#claude’s meowing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slicznymartwy · 9 months

Text

saccharine pt ii (you're billy's favorite)

cis fem reader

warning: billy's being fucking weird again. stalking you from inside the house, stealing your panties, humping your pillow, breaking into your room and masturbating. obsessive billy. 69ing. dead dove stuff. don't read if that bothers you

read pt i

read on ao3 here

Billy waits until the house is empty to drop from the attic.

He passes by Claude in the hallway, who gives him a disinterested once over before rolling onto his other side.

“Meow,” Billy says, stopping next to the old cat.

Claude croaks a little hello, and Billy goes on his way.

When he first started staying in the big brown house on Belmont Street, Billy spent his lonely days investigating the sluts’ bedrooms one by one. It was fun to dig around aimlessly, poking through their dirty clothes and their garbage cans, until he would hear a noise and scrambled back up the attic.

In those early days, he did his best to be extra cautious; no matter how badly he wanted to, he never took any panties with him back to the attic and he never messed with their beds. He knew that if they found out he was looking through their rooms, they’d chase him out. He wanted to stay with all of you in the big brown whorehouse.

Your room was the last room he explored, it being the closest to the staircase to the main floor. Standing in front of your door for the first time, he had no way of knowing how much you would change him.

The smell in your room was intoxicating. It was sweet, like pretty flowers in a crystal vase. It soaked into your messy sheets, which he stumbled towards excitedly, and he buried his face against the indent where your body must have been. He breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering shut, then moaned. Was he already getting hard?

Again, he breathed in deeply, moving so that he was laying on the bed. You smelled so good, whoever you were. He wished that he could put a face to this smell. Wished he could imagine whose pussy he’d fuck while you rubbed your pretty scent all over him.

His jeans were tight and pushing his dick down against the mattress made him moan again. Sitting straight, he crawled up the bed and dropped down with his head against your pillows. The smell was even stronger here, and he shoved his face into the soft white cushion as far as it could go.

He was definitely hard now, pressing against the unforgiving denim. He undid his pants and let himself free. Breathing in deeply, he wrapped his hand just around the tip of his cock and squeezed.

“Pretty pig,” he whispered, lips moving against the wet spot already forming on the pillow. He tried to slurp up some of his drool, but his heavy breathing made it pointless. It didn’t matter to him either way.

He fisted his cock a few times, but his hand was dry even with the leaking fluid that gathered at his slit. As he breathed in your pillow, his mind began to wander; he pictured your pretty imaginary head against these pillows every night, rubbing your smell on them. You had pressed your cheek to these pillows, your hair, maybe even your lips. These pillows were like your face, Billy concluded. He wanted to fuck your face.

After that point, he’d made it a habit to visit your room almost every day. It was your fault, really. You shouldn’t smell so good, shouldn’t have such soft pillows, shouldn’t be such a perfect pretty pig slut.

Today, he opens your door, just like he had done yesterday and like he will do tomorrow, and shuts it behind him.

Walking to your bed, he passes by your dresser. He can see right away your bottle of perfume, the one you put on whenever you came from your shower. He knows from experience that it tastes like shit, but it must be something about you that makes the chemically fluid become so delicious. He wants to lick the smell off of you. Wants to suck it out with his mouth.

He’s quick today. He hasn’t eaten much food this past week and he’s eager to dig into the kitchen, but this is more important. If someone came home early, he’d much rather go to sleep hungry than having missed you.

Putting the pillow towards the middle of the bed, he straddles it before pulling his cock out. After a few strokes, he’s hard enough to rub against you. He pictures your face, pretty and blushy. He pictures your glasses too, how they’d get knocked off while he rubbed his cock against your cheek.

It’s so good, and Billy’s mind swims. He’s fucking your face, your mouth, your thighs, your pussy. He’s rubbing his cock on your shoulder and your arm. He’s getting his leaky clear fluid on your hair and on your thigh. His drool makes your tits shiny. The pillow is so soft against the tip of his cock, and he humps it like a dirty dog. Dirty Billy.

But even with how good it is, it isn’t enough anymore. He’s had this fantasy for weeks now, and he needs to cum more than he wants to live. With shaky legs, he stands and wanders the room, searching in the usual spots. He opens your white laundry hamper and sees them immediately. With a little smile at the corners of his lips, he takes your panties and smells them. You must have worn these all day yesterday. He licks at the little strip of cotton where your cunt would have been. His cock twitches.

“Pig cunt,” he mutters sharply, waddling back to the bed. His cock is rock hard and jutting out from his opened pants, and he’s quick to press it against your pillow again. As he rocks his hips, he puts your panties to his mouth and nose and breaths in.

It only takes a few more thrusts against the pillow before he’s coming, and he’s quick to drop the pretty pink panties to his cock to catch his hot white cum. It’s so messy and sticky, and a couple drops still land on your cushion anyways. He needs a minute to catch his breath, and he rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling.

He had done the same thing his first time too, mind pleasantly fuzzy after his orgasm. He had stared at the wooden ceiling and thought about how this was your view every night. Maybe one day, you could both lay here and stare at the ceiling together. Back then, he was so lost in his daydream that he almost missed the hole between the floorboards just above the bed. Almost.

His life changed so much the day he met you.

Standing after a few calming moments, he flips the pillow onto its other side and drops it back at the head of your bed. Next, the panties go into your hamper, and then he fixes his pants. His stomach growls angrily and he sighs as he pats it.

Claude follows him to the kitchen.

“It’s for you,” Clare says, holding the phone out to you as you pass by. “He said he’s from your orgo class.”

There’s only one guy who calls you about organic chemistry. You breathe in sharply as you glance at the phone. Not wanting to alarm your friend, you fake a smile and take the handset.

“Thanks,” you say, and watch as Clare walks off. You’re not a child, you tell yourself. You can be brave. You take a calming breath in and out before you hold the phone up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hi,” the Moaner says, laughter making his voice sound so boylike that you wonder how old he is.

“What do you want?” you ask, closing your sweater around you with your free hand. You turn your back to the living room.

He moans obscenely then swallows, the sound so wet and desperate that you wonder what he’s doing to himself.

“You. You pig cunt,” he says, spitting out each word like they’re accusations. He laughs again and you close your eyes.

“What’s your name?” you ask him calmly. He responds with yours instead, and you try not to shake by clenching your sweater even tighter.

“Your name,” you say again, emphasizing the first word. Still, he says yours like he’s proud of it. He laughs, then says it again.

“Cut that out,” you snap at him. “This isn’t fair. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“What’s the change in enthalpy?” he whispers.

“I’m going to hang up if you don’t tell me,” you threaten. He groans, but it doesn’t sound pleasured anymore. It’s as if he’s in pain. Or, your mind supplies unhelpfully, he’s the sort that likes them at the same time. You sigh heavily, both at him and your overactive imagination.

“What’s the change in enthalpy? Pig slut. I’m gonna, gonna stick my tongue up your pig cunt,” he mutters into your ear.

“No, you won’t,” you say dismissively. You regret it immediately as the line goes dead. Even when he wasn’t talking, you could hear him and his mouth, breathing and licking and moaning. Now, it was silent. “Hello?” you say after a long stretch of silence.

“Filthy Billy,” he says finally.

“Is that your name? Billy?” you say, straightening up a bit. He moans then, and you have no doubt that one is from pleasure. “You’re disgusting, Billy.”

“Disgusting Billy,” he mumbles back, panting and moaning and slurping at his lips. Why are you feeling so hot all of a sudden? You clench your thighs and look over your shoulder.

“You talk a lot, Billy. You make a lot of promises,” you whisper into the handset.

“Gon- gonna suck your piggy clit,” he mumbles, so sweet that your stomach flutters with butterflies.

“No, Billy. I don’t think you’re brave enough,” you goad.

“Gonna lick it,” he groans, stretching out each word and letting you hear every syllable. “Piggy cunt. Stick my tongue up your pretty pussy.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say, gulping. You’re still trying to stay brave, but you can’t understand the warmth in your belly.

“You want my fat cock, you cunt,” he snaps at you, cutting off the end of your sentence.

“Do you know where I live, Billy?” you ask suddenly. The line goes dead again. You didn’t know you were so good at shutting him up. “If you want me so bad, come and get me.”

You slam the handset down and half expect it to start ringing again. It’s quiet, even after a minute. Feeling satisfied, you nod at the phone and head back to the living room. You sure showed him.

The hallway is black as pitch, and Billy stands in front of your bedroom door. The house is filled with the sounds of sleeping, all except for your room. An orangey light shines through between the door and the floor. He can hear the scratchy sound of a pencil on paper, and the occasional sigh from your lips.

He can’t believe he’s so close to you, and his cock twitches in anticipation. Already, he can smell your flowery crystal scent from here.

He doesn’t knock. Quiet as a mouse, he turns the doorknob slowly and eases the door open. Staring through the newly made crack, he can see that your back is to the door, head hunched down over the textbooks on your desk. Carefully, he steps inside and shuts the door behind him.

Billy knows the creaky floorboards to avoid as he makes his way behind you, and he’s so close that he could touch your hair with the tip of his finger if he held his arm out straight. He waits there for a while before you realize you’re being watched.

“Fuck!” you squeak, jumping in your seat before turning to face your intruder. Books and pens clatter to the floor and a sheet of paper is crumpled in your hand. Your eyes are so wide and beautiful as you stare at him.

You’re shaking. Billy wants to fuck you and cum on your face and your ass and your slit. He wants to lick it, lick it, lick it.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“You- you.” With trembling hands, you let go of the paper and push your hair out of your face. You can’t seem to speak, your lips moving with words you don’t say.

“It’s me, Billy,” he says, shaking too. It’s so hard to hold himself back, and his fingers are so scratchy with his need to touch you. “Agnes.”

“I’m not Agnes,” you respond, staring back at him from your seat.

“I’m here, Agnes,” he says quietly.

“That’s not my name,” you say again. When you stand, Billy takes a half step backwards.

“That’s not my name,” he responds, unconsciously matching your pitch. He lets out a shuddering breath.

Your smell was everywhere, so much stronger with you in the room. It wasn’t just a vase of flowers anymore; your smell was like an overgrown garden, with dirt and honeysuckles and animals.

Your name falls from his lips without his brain’s permission, and he feels kind of like how he was supposed to feel when he went to church as a kid.

“Billy,” you say softly in return, and Billy has to swallow noisily or he might drool past his lips.

“I found you,” he says, and he makes fists against his thighs.

“You did.” Even though your voice was quiet, you didn’t sound scared anymore. Billy glanced down at your body and saw that you were already wearing your night dress, made with white flowy cotton that danced and twirled with every step you took towards your bed; Billy watched helplessly as you sat down on the edge of it.

Billy’s breath was ragged, and he felt like he had been running for miles. Here you were, looking up at him with your pretty eyes and your pretty hair. Pretty pussy, pretty pig cunt that he wants to fill with his hot cum until it oozes out, lazy and slow. He tries to lick his lips, but he can’t stop panting like a dog. He should be used to this; he’s watched you from this exact same spot up in the attic. He’s already cummed on you.

He should have known from his calls with you, it was your attention that made him lose his mind. He’s about ready to scream out loud when you hold out your hand to him.

“Come here,” you whisper. Billy stares at your hand, then at your face. Pretty face. He steps forward like he’s falling.

You lead him to sit beside you, and Billy can feel your heat pressing along his leg where you touch him. He stares down where his rough denim meets your white dress. He doesn’t jump when you put your hand on the side of his face.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Billy,” you say. Billy drags his eyes up to you. You’re so close. He breaths through his nose. You stand, leaving Billy on the bed, and you don’t take your hand off him until he’s out of your reach.

In front of him, you pull your dress up and over your head. Billy blinks. You’re naked.

“Not so talkative now, huh?” you say with a little smile. Billy’s eyes are so wide as he takes you in. He wishes he could take a picture like this. Wishes he could take the picture with him back to the attic so he can cum on it one million times and stroke your face with his thumb. “Take off your sweater, Billy.”

Billy breaths in and out a few times to catch his breath.

“Don’t pussy out now. What happened to dirty Billy?” you taunt.

“Filthy Billy,” he mumbles, and he has to lick his lips. Sitting like this, he’s at eyelevel with your soft stomach, and he wants to pull you close to kiss his way down to your pussy. He wants to part your pussy lips with his tongue and trace it all the way up until it hits your clit. He wants to rip you apart and live inside your tight wet heat.

“Show me how filthy you are,” you whisper, taking a step closer to him. Billy groans, hearing the wet click of your pussy as you moved. Shaking, he lifts his sweater over his head and throws it to the floor. When you sit beside him again, he can feel your soft warm arm against his own.

Billy gulps and stares down at your lap, because if he looks into your eyes, he might wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until your face turns blue. He digs his fingers into his denim-covered thigh.

“It’s okay, Billy,” you murmur and take his hand. “Can I kiss you?”

“You can suck my cock,” he mumbles helplessly. He smacks his lips like he’s dying of thirst and laughs softly. He can’t stomach looking at you.

“You’re such a pervert,” you tell him, like he doesn’t already know. Filthy, disgusting Billy.

“Wanna put my tongue up your piggy cunt,” he says, but he can’t touch you yet. You let out a hot breath, and he can feel it on his shoulder. He shudders and presses his mouth closed.

“Take off your pants,” you whisper. It’s a secret, and a dirty one.

Billy can’t move fast enough. His hands are still shaking as he opens his pants, and he stands for just long enough to pull them down with his underwear. His cock is hard, and it lolls against his thigh when he sits again. He can feel your eyes on his face still.

“Can I kiss you, Billy?”

He nods and keeps nodding even when you cup his face and pull him in for a gentle kiss. He only stops when he feels your tongue on his bottom lip, and his cock drools against his overheated skin. He whines against you and presses his forehead against yours while he takes a shaking inhale.

“Lay down with me,” you say quietly, putting your warm milky creamy hand on his chest.

“Wanna suck-“ Billy swallows thickly, gasping his breaths again. “Wanna suck your clit.”

“Lay on your back,” you say, more insistent as you push him onto his back. Again, his cock bobs with the movement and settles flat on his stomach. Billy lets a broken groan come from his throat as your hand moves lower on his torso. You shush him, and the sounds sends a chill down his spine, like icy spiders.

“You’ll wake my sisters up,” you tell him, lips brushing against his ear.

“I’ll lick their cunts too,” he whispers back. He tries to look at you from the corner of his eye, but it’s like looking at the sun. His head hurts being this close to you, and the smell is like being drunk. When you smile, he looks away.

“What about me?” you ask, and Billy feels your hand on the shaft of his cock. He chokes on his spit and coughs, turning on his side away from you. He laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“S-slut,” he says, slowly going onto his back again.

“You’re mean.” Billy watches you get onto your knees beside him. “You talk so much, Billy.”

He moans when you turn yourself around and swing your leg over him, and all he can see is your pussy – pretty, pink, and so creamy for him. His hands move on instinct and wrap around your thighs, pulling you flush to his face.

There’s no point in wasting time, not when his heart and his cock are competing on which could throb the hardest. The sound of his tongue against your wet slit is terrible and it makes him feel like he’s drowning. He can’t help but moan, letting his tongue trace along your meaty folds before burying deep inside your cunt.

You’re making sounds too, but Billy hardly cares. This was what he had been dreaming about for so long. He wasn’t just dirty pervert Billy who made empty promises. He was Billy who takes. Billy who isn’t afraid to be seen. Billy who can be brave when he wants to be.

Still, he nearly shouts when he feels your lips on the tip of his cock.

“So good, Billy, that’s so good,” you’re whispering, but everything is so loud between your legs. His breaths echo, and everything is so fucking wet. He can feel your slick on his cheeks and on his chin, and every move of his tongue clicks against your needy fuckhole.

His cock feels tight, like it’s going to fall off, but then you wrap your lips around him and swallow him down so far that your nose touches his balls. He tightens his grip on your thighs until you cry out against him, your wet hot mouth vibrating against him.

It’s more perfect than Billy could have imagined, feeling your cunt clench around his tongue as he fucks it in and out of you. He wants more of you, wants you dead so he can take you without having to talk to you, wants you alive to hear your voice. He wants to fuck his cock so far down your throat you suffocate. He wants to make you cum again and again until you’re beginning him to stop.

“Love you,” he tries to say, but it sounds mangled against your cunt. He kisses your pretty piggy pussy lips and feels like maybe he’s turned into a pillow, with the way you ride on his face.

Maybe that’s all he is, maybe he’s so messed up in his brain because he’s a pillow that turned human. Maybe he’s only meant to be your thing to hump against, to sleep on, to get your smell all over before washing it. Billy thinks it would be nice to roll around in a clothes dryer.

Your lips are soft against his hot swollen cock, and he bucks wildly when you wrap a hand around his base and suck at his tip. He grunts into your fleshy cunt, nose bumping against your folds before returning his tongue to its rightful place. But, from the bottom, there’s not much he can do but take – take your mouth on his cock, and take your cunt on his mouth.

He doesn’t last long, but he never does when he can help it. He could have probably come from eating your pussy alone; at least he would have lasted longer. He bucks into your mouth, but your firm grip at his base keeps him from gagging you. He shoots his cum in your mouth instead, and he feels you swallowing around the tip of his cock. Even when he’s finished, you suck like you’re trying to get more out.

“Slut,” he tries to moan, and he sounds wretched. He holds onto your thighs still as you move more frantically on top of him. When you sit up, your press your cunt even harder against his face and he stabs his tongue deeper than before.

Billy makes a depraved noise, a mix between a groan and a choking cough, as you clench down tight around him like you’ll rip his tongue straight out of his mouth. He’d let you, he thinks desperately, he’ll let you take his cock too if you want it. You can sleep on him and hump him and use him however you want.

Your legs shake as you clench down again, and then you collapse forward, pussy lifting off of his face enough to see it quivering and sopping wet. Mindlessly, he picks up his head and leans forward to lick at it some more, broad strokes from your clit up to you blinking hole. He laps at it until you’re quiet, and then laps some more until you lift your hips too far for him to reach.

Rolling off him, he’s suddenly exposed to your chilly bedroom air, and he longs desperately for you to cover him again. If he wasn’t so cum-dumb, he might’ve tried to pull you back on him again. Instead, he watches you from the corner of his vision as you lay down, shoulders touching his.

“Wanna spend the night?” you whisper once you catch your breath. He shakes his head, still panting out loud. He’s not sure if his heart will ever slow down again.

“At least stay for a little while,” you say. You touch his hand gently. He wants to snatch it away on instinct, but a moment passes, and he’s surprised that he likes it. His hand is limp as you wrap yours around it.

“Are you gonna keep calling?” you murmur. It feels like one of those questions that has a right answer, but Billy doesn’t even know where to start. He tells the truth instead, and nods.

“Pretty… pretty cunt,” he says, letting go of your hand to brush along your thigh towards your cunt. He touches your clit with his sticky finger, and you jolt like you were struck by lightning.

“That’s too much,” you whine. Billy lets his hand rest on your lower stomach instead, feeling your scratchy hairs against his palm.

You’re quiet for a while before you say, “If you’re gonna call, I don’t want you to talk to the other girls like that. I don’t want you to sleep with them.”

Billy lets out a shaky breath and drags his hand up your stomach, watching your nipples pebble in anticipation.

“My piggy,” he says.

“Mean,” you respond. He faces the ceiling again, hand falling off you and resting on the messy sheets again.

You lay together, shoulders touching, and knees bent over the edge of the bed. Billy imagines watching himself. How does he look next to you. Probably like nothing. The Billy in the attic wouldn’t even be looking at himself – he knows he wouldn’t take his eyes off of you for even a second.

And he doesn’t, once he finally gets dressed and leaves without another word for his attic; he watches you all night, your smell on his fingers and his face, your flowery perfume on his clothes.

In the morning, he hears your housemate sluts laugh at you and ask who came over last night. You don’t say anything when the loud annoying one asks if it’s your new boyfriend. No, Billy wants to say, he’s something even better than a boyfriend. He’s your pillow, and you’re his pig.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ──── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

:D i had a lot of fun writing this !! hope you guys enjoy it

reblogs are greatly appreciated !!!!!

#billy lenz x reader #black christmas (1974)#billy lenz #slasher x reader #slashers #₊*. ⋆༘ — uli writes

332 notes · View notes