dreamland (bill skarsgard one shots)

35. fire of his loins - willard russell

WARNING: 18+ sexual content, daddy kink, possessive willard, violence

↭

Willard Russell was an honest, hardworking man. He did all that he could to ensure that his precious girl was taken care of, that she didn't have to worry about a thing.

Of course, that was mostly wishful thinking. Growing up in a poor household in the backwoods of West Virginia hadn't given him very steady beginnings, and he'd had to work many odd jobs throughout his life just to put food on the table.

He never complained about it, though. Not once had she ever heard a negative word come out of his mouth about having to work. He dutifully left every day, a lunch she'd prepared for him in hand, with the promise that he'd return that evening. And he always did, oftentimes exhausted out of his mind and aching all over from the hard labor.

But she was always there to take care of him. She kept him well fed, well loved, and well fucked. In short, Willard had finally found that semblance of happiness he'd always been searching for. It had come in the form of a good woman who loved him unconditionally.

He was fiercely protective of her. Sometimes to a fault. But he would never let anyone speak poorly of her, and he certainly wouldn't do it himself. He only spoke good things of her, and never let himself air out their dirty laundry to other people.

In such a small community, word traveled fast. He didn't want the old ladies who were part of his mother's quilting circle gossiping about his wife.

She respected him equally. Their trust in each other was mutual - they had one another's backs, and that was all that mattered.

When it came down to it, Willard would stop at nothing to defend and protect her. He tried to keep unsavory company away from their home for that very reason, but there were times when it simply couldn't be helped.

This day in particular, he was gearing up to head off on a hunting trip with a few of the men who lived in the community. Some of them were childhood friends of Willard's. Others were distant relatives. But many of these men were not good, Christian company. They were gamblers, alcoholics, and abusers.

Willard tried to keep her away from them, because he didn't want her subjected to their brazen stares. He also didn't want to end up beating the shit out of them. He refrained for her sake, because he knew it upset her when he let his temper get the best of him. He'd been trying to work on it, so he was doing all that he could to keep things calm.

However, his resolve to remain nonviolent would soon be forgotten.

They were all out back behind the Russell household, planning out their hunting route. A few of them had brought jugs of moonshine to drink, and everyone else was either smoking or chewing snuff.

"Hey Russell, you still got that old Beretta of your'n? The one Earskell gave ya?" Asked one of the men, known as Stort.

Willard nodded, letting out wisps of smoke after he took a drag from his cigarette. "Sure do. None of ya can use it though, it's my best hunting rifle," he replied.

"Aw c'mon, you still got that other 16 gauge that works just fine," Earl piped up, one of the older men in the group.

"You just wanna fuck up my chances of gettin' that big ole turkey that's been running around these parts," Willard shot back. "I ain't falling for it. That gun is like my own lucky rabbit's foot. It stays with me on this trip."