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senka-mesecine · 2 months ago

Note

This may sound sooo weird but could I request some predator/prey play with Barnes? Thank u!

WARPAINT.

Robert Barnes x Reader

-"Dusk's settling. It's time."-

You remark standing on the threshold of the house looking out into the woods as you shrugged into your jacket, zipping it up for warmth there to ward off the chill of the great outdoors. The agreement was made. Was a done deal. Bob's impaled you on a stare from inside the house like he was hellbent on giving on a quiet head start and wordlessly intending to make sure you take it; in fact, those were the agreed rules of the game. You go on right ahead, start walkin', he said, and I'll be right behind'ya, because if I go at it right now, you won't make it past the front porch. And you believed him. Truly. You did. There was simply something quietly fascinating, perhaps a little daunting and curious how seriously he took this whole thing. Like it was an actual insurgence or ambush and not two lovers deliberately toying with one another. Like it wasn't mere foreplay, for lack of a better word. -"I'll just go out there and start strolling, alright?"- You carefully explain and re-explain as if though you weren't over this a hundred times before --- the whole cat and mouse thing? Needed to seem natural and spontaneous. Like you were truly someone caught unaware instead of a person genuinely chased. At first anyway. That was the impression that was meant to be projected. It was just that Robert was so very stern and grim looking you had the odd impression he already started the game, at least inside of his own mind, all while you were still here assessing the rules and preparing for it, fidgeting with your zipper, awkwardly staring out into the bosom of the forest. A distant pheasant shrieks somewhere in the bush and the sound nearly makes you shiver. God.

-"And please, come and find me soon, Bobby. I can't stand the dark."-

You borderline plead, disguising it, perhaps, as a tiny, mild mannered little joke especially once you pepper in an endearment for good measure, stepping off the threshold and across the porch, still talking to the man who hasn't even made a single move outside the house, merely assessing you, back leaning against the wooden pillar holding up the ceiling, almost casual in his body language. Something about his eyes relaying what you could only translate as him saying 'Bet' before you ran out down the trail leading into the tree lot, house becoming smaller and smaller behind you.

---

-"Robert!?"-

You call out, approximately what you could only deduce as a full hour later. Your voice echoes into the abyss, but no response comes. You vaguely pondered if bringing a wristwatch with you would make everything better or worse, but it was a moot point. You particularly cursed yourself for not having a flashlight, but you supposed you were the vulnerable, hunted party to exuberant degrees as it were. Didn't need to worsen your chances as much as you actually wanted to be caught prematurely, so Bob could take you back to the warmth of home so you could call it a night. -"You there!?"- You try again, understanding that the game wouldn't have you giving away your position this blatantly, but thing was you assumed he'd show himself sooner. After all, he's promised. Maybe he's changed his mind and you're merely being teased. You wonder. No, no. That wasn't Bob. When he set his mind to something he went through with it. This wasn't meant to be, in your mind, a chase in the woods at dusk, but you stumbling around in the dark, borderline as blind as a bat, your only relief of light coming from the half moon above head, careful steps following the pale ribbons of light squeezed through the foliage of the trees as you watched you step, the occasional dry branch or twig cracking underneath your feet, alerting an unseen hooting owl in the distance. Must've been ten at night by now, according to your vague assessment. Somehow, the gravitas of the situation settles in like a rock around your neck; if it was so scary, why was your heart thumping fast? Excited? Catching your breath on a downward slope you lean against the trunk of a nearby pine tree, leaning your back against it and using it as a momentary rest and refuge from sight. Love did make you do stupid things; if someone told you'd be in forests of Tennessee playing hide and seek with someone, you'd snort in amusement. You embrace your arms around yourself, around your torso and the jacket on it, keeping your warmth intact, imagining the hands were his. A distant echo cuts through the silence. You stir, breath hitching, calming only once you realize there was a silhouette between the pines; grazing in the distance in the moonlight, causing your shoulders to drop in relief. A deer. Just a deer that didn't notice you.

Scared the crap out of you.

It was late. You move, deciding you had to at this point, either heading further into the woods or back, towards home, following back the trail leading towards the house and hoping to God you'll run into Robert somewhere along the way only for the soul to jump out of your body, on the steep top of the precipice where the three lot started to thin above you, he was right there against the moonlit sky. You'd recognize the outline of him anywhere and before you can think, you yell, unsure if you feel happy or terrified to see him. Maybe both. How long was he there, how long was he there, long was he there and how on earth did you not hear him, your mind races, feverishly, looking for questions that didn't have any momentary answer and you feel it reflect in the way your voice comes out shivering like a leaf. -"Bob!? Where were you? I was waiting for you!"- You words crack in your throat, echoing all around you, getting no response back. -"What are you doing!?"- You inquire; sheesh, what took him so long? You watch his silhouette shift from one leg to another, leaning his weight sideways. He was about to taunt; you knew that stance. You knew that body language. It's just that you couldn't predict what he was going to say next no matter how cognizant you were of his mannerisms.

-"Deer huntin'."- He drawls candidly, stepping forward and shit ---

If you run, you run on pure instinct.

Your legs simply take off from under you like they were operating with a mind and a will of their own, rushing through a maze of trees, bushes and branches, making decisions independently from your brain and the rest of your body, giving you no time to process anything but the primal survival instinct that told you to flee. Flee as far as you can. You loved him. You understood that. But every atom in your body carried you as fast as it could out of there to the degree you couldn't even stop yourself. Even if you wanted to. If someone stopped you there and then to ask you if this was still only foreplay or if you were truly running from Robert Barnes you were convinced you'd have no precise answer to give with a head full of white static and noise, hearing his footsteps behind you loud and clear and swearing that it couldn't be him; must've been the frantic beating of your own heart in your chest, in your head, in your ears. The Robert you knew was too quiet for this. A moment of distraction is all that it takes. The sleeve of your jacket gets harshly tangled into a sharp branch, and with a volatile tug, the material rips, taking the fabric of your shirt with it along with some of your skin. You're scratched. You're bleeding. But, you're still running. The tattered remains of your jacket remain hanging limply and in tatters from a nearby pinecone riddled bough. Shit, shit, shit --- the pain's intense, even with all the adrenaline pumping through your system.

-"Mhmm-hmm! Lettin'ya flag get captured, girl."-

You hear him from behind you gloating like he knew something you didn't, almost humming in contentment, and when your own frenzy briefly allows you to throw back a glance across your shoulder, Robert's there, standing some twenty odd feet behind you, the dark outline of him anyway, holding up the remains of your sleeve like they're a trophy. He either moved like the wind, soundless and as fast as a hurricane or you were much slower than all of this subjectively felt and your mind was playing tricks on you. He could've caught up to you right now, you concluded, but he didn't want to. He wanted to hunt. You envied that deer from earlier just now, grazing in the dewy forest grass. Envied and understood it. Wanted to be quite as lithe and fast it probably was and slip into the night, never to be found again. The only thing that slows you down is the burning sensation stemming from your scratch; the fact that the blood was trickling down your elbow and that you could feel it pooling in your coiled fist, dripping down into the foliage. You stumble back like a wounded domestic animal, forehead lined with cold sweat. You ain't got no fuel or air left in you. You breathe, loud and ragged and desperately fast only to find him there, leisurely striding in your direction down from the hill, inspecting a blood stained piece of cloth with pursed lips like the sight of it almost entertained him in ways you couldn't comprehend.

He dips his finger into the bloodstained material, maintaining eye contact.

Bringing it up to his face and drawing a straight crimson line across his cheek.

Slowly, almost leisurely, like he wasn't in a tremendous hurry whatsoever.

Then repeating the exact motion with the scarred side of his face.

It was makeshift warpaint.

Warpaint made out of your blood.

A trophy made out of your own sleeve tucked promptly into his belt.

-"Bob, you're scaring me."-

You gulp hard, you exposed bit of skin erupting in goosebumps as you were holding up your hands defensively, speaking as fast and as firmly as your hyperventilation and lack of breath allowed you, catching yourself flying. It was a bold faced lie and you knew it even as it was spoken. Or perhaps a half-lie at best. You weren't just scared. You were aching. You were aching to stop running, walk towards him, give yourself up and let him do whatever he wanted with you here and now and be wholly content doing so, which was mad. It was insane. He was the most horrifying sight you've ever seen so to want this meant that, the way Robert himself would put it, you've gone dinky dau. Totally unhinged. You wanted to escape and never return here again just a second ago. Now you wanted him to fuck you. Were was the logic in any of this? God forbid some trekkers, mountaineers or hunters come this way and spot this scene; they'd think you're both unhinged or that you're about to be murdered. -"Hell's bells, so run, then, if'ya so scared."- He shoots back and judging by the harshness of his voice you felt like he was giving you an order and disbelieving you at the same time. It's like your mind's been read; he knew how turned on you were right now and how guilty you felt about not feeling guilty about it. -"You're talkin' the talk and not walkin' the walk, darlin'."- And there it is; he's taunting you again, stepping forward soundlessly, hit by a ray of moonlight, faced adorned with your own blood. He was right. You could've started running again by now, instead, you were here listening to his soliloquy, mesmerized. -"I'd reckon,"- He begins. -"y 'thought it'll be all fun an' games out'ere and the fact that it ain' made'ya feel alive."- There it is; hitting the nail right on its head, as always. At that point, you feel your thighs practically pulsate with need, your lurching guts tying themselves into a million tiny knots. -"And you want me for all my horrible self."- He tilts his head smugly. You were like a deer in the headlights. Just bleeding and not even being able to deny what he was saying. You were prey wanting to get caught. -"You ain' 'fraid of the dark neither. You thrive in this shit."- He takes your very own words, reformulating them and so deep is his influence that only once he tells you, and you know the words are coming, do you actually start sprinting again.

God, what did he do to you?

He was in charge of your very soul. You were literally obeying commands.

Robert wasn't hunting wild, untamed big game tonight.

He was hunting his domesticated, well-trained house pet he personally set loose.

-"Go on. Run, bun. I know y'love me."-

He quips with a hard, raspy baritone that shakes the forest and you attempt to run finding yourself clumsily stumbling about instead through the bushes, practically sobbing up; exhausted, hurt, burned out, you practically hear yourself whimper with every move. He catches you. Does so effortlessly. Could have done so ten times by now, but the fact he does it now when you're weakest sends a little wail past your quivering lip. -"No!"- You sniffle as his hand halts you in your tracks mid-movement practically having your whole body haul itself back like you were lighter to him than a feather, his index finger and thumb holding you right above your bleeding scratch; you hiss instinctively, captured. The last feeling in the long list of sensations you needed now was pain.

-"Oh, god, please."-

You moan, begging as he lifts the arm he had his vice grip around up, poking the wound with an index finger, almost as if inspecting it, or perhaps intending to cause you some unease in a bout of sadistic inspiration, no more than you could handle, right before he leaned his head down with eyes still on you in the dark like daggers, taking his mouth to the blood and sucking on it, tasting you, hot saliva cleaning away the dried ichor of your fresh scar and whatever specks of dust and dirty got caught in the surface like it meant nothing to him. You throb and your mouth parts as you cry out, more so when he lets go, done with savoring, hands around your waist once your back gets pressed into the trunk of a nearby pine tree, held in place by him, causing you to go lightheaded with exhaustion, never even noticing he's wrapped your own ripped sleeve tucked into his belt around your gash instead of a bandage or that his other hand produced a knife, doing away your sweat drenched, wet blouse, cutting it down the middle with a ripping sound no differently than cutting through paper, using his knee pushed between your legs to keep you from falling over, maintaining your thighs parted. You were certain you were as wet as a person can be by now. The prey's been caught.

He kisses you rough enough to bruise, all grunts and desire.

A kiss with the aroma of rust and metal; the lingering aftertaste of blood.

Leaving you no space to breathe.

You moan into the contact, your blood smeared over his face smearing back unto yours along with the potent cocktail of his sweat mingled with yours, feeling his hands everywhere, rough, heavy and calloused; ripping at the thin strap the held your bra together in the front, on your throat, squeezing, around your waist, pulling by the hair and yanking back rough, grabbing your jawline, puckering your face up, biting your cheek and leaving behind teeth marks you could feel like he really intended to fucking eat you alive, not a bit of finesse or poise to him, bloodshot, feral eyes glazed over, angry yet blank, seeing the moon and nothing but yourself reflected in them, finding his stare simultaneously hollow and beaming with something primordial. Around these parts people used to gossip how sometimes, if you look carefully enough, that Barnes guy, as they called him, had eyes that shine red in the dark and right about now, you believed them regardless of how much you never enjoyed them talking shit about your man, the rut that ensues being rough, crude and quick --- hungry --- without preparation or maybe this --- all of this --- was all the preparation you needed as he fucks you against the dark pine bark, back scraping against its surface. You were a hole. Just a hole for him. In this neck of the woods, here and now, anyway.

Would you be able to walk or stand up straight after this?

You had to wonder.

Probably not seemed like a plausible answer.

-"You animal."-

You whimper and gasp as you're grabbed with both arms, practically thrown on the grass, him standing over you, his legs on either side of his body as he loomed with his head against the pitch black sky, your clothes torn, flesh exposed here and there and everywhere for him. He was magnificent. Holding his cock in his hand pulled out through the zipper of his slacks and undone belt buckles like it was a barrel of a rifle about to shoot. Appearing like he wasn't offended by the moniker that slipped past your lips unwittingly, more as a statement of the truth than an actual tease; in fact, he smiles even though he smiled so rarely, his scars embossed into the surface of his skin reflecting the pale light of the moon, making his face appear like it was smashed to pieces, centered only by his teeth on display, still red from the blood he practically drank from you. He kneels over you as you catch your breath from being hauled down as you were, spreading your legs even further, deciding it seems he prefered to have you on the cold hard ground, rather than standing up. Your feeling, aching fingers coil into the dirt, bracing yourself. Deer about to be slaughtered and displayed above the mantlepiece. Bob? An animal? More like a whole zoo. This was going to be a long night. He leans down with his visage still drawn out with the scarlet fingerpainting camouflage for a second time, speaking so closely to you you feel his breath in your nostrils caressing you, all heat, liquor and nicotine. His tongue proceeding to trace the inside of his cheek like he was itching to chew into his own flesh, spitting on the nearby soil, frustrated and wild,

Right next to where your jacket lay discarded and forgotten by the root of an old tree.

Places his hand covering nearly your entire face against your mouth.

He liked doing that as a habit from time to time, containing your moans and screams and keeping them all to himself, like he didn't like to share even the faintest echo of your desire with the world, letting it wash against the skin of the palm of his hand like a muffled, trapped cry instead; not unlike something he could close around his fist and keep like a tangible thing long after he's done with your body. It was his. All his. Every part of you was. Your soul and the very breath in your lungs.

-"Animal?"-

His expression is raw, lips crooked to the side as he cocks his head.

-"Darlin', you ain' never seen what an animal is. Not half of it."-

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