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arcielee · 7 months

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Lazy Sunday

Summary: Billy enjoys a lazy Sunday with you. Paring: Billy Washington x Female!Reader Word Count: 1655 Warnings: Comfort fic with some smutty smut, oral (f receiving). Author's Note: My first time writing for Billy is dedicated to the wonderful, the talented @helaelaemond. Thank you for answering all my questions ranging from the judicial system to what kind of underwear he would wear. I hope you enjoy this! Beta read by the wonderful @sylasthegrim 💜 Dividers by @saradika 💜

Billy was already awake, enjoying the gray morning and its muted light spilling through the sunblinds, the soft pitapats of raindrops on the glass window. You were bare and curled against him, your leg thrown over and threaded between his, your arm draped across his abdomen and hand rested against his hip bone.

He relished in your touch, the comfortable warmth and softness of your skin that melded so perfectly against his lean frame. He would argue that he was too skinny, but you had never minded, your arms wrapping around his slender waist and laying your head on his chest to feel the low thrum of his heartbeat beneath.

Now in the quiet of the morning, the only movement was his fingers drawing lazy designs along your spine; the unbeknownst prickle of your skin and the wake of goosebumps that followed his gentle touch, your subtle rise and fall with your breathing and the overall simplicity of this moment began to knit its way into his memory, another he would tuck away with the others, with his utmost affection.

You hummed awake and shifted to press a kiss to his chest before pulling back, bringing your hand to itch your nose from where his chest hair tickled. “Good morning,” you said with the last remnants of sleep dripping from your syllables, “have you been up long?”

“No,” Billy lied.

And you knew it was a lie. You immediately pulled further back to meet with his eyes; they were usually bright, but seemed solemn with the gray lighting. “Did you have the dream again?”

It had not been said out loud, but Billy loved you, truly. You were his saving grace personified, coming into his life in the wake of the consecutive wrecked events–his blatant stupidity and arrest, after the threat on Cranstead field, after the magistrate showed mercy out of respect for his sister’s service and he was given a suspended sentence as well as community service to make amends.

This was how he first met you, by happenstance. Your watch was weary the first time he slinked into the coffeehouse, but you soon learned he was harmless. Billy made it a routine to visit after his hours logged for the day or the mandated therapy sessions he attended; he would ask for a coffee and seven sugars, and eventually you would have it ready, waiting for his arrival.

He found it easy to talk with you, and you had an ability to see his potential, but without a nagging criticism; you had a sharp wit to bring things to his perspective, but allowed him the breakthrough at his own pace.

“You need to heal for yourself, Billy,” you would often remind him.

And he did just that. The mandated therapy was an unknown godsend, allowing him to purge his mind of the poison, the corruption that came from before. He strived to be the good man you swore him to be, until it was no longer your sweet mantra repeated, but an actuality.

Billy was still far from perfection, something you both were well aware of. Some nights the terrors of what happened hung heavy in the shadows, but he would wake with your gentle touch, your soothing tone that brought him back to reality. You would remind him that healing was a process and you proved to be limitless with your patience with him.

And this was why he loved you.

Billy hummed. “I did not,” and this time you knew he was telling the truth. The murky cobalt of his eyes settled on you, a mischievous glimmer that brightened the blue of them as he shifted his weight to kiss you. “I have only been appreciating,” he spoke with an emphasis, littered between his sloppy kisses, “admiring what is mine.”

You squirmed in his hold, your cheeks flushed from his timbre that tickles your skin. “And what exactly do you think belongs to you?”

He paused for a moment and you saw the furrow set between his brows, the flicker of recognition to the challenge presented with your tone. “Allow me to show you,” he murmured with a warm exhale that made your skin rise in response, shifting to climb on top of you.

You could not help your smile, your hands quick to cover your face but he pushed off to follow, catching your wrist with his hand wrapping around, his fingers overlapping. Billy was careful to pull it away, leaning closer for a sweet kiss. “Let me show you,” he repeated with a whisper against your lips and the blood coursed to your features as he began to move lower.

His mouth was hot with the trail of kisses towards your core, the occasional pause to suckle and his admiration of the love mark that bloomed behind. Your skin rose with your shudder, your nipples pebbling with the contrast of his soft lips to the scruff that lined his prominent jaw.

You sighed with your smile, moving your legs, knees bent and legs parted for his broad shoulders; Billy fit between, his large hands following the outside of your thighs and resting on the slope with a hold that dimpled your skin, until his fingertips touched your hip bones.

His sandy blond hair spilled when he dipped forward to press an intimate kiss and your back arched in response.

“It tickles,” you gasped.

Billy hummed again and you felt the low vibration against your cunt. “Let me,” he murmured, one hand releasing its hold on your hip and moving between. His long and slender fingers pressed against your folds to allow his tongue to run its velvet length.

You shuddered from it and could feel his satisfied grin, his warm exhale now on the wetness pooling between your thighs. He had always been attentive to your every sound and your visceral reaction seemed to fuel his ministrations, pressing for his tongue to lave the bundle of nerves above; another shuddered breath wretched from you, from the pleasure that fluttered the length of your spine and back.

Billy mimics the patience you show him outside the bed you shared; he shifted again, his fingers almost fluttering, a gentle prod at your entrance until one curls within and with purpose. His finger fucks your slowly, searching, and his eyes watch you carefully, waiting to see.

In the beginning, you had always shied from him. Billy would bring you close with his repeated plea against your skin, “Let me learn,” and eventually you opened to his touch.

Now he added a second digit to his purposeful curl within you and you mewled his name. Billy leaned between your thighs, his tongue flitting to tease your clit and meeting with the tandem of his touch, pulling you towards the precipice of your building release.

Your pleasure was scalding as it poured into your bloodstream, pressing against your seams. “Billy,” you gasped again and his touch is careful and precise, continuing this rhythm, already aware of the fluttering of your velvet walls.

“Yes, good girl,” a rasped praise before his tongue flattened against your clit to continue to draw your pleasure coursing your veins, rushing back towards your heart fluttering with your release. Colors sparked bright against the grays of the bedroom and after a moment, your breathing began to relax and you, once again, can feel Billy grinning against your cunt, still two knuckles deep in your pulsing heat that synchronized with your heartbeat.

Your head sinks into the pillows. “Billy,” is all you can manage with another sweet sigh, melting against the mattress, almost drunk from your climax.

And he moved forward until his swollen lips pressed fully against the bloom above, another intimate kiss that jolted through you. “Billy,” you yelped, your warning paired with a blissful smile, quick to bring your legs together on both sides of his face, “I will crush you.”

His cheeky grin is smooshed in the vice of your thighs, his long arm coming around to lewdly clean his fingers; you cannot help but bite your bottom lip, blushing at the sight he makes.

“Believe me when I say there are worse ways to go,” is all he offered, breaking through and climbing back on top of you.

Your fingers combed through the mess of his hair, holding the sharp edges of his face that always seemed to soften with your touch, the flush of rose that spilled onto his cheeks and the glisten of your peak on his lips and chin. There is a new emotion that teeters towards the edge of your tongue, something that you have felt for Billy for some time now, something that was still new for you; you swallowed the emotion and instead kissed him, relishing in the taste of yourself as his clever tongue curled into your mouth.

You could not help the soft moan that spilled. “Billy, let’s not leave this bed today.”

Already you can feel him, the heady heat straining against the loose boxers that hung on his hips, heavy against the inside of your thigh. His arms are bent and propped on both sides of you, caging you against the mattress, and he watched you for a moment before leaning in for another kiss; it was slower this time, as if he meant to draw the very breath from your lungs.

“There is nowhere else I would rather be,” his shy admittance fanned your cheeks and you can see the brilliant blue showing bright in his eyes again.

“Good,” you grinned. “There better not be.”

And Billy paused for a moment. You see his knitted brow, just the flicker of grim that washed over his sharp features. “There isn’t,” he insisted. He pulled back, his large palms moved to stacked beneath the natural slope of your breasts, his chin resting on top to hold your gaze. “I mean that.”

And you know he does.

Taglist [Tumblr kindred spirits]: @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @aemondx @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass [YOUR BILLY STARTED THIS 💜] @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @itbmojojoejo @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire

arcie's masterlist

#just a comfort fic #billy washington #billy x you #billy x reader #trigger point #but post cranstead field #lazy sunday #with the pussy eating king #as per ellie's fanon #two idiots in love #but they haven't said it yet

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