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I hate my job so much right now
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I was not made for….*gestures broadly at the world*
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😂😂😂😂😂😂
Teeth
Part 14
Masterlist
Warnings: Smut (18+), angst by the buckets.
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'We should talk.' 
'I'd rather not.' 
It's been two days.
Two days since you've been in his presence, avoiding every mention and sight of him, making yourself as scarce as possible.
Two days since you kissed him.
Your body heats up at the memory. The way he grabbed you, held you close, returned your feverish kisses with some of his own.
You look down at your phone, swallowing when you see the read receipts light up on the message you just sent.
In true Billy fashion, he doesn't respond.
What a fucking pain in the ass, you think angrily. 
You shake your head, dropping your phone onto your desk and throwing yourself into your work.
This time, you're not worried about possible fallouts, he'd definitely kissed you back, right?
Fuck, what a kiss. Your toes curled at the memory, a spot deep inside you aching, emphasizing the emptiness inside of you.
It was too much, the knowledge of what his mouth tasted like, the feel of his passionate hands on your body.
How could you ever hope to forget that it had happened? Did you even want to?
The answer was no.
You didn't want to forget it, and you didn't think it was a mistake either.
But it definitely wasn't a good thing.
Especially now, when your relationship had grown more strained in the last two days.
Friendship, what a dumb word.
If you weren't still upset with him, you'd probably go back up to his office and grip him by his stupid tie once more. 
You think about kissing him again, kicking one leg over his hip, grinding your body against his. Maybe you'd slip between his legs and pull his thick cock out of his pants-
You gasp, blinking back into reality, aware that you've been staring at the same sentence for minutes now.
You swallow, clicking the document away with a sigh.
You toss your head back in your chair, take a small stretch, try to remind yourself why you were mad at Billy.
Right, he was too indecisive. One moment he holds you close and tells you the most amazing things, the next he's avoiding you.
If you followed through on any of your fantasies with him, there was a high chance that he'd ghost you afterwards.
He probably just didn't like you as much as you'd hoped.
It was a painful thought. 
.
He was watching you.
Like the world's biggest creep.
Billy didn't completely understand why you were angry with him, but it was killing him inside. He needed to know, he needed to fix it.
It had been two days and he hadn't seen you in person since. You'd become very good at avoiding him. 
The absolute torment of seeing you everyday to not at all and all he had was the memory of a kiss that still made his lips tingle and his cock hard.
Now, the only way he could see you was on the little camera feed tucked into a corner wall of the office workspace area.
The camera quality was grainy, really just put in and not monitored unless there was an issue.
Billy had opened the feed five times in the last two days.
It was getting ridiculous, he didn't want another day to go by without trying to talk to you. You'd given him a rather clear message to leave you alone, but he couldn't, not after knowing how hurt you were, and definitely not after he found out how sweet your mouth tasted.
Like fucking strawberries.
He needed to make amends. 
.
You regret not going out tonight when Amy had offered. You could have been at a nice bar right now, sipping on a fancy margarita, laughing with your friends.
But you’d turned them down.
Why the fuck had you turned them down?
Friday night, and you’d just decided to take a bath and lie in bed.
It wasn't so bad, you reasoned, you only wished you were with them because you were in bed. If you'd been at the bar, you'd be sitting there, wishing you were here instead.
You smile, your therapist might praise you for becoming that level of self aware.
When there's a knock at your door, you raise your head in surprise.
Logically, it could only be one person. The one with the appropriate security clearance to make it up to your door without you being informed beforehand.
You take a deep breath, wondering what he would possibly want to say to you at a time like this.
You’re greeted with flowers. 
You see them before you see his face, pink and white tulips, wrapped in a rustic brown paper and some thread that’s looped tightly around your chest just comes loose at the sight of him.
What did you address him as now? William? Mister Russo? Billy? What did you call your boss that you’d kissed in a heated rush in his office during working hours?
“Hey.” Is all you end up saying.
He says your name in greeting, looking down at the bouquet in his arms for a second. 
“May I come in?”
May he? Was this a good idea?
You nod, pulling your door wider and sidestepping to let him in.
“Is there… something I can help you with?”
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He comments, avoiding your eyes.
Straight to the point.
“Yes.” You agree.
He finally turns to look at you, something unnameable in his eyes.
“Why?” He asks.
You give him a smile of apology, eyes drifting to the tulips still in his arms.
“Those for me?”
He nods, extending them out to you.
Your hands brush as you take them, turning away from him to find a place for them.
“They’re beautiful,” You state, “How did you know they were my favourite?”
"I didn’t.” He says, the awkwardness between you is as palpable as if it were a third person standing in the room.
He's silent as you take your time, searching for the appropriate vase to put them in. You press your nose to them and hum happily as the soft petals touch your cheek.
"Would you like something to drink?" You offer, turning to him.
He swallows.
"No. Why are you avoiding me?" He presses, going straight to the point.
You grin quietly into the flowers.
"I feel like you avoided me first." You hedge the question, looking eagerly at him for a response.
He looks a little irked, looking away from you and taking a deep breath, pretending to study your apartment.
"That's what this is about?"
"In part, you just kind of piss me off in general."
He raises his eyebrows in astonishment, still not meeting your eyes.
"Well this is confusing, considering that you kissed me." He challenges.
You wanted to rage at him, curse his stunning looks and captivating personality for pulling you into him, and this mindset of affection toward him.
Instead you suck in a breath.
"I feel like everytime we get close- as friends- you just… you pull as far away from me as humanly possible."
You let out a long sigh, leaving the bouquet of tulips in their spot on your kitchen counter, moving to plop onto your couch in a dramatic flourish.
You grab one of your throw pillows, setting it in your lap and squeezing tightly.
“Of course I’m avoiding you,” You continue, “I’m just expecting you to pull away again.”
You look at him for a moment, as he takes in your words. You can almost watch him process them, eyelids fluttering as he maybe debates internally.
“I’m sorry.” He finally says, coming to sit beside you on your couch. His eyes are earnest and warm, and it takes you by surprise.
You honestly doubted he’s said those words to many people.
“I push you away, I do, when I first offered you the job, you said that you weren’t interested if I was only doing it to get involved with you.”
He swallows, he looks so nervous that your heart almost breaks for him.
“I just didn’t want you to think that was true.” He continues, “You’re a good employee, but the more I get to know you, the more I want to, and I find that very dangerous.”
“Billy.” You say in a measured tone, waiting for him to stop avoiding your gaze and look at you directly.
“I believe you. You’ve made it very clear that you think I’m good for the job and I respect that.”
You can feel something shift between you, the animosity turning into understanding.
“I want to know you better too.” You finish, voice soft, earnest.
He blinks quickly, looking away. You can’t help your body’s response to him, the memory of his mouth on yours sparking up ill-timed tingles.
“I don’t want anyone devaluing your work because we’re close.” He responds.
Chest constricting, you smile sadly.
“I- that means a lot to me. But, people will find any excuse to do what they want. I just want to be true to myself and let the pieces fall where they have to.”
He looks at you, the corners of his mouth pulling subtly upwards.
“So, you forgive me then?”
You reach for his hand, covering it with yours, giving an affectionate squeeze.
“Of course I do.”
He turns his hand upward, interlocking your fingers, eyes drifting down to look at your joined hands.
Tingles spread from where he touches, moving from your arm all the way up to your chest. You gulp, looking at him, studying his face, remembering the kiss.
That damned kiss.
You watch him take a deep breath, and he looks up at you. It’s a long and heated moment and he doesn’t look away, doesn’t pull back.
You don’t know who moves, or if you both do, like magnets being pulled into each other, a force of attraction that cannot be seen with the bare eye, cannot be felt by anyone else other than you.
He’s so close that your noses almost brush. You can feel his warm breath dancing across your skin in little puffs.
"We, we um," You try to focus on anything other than his lips, looking into his half opened dark eyes as you try to speak, "We shouldn't be alone together."
"No?" He asks softly, a little tilt of his head and you watch his eyes drop to your lips, "Why's that?"
"Because..." You trail off.
Because I can't keep myself in control around you, you want to say.
Instead, you close the distance between your bodies, leaning in to kiss him.
A low sigh leaves the back of your throat as your lips meet. You feel your stomach flip happily at the reunion of your mouths.
He groans, the vibrations tingle against your lips, his large hand rising to cup your jaw, warm thumb stroking over your cheek.
You move closer, till you're almost in his lap, your fingers twitch nervously as your hands rest on his chest, sliding their way up into his hair.
You try to fight the urgency, the impatience scratching at the back of your head to just take and take and take.
Your lips part, gently tracing the tip of your tongue along his bottom lip for only a second before pulling back. 
He makes an abrupt sound, drawing back suddenly, breaking the kiss. His movements are so surprising that you lean away from him and allow him the space to stand.
Your heart squeezes as you look at his back.
You're almost afraid to ask.
"Is everything okay?"
He doesn't speak for a long moment, raising a hand to rake through his hair.
"Yes, just wanted to check- are you sure about this?"
You blink.
"Yes, I am... are you? It's okay if you don't like me that much, we can stop."
He spins around as if you've said something positively absurd.
"Like you? You think I don't like you?"
You look down sadly, smoothing a hand over your knees.
"Well, yeah, you, you dismiss me sometimes as if you're not interested. It can come across as dislike, or even a little mean."
"Mean?" He says, taking long strides to stand before you, your head tilting down to follow his form as he kneels before you.
He looks at you for too long, and you have to look away or melt into a puddle under the pull of his dark eyes.
Carefully, he raises his hands to cover yours, smoothing over your skin with the tips of his fingers.
"When I'm around you, I'm usually using every ounce of strength I have to stop myself, to hold back so that I don't scare you off."
He swallows, tilting his head, his eyes locked on your joined hands.
"I want so many things, and you most of all. I've just been shit at showing it."
"You really have." You agree.
A smile pulls at the corners of his lips.
You raise a hand, cupping his cheek softly, thumb exploring the pout of his lips, the scratch of his beard.
His eyebrows draw together, he leans in, rubbing his bearded cheek into your hand.
"I'm worried," He whispers, "That I won't be able to stop."
"I trust you." You say to him softly, reaching up with your other hand to curl your fingers into the collar of his shirt.
"And I don't want you to stop." 
You pull him in then, his body pressed to yours as you seal your lips together in a heated rush. Your body trembles with the sensation of having him all around you, so close like he's the layer of air surrounding you.
His hands cup your cheeks, blunted fingers gripping tight, daring you to be apart from him for more than the space of a breath.
Your insides unfurl with something akin to delight, your toes curl. You lean into him more, accepting anything he's willing to give, and answering with desire of your own. 
You fight to keep the kiss slow, enjoy the way his mouth moves sinfully on yours. 
But it's too powerful, this need you have for him, you want to scratch and claw and submit and surrender and take and it just turns like a tornado in your head until you're biting gently on his bottom lip, tugging on it with careful precision, body pulsing as you hear the low sound that leaves him.
He draws away for a moment looking at you with even eyes.
"You torment me." He whispers, pressing his lips to yours once more, any pretence of slow and careful being thrown out of the window.
You torment me too, you want to say.
He rises, pushing you back until your body lies flat on your couch, and he hovers above you. You keep his mouth firm to yours, fingers tangled in his soft hair, exploring his back and shoulders, and when you part your lips again, jutting your tongue out playfully, you're delighted when you meet his tongue in return.
Your legs on either side of his hips gripping him tight, daring him to pull away from you as he kisses you senseless, your tongues dancing together in wet bliss.
"I could kiss you all night." Billy says between kisses.
You nod, humming in agreement, pulling his mouth back to yours.
Your skin tingles, his careful fingers tracing your cheeks and moving down your neck. 
You arch your body against his eagerly, so willing to give every part of yourself to him.
He slides his hand into the space between your arched back and the couch, keeping your body curved into his, your breasts rubbing against his chest, you wiggle your hips in an attempt to ease the near painful ache between your thighs.
You feel his cock then, stiff against his pants, and he groans into your mouth when your hips chase the firm sensation.
He whispers your name against your lips, a warm, broken sound of a man losing control of himself.
"Billy," You gasp, foreheads pressed together, resisting the heat of desire pulsing between your bodies, "I need you." 
You feel his entire body shudder.
He nods, nose brushing yours as his lips move away from yours, kissing your jaw instead, and then the curve of your neck.
You cry out, his teeth worrying your skin, scraping against your sanity, soothing with gentle swipes of his tongue.
You feel yourself tremble, and tremble further when he moves down your body, frustrated hands pushing your dress up your thighs so that the bunched fabric settles on your hips.
He doesn't move for a moment, and you raise your head in worry to see him staring at the space between your parted thighs intensely.
"You don't have to." You whisper, misreading the expression on his face.
His dark eyes meet yours, he tilts his head for a moment, before his eyes drop to your clothed cunt once more. 
"It's not that." He says, his hands starting at your ankles and sliding their way up your legs, "I've just thought about this a lot."
You bite down on your bottom lip very hard, trying to remain focused, and not beg him to fuck you within an inch of your life.
His hands stop midway between your knees and your ass, and he looks up at you.
"You want this?" He asks.
You almost groan in frustration.
"Yes, yes I really do."
"Tell me." 
You gulp.
"Tell you?" You ask, your head too disoriented to focus on what he's asking you to do.
"Tell me you want me to lick your cunt."
A little needy sound leaves you at his words. You clench around nothing, gathering your thoughts for a second before you speak.
"Billy," You finally whisper, "Please, lick my... cunt." 
A devilish smile pulls at his lips.
"Of course." He hums, his hands resuming their upward trail.
He grips either side of your underwear and you tilt your hips up, watching him anxiously, trying to read every expression on his face.
You know you're wet, that you've most likely soaked the gusset of your panties with your arousal. 
You study him, as he tugs your undergarment off your legs and lays his eyes on your bare center for the first time.
His lips part, eyes dark as he looks at you. You watch his throat bob as he swallows.
Your breath catches as you feel the tips of his fingers graze your wet slit. Your mouth drops open at the gentle sensation.
His thumb finds your clit easily, grazing the swollen bud and you let out a harsh sob, back dropping onto the couch, unable to hold your body up.
"So. Fucking. Pretty." Billy says, so clearly that it makes you ache even more for him.
You groan when you feel his lips on your inner thigh, leaving careless tingles in the wake of his mouth, he kisses his way over your skin, and there's a short moment of pause where you feel a puff of his breath against your aching core before his mouth is on you.
A sweet kiss between your legs, a gentle promise to ease the ache inside you, and then he extends his tongue to slide against your clit.
It's like lightning, the speed at which the pleasure fills you, passing through you, amplifying, with the careful stroke of his tongue.
He groans between your thighs, his first taste of you leading to palms gripping at your thighs, fingers pressing into soft skin to keep you close.
His next lick is firmer, over and over again his tongue swipes over your clit, he makes another low moan, and the next glide of his tongue starts at your entrance and trails up to your clit.
You mewl, hands moving to cover your mouth, then down to cup his hands in yours, any attempt to process the delicious burn of pleasure blooming under your skin.
You sigh his name, you swear he answers with an easy swipe of his tongue.
It’s too much, embarrassingly so because he’s only just begun and here you are- already on edge for him.
Your resistance is futile.
His tongue claims ownership of your most delicate parts.
You never stood a chance.
Panting, your nails clawing at his hands, hearing his low voice hum in bliss between your thighs.
You make another soft groan of his name, it’s all you know, all you can remember in the hazy confines of your mind.
How is his tongue so skilled? How can he kindle you so easily? You are firewood and he’s a spark and now you’re burning just for him.
His beard tickles your thighs, you realised he’s paused his torment to kiss at your skin.
You’re helpless to it.
You can hear each desperate breath you take, it echoes in your ears, and then you let out another whine as he kisses your dripping cunt once again.
Filthy wet sounds as he takes care of you, tantalising groans as his tongue explores between your thighs, mapping places he’s only ever been in your mind.
The inferno rages, and when his lips massage your clit, sealing around it easily, his tongue playing with your swollen bud, you feel feverish with the euphoria.
“I- I’m-” You whimper, trying to tell him, an attempt to get him to understand.
He already does.
Groaning, one hand unfurling from around your thigh to reach his way up your body.
He tugs at your dress, pulling the strap off your shoulder and tugging it as far down as it will go. His tongue doesn’t slow as he pulls at your clothes, until one of your breasts is exposed to the cool air.
“Fuck.” You cry as he cups your hot skin, thumb finding your peaked nipple easily and dancing his thumb over it.
You feel the pleasure arc it’s way down your spine, joins with his tongue, threatens you with pleasure you’ve never experienced before.
You have one brief moment of sanity, where you’re acutely aware that your body is on a precipice, ready to fall at the next touch of Billy’s tongue.
All you can think in that one small moment is, Oh my fucking god.
And then you fall.
Frantic gasps as hot waves of pure pleasure crash over you. You feel the walls of your cunt spasm, clenching rhythmically around nothing. Every movement of your body is involuntary, each tremble and shake is something beyond your control.
Billy keeps the pleasure focused on you, helping you through your orgasm and into barely bearable territory.
He stops his torment when you whimper, pulling his messy mouth from your equally messy cunt, giving your breast another affectionate glide of his hand before pulling back.
You raise your head, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, watching him lick your arousal off of his lips.
You look at each other for a long moment. There’s that worry in the back of your mind that a clear line has been crossed so severely that it cannot be taken back.
If he has any inkling of your current train of thought, he doesn’t show it, leaning in instead, his fingers gripping your chin softly to keep you close to him.
“If you’d let me, I’d spend the rest of the night with my head buried between your thighs.”
Your breath hitches, you clench around nothing.
He smiles, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, observing your rumpled state, your dress pushed up to your hips, one strap falling off your shoulder, exposing your breast. You look like a proper mess where he still looks mostly put together.
You wanted to change that.
You sit up, sliding your body off your couch and standing on shaky legs. His eyes follow your every movement, and when you bunch your dress up, and tug it over your head, you try your hardest not to be shy about it.
He’s seen you touch yourself before, your mind supplies helpfully, it’s nothing to be naked in front of him.
It definitely helps, the reminder that he’s fucked his fist to the sight of you. You stand naked in front of him now, watching his every expression.
His eyes roam your bare skin, your body tingles at the feeling, his eyes as warm as a gentle touch on your skin. There’s just something about the moment, an understanding, a level of appreciation that’s so potent you can almost feel it.
He stands, takes a step in your direction.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Billy says, his voice low and hoarse.
“Yeah?” You ask, raising a hand to cup the smooth underside of your breast.
When he takes a step toward you, you take one back. You can tell he’s intrigued by the idea of it, the slow chase.
“Of course you are. You make it hard for me to think when you walk into a room.”
He takes another step, and you mirror his movement.
“That sounds awful. How do you put up with me?” You tease, taking more steps back, slowly guiding him into your bedroom.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“I think about pressing you to the first flat surface and making you mine.”
A shiver of delight goes down your spine.
“Is that why you’re always so mean? Because you’re thinking about fucking me?”
“Obviously.” He answers, before raising his arms above his head and pulling his shirt off in one magnificent display of muscle.
You let out a little squeak at seeing him up close, you almost run toward him, instead of backing away from him. 
Even with his shirt off, he looks so magnificently dangerous that you can feel how bad your arousal is for him. His chest is broad and lined with a delicious amount of muscle, his biceps are near perfection, and your body tingles for a taste. A trail of hair from the spot below his navel into his pants makes you flushed with heat. You imagine briefly what is cock is like, remembering absentmindedly the time he assured you that he was bigger than the large dildo sitting in your nightstand.
What makes him more delectable is the scars that cover parts of his body. There are some on his left shoulder, what looks like a bullet hole in his lower abdomen. You gulp, acknowledging the fact that his flaws only make him more perfect, more mouthwatering.
You almost forget that you’re naked, only gasping in surprise when your back comes into contact with the chilled surface of your bedroom door.
He lets out a slow breath, palms pressed to either side of your body, not close enough to touch, but just enough to make you feel trapped, his warm breath on your skin.
“You want this?” He checks in, tilting his head to the side to observe you.
You nod, looking up at him, he nods along with you in a slight mocking manner.
“I want to hear you say it.” He murmurs, his fingertips tracing your shoulder gently, goosebumps on your skin as he works his way down your arm, taking your hand in his.
Your mouth parts in surprise when he presses your hand to the outline of his cock. You can feel the raw size of him, hot and stiff against the palm of your hand. You realise, in the back of your mind, that he really was large- bigger that you’d initially thought.
“Tell me you want me.” He pleads.
You gulp, hands exploring the stiff erection in his pants, your fingers squeezing around the sides to get an approximation of his girth. Your clit aches with just the idea of his size.
“I more than want you, Billy, I need you. Inside me, so deep that I never forget the feeling.”
He nods frantically, unable to hold himself back, he leans in to kiss you.
You throw your arms around his neck and enjoy the slide of your fingers against his hot skin.
He breaks the kiss for a second, lowering himself to grip your thighs. You wrap one careful leg around his hip, and upon his insistence you transfer your weight fully onto him, his hands supporting your naked backside.
You cling to him as he lifts you, desperate, body aching for more and more of his touch.
You’re not sure how he does it, and you have no time to marvel at his strength before he grips your jaw, bringing your mouth back to his.
You sigh, cupping his cheeks, fingers scratching at his beard, feeling the hairs tickle your palms. You melt into his body, feeling him groan as his mouth moves over yours.
He walks you into your room, and you have no care for your surroundings, your hands too busy exploring his back and shoulders and anywhere else you can get your hands on.
He bends, placing you gently onto your bed, his hands rising to cup your cheeks, and then making their way over every inch of your shoulders.
“God, you’re so soft.” He rumbles against your mouth. You gasp when his palms cup both your breasts in his large hands.
“I could just touch you all damn day.”
He’s so talkative now, and you find yourself loving each word that leaves his lips.
“Touch me all day, lick me all night- when am I getting fucked?” You tease, hearing him laugh into your mouth.
“When you ask for it.” He says decisively, pressing you onto your back.
It’s like he can’t leave your mouth, pulling back for a moment, only to draw back to your lips in a heated  rush. It makes you laugh, your body readily receptive to him.
He kisses your neck and jaw, electric tingles all over your skin, desperate shivers as he cups your breasts, pushing them together and kissing over them. 
You gasp, writhing below him, his mouth on your skin feels amazing, he works his way down and you gasp, your thighs spreading easily when he moves to settle himself between them.
He doesn’t say another word, his tongue reuniting with your clit, swirling careful circles around your heated bundle of nerves. You gasp, arching your back, fingers drifting into your hair.
“Billy!” You gasp, and the vigour of his tongue increases until he’s just flat out making out with your cunt.
Your head swims, pleasure in every essence of your cell and you feel a lone finger drift in careful circles at your entrance.
“Fuck!” You cry, feeling his finger hovering right at your entrance for a long moment. He’s mean, his fingers tormenting you as his tongue licks over your clit at a steady pace.
“Please,” You sob, tilting your hips up, trying to chase the pleasure he’s not yet ready to give.
You try to breathe through it, squirming beneath his body, his hand grips your hip, thumb moving in firm circles to keep you calm.
You shudder in bliss when his finger sinks halfway into you.
It’s not enough, and too much all at the same time. His breath on your mound, his tongue laving lazily at your clit, he curls his lone finger partially upwards, scattering pleasure before withdrawing his finger.
“No,” You cry, “Please please please please fuck me Billy,” Your breath hitches, “I need it so bad.”
You feel him hum, before his finger re-renters you.
“Poor sweet girl.” You think you hear him mumble from his spot between your thighs, and then he begins rocking his finger in you so gently, that it’s almost more of a micromovement than anything. Yet somehow still, he manages to give you pleasure.
“Please please please,” You keep whispering, afraid that he’s going to stop giving you what you need, what you crave for and dream about. He’s every fantasy come to life, tongue rolling over your clit wetly, an easy rhythm of pleasure that he draws out from you leaving no thoughts in its wake.
A broken sound escapes you, desperate, aching, and you think he almost feels apologetic with the way he lines up a second finger against your entrance.
It’s debauchery, the way his fingers feel, broader and longer than yours could ever, makes you feel so insanely full when he carefully pushes two digits all the way into you.
He fills the deepest parts of you, erases any sense of emptiness, makes you forget that you’d ever craved fullness in the first place.
And then his fingers start to move.
Your breath escapes you in a hot rush, mouth dropping open as he starts off slow, painfully slow, rocking his fingers into you, curling them up, making sure you feel every little movement.
His tongue is still playing with your clit, you feel like crying, you’ve never felt this way before.
You say his name, one hand moving from his hair, over to where he grips your hip. You want to hold his hand, and he obliges easily, fingers linking with yours, make you feel so much warmer and safer with him than ever before.
I’ve got you, he seems to say with his actions, go ahead and fall for me.
And of course you do.
Cunt spasming around his fingers, desperate cries leaving your mouth as he winds you up and helps you through your second release.
You whimper, little gasps leaving the back of your throat as your body shudders with the oncoming pleasure. He keeps pumping his fingers into you, and you can almost feel the smile he has on his face, pressed to your cunt. You squeeze his other hand in yours tightly, his thumb smoothing over your skin even then.
When he detaches from your heated centre, you sit up quickly.
You lean into him, pressing your mouth to his frantically, reaching for the zipper of his pants. He tries to help you, one hand trying to work at the button while the other grips the back of your head, but you only get in each other’s way.
You laugh into his mouth as you both fumble, but silently thankful when finally you get his pants undone.
He has to pull away with a grin on his face, climbing off the bed so that he can shove the material of his pants and his boxers off in one go.
You go brainless when you see his cock. Erect and near throbbing, a little bit curved, you feel your mouth water as you stare at the monster between his legs.
He was very right to tell you that he was bigger than your dildo, you swallow nervously, trying to figure out exactly how that was going to fit inside of you. 
Your eyes manage to glance at this thigh, you see a deep gouge on the side of his right thigh, you tilt your head in worry wondering what could have caused a scar like that, one that runs from his hip to his knee.
It must have hurt terribly, and your heart aches for whatever malady he’s been through in his past.
You seek to give him pleasure now, crawling on all fours to the edge of your bed, looking up at him for a moment, before dropping your head to suckle at the tip of his cock.
Billy hisses.
The salty taste of his precum fills your mouth. You can’t help humming at the taste of him. Slowly, you begin to bob your head, taking as much as comfortably possible.
His fingers cup the back of your head, slightly guiding your movements with no real force behind it.
“Good girl,” He grunts, guiding your movements, you hear him shudder out a violent breath, “So good for me.”
It makes you even more aroused, to know that you’re capable of returning the pleasure he gives.
Something shifts in the next moment, and he’s pulling his cock from your mouth and encouraging you into a kneeling position on your bed.
Your eyes slip shut as his mouth meets yours, something frantic inside of him now, and you’re eager and helpless to give him what he wants.
.
Billy can’t fight the predator anymore. The sensation of you sucking eagerly on his cock is too much and his control has slipped beyond his scope of reach.
Your hair is askew as he guides you onto your soft pillows, silk, to protect your gorgeous hair from damage. He pauses to look at you, your obedient eyes, willing to comply with anything he asks and it fills him with an uncontrollable power. The scent of your arousal is thick in the room, the aftertaste of your mouth and your cunt mixing on his tongue until he couldn’t extract himself from you even if he tried.
He hums, pressing his cock against your inner thigh, the heat and softness of your skin filling him with too much want. He’s fighting the predator, that pushes him to claim what was already his, what would be freely given to him if he asks.
.
His nose brushes your cheek gently.
“Are you sure you want this?” Billy asks softly, and you almost want to groan in frustration.
“Yes, please.” You say on a desperate breath, and you feel him kiss your cheek in response.
He takes your left hand in his, kissing at the tips of your fingers and you wonder if after tonight you’d be able to feel the ghost of his lips on your skin.
Fingers intertwined, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, he uses his other hand to align his cock with your entrance.
“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” He asks after a second, and you nod frantically, squeezing his hand and daring him to even think about stopping.
“So good for me.” He whispers against your cheek and then his cock is pressed intimately against your entrance.
He stretches you, and opens you up even further until he’s fit snugly inside of you, filling you so much that you’re not sure how you can breathe with the intrusion.
His nose brushes yours affectionately.
“How do you feel?” He asks, as if you’re capable of assembling any semblance of thought.
Your lips part, you suck in a deep breath, the very first, with his cock pressed deep inside of you.
He waits patiently for the answer.
“Good,” You breathe, “So good, Billy oh my god.” You express.
He gives a sweet little smile that manages to get you even more aroused.
“I’m glad to hear it. Ready for the rest?”
The-?
“What?” You ask obtusely.
“My cock, sweetheart, would you like the rest of it?”
You try to raise your head for some type of explanation but you don’t get very far with his body pinned against yours. His eyebrows draw together at your shocked expression.
“There’s more of you?” You whisper in astonishment.
The corner of his mouth quirks up, and suddenly he’s laughing, burying his face in your neck and chuckling away as if his cock isn’t the largest thing you’ve ever tried to take. 
His laughter is sweet though, soft and lyrical and you can’t help clenching on his cock, and hearing his laughter turn into a groan, squeezing your linked fingers.
“Yes,” He gasps, lost in the tight grip of your cunt, “Yes, there’s more of me.”
Your eyes are wide, a little afraid, anchoring yourself to him in hopes that he helps you through your fear.
“Take a big breath for me sweetheart.” he guides, with a steady, calm voice, nodding his head as you accept his guidance.
“And out.” 
You do as he says, and shudder with pleasure as your body relaxes fully, you feel him slide deeper, eyelids fluttering as you discover more and more of him.
Finally, when his hips are pressed squarely to yours, and his cock fills you beyond what you thought you were capable of, does he finally say your name on a heated gasp.
You cup his cheek, thumb grazing over his rough stubble, he closes his eyes and presses his cheek to your palm and withdraws a little.
The first rock of his hips takes your breath away on a frantic sound. You hear him grunt in response, grinding his hips against yours, not moving too much but easily working into you.
“Billy.” You sob, legs tightening around his hips, one hand still linked with his.
He leans down, seals his mouth over yours, rocks into you in slow, lilting movements. You hum against his mouth, feels his body all around you, deep inside of you, holding you hostage and protecting you from everything except himself.
“You take me so well.” He grunts, his hot breath on your lips.
His mouth trails over your cheek, he kisses sweetly at your neck and shoulders.
His pace increases, his delectable body over yours, giving you pleasure that you barely understand.
His hand releases yours for a moment, only to grip both your wrists and pin them above your head, held firm in one large hand.
His grip on your wrist hurts a little, only adds to the pleasure of him fucking you.
He can’t stop kissing you, delving his tongue past your lips and exploring your mouth while he claims your body, hips rocking faster and faster into you the more time goes by.
He reaches a depth inside of you that you’ve never felt before, fills you with himself until you’re sure you’re the most whole you’ve ever been.
His cock pumps into you, your cunt is pulsing, sending large waves of immeasurable pleasure up your spine to fill your head. You feel your thighs tremble as the euphoria makes it all the way to your toes.
He keeps that pace, probably noticing the mindless state of you, your inability to form a single word, or produce a sound that isn't a breathless moan. You feel his influence on you in the farthest reaches of your mind, giving you more pleasure than your body can handle.
Finally, the pleasure sweetened even further, and Billy, in tune with your body, speeds the rhythm of his thrusts to match your needs. You gasp, barely able to find the thoughts, your body overflowing with absolute ecstasy and you’re almost afraid of what falling over the edge with him will feel like.
“Good,” He growls lowly into your ear, a sound you’ve never heard before, untamed, unhinged, and he’s using it to give you praise.
“So good for me.” 
Your orgasm is involuntary. It’s not yours, only a response written by your body to answer his call. The sheer violence of your bliss takes your breath away, you feel your cunt clench hard around his cock, trapping him securely in place as wave after wave of pleasure ripples through you. 
Vaguely, you’re aware of him groaning, but you don’t have the headspace to focus at the very moment. Your arms pinned above your head, his lips kissing at your face and neck, bare nipples grazing his chest and his cock stretching you wide.
Your cunt spasms, your body trembles, and trembles even more when he resumes his fucking, not even waiting for your first orgasm to fully subside before he’s trying to throw you right into the throes of another.
He’s harsher now, and you love it, your body revelling in the way he seems to lose control. He raises his head, you look deeply into his dark eyes. You can’t see much thought behind his eyes either, and you become acutely aware that you might be lost inside each other.
It only makes you that more desperate for him.
.
There’s no such thing as control anymore.
Billy’s lost any semblance of it, any memory of what it was like to be sane. 
He has lost his old self, and he has found you.
All he wants now is to keep you like this, open and vulnerable on his cock for the foreseeable future. Your skin hot with bliss, little sweet cries filling his head.
He leans down, runs his tongue over the top of your breast, hears you gasp, loves the dirty way you love these things, appreciates the salty taste of your skin.
The predator in his head is synced up with him, both aspects of himself agreeing that this is where he belongs, balls deep in his mate, feeling her take everything he has to give.
He feels a completeness, that he can give you pleasure so easily, like his body was made just for you, to please you in every way possible.
He groans again, his voice beyond his control, hoping the low grovel of it doesn’t scare you, but even that makes your cunt squeeze him in satisfaction.
Yours. 
He was yours.
He would only ever be yours.
He adjusts the angle of his hips, and he watches your lips tremble and your eyes water when his cock kisses a very sensitive spot inside of you.
.
You blubber mindlessly, sharp breaths and trembling thighs and you open up to Billy and you take everything he has to give.
You cum with a sharp cry. Eyes squeezed shut, body trembling as you try to process the bliss.
His hot breath on your skin, hips speeding up and suddenly a low grunt escapes him.
You feel his cock pulsing against your hypersensitive walls, you feel his cum, filling up the deepest spots of you and you can’t help the rightness of it.
Eventually, he releases your wrists, still deep inside of you, he braces his weight on his arms so that he doesn’t crush you.
After a moment, his arms wrap around you, adjusting you slowly so that your body rests on his, head on his chest, his cock still buried to the hilt inside of you.
.
He tries to make you comfortable, the biological urge for him to stay inside of you for as long as possible is something he’s never experienced before and he doesn’t know exactly how to control it. 
He sighs, his orgasm still going through him, still filling you up though he doubts you can feel such subtle movements.
You burrow into him, and he hums in amusement, arms wrapping around your form, his heart pounding in his chest at how close you are.
“Did I hurt you?” He asks, checking in, fingers absentmindedly reaching for the edges of your hair.
“Wrist.” You say groggily, raising your left hand to his face.
“Fuck.” He voices, his eyes landing on the subtle bruises marking your wrist, he can make out the print of his fingers where he’d curled them to grip you tightly.
“Why didn’t you say something?” He asks, pain spearing his chest at the very idea that he’d hurt you. He holds your forearm gently, examining the faint bruising.
“Loved it.” You reply simply, he can hear the sleepy inflections in your voice.
He’d hurt you… and you’d loved it?
He makes a mental note to get some ice for your wrist, and to check it in the morning to make sure it’s doing better.
Now, he places a gentle kiss to the little bruise, feeling the abnormal heat of it on his lips.
“I’m so sorry.” He says to you.
You hum.
“Loved it.” You repeat.
.
"How is that? Is that better?" Billy asks, a little towel wrapped around a bag ice cubes pressed to your wrist.
You hum lazily, peeking an eye open to look up at him. You’re on your side, facing him, your left hand between you, bent to be in a more comfortable position. 
“Doesn’t hurt.” You mumble, feeling sleep wrap itself carefully around your sated body. Your cunt is sore, quivering still from his use. 
“Just a little uncomfy.” You try to explain.
He looks extremely concerned for a brief moment.
“I’m really sorry,” He tries to apologise for the fifth time.
You smile, shuffling your body closer to his, watching him focus on trying to keep his makeshift ice pack on your wrist. You kick a leg over his hip, not liking that he’d taken the time to put his boxers back on after he’d slipped from you earlier to grab the ice.
“Billy,” You murmur somberly, “I trust you, and if I really didn’t like it, I would have said something.”
“But I hurt you. Our first time together and I hurt you.” He says, his dark eyes so open and sad, hints of a frown turning down the corners of his lips.
You smile, your other hand rubbing his bicep and shoulder affectionately.
“I loved every second of it.” You whisper, unable to keep your mind conscious for a second more. You blink slowly, leaning into his body even more, heaving in a great big sigh.
“Please don’t leave.” You ask, as you tumble into unconsciousness.
.
He leans in, kissing the top of your head, and then your cold wrist, finally understanding that in your eyes, you don’t blame him.
His sweet girl, happy and asleep in his arms.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers, curling around you, the panther purring inside of him as he falls asleep beside you.
.
His eyes flutter open when his phone vibrates on your bedside table. He’d pulled it out of his pants pocket and dropped it there on his way to get you ice. 
You’ve crawled your way mostly onto his body, your head resting securely on his shoulder, he somehow still manages to be holding the melted ice pack on your wrist that rests on his chest, though he’s not sure if it even makes much of a difference right now. 
He’s groggy, not sure if he’s ever been that deeply asleep before, absolutely comfortable, the very right temperature, the scent of strawberries wrapped around him.
He drops the towel- wrapped ice pack onto the floor beside the bed, rubbing his eyes as his phone continues to vibrate. 
He reaches for it, pauses for a moment when his movement jostles you. He holds you tight as his fingers wrap around his phone.
He swallows, squints, slides to answer, keeping his voice soft so that he doesn’t wake you.
“Russo.” He answers automatically.
“Bill.” Frank says, and it’s all Billy needs to understand that something is very wrong.
“What is it?” Billy asks, “What happened?”
“My boy’s missing.” Frank responds.
.
You shiver with the cold, tugging your blanket up and over your shoulder and letting out a sigh.
In your sleepy state, the memory of last night comes back to you.
You smile, extending a hand out to reach for the warm body that had been nearby when you’d fallen asleep last night.
“Billy?” You grumble out, when your hand meets nothing but soft pillows.
No answer.
God, you think, if he left this time I am never going to speak to him again.
You peek an eye open, sighing when there is no deliciously gorgeous man lying mostly naked beside you. 
A groan slips past your lips, you extend your body out, stretching this way and that and huffing when you accidentally kick one of your pillows off of your bed.
You weren’t going to let your hope plummet just yet, maybe he was just in the bathroom, or the kitchen, maybe he was whipping you up a cup of coffee right now.
You say his name louder this time.
After a moment of no response, you climb out of bed, searching for him, finding your apartment empty of him.
You stand in your living room, trying to reason with yourself, trying to find answers for questions that you could barely formulate.
Was this going to be like the movies? When you’d just lost hope, he would pop in with a breakfast bagel and a latte and apologise for leaving you?
You swallow, going back to find your phone and dialling his number.
Voicemail.
Your throat tightens.
Surely he hadn’t made you sweet promises last night only to break them?
When your second attempt at calling him has the same outcome, your mind spins to a final conclusion.
He’d left you.
Again.
.
.
.
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Oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah
This fic is single-handedly helping my depressive episode
"Name a price and be there on Monday." When will a man-
Teeth
Part 5!
Werepanther!Billy Russo x Female Reader
Masterlist
Warnings: Anxiety, stalking, job shenanigans, Billy wiling to protect you in every way possible.
A/N: Babes, I am having the worst day possible. I could use some love. Please, please, send something, anything my way if you have any appreciation for me. ❤
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'Billy, it's what my friends call me.'
Was that what you were? Friends?
Or was it an accident?
'Right, sorry for bothering. Just curious.'
Okay, that was a good place to end.
You put your phone down, moving to grab a glass of water, but spinning back excitedly when another alert comes in.
'Don't say sorry. Or else.'
Fucking shit, was he flirting?
No way.
'Or else?' you ask.
Your heart pounds.
'Or else, I'll demand your apology in person, preferably over dinner.'
Holy fucking shit he was.
He liked you?
No, no way.
You let out an exasperated sigh.
Dammit, he was still a client.
Shit, you shouldn't.
'Sorry, Mister Russo, but I don't want to-' You begin to type it, but quickly backspace.
'Can we do it as friends?' You erase that too.
Yes, you wanted to say yes, yes sir, take me into your arms and then preferrably your bed.
Damn, you didn't know what to say.
the typing bubbles pop up, and you wait patiently.
'Let's table that conversation though, at least until our work relationship comes to an end. Yes?'
You breathe a sigh of relief.
'Yes, that sounds great.' You answer.
You move toward your window, looking over, hoping to catch sight of him.
He's there, shirtless once more, black joggers wrapped around his legs, wide shoulders and large hands.
He sips at his coffee, holding his phone up.
You look down, typing out a little message to send to him. You watch the corner of his lips pull up into a smile as he reads it.
'Happy Sunday.' Is all you'd said.
.
"Anvil accepted the proposal."
You breathe a sigh of relief.
"Good work." Andrew informs.
"Thanks, I thought I was on thin ice for a second there." You say, taking a sip of water in your relief.
Andrew nods in understanding.
"So we'll pass the project on to someone else so you can focus on other things." He says casually.
Wait, what?
He was giving the project to someone else?
"Wouldn't it be easier if I held on to it? I mean, I did all the grunt work for the assessment, I know the building better than anyone else here."
Andrew shrugs.
"It's just a building. Won't be that hard for someone else to pick up. We really need you focusing your skills elsewhere."
No room for argument.
Your shoulders drop, you nod in compliance.
You'd worked so hard, and that was it, someone else would get the credit for your work.
You were going to quit.
Maybe this was for the better, William wasn't a client to you now, maybe you could finally take him up on dinner.
You shake your head angrily, maybe he was the one who requested you be taken off. Maybe he'd only entertained the thought of you because you were a woman.
What if his only goal had been to seduce you?
You sigh, shoulders dropping as you approach your desk, noticing a couple of work documents come in.
You open them absentmindedly, sorting them into the right area on your desk, still deep in thought about what you should do.
Realistically, you should quit, if they didn't respect you now, they probably never would.
Very infuriating, maybe your place of work could use a little brushing up on ethics too.
You pull the last document from the last envelope and you frown.
This.... was a photo of you.
.
Billy was pissed.
He'd been invited in to sign contracts with your company, and discuss lead times and security protocols, and he'd just discovered that you'd been pulled from the project.
For once, he and the predator were in agreement.
He was going to raise hell.
"Unfortunately gentlemen, we have a problem."
He heard Andrew's heart pick up speed.
"What is it?"
Billy leans back in his seat.
"I'd prefer your old specialist, I've had time to watch and assess her work. She's able to answer almost any question I ask, and where she is unable, I don't have to wait long for an answer."
Andrew swallows.
"All my specialists are very much equipped to handle your questions." He protests.
Billy leans back, nods his head.
"I'm sorry, then I'm not interested in accepting your proposal," He leans forward, rises to a stand, "Pleasure doing business with you." He says, extending a hand to shake.
Andrew is sweating now, the stench of his anxiety permeates the air.
"We can come to some other arrangement, keep her on the project, so that she has time to focus on everything she needs to."
Billy hated that idea. It meant you would have to ask someone else's approval for your ideas, that someone else would be able to take credit for your hard work.
In every aspect, Billy found himself protective of you, and he wanted your complete involvement, or none at all.
"Then we don't really understand each other very much now do we?" He says, dropping his hand and turning away.
"Be reasonable, Mister Russo-"
"-I'm not being reasonable? I want the specialist that assessed the weak points in my company and drafted a plan to take lead on carrying out that plan. How is that unreasonable?"
Andrew hesitates, he swallows, the predator pulls hungrily at Billy, demanding blood, enticed by the scent of fear.
"She- she resigned a few days ago. Doesn't work here anymore."
The news shocks him, a little bit of worry snakes down his spine though he keeps himself calm.
He checks his watch absentmindedly.
"We could have saved a lot of time if you'd just told me that from the start." He nods his head at both men.
"Have fun finding someone half as good as her. Goodbye."
He turns finally, walks out of the office, smiles in satisfaction as he hears Andrew swear angrily.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, a quick text in your direction.
'We need to talk.'
.
Except you didn't want to talk to him. You'd been hiding in your house for the last few days, ever since you'd quit your job. The photo sitting on your kitchen counter.
It was you, leaving Amy's apartment a couple of weeks ago. It had worried you, that when you'd felt like you were being watched.... you were actually being watched.
You didn't say anything, wondering if it was just a one time thing. One single photo was barely enough to go to the police with, you'd be overlooked for more important things no doubt, and worse yet, what if things got worse because you reported it?
It just wasn't a good enough risk to take, so instead, you'd rushed on quitting your job, and decided to get back into the job market.
You're studying the photo when his text comes in, you wanted to burn it, pretend it didn't happen, and move on with your life. It was just one photo after all.
You reach for your phone, reading his message, the ominous nature of it sinking into you.
You try to be professional in your response.
'Sorry, Mister Russo, but I'm not available today.' Is your response.
'I just heard you quit your job.'
'Yes?'
'Why didn't you tell me?'
You blink, you don't know how to respond to that. You were barely acquaintances, you didn't owe him anything.
'Why would I have told you?' You ask.
You can almost sense his frustration.
'Let's meet. There's a café a block away.' He follows up with a location.
'6 p.m? Yes?'
When you don't respond, his next message is just your name, you find yourself clenching involuntarily, you can almost hear his voice in your head, the casual way he demands compliance.
'Okay.' Is all you say.
You still feel like you're being watched. From the moment you step out into the street, your heart is pounding, your lungs squeeze in your chest.
Was there someone watching you right now?
Would there be another photo?
You look around, and you check your peripherals, and though nothing is amiss, you still feel watched.
It's terrifying, you stop halfway to the café, you almost turn around and run back home.
Despite being afraid of outside, you knew that you were safe inside. You'd done a full assessment of Anvil's security, after all, you knew the weak points, and though there weren't many, you're sure Billy- William would have compensated for most of them by now.
But out here, there were too many places for an assailant to be hiding. It was scary, and you were almost petrified by the thoughts. There was a stalker, or even a new serial killer, just around the corner.
You really needed to book another session with your therapist.
You sit in the back corner of the little café, a very rustic interior decor, filled with stained wood countertops and paintings made out of coffee on the faded red walls.
The sound of the coffee grinder goes off every now and then, the steamed milk foamer next, and you find yourself relaxed by the repetitive sounds. No one looks at you, spares you a glance, and there's even a comfort in that.
But he takes the air out of the room when he walks in.
Your stomach, as knotted as it is, knots even more at the sight of him, heart fluttering, begging for something you've never had before.
Dressed down, grey shirt, black jeans, you want to sit on his firm thighs if only for a moment. He's not wearing a coat, or even a jacket, despite the chill in the evening air. He probably runs hot, and you think about what that would feel like, in bed, beside you, before you come to your senses.
"Would you like something?" He asks, when he comes up to the little booth you're at, palms braced against the table, eyes glancing at the menu in explanation.
"It's on me." He says easily.
The corner of your lip rises.
"Why? Because I left my job you think I can't afford a vanilla latte?"
Something rises in him, amusement perhaps, his eyes move slowly down your body, and then back up to your eyes.
"You think you're funny, but don't worry, I'll get you your vanilla latte."
He straightens, eyes lingering on your burning face. He turns, and walks to the counter.
You gulp.
Jesus Christ.
He comes back, with a cup for you, and one for himself, and you thank him easily.
"Tell me what happened." He starts, and you look up at him, his face composed, no room for argument.
You swallow.
"They pulled me from the project."
He nods.
"And... it made me feel undervalued... overlooked."
He takes a deep breath, you can't tell what's going through his mind.
"I turned the contract down."
You blink in surprise.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted your expertise, not some idiot who would lie to me and think they're getting away with it."
You lean back, sighing.
"They're going to think we're involved."
He shakes his head.
"Because I value your opinion?"
"Do you? Or is this-" You cut yourself off, glancing away.
"Say it."
"Is this... only because you want to be involved with me?"
A long moment of silence, your heart drops. He was going to make fun of you for assuming something like that no doubt.
"It's not that. It's the way you think. It's the way I can see you thinking ten steps ahead. Most people, are too focused on the brushstrokes, when you're looking at the whole painting."
Tears spring to your eyes. You look up, blinking fast to push them away. Your throat tightens.
To be seen like this, shook you to your very core.
"Thank you, I appreciate that." You say softly, voice barely above a whisper.
No one, had ever seen you like this before.
It made you want him. You'd been thinking this entire time that he couldn't give two shits about you, when he'd been appreciating your work ethic from a distance.
Did he like you? Probably not, but that was okay, because this was a good alternative.
"I want to hire you as a consultant." He follows up, smiling at you when your eyes widen.
"Mister Russo-"
"-Billy, please."
"Mister Russo," You emphasize with a shake of your head, "this is too much."
"How is it too much?" He asks, leaning back, "You're experienced with the innerworkings of my company, you know the layout, you know the problems. Name a price, and be there on Monday."
You clap a hand over your mouth, a soft laugh of disbelief bubbling through.
"You're insane." You say, eyebrows raised, daring to speak to him in such an informal manner.
He grins, beautiful and alluring, leaning in, eyes filled with mirth.
"I know I am. It's why I'm good at what I do. Think about it."
You nod, deep in thought.
You had a couple months of rent saved up as is, you would be able to survive for a little while if you turned him down.
On the other hand, Anvil was one of the best security companies in New York. There was no safer place. Any potential stalkers would find difficulty in getting random letters to you.
Plus, he valued you, he saw your worth, had made it extremely clear.
Only a fool would turn down what he could offer- or someone extremely smitten.
"To be very clear," You say, avoiding his eyes, "You're not offering this because you're interested in sleeping with me, are you? Because if you are, then I don't want it."
.
"I'm not interested like that." He lies, feels the predator roar in anger, curling one hand into a fist in his lap to fight it.
Her safety matters most, he tells himself, job safety included.
He would protect her.
Even if it meant he couldn't touch her again.
.
You can't help looking around.
It's dark now, and you're so on edge, looking behind you, studying each alleyway you pass, the paranoia pulling at the seams of your sanity, demanding you panic.
"We're not being followed." William says calmly from beside you.
You swallow, looking over at him.
"How do you know?"
He smiles softly, gazing forward.
"Before Anvil, I served ten years in the Marines. Three tours. I know when I'm being watched."
So you were just paranoid then.
You squeeze your fists tightly, releasing the tension in your body before confessing.
"A couple of months ago, someone tried to kill me." You say to him, eyes glued to the ground.
"I'd been camping in the woods with my friends, we did it every year, this time-" The words die, you can't find the strength to speak.
"I know. Anvil runs background checks. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
You breathe a sigh of relief, you'd figured the company had looked into you. Ensuring you weren't a security threat was very important. If it wasn't being done, you would have suggested it yourself.
"Yeah, thanks. After, it's just hard to relax when I'm outside. It's hard to do anything."
He nods, deep in thought.
"It's a good thing you work for a security company then, no safer place to be."
Later, into the night, when you're fast asleep, the predator visits you in your dreams.
"I'll keep you safe," He whispers into your ear, lays a soft kiss on your cheek.
You hum in bliss, arms curling tighter around the pillow you're holding, yearning for something you could only dream of.
.
.
.
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🤭🤭🤭🤭
Teeth
Part 4!
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3
Werepanther! Billy Russo x Female Reader
Oh, @marvelmusing, I bet you thought that was the last of it...
Warnings: heavy voyeurism, smut, hints of angst.
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B.Russo.
That's what he'd written on the scrap of paper. What was the 'B' for?
Probably Big cock because honestly, even though you had resisted temptation and not looked, his entire vibe expressed in detail how big his dick probably was.
He was... really something. His entire aura made you want to curl up beside him, have him hold you protectively while you slept. You just wanted to touch him, and keep touching him, and maybe kiss him if he wanted.
The memory of some of your dreams of him come to mind, they'd been eerily vivid, slow kisses and eager touches and words that you couldn't remember but the feeling of hearing them was seared into you.
Fuck, you might like him a little more than you expected.
You wanted to text him, maybe send him a message, but you were so trapped by fear.
What if he hadn't meant it like that? Maybe this was just for emergencies, and he would find you annoying if you tried. Maybe he found you annoying enough already.
You sigh, putting your phone down.
Where had that sarcastic girl inside of you gone? The one that had sassed a serial killer who was about to end her?
You'd felt yourself change so much after that experience, scared of the world around you, and you missed her, you missed the person that you used to be.
She wouldn't have had any problems asking a hot guy his name.
Then again, William wasn't just any hot guy, he was still a client, and you definitely should not get involved.
He was probably just extending a courtesy to you anyway.
.
It was annoying how much he found himself staring at his phone.
Fuck. Had he come on too strong?
He rubs a tired hand over his face, exhausted.
The predator was scratching at the inside of his mind endlessly, turning his brain to shreds. Demanding he go to her, demanding he find her, and kiss her, and pick her up, seat her soft body on his, feel the heat of her arousal between her thighs-
His phone rings.
Fuck.
Truly, everything was so tedious now, mind-numbingly boring. He no longer wanted to spend long hours at the office, sacrificing his personal time for work, he wanted you. He wanted an existence, where he could go home to you, crawl into bed beside you, rest his body beside yours, stay there beside you until he rots, leaving only your bones and his together, a lifetime of eternal peace.
He blinks, realises how insane his thoughts are.
He didn't know the first thing about you.
No, that wasn't true, he knew lots, he knew how you laughed and he knew the sound of your voice and the scent of your skin and there was a million more things to learn and he wanted to know them all.
.
"Surprise!" Dani exclaims as you open the door to her.
You laugh in amusement, unable to see much of her face through the magnificently large palm plant in her hands.
"How on earth are you holding on to that? It's fucking huge." You say, stepping aside to let her in.
"I'm strong, I get by." She replies easily, moving to place the plant by your nearest window.
You watch her, as you close the front door.
She grabs at the heavy curtains, pulling them aside to let some sunlight in.
"Oh, this place is awesome, I love the little balcony." She comments, staring out of the windows.
You grin.
"Thanks, honestly, I don't go out there much." Or even open your curtains, but you'd definitely have to have some sunlight come in now for your new plant friend.
"Can I?" She asks, and waits for your nod of approval before pulling the glass door open.
The cool air of the morning spills in, you find yourself liking it, appreciating new things about your new apartment.
Truthfully, having the windows open made you a little bit on edge, you didn't know who would be able to look in, and it paired oddly with your feeling of constantly being watched.
Outside certainly wasn't too bad though, as you inched closer to the window, you found that you could see a little into the house next door, a kitchen area and a little bit of a sitting area, with a cute fireplace.
This was his house, you realise with abject facination.
"Who's house?" Dani asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.
"Uh, the guy I was telling you about, who helped me with my bags the other day."
"Big dick Russo?"
You smile.
"Yeah, him."
"Hmm, nice place." She comments, moving away from the window.
When your second friend arrives, she brings a jar of cacao nibs and a crate of strawberries.
You happily thank Amy, washing some of the strawberries and settling into the couch to enjoy them.
You'd been friends with Dani and Amy for a lot of your life, and you'd come a long way with them. They were both there that night, you'd been trying to keep them safe when you'd taken off running.
You remember the aftermath, stumbling back toward the sound of their voices calling your name, trying to explain to them, with barely any breath left in your lungs, what had happened.
They hadn't left you alone for even a second that night, at least one of them in sight at all times.
If it weren't for them, the aftermath would have decimated you.
You curl up happily with your strawberries, listening to their little updates.
You smile when Dani turns her concerned eyes to you, she asks how you've been sleeping.
"Actually a lot better here. I feel surprisingly safe."
She nods in understanding.
"Yeah, the doorman looked at me so suspiciously it was almost funny. If you didn't call ahead, he might have kicked me out."
You smile, nodding.
"No more surprise birthday parties for me."
"Well, I can always seduce him into letting me in." She says with a shrug of her shoulder, earning a laugh from you.
Amy, who has been making herself a cup of tea, squeaks loudly.
You spin to look at her, her eyes open comically wide, hands clamped over her mouth as she stares out the open door to the balcony.
"Oh my god, what?" Dani says, standing suddenly to move to another window, parting the curtains slightly to look out.
She looks for a second, eyes scanning the area in confusion, before her mouth drops open.
"What?" you say moving to take a peek over her shoulder.
At first you don't see it, you don't know where to look, your first thought was something on the roof of the next building or maybe the ground below, before movement in the opposite window catches your eye.
Your mouth goes dry.
His hair is wet, fresh from a shower, his torso is bare. You blink, trying to double check that he was in fact there, in his kitchen, half-naked after a shower, a towel wrapped around his hips.
He reaches into one of the taller cupboards, grabbing a mug, the muscles of his back flexing as he closes the cupboard door.
Your body tingles at the sight of him. You watch him scratch the corner of his lip absentmindedly as he checks his phone, turning away to disappear deeper into his home where you can't see.
"Jesus Christ." Dani whispers, reminding you that she was there, a small frown forming on your face as you realise that you're not the only one admiring him.
"We shouldn't be watching him." You try to say, looking at Amy, who does not draw her eyes away from the window.
Dani's gasp pulls your attention, and you try to peek over her shoulder once more.
His hair is askew, his body a little less wet now, black boxers replacing the towel on his hips.
"That's a big dick for sure." Dani whispers.
"Stop. Enough." You say with finality, reaching around her to shut the curtains in her face.
You close in the balcony door next, avoiding looking over as you draw the curtains shut.
Everyone is silent for a moment, before Amy says your name.
"Please send him a text." She says, with pleading eyes.
You let out a little huff.
.
There's a fascination for him that does not leave you, and when you find him in your dreams later that night, you make sure to express all your pent up frustrations very clearly.
He's standing in your living room, studying the little palm tree. He turns to you with a smile when he senses you approaching.
You are not smiling.
Hands gripping his wrists, you pull at him, almost angry in your feverish movements.
He looks stunned when you push him to a sitting position on your couch.
You're still in your vintage night dress, all soft fabrics and little bows, you raise the hem, sliding yourself onto his lap easily.
He's still looking at you with surprised eyes, he doesn't know what's brought this on but he does not want to stop it in any way.
"What will it take to make you mine?" You whisper, leaning into him. His eyebrows draw together, confused.
"I already am." he answers easily, just as your noses brush.
"I wish you were," you say harshly against his mouth, "I wish you knew how badly I want you."
"I was made for you." He confesses, a promise against your lips as his fingers secure themselves to the spot behind your neck, pulling you in.
Your mouths meld together, a blissful sigh from each mouth.
Your body calls out to him, empty, aching.
You take his free hand, guiding it slowly over your thigh, so that he touches the spot right over your womb.
"I need you right here." You gasp into his mouth, and you feel his fingers tighten reflexively on the back of your neck.
He says your name, a whispered prayer.
"Please. I'm so tired of being empty." You plead, ready to beg if he would just give you what you crave.
"I'm right here," he promises, hands caressing either side of your face, kissing your lips one more time for good measure.
"And I'm not going anywhere."
When you wake, it's with a sad sigh.
It's odd, to be this disastrously needy, and yet feel an ache in your chest like never before.
You strip your nightdress off, your body exposed to the cool air of your room, only your underwear on to shield you from what you're about to do next.
You're not thinking when you pull your bedroom curtains open, all you want, is for him to see.
It doesn't matter that he's a stranger, or that he's a client. In the dark of the night, with the moonlight streaming in, all you want him to be, is yours.
.
He isn't expecting it.
So when he moves to his windows to check for movement, he doesn't think it's real.
For a moment, he thinks he might still be dreaming.
But no.
There you are.
Your curtains parted, and he can see right into your bedroom, the moonlight soft on your gorgeous skin.
You writhe on your sheets, one hand on your breast, the other- he swallows- the other under the lining of your panties.
You were playing with yourself.
His heart hammers in his head, the predator roars.
He watches, it doesn't take much for you to come, back arching, quiet gasps, trembling thighs.
Your chest heaves as you try to suck in air. He wishes he was in the room with you. The scent of your cunt must be filling the room by now, despite the flimsy piece of fabric between your thighs.
What were you thinking about? Was it him?
You tug your fingers out of your underwear, his mouth waters at the sight of your glistening fingers.
He groans, backs away from the windows so that his silhouette isn't visible. Watches you close the curtains, and disappear from his view.
It's well into the morning, long after he's been awake, after his Sunday morning run, he's standing in his kitchen, blending a smoothie, when his phone goes off, a little picture display telling him exactly who it is.
'What's the 'B' in your name stand for?'
Billy smiles.
.
.
.
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Rereading for comfort and squealing at Billy putting down the moves
Teeth
Part 3!
Werepanther!Billy Russo x Female Reader
Masterlist
This is @marvelmusing 's fault.
Warnings: Mentions of trauma from past parts, dream smut, more dumbass dancing.
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By every account, you should be dead.
When they'd finally been able to identify the remains of the man who'd tried to kill you and your friends, they'd discovered that his DNA had been matched with several cases that had gone cold throughout the years.
He'd been something of an expert in the matters of killing and there was no doubt in your mind that you would have never made it out of that forest alive.
If it weren't for the panther.
You're sure it was a panther now, and not a mountain lion that you had told the cops before. You'd learned how absolutely impossible it was that it had been a panther from the forest rangers that had spent weeks after searching for the magnificent creature.
Yet still, in the darkness of the night, when you were wound too tightly from work or the trauma of having been hunted, it was the panther that soothed you.
It had seen something in you, liked you, the softness of its fur on your cheek, the intelligence in its eyes, the fierceness of its protection.
It could have left you, walked away, decided not to get involved and left you to be prey, killed for whatever sick pleasure the hunter would get out of it.
Instead, the panther had looked at you, and decided that you were worth saving.
In the darkness of your room, you let out a dreamy sigh, fingers wrapping instinctively around your pendant, closing your eyes as sleep finally takes you.
You dream of it.
You're lying in a field of grass, surrounding by the brightness of the blue sky and the rushing sound of wind.
It's glorious, peaceful, and when you roll onto your side, there he is.
The panther stares easily at you, lying on his stomach, tail flicking peacefully as he looks at you.
You smile, getting closer, watching him as he watches you and makes no move to get away.
When you are close enough, lying alongside him, you finally relax.
The panther dips his head, nose pressed to your cheek affectionately, a rough lick that makes you giggle.
After a moment of silence, you decide to speak.
"I know the common idea is that big cats are dangerous," you say, fingers tracing his large paw, "but I think, if you wanted to kill me, I'd let you."
A low growling sound escapes him. Something that sends a spike of fear down your spine, makes you stiffen, and try to back away.
Before you can, he's licking softly at your cheek again, in what you sense might be an apology, like he didn't mean to make you afraid of him, but he was just upset at your words.
You raise a hand to pet the top of his head, he purrs loudly. The sound vibrates your eardrums, washes your mind with peace.
You spend long lovely minutes curled into him, enjoying where you are, the peace you feel.
When you roll away from him, it's hands that bring you back.
Real human hands, large ones that grip your hips and turn you back to face him.
You peek an eye open, and the panther isn't there anymore.
Instead, it's William, the object of your desires, looking down at you with dark eyes.
You're still not afraid, fully aware that this is a dream after all, you smile at him, parting your thighs when you feel his hand slip lower, eager to feel his touch, the scorching heat if his palm on your thigh, the slow way he trails it up to cup you between your legs.
You sigh, relaxed, basking in his quiet attention, rocking your hips into the heel of his palm.
You whine when pleasure lights up your senses. He takes his time slipping his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. You gasp at the rough feel of his hand.
"I can't tell you how much I think about this." He murmurs softly, drawing your attention back to him.
William looks at you, studying your face intently as his fingers gently toy with your clit.
"I can't quantify it. Every waking moment, every second of sleep. All I can think about is you."
The words are a delight to hear, they make you feel so at ease.
"Maybe a thousand times. Maybe a hundred thousand. Maybe it's really just one time that's still happening because I haven't been able to stop."
He leans in, presses his nose to your jaw, takes a deep breath, groans.
"Who cares anyway- doesn't matter how many times I think about you. I'm going to think about you for the rest of my life."
You gasp at his words, your heart swells, his fingers continue to tease you, your legs shake with the torment.
You need to kiss him, raising a hand to wrap your fingers behind his neck, pulling him down, down, down-
You wake before your lips touch with a gasp.
Christ, you'd never had a dream so vivid.
You shift slightly, your cunt is dripping, aching for what it just had, a stranger's fingers playing with you.
Because that's what he was, despite the sweet words your brain had conjured, William was a stranger, a client, nothing more.
Maybe your new bout of vivid dreams stemmed from your recent move to your new apartment.
You'd done the move because you'd no longer felt safe at your old place. There wasn't anything wrong with it, but the paranoia had kept you up at night, constantly made you feel like you were being watched.
Your therapist had suggested maybe looking around for a change in scenery, and you decided that it couldn't hurt.
Your new apartment building had almost immediately set you at ease. The level of security made you feel well protected, and there was just something about it, maybe the large windows, or the fact that the walls weren't thin, something, that just made you feel at ease. Like for the first time in a while you had a space that you could make your own.
You loved it, you couldn't wait to finish unpacking.
You'd parked your car on the street, because the front door of the building was easier to get through with all your items than the garage entrance. It was just a couple of boxes and bags, things you'd asked your friends to hold on to for a moment so that you didn't have to worry about storage.
The sun had just set, and darkness was settling, there was a bit of quiet- or as quiet as New York could get anyway.
Even now, you felt watched, there was just a paranoia to being outside that you hadn't shaken from your bones. It made you afraid, it made you worry about whether your mind was really playing tricks on you or not.
You grab as many bags as possible, anxiety spiking when you hear a rustling nearby, someone was coming, someone was coming-
Someone with a familiar voice says your name.
With bags hanging off your shoulders and piled into your arms, you turn in surprise.
"Mister Russo?" You say in question, eyes widening at the sight of him.
Be cool be cool be cool.
He's dressed in- good lord- a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants.
You keep your eyes on his, trying your absolute hardest not to look down.
"What are you doing here?" You ask, trying to stop your arms from shaking from the weight of your bags.
"I live over there." He explains, turning and gesturing to the lovely townhouse right next to your apartment building.
Oh god damn what happened to never seeing him again?
He turns back to you, you gulp at the size of him, the calm expression on his face.
"You look a little overwhelmed. Is it okay if I helped you get these to wherever they're going?"
Fuck.
The way he phrases the question makes you moan internally, other men would just try to take your things from you without asking permission, trying to assert their strength and dominance on you with no respect for your boundaries. It was amazing to learn that William was not like that.
He was hot, and he most definitely did not like you.
You swallow, nodding, and extending some of the bags for him to hold on to.
"Are you sure?" You ask, hoping you weren't taking him from something more important.
When your fingers brush, a slow heat eases its way down your spine.
"Yes. I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure." He answers easily, reaching out for you to put the last two bags into his hands.
"Um, I can carry these." You suggest, not wanting to have him carry absolutely everything for you.
He blinks, tilting his head.
"I'm assuming you're going into this building?" He asks, inclining his head in the direction of your aparment building.
When you nod, he continues.
"You'll need a hand free for the door then. I can handle one more bag." He says, extending his hand again.
Fuck, his hands were big. You wonder how he would react if you put your hand in his, instead of the little bag.
Probably shake it off and leave you here in a pile of your bags.
You slip the last bag into his hand, and he waits patiently for you to lock up your car.
When the doorman sees him, intead of making you sign him in, he simply nods his head for you to go along.
"Do you know him?" You ask curiously, when the doorman is out of earshot.
William inclines his head.
"He works for me. I manage this building's security protocols."
Right, you had a CEO carrying your bags.
You nod in understanding, stepping into the elevator when it arrives.
"I should have realised it was you, the system is set up similar to Anvil's." You look down, trying to limit the things you say to him. He was still a client after all.
"I hope that's not a bad thing."
"Definitely not!" You look up at him with widening eyes, "You're good at your job is all." You say, gulping, looking away, playing with your keys.
God, why did he have to make you so nervous?
After a moment, he speaks.
"Thank you. You're good at your job too."
You give him a genuine smile of thanks.
The elevator opens on your floor.
"Which reminds me- I hope the analysis I sent over is okay." You say, stepping out.
"Yes, my team is reviewing it now." he answers.
This is so awkward, you think, grabbing your key card to unlock the door.
"Also," he continues as you unlock the door, "I took your advice and started a small focus group on workplace etiquette. I appreciate the suggestion."
He did?
"That's good to hear," You say, taking some of the bags from him, "I was worried I'd crossed a line."
"Not at all. I appreciate people that can tell me the truth. I despise sugarcoating."
It pulls a genuine smile from you, and in return, you get a small one from him.
Truly, a work of art.
When there's nothing left in his arms, you catch him looking around your place.
"Yeah, it's pretty bare," You try to excuse the scanty look of it.
"It's lovely." He says easily, turning to look at you.
You gulp, flames licking at your cheeks.
"Thank you. For everything, sorry if I took up too much of your time."
"Don't apologise." He says.
You nod.
"Sorry."
He takes a step toward you, you look up in surprise.
"Take it back."
"W-why?"
"Because I was happy to help, and I don't want you to apologise for it." He takes another step until he's almost in your personal space.
"Oh, s-"
When he raises his eyebrows in warning, your voice dies in your throat.
"Um, thank you." You say finally, and he gives you a smile, a real, genuine smile that weakens your knees.
"You're welcome, and if you need anything-" He sidesteps you, reaching for the notepad and pen sitting on the dining table behind you, "- don't hesistate to call. Anytime, for anything. Yes?"
You swallow, reaching for the piece of paper as he extends it to you.
He was giving you his number?
"Yes." You say  after a beat, breathless in his overwhelming presence.
"Good." He whispers, takes a deep breath, looking at you for a beat longer, before moving to your front door. You part your lips, almost offering to walk him down, if only to stay in his presence for just a second longer.
"Have a nice night." He says, barely sparing you a glance as he walks out your door.
It takes you a moment, staring at the door in shock, his number clutched in your hands, before you can even respond.
"You too." You say to no one, voice barely above a whisper.
He hears it anyway.
.
.
.
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Where do I find an audio of someone being nice to me I am losing my mind
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*smiles softly at you knowing the back of my head it's about to get hella dark in here*
Accidentally on Purpose Masterlist
Dark!Billy Russo x Female Reader
An accidental marriage in Vegas type scenario, toxic relationship.
I made a playlist!!! 😁
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To Have and to Hold
For Better or Worse
Something old, Something new
Something borrowed, Something blue
For Richer or Poorer
In Sickness and in Health
With all that I am
And all that I have
To Love and To Cherish
Forsaking All Others
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I came to agony of desire (re-read) and wanted to let you know 😘
Ooh I'll reread too! and hopefully get inspiration to finish it 😅😅😅
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Fellas, fellas
Why on earth are you BUYING PHYSICAL HARDBOUND COPIES OF FANFICTION????
ACTUALLY WHY ARE YOU EVEN MAKING HARDBOUND COPIES OF FANFICTION TO SELL?!?!?!
IF ANY OF YOU DO EITHER OF THESE THINGS, GET OUT!! I AM NEVER SPEAKING TO YOU AGAIN.
In all seriousness though, authors on AO3 have begun to pull their works off of the site to avoid getting sued by people stealing their works to make a pretty bound book for profit. Entire accounts could be shut down as well.
Listen, I’m all for saving favorite works by printing them out and putting them in a binder, or learning how to make a book for a fanfic, but seeking them is where I draw the line.
Literally the entire point of AO3 is that you can read it FOR FREE.
It is DISRESPECTFUL for people to make money off of hardbound copies because guess what, the original creators of these fics get nothing. We are literally only writing fanfiction for our own pleasure.
Buying and selling book-bound fanfiction is also ILLEGAL YOU DUMB SHITS. It’s an immediate violation of copyright law. The original fan work will get erased from the internet.
Fanfiction is already a legal grey zone since they are works being written about are protected by copyright. Copyright holders can in fact go after writers as well as the person who sold the fanfiction.
This also goes for people who steal fanart and, claim it as theirs, and put a price on it.
Don’t make it worse.
Bookbinding fanfiction for profit is literally ruining things for everyone. DON’T.
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Oh my god, this man is so unhinged
Nightfall (4)
Vampire! Billy Russo x Female Reader
Part 1// Part 2// Part 3
Warnings: Dubious Consent, smut (18+), mostly dirty talk, some fucked up dynamics where he lets her press a stake to his heart, oral (f receiving), edging, orgasm denial, teasing.
For @stardustmorozov, Nicky I'm sorry but you're gonna yell at me again... and I'm gonna love it.
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You sit on his bed, listening to the sound of the shower going. 
Your mouth tastes like spearmint, and your hair is still a little damp after your shower despite your attempts at blow drying.
You’re in one of his shirts, having raided his drawers when the duffel bag he’d given you earlier held nothing but sheer lingerie disguised as sleepwear.
Maybe you shouldn’t stay here, so instead you stand, and begin wandering around his apartment.
His bedroom is farthest from the front door, and you step out, roaming down the hallway, and stopping when you see another door.
It’s open, and you peek in to find an office that you promise yourself to explore after.
It’s the only door in the hallway, and the end of it opens up into a large area with a high ceiling. There’s his kitchen to your left, and on the opposite end of the room from where you are, is the living room area. There are no walls here, just windows that show off the glittering lights of the New York skyline at night. You wonder how he’s able to stand the sun, knowing that vampire eyes were hypersensitive to light, and that most of them avoided the sunlight. Only the very old ones, managed to walk in the sun like humans did. 
You tuck that snippet of information away for further examination.
You turn to examine the kitchen, scanning the cupboards, surprised to find regular household foods like pasta and rice, wondering if he had bought these items for you, or for other human friends of his.
Another hallway at the other end of the kitchen catches your eye, and you walk slowly, more deep in your own head than you were paying attention to the layout of his apartment.
You find the bedroom you’d first woken up in, all walls and no windows, a place that protects from the light, with its own en suite bathroom. You decide that maybe you can sleep here tonight, away from him and his wretched mouth. 
Backtracking, you look at the door for a long moment, before moving forward to examine it.
You reach for the handle, pushing down, you realise it’s locked. You sigh, eyes falling on the latched deadbolt, reaching up to open it, before trying the door handle again.
The door opens this time.
Your stomach twists.
Damn, had it really been that easy the entire time? You study the elevator just a few paces away from the door.
You don’t even think about it, closing the door and snapping the deadbolt shut.
You turn away from the door, and you gasp in fright as you see him standing just a few steps away. 
You jerk, back hitting the door as fright slams through you.
You suck in a deep breath, pressing your hand to your chest.
He’s only got a towel wrapped around his hips, his chest and shoulders still glistening with water after his shower.
You stare at each other, a silent showdown of who’s going to speak first.
Billy tilts his head, studying you intently.
“Why didn’t you leave?”
Your brain comes up with the dumbest, most obvious answer possible.
“I’m- not wearing pants.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“We could go get some. Would you leave then?”
“No, cause it’s three in the morning and I’m tired.”
He takes a step toward you, a teasing smile on his pretty face. Your eyes trace the lines of his scars as he draws nearer. You relax as he approaches.
“And in the morning?” 
He’s so close now, you’re eye level with his dripping wet chest.
“Maybe. If I feel like it.” You whisper, studying the scars on his chest, and then flitting your gaze up to meet his.
He takes a deep breath, bracing one hand beside your head, and then after a moment, uses his other hand to trap you in place.
Except that you don’t feel trapped, all you feel is heated want.
“What if I don’t want you to leave?” He asks, his voice stirs something inside of you, a dangerous feeling, something disastrous in the making.
“You can’t stop me.” You murmur, as his fingers touch the bottom of your chin, gently tilting your head higher.
He smiles then, all fangs and pearly whites on display.
“If only that were true.” He hums, leaning in till his lips brush yours.
You push against his biceps hard, and he moves back just enough so that you’re able to slip away from him.
“Why don’t you go kiss someone else. I’m going to bed.” You grit out, walking in the direction of the spare bedroom.
You don’t get very far, before he’s gripping your wrist tightly to keep you in place. You turn to face him, a look of calm irritation plastered on your face.
“That’s what this is about? The kiss?”
“It’s about nothing. Let me go.” You pull on your arm.
He doesn’t budge.
“You’re jealous?”
“I’m not-” You grunt as you pull on your hand again, “-You’re just pissing me off.”
“You’re the one that called me ‘sick’ and now you’re jealous cause I kissed someone?”
“I’m not fucking jealous-” You gasp as he pins your body to the kitchen counter, your body freezing in shock at the angry expression on his face.
“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” He grits out, blinking after a second and seemingly calming in the same space of time.
He takes a deep breath before speaking again.
“Don’t forget I can hear every beat of your heart. I can smell your cunt. I already know how wet you are. Don’t think you’re capable of a lie.”
You let out an angry sigh, turning your head away from him.
“Whatever.” you say as harshly as you can.
There’s a moment of silence, where he looks at you, and you make a point not to look at him.
“Alright. I’m gonna fix this.” He says decidedly.
“I could care less- what the fuck are you-” You gasp as he picks you up easily, tossing you over his shoulder.
“Billy what the fuck! Put me the fuck down now you asshole!” You grunt, his shoulder digging near painfully into your hip. 
You kick your legs, trying to escape and after a moment you realise that it doesn’t make a difference.
If you really wanted to, you could maybe straighten your body and fight your way out of his grip, but there was an inevitability to his movements. It didn’t matter how long it took, or how difficult it was, Billy was persistent, and he would get what he wanted eventually.
So when your body lands softly on his bed, all you do is look up at him angrily.
“Stay there.” He orders, untucking the towel from his hips and dropping it to the floor. You look up to the ceiling to avoid looking at his nude form. You don't want to give him the satisfaction.
When he turns away, your eyes find him once more, studying the broad expanse of his back, all the way down to his ass.
You clench, grabbing a pillow and dropping it on top of your face to hide your desire. You try your very hardest not to remember the look of him, the feel of his body on yours, his cock-
He tugs the pillow away from your face, and you sigh in annoyance up at him.
You don’t want to look down, but your eyes have almost a mind of their own.
Your eyebrows draw together in confusion when you notice that he’s wearing a fitted pair of grey boxers on his lower half.
When your eyes meet his in confusion, he grins.
He finds his way up to you, hands sliding over your legs, up your calves and to your knees.
"Did you think we were gonna fuck, baby?" He teases, with a tilt of his head.
His hands slide up more, and you're just confused when he reaches under your shirt to tug at your panties.
"We're not fucking tonight, sweetheart, I just wanna talk to you."
Then why the fuck was he taking your panties off?
When he gets the garment off, you watch him close his eyes for a brief second, tilt his head up and take a deep breath.
He was-
"God. You smell good."
His eyes are red when they reconnect with yours.
You don't say anything- you find that you can't. You want him and he knows it.
He grips your thighs, pressing them upward so that your cunt is exposed to him fully.
Your heart is pounding in your chest, you're sure he can hear it. Open and vulnerable as you watch him look at your glistening cunt.
"Pretty. Did you know that?" 
You gulp, eyes glued to his form, admiring the look of his arms and the swell of his biceps.
"I want to taste you every day, all the time. You have no idea how hard it is to stop myself from dropping you on the first surface I can find and burying my face in your cunt."
He watches you clench around nothing, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smile.
He releases your legs, letting them drop a little and he looms in above you, pressing your body tightly to his.
Chest to chest, your bare centre pressed right up to the hardness of his clothed cock, there's no space to breathe where he doesn't exist.
He angles his head so that his lips are pressed to your ear.
"I want to lick that pretty little cunt till you pass out, and then wake you up so I can do it all over again." He whispers in your ear, your body tense and on edge from just his words.
"I want to fuck you till you beg me to stop, and even then, I'll still be giving you just one more."
You think you might be ruining the sheets below you with how aroused you were.
"Then do it." You challenge, hoping for some reprieve to the ache inside of you.
His hand moves up slowly, fingers tracing your cheek before covering your mouth firmly.
You make a muffled sound of protest, raising your hands to try and push him away. You hear a quiet laugh, before one of your hands is pinned above your head.
It doesn’t matter, whether you have one hand free or two- you would not be able to get out from under him on your own.
“My poor sweet little huntress,” He hums, your ear vibrating with his low words, “If you want me to fuck you till you cry, you’re going to have to ask nicely. Actually no- you’re going to have to beg.”
Your groan of annoyance is muffled behind his palm. There was no way you were going to beg him for anything.
You feel him smile against your neck, and then you still as you feel his teeth. 
He drags his sharp teeth gently over your neck, avoiding the spot where he bit you earlier.
“You’re so helpless under me, isn’t that nice? I can do anything I want to you, and you’d have no power to stop me.” 
To prove his point, you feel his tongue swipe over your shoulder, and then purposefully over your bite, sending brief little shivers down your spine, and then he trails his tongue up the column of your neck, and then even further, licking over your cheek as well.
Your body feels like a livewire, vibrating with sheer desire each time he touches you.
You want to grunt out so many things. That he was filthy, that he was just downright fucked up in the head.
That you wanted him to keep going.
“You like that, don’t you? You always have.” He lets out a slow sigh, “You always get so wet when you can’t fight back.”
Fuck you, you wanted to say. 
“What if we made this interesting?” He hums, raising his upper body off yours for a second to reach into his bedside drawer. 
You’re no longer fully trapped under him, and if you wanted to get out, you could. Instead, you wait curiously to see what he was going to do.
He pulls a stake out of his top drawer.
“You- just have that in there? I could have killed you this whole time?”
“Of course.” He teases pushing the drawer shut, “Now’s your chance.”
Before you can ask what he means, he’s sliding the silver stake into your hand.
What the fuck?
“Now, you can stop me if you really want.” Billy says ominously.
“That’s the most fucked up-” Before you can finish, he’s slapping his hand back over your mouth.
“Don’t care about what you have to say, baby, I’m gonna do what I want to you, and you can stop me if you feel like.”
And then, he starts tugging your shirt up, exposing your stomach.
In retrospect, you don’t have to kill him to make him stop, you could just mortally wound him. One well placed stab near the heart would be enough of a deterrent. You could slip free and be out the door in minutes.
Billy pulls your shirt up higher, exposing your breasts to the open air. Your hand tightens on the stake.
You should do it. You really should.
He groans when his tongue slides wetly over your left nipple. You shudder blissfully.
Your eyes roll back in your head, before fluttering shut. A breath of air leaves your mouth in a rush, fingers hold taut on the warming piece of silver in your hand.
One quick swipe of his tongue on your left breast, then your right. He raises his head.
“Do you want more?” Billy asks.
With your eyes still closed, you shake your head.
“Then stop me.” He says, before his lips wrap around your pebbled nipple. 
His short beard scratches along your sensitive breast, he kisses his way up to the spot below your collarbone, white hot sparks splintering over your body everywhere he touches.
You still when you feel his teeth graze your skin.
“Still want me to stop?” He checks in.
No you don’t.
“Yes.”
His teeth press into your skin.
A sharp cry spills out of you, tingles as he breaks skin, followed by a jolt of pain and then heat.
You jerk when he extracts his fangs.
Billy moans when he gets his first mouthful.
You pant, unable to understand how having him drink from you could hurt, and yet feel so blissfully good.
He takes another, and then another.
Was he going to kill you like this? Should you stop him now?
He rolls his hips, rock hard erection just bumping your clit and you gasp.
Fuck, why did every part of him have to feel so good? You could feel your arousal, slippery and messy between your thighs, begging you to give into him, if only for a moment so that he could ease your ache.
Instead, you move your hand, pressing the stake to his shoulder.
From his spot, drinking from your chest, you feel him make a sound of amusement.
You groan, disdain for him building in you, you press the weapon deeper till it breaks his skin.
He pauses, raising his head from your chest, lapping slowly at the trickling droplets of your blood before drawing back.
“Silly girl, didn’t anyone teach you how to kill a vampire?” He asks, grabbing your wrist in an iron grip, and though you try to fight his guidance, he’s too strong, pulling your hand until the stake is pressed to the centre of his chest.
“My heart is right here.” He murmurs softly, and with his hand on yours, he pulls the weapon closer, breaking skin once more.
“Stop.” You say, panic building inside of you, tugging at your hand in hopes that it can slip out from under his. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to kill him.
You pull hard at your hand, gasping gratefully when you manage to pull away. 
You look at him, sharp breaths trying to calm yourself when you get your hand away. 
He gives you a soft smile, pulling the stake away from his chest and dropping it on the bed.
You gulp, watching the wound he’d caused heal before your eyes.
“You are,” You breathe, “Absolutely fucking crazy.”
“Maybe,” He agrees with a hum, “But at least you can admit to yourself now, that you want this too.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours chastely, “That maybe you actually like me.”
“Not wanting you to die is not the same as-”
“-Oh give me a fucking break.” He grunts, pulling back.
He grips your knees, and before you can figure out what he’s doing- he flips you onto your stomach.
You let out a little grunt, pushing yourself up, but suddenly pressed back down by the weight of his body covering yours.
“You’ve cum on my cock way too many times to be lying to yourself like this.” He hisses.
You turn your head, so that you can see his face in your peripherals.
"You're such an arrogant fuck." You grunt out, your rucked up shirt causing your nipples to press against the bed, the exposure of your body makes you almost quiver with delight.
He leans in, his breath against your ear as you feel his hands gripping your hips.
"Why can't you just admit to yourself that you might want me, hmm?" He hisses lowly in your ear, his breath brushing against your skin, tormenting you.
"That deep down," He continues, pressing his hand between your hips and the bed, "Somewhere in that pretty head and wet cunt," You feel his hand sliding lower, fingers touching the top of your mound, "You want me with you," He kisses your cheek, "Over you, under you, inside you." You feel him take a deep breath, his nose pressed to your neck.
"I want to lick your cunt so often that I can taste you when you're not there. Is that too much to ask for?"
Your head spins, too drunk on him to formulate words.
He makes it even harder, by slipping his hand lower, fingers meeting your wet slit.
He doesn't hesitate, fingers gliding easily down, meeting your clit and you let out a low, shuddering moan as your ache is addressed in the slightest way possible.
You tilt your hips forward, into his hand.
"Billy." You sigh, widening your legs instinctively, anything to encourage him to keep going.
“God, you’re so fucking wet.”
You mewl, nodding your head.
His finger slips gently over your clit, and your breathing pauses, you don't want to do anything that would make him stop giving you this pleasure.
He gives a firm press, and you feel your body shudder, a wave of pure bliss sinking over you.
You say his name again, shifting your body, trying to display your impatience to him.
"Ah ah ah, little girl. Where are your manners? I told you I wanted you to beg."
"Fuck you." You groan angrily.
His finger slips lower, massaging your entrance for a few moments before slipping his finger in.
You gasp, your body going lax at the feel of the pleasure building in you. It’s good. It’s so good and it’s so wrong that he makes you feel like this.
"So fucking tight." He hisses, "That cunt's begging for a stretch."
Focusing on his words are hard with the way his lone finger moves, pumping in and out of you easily, your body desperate for him.
Something goes off in your head, like a gun when he curls his finger, and touches that spot deep inside of you. It pulls a groan from the very depths of your soul. You pant, trying to keep your thinking focused with the way he’s trying to steal it.
"That's it. You like this huh? Like the way I take what I want?" He leans in till his lips are at your ear, "I like it too." You clench around his finger.
"You're a sick fuck." You groan, half your mouth muffled from where your face is pressed to the bed.
"Yeah? Am I? Do you hate me?" He pulls back, and before you can make any sound of protest, two of his fingers are sliding into you.
Fuck, you can feel your body stretching for him. He uses his other hand to grip your jaw, tilting your head up almost painfully so that your face isn’t muffled in the sheets anymore.
"Tell me you hate me." Billy whispers in your ear.
You cry, his fingers beginning to move slowly, spreading you open and forcing you to feel him, to ache for more of him.
His fingers slow when you don’t immediately answer, and you groan internally, assembling the words in your head.
“I- I,” You stutter out, tears dripping from your eyes uncontrollably and pooling around his grip on your jaw, “I h-hate you.”
“Yeah? Poor little girl. Should I stop then? Leave you alone?” He coos, voice condescending in every way possible.
“Nh-” You immediately vocalise, begging him in your head to not stop, but the words can’t seem to come out of your mouth.
He laughs in your ear, understanding what you were about to say without you having to say it. 
The pace of his fingers quicken, you hiss, arching your back, feeling your orgasm swiftly approaching. You’ve wanted him since this morning, since he pulled you onto his lap and told you that you were his.
Your body trembles, eyes rolling back in your head, on the brink of release-
-And then his fingers stop.
A cry of despair leaves your lips, and the denial in your body aches, and then hurts even more when he pulls his fingers away, withdrawing his hand from under you. His grip on your jaw loosens, until your face is pressed against the sheets once more.
You raise your head groggily, turning your body onto your side when you feel him lift himself off of you. You catch sight of him sliding his fingers, wet with your denial into his mouth.
You bite down on your bottom lip hard, on the brink of begging for him, pleading with him to make you cum, and then take you in any way he saw fit.
But that’s exactly what he wanted.
So instead, you stay still, trying not to speak, feeling the fire of denial burn through you.
You tug your shirt down, looking at him with angry eyes as he observes you.
“Are you done having your fun?” You ask bitterly.
The corner of his lip twitches.
"You know what to say if you want to cum, baby. Don't act like this isn't your choice."
You feel petulance build up inside of you, anger beyond thought.
"Go fuck yourself." You hiss, moving to slide off the bed.
He grips your hips, hauling you back, until you're on your back, looking angrily up at him.
"What's the rush, sweetness? Don't you want me to clean you up?" 
“Clean me?” You repeat in disbelief, sitting up, propping the weight of your torso onto your elbows. Your brain stalling on what that could possibly mean.
His smile is devious, the look of a man that has everything he wants and then some.
He takes his time, shouldering his body in between your thighs, his face so close to your dripping centre that you’re not sure if you have any brain cells left functional
“God.” He murmurs, his breath brushing along your mound as he takes in an unnecessary breath, his eyes immediately locking on to the messy place between your thighs, “You make me feel like the most insane person on the planet.” 
“You are the most insane person on the planet.”
He grins, lowering his head slowly, anticipation building inside of you, a simmering heat, a thrumming pulse.
“Love it when you talk dirty to me.” Is the last thing he murmurs before his lips meet your cunt.
You close your eyes, pressing your lips together, begging yourself to not make a sound. He places a gentle kiss to your slit, and then another, before you feel his lips part, and his tongue snake out.
You make a muffled groan behind your clenched teeth as he gets a taste of you.
What starts off gentle, turns slightly rougher as he lays a harsh swipe of his tongue along your pussy, a gasp leaving your lips as you feel Billy begin to slowly lick your cunt.
He’s thorough and unrelenting, his face buried between your thighs, licking at you without a care in the world.
You want to spit every degrading word you can at him, hating the way you know in the back of your head that only he has ever made you feel so good.
“Oh fuck you.” You gasp as his tongue finds your clit easily, a laugh vibrating through your nether regions as he hears you.
You give up trying to resist, reaching to grip the back of his head, hoping to urge him on.
It has the opposite effect, he raises his head, and you whine, a low, pained noise at his torment.
"I'm not clean enough yet," You argue, looking down to meet his scarlet eyes.
You look at each other for a long moment, the heat of unsaid words crackling between you.
You want to beg, you're almost on the brink of it.
"I agree." Is all he says before he lowers his head again.
"Fuck-" You gasp, your back hitting the bed as your arm refuses to support your weight for any longer. 
His tongue is too dexterous, licking at your clit, and then dipping down to your entrance. He groans, tongue catching your arousal straight from the source.
Your toes curl, blissful orgasm near, your body tingles with the anticipation of your impending release.
You moan his name, putting every ounce of desperate desire into the one word.
He pulls away right when you're on edge.
The sound that leaves you is pitiful, tears of frustration spill from your eyes as you look up at him.
"I'll give you anything if you let me come."
"You know what I want." He says, licking his lips.
"Besides that," You try to bargain, "I'll blow you again, or I'll let you bite me." 
His smile is one of amusement, it makes you feel like a child, begging for something you're not going to get.
"I think we've already established that if I wanted those things, you wouldn't stop me. Even if you could."
You frown, letting out a sharp breath, fully understanding that he would not take pity on you tonight.
"Fine, asshole, I'll do it myself." You grunt, slipping from under him and sitting up with the intention of a shower.
He grips your bicep harshly to stop you. You grit your teeth angrily, unable to look into his eyes.
"If I catch you touching that little cunt- my cunt- without permission. I'll teach what real punishment would be like."
He pulls you closer, till his lips are pressed right to your ear again, your stomach flipping at his proximity.
"I'll tie you to the bed, and edge you till you forget your name. I'll use you like my own personal fleshlight and I'll never let you cum."
You hiss angrily, nether regions throbbing at his words and you tug your arm out of his grip.
"Fuck. You." Is your only reply as you head to the bathroom for the coldest shower possible.
.
After all of that, you sleep in bed beside him.
Because you know him now a little, and you know there's no way he was letting you have your own bed.
You'd gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, but you'd woken up in his arms.
"Thought vampires didn't need sleep?" You ask, voice unsteady, having just woken up.
"We don't." He answers, looking down at you. 
Your eyes trace his scars, you want to touch them, ask him what happened.
"So why did you lie beside me all night?"
"Because I wanted to." He answers.
Your stomach flips, and you have to look away as you feel blood rush to your face.
"Will you tell me more about this…imprint?" You ask softly.
He makes a little sound of displeasure.
"It's not exactly an imprint- It’s like-" He lets out a low sigh.
"It sounds worse than it actually is, but- ugh- do you know what quantum entanglement is?"
"Do I look like a physicist?" You answer.
He rolls his eyes, a small smile on his face at your snark.
"As simple as I can explain, when two particles are entangled, they remain connected, regardless of distance."
"What entangles them?" You ask.
"Physical interaction, but, with people, it's a lot harder to explain because there's a lot that isn't understood. It can happen with anyone, but not everyone, and at a subconscious level, it has to be accepted by both."
"You're saying I chose this?"
"Some part of you did, yeah, some part of me too, and then, no matter how far I got from you, I could still feel you."
"Feel me?" You press, hoping for him to elaborate.
He raises a hand, his knuckles carefully brush your cheek.
"Like you were always standing in the room with me. Like I wasn't alone."
You blink, trying to figure out if you'd felt the same way. You had so many questions flying through your head and difficulty putting them into words.
“Is there any way to break it?”
You can almost feel the air go frigid between you.
“As far as I understand, nothing breaks the bond except dying.”
Great.
“And what happens if we stay together?”
“I’ve heard different things from different people.” He responds.
“Like what?” You ask, trying to think it through. You remember Ethan had mentioned that there was the prolonging of lives involved.
He closes his eyes, shakes his head.
"I don't want to tell you what I'm not sure about. I have a friend, bonded to a human, maybe you can ask them whenever."
You swallow, nodding, trying not to fret over the possibility of more vampires.
Deep in thought, you blink in surprise when you feel his thumb brush over your cheek again. You look up at him in surprise.
"I have another question, but it's very personal."
"What is it?" 
You stall for a moment, studying the look in his eyes, the dark reflectiveness of them, the way you can almost see yourself in his eyes.
"Exactly how old are you?"
It changes the sour mood, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement before he gives you a fanged grin.
"That is a personal question, and maybe I'm not comfortable with answering." He says, tapping the tip of your nose with a slender finger.
You huff.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to freak you out, and telling you my age is gonna freak you out."
Maybe he was right, maybe it was better that you didn't know.
You sigh, rolling onto your back to stare up at the ceiling. He gets closer to you, fingers tracing over your cheek and down your neck, only stopping when they reach the healing bite on your shoulder.
Experimentally, he presses his thumb against the wound. You turn your head sharply to look at him, feeling the pain swim through your body but not reacting to it.
“Ow.” You say simply.
“How bad does it hurt?” He asks quietly.
You smack his hand away, sitting up, your back to him.
“Why does it suddenly matter?” You jab, moving to dangle your feet off the side of the bed.
There’s a big silence, he doesn’t answer, and after a moment you’re forced to glance back to make sure he’s still there and hasn’t dissolved into the air because of you.
He’s looking at you, as if he somehow understands something about you that you don’t know about yourself.
“How many times have you been bitten?”
The question brings a laugh to your lips.
“Enough times that I'm used to it.”
“Does it hurt any less each time?”
You turn away, an amused and thoughtful smile rises to your face.
“Every time I get bitten, always hurts like the first time.” You say in finality, leaving the room soon after.
.
Whatever bond he was describing- you didn’t feel it. There was nothing there but a deep seated need to explore him. It was more curiosity than desire.
At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.
You’d showered, looking at your reflection in the fogged mirror, trying to think clearly with so much frustration in your system. In the moment, you close your eyes, and recall the first time you’d ever fucked him.
It had been frantic at first, the way he’d used his tongue on you had your body begging for more, and you honestly thought you were going to die after you’d tried to kill him.
You’d put everything into it- savouring him because you wanted to seal yourself into his memory- if he was going to kill you by the end of it.
You’d gone pliant when he'd lined himself up with your entrance, and you can still remember the way your brain spiralled in surprise at the ridiculous amount of pleasure. No one had ever made you feel like that before.
Over and over again, you’d fucked till you could barely hold yourself up, till you’d been sitting on his lap, his hands gripping your hips to do all the work because you couldn’t even lift your head from the crook of his neck.
He’d been quiet, not like the second time, or even last night, when he was so vocal, the only thing you could compare it to was sin itself.
Your lower regions pulse. You can feel the heat between your thighs, begging for him, and the pleasure he gives regardless of how annoying he was.
It’s why you grab the dress at the bottom of the duffel bag to wear, deciding that you didn’t have to beg to get what you wanted. 
It was actually a really cute dress, blue, with little printed flowers all over it. Most importantly, it was short, only coming up to mid-thigh, which meant that if you bent over, he’d see the smallest scrap of lace you’d decided to call underwear today.
If he could play games, so would you.
.
He’s making breakfast when you step into the kitchen. It kind of amuses you, that he’s only cooking for you.
“Can I help?” You ask, stepping up beside him at the stove to look down at the omelette he’d been working at.
He glances at you, looks down at the stove, before blinking to look over at you once more.
You watch his jaw stiffen, you resist the urge to bite your lip as you watch his eyes trace down your body.
Oh, what power.
“Butter.” He says, “Fridge.”
You offer him a teasing smile, before turning away.
You bend unnecessarily, feeling your skirt rise up, cool air brushing the back of your thighs. 
The butter is on the middle shelf, making your bending completely unnecessary in the first place.
He's not looking at you when you turn around. You're not even sure if he's seen your little display.
He takes the butter from you without a word, and you're very intrigued by the way he cooks, the move of his wrist to flip the omelette.
"Can you get the bread toasted for me?"
How was he doing this? Being so calm and casual with you? Seeing this side of him was so much worse for your sanity than anything else. 
"You have bread?" You ask curiously, looking around, but not able to spot any.
"Yeah, here-" He steps away from the stove to reach into one of the overhead cupboards. You glance down at the pan on the stove, to make sure nothing is burning. The deep indentations on the handle of the pan barely catches your eye, and you blink in surprise.
There were deep impressions of his fingers… caused by squeezing too hard.
Maybe he was more affected with your display than he let on.
You fight a satisfied smile, giving him a knowing look when he returns to place the bag of sliced bread into your hands.
"You bought all of this for me?" You tease, "I'm flattered."
He looks hot when he rolls his eyes.
“It’s not like I had much of a choice. I can’t let you starve.”
“Because you like me?” You pry, swaying your shoulders playfully from side to side.
He huffs, using the spatula to flip the finished omelette onto a nearby plate.
Billy doesn’t respond, simply shaking his head without looking at you.
It only urges you on, like a match, sparking as it rubs against coarse paper.
You brace your hands against his kitchen counter, stiffening your arms as you use your toes to push you into an effortless bounce, using the momentum to raise your body, sitting yourself on his counter, facing him.
He doesn’t look, simply preparing the pan for toast.
“Ah,” You tease, parting your thighs subtly, “So you don’t like me then.”
Yet still, he doesn’t respond, calmly observing the bread as it toasts, the smell of it in the air makes your mouth water a little.
But it’s not what you’re hungry for.
“Maybe you only think you like me because of how sweet my blood tastes. Maybe it’s all in your head-”
Your voice goes quiet when he finally pins you with a stern glare. 
His movements are decisive, turning the stove off, moving the pan away from the residual heat, and then turning to you.
Goddamn.
You gasp, raising a leg to back away from him while also making an attempt to push him back with your foot, but there’s nowhere for you to go, your head bumps a cupboard door, and that’s all the distraction he needs to grab your ankle.
You let out a little squeak, gasping as he pulls you forward and right up against his body, encouraging your legs to wrap around him.
You open your mouth to speak, to protest, to fight him in an unmeaningful way, but you don’t get the chance as his hand grips the back of your neck, forcing your mouth onto his.
God fucking damn.
Your eyes shut, your body relaxes, and then sings with delight as he delves his tongue past your lips.
You moan into his mouth, unable to fight it, leaning in because it feels so good to have him. 
Fuck every part of you that told you this was wrong. You wanted him and nothing would stop you.
You grip his shirt in a tight fist, leaning in, meeting his mouth with an undeniable force. He presses back, and for a moment you feel so blissfully wanted, maybe more than you’d ever been before.
Only when his hand weaves into your hair, his fist tightening to hold your head in place as he leans away, do you remember the taunting remarks that got you here.
Your scalp stings, mouth falling open to gasp in air.
His eyes are dark red, like the blood he drinks to stay alive.
He doesn’t speak, releasing your hair to support your behind as he lifts you off the counter, moving quickly with your body pressed to his.
Your vision shifts too fast for comprehension, and the next thing you can process is lying face down across the marble kitchen island.
He grips the back of your head to keep you there, warm cheek to frigid marble and you stay, refusing to move, wishing that he takes in this moment, everything that you’re willing to give.
He leans over your body, until his mouth is pressed to your ear.
“Do you ever shut up?” Billy hisses, and you have to fight a satisfied smile.
He’s not done ranting, continuing on as if he doesn’t care for your answers.
“I know you just said that to get a rise out of me, but the very idea of me only wanting your for your blood- makes me fucking sick.”
He leans in even more, taking a deep breath in the space of your neck.
“I want all of you, every single piece of you, over and over again until you’re fucking mine.”
He leans away a little.
“Is that what you wanted to hear? Hmm? When you put on this little dress and flashed that cunt at me?”
He moves away even more, and the next thing you feel is him pushing your dress up, his hand pressed securely to the small of your back so that you can’t raise your body.
He's still for a moment, and so are you, burning with anticipation, your cunt getting wetter by the second.
You gasp in surprise when you feel his nose graze the back of your thigh.
You shudder, feeling his breath along your most sensitive areas, your skin tingles as he runs his nose upward, your hands curl into fists beside your head when you feel a small puff of air against your skin.
He’s still for so long that you find your body tense with anticipation, biting down on your bottom lip hard so that you don’t beg him to just put you out of your sordid misery. 
You make a small mewling sound of surprise when you feel his tongue lick along the lace gusset of your panties. 
He tugs at the scrap of fabric, pulling it away from the tacky seam of your cunt so that he can get a better look, an uninhibited view of your desire.
You want to say his name, so badly that you can feel the resonant sound of it in the back of your throat. Instead, you repeat it in your head.
Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy���
“I can’t believe how fucking messy this cunt gets. All for me.” He says softly, as if you’re not meant to hear but you do anyway.
“Such a fucking shame that you won’t beg. The things I want to do to you, the ways I want to make you cum.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, panting hard against the kitchen counter, your inner walls fluttering, begging. 
“Fucking tease.” He breathes out, as he watches more arousal spill from between your thighs.
Billy, please-
Your gasp gets caught in your throat as his tongue licks a wet trail from your clit to your entrance.
“Fuck- didn’t mean to do that but I can’t help it.” Is all he says before his tongue starts licking you slowly.
Your eyes roll back into your head and stays there permanently for a few seconds. The flood of bliss is almost too much for your body to manage.
He grunts, his hands gripping your thighs to spread your legs further apart.
His tongue is forceful as it dances over your clit, and then, after what you assume is a moment of contemplation, you feel his tongue push its way against your entrance.
Your breathing is sharp and shallow, you reach to grip the other edge of the counter, trying to get some leverage to remain sane.
The pleasure is shallow, but your body is hypersensitive with denial, his tongue fucking into you at a reasonable pace is almost enough to have your breath stalling in your throat.
When he finally gets control of himself, his tongue slows, carefully licking you, daring your body to think about orgasm.
After a few more moments, he raises his head, and you breathe a sigh of relief, your body releasing the tension of pleasure, your hands relaxing its grip on the marble countertop.
But you should have known better than to think he was done with you, not satisfied until you know for sure that you’ve lost this interaction.
His hands on your hips, gripping them as he turns you over, pulling you up into a sitting position.
Nose to nose, you look into his eyes with a half-lidded gaze.
“Your blood is nice,” He whispers, hand raising to cup your cheek, “But it’s you I want, huntress. Don’t forget that.”
You sigh, pressing your cheek into his palm and closing your eyes.
“Say it for me. What do I want?” He asks.
You breathe out a huff, an unknown emotion squeezing your throat tightly.
“Me.” You whisper softly, eyes still shut to avoid his gaze.
He doesn’t mind, thumb caressing your cheek.
“Good girl.”
And then he’s gone- right back to toasting bread, as if nothing had ever happened.
It almost drives you insane.
.
.
.
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Happy Halloween!
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Just wanna say i reread p5 of never quite enough and it hurts just as much as the first time like. Even the first part i always reread it bc DAMN you were WRITING!!!!
I love to see reader become a bit stronger (even tho i do want them together) and i love to see billy genuinely feel remorseful (idky lmao like yea keep repenting) and i love that you arent rushing to get them back together (if they ever end up back together lmao) like. I love the elongation of this story, time is not of the essence and i appreciate that
I was writing 😂😂😂😂
I wanted to capture the fact that forgiveness is a long ways away and it's not going to come easily at all.
Billy is definitely more concerned with how she feels, and repairing her self worth than he is with being with her again, and that's what I tried to show as well.
Anyways, thanks for reading! 🩷
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Text
Also for that anon
Nightfall (4)
Vampire! Billy Russo x Female Reader
Part 1// Part 2// Part 3
Warnings: Dubious Consent, smut (18+), mostly dirty talk, some fucked up dynamics where he lets her press a stake to his heart, oral (f receiving), edging, orgasm denial, teasing.
For @stardustmorozov, Nicky I'm sorry but you're gonna yell at me again... and I'm gonna love it.
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You sit on his bed, listening to the sound of the shower going. 
Your mouth tastes like spearmint, and your hair is still a little damp after your shower despite your attempts at blow drying.
You’re in one of his shirts, having raided his drawers when the duffel bag he’d given you earlier held nothing but sheer lingerie disguised as sleepwear.
Maybe you shouldn’t stay here, so instead you stand, and begin wandering around his apartment.
His bedroom is farthest from the front door, and you step out, roaming down the hallway, and stopping when you see another door.
It’s open, and you peek in to find an office that you promise yourself to explore after.
It’s the only door in the hallway, and the end of it opens up into a large area with a high ceiling. There’s his kitchen to your left, and on the opposite end of the room from where you are, is the living room area. There are no walls here, just windows that show off the glittering lights of the New York skyline at night. You wonder how he’s able to stand the sun, knowing that vampire eyes were hypersensitive to light, and that most of them avoided the sunlight. Only the very old ones, managed to walk in the sun like humans did. 
You tuck that snippet of information away for further examination.
You turn to examine the kitchen, scanning the cupboards, surprised to find regular household foods like pasta and rice, wondering if he had bought these items for you, or for other human friends of his.
Another hallway at the other end of the kitchen catches your eye, and you walk slowly, more deep in your own head than you were paying attention to the layout of his apartment.
You find the bedroom you’d first woken up in, all walls and no windows, a place that protects from the light, with its own en suite bathroom. You decide that maybe you can sleep here tonight, away from him and his wretched mouth. 
Backtracking, you look at the door for a long moment, before moving forward to examine it.
You reach for the handle, pushing down, you realise it’s locked. You sigh, eyes falling on the latched deadbolt, reaching up to open it, before trying the door handle again.
The door opens this time.
Your stomach twists.
Damn, had it really been that easy the entire time? You study the elevator just a few paces away from the door.
You don’t even think about it, closing the door and snapping the deadbolt shut.
You turn away from the door, and you gasp in fright as you see him standing just a few steps away. 
You jerk, back hitting the door as fright slams through you.
You suck in a deep breath, pressing your hand to your chest.
He’s only got a towel wrapped around his hips, his chest and shoulders still glistening with water after his shower.
You stare at each other, a silent showdown of who’s going to speak first.
Billy tilts his head, studying you intently.
“Why didn’t you leave?”
Your brain comes up with the dumbest, most obvious answer possible.
“I’m- not wearing pants.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“We could go get some. Would you leave then?”
“No, cause it’s three in the morning and I’m tired.”
He takes a step toward you, a teasing smile on his pretty face. Your eyes trace the lines of his scars as he draws nearer. You relax as he approaches.
“And in the morning?” 
He’s so close now, you’re eye level with his dripping wet chest.
“Maybe. If I feel like it.” You whisper, studying the scars on his chest, and then flitting your gaze up to meet his.
He takes a deep breath, bracing one hand beside your head, and then after a moment, uses his other hand to trap you in place.
Except that you don’t feel trapped, all you feel is heated want.
“What if I don’t want you to leave?” He asks, his voice stirs something inside of you, a dangerous feeling, something disastrous in the making.
“You can’t stop me.” You murmur, as his fingers touch the bottom of your chin, gently tilting your head higher.
He smiles then, all fangs and pearly whites on display.
“If only that were true.” He hums, leaning in till his lips brush yours.
You push against his biceps hard, and he moves back just enough so that you’re able to slip away from him.
“Why don’t you go kiss someone else. I’m going to bed.” You grit out, walking in the direction of the spare bedroom.
You don’t get very far, before he’s gripping your wrist tightly to keep you in place. You turn to face him, a look of calm irritation plastered on your face.
“That’s what this is about? The kiss?”
“It’s about nothing. Let me go.” You pull on your arm.
He doesn’t budge.
“You’re jealous?”
“I’m not-” You grunt as you pull on your hand again, “-You’re just pissing me off.”
“You’re the one that called me ‘sick’ and now you’re jealous cause I kissed someone?”
“I’m not fucking jealous-” You gasp as he pins your body to the kitchen counter, your body freezing in shock at the angry expression on his face.
“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” He grits out, blinking after a second and seemingly calming in the same space of time.
He takes a deep breath before speaking again.
“Don’t forget I can hear every beat of your heart. I can smell your cunt. I already know how wet you are. Don’t think you’re capable of a lie.”
You let out an angry sigh, turning your head away from him.
“Whatever.” you say as harshly as you can.
There’s a moment of silence, where he looks at you, and you make a point not to look at him.
“Alright. I’m gonna fix this.” He says decidedly.
“I could care less- what the fuck are you-” You gasp as he picks you up easily, tossing you over his shoulder.
“Billy what the fuck! Put me the fuck down now you asshole!” You grunt, his shoulder digging near painfully into your hip. 
You kick your legs, trying to escape and after a moment you realise that it doesn’t make a difference.
If you really wanted to, you could maybe straighten your body and fight your way out of his grip, but there was an inevitability to his movements. It didn’t matter how long it took, or how difficult it was, Billy was persistent, and he would get what he wanted eventually.
So when your body lands softly on his bed, all you do is look up at him angrily.
“Stay there.” He orders, untucking the towel from his hips and dropping it to the floor. You look up to the ceiling to avoid looking at his nude form. You don't want to give him the satisfaction.
When he turns away, your eyes find him once more, studying the broad expanse of his back, all the way down to his ass.
You clench, grabbing a pillow and dropping it on top of your face to hide your desire. You try your very hardest not to remember the look of him, the feel of his body on yours, his cock-
He tugs the pillow away from your face, and you sigh in annoyance up at him.
You don’t want to look down, but your eyes have almost a mind of their own.
Your eyebrows draw together in confusion when you notice that he’s wearing a fitted pair of grey boxers on his lower half.
When your eyes meet his in confusion, he grins.
He finds his way up to you, hands sliding over your legs, up your calves and to your knees.
"Did you think we were gonna fuck, baby?" He teases, with a tilt of his head.
His hands slide up more, and you're just confused when he reaches under your shirt to tug at your panties.
"We're not fucking tonight, sweetheart, I just wanna talk to you."
Then why the fuck was he taking your panties off?
When he gets the garment off, you watch him close his eyes for a brief second, tilt his head up and take a deep breath.
He was-
"God. You smell good."
His eyes are red when they reconnect with yours.
You don't say anything- you find that you can't. You want him and he knows it.
He grips your thighs, pressing them upward so that your cunt is exposed to him fully.
Your heart is pounding in your chest, you're sure he can hear it. Open and vulnerable as you watch him look at your glistening cunt.
"Pretty. Did you know that?" 
You gulp, eyes glued to his form, admiring the look of his arms and the swell of his biceps.
"I want to taste you every day, all the time. You have no idea how hard it is to stop myself from dropping you on the first surface I can find and burying my face in your cunt."
He watches you clench around nothing, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smile.
He releases your legs, letting them drop a little and he looms in above you, pressing your body tightly to his.
Chest to chest, your bare centre pressed right up to the hardness of his clothed cock, there's no space to breathe where he doesn't exist.
He angles his head so that his lips are pressed to your ear.
"I want to lick that pretty little cunt till you pass out, and then wake you up so I can do it all over again." He whispers in your ear, your body tense and on edge from just his words.
"I want to fuck you till you beg me to stop, and even then, I'll still be giving you just one more."
You think you might be ruining the sheets below you with how aroused you were.
"Then do it." You challenge, hoping for some reprieve to the ache inside of you.
His hand moves up slowly, fingers tracing your cheek before covering your mouth firmly.
You make a muffled sound of protest, raising your hands to try and push him away. You hear a quiet laugh, before one of your hands is pinned above your head.
It doesn’t matter, whether you have one hand free or two- you would not be able to get out from under him on your own.
“My poor sweet little huntress,” He hums, your ear vibrating with his low words, “If you want me to fuck you till you cry, you’re going to have to ask nicely. Actually no- you’re going to have to beg.”
Your groan of annoyance is muffled behind his palm. There was no way you were going to beg him for anything.
You feel him smile against your neck, and then you still as you feel his teeth. 
He drags his sharp teeth gently over your neck, avoiding the spot where he bit you earlier.
“You’re so helpless under me, isn’t that nice? I can do anything I want to you, and you’d have no power to stop me.” 
To prove his point, you feel his tongue swipe over your shoulder, and then purposefully over your bite, sending brief little shivers down your spine, and then he trails his tongue up the column of your neck, and then even further, licking over your cheek as well.
Your body feels like a livewire, vibrating with sheer desire each time he touches you.
You want to grunt out so many things. That he was filthy, that he was just downright fucked up in the head.
That you wanted him to keep going.
“You like that, don’t you? You always have.” He lets out a slow sigh, “You always get so wet when you can’t fight back.”
Fuck you, you wanted to say. 
“What if we made this interesting?” He hums, raising his upper body off yours for a second to reach into his bedside drawer. 
You’re no longer fully trapped under him, and if you wanted to get out, you could. Instead, you wait curiously to see what he was going to do.
He pulls a stake out of his top drawer.
“You- just have that in there? I could have killed you this whole time?”
“Of course.” He teases pushing the drawer shut, “Now’s your chance.”
Before you can ask what he means, he’s sliding the silver stake into your hand.
What the fuck?
“Now, you can stop me if you really want.” Billy says ominously.
“That’s the most fucked up-” Before you can finish, he’s slapping his hand back over your mouth.
“Don’t care about what you have to say, baby, I’m gonna do what I want to you, and you can stop me if you feel like.”
And then, he starts tugging your shirt up, exposing your stomach.
In retrospect, you don’t have to kill him to make him stop, you could just mortally wound him. One well placed stab near the heart would be enough of a deterrent. You could slip free and be out the door in minutes.
Billy pulls your shirt up higher, exposing your breasts to the open air. Your hand tightens on the stake.
You should do it. You really should.
He groans when his tongue slides wetly over your left nipple. You shudder blissfully.
Your eyes roll back in your head, before fluttering shut. A breath of air leaves your mouth in a rush, fingers hold taut on the warming piece of silver in your hand.
One quick swipe of his tongue on your left breast, then your right. He raises his head.
“Do you want more?” Billy asks.
With your eyes still closed, you shake your head.
“Then stop me.” He says, before his lips wrap around your pebbled nipple. 
His short beard scratches along your sensitive breast, he kisses his way up to the spot below your collarbone, white hot sparks splintering over your body everywhere he touches.
You still when you feel his teeth graze your skin.
“Still want me to stop?” He checks in.
No you don’t.
“Yes.”
His teeth press into your skin.
A sharp cry spills out of you, tingles as he breaks skin, followed by a jolt of pain and then heat.
You jerk when he extracts his fangs.
Billy moans when he gets his first mouthful.
You pant, unable to understand how having him drink from you could hurt, and yet feel so blissfully good.
He takes another, and then another.
Was he going to kill you like this? Should you stop him now?
He rolls his hips, rock hard erection just bumping your clit and you gasp.
Fuck, why did every part of him have to feel so good? You could feel your arousal, slippery and messy between your thighs, begging you to give into him, if only for a moment so that he could ease your ache.
Instead, you move your hand, pressing the stake to his shoulder.
From his spot, drinking from your chest, you feel him make a sound of amusement.
You groan, disdain for him building in you, you press the weapon deeper till it breaks his skin.
He pauses, raising his head from your chest, lapping slowly at the trickling droplets of your blood before drawing back.
“Silly girl, didn’t anyone teach you how to kill a vampire?” He asks, grabbing your wrist in an iron grip, and though you try to fight his guidance, he’s too strong, pulling your hand until the stake is pressed to the centre of his chest.
“My heart is right here.” He murmurs softly, and with his hand on yours, he pulls the weapon closer, breaking skin once more.
“Stop.” You say, panic building inside of you, tugging at your hand in hopes that it can slip out from under his. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to kill him.
You pull hard at your hand, gasping gratefully when you manage to pull away. 
You look at him, sharp breaths trying to calm yourself when you get your hand away. 
He gives you a soft smile, pulling the stake away from his chest and dropping it on the bed.
You gulp, watching the wound he’d caused heal before your eyes.
“You are,” You breathe, “Absolutely fucking crazy.”
“Maybe,” He agrees with a hum, “But at least you can admit to yourself now, that you want this too.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours chastely, “That maybe you actually like me.”
“Not wanting you to die is not the same as-”
“-Oh give me a fucking break.” He grunts, pulling back.
He grips your knees, and before you can figure out what he’s doing- he flips you onto your stomach.
You let out a little grunt, pushing yourself up, but suddenly pressed back down by the weight of his body covering yours.
“You’ve cum on my cock way too many times to be lying to yourself like this.” He hisses.
You turn your head, so that you can see his face in your peripherals.
"You're such an arrogant fuck." You grunt out, your rucked up shirt causing your nipples to press against the bed, the exposure of your body makes you almost quiver with delight.
He leans in, his breath against your ear as you feel his hands gripping your hips.
"Why can't you just admit to yourself that you might want me, hmm?" He hisses lowly in your ear, his breath brushing against your skin, tormenting you.
"That deep down," He continues, pressing his hand between your hips and the bed, "Somewhere in that pretty head and wet cunt," You feel his hand sliding lower, fingers touching the top of your mound, "You want me with you," He kisses your cheek, "Over you, under you, inside you." You feel him take a deep breath, his nose pressed to your neck.
"I want to lick your cunt so often that I can taste you when you're not there. Is that too much to ask for?"
Your head spins, too drunk on him to formulate words.
He makes it even harder, by slipping his hand lower, fingers meeting your wet slit.
He doesn't hesitate, fingers gliding easily down, meeting your clit and you let out a low, shuddering moan as your ache is addressed in the slightest way possible.
You tilt your hips forward, into his hand.
"Billy." You sigh, widening your legs instinctively, anything to encourage him to keep going.
“God, you’re so fucking wet.”
You mewl, nodding your head.
His finger slips gently over your clit, and your breathing pauses, you don't want to do anything that would make him stop giving you this pleasure.
He gives a firm press, and you feel your body shudder, a wave of pure bliss sinking over you.
You say his name again, shifting your body, trying to display your impatience to him.
"Ah ah ah, little girl. Where are your manners? I told you I wanted you to beg."
"Fuck you." You groan angrily.
His finger slips lower, massaging your entrance for a few moments before slipping his finger in.
You gasp, your body going lax at the feel of the pleasure building in you. It’s good. It’s so good and it’s so wrong that he makes you feel like this.
"So fucking tight." He hisses, "That cunt's begging for a stretch."
Focusing on his words are hard with the way his lone finger moves, pumping in and out of you easily, your body desperate for him.
Something goes off in your head, like a gun when he curls his finger, and touches that spot deep inside of you. It pulls a groan from the very depths of your soul. You pant, trying to keep your thinking focused with the way he’s trying to steal it.
"That's it. You like this huh? Like the way I take what I want?" He leans in till his lips are at your ear, "I like it too." You clench around his finger.
"You're a sick fuck." You groan, half your mouth muffled from where your face is pressed to the bed.
"Yeah? Am I? Do you hate me?" He pulls back, and before you can make any sound of protest, two of his fingers are sliding into you.
Fuck, you can feel your body stretching for him. He uses his other hand to grip your jaw, tilting your head up almost painfully so that your face isn’t muffled in the sheets anymore.
"Tell me you hate me." Billy whispers in your ear.
You cry, his fingers beginning to move slowly, spreading you open and forcing you to feel him, to ache for more of him.
His fingers slow when you don’t immediately answer, and you groan internally, assembling the words in your head.
“I- I,” You stutter out, tears dripping from your eyes uncontrollably and pooling around his grip on your jaw, “I h-hate you.”
“Yeah? Poor little girl. Should I stop then? Leave you alone?” He coos, voice condescending in every way possible.
“Nh-” You immediately vocalise, begging him in your head to not stop, but the words can’t seem to come out of your mouth.
He laughs in your ear, understanding what you were about to say without you having to say it. 
The pace of his fingers quicken, you hiss, arching your back, feeling your orgasm swiftly approaching. You’ve wanted him since this morning, since he pulled you onto his lap and told you that you were his.
Your body trembles, eyes rolling back in your head, on the brink of release-
-And then his fingers stop.
A cry of despair leaves your lips, and the denial in your body aches, and then hurts even more when he pulls his fingers away, withdrawing his hand from under you. His grip on your jaw loosens, until your face is pressed against the sheets once more.
You raise your head groggily, turning your body onto your side when you feel him lift himself off of you. You catch sight of him sliding his fingers, wet with your denial into his mouth.
You bite down on your bottom lip hard, on the brink of begging for him, pleading with him to make you cum, and then take you in any way he saw fit.
But that’s exactly what he wanted.
So instead, you stay still, trying not to speak, feeling the fire of denial burn through you.
You tug your shirt down, looking at him with angry eyes as he observes you.
“Are you done having your fun?” You ask bitterly.
The corner of his lip twitches.
"You know what to say if you want to cum, baby. Don't act like this isn't your choice."
You feel petulance build up inside of you, anger beyond thought.
"Go fuck yourself." You hiss, moving to slide off the bed.
He grips your hips, hauling you back, until you're on your back, looking angrily up at him.
"What's the rush, sweetness? Don't you want me to clean you up?" 
“Clean me?” You repeat in disbelief, sitting up, propping the weight of your torso onto your elbows. Your brain stalling on what that could possibly mean.
His smile is devious, the look of a man that has everything he wants and then some.
He takes his time, shouldering his body in between your thighs, his face so close to your dripping centre that you’re not sure if you have any brain cells left functional
“God.” He murmurs, his breath brushing along your mound as he takes in an unnecessary breath, his eyes immediately locking on to the messy place between your thighs, “You make me feel like the most insane person on the planet.” 
“You are the most insane person on the planet.”
He grins, lowering his head slowly, anticipation building inside of you, a simmering heat, a thrumming pulse.
“Love it when you talk dirty to me.” Is the last thing he murmurs before his lips meet your cunt.
You close your eyes, pressing your lips together, begging yourself to not make a sound. He places a gentle kiss to your slit, and then another, before you feel his lips part, and his tongue snake out.
You make a muffled groan behind your clenched teeth as he gets a taste of you.
What starts off gentle, turns slightly rougher as he lays a harsh swipe of his tongue along your pussy, a gasp leaving your lips as you feel Billy begin to slowly lick your cunt.
He’s thorough and unrelenting, his face buried between your thighs, licking at you without a care in the world.
You want to spit every degrading word you can at him, hating the way you know in the back of your head that only he has ever made you feel so good.
“Oh fuck you.” You gasp as his tongue finds your clit easily, a laugh vibrating through your nether regions as he hears you.
You give up trying to resist, reaching to grip the back of his head, hoping to urge him on.
It has the opposite effect, he raises his head, and you whine, a low, pained noise at his torment.
"I'm not clean enough yet," You argue, looking down to meet his scarlet eyes.
You look at each other for a long moment, the heat of unsaid words crackling between you.
You want to beg, you're almost on the brink of it.
"I agree." Is all he says before he lowers his head again.
"Fuck-" You gasp, your back hitting the bed as your arm refuses to support your weight for any longer. 
His tongue is too dexterous, licking at your clit, and then dipping down to your entrance. He groans, tongue catching your arousal straight from the source.
Your toes curl, blissful orgasm near, your body tingles with the anticipation of your impending release.
You moan his name, putting every ounce of desperate desire into the one word.
He pulls away right when you're on edge.
The sound that leaves you is pitiful, tears of frustration spill from your eyes as you look up at him.
"I'll give you anything if you let me come."
"You know what I want." He says, licking his lips.
"Besides that," You try to bargain, "I'll blow you again, or I'll let you bite me." 
His smile is one of amusement, it makes you feel like a child, begging for something you're not going to get.
"I think we've already established that if I wanted those things, you wouldn't stop me. Even if you could."
You frown, letting out a sharp breath, fully understanding that he would not take pity on you tonight.
"Fine, asshole, I'll do it myself." You grunt, slipping from under him and sitting up with the intention of a shower.
He grips your bicep harshly to stop you. You grit your teeth angrily, unable to look into his eyes.
"If I catch you touching that little cunt- my cunt- without permission. I'll teach what real punishment would be like."
He pulls you closer, till his lips are pressed right to your ear again, your stomach flipping at his proximity.
"I'll tie you to the bed, and edge you till you forget your name. I'll use you like my own personal fleshlight and I'll never let you cum."
You hiss angrily, nether regions throbbing at his words and you tug your arm out of his grip.
"Fuck. You." Is your only reply as you head to the bathroom for the coldest shower possible.
.
After all of that, you sleep in bed beside him.
Because you know him now a little, and you know there's no way he was letting you have your own bed.
You'd gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, but you'd woken up in his arms.
"Thought vampires didn't need sleep?" You ask, voice unsteady, having just woken up.
"We don't." He answers, looking down at you. 
Your eyes trace his scars, you want to touch them, ask him what happened.
"So why did you lie beside me all night?"
"Because I wanted to." He answers.
Your stomach flips, and you have to look away as you feel blood rush to your face.
"Will you tell me more about this…imprint?" You ask softly.
He makes a little sound of displeasure.
"It's not exactly an imprint- It’s like-" He lets out a low sigh.
"It sounds worse than it actually is, but- ugh- do you know what quantum entanglement is?"
"Do I look like a physicist?" You answer.
He rolls his eyes, a small smile on his face at your snark.
"As simple as I can explain, when two particles are entangled, they remain connected, regardless of distance."
"What entangles them?" You ask.
"Physical interaction, but, with people, it's a lot harder to explain because there's a lot that isn't understood. It can happen with anyone, but not everyone, and at a subconscious level, it has to be accepted by both."
"You're saying I chose this?"
"Some part of you did, yeah, some part of me too, and then, no matter how far I got from you, I could still feel you."
"Feel me?" You press, hoping for him to elaborate.
He raises a hand, his knuckles carefully brush your cheek.
"Like you were always standing in the room with me. Like I wasn't alone."
You blink, trying to figure out if you'd felt the same way. You had so many questions flying through your head and difficulty putting them into words.
“Is there any way to break it?”
You can almost feel the air go frigid between you.
“As far as I understand, nothing breaks the bond except dying.”
Great.
“And what happens if we stay together?”
“I’ve heard different things from different people.” He responds.
“Like what?” You ask, trying to think it through. You remember Ethan had mentioned that there was the prolonging of lives involved.
He closes his eyes, shakes his head.
"I don't want to tell you what I'm not sure about. I have a friend, bonded to a human, maybe you can ask them whenever."
You swallow, nodding, trying not to fret over the possibility of more vampires.
Deep in thought, you blink in surprise when you feel his thumb brush over your cheek again. You look up at him in surprise.
"I have another question, but it's very personal."
"What is it?" 
You stall for a moment, studying the look in his eyes, the dark reflectiveness of them, the way you can almost see yourself in his eyes.
"Exactly how old are you?"
It changes the sour mood, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement before he gives you a fanged grin.
"That is a personal question, and maybe I'm not comfortable with answering." He says, tapping the tip of your nose with a slender finger.
You huff.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to freak you out, and telling you my age is gonna freak you out."
Maybe he was right, maybe it was better that you didn't know.
You sigh, rolling onto your back to stare up at the ceiling. He gets closer to you, fingers tracing over your cheek and down your neck, only stopping when they reach the healing bite on your shoulder.
Experimentally, he presses his thumb against the wound. You turn your head sharply to look at him, feeling the pain swim through your body but not reacting to it.
“Ow.” You say simply.
“How bad does it hurt?” He asks quietly.
You smack his hand away, sitting up, your back to him.
“Why does it suddenly matter?” You jab, moving to dangle your feet off the side of the bed.
There’s a big silence, he doesn’t answer, and after a moment you’re forced to glance back to make sure he’s still there and hasn’t dissolved into the air because of you.
He’s looking at you, as if he somehow understands something about you that you don’t know about yourself.
“How many times have you been bitten?”
The question brings a laugh to your lips.
“Enough times that I'm used to it.”
“Does it hurt any less each time?”
You turn away, an amused and thoughtful smile rises to your face.
“Every time I get bitten, always hurts like the first time.” You say in finality, leaving the room soon after.
.
Whatever bond he was describing- you didn’t feel it. There was nothing there but a deep seated need to explore him. It was more curiosity than desire.
At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.
You’d showered, looking at your reflection in the fogged mirror, trying to think clearly with so much frustration in your system. In the moment, you close your eyes, and recall the first time you’d ever fucked him.
It had been frantic at first, the way he’d used his tongue on you had your body begging for more, and you honestly thought you were going to die after you’d tried to kill him.
You’d put everything into it- savouring him because you wanted to seal yourself into his memory- if he was going to kill you by the end of it.
You’d gone pliant when he'd lined himself up with your entrance, and you can still remember the way your brain spiralled in surprise at the ridiculous amount of pleasure. No one had ever made you feel like that before.
Over and over again, you’d fucked till you could barely hold yourself up, till you’d been sitting on his lap, his hands gripping your hips to do all the work because you couldn’t even lift your head from the crook of his neck.
He’d been quiet, not like the second time, or even last night, when he was so vocal, the only thing you could compare it to was sin itself.
Your lower regions pulse. You can feel the heat between your thighs, begging for him, and the pleasure he gives regardless of how annoying he was.
It’s why you grab the dress at the bottom of the duffel bag to wear, deciding that you didn’t have to beg to get what you wanted. 
It was actually a really cute dress, blue, with little printed flowers all over it. Most importantly, it was short, only coming up to mid-thigh, which meant that if you bent over, he’d see the smallest scrap of lace you’d decided to call underwear today.
If he could play games, so would you.
.
He’s making breakfast when you step into the kitchen. It kind of amuses you, that he’s only cooking for you.
“Can I help?” You ask, stepping up beside him at the stove to look down at the omelette he’d been working at.
He glances at you, looks down at the stove, before blinking to look over at you once more.
You watch his jaw stiffen, you resist the urge to bite your lip as you watch his eyes trace down your body.
Oh, what power.
“Butter.” He says, “Fridge.”
You offer him a teasing smile, before turning away.
You bend unnecessarily, feeling your skirt rise up, cool air brushing the back of your thighs. 
The butter is on the middle shelf, making your bending completely unnecessary in the first place.
He's not looking at you when you turn around. You're not even sure if he's seen your little display.
He takes the butter from you without a word, and you're very intrigued by the way he cooks, the move of his wrist to flip the omelette.
"Can you get the bread toasted for me?"
How was he doing this? Being so calm and casual with you? Seeing this side of him was so much worse for your sanity than anything else. 
"You have bread?" You ask curiously, looking around, but not able to spot any.
"Yeah, here-" He steps away from the stove to reach into one of the overhead cupboards. You glance down at the pan on the stove, to make sure nothing is burning. The deep indentations on the handle of the pan barely catches your eye, and you blink in surprise.
There were deep impressions of his fingers… caused by squeezing too hard.
Maybe he was more affected with your display than he let on.
You fight a satisfied smile, giving him a knowing look when he returns to place the bag of sliced bread into your hands.
"You bought all of this for me?" You tease, "I'm flattered."
He looks hot when he rolls his eyes.
“It’s not like I had much of a choice. I can’t let you starve.”
“Because you like me?” You pry, swaying your shoulders playfully from side to side.
He huffs, using the spatula to flip the finished omelette onto a nearby plate.
Billy doesn’t respond, simply shaking his head without looking at you.
It only urges you on, like a match, sparking as it rubs against coarse paper.
You brace your hands against his kitchen counter, stiffening your arms as you use your toes to push you into an effortless bounce, using the momentum to raise your body, sitting yourself on his counter, facing him.
He doesn’t look, simply preparing the pan for toast.
“Ah,” You tease, parting your thighs subtly, “So you don’t like me then.”
Yet still, he doesn’t respond, calmly observing the bread as it toasts, the smell of it in the air makes your mouth water a little.
But it’s not what you’re hungry for.
“Maybe you only think you like me because of how sweet my blood tastes. Maybe it’s all in your head-”
Your voice goes quiet when he finally pins you with a stern glare. 
His movements are decisive, turning the stove off, moving the pan away from the residual heat, and then turning to you.
Goddamn.
You gasp, raising a leg to back away from him while also making an attempt to push him back with your foot, but there’s nowhere for you to go, your head bumps a cupboard door, and that’s all the distraction he needs to grab your ankle.
You let out a little squeak, gasping as he pulls you forward and right up against his body, encouraging your legs to wrap around him.
You open your mouth to speak, to protest, to fight him in an unmeaningful way, but you don’t get the chance as his hand grips the back of your neck, forcing your mouth onto his.
God fucking damn.
Your eyes shut, your body relaxes, and then sings with delight as he delves his tongue past your lips.
You moan into his mouth, unable to fight it, leaning in because it feels so good to have him. 
Fuck every part of you that told you this was wrong. You wanted him and nothing would stop you.
You grip his shirt in a tight fist, leaning in, meeting his mouth with an undeniable force. He presses back, and for a moment you feel so blissfully wanted, maybe more than you’d ever been before.
Only when his hand weaves into your hair, his fist tightening to hold your head in place as he leans away, do you remember the taunting remarks that got you here.
Your scalp stings, mouth falling open to gasp in air.
His eyes are dark red, like the blood he drinks to stay alive.
He doesn’t speak, releasing your hair to support your behind as he lifts you off the counter, moving quickly with your body pressed to his.
Your vision shifts too fast for comprehension, and the next thing you can process is lying face down across the marble kitchen island.
He grips the back of your head to keep you there, warm cheek to frigid marble and you stay, refusing to move, wishing that he takes in this moment, everything that you’re willing to give.
He leans over your body, until his mouth is pressed to your ear.
“Do you ever shut up?” Billy hisses, and you have to fight a satisfied smile.
He’s not done ranting, continuing on as if he doesn’t care for your answers.
“I know you just said that to get a rise out of me, but the very idea of me only wanting your for your blood- makes me fucking sick.”
He leans in even more, taking a deep breath in the space of your neck.
“I want all of you, every single piece of you, over and over again until you’re fucking mine.”
He leans away a little.
“Is that what you wanted to hear? Hmm? When you put on this little dress and flashed that cunt at me?”
He moves away even more, and the next thing you feel is him pushing your dress up, his hand pressed securely to the small of your back so that you can’t raise your body.
He's still for a moment, and so are you, burning with anticipation, your cunt getting wetter by the second.
You gasp in surprise when you feel his nose graze the back of your thigh.
You shudder, feeling his breath along your most sensitive areas, your skin tingles as he runs his nose upward, your hands curl into fists beside your head when you feel a small puff of air against your skin.
He’s still for so long that you find your body tense with anticipation, biting down on your bottom lip hard so that you don’t beg him to just put you out of your sordid misery. 
You make a small mewling sound of surprise when you feel his tongue lick along the lace gusset of your panties. 
He tugs at the scrap of fabric, pulling it away from the tacky seam of your cunt so that he can get a better look, an uninhibited view of your desire.
You want to say his name, so badly that you can feel the resonant sound of it in the back of your throat. Instead, you repeat it in your head.
Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy…
“I can’t believe how fucking messy this cunt gets. All for me.” He says softly, as if you’re not meant to hear but you do anyway.
“Such a fucking shame that you won’t beg. The things I want to do to you, the ways I want to make you cum.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, panting hard against the kitchen counter, your inner walls fluttering, begging. 
“Fucking tease.” He breathes out, as he watches more arousal spill from between your thighs.
Billy, please-
Your gasp gets caught in your throat as his tongue licks a wet trail from your clit to your entrance.
“Fuck- didn’t mean to do that but I can’t help it.” Is all he says before his tongue starts licking you slowly.
Your eyes roll back into your head and stays there permanently for a few seconds. The flood of bliss is almost too much for your body to manage.
He grunts, his hands gripping your thighs to spread your legs further apart.
His tongue is forceful as it dances over your clit, and then, after what you assume is a moment of contemplation, you feel his tongue push its way against your entrance.
Your breathing is sharp and shallow, you reach to grip the other edge of the counter, trying to get some leverage to remain sane.
The pleasure is shallow, but your body is hypersensitive with denial, his tongue fucking into you at a reasonable pace is almost enough to have your breath stalling in your throat.
When he finally gets control of himself, his tongue slows, carefully licking you, daring your body to think about orgasm.
After a few more moments, he raises his head, and you breathe a sigh of relief, your body releasing the tension of pleasure, your hands relaxing its grip on the marble countertop.
But you should have known better than to think he was done with you, not satisfied until you know for sure that you’ve lost this interaction.
His hands on your hips, gripping them as he turns you over, pulling you up into a sitting position.
Nose to nose, you look into his eyes with a half-lidded gaze.
“Your blood is nice,” He whispers, hand raising to cup your cheek, “But it’s you I want, huntress. Don’t forget that.”
You sigh, pressing your cheek into his palm and closing your eyes.
“Say it for me. What do I want?” He asks.
You breathe out a huff, an unknown emotion squeezing your throat tightly.
“Me.” You whisper softly, eyes still shut to avoid his gaze.
He doesn’t mind, thumb caressing your cheek.
“Good girl.”
And then he’s gone- right back to toasting bread, as if nothing had ever happened.
It almost drives you insane.
.
.
.
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Happy Halloween!
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Text
For that anon
Never Quite Enough
Part 5
Billy Russo x Reader
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4
Warnings: Angst, insomnia, more angst.
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"Can I confess something to you?" Matt asks.
You look up from your phone in surprise, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. He's dressed in his crisp white shirt and suit pants, his jacket somewhere nearby. 
He looks pristine, but you know you prefer his undressed look even more, the sight of his bare chest was a soothing balm on the open wound that was your life.
You wait patiently for his words.
"I think... he really likes you. Genuinely." 
You let out a long sigh. 
"That sounds like his problem. I am done with him." You say quickly, on a harsh breath.
"Are you?" He challenges, with a calm tone.
You swallow, honestly, you didn't know.
It's been weeks. Nearly a month and a half since you broke up with him, the same amount of time you'd been together. 
Why was climbing out harder than falling in?
Something tugs in your chest, you let out a soft breath. You feel bad for letting one person comfort you for another person's actions.
"Matt." You say his name slowly, looking up at him, the space of his countertop between you.
You swallow.
"I'm sorry." You finally say.
"What for?"
"If I've- lead you on, or made you feel uncomfortable- please just tell me. I'd rather you tell me you're tired of me, than being forced to tolerate me."
He lets out a harsh breath, moves around the counter swiftly.
Before you can process it, your face is buried in his clothed chest.
He smells like the gentle lavender soap he uses, and you're too stunned to do anything other than breathe it in.
"You're not leading me on. I promise, and I'm not just tolerating you. I like you."
A little sob hiccups from your throat, the strength of his adoration pours into you, fills, overflows.
"I've been tolerated my whole life." You say into his chest, tears falling freely, "The first time I felt like I could exist was with him, and even that had been a lie." You grip the back of his shirt, sobbing into his chest.
He shushes you softly, his stubbled cheek pressed to the crown of your head.
His body tightens around you, it makes you feel worse, like you're forcing him to comfort you in some way. You cry harder.
Matt holds you through it, and when your violent shaking turns into little hiccups, he leans down to kiss your forehead, his thumb swiping at one cheek, to push your tears away.
"He's hurt you so badly, and It's up to you to decide whether that damage can be fixed or not. But you need to know that you're not tolerated, you're appreciated. By me...and by him."
"How do you know?" You protest, looking into his unfocused eyes.
"I heard him say it. To his friend, Frank, that day at the gala. I heard him tell Frank that he loves you."
You blink, drawing your head back in shock.
Love?
You sniffle, Matt's words have knocked the sadness right out of you, replacing it with surprise.
 You reach for a tissue sitting on the countertop.
"That can't be right." You hum, wiping at your nose, and dabbing at your cheeks. You'd have to re-do today's makeup before work.
"His actions were awful, and the things he did do not deserve forgiveness. But his feelings now are genuine." Matt says.
Now?
Your shoulders drop.
They hadn't been genuine before?
When he'd offered you one of his shirts to sleep in, on the very first night you'd slept over, the hidden eager look in his eyes... that had been fake?
Of course it was, your mind supplies, you feel like you're sinking lower with each thought.
Like a full tub being emptied, you feel the emotion drain right out of you.
You spend a solid moment like that, in disbelief at the emotion just leaving you, rejecting Matt’s last words without another second of consideration.
You part your lips, finally sucking in a deep breath that doesn’t hurt.
Your mouth parts wider in relief. 
For the first time, you feel true nothingness, and not the numbness of the refusal to process emotion that you were used to.
It's liberating, you close your eyes in bliss.
Somehow, you'd managed to turn your turbulent emotions off.
Like a switch, flipping inside you, centred around your confused feelings. Your brain doesn't know how to feel, so it stops feeling.
You know Matt wasn't the type of man to lie to you, it wasn't even in his nature to stretch the truth. He was a man that could only speak fact, and something said with this much surety could only be true.
But that didn’t mean you were capable of accepting his words. Instead you smile at him, wiping at your tears.
“I should get to work.” You respond, looking up at him with a small smile on your face.
.
The world around you is interesting, when you can’t feel a thing. Nothing matters, at all.
You smile at Dex easily, engaging him in conversation, a past version of you would probably be feeling absolutely hollow inside. Instead, you simply exist, only answering questions when you’re asked, smiling along to small talk.
There’s no sadness, or despair, or hate for yourself.
There’s nothing.
And nothing had to be better than everything all at once...right?
It’s peaceful now, your work gets done much faster, headphones on to help you focus, you feel like pushing yourself to see how much you’re capable of, only stopping for a few short breaks throughout the day.
It feels good, getting things done ahead of time, it makes you feel like you’re being efficient  in a space you’ve only felt desolation for a long while.
You only realise how late it is when the night cleaning crew shows up.
Only then you decide to amble on home, a bowl of ramen in your arms, tucked into your couch in the dark of the night before bed.
You don’t see Matt that night, probably busy at his own job, and you’re okay with that, knowing that you shouldn’t be using him as any type of emotional crutch in the first place.
The problem comes when you try to go to sleep.
You find that you can’t, you don’t feel sleepy. 
You toss and you turn and you sit up and you have tea and press the heels of your hands against your eyes and struggle with being awake when you should be asleep.
You have nothing to help you sleep, so you curl up in bed and close your eyes and pretend that you’re asleep until morning when your alarm goes off for work.
Silence and nothingness are your associates now, and however inconvenient, you prefer it to whatever was there before.
He loves you, your mind tries to interject during your morning routine, and you stop comically while brushing your teeth to stare dead ahead at yourself in the mirror.
Love… I barely know what that is, you answer.
You resume brushing your teeth.
You’re acutely aware that at some point, you’re probably going to crash. People aren’t made to be awake for long periods of time and feel this fine about it.
Being at work is pretty okay, and you don’t feel like ripping your hair out at the first inconvenience. 
It’s your second day of working late, and you’re dealing with it well. You’ve put your phone on do not disturb and with your headphones in, you’re lost in your own world of report reading and analysis.
Really, you should have known that letting your guard drop would tempt fate too much. The fickle way life tended to work around you should have had your walls up permanently.
But in your exhausted state, leaning against the wall gripping your bag with one hand while waiting for the elevator, it was hard to keep any sort of defense up.
So when someone says your name in mild surprise, the only response you can give is a raise of your head.
He looks as exhausted as you feel, and you wonder if he sees something similar in you. His jacket folded neatly over one arm, phone in his palm.
“Hey Mister Russo.” You say softly in greeting, straightening to take a step into the elevator.
He doesn’t say anything for a second as the doors close.
“It’s late.” He comments, and you turn your head to glance at him.
“Yes it is.” You agree, unable to stay steady on your feet, you lean against the wall of the elevator too.
“You look tired.”
You let out a slow breath.
“I’ll live.” You answer.
“We should talk.”
You groan, tilting your head back.
“You’re making me wish I’d taken another elevator.” 
“Let me drive you home.” He answers as if you hadn’t just expressed your distaste for him.
You raise your head to look at him angrily.
There were so many things you wanted to say. Leave me alone. Take a hike. I don’t want to talk to you. I’d rather chew nails that get into a car with you. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you love me?
In the end, you say nothing, and the doors to the elevators slide open, and you step out without even a goodbye.
The lobby is quiet, dimly lit, very much somber and lacking the life that there usually is during the daylight.
You only get a few steps out of the elevator before he’s blocking your path with his tall frame.
You huff, looking up at him, willing him to go away.
“Can we please talk? Please?”
You were so irritated with having to experience him and his constant persistence of you. You blink, angrily clenching your teeth together.
“Why? Why should I even give you a chance, Billy? So you can lie to me more? Hurt me more? What’s it going to take for you to realise that we’re over?”
He lets out a sharp breath.
“We have something. You know we do. There’s a voice inside you that tells you we’re right for each other. I hear it too.”
“You’re wrong,” You answer softly, “There’s no voice.”
He shakes his head.
“Don’t lie, don’t act like-” He cuts off, letting out a slow breath.
“Like what?” You prod.
“-Like you don’t care!” He hisses, “Stop acting like this was nothing.” He says, gesturing to the space between you.
“This was nothing.” You clarify.
He looks frustrated, all you can do is observe him with a casual tilt of your head.
“What you did was unforgivable. What could you possibly want from me now?” You follow up, after he’s unable to speak.
“Another chance.” He utters.
You raise your eyebrows.
“To do what?” You felt like you had to break this down for him like a child.
“To prove to you that my feelings were real,” He takes a step forward, getting closer to you and forcing you to tilt your head up to keep looking at him.
“To show you that I think you’re the best person on the planet. That we have something,” Billy’s hands raise to cup your face, his eyes dark, a void pulling you in, “worth fighting for.”
He leans in, and it only just registers in your tired brain that he’s going to kiss you.
“I have a boyfriend.” You whisper out in a rush in an effort to deter him.
His only response is a small smile.
“Break up with him.” he answers simply as his mouth meets your in a soft kiss.
It melts you, like it usually does. His bearded face creating tingles as it scratches against yours and for a moment you feel so whole.
And then you’re pushing him away, because you don’t deserve this, because you are not someone you believe is worth fighting for.
“I’m sorry.” You murmur, unable to meet his eyes, “I just don’t believe in us the way you do.” You step to the side, and dodge his hand when he tries to grab your wrist.
He calls your name behind you as you leave, the sound is soft, pleading.
You don’t look back.
.
When he touches his lips, he can still feel you there.
Like you own his mouth, and now every kiss is yours, and every smile is for you.
He needs you, so badly that it hurts him.
There’s also a sober part of him that wishes he had the capacity to leave you alone, let you heal from him, leave him behind and move on with your life. But the selfish part of him, the part that fought for scraps in a house of too many people, that part of him clings to the love he has. 
In many ways he’s still a child, he acknowledges, always quietly hoping that someone could want him, listen to him, talk to him about every useless topic on the planet.
He’d found that in you. Someone to listen to him, not just give a vacant smile when he spoke, or roll their eyes, exhausted at his small, unpracticed attempts at conversation. 
He loved the little niche tidbits of information you knew, he was always learning something exciting, or something that made you light up when you spoke.
And then he’d- done that.
The little boy that never had anything, sabotaging his one chance at love because somewhere deep down inside, he didn’t know if he was really capable of it. Maybe he wasn’t. He’d never had it aimed in his direction really.
Who had loved him? Ever in his life? 
Frank was the closest thing he had to a brother, Billy had no doubt that the Castles loved him. 
And it was good, but it wasn’t enough. 
Now more than ever he knew that, lying awake, fingers pressed to his mouth where he could still feel the softness of your lips. He knew what being enough to someone had felt like.
He knew he’d do anything to have that again.
.
You can’t sleep at all.
It’s way worse than before.
Things had been okay when you couldn’t feel anything, but one kiss had brought it all back. Now, you were just sad all over again. 
Each time you kissed him, pulled you together, and each time you left him behind, you shattered even more.
Like glass that had been broken once, being hammered into splinters. You didn’t know how much of yourself had been damaged, beyond hope of repair already.
And yet still, you couldn’t forget him.
The soft heat of his touch, the sound of his breaths. You spend the entire night thinking about him, and wishing you could think about something, anything else.
.
There’s a box waiting on your desk when you get in the next morning.
It fits in your palm, wrapped in blue floral gift paper with a black bow on top. It screams Billy.
“That from Matt?” Dex asks, as he’s walking by and observes your handling of the gift.
“Probably.” You lie, tugging at the bow.
“Hope it’s something nice.” He wishes as he steps away, going back to whatever he was doing.
His wrapping is precise, no fold is haphazard, the bow sits right in the middle, perfectly equidistant from all edges.
It pulls a smile to your face. You almost don’t want to open it, the effort put into wrapping is a gift in itself.
You doubt Billy had given many gifts in his life- or even gotten them. He’d only mentioned it once that he didn’t have parents, and that he grew up in the system. You’d wanted to ask about it, but you’d never gotten a real chance.
You wanted to know how many gifts he'd gotten, how many happy birthdays.
You shouldn't care, it shouldn't matter to you, but it did.
You take the wrapping off carefully, wanting to preserve every bit of this, something that could be remembered later, savoured when you needed something to think of in the darkness of the night.
You tug the lid off the box quickly, eyes locking onto the shimmering gold in the box.
Your mouth parts in surprise.
It’s a simple present, butterfly hair clips in a gold colour. Each wing of the shiny butterfly is attached to the clip with a few small springs, it means that every slight movement makes the wings appear as though they’re fluttering.
All of a sudden, you’re a little girl again, staring at similar clips in someone else’s hair. You gulp, looking around for a note, an explanation as to why.
You’d only asked your parents once for them, and then never again.
His note is lodged beneath the lid of the box, and you take your time prying it out, opening it.
‘Saw these and thought of you.
-Billy
x.'
You blink back tears, looking at the delicate clips once more.
You don’t take them out of the box, despite how badly you want to. You settle for just running a careful finger over the fluttering wings, a quiet appreciation of something you’d forgotten you wanted.
The clips are so shiny that they were bound to catch attention, which was the last thing you wanted here. Maybe later, after everyone was gone, you could indulge yourself in trying them on.
It was a brilliant gift, something small and seemingly unimportant, and yet, an item that he hadn’t known you’d desired from the moment you first saw them.
Warm, something trickling into the very depths of you, a feeling you want, a feeling you yearn for. 
You reach for your phone, with calling him in mind, his extension seared to your memory and you just want to talk to him-
You slam the phone down just as fast. A few coworkers looking over at you in your peripherals.
Dread spills over inside of you, a paralysing fear that you were playing directly into his game, that this was a ploy, or even if it wasn’t, you couldn’t just go back to normal with him. He’d done something unforgivable, and you had to be rigid in your inability to absolve him of his actions.
He’d made a bet, with his friends, to see if he was capable of being in an exhausting relationship with you, because everyone thinks that you were annoying.
Because he thought that you were annoying.
You tuck his gift into the top drawer of your desk, letting the pain of his betrayal reorient you.
Billy Russo did not like you.
.
“Shit.” You curse, glancing at the time on your phone. You’d been so zoned into your computer that you hadn’t even noticed that the work day had been officially over for a while now. 
You sigh, leaning back, opening your top drawer to grab a page marker for the document you just sent to print. 
You spot the little gift box tucked into the back of the drawer and you can’t help the smile that pulls onto your face.
You drop everything you’re doing, reaching for the box happily. 
You take your time, pinning one clip to either side of your head to pull some of your hair back, opening your front camera to admire the little fluttering clips.
You loved the little things, delicate in your hair, glittering with the movement and the lights and you make a mental note to avoid the possibility of getting it tangled in your hair as best as possible.
You get distracted by the sound of the printer beeping in the distance to signal your print was completed and you get up to grab the file. 
A few hours later, you hear the elevator nearby make a small sound as it stops on your floor. You look up, alert and the awareness of how late it is makes you a little scared.
It’s him that rounds the corner, crisp suit, his jacket tucked under his arm. He pauses when he notices you, your eyes meeting, before a little smile pulls onto his face.
“I figured you’d be here.” He hums, approaching you.
You huff, glancing back at your computer screen.
“You just can’t seem to leave me alone, can you?” You bite back.
When he’s quiet for too long, standing beside you, you turn to look up at him.
There’s a strange expression on his face, something that washes the coldness inside of you away with gentle warmth.
“What?” You ask, trying to keep your voice harsh.
Why are you looking at me like that?
“You’re real fuckin’ pretty.” He answers.
You make a sound of annoyance, turning back to your computer to continue working on your excel sheet.
Do you love me?
Your fingers freeze on your keyboard when he kneels in your peripherals next to you.
What in God’s name was he doing?
You let out a harsh breath.
“Billy-”
His hand reaches to touch something in your hair, it’s only then you remember that you’re wearing the clips he gave you.
“-These look so much better on you than I’d imagined.” He whispers, turning a strand of your hair over between his fingers.
You look down, unable to meet his eyes.
“I’ve always wanted them, since I was little. My parents fought a lot, and I could never work up the courage to ask for them. Then, when I got older, I could never find them.” You glance up at him for a moment before looking away, “Thank you, I love them, but that doesn’t change anything between us.”
His eyebrows pull together sadly, a reflectiveness to his eyes that wasn’t there before.
Do you love me?
“You should go home, it’s late.”
You give him a tired smile.
“Yeah, I know, I just have a little bit more to do.”
“Do it tomorrow. You shouldn’t be here so late.”
“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” You mutter absentmindedly, “I’m making you money.”
He grips your chair, turning it quickly away from your computer until you face him.
You meet his gaze with an annoyed look of your own.
“I have enough money.” He answers with a teasing expression. The corner of your lip twitches in amusement.
“Whatever.” You say, trying to turn your chair back to your computer, but he only grips it tighter to keep you in place. His eyes dart to your desk, and then he reaches for something, grabbing it off your desk and moving away quickly.
When you look back at your desk you notice your wireless mouse is missing.
“Hey!” You stand, taking a few steps toward him. He mirrors your movement, taking a few steps back as well.
“Give that back, Russo.” You warn, approaching him again, this time he doesn’t move, encouraging you to try getting closer to him again.
When you’re within grabbing range, he grins, hiding his hands behind his back.
“Shut down your computer and go home.” He tries again.
“Or what?” You challenge, reaching around to grab at his hands. He shifts the mouse from his left to his right hand quickly, forcing you to get even closer to him, to try grabbing it.
“Or I throw this thing out the window and unplug your computer.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” You argue, gripping his fist in yours and trying to pry his fingers open.
He pulls his hand away from you easily, giving you an evil grin before raising his fist with your mouse above his head where you couldn’t possibly reach on your own.
You don’t even try to jump for it, only crossing your arms and looking up at him.
“I could knee you in the balls. I’d get it really quickly that way.” You threaten.
He tips his head back and laughs, and you find yourself smiling too. You take the chance, using the distraction to jump and grab his fist. 
But your attempt seemed to be exactly what he wanted because in the next moment his hand is on your waist, using your own momentum against you to spin you, switching positions so that he can press you against the wall that was just behind him.
You gasp, looking up at him in bewilderment. His scent floods your nose, reigniting an ache inside of you, one that yearned for him.
He watches you carefully, doesn’t do anything more than uncurl his fingers, so that you can get the mouse sitting in the palm of his hand.
You look at the mouse, and then back into his eyes, letting out a slow sigh, wishing for something you can’t quite put your finger on.
“Thank you.” You say, taking the mouse from him, and ducking under his arm to slip out from between his body and the wall. 
Sitting at your desk once again, you groan in annoyance as he grabs a chair from a nearby desk and sits himself near you.
“What now?” You ask, barely looking at him.
“I’m not leaving till you do.” He answers simply.
"For a CEO, you seem really bad at getting the message." You grunt out.
He sighs, leaning forward to prop his elbow onto your desk, and then after a moment, he rests his face in his hand, looking at you calmly.
"I'm sorry." He says softly.
"So I've heard." You answer, deciding to save your work before he actually unplug your computer.
"Have you been sleeping?" Billy asks on another soft breath.
"Yes." You lie.
"You haven't. It's why you're here so late. Because you go home, and you lie awake, staring at the ceiling." He says, and you get the feeling that he isn't only talking about you.
"Can you blame me?" You snipe, trying to focus on your screen so that you can pretend that this conversation isn't happening.
There's a long silence before he speaks again.
"I hate myself."
Your chest squeezes harshly, brain halting any thoughts of work. You stare at the computer screen, feeling pressure build behind your eyes.
You wipe an unsteady hand over your mouth for comfort.
"Yeah well, that makes both of us." You reply shakily.
"I've always kind of hated myself," he continues, and you peek a look over at him to find that he's shifted, his hands in his lap, bending a paperclip out of shape while he speaks, "Even when I was a kid, I told myself that there must be something very wrong with me for my mom to not want me."
You take a deep breath, listening to him, finally hearing him open up about himself for the first time.
"I almost got adopted once, interview with a family had gone well, they let me move in with them for a trial period. I almost had what I wanted most, and then-" He gives a shake of his head, to knock the memory loose and you want so badly to reach over and take his hand, to stop him from worrying the paperclip out of shape, only to try to reshape it again, "-I punched their son in the face for something so dumb I can barely remember it. They dropped me back the next morning without a goodbye."
You watch in your peripherals as he puts the paperclip back into shape, except it doesn't look quite right, a little misshapen after his touch.
"My therapist says I've always had a penchant for self sabotage. Always worried that something good will be taken away, so I ruin it, so that at least it's ruined on my terms." He grins, "What a nutjob."
"You? Or your therapist?" You ask.
He huffs out a surprised laugh, looking up at you for a second, watching you return his laugh with a wry smile of your own, before glancing away.
Do you love me, Billy Russo?
"Sorry. I don't mean to force your forgiveness with a shitty story of growing up in the system. I just- well- I was hoping it would help you… understand me a little more."
“Don’t apologize. I get it. We’re all just trying to heal from something.”
“What are you trying to heal from? Besides me?”
You turn away, unsure if you want to tell him, unsure if you can speak for so long without shutting down.
You rub your knuckles against your lips absentmindedly.
“It’s stupid.” You whisper.
“It’s not. I promise.”
You feel anxiety flutter in your stomach.
“I’ve always felt like I was too much. Too loud, too clingy, too unattractive. Like if I was just tolerated, everywhere I went. I made friends, and then after a while, they’d leave, without explanation and with the number of times it happened, I kept thinking to myself that it had to be my fault.”
You try to swallow the lump in your throat.
“It’s the only logical explanation, that I’m okay to befriend and talk to a little, but I’m not enough to maintain a friendship with. I’m not enough to be held on to.”
Why weren’t you enough?
You stop talking now, taking a deep breath and holding it to fight off your tears.
He reaches for your hand, and you let him, you can feel the paperclip pressed between your hands.
“I see how badly I fucked up now.” He says softly to you, “And I want you to know that every inch of you is worth fighting for, and I fully intend to show you that.”
You close your eyes, shaking your head with a sad smile.
“Billy-”
“-no buts, you’re about to see some of the most desperate grovelling of your life.”
You laugh in disbelief.
“You’re insane, Russo.”
“Yeah. Don’t tell my therapist.”
.
He wants to hold you so badly. Wrap his arms around you, and feel you lean against him.
In the elevator now, he keeps glancing at you, his eyes drawn to the little fluttering clips in your hair and his heart clenches so tightly in his chest that he swears it stops beating.
“Let me drive you home.” He offers, hoping that you’d let him, instead of taking a taxi at this hour of the night. 
He watches the clips flutter more as you shake your head, a smile pulling onto his face at how adorable you look.
“We’re not there yet, Russo.” You respond.
Yet? He thinks hopefully.
.
.
.
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Hiya! I'm sorry if this comes across as demanding/bitchy, but can I ask if ur masterlist is updated? I love your writing, and I wanna make sure I read and rebloged and commented on everything!
Again sorry if this is annoying!
The last chapter (werepanther) was incredible! I need them to "mate" properly, I like when Billy is such a simp.
This isn't demanding, worry not 😅 but I think the only thing that might be missing is the never quite enough series and part 4 of nightfall, other than that, I think it's up to date!
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Did a reread because you did....
Christttt
This is some serious horny
No Other Gods
Serial killer! Billy Russo x Female Reader.
Billy’s POV mostly
Summary: Billy’s on the run, moving from place to place as he leaves a trail of bodies behind. When he steps into a church to hide, he stumbles upon someone that makes him want to stay.
Warnings: Dub- con, violence, gore, blood, blood smearing, so much murder, mentions of Billy's past assault attempt, suggestion of possible sexual assault attempts toward the reader, religious themes, blasphemy, sexual acts in a church, thoughts of non-con (no actual non-con), poison, restraints, oral, fingering, sexual intercourse, wax play/heat play, Devil worship. 
If you want clarification on a possible trigger, I am happy to elaborate. 
I took the dove out back, shot it, then resurrected it so I could kill it again. Be warned.
For my lovely @ittybxttykxttytxtty who was so instrumental in the design of this fic. This goes out to you, love, who reminded me that I shouldn't be afraid to write whatever inspires me.
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He’s calm. 
Each step he takes is slow, measured, he hears the echo of it on the quiet street, the drag of his shoe on the concrete sidewalk. 
He turns the corner, and has to fight the instinct to hold his breath as they turn their heads to look up at him. The murder weapon tucked into the waistband of his jeans feels ten pounds heavier.
Even breaths, one in, one out, he knows nothing, he has no sense of concern, or worry. He blinks, feels trepidation wash from his skin.
Internally, he readjusts his course, doesn’t want to walk past the group of officers that are studying him from further up the street, doesn’t want to answer questions just yet, not until he has his story straight.
From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the church and he changes his walk ever so slightly that it looks as though he’s been heading there the entire time.
When he’s at the closest point, he raises his head and smiles, gives a little wave to the officers, wishes them a good day, though he knows what they know, and it’s not a good day for them.
The church is pristine, unlike the other buildings on the street, it stands with fresh paint and the smell of almost dried varnish and scrubbed steps that tell him that this church is probably the most coveted place in the entire town. 
Billy, having just cut a man’s throat in the High school gymnasium, steps past the door, and does not immediately combust.
Surely, that must mean he’s doing something right, that his cause is a good one, maybe even approved of in the eyes of God.
He’s not convinced.
For a moment, he thinks it’s empty, thinks he’s alone with God and his thoughts, up until the slight movement of shoulders draws his eye.
He’s in disbelief that he missed you the first time, the light of the stained glass hitting your sedentary form.
He takes some quiet steps forward, swears he feels the concealed knife grow warmer. He watches you, studies in rapt attention the way the coloured lights look on you, the way they illuminate your hair, makes his fingers ache to touch something that looks explicit in its forbiddenness.
Your dress is white, or a cream colour that tells him the outward state of your mind, the purity nurtured in your soul.
He moves faster now, eager to see you, to know what you look like, to hear your voice, to look into your eyes.
He turns when he makes it to your pew, sees the way the light caresses the planes of your face, and he wishes he could do the same.
You are radiant, undisturbed beauty, your hands clasped together beneath your chin, a small rosary wound between your fingers. He wants to touch your hair, swirl strands of it around his finger, he wants to feel your skin, hold your form beneath his palms.
Everything he wants, halts, the moment you turn your head and look up at him.
His lips part in surprise, he’s taken by you. You must be an angel, or something more.
“Hello.” You say softly, gazing up at him with unsure eyes.
“Hello sweetheart, I'm sorry to bother you.” Billy answers smoothly, as though he isn't desperate for you to get closer so that he can catch your scent.
You look like you smell like flowers, he thinks to himself, bristles with delight when you finally stand, the light streaming through the stained glass paints you with a myriad of colors.
“It's okay,” you soothe, “I don't mind helping.” You smile at him, an ease of trust in your eyes. Trust, he could so easily extinguish with the weapon concealed on him.
You extend your hand, giving him your name, he smiles, gives his back. In your eyes, he can see something he doesn’t quite recognize.
Too pure, Billy finally decides. You're too pure, there must be some wrong.
“I’m new to town,” Billy explains, leaning in so that he can stand in God’s light with you, in hopes that you can absolve him of the thing he has done.
“Got a little bit lost. Will you help me find my way?”
You smile, and it reminds him of warm fires in the winter, of standing in sunlight after being drenched from head to toe.
“Where are you going?”
.
One of the wives whispers something in your ear, Billy watches you tilt your head back laughing. You had this entire town wrapped around your finger and before he’d arrived, he’s sure no one had ever questioned your purity.
A white dress and blue cardigan, he wants to take you into one of the back rooms of the church and push his murderous hands under your dress, feel your gasp in his skin as his hands paw at your delectable thighs.
He wants to ruin the very image of you, reshape you for him, and him alone.
He turns his head slightly, observes that he’s not the only man here transfixed by you, but one in particular catches his eye.
The reverend, in the same clothes he’s just delivered Sunday sermon, gazes lustfully at you, his glasses balanced at the very tip of his nose to conceal the direction of his eyes. 
He recognises the expression, knows it like he’s looking into the face of someone who once looked at him the very same way. The reason he started killing in the first place. 
He feels the itch swell inside of himself, his fingers flex.
It seems as though it would be time to hunt again very soon.
.
“Lost again?” Someone says behind him while he’s picking out laundry detergent.
He turns, seeing you there, in a pale pink shirt, and tan pants that hide your figure from his view. 
He smiles, watches the way you light up even more. A sweet, little morsel made for his fangs.
He holds up two different boxes of detergent for you to see.
“What do you think?” He asks.
You hum, deep in thought.
“This one,” You say, pointing at the item in his right hand, “smells too flowery for my taste, and you don’t seem like a man that likes to smell like flowers.” 
He smiles, raises his eyebrows, intrigued.
“And this one,” You point to his other hand, “Oh, that’s the one I use.”
“So it must be the best.” He agrees, as if you made a proper suggestion, putting the latter into his shopping cart.
You smile up at him in amusement.
“So, how are you getting all of this back to your place?” You ask, tilting your head at the moderate amount of groceries in his cart.
He turns, looking at what you were observing.
“You’re right, I might have picked up too many things for my walk back home. I’ll have to put some things back.” He agrees with her implications.
“No way!” You protest, reaching to take his hand, tugging him with you.
“Pastor Wade brought me along with his wife, I’m sure they’ll have some extra space in the back for you.” He follows, feeling anger that Wade had found himself closer to you than before. You wave your hand excitedly at the reverend, and Billy smiles internally at the sour look he receives from the man himself.
The trunk gets filled with the reverend’s new items, and Billy smiles, looks at you as you tilt your head, trying to solve a problem of too many groceries and too many people trying to fit into one vehicle.
“Give it up,” He says, mouth angled near your ear, “I’ll find another ride-”
“Don't you dare,” You argue, “I promised you a ride home and I won’t back down now.”
He smirks, watches you pile yours, and then his items into the backseat of the car. When you’re done, there’s only just enough space for only one person to fit.
“That’s okay.” You insist, “I can sit on you, if you don’t mind?”
Of course he doesn’t mind.
“If you’re sure.” He taunts.
“It’s a great idea.” Wade’s wife echoes, too eager to have them both in the back seat and the journey started.
Billy does his best to appear aloof, he gets in, and looks up at you expectantly.
You’re hesitant at first, before looking around, and then climbing into the back seat of the car to seat yourself in his lap.
Billy takes a deep breath, exhales, watches the pores on your neck and collarbone rise when his breath touches you.
A few moments into the ride and you’re wriggling uncomfortably in his lap.
“What is it?” He asks.
“Warm.” You explain, reaching for the buttons on your pink cardigan, brushing his stomach with your hand as you tug it off your shoulders.
Billy watches, with rapt attention as you reveal a white shirt beneath your cardigan. When you almost slip off his lap, he reaches to grip your knees.
“Hold on, sweetheart.” He whispers, just so you can hear.
You hold conversation with Wade and his wife throughout the journey, talking about how excited you are for the upcoming Christmas season, and that dressing up as an angel at the annual concert is a highlight for you.
All the while, Billy keeps you seated in his lap, your ass right on his hardening cock, the smell of blossoms drifting from your hair.
He closes his eyes, tries to distract himself from thinking too much about you, but he knows it doesn’t work. When the road gets bumpy, Wade apologises for the rough ride, and you respond with something reassuring.
You stiffen after a moment, and he knows he’s been caught.
He knows you feel him when you turn your head to look at him in surprise, his cock, hot and hard below your ass, rubbing against you as the car sputters along.
He looks right back at you, meets your shocked look with a sinister one of his own, wants you to know what a man feels like, makes sure you commit him to memory.
In the rearview, he sees pastor Wade glance at the pair of you. Billy looks back, holds his eyes, gives the supposedly pious man a smirk.
.
The next Sunday, you sit beside him in church.
It completely unfocuses him from his next target, he tilts his head to look at you.
Such a curious thing, drawn to something you now know isn’t as wholesome as appeared to be. It makes him feral, makes him want to put his hand on your thigh, slide it slowly up until he’s at the apex, tuck his obscenely large fingers under the waistband of your panties, find you dripping, feel you aching, press a lone finger to your swollen clit, make your sweet little cunt gush in God’s sacred domain. 
When it’s time to take his hand in prayer, he makes sure to do it as slowly as possible, dragging his fingers along your palm, your touch makes him feel blessed.
.
It becomes a habit, sitting beside him for Sunday mass, the eroticism of your touch right before you pray, before you ask God for forgiveness from all your impure thoughts and deeds, and Billy sits besides you, blood dripping from his hands as he imagines the ways he wants to violate you in this very church.
.
It’s a Wednesday evening when he steps into the church, the most desolate time possible. He knows there’s only two people here, him, and his target.
He moves slowly, cautiously, on the balls of his feet to avoid making too much sound. The wind blows, the front doors to the church groan. 
He passes the stained glass windows where he’d first met you, he passes the pew he sits at every Sunday while thinking about you, he passes the doors at the back of the church that he thought would make a decent place to defile you.
He goes deeper, till he can hear the quiet familiar slapping of a man going at it.
He’s not shocked by it, or scandalised, he knows his wife barely touches him, he knows she has an idea of what goes on inside his head. Billy’s studied her too, looked at her while she watched the way he leaned in to speak to you, a spark of realisation in her eyes. 
He makes gentle movements, turning the doorknob with two of his fingers at a pace so slow it goes unnoticed by the person on the other side of the door.
He gazes steadily through the small gap.
Pastor Wade has your pink cardigan pressed to his face. Billy remembers the last place he saw you wear it- in the back of Wade's car. 
He has one hand to his face, and the other stroking his meagre erection. Billy waits, in the stillness, the only sounds are the preacher’s laboured breaths and the movement of his hand.
There’s a right moment to act, and Billy waits patiently, he doesn’t have to talk himself into this one as much as he’s done with some others before. This one comes easily, in part because he’s grown accustomed to the feel of blood spilling onto his hands, almost craving it now, but mostly, it’s because Wade’s next intended victim is you.
In front of him, Wade groans, tilting his head back pace quickening. Billy pushes the door open. The wooden door doesn’t groan like it did before, Billy had greased the hinges just last week in preparation for this.
Billy stands behind the man, waiting for the precise moment, and when the preacher lets another groan loose from his lips, a warning of impending release, Billy strikes.
The man comes just as his throat is cut open, blood spraying from his neck as semen spills from his cock. Warm blood pours over Billy’s hands, as he supports the man as he drops, not wanting to cause more noise than necessary.
He lies on his side, turns his head upward, mouth parting in surprise as he sees Billy’s face. 
“I wish I could punish you more, but I’m not worried, I know the Devil is going to take his sweet time with you.”
He watches the words register behind the dying man’s eyes, and Billy smiles wickedly as life leaves him.
He tugs your cardigan free from Wade’s hand, it’s partially soaked in blood and will need to be properly disposed of, he doesn’t want anyone finding it and linking you to the crime in any way. 
He studies the soft pink material, smiles at the thought of you. He brings the material up to his nose, catching the smell of blossoms just barely clinging to the fabric.
The fluttering wings of a bird above makes him glance upwards, and he figures one must have found its way into the space between the ceiling and the roof, searching for a comfortable space.
He uses your cardigan to clean his knife, before turning, and heading for a sink to wash the blood from his hands.
.
He brings a casserole to the deceased’s house the evening they discover him dead. 
It’s just a little something to help out, he explains to Wade’s widow when he greets her in the kitchen. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, crying from the moment she’d heard the news, no doubt.
He doesn’t stay with her too long, excusing himself despite her attempts to hold onto his hand, the women around her gazing at him, more intrigued than ever about his culinary skills.
He wants to find you, to see you. There’s an itching inside of him that won’t go away until he knows you’re here with him.
When he finally catches sight of you, something inside of him unknots itself. You’re standing in the middle of a large group of concerned people, you look like you’re fighting tears with everything you have. A woman touches your shoulder, and you raise your head to give her a brave smile.
He pauses on the outskirts, wonders how he’s ever going to get your attention.
But he doesn’t have to worry, because your eyes lock with his as soon as he stands still, as if you’d been seeking him out this entire time. He gives you a small smile, something of an icebreaker from so far away, and you take it as an invitation, running right to him with tears already spilling down your cheeks.
Your body collides with his, and for a moment, there’s only you, and the softness of your form, and the smell of your hair and he’s quietly reassuring you that everything is going to be okay.
He enjoys it, the way you grip his shirt, the way you cling to him with every ounce of strength you have. He hugs you back, finding a way to the soft loveseat in Wade’s living room. You don’t pull your head from his chest as you cry, you shake with big, heaving sobs, and he tries his best to comfort you.
If you’d only known what Wade’s intentions were with you, you wouldn’t be crying. After a while you calm, and you continue to cling to him while you sniffle, his shirt damp with your tears and he wears it like a badge of honour.
So many people stop in to check on you, more and more with each passing hour. Billy thinks more people are concerned with your wellbeing than with Wade’s actual widow.
It amuses him, that so many people are drawn to you, that you have such influence on everyone, that they care so much for you, and here you are, tucked into his body, turning your head into his chest to cry every now and again, growing less frequent with the more time that passes.
Later, he offers to take you home. He’s just been able to afford a slightly beat up car, and he asks if you’d be okay with being driven by him. You accept with sleepy eyes, and he smiles internally, going to find Wade’s wife to bid her goodbye.
He overhears one person speaking with another about the state in which the body was found, covered in his own blood and semen, throat slit from ear to ear. Billy is delighted to hear it, he wants everyone to know, he wants to shame Wade’s name, even in death.
His widow is sad to watch Billy leave, she grips at him once more, trying to wrap her arms around him the way you do. When he mentions your name, he watches her stiffen, mouth set in a grim line, something in her eyes like accusation, or knowledge of something that she cannot say to another soul. 
She doesn’t speak her accusations to him, and he leaves, wraps an arm around your wobbling form and helps guide you to his car.
You’re so tired, and you fall asleep in his car as soon as you’re buckled in. He drives slowly, takes the long way, anything to be by your side longer. Your cheeks are stained with tears, he thinks about how beautiful you’re going to look in black.
You hum sleepily, reaching across, he blinks in surprise when you take his hand in yours.
“I heard how he died. Can’t wrap my head around it. Someone just decided he shouldn’t be alive anymore. Can you believe that?”
The lord giveth, and the lord taketh away, he wants to say.
Out loud, “I’ve seen it a couple of times, back in New York.” he says instead.
You squeeze his hand.
“Do you think you could ever take a life?” 
His breaths pause, it was time to confess to you.
“I have,” He clears his throat, “I have killed people, I was in the army.”
Your head swivels to him in his peripherals, he glances back with a sad smile.
“I just thought you should know.” 
“Thanks for telling me.”
You continue to hold his hand.
“You- you’re not- you don’t hate me?” 
“It’s not in me to hate, I have to believe that the path you’re on was necessary to bring you to me.”
“To you?”
“So I can help you.” You answer, squeezing his hand.
He wants to rip you apart and reshape you with his own hands.
When he finally gets to your house, he helps you out of the car, helping you up the few stairs and supporting your weight as you get the door open. When he tries to let you walk on your own, you stumble, and he has to catch you before you fall.
“I’m really tired.” You explain to him, and he hums in understanding.
He takes you up to bed, watches you collapse onto the soft surface, knee length dress rucking up so that he catches just the quickest glimpse of your underwear.
His hands clench into fists. He wants to push your skirt up, bury his face between your legs, taste your little cunt, worship you until you come on his tongue. 
“Will you stay?” You ask, arms spread out, legs slightly bent as they press together.
He kicks his shoes off decisively.
“What will people say?” He teases.
“You don’t strike me as a man who’s ever cared about that.” You whisper softly.
He grins, climbs into bed beside you, reaches around your hip so that he can pull your body against his.
“Goodnight, angel.” He whispers as your eyelids flutter, struggling to stay conscious.
“G’night, Billy.” You respond, touching your face into his chest once more before you doze off completely.
It's too much power, and you must know it. To fall asleep so easily right beside him, every temptation to be like the predators he hunts. He could press his palm to your thigh, drag his hand up to your hips, you would never even know. He could do so much worse, pin you to the bed, pull his cock out and take you right here, watch you wake in shock while he fills you. Watch his cum leak out of your little hole. What could stop him? You? God? Everything he's wanted at the tip of fingers and all he has to do is take.
In the end, he doesn't do it. He lies beside you and thinks of all the vile things he could do and doesn't act on a single thing and he doesn't really know why.
He thinks it's because of the consequences. Doing that would mean you wouldn't want to be around him, and he needed you to want to be around him. 
By the time morning comes, and you wake, he's spent the entire night memorizing the feel of your body against his. If you feel his aching erection, you say nothing of it, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or not.
.
He finds you right after the funeral, lighting the candles that have gone out when the doors had been wide open to allow the coffin through.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, approaching you, swallows as he finally has a chance to fully appreciate your funeral attire. 
It's loose, giving you an almost formless shape, to hide from everyone's view, your skirt is just a little shorter than usual, probably something you haven't worn in a while, resting at mid thigh and no doubt giving the women something to chat about in hushed voices. 
You glance at him with a little smile, before continuing your painstaking process of relighting each candle. 
“I'm alright. The lord gives, and like natural order, the lord takes.”
He blinks.
“That's right.”
“What do you think about the Devil?” You ask suddenly, not looking up, simply tilting your head to continue your work.
“What do you mean?” He pries.
“Is he evil? Or is he just the way God made him?”
“He's both.” Billy answers.
You smile, and finally turn to look at him. 
“Do you think God loves him?” 
“Doesn't the Bible say God loves all his creations?” 
You smile wider, nodding. For once, Billy feels like he doesn't have the upper hand in a conversation. 
“Are you worried about eternal damnation?” Billy asks, taking a step closer, ready to reassure you that someone as sweet as you couldn't possibly end up in Hell. If you were damned, well that didn't bode well for him.
“I'm not afraid of Hell, I can handle fire.”
Billy watches you raise a hand, and hold it closely over one of the candles. He hisses, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away.
He turns your palm to check for any serious burns, but he'd withdrawn your hand just in time.
“I'm alright, Billy.” You reassure him, leaving your hand in his, and using the other to continue with your previous task.
It's the first time he realises that there is more to you than he'd initially thought. He'd seen you as a pristine painting before, something to be looked at, forbidden to touch, to love from afar. Now? You were an enigma, a puzzle whose pieces were made to be handled, to be solved by the right person.
Billy wanted to be that person.
.
“-He wants to be here with you, the lord is one with everything, he’s in everything you see, and everything you touch. You just have to close your eyes and let him in.” 
From around the corner, Billy listens to you speak, your hands holding the other woman’s, who’d stumbled into the church an hour ago, searching for someone to speak with. 
“I’m not worth the forgiveness.” The woman sobs.
Billy is ashamed to admit that the very sound of your voice turns him on. He feels sick, that listening to you speak about the lord makes him hard. If he closes his eyes, he swears you talk about God as if he’s just another person in the room, 
“He believes in you. You’re here, you found me, because that’s what he wanted. You found the strength to come in, to open yourself up to being judged just a little, and I know he appreciates that. He loves you, and I do too.”
Later, when the woman leaves, with a promise to be here on Sunday, Billy finds you, shuffling and reorganising reading materials near the altar.
“You’re good at this.” Billy murmurs.
You smile.
“I’m just doing what he commands.”
Jealousy stirs in Billy’s chest.
Before he can stop himself, he’s stepping into your space, you look up at him with wide eyes, as you try to back away.
“You’re so selfless, don’t you know what people say about you?”
You blink in surprise, your body lowering as you descend the stairs, away from the altar and toward the pews.
“It- why should it matter what people say?”
“They call you a temptress, you’re the reason Wade’s burning in Hell. I heard his wife say it herself.”
“That’s not my fault.” You defend.
“It’s not? You’re telling me you have no idea of the effect you have on men?”
You go down another step, he follows.
“I- I don’t- I’m not-”
He feels so large, looming over you, frightening you.
“You don’t?”
“I only want to serve.” You whisper.
“Who?” Billy taunts.
“What?”
“Who do you serve?”
“The Lord.” 
The back of your legs bump the wooden pew. Billy watches you gasp. 
“And what if I wanted you to serve me?”
He doesn’t let your confused expression last for too long.
Billy acts fast, sitting on the pew, and gripping your hips to drag you onto his lap. He guides your legs over his, spreads his thighs so that you’re forced open too.
You suck in a deep breath, head falling back onto his shoulder. You look up at him, mouth parted, eyebrows drawn together.
“What are you doing?” You ask, your body still on top of his own, he realises that you’re not fighting him like he was worried you would.
He shushes you, gently presses the tips of his fingers right above your knees, takes his time dragging them up.
You reach for his hands, covering them, unsure if you should stop him or not.
“I’m giving you what God can’t.” He simply says, looking up at the altar before them, listening for anyone walking in as he brings a veined hand up to cup your mound.
You let out a little whine, fingers gripping his wrist, unable to pry his hand away.
“This is wrong.” You whisper, tugging at his wrist.
“I’ll make you feel right in a minute.” He answers, moving slowly to push his hands into your panties.
This is what your cunt feels like, is his first thought. Billy bites down on his bottom lip, his fingers feeling over your pussy, exploring, learning, and when he finally dips his hands lower to find you wet, he can’t help chuckling to himself.
The wrongness of your situation turns you on, and Billy uses it like fuel, lights a fire so readily, eager to watch everything burn.
“This is all an act, isn’t it?” He jabs, “You pretend to be so pure but that little cunt is dripping on my fingers.” You shake your head in protest.
He’s gentle when he finally touches your clit.
You gasp, let out a strained moan, trying to fight a losing battle with your body.
He circles his fingers on your little bud, pulls your legs open wider when you try to shut them. He’s slow, he’s careful, he feels you tremble, feels your breaths get faster. 
“Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already.” He chides, “I’ve only just started.”
A soft cry is your only response.
When the sun is at the right angle, it shines through the stained glass and paints you both in multitudinous colours. He looks down at you, your face is one of mindless pleasure while the hues dance on your trembling skin.
“Look at you,” he murmurs reverently, “sinning in God’s light.”
Your eyes roll back in your head, mouth parting with the start of a loud cry, he slips his free hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds of pleasure you make.
You rock on him, cunt spilling more and more onto his fingers, his mouth begs for a taste.
Your nails dig into his wrist, he welcomes the feeling, delighted to have given you something only he could give.
When he’s sure you’re going to be quiet, he slips his hand from your mouth, and after a few moments, he pulls his hand from your panties.
His fingers go right into his mouth, eyes closing in bliss at your tart taste, he licks his fingers clean, runs his tongue over them one more time to make sure he’s gotten every drop of you.
You look at him with parted lips, caught in your own amazement, coloured light still spilling onto you.
He smiles, pulling your skirt down, closing his legs which close yours.
He pauses when he feels your fingers touch his chin, he looks at you in surprise to find something calm in them. You part your lips, like you’re about to say something, and then you startle when the doors to the church are pushed open.
You slip off his lap, rising to a stand, you smile, welcoming the people coming in.
.
Billy is waiting in the confessional booth for you to pass by. You’d been so exhausted recently, trying to help the newest preacher get settled, and then someone else had been murdered. A woman working at the bank had been stabbed repeatedly in the face inside the bank vault. Her body had been found on a pile of money. 
It was odd, Billy thought he was the only one of his kind in town, to know there was another out there, made him want to look out for you more than ever.
This, was not him looking out for you.
Rather, he was waiting to pull you away, to be your distraction from another funeral, to save you, if he so dared call it that.
He hears footsteps, identifies you from the click of your familiar shoes on the church floors.
He hears the large wooden doors at the front open to allow the coffin in, and while everyone looks in the direction of the doors, he slips out, wraps his hand around your mouth, and pulls you, struggling into the confessional.
You stop fighting when you see him, and he smiles, bolting the doors closed from the inside. 
He looms over you, cock hardening in his pants, presses a finger to his lips with a smile.
Your mouth parts, curious about him, and when he presses you back, settling your body onto the wooden bench, you don’t have much choice but to obey.
He watches you, fire in his veins. You look up at him with the sweetest eyes, and he knows he’s ready to defile you right here.
Instead, as the funeral begins, he drops to his knees in front of you, pulling your panties down your legs so that he can worship you with his tongue.
He keeps you right on edge for the entire sermon, licking you slowly, your hands in his hair, your breathing deep and low to avoid attracting attention.
He edges you, echoes the prayers being said outside into your heated core, licks at your sweet bundle of nerves, doesn’t stop for a single second.
When the congregation takes up a gospel in praise, he waits till the voices are at their highest point to let your orgasm take you.
He tastes you greedily, thankful to have ever crossed your path.
He closes his eyes, decidedly not done with you, peeling at your virtue until nothing remains.
.
He takes you home that night, helps your exhausted form like he did before, hands gripping your waist to support your fumbling steps.
“You need to stop expending all your energy like this.” He chastises, lips in your hair, breathing in your scent.
“I’m fine, I just need to sleep.” You protest.
He guides your key into your door.
“Will you stay again?” You ask hopefully.
“If you want me to. But if someone sees me leaving-”
“I know, they’ll have reason to call me a whore.”
“Don’t say that about yourself.” His voice is maybe too sharp with you.
You let out a little laugh.
“Right. Sorry.”
He gets you up the stairs, feels you take a deep breath as you yawn.
“Help me get out of this dress?”
God, you really were tempting him.
He watches you fall back onto the bed, clad in only your underwear. He finds it impossible to look away, when your body looks so divine. 
He gulps, wants to kiss every exposed inch, wants to make you see heaven any way that he can.
You watch him while he watches you, he’s transfixed by you.
“You want to touch me, don’t you?”
He curls his hands into fists.
“I always want to touch you.”
You give him a sleepy grin, arching your back, reaching behind to unclasp your bra.
“Can you bring me a dress from my closet?” You ask softly, and he stiffens to obey.
He pulls the door open, searching through the delicate things suspended from hangers for something for you to sleep in. He finds a sheer dress, smiles as he pulls it from the closet, he glances back at you to find you already asleep, your breasts exposed to the cold air.
He smiles, turns back to close the door, pauses when something shiny catches his eye.
It’s behind the wooden walls of your closet, shining through the slats. Billy’s eyebrows draw together, leaning in to press against the spot, the entire panel of wood shifts, and he realises that the closet has a false back.
He tosses your dress over his shoulder, reaching for either side of the wood, he presses down gently, and the entire thing shifts upward, allowing a space for his fingers to fit in.
He pulls, the piece of wood is heavier than expected, turns, and tucks it against one side of the closet.
What he finds… washes his mind blank of any rational thought.
It’s an altar, but it’s not for God.
There’s an inverted pentagram painted onto the wall in something that Billy, with his years of experience in the matter, knows to be dried blood. On the pentagram, there are photos pinned, polaroids of him that he’d never seen you take, taped to your wall with little hearts scribbled on. There’s other things as well, the dog tags from his bedside drawer, the pocket square he’d thought he’d misplaced after Wade’s funeral. So many little items of his, in this space, and he realises that he has no idea who you are at all.
On the floor, is the pink cardigan soaked in Wade’s blood, half burned from where he’d tossed it into a quick fire in the woods behind the church. Billy kneels, fingers brushing the handle of a knife with a blade embellished with flowers, stained with blood. The skull of a goat, surrounded by black and red candles.
He knows he should be feeling fear, but there’s no ounce of it anywhere in his body. He licks his lips, plucking a photo of himself from the wall, he feels his lips curl up involuntarily.
He stands, turns to wake you, to confront you, and halts when he finds you already behind him.
You look sleepy still, swaying on your feet, body still bare, and before he can say anything, you raise a fist, and blow a strange powder directly into his face.
It stings when it touches his eyes. He groans, drops the photo of himself he was holding, presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and stumbles. His throat tickles, he coughs, body trying to expel whatever you’ve dosed him with. He can’t see, and he reaches for where he knew you were last, only to find formless air.
He tries not to panic, if you wanted to actually hurt him, you would have by now. Perhaps you just didn’t know what his reaction was going to be and you were safeguarding yourself.
He feels the handcuff wrap around his wrist, but he fights it, his eyes sting too much for rational thought.
“I’ll help you if you cooperate.” He hears you say.
He huffs out a breath, extending his cuffed arm for your guidance.
You pull at him, bringing him to your bed, and cuffing both his arms to the frame. His eyes sting when he tries to see through them, his face burns too, like it’s on fire.
The next thing he feels is a cold cloth on his face, and then there’s instant relief. 
You place a damp rag over his eyes, and on the lower half of his face, leaving his nose exposed for him to breathe.
“Let it sit for a little, it needs to neutralise the poison.”
Poison? He thinks in shock.
He tries to calm himself, tries to tug on his restraints as little as possible. He tries to run through everything he’d learned in the past few minutes, sort them into his head, solve puzzles he didn’t even know existed.
You were entirely not who he thought you were, not even a little, not even at all.
No, not true, he’d seen it, glimpses of the real you from the very start, too pure, he’d thought, too pure that there must be something wrong.
He should have seen it from the minute you took his hand, from the minute you sat on his lap, when you felt his erection and still flocked to him. Billy should have known. It was in the way you thrived under the attention, the memory of you holding your fingers over the candles in the church. He’d seen it all, and had been unable to put the pieces together.
He hears movement, feels the bed dip as you come closer to him, feels your weight settle on his hips, straddling him.
The rags are pulled from his face, and you use the edge to wipe the remnants of something he can’t see.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t want to hurt you, but it was this or hitting you over the head with a bat.” You smile down at him, he can still see you there.
You don’t look like a new person, you only look more relaxed in his presence, his eyes drop down to find you wearing the dress he’s picked before he’d discovered your secrets.
“You don’t worship God.” He starts.
You smile.
“No I don’t.”
“But you go to church, you help other people find God.”
“You think that saves them? No one in that church is free of sin, no one is made better by being there, they’re only better at hiding it.”
He blinks, tilts his head, waits for you to continue.
You reach for a box of matches, striking one, you light the candle sitting on your bedside table.
“I go to church, because every time I step in there, I spite God.”
He watches you reach to strike another match, lighting the candle on the other side of the bed.
“My Lord, the only one I pray to, is the Devil himself.”
Billy blinks, tilts his head.
“You tempt everyone there with your innocence on purpose.” He says, thinking out loud.
You make a sound of disagreement.
“Not exactly, I’m just charismatic, and the fruits fall where they fall. My intention isn’t to tempt, it’s not my fault that men are so easily… tempted.”
He raises his eyebrows in amazement at your point.
“Look at Wade for example, I was only as nice to him as I was with everyone else, but he took it another way, I’d finally decided to kill him when he touched my thigh for too long… I was watching him from a small space in the roof when you came in.”
Billy watches, hypnotised as you drag your palm over your stomach, your ass grinding gently against his semi-erect cock.
“I watched you stand behind him, waiting for the right moment.” You whisper, hand slipping under your sheer dress, working its way down the front of your panties. Billy’s teeth clench, pulling at the handcuffs.
“I watched you cut his throat,” You groan, “There was blood everywhere.” Your head tilts back as he watches you touch yourself to the memory of his past crimes.
“You took my cardigan. I knew there was something about you before, but it was only then that I knew I had to have you.”
He watches you, fingers hidden from his view as you pleasure your little cunt. He feels rage at not having any control.
“The woman in the bank,” Billy tries to think with you so close, “That was you.”
You nod, smiling down at him. 
“She was a bad person. I wanted to give Satan someone to play with. Just like he gave me you.”
Billy’s hands are in fists, blunt nails pressed to his palm.
“Let me go.” He grits out.
You smile dreamily, shake your head.
“Not yet. I want to have you first.” 
His breath halts in his chest, desperate to ask you what you mean, but he thinks your intention is clear enough.
He pulls harder on his restraints, not wanting to be bound the first time he feels you.
“Don't fight it, Billy. Let me have you how I want, and then, maybe we'll see about those cuffs.”
He stops struggling, takes a deep breath, goes still.
You smile, undoing his belt as quickly as you can, and then tugging at the buttons of his shirt until his torso is bared to you. 
He listens to you hum with delight, feels your scorching tongue lave at his chest, over his heart, flicking at his nipple.
He begins to understand how feral you are, listening to your hums of appreciation as your tongue drifts over his neck. He realises, that you’re just a small thing, searching for someone exactly like you in a world full of people pretending.
When you open his pants, his mouth goes dry, his jaw drops open as you suck on the tip of his cock for just a small moment, enjoying the taste of him before you’re slipping your panties to the side to take him in.
Billy closes his eyes, swears, low in his throat. You feel better than he’d imagined, your walls fluttering around him, pulling his cock deeper into you so naturally that he swears it was always meant to happen.
You moan loudly, head tossed back.
“I would have let you fuck me in that church.” You confess, “I would have let you fuck me in a pool of Wade’s blood.”
Billy groans.
“I’d fuck you in the bare earth.” He grunts, supporting your conversation, “I’d make you beg me to.”
You clench tightly around him, and Billy swears he sees stars for a moment. Your breasts bounce as you roll your hips on him, and after a moment, you pause, reaching for one of those lit candles beside your bed.
Billy looks at you, keeping your steady gaze, trying to prepare himself for the possibility that you might drop hot wax onto his skin.
But you spare him, instead, you tilt the candle, letting a few drops of molten wax fall onto your thigh.
He feels you tighten, grunts in pleasure at the vigour your pace takes on.
He’s so captivated by your enjoyment of it, that he can’t help but ask.
“Do it to me.” He asks.
You smile, hovering the candle over his chest, and when the first drop hits, he gasps. It stings, burns like fire, but then something sweet fills the space, his body somehow asking for more.
You don’t give him any more though, placing the candle back in its original spot, and beginning to rock your hips in tandem.
You’re struggling to achieve orgasm in this position, and he feels amusement rise within him, knowing more about your own body than you seem to know.
It finally makes him relax, knows that no matter how hard you try, you still need him to get you off.
He waits, and waits, and finds that he can be patient when it comes to pleasuring your cunt.
You pause, pouting.
“Poor little girl,” Billy chides, “Can’t manage to come on her own. You need my help, don’t you?”
Your eyebrows are drawn together When you look down at him, trying to make sense of his words.
“N-no, I can, uh, do it myself.”
He grins sharply, relaxes.
“You’re so out of your depth.” He taunts.
“Nuh uh.” You hum, still trying to use his cock to pleasure yourself. Billy turns his head to study his restraints, the wooden pillar he's cuffed to on the headboard is wobbly, he figures one sharp pull at just the right angle would get that hand loose. The other pillar however, is too sturdy for a move like that.
He has to move fast when he does it, find a way to get you to release his other hand.
But first, a distraction.
“You're beautiful like this,” he says truthfully, “Your true self is so much more than I'd imagined and- well maybe we are right for each other.”
He watches you nod eagerly, still trying to reach your peak, your head tilts back, lulled into a false sense of security.
Billy takes his opportunity to strike.
He pulls as hard as he can on the wooden pillar of the headboard, muscles flexing almost painfully. He almost thinks he's going to fail but right at the last second, the wood gives, freeing the handcuff and allowing movement.
Your eyes fly open, and you reach for something behind you, pulling out a knife.
He catches your hand, twists your wrist so that the knife falls free, and pushes it off the bed.
Before you can scramble off of him, his hand grips your hair harshly.
“Unlock me.” He hisses into your terrified face.
Despite your obvious fear, he still feels you clench around his cock, and his desperation to have you exactly how he wants, increases.
“I'm not going to hurt you.” He clarifies, “But you're mine now, so unlock me.”
Your eyelids flutter, your eyes glancing at a spot beside him. He doesn't turn to look, simply leaning his body with yours, hand still fisted no doubt painfully in your hair.
He looks from the corner of his eye, as you tug the bedside drawer open and stick your hand in.
 “You better not be reaching for another knife. It wouldn't take much for me to squeeze the life out of you, even with one hand tied.”
He feels you clench around him again.
“You like that? That I could kill you without a second thought? Your cunt’s gripping me so tight, baby.”
You let out a little whine, withdrawing with just a metal key pressed between your fingers.
“Good girl,” Billy praises, feels even that go right to your cunt, “Now unlock me.”
You do his bound hand first, and then pull the other cuff from around his wrist. Your eyes cling to the reddening bruise on his wrist from pulling too hard.
When he's finally free, he grins, right in your face, before pulling you off his cock and flipping you over.
You gasp in surprise as your back hits the bed, Billy leans away to get a good look at you.
He can see your delectably shaped tits through the white sheer dress, he admires the way it looks- like innocence and somehow pure sin wrapped all in one. 
He thinks, for the first time, he finally sees you, finally understands what he has, looking up at him with careful eyes. 
“You said something earlier. That the Devil sent me here for you,” he leans forward, cups your breasts through the dress, stiffening your nipples, watches you writhe beautifully under him.
“But I'm not your plaything, little girl,” His fingers pinch down, pressing your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching you gasp in pain and pleasure, “You're mine.”
It sets off something inside of him, and like an avalanche, any semblance of self control he'd ever had, just crumbles.
He leans down, lips pressed to yours, he feels an ache inside of him lessen.
You kiss back, with forceful lips, your hands gripping the back of his head, fingers in his hair to stop him from pulling away.
His hands press against your shoulders, feeling their way over the sheer sleeves of the material, gripping your hips, fingers catching on the fabric as he touches your body for the very first time.
Your legs wrap around him, it makes him so delighted, that you want him, that he's going to use that against you.
He pulls back, grinning when you whine, reach for his mouth once more, his hand finding your throat too easily, gripping it to push you back.
“Where did my little fighter go, hmm?” He leans forward to lick your cheek, enjoying the surprised expression on your face.
“Please,” you whisper, “I need you to make me come.”
His nose brushes yours.
“Why? Don't you touch yourself all the time?” He taunts, already knowing your responses before you say them.
“I haven't been able to- since you touched me.”
He laughs, watches you get more and more demure with each moment.
“You haven't been able to come since I put my hands on you? I wonder why?”
“You feel too good.” You confess to him.
He tries to fight it but it makes him laugh again, he buries his face into your neck, amusement so heavy in his body and he has to let it out.
“Sorry, It’s just that- you haven't even seen what I can really do yet.”
“Show me.” You beg.
His hands caress you gently, he nods his head, and then, tears your dress into pieces.
You’re so turned on, aching for him, you shudder as he pulls the remnants of your dress from your skin.
His touch is frantic, his palms skate over your skin, gripping, feeling, your thighs, your legs, your arms, it makes you so much more aroused to be felt like this. No part of your body is safe from his wandering hands, it feels as though he’s trying to learn you, and you are so eager to let him.
His lips are next, kissing the top of your breast, working his way between them, the feel of his lips on your skin makes you feel more connected to him than before. He pulls your panties off in a swift rush, kissing at your knees when he finally gets them off.
“Want to know why my touch feels good? Because I know you. I know what your body likes.” Billy says, you lift your head to look at him, his hand sliding up between your thighs, the tips of his fingers making delicious sparks.
He touches your slit, tracing the seam of your cunt so gently, desperation pooling under your skin. He presses a single finger against you, until he just brushes your clit with the very tip of his finger.
“You need this little bundle here touched, kissed, and it can’t be too harsh.”
You cry out when he just softly strokes your clit. Pleasure burning through you at just the simplest move.
“You think that just because you like pain, that this has to be rough too, but no, your pretty body craves a soft touch.”
He proves it to you, his gentle fingers massage your clit, he makes it look effortless, eyes drawn to your centre, looking up at you with dark eyes every now and then.
It’s the burn of his slow movements that make you lose your mind. The worst part is that he’s right, you’ve never touched yourself so gently before.
“Does that feel good, baby? I’ve killed so many people with these same hands. But I bet that makes your little cunt even wetter.”
You mewl, nodding, remembering the way you’d seen Billy kill. The amount of blood he’d left behind, such a messy crime scene.
You bite down on your bottom lip, back arching, hands gripping your sheets.
Just a little bit more, you think, gasping, quietly urging him on, hoping that he doesn’t stop his movements.
“That’s it,” Billy praises, “Just like that, show me exactly who owns you.”
Your breath stutters in your chest, your vision goes white as pure euphoria overtakes you. It comes in waves, cunt fluttering around nothing, your body shudders as your brain tries to process pleasure beyond your comprehension.
It takes you a moment before you can breathe through it, and like before, it feels like you’re floating, somewhere deep in your subconscious.
His face comes into your line of sight, a proud smile on His lips, beautiful in every way as He hovers above you.
You suck in another breath, it helps you feel your body, and the remnants of your still occurring orgasm.
“The first time I saw you, I couldn’t look away. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on. I wanted you all to myself. Now that I have you here, now that I see you, I want you forever.”
You nod eagerly, smiling up at him, gripping his hand to press your cheek into his palm. You wanted that, you wanted to be His as well.
“Now be a good girl and stay still.” He whispers, lowering his body once more, burying his face between your thighs for the second time in your life.
You almost want to scream. His tongue pushes its way to your clit, flicking softly, dipping down to lick at your entrance.
You hear Him moan between your thighs, you shudder, arching your hips into his face.
He slaps your thigh, a warning that he intends to uphold the discipline of His instruction, you simply clench in response.
You wanted- so much more than you could admit.
You'd thought, for a brief moment, that he was the personification of Lucifer himself, that Billy was a reward for your years of devotion, but somewhere in the back of your head, you were starting to feel something different, new, that not even your devotion to Satan himself could match.
He licks you like he's starving for it, hands on your thighs, tongue in your cunt you want to struggle just so He has a reason to hold you down.
You say His name, you feel your thighs tremble, His lips kiss at your swollen clit.
You don't know what you're feeling, something in your chest, that tugs everytime he touches you.
Drunk on His mouth, you hiss when his pace increases, unsure if you'll even be able to have another orgasm so close to the last.
He's careful, dexterous, precise, he licks cunt the way he kills- with careless precision, a spectacle to be admired, spoken about in hushed tones. 
Billy doesn't ask, he simply manipulates your body until you're wound so tightly on edge once again, unable to comprehend how you got here in the first place.
You groan, your grip on sanity crumbles away, all you can think about is Him, and the way his beard feels, scratching between your thighs, and the darkness of his hair and the grip of his fingers on you, holding you to him, daring you to struggle. 
There’s a loud rushing in your head when your next peak finds you, your back bowing off the bed once more, something pinches in protest but you can’t focus on it, the pleasure too important to give up just because you’re a little uncomfortable. 
He licks at the arousal spilling from you, moans into your body with each taste, making you see stars, or fireworks or maybe even just flashes of bright lights and colours. 
It somehow reminds you of the stained glass of the church, makes you feel adjacent to something that’s on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find the right words for it.
He draws back, beard wet with your slick arousal. It’s gorgeous, and you watch him tug his black shirt off- that he’d worn to the funeral of the woman you’d killed- and use it to dab at his chin.
Your eyes roam down his body, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a man as sculpted as he is, lean and muscular, small bits of hair on his chest and a spot right below his navel that your tongue aches for.
You sit up, looking at him, pressing your thighs together as he pushes his pants all the way down his legs, his cock already solid and leaking for you.
You remember the first time you felt Him, the way you knew without a doubt that you were going to have him, before you even fully understood what he was.
He reaches for you, grips your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed. You gasp at his easy display of strength, watching as he strokes himself for a few moments before lining his cock up with your dripping entrance.
Your past orgasms have made you more sensitive, each inch of him he presses in makes you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to breathe through the overwhelming pleasure and the stretch associated.
“You're so tight.” He utters with a strained voice.
You can only moan, reach to touch Him, the light of the candles flickering on his bare skin in the dead of night.
Your fingers graze a circular scar on his lower abdomen, and at the same time, he thrusts the rest of his cock fully into you.
You cry out, the sudden bliss of being stretched, goes right into your head, you gasp, your body begs for more, begs to be undone by him.
You swear you can taste blood in your mouth from biting down on your bottom lip too much, unable to vocalise your appreciation of him, he draws his cock out, before making another harsh thrust.
Your back arches, you don’t feel like you’re in your body, or maybe you feel too much in your body, the only thing you know for sure is the pleasure that fills you, that threatens to swell under your skin and explode outward.
He keeps his motions swift, harsh, deep, following through with each shift of his hips fully before beginning another.
“Who’s your God? Tell me.”
“L-Lucifer.” You utter automatically, but it’s the wrong thing to say. He stops, hands gripping your jaw tightly, bringing all your focus to him.
“What was that?” He grits out.
“Lucifer?” You whisper, voice light with pleasure.
He shakes his head, leaning away and reaching for something nearby.
You tighten around him when you spot the burning candle in his hand.
“Say that again.” 
“Um…” You stutter, unsure of what to say.
You gasp in surprise when the first drop of hot wax hits your hip. It stings, just for a moment, before leaving the sweetest tingle in its place.
“Please.” You moan, pressing your hips upward for more of his torment.
“Can Satan do that?” He asks, rutting his cock into you at a slow shallow pace. When you don’t respond, you feel another heated droplet sting the skin of your hip.
You peek at him through parted eyelids, watching the way he looks at you in amusement, before tilting the candle again, this time to allow hot wax to fall onto the opposite side.
“Billy.” You moan, and you watch him grin.
“Answer my question, little dove.”
You shake your head.
“N-no. Satan can’t make me feel like this.” You whisper.
He moves, drips wax onto your thigh, making you gasp in pain, feeling it heighten your euphoria.
“Do you like feeling this way?” He asks, and before he can finish his sentence, you’re nodding, raising your hand to your chest to roll your nipples between your fingers for his appreciation.
“I like it, Billy, I love it.”
“Then tell me who your God is.” 
You think you finally understand what he's trying to say, his cock pressed deep inside of you. He's the reason you feel so good, he's been the person occupying most of your thoughts from the day you met. He's someone you'd be willing to kill for.
“You.” You finally answer, and he smiles, moves his hand, still holding the candle, wax dripping onto his fingers, he tilts the candle and lets a few heated droplets touch the skin over your womb.
You gasp, the skin there is a little more sensitive, the burn is more intense, more pain than pleasure but He doesn’t seem to care, simply continues to smile as he blows the candle out, putting it back on your nightstand.
There's still another candle on the other side, allowing you to see, though everything is just a little dimmer now.
Your skin tingles, warm, the dried wax on your skin cracks as you move, but you don't get a chance to focus on it too much, because as soon as Billy lets go of the candle, he's pressing into you with renewed vigour.
Your thighs tremble, tears pool in your eyes, He's rough, grunting with each stroke he makes, earning a reciprocated cry when his cock bottoms out inside of you each time.
Skin against skin, sweat glistens on his chest, you want to taste him.
“Say it again.” He commands, leaning over you to brush his lips to your ear, “Who do you worship?”
“You, Billy.” You respond eagerly, gripping his shoulders, pressing your nails in, listening to him hiss in response, gripping your jaw to bring you into a bruising kiss.
It's messy, his tongue dipping forcefully into your mouth like he owns you, his cock doing the same, taking everything as if it's owed.
You bite down on his bottom lip, hears him grunt out a manic laugh in response.
“You're all fucking mine.” He grits, leaning back and pulling your boneless body up until you're on top of him, his hands gripping your hips to keep you moving on his cock. You tuck your head into his neck, unable to be anything more than a receptacle, to take Him, over and over until he's finished with you.
“How does it feel to be saved by your new God?” He grunts between thrusts.
You can barely find the words to speak.
His hand slaps the flesh of your ass hard, demanding a response.
Cruel, you think, that He wants you to speak, that He thinks you're even capable of thought.
“Feels good.” You hum, fingers gripping his neck, nose to his jaw, taking what he gives, you tears dripping onto his collarbone.
He groans into your ear, it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard and you finally begin to understand true devotion.
“Please,” You beg, “Please.”
He grunts out a chuckle between thrusts.
“You don’t have to beg, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”
You tilt your head up, vision hazy, your body tingling with something too intense to be just bliss.
He kisses you softly one more time before dropping you back onto the bed, pushing your knees upward so that they’re almost to your ears.
He feels so much deeper this time, fucking you hard, merciless thrusts that has your cunt fluttering again, warning you that you’re on the right path to an orgasm.
He doesn’t stop, looking right into your eyes as he pushes his cock into you, over and over and over. You see stars, you see him, you see nothing else.
He licks his thumb, lips wet with saliva, he slips it between your bodies, angles it right against your clit, swipes gently from left to right.
You make a loud sound, followed by a flurry of pitiful whines, trying to warn him, to implore him. He doesn’t stop fucking you.
Your toes curl, one small breath of air before the most intense rush of ecstasy takes root in your body. You’re lost in the rapture, taken by the experience to even register the sounds you make.
You feel fire, you feel sparks, tingles that rush all over your skin, your inner walls gripping him so tightly as you’re forced to experience bliss at His hands.
He groans loudly, and before you know it he’s fucking into you rougher than before only for a moment before he makes a sharp sound of relief, cock pulsing as he spills himself into you.
You clench around him, making sure he gives you every drop of himself. Knowing that this is the right way to show your devotion.
There’s a moment of insecurity, when he crashes to the bed beside you, eyes closed, his breathing is quick, as if he’s just run for miles. You worry that once he’s had his fill of you, that he won’t be interested any more.
Your head is turned to look at him, lungs still heaving, the bliss of your orgasm hasn’t left you completely yet, and you watch him, curious to observe what he does next.
He peeks an eye open, mouth pulling into a smile that bares his teeth, he pushes himself up, crawls closer till he’s in the space between your body and arm, kissing at your cheek and shoulders softly.
It opens something inside of you, to feel that, to know without a doubt that He meant every word He said.
You raise your hand in wonder, fingers gently brushing His cheek, before pressing your palm to His face. 
He looks down at you, moves his own hand to run the backs of his fingers against your face, two people, finally seeing each other, finally showing themselves, unafraid.
It’s more than you could have ever hoped for.
.
Billy stands in the shadows, waiting.
He watches his targets leave the bar, two men, laughing with each other as they head to the nearby bus stop.
He follows, observing the way they move, trying to figure out just exactly how drunk they are. One wears a leather jacket, with his hair slicked back, the other wears a plain white t-shirt, and jeans.
They talk loudly, confessing to things Billy already knows about.
When one of them looks up, and sharply elbows the other, nodding to a place ahead, Billy knows what they see.
You lean against the bus stop, face buried in your phone, too occupied with it to notice that you’ve been spotted.
You’re beautiful, Billy muses, white dress, denim jacket, a little purse hanging from your elbow, standing under a small streetlight. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. 
The man in the leather jacket gets to you first, looking over your shoulder, peering into your phone looking at what you’re doing for a moment before saying something to you.
He watches you startle, look up at both men as they approach.
It’s like a dance, the way your fright gives them confidence, the manner in which you step back, warning them that you’re going to run before you actually do.
He smiles as you slip from their reaching grip, running into the nearest alley, he watches them take chase.
He moves faster, making sure there’s no chance of putting you in any real danger.
When he gets there, they’ve got you cornered, your back against a wall with them closing in. They’re too focused on you to ever notice him.
He takes a breath, waits for a moment, enjoys the thrill of what he’s about to feel.
When one of the men reaches to put his grimy hands on you, Billy strikes.
The man in the leather jacket makes a gurgling sound as his throat is cut wide open, splashing mostly on himself, but some of it gets on your dress and he knows he’ll get on his knees later to apologise for getting your dress messy, even though he knows you like it.
The other man can only make a single sound of terror before he’s falling to the floor, mouth agape as the handle of a knife protrudes from his eye.
He’s still alive, though not for long as Billy watches you drop to one knee, pulling the knife from his skull to plunge it into his vocal cords next. 
You look up at him, with bright eyes, excited to be doing this with him. He bites down on his bottom lip, thinks you look adorable when you’re seeking his approval.
He doesn’t care if the men are in their last moments, he reaches for you, grips the collar of your jacket and hauls you up, manoeuvring you until your back is pressed against the wall of the alley.
He drops his head, angles to place a fierce kiss on your lips, smearing blood on your face when he grips your jaw.
Billy pulls away, breathless, heart hammering with the thrill of murder, he looks into your eyes, and finds himself looking back.
He’s not surprised- simply acknowledging to himself that it’s what he’s been seeing the entire time, what he couldn’t put a name to when you first met, he now knows.
.
“And the lord said ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’” 
It makes you look up, to meet Billy’s eyes.
You watch the corner of His mouth twitch in amusement.
.
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Text
Teeth
The Masterlist
Werepanther!Billy Russo x Female Reader
Warnings: Predator/Prey vibes, Serial killers, stalking, smut, minors DNI, Soulmate trope, protector vibes, anxiety, angst. Specific warnings come before each part.
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Part 1: Something in the Woods
Part 2: Predator or Protector?
Part 3: A Safe Place to Rest Your Head
Part 4: Jealousy, Unexpected
Part 5: Guarded
Part 6: Double Helix
Part 7: Restraint
Part 8: It's just bad luck
Part 9: A step in the right direction
Part 10: I'm waiting for you
Part 11: Enjoying the show?
Part 12: Strawberry lipstick state of mind
Part 13: Till there's no space in between
Part 14: The force of attraction
Part 15: Visibility
Part 16: Desperation
Part 17: Shelter
Part 18: Whatever you're comfortable with
Part 19: Can I kiss you?
Part 20: Descent into madness
Part 21:
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