#trigger point

[myfandomprompts]

#for science

[hoosbandewan]

EVERY EWAN MITCHELL ROLE — Billy Washington in Trigger Point (2022)

[dreaming-for-an-escape]

Where’s the lie though?

[thecruel]

TRIGGER POINT 1.02

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Lonely This Christmas

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Dark and obsessive behaviour, stalking, smut, dubious consent. Word count: ~4.5k

Summary: On a rare occasion when her and Billy both find themselves home for Christmas at the same time, they admit they've always fancied each other. However, as things develop between them, she soon realises that for Billy it's something much more sinister than a harmless crush. Based on this request.

Author's note: For my darling @heimtathurs. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She walks up the pathway to the front door, the combination of the bitter cold and the handles of the plastic carrier bag cutting into her flesh causing her fingers to sting painfully. The cans in the bag clank noisily against each other as she jostles it from one hand to the other, raising her fist to knock at the door. Her breath comes in hot, cloudy puffs as she shifts from foot to foot, relief flooding through her as she sees the silhouette of her best friend, Lana, appear through the glass in the door.

“Let me in then!” She grumbles, pushing past and handing Lana the bag, once the door is open. “It’s bloody freezing out there!”

It’s December 23rd, and time for her and Lana’s annual tradition of Christmas Eve Eve film night - a ritual that they’ve managed to keep alive since they first met in secondary school, though as the years have passed their taste in films has matured and they can now sit and openly drink beer, instead of needing to sneak a bottle of MD 20:20 back and forth between them beneath a duvet, like they did as teenagers.

The location never changes - always at Lana’s parents’ house - even now that she’s moved out, she always comes home for two weeks over the festive period, and like clockwork the two of them sit on the sofa the evening before Christmas Eve and stare at the TV until they can no longer keep their eyes open.

She shrugs off her coat as she moves through the hallway, into the living room, the warmth from the central heating causing her skin to prickle with the pleasant rise in temperature. Rolling her eyes as she spies the DVD case for Die Hard on the coffee table, she sits heavily down on the sofa, kicking her shoes off and tucking her legs beneath her.

“We watched this last year,” she says to Lana, who follows a few paces behind, having deposited the contents of the bag into the fridge in the kitchen, “It’s not even a Christmas film!”

“It’s set at Christmas, so it’s a Christmas film,” Lana shoots back, handing her a can of Stella, before flopping down beside her and cracking open her own. “And Bruce Willis in that vest? I’m gripped.”

She snorts a laugh, opening her own beer and taking a deep sip, enjoying the way the coolness of the bitter liquid fizzes against her tongue.

“How’ve you been anyway? Your mum and dad not in?”

Lana swallows and pokes at the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “Nah, they’re out for the evening, think they could use a break since face-ache moved back in. I’ve only been back here a few days and he’s already doing my head in.”

She feels her cheeks heat up at the mention of Billy. She’d met Lana’s younger brother when he’d started at the same secondary school as them and, although he was a couple of years below them, she’d always thought he was cute. He was tall, if a little on the lanky side, and his floppy blonde hair and big blue eyes instantly attracted her to him. She’d kept the fact that she fancied him to herself though, feeling it was inappropriate to lust after her best mate’s brother, especially a younger brother.

As the years had passed, Billy’s seemingly permanent cheeky smile had faded into a persistent look of misery. He’d done badly at school, left with failing grades and been rejected each time he’d tried to apply to join the army.

Meanwhile, Lana had flourished, leaving school with a handful of As and Bs. She’d enrolled at college, before enlisting in the army and from there her career in the police force had taken off. She’d moved away from home, had a place of her own and had made her parents proud.

Billy, on the other hand, had struggled with chronic unemployment, eventually falling in with an alt right group who had set him up for a potential terrorist attack. He’d barely escaped the explosion on Cranstead Gardens, and had never really pulled himself back together afterwards. His relationship with his long-term girlfriend, Becky, had broken down and he’d moved out of their flat and back in with his parents, where he’d been living for the last six months.

She hasn’t seen Billy since they left school, but Lana tells her all about him whenever they hang out or chat on the phone. She’s always felt strangely protective of him, where Lana and her parents have given Billy a hard time, she has opted for a softer touch, believing he just needs someone to understand him.

“You can’t be so hard on him,” she says, finger pinging against the ringpull of her can absentmindedly, “he’s been through a lot.”

Lana sighs, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s not paying any rent, never tidies up, isn’t bothering to look for work. We can’t help him, he won’t let us, doesn’t wanna help himself.”

“Where is he at the moment?”

“Skulking around upstairs,” Lana nods towards the staircase. “First Christmas he’s not spent at Becky’s mum’s in a long time and he’s taking it…well, I couldn’t tell you how he’s taking it, he never leaves his bloody room.”

She nods sadly, letting the topic go as they settle back into the sofa cushions as the opening credits for Die Hard begin to roll.

“I’m empty,” Lana says around twenty minutes into the film, shaking her beer can. “You want another?”

“It’s alright, I’ll go,” she tell hers, taking her empty and heading towards the kitchen, eager for a break from a film she had no interest in watching last year, let alone again this year.

She chucks the cans into the recycling bin, before opening the fridge and retrieving two more. She yelps as she closes the door, startled by Billy standing there.

“Jesus, Billy–”

“Sorry, sorry…” he mumbles apologetically, a tinge of pink dusting itself across his cheek bones, as he averts his gaze. “Wasn’t tryna scare ya, just came down to make a cuppa.”

She exhales through her nose, a smile tugging at her lips. “S’alright. How are you getting on, anyway? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah…” he says uncertainly, filling the kettle from the sink and then flicking it on to boil. “Guessing you heard what happened then?”

She nods, placing the cans on the side and wiping the condensation off of her hands onto her jeans. “Lana told me. I’m so sorry, Billy, I really hope you’re okay.”

He says nothing for a moment, dropping a tea bag into a mug, followed by a generous pour of milk.

Milk first. Ugh.

“It’s been hard, y’know,” he finally says, “tryna find work, but there’s fuck all out there. What are you up to these days? You’re looking well.”

The sudden shift in focus doesn’t go unnoticed by her, he’s clearly not keen to talk about himself, but she can’t help but smile at the small compliment, feeling herself grow bashful.

“Got a job at a marketing agency,” she tells him, “nothing fancy, but it pays the rent.”

She’s actually a high ranking executive, living in one of the area’s most expensive flat blocks and has a tidy sum saved away for a deposit to eventually buy a place of her own. She’s unsure of why she’s downplaying her achievements, perhaps on some level she feels she owes it to Billy to not rub her success in his face when he’s clearly having a rough time of it.

The kettle boils and Billy fills his mug, stirring the tea bag around with a spoon, before squeezing it out with his fingers, making her wince - that has to burn, but if it does it doesn’t appear to bother him. He discards the used bag on the side, before turning to her. She can see what Lana means about him not tidying up now, it would have taken two steps for him to put it in the bin, and he hasn’t bothered. The laziness almost makes her want to laugh.

“So you and Lana doing your film night then?” He asks, noisily slurping his tea, then fixing her with a soft, yet unblinking gaze.

The intensity of his baby blue eyes flusters her, and for a moment she forgets what he’s asked, feeling the same old butterflies from their school days return. She clears her throat, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the feeling.

“Y-yeah…I’m surprised you remember. You were a teenager the last time we did one of those with you here,” she smiles warmly.

He nods, keeping a hand wrapped around his mug, pushing off of the kitchen side towards her and suddenly she’s aware of just how tall he’s grown, her throat running dry as she feels the kitchen counter bite into her back as she presses herself against it.

She deflates slightly, letting go of a breath she wasn’t aware when she’d been holding, a little disappointed when he brushes past her, lingering in the kitchen doorway.

“I remember,” he says, a ghost of the lopsided smirk she loved so much from their school days playing upon his full lips, “remember what a racket you and Lana used to make pretending you weren’t pissed on that nasty blue stuff.”

She grins, her gaze dropping as she fiddles with the cuff of her jumper sleeve, thinking back to all those years ago. “Sorry, Billy,” she finally says, looking up at him, “we’ll keep it down tonight.”

“No worries, I’ll be upstairs,” he tells her. “Enjoy your film.”

“Billy?” She calls softly after him as he moves to go back upstairs.

He turns, looking at her questioningly.

“You’re looking well too, by the way.”

The dusting of pink that had appeared across his cheekbones earlier now returns in earnest and he gives a simple nod before turning and heading up the stairs.

She deposits his now cold, used teabag into the bin, then grabs hers and Lana’s beers from the side and goes back into the living room.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully, her and Lana finish off Die Hard, then move onto Gremlins.

On the couple of occasions that she goes upstairs to the bathroom she can hear the sound of Billy playing Call of Duty through his closed door. She thinks about knocking to invite him down to join them, but figures if he had wanted to do that he’d have asked in the kitchen, so she leaves it.

They’re halfway through Jingle All the Way when she feels her eyelids start to grow heavy. She leans forward, placing her half drunk can on the coffee table and turns to Lana.

“I’m gonna have to push off home, babe, I can’t keep my eyes open.”

Lana nods, pausing the film and sitting forward with a yawn. “Yeah, should probably get to bed myself. You gonna be alright getting home? Need me to call you a cab?”

“Nah, it’s only down the road, I’ll be fine walking,” she insists as she puts her shoes and coat back on.

“Alright, well, text me when you get home, yeah?” Her friend says, pulling her into a hug.

“Course,” she smiles, hugging her back and heading towards the front door. “Have a great Christmas. See you for New Year’s.”

Lana waves her off and as the front door closes behind her, she’s about to head back down the pathway when the glowing ember of the end of a lit cigarette catches her eye.

She turns to see Billy leaning against the side of the house, smoking a roll up.

“You off?” He asks, exhaling a plume of smoke that’s made larger by the cold that clings to the puff of his breath.

“Yeah. Was good to see you, Billy,” she says, trying to ignore how her pulse races at the way the soft glow of the street lamp illuminates the sharpness of his side profile.

“I’ll give you a lift, if you want?” He offers, crushing his cigarette beneath his foot.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m only twenty minutes down the road,” she says, suddenly feeling awkward, putting her hands in her coat pocket.

“And you could be five minutes down the road if I drive,” he retorts with a smirk.

She sighs, her gaze softening. Not having to walk home in the cold would be nice, actually. “Yeah, go on then.”

Billy walks around to the front door, opens it and fishes around on the key hooks until he has the set he needs. They walk down the road until they reach a red VW Polo and he unlocks it.

“New car?” She asks nonchalantly, having expected to see his old silver Vauxhall Cavalier.

“Nah, this is mum’s. Haven’t had a car since…well…y’know.”

Since it blew up. Fuck, how could she be so thoughtless?!

“Oh god, Billy, I’m so sorry, I–”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, opening the driver’s side door. “Do you mind just giving me a minute before you get in?”

She nods, keeping her hands in her pockets, watching as feels all around the car’s interior, checking inside the glove box and under the seats.

Checking for explosives.

He finally settles behind the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, attempting to calm his breaths.

“Honestly, Billy, I don’t mind walking…” she says quietly.

He looks up at her, as though just remembering she’s there. “No…no, it’s fine. I want to do it. It’s good for me, I have to.”

“Can I get in now?” She asks, giving Billy a reassuring smile.

He nods, and she walks around to the passenger’s side, climbing in and buckling her seatbealt.

Billy starts the car and they drive in silence for a few moments before he finally speaks.

“You must think I’m such a loser,” he mutters, fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

She turns slightly in her seat, shocked by what he’s said. “I’ve never thought you were a loser. Please don’t say that.”

“I’ve got no job, no car, I live with my mum and dad, can’t even drive without needing to check I won’t fucking blow up first,” he scoffs, “don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not!” She protests. “You’ve been through so much, Billy, you need to give yourself a break.”

His lips quirk, he pulls a hand away from the steering wheel to pull at the collar of his t-shirt. “S’not just what happened though, brought it on myself dad says. I’ve always been a loser, ever since school.”

“I never thought you were,” she assures him gently, “I actually really fancied you back then.”

Billy draws in a sudden breath, glancing sideways at her as he pulls up outside of her block of flats.

How does he know where she lives? Lana must have told him.

“And now?” He asks, turning off the engine and twisting in his seat to look at her.

It feels as though all the air has left the car suddenly, as they stare at each other. She isn’t sure what possesses her, perhaps the three cans of lager she’s drunk throughout the evening, but she finds herself leaning over the centre console and pushing her lips against his.

He reciprocates, soft and unsure at first, but quickly gains confidence, his mouth moving against hers with more urgency.

She cups his face, her fingers grazing over the stubble at the corner of his jaw that he always seems to miss when shaving and she smiles into the kiss, enjoying its roughness against her fingertips.

Billy seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth and she moans softly as it slides against her own.

Their pupils are wide with lust, the windows of the car fogged up when they finally part for breath, keeping their foreheads pressed together.

He strokes his large hand over the back of her head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I come up?”

She swallows thickly, not wanting to reject him, but knowing it’s not a good idea to rush things. “Not tonight, Billy, I–”

He jerks away, hurt flashing across his features, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Right, yeah, sorry, was stupid to think you’d want that…”

“No, no, it’s not that!” She says, reaching over and taking his hand in hers, running her thumb over his scarred knuckles. “We’ve waited so long for this, I don’t wanna rush it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Can I text you then?”

“I’d like that,” she looks at him through hooded eyes, “let me give you my number.”

“I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

Oh. Something else Lana must have given him.

“Alright then. Well, goodnight.”

She leans over and pecks him on the lips, then exits his car.

When she goes to sleep that night it’s with a smile upon her face, knowing that her childhood crush feels the same way that she does. In the back of her mind, she knows that Lana will go mad when she finds out, but that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she gets to it.

She is less than enthused when she awakens the next day realising it’s Christmas Eve and she needs to make her annual visit to her great aunt’s for room temperature sherry, mince pies and questions about why she isn’t married with children yet.

Her face lights up when she sees a text on her phone from an unknown number and realises it’s Billy.

She grins excitedly to herself, calling her great aunt and feigning a migraine, before showering and readying herself for her day with Billy.

True to his word in his text, the buzzer to her flat sounds an hour later and he is at her door a few moments later.

It’s awkward at first, as they both stand there sizing each other up, unsure of what to say or do, until he takes the initiative and steps forward to kiss her.

It all feels so easy and natural, as though it’s something they should always have been doing, and when he takes her hand in his as they walk into town she can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at how perfectly her hand slots into his.

They walk around the Christmas market together, hand in hand, drinking mulled wine. For the first time since they were at school together, she sees Billy laugh, a genuine, happy laugh. He makes jokes, a sparkle returning to his eyes and he looks so relaxed, she is finally able to see his potential again, all that he could be if he wasn’t constantly wallowing in self pity, lurking in Lana’s shadow and taking his parents’ criticisms to heart.

When he walks her home that evening, she doesn’t hesitate to invite him up. Gentle affirmations of “I had a nice time today” rapidly escalate to needy kisses as they tug at each other’s clothes. This is the Billy that she wants, and she sees no point in waiting any longer.

His large hands eagerly grasp at her hips as she pushes him down onto the sofa, straddling his lap.

They are a frenzied clash of lips, teeth and tongue, her hands finding their way into his hair, pulling his head back slightly to mouth at his jaw and neck. He groans at the sensation, hips bucking up to meet hers.

When he slides down his tracksuit bottoms and boxers to free the ample hardness that has been pressing against her thigh for the last five minutes, she lifts herself, meaning to remove her tights. She gasps when his long fingers pluck at the crotch, tearing them open and pushing her knickers to the side.

His digits swipe through the wetness of her folds and she shudders against him. “You on the pill?” He asks gruffly.

She nods in affirmation, a whine escaping her as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, slowly pressing into her.

The sounds he makes against her ear as he thrusts up into her are lewd, but with every grunt and breathy moan she clenches around him. This is a purely carnal act of desire, fulfilling years’ worth of pent up animalistic need. There will be plenty of time for gentle lovemaking, but right now she just needs to feel him, and judging by the way slams her down to meet each quick thrust, jaw slack and brow furrowed, she is certain he feels the same way.

The throbbing of him inside of her, as he spills deep within her, drives her over the edge and she peaks with a strangled cry, tightening around him in quick successive pulses.

They remain like that for a long while afterwards, resting against each other on the sofa, in the darkness of her living room.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, you’ve got no idea,” he whispers eventually, once his breathing has returned to normal.

“Me too,” she whispers.

“I wanna stay, but–”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Billy, it’s alright. You should get home before your mum gives you an earful.”

They pull unsteadily apart, adjusting their clothes, and she walks him to the door.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” He says.

“Yeah,” she smiles before kissing him softly, “Merry Christmas, Billy.”

“You an’ all,” he murmurs, pulling her into a tight hug and then walking away.

Christmas Day is uneventful. Presents and a roast at her parents’, followed by an afternoon of board games and films.

She gets a happy Christmas text from Lana, and smiles when she gets one from Billy too - the first he’s ever sent her.

By the time Boxing Day rolls around, she’s already thoroughly fed up with her family and eager to be back in her own space. She grins when her phone buzzes with a message from Billy.

She pulls out her phone, thinking carefully about what to send to her best friend, before typing a message.

She arrives at Billy and Lana’s parents’ house an hour later and is given a warm welcome by everyone. It’s strange not being able to interact properly with Billy, considering how close they’ve become so quickly over the last few days, however, he carries himself with a confidence she’s never seen him have in front of his family before.

He stands a little straighter, actually bothers to make eye contact when he talks to people. It spreads a warmth within her chest to see him no longer looking so downtrodden and defeatist, she can no longer sense the anger that used to simmer just below the surface like she used to be able to.

His eyes find hers whenever no one’s looking and she can’t help the smiles that she directs his way.

The leftovers have been dished up and they’ve been sitting around the TV for an hour when she goes upstairs to use the bathroom.

Noticing Billy’s bedroom door ajar on her way back downstairs, she can’t resist a peek inside. She’d never dared go in when she’d come to see Lana when they were younger. She pushes the door fully open, nose wrinkling at the rumpled bed sheets and assortment of dirty socks and boxers that litter the floor, but smiles as she casts her eye over the Oasis poster on the wall and the acoustic guitar that leans against the chest of drawers.

She twiddles absentmindedly with the PS4 controller, when a box that’s been shoved haphazardly beneath the bed catches her eye. She drags it out, pulling out a scrapbook that sits on the top.

Her heart hammers in her chest, her blood feeling as though it runs ice cold as she flips through it. It’s filled with old school photos of her, plus newer pictures that have clearly been printed off from her social media accounts.

Rummaging further into the box she pulls out items she’d assumed she’d either lost or that Lana had borrowed on the occasions she’d stayed over - there are scrunchies, old lip balms, even a pair of her underwear. Disgust causes bile to rise in her throat, a mixture of fear and disbelief quickly spreads its way through her body.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Billy’s voice says quietly from the doorway, causing her to gasp as she looks up in fright. “Doesn’t matter now though, don’t need that shit anymore, not now I’ve got the real thing.”

“Billy,” she pleads, her voice shaking, “what is all this?”

“I’ve always wanted you, never thought you’d feel the same though. She looked like you, y’know,” he tells her, stepping closer and shutting the door behind him.

“Who?” Tendrils of icy fear spread to her belly, every nerve in her body screaming at her to run, yet she stays rooted to her spot on the bed.

“Becky,” he says simply, “she was the spit of you. Only reason I went out with her, to be honest. I was gutted when she ended things, but she doesn’t matter now. Don’t need some cheap knock off, not when I have you.”

“Please, Billy, you’re scaring me,” she whispers, tears pricking her eyes.

“Everything’s gonna be alright. Job hunting, the bomb, none of it matters because I’ve got you.”

“Listen to yourself, this isn’t you,” she pleads, backing up on the bed away from him as he towers over her.

“You’ve seen how much better I am with you, you can’t take that away. I need you. And I make you feel good too. Look, you just need a reminder.”

He looms over her on the mattress, his hand darting between her legs and she whimpers.

“Billy, no, please…”

She wants to scream, to cry out and make him stop, but the thought of attracting the attention of Lana and her parents and them coming up here and seeing all of this is more than she can stand. So she lays there, lets Billy slide his hand up her skirt and into her underwear, hating the way her body responds to his trust.

“See?” He murmurs again the shell of her ear. “Only I can make you feel like this. Everything is gonna go my way now that you’re mine, you’ll see.”

Her vision goes watery, a combination of tears and building pleasure causing the poster on the opposite wall to blur.

She tenses as his fingers work her quickly towards her climax and she screws her eyes shut, shuddering with a quiet whine as she falls apart.

“There you go,” he coos gently, “I’ve got you now, and I’m never letting you go.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down her spine. Billy is a man with nothing to lose. He means it. He’ll never let her go.

[barbieaemond]

Ewan Mitchell as Billy Washington | Trigger Point, ep.3

[aegonx]

EWAN MITCHELL in TRIGGER POINT for @ewanmitchellcrumbs 🥰♥️♥️

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Please write me a Billy W story - no particular premise, but I would like heart wrenching angst and disgusting smut. Something that will make me feel like I want to bite through my own forearm like I know only you can.

@ewanmitchellcrumbs <3 xoxo

You got it, baby~ Tried the heart-wrenching angst but didn't want to kill my precious boy, hope you like!

Lost Without You

Warnings: past trauma, swearing, angst, mentions of breakup, smut (p in v, oral m receiving, tiddy succin) | Word Count: 6k~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Billy W Taglist

Billy hadn’t been in a car since Cranstead Fields.

Couldn’t and wouldn’t.

In the summer, with the incessant heat and dry air, it was totally fine. He would walk for hours and hours, mostly people watching and mulling over the events of that hot July where he had nearly fallen victim to his own overly trusting nature. Or perhaps he was naïve. It was difficult to tell the difference these days.

London flocked with tourists in the Summer, with the school holidays in full swing not long after. He'd happily disappear into the crowds, not wanting to be seen, and only observe. He'd watch families enjoy their time off in the blazing sun, even at Cranstead Fields, sometimes he'd walk past and see young lads playing footie right where his car had been. The grass now free of the tinged black tips from the fire, had turned a pale yellowish green with the harsh heat.

He thought it was wrong that he kept coming back. And he didn't know why he did.

People had fucking picnics there, absentmindedly sucking on ice lollies to keep cool, laughing and enjoying life.

Right where his had nearly ended.

He felt helpless. But he hated that he even felt that.

He remembered panicking so much in that driver's seat, so much so he'd nearly made himself sick. Shouting desperately for his sister to help him. Remembered her face through the window as she'd winced at what she'd seen inside the glovebox.

He barely remembered the extraction.

The in-between was blurry and he'd been sobbing so hard that only one thing could've brought him to his feet now that he was kneeling on the grass behind his car.

He'd nearly laughed as she pushed a policeman out the way, ignoring the orders for her to stay away. After all, there was still a live bomb inside the car. But she'd paid it no mind and had been kept away long enough. She ran across the cordon, her skin beneath the sundress she was wearing flushed with heat, exhaustion and outright terror. Her bare knees hit the grass with a thud, they'd be stained later, as she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a helpless hug.

If he wasn't so upset, he'd have worried about how covered in nervous sweat he was, how unbearably terrible he must have looked with his tear-streaked face. He'd never cried so much in front of her before. Even now as he snakes his arms around her waist, pulling her close, he'd buried his face in her neck so she wouldn't see. He could feel her breathing heavily, her heart beating fast, and how much she was trying not to cry at finally feeling him in her arms.

She settled for running her hands through his hair, damp from the heat and sweat, whispering his name as if to bring him crashing back into the reality where they were both here. He was safe.

She always made him feel safe. Wanted. It was a feeling Billy didn't know he needed before she came along.

But as usual.

He'd fucked it up.

After Cranstead, she did everything. All the cooking, cleaning, making sure he was taken to the police station to submit his statement. Sometimes it felt like she was more his secretary than a girlfriend.

At first, he appreciated her company, her willingness to commit herself to his wellbeing. And it wasn't like she wasn't selfless before, she'd always been good to him, but she'd really turned to the dial up to 10.

Some weeks in, it began to have the opposite effect. He felt like shit.

It felt like he was a kid again. And while, deep down, he wanted her help, he couldn't help but feel like she was pitying him. And he didn't need any more fucking pity. That's all anyone does. The further away the Cranstead Fields incident got, the more his parents returned to their previous conversations. Jobs. Commitments. When he and she would move in together. What he was going to do with his life.

As if it was just as simple as just forgetting it. As if the experience hadn't torn him apart.

She began to notice something was off a few weeks after the incident. He was recluse, giving one-word answers annoyed, spending most of his time smoking out the balcony doors of his flat instead of eating.

He couldn't bear to look at her. Didn't want to see that sinking look on her face. To come to the realisation that their relationship was failing and entering that murky, horrid form, where you know you should end it, but neither party wants to say it.

He thought, she had realised sooner than she wanted to admit. She loved him and wanted to be there for him, like any good girlfriend would be. She stood, watching him have his cigarette with his back to her, her overnight bag strung over her shoulder, wondering what she should say in response to what he'd just said.

"I don't need your help and I don't need you"

She opened her mouth a few times, willing something to come out. But she was too hurt to reply. She knew what that really meant.

She thought about writing a note. But instead, holding the hot tears back, she threw her bag in her car and sat in the driver's seat for a moment before gathering the strength to leave. Billy watched her car, a tiny little Volkswagen, pull away. And never come back.

With her, the families and tourists also left London, making way for the dull, wet humidity that Autumn came with. Even though they never moved in together, he felt the loss of her presence in his flat. Every time he came home, it slapped him in the face and if he felt shit before, when she was here, he felt even worse now for having broken up with her the way he did.

He hadn't even had the courage to really say it out loud. Nor to face her.

Billy did what he usually did, and accepted the feeling with open arms, dragging himself further down into a spiralling era of depression. Therapy did fuck all these days, he thought. Just paying someone else to take pity on you, which is the last thing he needed.

The flat slowly became a tip without him really even realising, packets of empty cigarettes piled up and all he did was go out every now and then for food and pop by the jobcentre. Not like there was much out there at the moment. Job seekers allowance would have to do for now.

Today was no different. With Autumn came shorter days and he'd barely realised, stuck in the jobcentre that it had become dark and mercilessly rainy. He pulled his hoodie over his head, stuck his hands in his pockets and went out into the pelting showers. It soaked through his clothes immediately, not dressed for such weather. Hair damp and sticking to his head and his jeans clinging uncomfortably to his legs with every step.

Pulling out his vibrating phone, he declined the call from Lana and shoved it back in his pocket. She'd been on his case like no other. Asking where his girlfriend was and how he'd let himself get like this. She was always the one to call him out, he hated it on one hand, but on the other it was nice to have it handed to him plainly sometimes.

Not today though, he thought.

The weather was unrelenting, rain pelted down so quick he could scarcely raise his head without it getting in his eyes.

He stepped off the curb to cross the road, without looking. A pair of headlights screeched to a halt.

"Jesus!" He pulled back onto the pavement again, face illuminated by the bright lights as he squinted.

He'd only realised what was going on when the driver's side opened. Her Volkswagen still had the lights on and the windscreen wipers were still quickly whirring.

She stood out the car slightly, her otherwise dry hair now gathering drops of rain, her jeans now a darkened blue the longer she stood there.

He felt his neck get hot, seeing her now after so long.

"Billy" were the only words that came from her lips,

"Fucks sake…" he turned a bit to walk away, not looking back even when he heard the car door slam shut.

"Billy!" She called after him, rain slapping on the concrete as she jogged up to him and pulled on his arm, "Billy, stop"

He pulled his arm away, looking down at her, "what!"

"I'm not letting you walk home in this. Get in" she said, voice elevated over the sound of the rain, which was running all over her face, down her neck, soaking her clothes right through.

"I didn't ask for your help"

"Would you stop being so fucking stubborn for one second?" She countered, clearly annoyed. They stared one another down for a moment, ignoring the ways their stomachs fluttered to see each other again.

"Come on, get in" she said, softer this time. Both of them now completely sodden.

He watched her get back in the car, torn at whether he should or not. He was still a good fifteen minute walk from his flat and already wet through, his shoes as well.

A short five minute drive in the car with his ex was a tough choice.

He opened the passenger door, eyeing the seat for a moment. He leaned forward, and opened the glovebox to find it empty (apart from her logbook and various other scraps), his heart going a million miles an hour. Eyes darted about the footwell, desperate to see if it was safe or not.

"It's alright, Billy…" she said softly from the driver's seat. In the low light of the car, he'd almost forgotten how pretty she was.

To both of them, it was clear that there was still love there. But neither wanted to be the first to say it. Or even acknowledge its existence.

He swallowed nervously and slumped into the passenger seat, suddenly feeling bad at how wet the seats must be. But it didn't seem like she minded. She just put the car in gear and drove the familiar five minutes to his flat in relative silence, apart from the quiet hum of the radio.

Of course the first time he's in a car in months, it's with her.

She pulled up to the curb, keeping the car running, as if she'd expected him to open the door and just run out, without saying anything. But Billy surprised himself, sat firmly in the passenger seat, he didn't move.

He didn't know what was happening to him. But for some reason, now that he had her back within reach, he didn't want to let her go.

He felt like a dick. For treating her as he did back then, and even tonight, when she'd offered him a lift, not expecting to even come in for a cuppa, he'd been cold and reclusive.

She turned off the ignition, looking over at him as he stared distantly into his lap, "You alright?" She asked carefully.

He wished he hadn't caved and looked at her, but he did. And his mouth went completely dry when he met her gaze. She made him feel so safe. So safe. Even now, when there was no real danger or chance of it, her mere presence seemed to calm that quick pounding of his heart.

"Do uh…you wanna come in?"

It came out more desperate than he'd intended. But he didn't regret saying it.

One of her hands noticeably gripped the steering wheel tighter, and he could see the internal battle she was fighting. Deciding whether or not it was a good idea.

She cleared her throat, unbuckling her seatbelt, "Sure, yeah…"

Billy winced remembering how messy the flat was when he'd left, and wondered what she'd think. He knew she was never the type to judge, but it embarrassed him all the same.

He felt his heart pitter patter in his chest at seeing her in his flat again, where she used to spend so much of her time. Where they'd nuzzle close on his tiny sofa, watching old 90s movies. Where she'd make him breakfast every Sunday morning, without fail. Where she'd come home after a bad day, seeking nothing but the comfort of being wrapped up in bed with him, stroking her hair.

"Tea? Coffee?" He asked, slipping into the kitchen. She followed, her hands wrapped around herself from the chill of being damp.

"Tea…thanks"

The loud, unrelenting hiss of the kettle filled the silence for a bit. Billy was trying to figure out what to say, keeping his hands busy fiddling with the teaspoon. He hated this. Hated that now they had to pretend to be strangers. As if they hadn’t spent the last few years devoted to each other. Spent night after night in his bedroom, basking in the fucked-out glow of the evening watching whatever was on late night telly ‘til either of them fell asleep.

Milk. No Sugar.

She suppressed the smile that he remembered how she liked it.

She nods her head whispering a thanks as he hands it to her, palm over the top of the steaming mug. It must hurt, she thinks. But he gives it to her this way so that she can put her fingers through the handle and not scald herself. At this small, tiny act of kindness on Billy’s part, she can’t help it, she does smile. A sad one. But a smile nonetheless.

His hallway that leads to the living room and bedroom is a bit cluttered, with his several pairs of Adidas shoes piled near the entrance, where he’d toed them off and never bothered to put them away. Billy brushes behind her to carry his own cuppa to the living room, the warmth in her tummy doesn’t go amiss either. He’s a lot taller than she is, one of the things she always shamelessly loved about him.

On the corkboard are several receipts, important looking bills as well as some letters from the NHS, easily spotted with the blue header.

“Still going to therapy then?” she asked, voice half-raised to reach him in the living room.

The therapy I organised, she thinks.

“Sometimes, yeah” he answers quietly.

The living room is a reflection of Billy. Messy, not put-together, various items strewn about the room like empty cans of beer and old letters he’d not bothered to throw away. It’s not necessarily a disgusting mess like old plates of food, more just items, but worry still gnaws inside her at how he is currently living.

She looks out the balcony doors, mostly to avoid looking right at him sat on the sofa, bouncing his leg anxiously and at the obvious way he is also trying not to be caught looking at her.

"How's your parents"

She looked at him only briefly, "Alright. Dad's retired now. Moved to Australia last month. I'm paying them rent til the mortgage runs out"

Billy's eyebrows raised in surprise. The thought of her in that house by herself was a sobering one and he thought she must be lonely there all alone.

She'd always come to his flat, for a sense of privacy and independence, but also to do the things they couldn't when she was in their house.

Those lazy weekend mornings, warm beneath the sheets with their bodies pressed together. Sleepily brushing the sheets from her bare skin to touch it, tracing all her feminine lines and curves. Her breath against his neck, hurried and needy. Fucking her into the mattress until the early afternoo-

"You're being quiet" she said, almost so quiet he didn't hear. Billy steeled his expression, to try and make it obvious he wasn't thinking about all the times he'd had her in that very bed. Like he didn't know all her sweet spots, the ones that made her breathe his name in a way that couldn't possibly be replicated. In a way that made his stomach lurch into his chest in flutters.

"I don't know what you want me to say" she was holding the mug in both hands, staring out the balcony windows, looking at her car outside, being hammered with rain.

Billy poked his cheek with his tongue, hands still clasped on his lap, thinking.

"Think it's me who owes you an explanation" he replied, voice low. Like he was a child in trouble. What he'd said made her look over at him, her face and hair still damp.

"I don't know" she put the mug down, turning to him, as if she didn't trust herself to hold it, "is it?"

He forced himself to look at her, hating the way she was trying to mask how troubled she was.

“Look, I know you’re upset-”

She scoffs, pulling her tears back, crossing her arms, “Understatement of the year”

“I don’t want a fucking fight right now”

“Neither do I. But I have a feeling your explanation will make one” she kept shifting her weight from foot to foot, nervous.

Billy sighed, “I just-I didn’t feel like myself. Realised you were too good for me, and that someday you’d realise it too” he explains quietly, hands clasped together, “Thought why not speed up the process”

“And you think you know what I want, do you?” she counters, her fingers digging slightly into her palm, trying to ignore the way her chest is getting tight.

“I just want you to be happy. Sometimes you can’t get that with someone dragging you down like I was doing”

She laughs, a short puff of air off her chest, hardly able to believe what’s coming out his mouth.

“I didn’t do all that I did for my fucking health, Billy. I did it because I loved you. And not once did I ever make you feel bad for it, for giving you space” she argues, catching her breath a moment, “I just-”

“It’s not about that” Billy says sharply,

“Isn’t it? You said you didn’t need my help, remember? Or is that just a Billy way of saying you don’t love me anymore?”

“I do love you” his expression could have fooled her. He looks exasperated and angry, frustrated.

“You have a funny way of showing it” she snaps, “I was just trying to help you”

She steps back a little when Billy stands up, his height shocking her for a moment as she has to crane her neck to see his face. His fists are clenched hard beside him, body quite literally shaking with the anger he’s trying so desperately to keep in.

"You were suffocating me!”

She scoffs, “Oh I’m sorry, I’ll refer to the handbook next time my boyfriend is trapped in a car with a bomb in the glovebox, shall I?”

If he hadn't been so upset, he'd have laughed. She was always funny. Unintentionally as well. Yet another thing he loved about her.

He must have shown a little bit of it on his face, because she shook her head, “Oh I’m funny now, am I?”

It didn’t shake the small smile from his face. Billy only swallowed over the lump in his throat, feeling uncomfortably hot against the still damp hoodie that was sticking to his chest. His eyes softened instantly and he couldn’t bear to look at her as he thought about what he might say.

“It just made me realise…I mean come on-I haven’t got a job, a future, my brain’s fucked…” he confessed quietly, “...I didn’t have anything but you and I can’t help but feel I drag you down-”

“Billy…”

“No-look at you, you’ve…got your life sorted out, a home…you deserve someone on your level, someone…that might not be me”

His heart lurches right into his throat, blue eyes brimmed with tears, when she steps forward to take his hands, almost outright sobbing at the feeling of her skin against his again. Her thumbs drawing soft and gentle circles on them.

“Don’t think like that, please..” she practically begged in such a soft, desperate tone, “I could never ever imagine my life without you and when I had to-I just couldn’t…love you too much to do that”

Billy feels his heart hurting. For months it had been so rarely used. And now to feel it so full of love just in the last hour he’d seen her, the stretch to accommodate it was painful. But the nice kind.

“I nearly lost you” she chokes out, “And I hated that I couldn’t do a single thing about it…”

He feels his mouth go dry. Thinking back, after the incident, she never did cry about anything. Rather, she pretended to be the rock, emotional walls built high, so that Billy could allow himself to let go.

He was so absorbed, perhaps rightly so, in his own situation. How he'd felt. That he hadn't stopped to think how broken she'd been by what happened, and all he could think about was that desperate hug she'd given him that day. How tightly she held him, her hands touching every piece of him she could to check it wasn’t some cruel dream.

She was hurting just as much as he was.

"I'm so fucking sorry, I-" he paused halfway, choking up and unable to form the rest of it once he saw her teary eyes.

He could've sobbed when she put her hand so gently to his face, her small thumbs wiping away the wetness on his cheeks. She gave a small watery laugh, her smile breaking through the sheer exhaustion of her heartbreak in her eyes.

"You're really fucking thick sometimes, you know that" she laughed softly.

And he couldn't help it, he let out somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Finally allowing himself to run his fingers through her hair, some strands drying and some still stuck together, forming waves in their wake. Another thing he loved about her.

"It's a Washington trait" he replied, his voice quiet and desperate. Both of them trying hard not to lose it again and cry.

"I know, '' she said with a genuine smile, her eyes lighting up in front of him again from the glow of a street lamp outside.

It wasn’t clear who moved first, but neither of them cared enough to think. If her hands on his face was a small slice of heaven, having her lips against him again was paradise. She just fit against him so perfectly as he wrapped his arms around her waist, desperate for the contact he had been denied in her absence. His hand dipping slightly beneath the hem of her shirt, feeling her tacky rain-soaked skin, almost groaning right against her mouth as he broke to take a breath. The hand that was at his face tugged him closer, deepening an ever-desperate kiss, like they had both been freed to desire each other.

His lips trailed from hers to her jaw, to her neck, inhaling her familiar scent, sighing at the perfume she would always wear. That hadn’t changed either. He left open-mouthed kisses against the tender skin there, trailing down the slope of her neck to her collarbones, hot and quick pants of his breath coming in huffs against it.

Her hand tightened on his shirt, “Billy…”

She’d hate it if she could see the boyish smirk on his face. At him knowing how much she wanted him, needed him. How hot her body got when they were near each other and how that familiar pool of arousal settled between her legs at the idea of this intimacy.

He pulls her to him by her waist, tugging her to straddle his lap as he lands on his sofa, resisting the urge to rut against her as he feels her clothed core rub against him. She can feel how hard he is, how hard he has been since the second they'd touched lips. Their kisses are having less effect, only delaying the inevitable wanton need they have for each other. And yet he chases her warm, soft lips and goes back for more which each break of breath.

The second she goes to pull off her top, throwing it somewhere across the room, his hands are on her, unclasping her bra to join it and his lips and tongue running over the newly exposed flesh. It smells like a mix of her perfume, her natural scent and the earthy smell that the rain leaves behind.

He savours every breath, every soft moan that tumbles out her mouth when he mouths one of her perk, rosy nipples, taking one and running his tongue all over it. His hand joining the other to give it attention. He could die a happy man buried between her tits like this, feeling the pleasant thrum of her heart beneath her ribs.

When her hand slips beneath the waistband of his jeans, wrapping around his cock, he groans against her chest, sending vibrations through her torso. She smiles a bit, with flushed cheeks, that he's already hard.

"Miss me?"

He'd missed her playfulness. But the way she's tugging at his length, squeezing ever so slightly harder when she gets to the tip, smearing precum over the head of it as it weeps with arousal. It gives her attitude a run for its money.

His half lidded gaze looks up at her, her hair framing her face no nicely in the dim light of the room. Rosy lips parted in anticipation of his reaction to her touch, glazed and kiss-bruised from before.

"Fuck…" he breathes, tipping his head back slightly.

With his eyes shut she dips her head to his neck, sucking and biting softly on his pulse point, speeding up the motions of her hand only slightly. But not enough. She skims over his clothed chest, letting her legs fall between his to the floor, her lips kissing just below his navel over the smattering of sandy blonde hair.

Billy looks down with a sort of admiration, watching the way she tugs his jeans over his hips, taking his boxers with it. Her mouth covers every bit of skin that's shown, taking his hot and aching length in one hand to give him some languid pumps before she dips her tongue against the base.

It's the teasing that makes Billy breathe faster. But nothing prepares him for the way her mouth sinks over his cock in one smoothe warm motion. After having been together for so long, she knew how to take him well and so she takes as much as she is able into her mouth, relaxing her jaw and using the other hand to pump whatever else she can't fit.

He pulls his hoodie over his head and she can see the way his muscles on his stomach flex, trying to hold back as much as he can. His fingers thread through her hair at the side of her face to the back, not pulling her on him, just holding her as she bobs her head against him, her tongue running against the vein on the underside, a motion that makes his fists tighten against her scalp. Every now and then when her eyes look up at him, his breath is stolen from his lungs and feels as if he might cum right there and then.

She hums around him appreciatively, enjoying the heady, intoxicating taste of him after so long. Not wanting to cum too soon, Billy gently pulls her off him, his cock shining with her spit and still standing hard against his stomach.

"You're so fucking good…" he whispers as his thumb drags over her bottom lip, tugging her to his own in a deep and wanton kiss. She pulls her jeans down with her underwear before sitting astride his narrow waist again, dragging her wetness over his cock as she sways her hips over him. Being naked in front of each other like this again is just so right, so basic and human, it's like nothing ever happened.

He smirks in the kiss at how ready she already is.

"Miss me?..."

Her face blushes with embarrassment and she playfully swats his shoulder, "shut up"

He reaches between them, running the head of his cock through her slick folds. It'd be so easy to just slide inside, to be enveloped by her warmth and feel the familiar ridges of her core, squeeze him just as tightly as they always had.

"Billy please…" she sobs as he teases her, moving away when she tries to sink down on him, "please just fuck me..."

He didn't need to be told twice.

He squeezed the flesh of her ass hard when he sank inside, leaving red marks against her skin as she stretched to accommodate his size. Her lips parted, eyes softly shut as a gasp escaped her mouth, matching his.

Their breaths mingled with each other as she took him fully, the head of his cock kissing that rough spot inside, easier in this position.

"You were fucking made for me…" he breathed against her lips, using her hips to move her on hip. She mewled out in pleasure, tears pricking the corners of her eyes at feeling him so deep inside her.

He moved her on top of him, back and forth, over and over again, fucking her using his own hold on her waist, meeting her halfway with his own pressing of his hips, watching the way her tits bounced with ever harsh thrust. Her sounds, every soft moan of his name, were music, only urging him on.

“God…Billy…” running her fingers through his hair, she held him close, lifting her hips to aid their chaotic fucking. Trying and failing to hold back the intensity of her moans as her first climax fills her limbs with warmth, thighs trembling around him and a series of expletives as he shoves himself harder into her through it. It takes the wind out of her for a moment while she gathers her breath, the lewd sound of her slick against the base of his cock the only sound in the room.

Only he could make her feel like this. Lose control like this. It didn't happen overnight either. At first he'd been apprehensive to show how much he wanted sex. But when she teased it out of him, it couldn't be contained any longer.

"Taking me so well-shit" he moaned out, her breasts against his face.

He could feel himself getting close.

She squeaked in surprise when her back met the sofa, looking up at Billy over her as his large palm pulled her legs apart again. He looked so good. Naked, his cock hard and covered in her arousal, lithe form and his face, rivalling that of a statue carved out of stone. Sharp jaw and nose, his soft blue eyes, sandy blonde hair now tousled from their intense lovemaking.

How could she not love him.

He was perfect.

He unapologetically gave that boyish Billy smile as he looked down at her, her chest speckled with heat from the passion of it all. Her tits moving with her breathing and her cheeks as she smiled lazily up at him, tinged with the prettiest pink he'd ever seen.

Billy remembered the last holiday they went on together, in the late spring. They'd driven to Cornwall with a hired minivan. And before arriving into Port Isaac, they'd stopped on a country road in the late afternoon when the sun touched the sea. He'd made love to her in the driver's seat and admired the way the orange sunset kissed the colour of her hair. She looked gorgeous then, face flushed and legs astride him.

How she looks at him now reminds him of that afternoon.

"What?" She asked, when he just sat and admired her.

He just shook his head, "You're just beautiful…"

He captured her lips with his own, leaning over and slowly teasing himself back inside her, sliding through with the aid of her new rush of arousal from her orgasm. Slowly like this, she feels every ridge, every vein and it does nothing to stem the desire to have him do whatever he wants. As long as it's with her.

With the soft thrust of his hips against her, pulling her legs around his waist, his hand runs up her front, between her breasts to her neck, gently holding her while he looks down to see how his cock just effortlessly disappears inside her over and over. His hips meetings hers slower than before but with just as much power, as if trying to imprint the shape of him inside her so they’d never forget how each other felt.

Billy bites at the skin between her neck and shoulder, hoping the marks take there, before pulling her leg up in his palm and pushing it higher so that he can raise himself and fuck down into her.

"Billy…don't stop…" she breathes as her eyes meet his. He can tell the new position reaches somewhere so incredibly deep that she clutches his shoulders for purchase, nails leaving half moon shaped indents in his skin.

"Fuck, you're so-" he chokes out, the veins in his neck pulsing with desire the more he feels himself losing control. Her mewls and moans fill the otherwise quiet room, whispering his name like a chant, "I'm gonna-"

"Yes…Billy…need you" she whispers, her hands gripping his shoulders again when the pressure inside her lets loose once again, making her tighten around him.

He cums with a shattered moan against her neck, rocking himself against her a few more times for friction before stilling inside her warm heat as it convulses around him, the aftershocks of he orgasm only serving to prolong the pleasure of his. He can feel his blood humming with hunger and a sense of completion, like he's found the other half he'd been after, and doesn't want to let it go now.

He can feel their heartbeats against each other, her chest meeting his with every sharp inhale. Her skin is so warm and soft against him, he never wants to know what it's like to not have her again.

When he looks down at her, her eyes find his quickly and for a moment they admire the fucked-out expressions on their faces, the large dilation of their pupils and how their touch goes form harsh and needy to tender and loving.

She smiles tiredly and he can still feel her heartbeat inside her, even as he begins to soften.

"Tea's gone cold…" he breathes out between pants.

Her laugh fills his heart with warmth, a genuine laugh with teeth and those little lines around her eyes. And he can't help but feel a bolt of pleasure up his spine at how the laugh reverberates through her body to his cock.

He falls to his side against the sofa, lazily pulling a blanket over them and pulling her to his chest, running his fingers through her wavy, slightly tangled hair. He kisses the crown of her head, inhaling her scent, musky from the rain with a whisper of her shampoo.

"Stay here…please…" he begs, his voice thick, as if he couldn't bear the rejection of her saying no. Not after everything. He even feels his chest tighten at the thought.

Her head moves to look up at him, reaching out to bring his face to hers, kissing his lips so tenderly it made him want to weep.

"I could never leave you…ever" she whispers against his lips, slotting hers against his once more, her hand ghosting over his heart. To feel how alive he is.

Those three words don't even need to be said. They both knew it. Knew it had never left even in their absence. When their hearts had been divided.

But for old time's sake, they said it anyway.

Dividers by @saradika

General Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics

Billy W Taglist: @fan-goddess & for my Billy simps @assortedseaglass

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

[dreamfyrie]

the way he can out act everyone in the room just with his eyes amazes me

[myfandomprompts]

The beauty of EWAN MITCHELL

[hoosbandewan]

Billy Washington + smiling

[arcielee]

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

[assortedseaglass]

Curl Into Me

Billy Washington x AFAB Reader

Summary: Billy looks after you during your period.

Content Tags: Fluff, Drabble, Language, Talk of Feminine/Reproductive Health, Suggestive Language, Talk of Period Sex

Notes: Guess what came early? 🩸🩸🩸

“Babe?” Billy kicked the door closed behind him with a trainered foot. “Babe? Took a while ‘cause they didn’t have any of those ones you wanted in Boots. Had to pop to Superdrug to get ‘em, then off to Sainsbury’s for supplies.”

Nothing.

“Babe?”

Shrugging of his jacket and kicking off his shoes, Billy padded through the small flat and into the lounge.

He’d left you there an hour ago, curled amongst the cushions watching some trash on the telly. A few scrunched up tissues remained, an empty packet of paracetamol and an unwrapped chocolate bar.

The open plan room was empty. He filled the kettle in the small kitchenette, placed a peppermint teabag in one mug and a Yorkshire tea in another, and made his way to the bedroom.

“Babe?”

He pushed the door open a little. Light was streaming into the room, the white sheets invitingly crumpled and glowing under the bright sun’s rays. Billy would never get over this room.

In the old flat, his bedroom was like a cardboard box. Dark, brown, damp, uninviting. Made simply for sleeping, clothes littered the floor along with empty glasses and dirty plates. Whether it was an old habit or the result of his trouble state of mind, Billy wasn’t sure, but he’d never drawn the curtains nor made the bed. Here it was different.

You bounded into his life like a whirligig, full of curiosity, patience and open-hearted joy. Spent endless nights in the pub listening to him pour his heart out. Tentatively invited him to back to your new flat, the one you’d since decorated together. Helped piece himself back together, along with the small home you’d made your own, with picture frames and matching mugs. Your record collection alongside his games.

The little flat was just as bright as that day you’d unpacked the final box. Sure, the bookshelf needed dusting and there were a few dirty mugs in the sink, but you’d get to those later. Together.

Billy looked around the room. At the pillows rearranged on the bed. The abandoned romance book on the duvet. The blanket hanging of the frame.

-I will but you a bottle of wine

And we’ll laugh and toast to nothing

And smash our empty glasses down

Let’s have a round for these freaks and these soldiers

A round for these friends of mine-

Shit. Joni could only mean one thing. Her voice crooned from the record player and, at the sniffle from the corner of the room, Billy found you.

You’d dragged a pillow from the bed, folding yourself around its lumpy shape on the floor. Your comfy jogging bottoms and been discarded, and the two hot water bottles you owned were pressed against your back and tummy.

Through the mess of uncombed hair, you looked up at Billy from your position on the floor.

“Did you get chocolate?” You croaked.

He laughed a little and held up the plastic bag of essentials. He couldn’t help it. Some sick part of him loved seeing you so weak and needy. At last, a chance for Billy to step up and look after you, just as you had always done for him.

“Get on the bed?”

“I don’t want to move,” your voice was a pathetic whinge of pain and tiredness.

“Alright,” Billy got down on the floor beside you. “Here,” he handed you a sharing bar of Dairy Milk and, with his back braced against the bedframe, pulled you back onto his chest.

You groaned as your muscles stretched. “Kettle’s on, I’ll refill your bottle in a minute.” Billy’s hands wound their way to your front and removed the hot water bottle there. The skin beneath your tatty tshirt was red raw and hot to touch. “You’ll burn yourself,”

“It’s the only thing that helps,”

“Let me,” In slow, tender semi-circles, Billy massaged your lower stomach.

God, he was good to you. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Bath later, yeah?”

You could do nothing but nod. His hands rubbing your tender body, the chocolate, the heat from the hot water bottles. This was all you needed. If you could stay like that for the next, you would. Fuck, Billy would let you if you asked.

When you’d brought Billy home to meet your parents, they were nervous. You’d told them about his past; better to be transparent. Billy was best taken at face value. What you saw was what you got, and why complicate it by skirting over what had happened to him? Their worry had eased at once, however, when they saw how dedicated he was to you. How he made the effort to talk to each of them, interested in what they had to say. How he pressed his hand to your back and gazed at you, even when you weren’t talking to him. They couldn’t have chosen gentler soul for you.

“Billy?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you,”

He looked down at you, kissing your temple as he did so. “What for?”

“Going out and getting my stuff. Looking after me-”

“Jesus Christ, I’d be a prick if I didn’t-”

“I know,” you laughed at him. “But thank you.”

You sat there on the floor together, Billy rubbing circles into your stomach and back until Joni finished her singing and the record crackled on the deck.

“How you feeling?”

“Better, a little crampy, but better.” You sat up and turned to face him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You know,” Billy smirked as he chased your lips and settled his hands on the skin of your hips. “I did a little reading about what else helps periods, you know.”

“Billy Washington, you angel.” You teased, kissing his neck tenderly.

“Mmm,” he rubbed your sides lazily. What was the rush? A day of cuddles and cups of tea was all either of you needed. “Rosemary tea is meant to help the cramps, stretching your legs too, for some reason. And erm,” he faltered as you kissed his collarbone. “Sex, apparently.”

You stopped your kisses and looked at him with a smirk. “Getting ideas?”

Billy blushed. “It doesn’t heart to try. Said orgasms can help relax the muscles, and make periods shorter.” He was rubbing his neck, trying not to let his ulterior motives show. He’d do anything for your comfort, but if it was nice for him too? Even better.

You were still staring at him. What if you thought he was disgusting?

“We don’t have to, you know, fuck or anything.” Jesus Christ, he felt like a teenager. “But, I can give you an orgasm, if it would help-”

You shushed him with a finger to his lips. “Don’t be so embarrassed.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Maybe later?”

Billy nodded. “No pressure, though.”

“I know,” you laughed and settled against his chest. “Rub my back again?”

He did so diligently, and you hummed. “I love you, Bill.”

His hands squeezed you gently against him, and you inhaled his scent of laundry detergent and cheap cologne.

“I love you too,”

Notes: Fluffy fluffy fluff fluff.

General Taglist: @arcielee @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @babyblue711 @ewanmitchellcrumbs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @humanpurposes @whoknows333

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Dashboard Confessional

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, mild angst, smut, semi public sex. Word count: ~1.7k

Summary: Billy is forced to deal with past trauma when his girlfriend's car breaks down on the side of the M1, while driving home to Nottingham for Christmas. She finds the perfect way to ease his mind.

Author's note: Day four of the Smuffmas prompts - "reassurance and car sex". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Her hands tighten on the steering wheel, eyes flitting nervously towards the check engine light that’s just lit up on the dashboard panel. They’re only an hour outside of Nottingham, and if she was by herself she’d simply ignore it, finish the journey, and take her crappy old Skodia Fabia to a garage in the New Year. But Billy sits in the passenger seat next to her, and she knows that that little red light will look like a fiery beacon to him, a reason to panic. The best thing she can do in this situation is pull over onto the hard shoulder and call AA Breakdown Recovery.

Billy used to joke that she’d spent more on keeping her shitty little car roadworthy than she had when she’d actually bought it. He’d insist on driving them everywhere, his Vauxhall Cavalier the more reliable of the two vehicles.

That feels like a lifetime ago now though, before the Explosive Ordnance Disposal team had pulled him from it and it had exploded into a fiery ruin in the middle of Cranstead Gardens. Billy doesn’t joke at all anymore, and he’s not gotten behind the wheel of a car since.

He has spent the last four months attending weekly therapy sessions. It’s only in the last month that he’s been willing to allow her to drive him anywhere, and that’s not before they’ve done rigorous checks of the entire car to make sure it’s safe; the wheel arches, under the bonnet, the boot, beneath the seats and in the glovebox all need to be examined thoroughly before he’ll even consider getting in.

When it had come time to arrange their annual visit to Billy’s parents’ for Christmas, he had suggested they get the train. However, a return ticket would be close to one hundred pounds each for them. She had argued they would spend less than half that on fuel if she drove, and it would save them the effort of lugging gifts all the way there, only to have to take all of the ones they inevitably receive back with them the same way - everything could just be stuffed into the boot if she drove.

He had relented eventually, and she had regretted it almost as soon as they’d gotten in the car. For the last two hours of the journey his leg has bounced anxiously, and she’s been met with snappy one word answers to each of her attempts to make conversation, despite his insistence that the radio stays off.

If she were a weaker person she’d have decided that this was all too much and ended things long ago, however, Billy is her everything, he always has been. He has never thought much of himself, but she loves him enough for the both of them. Where he sees a failure, someone that lives in the shadow of his successful older sister, she sees a man with a thousand watt smile, someone that lights up the room just by entering it. That light has dulled over the last few months, but she is determined to help it shine once more.

It’s with this in mind that she clicks on the left indicator, pulling over onto the hard shoulder, and switches the hazard lights on.

“What you doing?” Billy asks, frowning slightly as he removes his thumb from his mouth, the nail of which he’s been chewing absentmindedly on for the last few miles.

She turns the engine off, turning to him with a slight smile, an attempt to appease and keep him calm. “Check engine light’s come on, I need to ring the AA.”

“Fuck’s sake!” He seethes, unclipping his seatbelt and forcefully pushing open the passenger side door.

She watches him, illuminated in the darkness by the motorway lights, rounding the car, before stepping over the crash barrier and onto the grassy verge. Sighing, she unbuckles and climbs out.

“Billy–”

“I told you we should’ve got the fucking train!” He shouts, though there is no anger in his tone, she hears it in the wobble of his voice, sees it in the barely concealed tears he’s attempting to hold back. He’s close to breaking down.

“I know, babe, and I’m sorry,” she soothes, “I should have listened to you. But I promise you it’s nothing serious. You know how this old shitheap gets when it’s damp, remember last time it rained and the electric windows stopped working?”

It’s an attempt to lightheartedly downplay his fears, but it’s obviously unsuccessful. She watches as he fishes his cigarette packet from the pocket of his jogging bottoms, pulling one out and lighting it with shaky hands.

She takes out her phone and calls the recovery service, straining to hear over the roar of the traffic that speeds past on the M1. It’s going to be a forty five minute wait for anyone to get to them, though she should consider herself lucky, bearing in mind it’s December 23rd and there are cars nationwide breaking down on their way home for Christmas.

When she ends the call and tosses her phone onto the driver’s seat, she turns back to see that Billy is three quarters of the way through his smoke, his gaze downcast as he stands there shivering. The sight makes her heart ache.

“It’s freezing,” she calls out to him, “at least come and get your hoodie.”

She opens the door to the backseat, grabbing his Adidas zip up from it and holding it out to him. His head remains bowed, though his eyes look up at her, before he crushes his cigarette beneath his trainer and slowly walks towards her.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, slipping the hoodie on and perching on the edge of the backseat, facing out of the car, long legs stretched out in front of him.

They remain in silence for a few moments, Billy simply sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, staring at the ground, as she stands before him, looking out towards the steady stream of cars, eyes narrowed at the oncoming headlights that rush by.

“How long until you get fed up?” He finally asks, looking up at her.

“Well, I’m fed up already,” she jokes, “but we’ve gotta sit tight until someone comes to get us.”

He huffs a humourless laugh through his nose, lips quirking upwards slightly as he shakes his head. “You know that’s not what I mean. How much more of me can you hack before you finally decide I’m not worth the effort?”

“Oi,” she chastises playfully, ruffling a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. “To me, you will always be worth the effort. I’m not going anywhere.”

Billy bends his legs at the knees, planting his feet flat on the floor and pulls her between them as his arms wrap around her waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she says gently. “It’s been a rough few months, but we’ll get through it.

“God, I love you,” he tells her, stroking his palm across her cheek.

“Tell me again,” she smiles, leaning down to bump her nose against his.

“Love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to hers.

She kisses back, expecting it to be quick and chaste, but gasps in surprise as his hand slides from her face into her hair, gripping and anchoring her to him, as his tongue slips into her mouth. He tastes faintly of tobacco, but she responds eagerly as their mouths move together, the sensation sending heat pooling between her legs.

He leans back against the backseat, keeping his feet planted on the ground outside, dragging her with him. She giggles, pulling away breathlessly.

“Billy, we’re on the side of the motorway, anyone could see us!”

“Best give them something good to look at then,” he grins lazily up at her, fingers tugging at the waistband of her leggings.

It’s been so long since he was this uninhibited and spontaneous, that that’s all the encouragement she needs. She scrambles to pull them from one leg, as Billy lifts his hips, pushing his jogging bottoms and boxers down just enough to free his cock.

As she hovers back over him, his fingers move to push her thong to one side, and she can’t help but smile into the crook of his neck. He’s not even fully hard, though his pushes against her entrance are quickly rectifying that.

There’s no time for either of them to prepare each other properly, not for a quickie on the side of the road, so when the head of him does finally breach her opening the intrusion steals her breath away.

She whines, as each slow withdrawal and thrust upwards from him pushes him deeper, her rapidly gathering slick helping to ease his passage, until he’s fully sheathed inside of her.

He pants along with her when she moans helplessly against his shoulder as he pistons up into her, holding her steady by her hips. The tight confines of the car make it so that every drag of his cockhead brushes against the sweet spot inside of her, making her involuntarily tighten around him.

His pace becomes rushed, sloppy, and the feeling of him pulsating inside of her sends her toppling over the edge, white hot sparks of pleasure shooting through her as she spasms around him. His fingers dig into the meat of her hips as he pushes up one final time, emptying himself into her with a groan.

She shifts to move off of him, but he grips tighter, keeping her where she is. “Don’t,” he whispers breathlessly, eyes closed.

“I need to put my leggings back on, babe,” she chuckles, “I don’t think the AA bloke will appreciate the sight of my bare arse.”

“We’ve got time,” he murmurs, pulling her back to him, stroking her hair. “Just stay like this for a minute.”

She squirms, the chill of the air on her naked skin and his spend leaking out of her around his softening length making her uncomfortable, but she stays where she is. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, slowly blinking open his eyes. “It’s just…this is the first time I’ve been in a car where I haven’t thought about something horrible happening.”

Her gaze softens, and she pecks him on the cheek. “That’s good. So, what were you thinking about?”

“You, just you.”

[barbieaemond]

EWAN MITCHELL as BILLY WASHINGTON | Trigger Point 1.04

[aegonx]

EWAN MITCHELL as BILLY WASHINGTON | TRIGGER POINT S1