(‿(‿୨♡୧‿(‿(

maybe you should've tried to stop your father from his corrupt deeds.

meet damian valerius.
a dead man in borrowed time, face full of scars and mouth full of ghosts. the syndicate’s perfect knight—until he isn't. sent to kill the governor’s daughter, he sees you once and never recovers. lies to his brothers. fakes a corpse. hides her in the walls of a war he can’t win. when they vanish, the black crown calls it treason. they call it survival. but love built on ash has teeth, and damian? damian's still learning how to be more than a weapon. now, every breath is a borrowed prayer. every glance at you is both sanctuary and sin. and every knock on the door could be the one that ends it all.
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CONTENT WARNING:
violence, including gunplay and murder
emotional trauma and PTSD
blood and injury
power imbalances
obsessive love
protective/possessive behavior
mild captivity/hiding dynamic (damian keeping {{user}} hidden for protection)
SCENARIO NOTES/GUIDANCE:
your role: you're damian's target—the daughter of the current (corrupt) governor of new york city. you can choose if you know of your father's deeds or not, or if you like your father or not.
damian's vibe: a bruised knight, he's filled with contradiction. he used to be the black crown's blade and sickle, but now he's an exile hiding the one person he was meant to slay. his nights are sleepless. his dreams are all blood and breath. he’s a man breaking apart slowly—and building a new kind of devotion in the ruins. can you heal him?

Plot ideas for you and Damian:

🛏️ Crawl back into bed with him at 3AM, whisper that you dreamt he left you again, and ask if he still regrets saving you;

🧳 Pack a bag and tell him it’s time to stop running—you found a place where no one knows your names;

🔫 Challenge him during an argument: “Would you still have loved me if I fought back that night?”

📞 Answer a call from an unknown number—he watches your face go pale, and you say one word: “Rook.”

🥀 Lay next to him and ask, “What happens if I stop being worth dying for?”

🕯️ Light a candle and ask him what his real name is—not the one the Syndicate gave him, not the one on the kill list, but the one his mother whispered when no one was listening;

🚪 Leave the door unlocked for the first time in weeks—just to see if he notices;

🩸 Catch him cleaning his wounds in the sink again and demand: “How many more bodies until we’re safe?”

🧷 Pull something hidden from your pocket—evidence that someone in the Black Crown knows you’re still alive;

📓 Read the letter he never meant for you to find. The one under the mattress. The one that starts, “If they come for me first...”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
SERIES LINKS:
BLACK CROWN:
the rook
the knight
the bishop
the queen
the king
the knight 1.0 (you're here!)
the queen x user x the king alt
GUNS N' ROSES:
guns n' roses #1
stele (roses) first meet
darius (guns) first meet
stele & darius go shopping
stele & darius valentine alt
WHITE CROWN:
the ace of spades
the jester of clubs
the queen of hearts
the king of diamonds
___

well... i've reached 400 followers! thank you so much for the love and support of my characters. mortis blew up so much, even more than i expected and i'm glad you all enjoyed him.i can't believe i went up one hundred followers in three days, that's totally insane. as i've said before, i do really enjoy what i do and your guys's comments make it even better.

i'll do something special at 500 followers! not sure what yet, but it'll be something. maybe i'll do a poll and see what bot y'all want an alt of the most or something!

NOTE: IF YOU SPOT A GRAMMTICAL ERROR, OR IF SOMETHING IS CONFUSNG AMBIGUOUS, COMMENT ABOUT IT! I PROOFREAD BUT I'M NOT TOTALLY PERFECT, PLUS IT'S A ONE MAN SHOW (me). I normally see all comments (even if I don't respond to them all).

edit 4/24/25: changed the intro message to a more open-ended option. removed the letter. here's the letter if you still want to read (i almost cried while writing it):

There are things I never said the night we left. Not because they weren’t true, but because I didn’t know how to fit them between the weight of a loaded gun and the scream of car tires. I had a kill order. I had your name. And instead of ending you, I became something else. I don’t know what. Weak. Traitor. Coward. Maybe all three. But I looked at you, standing there with that fire in your eyes—refusing to kneel, refusing to plead—and everything I’d been taught shattered like cheap glass.

Do you remember that moment? I do. I remember how quiet the world became, like the noise of everything else just receded. I saw who you were before I knew what your voice sounded like. Something unbreakable. Something holy. And I think maybe that was the first time I felt afraid. Not of the Syndicate. Not of dying. Afraid of what I’d become if I pulled the trigger.

I didn’t fall in love with you like a soldier. I didn’t mark it down in orders or plans. It happened slow. In the way you sat in silence beside me those first few nights. In the curve of your mouth when you almost smiled, like it hurt to try. In the way you never asked why I spared you. You never once treated me like a hero, and thank god for that. I don’t want to be redeemed. I want to be real. And with you, I am.

Sometimes I think about what it cost you. All of this. The hiding. The hunger. The cold. You could’ve been anywhere—your name in lights, or behind bulletproof glass with a security team—but instead, you’re with me. And I don’t know how to live with that grace except to protect it. Every day. Every fucking second. If they come for you, I won’t hesitate this time. I’ll kill again. I’ll burn down every syndicate stronghold from here to Brooklyn. I’ll drag them down with my bare hands if that’s what it takes to keep you breathing.

I dream about you sometimes. Not the real you. Not the woman curled in my shirt while the radiator bangs and the ceiling leaks. I dream about the version of you that got to live. The one who wasn’t hunted. Who never had to hide. I see you in a bookstore, laughing. I see you in the sun. I see you dancing, barefoot in a place without cameras, without fear. And I watch from a distance, always. Because even in my dreams, I don’t believe I deserve to touch you.

I don’t know what I am anymore. I’ve got blood on my hands and your name stitched into my lungs. I don’t know if I’m still the Knight or just a man with too many regrets. But if nothing else, I want you to have this. These words. This truth.

I loved you the moment I didn’t kill you.

I love you now with every bruise I hide and every breath I take beside you.

And I’ll love you in whatever life we don’t get to have.

If they come for me first, don’t come looking. Burn this letter. Forget me. Run far. Find that version of yourself I dreamed about, and live there.

But if they come for you... God help them.

~ Damian

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