南の島の風景　沖縄

—my flower, withered between pages two and three.

Do whatever makes you happy, the days aren’t coming back.

is your comfort character also a sad pretty boy with trauma and questionable morals or are you normal

Monsters in the Dark #17

Blood, death, canon typical violence, kissing, oral (m receiving), dark fluff, dark themes, mentions of Billy’s abuse by Arthur, f/reader.

He’d appeared at the penthouse as winter waned into spring. The birds were chirping and making nests, and you’d felt lighter with Billy lately. Happy. It was a strange thing. You’d never been particularly happy.

You’d always been discontented to some degree, but things were different with Billy.

It was Arthur, he’d introduced himself, an old man playing the part of frailty. Of sweetness that left a bitter taste on your tongue. Billy was at work but you knew he’d be home soon, and your mind reeled.

You didn’t want Billy to have to face this man again. You were fiercely protective of Billy.

“Billy and I, we had a misunderstanding.” He said, back to you looking at a piece of art on the wall. “But he’s done well for himself, I see.”

You felt anger spark at his comment. That him abusing and destroying Billy’s arm was a misunderstanding.

“Billy is strong, hardship made him who he is.” You said, closing in on him.

“Oh, yes. Beautiful though, isn’t he?” Arthur asked, nearing the art presumably to see who made it.

As if Billy was a piece of art. Dehumanizing him. “Do you like beautiful little boys, Arthur?” You asked, darkly. It was so strange for your sweet personality to be tinged with this darkness, but this man had deeply hurt the man you loved. The man who would kill for you.

Arthur turned around at your tone, presumably to defend himself, as you raised a knife Billy had given you for self defense, and sunk it into Arthur’s throat.

Surprise flitted across his face. You didn’t exactly have a dangerous aura. He hadn’t expected it.

You weren’t Billy, and murder wasn’t something you were familiar with, so blood sprayed and made an awful mess over you, and the floor, and the wall.

He gurgled, holding his neck.

You brought the knife down. Again and again. It became easier with each strike. You didn’t stop until he laid in the kitchen, dead.

It was a bloody mess, but Billy was avenged.

x

Oh, god. What have you done?

You’d just taken a life. You felt sick as you kneeled by Arthur’s body, almost in a trance, knife hung limply in your hand.

You heard speaking as though you were underwater, before you were shaken. “Sweetheart!” It was Billy.

You looked up at him slowly, eyes glassy but clearing. “He can never hurt Billy again.” You said reaching for your lover.

Billy fisted your hair in his hand, pulling your mouth to his roughly. He tasted the tang of blood on your lips.

The kitchen was a mess.

“I made a mess,” you mumbled distantly.

“I don’t give a fuck.” Billy said, wiping your face with a cloth.

“I made trouble for you. But I wanted to protect Billy like he protects me.” You explained, as he pulled you up.

You wobbled on your legs as Billy stared at you.

No one had attempted to avenge Billy. Frank always had his back, but he’d never gone after Arthur.

You were so soft, it was hard to imagine you stabbing Arthur over and over again.

Billy’s heart burned for you. “I got some people that will clean up the mess. Don’t worry about it.” He said pulling towards the bathroom.

“Billy is mad?” You asked, softly. Almost sounding small.

“Never, sweet pea. I’m just—“ he didn’t know how to put it into words. You were brave for wearing your heart on your sleeve, even surrounded by ravenous wolves like himself.

Billy couldn’t. He wasn’t so free with his heart. It was hard for him to put his feelings into words.

“I’d do it again, Billy.” You say stripping off your bloody clothes.

Billy licks his lips looking at you, aroused by what you’ve done. By your soft body.

“And I’d love you for it stronger each time, baby.” Billy said, stripping out of his own clothes, sitting his gun aside on the countertop.

You both climbed into the shower, where Billy washed your hair, making buzz with contentment. His nails felt heavenly on your scalp.

You turned to face him, pressing your lips to his, before looking at him; “Can I touch you, Billy?” You asked, sweetly.

Billy groaned, and nodded.

You dropped to your knees.

Fuck.

He was already hard.

You stroked him, kissing his length, before taking him in your mouth. You teased the tip with your tongue, before taking him all the way in.

You gagged a little, as he grabbed your hair, pulling.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Billy hissed, rolling his hips into your mouth, cock pulsing in your mouth.

Your mouth felt heavenly.

Murder and sex, a heady combination.

You hollowed out your cheeks, sucking harder and faster.

Billy’s toes curled, and he barely recognized his gasps and moans.

You let your tongue run along the vein on the underside of his cock, making him jerk. “Minx,” he growled.

“Love worshiping your cock, Billy.” You purred, teasing him with your tongue.

He pulled on your hair, forcing you to take him all the way in again. You choked, swallowing around him.

“I’m gonna—“ he said, breathing heavily.

He let go then, cumming into your mouth, and you swallowed every drop.

Billy leaned against the shower wall, sated and drowsy now.

He shut the water off, wondering when you’d become so strong.

He was really fucking proud of you. You’d avenged him, a far cry from the girl crying at his bedroom door, begging to sleep with him.

x

That night you both laid dozing quietly while a spring rain seemed to wash away all the dirt and grime into the city gutters.

You imagined filth like Arthur being washed away. You knew he was just one of many child abusers. But at least he was one less.

Billy’s lips brushed your forehead. He didn’t know how to tell you he was happy. He wasn’t mad. He was relieved Arthur was gone.

He was infatuated with the fact you avenged him.

It was all so much.

“You make me happy,” he said, almost cringing at the words. He didn’t do soft. He didn’t do sappy. But he needed you to know.

“Billy makes me happy, too.” You said, kissing his neck.

He relaxed.

It just cemented the idea that you were his.

imagine ur living inside a tiny mushroom house... with a tiny chimney.... deep in the woods... no one knows u exist... u make soup in a tiny pot.....u are free

I’m always grateful for kindness too, and I am usually surprised to find it in people. Love you, Robin! 💜

BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out 💗

I really didn’t mean to leave this unanswered 😅 I remember being flustered when I got one from @kayhi808 because kindness like this isn’t easy to find. It just makes me so very grateful 🥹 Sending a ton of love back to you, K!

Diet Mountain Dew.

I’m posting a few pieces I’ve posted before that are safe to post. I’ve also got new stuff in the works, but I am writing new content. It’s just taking time. I write slow these days. :) But I do have a bodyguard mini series planned.

1.2k words.

Tagging; @terry2227 @e-dubbc11 @aoi-targaryen @snowkestrel @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @danzer8705 @firexfate

x

It started where you’d come by, and help give him tools, “Here, Mister Russo.” You’d say, sweetly.

And if he said he didn’t imagine you calling him Mister Russo in different circumstances, he’d be lying.

You smiled, pushing up your large glasses, as though you knew, twirling the tools in your hand, and blowing bubbles with your gum, and changing his radio station to country music of all things.

He turned it back to rock, and you popped another bubble. “I was listening to that.”

“I don’t care. My garage, my music.” He said, lifting the hood of the car.

“You’re kind of an asshole, aren’t you?”

“Took you long enough to figure it out.” He smirked over his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes.

One day he was getting ready to leave when you popped your gum, blowing another bubble, waiting for him to take you home in the cold weather. You often popped into your neighbor's work to chat with him, while you waited for him to get off work. His business was near the bookstore where you worked, and he’d drive you home every day so you didn’t have to walk home with your bad knee, especially with winter right around the corner.

He wiped his hand off of the grease on an old cloth, “Need a ride home?”

You smiled softly, “Yes, Mister Russo.” And then popped your gum again.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. “You pop that gum one more time, we’re gonna have a problem.” He said, baring his teeth.

You blew a bubble, popping it.

The audacity.

He growled, kissing you hard, pushing into your mouth, knocking your glasses askew, and making you gasp. He pulled back, with your gum in his mouth, and spit it out in the trash.

“I wasn’t done chewing.” You said indignant.

“You are now, sweetheart.” He smirked, closing the garage down.

You followed him with your cane, “Asshole.”

Billy watched you apply your chapstick that was root beer flavored while he took a wheel off a car. “That actually work, or does it just taste good?”

You huffed, “It works.” You blotted your lips. “Wanna taste, Mister Russo?” You teased, puckering up.

He held up his can of soda, “I’m good.”

You sighed, “Too bad. I would have given you a kiss for a few dollars.” You teased lightly.

“Jesus, in my day it was fifty cents.” He teased back.

“I’m expensive.” You laughed.

Billy huffed, “Clearly.”

You stood in the hall outside your neighbor’s apartment with your cane, knocking on his door. Your leg ached.

He opened it, “Yeah?” He asked admiring you in your sweater dress, the way your hair was done up nice. He wanted to brush it, and play with it.

“My stove won’t work.” You said softly. “Can you come look at it?” You asked, pushing your glasses up, your sweater sleeves too long for your arms, and hung over your hands a little.

“For a few dollars.” He grinned, laughing, when you hit arm.

You ate chocolates, while he bent over your stove, looking at it and mumbling to himself.

You admired him in his tight dark jeans and green sweater. You may or may not have found things around your apartment wrong, just so he’d come over. So you wouldn’t have to be alone. Always alone, friends were hard to come by being disabled. You slowed them down.

You were too shy to ask him to have a movie night or something. And sometimes you just wanted to sit and read a book with your feet in his lap, while he read his own book, enjoying each other's company.

And he caught you at it, too. “You want me to come over, sweetheart, I will. Don’t need an excuse to see a pretty girl.”

Your cheeks heated, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

You sat there in his work garage watching him work on some old Chevy or something, you were terrible with cars, admiring how his sweater slid up exposing his naval and the little patch of hair there, you twirled a wrench or whatever it was, in your hand itching to touch him.

You pressed your thighs together, as he slid out from underneath the car, hands looking greasy, his sweater pulled up around his elbows. You imagined him staining your thighs with his handprints as he kissed you.

You imagined running your fingers through his soft hair, always slicked back and faded on the sides, before pulling on it while he kissed you, probably tasting like the soda he drank. And then you imagined pulling on his hair for an entirely different reason.

He looked over at you, smirking as he sipped his soda, fingers stained from working on the car. Uh oh. He must have noticed you gawking. He rolled over to you, sitting at your level on the thing he’d rolled under the car with (you were at a loss for the terminology), in his maroon sweater and black jeans.

“Want somethin’, pretty girl?” Billy asked, looking cocky.

“No.” You said, shyly.

“No?” Billy asked, smiling growing. He leaned closer, and you instinctively leaned in too. “Gotta be a good girl and ask for what you want.” He teased you.

“Mister Russo, you’re being an asshole.” You whined, seriously considering whacking him on the head with the wrench-thingy.

He laughed; “I think we both already know I’m an asshole.” He said, booping you on the nose with his dirty fingers.

“Can I have a kiss?” You asked, sweetly. “I helped give you tools all day. Froze my leg off here.” You said, patting your leg.

“For a few dollars.” He smirked.

You glared, “Fine, I’ll just kiss Paul down the hall.”

Billy huffed, “You think mama’s boy can kiss you right?” Billy asked, rolling closer.

God, he was being an asshole, but Paul was a mama’s boy. He did nothing without his mother’s help.

“Mister Russo.” You whined, “Don’t you wanna taste the root beer on my lips?”

“C’mere.” Billy hummed, and you leaned into him eagerly. He kissed you this time, making your insides melt, his fingers touching your thighs making you sigh. He gripped them, and yanked you closer, careful of your bad leg.

You gasped into his mouth, tasting Diet Mountain Dew on him. The feel of his tongue sliding against yours had desire licking at your insides.

You pulled on his hair roughly, making him groan into your mouth, and an ache built between your thighs.

He pulled back kissing you once, twice, three times before nudging you with his nose. “You taste real sweet, sweetheart. Better than root beer.” He husked.

And then you looked down to see your legs stained with grease, and oil. You grinned inwardly, that had been your intention all along.

“Sorry.” He said, not sounding sorry at all.

You giggled, “Next time I bake, I’m getting flour all over you.” You threatened.

Billy grinned.

God, you made work go by easily.

Later after he drove you home, you shyly invited him into your apartment, and you both ended up on your couch, you laying back, with him laying between your thighs, chin resting on your stomach while you played with his hair, listening to an audiobook.

He looked like a lazy cat, enjoying petting from his favorite human. His eyes were hooded as he watched you, feeling wanted after a childhood unwanted in the group home.

For the first time, you didn’t feel like a burden, alone with only the characters in your books to keep you company.

You didn’t know what you and Billy were, but you were content to let it unfold.

Stronger Without

A Drabble set in the Monsters in the Dark universe.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

//angst, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abandonment, mentions of an attempt on reader’s life by her father, dark themes, fem!reader//

Billy wondered if his mother ever loved him. Or if he’d been a burden from the beginning. Had she wished she had terminated the pregnancy?

What about his father? Had he left when he learned of his mother’s pregnancy?

Had he abandoned Billy, too?

Bitterness filled him at the thought, maybe it would have been better than all this suffering, he thought hitting the punching bag hard, his knuckles aching.

He sweated as he hit the punching bag in quick succession, his muscles aching with the strain. It didn’t relieve the ache in his heart, the fucking pain, that no matter how much he tried to shove it down, still remained.

But then he’d never know you, if he hadn’t been born. And that made him ache deeply. Especially knowing you’d experienced the trauma you had. Your father hated you, and made it known to you every day. Tried to kill you, even.

The thought of you facing that alone, was enough to make him realize that he’d go through it all over again, just to be with you.

Billy clenched his fists.

You were both stronger without your parents.

you'll get the urge as an artist or a writer to say out loud the things you're worried about "the proportions are off" "kind of out of character" "i'm not good at summaries" "didn't get as much detail as i wanted" "i made a mistake and here's how" and that's the self-conscious part of your brain telling you "it's bad and if you don't tell them you know it's bad then they'll think you're stupid" but you've got to ignore that little voice and pretend you think it's good or else that little voice is going to ruin your life

one moment my hand is holding yours and then suddenly it's reaching out for something that's no longer there