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!
gn!reader word count: 1,425 warnings: swearing, allusions to sex/sexual innuendos, basically billy being a flirty little shit, mentions of back pain, fluff a/n: hiii!! i came up with this a few days ago and i've been in love with it but now i'm feeling a little iffy about it, so i hope someone out there in the void likes it. happy reading! love you!! <33
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I think that if I have to lift a squirmy toddler up one more time, I'm just going to fucking die."
"That seems a little dramatic."
You're sat on your knees next to where Billy lays flat on his back, his palms pressed to his eyes. You reach forward and rub your hand over his forehead, fingers smoothing over his hair.
He moves his hands, looking up at you like he always does when you're sweet with him. He raises his brows for a moment, a little confused, but then he leans into it, allowing himself to enjoy your affection.
His hair is still a little damp from the shower he had when he got home, washing the smell of chlorine from his skin.
You drag your thumb over the slit in his eyebrow, across the circles under his eyes, lingering on the freckles he has. They're your favorite part of him, you've decided.
Billy shifts a little, like he's uncomfortable, his eyes scrunching closed in pain.
"Something hurtin' you, baby?"
He grabs for your wrist when you take it away, smacking a kiss to your pulse point.
"My back's fucking killin' me."
You pout for just a second, though he misses it because his eyes are still closed.
It's a dull ache that travels from his lower back, up his spine, and spreads at his shoulders. He's sore. And his sides hurt, too. He can practically still feel the little feet kicking the shit out of him as he tried to convince the kids they were not, in fact, going to sink.
Not with floaties on, and not with him there. Not on their backs.
"Want me to rub it for you?"
Billy snorts. "You'd do that?"
You readjust so you're sitting cross-legged. "I mean, I can't promise I'll be any good at it, but I'm willing to try to see if it'll make you feel better."
"I have complete faith in you."
"Liar."
He grins at you before he's grabbing your face with both hands to pull you down to his level. He kisses you once; his mouth is warm and he's a little stubbly, though it's not like you mind.
When he pulls away, Billy sits up and flips so that he's laying on his tummy, socked feet up by the pillows.
You go to straddle the backs of his thighs, but he's sitting up again. "Wait—wait," he says. He yanks his shirt off over his head and throws it somewhere behind him on the bed.
