#maybe will write mc who holds billy against their chest and rubs his back or something idk idk idk

[slicznymartwy]

Billy Lenz X GN! Reader where the reader is so gentle and surprisingly patient with him? Billy would believe he doesn’t deserve their kindness and he assumes the reader is “pretending” to be nice, but they’re not pretending at all.

hmm i was kind of torn if it should be established or not .. went with not but i think i regret it !! so i might post more of this but this is mostly a rlly short first meeting blurb hehe warning: general billy lenz gross dialogue, thats it

☾⋆⁺₊ billy lenz x gn!reader

Waiting is the worst part. Billy looks outside, where the dark sky and white snow stretch on forever and ever. It's almost time, he tells himself, just a little while longer. Then, he can finally fill his grumbling stomach.

True to his own word, he lets himself sneak down the ladder after a few more minutes, taking it rung by rung to keep as quiet as possible. He gives the same treatment to the staircase, taking each step with measured precision. Billy isn't an amateur, and he's taken this route many times since he started staying in the attic.

Billy freezes in the kitchen doorway when he sees he’s not alone. He sees you sitting at the kitchen table, a partially full glass of milk in front of you. Billy wants to book it back to his attic and pretend that you were just a ghost, or that he was a ghost. You’re both ghosts, haunting each other. 

“Hi,” you say softly. Billy doesn’t answer you. He stares, standing still in the doorway. 

“Are you hungry?” you ask. Billy still keeps quiet, but his stomach doesn’t get the message; it growls lowly, long and drawn-out.

When you smile, you try to cover it with your hand. He doesn’t know why. You’re so stupid. Why would you hide a pretty smile? You don’t want him to see it? Do you hate him that much? He wants to hold your mouth open and see your teeth. They looked so white.

“I’ll make us sandwiches, okay?”

Billy watches from the doorway at first, but he moves closer to watch. He might as well see what you put in it. He won’t eat it if there’s tomatoes. He hates tomatoes. They make the bread all wet, even if he picks them out. 

You don’t use tomatoes. Just ham and cheese, mayo and mustard. His mouth waters as you cut it in half. Billy doesn’t realize how close he is until you turn and you have to look up at him.

“Thirsty?” you ask. Billy doesn’t answer. 

“Water?” You pause. “Beer?”

Billy looks into your eyes. He wants to scare you. Why aren’t you scared? You shouldn’t be making him a sandwich. You should be crying and calling the police. Billy is scary. He’s filthy Billy, he’s the Moaner.

You hold his sandwich out to him on a napkin and he snatches it out of your hands. He turns away from you when he takes his first bite, and then he can’t stop. He eats and eats until there’s nothing. He licks the crumbs off his fingers. It’s better than the pickles or the peanut butter he’s been stealing.

When he’s done, you poke your head out around him. You’re holding the other sandwich. 

“Still hungry?” you ask. He takes this one too, and destroys it similarly.

You make two more sandwiches, one for him and one for you this time, and Billy sits down at the kitchen table while he waits. Once the sandwich is front of him, along with a tall glass of water, Billy eats it slower than he did the others. He chugs the glass of water.

“You’ll make yourself sick, slow down,” you murmur, pouting. Billy gasps when he stops drinking, wiping his chin with his palm. He starts to drink again, but slower. He looks to you and you smile. 

“What’s your name?” 

Billy doesn’t answer. He takes the half you weren’t holding and eats it too. He expects you to lash out. Hit him, pull his hair, throw him out of the house. Yell at him that he’s being bad. Bad Billy. 

Instead, you get up and refill his cup with more tap water. 

“Want an apple?” you ask. Billy takes the cup of water and sips some of it. He shakes his head afterward. 

You smile without any teeth. Billy misses them.

When Billy’s done, you take his napkins and clean off his crumbs from the table before tossing it all away. 

“Want more water?” you ask. Billy shakes his head and watches you carry the cup to the sink and leave it there. 

“Do you want to see my bedroom?” you ask him quietly. 

Billy’s eyes open wider. Stupid. So stupid. Billy could ruin you. Billy could destroy you. Don’t you know what Billy is? Aren’t you afraid of the Moaner? You’re not supposed to welcome Billy in. 

Billy doesn’t answer your question, but he follows behind you up the stairs. You close the door to your room behind him, but Billy stays next to the door as you walk to your bed. 

“This is it,” you say. Billy stares at you. He’s seen your room before plenty of times, just never like this. Never with you, inside with you. 

“Come here.”  You pat the edge of the bed next to you. Billy waits to take his first step, then waits again for the next. He’s slow, but it's only because he still can't figure out your angle.

Still, he manages to sit beside you. He stares into his lap while you look at him. 

“You’re the one from the attic, aren’t you?” you whisper. 

Billy’s hands clench. He expects it now. You’ll be so scared of him. You’ll push him away, call him a freak. You’ll hit Billy until his nose bleeds, and then he’ll choke you with both hands because you made him mad. You'll deserve it because you hate Billy. 

But you don’t do anything - you just wait. Billy doesn’t know how to answer. Your teeth are so white. 

“I can hear you up there sometimes. Your foot steps. You have to be really quiet, don’t you?” you ask. He nods, because he does have to be quiet. He didn’t want to get caught, but you caught him anyways. 

Aren’t you afraid? Why are you letting him sit with you? Billy can’t understand you. Why are you being so nice?

“It’s a big house, but I can hear your phone calls too. You can be loud when you want to be.”

Billy’s heart plummets further. He grunts and rubs his eyes. With his vision obscured, it’s easier to talk. It’s like he isn’t really in the room with you. He wants to be up in the attic with his phone. He’d feel better talking to you that way. 

Instead, he only lets himself say, “I want to cum on your teeth.” His voice is quiet, whispered into the dark room. You sigh. 

“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” you murmur. 

“I’ll lick them clean,” he promises. They were really white. He catches another glimpse of them while you’re talking, pearly and shiny like the sun. 

“Do you want to take a shower? Or a bath? I could show you where the bathroom is,” you say. 

“No,” he says quickly, firmly. He hates wet hair, wet skin. Cold.

“Okay. Do you want to sleep here?” you ask him. Billy hates it. Why do you get to be so nice?

“Wanna put my cock inside your hole. Pig fuckhole,” he mutters, pressing against his eyes until his vision swims and flashes.

You sigh, and Billy blinks a few times to get back his sight before watching you twist and lay down. Your hair fans out against your pillow and, from he still sits at the edge of your bed, he imagines rubbing his cock against it. Evil, disgusting Billy. He should be put down like a dog. Bad dog, bad Billy.

“When’s the last time you slept on a real bed?” you ask him.

“Woof. Lay down, Billy,” he says quietly. He watches you and you watch him. The bed was really soft. He could curl up at the bottom of the bed and sleep at your feet like a puppy dog. He imagines rubbing his red cock against your toes. Would you hate Billy if you knew his brain? Would you still let him sleep with you in your big warm soft bed if you knew he was terrible?

He doesn’t want to find out. He crawls over your legs and lays down next to you, his head resting on the pillow beside yours. He stares up at the ceiling and tries to imagine what boxes of junk he’s underneath. 

“It’s lonely out there,” you say suddenly. Billy looks at you, and you’re also looking at the ceiling, so Billy looks back up. 

“You can sleep here tonight,” you tell him, fixing the blanket around the both of you.

Billy could easily roll over on top of you. He could bite your throat and pull out your flesh. He could chop you into pieces and then fuck whatever’s left. Instead, he stays still and watches the ceiling until he falls asleep. 

© slicznymartwy 2023, please do not repost or copy.