aint it crazy how many people realize they're queer when they have the language to express how they feel and a support system to encourage self exploration????
right at the beginning when she's like how do I help my son feel loved and accepted I'm here shouting
"QUEEN YOU ALREADY DID THAT BY TAKING HIS SIDE AND LEAVING THAT NO GOOD HUSBAND FOR HAVING THE AUDACITY TO KICK YOUR BABY OUT!"
And Good for her! this is the only response to a man who kicks out a child.
An Endless Night is an MLM-focused roleplay server set in the Islands of Pleonexia, a magical land where the sun never rises (anymore). This is an omegaverse (ABO) world that accepts almost all species and offers a space for the hottest of OCs to interact. Be careful. In this world, something is always lurking in the shadows.
Invite: https://discord.com/invite/Y47SY98WUk
**ā±ā° Join us for: ā±ā°**
ā» A high-effort server with well thought out lore and structured server design. We like it neat.
ā» A space to interact through chat. Both in character and out of character. Everyone is friendly and means no harm! (Out of character at least.)
ā» A server with kinks of all degrees accepted.
ā» Meeting and creating OCs of all species. Furries are welcome too.
ā» Participating in interactive roleplays where you can be a part of the main story.
**ā±ā° Requirements to join ā±ā°**
ā» Be 18+. No exceptions.
ā» Willing to play OCs that identify as males. Players of any gender identity are welcome but their characters must identify as males. Non binary, transmales, and transmasc are included.
ā» Literate. The server requires an OC sheet to be submitted before you can roleplay. We provide the template.
ā» Be hot- Oh wait, you sure are, you damn hottie.
An Endless Night is an MLM-focused roleplay server set in the Islands of Pleonexia, a magical land where the sun never rises (anymore). This is an omegaverse (ABO) world that accepts almost all species and offers a space for the hottest of OCs to interact. Be careful. In this world, something is always lurking in the shadows.
Invite: https://discord.com/invite/Y47SY98WUk
**ā±ā° Join us for: ā±ā°**
ā» A high-effort server with well thought out lore and structured server design. We like it neat.
ā» A space to interact through chat. Both in character and out of character. Everyone is friendly and means no harm! (Out of character at least.)
ā» A server with kinks of all degrees accepted.
ā» Meeting and creating OCs of all species. Furries are welcome too.
ā» Participating in interactive roleplays where you can be a part of the main story.
**ā±ā° Requirements to join ā±ā°**
ā» Be 18+. No exceptions.
ā» Willing to play OCs that identify as males. Players of any gender identity are welcome but their characters must identify as males. Non binary, transmales, and transmasc are included.
ā» Literate. The server requires an OC sheet to be submitted before you can roleplay. We provide the template.
ā» Be hot- Oh wait, you sure are, you damn hottie.
ā”cw; mentions of kidnapping and violence, donāt date people who want to slash you irl not a good foundation for a relationship
ā”notes; I put on my big boy panties and wrote something other than a bulleted list!!
I just love a good āi trust you but i sure as fuck donāt trust anybody elseā type jealously trope. Also some Tommy doing ASL!! We love a (selectively?) mute king.
ā¢āā¢ā¢ā¦ ā¤ ā¦ā¢ā¢āā¢
You were an oblivious person. Most of the time, anyways. Youād been totally shocked when Luda Mae didnāt let you leave the night you arrived at the Hewitt house, totally shocked when Charlie told you Thomas was obsessed with you, and more surprised still that Charlie had been right.
You werenāt stupidā you put two and two together that these folks were cannibals as soon as you saw the basement. You nearly talked Monty into letting you go, and you slipped your restraints a couple times before you were settled in. Youād done well in school and still could read a book in one sitting.
Maybeā¦ socially inept was a better word, harsh as it sounded. It was only people that you had a such a hard time with. You trusted them, but you could almost never wrap your head around what they were thinking.
Like the customers that stayed too long . It happened a lot. Bikers and tourists and all sorts of folks would stop in when you were working in the convenience store, and usually more than once a day a man would stay leaned on the counter, chatting away until his buddies were about to leave him. Sometimes theyād be alone, and Luda would give you a break early and theyād go off looking all huffy.
It very rarely occurred to you that the men were trying to flirt. You didnāt think of yourself as someone that happened to- and treated all customers the same. Why would they think you wanted to bang em when all you did was smile? Being nice was part of your job.
Luda Mae payed no mind to the men or your conversations. If thereād been any cause for concern, sheād be able to quash it very easily. But she found it endearing, especially your confusion and apathy when they did get balls enough to be blunt . In her mind you were so devoted to Thomas that other men were just nuisances.
Thatās why no one had mentioned it to Thomas. He rarely came up to help now that you were there to help Luda Mae, but today there was extra stock, and her joints had been aching from the weather. You were on register, Luda Mae relaxed in a rocker on the porch, and Tommy stalked the aisles and put out trinkets and canned food and all the other junk you sold. You were trying not to go distract him and stood leaned over the counter, doodling on some scrap paper between customers.
āWell hello darlin,ā A man drawled, hands on his belt buckle. He was trying too hard to be a real Texan, but he wasnāt from up North like you. āYou got any cigarettes back there?ā
āSure do! Letās seeā¦ got Camels, Lucky Strike- I really like these ones, the Salems, theyāre menthol-ā
āYou look too sweet to smoke. Iāll take the Camels,ā
āWell, only do it on special occasions,ā you shrugged, not paying much attention as Thomas stalked towards the front āAnything else?ā
āWell. That depends.ā
āOn?ā
āIf youāre free or not tonight.ā
You blinked, then furrowed your brow āYou tryna ask me out?ā
āWell I- oho shit!ā The man laughed uncomfortably as he noticed Thomas right behind him āYou scared me there big guy-ā
He huffed and slunk behind the counter as the man nervously tried to get back on topic āAnywaysā¦ ahemā¦so about that date-?ā
You huffed and out a hand on your hip āWell, depends?ā
He perked up a bit āOn what?ā
āIf you can beat my boyfriend in a fight.ā On cue Thomas wrapped his arms around you from behind, growling as he hooked his chin on your head.
The man quickly turned tail and mumbled something about being out of practice, forgetting the cigarettes completely. You could feel Tommy relax and turned to let him pick you up and set you on the counter. Even then you werenāt eye to eye with the giant of a manā¦but it was closer, and you liked feeling tiny anyway.
āā¦hi baby.ā You cooed and loosely wrapped your arms around his neck. He huffed and nuzzled you, as he often did as a form of reassurance. You giggled and pecked his mask āAnnoying, right?ā
He nodded and scowled, keeping his grip tight on your hips
āā¦whatās wrong?ā
He hesitated but pulled back to sign āMine. All mine. Right?ā
You giggled again āOf course! All yours- always.ā
He smiled softly- the sort of expression only you could coax out of him āAlwaysā
You're not creating real people, you're creating the illusion of real people. You don't have to mention their favorite food if it doesn't come up, you don't even have to know it, though if they were actual people they'd have one. You can throw plot events at your characters to force them to take certain actions, or you could just rewrite the characters to be the kind of characters who would take those actions anyway. Your characters have a life of their own in their own little world, but don't be afraid to play god to get what you want out of them.
In the vast majority of cases, a character's strengths and flaws should be the same thing. There are exceptions (you can have a character be clumsy for the lols without needing to find some way that it's an advantage), but for most character traits, the difference between a flaw and a strength is the situation at hand and learning when to indulge it.
desire is the source of action, so your characters should WANT things. all of them should have something they want that's good for them, something they want that's bad for them, and something that's just a little silly, for spice.
Treat your secondary characters like they are the main characters of another story. I don't mean you have to know everything about them, but if their role in the story could be replaced by a cardboard cutout, then the story will feel flat where it encounters them. Give them their own motivation/wants/desires, and it will help you immensely in writing their interactions with the main character, and make the world seem bigger/more real to the reader.
Helpless and Ruined (Mickey Altieri x Victim!Reader)
Words: 3k
Warnings: language, stabbing, (Mickey stabs reader, reader stabs Mickey) blood, talks of murder, violence, dub-con, smut, dirty talk, angry!mickey, stalking, cat and mouse, orgasm delay, ruined orgasm, degrading, knife play, blood play, threats, death threats, etc.
A/N: This idea popped into my mind a few days ago so I just ran with it and had a lot of fun. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Youād managed to escape him, but not without the precise slice across your collarbone and to your shoulder from where youād pushed yourself into his knife as he stood behind you so you could knock your head back, catching him by surprise before youād managed to sprint away from him. The blood was dripping down into your cleavage, uncomfortably wet and sticky. You gasped, wincing slightly as you shoved the doors to the deserted cafeteria open, quickly turning around to glance out the window just as he ran up the steps, making you shout out and instinctively step back.
Ghostface stood in front of you yet again, only the flimsy wooden door and thin glass separated the two of you, his head was cocked to the side and the silver blade of his knife glinted in the dim light of the emergency exit sign illuminating him as he waved it at you menacingly.
You took a step back as his gloved hand wrapped around the doorknob, easily twisting it and swinging it open.
Fuck, youād forgotten to lock it. There was no other way out, you were trapped in here with him.
āLeave me the fuck alone, you freak!ā You shouted at him as you stumbled back in between the tables, eyes flitting down to watch his boots slowly step toward you.
There was an oddly familiar swagger to his walk, a confidence that you couldāve sworn you recognised, but you were in survival mode right now, there was no time to dwell on this.
āI donāt fucking know Sidney Prescott, why the hell are you coming after me?ā You spoke again, desperately trying to get him to speak. Maybe if you heard his voice, hell, even just recognised the fucking time youād clock on to whoever this guy was.
He let out a laugh, much to your agonising dismay it was muffled by a voice modulator. Your cut was beginning to hurt even more as the adrenaline dispersed into something more akin to dread and fear as you continued stumbling backward until your back finally hit the wall.
Fuck.
āSidney, Sidney, Sidney. Everyone thinks itās all about Sidney.ā The way Ghostface spoke made you pause for a second, eyebrows creasing as you tried to recognise anything familiar. If you were going to die, it wasnāt going to be until you knew who the fuck was doing this.
āDid Maureen Evans or Phil Stevens know Sidney? Did CiCi Cooper? Did any of the people Iāve killed know who the fuck she was? Care about her?ā He was striding toward you, stopping abruptly when he was about a foot away. Although you couldnāt see his face, you felt uneasy, feeling his eyes scanning over you. The sick fuck clearly liked seeing you in pain and you suddenly realised something.
If he wanted to have killed you, he would have done it outside.
āThen- then what do you want?ā You asked, voice small and helpless. You were cornered now, nothing you could do but try and keep him distracted enough until you figured out a way to get the fuck away from him.
āIsnāt it obvious? I want to play with you.ā
āGo and play with someone else, you fucking pervert.ā I couldnāt help but snap. The way he spoke sent a freezing cold shiver down my spine, made my blood run cold in my veins.
Ghostface laughed, spinning the knife in his hand before saying, in a voice so satisfied it made your stomach churn, āThereās that fire.ā
He suddenly lunged at you but you quickly ducked, dodging the knife that impaled into the wall just above your head. You tried to make a run for it but his hand circled your wrist, yanking you harshly toward him with such force it almost completely winded you, his other hand connecting with your stomach and making you double over, gasping for air.
You felt his hand in your hair, yanking you up and slamming your head against the brick wall, a choked out cry leaving your lips as you felt the crack of your skull as it connected with the hard brick. Your vision clouded, but you refused to stay still, struggling willfully against him as his body pinned you against the wall, the mask agonisingly close to your face.
āF-fuck you.ā You gasped out, feeling the blood ooze from your head and begging to mat your hair.
āYouād like that wouldnāt you? Iāve seen how you look at me in film class, sweetheart. Nothing but a fucking slut. I wonder how wet you are after our little game of cat and mouse.ā
His free hand slid down your body, edging toward the button of your jeans. This was your moment.
His hand was still gripping your hair, the knife still grasped between his thumb and forefinger. You twisted your head, wincing as the action made his fingers pull it at the roots, and sunk your teeth into the slightly exposed skin of his arm until you could taste his blood. Ghostface shouted out and instinctively let you go, the knife falling to the floor with a deafening clatter. You took this moment to lift your knee, slamming it into his torso and he doubled over with a muffled groan, the voice of his modulator faltering as he did.
You decided you were going to find out who the fuck this weirdo was.
You threw your weight on him, taking him by surprise once again and he fell to the floor, the back of his head connecting with the wood and his hands falling to his side. You leapt on top of him, straddling his waist and your knees pinning his hands to the ground. You made sure to yank at the top of the hood of his robe until his head lifted off the floor, curling your fingers until you found his hair beneath, slamming his head down against the hardwood before grabbing his fallen knife and pointing it down at him.
āFucking- fucking bitch!ā A slightly familiar voice shouted up at you.
You froze as you heard the voice, the crackly modulator wasnāt covering it anymore. You glanced above his head, noticing the small white machine broken and tangled in a wire before you stared back at the mask.
He was struggling, a little weakened by his head connecting with the ground twice so it was a little easier to overpower him. You werenāt oblivious to feeling his semi erect cock rubbing against you from under his robe and through your jeans, but, for now anyway, you chose to ignore it, one thing entirely on your mind.
āDonāt- fucking donāt-ā his struggle intensified but you ground your weight down onto you knees, hearing him cuss as they dug into his hands. You quickly reach your hand for the mask, snatching it off the killer's face.
āWhat the fuck?ā You gasped as you stared down at none other than Mickey Fucking Altieri, the guy from your film class.
His unfocused brown eyes glared up at you, still struggling to move his hands.
āMickey?ā
āYou fucking bitch.ā He spat up at you.
Mickey was loud and boisterous, oddly fun to be around, but you werenāt friends. You couldnāt think of a single reason why heād be targeting you, and you honestly didnāt think to ask. For once, youād been the one to overpower him, not like any of his other victims.
āIām the bitch? Screw you, you fucking creep.ā You retorted, unable to not notice how he twitched beneath his cloak as you shouted down at him. Did he actually enjoy this?
You noticed quickly heād stopped struggling, his eyes were beginning to focus again. His own knife was resting against his throat, you were on top of him, youād managed to get one over on him, and he really fucking liked it.
āI can feel how wet you are through your clothes, how messed up are you?ā His voice was a little weak as he practically laughed the words at you, his hips tilting upward a little to grind his now fully erect clothed cock over your core. You let out a small gasp as he did so, still not removing the knife from his throat.
Fuck, your head was spinning. It was easy to blame what was about to happen on the extremely evident concussion you had. Even so, you couldnāt help but notice that you had the power over Ghostface- over Mickey, how much of an advantage you currently had.
Mickey noticed it too, eyes flickering down to the knife held to his throat and up to your slightly dazed and torn expression. He was rock hard underneath you, your deep breathing pushing you down harshly against him and making a soft grunt leave his throat as he stared at you expectantly.
You could kill him. You should kill him. Even though you didnāt know the girl, this stupid asshole was tormenting her. Maybe it was a mistake taking his mask off, no way heād let you live now you knew who he was.
It was gonna go one way or another. Either you were going to kill him, or he was going to kill you. The most you could do now was postpone the inevitable.
With the knife still held to his throat, you very lightly pushed your hips down. His reaction was subtle, his eyes fluttered just slightly and you felt his finger tips briefly press against your knees before relaxing against the ground again. But there was nothing subtle about the shit eating and triumphant grin that lit up his face like a fucking Christmas tree.
āAh, I see what youāre trying to do. Maybe if you fuck me, Iāll let you live, right?ā His voice was mocking, eyes now fixing on the blood still oozing from the wound heād inflicted and coating your chest as he continued to speak, āGo for it, sweetheart. Letās see just how bad you want me to spare you.ā
Maybe you were messed up for even considering this, maybe you didnāt care.
āPause?ā He offered, glancing down at his hands still pressed underneath your knees, āI could do with a good fuck.ā
Fuck it.
You moved your knees from his palms but only moved off of him for a split second to remove your jeans as fast as you could, the knife still pointing at his throat the whole time as you spat at him, āOne move, Iāll cut your throat.ā
Mickey didnāt say anything, eyes nothing short of amused as he stayed motionless, watching as you climbed back on top of him, hoisting up his dark robes so his dark sweats were exposed.
He couldnāt help but love this. Of course he was still going to kill you, but at least he could finally fuck you first. Sex and murder were two of the same for him, what could be better than fucking you then gutting you? So, he allowed you to work over him, his eyes finally moving down as he felt you pull his hard cock free from his sweats and briefs.
You stopped for a second, quickly glancing up at Mickeyās face. He was gorgeous, you couldnāt deny that, youād always thought so. But this was the guy, the monster that was running around the college, brutally murdering people. What the fuck were you doing?
āOh, come on, sweetheart. Donāt back out now, donāt be scared because you want to fuck a murderer. Own that shit.ā
His words pissed you off. You were horny and angry, a combination you donāt think youād ever felt before. You decided then and there what you were gonna do.
You adjusted yourself on top of him so the tip of his cock was just nestled in the entrance of your dripping hole, had you ever been this wet before? He let out a sigh, a small roll of his eyes before he thrusted his hips upward, making a loud gasp fall from your lips as he quickly filled you, wincing a little at the unexpected stretch as your walls covered him. He laughed again, his strength clearly beginning to gather as his hands moved to rest on your hips so he could fuck you.
āDonāt pretend like youāre such a good person when youāve got me balls deep inside of your pathetic little cunt.ā
You werenāt going to take that, especially not from a sick fuck like him.
The knife, still gripped in your hand, was quickly and harshly brought down, imbedding into the flesh of his shoulder through the robe and he let out a surprised yell as it pierced through him, the feeling oddly satisfying you. You didnāt stop driving it down until you felt it hit bone, letting go of the knife and beginning to roll your hips as you watched as his face twisted in pain and he spat out, āFucking bitch!ā up at you for what felt like the hundredth time.
You noticed as soon as you stabbed him, his cock throbbed inside of you, did he like that? It was your turn to laugh as you rode him, grinding yourself down on his dick, desperate to use this piece of shit for the only thing he was good for.
āYou like to hurt people, Mickey? Howās it feel to be the- Ah, fuck- be the one without the power?ā You asked him, voice wavering as your hands moved up your body to slowly begin to unbutton your blouse, revealing your bloody chest to him as you ripped it off. You werenāt wearing a bra, and his eyes, although filled with pain, couldnāt help but settle on your tits and oozing wound, still bleeding and staining your tits red.
āI donāt know. How does it feel to be riding a fucking serial killer, you dumb fucking whore?ā He growled between gritted teeth. He didnāt like not having power, it was a foreign concept to him.
Your head tipped back, fingers twisting in the soft material of his black robes as you continued to roll your hips against him, one hand moving down your body to toy with your clit. His eyes followed the motion and he groaned as he felt your cunt squeeze around him as you began to rub yourself harshly, his head falling back once again against the hard floor.
āFeels pretty good, especially as Iām going to make sure this is a fuck you wonāt be forgetting anytime soon.ā
Before he could ask you what the fuck that was supposed to mean, he was taken aback by your hand curling around the butt of the knife and yanking it from his body, he shouted out in pain but your head came down and you kissed him, absorbing his screams into your mouth as your tongue danced across his. He was a mess of a combination of confused, in pain and aroused, for once he didnāt know what to do with himself other than kiss you back, messy and almost hungry, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he snarled and growled against you.
You took his confusion and agony as your moment, reaching beside you to where your jeans laid as you kissed him and pulling your phone quickly from your pocket. You sent a brief text; ācall 911 to the cafe, GF.ā to a friend before quickly discarding the phone underneath your clothes again.
Your hands finally rested on his shoulders, using him as support as you slammed your hips down, pushing yourself back upright and using his cock like he was nothing more than a piece of meat to you. Usually you liked some give and take, to be spanked, spoke to, for him to fuck you. But in that moment, riding a helpless and partially subdued serial killer and having him completely at your mercy was dragging your impending and quickly building orgasm closer and closer, the feeling of your skin slapping against his as you fucked him, harder than youād ever fucked anyone. How helpless and agonised and confused yet turned on he looked, knowing that he didnāt have one shred of control in this situation, you knew you were about to cum.
The knife rested against his throat as you came on his cock, making sure to look him in the eye as you did, your cunt clenching around him as you gasped and moaned his name, entire body shaking.
You stayed there for a few moments, his cock still rigid inside of you. Youād made sure he didnāt have the opportunity to cum, made sure heād gotten so close to the brim that his cock was a weeping, dribbling mess as you pulled him out of you, your hands sliding along his shaft and twisting it twist until you finally let him pathetically cum on his own stomach, white staining his Ghostface robes and his orgasm ruined as he shouted, āFuck! No, you fucking cunt, Iāll fucking kill you!ā
The two of you heard the sirens before you saw the lights, completely surrounding the cafeteria. You quickly clambered off of him, dropping the knife and grabbing your clothes, pulling them on quickly as Mickey scrambled to his feet, eyes boring straight into yours, absolutely furious.
Not only had you ruined his orgasm, youād ruined his entire fucking plan in the space of twenty minutes.
He unsteadily rose to his feet, his robes messy and ruffled as they straightened out around him and his eyes were dark and menacing.
The shouts of the cops outside grew closer as his eyes caught the glint of the knife and he bent down, picked it up and twirled it in his hand.
To your surprise, Mickey laughed. It was a dark, sick laugh as he tutted a little, shaking his head at you as if in disappointment. āNow, whyād you have to go and do that?ā
You didnāt respond to him, walking back until your back hit the wall again, eyes fixed on his menacing face and toothy grin.
āWhyād you drop the knife? Are you really that fucking stupid? You think the cops are going to get in here before I manage to slash that pretty little throat?ā
You shrugged, wincing slightly at the pain in your shoulder as you did so before stating simply, āSee you in hell I guess,ā just as the doors of the cafeteria opened and the police flooded through the doors, guns drawn and pointed at Mickey, who grabbed you by the hair, dragging you in front of him with the sharp side of the blade digging into your throat.
A ghost that produced like 1.3k of hastily written fic based on this amazing art in a fugue state... with warnings for depictions of death, violence and gore.
* * *
Bruce's first thought, when the door cracks open and the nightmarish vision appears in the doorway, is that Joker has come to finish him off last.
He's still a bit dizzy from the latest torture attempt they'd thrown at him, though it'd been a half-hearted one. By now his captors had realized Bruce's will was not a thing easily broken. In a facility such as this, bent on breaking and remaking, it could only mean they had something far worse in the works. But Bruce's head had taken a couple of hits too, and whatever concussion is brewing makes him see Joker as through a lens; too focused, too bright.
He looks like something that has crawled out of the pits of Hell. He looks like Death come to collect, and Bruce's stomach tightens.
"Darling," Joker croons, voice loud but raspy, as if he'd been screaming himself hoarse for days.
It echoes in the small, dark cell. Bruce knows there's plenty wrong with him, but the list must've grown when he wasn't looking, because the familiar sound of it almost brings him comfort.
What comfort? Joker's green eyes are glittering like glass shards from a face that's more blood than a face. It's everywhere. It's in Joker's hair, darkening its curls and caking into it; it's dripping down Joker's face, his neck, the entire right side of his naked torso and legs, his dark underwear. Brilliant, sickening red splashed onto blinding white stretches of skin. He looks like a canvas overcome by rust, and he walks towards Bruce with the decisive steps of a predator in a hurry, reaching out with long sharp limbs.
There's a knife in his hand, as wet with blood as any other part of him. Bruce has to resist the impulse to close his eyes, and forces himself to keep looking even through the haze of nausea. He thinks, At least I'm still me, and you're still you. He's relieved it's Joker about to kill him and not their jailers, because this is an ending that belongs to him, and could never be taken away.
Joker kneels in front of him, eyes wild and bright. The scent of him is a slaughterhouse, an abattoir.
"They told me you were dead," he whispers slowly, and one of his hands moves forward to grasp at Bruce's jaw.
Bruce feels the thick layer of blood smear onto his skin, warm and humid. He could turn his head away, and yet he doesn't. Joker's thumb runs up his cheekbone in what can only be described as a caress, and Bruceā looks away, bites his tongue, swallows down the instinctive shout for Joker to let go.
Was Joker coming here to save him better, or worse?
"But of course you're not dead," Joker continues, just as painfully desperate, gaze glassy and manic with it. "You're right here, I knew..."
And Bruce freezes when Joker brings his bloodied face close, rubbing it against his own like a child.
"They can't kill my Bat," Joker coos full of relief. "Only I can kill my Bat."
And then he retreats a little and lets his forehead fall against Bruce's. It's warm and sticky, it should be disgusting and uncomfortable, but Bruce is barely registering it. Joker stays silent, and closes his eyes. Bruce's heart beats faster, and not because of fear.
Was it just some misplaced sense of possession, or had Joker been genuinely worried? Had the thought of Bruce's death tormented him? Had he fought to find him?
"You're not dead either," he hears himself speak, just as wrecked.
He feels Joker's warm huff of breath over his face.
"Well observed, Detective," he teases, though not unkindly.
They hadn't told Bruce what happened to Joker. Bruce had asked, and they hadn't told him anything at all. They'd looked at him, blankly, and refused to answer.
Bruce thinks that he should stop finding it so hard to believe Joker had been worried, when he himself had thought of nothing else but Joker for the past three days, cycling through scenarios ranging from daring escapes to horrific deaths, each worse than the last. It had been purposeful, he realizes; Batman's certain death to best get at Joker, and Joker's uncertain fate to best get at Bruce.
But the moment ends, it has to. Joker shakes off the vulnerability and pulls back. He takes up the knife again, the tip of it poised to work open the shackles chaining Bruce's arms to the wall, and Bruce no longer feels the need to back away.
"Can you stand?" Joker asks, so uncharacteristically sharp that Bruce can't help but stare.
"...Not without help," he replies, stifling a grimace. His biceps ache with the exertion of having been pinned up for so long.
An overenthusiastic guard had fractured one of his legs on the first day. It was what had made his plans of escape significantly more complicated, though not impossible.
Suddenly, Joker grins, and it burns in the dark like a flare.
"Consider me the help," he declares, sounding a bit more like himself.
But the rasp is still there. Bruce uses the wall for support to try and hold himself up and wonders numbly, What did they do to you? What did you do to them?
He's overtaken by a wave of pain and nausea at the same time, and Joker has to steady him for a second... before he takes one of Bruceās arms and quickly drapes it across his neck, supporting his weight.
Bruce draws in a sharp breath. It's jarring in every possible way, this closeness between them, the drying blood on Bruce's naked chest mixing with the blood dripping from Joker's.
The unexpected heat of skin touching without barriers, bodies aligned.
"Here we go," Joker grumbles, and at this range his voice is also something that hurts in its closeness. "Oh they clipped your wings pretty bad, didn't they..."
There's a steel edge in his tone. Bruce focuses only on stepping and avoiding the weight of his injured foot for a bit, on pushing down his body's need to empty its meager contents onto the floors. By the time he raises his eyes again, they're out the door.
Bruce stiffens and stops.
The corridor is littered with corpses. The black non-descript uniforms of whatever mercenaries and hired guns the organization had employed hide some of the carnage, but there's no overlooking the pools of red underneath them, limbs unnaturally askew in death, eternally frozen.
Here's one dead while clawing at the floor. There's a gash open in his throat that was done from behind. Here's one slumped forward, sitting down with arms pressed down on guts spilling out, wall decorated with arterial spray next to it. Here's one face down, right next to the cell door, with fresh blood still spilling out.
The murderer responsible for the carnage is a warm, breathing thing, holding Bruce up as he surveys the hallway and patiently waits. Heās standing here in the middle of the slaughter, as uncaring about the lives heās taken as a catastrophe.
There's something coiling in Bruce's stomach. Something unnamable.
"They were trying to kill us," Joker utters softly then, and he could've mocked or jeered or laughed at Bruce's horror, but instead he just waits.
Bruce thinks about Joker escaping his bonds and killing his way through this place to get to him. He thinks about Joker having every reason to believe Bruce dead, and yet searching for him anyway; risking being captured again, risking being shot, risking death with every man he put down to get closer. He thinks about that nightmarish vision in the doorway of his cell, the monster dripping blood with pained and desperate eyes.
His arm tightens around Joker's neck.
"Let's go," he mutters, finally turning his head back to gaze at Joker.
The silence must have gotten to him; he looks cornered, as if already strategizing on how to best neutralize Bruce's potential violent response. But whatever he sees on Bruceās features makes it go away. Thereās another familiar smile now, one that must hurt in all the places Jokerās lips are split.
There's blood staining his teeth, too.
āYour wish is my command,ā Joker declares theatrically and makes to walk forward. āAnything for my poor damsel in distress!ā
Bruceās eye twitches, but he says nothing.
They make their path through the corridor slowly, leaving the rows of fallen bodies behind. Joker is inexorably strong under Bruceās weight, unfaltering.
OMGGGGG!!! THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME! I LOVE IT SO MUCH! The way I was running and jumping around my house when I saw this!!! You made my simple little comic into something so complex and interesting! Ugh you're writing is so good!! Thank you for doing thisšš
Reblog if you're comfortable receiving crabs on Crab Day (July 29th) so all your beloved followers know who they can comfortably crab on crab day (July 29th) without feeling nervous about crabbing someone 9n Crab Day (July 29th).
summary: you and eddie spend the late hours of the night pulling orgasms from each other in the messiest and neediest ways possible.
word count: 2.3k
warnings: 18+, mentions of eddie smoking cigarettes, dirty talk, oral (m receiving, spit play, eddie holding the readers neck briefly, unprotected sex (piv), cum play (eddie eating his cum out of reader), oral (f receiving), mentions of multiple orgasms
authors note: this was going to be a blurb about dirty sex with eddie but it turned into a whole thing! i hope you all enjoy this as iāve been feeling like my writing isnāt very strong lately and this was my attempt to get out of that!
First of all thank you for indulging my Kƶnig x Ghost brainworms. SECOND, I loved it. The implication that Kƶnig has been heavily collared and probably controlled in the past. *Mwah* good shit. Ghost going feral when he shifts? I need to know more! Kƶnig and Ghost fully shifted encounter when? I think their dynamic here has a lot of potential.
If you are up for another part I will stay away from your teeth for now, but they are on thin ice.
Iāve thought about this more and Iām prepared!!
Part 1
Kƶnig was cautious for a while. Being stripped of his mask by Ghost had caught him off guard. He felt weird about it. Not quite as angry as he should be honestly. More just... flustered and embarrassed. Ghost had immediately looked at his scars.
Kƶnig had at one point started to consider himself handsome. It took him ages honestly, he had just joined the army and bulked up a little instead of being as skinny as a twig. Finally eating properly probably helped.
Then the scars happened. The ones across his face at the very least came from the battlefield. While he definitely thought they were ugly, hideous, nothing like Horangi's or Stilleto's, he didn't hate them quite as much as the ones around his throat. Shame filled him.
He honestly wanted to head back to KorTac. This was only temporary after all, but he needed to stay a bit longer. They were partnering with SpecGru for the time being which means he had to be here... With the angry, scary.... kinda hot lieutenant.
Kƶnig blushed, wondering where that came. Yes, Ghost was tall. Not Kƶnig height, but tall enough that he didn't feel like he had to back up and look down to speak to him. Ghost was also so commanding. Broad shouldered and willing to put whoever and whatever in their place. It was admirable. Kƶnig wished he had that confidence.
One thing they had in common though was the unearthly silence they both had. With Ghost, it felt right. He was The Ghost. A Specter more than a Man. When Kƶnig snuck up on his teammates or appeared out of nowhere, it was creepy. Off-putting. Where Ghost could lean in that, his whole persona hinging on it, Kƶnig couldn't. Instead he just freaked people out and got called out for sneaking up on them.
Kƶnig did not like training very much, Yes, he was well aware he needed to and he did regularly, but he didn't like it. And today, something in the air felt wrong.
He told himself it was just his anxiety again, but it didn't feel like he was being stared at. The air itself had a charge to it. Kƶnig hesitated and considered just leaving. If anyone asked him why he was leaving before touching a single machine, he'd claim he suddenly remembered a meeting he had to go to. Yeah. That made sense. He could...
Ghost moved to spar. The hoodie he wore over his clothing fell to the floor with a thump, leaving him in an short sleeved person. Kƶnig didn't recognize the other person, so not 141 and not KorTac. Maybe some recruit? Or another person like him from a different group? He didn't know.
They sized each other up. The other person looked very, very determined, but that was how most people looked when sparring with Ghost. Kƶnig wasn't sure why because Ghost was willing to spar anyone if asked. Just no one was brave enough to ask half the time.
"Need me to go easy on you? Don't really learn if its just me tossing you around." Anyone else and Kƶnig would've rolled his eyes and chalked it up to him being cocky. But with Ghost, it was just true. He was extremely adept at fighting and sparring was pointless if it was just getting your ass handed to you.
Kƶnig decided to watch. As did half the room.
"For the first round. Need to warm up." Their voice was deep. Kƶnig tried to guess his accent, but nothing really came to mind.
They were off. The stranger mostly went with quick jabs and tried their best to avoid Ghost. It wasn't the worst strategy, but Ghost had an impressive amount of stamina for his size, so it wasn't the most effective either.
Kƶnig noticed someone recording and he thought that was odd. Some people recorded their workouts but this was sparring and it didnāt seem like Ghost to allow it. He shrugged it off. What was the saying? Not my circus, not my monkeys?
Ghost took the person down and they bounced right back up. āHow did you do that exactly?ā
Kƶnig crossed his arms. Were theyā¦ flirting? Gross. Ghost didnāt pick up on it, instead actually instructing them on exactly how.
Kƶnig noticed seconds before Ghost did.
The recruit grabbed the back of his mask and yanked.
There was a list of reasons this was bad. Besides the fact that Ghost had broken someoneās arm for riding him before (he insisted it was an accident but didnāt apologize) and could be downright evil in his cruelty with people he interrogated, it was also just mean. Why would someone want to do that? Ghost could be a hardass but never without reason. He was never mean without reason. He was cold and distant but Kƶnig had a feeling that had little to do with his actual personality.
Of course every one was curious about his face. No one got to see it.
Before the cloth had moved an inch, Ghost shredded his clothing with his shift. People started screaming and fleeing, most of them having intimate knowledge of the fact that Wolf Ghost and Human Ghost were very different creatures.
Kƶnig decided to stop this before there was a casualty. If he took a second to walk forward, heād blame it on surprise.
The stranger currently had one of the ropes of the arena in front of them as Ghost frantically tried to get to them through it. Ghost hadnāt had time to think, to busy trying to go right for the throat.
Kƶnig slammed into his side, sending him skidding across the floor. He stood up and quickly realized his mistake.
Ghost was big. It made sense. Big human equals big animal. But he looked more like the direwolves his omi would tell him than the wolves he had seen on missions.
Ghost had intense black fur and he stalked around Kƶnig, snarling. But Kƶnig didnāt think he looked angry. No, he looked scared. It made sense. Wolves were not supposed to be alone and not alone did Ghost probably feel alone, this person had just cruelly tricked him.
āSimon.ā Kƶnig tried to reason. Someone was yelling about tranquilizers and he immediately grimaced. āNo, just all of you leave.ā
Ghost threw himself at Kƶnig, teeth bared. Kƶnig quickly tried to dodge, watching those giant dripping fangs almost graze him. He panted softly, backing up.
Ghost stalked forward, standing defensively when Kƶnig simply stepped forward as well. He knew if he shifted, he could more easily pin Ghost down BUT an equal amount of pettiness for getting yelled at and worry theyād both end up tranqued and with giant headaches later kept him from doing so.
Kƶnig snapped his fingers and Ghostās attention fell on his hand. He spoke calmly to the stranger. āGo. Quietly. But keep close by. Iām sure Captain Price will be happy to hear of this.ā The confidence he usually got on missions kept him steady.
Ghost glared at him. Bright brown eyes That struck fear into peopleās hearts. That appeared from the shadows and dragged the soul to the ferryman personally.
Right now, he looked like a nervous puppy.
Kƶnig softened a tad, now that everyone was gone he took off his hood slowly and then his jacket, glad he went with a zip up one. They had the room and no one else would come in until one of them gave the all clear. Its why they paired them up.
āYouāre not feral.ā He spoke softly. āJust spooked. Like a horse. Shifting has never been pleasant for you, has it?ā
If Ghost could understand him was still up for debate. But clearly something agitated him because he was trying to get to Kƶnigās throat again. Killing bite, fast and efficient.
Kƶnig finally shifted and they wrestled with each other. He knew normally, Ghost could beat his ass. Hell, if he was a bit more sound, he probably could with both of them shifted. But as is, Ghost couldnāt strategize and Kƶnig could. Its how he ended up with Ghost on his back, Kƶnigās teeth around his throat, careful not to sink in, and his paw on Ghostās surprisingly soft feeling tummy.
They sat there a while. Kƶnig able to feel the pulse through his teeth.
It slowed once he realized Kƶnig wasnāt killing him. He tried to wiggle away but Kƶnig applied more pressure to his paw and he stilled.
Ghost melted back to a person. It wasā¦ shockingly graceful considering how he had acted. Kƶnig suddenly dwarfed him. He pulled back slowly, ignoring the copious amounts of drool on Ghostās throat.
Oh.
Ghost was pretty.
He had a strong nose, soft lips and a lot more hair than Kƶnig had been expecting. It looked bleached and slightly curly, maybe wavy was better. Like Kƶnig, he had scars. Glasgows along with a few on his cheek that connected to a slice on his ear. Kƶnig wondered if he had been able to pay attention, if he wouldāve seen the chunk from his ear in wolf form too.
Ghost stared at him. Both of them were half naked, bodies aching from unexpected shifts. Ghost also looked lost. Something soft in his eyes. Kƶnig was careful not to look down, both of them remaining eye contact as is making sure neither broke that rule.
His eyes seemed to freeze over as he came back to himself. āFucking bastard. Ill eat him alive, shifted or not.ā He grimaced as he moved and Kƶnig wanted to ask how long it had been. Ghost kept himself under wraps pretty well but tons of people snuck out too shift occasionally. Let out steam.
Ghostās mask had been torn to shreds in the shift. āFucking hell.ā
Kƶnig didnāt let himself think. He dropped the sniper hood over Ghost. āI had been wearing a neck gaiter in case the hood got too hot. Ill wear that.ā
Ghost looked up at him and the word pitiful came to mind. Kƶnig didnāt like it. āThank you, Kƶnig.ā He pulled on the hoodie he had dropped before going into the ring. His pants were half shredded but he pulled those on anyway. It would have to do until they got to their room.
Kƶnig also pulled on his half shredded clothing to follow him.
He wondered if Ghost would join him on a night out if he asked.
Oh look, another failed dream @its-chrimass - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
