Malfunction | Revenant X Reader

guilty as sin

You're a dedicated nurse who loves their job even when it means taking care of stubborn, battle-worn pro-heroes (or maybe especially then). Aizawa Shouta x gn!reader. Set between S6 & S7. Fluff, slight angst with comfort. SFW, 2k words.

The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air as you walk down the pristine white hallways of Central Hospital. The raid against the Paranormal Liberation Front had left the medical facility overcrowded, understaffed, and bustling with activity. You yourself had been working tirelessly for the last 24 hours straight to care for the numerous injured heroes and civilians. 

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders, your feet dragging slightly with each step. Your shift was supposed to have ended hours ago, and you were more than ready to clock out and get some much-needed rest. However, there was just one patient left to see.

You knock at the door. 

"Good morning," you greet the man lying down on the bed. You don't have the strength to muster a smile, but that's okay. He doesn't seem to either. 

Instead, he gives you a familiar nod. "Good morning."

He was a brooding, reserved man of a few words. With dark hair and even darker eyes - well, eye, the other being wrapped in bandages - he looked more tired than you some days. You can't fault him for that though. You knew he had been at the front lines of the battle that day and had paid a heavy price for it. 

He sits up as you come closer, approaching his bedside. The room is quiet, save for the soft beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals.

"How are you feeling today?"

He shrugs. "I've been better. I've been worse."

"I can see that," you nod, noting the way his complexion is less pale and his hair less unruly today compared to the past week. You open the blinds for him, warm light streaming into the dim room. “More sunlight ought to be good for you.”

“Mhm,” is all he says, blinking up at the bright, blue sky out the window. 

You take that as your cue to go about your usual tasks silently, adjusting his IV, checking his bandages, writing down his vitals. 

Then, out of the blue, he says, “You’ve been working long hours lately. You should get some rest.” 

"Believe me, I will. Just as soon as you're taken care of first."

"I'm fine,” he responds in a clipped, dismissive tone of voice.

“Fine or not, it's my job to make sure you’re comfortable and healing properly. You went through a lot, losing an eye and a leg. Frankly, I’m not sure we should go through with discharging you tomorrow.”

He heaves a tired sigh, “Like I said, I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse, too.” 

Frowning, you sit down on the bedside chair and take a moment to look at him. Despite his stoic facade, you can see the toll all those years of being a hero have taken on him, especially the past few weeks. The dark circles under his remaining eye, the weary lines and scars etched into his face. The worried, pained look that lingers even when he's trying to relax. 

"You know, it's okay to admit that you're not feeling great. From what I've been told, it seems like you've been through hell and back."

He shrugs again, leaning back against the pillows with a wince that he tries to hide. "It comes with the job. If anyone deserves your concern, it's my students."

“It must be hard, seeing them fight in a war. They’re just children, after all.”

He nods grimly, his mouth a tight line. "And because of this—" he touches the bandages covering his eye "—my quirk is pretty much useless now, especially on the villains we’re up against.”

He doesn't say it, but you can hear it in the tightness of his voice, his clenched jaw, his hands fisting the bedsheet. You know what he really means: “I'm useless now."

You want to reach out to touch him, maybe place your hand atop his, but you're not sure if he'd welcome such a gesture, especially from someone he's only known for a short time. You settle for a few sympathetic words instead, folding your hands in your lap. 

"Aizawa-san, do you honestly think your quirk is the only thing that makes you a hero? You've done so much for your students, for so many people. You're a mentor and a role model to these kids. I'm sure they trust and look up to you more because of this, not less.”

He looks at you for a long moment, that same unreadable expression on his face.

"I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t protect them the way I used to."

"Maybe not, but even without your quirk, you have your experience, your wisdom, and a heart that cares deeply for them. That's more than enough."

Instead of responding, he stares silently up at the ceiling. You don't push him, resigning to let the moment simply stretch out. After all, this is the most you've ever talked to him the whole week.

As he gets lost in his thoughts, you find yourself mentally tracing the contours of his face, where the sunlight bathes his skin in a soft, warm glow. It accentuates the strong lines of his jaw, his nose. Softens the look in his dark eyes. 

You take a quiet breath, surprised by the fluttering sensation in your chest. It's an odd time and place to notice something like this, but you can’t deny there's a certain rugged handsomeness to him.

You shift your weight, feeling a little self-conscious about your own thoughts. It’s unprofessional, you chide yourself, to think of a patient this way. But the inexplicable attraction you feel for the man before you is unmistakeable.

Aizawa turns slightly, catching you off guard as his eyes meet yours. When he finally speaks again, his voice is softer, almost contemplative. 

“It's strange. There was a time in my life when I wouldn't have cared what happened to me in the line of duty, whether I lived or died. But now...I want to live for those kids. My kids.”

You manage a wobbly smile even as your heart aches at his words. "Your students are lucky to have someone who cares about them so much."

“You remind me of them a little bit.” He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling softly in the quiet room. “Determined, stubborn, always insisting on helping.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

The corner of his lips quirk up, and the realization that he might actually be teasing you sends your heart aflutter. 

“Mostly good,” he murmurs. “A little bit troublesome for me though.”

“Yeah?” You bite back a smirk. “You’ve been a bit troublesome for me, too, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the pillows. “Is that so? And how do you propose I make it up to you, then?”

Maybe it’s the huskiness of his voice, the quiet intensity of his gaze, or the faint smile tugging at his lips, but something about him in this moment makes your stomach freefall. And you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him, passionately and spontaneously, as if afraid to see sense. 

You know you shouldn't indulge this, should put a stop to this train of thought before it gains too much momentum. You’re thankful you manage to keep your voice steady despite the rush of blood pounding in your ears. 

“Well, Aizawa-san, you could start by taking me out to dinner. Dealing with a patient as stubborn as you has its price, you know.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. But then his gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, and you feel your breath hitch. He tilts his head, his expression thoughtful yet guarded, as if trying to read between the lines of your playfulness.

“I suppose,” he concedes softly. “But you might find that I’m not as interesting as you think, Y/N. I’m just a man who cares about the people in his life and does what he can to protect them.”

"That's exactly what I like about you.” Your voice drops to a whisper, your hand lightly brushing against his.

He groans softly, and you feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the sound. He rubs his hand down his face, seemingly weighing his options. 

It’s not too late, you assure yourself in a rush of anxious thoughts. You haven’t crossed any lines you can’t go back on, haven’t overstepped the delicate boundary between patient and nurse, between flirtation and something more. 

“Will you let me kiss you at the end of the date?”

Oh.

The line is a dot now.

You swallow hard and — heart pounding in your chest, everything else spinning dizzyingly out of focus — you rush forward to close the distance between you, pressing your lips urgently against his. 

The spark you felt before intensifies into an electrifying current now, racing down your spine as he tangles one hand in your hair and another holds you by the nape. He tilts your head back to kiss you deeper, his lips hungrily exploring yours, and you feel drunk on the pleasure of his touch, the intoxicating scent of his skin and his aftershave.

The softness of his lips contrasts with the roughness of his stubble, sending shivers of delight coursing through you. His mouth is warm and inviting, and you lose yourself in the sensation of his kiss, the way he breathes you in, the quiet sighs of pleasure that escape both of you. 

Your mind spins with the realization of how much you’ve wanted this and how many ill-advised daydreams you’ve had of him these past few weeks. When you finally break apart for air, you keep your forehead pressed against his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. The sound of your blood rushing in your ears drowns out the rhythmic beeping of the machines around you, and for a moment, the world feels narrowed down to just the two of you.

“I-I’m sorry,” Your breath comes in ragged gasps. Your fingers gingerly touch your lips, which are pursed in surprise. “That was reckless of me. I shouldn’t have.”

Aizawa blinks at you, his dark eyes wide and dazed, like he’s trying to process what just happened. He licks his lips, a gesture that sends a fresh wave of warmth through your body.

“Do you…” His voice is husky, tinged with uncertainty. “Do you regret it?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I only regret not doing it at a better time.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise before softening, the tension in his shoulders seemingly melting away. 

"Good," he murmurs, reaching for you, his thumb cradling your jaw and tracing small, soothing circles on your skin. “Because I’d like to do it again—”

He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek.

“And again—”

He brushes his lips teasingly against yours, feather-light and promising of more.

“And again.”

The admission sends a thrill through you, a rush of joy and excitement that makes your pulse quicken. "All the more reason to look forward to dinner, I suppose. After you get better, that is."

He chuckles softly. "Shouldn't be a problem, seeing as how I have an excellent nurse taking care of me."

"Mmmhm. Speaking of, is there anything else I can do to make you…more comfortable before I leave?” You can't help but ask, a playful lilt in your voice.

He captures your lips in a delicate kiss, so sweet and tender, like a dream barely skimming the surface of reality. You've finally calmed down enough to hear the sound of his heart rising, betrayed by the loudening beep of the machine. His hand trails down your arm and he laces his fingers with yours, smiling against your lips. 

“I can think of a few things.”

Return to Arkham - Yandere!Joker x Doctor!Reader

"Catch me if you can," The Joker's voice echoed over the intercom. "First one to find me gets a prize!~"

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, every hair standing on end and every nerve shot as you forced yourself to creep through the hall of the asylum. The adrenaline that flooded your veins practically screamed at you to run, but running meant almost certain death. You'd make too much noise, you'd take a wrong turn in your panic, you'd run straight into the clutches of the blackgate inmates or corrupt guards. Despite every instinct screaming at you to flee as fast as you could, you had to take it slow.

So, you crept through the asylum's dirty, ancient halls. And now, in this moment, your brain taking in everything with increased clarity out of panic, is when it really hit you how awful the set of circumstances were for everyone here. Not just now, during the Joker's mass takeover, but throughout all of Gotham's history. 

The demonization of mental health issues and those afflicted, preventing those who need help from actually getting it because they might be villainized and ostracized. Throwing people - adults, children, criminal or otherwise, into a rundown building built on the conflation of mental illness and crimes and letting them be abused by guards and doctors and even the warden, himself.

Not that that was an excuse for crime, of course. But, isn't that why you were hired in the first place? To replace the older generation of doctors and psychiatrists and breathe new life into the asylum, to treat the inmates better? You had tried. You wanted to make things better.

You had heard of the tales that psychiatrists faced at the hands of The Joker. Murder, stalking, assassinations… And, of course, the case of former Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Still, you tried to reach him.

You looked over his case, looked over his files, listened and re-listened to interview tapes over and over again. Maybe, you could learn from the mistakes others had made. Not so angry as to draw his ire, not so understanding as to allow him to manipulate you, not so neutral that you failed to reach him. A monumental feat, to be sure.

He lied. A lot. But, of course, he did - you expected, as much. You could understand why Ms. Quinzel began to trust him. The Joker didn't look as intimidating as he did on Television or in photos when he was in the required inmate jumpsuit, the bright orange clashing with his stark white skin and dark green locks.

He told you conflicting stories - of a drunken father who beat him and his mother, who took him to the circus- or the ice rink- or the amusement park. A sister who got cut up by the mob, but wasn't he an only child? Or didn't he have a little brother? His wife got pregnant and lost the child- but, he never had a wife… Or he did, and he lost both his wife and their unborn child.

But, no matter the story and no matter the contradictions, you did your best to take him at his word while attempting to tackle the problem - or, at least, tried your hardest to seem like you were taking him at his word. Not enough to allow him to take advantage of you, but just enough to suggest ways to help him improve. Had he tried Cognitive Behavioral Therapy? Perhaps he could try breathing techniques in order to cope with the flashbacks to that night in the Ace Chemicals factory? If he needed reassurance, it would be good to turn to Ms. Quinzel and… His fellow (Friends? Allies?) inmates.

You knew it was unlikely that Joker was taking your advice seriously - or that it would even help, at all. Numerous psychologists before you had already studied Joker's psychological profile and had come to the conclusion that whatever was ailing Joker wasn't found in the DSM, or anyone else struggling with mental health issues. He was a complete anomaly, but that didn't mean you could give up on him. Maybe… Maybe just knowing that someone else cared enough to come in and try to help communicate with him in a way that wasn't violent or demeaning could get through to him, at least a little bit.

You could tell when he had stopped trying to lie in order to trick or anger you. A majority of your sessions had become him goofing around and attempting small talk. He would fiddle around in his chair, switching his sitting positions and even flipping upside down in his seat while the guards tried to keep their trigger fingers in check.

You remembered the last session between you and him before his break out.

"Having fun down there?" You asked, watching the Clown Prince of Crime as he sat upside down. 

His hair brushed against the floor, bubbly giggles leaving his painted lips. His long, lanky body outstretched over the bow back, legs kicking in the air. His arms hooked around two of the legs, his surprising upper body strength holding him down and keeping himself from toppling over.

"Oh, you know I am," Then, quick as a flash, Joker righted himself, spooking the two guards that remained positioned at the door. The clown's hair remained unchanged in his righted position, still smoothed back, save for a stray curl that fell to his forehead. "You should try it some time! There's nothing like blood rushin' directly to your head!"

"I'll consider it," You replied, before adding a faux-whisper. "I'll have to do it off the clock, though, I think the Warden'll get mad if he walks in on me doing it during a session."

"Ugh, Sharpie is such a killjoy. You deserve a raise just for putting up with him," The Joker thought for a moment. "Want me to put in a good word for you?"

You snickered. "I appreciate it, Joker, but there's no need. I get paid enough as it is, and coming in to help my favorite patient is a good bonus."

Another bellow of laughs escaped the clown, Joker hunching forward to rest an elbow on his leg, holding his chin up with a fist. There was a soft look in his eyes, filled with light and adoration. "You know, Doc, you're a real charmer!"

"Am I?"

"Indeedy-doo-da-day!" The Clown beamed, eyes crinkling. "And quite the looker, too! Careful, Doc, you might just steal me…~"

"I'm sure Ms. Quinzel would have something to say about that."

Joker waved the thought off. "Oh, you and half of Gotham already know about her and Pammy. We both know how good it is to share!"

You hadn't expected the conversation to turn so… Personal? Intimate? It was most likely all jokes and ribbings, but the thought of Joker actually flirting with you - attempting to court you, even - made you uncomfortable. It was dangerous, not to mention incredibly wrong and unprofessional. Keeping your relationship as caring doctor and patient with the Joker was incredibly important and you couldn't risk losing the raport you had built.

A nervous laugh escaped you, brows furrowing. Your gaze flicked over to the guards. You swallowed.

"Well, I'm extremely flattered, but," You paused, taking in a shaking breath as you chose your next words. "I'm afraid I'm already taken."

It was a lie, but he didn't need to know that. It would nip that little problem in the bud, and he'd move on.

But, your heart sunk as a scowl stretched over The Joker's lips, all glee fleeing his expression and his eyes going dark.

A tension filled the room, so thick you thought you might choke on it, only to be dispersed by the beeping of a timer. The session was over.

The two guards approached Joker, one holding him stoll as the other cuffed him and lifted him to his feet. 

"Well, Doc, I'll see ya next time!" The Joker looked over his shoulder, meeting your eyes.

"See you…"

"Oh! One more thing-" The Joker stilled only to be shoved forward by one of the guards.

"Keep it movin', Clown!" One of the men barked.

The Joker bared his teeth, glaring down at the man. "Hold your horses, Pig." Joker turned back to you, his expression softening. "I have a secret for you…"

Hesitantly, you stepped forward. "Oh?"

"I'm gettin' outta here real soon," He grinned. "It's gonna be a real party!"

"Not on your life, Clown!" The other guard spat, shoving Joker out the door and into the hall.

You followed them into the hall, watching as your patient was roughly escorted away. You called after him. "Please, don't break out, Joker! You're here so we can help you!"

Before he was taken around the corner and disappeared from your view, the Joker called back. "Sweetheart, I think you and I both know that this place can't help anyone!"

—

He had kept his promise. He had broken out.

The moment you got word of his escape, you had spent most of the day cowering in your room, sure he'd break in at any moment. It was actually a relief when you were called back into work, just so you could be far, far away from the city while he was free.

You were so sure he was angry at you. So sure he'd come after you.

He didn't. It wasn't until you checked messages from your friends in the city that you realized what he had done. They all went dark. No replies. No nothing. Pictures of victims on the news that were both familiar and yet… Destroyed beyond recognition. The weight of your words fell heavily on you.

He hadn't come after you. He had gone after whoever he thought might have "taken" You from him.

And what was worse was…

How did he know who you talked to?

—

Creeping through the dark halls of the Asylum, now, you could really see - he was right. You always knew that, in a way, but you were blinded by the thought of fixing this place. The thought that you and people like you could rebuild what was broken and bring Arkham Asylum into the 21st Century. No more torture of patients, no more abuse, no more lobotomies. But, with every crack sealed, more and more reappeared or were discovered to take its place. This wasn't something you could put a band-aid on and call it a day.

Arkham Asylum was built on hatred and fear and prejudice, and it would stay that way. The best thing anyone could do for this place and the people in it was to tear it down. No amount of doctors replaced or modernized treatments or Wayne family funding could undo that, could undo the damage it had done to the people in this city. Generations upon generations who had heard horror stories from the Asylum and decided to fear the inmates instead of the abusive staff. Is it any wonder why mental illnesses went undiagnosed, that so many people went without help, out of fear of people thinking them the next supercriminal?

Maybe… Maybe you could speak out, if you got out of this alive. Convince the mayor or Bruce Wayne or Warden Sharp or whoever the hell was in control of stuff like this to tear the whole place down and reopen a new mental health facility in the city, without the baggage and horrific past of this Asylum. Maybe then, there would be some change.

The halls and floors were so dirty. Water leaking from the pipes and ceilings, damaged floorboards or ceiling panels. Blood gone uncleaned for who knows how long, smeared upon the walls. You always knew there were cracks in the seams, but it only hit you now how many there were.

How could anyone here get better if they were living in a waking nightmare? How many people had this Asylum, this city, failed?

You crept slowly through the halls, walking slow and silent, barely breathing in fear of making a sound. You spotted a side room out of your periphery, one that could be closed with an electronic security gate. You strained your ears and heard… Nothing.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. You'd hide there. You'd hide there until it all blew over and you were safe and Batman took care of everything.

You made a break for it, hustling into the room and-

The hum of electricity sounded as the barrier was activated, making you jump. Your heart pounded in your ribcage. You- you hadn't pressed the switch, hadn't even *seen* it, so how did-

"I knew you'd find me, Doc! You could always see right through me."

No. No, no, no, no-!

Slowly, you turned to face him. Joker. Out of his uniform, in his usual Clown get-up. He looked so much taller without it. So much more dangerous and unpredictable out of the controlled environment of your therapy sessions.

"Joker," You breathed out, surprised you could even find it in you to talk at all, "Please, don't…"

The Clown shushed you, raising his arms up as he slowly approached you. "I know you're scared, dear, but you're safe now, alright?"

You couldn't bring yourself to speak. Too focused on watching him, focusing on every moment. Too scared to fight, too scared to run. All you could do was stand still as a statue.

Your whole body shook as The Clown Prince of Crime rested his hands on your shoulders. Somehow, you found the strength to look up at him, meeting his eyes. They were dilated, bright green eyes drinking you in completely.

"Now, my boys didn't hurt you, did they?" He asked, voice soft. 

You shook your head.

"Good," Then, he pulled you forward against his chest, arms curling around you in a tight embrace. Your body seized up as you were captured in his hold. "If they had hurt a single hair on your head, I would've flayed them alive and used their intestines as streamers."

If he had said something more, you couldn't hear it over the sound of blood pulsing in your ears. He was holding you. The Joker was holding you in his arms, your body pressed up against him. You could feel how surprisingly solid he was, in spite of his lanky figure. Could feel how gentle his touch was, in spite of how brutal and bloodthirsty he could be. Could hear the steady thumping of his heart. You could probably only name two other people who've been in your position before and came out alive, and one of them was Joker's girlfriend.

You were brought back to reality as Joker mumbled to you. "I've wanted to hold you like this for so long, Doc. And now, I finally can. This really is the best night ever."

The Joker rocked you to and fro in a lazy dance, making you step backwards. He leaned down slightly, softly brushing his forehead against your own, distracting you until your legs hit something solid - the Joker guiding you to sit down on a chair placed against the wall. You swallowed thickly as you looked up at him - he looked even taller now, looming over you.

"Well, a deal's a deal, ain't it? Ya caught me!" A mischievous look crossed over Joker's face. "Or was it me that caught you?"

"Either way," He purred, leaning down to get closer to you. He raised a hand to cup your face, before a gloved thumb ran over your bottom lip. "I think it's time for you to get your prize…"

expedition 33 is a game about what would happen if you died and your family went insane fighting over your minecraft world you made when you were 12

𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖙 𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊 | cmj.

choi mujin x fem!reader

warnings: suggestive content; violence; death; slightly toxic relationship; age-gap;

song: desert rose — lolo zouaï

word count: 2k

disclaimer: scene slightly based on that one joker and harley’s scene on suicide squad (yes, the club one)

              THE LOW BASS OF THE MUSIC PUMPED THROUGH YOUR VEINS, RACING AGAINST THE THUNDERING SOUND OF YOUR HASTY HEART. The golden dress that ran down your sweaty body, twirled like rain droplets as you took another spin around the pole, your only free hand caressing your flying hair as you did so. More and more people surrounded your small stage as you did another risky move, this one bringing two men to almost faint at the close proximity of your bodies, yet you never once touched them. It wasn't their hands you were interested in, you contemplated after another seductive dance move. A small tear of sweat caressed your forehead, kissing the bridge of your nose as you threw your head back in giddiness, however, you didn’t bother to wipe it. It was only the beginning of the evening at your husband’s club, and you knew that you would be sweating much more by the end of the night.

The crowd began whistling as you lift your leg up, right against the silver pole, yet your eyes only crossed with one single person across the dark-room, neon lights reflecting the sharp features of Mujin as he tentatively licked the same lips that he had used to so easily roll a blunt, to which he offered to the man in front of him, the one he was trying so hard doing business with. Your husband’s net was growing by the day, almost taking over all of South Korea’s darkest corners as it did so, and it came to no surprise to you that he was now trying to breach Japan’s underworld as well. Soon enough, all of East Asia would know and fear your husband’s name, and whilst it couldn’t make you prouder, it also made you incredibly worried by his safety, and, well, yours. More power meant more risks to take, and after so many betrayals for the past year, you actually wondered if this was actually the right time to take such a huge step.

And although his love met no end, you knew how he felt about you interfering in his business. It wasn’t as if he wanted you meddling in his affairs, he just feared the consequences of you doing so. Mujin knew the effect of working on this field, after all, he made a livelihood of it, and the thought of you gaining a single scratch just from sharing that burden of his, brought an ache to his soul that he refused to feed. Both of you had agreed to leave you in the dark about his business, mostly to your safety, and the only exception he made to this rule of yours only happened when things went down south or when they had to lay low for a while.

But you trusted Mujin. If there was anyone capable of pulling through hell and back was that fierce husband of yours. As long as he remained by your side, there was nothing that could possibly go wrong. You loved him as much as he loved you, and you knew his intelligence and wit didn’t have an end.

And that was why, when he called for you with a casual whistle, you obediently left the small stage and happily walked over to him, sitting by the back of his sofa as you finally reached his cabin. Taeju scoffed ironically at your dainty smile, offering you his large hand so that you could pass over the sofa and right into your husband’s side, rightfully yours since the day you had met him, over three years ago. Mujin tilted his head in your direction and lazily threw you one of those smiles of his, the ones that made you weak in the knees, right before inviting you to his empty lap. And how could you refuse such an offer, especially when he was so lovingly looking at you?

So, you carefully sat down on his thighs, the dress moving slightly higher as it almost showed all your intimate bits, much to Mujin’s displeasure. He grabbed the hem of the sparkling skirt and gently pulled it down, right before adjusting your position so that you could rest against his chest as he gave one more puff on his blunt. You felt the temptation to steal the small roll and put it in between your lipstick-covered lips, but Mujin, as if reading your thought, gave you a warning look before offering the blunt to one of his colleagues. Drugs were definitely out of reach as long as you were married to him, and sometimes it infuriated you how much he cared about your health but completely ignored his.

The man in front of the two of you, however, seemed to be enjoying the little spectacle, for the way his smirk lifted the corners of his pink lips. He seemed younger than Mujin, and far healthier than your nicotine-addicted husband, although that was part of his charm. You had always had a spot for men “rough around the edges”, it’s what made the relationship so much interesting. He couldn’t have been older than Taeju, though, maybe in his thirties, and with dark-black ink covering both his neck and the length of his arms, which were fairly shown by the sleeves of his paper-white shirt. There were some Japanese words that you could almost recognize on his exposed chest, yet when the man caught you looking, he couldn’t help throw Mujin a knowing smile. The man under your body didn’t move an inch, yet you, who knew him so well, could see the deep change in your husband’s gaze.

⸻ Is the girl familiar with Japanese?⸻ His voice was sour and pitched like an expensive martini, whilst Mujin’s tasted like an old fashioned. It made you cringe at how venomous it sounded on each word he spoke. Mujin, however, remained impassive. Stone-cold. And you sank into his embrace even more under the stranger’s attention, as if it could shield you from his wandering eyes.

⸻ Perhaps. Her family is half Japanese, after all. ⸻ Your love had answered quietly, gesturing for the bartender to refill their now empty glasses. To say you were confused at how easily he had shared such important information of you was an understatement, yet you simply hid your hand on the inside of his jacket as you hugged his torso, finding his warmth comforting.

⸻ A Japanese family in a Korean country sounds very polemic. I’m sure it brought a rough upbringing. ⸻ The man had mused, finding it enthralling how much you side-eyed him and his cocky attitude. If you could, you would gladly grab the gun attached to Mujin’s ribs and press it to his provocative smirk, but you knew better than to cause a scene in your husband’s favorite club.

⸻ No rougher than others, I assure you. ⸻ He seemed delighted at your response, laughing merrily at the rage that you so boldly carried in your frowning eyes. Mujin remained observant, casually caressing the back of your neck whilst fiddling with the opening of your necklace in order to distract his hands. Taeju noticed this quietness of his, and knowing his boss better than anyone, he simply grabbed the handle of his gun discreetly and waited.

⸻ You’re a very lucky man, Mujin. I wouldn’t know what to do with a lady like that attached to my arm. Maybe I’ll find out, if I’m lucky enough. You’ve got a bad bitch by your side. ⸻ That was when you tensed at his words, nostrils flaring at the way he had so casually mouthed the name as if it had been your birth one. Not even your husband dared to call you such lewd things, preferring to stimulate you with words of reassurance that so amazingly fed your praise kink. It came as to no surprise when Mujin stopped playing with his drink and carefully lifted his eyes, barely moving a muscle before letting out a raspy laugh that you knew to be bitter.

⸻ Oh, her? The fire in my loins. The blood on my veins. The one and only… Choi Y/N. ⸻ His voice reached a crescendo the more he spoke, and although you felt the familiar sweet taste of pride blooming in your chest, the way his words were so carefully picked made you uneasy in his arms. You despised violence, ironically enough, yet you knew in your gut that this situation wasn’t exactly going to end peacefully. ⸻ I suppose… You want her?

The man must’ve sensed that same prediction, for his demeanor too changed at the same pace as your husband’s, fear taking over his dilated pupils as he realized the nerve he had touched. Not only were you his wife, but also the one he had killed far more important men for.

⸻ Nah… That's your lady, Mujin. ⸻ His companion had reassured him, eyeing the floor as he did so. The blunt they had shared was now halfway done and it’s flame completely out, as well as the amusement and formalities inside that same cabin. Mujin’s free hand, the one he had caressed your neck with a moment ago, found its way towards the back of your head, and with it he gently pushed you to meet his perfumed neck, shielding you while he himself pulled the gun out of its holster. You shifted at the clicking sound of the weapon.

⸻ That’s right… That’s right. ⸻ And so he shot twice, the sound of it being muffled by the loud music that prevented the rest of the crowd from noticing the blood that had been spilled on the heart of the party. You had maintained your eyes open, not daring them to close at the rush of fear that it drowned you as it always did whenever your husband expressed his violent tendencies. You knew now why he had shared such important information about you; the man wasn’t meant to leave the club tonight. You just had to wonder whether Mujin had already planned to kill him, using you as an excuse, or if he had just pressed the right nerve of your husband. ⸻ Take him out of my sight.

You heard the sound of a heavy body being dragged out of the cabin, and from the corner of your eye, you saw the trail of dark-red blood he had left behind. It made your mouth dry in an instant, and you muzzled back against Mujin’s neck in order to try to forget what you had seen. He noticed this act of yours, as he noticed everything else about you, and in response, he simply kissed the side of your head and caressed your beautiful hair, the one he loved so much to pull.

⸻ You understand why I did it, don’t you? You always do. ⸻ His lips chanted against your forehead as if muttering the holiest of prayers. And that you did, even when he didn’t explain to you. It felt easier convincing yourself that every death was deserving than constantly asking him why. And so you kissed the vein on his neck, lifting your head so that you could meet his always tired gaze. You loved this man so dangerously much, it felt like walking at the edge of a knife. ⸻ I’m sorry that you had to witness it this time. But if I had sent you away he would’ve known.

⸻ I know, my love. I know. ⸻ You gave him another peck, this one on his beard-covered chin, and muzzled your nose to it, taking in the comfort he so easily brought to you. ⸻ Does this mean we can go home, now? My feet hurt from dancing.

He hummed a faint laugh, the sincerest one of the night, and deeply kissed your dry lips, ignoring the discomfort that it might bring. This man worshiped the ground you walked, the air you breathed, and the only thing he asked of you, his sole and most important request, was your understanding, even in the bloodiest of situations. And that was something that you could give, although not always easy, as long as he ended up in your arms at the end of every day. You felt so young and naïve sometimes with these thoughts of yours, always loving a man with so much red in his fingers, a man so much older than you. Yet you were so far deep in this relationship that you couldn’t find the surface anymore. Not that you were particularly searching for it.

⸻ Let’s go home, then, my love.

Sleepless

Rindou Haitani x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (allusions to sex), swearing

Description: The reader can't sleep because the Tenjiku members are being far too loud.

You had tried so hard all night not to disturb your boyfriend and his friends as they celebrated their recent successes in your lounge room, but as your eyes fluttered open for the fifth time that night, you knew you had to go and ask them to be just a tad quieter. Of course, you felt terrible because Rindou was being so considerate already. You couldn’t even hear the crappy rap music they were playing, just the echo of the bass through the walls, and both of the times that you were woken up by their chatter you heard Rindou frantically scrambling to hush them.

With a yawn and a small stretch, you pulled your throw blanket over your shoulders and shuffled across the carpet until you found your ugg boots in the complete and utter darkness. After a pained “fuck” slipped past your lips as you hit your knee on the edge of your bedframe, you slowly opened the door and stepped out into the lounge room.

It wouldn’t have taken more than a second before the boys noticed your meek, sleep-deprived frame cringing at the power of the lights while your eyes took their time to adjust. Most of them were strung out across the three grey couches in front of the television which was tuned into an MMA fight on mute, while the younger members (that Kisaki kid, his friend Hanma, Kokonoi, and Sanzu) were awkwardly sitting around the dining table behind them. Madarame offered you a short wave to which you responded with a tired frown, then you finally caught sight of Rindou sitting in the corner of the middle couch with his hand outstretched towards you.

“Rinnie…” You whined as you made your way into his lap with his arm lazily draped over your waist. Ran, your brother-in-law for all intents and purposes, snickered at the nickname, and the tone of your voice which was laden with exhaustion.

“Sorry, did we wake you up?” Rindou asked quietly, and then turned to the rest of the group, “I told these fuckwits to keep it down.”

Rindou wasn’t ignorant of the fact that you were wearing nothing but his shirt as pyjamas, and he knew well from the night’s earlier — and more private — events that your underwear were the barely-there kind. So, he was cautious to make sure that one of his hands was sitting firmly under your bum at all times, holding the shirt against your skin.

“If you guys stayed quiet I would’ve made you pancakes for breakfast as thanks,” you teased. Mocchi’s shoulders tensed in clear disappointment at your words. While all of them were fond of your cooking, Mocchi was always the biggest eater.

You pressed your lips against Rindou’s neck while they continued their discussion. His voice vibrated into each kiss you bestowed upon his neck and collarbone with a kind of intimacy that made you feel as though you were melting into one another. After a while of this, you began to doze off, your mind stuck in the in-between state of being oddly aware of everything around you, but not quite awake.

Rindou took one glance at the state of you, nearly asleep despite the volume of the room, and hooked his arms under your thighs to carry you back to the bed you shared. He folded the throw neatly at the end of the mattress, then placed you down on your preferred side, and admired the irritated look on your face which was made possible to see by the slightly open door.

As he made a movement to leave and rejoin his friends in the lounge room, you groaned, grabbed the cuff of his shirt, and pulled him back towards you. He was much stronger than you, strong enough not to be even slightly moved by your pull, but he was never the kind of boyfriend to fight your affection. He knelt down on the floor beside you with his hand rubbing circles on your cheek, already feeling terrible about how you couldn’t get to sleep because of him and his friends.

“What’s wrong, N/n?” He said lovingly.

“Come to bed. It’s cold. I want you in here with me.” You saw how Rindou’s eyes flicked back to the light emanating from the doorway, so you pouted in the sexiest way you could given how tired you were. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

The sleeve of the shirt you were wearing had — at some point, unbeknownst to you — fallen from your shoulder to reveal the lacy strap of a new bra Rindou had bought you. It reminded him of your underwear. Of how nice it felt to take them off earlier…

“You’re too tired for any of that, babe. Just go to bed, and I’ll come join you in no time, promise,” he said as he shook the images from his mind, knowing you were one blink away from falling asleep again.

“You hate me,” you huffed, and turned away from your boyfriend before adding, “You’re just gonna end up passing out on the couch like you do every time they come here. I’m gonna wake up all alone. You’re such a bad boyfriend.”

Rindou smiled softly, “Are you trying to guilt-trip me right now?” You turned back to make eye contact with him and nodded. “Fine.”

For a moment, he disappeared into the lounge room. You could hear Ran making fun of him for being “absolutely whipped”, and Izana telling him to “man up”, but you were already beginning to feel your eyelids getting heavier, so you didn’t care much to go out and defend him. When he returned, he took off his shirt and pulled on a pair of trackpants, and then crawled into bed beside you.

Content to have gotten all you wanted from Rindou, you traced the tattoos on his torso until you were so exhausted you could no longer hold your hand up.

“I will make it worth your while,” you yawned as you rested your head on his chest and let him run his hands over your hair, “Just… In the morning when I’m rejuvenated.”

You closed your eyes and Rindou felt your heartrate slow down along with the frequency of your breaths. You were snoring ever-so-gently, and he stifled a laugh at the irony of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to get even a second of sleep because of it.

I'LL GET EVEN, dave mustaine.

pinned rules masterlist

pairing; modern!dave mustaine x fem!reader

summary; dave is angry at a producer and comes home, just wanting to see you. you have other plans, deciding to join in on a couple tiktok trend—he doesn’t find it as funny as you do.

warnings; very fluffy, modern era but with 1980s dave, slight cussing, no use of y/n, mentions of toxic masculinity, dave gets butthurt, tough boy isn’t so tough anymore. if im missing anything else let me know!

word count; 750

requests open, not proofread, based on this ask.

You never thought you’d see the day when Dave Mustaine—the snarling, sharp-tongued leader of Megadeth, the same man who wrote lyrics about death and betrayal—would be curled up in your arms like an overgrown cat. But here he was, his spiralling, copper curls a mess against your chest, his breath warm against your collarbone, completely unaware that he was currently being recorded, despite your quiet, hushed giggles that left your soft lips. He was so fucking tired he didn't even think anything of it: his first mistake.

It had started out as an innocent cuddle session. He’d come home after hours in the studio, grumbling about producers who didn’t “get” his sound, and immediately toppled onto you like a weighted blanket. You knew better than to say anything at first—Dave was a like cat in human form; if you pointed out that he was being affectionate, he’d immediately "hiss" and pretend he wasn’t. So you just let him rest, lazily running your fingers through his hair while his arm draped possessively over your waist, his strong, calloused thumb stroking the hem of your pants.

That’s when the idea struck.

With your phone angled just right, you hit record, keeping your voice soft, teasing. This will fucking get him. You knew he wasn't active on social media, let alone TikTok. And you loved your pranks—rather, you loved to push your boyfriend’s buttons.

“Who's my good boy?” you cooed, fingers tracing light patterns on his back.

A sleepy mumble; “...Me.”

Your grin nearly split your face into two. Got him.

“Yeah? My bestest boy?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, nuzzling closer into your warm neck.

You held back a laugh, heart melting at how completely relaxed he was. This was the Dave most people didn’t get to see—the one who craved softness, who would willingly tangle his limbs with yours just to feel safe for a while. The one that just yearned for intimacy and love, and admiration. Even if he didn't admit it. His gentleness with you proved it right—despite what the people had to say in the media. It was all bullshit.

Then, as if some internal alarm sounded, his whole body suddenly stiffened against you. Uh-oh…

“Wait,” he muttered. You felt the pause; the slow, tired wheels turning in his brain. He lifted his head slightly, hazel eyes squinting in suspicion. “The fuck did you just say?”

You bit your lip, trying not to giggle. “I said, ‘Who’s my good boy?’”

His brows furrowed. Then his eyes flickered to your hand—manicured nails clasped around your phone. His domestic, exhausted eyes met his own within your phone. What the fuck was wrong with you—on every level. Mentally, emotionally, physically—hell, spiritually. You don’t do that shit to thee Dave Mustaine!

“…Are you recording this?”

“Maybe.”

Dave shot up faster than a rocket and you barely had time to react before his tall frame was towering over you, his expression caught somewhere between betrayal and damage control. No, no, no, no—fuck no!

“Delete it.” His voice was gruff now, like you’d just walked in on him playing with kittens and he was scrambling to reassert dominance. He had an image to uphold—both with the fans and you. “Right fucking now.”

You pouted. “But you were soooo cute.”

"I’m not cute,” he grumbled, already crawling back into his toxic masculinity shell. He ran a hand through his thick golden hair, shoulders straightening, jaw clenching. “I’m fucking dangerous."

You tilted your head, still recording. Your phone shook as you held back a laugh. “Oh? Who’s my big, strong, dangerous boy?”

A muscle twitched in his cheek as a vein popped in his forehead. Dave pointed at your phone. “I swear to God—”

But before he could finish, you gave him the look. The one that said, I’ll stop recording if you just play along for two more seconds, pretty, pretty please sweetheart.

Dave groaned, rubbing his face. You could tell he was so done with your antics. And then, with the deepest, most reluctant sigh you'd probably had ever heard from his lips, he muttered under his breath:

“…Me.”

You burst out laughing, nearly dropping your phone in the process—but you relentlessly gripped it for dear life. Gotcha!

Dave, realizing what he just did, let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a feral growl before launching himself at you, trying to snatch your phone from your iron grip.

“You’re fucking dead,” he grumbled, burying his face in your neck, but the warmth of his arms tightening around you told you otherwise. Dave even shocked himself sometimes, it's like his heart reacts before his head. The little things made him realize that he truly was infatuated with you. Inside and out, no matter how cruel you may be. You took to him when no one else did.

And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind being your "good" boy after all.

© lagunned (2025—) all rights reserved.

Are you looking for a wife?

Alejandro Vargas x fem!reader

Warnings: pure fluff, mention of injuries, probably very wrong medical information, prescribed drug use, some cursing.

Summary: whenever you get ketamine as pain relief, you lose all thought-to-speech filter.

On AO3

A/N: I just watched an episode of one of those shows about air ambulances from the UK where they gave a guy ketamine, and he was high as a kite and kept telling the doctor (who was like 20 years older) "you're my kind of bird 🥺♥️". You really can get inspiration from anywhere, huh.

•~•~•~•~•

It had been one of those missions that went to shit really quick but somehow the Ghost team got the upper hand in the end. The intel was found, the hostage was rescued, and most of the team got away with minimal injuries.

Unfortunately for you, you were the exception to the last one.

The bullet and the stab wound you had received left you at a risk of bleeding out. One of the Vaqueros - Fernando, you learned - had enough medical training to treat you on site, but you really needed the MedEvac stat. The stim shot you had given yourself during the heat of the battle had long since worn off, and you were administered a strong dose of ketamine to keep your blood pressure from spiking any further and help with the pain once you all made it to the safe house.

However, one funny secondary effect you always got when you were given that drug, was that you lost all filters with your musings. They were never inappropriate per se, just plain weird. In a few words, you were high off your tits.

"...Mars is the only planet in the universe to be entirely inhabited by robots…" you mumbled to no one in particular as you stared straight at the roof over your head, past the top of Fernando's head who was still stitching a scratch on your forehead - only God knows how you got that one. Fernando just blinked at you and shook his head, focusing on his task, while Soap, who wasn't that far from you, was having a really hard time trying not to laugh at your stoner talk.

The utter (non?)sense that came out of your mouth was indeed amusing to whoever was listening closely, mostly Soap and Ghost, who, like the rest of 141, were already used to your reaction to ketamine from previous experiences, and would sometimes even prompt more unhinged thoughts from you. Price tried not to pay too much attention to whatever you said - he knew that as long as you were somewhat coherent and cohesive with your words, they could rule out any brain damage. Whenever Gaz heard your comments, it actually made him think about what you said, always coming to the conclusion that you were actually onto something.

Fernando finally finished with your care and left to check some of the others, while you kept staring at the ceiling of the safehouse, completely lost in your thoughts again. Your eyelids felt heavy, but you weren't sure if it was because of the drug or the blood loss. You were trying really hard to stay awake, but now that your body wasn't burning with pain and the adrenaline had worn off, all the exhaustion from the previous days caught up with you.

You looked over at Ghost, who was now speaking to Alejandro, and couldn't help but sigh dreamily at the leader of the Vaqueros - your inhibitions had really flown out of the window when the ketamine hit. They both glanced at you and you blinked twice, each time your eyelids got heavier.

"LT, 'm sleepy," you groaned, not noticing that you were pouting at both your Lieutenant and the Colonel like a grumpy toddler that needed a nap.

Alejandro somehow maintained a passive stare at you - inwardly though, he was already cradling you in his arms and cooing sweet nothings at you until you fell asleep.

Ghost simply stared at your lying form, and walked closer to you, crouching down to take a better look at your bandages.

"...Well, since you aren't actively bleeding out, I suppose you can take a nap," Ghost huffed but quickly held a finger to your face before you could take him up on it, "but someone will wake you up every 30 minutes just to make sure you still live, copy?"

"Copy, LT, loud and cle-" you interrupted yourself and just stared straight at his skull mask. Ghost frowned, wondering if he should feel concerned.

"...Are you-"

"A cheeseburger," you interrupted him, your eyes wide like sauce plates, "is a dead cow covered with its lactation." As soon as you finished your sentence, your head lolled to the side and you were knocked out cold, a soft snore leaving your barely open lips.

"Bloody fucking hell, kid," Ghost sighed, shaking his head in defeat as Soap wheezed not far away from you.

Alejandro could only stare at you, his hand clutched to his chest. "...Ay, ternura…"

•~•~•~•~•

Thirty minutes had passed when Alejandro decided to check on you. Activity had lulled to a stop and most of the people were catching on some sleep, except for those keeping guard.

He could've gotten some shut-eye too, but he was the kind of leader who wouldn't completely rest until it was totally safe to do so for the whole team.

As he approached you, he noticed you were already awake and staring at the ceiling. He smiled softly, wondering if you were getting lost in your silly little thoughts again, and sat down next to you, watching your eyes focus on him this time.

"What's in your head, preciosa?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper so as to not wake the others.

"...Are you looking for a wife?" You whispered back at him after a few moments.

He blinked twice before leaning a little closer, wondering if he had heard you right, and if you could hear the way his heart rate picked up. "... Perdón?"

"Are you looking for a wife, Alejandro?" You repeated, dead serious.

He cleared his throat to get rid of the knot that formed there, before grinning at you. "...why? Are you offering?"

"... Yes," you nodded, offering him a little grin of your own, "where should I turn my résumé?"

He chuckled softly and reached down, fixing a stray lock from your forehead and tucked it behind your ear, "ask me again when you're sober and I might tell you, tesoro."

"Oh, the ketamine wore off," you sighed, slightly leaning into his fingers, "the pain woke me up, my whole body burns, actually."

His grin dropped and he frowned at you in concern, you looked awfully calm to be in that much pain. "...Want me to ask Fernando to give you some more?"

You shook your head, offering him a smile, but this time he noticed the sweat on your forehead and the frown in your brow as you tried not to move too much, "nah, I want to be sober to hear your answer. So? How do I apply?"

This time Alejandro could barely check the volume of his chuckle as he leaned even closer to you, his knuckles brushing your cheek, "If you're available, the position is all yours, preciosa."

This time you offered him a toothy smile, a flush staining your cheeks and all signs of pain gone from your features, "I make a mean huevo ranchero, you won't regret it."

"You could make me only tostadas for the rest of your life and I'd still look forward to them," he cooed, before signaling Fernando over to you, "now, let's get you comfortable for the trip, si?"

Just as he spoke, the rumble of the heli echoed in the distance, and little by little the teams woke up from their slumber. You got another shot of ketamine and were prepared for the journey, and it wasn't long until you started sharing your wisdom again with whoever could hear, much to Alejandro's delight, Soap's amusement, and Ghost's chagrin.

"If you think about it, the Miss Universe pageant should be called Miss Planet Earth, because no aliens participate in it… that we know of…"

A/N2: *quietly tags @ragingbookdragon here* 🤫♥️

what are the wolf thoughts. sharing is caring.

the thoughts were this,,,, and dilf twi,,,,, combined,,,, so tbh i dont think i really need to say anything for legal reasons 😁 so instead have my very incoherent thoughts on semi-feral (furry)! protective (territorial)! twi‼️

content warning/s.. this is me rambling. written with afab/fem reader in mind (BUT i think i kept it vague, so its more of a gn reader), possessiveness/territorial nonsense, not written with linked universe in mind, y'all remember the citrus scale? i do. (ending dips into lime territory)

i like to imagine that link kept some of his more inhumane traits after the events of twilight princess were all said and done. whether it be a parting gift from the twilight, or a side effect that came along with being a wolf, link never did enough investigating to find out what stayed, what left, or why.

his nose was better, so he could catch whenever a crop was bound to rot or flourish, so good for his stomach.

his eyes were better, so he could catch whenever the kids were making a fuss about something, so good for his mental well-being.

his ears were better, so he could hear whenever his herd were riling themselves up from the other side of the village, so good for his pockets.

all-in-all, he didn't really care to get rid of the side effects if they were going to be such a benefit to his work life— and even better for his personal and love life.

alongside rotting crops and his own post-work stench (yes, he is very self-ware, kudos to midna), link can smell a change you. whether it be a change in your emotions (pheromones were a tricky thing) or wherever you had wandered off after a particularly bad disagreement between the two of you— as rare as that was.

(he's been more ill-tempered as of late. seldom to you, more often to the adult villagers. always over something stupid like to little on an order of food and winter clothes not being thick enough.)

(something, something, the wolf has yet to fully leave him behaviorally, he guesses.)

it was a particularly bad spell between the two of you. link doesn't even remember what it was about and he wasn't keen on doing so. it was late and all he wanted was to apologize so you would return home, he could take being kicked to the couch if it meant you were in the vicinity.

his nose leads him to a darker part of the forest. the trees felt like they moved everytime you turned your back to them, working with the monsters to further trap you inside the woods.

bulbins always had a nasty smell; especially when it muddled and ruined yours.

it's a blur to link, really. it was like he was black out drunk, except rather than alcohol, something else ran through his veins.

there's the catching of your scent, the sprint to the forest, the blackout, and then there's you.

(you. you. you. youyouyouyouyouyouyouyouperfectyouwonderfulyouthereasonhestillbreathesyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyou—)

you're staring up at him with those big doe eyes of yours when he feels some semblance of himself again. he feels less like an animal and more like a person when he sees the way you're sitting against the tree, trembling, but not from fear.

he wipes away the stray bulbin blood as he checks you over for injuries, biting back gags of disgust and the urge to clean you then and there (mark. bite. claim. mark, bite, claim. matematematematemate—).

the way he feels is visceral when he sees your bruising skin, scrapes, and gashes.

it's suffocating when he pulls you into his arms, his tight grip making it hard to take a comfortable exhale. his face is buried against the side of your neck, a spot he's been more and more keen on paying attention to since he's returned home from his adventure.

his breathing grows heavy as he finally drops from his squat to kneel before you, hands traveling wherever they can reach after they pull you into his lap. they're heavy and would be overwhelming if you weren't used to the behavior.

his teeth make an appearance just as his hands make a dive beneath your clothes. he nips and nibbles the expanse of your skin while his hands squeeze whatever handfuls of flesh he's able to reach, the warmth and give of it working to further ground him.

(you were here, with him. alive. you loved him. you wouldn't be letting him handle you like this if you didn't love him. all he wanted was you. his spouse. his better half. the flame to his melting candle. the furnace that kept his home warm.)

(his mate.)

"link," you call when his nips turns into full on biting-and-sucking while his squeeze evolve into gropes and— goddesses, your voice is so angelic when you speak, he stops everything to stare up at you. the blues of his eyes barely visible with the way his pupils expand.

"i want to go home."

and home is where he takes you, hands gripping your thighs as he locks your legs around his hips and carries you home, lips pressing kisses to that spot on your neck that he can't get enough of, canines occasionally reintroducing themselves when he starts to feel greedy again.

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍.

·˚ ༘ premise: gotham’s princess wants gotham’s prince, what does she gotta do to get his attention?

·˚ ༘ pairing: bruce wayne (pattinson) x f!reader.

·˚ ༘ warnings: age gap (reader is around 20, bruce is 30). unprotected sex. teasing. dirty talk. implications of reader’s wealth.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

your silky white dress was complimented perfectly by the yellowish lights that adorned the great hall, charity galas were always a place where you could impress and be impressed, but you didn’t want to impress anyone who wasn’t him.

bruce wayne.

you had somehow managed to take bruce out off the gala with you, convincing him to go to the wayne tower, both completely sober, but minds deeply lost in each other.

you both sat on the pair of green couches on the principal living room, glasses of champagne in each other hands; a small talk turned into other, until you touched the subject bruce tried so hard to avoid when he was with you.

“you’re too young.” he said.

“mhm.. but i’m not.” you said, throwing your leg over his lap and saddling up on top of it, now sitting on his lap, your hands running through his straight hair.

bruce was 10 years older than you, and he had taken the role of a protector type figure in your life, due to your age.

your ‘friend group’ had a wide range of ages, but he was one of the oldest in it, he made company to you in those boring galas and often got the creeps away from you, and most importantly, wouldn’t give in to you.

there was undeniable attraction between the both of you, everyone knew it, but bruce always used the same excuse, ‘she’s too young’ he would say, he really was trying to keep it going, you would probably be more satisfied with a younger man; he liked crossword puzzles, he didn’t enjoy parties, he liked sleeping in on sundays, he liked coming home from his night activities and relax in front of the fire with a glass of wine.

you were fresh into adulthood, bruce had gone with you to buy your first brand new car, helped you move into your apartment and helped you understanding financial stuff better, he even helped you with your parents company, and while others would find those tasks boring and normal, you found it incredibly hot.

bruce was a man.

all man, his life figured out, his own collection of cars, a company on his name, a huge mansion, a tower and a couple of houses.

he wasn’t a player, he liked the same music you did, the same movies you did, he could dance and cook, he was shy, reserved, respectful, and that was exactly what you always wanted to have.

bruce always tried to avoid your flirting, but it was obvious to you it wasn’t because he didn’t want you, he stared too much, his eyes always lingered longer than the others, his touch went out of the way of a normal friend, you had even shared a kiss on new year’s, that he had said was a mistake, but you knew better.

“y/n…. please.” he pleaded. “you’re going to get bored of me.” he whispered, making you frown, you adjusted in his lap, leading his head to lean back so you could look into his eyes.

he should have known that accepting your offer of hanging out alone would end like this, his self control fraying like an old, weak thread.

“bruce..” you whispered, running your free hand over his cheek. “i’m not gonna be bored of you, i adore hanging out with you, i love you, so so much…” your voice went soft and sweet, leaning down and kissing his forehead, his eyes closed, a sigh leaning his mouth as he tried to recover but the action went straight to his heart.

“i love your lips… i haven’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss, your hands held me so tight, bruce, it felt right, and i think about it every single night when i’m all alone, i think about you every time i’m all alone.” your voice turned to a more sultry tone, kissing over his high cheekbone and down to the center of it. “i think about you all the fucking time, i know you do too.”

there was a debate in his mind and he was going to lose it.

“of course I do, princess, but you’re so young, you don’t want to have a family any time soon, you don’t want to have chess nights instead of parties and galas-.” you placed a hand over his mouth.

“who told you i didn’t want that?”

your words caught him off ward, his green eyes looking over your face, you were death serious.

“who told you i don’t want to come home to a strong, older man who can give me everything i want in a relationship?” you tilted your head in questioning. “hmm? who told you i like all those things to begin with? have you asked me, bruce? because the answer it’s not what you think.” you said, nose brushing against his.

he felt you take his hand and moved it around your waist, wrapping one of your arms around his neck while your fingers played with the ends of his hair. “go on, ask me.”

he took a shaky breath, the fingers at the nape of his neck sending chills all over his body. it felt like a dream, he licked his lips before he asked.

“what do you want?”

“i want you, i want to do all the things you do, with you. I know i’m young, but you don’t have a clue of what i want, i want a family, i want a man who will treat me with respect, a man who respects himself, one who has an extensive vinyl record collection… a man who sings nirvana at the top of his lungs with me…” you pecked his lips slowly. “i want a man who’s passionate, a man who has a deep and slow voice to whisper pretty, dirty things to me, someone who wants to protect me the way you already do.” another peck, your opposite hand cupping his jaw.

“i want a man who knows how to treat me, a man who has some experience in life.” your lips trailed to his jaw. “i want a man with big hands, hands that can hold me, stroke my hair and run all over my body like i know you so desperately want to, despite telling yourself you can’t.” your teeth nipped at the junction of his jaw and neck, smirking when you felt his hand smooth down her back and reach the bare skin of your thighs, where your dress had ridden up.

he was losing composure.

“i want a passion, someone who can hold me and give me the most intimate time of my life… and a man who can throw me down over the hood of his vintage car and pound into me like he doesn’t know how to do anything else, a man with dedication….” you lowered your hips and rocked them into his own. “i want you.”

a groan erupted from his throat, his other hand coming to clench down on your hip to steady himself, you were his weakness, and you knew you had this power over him.

“you say I’m too young, bruce. but i’m not, i know a lot of things.” you ground your hips against him, moaning softly as you felt the bulge in his pants press right between your thighs, he was big, as you knew, but it was something else entirely to feel it right against where she wanted it most.

“i know that i want you in my mouth, in my cunt, so fucking badly that i ache for it.” you whimpered, pulling his head back to rest against the couch. your eyes took in his moony eyes as he looked up at you in awe, this was a newer side of her that he hadn’t seen, but he was loving it

“i want you to make love to me any and everywhere, in every room of this tower and in every surface of my apartment, in any position.” your hand stroked through his hair, tugging lightly at the end of it, you could feel his cock pulse against you, making you grin. “mhm, like this” you lifted your hips, mimicking riding him, your breathing was heavier, pressing you forehead against his as you did so. “i want to ride you on this couch when you come home from work… want to climb right on and give you a a place where you can dump all of that stress to.” pulling back from his face, you tugged his hand from her hip and placed it on your ass.

“go ahead, feel it.” you taunted. he was at the end of his wit, drunk off of you alone and letting his large hand squeeze over it, he was going to give it to you so good as soon as he fully gave in, and you knew it. “that’s it, bruce. imagine it, we get along so good, spend so much time together, why can’t we move it to the next level? spend more time giving each other what we both really want?“

your case was solid, breaking through all of his barriers, you were exploding each and every excuse he could have, the guilt was washing away, he really had nothing to be ashamed of.

“god… fuck, y/n.” he cursed. “how do you do this to me? how do you make me feel this fucking good?” he pleaded, needing to know why you had this power over him.

“because you want me too.” you kissed his lips again, slowly, that was the end of his resistance, his mouth closing over yours, internally jumping for victory as you let the kiss run its course before pulling back with a satisfied hum.

“i do… fuck, i do.” he let the final string unravel, admitting it to the both of you, that’s all it took for you to unzip your dress, letting it pool around your waist, moving your hand towards your center, moving your lace thong to the side, exposing yourself.

“then have me.”

bruce had tried so hard to avoid this temptation.

you were younger than him and for so long he had viewed it as him being a dirty, creepy older man, but when you let him know just how badly you actually wanted him? it changed everything.

“please, please, please.” you whimpered. bruce’s cock ran over your soaked slit, watching in awe as the tip bumped your clit and how your hips would jerk up each time. “don’t tease, bruce, give it to me.” you pleaded, hand going to the wrist holding his cock, pulling it closer. “i want it inside.”

you flipped off of his lap to lay on the couch properly, bruce ripped the dress off your body, you returned the favor, you both needed this. months of avoidance had led to the pent up sexual tension that needed to be released.

“shh. i’m just….” he licked his lip. “just admiring, princess. we’ve got the whole night, as long as you want. this is only the beginning.” his teasing was cruel, perhaps, but he wanted a bit of the control action, you had it before, was dangling over him like a shiny toy he had been so guilty lusting after, and he wanted it all for himself.

“yeah. we have all night, so please put that fucking cock inside of me.” you huffed in frustration. “please. bruce, i need you.” your voice dropped to a hint of desperation, a bit raspy when you spoke the last bit, bruce would normally want to punish you for the demands and snarky tone but, how could he not give her what she wants when she speaks like that?

“watch how you speak to me, princess.” his hand smacked your thigh, making you whimper his sudden dominance making you feel needier. “you made me break all of that self control i’ve built up over these months, tried so hard not to be a dirty older man who wants the pretty, young thing in his bed, but you’ve managed to tear it all down and make me into exactly what i’ve tried to avoid.” his voice was low, pressing himself against your center, the slickness dripped around the head of his cock, making the deep red tip glisten.

“god, i tried so fucking hard to not look at you that way, tried to be nice, but you lure me in, with those fucking giggles and that pretty smile, those hugs that lingered too long and fucking crawling into my bed for a cuddle.” he scoffed. “felt so fucking guilty for getting up that new year’s morning and fucking my hand in the shower, cumming so hard with your face in my mind and name on my tongue, barely could look at myself, i’ve managed to not bury myself into this pussy before, and now look.” he leaned over, pursing his lips and letting a string of spit drool down and pool over your cunt, drip slowly to where his cock met your entrance.

“look at me, about to fill you up, fill you up to the brim, stretch you…” he slowly began to push forward, letting the tip press into her and the stretch that had both of them hissing. “shit, just like that.” the sight of it stretching open, his cock pulsing as he pushed in slow and getting a bit further in, stretching you up completely.

“this….” you whined as you felt the last of the head sink into you, your nails digging into his forearms. “is exactly what i always wanted, oh my god…” you panted, eyes looking at his wild expression, even just this bit had your cunt stretched and full, how he was going to manage to get all of that big, thick cock inside of you was beyond your mind.

but you wanted it more than anything.

“yeah, princess?” bruce cooed, pulling a hand away from his cock and dragging it down her stomach. “i should have known, the way you looked at me, the way you’d get possessive over any other woman talking to me.. should have known you were serious.” he admitted, reeling at the feeling of her cunt slowly swallowing him up.

“didn’t want them to fucking have you.” you spit, sitting up on your elbows as you looked down at your connection, the sight had your mouth dropping open. “look at us, do you think any of them could compare to this?” she stroked over the hand on her stomach before going to her sensitive cunt, fingers spread herself open further, exposing her clit as she watched his eyes grow darker. “do you think any of them can give you what i can? desire you the way i do?.” you moaned, circling your clit a few times and clenching around him, making him moan.

“enough.” he yanked your hand away. “didn’t fucking want them, believe me, i tried, but you’ve been haunting my dreams, have owned this cock before we even properly spoke, when you walked in… in that fucking black sundress, i wanted to grab you, keep you in my grasp.” he admitted. “selina told me how old you were… thought my chances were over, but i was wrong.” his chuckle was dark, pressing in further and getting a sweet moan from you. “you insisted on breaking me down, making me into what was afraid of being.”

you gasped as you lifted your hips, getting his cock in a bit deeper, sparks of pleasure lit up your stomach as the sting of his thickness stretched you. “uh huh. i wanted you to be dirty, wanted you to give me this, wanted you to stuff this cock inside of my young pussy and make me yours.” you revealed.

with each inch he sunk into you, the most wild you felt. never had you felt so full or needy but now. “i want you to be dirty, want you to show me how real men treat their women… want you to own me, bruce.” your voice was a sultry whisper, pulling his hand up to cup your cheek. “show me how those silly boys don’t know a thing about treating pussy.” your cheek nuzzled into his hand.

“god, you’re so deep…” her voice got a bit higher pitched. “don’t stop… i want more.” you whined, rocking your hips up and making the both of you moan. bruce couldn’t stop himself from grinding his hips into you slightly, the pleasure of a hot, soaked cunt squeezing around him, he couldn’t believe this was really happening.

“fuck.” he grit his teeth together as he felt himself get deeper than his slow pace had original anticipated. his thumb slipping into your mouth and lips puckering around it as you began to suck.

you were his sin.

“can’t get over this pussy.” his thrusts we’re shallow, getting used to the suction of your mouth and your cunt as you seemed to arch into him. “so fucking tight, dripping for me, just for me, right princess?” he asked, pulling his finger out of your mouth. you nodded.

“yes. is yours, bruce. all fucking yours. take it.” you pulled the hand to your throat, urging him to wrap it around. “fuck me, show me you own me, show me how much better you are, old man.” your dirty smirk and teasing finally broke him.

your body jolted as he finally got into it. he had started slower, the beautiful lead up had your squirming and eager. but as soon as he began to truly fuck into you, you knew you were fucked.

his body caged you in, one arm over your head and the other holding your throat, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, keeping him locked in and his cock from fully pulling out, the couch was jerking and hitting the wall, but neither of you gave a shit about the potential damage.

“yes, yes…” you whined, nails dragging over his lower back as he thrust deep into you. “oh my fucking god, bruce.” he was showing her what sex had been about. “it’s so good, you’re so good, no one has ever fucked me this good.” you panted

your words stroked his ego, yes, but he was more fulfilled that he was ruining you, no one else would be able to give you this, this passion, this need, this tension you needed to fill up, each messy thrust coated his balls in your slick but he couldn’t help but revel in the feeling. the sting of your nails, how you arched into him.

it felt like heaven.

“and no one ever will, besides me.” he snarled into your ear. “you gave yourself to me, and now this cunt belongs to me.” that was an understatement, he wasn’t letting this giving into temptation be for nothing, not that he thought it wasn’t what you wanted, because obviously your feelings were both intense and heavy. but the reminder would serve her well.

“belongs to me alone, spread those legs for me… no one else can ever get between them again.” his hand tightened in your throat and you moaned, hips bucking into his heavy thrusts. “yeah… you like that, don’t you baby?” he licked over your jaw, where a few tears had fallen down. “you like being mine? of course you do.” he pressed his damp forehead against yours as he continued his deep thrusts, feeling each gasp for air against his mouth and the palm of his hand.

“uh huh…” you whined, eyes watery as you looked into his. “want to be yours, bruce, want… fuck, i want you to fuck me every single day.” you pleaded, tightening your legs against his hips, lifting yourself up so you could be closer. “want you to own me fully, be mine too.” you leaned up and pressed your lips to his own making him melt.

you wanted him to be yours too, that’s what sent him spiraling. “i’m yours. god… i’m all yours.” he whispered darkly, kissing your slick mouth and moaning at the taste, you responded the best she could, but being fucked like this was taking it out of her.

“gonna be my pretty, sweet little girlfriend… do all those things you promised.” bruce couldn’t help but find himself inching towards the edge at the idea of coming home to you and your affections, your body, you. “gonna let your older boyfriend spoil you fucking rotten… kisses, gifts, sex.” he cooed and you moaned. “yeah… got yourself an older man to take care of you, give you everything those boys your age can’t, gonna give you everything, soon you’ll have a pretty ring around your finger.” his promise rand through the room as he kissed you sloppily.

“and now i’m gonna give you every single drop of my cum.” he smirked, feeling himself begin to throb inside of you.

“fuck!” he had been hitting at just the right angle. your orgasm overwhelmed you both, clinging your arms around him as you wailed into the air, biting down against his shoulder to keep yourself from sobbing, the white hot pleasure running deep as you gushed all over his cock.

he couldn’t pull away, your cunt wrapped around him sending him into a flurry of frantic thrusts and sloppy sounds, but it was the bite to his skin that pushed him fully over, his mouth dripping open in shock as he buried his face into your hair, feeling his own hot cum fill you up, sweat making both of your bodies stick to each other’s, he couldn’t find any excuse that would pull him away

Concept for a Rob Lucci fic where the reader is a CP9 assassin ranked just below him strength-wise. Reader has gone ahead on a mission and when Lucci catches up, he finds the reader in the aftermath of a small scale massacre, surrounded by dead bodies and soaked head to toe in blood. They don’t immediately notice his presence and it goes something like

Killing wasn’t new or shocking anymore, but it was your first time taking on more than one person alone. You were used to blood splatters on you after the fact, but not to this degree. The average adult had roughly 5 liters of blood in their body. Multiplied by the twenty men that now lay in shreds, you were drenched, clothes soaked through, hair starting to mat.

You stare at your bloody hands. You’re not sure what comes over you, right then. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, having yet to wear off. Maybe it’s morbid curiosity. Maybe the stress of killing for a living has finally made you crack. Regardless, before you fully realize it, you’re licking a clean stripe up your palm.

The taste of iron fills your mouth, thick and cloying. An involuntary shudder runs through your body, leaving you with pleasant goosebumps. You’re not supposed to like it. Don’t do it again, you think, even as you bring your hand to your mouth for another go.

“Coo!”

The familiar sound makes your head snap to the doorway, where Rob Lucci is standing with Hattori perched on his shoulder. He seems to be frozen in place, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in what must be shock. You freeze, too, as your eyes meet. Did he see? After a tense minute, you force yourself to lower your hands and the movement snaps him out of it. He licks his upper lip and closes his mouth, but keeps staring with a burning intensity. Did he see? He must have, because Lucci has never looked at you like that before.

Don’t panic, play it cool. “I ended up not needing any help. Just like I told you I wouldn’t.”

-

That’s all I got so far but I want to make it into a full smut fic.