K-marzolf

Monsters in the Dark #8

Dark themes, mentions of Billy’s abandonment by his mother, dark fluff, fem!reader.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

&&&

It was quiet that evening. You both laid on his living room floor, Billy lost in his thoughts, watching you read Shakespeare while he played with your hair.

He shook himself from those thoughts, knowing they were growing dark, thinking of all the ways he was sure you’d eventually leave him.

The ways he’d drag you back. But stopped himself, knowing if you truly wanted to leave, he’d let you go.

Even if it made his chest fucking ache.

“Read to me,” Billy murmured, lips brushing your head.

You shuddered, enjoying Billy’s touch, and began to read;

“These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume.” You recited, softly. Your fingers played with the edge of the paper.

Billy watched you, admiring you, and kissed the corner of your lips. He was the Devil, but for you? He was Godly vengeance on your enemies.

You loved Billy at his darkest. But you didn’t seek to save him. You knew you could not, instead you stayed in the darkness with him.

Like Persephone had chosen to stay with Hades by eating the pomegranate.

He stroked your cheek, “I’m damning you.” He spoke, startling you.

You shrugged, a smile played on your lips. “It’s my choice, Billy. It’s not on you. A God who is supposedly for free will but punishes you for not choosing Him is maybe a God I don’t wanna choose.” You told him, leaning into his touch.

“You’d choose me over heaven?” Billy asked, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“I don’t wanna go to a place I can’t follow you.” You said earnestly. “You cut off someone’s fingers for me just because they threatened me. What has God done but watch my father abuse me? My mother had to step in, and He didn’t defend her, either.”

Billy was a selfish bastard. He rarely cared about anyone but Frank and himself, but he fucking ached at the thought of you suffering eternal misery for him.

He grunted as you pushed him back, discarding the play, and climbing on top of him. You laid your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, thighs on either side of his hips.

Silence reigned, but it was comfortable, the clock ticked over the TV, and New York bustled below the penthouse.

He remembered Curtis bringing you over, a fragile woman, scared of so much, shaking the first night at the door to his bedroom, begging to let you sleep with him.

How he’d been hooked the minute you’d crawled in, fingers clutching his shirt. You reminded him of the boy he’d been. How he’d cried at the fire station, wondering why his mom had left him there, and when she was coming back.

He’d marked you as his since then, and swore to protect you, swore that no one would ever hurt you again, after hearing from Curtis the tales of your father’s abuse.

Billy gripped your hips, angry thinking about it. He wanted to drag your father from his grave, and burn the bones. No. No one would ever hurt you again.

If only he knew, you felt the same way about him.

“this character is dead” to you maybe. I don't know where y'all live but I live in denial

Send this to ten other bloggers that you think are wonderful. Keep the game going; make someone smile! ♡

I appreciate that, Ericca! I love you, girl. ♥️

ok no I'm still annoyed about what they've done to anne elliot. why must every heroine be beautiful, smart, confident, witty, flirtatious, funny, independent, firm-minded etc.?

what about shy women? humble women? lonely women? women who are just sad and a little bit pathetic? not firm enough to speak their mind? not strong enough to know their mind? who are riddled with anxiety and embarrassment? who have genuine faults and mistakes they regret but are too mortified to acknowledge? who know they are being taken advantage of but who keep sacrificing their own happiness to maintain the peace and reputation of their family? who are smart in their own way and happy with that even if it doesn't amount to anything that can be paraded around as a talent? do they not deserve to have their stories told?

I've had enough of snark!!!!! enough of smugness!!!! i wanna see a heroine who is so miserable and lonely and who feels everything so deeply and who yearns so bloody hard for years that she collapses when he finally gives her that letter!!! i want pathetic pining!! i want miserable social interactions!!! i want stolen glances and subtle questions and agonising despair until a confession so cathartic that i faint with her!!!! i want to feel something real!!!!!!!!! god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“wtf is wrong with you”

you mean like today or like in general?

Hozier, Francesca ("Unreal Unearth")

“Why are you scared of dating” I’m not scared of dating, I just haven’t found anyone’s company to be more enjoyable than my own. And also I don’t care

Fear of the Dark

A Monsters in the Dark Drabble.

Nightmares, PTSD, kissing, a bit of dacryphilia, mentions of Billy’s bad childhood, fem!reader.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

Billy woke up to sniffling by the door to his bedroom, he paused wondering if he brought someone home and didn't remember, but then he realized you occupied the penthouse now, taking you in for Curtis, you’d had no place to go.

“Mr. Russo?” You asked, voice watery. “Can I sleep with you? Don’t like the dark, don’t like being alone. I’ll be good, I promise.” Your voice shook as you clung to the doorframe.

“C’mon, baby.” Billy said, patting the bed, unable to resist your tearful voice.

It excited him.

You crawled in, curling in a ball, your whole body shaking. He wondered what haunted your nightmares. He pulled you against him, stroking your hair and trying to soothe your tremors, as he hushed you softly, his lips brushing yours.

You shuddered, pressing closer, returning his affection. You were hungry for it.

You reminded him of a small mouse, looking for safety in a deadly panther.

God, it took him back. His fingers moved to your hips, digging into your flesh, and you sighed shakily, clutching his own hips.

“Where’s my mom?” Billy remembered crying to the firemen at the station, his lips had trembled, his chest had heaved. He remembered he couldn’t breathe because of his sobbing.

Why had she left him there? When was she coming back? He wondered if he had been bad.

It was an unfamiliar place, and he just wanted to go home.

“Your ma ain’t comin’ back, son.” The man had told Billy, who had sunk into hopelessness with no comfort in sight.

Billy stroked your hips, thumbs rubbing back and forth. Your crying slowed down, and you clutched his shirt in your hands, lips only trembling off and on now.

Billy was struck with the idea he was needed. He wanted to chase away your demons, to hurt anyone who had hurt you.

Mine, he thought, surprising himself.

Your eyes fluttered, tears clinging to your lashes, cheek pressed to his chest. Your body shuddered one last time before you slept soundly.

His heart ached.

God, attachments were a weakness but the feeling of being needed was addictive, and that was a very dangerous thing.

Billy groaned inwardly, fingers digging into your flesh, nose skimming your hair. He wanted you in his bed more than he should, wanted to spread you out on his sheets and devour you, hear your sweet sighs and moans while he ruined you. To settle between your thighs, and split you open on his cock.

The last thing he remembered was your soft breathing, and your body slotted perfectly against his.

It brought him more comfort than he wanted to admit.

Comfort that hadn’t been in his life since childhood.

Finally! A decent amount of rain. It's been such a dry spring

21-May-2023

DAMN! thirty four?!?! thats crazyyy sometimes i forget that older people too write fanfics

Hahaha, yeah. And I’ve been writing since I was fourteen. More people than you realize, are older that write fanfic. Fandom started back in the ‘60s and and ‘70s. There are people older than me in fandom. ;)

—Kat 💜