Monsters In The Dark #16

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 💜

Sir, that’s my emotional support unrealistic romantic delusion

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.

i wish i could scoop out all the words and stories inside my head with a butter knife and spread it onto a document and that was it

walking up to random doors and tugging on them and saying "i can't. it's locked" out loud to no one to fulfill my dreams of being an adventure game protagonist

Thank you, Terry! I really appreciate your friendship. You’ve always encouraged me. ♥️💜🩷

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.

thr funniest part of therapy to me is when you first come in and you're exchanging niceties and they say "hello! how are you" and you say "im fine how are you :)" and then 30 seconds later they put on their therapist voice and say "so how are you doing?" and you go well lisa. believe it or not im doing Bad

Monsters in the Dark #14

—attempted assault, blood, canon typical violence, mentions of an attempt of reader’s life, trauma, flashbacks, ptsd, fem!reader—

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

You were terrified as you hid in Billy’s closet, listening to them ransack the penthouse, your hands over your ears.

Memories resurfaced of you hiding in the woods, bloody and afraid, waiting for your mother who never came.

Your father had taken her from you.

You were shaking when one of them opened the door, finding you crouching amongst Billy’s clothes and shoes.

“What do we have here?” He said roughly, grinning and grabbing your arm and yanking you out.

You tried to claw at his face, trying to get away, screaming. He slapped you so hard your head turned, and your heart raced.

You were going to die or worse.

x

He had you pinned on the bed, pawing at you. You had tried kicking him several times, but he hit you twice. “Be good, girlie. You might even enjoy it.” He gave you a sinister smile.

“If you have to force women into bed, you can’t be that good!” You sassed him.

He backhanded you again. You were sure you’d bruise tomorrow; “Watch your mouth,” he growled, ripping your shirt open, making buttons fly. “Need to teach you a lesson in respect.”

You spat on his face, as Billy stormed in looking furious. You felt relief swell in your chest. The intruder let go of you, seeing Billy covered in his comrades blood. He looked like a god of war, covered in his enemies blood, fury written across his face.

Billy struck as fast as a snake, slicing your attacker's throat with his hidden blade, over and over again, until bone and sinew showed, and his blade stuck out of his neck at an odd angle. The intruder gurgled over you, spraying you with blood, holding his throat before collapsing on the bed next to you.

x

Billy hummed, watching you reach for his face, wiping the blood off his lip with your fingers, almost mesmerized by him and his violent visage, her eyes dilated. Aroused by his killing of another.

It aroused him. God, you were perfect for him, he thought.

His face no longer held the fury at someone touching you. He looked gentle now.

Like your mother when she shot her husband, and then turned to you. A fierce warrior turned gentle caretaker.

Images churned in your head, the sounds of Chopin, the smell of freshly baked apple pie, a pristine white piano splattered with blood, and your mother wiping your face.

“Mama wiped my face,” you said suddenly, voice soft. You’ve told him before, but it felt good to talk about it.

Billy looked at you, obsidian eyes warm. “I was playing Prelude in A Major, op. 28 no. 7. Chopin. I missed a note. Daddy was angry.” You recalled, trembling.

Billy lips brushed your head, “You could play for me, if you wanted.” He said. There’s a piano in the penthouse. You’d always looked at it longingly, but fear always took over. What if you missed a note?

You shook, fear at missing a note taking over again, and even though you knew Billy would never hurt you like your father; you were still afraid. “Don’t want to.” You mumble into his chest, clutching his dress shirt in your hands, noticing specks of blood on it.

Billy hummed, “When you’re ready then, baby.” He fixed your hair, tucking it behind your ear. The same hands that have shed blood violently, treated you like you’re porcelain. Treasured.

You wanted him to know he was treasured too, but the words don’t come; words had always been difficult for you.

He set the cloth aside, helping you out of your bloody clothes, and handing you one of his t-shirts. You sniffed it. It smelled delightfully like Billy, you couldn’t put your finger on what the scent was, probably his detergent, but it was comforting.

You laid with him that night after his men cleaned the mess up, his touch grounding you as he stroked your spine. “I hope we can be together forever.” You mumbled sleepily, fingers playing with the scar on his hip. You couldn’t stand the thought of losing Billy, you’d lost so much.

Your fingers dug into his hips, as if by might you could keep him by your side. That by your own power he’d never disappear if you just held onto him tightly enough.

Billy held you tighter, too.

If Billy had his say, you would be together forever, even if he had to drag you down to the underworld with him, like Hades took Persephone.

His grip on you tightened further.

Forever.

I feel like it's so easy in the plush community to always get caught up in looking for the 'next one' to add to the collection, I know I sometimes get stuck in this, so here's your (and my) reminder to value and cherish the plush you have, make fond memories with them, and love them! Always focus on the present and what you have rather than what you "could" have, plush are the best!