lellokitty

[lellokitty]

nothing is hotter than someone who's reallllyyy into eating pussy. licking and sucking and kissing because it turns them on to taste you and get you alllll over their face

[lellokitty]

“i didn’t know you were keeping count” with billy could go so many ways

OOOOOOO THANK YOU FRANCI

city-bound modern!william bonney x reader not edited!

The raucous noise of laughter lifts Billy's spirits by a smidge. It's still uncanny living out here in the city, versus his home out in rolling fields and among more animals than humans at times. But the night is alive, and he finds his eyes flitting from person to person, pocketing them in his memory for a mere second before they drift off to the unknown part of his head.

He promised his mother a long time ago that he would travel for her. Opening up her journal after her death felt like an act of sin, but all that filled the pages were photos taped and glued to the thick paper. Sometimes, his mother would write a small explanation for the photos, other times Billy was left to wonder how she may word things.

What stuck out most wasn't the childhood photos of himself and his late brother, that was to be expected, but it was the pictures of the New York City skyline, cut out from magazines or postcards or anything his mother could get her hands on. He knew for a fact she had never been, and she never mentioned going, but he remembers a conversation they had late one night years again when Billy told her he rejected a college offer further out west.

"I understand, but you need to take advantage of...going places."

He had huffed, said something about money, about not wanting to leave her alone on the ranch but his mother merely waved her hand on him and sighed in reluctance, "You're too stubborn, Billy boy. I would jump at the chance to travel away from home if I was you."

In the end, it wasn't so hard to plan the trip. He was here for only two weeks, saved money up for food, originally denied an old friend's invitation to stay at their apartment, but he gave in after seeing the prices for hotels. Billy knew his mother would never have planned what to do on a trip such as this, she would go with the flow. The wind would tell her to stop by a candy store, or travel to Coney Island and get on the most egregious rollercoaster she could.

So for her honor, Billy let everything around him guide him. The first day he stuck to the Brooklyn neighborhood his friend lived in, had some of the best pizza of his life and sat out on the fire escape, sipping cheap whiskey. The second day, he found himself in Times Square. He wanted to roll his eyes over how touristy it was of him, but he couldn't help but imagine his mother staring up at all the lights until she fixated on where they would lead her. For Billy, none of the stores pulled at him. Instead he walked, glimpsed in windows, sidestepped slow-walkers and found his way back to the subway to return to the apartment.

And now, it's only his third night, so of course he should still feel a stranger to the city. But it's pressing against his breastbone, a weird pressure he hasn't felt since the night his mother passed. He's found his way back to Manhattan, strolling a well-packed street in Greenwich Village. Most of the people passing by appear to be college students, and he wonders what that must feel like; to be so young and thrust in a city such as this one seems way too overwhelming for him to even begin to comprehend. Yet there is an easy way in which they chatter, and he tries to hold onto it as best he could to alleviate that pressure in his chest.

He stops walking in front of a bookstore. It's still lit up inside, with only a few people trailing the aisles of shelves within. The sign out front reads, 'Catbooks,' and depicts a cat drinking from a teal coffee mug. On the nose. Billy finds himself chuckling at it.

For no clear reason, he strides forward and opens the door, a small chiming hearing above his head. It's air-conditioned inside, chilling the warmth of his skin that he did not realize was sweating so much.

He would not call himself a person who reads very often, there is little time for it when he has much work to do on the ranch, but when he can indulge in a book, he can read it through in one day. Given this, he has little idea where he'd like to look. It's a small shop, lined with only a few white shelves, labeled by genre. The decor, decidedly, is all cat-themed, he almost expected every book in the place to also be cat themed.

He lingers on one of the front tables that holds engraved leather journals, much like the one his mother had but not quite. He runs his finger along the image of a daisy flower on the brown leather cover, then pushes on to peruse the mystery book section.

Billy should have realized it would be calming to enter a bookstore. The smell of the paper, hushed talking from the few occupants who also thought going to a bookstore on a Friday night was more interesting than anything else, and the dim, but not too dark glow of the lighting.

Every time he leaves an aisle, he finds himself going back to the front table to run his fingers over another one of the leather journals. Each of them have a different flower, though he is not sure of the name of them all. Fantasy. Rose. Romance. Hydrangea. Nonfiction. Lily. And so forth.

When he's come back round to trail his fingers on a flower he doesn't know, someone clears their throat.

His head lifts up, eyes meeting yours.

A name-tag sits on the t-shirt you're wearing, with a design that matches the sign out front, and you give him an amused smile, "Can I help you? You've come back to this table seven times already."

"I didn't know you were keeping count," he replies, with no thought or hesitation, so much so, that he feels his face flush at how smug that sounded.

To his delight, you only raise your brow and bite back some sort of smile. He decides he likes your smile. It lights up your face in a way that he feels he would never get tired of. Billy's forgotten what it's felt like to speak to someone so beautiful, but he pushes it aside. He's not here in this city to find something as elusive as that is to him.

"It's kinda hard not to notice the very tall man in cowboy books walking back and forth in the store."

"Ah." That makes sense. But you still noticed him. And had he really gone back seven times? The journals just really do look like his mother's. And he always loved the feeling of tracing engravings. Billy glances to his boots then pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Do you need any help?" You ask him again, and suddenly he feels even more silly than he had been before.

He doesn't think he needs help at all, but you're watching him so earnestly. He takes that moment to really study you. Somehow, you do not look tired, but almost more alive than you should be. And questions punch into skull. Do you like working here? Do you like reading, is that why you seem so happy about your job? How long have you lived in the city? Did you have recommendations over what he should do, where he should go?

"What uh, is this flower?"

Billy feels like a downright idiot. He gestured to the notebooks, but has to point more directly after his words flew from his mouth without his permission. The pressure in his chest ramps up, then melts as you give him a bigger smile.

"Oh, that one? It's a violet. Hence the purple-dyed leather. These are a hit, though," you tell him, and he feels himself come back to his senses. You're just being nice. You're trying to sell something to him. He's thinking too much.

"I'm sure they are. They're very nice," Billy says, and the mutters under his breath, "excuse me."

His hands leaves his pockets, and his legs are taking him out of the store before he can go back on his words. What the fuck happened? His mind is swirling as he pushes the door open, the chime feels like it's mocking him. Mocking him for being weird to the woman working when she was kind, mocking him for clamming up and for listening to aptly to what his mother would do. Letting your instincts lead you to places was not fun, he decides, and already starts to think about how he'll plan out the rest of this trip so there's nothing else of a surprise and-

"Hey! Mister!"

He turns on his feet and sees you, standing right outside the store, waving your hand. In it, is a small white piece of paper.

"Shit, sorry," he says, as he comes jogging the small way back. You hold out the paper for him and he takes it, stuffing it back in his pocket.

"It's no problem, you dropped it." You pause after your words, then let out an awkward laugh, "well, obviously you dropped it, that's why I had it, but I figured you would want it since it wasn't a receipt and-"

"I got it. Thank you," he says, putting his hand against his chest to rub out the knot building there.

You're grinning again, and he can't help but reciprocate it in his own small way, and suddenly the purple journal is being held up to him.

"You may have this. On the house."

Billy stills and his fingers slowly encase around the bottom edge of the journal. His eyes wide on you, "I would feel awful, at least-"

"It's no burden on me. On us," you gesture with almost your whole body to the store and it makes Billy laugh.

"Just answer me this," you raise, waiting for him to nod. He does.

"What do you plan to write in it?"

He considers the question. He wonders if this was an overstep by you, too personal, but this entire interaction has been weird to him, so to hell with it. "About my...travels. What I see while I am away from home." Billy's eyes sweep up into yours, and he tries to think about how he would describe the color with words. "And who I meet."

[lellokitty]

ice cold lemonade billy and reader arguing about their different music tastes but the next time she’s in the chevy she notices he bought multiple of her favourite albums on CD just because

OHHH THIS IS MY FAVORITE YET ANON

ℬ𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸 𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓈

“Smashin’ pumpkins?”

Billy’s fingertips, scratchy with callouses, is running up and down the bones lining the back of your hand. Grass tickles your palm, the sky above is spackled with stars like accidental toothpaste on a mirror. You’re laid a ways away from an old cottonwood tree, not far off your father’s property. Billy woke you up, the clock careening towards midnight, by throwing pebbles at your window. Thirty minutes later, here you are, in a nightgown, taking a break from kissing your lover to argue music with him.

“Haven’t you ever heard of Mellon Collie and the Infi—”

“Infinite silence, yeah. I don’t like it much.”

“Sadness.” You correct, averting your eyes from the deep indigo, countryside sky and at the clearly faulty-eared man beside you. “And how?”

Billy hums indifferently. “His voice is annoyin’.”

“And Bob Dylan’s is like a church choir,” you retort with a scoff that has no real bite. You got him there.

“I like it. His lyrics are great.” Billy’s come to playing with your fingers, curling and unfurling them absentmindedly. He meets your eye, his own cerulean and ever-soulful— also, ever-full of the kind of humor that made you wanna hit him upside the head.

“Joan Baez does what he does much better than he does it.” You’ve had that conversation before, your boyfriend grins like an idiot up at the sky and raises his brows. You catch him mouthing, lord, ma, help give me the strength. “I’m right, you know it, William!” You stress the sounds of his full name in a way that makes him laugh and squeeze your fingers in apology. Will—ee—ahm, much haughtier and tighter (and more mockingly!) than he’s ever heard it.

“About Joanie and Bob. Not Billy Corgan.” Billy closes his eyes and makes a face like a self-important music critic, if only to get you to laugh. “‘Sides, there’re plenty better ‘Billy’s out there.”

You roll your eyes. “Like you?”

“I was gonna say Joel, but thank you, sweetheart.” This, and that stupid, crooked grin earns his arm a hard swat. When he recovers he’s all of a sudden, miraculously much closer, and on his side. His rope-burnt, rough hand from you reaches over and traces your opposite cheek with the gentleness of a man whipped. “What else?”

“What else, what?”

“What else do you like?” You give him a suspicious look. A grin crosses back onto his face, “I’m just curious. I wanna know more.” More than he already does might be impossible, you want to say. But it’s endearing, so you hum thoughtfully.

“Mazzy star’s good.”

“Never heard of him in my life.”

“Her. And I know they’re old—“ stupid to even mention, you’re pretty sure Billy exclusively listens to bands two decades old. “— but I’ve always loved Fleetwood Mac.”

“Them, I know.”

“Have you ever heard ‘brown eyes’?” Billy shakes his head, his eyes are glued to your face in a way you can only describe as adoring. Like how Angharrad, your puppy, looks at you, late at night, when you’re focused on a book but not to preoccupied to pet your girl. Maybe that’s why this man and that dog got on so well. Mutual loves. “You’d like it.” You’re probably making an involuntary face, because he laughs at you. “Actually, you’d probably hate it.”

“Probably,” Billy echoes. “They’re too.. hippy.” You scoff, and half-bully him into letting you ramble on about music for another half hour. The Cure. The Smiths. Sade. You don’t even notice the gears ticking in his head. You only see the product, days later, when he picks you up in the Chevy.

You make a dive, as usual, for the glove box containing all his CDs. Dead set on finding his Bruce Springsteen, and skipping the whole album until I’m On Fire would play. But the jumble of plastic is considerably larger, and at the top of the pile? Mazzy Star, So Tonight That I Might See. You rifle through a bit, lo and behold, She Hangs Brightly. You eye a Joan Baez album, a Fleetwood Mac greatest hits— absolutely out of Billy’s ball park.

“Billy? Since when do you like Mazzy Star?”

“I don’t,” Billy shrugs, simply, his eyes on the odometer to shift into a higher gear. You huff.

“Then why do you have two of her albums in your truck?” A smile, slow and honey sweet, creeps across your boyfriend’s face. He shrugs, shyly.

“You love her.” He says this plainly, as if it should explain it all. He looks over at you once he’s up to the fifth gear. “What? Y’don’t like the stuff I got. Gotta keep my girl happy.”

You could almost cry from how sweet the gesture was. You could, actually, throw your arms around him and make him swerve off this country highway and into the tumbleweeds, the brambles. But you settle for a firm kiss to the stubble of his cheek. “Oh, Billy, you have no idea how cute you are!”

“I got some idea,” and there he goes, spoiling it with a stupid grin, one that creases his eyes and lights up the road ahead more than if he turned his brights on. You roll your eyes so hard they might fall out, and he tells you so; earning another quick smack to the bicep. But, he can tell as you pop in Mazzy Star and, reading the case, skip to Halah and sing along sweetly, just audibly under the croon of the radio— he can tell he does a pretty damn good job at keeping you happy.

[lellokitty]

no judgment but thinking about being pregnant with beau's baby

[lellokitty]

twin stars

[lellokitty]

tgchk doodle

[lellokitty]

Old Chevy 𓃒

modern Billy x farmers daughter reader

Billy teaches you how to drive stick in his truck on the way to the farmers market.

part 2 of Ice Cold Lemonade

note; this au is less modern modern and more like 100 years after the series— you can picture whatever you like, but I see it as the mid to late 90’s!

prev | next

“Busted ass, stupid ass, stinkin’ ass..” You sound like a fourteen year old while you kick rocks (literally) away from your worn leather boots.

Your car wasn’t starting. thank god it was at home and not on the road, but a fucked car didn’t suit your schedule all that great. It was another sweltering day, New Mexican sun beating down on your exposed shoulders while you made your way down the gravel lane that led from the farmhouse to the road.

What bullshit, you thought, looking up from your shadow and scanning the property through squinting eyes for your father. Your car could’ve used a new alternator last month. Maybe your dad spoiled you, but you’d argue that a working car wasn’t hardly a prissy want.

Especially when he was the one encouraging you to head down to the farmers market and get him some apple preserves. So much for that, you get ready to disappoint as you step up behind your father. His favorite flannels covering his broad back, that old hat still on his silvering hair, same as it’s been since 87’.

The hires are spread out a bit, but all within his view in the cattle pen. There’s only a handful, going about branding the batch of calves you recall bottle-feeding seven months ago. You were pretty sure the photograph, taken on your father’s Kodak, was still pinned on your cork board.

One was handling the cattle, guiding them out of the smaller pen and into the great wide field to graze again, one wielded the hot iron and the others, the burlier two, kept the animal itself still and calm as was possible. The last man was leaning against the fence beside your father, shoulder to shoulder with him, and you could smell the Marlboro lites from yards away.

Maybe you weren’t paying attention, or you were fuming so hard the steam coming out of your ears clouded out his recognizable build. But one second you’re tapping on your father’s back and the next, the ranch hand leaning on the fence looks over his shoulder just the same as your father does.

Billy, again. Flashing that easy smile, again.

You’d feel a little warm in the cheeks even if the sun wasn’t kissing up on your face. You’d seen him around once or twice since that day you poured him lemonade, but from a distance that wobbled in the heat. Jesus, did he look better up close. He needs a shave, and that navy hat shades his eyes as they dart no lower than your shoulders— maybe he’s scared, seeing as your lug of a father is right next to him.

“S’posed to be quitting, daddy.” You remind your father, reaching over and plucking the lit cigarette from twixt his fingers. You hear a chuckle from Billy, but when you cast the cigarette in his fingers a look, he drops his hand from the wooden fence.

Your father sighs heavily, shakes his head at you like he’s been doing since you were old enough to speak snark. “Old dogs n’ new tricks, lil’ thing.”

“Speakin’ of old dogs..” You begin, putting on the sugariest smile you can manage while squinting the sun from your eyes. It comes out more of a scowl. “Nancy’s busted.”

“Busted?” Your father sighs again. He sounds like an old, lazy hound when he sighs all weighty like that, you think.

Billy cuts in, brows lifted while his lips part over his teeth. “Nancy?”

“My car,” you explain, not so sweetly, finally daring to look right at him. He’s got a look on his face, not bewildered but surely a little confused, the guy’s never seen you frustrated. Well, he oughta get used to it. He hums, and you find yourself wondering if he’s got a girl name for his own car. You peel your eyes off the man. “It’s gotta be the battery, daddy. Can I take yours?”

Your father shakes his head, his hand scratching at his bearded chin while he grumbles, “Naw, naw. She’s been actin’ up too. Don’t wantchu breakin’ down on the highway, bug.” He shrugs his shoulders at your huff, theres an almost regretful frown on his sun-dried face.

“Well, where y’need t’be?” Billy interjects again. He shifts on his feet and, looking down, your eye catches his Marlboro in the dry grass just under his boot. Jesus, you hope the way you threw his belt a look on the way up wasn’t too obvious.

“Farmers market,” you hum, crossing your arm across your ribs and pulling your lips taut. The other hand shades your eyes. Billy turns down his lips in a way to say why not? “I can bring ya.”

There’s an eagerness in his voice that calls a puppy dog to mind. Your guardian angel must be looking down on you right now, ‘cause you’ve never felt so lucky. You turn to your father expectantly, apparently so does he, because Billy continues to him, “I got my Chevy just in the lot. It ain’t no thing, if s’okay with you, sir.”

Your father presses his lips, lifting his shoulders. “Ion see why not.”

“Perfect!” You can’t help feeling giddy, throwing your arms ‘round your father to say thank you for lending you a car. And, well, you supposed a thank you for lending you Billy.

“Don’t you get in trouble none,” your father tells you with a sturdy hand on your back, his eyebrows raised and a faint grin playing at his lips. Billy’s already stepping behind you, in the direction of the lot. Over your shoulder, in a less affectionate tone, your father calls, “Drive safe. Look out f’her.” More of a warning than a request.

Billy nods, that meltingly charming grin splitting his face as he tilts his hat to cast a better shadow over his eyes. “Ain’t gotta worry ‘bout us, sir.”

Sir. Mister. you’d have to poke at him later for that. It was laughable how a man wrapped ‘round your finger scared such manners into Billy. Or, you wonder, maybe that’s just him, with or without his boss over his shoulder.

“Bye, daddy.” You squeeze your father’s arm before following Billy out to the workers’ gravel lot across the property.

Second you’re next to him, he shoots you a boyish grin furthest from that sweet politeness he had around your father.

The pair on this guy!

You technically started it.

“Is that a clutch? Billy, do you drive manual?”

Billy eyes you as his left boot punches said clutch, his hand shifting the stick up a gear as that stare regretfully changes gears too. He watches the tachometer and once he’s worked out whatever stupid math an ancient car as this needs, he turns his attention back to the girl in his passenger seat.

“What’s wrong with it?” Billy chuckles, his brows raising at you. You lean forward to fiddle with the radio, but he shakes his head. “Busted. Got some CDs in the glove.”

“Oh, you’re ancient!” You gasp, popping the little lever on the glovebox and rifling through the CD cases. Tom Petty. Bruce Springsteen. Steely Dan.

Sublime? You pop that last one into the open cd slot, below the broken radio. Atleast you knew Billy hadn’t been completely under a rock for the past ten years. “You makin’ fun of me, woman?” There’s such a laugh in his voice that you couldn’t help the smile creeping up on yourself.

“Well, who drives stick anymore?”

“Cool guys.” Billy huffs, mocking offense. You pull your feet up on the seat, eyes running up your chauffeur. His sleeves were rolled, a smart looking navy that maybe wasn’t so genius for New Mexican summer. Naturally your eyes were drawn to the vein running from the back of his hand up to his forearm, his toned bicep hanging lazy while he rested one hand on the top of the wheel. There’s a slight sheen on his forehead and neck, dark curls are sticking to his nape and suddenly you aren’t cursing the heat so bad. Billy was so handsome it physically hurt to look at the damn guy. “Me.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause you’re a cool guy.” You smile to yourself, turning the radio up so that you can hear Santeria come on the speakers. Billy scoffs.

“You don’t know how?”

“Who does?”

Billy looks appalled at this. Suddenly he’s pushing that ruddy clutch again and shifting to a lower, lower gear until you come to a stop on the shoulder. Not like there was anybody else on the road right about now anyway. “What’re you doing?” You draw your brows as Billy pops his door (which, you noticed still had crank-roll-up windows) and walks around the hood of the car. When he makes it to your door he leans through the open window, his forearms on where the glass comes up, with a devilish smile that makes you feel like a fool.

“We’re gonna get you straight.” You had rolled— cranked, more like, on this ancient ass car— the window up on him, just enough to get him laughing and opening your door.

So, you figure it was your own fault for bringing it up. Billy’s scooted over on the bench, leaning close with a strong hand on the center console and watching your boots to make sure you’re hitting the clutch at the right times. He’s tapping on the faded numbers along the shift. “You wanna push the clutch when you’re switchin’, and pull this to a higher gear. See? We wanna be on ‘bout a 5, on this road, but I don’t want you crashin’ my baby. So you’re gonna bring it up t’four.”

“Four’s.. what?” You furrow your brows as you press on the gas. You’re slowly rolling up to ten mph on the speedometer when Billy’s grunting, “switch gears.”

“I don’t get it,” you huff, already pissed off with this hunk of metal. Billy shakes his head, grasps your wrist around the shift and pulls it back. You hear some kind of shift and click.

While you’re reeling from the warm, rough callouses of Billy’s palm over yours, he’s tapping a little gauge beside the speedometer on the dash. “This’s the—“

“Tachometer, I know that.” Billy raises his brows at you while you maintain 15 mph so you don’t need to switch gears again. You can’t help but smile at the you wanna learn or are you gonna keep being snarky? look, one that you’ve been collecting since you were a little girl. Like a damn gymnast collects medals.

“Okay, well. When it rolls up to three, you gotta switch again.” Billy raps on the glass again and you nod, listening to Bradley Nowell rasp about how “daddy’s got a new 45.!” on the radio. Your eyes dart between the empty road ahead of you, the mirror of the same desertion behind you, and the agonizingly handsome man right next to you.

You shake your head, eying the little white 3 on the gear shift. “So much to be keepin’ track of.” You mumble. Billy hums in agreement. Considering how to word your next jab, you watch the speedometer roll on up to 22, 23, 24 mph, hit the clutch and push on the gear shift again. Too much fucking work, you wanna complain, but it’s not actually the worst thing. In fact, you might just be enjoying yourself, with Billy leaning all close to you, reminding you when to switch gears, his cologne mixed with the pine-tree air freshener hanging off the mirror making your head swirl.

But you can’t resist making fun of him, just a little. “so y’know, dying on this hill don’t make you cool. Just makes you hardheaded!”

“Baby, I can be both.” Billy drawls, you can’t help a giggle bubbling from your lips. What were you, a teenage girl? Well, you weren’t that far from it, you supposed. Nineteen was still teenage. Besides— baby? When you glance over at Billy he’s grinning at you so broadly you feel like you’re looking straight into the sun. The hot, bold, charming sun. You’re realizing how close he’s leaning now, his chest less than half a ruler away from your shoulder.

“Switch,” Billy cuts into the moment, discards his hat and throwing it up on the dash. Which, speaking of it, had a little plastic Jesus perched by the window. You never took him for religious. You do as he says without checking either of the mouthful-ometers. 4th gear.

You tilt your chin to the little figurine on his dashboard while you speed up, going a solid 45. “Plastic Jesus?”

Billy looks over at it like he almost forgot it was there. “Oh, yeah. Was my ma’s.” That explained it.

“Kinda like the song.”

“Exactly like the song.” Billy chuckles, sitting back in his seat and pushing a hand through his hair to fix how his hat matted it down. You think that if you look over at him, you’ll probably crash this truck.

There’s a silence, and you sit in it comfortably, but every inch of you wants nothing else but to know everything about him. You wanna ask his favorite color. You wanna know his favorite food, set it on the windowsill and wait until he saunters up and asks for a slice, just so you can smile and flirt like you didn’t make it for him. Maybe it’s just a little crush, but you’ve never had this feeling— like you can’t get enough, like you gotta get more. You wanna know him. And you haven’t wanted anybody to know you so much as right now.

“You’re doing great, firecracker.” The pet name brings a stupid big grin to your lips. You turn your cheek to look at him— finding that he’s already looking at you. “So, you wanna take back all that talk ‘bout me and my manual?”

You hum, pretend to mull it over while you slowly release the gas, pushing the clutch and going down a gear to make a turn. You eye him, and he nods simply to tell you that you’re doing fine. “Not really.”

“Ahh, I see how it is.” Billy laughs, resting his elbow out the window and rubbing his stubbled jaw with his free hand. “Bullheaded woman.”

“Don’t you forget it,” you giggle, letting Billy remind you to shift down another gear to roll into the gravel lot of the farmers market.

You make him carry all your paper bags, wander around the market with you while you judge the best tomatoes and juiciest corn. Your father had planted apple trees along the house, so you ignored the fruit stall. Fondly, you remember sitting up in the boughs of the tree, munching on the closest apple and throwing the core far as you could, convincing yourself you were gonna spread the orchard. You had just learned about Johnny Appleseed in school, and your father listened to you retell the story over dinner patiently as a man could be.

For a moment, you caught yourself watching Billy collect the stalks of leeks you sent him for, his brow furrowed in concentration as he judged the bunch. You wondered if he’d be the type of man to listen patiently to your rambling. If he’d be the type of man to climb that old apple tree with you, and indulge your silly tradition of tossing the apple cores. You shake it off, and find the apple preserves your father loves, Michigan jam for yourself.

When you meet back up with Billy, he wordlessly lifts the paper bag you were cradling. He shoots you that charming grin over the three bags he’s carrying now. the ass really was a gentleman. “All done?” You hum in agreement, watching him shift the bags to one arm and fish his keys out of his jean pocket. He hands them to you.

“Jesus, Billy.” You turn the keys over in your fingers. Not battery powered— good old fashioned, stick-it-in-the-lock keys.

“What?”

Billy steps to the back of the Chevrolet to lay the groceries in the flatbed trunk, among the spare tire, toolbox, and navy blue Carhartt jacket. You click the keys into the slot on the drivers door, shaking your head and laughing lightly. “The key lock? How olds this car?”

“Why don’t you mind your business n’ get in the passengers seat, firecracker,” Billy huffs, though there’s no bite in his voice— in fact, you see a boyish grin on his face in the rear view mirror while you shuffle across the bench to the passenger side.

When you get back on the road, you lay your feet up on the dash, the heel of your boot beside the plastic Jesus by the windshield. Billy drives a hell of a lot smoother than you had, like he knows this car better than his hand. He put in a different CD earlier, Neil Young warbles Harvest Moon while you cruise down the open road.

For a moment, you can picture this being your life. Driving home from the farmers market with Billy, his old music on the speakers quiet enough that you can still banter about nothing real serious, his attention split between the tachometer, clutch, road and you.

It’s easy to forget that your father would kill him and then you. Maybe that’s what made it so exciting, riding in his passenger seat. His fingers flex over the top of the wheel, his smile easy and utterly earnest when you tell him, “I like this truck. I think I’ll need a ride more often.”

“Anytime, lil’ miss. m’ at your service.”

[lellokitty]

Ice Cold Lemonade

modern billy x farmers daughter reader

When your dad hires a charming new ranchhand, it’s not your fault he won’t stop looking at his bosses daughter. But it is your fault for looking right back.

part 1 of Ice Cold Lemonade

next

We are so back

Levi jeans. a taupe, sleeveless shirt. cowboy boots tucked under said levi's and scuffed from well-use. a navy hat smushing his hair to his slightly-sweaty forehead, but letting the dark locks at his nape curl.

Not to mention blue eyes that keep on finding their way over to you.

It's been a week since your dad hired him. You hardly even know his name, your dad just calls him Kid. Makes sense, seeing as the rest of the hands are pushing forty. Maybe he's a kid in comparison. But looking at him now, sipping the glass of lemonade you fetched yourself from the kitchen, he was all man.

He looks back up at you from where he's mending the wire fence to the cattle pen. You divert your eyes.

The heat was almost oppressive, you had the perfect excuse to wear the tiniest jean shorts you could find in your drawers and the flowiest white camisole. On the other hand, there wasn't a single excuse to be sitting out on the porch when you could practically get 3rd degree burns by touching the wood railing. Who cares? Wasn't like the Kid was gonna come up and ask you what you were doing, besides watching him bust his ass.

It's hardly your fault the man a good handful of yards away makes hard labor look good. Even from here you can see his large arms, skin tanned from working outside. His hat shades his eyes, but from the quick glimpses you've caught of him from behind your father's back, they're blue like the sky above. His broad shoulders raise and flex as he reaches for a nail to hammer the barbed wire into the fence post.

Maybe it's your fault for paying such close attention, actually.

He hadn't dared approach you. Your father's anger was a force to be reckoned with, he was smart enough to get that. You wish he was just a little bit dumber, little bit ballsier (you could clearly tell he had them, you thought to yourself with a grin, you hadn't spared his belt any glances). Though you'd just drop dead seeing him saunter up to you, all shoulders and chest and--

The lemonade glass meets the wooden side table with a clink, the rocking chair you were seated in is on a pendulum as you stand. You can hear Angharrad clawing at the screen door, she must've been getting antsy. You throw the new ranchhand a long look over your shoulder. Just as you move to step inside, he lifts his face, shaded eyes meeting yours.

You blow the air out your cheeks, looking back at a whining Angharrad. Jesus.

You rifle through the dish at the entrance table for a hair tie, pushing the keys to your father’s pickup and some loose change around the ceramic. Catching your own eye in the mirror, you put your hair into a high ponytail. Having hair on your neck in this head was a death wish, but more than that, you were careful to make sure it looked nice. You’ve never cared much about your appearance on the property before— but you guess that was before there was a new hire to try and impress.

Angharrad pushes her head into the side of your knee, her nails clicking on the hardwood as she pads twixt the screen door, and you. You tighten your ponytail, words coming out in a sigh, “I hear ya, baby, I hear ya,” You shake your head, watching the dog (a Great Pyrenees, a cattle dog bought by your father to work on the farm— though she spent more time on your heels than herding cattle,) bound outside the moment you open the door.

And right to the new ranch hand.

Who is leaning against the railing of the porch from the other side, his face twixt the wood posts, reaching through to scratch twixt Angharrad’s ears.

An easy smile rests on his face, his eyes creasing with it, and though it’s probably directed to your dog, his expression doesn’t falter one bit when he meets your stare.

Holy shit.

First words out his mouth don’t register in your brain. You shake your head a little, lifting your brows, feeling dumber than ever. “What?”

“I said, s’a cute dog.” The new hire chuckles, giving you a toothier smile. God, is he handsome. And his voice— it’s masculine and accented and now you just gotta keep him talking.

A smile parts your lips, too, one that you hope looks more shy than stupid. You settle back into your rocking chair, crossing your legs. “Thanks. She clearly thinks you’re cute too.”

Well, doesn’t that one make you proud. You work another laugh out of the Kid, he shakes his head and adjusts his hat on his dark curls. Now, you can get a serious look at his eyes. And it’s suddenly real difficult to tear yourself away from the brilliant azure of them. “M’ Billy,” he winds a hand around a post of the railing, the muscles of his arm shifting under his sweaty skin. Billy.

You give him your own name in exchange, and his brows lift. He dodges Angharrad’s sniffing snout— she really is head over heels for Billy— to call out, “Pretty name. It fits for a pretty girl, y’know.”

A laugh, clear as a bell, sends your head tipping back a little. You had to give it to him, he was charming as all hell. You peer at him over your glass of lemonade, shaking your head just a bit again. Billy’s eyes dart quickly over you, not long enough to make you uncomfortable, but he isn’t exactly hiding it.

“D’ya know who my dad is?” You grin at the way his lips turn downward in a dramatic, so what? expression. He nods.

“M’boss.” A shit eating grin cracks across his face.

“Your boss.” You agree. You watch him take off his hat, wiping his brow with the back of his hand as he walks to the stairs of the porch. Walking straight to you.

Now your stomach really does get fluttery— here was this handsome, no, gorgeous man, broad and even larger than you expected him to be this close up, looming over you and pointing to the half-full pitcher of cool lemonade.

“I don’t guess a sweet girl like you’d spare a glass of lemonade for a tired, workin’ man?” The grin on Billy’s face was just as clear in his words, the joke eased off his tongue with a natural charm that he clearly had in droves. You nod, that’s all you can get out, standing to your feet.

“I’ll grab you a cup,” you mutter, ducking away from him and hurrying inside, pushed by nerves. Weren’t you barely just gawking at this man from across the property, and here he was, calling you pretty, saying you were sweet?

Well, if you’d looked over your shoulder, you’d see an only slightly confused, and extremely enamored cowboy. When you returned back outside, Billy was sitting in the other chair, on the other side of the coffee table— his hat was in his lap, he was trying to ruffle some life into his hat-hair. Waiting ever so patiently for his boss’s pretty daughter, even reaching to scratch your dog’s ear again.

When you crossed over to him and began pouring him a cup, you could feel his eyes on you. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not at all predatory— by the time you met his eyes, handed him the glass, there was a certain twinkle in his eyes. Charming, but not over the top. Not pushy.

Your hand grazed Billy’s for a moment longer than necessary, he drawled a low, “Thanks, miss.” You fell back into your chair, huffing through your nose as you watched him down the lemonade. It really was hot out here, you couldn’t blame him. New Mexican summers were no joke. And he was doing manual labor under the sun on top of it— though you didn’t feel entirely bad, he looked damn good doing it.

“I ain’t my dad, you can call me by name.” You jest, earning you another grin. You watch him rock back and forth on the chair, one leg pushing himself, his fingers fiddling with his belt— you shouldn’t be looking down there!

Billy hums and repeats your name in correction. It seems like he just sat down, but here he is, pushing himself to his feet and standing in front of you. He pushes his hat back on, you get a glimpse of his large arms, his defined biceps— maybe the heat is what’s making you feel dizzy.

“You ain’t got a guy, d’ya?” Straight to the point. Your eyes dart back down— damnit— to see he’s hooked his thumbs over his leather belt. When you meet his stare again, there’s that devilish smile. You shake your head no to his question. “Makes sense. If y’did, I don’t think he’d take kindly t’how y’been starin’ at me.”

The easy way it falls from his lips— you’re practically clutching your pearls. “I have not been—“

“Oh, yes you have, miss,” Billy interjects with a warm, rumbling laugh, his brows lifting in good fun. Clearly he found it funny more than anything. You find yourself a bit distracted by the crease of his eyes when he grins, the sun-kissed pink to his tan cheeks. His broad shoulders, revealed by his sleeveless shirt. Maybe you get a little ballsy, faced with all this in front of you.

“So what if I have?” You retort, the flirting filling you with a strange, overpowering yellow, from head to toe— a kind of excitement that you didn’t feel often, not from any guy. “You work for me, y’know.”

“Thought you said you wasn’t your dad, sugar.”

You stare at eachother a long, long few moments. You’re huffing, beat. He’s shifting his weight, putting forward a boot on the porch, glancing you over again. The gumption on this man was gonna send you up the wall, all-right.

It takes a while for you to find your words, and they come out in an astonished laugh. “Get back to work!” you half-jokingly shoo him off even though you want nothing more than for him to stay, sit back down, keep your jaw dropping, keep your chin tipping back with laughter.

“Cruel, cruel woman,” he mutters without any bite, his eyes falling to Angharrad spread out at your feet. He only smiles at his own joke when you giggle. And Billy turns, shakes his head at you, looks over his shoulder atleast twenty times, waves once and curses himself twice, even though he wants the exact same.

If you’d want him to risk his job to sit and tell you the worst jokes he has, drink up your lemonade, drink up the sight of you— he would. In a heartbeat, honest, he would, even just from that quick interaction. Even if your father came after him with a shotgun and ran him off this ranch, he has half the mind to slither right back in and sit at your steps. It’ll get to that point, all-right.

You’re gonna get this boy into so, so much trouble.

[lellokitty]

Hi! I simply ADORE your writing and idk if you’re taking requests right now but I’d love an accidental pregnancy with Billy story (maybe even with some enemies to lovers vibes)!

౨ৎ꣑ৎStaying౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: angst, pregnancy, bullet wound pairing: billy the kid x fem reader author’s note: sorry this took forever! here's your poll winner I hope you like it hehe. thank you @phantomamor for reading through it for me mwah Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

His hair was a mess. Curly and free of his hat for once, dancing over the plane of his forehead. You could count every freckle on his cheek if you wanted to, easier than counting stars. His breathing was soft, escaping his slightly parted lips in brief little puffs. He was sunk into the mattress next to you, arm slung around your side, fingers splayed over your back. You hadn't bothered to redress and neither had he.

It must have been nearly an hour since you woke up, his heartbeat stuttering in your ears. Even when you'd shifted, he hadn't woken. It'd likely been a long time since he'd slept in a decent bed, so used to collapsing and shutting his eyes whenever he could. Although he'd been here renting this room for nearly a week, there wasn't any way he was used to it yet. Or maybe he was just relaxed. You'd slept better than expected too.

Blinking, you shook yourself out of your daze, suddenly realizing where you were. Billy Bonney's bed. Billy the Kid's bed. And he was sprawled out as if it were nothing, palm warming your side, maybe leaving a handprint with how long it'd been resting there.

Sitting up, you watched his hand drop from your waist to your thigh. He still didn't stir. Letting the sheet fall away, you stiffened upon seeing the patches of red that marked his trail of kisses down your body, the result of his stubble rubbing at your skin. It'd been deliciously satisfying at the time, but now the leftover sting only heightened your shame.

Reaching down and rubbing at the most prominent marks on each inner thigh, you squeezed your eyes shut. Your innocence had been surrendered to a man whose face was splashed all over the West with a reward over his hat. The same hat you'd knocked off his head so you could tangle your hand in his hair. It'd been softer than you remembered.

Your brother James' childhood friendship with him as well as your brief romance felt like decades ago. It ended when he'd skipped town without so much as a letter. Needless to say, it'd been a shock to see him leaning on the bar last night, sipping his drink and grinning at something another man said. And when your eyes caught his, there was nearly a string of fire stretched in the distance between you. Everything unspoken pushed you together again, until there was no separation.

He'd been so smooth last night. Gentle, touch like a butterfly as he unwrapped you from your dress and whispered things that set your heart aflame. Though there were new shadows behind his eyes, this was the same Billy who'd told you he loved you all those years ago. You knew him, but obviously you hadn't known him.

He'd filled out in the time he'd been away. Your Billy Antrim had been broad and manly, but this Billy was somehow broad-er. Pressed against you now, it was easier to tell. He wasn't at all a kid, contrary to the name he'd earned from the law. It'd been freeing to be with him. You'd felt alive. This was something you'd done for yourself, no watchful eye of a protective brother standing above you like a lighthouse.

Maybe a piece of your heart had always been with him. It was so easy to fall back into your old patterns, conversation flowing like water, his touch familiar and safe. When he'd kissed you, it was like you'd found the X on a map you didn't know you were following. Was it worth all the heartbreak you'd nursed for so long?

Billy's hand twitched on your thigh, squeezing lightly, and you decided it was.

Lying back down, you pressed your cheek to his chest, settling your hand over his heart and letting yourself relax. Subconsciously, Billy's arm tightened around you, and you felt your eyes growing heavier. In all the time you'd imagined being in love, you never thought you'd feel comfortable sleeping next to someone. Apparently, your imagination had steered you wrong. It felt so safe here, like his arms could ward off any darkness that crossed your path. Except of course, for the night, when he would make love to you and hold you until you both succumbed to your dreams.

As you drifted off again, cozy and sleepy, you could finally place the feeling that'd been knocking at your back.

Home. He made you feel like you were home.

Shielding your eyes from the sun, you peered out into the distance from the porch. James was supposed to be back by now with everything you'd sent him into town for. Normally you would've gone yourself, but today he'd insisted.

Not bothering to argue, you'd distracted yourself with chores, hoping it'd fill more hours than it had. The house was spotless now, the animals fed, dinner on the fire. The only thing missing was your brother.

Maybe he'd been held up in town. You wouldn't be surprised. There wasn't a soul your brother couldn't make friends with, and he put it to the test wherever he went. Leaning on the railing, you sighed, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the growling in your stomach. You were supposed to eat regularly, and your brother was aware of that. Ordinarily you'd go ahead and serve yourself up a portion, but one of the missing ingredients happened to be on the list you'd sent him out with.

It'd been a tense few months. There'd been troubles with the ranch hands, as well as a mysterious outbreak among the horses that only allowed one person to leave at a time. Not that you minded. It wasn't like you'd want to go to town anyways, for fear of who you'd see.

The ranch was distant enough to give you some peace. And you were able to avoid prying eyes, or whatever gossip could circulate. Now more than ever, you were wary of it. Ever since that night with Billy, truthfully. Last time you'd graced the bounds of town, you'd been on edge, scanning for familiar blue eyes, or curls peeking out from under his hat. Mercifully, he was nowhere to be found.

Time had passed. Enough time to grow bitter. The feeling left a bad taste in your mouth, but you couldn't spit it out. It had grown, twisting around your bones and wrapping fingers across your throat. If James had noticed, he hadn't said anything, though he didn't have to. The way he'd handled you lately told you everything you needed to know.

You bent your head, feeling slightly faint with hunger. Hair falling in front of your eyes, you stared down at the skirt of your loose-fitting dress. Sorting through what you had in the cabinets, you wondered if you could make do without what you'd been waiting on. As soon as you began to entertain the notion, it was dismissed. You'd been craving this soup all day, even in the warm of the dying summer. August was full of endings, and you felt as though you were hurrying along its departure by making something you usually reserved for winter.

Hoofbeats. Lifting your head, you perked up as you saw a horse in the distance, heading for you fast. Now you could make out James' familiar outline, of his hat and the dark grey shirt he'd left the house wearing this morning. Folding your arms and leaning back, you were ready to give him a hunger-induced earful for being late.

Squinting as he got closer, you could see the other rider behind him. From where they'd appeared on the horizon, you hadn't been able to make out the second horse, the other person tagging along. Smoothing your hair, you pushed aside any twinges of annoyance that came with James' apparent impromptu dinner invitation. You'd made enough food, surely, but you hadn't been expecting a visitor.

Your brother and his guest stopped, tying their horses and chatting all the while, the other man saying something that made your brother erupt in deep laughter as he hoisted his full bag from his horse. You stood up straight, thankful he'd at least followed the list.

Bounding up the stairs, James greeted you with a kiss to your cheek, holding your elbow with his free hand for a second. "You okay?" When you nodded, he squeezed, nodding briefly. "Got everything you asked for. And I brought Billy 'round for dinner."

Billy-?

You whipped to see the man standing at the bottom of the porch steps, hat in his hand as he looked up at you with those blue eyes that hadn't ever failed to put stars in yours. A tightness erupted in your chest, and you felt your expression drop. For a moment you were frozen, just staring at him.

Now memories from that night were stealing your vision. Waking up alone after falling back asleep, the spot next to you cold and empty. In fact, the room had been emptied of any remnant of him. The few possessions that had been strewn across the dresser had disappeared, along with his clothes, his boots, and his gun. When you looked out the window where the horses were tied up, his hadn't been among them. The only evidence he'd been there were the marks he'd left on your body and the indent in the other pillow.

He'd left you. Again.

Of course you'd felt stupid. Just like in your early youth, you'd fallen for his charm and heartbreak ensued. You should have known he hadn't changed. While the first time you'd been sad over it, now you were angry. And the following months only added fuel to your fire.

The way he'd looked at you had pulled you in, a lifeline in your sea of content misery. You'd been so hopeful, so happy over him that you hadn't taken any of the risk in mind. You didn't know what he'd been up to in the time that had passed. Seeing him in the bar that night, you hadn't asked questions, hadn't brought up anything about him leaving. It'd been nostalgic, a trick of the light that had you falling into his bed. And now you were paying the price for it.

All of this circled you like vultures over a fresh carcass as you stood there looking at him. He didn't break your gaze.

"C'mon, you're hungry, I know it," James said, putting his hand on your back and guiding you inside. "'m sorry I took so long. Didn't know Billy was back in town."

"Who would've guessed?" you asked, side-eyeing Billy as you allowed your brother to lead you in.

When you reached for his bag to dig out the soup's missing ingredient, James swatted your hand away. "You go sit. I know you've been on your feet too long today."

Billy looked at you curiously as you sat down, tucking your feet under the chair and chewing on your bottom lip. It felt embarrassing for your brother to be doing this right now, even though he had been for months. It was more that it was in front of Billy.

James started cutting the missing carrots, and you were left in silence with your unexpected guest as the sound of chopping filled the air. Billy shuffled where he stood, then decided to go into the kitchen. "I'll see if he needs any help." Only moments later he emerged, standing uncomfortably in front of the door.

You looked away, focusing on breathing in and out. Yet another thing you were supposed to do. Breathe and do it easy. It was okay. You'd been without him for months and you'd been fine. At least, that was what you had to tell yourself.

Billy sat across from you, and you could feel his eyes on you, though you didn't lift yours. Without looking, you knew his knee was bouncing, just a little. One of his nervous tics. "Didn't know James knew how to cook."

"He didn't until a few months ago." Your response was directed at the edge of the table, where your eyes followed the wooden pattern.

"How've you been?" he asked quietly, and you blinked.

It was a loaded answer. You didn't bother playing with telling him the truth. "Fine."

"James said you've been havin' a tough time," he muttered, and your eyes snapped up.

"What'd he say?" It came out harsher than you meant, and Billy's brow knit in confusion.

"Didn't say what about." Your shoulders slumped in relief, and he watched you suspiciously.

When you'd been his girl it'd been nearly startling how well he could read you. And the night you'd seen him again three months ago, it was evident how little that had changed. The way he'd been with your body against his, anticipating your needs, what you wanted him to do. He'd been perfect. It'd only made his leaving hurt more.

Opening his mouth, Billy began to ask you something but was interrupted by James bringing in the bowls of soup. You jumped up, but he shook his head. "Stay sitting. I'll get the other one." He kept leaving you alone with Billy. He didn't have a reason not to, but it still put you on edge. When your brother returned once more, some of the tension diffused, and you all lifted your spoons.

Dinner turned out well, even with the late addition of the carrots. James told a funny story about work that day and you finally cracked a smile, the burden on your heart lightening. When Billy answered James' question about what he'd been up to, you listened carefully, trying not to look like you were too interested.

"Had a bad run-in with a few folks from the last town I was in," he said, looking between you and James. The thumb of his hand on the table next to his empty bowl was tapping lightly, and you watched it. Up. Down. Up. Down. "Was actually here for a night a while ago but I had to skip again cause they found me."

You met his eyes, something chipping at the cast you'd put around your heart. That was why he'd left? Stiffening again, you looked down. He still could have said something. He'd had enough time to clear out his things, so he could have woken you or left a note or something. And then there was the matter of the first time he'd left too. A wound that hadn't healed, no matter how much you covered it and pretended it did.

James gave a low whistle. "You've had a real adventure. We're real glad to have you back, Billy."

"I shouldn't've ever left," he said, looking squarely at you. Heart thudding at your chest, you lowered your gaze.

Standing up, you fluffed your dress away from yourself, a habit. "I'm going to sit outside for a bit before bed."

James stood almost instantly, a hint of concern in his expression. "You feelin' okay? Need anything?"

"I'm fine," you promised, giving your dress another fluff. "I just want to watch the sunset." James accepted this, but you could feel Billy watching you leave.

Nearly collapsing on the front porch chair, you tried to focus on the sunset, counting the colors. This was an activity James had done with you one night when you were panicking, and it'd worked since. This was a different sort of panic, though. This was a disease eating at your insides, threatening to tear you in half.

You wouldn't deny you'd imagined seeing him again. Pictured what you'd say, what he'd say. But this was beyond what your mind could come up with. It was too soon. Too soon after everything. However much you'd thought you could handle had been an overestimation. No amount of time could have prepared you for his arrival here, in the one place you had left as refuge.

Red, blue, pink, orange. You made a list in your head. Clouds, grass, hills, trees. Maybe if you closed your eyes, everything would disappear. Every wrong sorrowful tragic aspect of your life gone in the blink of an eye.

How you wished these emotions had faded with time. If anything, the sand from the hourglass had coarsened them, created jagged shards of glass that cut you on the inside. At least nobody could see you bleeding.

When you heard boots on the floor, you stood, avoiding Billy's eyes as you watched the sun sink deeper into the earth. His scent hadn't changed- it was something distinct and all him. It permeated the air, nearly suffocating you.

"I'm sorry." He said it softly. You didn't bother looking. "I know me showin' up like this upset you-"

"I don't care what you do, Billy." Your tone was colder than you meant it to be, and beneath the shell you put around the woman you used to be, she winced.

"Sweetheart-" he paused when you winced. "I did a bad thing, I know. I hurt you-"

"You hurt me before," you whispered, looking up at him blankly. "I don't care."

Billy's face didn't change. You wished he would stop looking at you like that, like he'd stumbled on treasure in the desert. His mouth was flattened, like a ridge. Where tension had dissolved before, now it was stretched taut, ready to snap. Biting the side of your cheek, you fought the tears that threatened to make an appearance, but it was like trying to hold a bursting closet door shut.

When his hand found your face, you closed your eyes, humiliated as a tear slipped through the cracks, your facade crumbling. His course thumb caught it, and you lifted your lids, eyes hardening.

"Talk to me," he breathed, searching your eyes. You froze as two more tears slipped from your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks. The truth was at the tip of your tongue, but you kept your mouth shut. If he knew, it could ruin everything.

"I'm fine," you managed, but he held firm, shaking his head. "Billy," you started, voice firm as it could be. "Just go. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter-"

"You left me!" Taking a step back, you stared up at him, no longer caring if you cried. "You left me twice without ever saying a word and this time you left me-" Stopping short, your eyes widened slightly as you realized what you'd almost said.

"What?" Billy closed the gap between you, searching your eyes and grasping your shoulders, his touch causing you to stiffen. You hated that you wanted it, wanted him to pull you into his arms and tell you everything was okay. "I know somethin' happened, what-?"

You sniffled, smoothing a nervous hand over your midsection without thinking. His gaze dropped, and he froze. As soon as you realized what you'd done, you tried to step away but he held you firm, eyes never straying.

"You're-" Billy swallowed, growing pale at the notion. "Sweetheart, you're-"

Now your vision was blurry, hot tears springing and falling without your permission. You folded your arms over yourself, feeling your hands start to shake. Billy's hands flew to your cheeks, tilting your face up so you were looking at him, into those deep blue eyes that had gotten you into this mess to begin with. In the softest voice you could imagine, he asked, "Is it mine?" Sniffling once, you nodded. Billy exhaled, one hand sliding to your crown and pulling you into his chest. You didn't fight him.

Being back in his arms was a daydream you'd let yourself indulge in only a few times. But no amount of imagining compared to the real thing. He engulfed you, pulling you in like you'd been lost at sea,

Sinking into him, you could feel yourself breaking. This is what you had craved ever since you'd found out, the itch only he could scratch. When he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, you closed your eyes. "I needed you."

"I know." His voice was unsteady, nearly breaking as he tightened his arms around you. "I know. I'm so sorry, sweetheart." You hid your face in his chest and he smoothed your hair, voice sounding frantic. "I shouldn't've left..."

"I needed you," you repeated desperately, and you swore you felt a tear fall into your hair.

"'m sorry." The emotion in his voice had you grasping at his shirt, trembling as he lowered you both to the ground. He started to rock back and forth, rubbing a hand up and down your back. "I left you alone, I left you-" he cut himself off, burying his face in your hair. Tentatively, you lifted a hand, sinking into his dark curls. The familiarity prompted another tear or two out of you.

When you noticed it'd grown dark, you pulled yourself away, wiping your eyes and risking a look at him. He was solemn, eyes roving over you. It was a look you recognized. Checking, making sure everything was okay. You brushed away another tear, whispering, "It's okay."

"It's not." Billy reached for your hand, eyes soft.

"I've been fine without you, Billy," you snapped, pulling away before his fingers could brush yours. "You don't have to do anything for me."

"I'm not just gonna leave-"

"You had no problem doing it before," you cut him off, reaching up and gripping the porch railing to get to your feet. The sting of humiliation was already coursing through you, and your instinct was to run. "Just go. I'm fine."

Without another look, you strode into the house, making a beeline for your room and shutting the door. Not one set of footsteps, Billy's or your brother's, dared follow you.

Lifting a hand to your face, you slid against the door, body shaking again with tears.

"Outta the way!"

You nearly dropped the plate in your hands, watching your brother stumble into the room with a limp, staggering Billy supported by his shoulder. Blood soaked the blue of his shirt, and your heart gave a pang. Feeling faint, you watched in a daze as he propped him up on the kitchen table, speaking lowly. James looked up, silently shooing you from the room. Turning on your heel, you fled and shut the door behind you, heart pounding in your ears.

Billy's presence on the ranch had been nearly constant since he found out that night, acting as a shadow toward you. Your brother, ever kindhearted, had hired him on, insisting he give work to his oldest friend. You'd protested but stopped once he started to question why it bothered you so much. Catching yourself, you realized James was bound to find out sooner or later. If you kept arguing, it would be sooner.

To Billy's credit, he kept his mouth shut about the paternity of your child. But that didn't mean he kept to himself. It seemed that every second he had away from work he spent at your side, pestering and fussing over you, constantly asking if you were okay, if you needed anything and maybe you should sit down because he didn't want you to get too tired. It was overbearing, and you fought him at every turn.

"Darlin'-" he'd protest, trying to guide you to a chair. "You gotta rest, alright? For you 'n the baby. Please?" Sometimes you would sit down begrudgingly, his pleading blue eyes persuading you into his way. Others, you would push away his hands, some sharp-tongued comment leaving your mouth as you stormed away to be anywhere but near him. Your emotions were running wild, a something you attributed to the new life growing inside you. Although, the circumstances surrounding the arrival of the baby's father couldn't have helped.

Still, he persisted. It was impressive, really. The way he kept at it, never once giving up. Whenever you burst out and told him to leave you alone, he just stood there, letting you take it out on him. It always ended in tears.

You cried more now than you ever had before, in private most often. Really, your head was all muddled from everything happening all at once. Billy was trying to flow seamlessly back into your life, but you wouldn't let him. He didn't deserve to get back in so easily this time.

But now as you paced the length of the living room, anxiety squeezing your heart and hammering at your ribs, the only thing in your heart was regret. A fierce sickness that clouded your senses and brought tears to your eyes. What if he died? What if the father of your child died and you could have forgiven him and you didn't? He'd hurt you, there was no doubt about it. But he cared. He'd proved it a million times since he found out, putting down roots just in case you decided you wanted him.

Here, as you shuddered and shook over the idea of losing him, you knew it was more than that.

"Hey-" At the sound of your brother's voice, your head snapped up. James looked harried, clenching his jaw as he ran a hand over his hair. "He's askin' for you. I can't do anything 'nless he sits still-"

"I'm coming." Your feet were moving before you knew it, and you stepped past James into the kitchen, heading straight for Billy.

The moment he saw you, he reached out, motions almost drunken. "Baby..." he slurred, catching your hand. "So...so pretty. Prettiest girl in the west..."

"Billy what happened?" you asked, squeezing his hand, brow scrunched. You were trying to ignore the blood on his shirt, the red growing deeper by the second. James was fetching something in the other room, bandages most likely.

"Shoot...shootout, darlin'..." he managed, grinning up at you and wincing when he shifted. The pain must be making him woozy. "Don' worry 'bout me..."

"Why were you in a shootout?" you asked, horrified. Holding his hand close to your heart, you whispered, "You weren't on the ranch."

"Tryna make a lil' extra, honey." Billy reached out with his other hand, cupping your face. "F' the baby. 'n you." He pulled your fingers down to his lips. "Wanna marry you, pretty. Do it right..." Wincing, he tried to continue. "Didn't do right by ya the first time...wanna make it better..."

James interrupted, arriving with a messy pile of medical supplies in his arms. "Give him some laudanum." He shoved the bottle and a spoon into your hands, not seeming to notice the look on your face leftover from what Billy said. Almost stiffened by shock, you measured the amount and fed it to him, praying it would kick in sooner rather than later.

"Good. Help me get his shirt off." James nodded at Billy. In your condition, your brother wouldn't dare have you help with something like this unless it were dire.

With shaky hands, you got to work, ignoring the way Billy was blatantly watching you, as if you were a saint in a storm. You didn't grimace when his blood stained your hands, peeling the shirt away from his chest and working his arm out one side while James did the other. He tossed it to the side, tearing his eyes away from Billy. "You're gonna talk to 'im okay? Distract him cause I dunno when the medicine'll kick in."

"Okay," you whispered, still staring into Billy's eyes. They were clouded over, his head lulling. When James started to dab at the affected area, Billy gritted his teeth, grunting and reaching for your hand on his uninjured side.

You remembered your job, squeezing his hand. "I..." Panic was seizing you, holding your tongue. James gave you a look, and you were kicked into action. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay. We're gonna get you fixed up, alright?" Tears pricked at your eyes. "Billy, you've gotta hang on, alright? I...we need you. Both of us." You weren't talking about you and James.

Billy's eyes went soft, and he held fast to your hand, looking up at you like a puppy. You wouldn't be surprised if he melted off the table, a snowdrift in the sun. James was hard at work, and you avoided looking. You never wanted to see this much of Billy's blood again.

A thousand questions poked at your tongue, things you wanted to ask your brother, ask the father of your child, but you held back. Later you'd interrogate them all you wanted, but for now Billy's safety was at stake.

"Need to sit him up," James finally said, sliding his arm under Billy's shoulders. "Here- get on the table and keep 'im steady." You scooted up, feeling numb as you went through the motions. Billy looked dazed, but he was still as you tucked your shoulder under his arm, back against his side. His fingers splayed out, seemingly searching for something, and you gave him your hand.

James wrapped the bandage around Billy's middle, and you shifted your body as needed, still pressed to him. It was precautionary; he wasn't nearly out of it enough that he'd have trouble staying upright. But you found yourself wanting to stay, your mind telling you that if you left for even a second, he'd collapse and never wake up.

"Alright." James stood up, nudging his chair back. "He's gonna be fine. Was just a graze, so we'll check it every little bit."

Your eyes were on the ground, Billy's hand in yours the only thing you were aware of. The pounding of your heart slowed when it was confirmed that he would be okay, but you still wanted to cry. You almost lost him today, with every unsaid thing still poking at your backs.

James managed to guide him out of the kitchen, depositing him in his own bedroom for now. You trailed in behind them, unable to tear your eyes away from Billy, shirtless and bandaged, his eyes fluttering shut as the lingering opium in his system lured sleep to him. He's safe. He's safe, you repeated to yourself. He's safe.

Turning to James, you hissed, "What the hell were you doing that ended in a gunfight?"

Swallowing, your brother shifted on his feet. "Was a job. We've done 'em before 'n everything was fine but this time..." he winced. "'nother gang showed up and they wouldn't back off. We're lucky he wasn't hurt worse."

You stood shocked, eyes wide. "A job-"

"Before you say anythin'-" James held up his hands. "Billy was stubborn 'bout it. He wanted...well..." His eyes fell to your midsection, which became more swollen by the day. "He's been lookin' for ways to make more money for you 'n..."

Your heart sank. He knew. Turning to look at the man sleeping on the bed, you felt another wave of emotion crash over you.

"He cares a lot about you," James said quietly. "He woulda done it without my help, but it's a good thing he didn't."

Silent, you fought back tears, regret welling up like a river after the first snowfall. All this time while you'd been pushing him away and insisting you didn't need him, he'd been working for you. For your future, and for the baby. You knew all too well that any other man would have run for the hills and left you with "your" problem, but not Billy.

You'd been taking him for granted. And it had almost killed him.

Looking back at your brother, you whispered, "I can watch him for awhile. You go clean up. You can use my room if you need some rest." The sun was still high in the sky, but James looked exhausted. He merely nodded, meandering away after a final glance at Billy.

James' footsteps thumped away, and you sank into a chair close to Billy, watching the rise and fall of his chest like his life depended on it.

Sliding a hand over your belly, you found yourself trying not to cry again. For months you'd had yourself convinced that you didn't need him, that you could do this on your own. Have the baby and do the best you could, all the while nursing an ache that you refused to admit was there.

A tear bubbled up, spilling from your eye, and you sniffled, looking down and swiping at it. It proved to be pointless when more sprouted, flowing down your cheeks faster than you could get rid of them. You took in a sharp breath, letting your hand drop to your lap as you cried silently, the tightness in your chest nearly suffocating.

You nearly jumped when you felt a hand on your knee, palm warm as it rested there. When you looked up at Billy, his eyes were open, brow scrunched in concern. You tried to clear your tears with your hand again, but he squeezed your thigh.

"Sweetheart..." his voice was sleepy. "What's wrong?"

"Go back to sleep, Billy," you tried, blinking rapidly, sniffling and setting your other hand on his. "You need to rest."

"Been tellin' you the same thing for weeks," he mumbled, shifting to the side and lifting his hand from your leg, effectively opening his arm. "C'mere." When you only stared at him, the corners of his lips turned up just slightly. "'s okay. We both need it."

All resolve gone, you found yourself obliging, crawling into bed with him on his uninjured side and letting him guide your head to his shoulder, body relaxing once it was against his. As you settled into him, his hand found its way around your waist, the tips of his fingers on your swollen tummy. It felt like a missing piece of you sliding into place.

"I'm sorry." The words fell out of your mouth, and Billy hummed, rubbing your side.

You couldn't see his face, but you knew the furrow in his brows hadn't unfolded. "What for?"

Everything. There were a million things you wanted to say, but they all fell short when you lifted your head to look up at him. Earnest blue eyes, hitched to you like you were the one thing keeping him from floating into the stars. Swallowing, you whispered, "You got hurt...because of me..."

"No." Billy's hand pressed at your side until you laid back down. "No, that wasn't your fault. Was a stupid thing to do."

"You were doing it for me..." you whispered, more tears blurring your vision. "And I haven't been kind to you since you came back."

"Hey-" Billy grunted as he sat up a little, bringing you with him. Leaning against the headboard, his fingers drew a soothing vertical pattern at your waist. He searched your eyes, shaking his head. "I shouldn't've left. It's the worst thing I ever did. Leavin' you alone after what we did..." he exhaled deeply, mouth flattened. "It was bad enough I did it the first time."

"But you had a reason...'n I shouldn't have been so mad..." you whispered.

He thumbed the side of your face, eyes tender. "I thought I was protecting you." His shoulders slumped. "But all I did was hurt you."

"It's okay," you breathed, holding his wrist. There was no bitterness or loathing or grudges behind it. Everything that had happened was in the past. He was here now.

"It's not," Billy mumbled, but his expression lightened. You knew your anger at him must have taken a toll, and it must have been a relief not to have it burning him anymore. He brought his hand to the back of your head, stroking your hair with his thumb. "You know I've loved you all this time? Think there's somethin' wrong with me. Like I'm cursed. Bad things happen to the ones I love and it's usually my fault."

"No, bad things happen to everyone," you corrected, heart aching. Swallowing, you softly said, "I've loved you too. All the while."

Billy paused, his eyes softening. The way he watched your expression like he was making sure it wasn't a trick broke your heart all over again. He'd been hurting just as much as you, and you'd been too caught up to notice.

You leaned forward, catching his lips in a soft kiss, careful not to lean on his injured side. He used his hand at your crown to hold you to him, mouth moving slow and steady and easy, the feeling of his mouth against yours nearly convincing you he never left. You may as well have been eighteen again, fresh in love and invincible.

Pulling back, Billy brushed a kiss to your nose, than your forehead, and you closed your eyes. His hand found your tummy again, hold protective. "I love you. You and the baby."

"I love you," you whispered, meaning every syllable. Billy relaxed back into the bed, pulling you down with him and grinning when your belly poked him in the side. You nuzzled your head into his shoulder, eyes falling shut. "I've wanted you with me but I didn't know how to say it..."

"I wanted you too." Billy smoothed your hair, kissing your head. "I wanted to be here for you."

"You have been. Over and over," you promised, hand rubbing his chest. His skin was warm, and you felt sleepy just lying against it. "Over...and over..."

As you drifted off into dreamland, a part of you panicked, remembering the last time you'd fallen asleep next to him. A voice told you to keep your eyes open, to make sure he wouldn't run.

But when he pulled you in impossibly closer, laying another kiss to your head and sleepily mumbling that he loved you, the voice disappeared. You shifted comfortably, knowing when you woke up, he would still be here.

He would stay.

[lellokitty]

Kenma leans across the kotatsu, stretching his switch as far out in front of him as he can, clearly intruding on your personal space. Under the table, his legs slide against yours, one foot nestling between your thighs. It’s a silent vie for your attention, one he can do without losing the beat of whatever he’s playing.

It’s a rhythm game. You can tell by the way his nose twitches along with the click of his stylus against the screen. His eyes, with a delicate down turn and heavy lids, watch the screen with an intent sharpness, but the rest of his face is calm. Smooth, unbothered, porcelain skin, soft lips with just the faintest hint of a smile: he’s really gorgeous to just look at.

“Kenma,” you coo. It’s your turn to stretch across, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. It’s still damp from the bath, lightly scented with your green tea shampoo. “You’re really pretty.”

He doesn’t even look up from his console, even as he nuzzles against your hand before you pull away. “You know, guys don't really like being called pretty.” he says casually.

“Oh yeah?” you rest on your elbows, watching him from just over the DS, admiring. “What should I tell you then? That you’re handsome?”

There’s a beat before triumphant music erupts from the handheld. Finally, Kenma looks up through his eyelashes, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. When he talks, there’s the edge of a toothy smile, like the cat that’s caught the canary.

“Tell me I make your pussy wet." He enunciates every word clearly, making sure to deliver his point.

“Kenma!” you snap his Nintendo DS closed, nearly catching his thumbs in the machine.

“What?” he pushes his foot forward until it rests against your pelvis, heel pressing against your clothed cunt. Those delicate eyes narrow into something more feline, something more hungry. “Pretty boys can’t get horny?”

[lellokitty]

the type of prone bone where he rests his forehead against the back of your head, heaving breath as rolls his hips so steadily into you... with every thrust he's pushing your ass up, bringing your pussy closer to him so he hits deep... having him pressed against your back feels so comforting, so safe, but also so hot. the temperature between you gets warmer by the second, and before long his every move is sticky and slippery and sweaty, but it feels sooo good... the overwhelming physical contact gets you that much closer to cumming, and his cock slides into you so perfectly... it feels so damn good that you start sobbing between moans of pleasure, completely lost in the feeling, until his voice cuts in from all the panting he's been doing, resting his lips against your shoulder before gently craning your head back with a hand under your jaw...

"i know, baby. i know. i feel it too."

[lellokitty]

dad!iwa👀

hello nonie!! thanks for celebrating with me!! 💗

cw: reader implied pregnancy, post-partum, fluff, established relationship

dad!iwa

it feels odd to be sentimental over something as seemingly small as this, but you suppose it’s just one of the things that comes with parenthood.

you should be used to it by now—the short, buzzed strands of iwaizumi’s freshly trimmed hair. you used to clip them yourself, back when you were both broke college students trying to cut corners between rent and overpriced groceries. years of practice have made you perfect it; somewhere between a buzz cut and a crew cut is the exact length that iwaizumi's found himself preferring your hands over any barber's.

it's a routine every other month, one you've kept up with as much as you could even during your pregnancy. but since the baby's arrival—always halfway between either of your arms or the crib—it's been tough to find the time for almost anything, really. the strands of iwaizumi's hair have overgrown, spiked up like the pictures you've seen of him when he was in high school.

—all until now, a little after two months of your little girl arriving earth-side; you've managed to set aside a few minutes to finally give him a trim. fluffs of his hair scatter around your living room, tiny imperceptible millimeters of them no doubt sneaking into the cracks of wooden floorboard.

he looks handsome, as always; fresh, as he kisses you thank you—and, not to toot your own horn, but you think this might be your best hand at it yet (or it might just be your hormones, who knows). it's funny, you think, how postpartum has hit you harder than you ever believed it would. one moment, you want to jump your husband after a fresh new cut, and in the next, you're hit with a sudden surge of emotions bubbling up to spill out of your eyes.

it's a split-second vision as you run your fingers over his head, shaking out any leftover cut hair. you picture it so vividly, the afternoons you've watched iwaizumi gently blow raspberries on her tummy. she'd giggle, clinging onto the then spiked up strands of his hair.

iwaizumi has to snap you out of it when he catches you near tears.

"hey," he immediately turns, grabbing your hand as he soothes you with soft hushes, "what's wrong?"

you bite your lip, trying to keep it in. it's ridiculous, after all—

"is it the hair? you did a great job, babe, you always—" his rambling is cut short when you shake your head, letting the tears fall on their own.

your frown deepens as you stare at him, eyes filled with emotion.

"she's gonna miss it," you half-sniffle, half-mumble, tilting your head slightly in the direction of your daughter's room, "that's all."

it takes him a while to comprehend what you mean as he furrows his brows; then, it clicks, and he stands to hug you immediately.

"aw, babe," he runs his palm up and down your back, almost the same way he rubs your baby girl's when he soothes her to sleep.

you didn't expect to get so emotional over iwaizumi's hair out of all things, but just imagining your little girl's reaction during play time with her papa is enough to break your heart.

"she won't have those strands to cling on to anymore," you tuck your head under his chin, "she'll be so confused."

iwaizumi kisses the top of your head, and you know, from the slightest movement, that he's stifling a smile.

"babies like sensory stuff right?" he mumbles, lips still pressed to your head. you nod. "her papa's head can be a sensory playground then."

you chuckle lightly; you suppose, you never thought to see it that way. and call it the hormones, or love, but when iwaizumi adds on so confidently, "she'll know it's me, and she'll know what to do because she's half you."

—you don't think you'd want your life any other way than it is right now.

[lellokitty]

the summer after graduation

[lellokitty]

hi willow! first off, ily sm you deserve the world bc your prohero!touya saved me lol. secondly, i loved your cowboy!bakugou au AND on top of that sharlock once posted a cowboy touya. so if you ever could, i beg you, PLEASE gimme a no scars cowboy!touya 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️

"you gonna miss me or somethin'?"

touya is lying back beside you in the feathergrass, arms behind his head, silver belly hat pulled low over his eyes. the sun has long since been ready to set, dimming from blue to grey, orange clouds creeping into the horizon. the breeze has picked up with the evening coming in, has you shivering a little in your dress.

you look away from him, even though he can't see you struggle with the words. you always thought you would be ready for this moment; enji was a colonel until he lost his arm and despite the dark turn he and touya's relationship has taken over the last few years, it was always going to be this way. touya was always going to follow in his father's footsteps.

his company leaves tomorrow.

what you want to say is, not one bit or gonna be glad to be rid of you or don't make me laugh but—you can't. the words won't come out of your throat, thick like mud. instead you just swallow and try to clear it away, sniff as your eyes sting.

the wheat he's got in his mouth goes still, just as his jaw does. from the corner of your eye, you can see the motion of his nose, nostrils flaring, before he sighs.

"ain't like i'm comin' back in a box."

"touya," you chide, frowning down at your hands. the very idea has your chest aching and you're wounded by the sudden image of yourself and his family at a grave, much too soon to be as deep as it is. it feels like you're going to choke.

"don't be cryin' over me, girl."

you try to disguise your tears with a laugh, but it sounds just as pitiful, so you swipe the hat off his head to place on your own. his eyes open and they're brighter than you've ever seen them, burning in the low light as he watches you.

"i ain't a girl," you mumble, and when he sits up, you can't help but to smile. his jeans dust with dirt as he scoots closer to you, grinning like he does when he's up to no good—and he never is, these days. time is coming to a close, for the both of you, and he's been a little odd lately, trying to fit too much in before the sun sets.

staying out later even though he knows it worries his mama, coming home with money that couldn't have come from nowhere good, spending too much time talking to those girls at the saloon in town.

sitting too close, on cold nights like this.

when he speaks, his voice is low, just like his eyes on your face. "you think you a woman now, that it? all 'cause you turned 18?"

you nod once and jut out your chin, hoping he can't hear the heavy beat of your heart as it shifts you closer. "that's right."

touya grins and it's—in the last few years, he's grown. not as tall as his brothers, but more than you, and the curve of his jaw has sharpened, shoulders broadening out from all that he does on his father's ranch. no longer is he the same round-faced boy you're used to, that you grew up. now he smiles and he's the kind of man you can dream about.

"you ain't a woman yet," he mutters, and even though he still looks downright devilish, something changes in his eyes—hesitancy—and his cheeks redden just slightly. "but i could make you one, if y'want me to."

you splutter, reeling back from him as your stomach turns dangerously. "touya!" the sound of your surprised squeak makes him laugh, and you tug his hat off to shove it over his face, to put some distance between the two of you.

"i'm just messin', calm down." he tries to bite at your fingers when you shove him again, chuckling to himself as you look anywhere but him. the grass, the stars rolling in, the todoroki fields of wheat and how they wave in the breeze.

touya watches you, however, and even though he's smiling and shaking his head, you can't help but to notice the heaviness under his eyes. a seriousness he masks too well. you think maybe you should ask after him, why he's making such crude jokes like that when y'all have never been anything more than friends—but his neck strains and he bites at his lips and the moments slip through your fingers like sand.

try as you might, you don't catch them before they're gone to the wind.

it takes almost a full year for you to get your first letter.

the only reason you know touya hasn't been killed is because there's been no word; in the schoolhouse where you teach, you keep a keen eye on the front doors for any heavy-laden soldiers, speak to his sister often, ask if they've heard anything from him or his troop. enji still has a great deal of hold and, though he's always intimidated you, you're grateful for it; if there were anything to notify him of at all, someone would be quick to do it.

it comes on no special day, delivered straight to your hands from a man on horseback with little ceremony, and when you read that it's from private touya todoroki, 25th infantry company, you rip it open so fast that you nearly tear the thing in half.

he tells you it's taken him a long time to get settled in any one spot, with any one company, not to mention how hard it was to track down the mail service—and then he had to afford postage. he's been adamant about earning everything he has; there was nothing from his father that he wanted, no influence or money, and he admits to not ever realizing the wealth his family has. staring from scratch, he tells you, is difficult.

there's very little about it he likes. the bugle calls every hour, standing at formation in the cold early mornings, drill, guard detail, sharing barracks and pillows filled with hay. the only thing he doesn't mind is tending to his horse, watering her, and practicing battle formation. touya seems—different, in his words. a little disappointed, having chased after something so long, only for it to end up a dim shadow of what he expected.

unless he can help it, he tells you he saves every bit of money he can and that he wants to buy land as soon as his four remaining years are done, maybe even before then. there's even a small picture on the back of what he wants: a house that's too big—both in architecture and it's size on the paper—and a wide open pasture with little dots you assume are cows.

he wants you to write him as often as you can, even if you don't hear back. if he gets stationed elsewhere, your letter will find him. that's another small thing he enjoys, how dedicated the express is to delivering their mail, knowing how badly they must need it. the last thing he writes—asks—is that he wants a photo of you.

i'll send you the money, if that's what you want. i know it ain't cheap to get your picture taken. go to the bigger town down south, by the mountains. i don't want no shitty picture, i want a good one. it's the only piece of you i can have right now.

you don't wait to take any of his money. you go south and send it right away.

it's winter, three months later, when the second one comes in.

touya's angry. it's plain as day in everything he says to you, in all the bullshit he details from his days. they've moved him to the coast, to aid the artillery regiment, and he doesn't know why. it takes him much further from you, and he makes note of that twice. the sea is nice, he thinks, but there's nothing good out there for him.

only once does he mention some kind of trouble. the men he's been stationed with: touya tells you they're rats, not an honorable bone in their bodies. despite holding higher ranks—his, you notice, has changed too—they don't treat anyone with respect, nor themselves. often missing assembly because they'd been in town the evening before, visiting ladies of the night and drinking and fighting. one of his bunkmates kills a man and holds no remorse. they often brag about forcing themselves on women, widows that have lost their husbands. they're low, he tells you, not the kind of man he could ever stand to be.

he tells you he's realized a lot of things, about you. he's grateful for the photo, sends money so that you'll send another, and the distance has made him bold; if he wasn't a coward, he writes, then he would have made you his a long time ago. you'll be twenty next year and he knows that, knows that your family is trying to marry you off because it's about time for you to start a family of your own—but he asks you to wait for him.

if i gotta write a letter to your daddy myself, i will. maybe when i can get away from this end of the world and a little closer you can come to me, even for one night. i'll pay for everything if you will. i'll even marry you right there if you'll have me. fuck what your family says, if you'll have me then i'll do anything. i'll give you anything.

you decide not to tell anyone, not even fuyumi. there's another man in town your father has been speaking to, takami, you think his name is, and he's on his way to being a sheriff up north. he's a nice man, once you've spoken to on occasion, but despite his charm and good looks, he's not who you see when you lie down at night. he's not who you dream of.

if touya comes closer, you'll go. you decide that, even if it means leaving your mama behind and your schoolhouse and everything you know, you'll go.

the last letter you get is shorter than all the rest.

there's no sweet mentions of a future, no loving words of any kind. it's all flame and fury, a hatred you can't imagine on him. the life he lives, that path he's chosen: touya tells you it's the wrong one. the army is a sham, a front that gathers the trust of the innocent and spits on it. he doesn't detail anything specific, but even his handwriting is bad, like he'd been so angry that he couldn't see straight.

it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. fear, for what the next letter will hold. disappointment, that you're not running away with him so soon. a selfish part of you wonders if he even still wants you, if maybe he's found another woman wherever he is or if he's uninterested all together. you keep having dreams of the last night you sat in his pasture together, of him offering to make you a woman, if you wanted him to.

you should have said yes. you should have made love to him right there in the dirt, should have kissed him like you really wanted to, even if you were too shy to admit it.

the soldiers come the following week.

you only know because you're with fuyumi when it happens, visiting with her in her home, contemplating coming clean about the last thing touya had said to you. she deserves to know, you think, of his frustration. maybe there's even something she can do, something she can ask of her father.

both of you already know what they'll say, as they dismount their horses and adjust their hats. both of you fall to your knees, can't even hear what they're trying to tell you.

touya isn't coming home in a box. touya isn't coming home at all.

YEAH WELL — IDK WHAT THIS WAS LOL. i tried to start something so many times and this is the direction it took in every single attempt. somewhat cowboy, little more frontier-esque. i — very nearly made this its own fic, bc i had so much i wanted to say LOL but i. cannot take on another project. i cannot. SO YEAH SORRYYYYYY

but thank you so much for your kind words 🥺 you deserve the world friend !! i am so sorry this is how i repayed you LOL

[lellokitty]

mint do you perhaps have any sweet touya and reader moments to spare? maybe when they were younger before he knew what it was like to be numbed by whatever drugs he could get his hands on. maybe between rehab stints when he’s feeling great for 2 weeks and talking about marriage and a house god forbid a baby. maybe im sick in the head but GODDDD i love him and reader i feel maternal

The car wobbles once it hits 45, but Touya keeps creaking down on the gas, edging the beast faster and faster down the dusty back road. The road sign says 35, but you both know better: this is the place to fly.

You swivel in your seat, choking down a laugh.

"Sho-- Touya, turn down the music." Instead, Touya leans over and rolls the knob louder, until the song crackles in the speakers and dances over your skin. The night thrums with it, over the sounds of spring peepers and early summer.

"Can't hear you-" he shouts back.

"Touya-"

You turn back to the seat behind you. Scrunched up on his seat is Shouto, hands over his ears and a scowl on his face. His tiny for his age -- honestly, he should probably be in a car seat, but he sits inbetween Touya's bags and doodads like a big boy. Sniveling back, you turn down the music.

Your boyfriend almost says something, but you jerk your head towards his brother. "Hey, he doesn't like it."

"Aw, come on, you big baby," Touya cranks the rearview mirror to look at his little brother. The make the same face at each other, with stuck out tongues and sneered teeth. "Don't give me that, you little shit. I bought you a large ice cream. With sprinkles. And you got it literally everywhere."

There's really no way to tell where Touya's mess starts and Shouto's ice cream drips begin.

"Dad says it's bad to have that much sugar."

"Oh, then give it back." Touya reaches behind him, palm up.

"I ate it."

"Throw it up. Right into my hand."

Shouto gjves a little 'ugh'. He holds himself like a teenager, adjusting his little prep school uniform (somehow still pristine.)

"You're gross."

Summer has just started for the kid. His camps and tutors start next week and his dad is only out of town until tomorrow, so this is his first and last night of freedom. Fuyumi was supposed to be in charge, but Touya had convinced her that one trip for ice cream couldn't hurt.

The speedometer rolls up to 55.

"What's the rule, little man?" Touya starts creeping the music up again.

"I'm not a kid," the boy scoffs. "And I know not to tell dad about this."

"Or...?"

"Or Fuyumi or Natsuo or mom. I know. It's just driving over a hill."

"You're only saying that because you haven't done it yet. It's one of those things that make you a man. Going over Diggim's Hill, having a beer, touching a boob-" Touya's hand creeps up to honk your breast. You smack him off gently.

"Touya, quit it."

"I never want to touch a boob."

"You'll change your mind about that." The road curves so suddenly that you have to hang on to the sides to stay upright. It's coming up-- the infamous hill. It's really not more than a molehill, but it you hit it fast enough, your car hops over.

"You ready, princess?" Touya says just as you all hit the point of no return. "Hold tight."

The car hits the crest of the hill and you all keep going, hanging on to the moment without gravity for just a moment longer than seems possible. Touya's hand finds your thigh and squeezes protectively, as if there was something to fear in this moment. From the back, Shouta laughs, this creaky little thing that's finally boyish, beautifully childlike.

Then, all three of you clunk back down to earth, the tires catching asphalt. The three of you squeal and laugh and howl as the car slows, rolling to a crawl.

Touya's grip twitches on your thigh again. He's watching you, not the road, underwear heavy with smile.

"You're kinda pretty when you laugh like that."

"I'm gonna throw up," Shouto says and Touya groans.

"Listen, you're gonna-"

"Touya, my tummy-"

The three of you spend the next hour on the side of the road, Shouto hunched, you rubbing his back affectionately. Every time you glance up, Touya is watching you with this pensive grin.

[lellokitty]

00:19 | Geto Suguru

cw: afab!reader, he calls reader pretty thing and pretty baby, and his little pet… erm… fingering, erm… idk… haha… bye.

“You look so pretty like this.”

The smile on Suguru’s face is predatory from where he looks down at you. His brow furrows in time with yours, lips parting to mock the moans flowing freely past your lips.

His canines gleam in the dark where they tug on his bottom lip, eyes zeroed in on the way your cunt swallows his fingers.

“My pretty little pet, aren’t you? You’d let me do whatever I wanted to you.” Suguru purrs, thumb tap, tap, tapping against your clit, “Bet you’d even beg for it. Huh, pretty thing?”

“Y-yeah,” you whine, hips bucking up into his hand, lip quivering when he adds a third.

“Y-yeah,” he mocks with a laugh.

The sound of Suguru’s fingers pulling free from your pussy is obscene, a trail of your cum glistening in the light. He lands a harsh slap on your clit, shushing you when you cry out at the sting.

“What do you want?” He asks with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to your head.

The contrast of the gentleness he exudes as his fingers churn your insides leaves your head spinning, hands flailing to grab at anything you can.

It’s hard to be embarrassed when Suguru looks at you so reverently, sharp eyes clouded with lust as you fall apart for him again and again.

He slides his free arm under your shoulders, pressing your face to the crook of his neck as his fingers scissor you open.

“Answer me, pretty baby,” he goads, soft lips skimming your cheeks, “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Wanna— wanna cum,” you whimper.

Salty tears are licked from your cheeks as soon as they fall, Suguru’s moans reverberating in the minimal space between the two of you.

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours!”

Suguru groans loudly, hard cock rutting against your thigh.

“Say it, say my name.”

“Suguru’s!”

“Yeah,” he moans, large hand grasping the nape of your neck, “Yeah it is.”

Your neck strains at the stretch, chin pressed to your chest as you watch his fingers fuck you open.

“Now watch me make my pussy cum.”

[lellokitty]

a man who looks like a pretty princess but will put you through the mattress