#I have to fight so so hard not to isolate myself but all I can ever really drag out of myself is just lurking at the sidelines | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

becauseicantthinkwritings · 18 days

Text

Teeth

Part 21

Masterlist

Werepanther!Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: Full moon insanity, angst, mentions of stalking, oral (f), consensual, rough, unprotected sex.

Hard shout out to @idaofinfinity and @ittybxttykxttytxtty for helping me so much through wanting/ not wanting to write. I push myself too hard, I know, and I am forever grateful that you both encourage me to take breaks. I hope this rocks your socks off.

It’s stuck in his head.

The way you looked when he told you he was leaving.

The pain in your voice, the smell of your despair in the air.

There was no one more sorry than Billy Russo right now.

He sits in the isolation room of his design, his head resting against the concrete wall, the panther whining like a pained animal inside his mind, agonising over the way he hurt you, begging him to go back to you and make things right.

He closes his eyes.

He hadn’t meant to do it like that, so suddenly, he was going to ease you into it, tell you he’d gotten a work call, that he may have to respond, and then apologetically depart a while later, hoping to free you of some of the pain.

Instead, he’d blurted it out in the same moment that you’d finally admitted to him that you were ready.

To be fair, that very admittance had been the catalyst that had shoved him into an early spiral, the beast inside of him had started roaring in his mind, he’d almost lost control right in front of you.

He'd done it to protect you, that’s the only thing that puts him at ease. The possibilities of what could have happened if he were to remain in your presence worried him. The first time you'd been together, he'd bruised your wrist, there was no telling what he might do accidentally with the full moon almost overhead.

He takes a deep breath in and he can smell you, your scent still lingers on him. He'll have to get rid of his clothes if he plans to stay sane in here.

The panther fights him, tries to force him to shift prematurely. He groans, his entire body aching as he tries to resist it. He falls onto his side, his teeth elongates, breathing shallow.

He fights harder, tries to manage his breathing like Frank taught him all those years ago. He hates the way he doesn't have control the way other shifters do, that his past still affects him, even now.

He'll never be free of it, he worries he'll have to hide from you on every full moon to protect you from the beast inside of him, he'll always have to look over his shoulder, too afraid to lose control, too scared to give in to himself.

At least he can let go here, far enough away where he can't hurt you, or scare you with his bloodlust.

One of the bones in his shoulder bends. He grunts, takes a deep breath, waiting for the impending break to happen, his body trying to reshape him before he's ready.

It's the fight that makes it more painful, if he was compliant in his loss of control, the shift would hurt less. The pain helps though, keeps him human. He feels the burn of sweat as it drips into his eye.

After a few agonizing moments, the wave subsides, and he can sit up once more, leaning against the wall.

There are two screens across from him, built into the wall to protect it, one shows the live security footage surrounding the abandoned building he was in, near the outskirts of the city, the other shows the security footage of his home.

He's got a couple of cameras on the surroundings, but there's one in particular he watches, the only one inside of his house. It sits in the corner of his kitchen, overlooking the main hallways, and just in the corner he can see his living room as well.

He did warn you about the camera before he left, advised that he might check in from time to time. He wonders if that was your motivation for sitting at his kitchen counter and working right now.

He takes a deep breath, relaxes, watches the way you look while you work.

It sort of calms him, to see you, there’s just something so peaceful about you and the way you move. He wants to lie beside you and watch you, he yearns for those small moments where you're deep in your own thoughts.

Outside, he hears the soft drops of rain beginning to fall, like static, it fills the room, helps him focus his thoughts.

Now more than ever, he thinks about his dreams of lying next to you, something in his chest unknots, the idea of eternal peace at your side eases him into a shallow sleep.

The first night after Billy left was the worst.

It wasn't the silence, so much as the lack of his presence in the house. It's like you could feel his absence, as if something warm in the room had disappeared, leaving your very insides frigid.

You'd tossed and turned in your own room, struggling with feeling too hot or too uncomfortable, fighting hard to succumb to your exhaustion, but nothing would let you.

You’d drank tea to calm yourself, quiet music to soothe your mind, you’d even tried an audiobook that you’d listened to a thousand times because the voice actor had a particularly soothing voice.

Nothing.

There was always something wrong.

After a few hours of frustration, you'd sat up, pushed your sheets off, and stepped softly into the hallway.

You'd approached his room slowly, not out of fear, but with curiosity, wondering what his room would look and feel like when he wasn’t here to fill the space. Pushing his door open, you'd felt something so different overcome you.

It had been so much cozier in his room, the warmth you'd been searching for had cocooned you the minute you'd taken a seat on his bed. The sheets were soft on your legs, you couldn't resist lying down.

You could smell him, his earthy scent with just a touch of citrus and when you'd closed your eyes, you swear he was still here, right around the corner, out of reach, but still present.

It leaves an excited twist in your stomach, that you can curl up in his bed, grip the pillows he sleeps on, breathe him in.

It makes falling asleep so easy, that you could never understand what the problem was in the first place.

While getting ready for work the next day, you push open his closet door, searching for something of his that you can wear, to have him close.

You grab one of his blazers, finding a way to match the aesthetic so that it looks like it belongs to you.

It’s a little big on you, welcoming still, and you steal a scarf as well to battle the chill outdoors.

At work, you feel a thrill at wearing his items, delight in the fact that no one knows you wear his things and you sleep in his bed.

Work is monotonous without him though, every little spare minute you have makes you want to amble up to his office excitedly, only for your thoughts to stop in their tracks at the reminder that he won’t be there.

Dinah even checks on you at lunch, and while you’re happy to see her, her responses are clipped and perhaps a little more frigid than usual. You wonder if it’s because of his absence, if the only reason she bothered to put up with you was because of him.

You try not to overthink that. Maybe it was something as simple as her own job being frustrating.

She takes off shortly after checking in, leaving you alone with only your thoughts to keep you company.

It’s a big difference from life with him to life without him, the only thing keeping you intact is that there’s only one more day and then hopefully he’ll be back with you again.

At the end of the day, you smile politely at Sergei as he holds the door of the car open for you. Outside is freezing, and you’re glad to be in the warm vehicle, shedding your jacket and scarf as the heat soaks into your body.

The moon is full, and so effortlessly beautiful tonight, you can’t help smiling up at it, wondering if the myth about shapeshifters and full moons were true.

You marvel quietly at the realisation that you knew shapeshifters existed, and yet you managed to not tell a soul. You raise your hands, fingers tracing the panther hanging around your neck, hoping that wherever he was, that he was okay.

The back of his head hits the wall, sweat cascading down his neck as he pants.

All he can hear is his own rapid exchange of breath, and the sound of his fingers clawing at the concrete below him.

He grunts, pressing his teeth together as another wave of pain hits, his vision going dark, one of his ribs snap and he flinches, hunching forward.

It was almost time, the moon only hours away from its peak, he feels saliva drip from his mouth as his teeth grow too large for his mouth to remain closed.

The soft rain from before falls more intensely now, he imagines what it would feel like on his skin, uses the thought to steady himself. He’s been fighting the shift all day, but soon he’ll be able to give in, soon, the panther and him will become one.

Something on the monitor catches his eye. Someone moving through the downpour outside of the building. He can’t see their face, can barely make out the figure with the way his vision swims.

The cameras follow the motion, he watches something be left at the front door of the building.

He struggles to a stand, reaching for his phone hidden behind the monitor, uses his thumbprint to unlock the large iron door keeping him in the basement.

He tries to be quick, but his struggle with the panther slows him down, by the time he makes it to the front door, any trace of the stranger is gone.

He suspects it may be the stalker, but he can’t risk the chase right now, reaching to pick up the item left behind, a small lightweight box.

He gives it a hefty shake, hears the sound of fabric swishing.

He knows he shouldn’t be opening it, but instinct has taken over, he doesn’t smell anything dangerous, but opening a potentially dangerous package is still risky.

He blinks in confusion when he finds one of his scarves folded neatly in the box. Eyebrows drawn together, he pulls the scarf out, he can smell his own scent on it, and something else that drives him to bring the material up to his nose for a deep breath.

His eyes roll back in his head when he catches the pure scent of you, and when he finally breathes in your sweet pheromones, he finally realises the danger you’re in.

He scrambles back into the basement, tripping, the panther fighting him with full force. He initiates maximum lockdown and throws his body as far away from the door as possible.

You’re ovulating, he can smell it on the scarf, and the timelines make sense. He shakes his head, clenches his fist as the clawing inside of his mind grows frantic.

The beast inside of him wants you. Now. It fights to go to you, to find you, wherever your sweet body hides. He wants you, to drink you greedily down until he’s satisfied.

He’s your biggest threat now.

He hits the wall, again and again, fighting something intangible with every bit of himself.

The scarf is at his feet, he doesn’t remember bringing it in, but it barely matters now, he reaches for it, brings it to his face again, before flinging it away.

The sound of his own heartbeat fills his ears, the sound of his breathing all accumulates into an overbearing din in his head. He tries to cover his ears but it doesn’t help.

Everything is too loud, growing louder by the second, until it’s too much, until he can’t take it anymore.

Billy squeezes his eyes shut, and lets out a pure, unrestrained roar.

And then, everything quiets.

He straightens, takes a few calm breaths.

He finds his phone, typing in the four-digit pin, and answering the security question with ease despite his complete inability to think. When he’s done, his hand crushes it into fragments before dropping it to the floor.

He steps out of the room, the full moon above head, with only one destination in mind.

Your evening had been peaceful as you’d learned to appreciate being alone. You’d sipped on a warm mug of tea and sat in his sun room while the rain had poured all around you.

It was calming, and when you’d closed your eyes, you’d imagined him behind you, tucked against you while the world moved around you. It was such a serene thought, it made you miss him so much more. You wanted that with him, and you could only hope that he would want that too.

The evening had been uneventful, you’d taken out your laptop and sat in his kitchen to get a little bit of work done, hoping that he would send you a message to tell you he was doing okay, but you know that was unlikely when he was this busy.

The rain had gotten progressively worse, and by the time you’d climbed into his bed, it was almost a full downpour.

You’re sleeping soundly in his bed when the sharp crack of thunder wakes you.

You wake with a gasp, vision hazy as you blink, another flash of lightning waking you up just a little more.

You sit up, rubbing one eye as you look around.

A large shadow looms in the corner of your eye and you gasp, turning to it, your heart jumping into your throat in fear.

The room is moderately lit, and you manage to discern Billy almost immediately, the panic in your body dissipating.

“Oh my fucking God, you scared the shit out of me.” You gasp, keeling over to rest your head against the pillow, trying to calm your racing heart.

He doesn’t say anything, and the next time you look up at him, he’s still in the same spot, staring at you. He looks a little damp, his hair slicked back and you figure he must have walked through the rain to get here.

It unsettles you a little, you tilt your head, examining his white t-shirt and joggers, noting that his beard has grown a little longer than when you last saw him.

When he tilts his head to mimic you, face stoic, you gulp.

“Are you alright?” You ask, stomach flipping as he takes a slow stride toward you.

You study the serious expression on his face, wondering if he was angry at coming home to find you in his bed, even though he had offered it to you before he left.

Maybe you’d overstayed?

“I can leave if you want.” You suggest sleepily, pulling back the sheets to begin climbing out of his bed.

“Stop.” He says, and his low voice, almost a grovel, sends tingles down your spine, though you’re unable to separate the excitement from that small seed of fright within you.

You watch him approach, and after a small second of thinking, you feel the need to voice your concerns over the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re scaring me a little.” You confess on a breath.

He blinks, and then stops moving.

“I’m sorry.” He finally says, taking a step back, “I- shouldn’t be here.”

For the first time, you finally see the Billy you’re used to.

“No, it’s okay.” You say quickly, climbing out of bed to take his hand in yours, his rough palm sending tingles up your arm.

“You just scared me a little, I wasn’t expecting you back, but you can sleep next to me, I don’t mind.” You tug him to the bed, but he pauses just before you can climb in.

You look back at him in confusion, and then your stomach flips when his other hand raises to cup the back of your neck. Though his touch is gentle, it warns of something untamed below, pulling you closer to him.

You blink slowly, as scattering sparks spread where he touches you, mouth parting at the feeling he gives you, so much need for him swells inside of you.

He pulls you against his chest, and you go easily, wrapping your arms around his torso to try making him feel more comfortable. Though his hands are cold, his chest is warm, reminding you of how badly you’ve been longing for him.

His arms wrap around you too. You feel his face press to the top of your head, hear him take a deep breath, before a low rumble leaves his chest.

“You smell good.” He says.

“Thanks?” You offer, unsure.

His hands move, reaching down to grip your hips, and then smooth over the small of your back. You suck in a deep breath to fight your own urges.

He kisses the top of your head softly, and then he’s cupping your jaw to tilt your face upward, eyes fluttering closed as his lips meet your forehead, then adjusting your head, to place another to your temple.

“You’re pretty.” He murmurs into your ear, before he kisses your cheek.

“Thank you.” You breathe, more accepting to his compliments now, eyes still closed as his lips roam over your cheek, growing closer and closer to your mouth.

When he gets close to your mouth, he pauses, making your chest grind with want.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, a hit of teasing in his voice, as if you would deny him, as if you could. You smile softly, tilting your head up.

“Yes.” You say in a hushed tone, biting down hard on your lip to keep you oriented.

“Sure?” He baits, his mouth at the very corner of yours, his breath, featherlight on your skin, your desire like a pit in your throat that refuses to be swallowed.

“Why are you being so mean?” You whisper, as his lips grow closer, your eyes are barely open, but you still catch his devious smile.

He pushes at your shoulders, a shocked gasp of surprise leaving your lips as you feel your feet slip from under you. You fall backwards, his soft bed catching you easily.

Almost immediately, you sit up, looking up at him in disbelief, unaccustomed to such… ferity.

He doesn’t let you speak, or even think, before he moves, cupping your face in his hands and slanting his mouth over yours.

An explosion goes off in your head, your hands gripping the sheets almost painfully, eyes squeezed shut, trying to press your lips even firmer to his. Everywhere he touches, burns with blistering sparks.

You’re so much more than eager, beyond desperate for this taste of him, one that you’ve been yearning for, from the very first moment you kissed him.

A sigh against his lips, reaching your hands up to cup the back of his head, pull him closer so that he doesn’t come to his senses and pull away. You feel like a piece of a puzzle, relieved to be slotted into the place you belong, somehow knowing without a doubt that he was that place.

He groans passionately against your lips before pressing forward, guiding you to shuffle back on his bed so that he can crawl atop you.

You stay like that, sharing feverish kisses with each other, a quiet challenge between you to even think about pulling away.

His hands move down, tugging your nightdress up so that he can fit himself between your thighs, your clothed cunt coming right into contact with his straining erection.

It feels euphoric, the burn of needing him, separated by only a few layers of fabric. He groans into your mouth, hands reaching to secure your hips in place, taking the opportunity to grind his cock against you in return.

You gasp, more a hitch of your breath than anything else at the delicious contact, turning your head away to try catching your breath.

It’s not something he takes kindly to, his fingers wrapping around your throat in warning, his thumb against your jaw to guide your face back to his.

His eyes are dark, almost bottomless with the way you can see no light reflecting off of them. You don't have much time to look at him before his lips are on yours once more, something searing hot, desperate clawing at you.

Your moan is broken against his mouth, your stomach twisting as you realise you need so much more than what he’s giving you right now.

“Please.” You murmur into his mouth, hoping he understands you. You arch your back, offering your body to him.

A low grunt leaves his throat, and suddenly the top of your dress gets torn into two.

Your breasts spill out, and he moves from your mouth to kiss at your neck.

You whine, tilting your head to give him more access, tingles spreading over your skin at the way his mouth feels. Your hands roam his back and shoulders, feeling at his damp hair, a painful desire to explore every inch of him you can reach with the tips of your fingers.

“Billy.” You hum, and you hear him moan in response, his hand reaching to palm at your breast, your clit pulsing in retaliation.

You shudder when he plucks at your pebbled nipple gently, rolling your stiff peak between his expert fingers. Your skin tingles where he touches, sparks cascading over you.

A sharp sob leaves you, your legs wrapping tightly around his hips, the friction there is only enough to tease. Your brain begs for relief from the ache of wanting.

Your head falls back against the bed, too much pleasure searing your system to focus, his mouth working your body into a boneless mass, desperate for him.

You whine when his lips seal gently around your nipple, feeling a delicious tug inside of you, his other hand reaching for your untouched breast.

The breath leaves your body, head tossed back, feeling him, the way you yearned for him in the last few days.

The sound of your dress ripping further draws you out of the fog of desire clouding your head, you look down, realising that he’s torn your dress right down the middle.

You blink, a little confused at the strength he must have to tear through your dress without even hurting you in the process.

You suck in a deep breath, feeling some thinking redirect from your cunt to your brain, looking up at him, watching the way he studies your exposed form.

He lets out a shaky breath, withdrawing from you a little.

“I think you should run.”

“Billy?” You say his name for an explanation.

“I’m not- myself, and the things I want to do to you-” He huffs, drawing away completely.

There’s a war going on inside of his head, you can tell by the look in his eye that his desire is getting the best of him.

It’s exactly how you want it.

“I'll run if you promise to chase me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you meant.” You challenge, sitting up and climbing out of his bed, “Stop fighting yourself, and come take what’s yours.”

When you say your last words, you drop the tattered remains of your dress from your shoulders, watching his eyes refocus on you.

He stands too, large body looming over you, lightning flashes again, painting him in a sinister light for a few microseconds.

“You have no idea what I want to do to you.” He grunts, taking a step forward.

You take an equal step back, playfulness in your eyes.

“I think you want to chase me, and I think I want to be chased.”

A primal sound leaves his throat just then, and your eyes widen in surprise. All you can interpret, is that it’s the pure sound of him letting go of his own resistance.

You take another step back, and then another, left only in your panties, you make it to the door of his bedroom before he begins to move.

Thunder cracks, somewhere in the distance, and you make it to his dark kitchen before he catches you.

His body is pressed firmly to your back as he wraps an arm around you.

“Telling you to run was a bad idea.” His hands reaches up to cup your breasts, you groan, tilting your head back as his broad hands explore you.

His voice drops to a whisper.

“It just made me want to catch you more.”

His hand grips your throat, tilting your head up so that he can kiss you.

It’s more passionate than before, mouth pressed hard to yours, tongue delving past your lips in an effort to devour.

His other hand slides over your stomach, all the way down until his slender fingers slip below the waistband of your panties.

You gasp when he touches you for the first time, careful fingers pressing in, no doubt feeling how wet you are.

He grunts, presses his mouth to your temple.

“You’re so wet for me sweetheart, is this what you wanted? Were you lying in my bed just waiting for me to find you?”

You can’t even speak, lips parted, eyes rolling back as he gently circles your aching bud.

Warm, all around you, his scent and his body, all of it filling your head with desperation.

His grip on your jaw tightens, and you peek your eyes open to look up at him.

“Answer me.”

“Missed you.”

He lets out a sharp breath, one that could be mistaken for frustration, if you didn’t know him, but you do, you can almost feel how hard he’s trying to hold on to his control.

He spins you, pressing you back until your behind bumps his kitchen counter, his eyes are so dark, and the only time you can see his face is when lightning strikes outside.

You don’t know what he’s going to do, but somehow, with the domineering way he looks, the last thing you expect is to watch him drop to his knees.

Eye level with your cunt, he leans in, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“So fucking good.” He says roughly, voice low as if he meant to say it to himself.

He reaches forward, grips each side and tears the soft material into pieces.

When you’re finally bare for him, he looks up, sinister clarity in his eyes, no control left to be seen.

“Ask me.” He commands.

You gulp, unprepared to speak among the desperation in your throat.

“P-please.” You breathe.

He keeps his eyes on you, shakes his head slowly as if you've said the wrong thing.

“Don’t shy away from me now. Ask.”

“Can you- please-” You close your eyes for a moment, trying to find the willpower, “-lick my cunt?”

He's silent for a while, and you have to peek your eyes open to see him.

He looks calm, a devious smile on his face as he nods.

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” He vocalises, before leaning forward to kiss your thigh.

His kisses are meaningful, trailing from mid thigh all the way up, his beard scratching along your skin slowly, forcing you to grip the edge of his counter to keep your balance.

After a moment, he grows impatient, hands wrapping around your hips to pick you up and seat you on the edge of the counter.

You gasp.

Holy fuck, how did he just do that?

You don't get any time to reflect on it before he's spreading your legs, wide, wider, shouldering his large body between your thighs as if he owns the space, kissing at the seam of your cunt gently, as if asking further permission.

You groan, the torment of having his mouth so close burns at you, and yet you can't find the strength to say something, or even move, only able to feel.

He kisses, and kisses, and when you're sure his lips must be sticky with your arousal, he parts his lips to glide his devilish tongue against you.

Though you’ve felt the expertise of his tongue before, the sensation still draws a gasp of surprise, the reminder of what this man is capable of, flooding your head. He grips your thighs, you can almost feel the ardour in his grip, before he pushes upward, forcing you to lie back on his countertop.

You go slowly, settling for resting on your elbows while you watch him slide your legs over his shoulders.

His dark hair between your thighs sparks an untamed flood of desire, going right through you, burying its need directly into your bones.

His tongue slips against your clit, the motion so smooth that your mouth drops open at the pleasure he so easily delivers. With purposeful pressure, he tastes you, drinks you down, something insatiable blooming in his eyes as he glances at you.

He delves into your cunt next, reaching for a pure taste, sighing through his nose, you watch his eyes blissfully close for a moment as his tongue dips into the most intimate parts of you.

He groans into your cunt, warm breath across your skin, and then all bets are off.

Your clit is given attention next, swipes of his tongue that make you almost dizzy with the pleasure of it, licking at you just right, steadily pulling you closer and closer to the idea of an orgasm.

There’s no pretence of teasing behind it, his tongue gives an expert display of what he’s capable of, gliding in circles around your bud, licking you softly ever so often to let you catch your breath.

Your skin tingles, the air in your body held in an almost stasis state within your throat, being exhaled only to be inhaled in the same moment.

Your elbows begin to protest the hard counter, and you let yourself drop against the chilly surface, appreciating the sensation against your burning skin.

He buries his tongue within you again, groaning, and then you feel as he drags the appendage out and back to your clit.

He caresses you with every part of his tongue, from the very tip making gentle flicks to the flat of it, that rolls evenly over you. Pleasure burns inside of you, building up, your body tensed and trembling slightly, silently begging him not to stop.

You whine, reaching down, in hopes that he’ll take your hand, and he does so easily, fingers interlocked, squeezing, desperate to come.

Ravenous now, the pace of his tongue increases to a near frenzy, outside, the rain matches his mindset.

Little sounds of desperation leave you, whimpers as he brings you close to your peak with just his tongue, doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, he centres your whole world around his mouth in these moments, whether he intends to or not.

It’s gradual, it’s euphoric, you feel yourself so close to the precipice, with nothing but him on your mind.

You say his name, an appreciation of him, and all that he’s capable of.

Thighs trembling involuntarily, you raise your head to look down at him, your hand squeezing his tight, pleasure building, and building, a rubber band, pulled tight, about to be snapped.

You find his eyes on you, half-lidded, The appearance of calm, but somehow all you can see is a predator eager to devour.

It's that very look in his eye that tips you over the edge, falling back with a cry as you shatter against his dexterous tongue. You forget how to breathe as hot sparks of spread in your veins, burning, decimating your very ability to think. Your thighs tremble, chest heaving and you can feel the vibration of your heart as muted waves of bliss crash through you.

He licks you softly as you come, prolonging your orgasm, ensuring that every ounce of thought is wrung from your head with just his mouth.

When you've given him your final shiver, and you rest sated on his counter, does he finally lift himself up from between your messy thighs.

Lighting strikes when you meet his eyes, something odd about the way he's looking at you, that makes you feel like if you try to run, he would not be kind about catching you.

That is, if you could run, but your limbs are jelly at the moment, and all you can do when you meet his eyes is give him a look of adoration.

Control, is a distant memory, fading ever further with each minute in your presence.

Billy has only one trick left, and he’s not sure how long it’s going to last.

He watches you struggle to sit up, thighs still parted for him, and he can see your cunt, dripping hot arousal onto his kitchen counter.

His vision blurs, the panther trying to force him to grab at you, roll you over and mount you like an untamed beast.

More ferarum, an old saying, the belief that though he may be human, and have a mostly human composition, his base desires was designed to be acted in the manner of beasts.

To mount you like one, to fuck you like one, there’s millenia old genetics gripping his disposition by the neck and demanding he do what he was made to do.

And his solution? The answer to his problems, is the very thing driving him to insanity.

You.

Because when the beast inside of him demands your body, he presses his nose to your hair and takes a breath. When the beast demands to bite you while he takes you, he drops to his knees and tastes your cunt.

And now, when the beast is demanding to rut into you like an animal, he takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes.

How sweet they are, eager for him, willing to be devoured, and he knows you have no real idea of what you’re asking for.

He leans in, watching you struggle to move your body into a sitting position, and when you’re close enough, he grips your cheek and pulls you in for a kiss.

Heaven, the taste of your mouth, everything about you wraps him into knots, tangled in the web of your desire, and he’s not sure if he’s ever felt so eager to be owned.

But then your fingers reach for his shirt, and he has to stop you while he has the capacity to think, having distracted the beast with the feeling of his lips on yours.

Reaching out, Billy stops your hands as they reach for the edges of his shirt, looking into your eyes for a long moment, unsure of why he’s hesitating when he has you here, ready for him.

The idea of your hands on his bare skin makes the panther tug at his mind. Why was he stopping you? He could almost feel the promise of your soft hands, his stomach curling in desire.

He feels the beast take advantage of his muddled mind to seize control once more.

You can’t see too much in the low light, but you know there’s an internal battle being fought in his head. You try to be patient with him, to let him decide if he wants to continue or not, and try to be okay with whatever act he decides on.

You’re definitely not expecting him to reach through the darkness and grip your jaw.

But god, does it feel good.

“Had enough?”

It’s definitely not something you expected him to say.

It’s hard to shake your head with his fingers pressing into your jaw but you do your best to anyway.

“Please,” You whisper, unable to voice your need, “Please.”

You feel his grip on your jaw tighten.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His voice is so deep it washes over your bare skin like a gentle caress.

“You. I’m asking for you.”

He lets out a sharp breath.

“You shouldn’t want me.”

And yet, you do.

You whine, moving a hand slowly between your thighs, your intention is to either ease the ache inside of you, or get a reaction out of him.

You get the latter, with his hand reaching out to stop yours.

When he does nothing, you groan angrily.

“Please, please, please fuck me, Billy.”

In the darkness, you can’t see his grin, but you know it’s there from the way he says his next words.

“That was all you had to say.”

And then so many things happen at once.

He grips your hips, lifting you off the counter and bringing you against his body. You squeak in surprise, not enough time to marvel at his strength before one hand is under your ass, supporting your weight, and the next hand is gripping the back of your head to kiss you, hard.

You respond readily, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips while eagerly tugging his shirt up.

Smiling into the kiss as he has no choice but to let you undress him, raising the hand gripping your hair to help you get his shirt off one arm, and then switching hands to keep you supported while you pull his shirt free in totality.

Almost immediately, your hands are on his bare torso. You sigh happily into his kiss, reaching around to trail your fingertips over his back. He grunts against your mouth, taking you somewhere with smooth steps.

When your hands trail down the front of his body, he pauses his movement to assist you in getting his pants off. Perching you on his small kitchen table, he fumbles for the button and zipper of his pants before kicking it off. Your hands keep roaming his torso eagerly, over his defined biceps and shoulders, and when it’s not enough, you lean in to place open mouthed kisses all over his collarbones.

He groans, turning his head to kiss at your cheek, one hand tilting your head so that he can pepper kisses along the side of your face.

You look down, finding his swollen cock gripped in his fist, his open pants hanging low on his hips. The tip of his cock is a dark pink, almost a purple in the low light, a bead of precum slowly presenting at his slit.

You know he's going to hate that he's wearing his pants later, so while he's distracted by kissing your cheek and stroking the remarkable length between his legs, you push his pants down lower, hoping that he'll understand and kick them off.

You don't get the chance to make sure they're fully off- he grips your jaw, turning your head up to his.

Such a beautifully sinister face, the promise of pleasure so close.

“Are you ready for me?” He asks, his voice a husky timbre.

Honestly, you didn't know, but with the amount of arousal you were feeling, the way your thighs and ass were messy with want, the knowledge that your body was at peak fertility, made your odds look pretty good.

Plus, you didn't think you had the sanity left in you to make sure. You wanted him badly, and you wanted him now.

You swallow, eyes demure as you nod your head.

He grips your jaw harder.

“Say. It.” He hisses.

“I want you in me.” You breathe softly.

You watch his eyes roll closed, lips parted, breathing shallow. A sharp nod, before he’s lining his cock up with your entrance by feel alone.

You bite down on your bottom lip really hard- clenching the moment you feel the head of his cock press against you.

“Easy,” Billy soothes, his hand smoothing over your shoulder and down your back, “Relax for me.” He whispers, bringing his mouth to your ear.

You give a shy nod, taking a deep breath as he eases the tip of his cock into you.

A little broken sound leaves your throat, your head falling against his chest. Your centre flutters involuntarily, clenching around him, pulling another soft whimper from you.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He hums, pressing deeper.

When he hits an uncomfortable point, stretching your cunt wide, your breath hitches as you drag your nails across his arm, silently asking him to wait, please.

He does, hands gripping your hips, aching for some semblance of sanity as he feels you all around him.

When you’re feeling okay, you shift your hips closer, silently asking for more.

It’s a trial, taking him, despite how wet and aching you are, even though you’ve been dreaming of this for days, your thighs tremble as you breathe evenly in an attempt to accept his girth.

“Billy.” You mewl, nails clawing at his biceps, squeezing tight as he finally fits the last inch of himself deep inside you.

You can feel him so eternally deep, the tip of his cock snug against your cervix while your lungs heave air, unable to comprehend the pleasure of being so full.

Trembling, your eyelids flutter as he draws out, and then back in again, thankfully, slow enough for you to accommodate.

He takes an audibly sharp breath, before you feel him lift you off the counter.

Your mouth drops open in shock, hands wrapping around his shoulders to steady yourself, and you feel his hands, their firm grip on your ass as he begins rocking you slowly on his cock.

There’s absolutely no way- he steals your thinking with a rough thrust- mouth dropping open as his cock rubs that delicious spot deep inside you.

He lets out a soft grunt that makes you clench, pleasure clouding your brain, removing each thought until you’re a puddle of want.

His pace is even, calm, he moves you as if you weigh almost nothing, lifting and dropping you on his own whim, his breathing is uneven, sometimes deep, and other times shallow, but you feel that has more to do with the grip of your cunt than the weight of you.

He clenches his jaw, eyes fluttering as he begins to make deeper strokes, you struggle to hold your body upright, leaning against him, your head on his shoulder while he uses you to please himself.

It’s more than good, better than anything before, he gives you just what you need and maybe a little more. You feel full, stretched, like this is what you’ve been craving for most of your life.

You sink your fingers into his shoulders, trying to fight the tears of ecstasy threatening to fall. His skin is warm, a little groan on each breath.

It flutters in your ribs, the tug of something intoxicating deep inside of you as he fucks you like this, as if he owns you and the very pleasure you experience. Your cunt clamps down around him, desperate, warning, that you were going to shatter around him very soon.

You say his name, head tipping back to allow more air into your system, as if that could help you manage the impending act of falling apart.

He makes a low sound, almost a growl, makes you shiver, your thoughts being scrubbed from your mind as his cock fills you repeatedly.

It's too much, and then there's a rush of pleasure inside you, starting from your center and working its way into your head. You sob, body rocking against his, locked tight on the brink of insanity.

A sharp cry spills from your mouth as your vision goes white, his hands tighten on the flesh of your ass, going still when you clench around his cock.

It feels like you're locked in that haze of pleasure for eternity, head tipped back, eyes closed, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you grip his cock like life depends on it.

Then comes the tremors, falling against him, your entire body quivers, waves and waves of sizzling euphoria, carving its way up your spine, pooling somewhere in the back of your head making all your limbs feel so sluggish.

He holds you through all of it, cock deep, kissing your deepest parts, breathing shallow, eyes dark, filled with want.

When you come on his cock, his thinking fragments.

All it takes is the flutter of your walls around him, the way you look while you take pleasure on his cock, the smell of your skin, your moans filling the air, he doesn't think he's ever been this far away from sanity.

His mate is beautiful.

Made just for him, and him for her.

The beast inside of him demands he claim ownership, raw instinct to bite into your skin and mark you, leave traces of his spit and his cum on you so that everyone will know that you’re his.

The taste of your cunt lingers on his tongue, he doesn’t remember that he’s a man in these few moments after he feels you come.

All he can think of now, is the magnificence of his soulmate, and the ways he’s going to ruin her, the ways he’s going to reshape her until she wants for only him.

He feels his teeth sharpen, feels you lean in to rest your head against his shoulder.

It would be so easy, his mouth is so close, he could tilt his head and sink his teeth into your skin and you would barely feel any pain because he’d be fucking you through it, making sure you come at least three more times before he releases your skin from between his teeth.

He leans in, rubs his lips to your shoulder, to the very spot he’d bite, feels you clench around him in response, almost as if you’re asking for the same thing.

He closes his eyes, feels the push of the panther in his head, almost goes along with it.

It’s the smell of your skin that stops him. He stands there, breathing you in.

Fresh strawberries, making his mouth water, so deliciously ripe for him, all for him.

Sweet and small in his arms- hurting you would tear him apart.

It gives him the willpower to raise his head, to suck in a deep breath and remember that the predator was not all that he was, that he could choose differently.

He would simply, choose you.

When your orgasm finally subsides, all you can do is rest your head on his shoulder, clinging to him, in hopes that he never releases you.

He moves, holding you so easily that you have no idea how it’s even possible.

When your body is placed gently onto his bed, you only get a few moments to settle before his cock is pressing into you with more fervour than before.

It knocks the air right out of you, his thrusts are deep and fast, chasing his own orgasm now that he’s given you yours.

You moan, feeling him fill you so roughly, so deeply that you know you never want him out, you squeeze the walls of your cunt around him, silently begging him to stay deep inside of you, to empty himself there, a primal voice in the back of your head telling you that this is what you were made for.

His grip is tight on your hips, his breathing is shallow and hitched, broken up with low grunts, that makes your brain rattle with want.

He’s like a coiled predator, moving his body against yours, holding you firm so that he can plunder the deepest parts of you as he so pleases.

He leans down to kiss you, but doesn’t linger in favour of fucking you harder, your head tilted back, moaning in bliss to high heaven.

It works you up to another orgasm so quickly that you can only whimper in warning, trying to tell the amazing man above you that he’s your undoing without ever uttering a word. Your fingers grip his arms, wherever you can reach, nails pressed to his skin because you feel like you’re floating and you need him to tether you.

Something clicks in your brain just then, as he’s inside of you, the shallow pump of his cock lighting up every uncharted part of your brain, flooding your body with euphoria, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

It’s almost like self discovery, though, you’re not sure what you’ve found, all you know is that you’re open, and vulnerable beneath him, and through your watery vision- as the first hot tear spills from the corner of your eyes, and you catch sight of his parted lips and pinched eyebrows- you understand something you didn’t before.

That this is where you belong. With him, under him, taking him.

“Good.” He grunts above you, and you force your eyes to focus on his gorgeous face.

“You feel so good.” He says again, and you whine, cunt clenching as he keeps his thrusts short. You can feel how wet you are in the ease of his motions, your body accepting him, you can feel him with the most intimate parts of yourself.

After a moment, he goes deeper.

You let out a strangled sound, barely capable of breathing with the sheer size of him in the deepest parts of you, you reach to grip the sheets instead as you fear you might hurt him, your body shaking with the desire to fall apart around him.

His mouth parts on a harsh breath, and your eyes drop down to his pink mouth, something odd about the way his canines look, your brain too blissed out to focus.

His teeth are sharp, and there’s something about his eyes.

“Please.” You beg, aching for another orgasm, lost in the rhythm of his cock inside of you, his thrusts growing so forceful that you shift up the bed with each thrust, the headboard bumping the wall each time as well.

“I-” You try to say, looking into his eyes, a low whine slipping from your throat, trying to tell him, to convey to him that you’re on edge and close to orgasm.

He understands, like you knew he would. Billy leans into you, taking up all the space around you, one hand sinking into your hair, holding you in place, his other hand interlocking with yours.

“Mine.” He rumbles, right into your ear, your skin tingles at the low timbre of his voice, you feel his teeth, scrape over your neck and you gasp.

“Cum. Now.” He orders, and your entire body shudders almost instantly. You cunt flutters involuntarily around his cock, you hear him let out a low moan as your clenching around is cock gets more intense.

A broken sound leaves your mouth, and then the dam breaks.

You sob endlessly as pleasure overtakes your system, burning like wildfire in your veins, consuming everything and leaving only bliss in its wake. Your body thanks him, quietly, unable to do anything more than experience pleasure at the whim of his fingers and the steady motion of his cock. He holds you through all of it, an anchor that grounds you as you lose all thought.

His lips pepper kisses over your neck, it only makes the pleasure that much sweeter.

Above you, Billy growls loudly, you feel him make one final thrust, before he orgasms too, filling you with his cum, making you feel whole in a way you barely understand.

He stays inside of you for a while, cock twitching, you swear he fills you so much that it could almost spill out.

“I’m sorry.” Are the first words he whispers to you through shuddering breaths, his hands cupping your cheeks to encourage you to meet his eyes with your glassy ones.

“Are you hurt? Please tell me if I hurt you.”

You reach up to cup his cheek too, so happy to have him here with you, finally realising how much you really missed him.

Could he be yours? Really yours? Would he spend the rest of his days making you feel safe and loved and happy the way you were feeling right now?

Was that a real possibility for the two of you?

“I’m okay.” You finally gasp, thick emotion in your voice. You grip the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair to pull him down for a kiss.

Outside, thunder rumbles across the sky.

Your kisses are soft, meaningful, but it doesn’t take long for them to grow frantic again, and before you know it, his cock, having never gone soft, resumes fucking you once more.

Your body is ready for more, prioritising pleasure over whatever mild soreness you may feel. He fucks you to another orgasm before flipping you over onto your hands and knees.

He’s deeper now, your eyes roll back in your head as you rock your hips to meet his, a quiet slapping fills the room.

He reaches around, grips your throat to pull you up.

Your back pressed to his chest, his mouth tickles your ear.

“You can take it can’t you?” He asks, breathing laboured.

You mewl, nodding, his hips meet yours in another hard thrust.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, sweetheart? What you-” He kisses your cheek, “ -and that pretty little cunt has been begging for?”

“Uh-huh.” Is your only vocalisation.

“So sweet for me.” He says, almost to himself, before he makes you see stars.

Your hair splays around you as your body falls to the bed, his cock filling you with his cum yet another time.

He stays inside of you for long moments, not pulling out until he absolutely has to.

You feel his spend spill out of you, you try to keep it inside.

He’s covered in a sheen of sweat when he crashes next to you, breathing rapid just like yours is.

You look into his eyes, and you see the corner of his mouth tick up into a smile, both of you fully understanding that this would not be the last time you fuck tonight.

When he takes you against the window, your legs wobble. He solves the issue by picking you up once more.

One hand pressed to the glass, the other under your ass, you’re not even sure how it’s possible that you’re being fucked in this position, but honestly you don’t care as long as he keep filling you with his deliciously large cock.

It’s almost morning when you finally fall into a deep sleep, wrapped in his arms, his fingers trailing in slow circles around the small of your back.

You breathe contentment, a bliss you’d never even thought was achievable, sated in his arms and you know there’s nowhere on earth that could be better than this.

You groan when he slips your still tired body into the warm bath.

You barely peek an eye open, feeling him slide in behind you, you turn so that your front is pressed against his.

His hands are firm yet gentle, washing the dried sweat from your skin, pouring warm water onto your shoulder, carefully swiping his fingers through your hair.

“ Wha’ time is it?” You mumble sleepily, lips half pressed to his collarbone.

“After twelve, we slept for a while.” He murmurs softly, sleep still clinging to his voice.

“We fucked for a while too.” You sigh.

He chuckles.

You ride him in his sun room after breakfast.

Or maybe that was lunch, the details seem irrelevant.

He piles you high with toast and eggs, bacon that tastes almost as good as the sex had been, and when you’re full, you can’t help the way your hands wander over his skin.

It’s not on purpose at first, you just want to enjoy his presence, tracing your hands up his shoulders to play with the hairs near the nape of his neck.

But he closes his eyes, makes a soft groaning sound when you gently scratch his scalp.

And then of course, you have to kiss him.

One soft peck, and then another, you find yourself pressed against him, tongues dancing, the grip of his hands on your hips, pulling you closer and closer.

He seats you on his lap and you can feel his stiff erection through his thin boxers and all bets are off.

You place a kiss on his lips after, telling him you’ll be right back, taking the empty dishes down to the kitchen and using the bathroom before heading back.

You find him lying on his front, sleeping in a beam of sunlight.

He’s face down, the light of the sun revealing his true hair colour to be more of a dark brown that the black it usually looks like, his breathing is soft and even, and you curl your hands into fists to resist reaching out to touch his bare back.

You smile fondly, noticing he’s not where you left him, figuring he must have moved into the sunlight before falling asleep, very much like a-

Like papers reshuffling, you feel your thoughts build a conclusion you didn’t even know you were looking for.

Of course, it had been right in front of you all along, staring you right in the face and you hadn’t even realised.

You raise a hand, touching the pendant hanging around your neck.

The memory of the way his teeth looked last night- that you’d sworn was just a trick of the light, the unexplainable way he’d lifted you- effortlessly strong in a way that you’d never seen a man do.

The way the animal had come to you, bringing your most beloved possession back, after you’d cried in his arms about the very thing.

You let out a soft breath, leaning against the doorframe to come to terms with the undeniable truth, that Billy, was the panther protecting you.

A/N: I didn't initially intend to stop here, but the length of the chapter grew to unmanageable lengths, I'm very sorry about the unintentional cliffhanger.

#billy russo #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x reader #werepanther!billy russo #billy russo smut #monster!billy russo #the punisher #my writings

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sanjisblackasswife · 10 months

Note

i was wondering how would the monster trio react if they randomly got a boner and bro im SURE sanji’s cock twitches 47 times a day given the thoughts he constantly has 🙄🙄 zoro gets them while he sleeps so he waits for his dick to calm down before standing up,, people think he’s lazy but he’s just hard and doesn’t want anybody to know🤭🤭

luffy’s dick gets hard when he thinks about being the pirates king 😒😒

“𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝔾𝕖𝕥𝕤 ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕕 ℝ𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕞𝕝𝕪”

All are very canon cuz i seen it for myself.

Ft. Zoro, Luffy, Sanji

Blk Fem! Reader in Mind

CW: Dick talk, established relationships because i wanna project and include myself😓

Luffy

When he gets hard it’s really rare and i feel like it’s partially because of his rubbery body….does that even make sense

He gets hard from very few things and they’re always so minuscule or random its hard to know if he’s actually turned on or if his body is just trynna be funny.

You once made him a dessert that you really wanted to try without the assistance of sanji and when Luffy ate it he not only fell in love with you, but loved the sweet pastry so much you noticed a tent grow in his shorts

Very shameless in the morning by the way.

Every man gets morning wood at least once a lifetime and when Luffy gets it

everybody knows.

“LUFFY PUT THAT THING AWAY?!”

“Calm down, Nami it’ll go down in a sec..😄”

Has been heard by the guys a few times with him jacking off late night when his hard on is just so bothersome.

“GO DO THAT SOMEWHERE ELSE—“

“OR GO SEE Y/N!”

“Dont wanna. Shes too far. Im almost done dont worry.”

Usopp ends up pissed the entire day.

His boners can ironically go down quickly if he eats meat.

You swear his dick has a mind of it’s own, all you did was tell him about how much higher his bounty would get after defeating Kaido and his dick started poking you in the back.

Now he is still a guy and guys also can be attracted to women so you being his girlfriend—you’re not necessarily excluded.

However he gets hard at the simplest things you do.

Taking his hat, Calling him captain, even play fighting with him he ends up getting hard so hopefully youre a good gf and willing to help him out when it happens😁

Zoro

He claims he can control his erections .

No he cannot.

If he’s in a relationship with you he’s more shy about letting you know about his dick problems because you dont want him to think hes a pervert.

He can’t control a damn thing his dick does which is why he blames you.

“I had more balance before I met you—“

“Wh—HELLO?”

“LOOK. WOMAN.”

All you did was hug him.

Like u said: When he gets morning wood he is usually laying around a little longer. He has tried jacking off while in the room with the guys as they slept but he heard Luffy sleep walking (with his own hard on) and immediately just went back to sleep.

He very rarely does get hard though. However you plan to find out every single thing that turns him hard and so far you only found 2:

The first one is kissing, hes a touch starved man and you can never help yourself when it comes to locking lips with him. Your tongue wrapped around his, your hands on his chest and straddling him as he gropes your ass, he’s so needy it’s almost too cute to handle. and the look on his face when you feel him poke you is absolutely EVERYTHING.

The one that shocked you the most was when youre arguing with him. He doesnt know why he gets turned on by how mad you get whether it’s at him or someone else but the blood flow of his dick is damn near on fire. Maybe it’s because you have an accent when you speak fast, maybe it’s because it’s a rare occurrence, or maybe zoro is a freak. But seeing you so pent up and pissed makes his pants tight

Zoro getting hard consist of him being irritable, quiet, and trying to isolate himself until he or you fix the issue

Sanji

He’s always half hard.

Wanna know something else, his blood fits he has (the ones that didnt turn into a fucking plot point) are representing each time he gets hard.

Anyways though, he masturbates regularly. If he’s not cooking or out with the crew he is in the bathroom helping himself.

His hard ons are easy to spot because he’ll hide himself behind a counter with blush on his face or stand behind you.

He is shameless with his hardons only when you’re around.

He can get hard just by seeing you smile so have fun with that.

But he gets incredibly hard(and even easier) after you both have had sex before

If you all are on the deck and you wanna wear another thin ass bikini of course he is going to get hard. Thinking about the things he’d do to you if you just gave him the green light.

Which is also why Sanji stares at you a lot.

So he will come behind you and bury his face in your shoulder or neck whining.

You don’t mind it. It’s cute to see him rut up behind your ass, his accent slipping through .

“May we..go to your room please?”

If you say yes he will walk SUPER close behind you tying to hide his painful erection, mumbling small praises and thanks for you being so understanding.

He’s so grateful for you :(

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lovesickry · 7 months

Text

- let the light in.

┈⋆⭒ lando norris x rival femdriver!reader [2.4k] ┈⋆⭒ part 3 !

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ find all parts here! .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ contains: 18+, smut, swearing, angst, handjob LOL .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ a/n: sorry for my little hiatus I was really trying to think about what im trying to do with this story. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ comment if you wanted be added to taglist

by all accounts Spain had been...interesting. considering the close proximity in which you came into with a certain man by which you (or at least thought) certainly disliked.

A sense of unease followed you in the coming week, a kind of distrust. With yourself? It was an odd feeling, unlikely to be exactly pinpointed so it was more or less thrust far back into your mind, his lingering, burning touch hopefully soon forgotten.

You were eager to more or less throw yourself into training, it was Monaco after all, the race every driver wanted to win. You were not an exception.

You saw Danny for dinner on Tuesday and it was actually very refreshing, you had taken some convincing (done by yours truly) to actually attend, by in doing so you did actually have a good time. He was Danny Ric of course you were gonna have a good time. Anyway, you were walking around Monaco much too late, talking about the season and actively trying to avoid any talk about his current teammate. He mentioned he was worried about you.

“Why?”

“Oh just you know, sometimes I see a bit of myself in you and I know how I can get.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, he cared so much. Danny had never been your teammate but youd drifted together through one force or the other and he'd been nothing but nice to you. You understood where he was coming from, you guess you were similar, the same kind of persistent optimism, sarcasm, devotion, not knowing when to stop pushing, problems of burning out etc;

“I’m fine”

He waits for you to continue, you do.

“I mean, I think, it's just all a lot. I've wanted to be in Formula One for as long as I can remember and now that I’m here, it's still like everyday I'm fighting to be here. And it's not all just about being a girl either, like most of it is but still. It's like there's something inside me that's almost contradicting my existence, like I'm not meant to be here. It's pushing me forward and also pulling me back. I don't know how to explain it.”

You take a deep breath and try to keep your voice steady as you continue.

“There's just so much that I want to achieve and I don't even think I believe I can do it.”

Your voice wobbles only slightly as you pause walking and look at him, suddenly breathless.

He looks at you with so much understanding you could break down into tears. He extends an arm and pulls you into a side hug as he continues down the street slowly walking.

“I think when you first do this that's how everyone feels, like they’re lying to themselves or that they don’t deserve it, but believe me when I tell you Dylan you are so deserving, more than so many drivers and you will get there. The isolation will dissipate and your body will realign and you’ll know what to do and how to do it and you’ll truly believe in yourself and your life won't be pushing and pulling at you anymore, i know its hard and i hate to say it, but time is truly your best friend in shit like this.”

You don't know how danny seemed to always know what to say but the words he spoke resonated with you and made something click, the rest of the walk home was lighter as you reached your hotel just after midnight, saying goodbye to Danny and watching him walk off into the lit streets of Monaco, quiet, peaceful and picturesque. You were amongst the other drivers who didn't (yet) live in Monaco, but you loved every moment you visited. Yes it was a posh persons wet dream, but it was undeniably beautiful in every part and you loved the safeness as a woman too. Though you'd have to admittedly work on your french.

When Thursday rolled around and you had to go to the track, ending your period of peace, it was gratefully uneventful, not once did you see who you had prayed you wouldn’t and that was enough to leave the paddock with a smile. Friday was less than satisfying however, achieving not even in the top 10 in either practices. Saturday and Sunday, were thankfully a different story, you had qualified well, pulling your car into P4. You were happy, the car was happy and you were focused, the chat with Danny had made you in some way looser?

You had mixed emotions about the part of the day in which you would attend the drivers parade. On one hand you could argue that it was a bit of a break from the seriousness, a time where drivers genuinely just chat shit while people look on and occasionally get asked questions, but on the other you could also argue that its kinda pointless and stupid. Regardless all the drivers piled into the moving vehicle and settled into a chatter of conversation in their respective “groups”. Just by your luck, as you eased into a conversation with Danny and George, Lando decided to join in. You didn’t ignore the look up and down he gave you before swiftly intervening in the conversation. For some reason the minute Lando joined in you were mute, not cintrivuting to the conversation in the slightest bit, other than nudging Danny every now and again to point something/someone out. You spoke few words with Lando present and even fewer when prompted by him to speak. At a point George simply dragged you away and talked to you one of one to save the awkward silence that seemed to surround the you and Lando. You had never found George unattractive, but at the same time you werent attracted to him either, which you thought in the moment he wasnt understand, as everything he said he would lean closer, almost intimate. Not too obvious, not romantic, but obvious enough, atleast to you and the eyes that you felt bore into the back of your head from a certain McLaren driver. Waling through the paddock following the drivers parade was always an ordeal, fans were out and you signed caps and shirts and skin and took photos, before finally making it anywhere near your garage. That was a part of the fun honestly, you always thought: The fans. You hear familiar voices and try not to eavesdrop, though subconsciously straining to hear, it's muffled and you only make out. “Shes not” “Dude” “fuck” “embarassing” “gross” “come on?” “you jealous?” your spying however is put to an end when none other than George Russel and Lando Norris round the corner to where you stood or recently stood, because as soon as you heard shuffling you resumed movement so they didn’t know that you were really just standing there listening to whatever the fuck they were saying.

“Speak of the devil” Lando says with a smirk.

You don't fully register the meaning behind that line however, still relishing in the fact they didn't know of your habit to eavesdrop.

“You're such a twat” George says, and more or less storms off.

You watch as he goes, still silent and then turn towards Lando.

“You’re actually such a dickhead ”

Lando scoffs before continuing.

“I was the one defending your dignity, George was drooling at you, its embarrassing”

You raise your eyebrows at him

“George?”

“Oh come on you're not that naive, he's so into you it's disgusting.”

“piss off”

“No seriously Mr Russell was in a seductive mood” it's said with an air of humour and you nearly laugh.

“George was trying to seduce me?” you let a deep breath out of your noise, nearly letting loose a laugh.

“And how exactly would he go about that huh?” you continue sarcastically.

‘Hmmm” his eyebrows straighten and his whole face looks as though it changes composition.

You move to go, sick of whatever the fuck Lando wants to play with you, you round the corner, reaching a small end of a hallway with no current people near and suddenly hes there too. Lips grazing the top of your ear. His body was against yours and radiating with heat, breath fanning your temple.

“Like this?” his voice is too fucking low, too fucking delicious and your mind is begging for you to succumb, but you cant, you wont.

“Youre a fucking asshole” its said through your teeth and you dont make any action to move your body away from his.

He hummed in response, simply moving his breaths down your neck.

“You mean it?” a smirk paints his face

“I hate you” the words come out more breathless than you'd hoped.

He laughs into the skin of your neck, you're still not moving, unable to move. In fear giving into him.

You close your eyes in hopes to centre yourself but it's impossible to ignore the heat that seems to surround you, your blood flows like molten lava through your veins and every breath is staggered and fractured. Opening your eyes was a mistake, Lando is looking at you with someone that could be moulded into admiration and his pupils are blown. You can't stop the way your back arches to meet him and suddenly your hands are in his curls and his mouth is on yours. It is so sweet, so filthy, so hateful. The way your mouths are moving against each other, his hands grasping at your back while you pull at his hair, you notice as you pull away the way he bites his lip, as if to not make any noise.

Well that's rich, he doesn't get to pretend he hasn't been the one chasing after you, acting all shitty just cause you’ve been the only girl not to fall to your feet at the sight of him.

He deserved a taste of his own medicine, you moved your lips off his and his eyes widened slightly thinking you're stopping whatever this was. Not yet. You move your lips down to his necks and begin to kiss him until you reach where he tenses at, figuring that's your best shot. You find the spot just above his clavicle and he inhales sharply before biting his lip. You were getting somewhere, focusing on this singular spot had Lando more desperate than before, biting so hard on his lip you thought it might bleed and gripping your waist so tightly you thought it might bruise if he adjusted his grip anymore.

The next idea that hit you was albeit self-indulgent but you thought would get your point across, or atleast suffice some of Lando’s infatuation with you just enough to clear your mind of him.

While one of your hands holds firmly his curls while you kiss his neck fervently, your other hand drops down further, trailing over the muscle that lay taut and hot underneath his fireproofs. His throat bobbed and he threw his head back only slightly, making an incoherent noise that made you smile against his neck, his control lost and gained so fast. Soon after your other hand left the back of his head, he dropped it onto your shoulder, still fiercely remainly quiet as you moved the other hand down his back, both hands reached under the material at the same time and his body was hotter than you had ever thought possible, retaining so much heat you are surprised there wasn't some kind of steam coming off of his skin. You pull his race suit down lower so it meets his middle thighs, his forehead still resting on your shoulder, keeled over. Pulling the material of his fireproofs up so you could actually see the muscle that was residing under there was fucking awe-inspiring, the small gap that you allowed yourself to see, breathing hard and fast, watching the muscle, the skin go out and in which each breath, you were nearly hypnotised.

“Im not gonna fucking beg tait”

His voice is rough but fractured and static, not portraying the toughness you think he’d like it too. It's your turn to hum in response as you move your hands achingly lower to where he is painfully and unbearingly hard for anything you do. The minute your hand makes contact with the sensitive skin he gasps, you relish in the noise and you slowly move your hand around him, gathering the pre cum that coats the tip and focusing on it, slow moments make him shake and he's suddenly making small, consistent noises that only egg you on more. You hated to admit that the power in the movement was absolutely superb, enough to ignore the ache between your own legs. You twist your hand slightly causing a strangled groan to come from Lando followed by a “fuck you” though its not too aggressive. You speed it up and soon he's breathing too fast, his eyes are fluttering and he’s so close. You position your hand and fingers at just the right part of him and he's coming hard and fast and hot and heavy in your palm. Followed by a deep, long breath and then a swift laugh. Lando Norris just came in your hand in his fucking racesuit. If that wasn’t karma that while he sung the national anthem he’d have cum in his fucking pants you didnt know what was.

“That's for the crash and all the shit in the press.” you know how it must sound, that you'd just jerked him off and now you're labelling it as payback, but to the relationship that you both held it was pretty much just that. You slip out from under him, smoothing your hair and wiping your hands on his race suit. His face has fallen and hasn't moved, though he moves his arm to steady himself.

You don't look back as you finally walk out of the corner of that measly little hallway, grateful that nobody happened upon you two.

“Fuck you” its quiet but loud enough to hear and its almost….whiny?

The ache between your legs has dissipated by the time you climb into the car, eager to get anything else into your head than the one that had been resting on your shoulder that day.

tag list:

@ssararuffoni, @eviethetheatrefreak, @fairiesdowntheroad, @landosgirlxoxo, @hiraethrhapsody, @hockeyboysarehot @mcmuppet @honethatty12 @darleneslane @formula1mount @borntogayz @kodzuvk @potatos-on-clouds @jullamy @taytaythirteen,@mrsmaybank13, @spiderrmoon, @giuliaabergaminii.@thenoblenomad, @luanemone, @spaceodd-ty, @aphroditeisamilf, @chonkybonky

#source: cafekitsune #f1 #f1 fic #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fic #lando norris series #lando norris enemies to lovers #lando norris rivals #lando norris x you #lando norris angst #lando norris fluff #lando norris x y/n

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rachetmath · 3 months

Text

Pyrrha: Hi you must be Alyx.

Alyx: Yes.

Pyrrha: Well I just want to talk to you about something.

Alyx: I mean sure but what-

Pyrrha: Not what. It’s who. You know Jaune Arc?

Alyx: I mean y-

Pyrrha: You know the Rustud Knight? The one you betrayed? Who you poisoned?

Alyx: Well I can- *attempts to run*

Penny: *blocks her path*Nope. All attempts of escape are at zero right now.

Alyx: You can’t be serious.

Penny: As the current generation would say," Oh yes bitch. Try me."

Alyx: Okay I may have wronged him a little bit.

Lewis: A little? You completely poisoned him.

Alyx: Lewis you are not helping.

Lewis: At least like Jaune I was trying. But you never listen.

Alyx: Look I understand but what’s the big deal? He got back to Remnant.

Pyrrha: Why?! Why did you do it?

Alyx: I mean… well… I… um….

Pyrrha: Alyx, understand, you have two deadly women on both sides of you. If you don’t give us a good explanation well…. I guess we’ll finally see if you can fall from heaven.

Alyx: Well I saw this vision and I didn’t like it.

Penny: Understood, what was the vision?

Alyx: Um… I *whisper* don’t remember.

Penny: You what?!

Alyx: I don’t remember okay?!

Pyrrha: What vision? Who’s vision?

Alyx: I don’t know. The writers didn’t give me anything. I saved him though. That counts, right?

Pyrrha: No. He just survived.

Penny: Plus your ‘help’ could give him problems down the road.

Alyx: Like what?

Me: I mean the fan base speaks for itself. I mean the guy hasn’t been in Remnant for years it’s going to be kind of hard for him to readjust. Not only that he has to recover from years of isolation, PTSD, trauma, and because of you he might as well also be having trust issues. Not only that he had to leave another friend behind. You and the Ever After might as have shattered him

Alyx: Oh Oum.

Pyrrha: Yeah. Oum can’t save you. Penny.

Penny: Way ahead of you.

Alyx: Wait you wouldn’t hurt an innocent black child right?

Pyrrha and Penny: ………..

Me: Alyx you heard the saying, “Equal rights equal fights.”

Alyx: Let’s say I don’t.

Me: No matter your race. No matter your sexuality. No more matter your gender or age. You made a choice to do what you do. And as a result of said choice you must face said consequences. Weither they be good or bad. Basically you may be a kid but you were grown enough commit murder. And as such-

Pyrrha: You have this coming.

Alyx: *crying* I’m sorry. I just wanted to home. Jaune had no idea how. So I did what ever took. And then the Cat betrayed me and I died. Please? Don’t hurt me!

Summer: Come now ladies. I know you’re both upset but-

Pyrrha: Ms. Rose! Shut up!

Summer: I’m sorry? Who are you talking to?

Pyrrha: You are a nobody. You have been irrelevant for a while now. You left your daughters and died. Your daughter ain’t shit. Your team is still disbanded even after you died. You might as well be an afterthought at this point.

Summer: Said the girl who’s only job was to run away.

Pyrrha: I went out in a blaze of glory. I proved myself. What the fuck have you done?

Summer: Um.

Penny: Friend Pyrrha I know I have no rights to talk.

Pyrrha: Damn straight. You suffered more than myself. All you had to do was live. Instead, you traumatized my man. He just got over me too. Why would you do that?

Penny: Okay, I’m sorry. But, he’s going to be fine now. Let’s just let her go. And we pray he gets better.

Pyrrha: Fine. You're lucky Alyx.

Alyx: Thank you. But I am sorry.

Pyrrha: Shut up. Oum damn. If this story continues he better get stronger and kill Cinder. Because this is stupid. I mean how much trauma does one guy need? How he is not a villain? I mean, come on, he can’t be like Yuji, he doesn’t have skills like that.

Penny: Well friend W-

Pyrrha: If you say her name I will end you.

Summer: Okay woah, it’s been nine volumes why are you mad about this?

Pyrrha: One; he deserves better. Two; I prefer your daughter or anyone else than her. Three; she’s fucking useless. And four; it took him being an old man for her to start liking him. Fuck that bitch.

Summer: Well like said, if you stayed alive then-

Pyrrha: If you stayed alive maybe Qrow would have stopped drinking. If you stayed alive maybe your baby daddy wouldn’t be in a state of depression. Maybe if you stayed alive you could help your daughter learn how to control her eyes and be less useless in fighting the Queen of Grimm.

Summer: That was uncalled for.

Pyrrha: Move along side character.

#rwby #jaune arc #rwby alyx #penny polendina #pyrrha nikos #summer rose #qrow branwen #weiss x jaune #weiss schnee

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gayerthanevertbh · 1 year

Text

break me.

natasha romanoff masterlist | navigation

summary: she didn’t mean to hurt you, or at least that’s what you think.

warnings: cheating, g!p natasha, phone sex, heavy angst, and no happy ending - 18+ minors dni.

notes: i’m sorry

big shout out to an anon who gave me an idea about a breaking up scenario, i love you for that!

"Thanks for letting me in," Natasha said, her voice hoarse and her eyes brimming with tears before she arrived. I sat on the other side, not wanting to think about her. I know I'll become attached if I do. She sat on her favorite leather couch, her body trembling as she smelled the rose from the candle. She was reminded of my clothes, my hair, and the entire house by the scent. She was aware that it was my favorite scent. “I never thought I’d be back in this house.”

I evicted her a few months ago, but I was eager to hear her confess what she had done wrong. Wanting to know that she did all of that, knowing that she'll eventually lose me. Her gaze trailed up to meet mine, but when she saw how unconcerned I was, she returned her gaze to her hands.

“Do you want a glass of water?”

"I—" she pauses, solemnly shaking her head. “N-No, thank you.”

“This is your house,” I pointed out, as a matter of fact. “There’s a bottle of water in the fridge.”

“I’m alright, Y/n.”

You have no idea how much you scarred my heart, how much I want to hurt you right now. Maybe even scream at you if I have the energy, but I choose to be modest with you. Because I know I’m the bigger person in this situation.

There was a long awkward silence as we waited for someone to speak up about the situation we were in. I turned away from her and focused on the cactus plant that was isolated by the wall's corner. I could hear her sniffling, but I didn't dare to look at her. I used to have a pure heart, one that was kind and loving. But as soon as she hurt me, and ruined me, I could barely look at myself back then because of her.

Her jacket smelled strange; it was smokier and smelled awful in my nostrils. But she always wears smoky perfumes, so I didn't see what the fuss was about.

But this scent is distinct, far distinct from her other perfumes. And there was a small circular pink mark on her collarbone. I knew it wasn't from me because we hadn't had sex in a year. She was always working, mostly on missions that required her to fly out of the country. She could have been gone for weeks, even months — and my arms were always open when she returned. We used to be a happy couple, with a lovely and exceptional marriage. But everything seems to fall apart when she becomes more focused on her work, never on me.

“Tash?” I looked up at her, and I could see those mysterious deep-looking eyes that she used to have when she looked at me. "Did you get into a fight?"

She only chuckles, but in a slur, and replied: “No, why would I get into a fight? You know I’m not like that.”

“But—”

“Can I wash up?” She fully discloses the situation and walks to the bathroom, removing her jacket almost shamefully and tossing it in the basket. “You can go to sleep, I’ll be up late anyway.”

I didn’t manage to speak up and instead sighed, nodding my way back into our bedroom to get some rest.

"My love, I hurt you, didn't I?"

She could hear the venom in my voice as I chuckled, "Numerous times, Nat," and I answered.

"Don't call me that," she pinches her temple, searching for my eyes, but I couldn't look her in the eyes. Not when she has harmed my skin and my beating heart. “Baby, look at me.”

“That’s a hard task.”

“I don’t love her.”

“Oh please—”

She gets to her feet and knelt between my legs, grabbing my hands and placing them near her chest. "I don't!" she exclaims, tears streaming down my wrist. "I was just... confused. Okay? I was very lost; I thought I had lost you, so I went to Jamie because she reminded me of you!"

My rage erupted within me, causing me to yell at her.

“You know that’s not true, Natasha!”

"But it's true," she whimpered as she stood up again, wiping her tears with the cardigan I used to wear whenever I missed her. Does she ever wash it? Is she missing me? What is going through her head? "Every time I looked at her, it was all you—"

“Stop it, right now.”

“And whenever she would laugh, I could hear your laugh,” Natasha’s breath hitched. “Everything she does reminds me of you because it felt like our marriage died when we stopped having sex.”

I rose up from the couch and pointed my index finger at her, saying: “But you CHOSE that! You can’t say that everything that she does reminds you of me when you’ve obviously fallen in love with her!”

“This dick is too big for you, huh?”

“You want this? Do you want this down your throat? Beg for it, sweetheart.”

I awoke a few hours later to a strange sound coming from the office room. When I looked to my side, there was no space. I assumed she wanted a couple of beers before going to bed because it helps her sleep. I got up from rose from the mattress and exited the room, the sound becoming increasingly clear. The door slightly gaped, and I peeked at it, only to see what I didn’t expect to see.

“You like this?”

Natasha's sweatpants were undone, and her breathing pattern had shifted. She was furiously stroking her cock while her eyes were fixed on the screen of her phone. I wanted to leave her alone because I wasn't in the mood to help her, but when I looked closely at her phone, I noticed she was on a video call with another girl.

Who isn’t me.

“Play with your clit for me,” Natasha begged, her voice getting louder. “Ugh, want to be inside you again so bad…”

I wanted to scream, that’s all I wanted to do. I wanted to storm in, throw her phone against the wall, and slap her across the face. The girl looked young on the screen, almost passing my sister’s age. I was guessing she was 19 or 20, but I couldn’t care less. Does she know Natasha was married? How did they meet? Or maybe she was some girl that she met at a beer, and decided to fuck her instead of me.

“I-I want to cum,” she was whimpering, and I wanted to look away. I felt ashamed for my wife, including myself. “Natty, can I please cum?”

“I want to cum first,” Natasha’s voice starts to stutter and I watch as she had orgasm, moaning the girl’s name. “Oh, baby! That’s it, watch me as I fill you up.”

She cleaned up herself after that, spending a few minutes with the girl on the phone. I hear her say, “I love you, baby. I’ll spend the rest of my life with you?”

“Aren’t you married? What about her? She’s going to devastate if you ever—”

“Don’t mind her, little one,” she sighs, grabbing the glass of her scotch. “She will never know about us.”

“I’ve only fallen for you in my life,” I stared at her with my tired eyes. I wanted to scream at her and throw her clothes out the window before I did something even worse than what I was already doing. She shakes her head and sobs loudly before falling to her knees again. "It was always you, my love. No one could ever replace that.”

Pathetic.

“Well, you’ve certainly changed that when you loved Jamie.”

I decided to conduct my investigation a few weeks later. Jamie was her name, and she lived near the Avenger's house. I saw her and Natasha chatting in a driveway near her house. When I met her, a cousin of hers informed me that she was only 19 years old. Natasha met me when I was around 19, almost in my twenties. Was that her range now? Dating girls, who used to be my age? I and Jamie were only a few years apart in age, and I realized Natasha was having sex with this girl to romanticize the fact that I was who she was because I knew I was getting bored.

“They met at a bookstore,” was it my favorite bookstore? “I remember Natasha being so stunned by my cousin, and there was no shame in that. After a couple of weeks later, they start having sex.”

I make circular motions on my mug, as I try to calculate what month was — specifically the month that I had stopped having sex with her.

“That’s why she asked me if birth controls were effective,” the other cousin said, shaking her head — almost in a profounding disgust. “She wasn’t always having sex, but this Natasha—your wife, had this big effect on her. I still don’t understand it to this day.”

“When did they start having sex?”

She sighed again, almost ashamedly, and murmured, "Last year, around January." That was all I needed to know; it was that month that we began fighting, stopped having sex, and gave each other silent treatment. "I-I was going to tell you, but I was afraid my information would be leaked to everyone. But, Y/n, I really wanted to tell you."

"It's neither of your faults," I said, my throat trembling as tears welled up in my eyes. I can't cry now, not when I feel powerless over Natasha. "She-she's a young girl; I'm not even sure she understands who Natasha is."

“What is she like, then?”

I took a step back from her, remembering how much I used to love her, both inside and outside of me. Everything I shared with her has vanished, and our marriage was almost a mistake. I knew I wasn't ready at the time, and I don't think I'll ever be able to mend my broken heart after this series of events.

“She can be a romantic,” I sniffled, looking down at my cold hands. “But she is a heartbreaker, she truly is.”

As soon as I got back home, I saw Natasha sitting on the couch with a whiskey in her hand. Her eyes looked terrible, almost as if she was hurt by someone’s words. Usually, she would never feel pain when it comes to her missions. Mostly because she knew how to handle them, but her eyes looked different. I was already guessing that it was Jamie, and not me.

“Hey,” I said, dropping my bag on the floor and sitting down beside her, pretending to be her wife just for this moment. “What’s got you crying?”

She lets out a quiet whimper and scooted a little further away from me, shaking her head with more tears welling up in her eyes. Tell me the truth, Natasha. I want you to say it, say that you cheated on me. Say that you’re a monster—

“You're wearing that cardigan again.”

It was the cardigan that she gave me when we were back in Norway, as an anniversary gift of our marriage. We looked so blissfully happy back then, we were always dancing and making love at each opportunity that we had. I wanted to smile and kiss her on her cheek, but I felt still and unhappy. I still wanted to hurt her as much as I did weeks ago.

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “You gave it.”

We fell into silence before she spoke up again.

“I have to tell you something, but promise me you will try to understand.”

I don’t think I could fake what I’m feeling because of you.

“What’s wrong?”

She placed her glass on the side table and looked at me with a darker shade of green in her eyes. I could tell she had been swarmed up with guilt and sorrow — it was starting to hurt me too. She smiled but it faltered quickly, only to hear her sobbing.

A broken sob from the antagonist.

“I love you,” she whispers under her breath, it doesn’t feel good when I hear that term. “I—I love you so much, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“Nat, just say what you need to say—”

“I got a girl pregnant.”

"How old is your infant?" I inquired, breaking the silence. Natasha raised her head briefly to look at me. She opened her mouth, but no word came out of her lips.

Where did you go?

“6 months,” she claims, her voice starting to get deeper. “It’s a girl—I’m having a baby girl.”

“Is Jamie happy with her pregnancy?” I inquired once more, curious about her secret life while I was present. I wanted to tear her apart, to destroy her sanity until she went insane. I wanted to wish her bad things, but I also wanted to never see her again.

“Yeah, she is.”

I exhaled and let out a loud cry through my lips. I burst into tears, probably because she had told me that Jamie was content with her pregnancy and that they were content with the baby together. I used to fantasize about having a child with Natasha because I knew she'd be an excellent mother. That washed away when she cheated on me, slept with someone behind my back, and fell in love while I was no longer with her. I even believe it was my fault at one point. Perhaps I wasn't always present? I pondered. Maybe I stopped giving her the attention that she needed from me, the love that she deserves.

“I will have this child, but I will come home to you,” she says, almost like a promise. She kneels down with me and cups my face, bringing her lips against mine. I was stunned, yet again. I haven’t felt her lips for a long time, and it’s making me miss her more. Does she deserve my trust? Do I want to go back with her? “I love you, sweetheart. I always have and always will, okay? Please just take me back. I’ll make everything right again!”

“I’m sorry,” she broke down on my lap, clinging to my waist as she sobs harder on my stained black shirt. “I didn’t mean to—I promise I didn’t, it just happened…”

“I know you’ve been in love with someone else, Nat.” there was no need to lie there, and I had to tell her. At some point, I almost felt bad for her more than myself. I guess you could say my morals were more intact than hers, because if she even had one, then none of this would happen. Natasha lifted her head and looked like she was going to vomit.

“What?”

"I discovered it when you two were... calling each other," I stood up, harshly removing her arms from around me, and threw a bag on the floor as I threw her clothes from the closet. She approaches me and pulls me away with a hug from behind. “Natasha, let me go.”

“Don't let me go,” she mumbles on my neck. “Please don’t make me go, I don’t know where I’ll be staying—”

“Either at the facility or your girlfriend’s house,” I replied with no emotions, still grabbing her clothes away from mine. “You decide.”

She shakes her head violently, her arms tighten around me, and I find myself unable to breathe. I wanted to cry in her arms and tell her that everything was fine and that it was never her fault because I knew it was mine. I should've been more aware of her desire to be fully present as a wife. But I failed, and I couldn't admit it to myself.

“You don’t love me or this house,” my voice suddenly changed, it was getting more aggressive as I closed the closet door with a slight whimper. “You love that girl, and you know it.”

“I promise I’ll be better,” Natasha wails, kissing my neck. “I’ll be good, I’ll be here now… okay? I love you, I love you—”

“You don’t love me, you never have!”

"Please, allow me to explain everything," I turned around, and her lips grazed mine, attempting to kiss me. My mind told me to slap her and leave the house, but my heart tells me that I love her and that I should forgive her. Except I couldn't decide. I've loved this woman since the first time I laid eyes on her, so this was a difficult decision for me. "Please sit down and allow me to explain everything, okay?"

“The divorce papers are on the dining table,” I said as I brought out two pieces of luggage from the corner. She shakes her head and touches my hand; I forgot to remove the engagement ring that I always wear, and I realize that I couldn’t let go of it. “Nat, I have to go back home, okay? They know everything, and they want me to leave.”

“O-Okay,” she nods, scratching her nose as she sighs feverishly. “I’ll see you again, okay? Let me keep your cardigan. Please? I’ll give it to you once you come back.”

Through thick and thin.

I nodded and smiled at her one last time. I leaned in for one last meaningful kiss, and I could tell she was desperate because her hand was on my neck. I could feel our tongues gliding against each other as if they were dancing as we kissed for a minute. But then I drew back and kissed her cheek, knowing it was the last time I'd ever touch her in this way.

"That's the thing, my love," I said softly, "I'll never come back."

She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Exactly.”

Natasha stayed at our—her home, with silence wrapping around her, while I left with a relative picking me up. She sat against the door and cried for hours, the regret washing over her as she realized what she had lost.

"Kotenok," she says softly in my ear, biting the lobe softly, "we're going to be happy, okay? Promise me you'll never leave."

I smiled blissfully at her, knowing that our future will be filled with joy.

“I promise, my bear.”

hehe

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha angst #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow x reader #black widow x you #a's oneshots!

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bunnystalker · 4 months

Text

isolation

you and your beloved albert talk it out after an argument.

cw; baking, arguments, slight spousal neglect, albert is emotionally inept and always wants to be right, minor injury, albert wesker doesn't enjoy sweet things, reader likes to bake, reader is pissed off for most, if not all, of this, hurt/minor comfort, mentions of divorce, minor gaslighting, empathy discovery like WHOAAA, soft re4 wesker, .

pet names; darling, dearest (reader receives)

a/n; i really don't like this one if i'm honest but i need to force myself to write to keep my creativity going :/

you're upset. you and albert had a fight before he left for work and in typical albert fashion, he's ignoring the problem, which is how much time he spends at the lab. you know he loves you, so why do you seem like an afterthought most of the time?

now, you've been with him long enough to know that by the end of the day, when he's done at the lab, he'll try to sweet-talk his way out of really talking about the issue. it's annoying, truthfully. nothing gets resolved unless it's bothering him, too, and most of the time, it doesn't.

you're baking your frustration out as he's just coming home. given that he's boiled you down to just a stay-at-home partner, you have nothing to do but do housework, and thus, nobody to talk to but yourself. when you're buried within your conscience like you have been, your emotions fester.

like normal, he walks through the front door, takes his shoes off as well as his outercoat and sets them aside before scouting for you.

"darling?" he calls out, first checking your bedroom and then the living room, before finally coming across you in the kitchen. he smiles softly at you as he approaches, his cold arms wrapping around your waist from behind. he presses a kiss to your neck as usual.

"i missed you today, dearest," he murmurs, watching as you brush eggwash onto the pastry you're baking. you'll be the only one to eat what you're making, given that your husband can't handle sweets the way you can.

"yeah." you're unenthusiastic. you're still mad. he's pissing you off even more just by touching you and acting like nothing's wrong. he doesn't like your tone but brushes it off and gives you another peck. he senses your irritation and gives you a little squeeze.

"come now, darling, don't be so sour. " he sighs, resting his chin atop your head. you don't respond. instead, you turn to face him with the brush containing eggwash in your right hand tucked behind your back. using your left, you cup his face and lean in to kiss him, wearing a faux smile. he smiles softly, thinking you'd come around already.

he should've known better. he realizes that the moment the very sloppy and wet brush makes contact with his cheek, then right over his mouth. frozen, he stares at you. the eggwash is cold and wet and very unpleasantly viscous on his face.

"why did you do that?" he asks after rebooting his brain, blinking owlishly at you. he's yet to wipe his face off. the yellow-tinted liquid slowly dribbles down his face and gets into his mouth when he speaks.

you shrug and return to your pastries. all you really need to do is let them bake. albert walks to the sink and washes his face off of the eggwash, also spitting to get the flavor out. he dries his face off on his sleeve and keeps his distance as you put the tray of chocolate croissants in the oven and set a timer.

it's not that he doesn't know what he's done wrong, it's more of how he's to address the situation. you typically let it go, which was his goal, but you're still upset. as if that was hard to tell by any means. you leave the kitchen, and thus abandoning him with his inner monologue. he notes the dishes in the sink from your baking escapade and decides there's nothing better to do than clean them while sorting his thoughts out.

he nicks himself on the knife you used for the dough once or twice because he's deep in thought. a human thing for him to do, but that's what you bring out in him- humanity. if he didn't love you, you'd be dead or a test subject. he sighs softly, dabs the blood off his hands with a paper towel nearby, and decides to finish the dishes later, even though the sink nearly full irritates him greatly.

he instead decides to seek you out. if you're this mad, he should at least try to resolve the issue, right? finding you isn't difficult, you didn't go very far so you could check up on your croissants. you'd hate to mess them up.

he slides on the couch beside you with as much silence as he can manage, his phone out and in his hand to pretend like he's checking his messages (looking through his contacts), his arm along the back of the couch. he's quite literally just a space away but you're wired, like a caged animal, and he's not pushing his luck. every now and then, he looks over at you.

"what is it?" you ask, not sparing him a glance. you stare straight ahead at the wall across from you.

"you're upset." he sets his phone aside.

"right."

"why-"

you ache to slam your head against the wall as you cut him off. "if you've forgotten our argument this morning, then im afraid that's your own fault."

"right. okay." he runs his thumb over his lower lip in habit. it's very obvious to him (and likely anyone else) that you're tired of his shit. thoroughly fed up. you've been together nearly two years and nothing's changed, has it?

no.

you turn your head to look at him. "is that all you have to say? genuinely? just "okay"?"

"what would you like me to say?" he furrows his eyebrows

you scoff. he can't be serious. "maybe that you're sorry? would that be so difficult for you? to admit that you're wrong for once?"

he's silent this time, calculating his response to have the best outcome. the last thing he wants is a divorce. he slips his glasses off and sets them aside, his free hand running through his hair

"im sorry," he starts, and you feel a little bit of reprieve, "that you feel that way."

not the best apology you've ever heard. definitely some room for improvement.

"what else are you sorry for?" you prompt, crossing your arms over your chest. he shifts in his seat, his elbows on his knees.

"... i suppose i'm sorry for keeping you so couped up in here. i know how it feels and yet, despite that, i've done it anyway." his hand finds your knee and gently squeezes. his cheeks are red and you've succeeded in making him somewhat ashamed for being mean to you.

your hand on top of his, you give him a soft smile. "i accept your apology. you're forgiven."

he nods, but his blush doesn't leave. it's like he's discovering empathy for the first time...

instead of saying anything else, he scoots close to you and drapes himself over you. a soft chuckle escapes you as he remains quiet and unable to look at you. he drips neediness, the want for your love, as he feels bad for making you feel bad.

you give it to him, of course. it's not like you to deny him too much. gentle, warm fingers running through slightly stiff, gelled platinum hair. he doesn't care that you're messing it up, just that you're home and you're okay now. you're not mad at him anymore, you're not going to leave him because he's arrogant and mean.

"im a mean guy, aren't i?" he mumbles, still unable to meet your eyes.

"yes, you are. like a wet cat, honey." the slight smile in your voice is too audible and while he knows you're teasing him, he feels bad. he nods and kisses your temple.

"but i love you. you're my wet cat." a half-smile forms on his lips, which you turn your head to kiss.

"i love you as well."

#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #writing #albert wesker i love youuuu #albert wesker fluff #albert wesker angst #resident evil angst #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #albert wesker is a wet cat

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sugoi-and-spice · 1 year

Text

Chapter One - Wistful Thinking

Pairing: Bully!Dabi x Fem!Reader, (3rd Person)

Summary: If a boy is picking on you, it means he likes you. She could almost laugh. By that logic, Dabi must’ve been fucking in love with her. That thought was what finally made the tears start to spill. Not because of how ridiculous it was or how isolating it felt. But because it was exactly what she wanted.

CW: Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Dubious Consent, Unhealthy Relationships, Bullying, Manipulation, Humiliation, Childhood Friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Power Play, Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm. Future Tags: Drugs, Alcohol, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Attempted Sexual Assault, Rough Sex, Hate Sex, Smut, Porn With Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst and Porn, Sadism

A/N: In celebration of Dabi's dance being animated, I'm posting the first chapter of a request for a Bully!Dabi fic that should've been a one-shot, but just went completely off the rails (where have we heard that one before? Lol). Currently, the fic will be completed at three chapters, but I actually really like the idea so it' not impossible that I might expand it further once Play Nice is completed. ^_^

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[excerpt]

If a boy is picking on you, it means he likes you.

That’s what her mother always used to say.

“I told you to get me orange juice.”

She flinched at the venom in Dabi’s tone as he glared up at her from his desk. She stood in front of him, ready for her reprimand like a dutiful employee. A good little slave.

His eyes narrowed when she didn’t answer, “Didn’t I?”

“Y-Yes!” she yelped.

“So what the fuck is this?” he demanded, grabbing the can she’d presented to him and waving it in her face.

She dropped her gaze to the ground, hands wringing anxiously. It wasn’t just the heat of Dabi’s glare or the bite of his words that was making it hard to stay standing. The sadistic amusement of his friends, Jin and Keigo, perched lazily on the desks around him were just as painful. Not to mention the rest of their class watching on with smug little smiles and whispers.

“T-They were out of orange juice,” she stammered, “So I got you orange-flavored tea…”

Dabi watched her, waiting for any more qualifications, any last excuses. But her eyes stayed down, lips stayed shut. The only change was in her now shuffling feet.

So he popped open the tab and took a drink.

“Hmm.”

Hope swelled in her chest. Maybe she’d done enough this time. She looked up tentatively. Bored, piercing blue awaited her. He held her there for a moment, letting her think, letting her settle into relief and security.

Catching her in a trap.

He smirked.

“It’s fucking disgusting.”

And threw the open can straight at her chest.

It hit her with an audible force, dousing her uniform and splashing all over the desk and floor.

Jin snorted out a laugh, “Oh shit.”

Keigo next to him was noticeably silent, just watching for her reaction.

“Seriously, how can you be this useless?” Dabi spat, pulling his legs off the desk before any of the tea could spread to his shoes.

Dripping, she tried desperately to fight the quiver from her lip. It was not a fight she was winning.

He stood with an annoyed sigh, “Now I’ve gotta go get it myself. Happy?

She didn’t dare respond, not with that familiar lump growing larger and larger in her throat. If she so much as breathed in that moment, she’d cry for sure. And crying in front of Dabi would only make things worse.

So much worse.

“Better clean up your mess before class starts if you don’t want to get in trouble,” he called back as he made his way to the door, Jin close behind him.

Keigo stayed for a moment, watching with furrowed brows as she knelt down on trembling legs into the spreading orange-tinted puddle.

“Oi, Bird Brain. Let’s go!”

He quickly turned on his heel, following the call without a second thought.

She picked the can up, fruitlessly trying to stop the spill — it was practically empty at this point.

If a boy is picking on you, it means he likes you.

She could almost laugh. By that logic, Dabi must’ve been fucking in love with her.

That thought was what finally made the tears start to spill. Not because of how ridiculous it was or how isolating it felt.

But because it was exactly what she wanted.

Continue on AO3

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softichill · 8 months

Text

The Sounds of Nightmares unofficial transcript

Chapter 4 - Two of a Kind

(As always, made with the help of @queen0fm0nsterz!!!)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

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

[CLICK]

[Something is booted up]

OTTO: Duality. A notion essential to psychology. We all contain a multitude of personas and change proverbial masks to match our present situations. [Shifting] The body is the container for this legion within, allowing us to maintain the important illusion of a singular self, the very basis of human experience. In Noone, there lies both the innocent child and the disturbed traveler. Both fight for control. But what happens when the duality is not only in the mind?

[Click]

Recording of NOONE: “T…Two breaths. Why could I hear him breathing? Why could I feel them breathing? My body was sh–”

[Tape is cut off with a click]

OTTO: Given her vanishings, I fear it is not only her inner self which has become subject to division, but her body as well. One child, torn between two worlds… Either I have lost my marbles, or we tread ever deeper into territories beyond the boundaries of rational thought.

[Click, tape rewinds]

[Intro plays]

[Click can be heard twice. Young voices scream joyfully in the background, muffled through a wall]

NOONE: Otto? What is this place?

OTTO: The reunion room.

NOONE: Is that cake they’re eating? May I have some? Can I go in there?

OTTO: I’m sorry, you may only watch. My colleagues don’t allow inpatients to mingle with outpatients. …Those who are ready to go home to their families, I mean. Sit tight, and I’ll get you some cake.

[Otto walks away]

OTTO, distant, fading: Get me a piece of cake. Piece of cake? Get me a piece of cake… [Door closes]

[Otto walks back in]

OTTO: There! A fine chocolatey slice.

NOONE: They’re not waving back…

OTTO: Ah, it’s a two-way mirror. We can observe them but they can’t observe us. …(inhales) I’d – like to ask about last night.

NOONE, eating: Mh? Last night?

OTTO: You were in bed with the brain activity monitor on. One moment you were there, and the next – gone! Where… did you go?

NOONE: I don’t understand…

OTTO: (inhales) I watched you myself so I know you didn’t get up and leave the room.

NOONE: Wasn’t I asleep? I don’t recall any of this.

OTTO: ...You vanished, Noone.

NOONE: Huh?

OTTO: I – I thought I might have been mistaken at first, but the E.E.G. readings persisted, as if you were still there. Several minutes lapsed, then you reappeared.

NOONE, distressed: That makes no sense!

OTTO: This wasn’t an isolated event.

NOONE, even more distressed: What do you mean, I can’t just — [raising her voice] people just don’t disappear! [breathing heavily] You’re supposed to help me! You’re supposed to understand…

[Noone breathes hard in the background, on the verge of a panic attack]

OTTO: And yet neither of us do! It’s a major event, a bonafide anomaly. That’s why you must be sure that –

NOONE, interrupting: Is there some kind of trick?!

OTTO: It’s alright. [Noone is still breathing hard] Look at me. Focus on my eyes. Breathe. Noone, slowly.

[Noone’s breaths slow down slightly]

OTTO, under his breath: Breathe, two, three… Hold, two, three… Out, two, three…

[Noone follows his instructions, breathes slower]

OTTO: That’s it. That’s a girl.

[Noone stops breathing hard]

OTTO: Better?

NOONE: … Why did you take me here, Otto?

OTTO: I know solitude can be hard, and visualization is essential to developing beliefs that will –

NOONE: It’s being alone I hate. It’s being lonely.

OTTO: And I’m showing that, one day, you’ll be in the reunion room too! Just as relieved as those children, sharing cake rather than eating it by yourself. But you have to trust my process, even when it’s difficult for you to grasp.

NOONE: (Sigh) I understand more than you think.

OTTO: … Yes. I suspect so too. Hidden somewhere in your head. Come along! We’ve got preparations to make before tonight’s session.

NOONE: …Can we stay here? A minute longer?

OTTO: (Sigh) Alright. Just until you finish that slice.

[The recording stops momentarily and picks up mid sentence]

NOONE: – o many wires! T-They’re everywhere!

[Strapping, Otto preparing the machine]

OTTO: It’s the same E.E.G. machine I use to monitor your sleeping brain, only now I’d like to acquire readings during wakefulness, during your retelling to compare results.

NOONE: My last doctor made me do things like this all the time. [Otto prepping] Tubes into my stomach… I– I don’t much like being awake for tests and proddings.

OTTO: [hums] These electrodes may feel strange on your scalp, but there’s no pain. Nothing to worry about. If anxiety rears its head, take deep breaths. Same as earlier, yes?

NOONE: I– I’m not sure –

OTTO, interrupting: (slightly strained) Trust, remember?

[Shifting. The machine boots up, activates and Noone winces]

OTTO: Not so bad, is it?

NOONE: Can we get this over with?

OTTO: Of course! Begin as you like.

NOONE, narrating: I spun out of a dark place, and brilliant lights sparkled around. Then, far off laughter, and screams. But… screams of joy. Gathering my head, I… I saw other kids sitting on wooden crates nearby. As I approached, they were surprised to see me, but introduced themselves one by one.

[Quiet music begins, machine can still be heard]

NOONE, narrating: They were performers, they said. Each with different skills and talents. Juggling, fire breathing, trapy-something…

OTTO, correcting her: Trapeze?

NOONE: Trapeze! That’s what he said. (narrating) The boy called Rusty, he – he walked tightrope too. There were caravans all around: wooden ones, big yellow wheels, and all these colorful fabrics. I noticed the lights again. Fairy lights, shining down into the puddles from the rain that cleared before I’d arrived. Their reflection, swirling in the murky water, like a ballet. It was… beautiful.

NOONE: (sighs) As I lost focus, the others went on talking, fast and loud as teenagers do.

OTTO, interrupting again: Teenagers? And how long have they been there, performing in this place?

NOONE: Please, Otto! Let me get through it.

[Shifting. The carnival grows louder and distorted speech can be heard]

NOONE, narrating: From the way they looked, they’d been there a long time. But they were confident, or tried to be, and kind. As the clouds parted, Rusty asked if I wanted to go on a ride.

RUSTY, in the background, ov. with Noone: “Wanna go on a ride?”

NOONE: He said,

RUSTY, bg., ov. with Noone: “It’s the best one, because it lets you see clearly.”

NOONE: So, I said yes, feeling… a part of their gang. I’ve never had that before.

[Carnival games and music, steps]

NOONE: We passed by games and silly booths until we came to… the giant wheel. [The ferris wheel creaks] We climbed into the seats in pairs, me and Rusty taking the last cart.

[Sitting, the wheel creaks again]

NOONE: It went so high up that… I could see the whole carnival. It was… unnaturally high, like – like we were in the sky itself. [Wind blows, music quiets] Rusty pointed to these tall wooden polls, like- masts on a ship, as if that answered where we were, but… how could a ship be in the air? Rusty saw my face full of questions and said,

RUSTY, ov. with NOONE: “Look down, not out. You won’t feel sick that way, and we haven't much time.”

[Wind blows]

NOONE: I… I remember feeling, for a moment, things were OK. On the giant wheel, for the first time in such a long time I… I felt… happy. But, Rusty… he suddenly seemed so sad. His voice shifted and he continued,

RUSTY, ov. with NOONE: “That massive tent there, that’s the Big Top.”

NOONE: He said we’d be going there soon because him and his friends had a show to put on. I already knew the answer, but I asked anyway: “You don’t like performing, do you.” He looked glum for a moment before replying: “I hate it.” When I asked why he does it, Rusty mumbled to himself,

RUSTY, bg.: I…

NOONE: … But I couldn’t hear with the wind so loud. Finally Rusty turned and said,

RUSTY, ov. with Noone: “They force us. And whatever they say, goes.”

NOONE: I didn’t know who “they” were, but a bad feeling came over me and… I understood why we were really on that wheel. Because, all the way up there, he could say what was in his heart without worrying about being heard.

[Creaking wood]

NOONE: As the wheel came around, he began explaining very fast how him and his friends had been planning. Rusty wanted me to be part of a special show, where they would try something they’d never done before. He told me that my job was to be lookout. That if… I saw a man in a purple suit, I needed to give him the sign while he walked the tightrope. I asked, “Is this the man who makes you put on shows?” Without really answering, Rusty kept talking.

RUSTY, ov. with Noone: “In the spotlight, some glow, while others shrivel into shadows. We glow, and do as told, or…”

NOONE: He didn’t finish the thought, but, I understood. The times I was on TV, I’d have done anything to avoid all those lights. So I said, “A simple sign won’t do. I’ll have to shout. A code only we’ll understand. How about… Big Top?” He agreed it was a good idea and I realized he didn’t tell me what they were planning, but… when I saw him staring out at the clouds, I asked, “You mean to escape, don’t you? The carnival?” And he quickly said,

RUSTY, ov. with NOONE: “This entire… rotten world.”

[Silence. Narration stops.]

[Machine whirring]

OTTO: Was the boy expressing knowledge of a world beyond this carnival?

NOONE: I hadn’t thought about it until now, but… I guess so. And, I felt that too.

OTTO: Then – All the places you’ve been are one and the same?

NOONE: Sort of. It’s like how this basement is connected to the upper floors, but don’t work- together.

OTTO: Why didn’t you ever express this before?!

NOONE: What’s so impo–

OTTO, interrupting: You’ve sensed that the dreams you visit hold a tangible, sustained existence?! That these spaces are objective!? Physically… there?!

NOONE: I — uh, I think so? I don’t know how it works, but… it feels that way, yes. …Do you finally believe me?

OTTO: Giving the mere thought validity would have my license revoked! Yet I admit there’s potential that what you say is true. It offers some explanation of your… spiriting away, last night.

[Pause, machine running in the background]

OTTO: …I’d need to see it for myself.

NOONE: See it yourself?! You’re supposed to help me avoid going there!

OTTO: I need to reach it with you! To find that… quidity of consciousness we spoke of!

NOONE: Why would you want that?

OTTO: …

NOONE: How can I trust you if you don’t answer my questions sometimes?! It isn’t fair!

OTTO: (Sigh) …I… I lost someone dear to me, you understand? A long time ago. …Part of me believes that they may be there.

NOONE: (Upset) So that’s the reason you’re so fascinated by me, isn’t it?! [Starting to breathe hard again] That’s why you have me do- all these tests and experiments, to find them!

OTTO: Now you’re the one being unfair.

NOONE: Well, you can’t even get there!

OTTO: Why not?!

[Noone’s breathing quiets, still upset]

NOONE: …it’s Nowhere.

OTTO: Nowhere? What do you mean??

NOONE: It’s a place… that Is… and Isn’t.

OTTO: Did the boy, [stuttering] Rusty, say that? The Candleman??

NOONE: Neither.

OTTO: I can’t help you if you hide things from me.

NOONE: I tell you everything! You know what’s in my brain- more than I do!

NOONE: [breathing harder] There’s things on my head.

OTTO: Breathe, Noone… breathe…breathe. Deep. Follow my rhythm.

[Noone and Otto take deep breaths, pulsing notes rise in the background]

OTTO: Alright, okay. If the theatrics are done, we must press on.

NOONE: I want to stop.

OTTO: The sooner you finish, the sooner we’ll be free.

[Noone pauses, takes a few more deep breaths]

NOONE, narrating: We went to the Big Top. Rusty, and the others got all dressed up. In- amazing costumes. Black and white with sparkles. And another in… a fancy red coat.

NOONE: Rusty lead me round to the towering stage, placing me in the front, saying,

RUSTY, ov. with NOONE: “Best seats in the house.”

NOONE: I felt… so special. [distant music starts] Until, Rusty looked around, with that worried face again. Without another word, he went backstage, as the crowd started pouring in.

[Distorted speech]

NOONE: These… “people”... were the wrong shape. Faces like… bad drawings come alive. [thunk] One sat down in the seat to my left, eating… [crunching] a candy apple. It… it stank horribly [Dream!Noone gags] and, the center was mushy and raw.

NOONE: These… plump bodies filled the seats, too big for them, crushing and… spilling into one another. [Crunching and chewing] At the same time stuffing their faces with- rancid snacks, all grisly and chewy. I thought to throw up, but, as the lights dropped, [lights shutting off] everything went still.

[Pause, light turns on]

NOONE: Then… [drumroll, faint trumpet] a spotlight [cheering] illuminated the stage, and the kid in a red coat walked to the middle. He put on amazing magic tricks, [whoosh] that almost made me forget where I was. For his final trick, he waved around the swirling cloak, smoke spilling out, and topped off with a bang! [sparkles pop, cheering]

NOONE: When cloak dropped, he had disappeared, [whooshing] and in his place, were two different kids. They had sticks near their mouths, blowing fire. That did it for the crowd. [Distorted cheering gets louder] Then I remembered– I was playing lookout! But I saw no man in a purple suit, and I was distracted as the firebreathers finished and, jugglers came on.

[More cheering]

NOONE: They took the flaming sticks from their friends, and threw them so high in the air, [Dream!Noone cheering] I… I found myself cheering with the crowd! [Dream!Noone clapping and cheering] And then the lights went down again, [click, drumroll] marking the final act.

NOONE: (Quiet) The spotlight blared again, shining at the top of the tent. Way up… standing at one end of a rope between two ladders… was Rusty. The others stopped, staring in complete quiet. He started walking… slowly… then with more confidence. The silent went on too long, like we were all under a spell. And… that’s when I noticed… [quiet breathing] something beside me, in the seat that had been empty a moment ago.

OTTO: (incredibly distant) The man in the purple suit?

NOONE: I heard him before I saw him. [breathing] T…Two breaths. Why could I hear him breathing? Why could I feel them breathing? My was shaking but, his attention was on Rusty.

[Cheering, Dream!Noone gasps]

NOONE: Noticing that I wasn’t cheering, the man turned. He had no eyes. But I felt him look at me. How can someone with no eyes look at you?

[More breathing, cheering picks up again]

NOONE: Then, I saw a smaller man in his lap. [A smaller, faster set of breathing starts] A- dummy, only… he wasn’t made of wood or plastic, and had hair atop a lumpy face where… a wider mouth had been carved out. Unlike the man, the puppet had eyes, staring at the spotlight above.

NOONE: Suddenly the crowd burst into a cheer, [cheering] as Rusty reached the middle of the rope, but, the dummy’s face crinkled, full of hate- wanting those cheers for himself. I was the only one not clapping, and he turned to face me. I’m not sure if they spoke, or- if it was in my head, but with a smile, they invited me to be part of the show.

NOONE: [Cheering gets louder] That’s when I shouted “Big Top! Big Top!” But the crowd was booming! Rusty made it across the rope, but… but instead of climbing down the ladder he began climbing towards a small cut in the fabric at the top of the tent. I turn back… and the man was still there, limp, but his dummy… his dummy was… [Noone’s breathing picks up] gone, right near- Rusty–

NOONE: [Breathing heavily now] “BIG TOP!” I tried to scream– tearing my throat, but– I had no breath!– And then– [Attempts a deep breath] I saw the dummy– It’s lumpy face peering out from the shadows– at the top of the tent– Waiting for Rusty.

[Ambience become more intense]

NOONE: The man beside me grew shy– both loving the praise, and– regretting the attention. [Noone’s breathing gets faster, ambience picks up] I can hear him breathing again– between breaths– (unintelligible)*– I tried and tried to shout but– it was too late!– Rusty was finally out of the spotlight!– And the tiny doll man lunged!– And– Rusty!– Rusty–

OTTO: [Dream ambience suddenly stops, loud machinery] Did he escape, did he manage?

NOONE, not narrating: Get this thing!– off my head!!

OTTO: Was Rusty able to get away?!

NOONE: [Hyperventilating] NO I DON’T LIKE IT! Rusty!!–

[Noone continues hyperventilating, machinery gets louder]

OTTO: Okay- okay okay- alright, alright, deeep breaths. Deeeep breaths, follow me. Like this now, one-

NOONE: AAA! TWO!! BIG TOP!!

[Otto attempting to get Noone to breathe, Noone having a panic attack]

OTTO: Slow down, slow down, slow down- breathe.

NOONE: RUSTY!! TWO!!! TWO!!!

OTTO: Just breathe-

NOONE: BIG TOP!! THE BIG TOP!!!

OTTO: Two… three… One… two…

NOONE: Deep breaths– One– One body**–

[machinery suddenly shuts down]

OTTO: Noone? [suddenly standing up] Noone! Noone!

[Shifting, moving furniture, crashing. Audio cuts]

[Pause]

[Click, audio starts]

OTTO: Mercifully, the only irreparable damage this evening was the wound cut in Noone’s confidence towards me. (Inhale) What concerns me more is the lack of detail in her retelling. A step backwards, which may be the result of her preoccupation with the testing equipment.

OTTO: Her body dysmorphia was exacerbated. That celebrity doctor’s to blame, whatever he put her through. And all those poor children… but it’s causing her to become furtive.

[pen clicks, paper rustling]

OTTO: I’ve exhumed the journals published by my outer circle of colleagues, with whom I’ve lost touch. [pages turning] While I previously entertained the possibility of a multitude of realms, a singular space seems more probable, and in line with their transcendental musings.

[Closes paper]

OTTO: While their studies are conjecture, I can no longer deny the empirical signs pointing towards such peripheral existence! Why then, are my senses unable to perceive it whatsoever? There’s a veil up. Ha! Yes, like a two-way mirror. Only I’m the one stuck on the side of blind, deaf, and dumb ignorance.

OTTO: (sigh) And the lurking presence of the Ferryman. While he may be a master of dream manipulation, he’s no denizen here. Noone said it many sessions ago: He does not belong in our world. And yet, he’s the connective tissue. I am determined to find his arcane hinterland- to cross into the place she calls… “Nowhere.”

[Outro plays]

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

*It's really hard for me to hear what she says here, sorry!

**Take this with a grain of salt, I'm not entirely sure I heard right

#little nightmares #ln #the sounds of nightmares #tson #noone #otto #ln noone #ln otto #otto ln #noone ln #transcript #the sounds of nightmares transcript #No Ferryman appearance this episode beyond Otto's mention of him...... hrmmm #Otherwise GRARARAGRHGR!!!! GRAAAAHG!!!!!!!!!!! /POSITIVE #THE VOICE ACTORS WERE FUCKING AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#AND THE STORY IS RAAAGH #This episode was written by Supermassive WHICH MEANS this is probably the same Carnival location that'll be in LN3!!!!!!!#Otto. Otto. I am fucking strangling you. You are doing mad science NOT therapy #You deserve to get your license revoked goddamn. You suck at this

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jayswritings13 · 1 year

Text

Total Drama: Mike and Mal Relationship Headcanons

Request: "Can I request dating headcanons for Mike and Mal from Total Drama?"

💗Masterlist | WIP Page

Mike

Very nervous

At first, you thought that it was just because he liked you and such.

You really didn't know too much about Dissociative Identity Disorder to suspect that.

Well, until Mike came out and told you himself.

"....So I take it that you're going to want nothing to do with me now?" Mike glanced away, bracing himself up for you're affirmation of his worst fears.

That he was someone not worth knowing.

That he was strange.

That he was c-

"What?! Of course not!" You said, "You mean a lot to me and a mental illness cannot change that. I want you to know that you have my full support." You paused, smirking a bit at him, "I'm an okay listener."

That was all he wanted: acceptance.

WORDS OF AFFIRATION

Mike is often very self deprecating and negative about himself, so hearing positive affirmations melts his heart and catches his attention like nothing else.

Pet names and nicknames are not so much Mikes thing

That, however, does not stop you.

"Babe, hand me that pencil."

"If Scott wants to fuck with you, then I have to fuck with him, hun. I don't make the rules!"

"You got this, sweetheart."

Mike likes to return the favor through acts of service.

Need help with putting together something? He may not be good at it, but he'll be there.

Sick with the flu? Already picking up cold medicine, soup, and movies to watch/fall asleep too.

Have to clean out your car? He's already done it and made sure to get it washed too.

"How are you so nice?" You laughed, grabbing another handful of popcorn out of the bowl you to shared.

"I don't know. Maybe you're just lucky." He grinned.

"I already knew that, hun. You smiled, "I consider myself very lucky."

"I am too."

Mal

Not to much surprise, he wasn't too shy or nervous about confessing feelings for you in the ways that you expect.

He is actually rather blunt about his thoughts and feelings

Which can lead to fights and arguments

"C'mon, how long are you going to freeze me out?" Mal groaned, rolling his eyes. "I was just honest."

"You called the dinner that I made shitty. I spent all day on that!"

"And I gave you an honest critique for next time. You're welcome!"

Don't expect any romantic or mushy stuff from him.

He is not only horrible at that type of stuff, but he's not interested in any of it.

Flowers? Please that shit turns to weeds faster than it took to grow them.

Cooking a romantic dinner? He can't cook anything that great, but if you want cereal, go for it.

Surprise trips? Hard to plan for trips with his unique situation between him and Mike.

However, this doesn't mean that he doesn't care about you.

He just shows it differently.

Mostly though quality time.

Mal makes sure that you know that he cares for you, but doesn't feel the need to say so excessively.

He mostly likes to spend time around you, even if not doing anything in particular.

And with him being introverted and isolating himself often, that is a huge compliment tbh.

On the other hand, he loves when you shower him with praise or any other words of affirmation.

No pet names though.

He absolutely hates them.

Which means that you love to use it to annoy him.

He knows what you're doing, but he falls for it everytime.

"Sweetie? Can you hand me that?"

"I hate you." Mal stated, handing you your phone.

"Ha! Yeah, okay." You laughed. "Totally believable."

#total drama #jayswritings #total drama headcanons #total drama x reader #total drama mal #total drama mike #td mal #td mike #td x reader

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 8 months

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Do you think the Peters would continue to wear their masks in HQ because it's weird seeing your face on other people even if they're all a teensy bit different or would they have gotten over it quickly?

This kinda opens up a big chasm that I'm SO CURIOUS ABOUT - Because I would assume they'd get use to it, but HOW.

And now this has turned into a long post about

The Spider Society: Multiverse Integration Process Analysis

[In this post I theorize and deconstruct:

The psychological existential damage that would come with joining The Society

How The Society handles integration and mental health for new recruits in everything from those in different timelines (Noir & Webslinger), Duplicates (Like Gwen & Hobie)

These are all headcanons based on.....me.

And...this devolves into a rant a little bit in the beginning BEAR WITH ME - But I hope you enjoy and I'm DYING to hear people's thoughts!! We GETTIN INTO IT]

So. Joining the Society sounds swell. But thinking about it for more than two seconds..

Even the idea is like...borderline traumatic.

Think about it. Like we've only ever seen ourselves in mirrors and photos - mirrors being reflections and photos having a shorter focal length than the human eye.

We normally have a very limited view on how we've ever seen ourselves externally.

So turning up to HQ isn't just seeing yourself - it's seeing yourself WRONG. In a way you've never seen yourself before. Some even theorize that your brain wouldn't even process it as you because of your visual expectations of yourself.

So as a Peter-

Maybe he doesn't even realize at first that the people around him ARE HIM, until it clicks like 'OH. THATS WHAT I LOOK LIKE?!' Is that my face???

It would only take a couple seconds to do the math, but it's still JARRING. To see yourself moving and speaking and actively laughing.

Hearing your own laugh.

HEARING YOUR VOICE SAY THINGS YOU'D NEVER SAY. Literally looking at another Spider-person like 'I would not say that'. It must be so mentally jarring and confusing to suddenly have a new and complete external view of yourself you have no control over - even moreso with such wide variation.

And then it goes even further - as trans person like

I imagine Trans-Guy Peter Parker turning up to campus and realizing '..oh, most other Peters are cis.' The emotions of that would be so surreal and conflicting. Part affirmative of your place in the universe as a guy, but also part isolating or confusing.

Part 'Hell yeah other guys', part 'WTF universe' [Like if I saw cis guy version of myself bruh Idk if I'd hug him or fight him to the death right then and there i REALLY don't know I might snap and go Miguel Mode on that mfer anything could happen]

It even goes further to time eras:

I understand why Noir isn't in the Society. Having a bunch of Spider-people from 2023 saying 'Oh wow you're from 1933, well your life is gonna SUCK for the next decade or two cause in my universe in WW2 Germany-'

Like...that's NERVE-WRECKING.

Cause he'd probably be like 'wow swell, chipper. so umm...is WW2 a canon event because im trying really hard to stop that'

Imagine being from the 1930's and someone comes up and spoils WW2 for you. WORLD WAR 2. SPOILED. Like it's a soap opera.

If someone shows Noir Oppenheimer it's like..game over. What's he gonna do does he even know what an atom bomb is.?????

When joining, everyone is faced with a LARGE possibility of existential damage - even moreso for Peters, minority Peters, or people like Gwen.

Which begs the question - HOW DOES INTEGRATION WORK?

How does The Spider Society handle Integration?

I'm so curious to hear thoughts about this. Because how can you integrate someone of a different history, technological understanding, and basic EXISTENCE without psychologically sending them in a tailspin?

I'm gonna take a crack at it!

Culturally and Timeline wise? -

Culturally, how does one adjust? Like Noir?

I was thinking about this with the creation of my new OC - and I ran into a huge problem in terms off integration.

I recently created an OC who is supposed to come from a Wakanda-like rendition of South America - in a universe where the Spanish conquistadors never colonized.

Which is a lovely thought - But logically speaking

That Spider-person has to go to HQ and be told that in every other world their land was colonized for hundreds of years. *vine thud*

Then that Spider-person would logically, have to be told that large swathes of their culture were either destroyed, desecrated or were never created to begin with because of this colonization

- and that THEIR universe is the only universe where their people survive and thrive.

AND THEN they're looking at her like

'Now that we explained that uhhh can you go through an integration course for us? :) so you can assimilate into our society? but the course is only in widely spoken languages like English and SPANISH. Do you speak SPANISH? Welcome to NUEVA YORK btw'

UH-OH. THAT SUCKS ASS. Who's gonna be the one to tell her that???

Of course she'd be like 'Actually, this is the worst day of my life i hate everyone here and im psychologically stressed beyond repair, thanks for that. your society and multiverse sucks balls btw'

And this is not something I'm choosing to put the character through.

In fact, the character is supposed to be about the empowerment of Quechua people and avoiding the trauma of colonization.

But by simply existing in the context of The Spider Society - Logically speaking - she has to face this huge inevitable trauma and reality outside of her universe.

And that adjustment goes way beyond her learning technology. She'd genuinely be in mourning.

She wouldn't be able to connect with other Latin American Spider-people, because she's NOT 'Latin-American'. That idea is foreign to her.

She'd constantly be told or sent messages that her universe and nation and reality was a novel rarity. A lucky fluke.

There has to be some integration process in place -

If you're from a universe like Barbieland, where your society is matriarchal, you'd probably be really stunned and hurt to experience casual or outright sexism for the first time.

And then being told by other Spiderwomen that - yeah no, your universe isn't actually that common. Most universes SUCK for women.

-That'd scare the shit outta you. You'd be like fine I dont wanna go to other universes I wanna go home and cry

On the other hand, people like Hobie exist, who hail from dystopias. And for them, it's the reverse. The Society may be a new batch of freedom they've never dealt with before.

And they have to be assured they are back not and do have more freedom and that's good. Almost like the deprogramming from a cult (into something another society that's very similar).

Someone would have to explain:

People from different times (or social standings) as well.

Sure, Hobie may have adjusted easy, but we can only assume that. And I've talked before about how learning about other Spider-People, The Society, and their blatant disrespect to what HE considers the point of Spider-man - was probably incredibly stressful for him.

Or even simple things of telling a black Spider-person from let's say 1940 that 'you have equality now - there's groups and movements and you can meet black people from newer universes that are happy and free to do as they please. You can heal'. After DECADES of oppression.

Or telling a gay or trans Spider-person 'Oh, most universes are actually super accepting. I'm sorry yours is so oppressive. The HRT here is great and free.'

EVEN FOR SILLY PEOPLE for Spider-people like lets say Spider-Fool (a silly little guy). How do you explain to Spider-Fool that Miguel isn't a king - he's just some guy and NO horseback jousting with Webslinger is against rules and not a way to settle disputes??

They're not hearing that.

Or explaining to people that Lyla isn't a person and its possible for her to be everywhere at once.

Logically speaking someone has explain this to them right out very early on and I'm so curious about that!!

There has to be something there to mentally support them so they don't crack and also explain to them the nuances of existence in a universe that's literally like the New York of the multiverse- full of dozens of cultures and subgroups.

My Analysis -

So I'm assuming an cultural integration includes:

Some sort of Common World History Course

A Social Etiquette Course and a

Multiverse Minority Sensitivity Course that deals with either accepting and adjusting to the fact you're a Multiverse Minority or how to approach and speak to Multiverse Minorities if you're a Peter or something.

Optionally: The MMS Course may also include routine therapy sessions at the Mental Health Center to check their adjustments

So okay, you've explained the multiverse and how to exist in it! Great

____

Now you have to explain THE TIMELINE.

Which is arguably WORSE. And I'm not even TOUCHING Canon Events here.

Let's talk about Gwen. Because I feel for her. REALLY REALLY BAD FOR HER.

How did they explain to Gwen WHO she was - or WHY these grown men were staring at her?

Imagine being Gwen on day one. Asking herself how all these guys know her name.

She's basically alone beside these new adults and Peter B. - and suddenly large groups of grown men are staring at her because holy shit she looks exactly like their sweetheart who they last saw in a goddamn casket.

Like not only is that gonna really throw off Peters mentally - it's probably terrifying for Gwen.

I'm not slagging off Peters here, but I genuinely think that Gwen's first time on campus would draw crowds. It a genuine situation on campus. Like people standing around her at all times until Miguel makes them stop.

Because when you lose someone SO traumatically, and then suddenly they're in front of you without warning - your first reaction would be to stare, and be totally stunned. It's surreal.

Even if you knew it was 'technically possible'. When they're standing there in front of you after you've seen them buried, your brain needs time to process that.

So I do think that her being there would trigger some kind of event on campus, and not in a good way.

Gwen's like 'How do these people - these GUYS know me? What's this crowd for? Why are some of them crying? This is scary.'

She's 16 for christ's sake.

And then someone has to explain to her who she is, and how she dies. Come on now.

Imagine someone being like 'Oh yeah you break ur back and die from a fall in literally every universe lol. Anyway can you go out and swing at high altitude after an anomaly? thanks, don't fall! - just kiddin'

Wouldn't you be like 'nah actually i wanna never leave my room'?. That could instill a level of fear that's paralyzing because you're waiting for the other Gwen shoe to drop (sorry had to take the pun)

Or even worse -

You're Gwen literally just existing and a grown Peter comes up to you and just shows you your own funeral photo. Like ?????????????? You'd be there like ?????????????????????!!!!!

HOW DO YOU REACT TO THAT???? How do you stop that??? How do you explain or process that?????

That scenario is completely possible in the context of Spiderverse!!

How do they explain to people like Gwen or Hobie their 'PLACE' in the universe?

Especially someone like Hobie who isn't with the shits to begin with.

In the comics, we see Pavitr reflect on The Spider Society and race - and when entire identities are dragged into it - it's going to get confusing.

Did they TELL Hobie's he's Prowler? Would he even believe them?

Or did they let him come across a Prowler only to see them and be like 'M8 that's me that's literally me standing there'

Once again, you may theoretically know it's possible. But also - the human brain isn't made to process that. In the moment you have no idea how you'd react, realistically speaking.

The situation in itself goes entirely against the brain's understanding of fate, reality, and your entire personhood.

Seeing yourself from 3rd person doing actions you would not do is like - forced depersonalization and disssociation. IRL.

You are literally being depersonalized from your actual basic identity. Dissociated and forced to watch from an outside view - except it's not something your brain is doing - IT'S THE UNIVERSE and you're watching it in real time.

There has to be some way all of these people are like - capable of processing all this in a natural way like a university - with some sort of mental support and coaching. It wouldn't be possible without it.

If Webslinger can walk around and see flying cars in Neuva York and not care, then something had to get him to that point.

Timeline wise - I can only guess classes are separated based on need and classifications which I spoke about here.

A Mental Health Course & Identity Coaching for Peters - to help them resecure their identity in a sea of copies

A Mental Health Course & Identity Coaching for 'Not Peters' - like Pavitr

A Mental Health Course & Identity Coaching for Duplicates - like Gwen & Hobie, to help them 'regain autonomy' in a universe in which they are a rarity or a 'lucky chance'

ADDITIONALLY:

For their own safety and privacy people like Gwen and Felicia Hardy (NightSpider) stay in separate dorms, so they're not exposed to Peter's. (not that NightSpider stays on campus. Her penthouse is nice AF)

When a Peter experiences a Gwen Stacy canon event Gwen is put on a short sabbatical - usually Miguel just tells Hobie to keep her in his universe. This is one of the only times he'll tell Hobie to do this, but it's just easier and safer if she's not there.

Villainy Monitoring: For Hobie - extra surveillance, for a number of reasons. But Lyla also calculates his rates of villainy. They're always INCREDIBLY low, and Hobie's file indicates there's basically a 0 percent chance of him going Prowler - BUT it is something they check for. This would go for any other 'Villainous Duplicates' like Harry Osborns who become Spider-man.

Even though she's not too dangerous, NightSpider is considered a light antagonistic-but-not-evil 'Villainous Duplicate' designation in her file.

But those would have to be just the basics.

........... And now that I read this back I see that I may have went a bit off the rails...... hm.

Um...anyway I don't know where I was going for this and I'm not even sure this is what you asked for but I think it's SO interesting psychologically suhkfgdfjgkdf

This also gave me a lot of ideas for how the universes work and the web and how close different universes are but that's a whole other jar of worms.

But if you made it this far PLEASE PLEASE tell me how you think Hobie and Gwen and Your Spidersona would adjust to Spider Society! I'm curious!

..........I don't know how to end this. Thank you for this ask tho!! Here Hobie

(my face after saying the most random shit known to humankind without proofreading and then hitting post like i did something)

#NO PROOFREAD JUST YELLING #gwen stacy #atsv #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #spider society #spiderman #spider-man #spidergwen #spider gwen #Hobie brown #spidersonas #spidersona #pavitr prabhakar #pavitr

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dxckgrxsonx · 2 years

Text

We are Horrible

Fandom - DCU - Batman: Arkham Knight (Video Games) // DCU Comics Pairing - Arkham Knight X RedRoom!Reader // Jason Todd X RedRoom!Reader Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Graphic Sexual Content - Descriptions of Violence - Implied/Reference Suicide (One Mention) - Blood - Swearing - Crying - Unresolved Trauma - M! Receiving Oral Sex - Face-Fucking - Degradation - Boot Humping - Dom/Sub Undertones - Praise! Kink - Choking - Begging - Very Mild Orgasm Denial - Heavy Angst - No Comfort Word Count - 6.3k Notes - If you can't tell, I have big fat feelings for the Arkham Knight. I just??? Love him so very much and basically used my Reader Gloves to express how much I want to jump his bones. I was biting many inanimate objects throughout writing this so if you see teeth marks in random things...it wasn't me.

Also - Would any of you be interested if I started doing a tag list?

‘You horrify me. But at the same time, I horrify myself. We are horrible.’

You hear him before you see him.

All the hair along the back of your neck stands on end and a frigid shiver sweeps over your skin; rocking hard down the interlocking bones of your spine. There’s an awkward hush throughout the group, a tense clack of teeth smashing together when those around you clench their jaw.

His steps are loud–you think he does it on purpose–if he didn’t want you to hear him, you don’t think you would until it’s too late. His posture bleeds authority, this is a man who doesn’t ask permission. He takes what he wants and if you stand in his way, then it’s your funeral.

You’ve heard the stories from those who laid witness to his calculated rage, you don’t ever want to be on the receiving end of that endless wrath.

There’s something uneasy kicking awake in your stomach.

The Arkham Knight is downright terrifying.

It’s not lost on you how afraid everyone is. How the base impulse in the Knight’s presence is to tremble. He makes you feel like prey. Looks at you from behind that mesmerising helmet like he’s already got three ways planned out on how to kill you with his bare hands.

You’ve never met him before. Only joined his team of highly trained militia a few weeks ago, and during that time you’ve trained with a few different people, but never him directly. They have, however, caught you up to speed well enough that you can slip straight into whatever role the Knight assigns.

Some part of you is thankful that you haven’t met him before now, looking at the Knight is almost like staring your murderer in the face. It’s unnatural and the empty space in your chest cavity fills with something that feels like a panic response, feels like fight or flight.

But another part of you—the stupid part of you, the part that has zero respect for authority—wants to go head to head. Wants to push his boundaries, wants to see first hand why those around you are afraid.

In the face of fight or flight you’ve always chosen the former. Preferring to swing your fist at the threat than run from it. Your whole childhood was a panic response, boiled down to fight fight fight, and sometimes, when you look back at it, you understand why you turned into something ugly, something rageful.

Your time in the Red Room helped you control that rage, turn it into something that could be wielded as a weapon. The methods they used were inhuman–you might as well have shot your childhood self through the head–but it worked. They turned you into something powerful, something unstoppable, something utterly evil.

The Red Room burned out everything soft inside you and replaced it.

You hate them for it.

As you watch the Arkham Knight, you see fractured parts of yourself in the way he moves. He hides it well, masks it behind layers and layers of armour and anger and isolation. But you see it in the way he carefully watches everything around him, the controlled way he moves, the way his hands never stray too far from his weapons.

The Knight craves control, needs it.

You know where that need comes from, where it was born, where it rips you open and wedges itself between the tender bones of your ribs. He was once powerless. His entire life suspended on strings in someone else’s hands. You know what that’s like, how it fucks you up from the inside out, twists parts of yourself into something unrecognisable–

How it makes you hate yourself.

You wonder, was he able to cut the strings himself, or did someone else do it for him?

Looking around, you don’t think anyone else notices the barely visible signs of trauma. They look at the Knight and see someone to be respected, followed. They look at him and believe he’ll guide them to victory, to absolute control.

And he probably will.

There’s a cold focus in the way he operates. Something drives him forwards, a goal he’s throwing himself towards with everything he’s got. The Knight is clever, his intellect something to be admired. You’ve been here a few weeks at best and since you’ve arrived, you’ve found yourself more and more impressed.

Leadership isn’t easy in ordinary circumstances, and so the fact the Knight is able to lead his entire army without fault throws your brain into a frantic tailspin.

Without a word, the Knight approaches and you feel that first prickle of panic at the back of your neck. It’s involuntary, your body reacts on a base level - almost like a reflex. It frustrates you how this man is able to pull such a visceral reaction from you when you’ve spent years getting that specific response drilled out of your skull.

You gave up so much to gain so little.

Someone at the side speaks, addressing the Knight directly, “We’ve got the best mercenaries from across the globe ready to follow you into–.”

He cuts the man off with brutal efficiency.

“You two! Raise your weapons.” He barks, voice mechanical, robotic. The Knight stands rigid, controlled, there’s an air of almost smugness surrounding him. He sweeps his gaze across you and the man at your side–calculating. “Kill me and this entire operation is yours to command and profit from.”

Confusion flutters over your face–fast, barely there before you wipe it from your features. Beside you, the guy you’ve been paired with for training–you think his name is Dan, rolls his shoulders, a huge minigun clenched tight in his large fists. He gives you a brief glance, a quick head to toe sweep before settling his full attention on the Knight.

“Is that an order, sir?” You ask, a slight tilt to your head as you consider his words.

“Absolutely.” He confirms.

A smirk tugs at your mouth, that stupid, challenging part of you flaring awake. Adrenaline dumps hard into your bloodstream and you think that there’s always been something dark inside you, something mean and unhinged. Every now and again you wish you could cut it out of yourself, wish you could grab a knife and slice yourself open to take out those parts of yourself you hate.

But the Red Room made you hate every part of yourself. You think that if you start taking parts of yourself away, there won’t be anything left.

The air around your head crackles, tension twisting tight over your throat. The heat baring down from above makes you sweat and the sticky itch of it irritates your skin. The Knight waits patiently opposite, silence echoing through his helmet. Every now and again you feel the heavy weight of his gaze pass over you and it sparks the dry kindles of your patience.

You’ve never liked being watched.

“Well then,” Dan booms at your side, pulling his minigun into a more offensive position. “Let’s get you bleeding.”

Chaos erupts and in a twisted way, you’ve missed fighting against someone who offers a challenge.

Gunfire splits the air in two, it’s loud and jarring and you swing out of the way without missing a beat. Dan heaves his weapon in the direction of the Knight, finger laying heavy on the trigger. Used up bullet casings litter the ground as he pounds through rounds and rounds of ammo without hitting a single thing.

Stupid. Reckless. Undisciplined.

“The man you’re facing cannot be underestimated.” The Knight starts, modulated voice washing over you. The authority and knowledge leaching into the tone makes you listen, leaves you captivated.

He goes for Dan first, and you witness the most incredible display of combat skills you’ve seen outside the Red Room. Leaping onto the minigun itself the Knight uses it as a stepping stone to avoid getting shot through the stomach. Coming up quick you watch with wide eyes as he jumps and lands a brutal kick to Dan’s head.

“I know him inside and out.” He continues, tone unchanged.

Drawing the pistol strapped to your thigh you flick off the safety and fire one shot–just to see what he’s going to do, to find out how he’s going to react. The bullet goes wide, your intention isn’t to hit him, some part of you thinks that he wouldn’t give you that chance. But it gets his attention and the sensation of electricity zips up your spine.

“He is relentless, cunning…and he destroys everything he touches.”

Stepping hard on Dan’s shoulder for momentum he twists into a frontflip, easily clearing Dan’s impressive height and putting him into the perfect position to kick the pistol from your hand. Stutter stepping backwards you fight for separation and manage to dodge the combat boot aimed for your weapon.

“On his worst day, he is your better in every possible way.”

The Knight lands on one knee and when he looks up you feel the blistering heat of his gaze on your face. You level your pistol as Dan collapses to the ground holding his jaw, a horrible groan of pain ripping out of his mouth. Looking down for a split second you glance back to the Knight and raise an eyebrow, mouth twitching into a small grin.

Moving quicker than you can comprehend the Knight darts forwards into your space. Wrapping a gloved hand around your wrist he moves to violently disarm you and probably break your fingers in the process. Using your free hand to grab his armoured shoulder you swing your leg up and hook your thighs around his neck.

Strong fingers briefly scrabble at your knee as the Knight fights for leverage and you twist your hips, using the momentum to throw him off balance. Dipping backwards you swing your weight to one side and drag the Knight down with you as you fall. Releasing your grip at the last second you land easily on your feet as the Knight manoeuvres himself into a controlled roll, sand and dust kicking up around you both.

Slipping your pistol back into its holster you rock into a better fighting stance–lowering your centre of gravity and balancing light on the balls of your feet. Mentally processing the Knight’s skills you search for weak points but come up empty.

You’re no stranger to a difficult opponent–hell, the Red Room was all about putting you against someone older and larger and expecting you to fight your way to victory no matter the cost.

You’d come away from those fights halfway to broken–but that’s what they wanted. The Red Room shattered you into sharp jagged pieces, only to rebuild you in their twisted image. To turn you into some tool, some weapon in someone else's hands.

You’re no better than a loaded gun; just point and shoot.

No wonder you hate yourself sometimes.

No wonder you ran.

Circling one another the Knight stares you down, his presence turns suffocating, he looms over you, all perfectly poised and powerful, “You really think you stand a chance against him?” He mocks, a wicked robotic drawl curling through the air. “A few fancy tricks won’t be enough to take him down.”

You feel like a child again. Up against the endless evil of HYDRA. Put through tests and tests and tests. Each one more taxing than the last until you broke, cried, begged for them to stop. But they never did, just continued to turn you into something unrecognisable, something evil.

“Do you really believe that’s the best I have to offer?” You grin, shark like, all mean edges and sharp teeth.

You strike out first and you realise your mistake seconds too late.

He wanted you to move first, rile you up only to take advantage of your lack of control.

The Knight sweeps your legs, taking you out. You hit the ground with a thud, breath punched straight from your lungs. It’s stupid how such a simple move takes you down but you can’t deny the fact that you didn’t see it coming. You know now, why those around you look to the Knight for guidance, leadership.

He’s strong and clever and always in control.

Rolling to the side you dodge the kick aimed at your ribs by mere millimetres. Springing back to your feet you intercept the Knight’s fist as it comes towards you. Snatching his forearm you shove his attack wide and plant your foot against his chest. Kicking with all the force you can muster you manage to push him back a few steps.

Whilst he’s on the backpedal you regain composure and go on the offensive. Your brain screams that you’re being too aggressive, that he’s too large to go up against head to head, that you’re better staying loose limbed and quick.

But you’re stupid.

The Arkham Knight has you flat on your back in seconds, and a different heat flares awake low in your gut.

Oh fuck.

Forcing his knee against your sternum as he kneels over you he leans in close, mesmerising helmet brushing your cheek. Your fingers sink into the dirt and sand at your sides, overwhelming frustration eating away at the inside of your chest.

“Is that all you’ve got?” He drawls, and you hear the smirk in his voice. “I must admit, I was expecting better.”

Snapping your head up you crash your skull into his helmet. Pain bursts across your nose at the impact and the Knight reels back, knee slipping from its place on your chest. Twisting around underneath him you shove him hard in the shoulder and he gives–not as much as you’d like, but enough to flip you both.

Sitting on his stomach your thighs frame his hips, weapons digging into your skin. The irritating press of his tactical belt makes you frown above him. From feel alone you mentally count at least three grenades and a few other devices; you mark him down as resourceful in your head.

Touching the pads of your fingers against your nose they come away wet with blood and you roll your eyes. As time’s gone on, you’ve found that bleeding is more of an inconvenience than a source of fear. Although you find a dry sort of humour at the fact that everything that causes you pain is Red in one way or another.

“I really hope that he’s having a bad day when I go up against him.” You breathe, and it’s a half truth. “If we just team up and push him down a flight of stairs would that work?”

A strangled cough rips up the Knight’s throat and you feel the laugh caught in his chest seconds before his hand reaches up and curls around your neck, cutting off your air completely. His thumb presses against the thick vein underneath your jaw, you know he feels the desperate flutter of your pulse.

Wrestling you off him he shoves your back to the floor and loosens his fist so you can suck in a breath before tightening it again. Your head goes fuzzy, you feel weightless, maybe even drunk. The sensation fires mixed signals in your brain, half crippling fear, half desperate arousal.

You’re wet.

“Your best is not nearly good enough.” He growls, and you fight the blinding urge to grab your knife and shove it through his ribs. “Reckless, undisciplined, stupid.”

The way his voice dips into a cruel tease sends your brain into the stratosphere, your eyelids flutter, you ache. You never guessed that being strangled and called stupid was your thing, but here you are. Gasping for breath under his hand and getting fucking wet about it.

Finally releasing his hold he straightens up and addresses those who watch on, ��Time is growing short. Deathstroke will be back in a couple days for the rest of your training.” Shoving the tip of his boot into your ribs the Knight looks down at you, panting and covered in dirt and sand, bleeding from the cut on the bridge of your nose, “Get up.”

Rolling to your feet you regard him with guarded caution, there’s still a wicked fire burning in your eyes and you’re not entirely convinced you won’t take a swing at him just because you can, because you’ve always been a poor loser.

Disregarding you, the Knight swings his leg over his bike, the vehicle sleek and black and beautiful.

Turning his attention back to the group his modulated voice reverberates, “The reward is you win Gotham. But winning Gotham means defeating its dark champion and exposing his secrets, and the secret is…he’s only human.” Revving the engine he swings the bike around. “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life and I expect you all to rise to the occasion. Because my secret is…I’m only merciful once.”

Taking off in a cloud of dust you follow him with your eyes, briefly, for a split second, you wonder if you have the time to pull your pistol and shoot the back of his helmet. Dismissing the thought as quick as it comes, you turn to Dan who stands close by, minigun back in his hands.

“Well that was fun.” You mock.

Huffing out a short laugh you notice how his hands shake, “Think I need a new pair of pants.”

Sweat dots your hairline, it beads up along your temples and irritates your skin. Wiping it away with the back of your hand you bounce easily on the balls of your feet and take another swing at the punching bag–fist connecting with a resounding thud.

Pain spiders through your hand, the thin bones trembling faintly beneath your skin. It rocks you up to the elbow and you growl at the discomfort. Twisting your hips you slam your leg into the bag and spin on the ball of your foot. Coming back around you throw a blinding three hit combo into the plastic and exhale.

The bag swings back in retaliation and you swiftly duck out of its path before sliding in behind it and kicking it as it passes. Your hands shake, white tape beginning to turn red where your skin has split under the strain.

Midnight rolls around on the clock and you sigh under your breath.

Your fight with the Knight yanked something loose in your chest. It knocks against the cage of your ribs, calling for your attention over the relentless roar of your own pulse. You know you need to pull it out or wedge it back into place–it can’t bounce around inside you forever–but an emotion you can’t put your finger on swirls through your skull.

“Your best is not nearly good enough.”

Reeling back your fist you slam it into the centre of the bag. Fury bubbles awake in your gut and you snarl. Rolling under the bag as it swings back you leap to your feet and raise your leg in a high arc, hitting the bag in the side with enough force to make the chain holding it rattle. Weaving out of its path you bounce on your feet and raise your fists, ignoring the tape that peels away from your ruined knuckles.

Without the rigorous standards of the Red Room you feel yourself slipping. There’s a horrifying yank at the base of your spine when a sense of failure washes over you. During combat training they would put you against each other–test your skills, test your loyalty. Failure to kill your opponent wasn’t just failure–it was death.

The Red Room never tolerated anything less than perfection, and even though admitting it makes you want to rip out your tongue: you thrived on their standards, would snap yourself into ugly little pieces to meet their impossible standards.

Even though your goal wasn’t to kill the Knight, you still feel that evil prickle of thorns around your neck–still get that crippling sense of dread when you realise you failed. Subconsciously–almost an attempt to make yourself feel better–you think you held back when fighting the Knight. After all, in your head he registers as an authority figure–someone you should look to for guidance, for knowledge. Someone who is untouchable–someone who controls you.

It scares you half to death the way you search for an authority figure in him–how you do it reflectively, the way you do it for guidance, for a sense of purpose.

You don’t even know how to exist for yourself.

In the back of your head you hear yourself weeping, part of you so utterly broken that you wonder if you’ll ever be whole again–if you’ll ever belong to yourself and not someone else. Always stuck between begging for someone to take control of you and hating it with every fibre of your being.

The fury gives way for something else, something worse.

Insecurity.

Tears bubble up along your lower lashes and for one horrible second you want to shoot yourself through the head.

Quiet footsteps echo behind you, there’s something familiar about the gait and weight of each step. You turn to face the doorway, furiously wiping at your eyes expecting to see Dan standing there–his muscular figure taking up the breadth of the door. But what you find is someone else.

The Arkham Knight.

His posture radiates authority–your hands start to shake, there’s something desperate and tired inside you. You want to give it all up. The Red Room was all about making sure you had no control–handlers, trainers, handcuffs around your wrist as you sleep. You never realised that if you left–if you ran–what they taught you would still end up following.

Dropping to your knees you bow your head and cry.

Hiding your face behind your bleeding hands you feel the weight of knowing you don’t belong to yourself press into your shoulders. The pain is alive inside you, it almost feels like you’re dying. You’ve been through torture sessions, you know what it’s like to hurt–but this hurts in a different way, right down to your bones; you don’t know if it’ll ever stop.

Movement registers in the back of your head, even when you’re distracted you’re still able to track people’s steps–if you weren't so consumed with shame, you’d probably be impressed with your subconscious.

The Knight stands directly in front of you, his combat boots touching the tips of your knees. A gloved hand reaches under your chin, tilting your head up and forcing your hands to come away from your face.

Staring up at his helmet through blurry eyes you crack your ribs wide open–

“Please–I can’t–I need yo–” Tears overflow and roll down your cheeks, closing your eyes you swallow, you don’t want to look at him. Squeezing your jaw the Knight gives your head a gentle shake, a demand to open your eyes and look at him. “I need you to–” Your voice cracks, “–please, take control of me.”

Silence echoes for a strangled beat and part of you wants to get up and run.

“Oh pretty girl,” The Knight coos, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Look at you, so desperate, so…broken.”

Your lower lip trembles, you want to duck your head and hide but he doesn’t let you. The Knight keeps his fingers locked around your jaw, the firm grip straddles the fine line between comfort and pain–you wonder if he’ll leave a mark.

“M’sorry. I’m so sorry–please–I can’t…” Your throat closes up, you can barely speak. Wringing your hands in your lap you press the pads of your fingers into your knuckles, use the pain to ground yourself. “You need to tell me what to do–I can’t–I don’t know how…”

“Shh. I’ve got you.” He says, and his thumb presses against your lower lip, the wet salt of your tears caught on the glove smearing over your mouth. Your lips part slightly and he takes the opportunity to slide his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. “Such a good girl.”

Your whole world shudders–crumbles straight to ash, and the Arkham Knight stands at its centre.

Pressing down on your tongue he slips his fingers deeper and you drool, spit leaking from the edges of your mouth. Touching the back of your throat you gag and fight the urge to pull back. Curling his free hand around the back of your head he holds you in place and continues to fuck your mouth with his fingers.

Shifting around on your knees to try and dissipate the ache building in your gut, your fingers drag up your thighs–coming to a slow stop over your covered cunt. Without looking away you press two fingers over your clit and sigh, eyelids fluttering.

A rough boot kicks at your knees, shoving them apart so he can wedge the tip of his combat boot against your pussy–effectively blocking your greedy fingers from where you grow wet and throbbing.

“Behave.” The Knight warns, fingers still sliding in and out of your mouth. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Swiping your tongue between his fingers you suckle gently and wrap your hand around his ankle, keeping him in place. Slipping the digits deeper he reaches the back of your throat again and you forcefully relax to let him explore, tears overflowing and dripping down your cheeks.

“There you go. So good for me.” He praises, releasing the back of your head so he can fiddle with his tactical belt. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

The praise sets you on fire, a dry spark of gasoline on your skin. Back in the Red Room, the only time you got praise was when you completed a task. Whether that was killing an opponent, extracting information, or resisting hours and hours of torture.

You remember the way you’d keen under their words, push yourself past the breaking point just to hear them say you’ve done a good job, that they’re proud of you, that you’re going to have the world at your feet.

It sat wrong in your stomach for years, something young and hurting banging against the inside of your chest when you thanked them for turning you into a monster.

Anything they wanted, you would have done for them.

But this praise is different, it lights you up inside like a goddamn solar flare. There’s no sense of guilt or betrayal, there’s just his words, his gloved fingers sliding rough and wet over your tongue and down your throat. You want to be good–you want to be good for him.

“Poor stupid girl.” He says, rocking his foot up against the sensitive space between your thighs. Grinding down on his boot involuntary you choke on a whimper. “I should have known that under all those fancy combat skills there was a pathetic little slut.”

Biting down on the fingers in your mouth you scowl.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The Knight chuckles, removing his hand from your mouth. “You think I didn’t notice how you reacted earlier? How you got all wet and sticky just from me putting my hand around your throat.”

Heat scathes up your neck, you hate how his words make your body react. Wetness seeps into your underwear, sticking the damp fabric to the swollen lips of your pussy. There’s a quick twitch of your clit as the Knight presses his boot against you harder–rocking it back and forth, dragging the length of your cunt over it.

Digging your nails into his ankle you whine, bottom lip trembling.

Unbuckling his tactical pants he shoves them and his boxers down far enough to free his length–the elastic waistband sitting underneath his full balls. His cock springs up, deliciously long and thick, flushed a deep red at the tip. The thick vein running up the underside of his shaft throbs and a clear bead of precum smears over the head.

Wrapping his gloved hand around himself he gives a long, slow pump and groans, the sound making your wet little hole flutter. Gathering the bead of precum on his thumb he swipes it over your mouth, wiping the taste of himself across your lips. Darting your tongue over his thumb your eyes roll into the back of your skull, the taste of him almost intoxicating.

Tipping your head forwards you mouth at the leaking tip, swirling your tongue over the pretty head of his cock. A strangled noise echoes through his helmet and you grind your cunt down on his boot. Grabbing a fistful of your hair the Knight guides you over his length, making sure you slick up his cock before he presses the fat head into the wet heat of your mouth.

“Uh–fuck…” He moans, hips flexing as he shoves himself deeper. The hand in your hair tightens, holding you in place as he feeds you inch after inch. “You were made for taking my cock sweetheart, you look so–ugh–pretty.”

The thick girth of him makes your jaw ache, you didn’t think your mouth could stretch wide enough to fit all of him in. Spit leaks from the corners of your mouth, dribbling down your chin and landing on his boot between your thighs. Pulling back before he hits the back of your throat he pushes forwards again, forcing his entire length into your mouth.

Brushing the back of your throat you gag, throat muscles squeezing around the tip of his cock. Your fingers clamp around his ankle, eyes watering as he thrusts deeper, your nose bumping against his navel.

“Gonna fuck your face,” He grunts, “Want you to feel me for days.”

Rocking back and forth you drag your leaking pussy over his boot, catching the dips and grooves on your throbbing clit. The pressure makes you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Heat sparks up and down your spine, electricity zapping along your nerves. The position doesn’t give you as much contact as you want, the layers and layers of clothing preventing you from feeling everything–but it’s enough to get you close.

Pulling his hips back you suck in a desperate breath, lungs burning something fierce. Without pausing, he shoves his cock back into your mouth and down your throat–the impressive girth and weight of him settling heavy on your tongue. Easing into a messy rhythm you revel in the sounds you pull from the Knight’s mouth, the little moans and groans that make your pussy gush.

He sounds so pretty, you wonder for a brief moment what his voice sounds like without the modulator. Almost selfishly, you wish you knew his name.

Shifting his free hand he curls it around your neck, swearing lowly when he feels the bulge in your throat as he bottoms out. Forcing you to take his full length he holds you down, hand fisting your hair and preventing you from pulling back. Your nose presses against his lower stomach, spit and drool coating the warm skin there.

“You’re going to swallow it all sweetheart, you hear me?” He grunts, pulling back when you slap at his ankle. Surging forwards his muscular thighs flex, “M’gonna come in your mouth and you’re gonna swallow it all. You’re gonna swallow everything I give you or you’re not gonna come.”

The lack of air makes you feel drunk, eyes glossy and almost unseeing. Catching the swollen mess of your clit on his boot you shake and grind down harder, desperate to relieve the overpowering ache. Pleasure bleeds through your veins, sparking from the tips of your fingers to your toes. You have no control over the situation–you’ve never felt more free.

The Knight’s rhythm falters, breathing erratic. His cock twitches hard in your mouth and you trace the thick vein running along the underside with your tongue and it twitches again, harder this time. A mean snarl pours through the modulator and your whole pussy clenches, wetness oozing from your flushed little hole.

“Fuck–fuck–fuck.” He growls, hands shaking, strong hips sloppily surging forwards. Releasing his hold around your neck he strokes his fingers down your cheek, pressing down and feeling his length in your mouth. “Y’look so pretty–so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” He coos, breathless, “Shit–uh–fuck. Gonna–m’gonna come.”

Throwing his head back he moans, long and low and so, so pretty.

Shoving his cock down your throat his entire body seizes. Holding you down by the back of your head you fight the urge to gag, to struggle and hit out. His thick length twitches and he spills down your throat, ropes and ropes of his come unloading into your stomach. The taste of him floods your mouth and you teeter on the edge of oblivion.

“That’s it, you greedy girl, swallow it all.”

Gasping violently as he pulls back a thin string of spit connects you and the fat head of his cock. Looking up, your eyes water and there’s something pleading in your gaze. Hovering over his boot you feel your cunt pulse and beg for stimulation–you’re so close to coming that one pass of his boot would tip you over the edge.

“Please.” You beg quietly, face burning with humiliation. “Please–I’m so close–please can–can I come?”

Tapping your covered pussy with his foot you whimper–he grinds against your swollen clit harder and your thighs tremble.

“Is that really all it’s going to take?” He says, tone mocking. “Are you really going to come from this?” Pushing his boot up again he stops you from squirming away and you wail, tears streaming down your face. “God–you’re fucking disgusting.”

Your whole world goes supernova, an explosion of colour igniting behind your eyes. You don’t know how he does it–how he knows just what to say to drag you kicking and screaming to the very edge.

“Shit– oh fuck..shit. I’m gonna–hng–please! I’ve been good…I–I swallowed everything–please–oh god! Please!”

Tucking his softening length back into his tactical pants he kneels down, removing all stimulation and forcing a wrecked sob from between your lips. Roughly shoving your knees further apart with his hands he rubs two fingers over your cunt–a quick back and forth pass that has you shaking, hands coming up to dig into his armoured shoulders.

Staring into his helmet you see your own reflection staring back. Watery eyes, sweat dotting along your hairline, spit and drool covering your mouth and chin. Every part of you looks almost pathetic and you know that if anyone from the Red Room saw you now, they’d put you down like a dog.

You want to look away but something keeps you there, you wonder if you’re looking into the Knight’s eyes. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

“Oh you poor stupid girl,” He teases, a cruel undertone bleeding into his words–it sets you on fire, makes you want to grab one of the guns from his hips and slam a bullet through his chest. “What would people think if they saw you like this? Crying and begging like a whore to come just from this–from a little pressure on your pathetic cunt.”

Stroking his fingers over your pussy you gasp, open mouthed and utterly desperate. Circling his digits around your wet, throbbing clit you grind down–hard. Compensating for your movements the Knight allows you to use his hand to get more pressure on your cunt, closing your eyes for a split second you moan.

“Open your eyes.” He orders, that blaring tone of authority wrapping around your neck. “Don’t you dare look away when you come.”

You snap your eyes open.

“Oh–oh…okay–shit. Can–can I come now…please, I’m so close.”

Your clit twitches as you feel your gazes lock, a glittering pulse forcing more wetness out of your clenching hole. You feel half deaf with pleasure, the only thing registering the Knight and his voice and his quick, nimble fingers rubbing against you.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” He finally says, curling his free hand around your neck and squeezing. “Wanna see you make a mess.”

You’re gone.

He makes you work for your breath, air dragging thick through your throat as you convulse and cry out. Your pussy gushes, arousal seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear and dampening your tactical pants. Glittering heat explodes in your veins and the quick, desperate twitching of your clit matches the clenching of your empty cunt.

The pleasure feels alive inside you, sending you straight into the damn stratosphere. You feel high, drunk, weightless. There’s nothing in your head but blinding warmth and his voice, praising you for doing so well, for being so good.

Pressing your forehead to his helmet you barely manage to keep your eyes open.

You don’t think you’ve come that hard before, you’re not sure if your legs will work if you stand. There’s an ache in your fingers as you cling to the fabric of the Knight’s uniform, aftershocks ripping up the fragile bones of your spine.

Releasing your throat the Knight pulls back, forcing your grip on his shoulders to loosen. Grabbing your chin he presses hard enough to make you hiss.

“You’re mine, do you understand?”

A stupid smile tugs at the edges of your mouth, you know he can feel it through his gloves. Of all the people you’ve belonged to–horrible parents, The Red Room, HYDRA, evil handlers who just wanted you to hurt. You think that belonging to him is the next best thing beside belonging to yourself.

It’s twisted, there's something in the back of your head shouting a warning, but out of your whole life, this is the most free you’ve felt. You recognise that you’re broken, a little fucked up on the inside–you can’t function properly without having someone else control you, guide you. A side effect of going through the Red Room and escaping before they can finish their training.

But you think that maybe the Knight is a little broken too. You still see fractured parts of yourself in him. If you look at him for too long, you start to see the little cracks in his armour. He’s been hurt too.

You see him and you understand: broken sees broken.

You gave up so much to gain…something.

“You’re mine, do you understand?”

Yes

Notes - One thing I'd like to mention - I did play around with multiple different endings for this. Some sweeter, some not so sweet. In the end I tried to stick to my characterisation of the Reader (she's a little screwed up from the Red Room) and I kind of wanted to leave it open to interpretation. I do have an outline planned for a second part to this as I want to give the reader a chance to heal, and I also have a few very self indulgent scenes planned *wink wonk*. Plus you know, AK!Jason has me in a chokehold rn.

Anyway!! Hope you enjoyed. It was nice to flex my smut writing fingers after so long, I'll 100% be writing more in the future.

Love Ya!! xx

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