Court: this guy has a f*cking crush on me

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@pikawhooo
Court: this guy has a f*cking crush on me
NOT A DRILL PEOPLE
every once in a while i get back into listening to taylor on repeat and every. fucking. time. ttpd hits like crack
I did a thingâŠ
Thoughts??
me @ the life of a showgirl haters
Pssstttt
Why does the TIK TOK COUNTDOWN HAVE 20 MINS ON IT GUYS
FERAL SCREAMING
''The Life of a Showgirl'' release week schedule updated:
October 3 â Album Release (12 AM ET) October 3 â BBC Radio 1 Breakfast (2 AM ET) October 3 â Capital Breakfast (3 AM ET) October 3 â The Hits Radio Breakfast Show (3 AM ET) October 3 â Magic FM (3 AM ET) October 3 â Heart Breakfast (3:15 AM ET) October 3 â Z100 New York Radio with Elvis Duran (6-10 AM ET) October 3 â The Graham Norton Show (5:40 PM ET) October 3-5 â ''The Official Release Party Of A Showgirl'' in Theaters October 5 â ''The Fate of Ophelia'' music video premiere on YouTube October 6 â Taylor Swift in The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon (11:35 PM ET) October 8 â Taylor Swift in 'Late Night With Seth Meyers' Show (12:35 AM ET)
(October 2, 2025)
WHATS HAPPENING AT 1AM TAYLOR?!?
What release weeks feels like
GUYS!!!
âI love when she take control. She beat my meat, whack a mol-â
NICE!
What a sweetie
So mine has a play button that i cant push!
MUSIC VIDEO ANYONE?!???
Solas AO3 tags
No Other Gods
Serial killer! Billy Russo x Female Reader.
Billyâs POV mostly
Summary: Billyâs 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.Â
If you want clarification on a possible trigger, I am happy to elaborate.Â
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.
Heâs calm.Â
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.Â
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, doesnât want to walk past the group of officers that are studying him from further up the street, doesnât 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 heâs been heading there the entire time.
When heâs 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 itâs 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.Â
Billy, having just cut a manâs throat in the High school gymnasium, steps past the door, and does not immediately combust.
Surely, that must mean heâs doing something right, that his cause is a good one, maybe even approved of in the eyes of God.
Heâs not convinced.
For a moment, he thinks itâs empty, thinks heâs alone with God and his thoughts, up until the slight movement of shoulders draws his eye.
Heâs 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, heâs taken by you. You must be an angel, or something more.
âHello.â You say softly, gazing up at him with unsure eyes.
âHello sweetheart, I'm sorry to bother you.â 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.
âIt's okay,â you soothe, âI don't mind helping.â 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 doesnât quite recognize.
Too pure, Billy finally decides. You're too pure, there must be some wrong.
âIâm new to town,â Billy explains, leaning in so that he can stand in Godâs light with you, in hopes that you can absolve him of the thing he has done.
âGot a little bit lost. Will you help me find my way?â
You smile, and it reminds him of warm fires in the winter, of standing in sunlight after being drenched from head to toe.
âWhere are you going?â
.
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 heâd arrived, heâs 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 heâs not the only man here transfixed by you, but one in particular catches his eye.
The reverend, in the same clothes heâs 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.Â
He recognises the expression, knows it like heâs looking into the face of someone who once looked at him the very same way. The reason he started killing in the first place.Â
He feels the itch swell inside of himself, his fingers flex.
It seems as though it would be time to hunt again very soon.
.
âLost again?â Someone says behind him while heâs picking out laundry detergent.
He turns, seeing you there, in a pale pink shirt, and tan pants that hide your figure from his view.Â
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.
âWhat do you think?â He asks.
You hum, deep in thought.
âThis one,â You say, pointing at the item in his right hand, âsmells too flowery for my taste, and you donât seem like a man that likes to smell like flowers.âÂ
He smiles, raises his eyebrows, intrigued.
âAnd this one,â You point to his other hand, âOh, thatâs the one I use.â
âSo it must be the best.â He agrees, as if you made a proper suggestion, putting the latter into his shopping cart.
You smile up at him in amusement.
âSo, how are you getting all of this back to your place?â You ask, tilting your head at the moderate amount of groceries in his cart.
He turns, looking at what you were observing.
âYouâre right, I might have picked up too many things for my walk back home. Iâll have to put some things back.â He agrees with her implications.
âNo way!â You protest, reaching to take his hand, tugging him with you.
âPastor Wade brought me along with his wife, Iâm sure theyâll have some extra space in the back for you.â 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 reverendâs 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.
âGive it up,â He says, mouth angled near your ear, âIâll find another ride-â
âDon't you dare,â You argue, âI promised you a ride home and I wonât back down now.â
He smirks, watches you pile yours, and then his items into the backseat of the car. When youâre done, thereâs only just enough space for only one person to fit.
âThatâs okay.â You insist, âI can sit on you, if you donât mind?â
Of course he doesnât mind.
âIf youâre sure.â He taunts.
âItâs a great idea.â Wadeâs 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.
Youâre 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 youâre wriggling uncomfortably in his lap.
âWhat is it?â He asks.
âWarm.â 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.
âHold on, sweetheart.â 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 doesnât 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 heâs 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 isnât 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 heâs 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 Godâs sacred domain.Â
When itâs 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.
.
Itâs a Wednesday evening when he steps into the church, the most desolate time possible. He knows thereâs 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.Â
He passes the stained glass windows where heâd 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.
Heâs 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. Billyâs 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.Â
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.Â
He has one hand to his face, and the other stroking his meagre erection. Billy waits, in the stillness, the only sounds are the preacherâs laboured breaths and the movement of his hand.
Thereâs a right moment to act, and Billy waits patiently, he doesnât have to talk himself into this one as much as heâs done with some others before. This one comes easily, in part because heâs grown accustomed to the feel of blood spilling onto his hands, almost craving it now, but mostly, itâs because Wadeâs 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 doesnât 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 Billyâs 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 Billyâs face.Â
âI wish I could punish you more, but Iâm not worried, I know the Devil is going to take his sweet time with you.â
He watches the words register behind the dying manâs eyes, and Billy smiles wickedly as life leaves him.
He tugs your cardigan free from Wadeâs hand, itâs partially soaked in blood and will need to be properly disposed of, he doesnât want anyone finding it and linking you to the crime in any way.Â
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 deceasedâs house the evening they discover him dead.Â
Itâs just a little something to help out, he explains to Wadeâs widow when he greets her in the kitchen. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, crying from the moment sheâd heard the news, no doubt.
He doesnât 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. Thereâs an itching inside of him that wonât go away until he knows youâre here with him.
When he finally catches sight of you, something inside of him unknots itself. Youâre standing in the middle of a large group of concerned people, you look like youâre 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 heâs ever going to get your attention.
But he doesnât have to worry, because your eyes lock with his as soon as he stands still, as if youâd 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, thereâs only you, and the softness of your form, and the smell of your hair and heâs 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 Wadeâs living room. You donât pull your head from his chest as you cry, you shake with big, heaving sobs, and he tries his best to comfort you.
If youâd only known what Wadeâs intentions were with you, you wouldnât 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 Wadeâs 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. Heâs just been able to afford a slightly beat up car, and he asks if youâd be okay with being driven by him. You accept with sleepy eyes, and he smiles internally, going to find Wadeâs 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 Wadeâs 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.Â
She doesnât speak her accusations to him, and he leaves, wraps an arm around your wobbling form and helps guide you to his car.
Youâre so tired, and you fall asleep in his car as soon as youâre 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 youâre going to look in black.
You hum sleepily, reaching across, he blinks in surprise when you take his hand in yours.
âI heard how he died. Canât wrap my head around it. Someone just decided he shouldnât be alive anymore. Can you believe that?â
The lord giveth, and the lord taketh away, he wants to say.
Out loud, âIâve seen it a couple of times, back in New York.â he says instead.
You squeeze his hand.
âDo you think you could ever take a life?âÂ
His breaths pause, it was time to confess to you.
âI have,â He clears his throat, âI have killed people, I was in the army.â
Your head swivels to him in his peripherals, he glances back with a sad smile.
âI just thought you should know.âÂ
âThanks for telling me.â
You continue to hold his hand.
âYou- youâre not- you donât hate me?âÂ
âItâs not in me to hate, I have to believe that the path youâre on was necessary to bring you to me.â
âTo you?â
âSo I can help you.â 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.
âIâm really tired.â 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.Â
âWill you stay?â You ask, arms spread out, legs slightly bent as they press together.
He kicks his shoes off decisively.
âWhat will people say?â He teases.
âYou donât strike me as a man whoâs ever cared about that.â You whisper softly.
He grins, climbs into bed beside you, reaches around your hip so that he can pull your body against his.
âGoodnight, angel.â He whispers as your eyelids flutter, struggling to stay conscious.
âGânight, Billy.â 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.Â
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.
âHow are you feeling?â He asks, approaching you, swallows as he finally has a chance to fully appreciate your funeral attire.Â
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.Â
You glance at him with a little smile, before continuing your painstaking process of relighting each candle.Â
âI'm alright. The lord gives, and like natural order, the lord takes.â
He blinks.
âThat's right.â
âWhat do you think about the Devil?â You ask suddenly, not looking up, simply tilting your head to continue your work.
âWhat do you mean?â He pries.
âIs he evil? Or is he just the way God made him?â
âHe's both.â Billy answers.
You smile, and finally turn to look at him.Â
âDo you think God loves him?âÂ
âDoesn't the Bible say God loves all his creations?âÂ
You smile wider, nodding. For once, Billy feels like he doesn't have the upper hand in a conversation.Â
âAre you worried about eternal damnation?â 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.
âI'm not afraid of Hell, I can handle fire.â
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.
âI'm alright, Billy.â 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.
.
â-He wants to be here with you, the lord is one with everything, heâs in everything you see, and everything you touch. You just have to close your eyes and let him in.âÂ
From around the corner, Billy listens to you speak, your hands holding the other womanâs, whoâd stumbled into the church an hour ago, searching for someone to speak with.Â
âIâm not worth the forgiveness.â 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 heâs just another person in the room,Â
âHe believes in you. Youâre here, you found me, because thatâs 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.â
Later, when the woman leaves, with a promise to be here on Sunday, Billy finds you, shuffling and reorganising reading materials near the altar.
âYouâre good at this.â Billy murmurs.
You smile.
âIâm just doing what he commands.â
Jealousy stirs in Billyâs chest.
Before he can stop himself, heâs stepping into your space, you look up at him with wide eyes, as you try to back away.
âYouâre so selfless, donât you know what people say about you?â
You blink in surprise, your body lowering as you descend the stairs, away from the altar and toward the pews.
âIt- why should it matter what people say?â
âThey call you a temptress, youâre the reason Wadeâs burning in Hell. I heard his wife say it herself.â
âThatâs not my fault.â You defend.
âItâs not? Youâre telling me you have no idea of the effect you have on men?â
You go down another step, he follows.
âI- I donât- Iâm not-â
He feels so large, looming over you, frightening you.
âYou donât?â
âI only want to serve.â You whisper.
âWho?â Billy taunts.
âWhat?â
âWho do you serve?â
âThe Lord.âÂ
The back of your legs bump the wooden pew. Billy watches you gasp.Â
âAnd what if I wanted you to serve me?â
He doesnât 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 youâre 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.
âWhat are you doing?â You ask, your body still on top of his own, he realises that youâre 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.
âIâm giving you what God canât.â 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.
âThis is wrong.â You whisper, tugging at his wrist.
âIâll make you feel right in a minute.â 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 canât 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.
âThis is all an act, isnât it?â He jabs, âYou pretend to be so pure but that little cunt is dripping on my fingers.â You shake your head in protest.
Heâs 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. Heâs slow, heâs careful, he feels you tremble, feels your breaths get faster.Â
âDonât tell me youâre going to cum already.â He chides, âIâve only just started.â
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.
âLook at you,â he murmurs reverently, âsinning in Godâs light.â
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 heâs sure youâre 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 heâs 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 youâre 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. Youâd 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.Â
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.Â
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 donât 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 heâs 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, doesnât 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.
âYou need to stop expending all your energy like this.â He chastises, lips in your hair, breathing in your scent.
âIâm fine, I just need to sleep.â You protest.
He guides your key into your door.
âWill you stay again?â You ask hopefully.
âIf you want me to. But if someone sees me leaving-â
âI know, theyâll have reason to call me a whore.â
âDonât say that about yourself.â His voice is maybe too sharp with you.
You let out a little laugh.
âRight. Sorry.â
He gets you up the stairs, feels you take a deep breath as you yawn.
âHelp me get out of this dress?â
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.Â
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, heâs transfixed by you.
âYou want to touch me, donât you?â
He curls his hands into fists.
âI always want to touch you.â
You give him a sleepy grin, arching your back, reaching behind to unclasp your bra.
âCan you bring me a dress from my closet?â 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.
Itâs behind the wooden walls of your closet, shining through the slats. Billyâs 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.
Itâs an altar, but itâs not for God.
Thereâs 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 heâd never seen you take, taped to your wall with little hearts scribbled on. Thereâs other things as well, the dog tags from his bedside drawer, the pocket square heâd thought heâd misplaced after Wadeâs 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 Wadeâs blood, half burned from where heâd 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 thereâs 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 youâve dosed him with. He canât 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 didnât 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.
âIâll help you if you cooperate.â 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 itâs on fire.
The next thing he feels is a cold cloth on his face, and then thereâs instant relief.Â
You place a damp rag over his eyes, and on the lower half of his face, leaving his nose exposed for him to breathe.
âLet it sit for a little, it needs to neutralise the poison.â
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 heâd learned in the past few minutes, sort them into his head, solve puzzles he didnât even know existed.
You were entirely not who he thought you were, not even a little, not even at all.
No, not true, heâd seen it, glimpses of the real you from the very start, too pure, heâd 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. Heâd 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 canât see.
âSorry about that. I didnât want to hurt you, but it was this or hitting you over the head with a bat.â You smile down at him, he can still see you there.
You donât look like a new person, you only look more relaxed in his presence, his eyes drop down to find you wearing the dress heâs picked before heâd discovered your secrets.
âYou donât worship God.â He starts.
You smile.
âNo I donât.â
âBut you go to church, you help other people find God.â
âYou think that saves them? No one in that church is free of sin, no one is made better by being there, theyâre only better at hiding it.â
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.
âI go to church, because every time I step in there, I spite God.â
He watches you reach to strike another match, lighting the candle on the other side of the bed.
âMy Lord, the only one I pray to, is the Devil himself.â
Billy blinks, tilts his head.
âYou tempt everyone there with your innocence on purpose.â He says, thinking out loud.
You make a sound of disagreement.
âNot exactly, Iâm just charismatic, and the fruits fall where they fall. My intention isnât to tempt, itâs not my fault that men are so easily⊠tempted.â
He raises his eyebrows in amazement at your point.
âLook at Wade for example, I was only as nice to him as I was with everyone else, but he took it another way, Iâd 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.â
Billy watches, hypnotised as you drag your palm over your stomach, your ass grinding gently against his semi-erect cock.
âI watched you stand behind him, waiting for the right moment.â You whisper, hand slipping under your sheer dress, working its way down the front of your panties. Billyâs teeth clench, pulling at the handcuffs.
âI watched you cut his throat,â You groan, âThere was blood everywhere.â Your head tilts back as he watches you touch yourself to the memory of his past crimes.
âYou took my cardigan. I knew there was something about you before, but it was only then that I knew I had to have you.â
He watches you, fingers hidden from his view as you pleasure your little cunt. He feels rage at not having any control.
âThe woman in the bank,â Billy tries to think with you so close, âThat was you.â
You nod, smiling down at him.Â
âShe was a bad person. I wanted to give Satan someone to play with. Just like he gave me you.â
Billyâs hands are in fists, blunt nails pressed to his palm.
âLet me go.â He grits out.
You smile dreamily, shake your head.
âNot yet. I want to have you first.âÂ
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.
âDon't fight it, Billy. Let me have you how I want, and then, maybe we'll see about those cuffs.â
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.Â
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 youâre 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 youâre slipping your panties to the side to take him in.
Billy closes his eyes, swears, low in his throat. You feel better than heâd 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.
âI would have let you fuck me in that church.â You confess, âI would have let you fuck me in a pool of Wadeâs blood.â
Billy groans.
âIâd fuck you in the bare earth.â He grunts, supporting your conversation, âIâd make you beg me to.â
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.
Heâs so captivated by your enjoyment of it, that he canât help but ask.
âDo it to me.â 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 donât give him any more though, placing the candle back in its original spot, and beginning to rock your hips in tandem.
Youâre 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.
âPoor little girl,â Billy chides, âCanât manage to come on her own. You need my help, donât you?â
Your eyebrows are drawn together When you look down at him, trying to make sense of his words.
âN-no, I can, uh, do it myself.â
He grins sharply, relaxes.
âYouâre so out of your depth.â He taunts.
âNuh uh.â 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.
âYou're beautiful like this,â he says truthfully, âYour true self is so much more than I'd imagined and- well maybe we are right for each other.â
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.
âUnlock me.â 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.
âI'm not going to hurt you.â He clarifies, âBut you're mine now, so unlock me.â
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.
 âYou 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.â
He feels you clench around him again.
âYou like that? That I could kill you without a second thought? Your cuntâs gripping me so tight, baby.â
You let out a little whine, withdrawing with just a metal key pressed between your fingers.
âGood girl,â Billy praises, feels even that go right to your cunt, âNow unlock me.â
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.Â
He thinks, for the first time, he finally sees you, finally understands what he has, looking up at him with careful eyes.Â
âYou said something earlier. That the Devil sent me here for you,â he leans forward, cups your breasts through the dress, stiffening your nipples, watches you writhe beautifully under him.
âBut I'm not your plaything, little girl,â His fingers pinch down, pressing your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching you gasp in pain and pleasure, âYou're mine.â
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.
âWhere did my little fighter go, hmm?â He leans forward to lick your cheek, enjoying the surprised expression on your face.
âPlease,â you whisper, âI need you to make me come.â
His nose brushes yours.
âWhy? Don't you touch yourself all the time?â He taunts, already knowing your responses before you say them.
âI haven't been able to- since you touched me.â
He laughs, watches you get more and more demure with each moment.
âYou haven't been able to come since I put my hands on you? I wonder why?â
âYou feel too good.â 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.
âSorry, Itâs just that- you haven't even seen what I can really do yet.â
âShow me.â You beg.
His hands caress you gently, he nods his head, and then, tears your dress into pieces.
Youâre 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 heâs 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.
âWant to know why my touch feels good? Because I know you. I know what your body likes.â 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.
âYou need this little bundle here touched, kissed, and it canât be too harsh.â
You cry out when he just softly strokes your clit. Pleasure burning through you at just the simplest move.
âYou think that just because you like pain, that this has to be rough too, but no, your pretty body craves a soft touch.â
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.
Itâs the burn of his slow movements that make you lose your mind. The worst part is that heâs right, youâve never touched yourself so gently before.
âDoes that feel good, baby? Iâve killed so many people with these same hands. But I bet that makes your little cunt even wetter.â
You mewl, nodding, remembering the way youâd seen Billy kill. The amount of blood heâd 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 doesnât stop his movements.
âThatâs it,â Billy praises, âJust like that, show me exactly who owns you.â
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 youâre 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.
âThe first time I saw you, I couldnât look away. I thought you were the most beautiful thing Iâd 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.â
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.
âNow be a good girl and stay still.â 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.Â
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.Â
Thereâs 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 canât focus on it, the pleasure too important to give up just because youâre a little uncomfortable.Â
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.Â
It somehow reminds you of the stained glass of the church, makes you feel adjacent to something thatâs on the tip of your tongue but you canât find the right words for it.
He draws back, beard wet with your slick arousal. Itâs gorgeous, and you watch him tug his black shirt off- that heâd worn to the funeral of the woman youâd killed- and use it to dab at his chin.
Your eyes roam down his body, itâs the first time youâve 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.
âYou're so tight.â 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 donât feel like youâre 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.
âWhoâs your God? Tell me.â
âL-Lucifer.â You utter automatically, but itâs the wrong thing to say. He stops, hands gripping your jaw tightly, bringing all your focus to him.
âWhat was that?â He grits out.
âLucifer?â 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.
âSay that again.âÂ
âUmâŠâ 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.
âPlease.â You moan, pressing your hips upward for more of his torment.
âCan Satan do that?â He asks, rutting his cock into you at a slow shallow pace. When you donât 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.
âBilly.â You moan, and you watch him grin.
âAnswer my question, little dove.â
You shake your head.
âN-no. Satan canât make me feel like this.â You whisper.
He moves, drips wax onto your thigh, making you gasp in pain, feeling it heighten your euphoria.
âDo you like feeling this way?â He asks, and before he can finish his sentence, youâre nodding, raising your hand to your chest to roll your nipples between your fingers for his appreciation.
âI like it, Billy, I love it.â
âThen tell me who your God is.âÂ
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.
âYou.â 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 doesnât 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.
âSay it again.â He commands, leaning over you to brush his lips to your ear, âWho do you worship?â
âYou, Billy.â 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.
âYou're all fucking mine.â 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.
âHow does it feel to be saved by your new God?â 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.
âFeels good.â 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, itâs the best thing youâve ever heard and you finally begin to understand true devotion.
âPlease,â You beg, âPlease.â
He grunts out a chuckle between thrusts.
âYou donât have to beg, Iâm here, Iâm not leaving.â
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 theyâre 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 youâre on the right path to an orgasm.
He doesnât 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 doesnât stop fucking you.
Your toes curl, one small breath of air before the most intense rush of ecstasy takes root in your body. Youâre 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 youâre forced to experience bliss at His hands.
He groans loudly, and before you know it heâs 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.
Thereâs a moment of insecurity, when he crashes to the bed beside you, eyes closed, his breathing is quick, as if heâs just run for miles. You worry that once heâs had his fill of you, that he wonât be interested any more.
Your head is turned to look at him, lungs still heaving, the bliss of your orgasm hasnât 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 heâs 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.Â
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.
Itâs 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 youâve been spotted.
Youâre beautiful, Billy muses, white dress, denim jacket, a little purse hanging from your elbow, standing under a small streetlight. Itâs like heâs seeing you for the first time all over again.Â
The man in the leather jacket gets to you first, looking over your shoulder, peering into your phone looking at what youâre doing for a moment before saying something to you.
He watches you startle, look up at both men as they approach.
Itâs like a dance, the way your fright gives them confidence, the manner in which you step back, warning them that youâre 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 thereâs no chance of putting you in any real danger.
When he gets there, theyâve got you cornered, your back against a wall with them closing in. Theyâre too focused on you to ever notice him.
He takes a breath, waits for a moment, enjoys the thrill of what heâs 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 heâll 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 heâs falling to the floor, mouth agape as the handle of a knife protrudes from his eye.
Heâs 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.Â
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 youâre seeking his approval.
He doesnât 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.
Heâs not surprised- simply acknowledging to himself that itâs what heâs been seeing the entire time, what he couldnât put a name to when you first met, he now knows.
.
âAnd the lord said âThou shalt have no other gods before me.ââÂ
It makes you look up, to meet Billyâs eyes.
You watch the corner of His mouth twitch in amusement.
.
Look away, im rereading this for enrichment
I WILL NOT LOOK AWAY
I fear i peaked here honestly
do you know if anyone was a link or drive to the live show? đ i would really love to watch it, but i donât have the money to spare lolol
A very kind person sent me the link yesterday, so I do indeed have it. I suggest to dm me bc idk if I should post it publicly



