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becauseicantthinkwritings · 1 year ago

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Thank you 😭😭😭❤

Teeth

Part 16

Werepanther! Billy Russo x Female Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, stalking, anxiety, panic attacks.

The predator yearns.

Looks at you, lying in bed, arms askew, body exhausted and resting.

He makes a circle, anxiety filling up inside of him.

Takes a step closer.

The panther huffs, and startles itself when your eyes open.

Of course, you were a light sleeper.

You lift your sleepy head, blinking, eyes confused, but intention clear. You pull your sheets back, offering him a place beside you.

When he hesitates for too long, you fall back onto your bed, too sleepy to keep your head up.

“Come, kitty.” You say softly, patting the spot beside you.

The panther likes it, likes the idea that you don’t see him as anything dangerous, he doesn’t want you to. He wants you to see him as safety, as an ease of mind, someone you can reach for when you need it.

He hops up onto your bed.

When he settles in, breathing that scent of freshly picked strawberries, does he finally relax, letting out a soft breath.

You instinctively pull the blanket over him, and inch closer to his furry form.

“Soft.” You mumble, fingers sinking into his fur.

He tries to resist it, but after a minute, he begins to purr, eyes closing as he feels your face press into the side of him.

This is exactly what he always wanted, a place beside you to rest, where he's meant to be. The only place he's ever felt was right, somewhere deep in his bones where he can barely understand, a primal instinct that tells him that you're one of the most important things in his universe.

He closes his eyes, falls asleep beside you.

When he wakes up in the morning, he's human again, looks over at the other side of his bed and realises that you were never beside him in the first place.

It had all been a dream.

The rejection burns in his chest, squeezes his throat. He hates it.

He decides to hear it from you, to give himself closure and hear you say the words to him. Maybe it will help him move on, instead of yearn for you, and each passing scent he catches of you.

He tries to send you a message later in the morning, after he’s run five miles to let off some steam, he texts you.

It doesn’t go through.

He waits, refreshes his phone, and still the messages do not go through.

He doesn’t let himself think it through fully, dialling your number.

After one ring, it goes to voicemail.

He feels something die inside of him. Swiping a hand over his mouth, he crushes his phone in his palm without a second thought, violently angry at himself that he let things get this bad.

When Katerina pops in, and asks if you have an available minute, you know what’s coming.

You’d blocked his number, avoided every interaction with him as best as possible for the two days he’d been back, but you knew this was inevitable.

He wants to see you, and you can’t refuse him.

You press your teeth together, smiling softly at Katerina, who you can tell knows more than she lets on.

You probably shouldn’t have asked her where he was.

What else could you have done? Waking up in bed alone after an unforgettable night with him, every limb of yours tangled with his, the smooth skin of his back as you scraped your fingers over his heated body, only to find him gone.

You’d called him several times, numerous texts.

You’d even stood outside of his home, knocking on his door with your heart in your throat.

Nothing.

He hadn’t answered, he hadn’t called.

He’d completely disappeared.

Your last resort had been calling his secretary. Katerina had very kindly informed you that Billy had left the state, and did not say where he was going or when he’d be back. She’d been very kind to you, despite you calling her late on a Sunday evening, with no explanation and only questions.

It was then, curled up on your couch with your phone in your hand, the very same couch he’d reclined you on so that he could bury his face between your thighs, that you’d decided you were done with him.

The only thing left to do was make that clear to him, officially.

Standing at his door, you know Katerina is looking at you while you hesitate. You wonder what she thinks she knows.

You clear your throat as you step in.

“You wanted to see me, Mister Russo?”

You have no idea how hurtful your words are to him. The pain your distance causes, the way it shreds at his ribs.

He’s facing away from you, so that you can’t see him close his eyes in bliss when the scent of strawberries fills his nose.

He turns, and there you are. Facing each other, your expression calm and just borderline curious, as if this conversation could be about anything in the world.

The words die in his throat as everything comes back to him.

Everything.

Every piece of you that he’s held onto for the last couple of days while he was without you in the wilderness. Every touch, every cry, every breath he swallowed in a desperate attempt to feel all of you.

To know you, like he would never dare know another person.

The panther urges him to say something.

“I’m sorry to call you in like this, but, you- you weren’t answering my calls and- well I’m not sure-” His voice cuts off when you raise your eyebrows.

“We-” He tries to continue, looking down, “We’ve had some type of… miscommunication somewhere, and I’d like to figure out where.”

“Miscommunication?” You utter in disbelief, “More like no communication at all.”

“That’s not true.” He tries, “I left a note.”

You frown, eyebrows crushed together and he aches to smoothen your frustration.

“I never found a note.”

“I left it on your pillow.”

You swallow, turning away from him.

“And what did this mythical note say?” You ask.

“That I didn’t want to leave.”

“That’s it?”

“It was all I could do. There was an… emergency.”

You huff.

“You could have woke me, or something- anything other than having me wake up alone and realise that you weren’t there.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, already done with this conversation.

“Regardless of what you meant to do, you did that, and… while you were gone, I decided that whatever this-” You wiggle your finger to indicate the space between you, “- is… is over. I’m no longer interested in being your friend or anything else.” You say calmly, even though you want to cry, turning away from him.

He says your name softly, and when you glance up, the pained expression on his face almost makes you crumble.

“So, have a nice day, Mister Russo.” You whisper, turning on your heel and leaving the way you came, with more weight on your chest than ever before.

You drive to Amy’s house after work, beelining and flopping onto Amy’s couch as soon as she opens the door.

Her cat, Loki, a grey maine coon takes a delicate leap onto your back and you grunt at his weight.

When he starts purring, you smile, thinking about the panther.

Amy puts on a funny movie, pulls strawberry sorbet out her freezer and presents it to you. You’re forced to eat it face down on her couch as Loki makes biscuits on your back.

She lets you mope quietly, doesn’t ask about it, and you talk about everything else other than him.

It’s peaceful, exactly what you need, and still the knot in your chest refuses to unravel.

He wanted to go after you, but he’d been stuck in meetings for the last couple of hours. When he finally gets a moment, it’s only to watch you drive off, leaving him behind.

The meetings go on around him, and he feels like he’s not really here. He suspects that when you’d walked away last, you’d taken a piece of him with you.

It was a new feeling, one he’d never experienced before with past relationships. He was completely enraptured by you, and he’d only been with you once.

His fingers tighten around the pen he’s holding. The panther urges him to keep fighting.

When you get to your car, after leaving Amy’s apartment, it’s just a little after seven.

You almost miss it, too much in your head, but as you get closer, it catches on the corner of your eye- a manilla envelope, tucked under the windshield wiper of your car.

Suddenly, every bad thing you’ve tried to forget has happened to you, has come back in full force. Your heart clenches tightly in your chest, refusing to move with the fear trickling into your limbs, paralysing you from the neck down.

You can’t move, unsure of what to do. A group of teenagers walking past, prompts you to move out of their way and closer to your car.

There’s a ringing in your ear, a lump in your throat, heavily dissociating from your reality and being unable to make a move because you’re not sure what the right move is.

You swallow, closing your eyes for a second, months of therapy working its way in, like a system trying to reboot itself. You suck in a slow breath through your nose, feel the way it fills you, your lungs expanding. It’s like grasping at a single foothold, you’re no longer spiralling, but able to at least hold your ground. You listen to the sound your breath makes as it leaves through your mouth.

Eyes open now, you realise that you’re probably being watched at this very second. Anxiety swims in your head and you’re dizzy for a moment before you reach for the A4 sized envelope, pulling off the windshield and examining it carefully. It’s not sealed, and you bend the envelope back and forth to try to get a gauge on the thickness of it. It seems like only one or two pieces of paper, and you figure you know what it is from past experience.

You’re not sure if getting into your car is a good idea, you glance at your back seat through the window to make sure it’s empty. After that, fear prompts you to kneel on the street to look under your car. There’s nothing there that you can see.

You needed to find a safe place, turning back to face the direction of Amy’s apartment. She would let you crash there if you asked, no questions.

But then what? Should you call the police?

You figure it’s the safest option, and you take a step in her direction.

One step turns into two, and two into three and you’re moving now with a little more purpose inside of you. You’re a little ways there when you notice someone coming toward you. Your body instantly locks up, and you turn back, unlocking and sliding into your car without any further thoughts.

Head empty, body moving on its own accord, heart hammering in your chest as you lock your doors, starting the car, and pulling out onto the street. Your rapid breathing is loud in your ears and your hands shake as you begin driving. After a few moments, your phone connects to your car speaker and there’s something soothing playing in the background.

When you’re halfway home, you realise you’ve done the exact opposite of what you’d wanted to do- all because a person you didn’t know was walking down the street.

You groan, continuing your drive home, fully aware of the risk you’d just taken.

You climb out of your car carefully, but not before shining the flashlight of your phone under your seat. All your ideas of stalking have been influenced by the media, and you feel absolutely stupid when you find no fancy pressure switch under your driver’s seat that’s been rigged to explode your car if you move.

It makes you laugh in derision, before you slide out of your car, grabbing your bag and the manilla envelope and entering your apartment building.

The guard at the front desk gives you a nod when you walk past and you return his acknowledgement with a smile, waiting for the elevator quietly.

When you get in, you finally feel brave enough to aggressively open the manilla envelope and tug the single glossy photo out.

You swallow, examining it carefully, as if it doesn’t send massive waves of fear down your spine.

It’s you, in the parking garage of the supermarket the day Andrew confronted you.

It’s taken from a small distance away, you can tell that the photographer was standing concealed behind a concrete pillar.

When the elevator door slides open, you’re still focused on the photo, you don’t even realise that there’s someone standing in front of you until he says your name.

You flinch, stiffening and taking a step back with wide eyes as you look up. Your heart slams into your ribcage as your back hits the far wall of the elevator.

Billy blinks, tilting his head in concern at your reaction, his eyebrow twitching for just a moment.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

You open your mouth, starting to say something before changing your mind.

The elevator doors try to close, he reaches a hand out to stop them, keeping his hand there to ensure they don’t try to close again.

You keep the photo pressed to your chest, trying to figure out how to act normally in his overwhelming presence.

“Hey,” You say calmly, sliding past him and out of the elevator. You walk ahead, wondering why he’s here.

“Look, I really don’t have time for whatever this is.” You rush out, glancing back to see that he’s following you.

You wonder if you should tell him anything, he was technically equipped to handle it.

Pausing, you look back at him for a moment. He studies you intently.

“Did something happen?” He follows up, eyes warm on you. You study him too, messy hair, a little too long beard, just overall shaggy in a way you’d never seen him before, but in no way less attractive.

Maybe even more hot, if that was possible.

“I’m fine.” You answer, looking away from him for a second, “What did you want?”

He doesn’t speak immediately, seeming to gather all of his thoughts all at once.

“I- didn’t like where we left things.” He says slowly, and you feel your heart clench for an entirely different reason altogether. At this point, you’re not sure how much of this you can take.

You blink, willing yourself to be strong.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You say with absolutely no sympathy in your tone.

He takes a deep breath.

“I understand that I might have made some mistakes, and I’m not asking to be like we were… before but,” He sighs, “I really would like to be your friend again.”

You turn away from him, unable to look him in the eye when you say your next words.

“I’m not interested.”

“You don’t mean that.” He tries.

You walk away from him, an ache deep in your chest that hurts so bad that you just want to get as far away from it as possible. He follows.

“I do.” You respond, trying to find your keys in your bag, usually it was clipped at the top for easy access, but maybe you hadn’t thought to clip it back into place when you’d put it in your bag earlier.

Billy stands beside you, looking at you with worry, as if he can tell that something is wrong.

“Tell me how I can fix this.” He tries again softly.

You feel the frustration build inside of you and struggling to find your keys makes it worse. You finally get your fingers around it at the bottom of your bag but in the struggle the photo slips from its place pressed between your arm and your chest and slides right to the floor.

You groan, glad that it’s landed face down at least, tugging your keys out of your bag and reaching for the photo. You don’t anticipate him reaching for it before you.

“Um-” You stutter as he picks it up, flipping it around to see.

Shit.

“What is this?” Billy says in a low voice, with a mild inflection of anger there.

“It’s nothing.” You breathe, reaching for it as you get your door unlocked, letting it swing open.

You stop in your tracks as you spot another manilla envelope, on the floor just inside your apartment.

“This doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’” He says, inching forward for an explanation. Unfortunately, you’re too busy staring at the much thicker envelope on your floor to worry about anything he’s saying.

You hear him take a deep breath, finally noticing your reaction, and turning to look in the same direction you are.

Your breathing is laboured now, as you watch him step in front of you and reach for the envelope at your feet.

You want to protest his being here, but you’re kind of glad that he is, because once again, your body has locked into place and is unable to move as you watch him open the envelope.

He flicks through them quickly, nothing but microexpressions on his face, a shocked blink, the clenching of his jaw.

“Is it bad?” You whisper, trying to read his reaction.

He looks up at you, a dangerous amount of anger in his eyes. He takes in your terrified expression, and you watch him blink, face softening.

“How long have you known about this?” He asks softly, precise in a way that shows you his rage.

You shake your head, struggling to recall anything in your state of panic. You reach forward, trying to take the envelope from his hands.

“I really don’t think you should-”

“-If they’re pictures of me, then I want to see them.” You argue.

He says your name in protest as you tug the envelope from his grip, tugging the small stack of photos out and dropping them on your kitchen counter nearby.

Your stomach twists as you spread them out.

You hear your door close before Billy is at your side.

They were all of you.

You driving, you at the grocery store, you leaving Anvil, you standing at Billy’s door. There were even multiple shots of you being mugged in that alley a couple of weeks ago. You. You. You.

Your entire body shakes. Your vision sways and so does your body.

Billy says your name, his hands on your shoulders to turn you away from the array of photos.

You can’t hear him, ears fuzzy, like they’re packed with cotton.

It’s hard to realise exactly when it happens, but suddenly, you can’t breathe.

You gasp, panic overtaking every thought in your head, terror like a train moving too fast on a track that wasn’t made for such speeds.

Your eyes squeeze shut, you feel like you’re derailing, falling through the air with nothing to hold on to.

There’s no air in the room, there’s no air anywhere, it’s just you and darkness and you don’t understand why you can’t breathe.

His hands on the back of your neck are the first thing you feel, and suddenly his forehead is pressed to yours.

His actions do something to you, inserts himself into your head, and like before, there’s a foothold where there wasn’t one before.

“-Breathe.” He guides, his fingers pressing into that spot at the base of your scalp, reminding you that he’s here, and you’re not alone, and if anything, friend or lover or nothing at all, he will always protect you.

The tears come next.

A brick wall breaking, a dam bursting, your panic dissolving into a flood of tears and you reach for him, clinging tightly, till your legs are no longer able to support you.

He sweeps you up easily, and you cry into his chest, feeling when he finally seats his body on your couch.

You don’t look around, the urge to hide in his chest fills you to the brim. Like he understands, you feel his arms wrap around your shoulders tightly. The scent of him wraps around you, hints of spices and cracked pepper that sparks like a match in your head, burning out the panic and reinforcing his presence.

You don’t cry for long, staying tucked against him for a few more minutes, before realising where you are, exactly where you’d decided not to be.

He looks like he wants to protest when you move away from him, eyes on you as you drop into the space beside him, pulling your legs up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them for comfort.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” You mumble, wiping at your eyes, wishing you were still in his arms.

“Don’t.” He grunts angrily, leaning forward so that your eyes have no choice but to focus on his.

“How long have you known that something like this was going on?”

You think for a second.

“I got the first photo the day I quit my last job.”

You hear the air leave him.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

You sigh, pressing your palms to your face in frustration.

“It was just one photo until today. I thought it was a one time thing.”

“And you didn’t report it to the police?”

“Well… no.”

He lets out a low sigh of your name.

“I have a friend in Homeland. She says she’ll be here in ten. You should pack a bag.”

At this, you finally glance up at him. His phone is in his hand, body angled toward you. For the first time tonight, you feel your heart pick up at the sight of him.

“Why would I pack a bag?”

He glances up at you.

“You can’t stay here. Whoever is doing this knows where you live. I need to figure out how they got in.”

“But… this is my home.”

He gives you an apologetic look.

“I know, sweetheart,” He hums, “but I think you’d be safer crashing with me for a while, till we can figure out who’s behind all of this.”

“With you?” You say in shock.

You study each other intently for a moment.

“With me is… safest. You can stay with a friend, or at a hotel, but,” He glances away, before looking back at you, “No one can protect you like I can.”

“That’s cocky.” You lift a hand to wipe at stray tears that continue to fall even though you’re calm.

“That’s me,” He says, leaning forward to give you a cheeky smile that you return easily, like it’s second nature.

Your eyes drop down to his lips, a pang in your throat at the memories.

You turn away from him, sniffling and untucking yourself.

“Alright, I’ll pack a bag.”

The amount of rage boiling inside of Billy at this very moment is too much to quantify.

He braces his arms on your kitchen counter, staring at the photos that someone took of you, searching for answers about who could be doing this.

Every few moments, his vision shifts to that of the panther’s, the fury of them both too powerful to be bottled up like this.

Someone had hurt you, made you feel so afraid, and he knows this is going to end with their blood on his hands.

The panther gives him an approving nudge, the beast inside of him demands that he do everything in his power to keep you safe.

He takes a shallow breath, feeling his teeth sharpen, the rage inside of him too difficult to control.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

The scent of syrupy ripe strawberries fills his nose, sharpens his senses like a whetting stone to a blade.

His vision changes to that of the panther’s.

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