This au again lawl. Where Danny wears these special sunglasses to hide his eyes that also track down ghosts in his human form.
The Justice League tracks down a summoning for the ghost king, an eons old tyrant of the infinite realms and known to bring war and devastation whenever he is summoned.
The cultists do manage to summon the ghost king, except, not how they wanted. They did indeed summon the king, but Pariah Dark is still trapped in eternal sleep and somehow, just, somehow, they managed to draw the lottery and dragged the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep to the summoning circle.
So there the Justice League were, wondering what to do with the (currently) locked away and sleeping ghost king.
Until Constantine's coat flipped itself open and a boy with glowing white hair and a mist of blue blowing from his mouth.
"Old man." The boy greeted.
"Brat." Constantine said.
"Do you mind explaining why and how this," The boy gestured to the Sarcophagus. "Is here and not in Pariah's Keep?"
"Funny story, that one." Constantine said, only half-jokingly. He then went on to explain that the Justice League came to track down cultists, said cultists somehow managed to drag that here, and now they didn't quite know what to do with it.
The boy stood still for a moment, before taking off his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose and sighed, a large amount of blue flame spilling from his mouth. "Ancients above, why is it every time something notable happens, it's always you?"
Constantine snorted, reaching into his coat for a pack of cigarettes and lighting himself one. "Hypocritical coming from you."
"I know, but still." The boy walked over to the Sarcophagus and sat on it, as if it wasn't the thing currently holding one of the most powerful ghosts in the infinite realms. "You know smoking is bad for you, right?"
"What, you learned that in class?" Constantine snarked, making no move to do anything and causing the boy to sigh again, toxic green eyes looked around the room, falling over each hero present before homing in on Flash. The boy pointed to him. "You. Come here."
"Whatcha want with red?" Constantine asked and the boy simply shrugged his shoulders. "Passing on a message."
The boy blinked once, and if he was surprised that the Flash was already in front of him, then he didn't show it. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a green sticky not, motioned for Flash to bent down and stuck it on his forehead.
Superman was... concerned. There was a heartbeat there, he could hear it, but it was so slow and seemed rather weak, like the boy was near death.
"Alright, now I gotta get old mean and green back to his keep before the Observants get on my case." The boy put back on his sunglasses and got up, waving Flash away and lifting up the Sarcophagus above his head he walked over to Constantine, whose face wrinkled.
"That ain't going to fit." The warlock pointed out and the boy scoffed, probably rolling his eyes behind his glasses. "And you've fit bigger things, just shut up and lift the coat old man."
Constantine did so, and somehow the boy just shoved the entire Sarcophagus inside. The boy was very obviously smug as the blue mist that was blowing from his mouth the entire time petered out. "I'll clean up the mess on my end," The boy said before waving his hand in the Justice League's general direction. "You deal with all that."
"Just get going already, I'm not about to get those sentient eyeballs on my ass."
"Yea, yea. You got enough to deal with as is." The boy then stepped inside Constantine's cloak and as soon as the man let it drop, he disappeared.
Constantine looked around the room, silently assessing the situation as he brought another cigarette to his lips.
He lamented the fact he would have to deal with this sober.
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TW: noncon, yandere, omegaverse, subjugation, some type of sexism, angsty, also a little fluffy?
fem reader
Discussions about superiority and inferiority between Alphas, Betas, and Omegas have become more popular lately. It’s always been many people’s opinion that the weak should cater to those stronger than them—but a debate with that as its topic is unsavory. Unfortunately, they’ve found new ways to phrase it.
A resonating “Unmated Omegas are a danger to themselves!” garners much more sympathy…
And with the rise of people talking about it in the media, it was only natural to move the conversation into school as well.
You keep your head bowed in class as the chill runs down your spine. You feel the glare of thirty fellow students—the points of their teeth, too, and how they snicker under their breath. It’s always been rather scary being an omega, but you can’t say you’ve ever felt quite so alone.
The teacher’s an alpha, so why should he care how what he says impacts you? He’s preaching to the choir, and you’ve never had the right to sing. The three other Omegas in your class have all chosen to stay home. They probably have the right idea—wait it out until it all blows over.
But you don’t know when that might be… You don’t know if that will be.
Society is on the precipice of critical change—new politics, new laws, new systems, new rights that separate you from them. You wallow in fear of the outcome, lying awake at night and scrolling through the news under the safety of your duvet. The statements seem endless. You wonder, why are all politicians Alphas?
You don’t want any of the things they’re suggesting—mating homes to help you find the perfect Alpha to bond with, systematic pairings done from birth, auctions. Is no one going to suggest they put shock collars on all Alphas and Betas to keep them in check? They’re the ones who need to—
“Your scent is distracting the whole class—don’t you feel ashamed?”
It’s too easy for him to have you bent over the desk, your wrist on your back in his big fist as he wraps his tie around them. He and his goons stand around, all smiles—watching—enjoying it. It’s as if they’ve planned the whole thing, the way two of them peel away from the crowd to grab each their pick of your feet. Parting them, they use your own shoelaces to tie them to the desk legs.
The ringleader laughs. There’s an awful smell coming off him in waves—it makes you quiver. He flips your skirt up and whistles at the sight, showing everyone your ass and cotton undies. The bulge he presses against you is enough to make your tears spill despite how hard you’d fought to keep them at bay, knowing it only arouses them further.
“Aww, don’t cry, little bitch. You should be happy,” he coos, leaning over your trapped form to whisper right at your ear. “Don’t you know? You’ll never feel happier than you will bouncing on my big Alpha dick. It’s all your little Omega cunt dreams about, isn’t it?” He snickers, fiddling with his belt buckle—you flinch at every sharp clink as he jostles the metal. “Well, salvation is here—”
“Keep it to yourself.” Another voice breaks through the sounds of hollers and cheers.
Your eyes open to see him. You despise how your heart jumps in relief.
“Oi, you—” the guy at your back challenges, stepping away from you and toward the interruption.
“Yeah, me,” he states blankly, jaded. He eyes the rest of the guys with disinterest—five betas, zero threat—before telling them, “All of you. Scram.”
They all take a step to walk out as if his voice alone had compelled them, but then the previous guy interjects, making them stop in their tracks again. “Tch—you know what they’re saying. All unmated Omegas are free game, and I won this one. So back off.”
It was like watching a match of tug-of-war.
“Heh,” the intruder laughs. “That rule only counts for Alphas.”
You spot your aggressor's fists curl—there’s a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. “I am an Alpha, asshole.”
“Really?” he feigns, sizing him up with a cocky tilt of his head. “Couldn’t tell.” He doesn’t seem fazed in light of the aggression—actually, it seems to amuse him if anything. “To me, you smell no different from all these other Beta losers.”
He takes a casual step forward, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face—baring canines with grace.
“But if you wanna prove it, I’m ready when you are.”
It’s quiet after the declaration. The betas are unsure who’s side to pick, none of them eager to get caught in the middle. It becomes a competition purely between the two Alphas.
Without backup, your aggressor backs down and leaves.
“Thought so,” your savior jeers, showing the crowd out, closing and locking the door behind them.
It’s quiet after they’ve left.
You hide your face. Listening to his footsteps approach—he sighs when taking the place of the former guy. He doesn’t touch you, though.
“Y’know…” he starts. “That guy might be trash, but he isn’t wrong…” He picks up your skirt and drapes it back in place. “None of this would ever happen if you weren’t unmated.”
You speak through grit teeth. “Untie me.”
He chuckles familiarly at that, clicking his tongue at you. “What? Aren’t you gonna say please?” But he does what you say anyway. Squatting down, he starts with your ankles.
The scent of your fear still lingers in the air despite your tough act. You’ve always been so steadfast, ever since you were kids, even when it does you no good. He frees your feet—one, then the other, slowly—he even reties your laces into pretty bows before he’s done.
He remembers it being so obvious. The sun rose in the morning and the moon at night, and you were supposed to be an Alpha while he a Beta at best. You promised you’d be by his side to keep him safe forever, and he wanted nothing more.
But then puberty hit, and nothing was as you’d imagined.
He stands and unknots the tie keeping your wrists restrained.
You immediately push him off—already storming away.
“Do I get no thank you, no nothing? Always so stubborn—” He grabs your arm.
You spin around, an unnatural snarl on your face. “Let go!”
You’d have been a terrifying Alpha. But as fate has it, you’re not. And you shouldn’t act like it. It only lands you in trouble.
But he doesn’t say that.
“You been watchin’ the news?” he says instead, ignoring your cry and keeping a firm grip on your arm. “Seems like auctions are winning the voters. You know what that means?”
He feels you flinch, followed by a quiver. He can tell. No matter how good you are at hiding it. He can see—the way you’re fraying at the edges, barely holding it together. Always acting so strong. He can’t tell whether you enjoy torturing yourself or if you’re just that good at convincing yourself you’re fine.
“Pretty soon, new authorities are gonna come storming in here, roundin’ up every sorry unmated Omega they find, and put ‘em all on a farm where pompous Alphas can have their pick of the litter.”
He can never tell what you’re thinking, but he knows he doesn’t need to tell you any of this. You’re not stupid, you never have been. He knows you already know. But…
“You should decide now while it’s still your choice.”
You must be terrified. He understands. But truly… it’s obvious what you have to do, isn’t it?
“It’s not like you have many options.”
It’s obvious. It always has been.
You don’t meet his eyes. You haven’t for a long while. Actually, you haven't since both of you got your test results. He understands this wasn’t what you had in mind, but you can’t afford to mope about it forever—
“How am I supposed to choose any Alpha when you’re all such assholes…”
Your mutter stunts him. It wasn’t what he expected. Or, the words were more or less exactly something he’d expect from you, but that voice—quiet and soft, dangling on the brink of sweet. If you’d said anything else, he’d have taken it as a confession.
“Can't argue with that,” he ends up chuckling again.
You hate how easy this is for him. He would cry at every turn when you were kids. It’s unfair.
“But you can’t keep doing this, either,” he states. His voice is soft, paired with that ugly authority they all have when talking to you—talking down to you. “Just look where it gets you—scared and exhausted because of it. At least have the brains to stay home.” He says it as if it’s a joke, but you both know it isn’t. His chuckles are light—far from fullhearted.
He bends down, trying to find your eyes. He still holds onto your arm, knowing you’d sooner stomp away than listen to him. His other hand brushes your cheek gently, tucking your hair behind your ear.
“You hear the call from the rafters—it’s not about what you want anymore. It’s about what you need.”
That’s what they say, isn’t it? What you need. You want to slap him. Scratch him with claws, bite his throat out—make him choke on his own words. Need? What you need is for them all to fuck off.
You mean to say it with the same sentiment, but something hard and rough in your throat makes all your words come out wobbly. “Mate an Alpha to stay safe from other Alphas. What a joke.”
You bow your head further. The tears return. They burn as they trail down the sore streaks from before.
He’s never seen you like this. He won’t lie, it makes his pants tight—feeling the urge to suck your cheeks, hold you close and comfort you. But knowing you right, you’d probably never let him. Your face would probably scrunch up in disgust, punch his gut, knee his groin, then turn on your heel and leave him on the floor wheezing.
You really would have made the most terrifying Alpha.
“The world isn’t fair,” he agrees. “But you get nowhere cryin’ about it—do it my way, and you’ll never—”
“Have any freedom,” you cut him off with a sniffle.
It’s about the most adorable thing he’s seen in his life.
He gets why you don’t like Alphas—they’re all gross. He makes himself sick sometimes. He can’t believe he’s getting off on watching you have a mental breakdown. There’s something seriously wrong with his side of the species. His throat’s tight, mouth watery with the urge to reap your vulnerability.
Suppressing it only makes his inner beast furious. Some of that aggression comes out in his next words.
“I’m sorry, but the world doesn’t give a shit about your freedom.”
The grip around your arm tightens, and you look up in shock—watching his narrowed eyes through your watery ones.
“What you need is safety—now more than ever. Or do you like being preyed on by every Alpha around the corner?”
Your bottom lip trembles at the reality of it—a little while ago, you were almost—
“One of these days, I'm not gonna be here in time, and you’ll be a slave to some fucking—”
He huffs and hangs his head. His hand loosens up—it trembles where he holds you in place.
“In all honesty, I think I’m more scared than you,” he whispers under his breath. “I think I might kill—”
He stops himself again. You don’t know if it’s in an effort not to frighten you or himself.
“Speak about needs…” he begins anew, now softer. “I need to know you’re safe. I need to—” He looks up. His eyes are back to being round. “I need you more than you need me, probably.”
There’s a desperation on his face. It almost looks like he’s on the verge of tears himself.
“So… please?” he begs. “Will you keep me safe like you promised and stay by my side?”
Your tears dry and prickle. Looking into his eyes now, you see the same boy you knew back in your childhood—that one who’d chase you all over even when you’d call him a sniveling crybaby. You realize, Alpha or not, he hadn’t changed all that much at all.
“It’s not like you need my permission,” you end up saying.
You’ve always been so hard-headed. He has to smile. “No, but I want it.”
You nibble your lip. You can’t believe you’re at the mercy of this big dumb hunk of… you don’t have the words to describe him. He wasn’t exactly a crybaby anymore.
“Okay. You win.”
His eyes widen as you bear your neck with a stretch. Head high and shoulders slack.
You swallow thickly. “Get it over with.”
He shudders at the sight. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but now it almost seemed too soon.
“We should be supervised by a professional—you know how wrong things can go—”
“Hurry up before I change my mind.” Your eyes remain shut, and your lips pursed.
His tongue grows thick in his mouth at your bark. A sudden stroke of performance anxiety makes his palms sweaty, hands heavy and shaking. But then the sight of your soft neck has his mood shift, becoming drowsy.
He has no control over the growl that begins rumbling from his gut.
But he doesn’t apologize for it either.
He bends forward—breaths on your chest before he licks your throat. You can’t help but whimper at the warmth. He watches you through hooded eyes—your usually angry face is now all cute, riddled with anxiety you try hiding paired with the grim anticipation of pain.
“Shh,” he soothes, kissing the spot softly. He sways you against him, then lifts you up on the desk for you to sit. Grazing your neck with teeth when feeling your hands tangle two fistfuls of his shirt. He expects you to push him away, but you don’t—you tug him closer instead as if silently telling him to hurry up.
But he doesn’t want to rush, doesn’t want to lose himself—that’s how accidents happen. So he sticks to sucking gently, only tiny nibbles that leave your skin hot and lightly bruised in their wake.
You give a moan once he finds the spot, and he growls in restraint upon the pretty sound—feeling you relax despite being threatened with his teeth right at your artery. He almost humps your leg in return, feeling the boil of blood pump him hot and heavy in his pants—breaths turning equally hot and heavy, each one laced with rust.
Drool coated your neck in a cool sheen, soothing the marks made beneath it, while his lips and fangs aroused pleasure in the spot that now ached for the sting of his bite.
“Please,” slipped from your mouth while tugging him closer.
His eyes, completely drunk on the pretty prayer, had only a slim rim of color left surrounding the hungering bottomless pits, blown full and black with opium.
No one could come and take you away from him now. Not with his print so pretty on your neck. You were his—just as you were always supposed to be.
♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Natsuo, Amajiki, Mirio
♡ JJK – Yuji, Yuuta
♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins
♡ DS – Tanjiro, Zenitsu
♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist
♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist
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