summary: the f1 grid loves to simply use you as their fucktoy or as a stress relief and nothing else.
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thinking about how the f1 grid would simply use you as a stress relief, as a simple fucktoy they can use whenever and wherever they want.
Carlos — for an example — coincidentally saw you walking around in the paddock after a bad qualifying and immediately snatched you by your tiny wrist and dragged you towards the nearest bathroom, throwing your smaller frame into one of the stalls before he lifted your skirt and pushed your thong to the side, quickly freeing himself and ramming his entire length into you without any warning, forcing a high pitched gasp out of you.
“Oh my g-god, Carlos!” You loudly whined before he covered your mouth with his big palm, other hand pushing your hips a bit forward so he could probably bend your body however he pleased, making your ass perfectly stick out for him to fuck.
He groaned behind you as you felt his hand squeezing your hip, abdomen already slapping against your back while you choked on your sobs behind his hand.
“Oh f-fuck,” he dropped his forehead against the back of your head as the pace of his hips went up, making you roll your eyes into the back of your head, “fuck that stupid race this weekend, I’ll just tell Ferrari I’m sick and fuck you the whole Sunday until you're so cockdumb that you don’t even want to leave my hotel room anymore, zorra,” slut.
Or how Daniel would immediately look for you after a good qualifying, asking everybody if they had seen you.
“Where’s she?” He hastily asked Pierre who just pointed towards the Mercedes garage. Without even thanking Pierre, Daniel entered the garage and intertwined your hand with his as soon as he saw you, quickly dragging your towards the Mercedes hospitality since that was the closest room.
Only a couple of minutes later you were already bend over one of the small beds, skirt lifted up so your ass was on full display while Daniel's finger played with your wet pussy from behind.
“D-Daniel, please!” You begged in a whiny tone, making him chuckle, “Please what, little one? You have to tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you,” he kissed your shoulder blade before he focused his eyes on his two fingers and how they were rubbing your clit before he shoved them slowly into you, making your head fall forward.
“Oh no, no, no baby,” he laughed deeply, “you stay here while I play with you,” he harshly grabbed the roots of your hair and pulled your head back up, making you groan as he continued fingering your wet cunt.
Or how mick would not hesitate to harshly knock on your hotel room after a bad race.
“Y/n, open the door for me, please,” he would ask you, making you open the door before he would literally pick your barely covered body — since you were only in pyjamas — up and throw you onto the couch, not even bothering to go to the bedroom.
Without a second thought, he’d have your shorts and panties already removed, briefly gliding his hard and long dick up and down your pussy before he spit on it, rubbing his spit with his fingers all over your needy cunt.
He’d definitely make you watch as he entered you, placing his big hand onto the back of your head and force you to watch him enter your pretty pussy.
“You feel me inside of you, pretty girl? Hmm? You feel me stretching that poor little cunt of yours out and using it?” He’d ask you while you just dumbly nodded, “don’t play so dumb alr-” but quickly stopping his own sentence while the fingertips of his other hand rubbed your puffy clit,
“Oh you really are already dumb, baby?! But that’s okay, you’re my pretty little dumb girl, hmm? Yeah, that’s right, my dumb princess.”
Or how Charles would without a word drag you towards his drivers room after he won a race, loudly slamming the door shut before he’d remove his racing suit and pull his long erection out,
“On your knees, right now.”
And while you’re busy sucking his cock, he’d be so cocky, “Don’t you wanna pleasure the winner of the day, huh? Don’t you wanna be a good little obedient girl and satisfy the man of the race?” He’d place his hand onto the back of your head and force you to gag on his cock, making tears stain your cheeks.
“Just like that, can we go even further? Even further? Fuck yes we can, baby, you’re doing so good for the winner,” he’d praise you while he wiped some of your tears away, other hand fisting your hair and guiding your head.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 • you know your best friend well enough to know that he's keeping a secret from you, you just can't figure out what— or why. but you're about to learn a lot of new things about him that you never could've imagined.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 • 4.5k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • this is a DARK fic!! (noncon, slightly yandere, slightly soft!dark), smut (unwanted creampie and very slight breeding kink?), NO spoilers for the batman 2022 in this plot!!, some angst, a knife but nobody gets hurt, unrequited love (or IS IT?!), emo bruce is emo
Your best friend had been acting strangely for some time now.
Though it was nothing new to see Bruce being sort of skulky and mopey— that was typical of the last twenty years without his parents— he usually wasn’t so avoidant, or hard to reach. You’d been so close your whole lives, ‘peas in a pod’ as Martha Wayne used to say, and up until somewhat recently, you saw him almost every day.
At first it was subtle, he told you he was just a little bit busier and you didn’t think much of it, you saw him less and less— and you figured it was a phase. It was May when you noticed, suddenly, that you hadn’t seen him in a week, and you couldn’t remember if that had ever happened before. By August, you realized this ‘phase’ had been much closer to indefinite than you originally expected; in September, he stood you up after agreeing to be your (platonic, obviously) date to a charity gala.
So, you were pretty done with his shit by October, when he left you on read after you inquired about holiday plans— because you always spent Thanksgiving and Christmas together, and you needed to start figuring out if you should host something at your place or if he was going to want you two to do something by yourselves.
Only a week later, you spotted him at an auction, not that you were too surprised to see him: you specifically attended because you knew he’d be there, considering a painting by Degas— which up until a few days ago hung in the parlor at Wayne tower— was on sale. For quite some time, Bruce had basically left the entire tower untouched, its gothic interior more and more like a mausoleum each day as he kept everything exactly how his parents had left it. It was a recent development that he had begun to donate old belongings and heirlooms, though you could tell from what you’d seen that he was getting rid of the stuff he’d never cared for much in the first place; he hated that Degas, he thought it was a blurry orange mess that your average kindergarten finger-painter could outclass. Honestly, you were happy he was taking control of the space, allowing himself to decide what he wanted to see in his own home every day— and the money bid on the painting would go to a fabulous cause, you just wished you didn’t have to keep tabs on him like this for only a stolen moment alone.
Quite literally stolen, actually, since he started avoiding you as soon as he spotted you at the event: you kept trying to find a good way to get to him, but then as the bidding began, he got up from his seat and started to leave. You got up to follow, and he moved faster. The bastard was literally just going to outrun you! Not about to let him get away that easy, you went backwards— around the auction room into the hallway he’d have to cross to leave. Apparently when Bruce Wayne was dodging your calls, you literally had to ambush him: you hid behind a pillar and waited for him to jog by to grab him by the sleeve and drag him into the shadows.
He yelped slightly, jerking his arm out of your grasp but trapped again by your fist snatching his lapel.
“What gives?” you hissed.
“I— I have to go,” he insisted.
“No,” you snapped. “You need to talk to me. If I’ve done something wrong, just tell me— but I’m worried about you and I need to know that you’re okay.”
“Why?” he dodged.
“I’m not letting you leave until you tell me that you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” he mumbled unconvincingly, and you deflated, anger sizzling out into sadness. You dropped his lapel and he relaxed slightly.
“Stop pushing me away, Bruce, please,” you breathed. “I miss you.”
He stayed stoic— of course he did— and just glanced down.
“Whatever’s going on,” you assured, “you can tell me. And if you can’t yet, that’s okay— you can tell me that, and I’ll wait. Just let me in, just a little bit? Please?”
His gaze darted around, and you reached up to rest your fingers on his jaw; that seemed to startle him slightly, but it got his attention, and you held his face to keep him looking at yours.
“Look at me,” you whispered. “It’s me, okay? Whatever it is, you’re not gonna scare me away— I’m just scared that you’re shutting me out.”
He blinked, sinking his shoulders down a bit, and exhaling sharply through his nose. “Okay,” he said softly. “You’re right, I’m sorry… we’ll talk tomorrow— come over for dinner.”
“Great,” you smiled.
“I may not be able to tell you everything, right now,” he warned.
“That’s okay,” you assured, “we can just start with ironing out Thanksgiving plans.”
He smiled, barely— for a normal person, it wouldn’t mean much, but for him it was a pretty massive expression of emotion and it soothed you greatly. It wasn’t like you’d never seen him laugh until he snorted and had tears in his eyes, it’s just that you hadn’t seen him like that in probably years now. You missed those glimpses of his joy so much; you hoped this was the beginning of a return to normalcy for the two of you, and you’d have a chance to make him happy like that again.
“Now go,” you offered, stepping back a bit, “do whatever mysterious thing you need to go do.”
He gave you a quick kiss on your temple before he departed, hands stuffed into his pockets and hair already starting to fall out of the style he’d gelled it into. You watched him leave, soothed at the idea you would get your best friend back soon.
~
You glanced at the clock, again, wondering if time was standing still somehow. It was almost 9 last time you checked, and now it was still only 8:59.
Either way, it was pretty late to still be alone at the dining table when Bruce had told you to come for dinner at 7. You toyed with the bracelet around your wrist; you’d dressed pretty nice, maybe a little too nice, because it felt like you were celebrating something. Now it just made you feel even more foolish for being here by yourself.
Alfred had checked in on you a few times, each visit less optimistic than the last, and he appeared once more with a sympathetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry, dear,” he sighed, “but Mr. Wayne will likely not return in time for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” you shrugged, “sorta saw it coming.”
“I can bring a car around for you?”
“Oh— no, I’ll wait,” you smiled. Alfred wrinkled his eyebrows together. “He’ll be back sometime tonight, won’t he? I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
His eyes darted around— you knew him well, he was looking for an excuse to get you to leave. Why didn’t he want you here? You were more sure than ever that Bruce had been hiding something from you by being absent for these months.
“I’m sure you have plenty to do,” you waved your hand, “I won’t keep you— you certainly don’t need to entertain me. I’ll make a visit to the library, explore a bit, and you can find me when Bruce is back, hm?”
Alfred cleared his throat. “Alright,” he decided.
When he was finally gone, you slipped out of the kitchen— but instead of going to the library, you wandered the halls much more aimlessly. Maybe you just hoped you’d find something to explain Bruce’s bizarre demeanor of late, maybe you were just killing time. He had replaced the Degas he sold at the auction with a new painting, a much more modern one you didn’t recognize; darker, abstract, a little creepy. Much more his style, certainly.
You tinkered on the piano in the parlor, admiring the view of Gotham from the window— yes, this city was filthy in a literal and metaphysical sense, but it was home, and you thought it was beautiful. There was a light mist in the air, not the heavy rain you got so often out here, and it made all the lights sparkle that much more in the deep blue night.
The distant sound of music, coming from one of the floors below, made you stop playing. It took a few moments for you to recognize the tune when it was so muffled, but the echo of the bass was familiar; Nirvana. Bruce must be home. You smirked to yourself… he was rather predictable.
You heard a door slam down the hallway, and you figured it had to be Bruce, because none of the staff would be so careless. Heavy steps started to move down across the creaky floorboards, and you silently leaned back on the bench— yes, just a few moments later, Bruce skulked by. He was wearing jeans and a baggy black t-shirt, but that didn’t give you much clue what he’d been doing since that was what he changed into the second he got home from any event that required anything nicer to be worn.
He didn’t seem to notice you, having forgotten you would be here tonight (you assumed) and not noticing you in the shadows. You thought you might just watch him until he noticed, but then you caught a glimpse of his face.
“Woah,” you chuckled, and he jumped, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “Did you just get back from a rager or something?”
“Huh?” he mumbled.
“The makeup,” you pointed to his face, and his hand shot up to wipe around his eyes. “Kinda lost control of the smoky eye, eh?”
You cringed when he started to rub his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Woah woah, hey, that’s not how you get that off,” you corrected, standing up and coming closer to grab his arm and guide it away from his face. Of course, you felt a lot more muscle under your touch than you expected; you cleared your throat as he looked down at you, eyes red from the irritation. “Let me help you, man, I’ve got micellar water in my purse.”
So yeah, that was how you ended up with cotton balls pinched between your fingers and thumb, carefully wiping the black off from around his eyes. The cleanser got the job done, but the application was so heavy that you had to go in a few times just to get it all— plus the grey-ish watery residue left behind each time you smeared a used cotton ball around.
“And then just a damp washcloth to get off the extra,” you explained under your breath as you wiped his face gently.
He looked up at you between strokes of the fabric over his face, his blue eyes especially striking when they were examining you so closely. “Why are you good to me?” he asked quietly, suddenly.
The question took you aback; it seemed so obvious that you weren’t even sure how to answer it, and at the same time it made you feel all vulnerable and warm. “I— I love you,” you insisted, “of course. Bruce, we’ve been friends longer than I can remember.”
Of course, this was not the first time you had told him that you loved him. It was also not the first time you said it somewhat strategically, so he wouldn’t realize your love for him was far greater than it was supposed to be; that being ‘friends forever’ was a compromise for you, the thing that made you happiest and broke your heart all at once.
“Gotta be careful going out to seedy parties at this hour,” you smirked awkwardly, “that’s when the bat-freak goes out and beats up random citizens. Watch your step.”
You slipped down off the bathroom counter, grabbing the used cotton balls from the edge and chucking them into a wastebin. You could feel his stare on the back of your neck; you even saw him looking at you when you checked the mirror in your peripheral vision.
“I mean, you’re not as poor and desperate as his usual fare,” you joked, “but still— watch out.”
“I’ll try,” he offered plainly after clearing his throat. “I’m sorry I missed dinner.”
You turned around and looked at him again, offering your best shrug and smile. “It’s okay. I just miss you, Bruce— I don’t understand what you’re going through.”
He looked down. “I know you don’t.”
You sighed and stepped closer, so he’d have to look down at you. “Give me a chance to try,” you pleaded. “Whatever it is— you don’t need to hide anything from me, okay? You can’t scare me away.”
He started to chew the inside of his cheek— he was thinking. And that was a good thing, it meant he was thinking about whether or not he could be honest with you. You just needed to convince him that he could be.
“C’mon, Bruce, it’s me!” you smiled. “It’s us— it’s always been us, nothing could change that.”
“You’d be surprised,” he challenged.
“I just want you back,” you sighed, “all of you.”
When he looked in your eyes, it was like he saw right through you; before he even said anything, you knew that he knew. “When you say that you love me,” he interrogated softly, “what do you mean?”
You tried to step back, but he grabbed your arm— not too hard, but… hard, still. “I…” you breathed.
“What way do you love me?” he demanded.
“The— the way that’s forever,” you offered.
“Don’t avoid the question,” he instructed. “Just tell me what you really mean when you say that.”
“I mean,” you began, looking off to the side because looking straight up at him would be too difficult, “that— that you’re my best friend. And I want you to be happy more than anything, and I… think about you, when we’re not together. And I don’t want you to be alone. Unless you want to be, but— but if you don’t, I just want to love you however you want me to.”
After he said nothing for a moment, you looked up at him again, and found his expression infuriatingly unreadable. “Come back tomorrow night,” he decided. “Late. Alfred will call and tell you when to come— and I’ll tell you everything.”
“Really?” you smiled.
“Of course,” he nodded, “because I love you, too.”
He didn’t say what way he meant it— but you felt it in his stare, in his hand on your shoulders, in the weight of his words. And you not only hoped, but really believed, that he might love you the way you meant it.
~
You threw on a dress and rushed to the tower when you got Alfred’s call, even though it was almost midnight… you weren’t going to be able to sleep tonight regardless. There was something difficult to describe in his expression when you saw him inside the tower. “Good evening,” you greeted, waiting for the resolution to the strange energy in the air.
“Mr. Wayne has asked me to take you to another part of the tower,” he explained, “where you can wait for him to return.”
“O…kay…” you agreed, confused but sort of indifferent. He took you to the lowest floor of the tower— the garage, which seemed like an incredibly strange place for you to wait for Bruce. It was stranger, even, when the elevator doors opened and you realized this was not at all the place you thought it was. “Wh—?” you started to ask as you stepped into the dimly-lit room, filled with things you didn’t recognize. There was a computer, itself surrounded by devices you’d never seen before, and clippings from newspapers— and journals, writing scrawled here and there all over everything. You knew Bruce’s handwriting, but none of these words made any sense coming from him. Among the menagerie of random, yet disconcerting, items was a knife: not like a kitchen knife or switchblade, it had a mechanical piece like it was meant to be attached to something. What was something like this doing in what used to be the Wayne Tower garage?
You heard the elevator door close, and you spun around to see the lift start to move— Alfred had left you rather unceremoniously. And you felt, in that moment, the only thing worse than feeling alone…
Not feeling alone.
You looked over your shoulder, turning slowly; your heart started to race as you looked into the shadows. Even though you prayed not to see anything, you still couldn’t look away. Embarrassingly, your knees almost buckled and you nearly crumpled onto the floor when a towering figure stepped out of the shadows. The points at the top of his head gave him away: the Batman. The caped crusader; the most prolific dealer of assault & battery to never see a day behind bars.
So, not really somebody you wanted to run into tonight.
At first, your instinct was that he was here to attack Bruce, though you couldn’t imagine why; but the way he was looking at you made you wonder how far he was willing to go to silence you— or if, somehow, he was here for you.
You grabbed for the knife beside you on the desk, but he was on you before you could even lift it in the air completely— he shoved you back into the wall as you whined, holding your wrist so tight you were forced to drop the blade. It clattered to the floor as you choked out a sob.
You waited for him to do whatever it was he wanted to do to you— because you knew you couldn’t stop him. Nothing happened; you waited for him to say something, then, but he said nothing. You were forced to soften your face from the perpetual wince of terror, so you could turn to look up at him and hopefully see why he hadn’t done anything.
Afraid to look at his masked face right away, your eyes lingered on his armored chest first, and the metallic symbol embedded in the center of it. Carefully, you moved your gaze higher and higher, finally finding the strength to meet his stare. It took you longer than it should have for you to realize, when you looked into his eyes. Well, that’s not entirely true: you realized instantly, you would know those eyes anywhere. It’s just that it took you a little too long to let yourself believe it.
He must’ve realized he would need to force you to accept the truth literally staring you in the face. He reached up— and no, you didn’t use the opportunity to try to run because it would’ve been useless anyways, and you were petrified in fear and morbid curiosity— and removed the mask from his head.
“No,” you said under your breath, because you couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Yes,” he insisted.
“I— this— you—” you started over and over again. “Oh, Bruce, what have you done!”
“What I had to,” he answered.
“What you do— it isn’t right,” you implored, “those people—”
“They’re not good people.”
“They have rights!”
“You love me,” he reminded you.
“I don’t even know you,” you denied, finally finding the willpower to walk away— but he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back again, keeping you still as your eyes watered.
“You said you wanted me,” he sneered. “All of me. This is who I am.”
“N-no it’s not,” you denied, “you would never hurt anyone, Bruce.”
“I hurt a lot of people.”
“But you’d never hurt me,” you whispered shakily. “You’d never hurt me…” you repeated, not sure who you were trying to convince by saying it.
“Not if I didn’t have to,” he responded eventually. You turned your head and he instantly grabbed your jaw, much too hard, with a gloved hand; you gasped and whimpered as he forced you to turn your face back towards him, wrenching your chin up. “Look at me,” he growled.
You bit your lip to stop it from shaking, staring straight into his eyes— they were so much darker now, and not just because of the black smears around them. “Bruce, you’re scaring me,” you mumbled nervously.
“Fear,” he replied flatly, “is a tool.”
In one swift motion, he swept aside most of the scattered papers and items from the desk and pushed you to bend down over it; you sobbed as you felt his grip tighten on the back of your neck and his other, gloved hand run over your back slowly.
“I knew you’d be afraid of me,” he admitted, “but you begged me to tell you. And now you know.”
His hand departed from your body for only a moment, and with your face turned to the side and your cheek pressed to the cool surface beneath you, you could just barely make out on the edges of your vision Bruce bringing his hand to his mouth to pull off his glove with his teeth.
You gasped at the feeling of his bare touch, reaching down to brush over your thigh just below the hem of your dress and slowly moving up.
“Bruce, stop,” you whispered.
“This is what you wanted,” he replied quietly. “This is what I wanted, too, but I knew you couldn’t understand. Now I realize that doesn’t really matter.”
You shivered when he lifted the skirt of your dress up over your back, revealing your panties; your face burned so hot it heated up the metal desk beneath you. You'd worn nice ones just in case tonight went well… this wasn't what you had in mind.
He made a low noise, like a deep, sustained hum, as he reached up and carefully pulled down the waistband of your underwear. You whimpered as the fabric dragged along your skin, feeling yourself become more and more exposed.
"Don't— don't do this," you began to bargain. "I'll just… I'll just go and I won't tell anyone and—"
"Is that what you think I want?" he sighed. "For you to leave? I'm so tired of being alone… you can't leave. I'm never letting you leave."
You panted anxiously, hardly believing this was Bruce, your Bruce, rubbing your bare hips and kicking your legs apart.
“Please, please,” you sobbed weakly.
“Shh, hey,” he soothed, “I won’t hurt you, it’s not going to hurt. It’ll feel good, you know why?”
He leaned in closer, so close that his lips brushed against your ear when he spoke. You felt the head of his cock poke at your opening and you whined.
“Because we’re made for each other.”
In one strong, quick stroke he filled you; you bit down hard on your lip and held back the cry that threatened to break from your throat. He let out a low moan, so deep that the bass of it made a chill run up your spine, and carefully began to move.
You were wet, way more than you should’ve been in a time like this, and you knew it was because of the fear rather than in spite of it. Fear is a tool. He was right after all. At least your arousal eased the pain a little… just not the pain in your heart, unfortunately.
He held your hips tightly for leverage, but the desk beneath you still scraped against the concrete floor cacophonously with every thrust. Yes, you'd wanted Bruce this way for some time— but not like this, of course. You wanted him to make love to you; he was treating you like a means to an end now, he was forcing you to accept every part of him in a much more literal sense than you wanted to believe.
This was clearly, to him, about making you understand that Bruce Wayne is the Batman, an alter ego of sorts. But to you it was about realizing that neither of them were who you thought they were.
When he held your arms tighter, guiding them under your chest and wrapping you up in his embrace, you realized you’d never felt so trapped before. He kissed your neck, and you hated that your back arched at the feeling even though you longed for the strength to squirm away.
“You love me,” he whispered again. “Don’t you? Tell me you love me.”
“Stop,” you choked, whining as his grip on your wrists tightened painfully.
“Don’t make me ask you twice,” he warned.
“I love you,” you whimpered. “I— I love you, Bruce. You… you’re hurting me.”
“Sometimes love hurts,” he explained nonchalantly. “All the most important love hurts.”
Unfortunately, you knew he was right about that; loving him all this time had hurt, in its own way, but never like this. Maybe this was just the cost of him loving you back.
“You said you’d love me however I wanted you to,” he remembered. “This is how I want you to love me. Bent over.”
Crying harder, your breathing got shakier and less useful— his weight sinking into you didn’t help with that, either. He wouldn’t suffocate you right here in this basement, right?
“Can you do that?”
You nodded, and sputtered when he started to fuck you faster. His breathing was hot and heavy against your skin, his hair was falling down around his face and tickling your cheek.
“This is what I need from you,” he explained. “I think you need this, too. I’m gonna give you what you need okay, just… hold still…”
You didn’t realize what he meant until a string of low groans filled your ears and you felt a throbbing inside you that wasn’t your own.
“No, n-not inside,” you gasped, “Bruce, wait—”
“You can’t leave,” he simply repeated, “I can’t let you leave…”
“Please,” you sobbed, “please—!”
It was too late to beg, or to struggle against his tight hold on you, or to cry when he bit down on your neck— but you did all three, just because you couldn’t do much of anything else.
He sighed as a dull warmth radiated from your core; you could feel his come starting to leak out and run down your thighs and you thought you might be sick. His weight was already crushing you, but when he relaxed and sunk down further, you honestly got the wind knocked out of you. “Bruce,” you croaked out, and he seemed to get the message because he pulled you back with him as he slowly lowered to the floor— and so you were held tightly to his chest and stuck in his lap while he leaned back against the wall.
You tried to move so he wouldn’t be inside you anymore, but he quickly grabbed your hips to keep them still. “Shh,” he soothed, “just keep me warm for a while, okay?”
You didn’t answer: agreement was moot, denial was futile.
“I love you too,” he breathed, eyes falling shut as he caught his breath, “by the way.”
oh my god, this is so good! there were so many good lines in this that had me whispering “damn” under my breath over and over, but i really liked this part in particular:
“Sometimes love hurts,” he explained nonchalantly. “All the most important love hurts.”
Unfortunately, you knew he was right about that; loving him all this time had hurt, in its own way, but never like this. Maybe this was just the cost of him loving you back.
i love everything about this, from bruce literally running from reader to reader helping him take off his eye makeup to their dysfunctional dynamic as friends but also wanting to be more. once again, great work, not that i would ever expect anything less!
Summary: You saved Batman’s life one night after finding him bleeding out in an alley by your apartment, and now Bruce can’t seem to stay away…
Note: This fic is the result of me spending 3 hours simping over RPatz in The Batman, and is also my contribution to @barnesafterglow ‘s All to Well writing challenge! Tiff, I hope this fic is all that you want and more. <3 Thank you for understanding my obsession over this brooding man.
“just grab my hand and don’t ever drop it” i know places, 1989
(Part 2)
~~~~~
“B?”
Bruce wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to the way your voice temporarily soothed every anguished thought in his head when you called out to him. The way that - even as he stood in the darkest corner of your bedroom, dressed as the unidentifiable vigilante of Gotham City - your eyes would always manage to lock onto his, and he felt like his soul was bared out before you.
He remained still. “Sorry,” he said in his usual low, grizzly voice. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
When he first started coming to your place, you would always try to roll over and turn on the lamp by your nightstand to be able to see him. But then you noticed the way the Batman would flinch, suddenly shifting from a rigid stillness to anxious movements, desperately looking for a dark spot to hide in.
The shadows were his safe place. He had never liked being in the limelight, seen by others, even before he first put on the mask a little over a year ago. When he was just an orphan boy that everyone wanted answers from. He wished he could just remain invisible, blend into the shadows completely where no one could find him.
Where no one could find you. That was the other reason why he hated it when the lights in your apartment were on. It was already a selfish risk he took to hide in your home as often as he did, even if he tried to justify it by saying he was checking in to make sure you were safe, or that your window had a perfect view of the Batman beacon on this side of the city.
Being here meant that the light not only left him vulnerable, but you as well. Because if people saw Batman hiding out in your home, they might want to ask some questions, investigate what was so special about this place.
Even though he could use certain excuses to bullshit his reasons for showing up at your place in the middle of the night, the truth of the matter was that you were his greatest weakness, and he knew it was wrong to constantly risk exposing that fact to others who might cause you harm.
And yet he could not stay away. Because the selfish part of him needed for you to find him in the shadows, needed to hear you say the closest thing to his real name that he could allow.
You gave him a soft smile as you slowly made your way out of bed. “It’s okay,” you whispered, and for a moment, Bruce believed you.
He remained still as you walked over to him, and he was thankful for the thickness of his bulletproof armor that might have been the only thing strong enough to withhold how loudly his heart was beating in this moment.
Your hand reached out toward his arm, showing no fear as you pulled the sleeves of his armor back, fingers pressing on different pressure points to check for any hidden injuries. You learned long ago not to bother asking if he was okay. He’d lie even if he wasn’t. It amazed him how easy it was for you to read him.
Once you deemed that there were no injuries, you stepped back, not wanting to invade his personal space (even though he wished you would remain as close to him as possible).
“Just wanted to check in,” Bruce said. It wasn’t a lie, it just didn’t accurately describe the ache he felt when he wanted to see you, which was always. “There was a robbery a few blocks away. Wasn’t sure if there were any stragglers.”
The corner of your mouth quirked up and you looked down at the ground, not wanting to show him how much his caring for your safety affected you.
“No stragglers here,” you replied, turning your gaze throughout the room even though it wasn’t at all necessary. Then, you looked back at him. “Besides, I’m pretty sure the tall, dark, annoyingly mysterious protector of Gotham would have taken care of all of them before they had the chance to hurt anyone else.”
He let out a breath that almost sounded like a chuckle. That’s what you told yourself, at least.
“Well,” he said, his fingers involuntarily twitching as if using all of their strength to fight his stillness, yearning to touch the soft spot of your skin that glowed underneath the city light peaking through the blinds, “Since you’re okay, I should get goi-”
“Stay,” you pleaded before you could stop yourself and you caught his eyes widen for a fraction of a second. “Just a little while longer?” Your hands fidgeted together in front of you. “Have you gotten any rest tonight? I could grab you some water?”
He stared at you, the intensity of his gaze causing you to look away in fear. Not fear of him physically hurting you, but fear of him finally seeing that you weren’t worth checking in on.
Finally, he nodded his head once, and you beamed; his knees to threaten to buckle at the sheer beauty of it.
You started walking backward toward the door to the hallway, a hand extended out to him. “Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”
It took you less than a minute to grab two glasses from the kitchen and return back to your room. And that was more than enough time for him to sneak out, leaving the room empty when you returned.
You sighed, an ache in your chest forming as you rested the second glass by the windowsill. Just in case.
~~~~~
Your first encounter with Batman was a year ago a few blocks away from your apartment.
You were walking home from your shift at the hospital, still in your scrubs and walking at the pace most people kept while occupying the streets of Gotham City alone at night.
Growing up in the treacherous, crime-ridden city, you learned from a young age to stay alert, for all of your senses to be on at all times. Which was what allowed you to hear the faint, pained groan down the alley to your right.
Your quick, steady pace slowed, and you turned your head toward the sound. You knew you should keep going, to focus on getting to the safety of your home. But you were a nurse. It was your job to help those who made sounds like the one you just heard.
The alley was pitch black, and you pulled out your phone and turned on the flashlight.
When you saw him, huddled next to a pile of trash, you breathed out a small gasp as the eyes behind the infamous mask met yours. Your first instinct was to step away, but then you saw the blade wedged into his side, the paleness of his face that you were able to see.
That was what made you decide to jump forward.
“No,” he said, gasping for air as pain ripped through every fiber of his being. “Don’t come closer.”
You ignored the renowned vigilante of Gotham, keeping the light away from his face and toward the wound as you kneeled down to inspect it.
“How long have you been like this?” Silence followed, and you pointed the light in his eyes. He grimaced in response. “I need to know.”
He swallowed. “Twenty minutes.”
With a groan, you moved back to the wound. “We need to get this out and clean it now. Otherwise infection will take you down even if we can save you from bleeding out.” You looked over your shoulder back to the silent streets. “My apartment is right around the corner. I have a med kit there that can take care of the basics enough to stabilize you.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Just gotta get back-”
The light was back in his eyes and he flinched as you cut him off, “You have minutes. Minutes. If you honestly think you can get back to wherever you hang out and safely remove this weapon and disinfect it in minutes, then be my guest.” Boldness took over and you rested a hand on his gloved one. Bruce felt a shudder go through his body, and it wasn’t from the loss of blood. His eyes locked onto yours as you lowered your phone. “I promise I’ll keep you safe. No one will know you’re there, and you can leave as soon as you're able to.”
Bruce stared into your eyes, seeing a fierceness unlike anything else, and he knew in that moment that it would be impossible for him not to trust you.
He bobbed his head up and down once, and you mimicked the gesture, moving to his non-wounded side and helping him up. Bruce hissed in pain with each movement, but mustered up enough strength to hobble to your apartment and up the stairs.
You led him to your bed and forced him to lay down.
“Shut the blinds,” he groaned out as you moved to grab your supplies.
You halted, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re about to bleed out in my apartment from a stab wound and you want me to close the blinds?”
Bruce pursed his lips. “Can’t…be seen.”
Ah, right.
You returned moments later, blinds closed and your medical supplies in hand. It wasn’t hospital level equipment, but you hoped it would be enough.
Now it was time for the next hurdle as your gaze alternated between the wound and his face. “Can the top part come off with the mask still on?”
He stilled….then slowly shook his head.
You bit your bottom lip. “Are you going to let me take the mask off?” He shook his head again and you cursed. “You’re making it really hard to save your life, you know.”
A sudden bark of laughter escaped the dark vigilante and the movement caused him to double over in pain.
“Shit, okay.” Your eyes frantically scanned your room, searching for a solution, eventually landing on the purple material resting on your bureau. “Okay, I got it. One second.”
When you returned with a ski mask, he gave you a look that probably would have scared most but just made you want to roll your eyes.
“Listen, I’ll look away while you switch. We need to hurry though, seriously.”
When he finally nodded, you turned to focus on the supplies by your side, grabbing the antiseptic and pouring some onto the towels you grabbed from the closet.
“Okay,” he grumbled. You turned around.
And immediately burst out laughing.
He groaned. “Just let me bleed out.”
You shook your head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But hey, you look great in lavender!”
Bruce scowled, and it only pulled another giggle from you.
“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. Time is….not on our side, but I can’t work with you in this suit, and we can’t get the suit off without removing the dagger. You’re too tall for me to pull it off while standing so….here,” you stood up and positioned him to sit at the edge of the bed. “Raise your arms.” He did, and you grabbed the hilt of the dagger. Then, you locked eyes with him. “This is going to hurt like hell, but I promise I’ll make sure you get through this, okay?”
He opened his mouth to say something, but instead closed it and gave you a single nod.
You pulled out the blade and he bit back a roar as you used all of your strength to pull the top part of his uniform off. You moved as quickly as possible as you grabbed the towels and pressed firmly on the wound, guiding him to lay down.
“It’s okay,” you breathed out, to him and yourself. “You’re okay, B. It’s all going to be okay.”
His chest moved up and down as he tried to even out his breathing. “B?” he asked. The sudden innocence in his voice, as if you had uncovered one of the many secrets he kept with him in the shadows, made you feel suddenly self-conscious.
You looked up from his stomach for a moment and gave him a small smile. “I mean, I can call you Batman if you want-”
“No,” he pleaded, then regained his composure. “No. B is…fine.”
“Alright, B. Well, I don’t have a cool pseudonym, so I guess you can just call me Y/n.”
He stared at you as you continued to work on the wound, the pain momentarily leaving his body as your name flowed through his veins.
Bruce dare not say it out loud, though, because he knew that the feel of your name on his lips would be more deadly than the wound in his abdomen.
You worked in silence after that, the two of you playing this unspoken game where one would look at the other while they weren’t looking and vice versa. Your eyes only locked once and you both looked away awkwardly.
“I got good news and bad,” you finally said once you finished taping up the bandage and you saw his brows furrow through the purple material. “The good news is that you’re gonna live to recklessly fight another day. The bad news is that I’m done and you can finally take the ski mask off.”
Another breath of laughter, something that you realized was your new favorite sound. He slowly sat up, wincing in pain, and you helped him put his top back on.
“Please go straight home and don’t get into any more trouble tonight and ruin my work. I’d urge you to stay off the streets for at least a week to recover but….knowing your track record, I don’t think that’ll happen.”
You turned around again so he could put on the mask, packing up your gear.
“Thank you,” his deep, gravelly voice caused you to turn back around, tilting your head up to look at the Batman who now towered over you.
There was a small part in the back of your mind that knew you should feel fear in the presence of someone potentially dangerous…but a larger part told you that behind the mask was a good man who could be trusted. Who wanted to help keep the people of Gotham safe. To keep you safe.
You stood up. “Anytime, I guess. Although please try to be more careful next time.”
He didn’t respond to your request, only turned his gaze to your bed, and the blood covering your sheets. “Sorry about this.”
“It’s fine. Been meaning to buy some new ones anyways.”
He nodded once, his eyes piercing yours, so intense that you had to look away, instead turning your attention to the ski mask still in his hand.
Bruce tried to extend it toward you and you shook your head. “Keep it. Let that be a reminder that if you’re ever in a tight spot, you have someone to help. Besides, I told you that color suited you. If you ever get sick of the black, you should try lavender.”
“Would be pretty hard to stay hidden,” he responded. Was he…making a joke?
You giggled. “Fair point.” Picking up your med tools, you headed toward the bathroom to leave them in the sink for cleaning. You continued as you headed back to your room. “Hey, maybe we can slowly change all the streetlights to purpl-”
You stopped at the doorway, scanning the empty room and then staring at the now open window.
“Bye, I guess…” you muttered to yourself.
The next evening, you returned home from work to find a piece of paper on your windowsill.
Inside were two $100 bills, and a note:
For the sheets.
~~~~~
Bruce hadn’t been to your place in weeks since the robbery.
He would still pass your apartment building every night, sometimes multiple nights, just to see that you were home and safe, but he knew he needed to keep his distance, for you and for him.
Things were getting too comfortable, and it was getting harder and harder to leave each time.
He knew that one day when you asked him to stay, he would finally say yes.
And that couldn’t happen.
Every moment with you was a moment that you were exposed to the life he chose, the enemies he made. And if anything happened to you because of his selfishness he-
Bruce couldn’t think about that.
So he stayed away, staring into the window to your bedroom from a nearby roof, thumbs stroking over the material of a purple ski mask he kept on him at all times.
He always made sure to get there right around the time that you walked home from work, to make sure you made it there safely.
He’d stand on the roof, nervously playing with the mask for 10- 15 minutes, until he saw your figure walking down the sidewalk.
And he’d let out a breath he had been holding for what felt like 10-15 minutes.
Then he’d wait for the light from your bedroom to bleed through the closed blinds, for your fingers to push one of them up to create a small opening for your eyes to peer through, scanning the streets and the buildings for something. Someone.
Him.
That’s when he would step back into the shadows, and continue his work for the night.
He could only move on once he knew you were safe.
Then, one night, things went horribly, horribly wrong.
Bruce had been in his normal spot on the roof, waiting for you to walk down your usual path.
Right at the 15 minute mark, you were there, walking at your normal fast gate, always so aware of your surroundings and looking out for any signs of danger.
Once you were out of his view, the next mental timer started in his head. It usually took about 5 minutes from that point for your bedroom light to turn on.
When the mental timer got to 6 minutes, Bruce felt his heartbeat quicken.
At 7 minutes, he felt a bead of sweat form at his brow.
Maybe they're talking to a neighbor or something.
That’s when he heard it. A sound that would be easily missed by anyone who didn’t have tech that picked up any noise in a quarter-mile radius.
A slight, muffled cry.
Bruce didn’t think, just jumped off the roof so fast that he almost didn’t have enough time to pull out his grappling hook device to latch onto the ledge to lessen his impact.
As soon as his feet hit the ground, he was running down the street, completely exposed.
To hell with the shadows, he wanted whoever was making you cry out in fear to see vengeance coming.
~~~~~
You had heard their laughter before their forms appeared in your peripherals.
It was three guys hanging out in the corner by your building, and as soon as you met their gaze, you knew you were in trouble.
You also knew that there was no way you could get your keys out and unlock the door to your apartment in time to get away.
So instead of letting them know you lived here, you kept going at your quick pace, heading towards the next street corner where you could turn and access the back entrance to your apartment.
But as you kept walking, you noticed that the sounds of their laughter did not grow quieter.
You pulled out your phone and opened your camera, angling it to see that they were following you, dangerous grins on their faces.
After snapping a quick photo, you started to dial 9-1-1.
That’s when someone grabbed the phone from your hand. And suddenly, your mouth was covered by a calloused, sweaty palm and your back was pressed against someone’s beer belly.
“I wouldn’t do that, sweetheart,” the man muttered into your ear. Then, you were being pulled into the alley.
The man pinned you against the brick wall as his two friends moved to run their hands over your body. One of them pulled your bag off of you and started rifling through it.
Hands clutching your keys, you snuck your fingers into the cat-shaped keychain. Then, when the guy holding you turned to smirk at his buddies, you kneed him in the groin with every ounce of strength you had.
He doubled-over in pain, and when his friend jumped forward to grab you, you swiped the keychain at him, puncturing him in the cheek and he stepped back with a yelp.
You tried to make a break for it, but just as you started to cry out for help, the third guy covered your mouth and pulled you back into the darkness with him.
He shoved a handkerchief into your mouth and you gagged at the taste of dirt and sweat and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Next thing you knew, your cheek was slamming into the brick and his arm was pressed against the back of your neck.
“Now now,” he said, “That’s no way to act.”
The hit to the wall was making your head dizzy, and you tried to keep your eyes open as you kept pushing against his hold.
“I’m gonna kill this asshole,” the man you got with the keychain whined, wiping blood off his face and storming towards you with a fist raised as the third man turned you around to position you for the blow.
Right before he swung, his body was jerked out of its path.
And where he was standing was a figure donned in all black, his face covered by the mask every person in Gotham looked upon with fear.
Except you.
Bruce kept his eyes locked on you as he stormed towards the man who held you, but froze as the man stepped back, pulling a gun from his pocket and resting it against your temple.
That’s when the guy you kicked in the groin tried to make a move, but his attempt was short-lived when Bruce landed a right hook that sent him face down in the ground.
When he looked back at you, gun still pointed to you, you caught his eyes widen ever so slightly in panic.
“Don’t come any closer man,” the guy said, his voice cracking as he stepped back with you still in his grip. “If you do, I’ll blow their brains out-”
Before you could even blink, Bruce pulled the bat-shaped emblem on his chest and threw it into the guy’s foot. He howled in pain and loosened his grip, allowing you an opportunity to break free and run towards the vigilante, but he was passing you to deal with the guy who had threatened to shoot you.
Still, he took the opportunity to brush his gloved fingers against your arm as you passed him, to provide any sense of comfort he could.
The man was unconscious before you could turn around, the Batman standing over him, his eyes locked on you once more.
You stood there, frozen, gasping for air as he took slow, tentative steps toward you.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and you had never heard his voice sound like that. So pained, so worried, so….vulnerable.
You started to tell him you were okay, but then you realized that the gag was still in your mouth.
That’s when you started hyperventilating, as everything that just happened in the last few minutes flooded through you.
Your knees buckled and Bruce jumped forward to grab you, one arm keeping you up as the other gently moved to take out the handkerchief from your mouth, and then your panicked breaths gulped in too much air which sent you into a coughing and gagging fit.
Bruce held you tightly to him, his body trembling from the fear that coursed through his veins from the whole scene. The image of the gun next to your perfect eyes etched into his brain.
He pulled back, eyes boring into you as his hands cupped your face.
“Let’s get you inside, okay?”
Your breathing was still manic as you nodded, grabbing onto his hand.
He led you into your home, and sat you on your bed, only leaving your trembling figure for a few agonizing moments to grab the items he needed.
He returned, handing you the glass of water and asking in a low, soft voice for you to drink. He kept his hold on the glass as you guided it to your mouth to prevent the unforgiving shaking of your hand from splashing water everywhere, then rested it on the nightstand by your bed. His thumb gently stroked the scrape on your cheekbone before replacing it with an ice pack to lessen the swelling.
“Why don’t you go take a shower and get dressed?” he asked, glassy eyes staring into yours.
You shook your head frantically and he frowned. “I can’t,” you mumbled.
“Why not?”
Your bottom lip trembled. “Because you’re gonna leave…”
Bruce almost fell to the ground from the pain of his heart breaking in two as he grappled with the fact that he had forced you to expect him to leave even in a moment when you needed him most.
Instead, he caged your face between his hands, and you saw a tear run down the black makeup surrounding his eyes.
“I promise. I will be right here when you get back, okay? I’m not going to leave you, Y/n.”
Y/n.
He had finally said your name. It felt as lovely and perfect as he expected it too, and he knew in that moment that he would never, ever leave you.
And then you broke down completely, face breaking just before you leaned forward to rest your head against his shoulder.
Bruce held you as you cried, hand brushing over your hair, whispering that everything was okay, that you were safe. That he wasn’t going to let anything else happen to you.
When you finally settled down, he wiped the tears from your eyes and nodded. You nodded back, standing up and grabbing a change of clothes before heading to the bathroom.
15 minutes later, feeling slightly better now that the marks of those men’s hands were off your skin and your clothes, you returned to your bedroom, heart already starting to sink at the inevitability of it being empty.
But it wasn’t.
He was still there, sitting at the edge of your bed and looking up at you, no longer dressed in his bat suit.
He had on a black t-shirt, and the lavender ski mask.
For the first time tonight, you laughed.
Bruce gave you a small side-smile. “I hoped this might make you feel better.”
You nodded, more tears forming in your eyes from the ridiculous amount of joy that he had stayed.
“I can’t believe you kept that,” you giggled out.
He shrugged. “Someone once said that lavender was a great color on me. Besides, if I’m going to stay the night, I figured I’d try to be more inconspicuous.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “You’re staying?”
He nodded. “You asked me to.”
More tears welled in your eyes and you nodded, moving to sit by his side.
“Is there anything else you need? Anything I can do for you?” he asked.
You looked up and met his eyes, staring at them with furrowed brows.
You had always thought that his eyes were a murky brown, almost black. But now, they were a bright grayish blue. Another secret he decided to let you in on.
They were stunning.
You smiled, extending your hand out towards him.
“Just grab my hand, and don’t ever drop it.”
He looked at your upward-facing palm, admiring each line and crease.
And without thinking, without worrying about the constant threat of danger that lingered throughout Gotham City, only focusing on keeping that beautiful smile on your face, Bruce grabbed your hand.
The sensation of his skin against yours caused your breath to hitch, and Bruce held back a gasp as your fingers interlaced with his.
He glanced over just in time to catch your smile grow to the point of almost splitting your face in two before you rested your non-bruised cheek on his shoulder.
“Thanks, B,” you breathed out.
Bruce leaned his face against the crown of your head, feeling more peace in this moment than he had in his entire life.
“You’re welcome, Y/n.”
~~~~~
Part 2
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“i hate this part.” “what part?” “seeing you happy without me.” + billy russo, he's the one who's saying the 1st and third line. please spare me no pain, i need to cry
being TOTALLY honest, i don’t know if this is really as sad & cry-worthy as it is just.. infuriating jdkdkd
𝒹𝓇𝓊𝓂 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓉 | ᥇.᥅.
fandom marvel
featuring billy russo x ex!reader (f)
rating sfw, heed warnings
content warning poorly written angst, suggestions of domestic violence, allusions of mistreatment & a toxic relationship
summary maybe, he hoped you were as miserable as he was.
word count 1.3k / mini musing
attention not proofread. please reblog. do not copy/translate/repost.
you were trying your best to ignore it. to ignore him, and the way your stomach knotted up when you saw him. just sitting there, his oblivion gaze flickering to your table every so often. you felt sick when his eyes were upon you, hit by a tidal wave of memories.
the fights. all the screaming. your tears outlining the pain in mascara over your cheeks. you thought about the last night you spent with him, and how your bags had been packed by the door, and yet you lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of his breathing. he wasn’t sleeping, he was doing the same. you were crying, and not once did he wrap his arms around you for comfort, not once did he move an inch— just laid there, listening to the sound of your broken heart like a glass shattering on the floor. you might as well have been miles apart, because the few inches between you felt like an ocean of unspoken words.
“Babe?” your fiancé’s voice pulls you out of the memory; he’s in the booth across from you, and his head is cocked to the side, wariness plain on the soft countenance. “Where’d you go?”
“Huh?” you mutter, testing the strength of your voice. it wasn’t as strong as you’d like, so you can only imagine what you must’ve looked like, staring into space with your eyes welling up with tears, breathing getting faster, “Oh, uh, sorry. Nowhere, I’m right here.” you force a smile and reach over to hold his hand on the table, ring glinting under the dim lamps. you don’t look to Billy again, because despite the fact that every memory you kept of your time with him was a shitty one, your heart still aches to see him. your feet still yearn to carry you to him. your hands still try to reach out and take his face, and your lips want nothing more than to plant themselves against his.
pathetic, you thought.
“What were you saying?”
“Oh,” your fiancé shrugs, before his hand careens to take yours, lacing his fingers between yours, “just about the cake, I mean, do you really want Devil’s Food? We can get any flavor under the moon, ya know?”
“What’s wrong with Devil’s Food?” you tease, squeezing his hand and wearing a playful smirk.
“Nothing!” he replies, playfully defensive, “I’m just saying— I love you, but I will have to laugh if you get big, brown chunks of cake caught in your teeth during the reception, you know that right?”
you both crack up, and for a moment, you forget about Billy in the corner. with him, you ended up smiling until it hurt, laughing until you cried, and loving every moment of it.
“There’s a problem with your card, sir,” the waitress approaches, looking meek and apologetic as she shifts on her heels. frowning, you look up at the same time as your fiancé.
“What’s up? Did it get declined?”
“No… not exactly. We just need you to call your bank and confirm the payment.”
he nods, sliding out of the booth seat, “Sure, yeah I’ll handle it.” he looks to you, smiles just as apologetically, and reaches up to kiss the back of your hand before he lets go of it, “Meet you outside?”
you nod, already reaching to gather your belongings, “Sure, yeah, do what you have to do.” and he strode off, tagging along behind the waitress whilst putting his phone to his ear. once alone, you nibble on your lip, eyes flickering to the table in the corner. you catch Billy’s gaze this time, and something in your stomach turns. you have to go over there. there’s anger and confusion swirling within your stomach when you hitch the strap of your purse on to your shoulder and stomp over to the table, crossing your arms over your chest; he’s looking down, into his nearly empty beer bottle when you reach him. “What are you doing here?”
he shrugs, bringing the beer to his lips.
it wasn’t enough for you. “Are you following me?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he replies, flippantly.
“Bullshit.” you knew he was lying, but you also knew he would never admit it if he were.
“He seems nice.”
you scoff— something deep inside you, something warm you once held for Billy Russo had died and was decomposing in the cavity he left in your heart. “Yeah, he is.”
his brow quirks when he finally looks over at you, “And, since when do you like nice guys?”
stand your ground. “Maybe I just got tired of the assholes,” you reply, the words felt like acid on your tongue; you had to expel it before it destroyed you, “and, of course, the obvious perks.”
“Which are?”
“He doesn’t make me cry and he’s never killed anyone.” your brows furrowed, and you notice the grip on the neck of his bottle grows tighter. good, you think, it felt good to get to him like he always got to you. “He’s never once hit me, or even threatened—“
“Yeah?” Billy cuts you off with a snort as he points to you with his bottle, “Just give him time, sweetheart. He’s gonna be just like every other guy you’ve ever known. He’ll be just like me.”
you feel sick. shaking your head, you glance towards him. he doesn’t see you over here, which was probably for the best. turning back to the table, you place both hands on it, leaning close to whisper your words like they held a dirty secret. “No, you’re wrong, Billy. He’s not like you, which is why I love him the way you’d never let me love you.” once said, you push yourself off from the table and turn to traipse towards the door.
“I hate this part.”
you stop; against your better judgement, you stop in your tracks and turn to look at him again. your heart rate kicks up, and you grip the strap of your bag with one hand, eyes narrowed. “What part?”
Billy stands up from the table, slow, tugs on the hem of his shirt to straighten it out, before he takes a couple of steps towards you. you take a couple of steps back. old habits die hard, and you weren’t sure what Billy was capable of doing, anymore. he pauses when he sees the reaction, watching a subtle fear spread across your countenance, a cautiousness learned on the palm of his hand. for a moment, you can see an ugly, glaring visage of guilt wither his typical stoicism. “Seeing you happy without me.”
“Let’s not lie to each other anymore, Billy,” you mutter, hands shaking so you hide them from him. “I was never happy with you, and you weren’t happy with me.”
“Maybe you’re right,” his voice is practically a whisper as he takes another step closer. you knew better, but you’re frozen in place. he tilts his head, dark eyes filled with an abyss of things he never said. he wouldn’t say them now. not ever. “But you were the closest thing to it I’ve ever had.” his hand flees to touch your face, but you angle your gaze in the opposite direction to avoid it, or perhaps, to hide the expression you wore now. it didn’t matter, either way, and he leans forward to press a chaste kiss to your temple, before sidestepping you.
moments later, as you leave the restaurant with your fiancé, holding his hand, your eyes betray him, and scan the parking lot for Billy.
rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.
content warning this is a dark fic. murder suggested, blood mention. guns, abusive behavior, cat and mouse, obsessive!billy
summary did you really think you could get away from him?
word count 2.4k / mini musing
attention not proofread, may contain mistakes. do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.
love you to death writing event
you used to sleep relatively soundly, but that wasn’t the case anymore, not since you met Billy Russo.
the door to your apartment opens, bangs against the wall, and then slams shut. you startle and sit straight up, grabbing the pillow from behind you and hugging it close on your lap. heavy boots clatter on the linoleum as he kicks them off, and you could imagine they’re caked in mud, leaving a layer of muck on your floor.
why did he always come here?
your heart rate was tethered to his footsteps, pace increasing with each one until he pushes the door to your bedroom open.
“Did ya miss me, huh?” standing there, looming in the shadows like some evil spirit, you can smell him from where you sat— the salty air that clings to him. had he been at the docks? at this hour? and, as you reach to turn on the lamp at your bedside, he steps inside. bathed in light, you can see a crimson splatter on his face that had been wiped at, probably by his hand, and the same staining the clothes that he’d already started peeling out of. retrieving the gun from his waistband, he tosses it on the bed in front of you, and you scoot back, putting more distance between you and it.
“Is that— is that blood?”
he tosses them in a heap at the foot of your bed, glancing to you. “Nothin’ gets past you, does it, darlin’?” he scoffs, a wicked grin stretching tiers over his pearly teeth as he comes closer, hooking his hand at the back of your neck to pull you to him as he bent forward. “Wash those for me, yeah?” you flinch when his lips collide with your forehead.
swallowing hurts, but you choke on it, eyes glued to the bloody garments. “Whose blood is it?”
“Don’t matter.” he shrugs, chuckling dark, digits delving into your hair at the root.
teeth pulling at the delicate flesh of your lower lip, you can’t leave it alone. you should, but you can’t. “Did you ki— kill someone?”
a low and vexed sigh escapes Billy’s lips, both hands now finding your face, gripping it, and forcing it up. “Darlin’.” he mutters, his mouth inches from yours. his patience is thin, you already knew that, and maybe that’s why you only stare at him now, eyes wide and searching his pitch black gaze for any sign of remorse for what he’d done. there’s none. no humanity behind the abysmal gems. “Shut up, and do as you’re told.” he looks on for a moment longer, as if daring you to challenge him, but when you don’t, he smiles in approval and presses his lips to yours in a hard kiss. “That’s my girl. Get those started, I need a shower.”
when he releases you from his grasp and grabs the gun, you don’t move an inch, and instead, watch him swagger into the bathroom. he leaves the door open, sets the pistol on the counter, turns on the faucet, and steps under the water. you can no longer see him, but only faintly make out his silhouette against the shower curtain as steam begins to leak into your bedroom.
and you’re still just sitting there, staring at the ruined clothes.
this isn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. you reminded yourself, as long as he has access to you, as long as he knows where you are, you will always be an accomplice. you will always be in as much danger as whosever blood he was washing down the drain right now. your heart pounds. your eyes flicker to the bathroom, watching his shadow as he bathes. your mind races; everything you knew about Billy Russo and the sordid business his family had was enough to make you ill in theory alone, but the smell of blood and salt only inches from you had your stomach churning.
you couldn’t do it anymore.
propelling yourself from the bed, you sprint to your closet and fling the door open. grabbing a backpack from the top shelf, your hands are shaking as you rip your clothes from their hangers, stuffing them into the bag. you keep looking over your shoulder, breathing shallow and quick, expecting Billy to be standing there. you stuff the pack as full as you can with your necessities, fumbling with the zipper until it snaps. “Shit!” you hiss, tossing it down. you didn’t have time to fight it. slinging it on your back, you stare into the bathroom. his shadow is still behind the curtain, hands working what you assumed to be shampoo into his hair.
your eyes fall to the gun.
you could use it if he tried to follow you.
placing one hand over your mouth to muffle your heavy breathing, you tip toe as silently and slowly as you can into the bathroom with him. if you were to be seen right now, bag packed and reaching for his gun, there’s no telling what he may do to you. you knew that. you could imagine, but none of the visages playing in your mind was pleasant.
you absolutely could not get caught.
your free hand goes out as you pant, terrified, into your palm, and your fingertips graze the grip of the handgun, before pulling it closer to you. once they hook around it, you close your eyes, if only for a brief moment, and inhale. exhale.
you backtrack, as slow and careful as you’d been coming in, until you reach the carpet of your bedroom. using the hand that was covering your mouth to now push the door as gentle as you could until it almost closes. the hallway is a brief tread, and you hold the gun tight in your hand, expecting any second for him to come bursting through the door to chase you. but he doesn’t.
you can still hear the water all the way up until you reach the front door, and only when you pull it open do you hear the faucet shut off.
now run.
your legs were surprisingly compliant, sprinting down the hallway, you explode through the door of the stairwell and practically throw yourself down them— your bare feet slapping against the stone steps. behind you, muffled, you can hear the door to your apartment fling open. Billy’s voice is thunderous as he hollers your name. fear wants to grip you, to cement your feet in place, but you can’t allow it to stun you. you have to run.
the muscles in your legs are burning by the time you stumble out into the parking garage. you wanted to stop, you needed to rest, but you knew Billy had to be right behind you. reaching for your keys, you pull them out and hold them in your free hand as you duck behind a black Mercedes. the door opens, and you peer through the tinted back window to see Billy.
he’s a mess, panting with his dark hair disheveled. he hadn’t even fully dressed; bare chest brandishing prison tats and bloody jeans unbuttoned and sagging off his hip bones. his face is twisted in rage. you bite your lip, stomach churning. what have you done?
he calls your name, black eyes scanning the deck and you hunch lower behind the trunk, afraid he might see you. you close your eyes tight and try to listen to his footsteps, but without the steel-toed boots, they were much more difficult to pinpoint. “Where did you run off to, huh?” the question echoes throughout the garage, and you flinch. “You two faced, little bitch!”
your line of vision focuses behind you, the direction of where your car was parked. unfortunately, it was three rows over, and there was no way you could make it there without being seen; and you certainly couldn’t outrun Billy.
“Come out, come out,” he croons wickedly, slamming the side of his fist against the car three down from you. the alarm wails so loudly you’re forced to cover your ears, jingling your keys as you do so. “I can hear you, darlin’! Don’t make me chase you, daddy’s too tired for games.”
you could feel your rapid heartbeat in your ears, your breath sounded amplified and ragged, and your knees were quaking when he hits the next car. another horrid alarm. if he did the same to the Mercedes you were taking shelter behind, you would be so overwhelmed by the sound, you’d have to escape it. did Billy know that? did Billy already know exactly where you were?
“You made a mistake, baby. That’s okay, if you come out now and apologize, I’ll go easy on you. Just a little punishment, just a little one.” you press your back against the vehicle, desperately looking for a covered escape route. the lot was too sparsely occupied for that. anywhere you ran, you would be seen. Billy’s fist knocks into the car right before the Mercedes. one more alarms. you wince; you could hear the combination of wailing sirens vibrating in your skull, making it impossible to concentrate.
Billy snarls, clearly enraged that you didn’t come out and throw yourself at his feet for mercy. “Where do you think you’re gonna go? Stupid cunt, you know who I am. You know what I’ve done. You should know there’s no where you can run or hide that I won’t fucking find you!”
finally, he knocks against the Mercedes’ hood and the alarm shrieks to life. your vision blurs from just how loud everything is, and you stumble out from behind it.
“There she is!” Billy hollers, but you’re already running again, tripping over your own, bare feet. your chest burned, legs ached, and you’d regretted not grabbing a jacket at the very least— your pajamas were too thin for the cold. “Don’t you run from me, now.”
the chase was utterly anticlimactic; he was on you in a fraction of a second.
one, cruel fist sinks in at your scalp and jerks you back by the hair, the other catching your wrist when you try to point the gun behind you with a helpless squeal. “What do you think you’re gonna do with that, huh? Shoot me? Go on, baby, try!” his knee juts forward to clip you in the lower back, and you crumble to the concrete with a pathetic whimper, his weight following. both of his knees come down heavy on either side of your head, as he sits on your sternum— the wind is knocked free from your lungs with a wheeze. “You wanna shoot me? Huh? Huh?!” Billy wrestles the gun from your grasp, twisting your wrist in the process. you feel a pop and moan in agony, before you’re staring down the barrel. “I bet you don’t even know how to take the safety off. Let daddy show you.” you stare, wide eyed and trembling, as his forefinger pushes the safety and you hear a click. “Open your mouth, pretty thing.” he pants, eyes black and wild.
“P—please— don’t—“ you stammer, shaking your head. his other hand coils around your neck, “I’m so—so sorry! Billy, please don’t!”
he gives your throat a long squeeze, closing off your air until you’re gargling and kicking under him. “Open wide for me or I’m going to break your fucking neck in my fist.”
tears streak into your hairline, but you do as you’re told, opening your mouth even as you whimper soft pleas of mercy. Billy shoves the barrel into your mouth, forcing it open wider. any begging that you were doing before was utterly ruined and incomprehensible now; you taste metal and it clicks hideously against your teeth.
his grip on your throat loosens, but he doesn’t release completely, wearing a manic mask over a typically stoic countenance. “I’ve been so good to you, haven’t I? I don’t think I’ve been mean. Hell, I buy ya anything you even look twice at. And you want to run away, like a disobedient child? Like a little fucking brat?“ you try to shake your head, but it’s faint— you’re too worried his trigger finger will slip. “And you want to pull a gun on me? You think you’re tough? You don’t know shit about being tough. I oughtta toss you to the fucking dogs.” you feel sick at the mention— the men who work for Billy’s family. ruthless. bloody. “They’d rip you to shreds in a second, and send you back to me in pieces, but at least then you might show a little gratitude to the man who keeps all the shit and filth of this fuckin’ city far from your clean, pristine body. Is that what I should do, huh?”
you shake your head, whining helplessly.
“No?” Billy’s head tilts, fingering the trigger delicately. “Then, should I just put a bullet in you right now?”
bawling, you shake your head again, reaching up to hold his wrist with both hands, desperate. you’d do anything he wanted in this moment if he’d just put the firearm away.
“That’s not convincing enough.” he mutters. you close your eyes tight, gripping his arm. “Open your eyes, darlin’!” his voice breaks, whether from stress or the anger he harbored for you, it didn’t matter. you do so, more tears making a mess of your face. darkness pours into your gaze, his lips curled in a vicious snarl. “I want you to watch me pull the trigger.”
before you had time to react, he does.
your heart stops.
there’s a click.
a faint yelp escapes from around the barrel, no bullet humming from it to take your life from you.
he does it again.
another click.
you scream.
“You dumb, fucking whore.” he sneers, leaning close to you, but you’re trying to turn your head, sputtering and sobbing when he finally pulls the weapon from your mouth. his hand grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your head towards him even as you try to hide it. “Do you really think I’d keep a loaded gun where you could get to it?” he pulls the trigger again, pressing the barrel to your cheek. it’s warm from your mouth, and wet with the saliva that leaks from your lips. yet another horrific click.
sitting back against you, he tucks the gun into his waistband of his pants. meanwhile, you whimper, head swimming.
“You look absolutely fucking terrified,” he scoffs, a wicked smirk on his lips, and he grabs your face, turning it towards him. “Are you scared, darlin’?” gasping for air, you nod, too petrified to formulate an actual answer. “Good. You need to be scared.” he leans closer, tongue lazing out of his mouth to lick a stripe of spit and tears from your jaw to your eyebrow, “That means you’ll never try to leave me again.”
“Billy, please tell me you’re okay,” You demanded through the phone. “I’m really worried, and you know that’s a recipe for disaster,” you let out a nervous chuckle. He’s been out all day, only kissing your forehead while you were half asleep this morning before leaving to do who knows what. He’s Billy Russo, you never know what he’s going to do or when he’s going to do it.
You hang up the phone just as you walk into the kitchen only to see a black silhouette sitting in the recliner. You jumped, startled, despite not knowing why as this was a quite common occurrence - Billy coming home late and unknowingly, sitting in the dark, not letting you know he was around, etc.
“William Russo, you know I hate when you do that,” You breathe deeply, your hand on your chest.
“Sorry, love,” You could hear the chuckle in his voice. You could also hear the roughness, too, and you know he’s had a long day. He has a lot of long days, some easy, most are hard, most mentally exhausting on both your parts. You don’t know exactly what he goes out to do during the days and nights - it’s probably best that it’s kept that way - but you do know that he risks his life every day just to keep you safe, to keep you out of harm's way, just by eliminating those that threaten your life. You love him nonetheless, and you always will, despite his worries and doubts. You could never leave him. He was your life; that’s why you hated that he went out every day and risked his life for you instead of being here with you.
“Billy, please turn on the light. You know how on edge I get when I can’t see you,” You begin walking towards him, reaching out to turn on the lamp but he stops you, taking your hand lightly in his. He was a rough man, but he was always gentle with you.
“Please, don’t,” You never understood why he never wanted you to see him in his harsh states. You’ve seen him at his worst. I guess you could never understand as you’ve never been in his position. But, you have always accepted him just the way he is. No matter the scars, no matter the blood on his hands, you will love him with all your heart and soul, no matter what.
“Baby, it’s okay. Whatever it is, you know I can handle it,” Rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand, you turn towards him, your eyes adjusting just slightly.
“I know, but I hate that you have to see me this way. You don’t deserve to see me this way,” Billy sighs. You breathe in deep, knowing his fears all too well. You reach up, though, and turn on the lamp. Blood stained Billy’s hands, scars and scratches tattooed across his face.
“C’mon, my love. Let’s get you cleaned up,” You suggested softly, taking his hand and leading him towards the bathroom in your shared room. You sat him down on the bench inside after he washed his hands before you wet a washcloth to clean his wounds. Billy closes his eyes as you press the cloth to his face. He places his hands on your hips, holding you against him.
“I don’t know what to do,” Billy starts and you follow his line of sight to your stomach, to your four-month pregnant belly showing through your cropped sweatshirt. You set the washcloth in the sink before placing your hands on either side of his face, his hands traveling up to set on the skin just above your waist. “There’s so many threats out there, so many who know about you and who will do anything to get to you in order to get to me. I can’t let that happen. Once she gets here, I feel like I’ll miss everything just trying to keep you both safe, and…” Billy cuts himself off, resting his forehead against your stomach, your hands brushing through his hair calmingly.
“Stay with us. If they come for us, then you’ll be ready. But if you’re not here with us, then you can’t keep us safe. Stay here with us so that if they come, you’ll be here to keep us from harm’s way.” You answer.
“You don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you,” Billy mentions out of nowhere.
“Billy Russo, don’t you start saying such things. You know that none of it is true,” You lift his chin so he’d be looking you in the eye. He instantly spots your ‘I mean business’ look. He knows with that look, he either said something wrong or he’s in trouble or both.
“But it is,” he finally stood up, his hands falling away from you as he left the bathroom, you on his heels. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be in danger 24/7. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have to worry about every little thing, including your own life. If it wasn’t for me…” You wouldn’t take any more of this.
“If it wasn’t for you,” You cut him off. “I wouldn’t have found the love of my life. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be carrying our child right now.” You paused, walking up to him, placing your hands on either side of his face again, forcing him to look you in the eye. “If it wasn’t for you, I would not be standing here with the man I love more than anything, living the life that I wouldn’t change for the world because that means I wouldn’t have you. I can’t live without you - I won’t live without you. I refuse. And if you can’t accept that, well then tough luck because you’re stuck with me, no matter what.” Tears filled not only your eyes but his as well from your assuring words. “I love you, and there is nothing you could do or say that could ever change that.” You finish.
“I don’t deserve you, darling, but I wouldn’t change my life for the world. I love you, sweetheart. It’s a good thing you’re here for it all because I need you and I can’t live without you. I just wish I could give you a better, safer life.” One hand on your waist, the other on your cheek, brushing his thumb over your tears, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from yours.
“What’s a life without a little drama?” You let out a small laugh, receiving one from Billy as he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close. Pulling back to breathe, you press a simple kiss to his cheek before burying your face in his neck as he soothes in the sweet aroma of your hair.
Billy chuckles as he feels you yawn against his neck. “Let’s get you to bed, my love.” He picks you up in his arms as he walks a few steps and places you gently on your bed. Undressing you, he covers you in the duvet before undressing himself, settling in beside you, his arms wrapped softly but tightly around you, holding you close against him, afraid that if he lets go, you’d disappear.
* * *
Waking up to a strong grip on your hand, you open your eyes to see the start of one of Billy’s nightmares. You hated seeing him in so much pain and terror within his nightmares. It happens more commonly than you are comfortable with, although you are always there to calm him down and assure him that everything is alright.
“Billy, hey,” You began, trying to shake him awake before his nightmare became any worse. “Billy, love, wake up. It’s not real,” You place your hand against his cheek, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone. “Billy, baby, it’s alright. Billy,” His eyes shot open, rushing to find your face in the dark.
“Y/N, what… d-did I hurt you? Are you okay?” Billy panicked, despite it being me that should be asking if he’s okay.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. You know you’d never hurt me.” Billy let out a relieved sigh as he laid back against his pillow, seeming to have forgotten about the dream for the time being.
“What was it this time?” You almost regretted asking the question as that soft, sad look filled Billy’s eyes as he looked up to you. One after the other, tears slid down his cheeks as you took Billy in your arms, holding his head to his chest.
“Please, baby, don’t leave me. I can’t lose you,” Billy cried softly.
“Shh… I’m right here, my love. I’m not going anywhere.” You promised him.
As he curled himself around your body, holding your smaller frame in his arms as an anchor, you took one of his hands and placed it on your belly. Ever since you became pregnant and he would have nightmares or just needed to be calmed down after a stressful day, you’d set his hand on your belly. Your baby would kick at her father’s touch and the feeling against his hand would ground him, bring him back to reality, let him know that you are there and that you’re not going anywhere.
Once feeling his unborn daughter’s kick, Billy bent down and pressed his lips to your belly, the slightest smile forming there. “Hi, baby,” He whispered. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head.
Finally, Billy lifted his head to look back into your eyes. “It’s alright, love. I’m right here.” You told him with a sympathetic smile. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you settled back down into bed with him, holding him in your arms, making sure he knew you were not going anywhere, no matter what.
Warnings: NSFW, Dark Billy Russo, Knife kink, Violence, Non-con, Dom/sub, Bondage, Fingering, Major character death, SMUT, Torture, Orgasm delay
Tears fell down your cheeks, soaking your t-shirt. Your body was shaking from the chesty sobs and loss of blood that had drenched your arms. The cuts on your wrists were gaping and the pain was unbearable. The gag in your mouth was saturated with saliva and blood and tears. Your vision was blurry from the tears, and you sniffled back the cries, scared to your core.
Never did you think this is how the night would end for you. All you wanted was to go home with your boyfriend after a day of working at the carousel and watch a movie. But there’d be none of those anymore. You turned your head slowly to the side, crying softly as you looked at your boyfriend’s lifeless body on the ground. Blood was pooling on the floor around him, the bullet hole in the side of his head. It had been quick and easy for him. His body had just been thrown to the side like a piece of trash and the moment it happened, you screamed and thrashed but it only made things worse.
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