thesaintscanthelpmenow - Tumblr blog

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

all your stuffed animals love you. they're not sad if they're in a box, or on the floor, or not held/played with as much. they understand. they know that you might need another stuffie more, or that you don't have enough space. they're just happy to be with you, and if you ever give them away, they'll be happy there too. stuffies are for comfort. they understand. they love you too. it's okay.

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

Little bird.

*bodyguard!Billy, mutual pining, fem!reader*

It’s just a little scene I thought of. Might not gonna be apart of or connected to anything. I just had to get it out. The little bird who craved the violence and darkness of the panther.

@terry2227 @kayhi808 @e-dubbc11 @aoi-targaryen @firequeensposts @oops89 @thejanecampaign @bookloverfilmoholic @littleblackcatinwonderland @cant-help-simping @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @danzer8705 @zz-kennedy @fictional-hooman @firexfate @rosaleenablack @idaofinfinity @russosafehaven @gh0stf1c3 @milea @snowkestrel

&&&&&&

You were sitting cross legged on your quilt reading from your novel, when you heard his footsteps on the wooden floors of your old manor. Billy came in, “Settled, little bird?” His nearly black eyes shined with something dark, as he watched you with your hair rollers in, Wuthering Heights in your lap.

He leaned against your doorframe and the only thing you were aware of more than the crickets outside was his casual ease with which he interacted with you.

You wanted to reach out to him, drawn to his casual dominance, but your fear of men crippled you, but the knowledge that he was here to protect you made you yearn, a dull ache between your thighs that threatened to tear you apart. “Are you my bodyguard or my nanny, Billy?” You teased him quietly, playing with the page in your book. He was captivating with a dark edge, like a sharp dagger gliding along velvet.

He walked in, the floor creaking under his feet again. The crickets seemed louder. His mouth brushed your forehead as he tucked the blanket around you. “Got a bite tonight, don’t you? Sleep tight, little bird.” He husked, breath fanning across your face, making your eyes flutter.

You sucked in a breath, “You too, panther.” You murmured, and his eyes flicked to yours, and they threatened to swallow you whole.

His lips curved up, he touched your forehead with his finger, before pushing your head back. “Careful not to tease the cat. I eat little birds.”

“Hawks eat cats. Maybe I’m a hawk.” You retorted, even as you chased his touch.

His fingers touched your chin, “You’re too soft.” He said, regretfully.

You blinked and he walked out. This wasn’t the time to have a crush on your bodyguard with that maniac on the loose. But as you looked at your book, you realized you weren’t really paying attention as you flipped through it.

You were drawn to Billy, his violence, his darkness, and that was a very dangerous thing to be drawn to. Stupid, even.

Cats ate birds.

But didn’t you crave his devouring?

You blew out a breath of air, your bangs blowing up. “Oh, fiddlesticks.”

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

Overheard at the mess hall.

Ghost: Excuse me. That’s my emotional support knife collection.

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

You gotta write for funsies sometimes. Everything doesn’t have to be groundbreaking. Like. Who cares if it’s a little silly it is made out of love

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

“Sometimes, I feel the past and the future pressing so hard on either side that there’s no room for the present at all.”

— Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

Honeybee.

*bodyguard!Billy, canon typical violence, blood, sexual fantasy (reader), implied female masturbation, forbidden romance, fem!reader*

18+ only. Minors, DNI.

368 words.

Soaked in sin, baptized by your kiss, and now I’m born again.

You smell his cologne and old spice as he yells, “Get down!” as he throws you behind him, both of you sliding on the marble floor. He pulls a gun out, teeth bared, shooting several men proving his prowess with firearms. Scout sniper specialist.

You grip his dark coat from behind him, the material soft, expensive. You press your thighs together at his display of violence, his bloody visage. That he was protecting you.

He pulls out his ka-bar, ramming it into the guy in front of you, spraying Billy blood as he stabs him once, twice, five times. The wet, squishy sound of the knife hitting organs.

The man drops, and Billy turns to you, wiping his knife off casually, as though he hadn’t just killed five men. His eyes raise to yours, dark, like chips of onyx. “You okay, honeybee?”

And then you wake up in a sweat that morning, the sun peeking through, still smelling old spice and vanilla, aching between your thighs at the memory of his violence, instead of being afraid.

“Ruined for me, and I haven’t even touched you, yet,” you imagine his voice taunting you, warm like honey. “All you gotta do is ask. You know I’ll take care of you.” His head tilted, a smile playing on his face.

“Honeybee?” You remember asking.

“Just know you’re sweet like honey.” He’d said into your ear, guiding you down the stairs from your father’s public office, and the implications weren’t lost on you as you shivered pleasantly from the feel of his lips against your ear.

And then you lose yourself to thoughts of him, a rough and wild thing between your thighs, and you can’t help but whine, fingers pressed to your soft bud.

And you only feel a little shame when he knocks on your bedroom door, “Mornin’, honeybee.” He husks, leaning against the doorframe, a cup of coffee in his hand. A smile played on his lips.

You swallow, and his eyes flick down briefly between your thighs. He looks back up, taking another sip of coffee, looking amused.

Your bodyguard wasn’t God, he was the devil.

x

Tagging; @terry2227 @kayhi808 @e-dubbc11 @firequeensposts @aoi-targaryen @oops89 @thejanecampaign @snowkestrel @cant-help-simping @bookloverfilmoholic @zz-kennedy @fictional-hooman @ittybxttykxttytxtty @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @littleblackcatinwonderland

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

Give me love, and take all I’ve got to give.

*roommate au, explicit language/mentioned cockwarming, fluff, mechanic!Billy, fem!reader*

@terry2227 @e-dubbc11 @aoi-targaryen @firequeensposts @oops89 @thejanecampaign @littleblackcatinwonderland @bookloverfilmoholic @snowkestrel @idaofinfinity @russosafehaven @gh0stf1c3 @milea @disneyloverjaime @vaguekayla

Your roommate was trying to teach you how to change the oil in your car, but you were mesmerized by his voice, the way he taught you the things your father neglected, the care Billy showed.

And you were gone when he'd rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, showing off his forearms. He must have realized you weren't paying attention, because he pinched your cheeks. "Are you listenin', pansy?" He asked, amused.

Your cheeks grew hot, despite standing in twenty below temps in an early New York winter. You fiddled with your zipper, before saying: "No, your forearms are distracting." You peeked under your lashes at him.

He smirked, still leaning over your car, under the hood. He loved your honesty, you could help but be anything more than what you were. "You're incorrigible." He said, shaking his head, laughing.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets, a soft smile playing on your lips, "Let's go inside, Billy. Wanna drink hot chocolate and warm your cock." You said, pulling on his red sweater to get him to move.

He straightened up, putting the hood down, and wiped his hands on a cloth from all the oil. "Oh, pansy. What I'm gonna do with you?" He mused, walking up the steps to your shared apartment, you following along.

"Change my oil in my car forever, and be my own personal mechanic, because I’m hopeless, and cute. I’d pay you in kisses, and that disgusting kale salad you like." You sassed, teasing him softly as your hand connected with ass.

Billy groaned.

You were gonna be the end of him.

“You could use some.” He said, watching you huff and puff up the stairs.

You glared, throwing a lip balm at him, too tired to chase after him. “You callin’ me fat, Billy?” You asked, watching the lip balm hit the side of his head.

His lips curved up, bending over to grab the lip balm, shaking it at you tauntingly. “Maybe.”

“I’m poisoning your kale, and taking your life Insurance money.” You grumbled.

He laughed.

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

Masterlist.

| 35 | asexual spectrum/panromantic | ADHD | Midwest | Country girl, I don’t like the city |

In the Margins.

A World Alone.

Thunderstorms.

You had Jesus on your breath.

These games we play.

Poison & Wine.

Requiescat in Pace.

That green monster.

Give me love, and take all I have to give.

Honeybee.

Little Bird.

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

RB if you think CD drives in computers are not obsolete, but in fact still necessary, despite being artificially phased out

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

that green monster.

*established relationship, implied oral, explicit language, jealousy, possessive behavior, kissing, fatphobia, mean!Billy, afab!reader*

@terry2227 @kayhi808 @e-dubbc11 @snowkestrel @firequeensposts @aoi-targaryen @thejanecampaign @oops89 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

“Billy,” you breathed as he settled between your thighs while you tried to read, propping himself on his elbows.

His mouth attached to your collarbone, as your fingers sunk into his hair, abandoning your book, as he sucked a mark onto you, pulling back to admire his work. A cluster of hickies and bite marks there.

“I have to go to work tomorrow, Billy.” You complained, making him laugh, as he bit down hard on your shoulder, making you yelp.

“Do you think Fat Albert will notice?” He sounded hopeful, referring to a coworker that had a crush on you, but wouldn’t take no for an answer when you told him you had a boyfriend.

“Don’t be mean, Billy.” You glared, hitting his shoulder.

He hummed, “I’m a mean guy.” He said, his fingers touching the marks he’d left, making you squeeze your thighs around his hips.

He leaned down, tongue running along your collarbone, and up your neck, before nibbling on your ear. “Maybe if you’re a good girl, I’ll eat your pussy before work.” He teased you.

“I’m always a good girl, Mister Russo, honest.” You said chasing his mouth, as he looked down at you, spread out for him.

“Then, don’t cover these marks up. Want him to know you’re mine.” Billy growled, feeling irrationally jealous despite being more conventionally attractive than Albert.

But you were kind to Albert, not caring that he had some extra weight. You treated him like a human being, worthy of your attention. It was the reason Billy surmised that Albert was so enamored with you. You were kind.

The fact that he could compete with Billy who’d always been beautiful, made him insecure. Because you saw past people's looks.

You huffed, “You’re terrible.”

“And you’re mine.” Billy countered aggressively.

You ran your fingers through his hair, making his eyes flutter as you yanked on it, pulling him down to you so you could kiss him.

For now, Billy was soothed.

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

Requiescat in pace.

*roommate au, fluff, bed sharing, afab!reader*

@terry2227 @snowkestrel @aoi-targaryen @thejanecampaign @oops89 @firequeensposts @e-dubbc11

Inspired by my first time reading Edgar Allan Poe. He used to scare preteen me. 😂

Billy had read The Cask of Amontillado to you, laying on the couch with you, as you settled on his leg, fingers gripping his sweater in suspense as he read it.

You pulled your lip between your teeth, as he read in his deceptively soft voice, making the story almost eerier than it was on its own.

“Montresor is scary.” You mumbled, playing with his sweater, “he had no feeling, no remorse. A psychopath.”

Billy had hummed, “That’s what makes it a good story. A good villain. No one reads for the hero. They’re too blandly moral.”

“Am I?” You asked softly.

Billy raised an eyebrow, “Yes. But you’re sweet, so I’ll let it pass.” He teased you, laughing when you slapped his arm.

But the book ended up scaring you, as you laid there in bed, heart racing. Nightmares of being buried alive haunted you, images of skeletons in the catacombs, and spiked wine, along with the building settling that you swore you could hear Fortunato’s screams from those catacombs, and Montresor’s dark voice, and the sound of the last brick being laid.

You swallowed, feeling like your heart was in your throat, and a sweat broke out as you threw your blankets off, running into your roommate’s room, stumbling onto the bed in the dark.

Billy looked over at you laying back on his arm, the moonlight casting eerie shadows across his face, “Afraid you’re gonna end up like Fortunato, sweetheart?” He asked, teasing you lightly.

“Billy!” You cried, slapping his arm in exasperation.

He laughed, opening his arms. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He husked.

You climbed into his embrace, his leg between yours, as you both settled in, his arms wrapped around you. Your heart settled, and then… “In pace requiescat.” Billy said, quietly.

You huffed, “You’re so mean.”

Billy kissed your forehead, chuckling.

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

Poison & Wine.

*yandere, smoking, inexperienced reader, manipulation, afab!reader*

You’d met him one night when he’d come over, asking for a light. But you were a good girl and didn’t smoke, and didn’t drink despite sitting at a bar. You drank a Sprite instead.

He rolled the cigarette between his lips, eyes shining as though he had realized that very thing. “Pretty girl, you’re prey for ravenous wolves like me.” He said, looking over his shoulder at his friend. He had reluctantly left when he was waved over, his eyes burning into you one last time.

Until, you had no ride home because your friend bailed on you, and he’d seen an opportunity. “I can drive you home, bunny.” He’d husked, hands in the pockets of his jeans, casual and making your cheeks warm.

“I don’t know you.” You said, pulling your lip between your teeth, drawing his gaze.”You don’t know the cab drivers, either.” And so he had a point, and you got in his car.

If only you heeded your mother’s warnings, don’t talk to strangers.

x

@terry2227 @snowkestrel @oops89 @thejanecampaign @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @aoi-targaryen @e-dubbc11 @danzer8705

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

these games we play

*yandere, best friends, manipulation, afab!reader*

Billy feels no remorse sabotaging your job, not when it would push you into his arms, not when you'd need him.

And you do, because he's well aware he's all you have. You sit on his bed crying, as he dabs at your eyes with a tissue, watching your lip tremble. "I don't know what I'm going to do." You lament, "I have no one to go to."

"You have me." Billy says, his lips brushing your cheek, hard in his pants at your tears. You shiver feeling his beard scratch your cheek, loving his close proximity. You've always pined for your best friend.

You inhale shakily, "I can't do that to you, Bill. I wouldn't be able to pay rent. I have nothing."

"Yes, you can. It's what friends do. I won't take no for an answer." He tells you firmly. You clench at his casual dominance, looking at him under your lashes.

You throw your arms around him. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Billy." You bury your face in his neck, inhaling his expensive cologne.

He smiles, wrapping his arms around you. Got you.

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

you had Jesus on your breath.

*roommate au, abandonment, fluff, kissing, language, afab!reader*

Words; 595.

Billy heard a noise in the hallway, and knew it was you as his bedroom door opened.

“Billy, are you asleep?” You asked softly.

He grunted, tongue feeling thick. Truthfully, he’d been blissfully half asleep. He felt the bed dip, and your soft body pressed against his, followed by the sweet scent of your shampoo.

His arm automatically wrapped around you, making your heart ache less. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling his scent.

You felt wanted with Billy. You didn’t ever feel like a nuisance with him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, cracking an eye open. He couldn’t see your face, but he could sense your distress.

“I wrote to my dad. I wanted to know where my mother’s grave was.” You whispered, fiddling with a loose thread on his PT shirt.

Your mother had died when you were young, and your father had raised you. It had been a lonely childhood, spent running around outside and playing with the neighborhood cats.

Your father was always shooing you outside, couldn’t handle your incessant chatter.

You turned inward, hanging out at the library alone, hiding in corners and going on adventures in the pages of books.

“And?”

“Basically, he told me to fuck off and to never contact him again.” Your voice shook. God, it hurt to be hated for simply existing.

Billy understood your pain better than anyone else, and he ached with you. He pressed his lips to your forehead. “My ma didn’t want me, either. She resented my birth I think. Left me at a fire station in Albany.” Billy said, making your lips tremble.

Billy remembered being left at the fire station. He grew up and grew tough fast. No one was gonna love him but himself.

Forging friendships had been hard. Frank was Billy’s first real friend. He’d basically taken Billy under his wing, and made him a part of the family.

Maria had been your first friend, and that’s how you and Billy met. She’d suggested you move in with Billy, as you were struggling on your own.

“He’s an asshole, but I’ll tell him to behave.” Maria had said.

The first meeting had been interesting to say the least.

Maria had brought you over, and Billy was hanging art on the wall. He stepped back. “What do you think?”

“It looks tacky. And crooked.” You had murmured, unable to keep your mouth shut. The problem was you were either reticent or blunt. There was no in between.

Billy had laughed, looking at Maria; “I like her.”

And the very next day he invited you out to pick out decor.

“I want you.” You told him softly, clutching his shirt in your hands. “Always.”

Billy felt warmth fill him at your words; even in emotional distress you sought to comfort him.

“You’re too soft.” Billy hesitated before kissing you, mouth pressed against yours, your lip balm smeared on your lips.

You responded eagerly, tasting like the Shiraz you’d no doubt had before bed. You often drank before bed to relax.

Billy’s fingers dug into your hips, holding you to him, and the sweet sounds you made had him pressing his hips to yours.

When he pulled back, he nudged your nose with his. “It gets easier, my door is always open.” Billy husked, eyelashes fanning across his cheekbones.

You pulled him down for another kiss. “Heaven would be more appealing if you were God, Billy.” You murmured against his mouth.

You settled against him then, tangling your legs with his.

For now, your heart hurt a little less.

x

@terry2227 @kayhi808 @snowkestrel @aoi-targaryen @e-dubbc11 @firequeensposts @oops89

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

“Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self."

― Cyril Connolly

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

thunderstorms.

*A short on how I used to react to storms, expanded. Fluff, fem!reader.*

x

You didn’t feel safe. You didn’t know how to verbalize it, but you trembled as the thunder boomed, and lightning flashed. You squeaked, getting up from the couch, and scurrying into Billy’s bedroom. “Mister Russo—“

“Hmm?” He hummed, half asleep as the thunder boomed again. He lifted his head off the pillows looking at you.

You let out a strangled noise, but wouldn’t move to the bed without Billy’s permission. Lightning flashed, and your lips parted.

He patted the left side of the bed, “C’mon, kitty.” He said, his voice coated with sleep, head falling back down onto his pillows.

You immediately crawled across the bed, tucking yourself against his body, underneath his arm. His eyes opened and he watched you tremble and shake.

He was a liar, lover, and loaded gun. He’d killed far too much as a soldier, and to some extent had enjoyed the thrill. He had no illusions that he was a hero. But the fact you came to him for safety and comfort made his insides melt.

His fingers gripped your thigh, kneading your skin there. And you sighed, grounded by his touch. “You’re so pretty in my arms, and in my bed.” He said, his breath fanning across your face.

You pressed a kiss to his dimpled chin, his beard tickling you as his fingers slid up your thigh, but no higher. “I like when you touch me.” You said, quietly.

He tilted his head, “Yeah?”

“Makes me feel like nothing can touch me.” You said drowsy. “Not even Zeus.”

Billy pressed a kiss to your mouth, feeling you grip his button up he was wearing in response. “You never hafta be afraid again, kitty.”

And as god as his witness, he meant it.

He kissed you again, entertaining a feeling he didn’t think he deserved.

[thesaintscanthelpmenow]

a world alone.

*established relationship, slightly canon Billy, language, hints at a major character death, fem!reader*

A micro.

Billy watched you as you fixed his collar and tie that morning, the scent of your shampoo wafting towards him, the sun on your hair. It was not often someone cared for Billy; to previous lovers, he’d been a fuckboy. He’d been someone to get something from, affection was never a part of the equation.

But it was different with you, and it scared him.

If his own mother didn’t keep him, why would you?

“Attachments are a weakness, Frank. I never had anybody.”

But maybe there in the spring sun, he had you.