When A Hot Fictional Man Commits Atrocities I’m Like. Where Are Your Morals? Where Is Your Dignity?

Thank you, Terry! I’ve missed writing. I don’t know often I’ll write, but I miss being creative. And I’ve missed you, too. 💜

—The Wolf.

—slightly canon!Billy, alluding to oral (f receiving), implied poly, alcohol, drunk reader.

—526 words.

—I haven’t written in a long time. I felt a little inspired, so I wrote. :) I’ll tag a few who might be interested. If you don’t see yourself tagged, it’s because I can’t remember my taglist, lol.

— @e-dubbc11 @kayhi808 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @snowkestrel @aoi-targaryen @terry2227 @firexfate @danzer8705

You drowsily watched him work at his desk, leaning your chin down on your arms, feeling jittery. You probably shouldn’t have drank that wine with your antidepressants. “Sometimes I think Anvil is what you love the most. More’n me and Frankie.” You slurred, drunk from the wine he’d given you, and feeling like you’d stepped into a hot bath. The fire cracked in the background, light flickering in the dark room.

Billy leaned back in his chair, clicking his pen, dark eyes watching you. He reached across the desk, a finger curling around your hair. “It’s proof of how far I’ve come.” He said, voice low, making a fire burn deep in your belly. God, you wanted him. In every way, you wanted to devour him like the wolf in the woods.

“But Billy, we love you. Is it really worth everything?” You asked, taking another sip, sinking deeper into the chair, his answer wrapping around you;

“I loved my ma. Where did it get me?” His voice was sharp, as bared his teeth. A pin drop could be heard, and the wind blew outside, making you cold somehow despite the warmth of the fire.

“I could love you.” It was quiet, but he heard you as he pulled back, dark eyes like chips of onyx.

“It doesn’t matter if you love me. You’re mine.” The clock chimed midnight.

“And you’re mine and Frankie’s.” You said, shifting, the chair creaking underneath you. You remembered recently sharing a bed with Frank and Billy, nestled between them while they smoked. You felt an ache between your thighs even now, the smell of Billy’s cologne and nicotine.

Billy fidgeted with the pen, a frown between his eyes, and his lashes fanning over his cheekbones.

The room was dim, casting harsh shadows across his face. He dropped the pen and it rolled across the desk. He grabbed his glass of whiskey, Tennessee Honey, and finished it off. He looked at you over the glass. “There’s no such thing as fairytales. That shit is for the storybooks.”

“But maybe in the fairytale Red Riding Hood gets eaten, and she’s happy for it.” You said, wide eyed, and eager.

“And I’m the wolf, right?” He set the glass down, admiring how you pressed your thighs together under his hot gaze.

“Billy, who says you’re the wolf?” You said giggling, and he couldn’t tell if it was the wine. “I can eat you when you visit your mother in that home you keep her in. When you keep her—“

Billy clicked his tongue. “Careful. You’re clever and I like you, but my ma is off limits.” He said through his teeth.

“Oh, Mister Russo, won’t you keep me and Frankie locked up, too?” You continued, unruffled.

He closed his laptop, and stood up moving around the desk. He fisted your hair, “Alright, little bird. Let’s go to bed. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll eat that pussy.”

You laughed, standing up, running for the stairs, looking over your shoulder, beckoning him. Your hips swayed, taking the first step, and then laughed again racing up the stairs, Billy hot on your heels.

And hell on his.

came home drunk last night and got way too excited to see my cat

How I’m Imagining You.

A Monsters in the Dark Drabble.

Warnings; sexual fantasy, sexism, misogynistic ideas, religious/spiritual abuse, fem!reader.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack @firexfate

Monsters in the Dark Masterlist

x

You were drawn to Billy like a moth to a flame, but your strict religious upbringing made shame descend, making your neck prickle as though God himself was watching. As though he’d cared about some nobody girl hung up on her roommate.

For a while, you allowed yourself to indulge in sin, as you laid in his bed and fantasized about his kiss, his mouth on you, and his beard scratching your thighs. How his cock would feel in your hands, like velvet steel.

The way he’d taste on your tongue, the feel of him in your mouth, heavy on your tongue, how he’d make your jaw ache in the best way. How he’d fuck your throat.

“You’re ruined for me, aren’t you baby?” You could hear him say in your head, making you press your thighs together. He’d laugh; “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your cheeks were hot, and you ached between your thighs, desperate for his touch.

“Where do you want me, pretty girl?”

He was your hallelujah, amen. You wanted to worship him; you were sure he’d make you see God.

Your foster mother always warned of passion, of it snares.

“Why buy the cow if he can get the milk for free?”

As though women were cattle to be sold, a commodity. As though marriage was all they were good for. Pleasure was for men, childbearing was for women. You remembered the first time you touched yourself, she’d caught you and beat you with a rod.

“Spare the rod, spoil the child.” She used to walk around saying, making sure all the children behaved.

His bedroom door opened and you jumped, “Want some takeout, baby?” Billy asked, raising an eyebrow at you. You looked like you’d gotten caught with your hand in the cookie jar. You were supposed to be taking a nap.

You nodded, cheeks warm.

You left his room with him, aching.

But that was what you got for thinking impure thoughts.

The self flagellation felt good.

Croissant appreciation post. The beanie remains

Vasilisa Donbay ph.

"Your days off are sure brutal on your lingerie" Jean Harlow as Lola Burns Bombshell 1933

Poseidon: I gave Zeus a get well soon card

Hades: that’s surprisingly nice of you

Poseidon: he’s not sick I just think he should do better

💋💋 You've been kissed!! Send this to five other people to give them kisses!!

Thank you, Ericca! 💋😘

elie saab spring/summer 2020 haute couture details

Monsters in the Dark #11

—dark themes, religious discussion, anti religious sentiment (Billy), mentions of an attempt on reader’s life (her father), blood, canon typical violence, fem!reader—

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

You were staring at a painting of Jesus being crucified, with a stormy backdrop. The blood drew your attention, as it was painted so starkly.

You heard Billy approach you in the gallery. It was something a colleague had invited Billy to, and he’d taken you with.

“Do you believe?” Billy asked, holding a champagne flute.

“I think I’ve just wanted a reason for all the pain and suffering.” You whispered, toying the necklace Billy had bought you.

“What if that reason is He just wants to be glorified? Is that better? Don’t you think it’s arrogant?” Billy asked, agitated.

You turned to him, “When I was seven, my dad tried to strangle me. My mom shot him, and as she was wiping the blood from face, he stood up. She told me to run. I hid in the woods for hours, until a police officer found me. Both my parents were dead.” You explained.

Billy ached at the image of a small girl hiding in the woods, alone.

“I wanted to believe God protected me in those woods, because maybe I just wanted to be unconditionally loved, like they say in the Scriptures that God is love.” You let out a shaky breath, turning back to the painting.

But Billy, feeling irrationally jealous towards God, that you’d pray to God, that you’d cast all your cares on Him, when you had Billy; grabbed you and turned you to face him, saying;

“What loving God watches a girl get strangled by her father? And hide in the woods alone and afraid? I love you. Is that not enough?” He sounded pained.

You looked at him wide-eyed. “Yes, Billy. You’re the only god I need now. You’re what I’ve been searching for, for so long.” You confessed, honestly.

The jealousy in Billy’s heart faded, replaced with a burning adoration.

You leaned up on your tippy toes, and kissed him.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer.

With you, Billy was not a mother’s unwanted son, but god himself.

He nipped at your bottom lip, and you sighed dreamily.

With Billy, you were not a sinner, but a saint.