francixoxoxo

[francixoxoxo]

*soooooo loudly* goodbye thank you for having me!!

[francixoxoxo]

☹️☹️ do you get how much I appreciate you

I’m so sorry to all my mutuals I haven’t been reading anybody’s stuff 🥲

[francixoxoxo]

I’m so sorry to all my mutuals I haven’t been reading anybody’s stuff 🥲

[francixoxoxo]

My cousin is bringing me to a Declan McKenna concert bc she has an extra ticket and I’m happy to go!!!!!! I love concerts and I love her!!!!!! But what is this little Irish boy genuinely doing

[francixoxoxo]

Erection

describing billy in this time travel fic, obviously had to look up pictures of him just to stare at his f -- i mean for accuracy

His eyes are large and blue, framed by thick, dark lashes as long as your pinky finger, set above a strong, straight nose that reminds you of a Greek statue, as perfectly sculpted as if it’s been made from marble. His lips are astonishingly full, his jawline and cheekbones each as defined as the dictionary, and you think there just might be the shadow of a dimple in his chin. And he’s tall, too, topping you by nearly a foot, his broad shoulders tapering to an angular waist. You realize, belatedly, that you’re staring, but then again, so is he. “Are you okay?” you say again. “Is there something I can do for you? Someone I can call?" He swallows, giving another shake of his head. “I don’t…I dunno where I am.”  It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, and his voice brings to mind sage brush and sunsets, the smoke that swirls over a campfire as it crackles with life, warm and husky, with a twang that makes you think of the bite of whiskey. 

[francixoxoxo]

JUST KILL ME RN I MISSED THEM

oct. 24 - bloody, bliss, belt and billy

Saccharine!Billy Bonney x FemaleReader

mdni!!! wc; 3.4k cw; guns, death, blood, bloodplay, fingering

kinktober 2024 masterlist

saccharine masterlist (this is standalone!!!)

a/n; very happy to bring saccharine back :) i love these two so much, fyi some dialogue is taken from s2ep5!!! Enjoy you lot and preemptive apologies ig

Fuck Buckshot. Like seriously, fuck him. And Murphy. And Jesse. And the whole lot of those guys who are after your Billy. 

Not yours. Yours in theory. 

He doesn’t know yet. 

They are after you too and all of the guys who run with Billy, but you couldn’t give a fuck. If Billy the fucking Kid died at one of their gross hands, you would be seeing red until you were riddled with bullet holes. 

It’s an unfortunate thought. 

You always thought about him getting killed. He would typically brush it off when you bring it up to him. Billy was prepared to die and you hated it. But any ounce of the topic leaving your mouth, he would brush you off and redirect you. 

In hindsight, he could give a small wave of his hand and you would be distracted from your initial thoughts. By his hand. 

And thoughts of his hand.  

Anyway, fuck Buckshot. 

It was a no-brainer that Murphy sent him out to the hideout you and the rest of the gang have been holed up in for the past week. How did they find you all? You’re unsure. There was a rotation of being a lookout and none of you have seen any of Murphy’s guys. 

You all were unlucky indeed. 

Being truly scared by something was not in your blood, but Buckshot left chills in your damn bones. Not as good of a shot as Billy, but Buckshot was still good and he was ruthless. A kind of violence you only read myths about but you have seen with your own eyes what that grimy man was capable of. 

Buckshot had approached your little hideout alone. He’s at a distance, but George recognized him the moment he saw the lazy movements of a man sipping from a flask while on his horse. 

It’s a slow, but urgent rush of moving inside the small house after Billy. Billy’s jaw is tight. Not that you are looking at his jaw. 

But your eyes naturally fall on him in the adrenaline rush of a possible shootout. It can’t be that bad, can it? It‘s seven on one, and the odds are in your favor, but a flash of Billy’s chest destroyed with bullet holes did not help your stomach. 

He moves closer to the small window, and you and Tom trail quickly behind him. “Do you think-”

“Shh,” Billy hushes you and the restraint you hold on rolling your eyes should earn you a clap from him. 

“He already knows we’re here,” you mumble and Billy only gives you a momentary glare before he’s watching through the small window again.

He raises his rifle, and cocks it, keeping it aimed right at the bumbling man coming down from his horse, his fingers gripping the weapon with an ease only Billy could have. 

Your fingers twitch at your gun in your holster, but you don’t pull it out yet. Your shoulder brushes his arm and Billy shakes his head ever so slightly. 

The nerve of this fucking man. A brush and he’s shaking his head at you. If you weren’t fearing for potential lives lost, you’d smack the back of his head to really get a reaction. 

You can vaguely hear George’s words to Buckshot, wondering why he’s here, how he found you all. Billy is impossibly still besides his jaw clenching. 

“I come to capture the Kid…alive or dead,” Buckshot says in the distance your eyes refocus out the small opening of the house. Your hand tightens to the handle of your gun. If Billy is miraculously not quick enough, you’ll get this done for him. 

It’s annoying that you’re distracted a few seconds by Billy shifting up closer to the window, his fingers clenching and then relaxing on his gun, keeping it pointed, ready. You’re especially attracted to his finger near the trigger and the slight tenseness in his voice as he mutters, “C’mon Georgie, move.”

When you look back over, George is as calm as ever, stating his ground, though you echo Billy’s words in your head. Buckshot starts to laugh though, sending more chills up your spine. Your heart beats fast as he quickly pulls up his rifle. 

A flurry of guns raising and cocking fills the air. You go to do your own, but Billy stops your hand, then returns his to his gun. Your brow furrows at him and he doesn’t look back at you. 

By the time you look back out the window, Buckshot is shooting at George. 

A gasp leaves your lips and shots ring out, Tom grabbing your arm to tug you down out of sight of the window. You hear Billy’s gun go off once, and twice, and the anguished sound of pain from outside the house. Your friends are getting shot. 

You pull your gun out.

Buckshot yells out, “Billy! You fuckin’ coward, where ya at!?” 

You peek from the doorway to asses who’s hurt, only to feel someone’s hand grip at your collar and pull you back. 

Billy. His face is screwed in annoyance and he pulls you back completely out of the way as his voice booms, “Y’all stay here! It’s me he’s after.”

Your eyes widen as you process his words, “Bonney!”

“No,” Billy all but pushes at your head so you stay on the ground and away as he nears the doorway,  “Buckshot, hold your fire!”

Maybe you’ll kill Billy before Buckshot has a chance. You stare daggers into him, but stay put on the wooden floor. His eyes quickly glance at you, before he yells, “I’m comin’ out!” 

Your brain scream at you to lunge forward. Grab to his leg! Pull him down with you! Barrel yourself in front of him! But your limbs don’t work. The chills that went up your spine reached your head then flowed back down your entire body, leaving you frozen and breathing heavy as you watch Billy hold his hands out. 

“You can take me alive,” he shouts over to Buckshot, stepping slow out of the house. Bouts of worry fill your chest and you force yourself to move the slightest bit to be able to watch him. 

“Puttin’ my rifle down,” Billy continues, slowly setting his gun against the nearby post of the house. Some of the other men scatter to get into better positions and you take that opportunity to give yourself the final push to bring you to your feet. 

You move out of the small house as Billy continues his small steps towards Buckshot. Your hand firm on your gun, staying crouched down enough to hide yourself and have a good eye on Billy. 

“It’s just you and me,” he calls out. Your gaze stays strictly on his back, his broad shoulders tense as he holds his arms out in surrender. What the fuck is he thinking, you wonder, and you’re already coming up with ways to berate him later for this if he doesn’t get killed. 

Buckshot rises from his hiding spot, then you feel a heat spark deep in you. It’s so quick, you should have expected it, but Billy pulls his gun from his holster like lightning and shoots at Buckshot, getting him right near his hip. 

Billy stalks forward with his gun raised and you subconciously clench your thighs together, your back to the post, but head turned to watch every single one of Billy the fucking Kid’s movements. 

He cocks his gun just as Buckshot fumbles for his gun, but the man stands no chance as Billy fires off again. 

Billy’s steps quicken until he can drive his booted foot to Buckshot’s wrist as he was reaching for his rifle, “No, leave it,” Billy spits out and you find yourself inching closer to the scene, gun at the ready in case Buckshot gets an upperhand. 

But who are you kidding? 

You can feel Billy’s sneer almost as if it’s directed at you. His boot digs into the man’s wrist, as Buckshot garbles out a, “fuck you,” at Billy. His hand holds his gun with less tensity than you would expect, but that’s because Billy is all confidence. All of his actions are met with no hesitation and full bravado, enough to make you roll your eyes back and look away from him to collect yourself. 

You can’t look away for too long.  

Billy kneels down and grabs at Buckshot’s free arm to keep pressing him down, his voice gruff, “You lookin’ for me? You lookin’ for me huh?” 

All Buckshot does is laugh like the evil son of a bitch he is but you can’t focus on him. The man on top of him, the man on top of him cocks his gun and he jams the barrel to Buckshot’s mouth, “Here I am.”

Billy squeezes the trigger, killing Buckshot in that mere instant. The beating of your heart almost hurts your chest as you stare at him, mouth parted and hand loosening on your own gun. 

The man chokes for a few seconds and Billy removes his hands from him, panting. His head lifts and his eyes lock to yours. For those few moments Billy looks at you, you see the pure violence and ruthlessness swimming in his bright eyes. It should scare you, and it does, but it also excites a part of you that you wish did not exist. The same part of you that’s brutal. 

His eyes flit to your lap, where you had not realized your hand was awfully high on your thigh. You feel yourself heat up, and move your hand quickly, holstering your gun, but he’s already looking away, gaze back down at Buckshot. You’re locked in as Billy spits on his corpse before he stands back up.  

Spits. 

Your eyes flutter and you swallow down hard, barely catching the sound of some of the men walking over, but when your eyes focus again, Billy’s stalking off towards the thicket of trees ahead, alone. 

A push of adrenaline surges you onto your feet and you jog after him, ignoring any of the looks from the others. 

“Billy!” 

He stops short and you almost bump into his back. Well, you purposely let yourself bump into his back. It’s a little chilly outside but he’s warm. 

A sigh leaves him and he turns to face you, his typical blank look challenges that violence still swarming in his eyes, but you center your attention to the blood on his face. Then drop your gaze to the blood on his hands. The redness shouts out it’s danger in a wordless manner, you know Billy, but who is this Billy? This Billy that kills without a moment’s hesitation and is not looking bothered in the slightest that he’s got another man’s blood on him. He must be bothered, you know that. His fingers twitch at his side and the blood on his pointer finger calls your name. His other hand still holds to his gun. 

Get it together, cowgirl, you think to yourself. Fuck that, you think immediately after. You grab his gun from him and stuff it into his belt. Billy does nothing to stop you. 

His brow raises. “What?”

“That was really fuckin’ stupid,” you mutter. In your head, you said it louder and with a bitterness to your voice, but no matter how hard you could try, it was not gonna come out that way. 

His jaw tightens and he looks off to the side at nothing in particular, then back to you. His eyes rake down then back up to your face. The familiar chill runs through you, but not a scared one. 

“Maybe, but it’s done. Go back to the guys, see if they need help,” Billy says, his voice still rough, nodding towards where you both came from. 

“Haha. You’re not gettin’ rid of me like that, Bonney, you know that,” you tell him with a touch of that bitter tone you were hoping to give him. You step closer to him to almost be chest to chest. He doesn’t flinch or move. 

“That was stupid. Buckshot is-was a good shot and he coulda easily gotten you and then killed all of us right after ya! You’re lucky you’re such a good fuckin’ shot too because-”

“Cowgirl. Slow. Your. Roll,” Billy says, his voice a bit lower, head tilted down enough to meet your gaze head on. 

You grit your teeth. The indifference on his face makes your blood boil and your underwear get wetter but that’s besides the point, “No! In fact what was that stunt ya pulled in the house? You know I can handle my own and you grab me and pull me back? You push me away when I was gonna help? Billy fucking Bonney, how many times do I-”

His chapped lips from the incoming cold winter press into yours and you would not have it any other way. 

It’s the…second? Third time he’s kissed you? It’s better by a million each time. The force in which Billy grabs your face, digging his bloody fingers to your cheeks and bruising your lips with his own leads to the filthiest thoughts you think you’ve ever had. This violent man that you deem yours, a little bloodied, none of it his own. Rugged and roughly giving you his all through just a mere kiss? 

You give him back as much as he gives, pressing to him and fisting your hands to his vest, until you remember why you were telling him off and you push at him. “No!”

Billy blinks at you with a dazed look in his eyes and he shifts his gun belt, as if to hide the growing bulge in his pants. 

It was that easy. 

“Oh fuck you,” you grumble, stomping back closer and slamming your lips back to his. You don’t think about the blood now staining your cheeks or the slight metallic taste that gets in your mouth when you bite on Billy’s lip. His groan is enough to suffice and quench the way you were angry at him. 

Still, you mumble to his lips through kisses, “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know,” he says, backing the two of you up until you’re up against a tree. His lips trail down along your jaw, nipping at the skin, his hands awkwardly not holding onto you. 

“Billy, just touch me.”

“They’re dirty.”

You roll your eyes. “Billy you already touched my face, I don’t care about the fuckin’ blood.”

To prove your words, you undo the buttons of your trousers, then grab his wrist, pulling his hand down the front of your pants. For a second you’re afraid he’ll reject this. You have yet to do something as much as this with him, but your body is aching. Your feelings beyond being angry or worried about him, but feeling fucking alive at the way he killed Buckshot. 

He doesn’t hesitate.  

Billy the fucking Kid. Man. He’s a man. 

Billy moans and leans his forehead to your cheek, his fingers dipping into your underwear and sliding against your cunt to get a feel for you. 

“I would watch you kill that motherfucker over and over again if you did it that way,” you whisper to him with a harsh breath as his fingers circle your clit, like he knows your body already despite having never touched it like this. 

“This is sick of you,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your cheek and lingering his lips there. You don’t point out to Billy that although it may be fucked of you to enjoy this while his fingers are bloodied with someone else’s blood, he may be just as sick for kissing near the blood stain on your cheek and promptly licking over his lips to let the blood into his mouth. 

You want to call him out for it so bad, but he eases his finger into you just right, breathing hot on your face. 

“Oh…fuck,” you whisper, glancing down, your knees almost buckling as he starts to slowly thrust his finger into you, and you catch the side of his bulge, more prominent than you may have ever seen it, straining to his trousers and begging for your attention. 

“Bonney, can I-”

“Yes,” he cuts you off, taking his finger out just enough to add a second. You bite your lip to stifle your moan, your hand finding the outline of his cock and palming him, giving him some sort of friction that he clearly needed because Billy adjusts his arm and begins fucking his fingers quick up into you. 

Billy nods to your cheek when you whimper, “I know, I know, I knew you’d get so fuckin’ wet for me, Cowgirl, but…fuck you’re dirty, fuck I got his fuckin’ blood…,” Billy can’t finish his words because he has to muffle his own noise, pressing his face into your hair and nuzzling his nose at your temple. 

“You…you spit on him,” you mumble and Billy shakes his head against you, curling his fingers and massaging them in you to get you to whimper. He likes that sound, you deduce. 

“I spit on him,” Billy repeat and his free hand shoots up to your jaw, holding your face up and he spits on your lips before you can open your mouth to receive it. It makes his eyes flutter and his forehead rest to yours, his fingers making quick work even with the restraint your pants give. You can both hear the sound, how wet you are and how his palm slaps to your cunt with each thrust. 

He knows you can’t focus on rubbing him, but what you are able to do is enough in the moment. Your thumb rubs right at his tip over his pants, feeling the wet spot forming the more you press into it. You can barely look at your Billy, though that’s all you want to do. All you want to do is look at the man. 

He squeezes your jaw and kisses the corner of your mouth, a sweeter kiss than you’d expect in the moment as you clench around his fingers and resist screaming out his name. Another time. 

“Gonna come on your fingers, Billy,” you shudder, and he quickens the pace, brow furrowed and eyes locked intensely on your face. 

“Make ‘em more of a mess, go ahead, please,” he whispers, a desperation wafting from his voice and his hips bucking your hand. What sends you over the edge is his thumb just barely slipping to your mouth, the taste of blood filling your senes as you spasm on his fingers, and bite your cheek hard enough to draw your own blood. 

You’ve never felt this blissed out. Your legs almost buckle, but Billy presses against you enough to keep you standing as his fingers work you through the orgasm, his breath panting and his nose finding your temple again, where he leaves the softest kiss, you almost would not notice it.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, his fingers slipping out of you and then pulling from your pants. His fingers surely are a slick mess, the remnants of blood still there and the wet spot on the front of his pants bigger than when you first saw it. 

You stare at him. He stares at you. Your breaths aren’t returning to normal, but you cannot look away from him. 

“I didn’t want you to get hurt either,” he blurts out, referring most likely to why he pushed you back earlier.

“No shit.”

He straightens up and shakes his head. He would roll his eyes at you, you’re sure, but he doesn’t. 

You slap at his chest but he grabs your wrist, “Hey!”

“Don’t ever remind me of this,” he tells you in a low voice. You frown. Was this him rejecting you? That it was a mistake all along? That he acted on some weird impulse and did not care to continue this despite the constant-

“About this part,” he mutters, awkwardly gesturing to his pants.

Your Billy. 

Your lips start to quirk and he squeezes your wrist tighter, “Cowgirl, No. I said no.”

“One sentence,” you beg, even adding a little whine. Just for him. 

He tries to give you a stern look, but his shoulders slump and he shifts on his feet, “One.”

Letting yourself smile, you take a deep breath, “You must reallyyyyy fuckin’ like me if you come that easily, Bonney. And-”

“Ah Ah Ah,” he interrupts and puts his palm over your mouth, but you can see the hint of a smile on his lips, and the violence gone from his eyes. 

Your Billy. 

[francixoxoxo]

Had a dream Israel bombed Spain???????

[francixoxoxo]

erection

everyone say thank you emhen again

[francixoxoxo]

Nooooooo babe ☹️☹️☹️

feeling really sad tonight for some reason idk

[francixoxoxo]

Im honestly not feeling social media anymore??? Im not sure why

[francixoxoxo]

AHHH I LOVE HIM THATS SO EXCITING

omw to dinner then Shawn

[francixoxoxo]

Atp it’s gotta be something abt me

[francixoxoxo]

Heeeeeeeeeeey hey hey HI

JOSH ANDRÉS RIVERA American Sports Story S1:E05 (4K)

If you like the content, follow me on TWITTER as well <3

[francixoxoxo]

Millie I genuinely have no words (I will write several paragraphs of words)

The WAY YOU WRITE I’m going to squeeze you like a lemon and manifest this MASTERY like what are we talking about!!!! The metaphors???? The SIMILES?????? Just gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous and so pretty to look at I can’t

THE CHARACTERIZATION. The way he hesitates to call you baby, the way he immediately gives you his coat while it’s snowing, the quiet “why” and the COMPARISON TO A BLUE EYED PUPPY THAGS SO REAL I CAN NOT

౨ৎ꣑ৎyou're forced to break up with billy౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Fat snowflakes were floating softly from the sky, gathering with their fallen brethren on the frozen earth so far below the clouds. You surveyed the scene glumly, taking in the blank shadowy fingers of tree branches splayed into the open sunset. The fire warmed your back just barely, crackling and sputtering sparks every now and then. The horizon didn't hold what you wanted it to.

The silhouette of your love, stark as he took his time riding in the direction of your dwelling, bordering his allowed nighttime with a presence that cast away any specifics. It was almost dark, he'd tell you. Inhaling through your nose, you willed a distraction to life. A call from the woods that would send him far, far away from you.

Held together by a few measly stitches crafted from your own sheer will, you stiffened as the click of footsteps echoed in the hallway, barely softened by the rug as they came closer to you. You turned before your father could touch you, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.

His gaze was cold, twin caverns you never wanted to venture into. Because maybe then you'd find what you were looking for. You never would have placed the look he was giving you as father to daughter.

"Remember what I said." His voice caused a shiver to crawl up your spine, venom injected into the space just beneath your skin.

You could only nod, trying to swallow without him noticing.

Drawing your knees to your chest, you watched your skirt fan over your ankles. When you looked back at the window, Billy's silhouette was closer. Tears pricked your eyes, and you bit down on your cheek, dread hardening in your chest. Nonono...please no...

Looking back at your father, you opened your mouth to make one final plea, but the look in his eyes shut you down.

Billy was dismounting, patting his horse's neck with a gloved hand. You tried to swallow your tears, but one spilled over, carving a river into your cheek. Your father lifted his eyes to the window, eyes hardening for a second. Just when you thought he might say something, he disappeared, footsteps like a ghost's chain getting quieter and quieter until you heard the unmistakable sound of his office door shutting.

Bringing a hand to your mouth, you let your shoulders slump, corners of your mouth dropping like stones. It felt as though Billy had one arm and your father had the other, and both were pulling. You took in a shuddering breath, getting to your feet. If you didn't go out, he would come knock, and you didn't want to risk your father coming out.

Shoving your feet in your boots and yanking a shawl from the coat rack, you wrapped yourself up, opening the door and shutting it quietly. Not daring to look at him yet, your eyes were glued to your feet, hair falling over one shoulder as you made your way closer, feeling like you were walking to the hangman's rope.

When you finally met Billy's blue-eyed gaze, his smile shattered your insides in one clean sweep. The cold nipped at your cheeks, tears leaving teeth marks as the tiniest of gasps sent icy air into your lungs. It didn't go unnoticed.

Your cheek met the green shoulder of his coat in an instant, the wooly surface dotted with snowflakes. Your tears left similar spots there, and his gloved hand settled at the back of your head, and your chest unwillingly shook. Billy pulled your shawl tighter around you, the brim of his hat poking your part as he kissed your head. "Hey, hey angel it's okay. I've gotcha, what'sa matter?" You shook your head, pulling back from him and looking back at the ground.

Surprise radiated from him like sunlight. You studied your boot prints as you whispered, "Billy..."

He cupped your cheek, tilting your head up. You nearly broke again when you saw the look on his face. "Sweetheart. What happened?" Billy's brow furrowed, and his free hand mirrored the other, thumbs rubbing your cheekbones through the thick material of his gloves. "Somethin' happen in there?" His eyes flickered up to the house, and you knew what he was thinking.

Pulling back again before he could put the pieces together, you folded your arms tight around yourself, words a pitiful whisper. "I...I can't see you anymore."

The only sound was the whistle of the wind in your ears, swiping lines across your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut when Billy's boots moved closer in your ground-turned vision. He reached out for you and you forced yourself to stiffen.

It was only when he paused that you met his eyes again, the words you'd been spoon fed bouncing around in the space between your ears. "I can't see you anymore," you said, voice only slightly stronger.

What hurt you the most is that he didn't even look hurt. It was as if the pain was built in, like he'd been preparing. And that froze your heart worse than the cold ever could.

Billy breathed in once through his nose, chin bobbing. He tilted his hat up, searching your eyes. You tried to keep everything locked up, even though his blue irises were a one size fits all key.

"Why?" His tone was light, and your jaw tightened. Billy reached out, adjusting your shawl over your shoulder and you didn't stop him.

You were drowning, flailing with your head underwater and refusing the hand outstretched. But you didn't want that hand to be cut off, denying anybody else the opportunity to hold it.

For his sake, you would drown.

"You really thought I-I could love an outlaw?" It sounded forced, so you tried again. "A-all you're going to do is drag me down. And h-hurt me."

His face didn't change. You wanted him to yell at you, maybe call you something that would haunt your nightmares forever. But he was still, watching you like a blue-eyed puppy.

You wanted to kick yourself for the tear that wandered down without permission. Sniffling and turning away, you got out, "I'm gonna go. You should too."

Billy said your name once, but you didn't turn around, footsteps hurried as you rushed back inside. What had previously been droplets was now a storm, and you didn't want him to see the torrential downpour of your own fault.

He didn't leave your mind for weeks.

Your father was pleased with your actions, even though they left you desolate, dry as the desert wrinkling with drought. Darkness was your candle as you grieved the loss of love, the hole in your heart expanding by the day. Winter left you bruised and bloodied, shivering and burnt. Over and over you replayed his reaction, the way he looked at you. It was haunting, lining the edges of your days and tearing open moonlit hours.

Your sorrow only seemed to heighten your father's triumph. He lit the house bright with candles, talking loudly and badgering you to smile more. "Your mother would be disappointed," he chided one night, taking a sip of his drink.

The smile you pinned into place didn't reach your eyes.

The storms only grew thicker, boiling with icy vengeance. It was as if nature was compensating for everything you couldn't say. Despite this, your father took it upon himself to arrange a party fraught with shady figures from his business dealings. They were all nameless men to you, characterized only by shifty eyes that lingered all the places you didn't want.

But your father had insisted his daughter be present for this. He was prideful in his heart, and you were the only offspring he had to show for a marriage ended too soon. So here you were, trussed up like a cattle on the market and put on display. Maybe if a friend offered the right price, he really would sell you.

Maybe all his talk of outlaws and wrongdoings was all smoke. He didn't care about right or wrong, he cared that he had something to barter with.

This fact seeped into your blood and began to poison you. There wasn't anything to do, only the fact that you knew. Your cleverness was hardly a consolation prize.

You stood after awhile, mumbling an excuse and gracefully stepping away. It was snowing, but you hardly cared. The thoughts circling your head like an awful halo shielded you from the cold in a way that made you long for it.

Everything dark and lonely collared you into silence. As you looked out into the night, the flurry of white circling the house in an airtight snow globe, you couldn't help but find solace. In the past bit you'd felt more consoled by the lack of light than its presence.

It was a poor substitute for what you really wanted.

The hand on your shoulder made you jump, and you whipped your head around eyes wide. The man standing there didn't look you in the eye, just used his hand to push you side as he rushed out into the storm, to his horse. You frowned in confusion, looking back at the house. He'd seemed...panicked.

A bevy of other men met your eyes as they hurried out the door, following the same path of the first. Something dreadful reared its head in your heart, and you elbowed your way into the house past the stream of party guests exiting, trying to reach the source. When you finally reached the room where everyone had been gathered, what you found stopped you cold in your tracks.

Your father's body, blood spilling from a wound in his chest punctured by a knife. His chest was unmoving.

Inhaling sharply, you stumbled back, heartbeat echoing in your ears. He...

You weren't sure if the sound of your name was from inside or outside of your head until a hand slotted itself into yours. Flinching, you nearly stumbled back turning to see who it was. Someone to kill you too maybe?

But when Billy's blue eyes met yours, your body nearly went limp.

Lip trembling, you broke, flying into the safety of his arms before he could say a single word. He held you tight to him, hand bracing your back with the other on your crown. "Shh, I've got you. I've got you."

For a moment, you weren't sure if he was real. If maybe you'd dreamt him up, dragged some guardian angel from the depths of your soul. But as you inhaled, the familiar scent of pine and campfire on his clothes, you shuddered, hands gripping the edges of his coat.

"I've got you...baby," he whispered, smoothing your hair. You didn't ask why he came. All you knew was that you would have crumbled into nothingness if he didn't.

Billy walked you outside, arms bracing you with every step. Before he opened the door, he snatched your shawl from the hook, wrapping it around you snugly. He tilted your head up, searching your eyes. "Let's get you outta here." You nodded, shivering as the cold finally hit you. Feeling. You knew it again.

He shucked off his coat, helping you work your arms through it and taking his hat off, securing it on your head. Billy tucked loose strands behind your ears, holding your face in his hands. Snow began to dot his dark hair, vanishing as it melted. "I'm gonna keep you safe."

You nodded, the horror of tonight paralyzing you and only allowing the warmth of his touch inside. Billy exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold. "You're gonna be okay."

Swallowing hard, you burrowed into his chest, breathing, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...for...all those horrible things...I'm sorry..."

"I knew it wasn't you, angel." Billy shook his head, pulling you in again, adjusting the collar of his coat over your neck. It was far too big for you, leaving you swathed in his scent like a dream. "My sweet girl...it hurt you to say. More 'n it hurt me. Could see it."

He turned his head, looking out into the storm without letting go of you. "C'mon. 'S gettin' rough 'n I don't want you to be here any longer 'n you have to." Billy secured an arm around you, guiding you into the thick of the night. You nearly cried at the way he didn't give any of it a second thought. It was as if he tossed all your regrets into the wind and let them blow over the mountains.

You watched him adapt that protective cover and drape it over you, uttered with promises that he would never leave. Maybe he'd never left you in the first place. You'd been the one to walk away, terrified of something happening to him if you stayed.

But he'd seen it and embraced it, turned your body the other direction so you could walk away. And now you were headed for a sunset, walking the length of the earth into a new day with him by your side.

Later when he had you snuggled into his arms, swaddled in one of his shirts under covers, another apology slipped past your lips, and he dismissed it immediately, holding a kiss to your head. "Nothin's too much for you. Not a thing."

As he smoothed the hair on top of your head, settling his chin there, you pressed your chest to his, both your heartbeats playing in time into the empty sides above your ribs. You were made to hold each other, only torn apart for the sweet bliss of finding each other again.

Home was here between his arms, the beat of your heart harmonizing with the one you loved.

[francixoxoxo]

ARE WE KIDDDINGYGGGGGGG OMG THE WAY HE HOLDS YOUR HAND IM FENUINELY GONNA BE ILL

Can I request vampire! Billy? You have to to feed him to get his strength back and he’s always refused to bite you (it won’t turn you) but he has no choice and he’s just so gentle you’re not even uncomfortable with it and it’s a really bonding experience

blood tw, injury tw this prompt is so cute and i feel like the result is not great but!! i hope you like it anyway

When you step into your cabin, you are reminded, in a sharp, sudden second, like a twig snapping underfoot, that humans are only animals in more fragile skins.

You freeze with the instincts of a prey animal, putting your back to the door. You press your lips together as your eyes pry at the shadows pooling in your front room, trying to find proof for the wordless certainty that slithered snakelike into your mind the moment you entered the front door. You aren’t alone in here. Your fingers grope blindly for the doorknob, preparing yourself to throw it open and dash back to the hitching post where you left your horse, when you hear a low groan.

All the pent-up breath rushes from your body. “Billy?” you whisper. “Is that you?”

Another soft groan, the sound of a throat being cleared with great effort. “Yeah.”

Now that you’re capable of greater understanding than a rabbit being harried by a fox, you reach for the lantern you keep on a peg by the door. There are matches in a bowl on the table underneath, and you use one to light the wick. The harsh rasp of the match-head scrapes against your still-frazzled nerves, and your fingers are trembling so badly that it takes you a couple of tries to get the lantern lit. 

“Sorry,” Billy mutters, sounding no better than the match. 

He can tell that you’re struggling to light the lantern, even before the warm glow of the flame fills the room. The feeble light of a sickle moon is more than enough for him to see by. He’s never gone into much detail with you about all that he’s capable of doing, because of what he is. He doesn’t even like to use the word, so you tend to avoid it, too, even thinking to yourself. But you do know his eyesight is much sharper  than yours — in fact, compared to his, all of your senses may as well be like rocks buried in a riverbed, blunted and dull. 

His superior abilities extend to his physical strength, too, which is why you’re especially stunned to see him like this. He’s sprawled out on your bed, not in a pose of relaxation, as if he’s waiting for you to come home; he looks more like a marionette whose strings have been cut, landing in a crumpled, broken posture that he can’t rouse himself from.

“Billy,” you breathe, rushing over to him and setting the lantern on the bedside table, holding his face between your hands. “Oh my God — what happened?” 

He smiles weakly, reaching up to gently — always so gently — grip your wrist. “Jesse,” is all he says, but it’s all he has to say. You clench your jaw, wishing you could go hunt that son-of-a-bitch down right now. 

Jesse and his gang are some of the most ruthless trackers out there, and they’ve always been obsessed with Billy in particular. Billy has hinted to a past with Jesse that he hasn’t told you about yet; all you know is their relationship goes back years, before Billy changed. You have to wonder if Jesse resents him for shedding his humanity, essentially leaving him behind — a part of you understands this ache, because you’ve felt it yourself.

Billy has told you over and over again that he’s never going to turn you, although you haven’t asked so much as hinted, hopefully. You don’t ever want to leave him, even if what separates you is the simple passage of time, age and illness wearing away at your body until it fails. He wants better for you, he told you, than doing whatever it takes to survive; and being turned, for him, was just a matter of survival. He, as always, will do whatever it takes to endure. His fight for justice in Lincoln simply isn’t done yet; now, at least, he’ll be able to pursue defending what is right for the rest of time.

Apart from being with him, it’s what you would do with your immortality, too. He’s insistent, though, just like he’s always been determined never to feed on you. You offered, once or twice, when being on the run made it difficult for him to hunt. He would simply scowl at you — or, at least, at the idea — and hunch his shoulders, saying he would make do. 

Once, in the velvet depth of night, when he was holding you as you drifted off to sleep, he admitted something to you that you aren’t sure he actually meant for you to hear. “I just don’t know if I could stop…”

Looking at him like this, though, you realize that he may not have a choice. His skin look as thin and translucent as wax paper, deep purple shadows visible beneath his eyes, and you swear his cheeks are more sunken than they were when you saw him just yesterday. His gaze is dull and unfocused, his lips pressed together as though bracing against pain. You take a deep breath, and Billy summons enough energy to shake his head. The effort makes his eyes roll back into his head for a moment, before he can focus on you again.

“No,” he croaks. “No.”

“Billy, you have to,” you say, and you’re already rolling up your sleeve. “Look at you. You look like you could be taken out by a squirrel.” He manages a weak chuckle, but that doesn’t deter you. “Just take a little from my wrist to get a little strength back.”

He hesitates, still clearly torn. “Baby — what…what if…”

Well, you think, if — then it won’t really matter to you, will it? You’ll be beyond caring. But you know it would haunt him for the rest of his days, which, as far as you know, will stretch into eternity. 

“I’m not afraid,” you tell him, which is true. The only thing that frightens you is the thought of losing him, especially when you have the power to save him. “Billy, please. If you don’t trust yourself, trust me. I’ll be okay. You need this.”

Billy swallows. You take this lack of protest as agreement, and you reach into your sewing basket, stowed under the bed, and bring up the tiny pair of scissors that you use for cutting thread. Without looking away from Billy, you cut into your arm, drawing the tip of a blade from one edge of your wrist to the other.

As soon as the line of red lifts away from your skin, a scarlet sunrise, you hold your hand out to Billy. You watch as his pupils bloom in his eyes, two obsidian moons that nearly obscure the blue of his irises. His upper lip skims back from his teeth, revealing a glint of white, and he takes hold of your wrist carefully, gingerly, like he’s afraid the slightest pressure will snap your arm in two.

He lifts your bleeding wrist to his mouth.

Your eyes slip closed as he begins to drink. It doesn’t hurt. If anything, it’s blissful, a warmth spreading through your body, starting where his mouth makes contact with your skin and spreading outward, sinking into your muscles and loosening them. Your head drifts back, all your breath pooling in the bottom of your lungs, making its way slowly in and out of your parted lips. You can feel your mind start to come apart, a cloud breaking up as it passes the moon, and your last coherent thought is that you can’t imagine giving this up.

Billy’s free hand cups the back of your head and lifts it back up, and you manage to open your eyes again. He draws you closer, your arm folding between you. His gaze is feverish, but as you watch, the dusky bruises under his eyes disappear, his face becoming full and glowing with health again. His thumb moves in soothing circles over the back of your hand, his fingers curling around yours. You feel entirely, utterly safe, not that you expected any differently. You can feel his adoration in every pass of his thumb against your skin, can feel the weight of it in his gaze, in his grasp. 

And you hope he can feel yours, in your  explicitly given yet unspoken trust, in the way you have not once flinched away from him, in every drop of your blood that passes his lips. 

When he finally draws your hand away from his mouth, you feel a little pang of disappointment.

He cradles your hand between both of us, lifting your knuckles to his lips and pressing a kiss there. “Thank you,” he says, and now his voice is steadier, warmer, the way you’re used to it being. 

It takes you a moment to find your voice. You feel like you’ve just woken up from a deep sleep, where it takes one a moment to return fully to the earth. “You don’t have to thank me,” you say. “Do you feel better?”

He reaches for you, pulling you into his lap. In the same fluid motion, so quickly you barely even catch it, he’s reached his hand into your sewing basket and torn a strip from a scrap of cloth, wrapping it around your wrist to staunch the trickle of blood still coming from the cut. You smile as you lean back against his chest. You’re sure of his answer just by the way he’s moving now, lithe and too graceful to be human, that he’s feeling better — and feeling more like he can be himself with you.

It doesn’t surprise you when he gives voice to your own thoughts. “I told you about what I am a long time ago, cause I knew from the start that I wanted to keep you,” he says. “But I…I always held back, cause I didn’t want to scare you off. Now…” He presses his lips to your temple. “I haven’t felt this much like myself in a long time,” he says against your hair. “I always felt like I had to hide, little bits and pieces, really, but…those add up, y’know? Especially over so many years, with so many people…”

You dig an elbow into his side. “How many of those people were women?”

Billy cups your jaw with one hand, turning your face toward his. You giggle when you see that he’s smiling. “Not that many,” he says. “And I never...” 

As the silence lingers, and he smiles with a shy duck of his head, you realize that if he could blush, he would be right now. You elbow him again, gently. “Don’t go getting bashful on me now,” you tease, and he laughs quietly. “You never what?”

“I never fed from any of ’em,” he admits, and you feel a rush of pride and pleasure so intense that it makes your head swim for a moment. 

“Why?” you ask softly. You settle back against his chest, and his arms tighten around you before he answers. 

“It just felt so — so intimate,” he admits. Now you’re blushing, and he chuckles softly in your ear. “More intimate than anythin’ else. The way you put your life in my hands without a second thought, how you fed me from your own vein. You didn’t hafta do that.” He lifts your bandaged wrist to his mouth and presses his lips to the material wrapped over the cut. “But you did. Cause you knew I needed you. Not many people would be so selfless, or so brave.”

You smile a little, shrugging your shoulders. “I love you,” you say. “Of course I’m selfless with you. I didn’t think of it was brave to let you take my blood, I just…” You turn onto your side, snuggling closer. Billy kisses the top of your head. “I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, Billy. I always want me with you.”

Holding you closer, scooping you against his chest, Billy buries his face against the nape of your neck. “Honey, I promise, I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice. The love. “Thanks to you.” 

[francixoxoxo]

It DOES

want my blog to feel like a sleepover

[francixoxoxo]

DUE TO HJS LOVE MILLIE IM SICK

⋆౨ৎTender is the Night (Part Two)⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: mentions of death/dying, angst pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: fem reader x ghost billy the kid author’s note: (modern au) based partially on @goosita ghost billy au (which I've been dying for an excuse to write for) which is based on lisa frankenstein (love) Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The threads separating life and death are gossamer, as fine as spiderwebs and nearly as breakable. It is a ragged veil that hangs over mortality, fluttering in an invisible wind and offering those encased a glimpse of the other side.

He was nearly a shadow, clinging to the edges of the graveyard, haunting without really haunting. It was as if he’d been swallowed except for the final drop left in his shape, retaining the same pain as someone breathing.

All this time he'd thought the world cruel for keeping him here with no purpose- just aimlessly wandering with nothing but his own thoughts to accompany him. He was well aware that punishment was reasonable- he hadn't exactly been a good man.

Maybe not so bad a man as he'd thought. Not if you'd come his way.

You spent your free time with him, lying side by side with him on the grassy expanse of his grave. Sometimes you brought homework or a book with you, sometimes you played music. And sometimes you abandoned all of it in favor of listening to him.

Slowly, he began to tell you about his few years on earth. Of his passage to America. Of the deaths of his family. How he was thrust into the life of an outlaw without so much as a say. You listened fascinatedly, like nobody else had. Even while he'd had a beating heart and air in his lungs he hadn't been such a point of fascination to anybody. No, he'd been simply existing, no better than his current ghostly form.

Billy felt more alive with you than he ever had when he was breathing.

“How do you think we’d have met in your time?” you murmured one day, lying on your side with your hair tumbling down over your shoulders like a waterfall.

Billy hummed, his hand half wound through a strand. "Maybe at the bar one night. I'd buy you a drink 'n we'd get to talkin'."

You giggled, leaning your cheek on your hand. "I'd have liked that."

"Me too," was his response, murmured as he watched you watch him. Suddenly the great divide between life and death didn't seem as prominent. It was such a delicate thing, yet unbreakable.

Two souls, existing in the wrong space of time. Maybe that was the reason he was made to haunt the earth so long after his supposed permanent disappearance. Maybe all these years of being lonely and feeling neglected were paid for the gift of you.

"I wasn't a good man," he confessed, tracing stars onto your arm and imagining them taking shape, leaving patterns that marked the fact that he was real to you. It was still unclear why exactly he was able to touch you now. Or why you were able to see him. But you were the common denominator. It couldn't be a coincidence that the best thing to happen to him in a century and the revelation of his existence had overlapped. "Dunno if that's been absolved...with death 'n all. But it stays with me. 's if it was yesterday."

You hummed, fingers twiddling with a blade of grass before your wrist. He knew nearly every quirk about you at this point, could read you like a map, chart the nature of what you were about to say. But he'd never deem to guess exactly what that would be. You had a way of surprising him in the best of ways. "You know...I don't believe in the idea of people being good or bad."

"Hm?" Billy blinked at you, the pads of his fingers pausing their motions on your skin.

Turning your head to face the sky, blue in all its glory with fluffy white clouds adorning the expanse of it, you let your eyelashes touch your cheek once before continuing. "People are full of a million intentions and thoughts and feelings. Not all of them can be defined. Not all of them are ever revealed. I don't think it's all measured up against us."

Billy let the quiet talk for a moment as he thought about it, the idea taking space, filling the gap more wholly than guilt ever could. His features lightened, and you smiled at the sight, moving forward and reaching for his hand. He expected your fingers to pass through his form, occupy the space inside the outline. But instead your warm palm sat atop his knuckles, making you both look up.

“Did…?” your question trailed off, as if you weren’t exactly sure what you should be asking.

“Yes.” Billy turned his palm over, letting yours touch it. He was in utter disbelief. First he could touch you and now you could touch him. Something was brightening from the inside, warming him and lighting everything up. It intensified when he looked at you, watching the way your lips parted, the wonder fill your eyes. It was like you were seeing him for the first time.

After that, it was like you couldn't keep your hands off each other. Whenever you came over you were touching him in some way; holding his hand, rubbing his arm, or his personal favorite- lying with your head on his chest. It almost made him feel like a person again, lying among the flowers with a pretty girl in his arms.

With every day, he could feel the weight of emotions he hadn't felt in decades holding him to earth, as if heaven or hell wouldn't let him in due to his love.

Due to his love.

He realized it one day as you were lazily resting with your hair spread across him, and he was thumbing your cheek. In your hands was a copy of Romeo and Juliet, one of your favorites, you'd told him. Every now and then you'd stop and read a passage to him, and he'd smile, enchanted by your love for it.

“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night,” you recited, and he could hear your smile in your voice.

My heart didn't love until now, he thought casually. And then it hit him, a rod of lightning from the sky.

You were his sun, his moon. You were the light after centuries of darkness. You cared for him, astounded him with your sweetness, with your view of the world. This had to be the reason he could now touch you. because you were his reason for everything now.

You made him feel alive again.

Once he realized it, he felt frozen. He was a ghost in love with a living girl. Billy had never heard anything more hopeless. He felt as though he were yelling into a void. Before he had thanked the higher powers for gifting you to him, but now he was sure this was some kind of torment. Bringing the sweetest, kindest girl he'd ever known into his afterlife and making it so he couldn't have her. Was there ever a crueler thing?

You looked up at him with the most darling of smiles then, shifting on his chest and reaching up for his hand while keeping hold of the book. Billy couldn't help his smile, and he tangled his fingers with yours. An abundance of that old familiar glowing feeling warmed him again, and he disregarded all previous thoughts.

You were worth every bit of it.

tagging @kellielovesmovies because <3 also HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUEEN!!!!!