Thanks for the tag, @idaoftheburningmind!
Ah, takes me back to my Sailor Moon days, so this was a little bit inspired by that! This was fun.
Anyone can do it. ❤️🥰
tysm @pinespittinink and @flowerprose for the tags!! 💕
rules: using this piccrew by @malachitinous, create yourself as you’d look as a god/goddess/deity; feel free to either make this a chain or do your own post from scratch!
tagging: @writingbyricochet @mr-writes @carminasolis @hyba @kaatiba @ryns-ramblings and pls consider this an open tag for anyone who wants to do this! you can say you got an open tag from me :)
It's always so uplifting to see tha you have posted some of your fiction 🤩
Thank you, my friend. I really appreciate you. It’s uplifting to see you in my notes when I post something. ♥️😘
“he’s killed people” ok but have you considered that he did it in a hot pathetic way.
Monsters in the Dark #23
Canon typical violence, blood, kissing, language, a little bit of vaginal fingering, fem!reader.
Monsters in the Dark Masterlist
Main Masterlist
x
Billy was just too beautiful in a savage way, covered in blood from some way-too-handsy biker at the bar. He wiped his hands on a cloth, watching you.
You didn’t know why you were suddenly so wet. Aching desperately for him to have you right there in the alley. Billy’s actions weren’t righteous. They were downright ungodly. But here you were, burning with desire for him.
“Billy didn’t need to kill him.” You said, trying to keep your breathing even.
“He shouldn’t have touched you.” Billy said seething, leaning down to eye level with you, your pupils were dilated.
“How would Billy feel if I killed one of the many girls that touch him?” You ask, and your spunk was sweet in the eyes of the deadly panther.
He smiled widely, “Oh, baby. You know that’s just foreplay to me.” He purred.
You chewed your lip, and Billy’s eyes zeroed in on the action. He suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair, and pulled you closer, his lips inches from yours, waiting.
You whined.
“Gotta ask for what you want, baby.” He husked, breath fanning across your face.
“Please, Billy?”
His mouth pressed to yours, hard and insistent, beard tickling your skin.
You clung to his bloody sweater, rubbing your thighs together, aching still.
Your lips were swollen when he pulled back, a wicked smirk on his face. “You look pretty, baby. Well kissed, and sweet eyed. Face covered in the blood of my enemies.” He teased, wiping blood off your chin, and cheeks.
You pulled him in for another sweeter kiss.
He smiled into it as you pulled on his belt. Billy pulled back, fingers sliding up your dress, touching you. He hummed. “Did my show of violence make you this wet, pretty girl?” He asked, one arm braced against the brick wall behind you, voice low and deep.
You trembled. “Uh huh. It’s all your fault.” You said softly.
“I guess I better get you home, so I can take care of you.” He said, licking his fingers clean.
You couldn’t wait for him to ruin you all over again.
Monsters in the Dark #19
Dark themes, ptsd, nightmares, abandonment issues, language, fear, fem!reader.
@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack
x
Billy tossed and turned, a cold sweat breaking out over his body. He couldn’t find you. His heart raced, as adrenaline coursed through him. He called for you and called for you. Nothing. He ran around an abandoned looking hotel, frantic. The silence was deafening.
He tried to calm himself, use tactics that they’d taught him in the Marines, but he was too frantic.
Attachments were a weakness, and he’d created his own with you.
Sometimes it looked like you’d ghosted around a corner, but you were never there. All he heard was the whistling of the wind. It was maddening.
Billy woke up gasping for air, and reaching across the bed for you. It was empty.
He wiped sweat from his brow.
Fuck.
What if it was real? What if someone had taken you? He remembered climbing into bed with you, but nothing felt real right now.
He threw the duvet off, bolting out of the bedroom. There you stood in the kitchen at the fridge, a spoon in your mouth as you looked up at him, innocently.
“Billy?” You asked, pulling the spoon out of your mouth.
He moved around the island countertop, and grabbed you, crushing you to him. His heart rate returned to normal, feeling your very real form against him.
“What’s wrong, Billy?” You asked, letting him hold you, peeking up at him.
Billy licked his lips; “Couldn’t find you,” he rasped, clinging to you. “I don’t believe in fairytale endings, life has proven time and again that nothing lasts forever. I know someday we’ll be parted from each other, but I thought it came sooner than I expected.” Billy explained, hating how desperate he sounded. He hated being weak.
“Don’t say that. I’ll fight Heaven and hell itself to make sure we’re together forever. Never gonna let Billy go.” You whispered, clinging to the spoon in your hand, and to him.
God, you made him want to believe in forever. But it had never been proven to Billy. He remembered getting free ice creams from this kind older black man when he was still in the group home. But one day he died because he’d gotten shot accidentally in a drive by.
The one person who cared about Billy had been cruelly ripped from him. Billy just knew someday you’d be ripped from him just like Mr. Avery.
That his enemies would either kill you, or old age or illness would take you, or maybe you’d just leave someday, tired of him.
Billy kissed you, fingers digging into your hips. “You swear?” He rasped.
“I swear. I’m with Billy until only death parts us.” You said, and waved the spoon in his face. “Want some ice cream?” You grinned trying to lighten the mood.
Billy smiled, relaxing. “Yeah, baby.” He hummed, “I’d love some.”
So there the two of you ended up, at half past two in the morning, sharing ice cream.
For now, Billy was content not to think about the past or the future, but to just enjoy the moment with you.
For now.
Friendly reminder to all the writers on here:
You don’t owe anyone good writing.
You don’t owe anyone a complete storyline written in order.
You can jump around. You can abandon projects. You can write really shitty stories! Writing is about telling stories and creating worlds. Not about what makes your followers happy.
I have to remind myself of this a lot, because in most of my stories I’ve gotten stuck and don’t know where to go. But you can jump around. You can skip parts. It doesn’t matter.
Write what makes you happy.
Weekend at grandma’s house…
Thank you, Terry! I really appreciate your friendship. You’ve always encouraged me. ♥️💜🩷
36. | because we are living in a material world, and I am a material kitty. | my cat, probably. Masterlist I
201 posts