also I love that suzanne wrote katniss and haymitch in first person pov but with coryo she was like “third person for you… you get some distance, creep.”
[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)
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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!!!!!
“all i see is smut” “why can’t i find fluff and angst and not smut” “how come fluff isn’t—”
yet when nonsmut fics come across your dash you don’t support it by circulating it with a reblog. smut is pushed because it’s the smut audience that tends to be more supportive when it comes to boosting the fics they read 💗
Be honest, are you a bad person in any kind of way? I've been finding out about gross stuff that a bunch of blogs I really liked did and I feel icky :(
i’m getting a few bits of hate in my inbox for this and lemme make something very clear,,,, 1) I’D DO IT AGAIN, and 2) i could’ve said something much worse that could’ve ruffled some feathers
professor xavier who treats you like a gentleman should. he holds doors for you, he walks with his hand politely at your lower back, but never quite touches you without permission. he tells you how lovely you look, gives you kind smiles in the halls and always makes sure to say “hello” in the mornings.
professor xavier who likes to drop off books at your door that he thinks you might enjoy, always leaving a little post it on them that says “from charles xx”. he loves to feed your imagination and your mind in general, endeared by the way your eyes light up when he watches you read a particularly interesting passage.
professor xavier who knows exactly how you like your tea or coffee, always kind enough to make a cup for you whenever he’s in the kitchen. he fills his own tea full of sugar, so much so that you’re certain you could stand a spoon up in it. you wonder if that’s what keeps him so sweet.
and then there’s charles.
charles who pins you to the door in his office, his hands holding yours on either side of your head. his palms are pressed to your own, fingers threaded through yours as he kisses you slow and deep. you can taste the sugar from his tea on his tongue, making your head swim.
charles who presses his firm thigh between your own, smirking against your mouth at the way you gasp into his kiss. he doesn’t need to tap into your mind to know that you want this; he can feel you grinding down on his leg, your hips rocking back and forth slightly.
charles who gets a little mouthy, a little patronizing as he watches you squirm. “pretty little thing,” he coos, lips pressing against your throat. “i think you’re getting close.” he knows, of course, that you are. you’ve been desperately grinding against his leg, your own thighs trembling now. when you fall over the edge and gasp out his name, he hums low in his chest. “so gorgeous, darling. look so gorgeous coming like this,” he murmurs.
professor charles xavier knows exactly how to treat you every time, it seems.
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