a collection of everything i've written about billy hargrove. imagines/oneshots/stories, whatever you would prefer to call them. all fics are either fem!reader or gn!reader.
none of the gifs i use are mine! credit to the original sources/owners!
word count: 1,771 warnings: swearing, happy and playful billy, domestic bliss a/n: been missing him a whole lot lately, and needed something soft to fill the void. and i saw this compilation video of his jackal laugh. i also have a problem with wanting to braid his hair. hope you enjoy! <33
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
You, perched on the corner of his bed, watched as your boyfriend went to change his shirt, and got himself tangled in a simultaneous shirt-necklace-earring travesty. It was hard to tell exactly what was happening from where you rested against his pillows. It looked like, in the process of pulling his shirt over his head, he'd gotten it hooked around the pendant he wore around his neck, so the shirt and chain were a jumbled mess. And then his earring clasp got stuck on a loose thread. As you processed his predicament, you burst out laughing.
"Ohh, you son of a bitch!" His tone was teasing, as he shouted through his own laughter, "Stop fucking laughing and help me goddamnit!"
"Oh, but you did this to yourself, Hargrove." You crawled to the end of the bed and hopped up, ready to try and figure this out.
"Please? Please. I'm asking so nicely!" You only laughed more, trying to pull yourself together to help him. "Okay, hold still," you told him, starting your work. You carefully pulled his right arm out of the shirt, and then reached behind him to unclasp the necklace, hoping that would help. It fell free, and you unwrapped it from his shirt. You helped him pull his left arm out, and then he carefully held the shirt aloft for you to get the earring and thread detached. Once you unclasped the earring, you sat down, cutting the thread off, and let out a "Ha!" You had successfully freed your boyfriend and his accouterments from the depths of the cotton menace.
He thanked you for your help, aggressively throwing the shirt across the room. "You're such a dumbass," you told him.
"Oh yeah?" There was a mischievous glint to his eyes, and then he was tackling you, straddling you and pinning you between his legs to tickle the life out of you. His fingers tickled up your sides, but then grazed that spot on your abdomen, in the hollow between the curve of your hip and the squish of your tummy. And it was over. You were lost in a laughing fit.
Then he started on your outer thighs, and the crook of your neck, your spine, and back to your belly. You were a writhing, heaving, giggly mess, and Billy had never been happier than right then. He found himself laughing joyfully at your squeals, and that's when you froze. You fucking loved that sound, his laugh.
"What? You're freaking me out looking at me like that." You were staring at him, smile wide, happy. Yet his fingers still gently tickled around your body.
"I love your laugh."
"Oh my fucking shit, you're joking. No one's ever said that." You wanted to hear it again, even though that killer smile was doing plenty of things to you. You slowly reached up to try and graze his sides, but he caught your wrists, giggling at you as he pinned them above your head.
