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lieutenantwilliamrusso · 2 years

Note

Getting in the Halloween mood, I hope you are. Would I love to request a darkBilly! filthy Smut involving a grand gothic haunted house? Maybe he could be master of the manor and invite the reader to stay for the weekend while he lights the way with his candelabra? BUT IT TURNS OUT HE'S A FUCKING GHOST, get it? Haha. Yes, I would.

I hope u enjoy! Thank u sm for requesting and I'm sorry it took an age. This is my gothic y'all. My freakin' Jane Eyre. If u catch the Punisher Easter egg u get my eternal gratitude and a little forehead kiss.

Hopefully Billy won't...ghost her....

tagging miss @idaofinfinity

Warnings for: wax play, sex, 18+ minors DNI

Billy Russo x Fem Reader

In the Shadow of Death

As the autumn air filters through your nose for the first time, you're grateful you made the choice to take a few weeks off of work to recharge. You'd never been to upstate New York, had never traveled farther than the brownstone row homes and cracked pavement of your Brooklyn neighborhood.

Now you're here, in Castle Grove, New York, breathing in the crisp air of the first real autumn weekend. You pop the trunk of your rental car and grab your duffel bag, admiring the low stone wall of the house you'd rented for the month of October. It's a humble wooden structure, with rustic red shutters and a creaky front door that seems to howl as you toe it open, bag and keys occupying your hands.

The inside of the house is cozy, an amalgamation of festive throw pillows and plush furniture. But that's not what catches your eye. It's the Victorian mansion that faces away from your little house, only connected by the dying grass outside. There's a wrought iron fence hiding the bottom half, but the top is exquisite, whorls of grays and blacks meshing in the paint and carved wood around the windows. You stare in awe for a while, wondering who might live there, before moving to get unpacked. You leave the curtains drawn just in case you might get a glimpse of the mysterious owner of the mansion.

It's a few days later when it arrives. The thick cream envelope is sealed with a black clump of wax, the elegant swirls pressed into it matching the ones you gaze at out of your window each slow afternoon. Suddenly it's very clear who the message is from. You tear into it eagerly, unable to wait. Inside is a single card, the script neat and small.

Welcome to the neighborhood. I'd like to invite you to the manor behind your home tomorrow evening for a meal. Please arrive at 8.

-William Russo

"William..." You ponder.

Certainly mysterious.

The following night arrives quickly, your nerves almost getting the better of you. Should you bring something? How do you dress for this? Who is William Russo?

The questions swirl in your mind as you grudgingly choose a simple black dress with sleeves and a bottle of your favorite red wine. You're still unsure as you mount the wide steps to the house, the black front door gaping at you like the mouth of some ancient creature. Before you can raise your hand to knock, the door swings open, and a head of dark hair poked through it.

The man you're left staring as it gorgeous, dark eyes matched to his hair and a small smile on his plush lips. His eyes are inquisitive as he takes you in.

"You must be the neighbor."

You nod.

"I'm Y/N. Thank you for the invitation."

His smile widens. "Welcome." He says, opening the door wider and beckoning you in.

You're struck first by how dark it is inside. You can make out the outlines of paintings with thick frames and furniture covered by sheets. There's only a dull glow coming from William's hands as he holds up a candelabra.

"My apologies, this is an old house, and recent renovations have left the electricity lacking. I thought they would have been further along by now."

You nod, assured by his words.

"Understandable. This is a gorgeous house you have."

William nods. "It's been in my family for generations."

You take in as much as you can parse out as William guides you through the halls, twisting and turning around the carpeted labyrinth. You hadn't realized how large the house is, the outside not giving it away. You watch William's broad shoulders move as he walks, his white button up displaying the play of muscle under it.

When you reach the dining room, the light heightens, an array of candles spread across the tables and shelves in the room. The table is thick oak, and there's a variety of foods on the it.

"I wasn't sure what your tastes were, so I made it all."

William looks almost sheepish as he takes the wine from your hands, moving to pour it into two glasses.

"It's wonderful!" You say, eyes wide in excitement.

He looks sated, pulling out a chair for you to sit on. When you're seated he takes his own, moving it a little closer to you in the intimate lighting. When the food is served you eat a little of everything, complimenting his cooking often. You enjoy seeing the little smile spread across his mouth, and you can't help wondering what that mouth would feel like on your skin.

"So, neighbor-"

"Y/N." you correct, smirking at his raised eyebrow.

"My apologies, Y/N." He practically purrs your name, and you resist the urge to shiver. "Why are you in town?"

"Well, I wanted a break from work. I'm from the city, and I figured the fresh air would do me good."

"It certainly does help. It's a wonderful place to be this time of year." William affirms.

"I'm also glad you invited me over." You admit. "I've been admiring your home all week."

You bite your lip, suddenly shy.

"I've been admiring you all week." William answers smoothly.

Your eyes dart up, locking with his. He looks serious, hungry almost and you have the suspicion it's no longer for the meal. You should be afraid, alone in a dark house with a stranger. But something in William's face grounds you, and a second later it has you leaning forward.

"Is that so?"

"It is." He replies.

"So what, is this a date?" You ask.

William grins, white teeth on display. "Well that depends on what kind of woman you are."

"What, don't kiss on the first date, William?"

"I believe the issue is that I do."

He's so close now, just a breath away from your mouth, and you ache to close the space between you.

"Good thing I'm that kind of woman." You breathe out.

He kisses you and it's hot and wet from the start. His mouth devours yours, tongue probing yours like it's the last time he'll take a lover. You moan into it, hands moving to grip his shoulders as he cradles the back of your head, fisting your hair while the other hand reaches for your waist. You make out with William, trading slow kisses until he pulls away suddenly.

"The bedroom is close." William pants.

You nod, already standing. He doesn't pick the candelabra back up, instead navigating the darkness adeptly as he leads you by your hand. A few moments later you're entering a room with a four poster bed and plush pillows. The room is illuminated my the moonlight through the window, casting the old fashioned fixtures in a ghostly glow.

William backs you onto the bed, pulling his shirt over his head as you kick off your shoes. In the light of the moon his pale skin looks almost translucent, but before you look to closely he's on top of you, grinding his hips into yours feverishly. You gasp, hands threading into his hair as he works his way down your throat, nipping at the skin. When he reaches the neckline of your dress he leans back, tugging the fabric over your head and immediately unclasping your bra.

Then you're exposed, the cool air brushing your skin for just a second until William's mouth closes over your left nipple, hot tongue lapping at the skin.

"Ah!" You gasp.

William groans, other hand moving to squeeze your other breast. You arch into the attention, hips stuttering against his. You can feel the hard bulge in his pants, and you clench around nothing. When he pulls off to lave at the other nipple you stop him, tugging at his belt.

"Please." You beg, chest heaving.

"Eager girl, aren't you darling?" William purrs.

You nod quickly, smiling as he takes pity and undoes the leather belt, dropping it to the floor. When you tug his pants down and free his thick cock, he growls. Your hands are suddenly pinned to the bed, William's muscular frame looming over you.

"Open." He commands.

You open your mouth, closing your eyes in bliss as he lets a trail of saliva fall fro his mouth to yours. You close your mouth and swallow, and a second later you're rewarded with deft fingers swiping across your clothed clit. You cry out, the sound muffled by the fingers William pushes through your lips. Then he's gone, his body removed from yours. You sit up, searching for his figure in the darkness.

"Stay there." He calls, voice commanding as you hear the bedroom door open and close.

You pant, spread across the sheets as you wait for his return. It only takes a minute before he's back, one of the candles from the dining room in hand. He approaches the bed, and you can clearly see now how red his mouth his, how flushed his cheeks have become. You must look the same.

"I'm going to make you cum, but first we're going to play."

It's then you comprehend what the candle is for.

You nod, eyes wide.

"Use your words, darling."

"Yes, sir."

When the first drops of warm wax drip over your stomach you can't help but gasp, the liquid cooling on your skin. You feel something uncoil inside you then, something wild and dangerous. William must see it on your face because he grins, dropping more of the wax onto your skin, making a trail up to your breasts. When the wax touches your nipples for the first time you moan, deep and long into the night air.

"More?" William asks, smoothing hand over your hair.

"Yes, yes, yes." You babble, pleasure overtaking you.

William works back down your body, wax dropping onto you with bursts of heat that dissipate into pressure, leaving you feeling like there are fingers pressed into you all over.

When he reaches your still-clothed pussy, William stop his work, discarding the candle on a nearby table. When he returns he slips your panties off, gazing at your wet heat.

"Is this all for me?" He teases.

"No, sorry, it's for the ghosts." You retort.

"I'm sure they'd appreciate that, but you're mine right now."

Then he's diving in, licking into your pussy like you're his favorite dessert. You grip his hair, hips bucking as you grind onto his tongue. He adds two fingers and pumps them into you, stretching your pussy for his cock. Wet sounds pour forth from where your bodies connect, and you gasp and cry out as you reach your peak. When you cum, William grips your thighs tightly, holding you down until the aftershocks subside. When you come to, he's on top of you again, rubbing his cock through your folds.

"Ready for me?" He groans, cock twitching.

"So fucking ready."

He laughs, loud and loose as he pushes in, the sound elongating into a guttural moan. He begins to pump into you immediately, hard thrusts punctuated by the slap of his hips against yours. He fills you, thick cock stretching your walls and rubbing deliciously against your walls.

It feels like William is everywhere, on top of you, around you, in all your senses. He's pressed close, his skin bouncing off the wavering glow of the candle until you can't keep your eyes open any longer, gasping his name as you cum a second time, going limp in his arms. William's forehead presses to yours, his hips stuttering as he cums after you, his hot cum filling your still-clenching pussy. He pants into your open mouth, and you imagine you can taste his satisfaction on your own tongue.

A few moments later you drift off, William stroking your sweaty hair.

When you wake, you're in your bedroom, the sun streaming through the open curtains, casting little shapes on your skin. You're naked still, you clothes folded neatly on the chair in the corner, and William is nowhere to be found.

When you finally scrape yourself off of your sheets, satisfied but confused, you find yourself reaching for your laptop. Who did you sleep with last night? Just some rich, lonely, gorgeous bachelor? Or is there more to it, that man alone in the big black house. You type his name into the browser with the name of the town, clicking the first result.

The Russo family manor has been abandoned since the late 1940s, when the last of the Russo children, William, passed away of tuberculosis contracted serving in the Second World War. The house is maintained by a trust in the family's name. Local legend says William can still be seen wandering the halls, lighting his way with the family's gold candelabra.

When you look up he's in the window of the upstairs bedroom, waiting for your eyes to meet his. You swear you can see the bed through him.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #monster!billy russo #my fics #request

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intheorangebedroom · 1 year

Text

Pleased to meet you, a drabble

Summary: you and Benny have been dating for a little over three months when you finally agree to go hiking with him.

Pairing: Ben Miller x French fem!Reader.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: @nicolethered, this is a very humble gift for you, my dearest, dearest friend. I know smut is not my strong suit (unfortunately), and I wish I could present you with a much better gift, because you deserve the absolute fucking best, but I did do my very very best to give you the Benny I think you might like. You've given me and this fandom so much. Happy birthday season, ily ♥

I'm tagging every one, I hope no one will mind, because I managed to sneak in a little bit of plot, and, of course, subliminal mentions of Frankie 😜 (I can't help myself)

Count: 2.8k

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A drabble: Proud Mary

You’ve got to give it to this country, it really knows how to do autumn. And autumn is the one thing you love but could never fully enjoy in Paris. A city with a dense urban fabric, there’s not enough space for nature to perform its flamboyant swan song in crimson and golden gradient, the parks and public gardens too tidy, too tamed to your taste.

In your late 20s, you would rent a car and spend the last week of October by the Normand or Picard shores, on your own, and revel in the colours you’d find along the road. Until you met Éric and, a couple of years into your relationship, he started demanding you stay by his side and accompany him as he attended the many parties and diners of the rentrée littéraire, the most important time of year for French publishers.

That memory belongs to another life, however. Almost to another girl, it seems.

Comfortably sitting on the leather seat on the passenger’s side of Will’s truck, your forehead pressed against the window, you take in all the shapes and shades of trees and bushes you can’t name in any of the languages you know. Your new boyfriend’s solid presence next to you, driving under the fiery canopy of an undergrowth country road. A little too fast for your liking, but that’s just how he does everything and, to be honest, you don’t mind, really.

Benny likes the outdoor. He thrives amidst nature. As soon as you two started dating, back in July, he began asking you to come with him on hiking trips upstate, exploring national parks the size of your hometown. You can spend entire afternoons picking pebbles and shells underneath the chalk cliffs of Picardie’s coast, silently observing the rising tides of the Channel, but you’ve never gone hiking, so to speak. You didn’t even own a good pair of walking shoes until you had to gear up for this trip.

This time you said yes, your heart wrapped in an unknown, warm embrace at his enthusiastic and spontaneous reaction. A wolfish howl and a little jump, before he grabbed his phone to text his brother that he needed to borrow his truck, the Mustang far too precious to drive on graveled and dusty country roads.

What convinced you to come is precisely this: the undeterred fondness with which he steadily reacts, every time you try and push back. The space and time he never fails to give you to be you and do your things.

And, of course, the prospect of a real North-American autumn. You don’t care what everybody says, you just like autumn. It is, hands down, your favourite season. You’ve debated it over countless times with Rosie, who, of course, only loves summer, laughing at her perennial final and closing argument, “you can’t prefer fall because it’s basic, and you’re not.”

She says fall, you say autumn. Inches and centimetres, flat and apartment…

Besides, autumn has Halloween. And that’s the one holiday your gothic heart not only tolerates, but love. The hypothesis -the hope- of being visited by the dead, once a year. You were never good with closure, goodbyes or mourning. The concept of the departed lingering about you keeps you going.

In an essay about death and its perceptions throughout history, you once read that the idea exists, in one form or another, in many different cultures throughout the world. That it’s about the living convoking the dead to help them prepare as they enter winter.

Winter sure is bleak. Christmas’s supposed to be fun, you suppose, if you have a functioning family. Which you seldom ever had. No, winter is not your thing.

No light, no hope.

You wonder what this winter is going to be like. Probably the best you’ve had in a long, long while.

You’ve got pure sunshine sitting next to you in the truck.

A khaki cap worn backward over his overgrown blond strands, his last haircut a distant memory, he’s wearing his usual worn-out dirty blue jeans that have you questioning whether he owns a second pair, and a faded blue shirt over a camouflage t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, his strong forearms on display. His massive frame dwarfs the spacious cab of the truck.

He hooked up his phone to the car’s stereo and Johnny Cash’s Live at Folsom is blasting through the old speakers, his own baritone resounding in the cab and sinking into your chest as he sings along to The Long Black Veil. It’s one of your favourite songs from this album, and you can’t get over how fond of this man’s voice you’ve become in only three months. It’s warm and comfortable and when you try to describe his laughter, the only word you can come up with is “luminous”.

He sings more and more often when you’re around, and you wonder if you can consider it a tangible proof of your fast-growing intimacy. Or perhaps he’s always singing, and the only reason why you get to hear it more often is because of the increasing amount of time you two spend together. It doesn’t cross your mind you might be the reason why he constantly sings.

Forgetting about the landscape for a moment, you set your gaze on your boyfriend, his tall figure and his soft face. His brow furrowed over his dark eyes, mirroring the lyrics’ somber melancholy as he joins in the chorus.

She walks these hills in a long black veil

She visits my grave when the night winds wail

You found a common ground in music with blues, folk, old country and vintage rock. Old habits die hard and at first, you feared he would impose on you the music plastered in loud album covers on his band t-shirts, Kiss, Metallica, Iron Maiden. You’d been agreeably proven wrong. For that’s not Benny. Benny makes everything easy. Benny adjusts.

You reach out for his thigh and give it a little squeeze, affection expanding your chest. His expression shifts immediately as he takes his eyes off the road to look your way, flashing you a flirty wink and a toothy grin. Oh, he’s a performer, alright.

You can’t help but laugh and skate your hand a little higher along his leg.

Hank William’s Alone and Forsaken is next in queue on his playlist, but Benny’s mind is not on the music anymore.

Every so often, his eyes leave the open road as he throws sideways glances at your thighs with about as much subtlety as a kid trying to nick candy from the kitchen cupboard, and you observe this little choreography with a bemused smile.

“You know I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing leggings in the city,” you say halfway through the song.

“That’s a shame because your legs look damn good in it. And your ass–” he trails off, narrowing his eyes with an explicit humming sound.

“But what’s the difference with my black jeans, for instance, the skinny ones?” you ask casually, as if he just didn’t light up a small fire in your core.

“I don’t know. It’s just— it’s not the same,” his voice drags and dips lower on the last words.

It sounds like he’s still singing even when he talks. You start to blush like a bashful teenager, so you immediately counter, opening your legs wider and propping your left knee on the bench.

His eyes return to the road, with a shake of his head and a chuckle that says you’re not playing fair.

Ike and Tina’s Proud Mary come up on the stereo and momentarily interrupt the game.

“Oh I love this song!” you exclaim as you lean forward to turn up the volume, “sorry, but I’m gonna sing.”

“Why you’re sorry? You got a nice voice.”

“How would you know that?” you whip your head towards him with an accusatory look.

“Heard you sing under the shower. I love the smell of your shampoo,” he provides with an apologetic, endearing smile.

“Well I’m singing to this, anyway,” you reply, now downright flustered.

The song still at its spoken preamble, your voice is a little shaky as you tune in to the first Nice and easy.

You flick your eyes up to Benny’s and find him already staring you down with a hungry look.

But there's just one thing…

Pulling on the safety belt to give it some slack, you slide on the bench to get closer to him, his eyes flicking rapidly between the road and your lips.

You see we never do nothing nice and easy…

You rest your right hand on his inner thigh and bite down a victorious smile when he sharply inhales, straining his gaze straight ahead.

We always do it nice and rough…

Your voice turns husky on the last word, a smile lifting the corner of your lips. Head tilted upward, you softly speak into his neck, letting your breath fan the thin blond hair on his nape, and rear back just enough to see them stand up.

So we're gonna take the beginning of this song…

You scoot closer still, pointedly pressing your breast against his side, his hands gripping the steering wheel, a growing bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans.

And do it easy…

You poke out your tongue, tracing the shell of his ear, nipping at his earlobe, as he draws in a sharp breath with a hissing sound, his grip on the wheel turning his knuckles white.

But then we're gonna do the finish rough…

The last word comes out of your throat in a rumble, your hand quickly sliding over to his throbbing erection as you cup him through his pants, pressing down with the flat of your palm.

This is the way we do–

“Ok, that’s it!” he barks, and your laughter tinkles.

—

The truck is parked on a light slope where Benny steered it precipitously, on the side of the road, coming to a halt in the middle of nowhere, barely deep enough into the woods to hide it from view. You slide on the leather bench when you move your leg to straddle him where he came to meet you on the passenger’s side. Your leggings lie on the car floor in a rumpled heap next to your new hiking shoes, and you grasp the headrest to regain your balance.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he pants, unbuckling his belt before raising his hips to slide down jeans and briefs in one hurried motion. He’s fully erect now and his smooth cock bobs against his clothed belly.

“I was only singing,” you object, giving the blond curls at his base an innocent little scratch before taking him in your hand.

He feels heavy and warm between your fingers, and you want to play with it a little, but he already ripped open the condom’s wrapping in his haste. You take it from him, with a breathless whisper of “lemmedoit”, and you push him against the seat back, pinning him under your gaze to make sure he looks at you when you lick a broad stripe into the flat of your palm, and give him a couple of hard, long strokes.

“Fuck, woman, just let me inside you, already,” he exhales, his head lolling backward against the headrest. “When you gonna let me fuck you without a rubber, baby?”

You’ve only ever let one man do that, and it’s not something you want to be thinking about right now, so you shut him up, plunging forward and moulding your lips onto his, fisting him harder. He deepens the kiss immediately, licking inside you like a starved man, fucking your mouth with his tongue as he sits up straight and grips your ass, kneading your soft flesh.

He pulls out to ask, “You wet for me, baby?”

“Huh huh,” you answer, nodding, chasing his lips, but he’s not done talking. Benny likes to talk.

“Good girl,” he says through another cocky smile, “gonna fuck you fast and good.”

You’d have slapped Éric for calling you a “good girl”, instead you feel another rush of slick pooling down your core, trickling down your spread thighs, as he slides you back on his lap by the flesh of your bottom.

“Been wanting to rip them leggings off your ass since I picked you up this morning, you won’t be able to walk when I’m finished with you.”

You want to shoot back that it defeats the purpose, but he doesn’t let you, skating through your folds and sliding his rough fingers over your entrance, rewarding you for what he finds there with a broad smile. You jump lightly at the exquisite breach when he slides two digits inside you, a hand still loosely wrapped around his length, the one holding the condom lying limply on the car bench.

“Fuck, listen to that,” he says at the squelching sounds of your wet pussy, as he roughly thrusts his fingers in and out, thinning your clit, his eyes darted down onto where he’s opening you for him. All you can manage is a lewd moan and a hooded look.

“Come on, baby, wrap me up and put me in,” he orders in his musical voice.

He’s still fucking you on his fingers, and you chase his hand a little longer, rocking shamelessly into it, before you finally comply and unroll the condom down on his length.

“Don’t tell my brother what we did in his truck.”

“Jesus fucking– what exactly do you think we talk about when we–”

You can’t finish your sentence, for he just knocked the air out of your lungs, shoving his cock inside your warmth all the way down, after swiftly withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, seizing your waist with one hand and lining himself up with the other. Benny moves surprisingly fast for a man of his size and his strength. Must be all that training for the fights.

Your forehead drops against his, your head heavy and weak with the sudden spearing sensation. There’s been no nice, straight to rough, his feet are planted firmly on the car floor and he fucks up into you at a dizzying pace, holding you down on his cock with both hands around your waist, a nearly bruising grip, and for a moment there’s nothing you can do but take it. Thinking about how much you like that he’s always in such a hurry to give it to you.

“Shit, that sweet pussy of yours,” he groans into your mouth, before kissing you again, and he makes it messy, bestial, licking into your mouth with unbridled hunger, it’s absolutely delicious, the way he devours you, always. Somehow your brain resurfaces and you brace a hand on his chest, tugging his hair harshly with the other. You know he likes it, when you pull, and scratch, and bite, and he groans with delight at the sting.

Fisting the fabric of his t-shirt, you shuffle your knees closer to him and start meeting him, rolling your hips in rhythm, fucking him right back, earning yourself a low and strained “fuck yeah” that reverberates in your stomach, the friction of the leather burning your skin.

His right hand skates around your curves to the cleft of your ass, and he tentatively presses there, but you shake your head no, and his voice is like sandpaper on wood when he asks,

“When you gonna let me fuck that gorgeous ass, baby?”

You tug on his hair harder, then let go, cupping his chin and sliding two fingers in his mouth to silence him. When he responds with an unexpectedly soft suckle, your cunt clenches around him, and his eyes flutter shut, his head rolling back as he groans.

You bear down on him and grip him again, as tightly as you can, and his hips fall out of their rhythm, his fingers clutching your ass in a twitch. You make a mental note of it, so you can give it to him again, later, before biting his jaw for good measure.

He puts all his strength into the following thrusts and a loud moan escapes you. You might not be able to walk once he’s done, after all.

“Make me come, Benjamin, I don’t want anyone to walk on us.”

He gives your fingers a hard suck and releases them with the popping sound you’ve come to associate with him.

“Ok but I’m fucking you again as soon as we get there, from behind. And I’m coming on your ass.”

He slides down over the edge of the seat and place both his large hands back on your hips, grinding you back and forth on his cock, ruthlessly, like you weight nothing, your clit rubbing against his pelvis. He’s stroking deeper, harder, brushing against that spot that makes you lose it, the angle is mind-bending, your vision turns white and you brace your hand on the car’s window, your whining voice desperate when you try to warn him,

“Oh shit Benny, I’m gonna come, shit, gonna be loud, can’t hold it–”

“That’s right, baby, sing for me.”

****

Taglist (thank you 💕): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin

#Francisco Catfish Morales #The Pilot™️#Frankie Morales #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #ben miller #benny miller #ben miller x fem!reader #ben miller x you #will miller #william ironhead miller #pedro pascal #garret hedlund #triple frontier

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