After Crawling Around, He Grabs A Chair And Throws It At The Police With Precision.

After crawling around, he grabs a chair and throws it at the police with precision.🫣❤️‍🔥🪑🪑🪑🪑

kinktober day 2 - voyeurism (billy lenz)

gonna slap a cw for dubcon/noncon on this one folks - reader knows/is heavily implied to know what billy's doing, but there's a third party who is unaware. if that's not cool with you here's yr warning ✌️ also some billy-typical violent thoughts, not directed @ reader tho

Billy doesn’t know whether he loves or hates nights like this.  

On the one hand, he gets to see you — all of you. He sees you all the time - in your room, in the shower, in every state of dress or undress - but there's a side of you that doesn't come out when you're alone, only when you've got some pretty, desperate thing spread and whining on the bed beneath you. He knows what you sound like whispering gentle praise or snarling insults. He knows the line that forms in your brow when you're fucking into someone on their knees and the grin you wear watching them bounce on your lap. They might warm your bed for the night, but he's seen parts of you they never will. 

On the other hand, Billy hates watching you fuck someone else. You bring a stranger home at least once a week now — never the same person twice. None of them deserve it. None of them know you like he does; none of them have seen you like he has. It should be him in your bed. 

The sound of a stranger’s voice in your hallway makes his throat burn with jealousy, hissing curses through his teeth and tugging at the roots of his hair as he paces furious and lightfooted around your attic. But all the same, when he hears the soft click of your closing door, he’s flattening himself to the floor so he can stare through the crack in your ceiling, a t-shirt he’d snagged from your dirty laundry clenched in his white-knuckled fist. 

The boy you've brought home tonight is tall and muscular, with straight blond hair and blue eyes like a china doll, which is annoying. Billy likes it better when you bring home people that resemble him, that have his messy curls and skinny build. He can pretend that you're seeking them out because they look like him, that it's your secret signal; you know him, you've seen him, you want him. Still, he shoves a hand between his thighs and grinds into his palm as you bend low to sink your teeth into a suntanned throat, huffing deep lungfuls of your sweat through the fabric pressed to his nose. His stomach roils, jealousy sour on his tongue. 

You're already naked, straddling the stranger's lap, grinding and rolling, making him let out pathetic little keens. Billy likes the sounds he makes even though he wants to bleed him like a pig for being under you, in his place. He's responsive, pliant beneath your hands. Knows how to behave. Billy likes that. He'd behave for you, if you'd let him; he’d try so so hard to be good and you’d never call him nasty or filthy or bad. He whines into the drool-soaked cotton over his mouth, fucking into his hand and imagining licking the sheen of sweat off the nape of your neck. 

You’re talking to the boy beneath you, low and sweet — he can hear the smile in your voice. Two fingers are buried in his throat down to the last knuckle, pulsing in and out at the same pace you buck your hips. He makes wet, choked noises around the intrusion and Billy echoes the sound, eyes rolling in his skull at your satisfied coo. 

“There we go, baby,” you purr before tugging at the blond’s jaw, spitting into his mouth. He swallows without a second thought, presents his tongue for more. Billy moans, nearly sobbing, throbbing with envy. He worries your shirt between his teeth, panting furiously through his nose and watching the boy gag and cry around your fingers. “So pretty. My puppy loves this, doesn't he?” 

Puppy. That’s new. He likes it.

"Good puppy. T-Take Billy home, take Billy," he slurs, fluctuating somewhere between your voice and his own. Your movements grow frenzied below him, bouncing on the blond's lap with abandon. He can hear the wet sounds your bodies make together, slick and obscene beneath your soft panting and the boy's pitchy moans. “Billy’s a good dog. W-Wanna be your pretty puppy, piggy's pretty puppy.”   

“Come on, come on,” you gasp. Your head lolls back, hazy eyes fixed on the ceiling beneath your fluttering lashes. There’s a determined tilt to your kiss-bruised mouth, a furrow of concentration between your brows. “Let me hear you, puppy.” 

Billy comes with a yowl only barely muffled by the shirt pressed to his face, so hard his vision flashes white, skull blessedly empty if only for a moment. When he comes to, his face is tacky with tears, a puddle of saliva cooling on the floorboards beneath his cheek; his thighs are soaked with cum, a dark stain on the front of his trousers. It makes him feel gross, filthy, which of course he is. He wiggles his hand free with a hiss as he brushes the oversensitive flesh of his cock, lifting it to his face and suckling at his sticky fingers. 

The blond boy is in your lap when he focuses through the crack again, resting on your thighs with a dazed smile as you lift a glass of water to his lips. You run your nails through the short hair at the nape of his neck and Billy burns, a whimper escaping around his thumb. Unfair that this stranger gets to lay on your soft, warm thighs, while Billy has to roll around in filth on the cold attic floor. He imagines wrapping his hands around the boy's long neck and squeezing 'til the whites of his eyes turn bright cherry red. It makes him feel a little better.

Once the glass is empty, you pull him up and out of your room; Billy knows you can't stand going to bed sweaty. Limp and weary, he scans the room for any trophies — and lights up at the scrap of red fabric he can see peeking out from your tangled sheets. He can see the slick that stains it from his peephole, a giddy, girlish giggle cracking out of him. Silently, he creeps towards the trapdoor, ready to scurry downstairs as soon as you're distracted in the shower. 

You're usually careful not to leave your underwear lying around. It must be Billy’s lucky day.

In 2024 Halloween is NOT about dressing up and getting drunk anymore. It is about having strange gay sex covered in blood!!!!!

'It's me, Billy' is pretty dang good, and I think there's a sequel coming this year. It's a fanfilm, but the director also shares our disdain for the existing remakes . I think there's a part 2 coming this year.

Instead of more fast and furious movies

They should make more “black Christmas “ movies

Because the remakes are ass

Give me a sequel to the original.

I don't know what I was on here

I'm falling down a pipeline where I think the Joker is cool.

Could someone come assassinate me please?

I just realized that my user name is what it is because I made this account intending it to be a Johnathan Crane appreciation blog.

And then I started reblogging slasher smut.