increased his pace, his hand retracted from your mouth to grip your hips along with the other hand.

"Fine, I'll give you what you want." He warned, using your hips as leverage to slam into you again and again. The only sounds louder than your moans and his grunts was the storm outside. Marc didn't slow down, continuing to pount into you. After some time, you felt your orgasm approach rapidly, "I'm close, I'm so close!"

"I gotcha. C'mon, give it to me." He incouraged, his hand moving to stroke your clit, he felt your walls squeezing him tightly, making him lose it. Just as you came you turned your head to look into his brown eyes. With a grunt and a final, hard thrust, Marc filled you up, looking down and catching your gaze, "Thought I told you to keep your eyes ahead, baby." Marc chuckled, pulling out.

"Sorry, couldn't resist." You collapsed onto the bed. Marc collapsed beside you, "You okay?" He asked, with a note of concern in his tone.

You nodded, "Yes."

"That was quite intense." Marc remarked, "But you did great." He kissed your forehead, pulling you close.

You tugged at your cuffed wrist, "Marc, the handcuffs."

"Right, sorry." He laughed, sitting up to grab the black pants to search for the keys for the cuffs. He frowned, looking back at you, "Crap...I uh, lost the keys."

"You serious?" You sat up.

"You bet your ass I am." Marc grinned, pulling the keys out from the pocket.

"Dick." You smacked his shoulder lightly.

"For you." Marc teased, unlocking the cuffs, rubbing your wrist. "Let's go clean up." He smiled, pulling you up.

"And after that we continue with the movie, right?" You smiled, grabbing your remaining clothes. Marc grabbed his own, "Absolutely. Though, your hot chocolate isn't hot anymore." He replied, giving you a grin.

"I got you. No need for the hot chocolate." You giggled.

Marc raised an eyebrow teasingly, "That means we can get to shower cold, right?" He grinned.

"Nooo!" You laughed. "But I gotta ask, how the hell did Jake come up with this whole thing?" You asked.

Marc shrugged, "It's Jake. But he loves witnessing the show, that's for sure."

[violetswritingg]

Main Masterlist

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Imagines

Coming soon!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Series

Twisters

Thunderstruck

Tyler Owens x OFC!

Description: When cowgirl meets cowboy after a year of no-contact and chaos ensues during storm season!

Rating: M (Mentions of blood and death in Tornadoes and storms alike, angst and loss of loved ones, car accidents, Tornado aftermath, and injury to characters, slight age gap (5 years))

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 17 (Coming soon)

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Young Justice

Canary Cry

Robin/Nightwing (Dick Grayson) x OFC!

Description: Her violence was silent. Until it wasn't.

"I'm fine."

"Fine is just another word for drowning."

Rating T-M (mentions of blood, child abuse, mental health, cannon situations of violence and the like. Loss of parents, hard of hearing/deaf character, poorly written fight scenes lol)

Act-One

0: Creation

1: He Left

2: Birthday's and Nightmares

3: Drop-Zone A

4: Drop-Zone B

5: Disappointment

6: School'd

7: Trash Go Boom

8: Home

9: Infiltrator

10: Outfiltrated

11: Truces and Text messages

12: Denial

13: Downtime

Act two

14: Bereft

15: Mortal Wounds

16: Home Invasion

17: Alpha Male pt.1

18: Alpha Male pt.2

19: Plant Subterfuge

20: Revelation

21: To be determined

22: To be determined

23: To be determined

24: To be determined

25: To be determined

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Titans

Only in Darkness

Jason Todd x OFC!

Description:

"Only in Darkness can you see the stars."

Or

Marlowe Knight stumbling upon a girl prophesied to end the world and going on the adventure of a life time.

Rating: M (Blood, cannon typical violence, sibling rivalry, scars, torture, trauma, angsttttt)

0.5

1: A New Chapter

2: Crime Scenes and Cafés

3: Dodged Calls

4: Cop Killer

5: To The Rescue

6: Blueberry Pancakes and Rooftop Memories

7: Phone Calls

8: Panic and Motel Conversations

9: Old Friends

10: Second Chances

11: Leaving

12: Nuclear Family Drama

13: On Edge

14: Different Places

15: On The Move

16: Training Season

17: Seriously? These Guys Again?

18: Chicago, She-cago

19: The Three Musketeers

20: TBD

21: TBD

22: TBD

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Peacemaker

Stargazer

Adrian Chase x OFC!

Description:

Back in 1939 the Court of Owls set out to create the first Talon, they called this initiative the Ghost protocol. Their product? everything they ever wanted in a solider for their nefarious schemes to keep their power over Gotham City.

Roberta Harris, Bobbie if you don't want to get shot somewhere important, never wanted this life. A 'criminal' to the world and a legend in the world of spy shit and black ops project's. The bomb in her head keeps her compliant with Waller's demands until Project Starfish wins her her freedom. What will she do now?

Or

A world in which an elderly lady moves to a small town in Washington state to get away from the superhero bullshit only to get pulled back in against her will. Growing along the way as a result.

Rating: M (For obvious reasons, it's Peacemaker)

1: Freedom

2: TBD

3: TBD

4: TBD

5: TBD

6: TBD

7: TBD

8: TBD

9: TBD

10: TBD

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Invincible

Valkyrie

Mark Grayson x OFC!

Description: In which two superpowered teens meet and fall in love amongst blood, death, and betrayal

Rating: M (Canon typical violence, betrayal, mental health issues, abandonment issues, child neglect, angsttttt)

Too Good To Be True

Carnage

Aftermath

Attacked From All Sides

Outer space

Nightmare

Burial Plot

Compromise

Shit Show

Shit Show pt.2

TBD

TBD

TBD

TBD

TBD

---------------------------------------------------------------

More coming soon!

[pixiesndberries]

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 141 ─ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄

CHARACTERS : captain price, ghost, soap, gaz, and alejandro

WARNINGS : non, this is literally me just making fun of what i think.

AUTHOR'S NOTE : idek what led me to thinking what phones do they even have.

JOHN PRICE :

; this man would have a nokia and not give a fuck about it, he's walking around with a heavy looking ass nokia from the ancient times and won't give a shit about everyone.

gaz and soap would 100 % make fun of him behind his back and would literally died laughing if they saw price using it, HIM AND SOAP WOULD JUST GO "HAHAHAHAHA" and price would look at them up and down judging their whole living and they would go "don't laugh,you can't laugh." to each other.

in the end of the day, gaz decided to give price a new phone and thought him how to use it like a grandpa and grandchild typa bonding.

GHOST :

; he probably doesn't have a phone but soap decided to convince him having one and he did, he definitely don't know what to get and price suggested for him to get a nokia. No jokes.

He wouldn't find it funny at all but he thinks that phone is reliable about everything since he's not the type of guy to be in the internet or bugging around taking photos of whatever. So he did buy one, not just the one that looks like nokia from ancient times that price has.

"what the hell" soap would die laughing seeing him having a keypad phone and ghost would be just "😐" like he doesn't give a fuck at all he wouldn't care what people think using that kind of phone these days.

He definitely had a black keypad phone.

SOAP :

; he definitely has a black iphone x, i can feel it and i can sense it.

he isn't the type of person to buy a new phone if the one he currently have is still working, he's the type of guy who would say "what do i need a new phone for?" then has a broken screen.

His phone would be filled with candid photos of ghost, price and anyone in the base and laughs about it at night. Definitely takes photos like a Facebook mom, ghod with that sunglasses. He felt so fucking superior about it.

HE PLAYS CLASH OF CLANS AND CANDY CRUSH ‼️

gaz would show him the new features of the recent iphones and would be convinced to buy a new one.

GAZ :

; this man would have two phones, Samsung and iPhone. He probably has some of the recent models but if the one he uses still working he wouldn't mind buying a new one.

definitely play games like shooting games or so whatever.

he would take photos of some aesthetic type scenery shit and would be so freaking proud of it, has an Instagram account and would post photos like this :

would be an internet all around guy.

(OUT OF TOPIC BUT I AM INLOVE WITH ELLIOT KNIGHT ‼️😍🥰😘)

ALEJANDRO :

; definitely has an iphone, I don't have a specific imagination what model though but i think he will be just like soap. If it's still working then he'll stick with it 🤷🏻‍♀️

definitely has photos of rudy and him in his phone, has dog photos too that he shows off to rudy.

HAS DATING APPS NO JOKE.

He loves selfies C'MON LIKE he be posing and feels so freaking hot about it, DEFINITELY SHOWS IT TO RUDY YES.

Has an Instagram and post photos like this :

DAD SELFIES FOREVER RAHHHH 🤯😵

─ REBLOGS, LIKES, AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED. FEEL FREE TO REQUEST!

[wannabetokiorockstar]

Lockwood & Co AU were agents have to wear armor to avoid ghost touch.

Fittes agents would have to wear a full armor, I'm talking helmet and everything. (Lockwood thinks they look like tin cans.)

They would claim its for safety reasons,

(we all know the real reason is to look superior and intimidating, but really, they just look ridiculous)

in reality, full armor is rather inconvenient when you are out fighting ghosts and not knights.

(idk why, but I feel like they would call themselves "the knights of Fittes" lol)

(Other agencies wouldn't provide their agents with full armor, usually just the necessities. That was only a thing Fittes and Rotwell did.)

Lockwood & Co, on the other hand;

George: He HATES armors. He hates how they look, how long it takes to put them on, and how they feel. More than once, he has tried to go out to a case without it, but Lockwood, being the mother hen that he is, won't allow it under any circumstance.

Parts of his armor (arms and legs) would be from his old Fittes armor that he stole when they fired him. And the rest would be homemade a.k.a Lockwood's design. (Yes, he made his own patent armor, more on that later).

George personalized it, of course, to be more comfy. He made it a dark grey color, unlike Anthony's. And he added extra pockets for salt bombs and flares... and maybe biscuits.

(Extra: he refuses to wear "the stupid knight shoes" and just wears his normal snickers. and he doesn't wear a helmet because he needs his glasses. and also, i couldn't find any armors with orange/yellow details, but just imagine it, ok?).

Anthony: He hated the traditional design of the Fittes armor. It draws the attention of ghosts too easily, it constantly gets in the way when he's fencing, and can you imagine trying to run with that thing on? awful. So, he made his own design with his parents money with his grand intelect.

He made it way more flexible on the joints, added some leather pockets, removed the shoes (George's request), and replaced that god-awful tin can color with something more discrete, black.

(Extra: he also doesn't wear a helmet, out of solidarity. he would incorporate his coat to his attire somehow. And imagine it black also lol).

Lucy: She didn't know how important armor was until she moved to London. Back home, all her and her team were given was a chest plate. So, when she only wore that old chest plate on her first case with L&C, Lockwood almost had a freak out. He immediately made a date with his manufacturer.

She was embarrassed and insisted that it wasn't necessary, but Lockwood was having NONE of it. After all, his team (LUCY) is his number 1. priority.

She incorporated her old chest plate into her armor. It had too many memories attached to it just to throw it away. So she also went with the dark grey color to match.

(Extra: Of course, the details on her armor are blue <3, and she also doesn't wear her helmet because neither George nor Anthony wore them, so, she didn't found out that they were a thing until she met Kipps and his team. Honestly, it was 100% more practical without the helmet).

(I made this instead of studying for a very important test, send help)