#me against my perfectionism

[littlemoonglow]

Warning: Long post?

—

Jason did not expect his ghost form to feel…like this.

(Oh, dealing with his body randomly phasing through the ground and smacking his face onto hard concrete was not fun, but Jason dealt with that just like with every other hurdle in his life. By being more stubborn than the problem itself.)

It felt like something… settled into place. That was the best way he could describe it.

He felt as if spite and anger were finally not the only things keeping him awake and running. 

He felt calm, almost. Stable, at least. Whatever pent up energy that was stuck in his chest cavity now flowed freely throughout his body, redistributed, instinctually easier to manage.

It's almost like he could breathe a little bit easier.

(After much… ranting that Jason decided to ignore for his own sanity, Danny said that his case ectoplasmic corruption was probably due to the fact that Death, as a concept, doesn’t let go of things easily, time shenanigans notwithstanding.)

(Becoming a half-ghost was seemingly the only working compromise.)

—

Danny once told him that broad strokes of a ghost’s personality could be guessed by looking at their physical appearance. 

Despite the cool powers, this was a slight downside. Jason dealing with the filth of the Earth meant that being to hide his emotions and who he is was kind of important. Life saving, even.

He realized later on that his ghost form was way too easy to read.

—

He looked at his arms covered in bandages, and got reminded of the amount of times he had to patch himself up in the last month.

His jacket was ripped in place he knew that would have been sewn together when he was a living breathing human (well, as much as he could be).

He always looked slightly on fire?

(Danny told him it's probably related to his... core?)

(He know he died in an explosion but really?)

And then, there was his… veil? Shroud? Cloak?

It looked really nice.

But on the other hand…

It drooped when he felt under the weather. It flicked and thrashed around when he’s either irritated or barely holding back his urge to headshot someone.

And—

(No Danny, my cloak was not fucking wagging when you brought me fresh ectoplasm last week, you’ll have to get your goddamn eyes checked—)

He'll deny it until the day he dies (a second time).

And then his cloak could sometimes just…grow bigger. He figured that it acted as an extension of his own body, and had a nice add-on of allowing him to sense things he couldn't see. Hell, he could even make a hand out of it (wacking Danny with it - gently - never gets old). Jason had to also admit it looked cool, with the wispy bits and with one of its sides becoming a bright yellow.

(It reminded him a bit of his time as Robin.)

—

Being a ghost had a lotta perks.

Dealing with targets was so much easier when no one could see you. Inflitration was so much simpler when walls became optional. Cameras will glitch out when he's around, he left no traces visible to the naked eye and, combined with his training, to say that it was useful would be an understatement.

But, sometimes, he feels like he’s changing as well the more he transforms. Not drastically, but enough for him to look back and notice.

He usually was someone who prided on being efficient and straight to the point.

But now he’s starting to… have fun.

He started using his claws whenever he could. Don't het him wrong, he still uses his guns plenty, but there was just something deeply satisfying about vaulting over things, scaling a wall or crawling on the ceiling with bare hands. 

(Punching people is still the most satisfying by far, though.)

That one time hunting down the Joker wannabes was fun too.

(Danny said he’d get along great with Skulker? Did Jason want to find out? No.)

Fading in and out of invisibility, he picked them off one by one, watching as panic and dread slowly but surely creeped up on the remaining ones.

(After all, he has no respect for those trying to emulate the dead clown.)

—

(Yeah, the Joker was dead.)

(Surprisingly, that has not been a good day.)

—

One of the favorite things he liked to do was rooftop parkour. The… bendability of gravity is… fun, not gonna lie.

(Not flying though. Jason is used to having feet in regular contact with solid ground, thank you very much. No offense, Danny.)

But he gets why ghosts love to fly. When he’s jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Gotham in the at night, watching the city light fly by, cloak spread behind him, it’s as if nothing else matters. 

(No Joker, no petty criminals to beat up, no avoiding the Bats so they don’t find out about his existence—)

He can just enjoy, even just for a little bit.

—

(Somehow the Demon Brat and Orphan could sense him. Will keep and eyes on those two, and also the more reasons to avoid them.)

(The real problem was the new Bat in town. Bruce, what the fuck, another one? Again?)

(The yellow one, Signal. No time to check his profile yet, but probably a meta or something.)

(First night out and the guy almost managed to actually fucking see him —looked at him straight in the eyes and all, then did a double take. Jason never phased into the pavement so fast in his entire fucking life.)

(And so far no Bats on his cloak tails yet.)

(He did help the guy incognito, just a couple of times.) 

(And he also did steal his escrima sticks for fun, and once the guy went out looking for them, he’d put them right back where they were.)

(Turns out, he discovered later, that being a little shit runs in the ghost community.)

—

(Sometimes he also wonders what happened to Danny before they met.)

(He wasn't a Gothamite, that was obvious. He doesn’t pry, but it doesn’t take a lot to piece two and two together.)

(He just wonders who he has to kill this time.)

—

(Jason could not believe he forgot and underestimated just how fucking persistent every single one of the Bats could be. Of course it had to run in the family.)

He gazed down, thought the agony, at the gaping wound under his right armpit.

(The Bats have been chasing him relentlessly for a while now. He got more injuries than he can count, especially from Bruce.)

(They know. Oh, they know.)

(It didn’t go well.)

(He knows the others are there surrounding him to prevent him from escaping, he knows that Dick is right behind him, but at the moment he couldn’t care less.)

It has been a long time since the last time he got shot.

(It felt like someone set his right side on fire.) 

What was flowing out in abundance was a neon, toxic green.

(The Pit Waters, ectoplasm, he didn’t even know that he could fucking bleed in ghost form—)

(Danny—)

He looked back up at Batman, holding a (frankly) ugly gun, white casing and highlights in the same shade of toxic green. 

(A gun that Danny warned him about. And everything behind it.)

Jason felt something in him... snap.

(Why did it have to be you, Bruce.) 

His mouth opened—

(waitsincewhenhecoulddothatthroughtthe mask—) 

(Jason could see the billows of neon green smoke—)

(He couldn’t see Bruce’s expression.)

(Every. Single. Goddamn. Time.)

— and wailed.

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

I am genuinely delighted that my last post got that much attention! Thank you so much, to all who liked, rebblogged and commented, it really does mean the most. 💕

This AU may be continued? No guarantees, tho.

For those interested: Part 01

@fandomnerd103 @phoenixdemonqueen @satisfactionbroughtmeback @ascetic-orange @apointlessbox @bathildaburp @fisticuffsatapplebees @aisforanonymity @phandomhyperfixationblog @help-i-need-a-cool-username @hashtagdrivebywrites @did-i-miss-anyone-tagging-is-a-monk's-job-first-time-doing-this-aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[insertsomthinawesome]

⚜ L u o c h a ⚜

[autistme]

Laura + guitars souls

2008 IFeelSickToMyStomach blogpost 2016 She Shreds interview 2018 Making of Park Life Forever (reupload) 2020 Reverb interview

[god-ridden]

Alas, when will i finally finish something?

[xawkward-ariesx]

The problem with leaving it ages between updates is the longer you wait, the more pressure you put on yourself for it to be perfect which just further disincentivises you from writing. But like girlie it doesn't need to be perfect, it just needs to be written

[persephonesfill]

god sometimes i feel like all of my writing is just a waste of time

[katetheworm]

guys guys I'm doing it, I'm writing a first draft and not trying to make it as perfect as my final draft will be :)))

[helluvapoison]

heyy i was wondering if you could do like Lucifer x reader getting married if ,you want to ofc🫶

btw i love your work so muchh, thank you!!🫶(also english is not my first language so i hope i didn't write anything wrong)

Absolutely I Do

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

a little insight to your wedding with the king

[part ii (18+ only)]

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• What would be a tamer version of a bridezilla? Not quite lashing out at everyone and their mother over the tiniest details but blowing a fuse when white roses arrive and he specifically asked for white gardenias?

• That would be Lucifer

• Asmodeus is his best man and the other Sins are his groomsmen, they’ll handle the flower debacle and any other matter that needs saving

• Good natured Charlie was given, arguably, the easiest task of holding onto the rings! She’s more than capable of planning the entire event on her own (and she asked to… twice) but Lucifer wanted her to enjoy this wedding as he wouldn’t be having another

• It’s part of why he wants this to go perfectly!

• He never thought he’d find another love after Lilith. He didn’t even realize that while you were delicately filling in the crater she’d left, he was falling more and more in love with you

• The other part, his pride and perfectionism aside, is that while it may be his second wedding, it’s your first. In his eyes you deserve only the best and he’ll be damned all over again if he doesn’t deliver

• You told your fiancé (FUCK he loved that word coming out of your mouth, almost as much as he was going to like husband!) to at least try to not go overboard. To which you received a “Me? Overboard? Darling, I would never! Simple and elegant, that’s what the headlines will say!”

• The many, many, many vision boards said otherwise. However you already knew damn well “simple and elegant” translated to grandeur and extravagant– and that’s exactly what it was. To Lucifer’s credit, it wasn’t gaudy or blinding. It really was a gorgeous spectacle

• Per his request it’s an all white event, a stark contrast to the overall location. The guest list is massive. After all, Lucifer’s still a king and certain people would be offended if they missed an occasion like this. Everyone goes all out. Bodies pour into chairs, everyone dripping head to toe in white garments and glamorous jewels

• Lucifer preened and primped, checking the mirror a couple hundred times and asking whoever was in the room if he looked ok. Anything less than “outstanding” had him groaning as he turned back to the mirror

• The wedding suddenly seems like a terrible idea. Not because he has cold feet (he’s rather sweaty, actually) but because the moment he sees you he just wants to steal you away

• You are positively and wholly breathtaking. The stars are jealous over how you outshine them! He can’t do anything but stare in amazement as you walk down the aisle

• Does he, Lucifer Morningstar, vow to protect, love, cherish and serve you for all eternity? Undoubtedly. He adds a few his own too like spoil you rotten, compliment you hourly, never ever never let you feel like you’re alone— all things he’s already done but wanted to make it “official”

• “It’s been an honor to be your confidant and friend… but I’m dying to do that and more as your husband.”

• Then do you take him to have and to hold, for better or worse, richer or poorer?

• “I do.” You answer proudly, squeezing his hands ever so slightly

• Forgetting present company, forgetting he’s a king and supposed to act dignified, Lucifer doesn’t wait to get permission to kiss you. He jumps slightly, knowing you’ll catch him instantly. Hugging your neck he crashes his lips onto yours

• You giggle against him, returning the kiss briefly before setting him down. (Hell knows he’d get carried away and forget much more if you didn’t)

• “I do believe you’re my husband now, Luci.”

• The entire wedding may as well have been a surprise party the way his eyes widened, as if it only just set in what the ordeal was for

• “Oh my golly, I’m your husband. I’m your husband! Hey everybody, I'm their husband!”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ don’t apologize, you did great friend! thank you so mochi and i hope you enjoy

[thelonelyshore-if]

DEMO

Update Wordcount: 59,904 Total Wordcount: 114,296

Finally, the chapter one (part one) update is here! I've been fighting tooth and nail against my own perfectionism, but my partner assures me that the chapter is good and I think I'm finally happy with where it's at. In this update you can:

Wake up!

Have a conversation with your host (Jay, Ravi, or Dr. Jones)

Go for a drive!

Return to the lake, or check out a gas station in the middle of nowhere.

Eat Breakfast! Meet Beck & Perri!

And that's it, nothing else weird will happen at all, I promise <3

There's a good amount of branching in this one. Three starts, two distinct middle paths, and it all comes together at the end. Because of that it might feel a little shorter than its almost 60k words (somehow the edit made it longer this time???), but I'm feeling good with the length.

Apologies in advance, but you'll need to start a fresh save for the update. I ended up changing the variables in the prologue quite significantly. Additionally, the content warnings page has been updated for chapter one, part one, and can be found here. Feedback is always welcome! My askbox is open, and the forum post for the WIP is another great place for feedback. That can be found here. Thank you so much for your support, and I hope you enjoy!

[makeyoumine69]

Being Bateman's Tradwife | NSFW HEADCANON

Pairing: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader; CW: SMUT, Romance and mostly Fluff. Links: [MASTERLIST]; Song Rec: Isabel LaRosa — i'm yours; A/N: This is dedicated to @batemans-malewife, I hope you like it, my dear friend! 💗 If you find any mistakes regarding gn!reader, please let me know.

At first, the whole idea of being a tradwife made you nervous, especially when Patrick insisted that you quit your job and let him take care of all aspects of your life; not to mention his complex personality and unhealthy perfectionism in almost...everything?

But then, when you finally decided to give it a try, the hurricane of domestic life consumed you faster than you could imagine, and you didn't notice how you got used to making him breakfast in the morning before he went to work.

Bateman would watch you float around his modern kitchen like a fairy, wearing something neat and tight that would make him hard even after the morning sex you had a few moments ago; his hazel eyes would peer over the Times he was reading, not missing a sway of your delicious hips. And when Patrick would trap you between his massive frame and the kitchen counter, you would just gasp and smile innocently, pretending you were not seducing him all this time.

Romance. Oh, sometimes Bateman could be such an old-fashioned romantic, who loved to give you flowers, lingerie and various other gifts because he wanted nothing more than to make his dear wife happy; although his generosity was charming, there were moments when you found it embarrassing, particularly when Patrick took you to Tiffany & Co. and asked you to pick out any jewelry you liked. After all, Bateman enjoyed spoiling you because he COULD afford it.

Living under the same roof as Bateman meant being ready to be caught by him anywhere — even if you were just going to take a shower, this man would catch you there too, hugging you from behind and pressing your wet body against his strong one, kissing your neck while his hard length rubbed between your legs, turning you both to the point of no return when your single moan was enough to ignite his desire.

"Mmhhm-Patrick..." The way you called out his name drove him absolutely crazy, especially with your eyes closed like that, Bateman couldn't resist it.

"Fuck, you look so cute like that," he purred in your ear before tugging gently on your hair to make you arch your back. "Spread your legs wider, yeah, just like that," his praise was sweet as honey, warming your heart and inducing you to forget how to breathe. "Uh, such an obedient little Bunny."

The way his thick cock brushed over your ass would set your body on fire, his tight embrace would make you feel so small and fragile but at the same time so protected and cherished; it was the best feeling in the world to be held in the arms of your beloved man.

Hot and bothered, Bateman would nip at your shoulder blade and give himself a few hard strokes before leisurely pushing himself into your tight hole, relishing the way you clung to his brawny biceps and gasping at how perfectly he was stretching you from the inside out.

"Mmm-so good, you feel so fucking good," his low groan echoed off the shower walls, mingling with the sound of the flowing water. "Relax, honey, I got you."

And he really meant it when he said those words. 

Every time you had sex and Patrick saw you struggling to take his huge dick, he would soothe you, but never stop ramming into your malleable flesh, forcing your legs to shake and your throat to spasm in lewd whimpers.

This man was everything to you, and you were everything to him.

Waking each other up by giving oral pleasure would become your favorite ritual that would help you unleash your carnal desires, because there was nothing shameful about making the person you loved feel as good as possible.

Bateman's breath would hitch at the touch of your wet tongue on his swollen tip as you lapped at it like a curious kitten, your coy ministrations would amuse him but at the same time they would be the most powerful fuel for his arousal.

On top of that, there would be evenings of watching his favorite slasher movies, which would turn into something spicy as soon as you snuggled up against his broad chest, seeking protection because you were scared. Patrick would make you sit on his lap and kiss you so passionately that you would moan into his mouth, spurring him on to use his hands more brazenly, squeezing your ass and hips without shame.

And if you were jealous, he wouldn't punish you for it, no. It would boost his ego for sure, but he would do his best to show you that you are the only one he desires at all costs. Bateman would worship every little part of your body or fuck you senseless if it would help demolish any silly thoughts about you not deserving him.

"Baby, look at me," Patrick mused, cupping your sad face in his big palms. "I want you to remember what I'm about to say."

Lowering your head, you closed your eyes for a second before finally daring to look into his dark ones. "I'm sorry to bring this up again. It's just..."

"Shhh, (y/n,) listen," his voice became even more affectionate after your words. "You are my darling, my beautiful wife. I chose you and I don't need anyone else," Bateman's hand slowly traced your cheek, wiping away your shimmering tears. "Because I've found myself in you."

To prove his words, the man sealed your lips with a kiss full of love and tenderness, constantly caressing your face and holding you close.

The two of you wouldn't even remember how long you stayed like that on the Manhattan Bridge, hugging each other so tightly as if you were two magnets. Even if the whole world was against you, you would always have each other, and that was the only thing that mattered.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[maximoffwitch]

for the 1k celebration, could i please request from the smut list #126. "I'm sorry but, I don't think I can remain professional any longer." with natasha x fem(she/her) reader? 🥺

Keeping It Professional

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

warnings: 18+ !!! heavy sexual content, swearing, strap-on use (r receiving), fingering, reader has a praise kink, oral, mature content overall!!

word count: 2.7k

a/n: wow okay so this is like the smuttiest thing i have ever written i honestly don't know what i'm doing so pls be kind 🫣 also pls ignore the fact that this request is over a year old and from a celebration i never finished 😭 and as a reminder: this blog is 18+ !! (because this comes up in the story CEO is Chief Executive Officer and CFO is Chief Financial Officer :))

“You wanted to see, Ms. Romanoff?” You entered the large corner office, gently closing the door behind you.

“Yes, (Y/N),” the redhead didn’t even look up at you, her eyes still glued to whatever important documents she was reviewing. Natasha Romanoff was one of the most powerful CEOs in the city, if not the world, starting her own consulting firm at just 23. By the time she was twenty-eight, Widow Enterprises was the most successful firm in the entire country, making Natasha the first female executive and the youngest to lead an industry.

Oh, and she was also your boss. Working as Natasha Romanoff’s personal assistant was often a thankless job. The long hours and tedious tasks left little room for a social life, and your boss’s stoic perfectionism did little to ease your days.

“Please sit.” Natasha motioned to the two chairs in front of her desk, finally looking up and setting down her pen.

You obliged, taking a seat across from her. 

“Do you know why I called you into my office, (Y/N)?” The redhead leaned back into her chair, as she carefully observed you.

You frowned, quickly racking your brain for any reason why your boss could want to talk to you so out of the blue and, apparently, in such a serious manner.

“Did you want to discuss the upcoming board meeting?” You subconsciously crossed your legs and adjusted your slacks, a nervous habit you picked up in said board meetings—being one of two women in a room of men is nerve-racking, to say the least. “I prepared all the notes and slide decks, but did you want me to forward them to you to review?”

Natasha had stopped double-checking your work about six months into your tenure there, as you had proven yourself more than competent. But you would understand her hesitancy, seeing as this meeting was with corporate executives who, if you had to guess, possessed the majority of the world’s wealth.

“No, no,” Natasha nonchalantly waved her hand, “I trust you have that all under control.”

You let out a small sigh of relief before knitting your brows. “I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff, but then I can’t say I know why I am here.”

Natasha hummed as she stood up from the chair and made her way around the desk.

“I have a problem,” she revealed, as she sat on the edge of the desk and crossed her arms before lowering her voice, “with you.”

You nearly choked on your breath, your own anxiety choking you. 

Seeing you were at a loss for words, Natasha continued, “Now don’t get me wrong, your work speaks for itself. I have no issues with the way you do your job. In fact, you are the best personal assistant I have ever had.”

Your eyes widened at Natasha’s rare compliment. 

“Then what,” you cleared your throat in an attempt to rid the nerves from your voice, “what is the issue?”

“The issue is.” Natasha pushed herself off the desk and circled you as if you were her prey. When she hovered behind you, she bent down and whispered, “I don’t think I can remain professional any longer.”

You remained frozen, clenching your thighs together, as the feeling of your boss’s warm breath against your ear caused a tightness to coil in your lower abdomen.

Natasha smirked at your body’s reaction, before gently running her fingertips across your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their path.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” She brushed a loose strand of hair from your neck, exposing more of your skin. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

You should yell that this was outrageously inappropriate, that you really shouldn’t be doing this in the middle of the work day, that this violated every single one of HR’s rules.

But you didn’t; you couldn’t. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you wanted her.

Craning your neck, you turned your head to meet Natasha’s salacious gaze and nodded.

Natasha raised her brow, amused. “Use your words, doll.”

“I want you,” you husked.

“Oh, I know you do.” She gave you a smug grin, firmly cupping your chin while running her thumb over your bottom lip. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you stare at me during meetings or the way you flaunt yourself around my office in those tight pant suits.

“Are you that desperate for attention, little one?”

“Only yours,” you panted, need bleeding through your voice.

“Good.” Natasha clicked her tongue, pleased by your answer, before guiding you to stand. “Now turn around.”

You obeyed and turned your back to her, gasping when Natasha gripped your hips and pushed you against the desk, her front pressed against you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” she growled as she pulled your hair, causing you to arch against her. 

“Every time I see you and your wide doe eyes, so eager to please, so eager to be fucked,” Natasha nipped your neck, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your mouth. At that moment, the redhead could not be more grateful for the soundproof walls of her office, “I want to bend you over my desk and give you what you want.”

"Yes, please,” you groaned, grinding your hips against her front, liquid arousal pooling in your stomach as you felt a bulge in Natasha’s slacks.

“Please what?” She kissed the corner of your mouth, as she nimbly worked her fingers to unbutton your pants, slowly sliding the waistband down.

“Fuck me,” you begged, “please.”

“So needy,” Natasha shoved her hand down the front of your black-laced panties, where she was instantly met with a desperate wetness.

“You are so wet, princess,” she teased, her fingers circling your clit slowly, “and I’ve barely even touched you.”

Before you could plead for more, Natasha plunged two digits into your heat, stifling your moan with a searing kiss.

Your tongues languidly danced together, fighting for dominance. Natasha quickly won that battle, simultaneously biting your bottom lip and curling her fingers deeper into your core.

“God, fuck,” you moaned as she pushed you down onto the desk so you were completely bent over at her will, your pants pooling at your ankles.

“Natasha is fine.” You could practically hear her smirk, but you were too far gone to say anything. All you could do was clench your walls around her fingers, silently asking for more.

Natasha added another finger as the heel of her palm rubbed your clit. You could feel yourself approaching the edge, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold on.

“Be a good girl.” She leaned down and kissed the shell of your ear. “And come for me.”

“Natasha!” you cried out as you let the waves of pleasure crash over your body. Natasha kept her fingers in you, slowly pumping them in and out, as she gradually brought you down from your high.

As she finally slipped out of you, you whined at the loss. Natasha wrapped her arm around your chest, pulling you up and back against her.

“Taste.” She stuck her glistening fingers before your mouth, and you obeyed. Wrapping your lips around her digits, you stared directly into her eyes and swirled your tongue to taste your own pleasure.

Natasha’s eyes darkened at the action as you released her fingers from your mouth with a pop.

“You’re such an obedient assistant, aren’t you?” Natasha hummed, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. “I bet you’d do anything I asked, hm?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your shame long gone, as you submitted yourself completely to the other woman.

“Good.” She kissed the corner of your mouth before taking your hand in hers. “Now, come suck my strap.”

You stepped out of your pants, goosebumps rising up your legs as you were left only in your underwear and half-buttoned silk blouse. 

As Natasha sat down in her chair, she pulled her own slacks down her thighs, revealing a decently sized strap-on, and your mouth watered at the sight. You lustfully eyed Natasha, who scooted her hips to the edge of the seat.

“Get on your knees for me, pretty girl,” the redhead directed as she worked to unbutton her shirt.

You sank to your knees in between Natasha’s legs, ignoring the harsh vinyl floor beneath you. Softly rubbing your hands up her thighs, you stared up at her and took the tip of the plastic cock in your mouth.

Natasha watched you with an intense gaze, her eyes unable to leave the sight of her strap-on slowly disappearing deep into your throat. As you bobbed your head up and down, coating the dildo with spit, Natasha groaned, throwing her head back. 

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” She took a fistful of your hair in her hand, controlling your pace. “I bet your pussy is just aching to be filled by my strap.”

You wantonly moaned and increased the pace of your movements, causing Natasha to hiss, as the strap-on rubbed against her clit.

Natasha tightened her grasp on your hair and tugged at your scalp, sending a shock of pleasure through your body at the brief moment of pain.

“Are you gonna let me fuck your mouth, princess?” She looked down at you, waiting for your eyes to meet hers. Nodding slightly, you widened your mouth and relaxed your throat.

“Good girl,” Natasha cooed, as she brought her other hand to gently caress your cheek before firmly taking hold of the back of your head.

Natasha bucked her hips, hungrily chasing her own release. The squelching sound of the dildo plunging into your throat echoed around the office, as your eyes began to water. 

“So good,” Natasha threw her head back, still rutting into your mouth. “So close.”

Feeling herself right at the peak, she thrust her hips up and pushed your head down, causing you to choke and lose your breath momentarily.

“Fuck!” she cried, her body stilling as her orgasm washed over her. Gasping, you released the strap from your mouth. You looked up at Natasha, who was also catching her breath. 

“Come here.” Natasha softly hooked her finger under you chin. You stood from your kneeling position and moved in between her legs, leaning forward to meet her awaiting lips. 

This time, Natasha kissed you with less urgency and more passion, as if she had all the time in the world.

“You did so well, milaya,” she cooed, the praise along with the Russian term causing your walls to clench around nothing. Natasha grinned, as she saw your thighs involuntarily clench together. “You want to ride me?”

Though she posed it as a question, you could tell there was little room for debate. 

Nodding, you bit your lip and shrugged your shirt off your shoulders. You kept eye contact with Natasha as you slowly shimmied out of your ruined underwear.

The redhead followed your every move with blatant desire, gulping when she watched a string of wetness cling to the fabric as it fell down your legs.

Bracing yourself on the back of the chair, you straddled Natasha’s lap, hovering over the dildo.

“You are so perfect.” She kissed your exposed cleavage, biting your skin before soothing it with her tongue. “So perfect and so ready to be fucked.”

“Yes, Natasha,” you rested your forehead against hers as she teased your entrance with the strap-on, “please fuck me, take me, make me yours.”

“You’re mine,” Natasha growled, pulling your bottom lip between her teeth as she pushed the tip into your heat.

“Yours,” you sank down, the toy stretching your walls perfectly, and the two of you moaned in unison. Neither of you moved, allowing you to adjust to the size.

Slowly, you started to move, pulling another cacophony of sounds from the woman beneath you.

“Faster, (Y/N),” Natasha gritted through her teeth as she gripped your hips. “Ride my cock.”

You followed her commands and bounced up and down on her strap. Natasha eagerly bucked her hips up, matching your rhythm.

“Fuck, Nat,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as Natasha reached around you to unclasp your bra, allowing your breasts to bounce freely. 

“That’s right.” She pinched your nipples between her fingers, causing you to let out to a guttural moan. “You’re such a good girl, riding me like the slut you are.”

“Nat,” you pleaded, feeling the coil tightening in your abdomen. 

“Are you close, princess?” 

You nodded with a whimper, grinding your hips down onto Natasha’s.

“Chase your pleasure,” she whispered, as she brought your forehead to meet hers.

You stared deeply into her eyes as you relentlessly rode the toy. 

“I’m gonna come, Natasha,” you gasped, your breath hot against her lips.

“Not yet, darling,” she commanded, causing you to pout. Natasha slipped her hand between your bodies, her fingers ghosting over your clit. “I want us to come together.”

You let out a whine, your pace even more frantic than before, as Natasha began to rub tight circles against your bud.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” she grunted, her thrusts becoming sloppy. Pinching your clit, Natasha surged forward to kiss you, before mumbling against your lips, “Come with me, my good girl.”

You both cried out, pleasure overtaking your bodies at the same time. Melting into her embrace, you rested your head against her shoulder. The two of you basked in the post-coital silence, the toy still buried deep inside of you.

Remembering where you were, you lifted your head and tenderly smoothed Natasha’s disheveled hair. 

“How was that?” You gave her an amused smirk.

“Perfect.” She grinned blissfully. “You were absolutely perfect.”

“Better than you imagined?"

“So much better, my love.” Natasha gently kissed you, her way of thanking you for fulfilling her fantasy. Though she knew you got just as much pleasure out of it as she did.

“Good,” you separated, pecking her lips once more before demounting from her lap. 

“Where are you going?” she whined, removing the harness and tossing it aside as she watched you gather your clothes.

“James’s soccer practice is ending in twenty minutes, and I told him I would pick him up.” You fastened the buttons on your blouse before walking around the desk to where your pants were.

“Don’t we have a sitter for that?” Natasha joked, though you could tell she was still disappointed by your departure.

“We do.” You used the desk to balance yourself, as you slipped on your heels. “But I gave Kate the day off because I promised James I’d pick him up.”

“Fine,” Natasha stood up, pulling her own pants back up and buttoning up her shirt as she walked over to wrap her arms around your waist, “but I had other plans for us.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, straightening out her collar. “I was serious earlier about sending that slide deck over to you to review, if you want.”

“And I was also being serious earlier,” Natasha shot you a knowing wink, “I trust you have that all under control.”

“Good, because I do,” you smirked confidently.

“Best. CFO. Ever.” She emphasized each word with a kiss.

You preened at the praise, a slight blush tainting your cheeks. “Well, now I have to go be the best mom ever. Seriously, love, I have to go.”

“Alright,” Natasha relented, letting her hands fall from your hips.

“Don’t worry, we’ll finish what we started later,” you whispered, pecking the corner of her lips, as you slipped something in Natasha’s breast pocket. “I’ll see you at home, love.”

“Counting on it.”

You lightly patted her chest and winked, before making your way out of the office, making sure to close the door behind you.

After you left, Natasha cleaned up, ridding any evidence of your activities and reorganizing her desk. As she prepares to resume her work, powering on her desktop, Natasha feels something in her breast pocket.

Reaching into her pocket to retrieve whatever you put there earlier, she grinned at what she pulled out.

“Little minx,” Natasha chuckled, fiddling with your lacy black thong in her hand before tucking it back in her pocket.

Best. Wife. Ever.

[appendectomy]

people talk a lot on here about wilson accepting house in his whole messed up neurotic entirety but not enough people talk about the inverse. wilson is an incredibly neurotic personality, and although house jibes him constantly for it, in practice he is actually very touchingly accepting and accomodating. i just watched 6x19 which is the episode house tries to break up sam and wilson by doing all of wilson's pet-peeves like stacking dishes in the dishwasher wrong so he'll blame sam and resent her. which yeah is hilariously possessive on the surface. but it also implies that 1. house is aware enough of wilson's eccentricities that he can immediately spot when something is going to irritate him, such as the whole milk-in-the-fridge-door thing, and 2. that house is not only reflexively aware of these eccentricities, but also that he accomodates them enough in their everyday lives that a re-emergence of these annoyances is noticeable to wilson. to the point he correalates it with sam re-entering his life instead of house meddling. and also maybe 3. that house is aware enough of wilson's behaviour and body language that he picks up on what annoys wilson without wilson having to tell him, because wilson hates doing that, or that wilson is comfortable enough around house that he doesn't mind sharing these pet-peeves with him even though he doesn't like sharing them with his romantic partners.

house hates things he veiws as illogical or pointless, he rags on wilson for his obsessiveness about health and appearances, but he also cares enough about wilson to actively change his behaviours to accomodate the things that irritate him. he puts the milk in the body of the fridge instead of the door, not because it's suggested he cares at all about prolonging its shelf life, but because he knows wilson cares. sam balks at wilson and disdainfully suggests he has ocd (which i consider a win for my personal projection onto wilson, but that's besides the point) when wilson brings up his own perfectionism. but house accepts wilson in his neurotic entirety, and accomodates him so that they can live together relatively happily. to me, that suggests that house understands wilson's obsessive tendencies better than most 'regular' people, probably because of his own obsessive tendencies, which makes them complement eachother quite well. wilson is the exception for house, house would give up his crusade against pointlessness and his desire to push people's buttons if it meant keeping wilson around. he'd do it all the while complaining, but he'd still do it. this is the kind of thing that really strikes me bc it shows how comfortable and routine house's love for wilson is. it's domestic, it's relenting, it's just who they are. house's love for wilson is lived-in.

[foliosriot]

Noah As Your Boyfriend

NSFW headcanons under the cut — 18+ only MDNI or i’ll block you

SFW

he is so down bad for you it’s not even funny

but he isn’t always super obvious about it

(he’s gotta keep his “cultish” persona in check one way or another, right?)

seeing you in his hoodies is more attractive to him than anything else

just seeing in his clothes is so fucking hot to him

he isn’t a huge fan of pda but will always make sure he has a hand on you one way or another

whether that’s holding your hand, a hand on your lower back, thigh, etc

it keeps him calm

a teddy bear and is very cuddly

bc of his blatant perfectionism, he is very keen to the finer things and minute details

even if it seems insignificant to you, that doesn’t mean it is to him

he has everything memorized, from your favorite snacks and movies and songs and books, and he knows your go-to orders from various different restaurants

he wants to know you more than anything

he’s such a good listener!!!!! he could listen to you talk about whatever is on your mind for hours

again- he wants to know you, plus he loves your voice so much

runs samples and lyrics by you to get your thoughts, bc your opinion matters to him more than almost anyone else’s

while on tour he constantly texts you and checks in on how you’re doing

you’re his rock and he would destroy himself if it meant you would be happy and content

such a good kisser and overall lover (do not fucking @ me i feel it in my bones)

NSFW

this boy loves soft, slow sex more than anything

he loves being so close to you and feeling your body pressed up against his

when it’s one of those days, he loves having you in missionary or riding upright

that way, he wraps his arms around you nice and tight and moves your bodies in unison and you end up just losing yourselves in each other

the extensive skin on skin contact calms him down, especially if he’s getting pre-tour jitters

he is so gentle with you and so loving

he is the faithful acolyte and you are the alter at which he worships on his knees

(i love soft noah with a burning fiery passion but let’s get to the hot motherfucker now hehe)

he will rail you til his heart’s content

will also drive you in to the mattress (he can and sure as hell will)

he fucking loves edging you it’s not even funny

we’ve all seen the control he has over crowds, but when it’s just you? you’re fully convinced he could get you to do remotely anything

definitely loves praising you and shit but loves degrading you almost just as much

and we all know it, we’ve all seen it so this honestly is no surprise:

he loves eating you out

he would die happy if he were suffocated between your thighs

[mueritos]

i hope we continue to see more protests within the US military. i see a lot of leftists and folks who are anti-military who have such an open disdain for the people who are in the military, yet neglect to considering the conditions this country makes to produce ideology, poverty, and the illusion of choice to make all kinds of people choose to enlist in the military. You ever see those videos of ROTC kids recording each other asking why they joined the military and everyone's like, "healthcare", "it helped me go to college", "I was bored" or "free ptsd lol". I hate to remind everyone but folks who are in the military are people, too, and they are the same victims and perpetrators of violence as the rest of you, we have all been shallowly conditioned to view each other as enemies just because one person is wearing army greens and the other is not.

some of the biggest anti-war advocates are those who engaged in war. Veterans who genuinely believed they were protecting the US against "terrorism" come back with blood on their hands, and they choose to realize that it was US imperialism that forced them to carry out violence, instead of doubling down and shielding themselves from the fact that they too are capable of atrocities... This is a class of people who are intentionally conditioned to be as poor and as ideologically aligned to US imperialism so that the military has a never-ending pool to send their youth to destroy other country's youth. The only people I have ever heard say "do not join the military" are those who ARE military.

This is in no way to ever excuse or explain away any of the atrocious war crimes and violence this industry and its people have committed against others. What I am saying is that we absolutely cannot cast aside the individuals who have been victimized within US imperialism, even if they are wearing army greens. I was speaking with my Palestinian classmate last week and another classmate--a member of the US air force-- walked up to me and struck up a conversation. My military classmate showed me her new bird, bid both of us goodbye, and left. My Palestinian classmate asked me if I was close with her, and I said we talked quite often, and she said, "I never met a person who's in the military. I still hate the military, but I never knew that they did, too. I didn't realize that they were also victims."

If my Palestinian classmate--one who is actively watching her own community die--can understand that it is not individuals who are the problem but it is in fact systems, US imperialism, white supremacy, capitalism...why can't we all? And she has EVERY reason to hate any individual military member. A lot of online activism just creates more barriers. if your optics look bad, complicated, or contradictory, you are cast aside. Everyone has got the be the perfect activist, you can never make a mistake or share a half-baked thought, you should always believe every word from a marginalized persons mouth (because being marginalized doesn't mean you're not entrenched in white supremacy too!) and you should never question what you see...Do you know what you sound like? The very imperialists who are convincing poor whites to vote against themselves. Perfectionism is white supremacy. Black & white thinking is white supremacy.

I'd rather have a military member who genuinely believed in the US imperialism machine but was disillusioned after being deployed as my comrade than some leftist who cherishes the performance of "being a good person". I don't want "good people" in our movements. I want humans who care. I want humans who make mistakes and who learn from them. I want humans who accept the messiness of a person. I want humans who hold others accountable and allow themselves to take responsibility for their actions. I want people who change for themselves and others.

fight systems, not individual people. we can change each other, but if we're too preoccupied looking like the World's Perfect Activists, we will only consume each other alive. Connect to your fellow humans, forever and always.

[alwaysmicado]

predator & prey

8.6k | 18+ MDNI | Nathan Bateman x f!reader

Warnings: consensual non-consent, restraints, manhandling, face slapping, hard choking, rough p in v sex, biting, creampie, pain kink, degradation/praise, subdrop, aftercare, soft(ish) Nathan Summary: Nathan fulfills your fantasy of being taken in the woods. Can you handle it? A/N: Living in the middle of nowhere has its perks...Can be read alone or as an extension of in control. I'm so beyond excited to finally share this with you!! It's been wreaking havoc in my brain for months now. Enjoy the ride and let me know what you think! 🖤

As the last rays of the setting sun dip below the horizon, casting the world into a deep indigo hue, Nathan grabs the neatly folded pile of clothes, your trail running shoes, and his backpack. Still in your sweats, you’re taken aback when he steps into your office, his hand finding your shoulder.

“Put these on,” he tells you, his voice betraying no particular emotion. He hands you a pair of jeans in your size and an oversized, white t-shirt, along with a nude bra and panties. You swallow and look up at him, catching the subtle glint in his eyes. 

“Time to go.” 

You dress as instructed, your fingers deftly lace up your shoes, and the two of you set off. 

The crisp air gently nibbles at your cheeks, and the faint glow of twilight casts a soft ambiance as the crunch of leaves and gravel beneath your feet echoes through the stillness around you. The air holds a charged energy, and each one of your steps carries a weight of anticipation. Your muscles are tense, your senses heightened, acutely aware of what lies ahead. 

Nathan’s demeanor is casual. He’s smiling, asking about your day, about the project that’s been giving you a headache for the past two weeks. You give him a semi-honest answer, admitting that you’ve been stressed, but omitting the fact that you’ve cried yourself to sleep over it more than once.

“You’ll figure it out,” he reassures you with a soft smile. Your furrowed brow meets his confident gaze, and for a moment, you study his face. He’s sincere.

You’re used to discussing your work with Nathan, it’s what you’re living with him for, after all. And despite your…complicated relationship with him, he has never questioned your professional skills.

That’s all on you. Your perfectionism is draining.

As you reach the edge of the woods after a half-hour march along the river, darkness begins to cloak you like a shroud. The trees whisper secrets, and the unknown looms like a specter in the night. Nathan activates the small portable light attached to his backpack, rolls his shoulders, and fixes his gaze on you.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and excitement courses through your veins, fueled by a potent blend of curiosity and trepidation. 

“You know what’s about to happen,” he says calmly, tilting your chin up with his gloved fingers to search your eyes. “Take a deep breath. We’re not starting until you’re ready.” 

You take a moment to gather yourself, inhaling the grounding scent of earth and pine, your eyes locked onto his.

“Choose a path and make sure you memorize it. Be aware of your surroundings and where you’re going. Do not look back.” He rubs your cheek softly with his thumb as his dark eyes pierce your soul. 

Sensing the rough leather of his gloves against your skin sends a chill down your spine as memories of pain and pleasure flood your mind.

These gloves have choked you until you passed out, just to slap you awake again. They’ve penetrated all your holes simultaneously, teasing you, stretching you, making you come over and over again. They’ve split your lip, caressed your cheek, spread Nathan’s cum all over your face, wiped away your tears.

There’s no part of your body they haven’t thoroughly explored in a tantalizing dance between violent and soft touches.

And Nathan only ever wears them for you.

As you study the man in front of you, the only man you’d willingly follow into the unknown, his presence feels both reassuring and elusive—a paradox you’ve come to not only accept but cherish. The intricate interplay of familiarity and mystery that shapes your connection is not just comforting; it’s irresistibly alluring.

In his all-black attire, he presents an effortlessly handsome yet imposing figure. You appreciate the boots on his feet, a deviation from his usual habit of walking around barefoot, and how they seamlessly blend into the darkness of his tactical pants secured by a familiar belt.

While the physical marks from your last encounter may have healed, allowing you to shower and sit down again without writhing in pain, the mere sight of the leather item makes you wince and sends a jolt of electricity through the muscles in your ass cheeks and thighs. 

Provoking Nathan is fun, but the consequences hurt. Badly.

Your gaze wanders further up, drawn to the hoodie that tightly embraces his broad frame, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and the defined contours of his chest. It’s one of your favorite sights, second only to seeing him completely bare. Beneath his glasses, dark eyes fixate on you with a keen intensity, silently assessing the anticipation evident on your face.

Finally, your eyes reconnect with his, and the magnetic force of his gaze draws you into the depths of his desires. You see the lust in his eyes, the look of raw hunger etched across his face. It’s a look you’ve grown to both crave and fear, a look only you bring out of him.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Alright.” He nods and takes a step back from you, his scowl deepening. “Ten.”

You’re up and running before ‘nine’ even fully leaves Nathan’s lips. You don’t look back as his booming voice echoes behind you. Do you remember the path you chose? Do you know where your feet are carrying you into the mist, through the labyrinth of trees, fast, faster than they’ve ever carried you? You better run, little bunny, run, run away from him.

Ignore your racing heart, ignore the weight of his presence, ignore the forest closing in around you. You need to run. Run through the shadows, run away from him. Can you feel his eyes on you? The predator’s eyes locked on his prey?

Your time is up. He’s coming for you.

Nathan’s eyes follow you, vigilant, watching as your silhouette disappears into the forest, his heart pounding in his chest. Swiftly, he fastens the chest strap of his backpack, tightens his gloves, turns off the light, and lunges into a run. He’s on your trail.

Can you feel him? Can you feel him chasing you, drawing nearer with every frantic beat of your heart? He’s not going to stop until he catches you.

And you know what happens when he does, don’t you?

You’re sprinting, the crunch of leaves and the snap of twigs beneath your shoes creating a frenzied symphony in your haste. Panic creeps in, its icy fingers tightening around your racing heart. The air, now cold and damp, clings to your skin, making you shiver. You run further along the path you’ve chosen, quickly, as quickly as your aching muscles will allow. 

Are you scared? Is that why your breath comes in shallow gasps, and your eyes shimmer with unshed tears? Ah, yes. Yes, you are scared. That’s good. You should be. Let the tendrils of fear wrap around your every move, and embrace the primal instinct that tells you to run, run like a rabbit chased by a hungry fox.

He’s going to sink his teeth into your neck and tear you apart, tear you to shreds. 

Your cold feet carry you along the path you chose, deeper into the woods, deeper into the darkness. Trees blur past, bathed in moonlight, casting enigmatic figures on the path ahead. You can’t stop. He trails behind, a shadow in the darkness, tracking your scent, treading the path your feet imprinted moments before. Can you hear him panting, can you feel his hot breath on your neck? He’s on your heels, inching closer, so close to catching you, so close to having you.

You’re a fast little bunny, Nathan quietly acknowledges, his hungry gaze capturing a glimpse of your shirt. It only heightens the thrill for him, pursuing someone deserving of his dominance.

Oh, how he’s going to enjoy devouring you.

He’s behind you, pacing himself, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He��s calm and calculated in his hunt for you, his feet carrying him swiftly towards you. You must hear the branches snapping under his heavy boots, you must feel the heat radiating off his body.

How do you feel? Are you afraid or turned on right now? Be honest. He’s not going away, you’re not going to escape him, he’s going to get you. Have you made peace with your fate?

You should have listened to him. Fuck. A fleeting glance backward is all it takes for you to lose your balance and trip over your own feet, twisting your ankle. The harsh ground rushes to meet you, hands breaking your fall, immediately sending a sharp pain through your arms and shoulders from the impact. Gasping for air, on the brink of tears, you fumble back to your feet, rising as quickly as your sore knees permit.

Where are you? Where has fate led you? The urgency to run grips you again, urging you to flee, escape. Start moving—now. Away from him. Are you sure you chose the right path? Darkness envelops you. Your vision is blurry, you’re tired, your body hurts. The echo of your breath lingers, a haunting reminder of your vulnerability. He’s so near, closing in. Why are you doing this?

A surge of adrenaline in your bloodstream propels you forward, numbing the pain in your ankle and legs. You push yourself into a sprint, using all of your determination and strength, ignoring the heart in your chest threatening to explode. Do not stop. No matter how suffocating the open space around you feels now, no matter how much the cold wind bites your face, no matter how much you yearn for respite.

Do not stop. 

You keep running, heart pounding, panic rising. You hear him, feel him, know he’s toying with you like a cat playing with the mouse it’s about to rip apart. You like that, don’t you? The anticipation. Dull pain in your muscles slows you down, slows your desperate escape. 

Exhaustion and vigilance intermingle, fear collides with excitement, and amidst the confusion, a strange clarity emerges. This is it. He’s here. 

He’s on you – you’re free. 

Nathan’s weight bears down, the forceful impact knocking the breath out of your lungs, his hands and knees pressing you face down into the unforgiving, cold ground. The weight of his breath, heavy and labored, blends with the earthy scent on your lips, clouding your mind. 

“Caught you,” Nathan growls into your ear, his dangerous tone of voice causing your whole body to shudder with an urgent sense of dread. He’s panting, his teeth clenched as he grabs your neck, his gloved fingers painfully digging into your skin, putting his weight on you as you scream and thrash under him. He caught you, he has you, you’re his now. 

Your brain races in overdrive as the primal fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, telling you to ‘fight, fight, little bunny’.

Go on, act like you don’t want it.  

“No, get off me,” you scream at him, clawing at his hand on your neck, writhing and struggling to escape his grip. You can feel the sneer on his face, can feel his satisfaction with your predicament. Do you really want to resist him? That’s not true, is it? You don’t actually want him to stop, don’t want him to listen to the pathetic pleas leaving your lips. No, no, you don’t want that.

You want him to have you, to take you, to ravage you.

What a sick girl you are. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Nathan snarls, his knees pinning your legs down, his grip on your neck intensifying while his free hand retrieves something from one of his pockets.

“You’re mine now. Mine to take, mine to hurt,” he grabs your chin roughly, his dark eyes boring into you. “And you better believe I’m gonna make it hurt.”

Are you scared of him? He’s stronger than you. He’s going to hurt you. You made him chase you, made him chase what’s his. You’re going to pay for that, little bunny. You’re going to pay for trying to deny him. Can you see the fire burning in his eyes? That’s all for you.

Grabbing your wrist, he forcefully twists your arm behind your back, ignoring your pained groan as you struggle and try to resist. With practiced efficiency, he repeats the motion with your other arm, his gloved fingers digging into your flesh. He needs to use all of his strength to keep your hands in place as he fastens the zip tie tightly around your bare wrists, effectively immobilizing your hands. 

You’re bound, restrained—like a little present on a plate, primed and ready for the taking. Does it hurt? Does it hurt to be this helpless, this vulnerable? Struggle all you want. There’s no way you can escape now. 

Your fate is sealed.

Nathan manhandles you onto your back, grabbing you by your shoulder, then immediately straddles you and sits on your thighs to keep you pinned down. You can see the dark glint in his eyes and the violent desire painted across his face. Does that make you wet? The lust, the hunger, the raw need he has for you? 

He knows, little bunny. You’re so pathetic.

“Fuck you,” you defiantly spit at him, as the subtle smirk on Nathan’s face stirs the rebellious voice simmering in your mind.

It’s the same inner voice that urges you to provoke him when your ass is already black and blue, the voice that tells you to deliberately graze his cock with your teeth, so he’ll grab your neck and fuck your throat harder, the voice that tells you to come without permission, so he’ll overstimulate you until you’re too weak to cry — the voice that tells you you need more.

Nathan strikes you hard across the face, splitting your lip. Tears spill from your eyes, and a surge of adrenaline floods your veins. The impact on your cheek is so intense that your head recoils, seeking refuge away from him, eyes clamped shut in an attempt to find solace in darkness. He denies you that respite.

“Look at me, whore!” His hands are on your throat in an instant, knocking your head against the ground, ruthlessly pressing on your veins, crushing you, choking you. 

His eyes blaze with a wild fervor, pupils dilated to an almost feral intensity. The lines on his face contort, a mixture of raw desire and twisted pleasure etched across his features. Desire and dominance intertwine as his gloved fingers tighten even further around your neck, each breath he denies you heightening the predatory satisfaction he feels.

The crushing grip on your throat sends shockwaves of panic through every fiber of your being, alerting your body to resist. Resist him. Resist him or die. With your hands bound behind your back, your struggles are futile, your desperate squirms and frenzied kicks against the unyielding ground only fueling Nathan’s arousal.

Can you taste your own fear on your bloody lips? Delicious, isn’t it?

The world around you blurs, your head spinning, your heart racing, the dark grip of unconsciousness tightening around you. Dumb little bunny, willingly jumping into the fox’s den. What did you think was going to happen?

You’re so helpless under him, so vulnerable, so utterly…human. 

Nathan’s cock is so fucking hard it hurts. 

Right on the edge, as the vacant look in your eyes hints at a mind detaching from reality, he lets go of your throat with a growl, and takes off his gloves. Convulsing, you desperately gasp and cough and splutter as precious air revives your lungs. Your vision gradually returns, and as you gaze upward through tear-filled eyes, the vast expanse of the night sky unfolds above you, a celestial canvas painted with a myriad of stars.

It’s beautiful. Chaotic. Intimidating. Soothing.

Then, his eyes come into focus. Those deep, dark, intense eyes you could drown in. Wouldn’t that be nice? You see fire in them, hunger, calculated power, and…something else.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re scared,” you hear Nathan pant, his bare hands gripping your cheeks firmly, before he leans in and presses his lips on yours in a messy, violent kiss. You’re still gasping for air, but he doesn’t care. He needs to taste you, to devour you, to claim you as his.

He’s frenzied now, moaning into your mouth, gripping your jaw, sliding his hand under your shirt, along your belly and further up, pulling your bra down. He bites your lip, tasting your blood on his tongue, bruising you, marking you. You sob against his lips, out of breath, in pain, mind reeling, so desperate to be close to him you’re shaking.

He laughs at the pathetic sounds you make as he sucks and bites at the sensitive skin of your neck while hungrily groping your tits, his hand exploring your soft skin, squeezing, twisting, punishing. He tugs at your erect nipples, loving how you arch your back and how your cries echo in the night. 

“Scream all you want, baby,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck before peppering soft kisses along your jaw, his free hand moving down your belly and into your pants. “Nobody’s coming to save you.”

You cry and whimper as blood, spit and tears stain your face, giving Nathan exactly what he wants. God, you’re perfect. 

He slips his hand into your panties, groaning at the feeling of your wetness, his fingers sliding through your folds, making you moan and clench around nothing when he brushes your swollen clit. You beg him to stop, twisting and pulling your arms back and forth under yourself, trying to wriggle your hands free to push him off. But it’s no use, is it? Poor baby. You’re bound, you’re, ensnared, like a fly caught in the spider’s silk, each struggle only tightening the threads around you.

What are you so afraid of? Why are you trying to resist so hard? Is it fear or is it the fact that you’re sopping wet from being violated? 

The truth hurts, little bunny, it really does. But you can’t escape it.

Overwhelmed with Nathan’s assault on your senses, you gaze up at him with pleading eyes, his wicked grin widening with every agonizing second as he’s relishing the betrayal of your body. You’re such a depraved whore, letting him hurt you and getting off on it. He loves that you are, and he wants you to know that. He wants you to know how much he fucking loves hurting you, how much he wants you. All of you.

He can’t take it anymore. He needs to feel you.

Sitting up straight, he kneels between your legs, momentarily abandoning your tit and your pussy to hastily fumble with the button and zipper of your jeans. Can you see how hard his cock is straining against his pants and how hard his chest is heaving? Can you see what you’re doing to him? He’s in agony and he’s finally going to get his relief from you.

If only he hadn’t underestimated you.

A split second. A split second of lust-fueled distraction is all it takes for Nathan to give you an opportunity to get out. And you take it.

It all happens so fast. 

The forceful kick you deliver to his abdomen shocks you both. He gasps as the unexpected blow catches him off guard, and he stumbles backward, crashing onto the backpack strapped to his shoulders. The impact jars through his spine, making him groan in pain as he feels the sturdy surface of the thermos he brought pressing into his back. Hearing his pitiful groans stuns you for a fleeting moment, a hint of concern creeping in. 

You catch a quick glimpse of Nathan’s dark eyes and that’s when the flight instinct finally kicks in, telling you to get the fuck up and run.

Oh, what have you done, little bunny?

You wriggle on the ground, pain pulsating through your body as you scramble to your feet, wrists still bound behind your back. You run, feet pounding against the uneven forest floor, frantically, unsteady, driven by a primal need to escape.

Your eyes, wide with terror, dart wildly in all directions, desperately searching for an escape route. The whites of your eyes stand out starkly against the backdrop of fear, reflecting the moonlight that filters through the trees overhead. Each breath is visible, quick and shallow, as if the very air you inhale carries the weight of your anxiety. The cold air stings in your lungs, each breath hurting your sore throat. 

“You fucking bitch!” Nathan’s furious shouts echo behind you as he pulls himself up with a pained groan, a relentless pursuit that adds to the drumming rhythm of your heart. “Running won’t save you, you stupid girl. You’re mine. And when I—fuck—when I catch you I’m gonna hurt you like I’ve never fucking hurt you before.” 

Your blood freezes in your veins at his words, but you don’t respond, focusing solely on the path ahead. Running, panting, gritting your teeth, trying to keep your balance with bound hands. Twisting and turning through the dense foliage, you try to outsmart your pursuer, relying on instincts honed by fear. The shadows dance around you, leaves crunching beneath your feet. You better run, little bunny, run, run away from him.

You think a little groping and choking was bad? Oh, you naive thing. That was nothing. He means it when he says he’ll hurt you like never before. But you know that, right? That’s why you’re running now even though your body is threatening to collapse. You just had to be defiant, hm? You just couldn’t accept that you fucking loved what he did to you.

Now look where your pride got you. Was it worth it?

He’s catching up to you, determined to win, his quick feet carrying him through the mist, his angry shouts getting closer. Can you feel his anger, his hot breath on your neck? Can you feel the venom with which he spits his threats at you? There’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal.

“You think you can escape me, you dumb bitch?” Nathan’s voice is a predatory growl, following your every move.

His cruel laughter chases you like a haunting melody, spurring you on to push your aching muscles harder. The forest seems to tighten around you, an inescapable labyrinth closing in as the predator hunts its prey. And then it happens again. He’s got you. 

As you dart left, he anticipates your move, and your bodies collide with a force that knocks the wind out of you. You both tumble to the ground with a thud, intertwined, leaves and dirt swirling around you in a chaotic dance. 

“No, no, no,” you scream, thrashing about like a wounded animal caught in a bear trap. 

You’re so much stronger than Nathan anticipated, it’s incredible. He knows you have a high pain tolerance, but your resilience is honestly amazing. You truly are the perfect prey.

You squirm and struggle to get away again, but Nathan puts all of his weight on you, pinning you face down under him, your face pressed into the mud, his fingernails digging into your arms so hard you’re making yourself bleed when you desperately try to pull away from his grip. His eyes burn with a mixture of fury and triumph as he pants against your neck, his knees digging into the back of your thighs, one hand moving to press on your neck.

“That’s enough,” he growls through gritted teeth, as you just won’t give up, even though he can feel your exhaustion.

He slaps your exposed cheek as he holds your neck steady, the sharp crack of the impact echoing in the oppressive darkness. A surge of pain courses through you like lightning, leaving a heavy imprint on your senses. Before you can fully register the sting, he ruthlessly yanks on your shirt’s collar, revealing the vulnerable expanse of your shoulder.

Without hesitation, he bites into your flesh, dragging his teeth, breaking your skin. His assault is akin to a wolf sinking its razor-sharp fangs into prey, tearing into your body with a savage hunger. It hurts worse than anything you can remember. Your body’s in shock and your cries come out soundless, weak, futile. He’s pushing you to your limits.

When he’s had his fill, he wipes his bloody mouth, sits up and turns you on your back, immediately straddling your thighs as one of his hands constricts around your bruised neck. The pressure is not yet enough to completely cut off your air supply, but it’s enough to evoke vivid and terrifying memories of how he choked you just moments ago. The implied threat is enough to keep you still.

Nathan slings off his backpack in a swift motion using his free hand and turns on the light. He then takes a few seconds to look into your wet, glazed-over eyes, caressing your tender cheek with an unexpectedly gentle touch, tracing your soft skin with his palm. He can see it in your dilated pupils, he can feel it radiating off your body, he can hear it in your trembling voice as you can’t hold back the pathetic little whimpers escaping your lips.  

You’re flying. 

Seeing the need in your eyes, his handprint on your cheek, his bite mark on your shoulder, and the blood on your lips makes his cock throb in his pants. He can’t wait anymore, he needs you.

He lets go of your neck with a menacing growl, moving back to sit between your legs. His unwavering gaze remains locked onto yours, stripping you of any semblance of agency. He quickly grabs the waistband of your jeans and drags them over your ass and down to your thighs like you’re a doll — like you’re one of his androids. Sentient, but not in control. 

It’s so peaceful, isn’t it? Being his toy. His little slut to play with.

You feel your panties being yanked down, feel the cold breeze on your pussy as Nathan lifts and bends your legs for better access, feel him holding your thighs with a tight grip. He can see how wet you are, how swollen your clit is, how much your body craves his violence. And he’s going to give it to you. All of it. Because he craves it just as badly. His cock is aching for you, rock-hard, pulsating, desperate to feel the warmth of your cunt.

He hastily pulls down his pants with controlled movements, revealing just how much his body wants you. You can see his cock through your wet lashes, causing your walls to clench around nothing and your hips to jerk at the sight; a conditioned response from the hours upon hours of ecstasy he’s given you.

“All for you, my little whore,” Nathan says with a sly grin as he follows your hungry gaze and reaches down to grab the object of your attention. Locking eyes with you and searching them for a second, he strokes the tip of his cock up and down your slick, puffy lips once, twice, and then pushes into your cunt in one forceful thrust.

You whine pathetically as he stretches you open with a loud groan, your toes curling in your shoes, the feeling almost too much to bear. He gives you no time to adjust before he pulls out completely and slams back inside as hard as he can, pushing your body up on the cold ground. 

“F-fuck yeah,” he groans as he bottoms out deep inside you, savoring the delicious feeling of your wet pussy sucking him in. “That’s it…Now, be a good whore and take it.”

You can’t hold back your moans as he starts fucking you at a relentless pace, holding on to both of your thighs, putting his weight on them, pressing them against your torso. The angle makes you incredibly tight and allows him to go deep, deep inside of you. 

Nathan’s gaze penetrates yours, watching in awe as the need in your eyes grows bigger and bigger with every inch of his cock stretching you, with every snap of his hips against your thighs, with every demeaning word he spits at you as he takes what he wants, reducing you to a toy he can use and abuse.

You take it, take everything he gives you, take it so well. You take it until you can’t anymore. 

“Please stop,” you whimper as his deliberate, continuous hits to your cervix cause you immense pain.

Nathan laughs breathlessly. You’re so cute when you pretend that’s not exactly what you need. What hurts more, huh? The pain of him using you or the fact that you’re close to coming from it?

“Can’t take it, slut?” he pants as he can feel his cock swell deep inside of you, your pussy gripping him like a vise. You feel so fucking good. “What happened? I thought you wanted this.”

“Hurts…” you whine as fresh tears run down your temples. You writhe under him, trying to move your legs, but it’s no use. You’re trapped. 

“I know it hurts, baby,” he coos in response, his voice deceptively soothing. “But I need you to be good for me. You wanna be good for me, don’t you? Yeah, you do. You wanna be my good girl. That’s it, baby. Just like that.” 

His words send heat straight to your core, causing your walls to flutter around his cock. God, you’re a perfect little fuckdoll. 

You yelp in surprise as Nathan suddenly leans in, putting your calves on his shoulder, crushing his lips against yours in a feverish kiss. You instinctively open your mouth for his tongue to slide inside, wanting to taste him, to feel him, to have him claim you completely. 

The coil in your lower belly is wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You’re so close. You moan into his mouth as his tongue swirls around yours, and he groans in response, his hips picking up the pace, slamming into you feverishly. Your pitiful cries evaporate in his mouth as his cock hits your cervix over and over again, determined to make you come from pain.

He can feel you burning up against his body, can taste the desperation on your trembling lips, can feel your pussy gripping him so hard it hurts. You’re fucking loving this. He chuckles against your lips as you start jerking your hips, trying your hardest to get more friction on your clit.

Poor little bunny.

He’s not going to touch you. You’re going to come like this or not at all.

Not giving you even one second to catch your breath, he draws back from your lips and immediately grabs the base of your neck with a firm grip to pull himself deeper inside you with every harsh thrust. Lightheaded, mind reeling, your overstimulated body is screaming for release.

“Nathan…” you sob, your voice a mere whisper as tears stream down your temples.

“That’s right, slut. Keep fucking crying,” he groans, his hips stuttering for a moment when he feels your pussy twitch around his cock. You’re so close. Your whole body is trembling and your moans are getting louder and louder as he’s picking up the pace, thrusting into you relentlessly, telling you what a depraved little whore you are for coming on his cock.

It only takes a handful more of Nathan’s measured thrusts before the coil inside you finally snaps and you crash into your orgasm at full speed. Your walls clamp down around his cock so hard he can barely keep moving, and the overwhelming ecstasy that spreads through your body and mind makes you forget who or where you are. You feel weightless, free, whole as he fucks you through your high, drowning you in his touch that masterfully blends pain and pleasure.

He almost comes instantly when he sees and feels you fall apart so completely, your blissed out expression the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

As you start to come down and all sensations begin to blur into an elusive haze, you feel the edges of your vision start to blur and Nathan’s groans seem distant and muffled. On the precipice of your consciousness, in your delirium, you feel the gentle touch of Nathan’s lips on your skin, you see him smiling at you, you hear him whisper in your ear that he lo–

A sharp slap to your cheek wakes you up and has you turning your head to cough and gasp for air. After a few seconds of trying to catch your breath, your chest heaving, your head spinning, you notice that Nathan’s still moving, his hips slamming against the back of your thighs with a relentless ferocity that borders on primal.

“You don’t get to pass out on me, baby,” you hear him chuckle. “I want you to feel it when I fill you up.”

He can feel it building and building, winding tighter and tighter, his cock swelling and twitching inside your cunt. He pants and moans your name, telling you what a perfect little whore you are, how fucking good you feel, how much he enjoys hurting you.

“Holy shit, that’s it. Fuck. Fuck.”

He explodes deep inside you, cum painting your walls, still thrusting as he twitches and pulses, making sure your pussy swallows every last drop. He sits up, panting heavily, sweat running down his temples as he looks down at where your bodies are connected. He slowly pulls out of you with a strangled groan, watches with satisfaction how his cum leaks out of your swollen pussy, and at last lets his spent body collapse on the ground next to you.

“Fucking unreal,” he sighs deeply, covering his face with his hands for a moment before wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. He takes a few seconds to catch his breath and to wait for enough blood to flow back to his brain, then turns his head to look at you. 

You’re lying on your side, turned away from him, your knees pulled up to your chest in the fetal position. Nathan’s eyes are immediately drawn to the burns on your wrists, the scratches covering your arms and ass, and the blood he can see on your shirt’s collar.

Seeing you in this state has his cock twitching on his belly.

He did this to you. He beat you, overpowered you, took you, fucking destroyed you. You were so sure of yourself before, and now look at yourself. Pathetic.

What hurts more, little bunny? Your body or your mind? 

Your pitiful sobs cut through the still of the night, interrupting Nathan’s thoughts.

“Shit.” He snaps out of it and immediately sits up, haphazardly stuffing his cock back inside his pants before opening his backpack to get out the shears he packed. He grabs them, then kneels behind you.

“I’m gonna cut your ties, okay? Don’t move.”

You give no indication that you can hear him, but you don’t move your hands as he cuts the ties around your sore wrists. You lie still, limp, even now that your hands are free again.

Concerned with your body temperature, Nathan quickly reaches for his backpack again to get out a woolen blanket. He drapes it over you, shielding your exposed body from the cold wind blowing around you.

He tries to turn you around, so he can look at you and talk to you, but you start thrashing about and crying violently when he puts pressure on your arm.

“Hey, hey, shhh, it’s over,” he says calmly but firmly, pulling you up into his lap with your back against his chest despite your protests. His strong arms hold you close, the blanket tightly wrapped around you. “Shhh, it’s over, you’re safe.” 

He can feel you stop resisting and your muscles relaxing in his arms after a minute or so, your head falling back against his shoulder, your breathing getting calmer.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, rocking you gently.

After a short while of sitting in silence, he decides it’s best you two get going, so he can clean you up and take care of your wounds. But first, he wants you to drink from the tea he brought, to warm you up and rehydrate you.

With a careful maneuver, he reaches into his backpack while keeping a supportive hold on you, retrieving the thermos that left a lasting impression on his back. He takes a sip to make sure it’s not too hot before encouraging you to do the same. He smiles to himself when you don’t bother asking what’s in it this time, too exhausted to care, apparently.

You feel the soothing warmth trickling down your sore throat, warming you from the inside. A gentle cough escapes your lips, a testament to the wear and tear your body has endured. When Nathan’s satisfied with your intake, he stows the thermos and helps you stand up. He pulls up your panties and pants without any protest from you, then picks up his backpack. 

“Here,” he murmurs, wrapping the blanket tightly around you, so it stays put without you having to hold it. He then hands you a blue cool pack for your swollen cheek and lip and guides your hand to the affected area. You wince and groan when the pack makes contact with your tender skin.

“Keep pressure on it, okay?”

You nod and press a bit harder, the throbbing pain prompting a new set of tears to well up in your eyes, silently expressing both pain and relief.

“Can you walk?”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Mhm.”

“It’s not far,” he murmurs, prompting you to walk in front of him. The flashlight he brought illuminates the path, but exhaustion causes you to stumble a few times. When Nathan has to catch you for the fifth time, he realizes this isn’t going to work and finally opts to rearrange the blanket, so he can guide you with a supportive hand under your armpit.

You’re not really here, so you don’t notice that he’s leading you down a different path than the one you came from.

The cold night air is filled with unspoken truths as you walk in silence, the sound of gravel and leaves crushed beneath your feet echoing the muted conversation you’re not ready to have.

Your body is beginning to hurt more and more with every step you take, as you can feel the adrenaline slowly leaving your body. The fog in your mind begins to clear at the same time, revealing a storm of conflicting emotions you’re utterly unprepared for. 

Nathan’s just fulfilled a fantasy you’ve had forever but could never find the right partner for, either due to lack of sexual compatibility or lack of trust. And despite having you climbing the walls with frustration many times over the past few months, you trust Nathan and know he would never seriously harm you.

Not physically at least.

So, why are you pouting right now? He gave you what you wanted, didn’t he? This was your idea and you wanted it so badly.

Is it because you didn’t think it would feel so real? That it wouldn’t hurt so much? Hmm, that’s not it, is it? No, no. What you’re feeling is shame. You’re ashamed. Ashamed at how much you loved it. How much you loved the thrill of the hunt and the pain of being beaten and used.

What kind of fucked up person would enjoy something like this? What is wrong with you?

– – –

“I had it built over the past week,” Nathan murmurs as he’s opening a new pack of sterile wipes. “Pretty great, huh? I designed every room myself, feng shui included.” You dig your fingernails into your palm and suck in a sharp breath when the alcohol makes contact with the bite mark on your shoulder.

You’ve been in Nathan’s new cabin for half an hour now, and he’s been trying his best to make you feel comfortable—turning up the heat, helping you take off your dirty shirt and jeans, preparing a cup of tea for you while you were on the toilet, giving you pain meds a non-billionaire could only dream of getting their hands on, and carefully disinfecting your wounds in the bathroom. He’s even refrained from misquoting Oppenheimer or exclusively talking about himself.

He is trying.

You, however, have remained unresponsive, eyes vacant, lost in the echoes of your scene. Vivid memories pulse through your veins, and when Nathan notices the subtle tremors wracking your body, a flicker of concern shadows his eyes.

“Looks good,” he goes on as he’s done cleaning the mark his canines left on you. “It’s not as deep as I thought. Still looks like it hurts though.”

He can’t help but smile at the sight, the evidence of what he did to you. Beautiful. He puts the wipes down onto the wooden bench you’re sitting on and studies your profile. Silent tears are slowly rolling down your swollen cheeks, your bruised neck, over your breasts, pooling in your bra. Your lip is quivering.

You hear him say your name. “Can you please look at me?”

When you don’t react, he says your name a little louder, his patience waning as he grapples with his own sense of helplessness.

He’s not used to feeling this way—unable to fully understand or solve a problem that’s presenting itself. He’s a genius for God’s sake. Concern turns to frustration, his eyes mirroring the helplessness he’s experiencing—an unusual and uncomfortable sensation for someone accustomed to being in control.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. But your silence persists, and his frustration peaks. With a sudden resolve, he reaches for your chin, intending to force you to look at him. As soon as his fingers make contact with your skin, you slap his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” you hiss at him with such venom in your voice that he’s momentarily stunned. Your eyes meet his for the first time since you left the woods, bloodshot and watery, pupils dilated. 

The sudden break in the stagnant atmosphere startles both of you and you immediately regret what you did when you see the look on Nathan’s face. Your palms are clammy, the bathroom suddenly feels far too hot, and every scratch on your body burns and pulses in time with your racing heartbeat.

“I–I’m so sorry,” you stutter, your eyes wide, your trembling hand reaching for his arm. 

“It’s okay,” he says calmly, studying your face with a furrowed brow. “Are you in pain? Is that it?”

“No—well, yeah. Of course I am, what the hell do you think?” A small smile tugs at Nathan’s lips, amused with your answer. “But, uh, that’s not it.” You avert your gaze and absentmindedly rub your right thumb over your left thumb in your lap. 

“Was it too much? Did I do some–”

“No.” You vehemently shake your head and look into his eyes. “It was perfect, Nathan. I liked it, really.”

He can see in your eyes that you’re telling the truth, but that just confuses him more.

“It’s just,” you go on, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “What’s wrong with me?”

A lightbulb flickers to life above Nathan’s head, and suddenly, it’s crystal clear what your pleading eyes are trying to say.

“Why do you think anything’s wrong with you? You just said you liked what we did.”

“But why?” you blurt out. “Other people don’t ask their boss to chase them through the woods. They’re not perpetually bruised. And they wouldn’t get off on half the shit you do to me.” Your voice is agitated now, your hands wildly gesticulating between the two of you.

Nathan can see how distressed you are, but he genuinely doesn’t understand why. This isn’t like you. He sighs and puts his hand on your naked thigh. You let him.

“Pain, humiliation, submitting to me,” he says softly, his eyes locked onto yours. “That’s your thing, okay? Now, why is that your thing? Because you did a detailed analysis of all kinks and you cross-referenced that analysis with a points-based system? No. You’re just into pain and humiliation. You like submitting to me. It’s how you were programmed. Nature and nurture, baby.”

You hear the words he says, but your tired brain and your aching body make it so you’re not really processing them. His logic isn’t what you need right now.

“But…don’t you think that’s weird?” you murmur, your eyes filling with tears again.

Nathan sighs deeply, pushing his glasses back on his nose. “This is your insecurity talking, this is not your intellect,” he says sternly. “You’re better than that.”

He gets up with a suppressed groan, clutching his abdomen, and holds out his hand for you to join him.

As soon as you’re standing, he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. Your lips still sting, but you don’t mind. Nathan’s lips, his warm body against yours, and his hands roaming your naked back feel too good to care. You’re losing yourself in his touch again.

He directs you backwards toward the sink without breaking the kiss, pressing his growing erection against your core when your lower back hits the sink. His tongue swirls around yours, his low hums vibrating against your lips as his hands find your hips.

Breaking the kiss, out of breath, he turns you around, so you’re in front of the mirror. 

“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, his lidded eyes watching you. He slowly traces your skin with his fingertips, appreciating the marks on your body. A shiver runs down your spine and you moan softly at his tantalizing touch.

“I did this. I did this to you.” Nathan kisses your neck with his warm, soft lips, his beard tickling you. You close your eyes and hum at the feeling, resting your hands on the sink.

“And you took it so well, baby,” he murmurs against your skin between kisses, his hard cock pressing against your ass. “You earned every single bruise. You’re such a good little whore.”

His right hand moves down your belly, down between your thighs, cupping your mound over your panties. Gently but firmly. He keeps kissing up and down your neck, his warm breath and soft groans making you wet. You let your head fall back against him, wrapping your hands around his neck, and rocking your hips against his hand.

“Nathan…don–” you murmur, but he cuts you off. 

“Shh,” he purrs against your neck, sliding his hand inside your panties and finding your clit with his fingers.

“Look at yourself.”

You reluctantly open your eyes. His gaze meets yours in the reflection, your brows drawn together, your lips slightly parted. You still wince at the sight of your swollen face, the mark on your shoulder and the bruises and scratches you can see. But all of your thoughts are quickly washed away when Nathan’s fingers start rubbing your clit, his dark eyes never leaving you. 

“That’s it, baby. Look at what I did to you. Look at how much I hurt you.”

Speeding up the movement of his fingers, he can feel your legs starting to tremble as your orgasm approaches rapidly. He wraps his left hand around your front, his hand splayed over your tense belly, holding you against his chest. 

Sweet release. You can already taste it.

Your moans are becoming louder and louder, and right when you’re about to tip over the edge, Nathan roughly grabs your throat and simultaneously pushes three fingers into your pussy, pumping them in and out of you hard and fast. Your eyes widen in shock and your hands instinctively grab at his, trying to get him to loosen his grip, but he’s undeterred.

He knows you’re sore, so he’s not going to fuck you with his cock. But you need this. 

“There is nothing wrong with you or with what you want,” he growls into your ear, his eyes boring into you as he feels you coming around his fingers with a desperate moan.

You ride out your high on his hand until your knees buckle and your limp body collapses against his, your walls rhythmically pulsing around him. Holding you upright, Nathan presses a soft kiss to the mark on your shoulder and nuzzles the crook of your neck with his nose.

“You’re such a fucking good girl,” he murmurs as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you.

“Now, how about a bath?”

– – –

Lying in the softest bed you’ve ever laid in, feeling the comforting embrace of the satin sheets around your body, and thanks to the pain meds working their magic, you find yourself in heaven. Floating on a fluffy cloud. Mind empty. Content.

“Feeling any better?” you hear Nathan’s voice behind you before the bed dips under his weight as he joins you.  

“Mhm. Great meds,” you murmur into your pillow.

“Yeah, right? I feel like I’m floating.”

“Huh?” You turn around to look at him, his face illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the trees and the wall-to-ceiling window opposite the bed. “What the fuck, Nathan? You can’t mix those with alcohol.” 

“No worries. My liver’s been training for this.”  

You scoff. He’s unbelievable. “Why did you take them anyway? It’s not like you got hurt.”

“The big, purple bruise on my abdomen begs to differ,” he chuckles. “You got me pretty good.”

You can’t hold back a little laugh. “You’re a baby.”

“And you get a little too bold when you’re high. I’d watch it if I were you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur, your eyelids beginning to droop.

Nathan smirks and shakes his head at you. “Hey,” he lightly taps your shoulder, “wanna see something cool? Check this out.” 

He flips a switch on the wall next to the bed, and suddenly, the roof smoothly retracts, unveiling the vast expanse of the starlit sky.

It’s breathtaking.

“Pretty amazing, huh?”

“It is,” you whisper as your thoughts float away like dandelion seeds carried by a gentle breeze, dancing into the realm of dreams. “Thank you.”

The quiet in the bedroom stretches for a few minutes as the soothing embrace of sleep begins to claim you. Suddenly, Nathan breaks the silence with a soft murmur.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” 

“Hm?”

He sighs. “About your masochism. You never told me.”

“Hmm. I don’t always. Only sometimes.” You turn onto your side, your face buried in the pillow. A content sigh escapes your lips. “Can’t help it.”

“Don’t keep stuff like that from me. Tell me next time.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m serious, it’s–” He stops when he hears your rhythmic breathing. He leans over you and looks at your face. You’re sleeping. You look peaceful.

Nathan rolls onto his back and stares at the stars overhead for a few minutes, contemplating the universe and his role in it until your breathing lulls him to sleep.

– – –

Thank you for reading 🖤 ➝ check out my masterlist

[fire-fira]

I am not sure how much you are into analysis but I want to ask. Do you think raph isn’t as good of a fighter compared to his brothers? because I have a feeling either he’s holding back when sparring with them over fear of harming them or he’s not as good as them.

Anon, you just made my day because this gives me an excuse to nerd out at length. (Though apologies that it took me so long to get this fully written out and posted.)

Disclaimer before I launch into it in full: to fairly compare Raph to his brothers I'm going to do a brief run-down of the three of them before breaking into the full details on him. A lot of this is built on extrapolation from details in various canons and at times might edge toward headcanon territory, though I'll be trying to stick with what's actually present.

With that out of the way--

Comparing Raph to His Brothers

So to start with, I can only fairly do this deep-dive by briefly touching on each of his brothers before getting to Raph himself. I'll say upfront that I think it's less a question of which one is the "best fighter" and more that they're each different types of fighters, each with their own strengths and weaknesses and which might land any of them in the position of "the best" depending on the circumstances.

Leo

Strengths: This is an extrapolation based on various iterations (2003, 2007, 2012, 2014/2016, ROTTMNT, 2023, Batman vs. TMNT, and a little bit of the IDW comics), but Leo strikes me as a tactician-- as the guy who can extrapolate to fifteen different possibilities for the outcome of a fight and fifteen steps ahead of everyone else on each of those possibilities. At his best he knows how to play to his brothers' strengths, put them where needed, and let them go to do their own thing. He's also persistent and willing to put himself through his paces over and over again until he 'perfects' what he wants to learn how to do. As a "traditional" (romanticized) example of a warrior, he is the golden boy of the family. Rise Leo might be a little less likely to get every step 'just so,' but most iterations of him aim to be as flawless as possible in terms of his combat skills. In his ideal world, he will never have a misplaced swing of a sword or inflict any damage he doesn't intend to. That depth of knowledge and highly-trained skill can be damned terrifying for his enemies if it's taken to its fullest extreme.

Weaknesses: His perfectionism and desire to get things 'just right' is a double-edged sword. In the 2003 series it got wrapped up in his PTSD and the need to never make a critical mistake again (which... didn't work out well for him-- hi, shades of Raph at his worst); in the 2007 movie it led him to think his efforts to learn how to be a better leader weren't "good enough" and kept him away from home for two years; in the 2012 series it led him to ignore critical injuries and try to bully himself into being 'better' (when realistically what he did during the farmhouse arc probably would have permanently destroyed one of his knees); in the 2014/2016 movies it led him to temporarily damage his relationship with his brothers by spilling over the worst of his internal perfectionistic vitriol onto them; and in Rise it at times has turned him into a showoff who'll act without letting the others in on his plan (which can backfire horrendously in a worst-case scenario) because if he does it without telling others what he's going to do, then he gets bragging rights if it works out like he planned. Underlying all this is what could turn into an unmanageable case of anxiety depending on the version of Leo and how personally stable he is, as well as how susceptible he is to ruminating over where he feels he went wrong. To say nothing of how many versions of Leo have a GIANT self-sacrificing streak when it comes to their families. Under the right circumstances-- and if someone really intended to make it hurt-- they could easily play all that against Leo and get him to freeze due to overthinking. (Though getting him to that level would take an extreme case and some severe emotional damage to weaponize his guilt.)

Speed: OKAY. Here's where things get a little more cut-and-dried in my opinion-- if a fight is down to just speed anyway. Leo might be pretty neck-in-neck with Raph in terms of speed, maybe just a touch faster due to (generally) being more lean-built than Raph. Leo's not a tank; yes he can fight in close quarters or mid-range and hold his own, but if he can then he tends to be 'slippery' about it. He's not going to batter away at an enemy if he can spin out of range before darting back in and dodging whatever hits he can. If it's just a matter of speed without any other factors involved, then there's a good chance Leo will win in a fight against Raph. If it's a question of strength and endurance though... Well, I'll expand further on that when I get to Raph.

Adaptability: This is something that is absolutely dependent on which version of Leo we're talking about and how hung up that version is on his plans without taking the general chaos of life into account. 2012 and 2014/2016 Leo both are guilty of getting so hung up on the idea that their approach to a combat situation is the right way that they fail to plan for the fact that their brothers' ways of doing things isn't their way of doing things. Which blows up in their faces spectacularly sometimes. IF it's a version of Leo who's more likely to fail to take into account his brothers' differing styles, then Raph might easily play that against him and deliberately do things Leo would find unpredictable (though probably not as much as Mikey, lbr). For versions of him that are better about knowing that his own approach isn't the only/'best' approach, then Leo would be better able to roll with whatever Raph throws his way, within reason.

Combat Style/Approach: Mid-to-close-range, tactician, and definitely NOT a grappler. Yes, his skills and training have him moving with muscle memory when he needs to, but even so, there's a split-second awareness of what his opponent(s) could do and instinctively reacting based on what he's met with. A lot of that means he has to be free to move and avoid getting held in place, or things might go bad quickly.

Donnie

Strengths: No matter which iteration of Donnie you're talking about, you're generally talking about an engineer who's able and willing to casually heft up and carry around a car engine with his bare hands. And considering (with a quick google search) it looks like the average car engine weighs anywhere between 300 to 700 pounds, that alone is proof enough that no one in their right mind would ever want to be punched by Donnie. And considering there are instances where he's able to temporarily support the weight of himself and his brothers (a couple of scenes in the 2003 series are what immediately come to my mind, but that's just my favorite iteration showing itself) it's proof that he has that strength not just in his arms. To give you an idea of just how much weight that implies he can lift, here's a size and weight comparison of some of the largest turtle species currently living.*

Notice anything? Like how... Oh... I dunno... a 4-foot-long Loggerhead sea turtle can weigh up to 400 pounds? Or a 3-foot-long Leatherback sea turtle can weigh 550 pounds on the light end? (Note: this is not meant to be snarky or condescending, just a simple statement of fact that all signs point to these boys are fucking HEAVY.) And that huge amount of weight relative to their body size seems to be pretty consistent among turtle species from what I've seen with my digging around. Which logically implies that the same holds true for these boys, and if we play fast-and-loose with the idea that we can roughly translate length to height... well... For general weight of the boys, I tend to assume at least 200 pounds, at least for those under and up to about 5-foot-tall. For the 2014/2016 set I might even suggest somewhere between 400-500 pounds-- but roughly comparing weight to size with that table of large turtle species, I'm probably severely underestimating their weight all across the board. Being generous, hypothetically saying all four of the 2003 turtles are about 240, that then means there are moments in the 2003 series where Donnie is temporarily lifting around 960 pounds, including himself. AND THAT MIGHT BE A SEVERE UNDERESTIMATION. Terrifying, right? So yes, Donnie is unquestionably strong as hell and maintains that strength by working on his various projects, and a full-force hit from him would land someone in a hospital-- if they're lucky. The other main thing working for him is that he's a tech genius. No, he's typically not as rigid or disciplined in his training as Leo is, but if he has access to tech and distance then he has a whole host of weapons and traps he can bring to the party (something which Rise Donnie excels at in spades). Raph's a much more physical direct-confrontation fighter, but Donnie has the capacity to turn entire environments against his enemies, depending on the means he has at his disposal.

Weaknesses: For better or worse, Donnie's primary personal strength-- the one he leans on above all else-- is his intellect and being able to puzzle things out. And again, he's an engineer: yes he can lift and move that terrifying amount of weight, but he's usually not doing it at speed. (Because let's be real, moving heavy and potentially very breakable machinery is not something you want to do quickly when you want to be able to use or repurpose said machinery.) He's not a slouch when it comes to his ninjutsu training, but there's a reason why the concept of Donnie pulling the 'I'm too busy to train right now' is a widespread fandom concept. It doesn't necessarily mean that he's not 'as good of a ninja', but more that he's not a 'traditional' ninja and has had to adapt things to his preferred methods. Yes he has a lot of physical strength, but he prefers to keep a distance from his opponent(s) if possible. Doing so, having that distance, gives him more time to plan and respond-- because unlike Leo, a lot of iterations of Donnie don't have that ingrained ability to read the possible actions their opponent(s) might take and respond on a dime (or at least not to the same level). Raph's tendency to brute force things-- something which Donnie technically could do but clearly does not like to-- might be somewhat unpredictable for him, especially because that puts Raph in close and doesn't give Donnie as much time to respond as he would like. All that said, Donnie could technically win a fight against Raph without his tech if he pretty much said to hell with fighting and decided to do an imitation of an octopus. At the very least he could probably hold him in one place if he was quick enough and managed to get Raph's arms pinned. And somehow kept him from walking. (It wouldn't be a dignified win, but it might still technically be a win.)

Speed: I'm gonna be honest, I do not think speed is on Donnie's side in comparison to his brothers. If he really makes an effort (rather than just going his own route and pursuing his interests) he'd probably be able to keep up with the others going at full tilt for a little while, but he'd probably tire out first. A lot of the work he does due to his areas of expertise is fairly sedentary, and frequently he needs to move with slow and deliberate precision. There's a lot of fine muscle control involved in that kind of work (especially if it involves maneuvering something heavy), but being able to consistently do that doesn't automatically translate to being able to do something similar at high speed. But that's okay, because if he has the distance and varied means of attack he needs, then he doesn't have to worry about keeping up with his brothers for an extended period of time-- it just has to be long enough.

Adaptability: If it involves tech or computer systems, Donnie's ability to adapt to a situation is unparalleled. Give him unrestrained access to an unfamiliar and shiny (and incredibly pervasive) system and he'll be able to make it seem like a tech apocalypse is targeting one specific person if he wants to. If it's a head-to-head physical fight though, it really depends on how desperate he is or how much breathing room he has (or both). If he's frazzled and panicky then there's the possibility he'll miss several opportunities or potential tools and, in a worst-case scenario, he might freeze. (An extreme example of this is how Rise Donnie gave up fighting the crab men when his tech failed, after all his brothers had already failed in that fight.) If he has time and space to think then he's practically unstoppable, but if he doesn't have that breathing room then chances are things won't end well for him.

Combat Style/Approach: Distance fighter, brain-over-brawn, could be a grappler if necessary but uncomfortable enough with it that it might work against him, might as well dub him a 'trap master' for the little surprises he might leave in his wake if he's feeling spiteful. He's a schemer, but not a chess master.

Mikey

Strengths: If there's one thing that can be said for Mikey it's the fact that most versions of him are innately gifted at picking up kinesthetic knowledge, to say nothing of the fact that he tends to be the most spiritually gifted of the brothers. In fact in several series (2003 and 2012 off the top of my head, though I'm certain it may have popped up in others) it's briefly mentioned that if Mikey really buttoned down and was completely serious about his ninja skills he would outclass Leo-- which means that he can naturally slide into the level of skill Leo has worked for years to achieve without even really thinking about it. If he wants to. And most of the time he doesn't want to. (Too much responsibility being that serious, so who can blame him?) However, his not constantly going at the equivalent of Level 99 in a videogame in fights isn't necessarily a detriment to him, because he has other ways to stay true to himself while giving himself an edge. Like being annoying on purpose. And knowing how to aggravate the hell out of his opponents until he tricks them into getting sloppy. Until he tricks them into giving him easy openings they should REALLY know better than to give him-- and would if he hadn't deliberately torn their nerves to shreds. If it's not obvious, I'm saying versions of Mikey like to play mind-games, and if they really want to they can be vicious about it and make it HURT. (Though again, most versions of Mikey are more invested in goofing off and playing around than being outright vicious or serious.) The point is, if he finds a mental opening that sticks, then how invested he is in winning the fight will dictate how serious he is about exploiting that weakness. To say nothing about how creative he can get when he really wants to be.

Weaknesses: The downfall of a lot of Mikeys is how distractable a lot of them can be. (I won't say this is a universal fact because I'm a big fan of there being variation among different realities, but a lot of Mikeys definitely being ADHD doesn't help. How well said version is able to compensate probably also varies.) So depending on the circumstances and the environment, Raph might be able to play that distractibility against him. (Buuuut that would require Raph to play mind-games, and most Raphs aren't the 'mind-game' type.) Plus, for better or worse, it takes a LOT to get most versions of Mikey to the point where he's ready to say 'Fuck everything' and throw everything he can into ending a fight right that second.

Speed: Mikey is, in my honest opinion (and based off most of the series and movies I've seen), the fastest of the brothers-- bar none. Which means if he tore off at full speed with the intention of skipping a fight entirely and just making Raph chase him, Raph probably would never catch him. Until after he wears down anyway. But if he zipped off and found a good enough hiding spot, then he could probably avoid Raph for a while. In a fight, because of his speed, there's a good chance that Mikey might be able to get in more hits than Raph, but that comes with the risk of getting in close to Raph-- and that can easily work against him in very short order.

Adaptability: Mikey's adaptability is through the roof. Most versions of Mikey, you can throw damn near anything their way and they'll roll with it in such a way that they land on their feet while their brothers are still scrambling for stable footing. There's also the fact that he's a very lateral thinker and able to apply concepts from seemingly unrelated sources to scenarios many others wouldn't even think to combine-- and he does so to his advantage. So yeeeeeeaaaaahhhhh, given enough room and space to work with (and not panicking), then there's a good chance Mikey's going to catch Raph off guard with something he'd never expect.

Combat Style/Approach: Close range, flighty, dart in-range to hit and then dart back out of range, mind-games and making his opponents angry to the point of getting sloppy seems to be his preferred tactic. He could be the most terrifying to go up against in a fight if he went absolutely stone serious, but 99.9999% of the time he does not want to and would much rather slip in some fun where he can. (If you don't believe me on that last point, consider that in the 2003 series I'm reasonably sure he has the highest body count of all the brothers, in the 2012 series he killed a kraang and wore the dude's skin on his head multiple times, and in Rise ALL of Dr. Delicate Touch and the frothing maniacal rage he has when angry. 'Nuff said.)

Raph

And here we come to the turtle in question himself, Raph. Hamato Raphael, Raphael Splinterson, Raphie-boy, take your pick.

Strengths: Raph is a TANK. Barring '87, this boy in most iterations pretty much makes it his mission in life to be the strongest of him and his brothers. He's also stubborn as hell and WILL NOT give in if he thinks it's important to stand his ground. Which means he can and will hold his ground and dig in long past when his brothers each have to retreat or fold; he can take the hits they can't and come out the other side still kicking. And what's more, if he feels the need to and is able to get up and be mobile, then he WILL hunt you down for as long as it takes and damned near nothing will stop him-- he is that. damned. STUBBORN. Let's be real, that combination is terrifying. Of course, naturally, this brings up questions of just how physically strong he is. I pointed out up in Donnie's section that Donnie is ridiculously strong, but just how strong is Raph? To answer that question, the infamous scene from 2007:

Just how much psi does it take to snap a katana? WELL, it turns out that finding out that information is really difficult (at least when I was nosing around and trying to find out). When I was doing my initial searching I found a video on facebook examining an anime scene (at the time-- back in September-- it was literally the only thing that remotely came close to answering my question that popped up) that claimed it would take at least 20,000 psi. Being that the person who posted that video didn't include any sources for reference, I'd take it with a grain of salt (especially since despite my best efforts I'm having a hard time finding that video again), but still. If-- for the sake of argument-- we assume that the 20,000 psi measurement is accurate for what it would take to snap a katana, that would mean that our boy Raph is capable of exerting that much force with each hand. And not just a brief spike of getting there either. No, for him to be capable of the force in that 2007 scene (again, assuming the number is accurate) then he has to maintain that force for longer than a second or two.

I don't know about you, but that makes this scene just that much more dangerous and intense in my eyes. It's not just that Raph could have killed Leo by stabbing him; it's also the implication that he could have easily torn Leo apart with his bare hands if he wanted to. So yeeeeeaaaahhhh, if Raph is able to get his hands on any of his brothers and is able to hold on, they're probably toast.

Weaknesses: Whoo boy. In most iterations, point blank, his biggest weakness is his temper. If he gets set off too thoroughly or if someone knows how to play it against him, his temper can make him get sloppy and lead to his defeat-- regardless of how ridiculously strong he is. It also means that, unless it's a version of him who has worked his ass off to keep himself in check, there's a good possibility that he might wind up doing things he'll regret when he's angry (and if someone really wants to twist the knife they can play that guilt and self-blame against him). If you go by 2003 and 2012 there's also his bug-phobia which can be played against him. (Even though 2003 Raph covers it with 'KILL IT WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE'.) If you go by Rise, then you DO NOT. EVER. WANT THAT BOY TO BE ALONE. And on a much more brutal note, going back to his stubbornness which is also one of his strengths

...there's a good chance that this boy might try to push himself past the breaking point if he feels it's necessary.

Speed: I've said before that I think Raph is pretty neck-in-neck with Leo when it comes to how fast he is, Mikey has them both beat in the speed department hands down, and Donnie is most likely to be the slowest moving of the four of them. If Leo has to deal with heavy weights while trying to move at speed however, Raph will have him outclassed due to having more practice in that department. For Raph to have a hope of keeping up with Mikey going full tilt in running away, Mikey would have to be carrying enough to weigh him down considerably. And while Donnie might stand a chance in trying to grapple with Raph, Raph having more experience in moving heavy weights at speed would probably mean Donnie would be better off trying to glom onto Raph like an octopus rather than outright grappling. So Raph's not the fastest, but he's not a slouch either.

Adaptability: As much as I love my boy, Raph is a tank, he's bruiser, he's a bulldozer who freely makes use of sharp and pointy things he can use to stab people with. Adaptability-- barring variation between sneaking in and out versus barreling in as loudly as possible to cause mayhem and destruction as a distraction-- is generally not in his wheelhouse. Given time and learning how to play mind games (and I don't doubt that an adult Raph could pick up and use the skill when he needs to) he'd probably become more flexible, but with where he's portrayed to be at in most iterations he hasn't gotten there yet.

Combat style/approach: Close-range, grappler, brawler, TANK. He WILL hold the line, he WILL dig in and hold his ground, he WILL be the wall and PROTECT with everything he has if he has to. He's also not above being outright brutally destructive when he feels it's warranted. And that "when he feels it's warranted" is key.

Details that affect the outcome:

Raph has a protective streak 500 miles wide. A lot of iterations try to be the wall for his family, the last line of defense when needed. He would sooner see himself hurt than anyone he cares about.

And it's not just his brothers, father, April, Casey, anyone-he-considers-family that he's protective of either.

Seriously, if someone pushes the protective button on this boy and his sense of right and wrong kicks in, he WILL get involved.

Raph cares and feels deeply; to him, family is everything.

You

have

NO IDEA

how much

this boy

LOVES

HIS FAMILY

or how much he'd tear himself up if he ever seriously hurt any of them. So the chances of him ever actually going all-out against any of his brothers is slim. (And the few instances in various iterations where he's come close it's seriously screwed him up emotionally every time. Like 2003 and the pipe incident, 2007 and the after effects of his fight with Leo, the implied guilt Rise had after he snapped back to his senses after reuniting with his brothers after he'd been alone, etc.) He might fight with his brothers, he might disagree with them from time to time, but overall he comes off as someone who firmly believes you don't ever deliberately hurt someone you should care about if you can help it. Which is backed up by instances of him panicking in various iterations where his decisions might result in his family's deaths, as well as the fact that he only really turns on any of them (think SAINW) if they cross the line of not being there for each other like he feels they should be. Some iterations might threaten to run off a lot, but he never will without a damned good reason because he loves his family too much to ever want to do that to them.

Final Assessments

Raph vs Leo: If it's in close and is just down to strength-- Raph wins. If Leo has the time he needs to scheme and play Raph the way he needs to-- Leo wins.

Raph vs Donnie: If it's in close-- Raph wins unless Donnie pulls off an imitation of an octopus and gets all of Raph's limbs pinned and holds on for dear life. If Donnie has the distance, time to scheme, and the means to set traps to his heart's content-- plus tranqs, no one wins against tranqs-- Donnie wins.

Raph vs Mikey: If Raph can get his hands on Mikey and keep him in one place-- Raph wins. If Mikey plays Raph like a fiddle with his mind games and stays out of reach-- Mikey wins.

Raph vs the three of them together: Well shit, that'd be a losing proposition under the best circumstances unless the goal was to try to out-stubborn them at something. 10/10 if he had to, Raph would keep dragging himself along even if all three of his brothers were hanging on to him to try to keep him from reaching his goal. (And if Raph hasn't exploited that fact during some wild-as-shit game of theirs, then Casey Jones is the queen of England.)

Raph vs his guilt if he actually seriously hurt them: Instantaneous loss that Raph would probably have a hard time ever forgiving himself for.

So do I think Raph is as good a fighter as his brothers? Yes.

Do I think he's holding back so he doesn't hurt them? Also yes.

Do I think anyone he went up against if he didn't hold back would be thoroughly screwed? Emphatically YES.

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*The site I got the turtle size table in Donnie's section is [here], if anyone wants further details on sea turtles.