brothers best friend billy bc i am self-indulgent ☺️ very poorly proofread😴 edit; here’s another installment of this au <3
william h. bonney is a gentleman.
he is a gentleman, but fuck, if you whisper another word into his ear, warm breath fanning over the cusp, he’s not above bending you over the poker table and fucking you in front of everyone, including your brother.
and billy knows, he knows you’re trying to rile him up, knows you’re just trying to get a ride rise out of him, but did you really have to hit him where it hurts? you’d learnt not too long ago that billy is quite sensitive on his ears—when you nibbed him on his earlobe while he was balls deep inside your tight cunt and he came on the spot—and if you didn’t take advantage of that from time to time, you reasoned, it would be an injustice, truly.
“oh billy, don’t you know fucking your best friends little sister is wrong? how long has this been going on—2 months, huh? hmm, you ever gonna tell jesse? oh, no. he would kill you if he found out, wouldn’t he? and you’re still taking that risk for me; how romantic of you, billy,” your voice is a tantalizing taunt, and it’s winding him up, so much so that he has to take a swig of his whiskey to cover up the flush spreading on his cheeks.
your whispers are received from billy with a shudder, whom you’re standing behind while he sits at the poker table. nobody really even notices you talking to him, not even jesse. he’s focused on winning, as is billy, but you just make it so much damn harder for your lover.
the game is on its last play and it’s gotten quite intense. “reveal your hands,” the dealer commands and jesse lays down his cards before billy shows him up completely, 4 aces over jesse’s straight.
the sportsmanship is friendly even after billy gathers the whole pot for himself and jesse goes to catch a drink at the bar, giving billy the perfect opportunity to figure out what the fuck your little show was about.
his large hand is wrapped around your—by comparison, small—wrist, and he’s dragging you outside the saloon, all the way to his house just down the block.
when the door slams shut, billy’s lips are on yours faster than you can blink.
he has this way about his kisses—they’re always needy, but not all-dominating. he doesn’t want to own you, you can see it is his eyes, the eyes that are so much softer than lil the other men you’ve come across, who look at you like a piece of meat. he kisses you with a certain passion, a fire that you haven’t been able to find with anybody else, and it ignites something bubbly inside you. he’s feverish, and you reciprocate his urgency, fingers hooking into his two front belt loops, pulling him closer to where you need him the most.
“fuck, pretty. really tryna rile me up, huh? fuck was that, back at the game?” his lust-blown pupils do nothing to hide the fact that you won. you got just what you wanted, so with a giggle you respond, voice teasing. “i just wanted to see how gentlemanly you could stay before you would eventually break—i knew you would break,”
billy scoffs and rolls his eyes, before placing his lips on yours, more gently this time, and picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you to his bedroom that you’ve grown oh, so, familiar with.
he surprises you when rather than laying you down on your back unto the bed, he sits down himself, begins unbuttoning your linen button-down and unbuttoning the boot-cut denim jeans that hugged your ass so fucking well, before pulling all of it off of your limbs and helping you pull his own trousers down.
with gentle maneuvering, billy eases you onto his hard, awaiting cock. a soft gasp leaves you, and a deep groan from billy reverberates throughout the room. “this is what you wanted? to sit on my dick, make your pretty, little pussy cum? yeah? go on, use me. ride my cock, hm? you own it, it’s yours,” his breathy words only speed up your pulsing around his dick, and pull a aroused moan from your throat.
he sounded so honest, so real. it was times like these, with him underneath you, coming more and more undone by the second, that felt the most raw. it was times like these, when his hands where welded onto your hips, surely leaving bruises, that you realized, you didn’t want this with anybody else, ever. you never wanted to leave his loving embrace, and it’s with that epiphany you speak.
“fuck, billy, i love you. i love you so fucking much, oh my god, fuck!”
his hips falter slightly at the sentence, but almost like a serendipitous parallel, billy cums with a loud moan right along with you, orgasms perfectly in time with one another.
and as he comes down from his high, riding you through your own, his response to your confession is uttered—in hushed tones, in fear that if he dare raises his voice, dare speak freely, dare open his arms, you may disappear, like sand through his calloused fingers.
“i love you, too, angel. i think… i think want forever with you.”
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so i was packing for yoga tomorrow and just got to thinking about how absolutely bent out of shape seeing the reader practice yoga gets rick.
you’re just following the vinyasa flow rosita is demonstrating for you and a few of the other yogis in alexandria when he happens to pass by on a neighborhood patrol. the constable means to keep up his pace but the chaturanga sequence you’re playing out grabs his attention.
rick should be moseying on down to deanna’s office but instead he’s taking in the view. lowering your body to the ground, you lean forward, planting your palms before extending into cobra. the pose is typically more appreciated from the front but from behind, rick can’t complain. he wouldn’t hate being pressed up against you like that right now.
it’s selfish and irrational but he almost wants to walk right up to your mat and drag you home. his brown slacks grow tighter with every thought he’s mentally silencing. thoughts of you going through a chaturanga on the mattress.
he wants to see your forehead glistening from sweat, not just from a yoga flow. after a long day of protecting and guiding his new community with a gentle hand, rick would give nothing more than to feel your plush cunt sinking down onto him while you tense all of those same muscles you are now - and more.
hips shot to the sky, you’ve never looked better in a downward dog position.
it’s at the point where rick’s almost drooling that carol’s coming up behind him and snapping him out of his filthy thoughts with a playful swat to the shoulder, warning him. “don’t you somewhere to be, officer?”
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Whumpee was always kept naked by their captor. Caretaker knew they'd talk about it when they're ready. They'd only had Whumpee for a day or so, and so far they'd just let them sleep. Now, though, they really need to eat.
They knocked on the door to Whumpee's bedroom and immediately heard a gasp, and a thud. Then they heard frantic rustling. Caretaker slowly pushed the door open to see the duvet throw to one side where Whumpee had scrambled out of bed and fell to their knees. Whumpee themself was pulling off all of their new clothes with desperate, trembling fingers. Trying to look presentable before their strange new jailer.
"S-Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be faster," they promised around uneven breaths. "I shouldn't have worn them, I'm sorry."
Caretaker stayed still, holding the tray of bread and soup in their hands, trying not to scare Whumpee any more while also having to watch them strip away their pyjamas in the freezing winter cold. Their body underneath was sickeningly frail and abused.
In just a few more seconds Whumpee was completely exposed and kneeling on the floor, shivering but docile. "Okay," they mumbled. "I'm ready now."
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