emshyperfixations

[emshyperfixations]

billy in this lighting cures my depression

he looks so pretty in this lighting :(

[emshyperfixations]

Man has me going feral on a monday afternoon 🫣

mr tom keir blyth

[emshyperfixations]

he looks so pretty in this lighting :(

[emshyperfixations]

this is all i’m going to be thinking about for the rest of eternity. kit’s billy is hands down my favorite one 🥺

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. 

[emshyperfixations]

my favorite series 🥰

saccharine

Perhaps it was your destiny to annoy william h bonney and perhaps it was his destiny to hate you, but things can change.

aka; cowgirl!reader who teases the shit out of him x billy who 'hates' you, or so he says

fem!reader

if you'd like to talk about this dynamic, talk to me here :)

these can be read on their own!

blurbs, asks, etc below the cut!

* = smut (asks will be tagged with saccharine)

stealing his hat

wear the hat, ride the cowboy*

billy snaps and… billy tries to make it up and...billy apologizes again

tending to his wounds

tending to your wounds

sharing the bed*

the saloon

[emshyperfixations]

actually crying at this 🥺

oct. 22nd - royal reckoning

Prince!Billy Bonney x Village!FemaleReader

mdni!!! wc; 4.6k cw; virginity loss, p in v, angst

kinktober 2024 masterlist

a/n; this was a concept we talked about a little while back and it deserved to be explored in a longer fic so enjoy :) ALSO THE BOLDED ITALICS ARE FLASHBACKS SORTA

The grassy fields leading ahead to your cottage do nothing to soothe Billy’s hammering heart. His boots hit the ground with soft thuds, as though he is trying to be stealthy. There’s no need for quiet. The fields are completely empty save for the occasional wandering little animal. He spots a bunny and smiles to himself, his hand subconsciously gripping to the hilt of his dagger tucked into a leather sheath at his belt as he treks on. 

The sun is set, casting a dark glaze of moonlight over the land and although the expanse of the fields could prove daunting and hard to navigate for some, for Billy it was pure ease. 

He’s walked through these plains so many times, he’s sure his feet have hit the same dirt, have brushed past the grass strands that are children to the one’s he past before. Often times, he surveys the moon, notes the phase it’s in and wonders if She recognizes him unlike someone else. She must, he thinks, staring up at the bright crescent moon. She must know me. 

He’s overcome by the gesture of her all-knowingness that he almost trips over a rock embedded in the dirt. Billy catches himself before he can fall, then looks back at the rock, using the toe of his boot to push into the dirt and kick the rock out of it’s home. Then he feels bad for it and puts it back. 

When your cottage begins to come into view, his breath quickens and he breathes in once, then twice deeply. 

Billy grew up out in the fields near the kingdom’s village until he turned 10. He lived in a small farmhouse with only one room, but it was the home he loved. Then his life completely turned. 

The King took his mother as his wife after seeing her in the village, her beauty stunning him so much, that it warranted a marriage. It was unbecoming for a King to choose a villager as his wife, but the ceremony commenced nonetheless. And Billy was whisked away from his life completely, never to see you again. 

Before getting too close to the cottage, Billy does what does every night he visits, repeating the number in his head, 57. It’s his 57th visit tonight to see the lovely village girl that is you, always dressed in warm browns and earthly oranges, always a tad dirty because you take your baths late at night. 

He learned it because he stayed later than he meant to just a week ago. You flushed telling him you needed to bathe and you did not want him to sit around and wait for you. But he swore to you he would. Billy would wait for ages, it seems. 

The night wind rushes his face, hitting his cheeks and his nose in it’s cold. Billy says a thank you in his head to it. 

His boots miss the dirt the moment they step the broken up stone path that leads your cottage. Lights illuminate through your windows so he knows you’re awake, not that he ever expected you to be asleep. 

Billy stops in front of your old wooden door, the handle is rusted, and he had promised you he would do something about it only for you to say you knew how to handle rusty doorknobs, as though it was a common occurrence. It made him laugh. 

His hand raises and he swallows hard, his knuckles brushing to the wood before he knocks. 

Three times. 

Scuffling and the sound of a pot meets his ears and Billy can’t help the warm smile that graces his lips. He leans to the doorway, setting a hand on his belt just in time for the door to open. 

You slowly forgot things about him. Sure, he was the prince, and you always knew that, but Billy rarely left castle grounds (an order implemented by his stepfather The King, supposedly for his safety). So you, the lovely village girl he liked playing in the mud with never got to see him grow up into the man he is now. 

A few months ago, Billy found a way out of the castle gates. And since has journeyed out into the fields and nature around, to get a moment’s peace before returning. Sometimes he thought about running away completely, but then he would be leaving his poor mother and little brother. He thought about taking them with him too, but Billy knew his mother would never agree to such a thing. 

So instead, he spent whatever few hours he could sneak away outside, relishing in the small taste of freedom. 

You’re there, in your modest and simple dark orange dress, an apron over the skirt and your sleeves rolled up. Billy notes that you’re a little sweaty and he can see the fire roaring in your hearth. 

“Henry, you’re early today,” you greet him with a pant and a grin, swiping your wrist over your forehead to get some sweat at bay. 

He remembered you. One night, he found himself walking towards your cottage. He knew the way there like he had seen you just yesterday. 

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Billy expected you to recognize him. When you did not, he got cold feet. 

Called himself Henry, an old family name, and pretended to be a wandering stranger. He prayed that you somehow just put the pieces together so that by his second visit, you would point it out, but you don’t. And Billy gets wrapped up in being with you, getting to know you now and not just the you that he had remembered, the 10-year-old girl that loved kites and hated fruit. 

“Ah, yeah. ‘Spose I couldn’t miss your cookin’ this time,” Billy says, his heart settling into a calmness that he knows won’t last long. It never does around you. He taps his fingers to his belt as you roll your eyes at his implicated complement. 

“Well, there’s enough stew for you, so grab a bowl and pour it yourself, I’m tired.”

He chuckles and walks into your home, shutting the door behind him and latching it up. In truth, he was not hungry. The dinner at the castle was plentiful and Billy chastiszes himself for indulging in it when your homecooked stew was better than anything else he could eat at home. 

Home. 

“You’re tired? I don’t want to bother,” Billy says in a softer tone, watching you wipe the sweat from your face with an old rag as his hands touch to one of the clean bowls on your table. 

“Nonsense. You never bother me, Henry,” you tell him, like it’s ridiculous of him to even wonder. 

Henry. The name bites at him like a venomous snake, a poison that’s slowly reaching it’s way to his heart. Soon enough it would kill him.  

He spends his days figuring out answers to questions you may ask about his life, but truly, he fibs small. Besides the big thing. 

Otherwise, he tells you he comes from little money, loves to read adventure books and tall tales, and imagines himself as the hero or sometimes the morally corrupt protagonist. That he wishes deeply for a dog. He loves carrots but not tomatoes. All truths. Billy tells you that he wants to travel and live out in the woods, and that’s why he rarely visits in the day. His lonesome is important to him. And you’re busy anyway, it’s easier to see you at night. 

He could see the skeptical look in your eye when he had to explain this, but you move on. It aches in his heart, but the more he spends time with you, he forgets himself anyway, and that’s what he longed for. To forget about Prince William Antrim. Until the reminder of sleep comes about and he has to leave your bed and make the walk back to the castle. 

Out there with you, he’s Billy. It’s a shame he cannot say it. 

Billy sits with his stew while you preemptively cool yourself down. You open a window to let the breeze fly in and a sigh of relief leaves your lips. If Billy tilts his head a little, he can see the moon poking Her gaze through the window. He imagines She is saying hello to him. Hello to you, maybe whispering in your ear, ‘It’s Billy! It’s Billy boy!’. 

But after 57 visits, Billy’s lost complete hope that you know it’s him. You don’t. That’s the fact of this entire debacle. 

He pushes it out of his head when you turn back to him, “The stew up to your standards?”

Billy takes a hefty bite and makes an overexaggerated face, like the food is truly orgasmic and in some ways it is. But he only does it to hear your laugh, which sounds throughout the small room. 

“Alright, alright, good to know,” you get your words out through your laughter, then neatly fold the rag you had been using to rid yourself of the dampness on your face. 

“You feelin’ okay? It’s cold out and you’re sweatin’,” Billy says. He can’t help but worry. He knows all too well how easy it is for people to get sick out here. 

“Yeah, I was leaning too close to the fire making the stew, that’s all.”

He raises his brow, taking another spoonful into his mouth and contemplating your words, “Now, I’m no cooking expert, but maybe you shouldn’t lean too close to the fire, sweet.”

“Oh, hush. I won’t fall in. I promise you.” 

You cross the room, bringing yourself closer to him. Billy can’t explain it, but you move so effortlessly. He could easily imagine you in one of the royal ballgowns his mother and step-cousins wear and all the ladies in waiting. You would glide on the ballroom floor with the same amount of ease you walk through your small cottage in. His heart would flutter all the same and his cheeks would tinge with red every time. Just like know. 

You perch yourself on his knee as he takes a small bite of stew and your hands find their way to his belt, skimming the top of it. His breath is deeper, but he pretends to not be affected. The last two or so weeks have been more intimate than he could imagine. 

He kissed your lips for the first time on the haybale out in your barn and for those few seconds, he saw the life he feels he should have had. The one where he grew up at your side and asked you to marry him once the two of you were old enough. The one that lived in this little cottage with you and worked as a farmer. He felt it all flash in his mind as he kissed your lips and your hands touched his body, but the moment you pulled away, it was gone. 

Your hand stops at his dagger, which you slowly pull from his sheath, to study the hilt. “Don’t think I’ve seen you with this one before.”

Billy panics. The hilt of that dagger was by far a little more intricate than the one he usually brought with him. A mistake on his part for not switching out the blades. 

“It looks…expensive,” you mumble, your tone closer to a tease rather than speculative. 

“I stole it,” he blurts out. 

Your eyes find his, then return to the dagger as you trace the detailing, “Stole it? Little outlaw now, are ya, Henry?” 

You nudge your elbow into him in jest and slip the dagger back into his sheath as he chuckles. It’s a nervous one, though you don’t seem to pick up on that face. He rubs his thumb into your knee, a soothing gesture more to calm himself. He almost gets distracted, wanting to kneel right there and kiss your knee.

Billy finds himself asking, “You don’t care that I stole it?” Lies. 

“No,” you speak quiet, your hand tracing his hair at his temple and smoothing it back, “I see no harm in stealing if it’s from the rich. They already fuck us over enough. All King Antrim’s thought, I tell ya.”

He blinks at you but nods in response, quelling his expression to a neutral territory. In his nights with you here, you scarcely have mentioned his step-father. But it’s been quite a while since the topic came up and it shot a bolt of nerves through him. 

It’s a miracle that you don’t dwell on the subject. 

“What did you do today?”

Billy hums at your question and leans his head more into your head, his hand tugging at your knee over your thick dress to bring you more into his lap. “I hunted…did fairly well. Though it got too cold…made sure to rest some so I could come see you.”

Billy did go hunting. There was a small section of forest on castle grounds that he went on hunting parties with, though they were much fancier than what you might be picturing. 

“Mm, ever the charmer,” you mumble. 

“I need to be,” he says, with more conviction than he thought he might have. His hand moves up to cup your face, “You…you’re like the stars…and I think…the stars need to be earned and…charmed and…just…given all from man.”

Billy remembers when he had his first crush after becoming Prince. There was a daughter of a high lord that he took a liking too. He would write poetry for her and speak to her in flowery language but she never understood it. Called him odd. But he could speak his oddness to you and you would always look at him like he created the entire world. Like the words he was speaking were words you’ve never heard before and you were utterly fascinated. 

Your eyes tell him this now. You let out a breath, “You are so unlike any other I’ve met.”

Billy warms inside and he brings your head closer until his forehead is pressed to yours. His breath ghosts your lips and he lets his nose get smushed, “You’re all I would like to know.”

Frantic yet full of deep love movements are what gets you to your bed with Billy above you. His lips have not been able to leave your body since he uttered his words. He kisses your cheeks and your brow bone. The crease of your forehead and the crown of your head. His lips make their presence down the curve of your jaw all the way to your neck, his large hands holding your sides as your own thread in his hair. 

Billy wishes he could speak a symphony to you in the moment, but he converses with his mouth. He groans at the tight strings of your bodice, as his lips kiss your collarbone and to the top of your breasts. His impatience makes you smile beyond what you thought you your lips could ever reach. You work on the ties as his mouth tries to dig down to the valley of your breasts. 

Once it’s undone, Billy helps you slip off the shoulders of your dress and tug it down till it’s pooled around your waist. He hesitates on taking your undershirt off until you tell him four times you’re sure.

“I’ve never done this,” he mutters between your breasts, making himself a new home right there. 

“Neither have I.”

The thought comforts him and he nods. Billy forgets the moon’s call as a breeze hits the both of you because you’re so warm. His vest and shirt are off within a couple of seconds as his mouth acquaints itself with your breasts, his tongue swirling to your nipple and mumbling to your skin how pretty you are. 

He strains hard against his trousers, rutting to your thigh for the little bit of relief it provides. Billy’s touched himself before, he’s done as much as that, but nothing else besides miscellaneous kisses with the daughters of his kitchen or stable staff. 

Billy’s read a lot. A lot of tales of the desires of the flesh and indulgences one can have with it. He’s seen it with his own eyes with his step-father, but the passions he’s read about and truly otherworldly nature of the act itself, in his opinion, was something that he knew he would save for love. 

The love he feels now as your hands caress over the front of his trousers, desperately pulling him into you, wanting him to be just as naked you’re beginning to get, that’s right. That’s the deep pit in his stomach and the thrumming in his head that he knows he’s supposed to feel. The way you’re looking at him as though he’s the only person to exist, like he is the world you want, it sets him ablaze in all aspects of his life. Mentally. Physically. Every part of himself.

When he gets you fully naked beneath him, Billy has to sit back and admire you. He knows you embarrass easy so he coos, “No, darlin’, no…you…you’re unbelievable that’s all…I…you’re beautiful.” 

His hand catches your chin and he pecks at your lips, his smile easy and comforting and the one you give him back is effervescent. 

“You’re too clothed,” you pout to him and he lets himself relax with a chuckle, leaning himself back over you and letting you work on his trousers, until he can push them down along with his underpants. 

Billy lets you take him in. He’s fully hard. Fully aching for you. Fully wanting to feel the love and desperate warmth you have to give him and he’ll give you his all back, he promises it silently. 

A lot of small kisses fall to your face as he positions himself, bring your legs up to his hips. You smooth his hair back and let his forehead find yours. 

“You’ve really charmed the stars out of me.”

Billy chuckles and shakes his head a bit, leaving a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, “The stars will never leave you, my darlin’. Never.” 

Life is forgotten when he sinks into you. No time to think things through more when he’s eased into your cunt and buried his face into your hair, breathing in you like he’s about to take his last breath. 

Billy feels his approaching release too soon but holds off all he can as you adjust to him, your breaths hard and strained, but shrouded in as much overwhelmed feelings as he’s experiencing. 

The thud of your heartbeat enlightens him more than he realizes in the moment. You’re alive. You’re here. He’s alive. He’s here. He’s him and you’re you and nothing could amount to the sheer content he feels when he can start to rock his hips into you. 

The stretch aches you, he knows, so he he goes slow, bringing his cursed mouth to your ear and muttering almost nonstop, “lovely…lovely darlin’...everythin’ I feel right now is for you…oh fuck, it’s for you…”

Billy’s distraught when you tell him you love him. The words slip through your mouth like they’re meant to be there and meant to be directed at him. He says it back to you in a strangled moan, trying his absolute hardest to not thrust any faster into you. The pace, while slow, is still enough, rocking your crickety bed and helping to spill moans form your moan as the initial uncomfortablness subsides. 

“Sweet, please,” he mumbles to your ear, trailing his lips to yours so he can feel your noises and your breath and breathe it in. So he could give you his breath. 

Billy is not sure if he can get you to finish, but he tries. He’s learned enough from his books to know to touch you, reaching his hand down to find and rub your clit, which elicits more pleasurable sounds from you. 

“I love you, I love you, please,” Billy repeats it like it’s all he knows. And in this moment, it is all he knows. 

You say it back through moans although it’s harder to speak as your body shakes and clings to him, but he doesn’t care to think it through as his cock buries into you, spilling every bit of himself he has to give. He feels you spasm against him and he splotches kisses your jaw, mumbling a thank you. 

“I love you, Henry,” you whisper, rubbing your fingers through his sweaty hair. 

Billy feels sick. Henry. Henry. Henry.

Everything crashes around him all at once and he feels tears brim at his eyes. His head lifts but he is not looking at you. You clock his tears and cup his face, much to dismay, but Billy feels too weak to push you away. 

“What’s wrong?” You’re so concerned, it hurts. 

Billy slips himself out of you with a heavy sigh and shakes his head, which temporarily rids his face of your hands. His body did not deserve you, he tells himself. 

“I…,” he trails off. Not sure what he even wants to say. 

“Henry. What’s wrong?” Your voice is more worried, your brow knit and your eyes starry. Emotionally starry. Scared. 

Billy moves away from you before he could start crying and he hears you sit up in your bed, pulling the sheet over yourself to conceal your body. The moment is gone and the moon is screaming at him. Berating at him through the window. 

He stares at Her crescent shape through the open window, ignoring the fact he’s completely naked still, and then quickly goes for his belt, opening the small pouch on the opposite side of where his dagger sits. 

“Seriously, you’re worrying me what’s-”

“Please,” he interrupts. 

Once he sees you close your mouth, he stands back up, his hand clasped around something and he sits back in bed. Billy is frozen. His muscles tightened and heavy like wood. It feels like a large stone is pressing in on his chest as his fingers shakily open up to reveal the small locket in his palm. 

You’re confused at first. He expected that. But then you take a closer look at it, taking the metal in your hands and studying it. When you turn it over, he feels sick again. 

Billy, your thumb rubs over the engraved name on the locket, your mouth opening, then closing in confusion, “I don’t understand what this is.”

You look back at him, then the locket, then return to his face in a double take. 

The moon and the candles in your room illuminate him in a different light. Casting a glow so faint, it’s so easy you could have missed it. 

“I don’t understand,” you whisper. 

“I’m…,” he clears his throat. He wishes he was unable to meet your gaze, but he cannot look away from the woman he loves, “Billy…I’m Billy. Do you remember-”

“Of course I remember Billy, he’s the Prince now,” you rush out, your breath quickening. 

“Yeah…the Prince,” he whispers back to you, “I’m Billy,” he repeats, his heart ripping in two at your expression. You’re bewildered. The moon has enlightened you, yet you seem to be finding it hard to believe. 

“I still don’t understand, I-”

“I learned how to escape the castle grounds at night and I…I always remembered, how could I not? You were…you were the stars and-”

“Don’t say that now,” you interrupt him with your voice raising. You tighten the sheet to your body, suddenly feeling way too naked around him. 

“Sweet, I…I thought you’d recognize me, I recognized you! I fuckin’ recognized you after over a decade and it…you didn’t…you didn’t even recognize me,” Billy defaltes as he continues to speak while you look at him aghast. 

“Why should I? You were here one night then gone. Gone to be a Prince and the Prince never shows his face, how was I supposed to…I moved on. We were 10…you became a fucking prince Billy! That’s more of a life than this!”

“It’s not!” 

Billy tries not to dwell on the part you mentioned about moving on. He doesn’t want to yell at you. His jaw tightens and he lets it clench, lets himself sit with the anger for a couple moments. 

“You could be lying,” you say, but the fact he had the locket, the one you would know of considering you had the same one rested to nightstand with your own name engraved on it was enough. Your late mother bought them for the two of you for a holiday. When there was a little more money than usual.

“I’m not lying,” Billy tries to soften his tone, “I’m not. I’m Billy. I’m the Billy that rolled down the muddy hills with you and caught water spiders to throw at you and…ate all your apples because you hated them…and…fucked up your kite and made you a shitty new one. That’s me.”

A silent moment befalls the two of you where the only sound is the outside wind. It’s whispering to Billy. A mix of comforts and also ridiculing him for lying. He wants to keel over. Billy can sense your anger without looking at you, but you don't yell at him.

“Why? Why lie to me? I would’ve…if you told me, I would’ve kept the secret.”

Another crack in his fragile split heart emerges, “I…you didn’t…recognize me and I…I froze and…”

“You had so many opportunities to come clean,” your voice shakes as tears well to your eyes, “and now you tell me after we’ve…after we’ve…had one another? Henry…Billy…whoever the fuck you are…you are not…who I thought you were.”

He has no words to argue with you. Billy doesn’t bow his head in shame, he takes it head on, his eyes locked to yours as a few tears slip down your cheeks. 

“I do…I do love you,” is what he decides to say. 

You scoff at it. He knows you love him, but this is worse. You love him and he was himself in some vein, but the part of himself he absolutely hates is something you have yet to know. An unknown part of him that reeks with disdain and hatred and anger. 

“Please, leave.”

Billy silently gathers his clothes and gets them on, but he can’t bring himself to leave. His legs feel like they’ll collapse, his head swimming in a fast current he can’t escape, he’s afraid he’ll drown. 

“Sweet, just-”

“Billy,” you sniffle. Clutching the sheet so tight to yourself, you force yourself to look at him, “Don’t come back here. Ever.”

He nods. He hopes to the moon that you don’t mean those words, but you spit them with a bite that hurts his soul. 

“I love you,” he tells you again. He’s not hoping to hear you say it back. But Billy needs you to hear him say it. That despite the fact of anything, he does love you. 

He gets to your door. But stills. 

His eyes squeeze shut and he swallows hard, shifting on his feet, “I never…ever…felt more myself than I did the days I’ve spent with you. You are…not of this world, sweet. And I…I will always long for…this time and…what I should have done. I am…deeply…sorry…can’t fix anythin’, but I’m so fuckin’ sorry…I..,” his voice cracks and he risks taking a glance at you, “I am in love with you…it’s set in my body for the rest of time.”

With one more glance over your being, he opens your door, and closes it behind him. 

The cold air whips his face and holds him in an uncomfortable hug he can’t escape. The moon frowns at him and leaves his presence to comfort the lovely village girl he left. 

Billy realizes he left his locket with you, but he does not hesitate to keep walking to the castle. 

The locket can stay with you. It has his love, the true love, that he does not believe he deserves to give to you. At least the locket and the moon can remind you while he rots in his castle chambers. 

[emshyperfixations]

tom <3

[emshyperfixations]

🥰🥰🥰

tom <3

[emshyperfixations]

🥰🥰🥰

Numnumnum

[emshyperfixations]

HI BABY

[emshyperfixations]

HI BABY

[emshyperfixations]

Oh my god

oct. 7th - scaredy cat

William H. Bonney x BountyHunter!Female!Reader

mdni! wc; 3.3k cw; gunplay, threats of death, dom-ish reader, dub-con-ish, thighriding, grinding, mentions of piss

kinktober 2024 masterlist

a/n; was worried about this one because i was having trouble writing it, but i think i like how it turned out soooo!!!! hope you all enjoy!!!!

The smoothness of the cards touch at your skin as you move your thumb across, eyes bouncing from the cards, then back up to the man in front of you. 

The bar is rustling with life, but the noises drown out the longer you focus on the man’s blue eyes. They sear into you, subtly trying to beg for an inch, to find what it is you’re thinking or take an educated guess at what cards you hold behind your hands. 

His lips are in neutral territory. No faint smile, but no tension, though his thumb taps to his cards every other second. You count it. One. No tap. Two. Tap. One. No tap. Two. Tap. 

There are two other men in the game, a gentleman to your left that’s clearly off his rocker, and a gentleman to your right, who has the worst poker face known to life itself. Your focus is on the blue-eyed man though. Actual competition. 

The drunken man folds his cards, giving up more because he cannot even think straight. He barely walks straight to the bar just ahead. The man across from you tilts his head, his slightly messy hair catching your attention for only the moment he’s looking away at the drunk man. The cocky one places another bet. You raise your bet. And the blue-eyed man taps his thumb twice in a row this time, before raising his bet. 

The cocky guy scoffs a bit, but your expression remains unmoving. In fact, you lean back in the rickety wooden chair, like this is just some easy day for you. The guy folds his cards and you resist the urge to smirk, your eyes gluing themselves back to the young man in front of you. 

You make your bet, then lean back against, the only movement you give him is a slight cock of your head. The man tries to school his expression, but you see the slight quirk in the corner of his mouth as he looks at his cards, thinking. Or pretending to think. Most likely the latter. Either way, you study him more than you were before.

His dark blue shirt is dirtied, no doubt. Probably hasn’t been washed in days. Weeks, maybe. His knuckles are redder than they should be, but there is no bruising. You can deduce he was hitting something though. Or someone. There is a cut on his lip though. A cut in the process of healing. His hair, messy like you noticed before, seems more windswept or hat hair, than anything else. The slight curls near his ears curl around the curve of it, and his eyes, well, they return to boring into your soul. 

He hasn’t said much of anything since he sat down. A small hello to the other players. A lingering glance at you. He called you ma’am. It’s not that women didn’t play poker, but it was certainly rarer, especially out here in a middle of nowhere town with maybe three entire buildings and the rest expansive farmland. 

The man thinks for a few more moments and you have played enough poker to know he’s purposely building up the tension, wondering if you’ll push through any cracks to give him an inkling on your hand. He’s baiting you, but you know better. 

He shows his cards and leans on his arms on the table, a silent challenge, because he would be winning right now with that hand. 

If only you didn’t have a straight flush. 

The man gives a huff, but a small smile graces his lips. They’re so red, and you catch yourself watching the way his tongue quickly runs over them as he stands from his chair. He grabs his hat, black in color, and sits it perfectly atop his head, pushing it down a moment, before sticking his hand out. 

“Well done,” he says, his voice smooth with the slightest hint of a twang. You shake his hand once, then move to gather your winnings into the small satchel at your side. 

“You’re good. It was a good game,” he speaks again, adjusting his hat, though you know he has no need to do so. A nervous twitch, maybe, but you’ve already gathered he’s a fidgety guy. 

“I know,” you respond, offering half of a grin. His hands drop to his gun belt, shifting one of his legs like he wants your attention to drop to that area. 

His fingers drum on his belt, a grin still stuck to his face, but he just nods, and shrugs on a maroon jacket, then saunters out to the bar exit, while you turn towards the bar itself. 

Once you hear his boots leave the establishment, you count to thirty in your head. You’re lenient. Your hand snakes down to the gun in your holster, your thumb tracing the handle. It soothes it. Prepares it for the potential action afoot, something you always had to do before a job. 

When your mental count hits thirty, you stand, and walk out of the bar. The setting sun still shines bright and hits your vision at first. You shield your eyes, clocking the man’s horse still tied up here. 

You walk past the few buildings in this settlement, then veer off toward the woods. The grass of the field swishes against you as you stride slow, careful of your steps as you look around. 

As you approach the small thicket of trees, you catch that maroon color. 

His back is to you, standing near a tree, so you slowly stalk over, pulling your gun from your holster with ease. 

You make no noise, approaching your prey with a staunch air. Your heart is beating. A rapt hitting against your chest, but it’s not nerves, it’s excitement. As you get closer, you realize he’s urinating against the tree, but it does little to hinder you. It only excites you more. 

He whistles softly to himself, a tune you cannot place, and it almost distracts you from the task at hand. You roll your shoulders back to snap yourself out of it, then close the distance, quickly coming up on him from behind. 

The man startles and makes a quick move to grab his gun, but the barrel of yours digs into the side of his neck before he can reach it. You press your chest close up on his back, your other hand reaching around the front of him to undo his gun belt. 

His head turns slightly and you watch him recognize who it is. 

Your hand almost grazes his exposed dick, and a droplet of piss leaves him. You snicker, letting the gun belt detach and you toss it to the side,“Continue.”

“What?” He asks, voice more gruff than it was back in the bar. 

“Finish pissing, Mr. Bonney.” 

Billy hesitates, but you nudge the barrel harder against the skin of his neck and he relents, continuing to relieve himself against the tree. 

It’s quiet besides the sound of his stream, until he asks, “Who do you work for?” 

You scoffs. “No one.” He finishes, and goes to tuck himself back in. You watch the movement with a deep intensity, feeling lucky he isn’t looking at your face. 

“People are after you all over this state and the next. And you made your face known in a busy bar?” 

You’re ridiculing him. The tone of your voice shows it, and you get him to turn around, pushing hard at his chest so he’s up against the tree. There’s no question that Billy the Kid, is stronger than you, but he makes no move to fight you. Not yet, at least. 

“Guess I had some faith,” he says, keeping his hands held up. You drag the barrel from his neck to the front of his chest. 

“How long were you followin’ me? No way you just happened to be there…playin’ poker with me,” he questions, eyes narrowing. He’s trying to study you, but you won’t let him do that. 

“You’re gonna come with me.” You step up closer to him, almost chest to chest if it wouldn’t be for your gun against him. His one leg, having been slightly jutted out, makes it perfect to step up closer to him, his knee brushing to your leg, his head tilted to see you. 

Billy’s jaw clenches when you don’t directly answer his question, “Or you’re gonna kill me? Is that it, ma’am?” 

“Do you not believe I would?” You laugh in his face. 

“No offense, ma’am, but you don’t look all that…threatening,” he says and you break your little composure to furrow your brow. Is he trying to anger you? Trying to see how far you’d go? Well if he is, you’ll sure show him. 

“Ah, I see.” With a nod, you quickly push your hands down on his shoulders. The shove is hard enough to send him to his knees on the ground and you cock your gun, putting it right at his head, “Your poster says dead or alive, didya know that?”

“Yeah I do,” Billy clears his throat, his gaze up at you. He still makes no move to do anything. He doesn’t dive for his gun that’s a couple feet away. He doesn’t try to steal your gun. He doesn’t try to shove or push you away. He’s toying and it’s killing you. 

“Darlin’, listen, maybe we could work out-”

He’s cut off by a shot ringing out. You shot right next to him, so close to him, the bullet whizzed past his ear before landing somewhere behind him. The amount of unadulterated power you feel when you see his expression morph into something of genuine fear makes your stomach heat up more than it should. 

“Mr. Bonney, while I appreciate a negotiation, the price for your head is worth more than anything you could possibly give me.” As you cock your gun again, the movement casual, almost nonchalant as though you don’t have the ability to end his life in the manner of a second. 

Billy’s eyes never leave your figure. He looks up at you with a glint of what you can classify as fear, but also interest. You try to ignore that second part. His eyes are widened and wet, but you’re not sure if that’s incoming tears or just how his eyes are. 

“Your nose is bigger than the poster’s detail,” you blurt out. Why? Why the fuck would you say that? At least you didn’t say he looked more handsome than his picture. More rugged. He’s got a boyish charm that you could easily get hooked to if it wasn’t your job to wrangle in outlaws just like him. 

He doesn’t tease, no, Billy still looks frightened. Is that an act? You almost wanna ask him. 

“You have been followin’ me,” he says, more of a statement this time than a question. You give a nod to confirm it for him, because it doesn’t matter. And you’re wasting time, gun to his head and standing here while he’s on his knees. 

“Now, I’m gonna tie you up a bit so you can’t-”

“I’ll give you somethin’. If you let me go,” he interrupts, his eyes still fucking shining like they hold every single truth of the world. He says it with so much conviction, you almost want to indulge him. 

“Yeah? More than the money on your head?” You knock your gun against his head and he winces despite there being no pain from a few small bumps of your gun. 

Billy goes to speak, but in an instant, he decides to grab at your hips, and he tugs you down with him as he sits. On instinct, you squeeze the trigger, but your hand was already dislodged from it’s position, so the shot rings out beside him instead of at his head. It makes his breath quicken, as yours hitches, your body sat against him, his hold tight on your hips. 

His strong thigh is nestled right between your legs and you glare at him, cocking your gun again and holding it to his head, “What the fuck do you think-”

“You’re a very good poker player,” he says, his voice closer to a whisper than the volume he was speaking before. 

Your head cocks, a confused look dawning your face, “I know that.” 

“Are you alone? Do this all…alone?” Billy swallows hard, shifting his thigh ever so slightly and you instinctively shift too. The fabric of your trousers and his separates the two of you enough, but his words ring true, reminding you of the vacancy of touch in your life. Suddenly you hate him even more. 

“That’s none of your business. But I guess there might be a use for you while I drag you back to Lincoln,” you whisper sharply, getting closer to his face than you might have intended to. 

His breath is shaky, “What’s that darlin’?” Billy looks at your lips. You count it. It was three seconds. Three seconds too long and three seconds too short. 

“You can’t charm me.” You don’t believe your words. In fact, you wonder if his stupid eyes are entranced with a curse solely set out to destroy you. They’re urging you to do something. 

To kiss him. To rub on him. To kill him. 

Billy doesn’t speak another word, but he tilts his head ever so slightly against your gun, the tip of his nose brushing to yours. The floodgates open and you surge forward, your usually careful precision breaking as your lips crash to his. The gun stays to his temple like it’s meant to be there. 

Billy kisses you back in a slower manner, like he wants to take his time with it, but fuck that. You push into him, wanting to own his mouth, feel his tongue slip against yours, suck his bottom lip till it’s even redder than his natural color. 

When he lets out the smallest of moans into the kiss, you start the drag of your hips against his meaty thigh, a rampant, erratic motion that has your finger slipping from the trigger. It snaps you out of it for a moment, but you pull back from the kiss, your breath panting as you grind on him. Billy’s hands never stray from your hips, they hold there, and help a very minimal amount. 

His mouth, now parted, his eyes, as deathly as ever. 

Billy goes to say something and you shake your head, “Shut the fuck up,” and without a though, you drag the gun to his cheek, pressing it into him, watching his eyes flutter in fear and arousal. 

If you chanced a look down to his lap, you would see the bulge growing in his trousers, but you can’t look away from his face. 

Your hips never stutter. They’re on a mission, despite the fact you would get more friction if they were off, this is enough. Enough to feel that heat building up inside of you and enough to make you feel something you haven’t felt in so long. 

Billy mumbles, “Oh fuck,” as you shift, so that every time you grind up closer to his body, you’re grazing near his bulge. It’s much less friction for him. He barely gets any, but that small amount makes his eyes glaze. 

Is he under your curse now? Is that what this is?

Your finger almost slips the trigger again and it makes you grunt out in frustration. Your movements are so harsh, you’re surprised you haven’t accidentally shot the gun. Billy’s eyes flicker to the death trap in your hand, and he goes to speak again. 

You pull the barrel from his cheek down to his mouth, the opening grazing his pretty lips. His mouth stays parted, his eyes telling you he too, doesn’t know why he’s got his mouth open. You count to three in your head and his mouth is still open. Your restraint is gone, the grinding of your clothed cunt on his lap prickles at your skin, and you don’t need to think anymore. 

You shove the tip of the gun into his mouth and he fully closes his eyes this time. 

“Good fuckin’ boy,” you grunt, a moan leaving your lips as you sit up more on him, rubbing on him quicker. Your life depended on it. You push the gun deeper into his mouth and grab at his jaw with your other hand, coaxing him to open his mouth a little wider. 

“Y’know, I could kill you right now,” you breathe out, sneering right in his face as a whimper leaves you. You push down a little harder against his thigh, chasing that feeling that’s approaching. 

“I could kill you so fuckin’ easily. The one who killed Billy the Kid…that could be me right now…all cause you…you took her fuckin’ gun in your mouth.”

How could he be so pretty with it? His eyes tear as you push the gun into his mouth enough to make him gag, but all it does is spur your movements on. You grant him som decency to take some of the gun out of his mouth so he won’t choke on it, but you don’t take it out fully, the sight of him with it is doing too much. Why do you love this? You can’t question yourself right now, but you know it’s fucking sick. He looks lewd, swallowing against the barrel, eyes fluttering and chest heaving as you rock yourself on him to completion. 

When it happens, you moan louder, arching against his body, rubbing yourself on him in quick motions so you can feel every part of that orgasm you so deeply needed. 

Then, you squeeze the trigger. 

Click. 

You have to laugh. A breathless laugh. His eyes are wider. Some of the arousal a bit loss, but still lingering there, and you glance down at his lap, a small wet spot forming on the crotch of his trousers. 

“Seriously?” You taunt him and then slowly slide the gun out of his mouth, your eyes stuck to the string of spit coming from him, and the wetness on your barrel. 

It’s in the flash of a moment that Billy is grabbing your wrist, his bigger hand holding excrucaitingyl tight to you as he forces you to drop the gun. He grabs it with his other hand before you could make a move and he throws it. 

He stands, your wrist still tight in his hand, and doesn’t look back as he drags you the couple feet to his gunbelt, where he grabs his gun, cocking it. He lets go of your wrist with a small shove and points it at you. 

You’re stunned for a moment, processing the sequence of events that just occurred, your mind running rampant and your body still jittery from what the two of you just did. You stay leaned back on your hands, at his mercy, “Go ahead then. Kill me, if you must.” There’s no purpose to your voice. You could scramble for your gun but he could shoot you easily. You could run up and tackle him for his gun, but he’d still have the upperhand. 

You fucked up.

His cursed eyes and just him. Is this why he keeps escaping jails and lawmen?

“I said, kill me,” you say it again, and Billy’s arm is still straight out, gun pointed directly at your heart. His chest is still heaving and his mouth wet and red. 

He lets the moment linger, like he had back at the poker table, then he uncocks his gun, settling it in it’s home in his holster. He leans down to fix his belt on himself on then places his hat back on his head. “I don’t kill women, darlin’.” 

With one more look, his blue eyes cast their last spell, but you’re not sure what. Lingering lust? Arrogance? Pity? He backs off, his gait a saunter. Billy full-on turns his back on you, something so confident it makes you gasp. 

You’re not sure how long you lay there in the dirt and grass, running through the entire encounter, but you know one thing’s for sure.

You’re going to capture that motherfucker someday.

[emshyperfixations]

Will never get over this gif…… the way he goes straight to her… puts this much like idek passion into a peck….. the subtle hey before he kisses her……… when is it my turn

[emshyperfixations]

oct. 4th - hot wheels

Sam Woodbridge x FemaleReader

mdni! wc; 3k cw; just p in v, car sex, dirty talk, light exhibitionism

kinktober 2024 masterlist Sam is an OC! Here is his fact sheet!

a/n; oh dear am i happy to have our first sam fic :) 3k of him wow! enjoy it guys, and please let me know your thoughts, i love you all for creating this silly guy with me. This is for you who love this OC as much as I do, thank you so deeply or entertaining me about him :)

Congratulations reverberated around you as Sam held tightly to your hand, leading you through the crowd of fellow families and loved ones of his teammates. His team won an important game and like usual, the party thrown after was mostly filled with Sam getting showered with compliments. His teammates too, of course, but Sam always got a lot. 

You loved seeing him with that after-win glow; flushed from only one beer, and flushing more at the compliments. 

He liked them, you knew that, but that did not mean he took them with ease. An embarrassed smile that edged on arrogance always graced his lips and it made you want to laugh as well as kiss his cheeks, tell your boy how proud you are of him. 

You would watch him interact with people, hanging off of his arm for hours, but it’s nearing one a.m. and he’s visibly exhausted. You’re exhausted. 

The heat of late summer was no joke and although Sam took a shower in the locker room before the party, he could use a quick shower at home before relaxing in bed with you. Maybe you’d join him. 

Sam’s saying his goodbyes as you two walk through the crowd of people. A teammate almost stops him, but Sam barrels on. Wow. He must be tired. You squeeze his hand, an etch of concern on your face though he cannot see you right now. 

He returns the squeeze, taking a glance back at you, then continues, until you can breathe in the outside air. 

Which is somehow more humid than inside. 

“Car a.c., car a.c., car a.c.,” Sam mumbles in a chant as he tugs you along the asphlat, and you chuckle, the sweat on your skin agreeing with his words. 

“Was it even on in there?” You look back to the hotel the party had been at and Sam shakes his head.

“Maybe, but too many people.” 

He goes quiet again as the two of you weave through the parking lot until his car comes into view. With the keys already out in his hand, he opens the locks, and the door for you. His hand lingers on your back as you climb into the car, then he shuts it closed. 

You’re buckling your seatbelt when Sam gets into the driver’s seat, making quick work of starting the car and blasting the aircon. 

He lets out an exaggerated sigh as the cool air hits you both, leaning back in his seat and sending you a lazy grin. “I’m scheduling us a trip to a very cold place right now.”

You stare at him, mimicking his slouched position, and keeping your head turned to him, “Right now?”

“With my…magical…mental powers…,” he says with a slow nod, eyes narrowing. 

“Your mental powers, huh?” 

“Mhm, I’m inputting my card number now.” 

Sam is silent for about ten seconds, your eyes still locked, then says, “card’s been approved.”

“Oh, thank god,” you tell him, putting your hand over your heart like you’re as relieved as ever. 

His lips twitch up for a small second, but he’s keeping the game up, “anddddd booked.”

“Where to?”

“A cold place.”

You roll your eyes and his smile lets up, coming with the sort of ease that makes you want to tug him closer to you, “Specifics?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Or you can’t think of a cold place right now,” you mumble, challenging him directly and Sam immediately scoffs. 

“I’m delirious from the heat, babe, don’t question me. I’m fragile,” he defends himself and then looks out the front windshield. A hand swipes through his sweaty hair and you watch the movement. Some strands stick out of place, but all it does is make Sam more Sam. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” you say in a softer tone. Many people had told him it tonight. Hell, you gave him a huge kiss once his big dumb smiling face left the locker room earlier tonight. But you had to tell him again. And it’s worth it, because he looks back at you, and grins more, rubbing his palms on his jeans. 

“Thank you, lovey,” he responds in a quieter voice, reaching a hand over to lightly pinch your cheek, then his eyes rake down over you. 

“No,” you chuckle, watching his eyes linger on your skirt. 

“What? What do you mean, no?” Sam’s hand stays on your face, brushing his knuckles from your cheek to your jaw. 

You hold onto his wrist, “I know that look. We are not fucking here.”

“Blasphemy,” he mumbles, “I wasn’t thinking of intimate relations with my dear number one fan.”

With a squeeze to his wrist and a pointed look, he concedes, “Okay, I was, but I’ve been thinking about it for like an hour, so.”

“Oh?” A breath leaves you and it feels as though your smile can never leave you when you’re talking to your man. “I thought you were exhausted. You looked it. Still do. Especially when we were walking out.”

He sighs, “I am, but…,” Sam trails off, tracing the edge of your jaw, his gaze on his hand as he does it, “you’re sexy.”

“Thank you, and-”

“And you were dancing before…remember? Before Mike came over? You were dancing on me…,” Sam pokes his finger to your cheek. 

“Home,” you tell him, but you can’t deny that the thought of doing something right here right now got to you. And it isn’t helping that his hand not near your face is messing with his jeans, tugging on the fabric near his groin. 

“I know,” he whispers, “just a kiss?” His fingers nudge on your chin and your eyes drop to his lips. They’re a little redder from his still-flushed state, and the fact he bites on them way too much out of habit. 

Sam can see it in your eyes, so he doesn’t have to confirm. He knows you too well, as much as you know him. He leans over the center console, his hand holding shifting to the back of your head to pull you closer until his lips press onto yours. 

His thumb rubs against the nape of your neck, the slight taste of beer on his lips mingles with yours, and the kiss ends way too quickly for you. Sam pulls back only a short distance, giving you his smile and moving his hand up to pat your head. 

He’s just about to lean back into his seat, when you reach for his face, drawing him right back in. Sam huffs at the movement, but gives in once his lips return home to yours. 

Your spine tingles and your skin, albeit cooled off from the aircon in the car, heats up all over again with a different surge. It has you slotting your lips to his with the addition of your tongue, licking into his mouth and humming when he lets out a soft moan. Sam’s hand juts out to your thigh, and you tangle your hand into his hair, the sweaty locks against your fingers are smooth, calling out to you to be caressed and pulled. It's like the exhaustion you felt earlier has left every inch of your body, and replaced it with something hot and needy.

Sam’s mouth is fervent, his tongue meeting yours with the sole purpose of wanting to swallow you whole. He kissed with his entire being and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You cannot imagine a world in which you didn’t get to feel the press of his nose against your face and his bitten lips caress yours, his soft breathy moans that he was never able to quiet. 

Sam Woodbridge was utterly yours and after seeing him receive as much praise as he did tonight, you vow to give him that, and more. 

“Okay, fine, maybe we can do something here,” you mumble between kisses, awkwardly shifting in the passenger seat to be facing him more. 

Sam chuckles, pulling back, only to nuzzle his nose to yours and peck your lips, “we are in a parking lot,” another peck graces your lips, “we could be seen,” kiss, “you sure?” kiss.

You’re nodding against him while he’s speaking, “we’ll make it quick, you finish quick anyways,” and you nudge on his chest, an offended look crossing his face as he leans back in his seat. 

“Ouch,” he says, watching you unbuckle your seat belt and climb over the console into his lap. It’s an unsexy move but he’s got that easy fucking smile. Curse him for that. 

You settle there, and look down at the bulge in his jeans. “You’re hard already.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Lovey, you’re probably soaked already,” he mumbles and slides his hand up under your skirt, his touch like a delightful shock that’s fastly spreading all over your body. Especially as his fingers graze your panties, only to cup you, confirming that you are indeed just as turned on as he is. 

“Oh, yeah,” he whispers, pressing his palm up against you. You gasp, and press your hands into his shoulders, and he tsks playfully, “just what I thought. I-oh.”

He stops when your hand makes contact with his bulge, only trailing your fingers down it, and Sam removes his hand from under your skirt to get his belt off. 

“Okay. Quick. Very Quick,” he says, expertly getting his belt off with just the one hand, then lifting his hips slightly, tugging his jeans down with your assistance. Once they’re at the top of his thighs, you sit more firmly on him so he sits back down. 

His head cranes to your neck, giving you wet kisses up to your ear, then lightly sucking on the spot below it. You shift your hips at the sensation, reaching through the front hole of his boxers to fish his cock out. He groans against yout skin, trailing hotter kisses back down your neck and sucking harshly at another one of your weak spots. A shaky breath leaves you and you move up in his lap more.

He’s heavy and warm in your hand, but you only feel him for a few more seconds before he’s pulling back and grabbing your hand. He holds it open and spits into your palm. Sam pushes your hand back down to his cock, helping you rub in the spit, his eyes locked to yours. 

He gives a nod, “remember when you first ever jerked me off?” 

The random memory makes you snort a little, your hand slowly stroking up and thumbing his tip. He shifts under you, sneaking his hand back under your skirt to push your panties aside. His thumb presses at your opening, and it makes you gasp. 

“Yeah, I remember,” you whisper to him. “It was in your old car.”

Sam nods, easing the tip of his thumb into you, then out, his breath getting heavier from your ministrations on his lower region. 

“Mhm, you jerked me off in the backseat…because my game sucked…and our favorite pizza place was closed earlier than we thought. We kissed, and you…,” he trails off when your thumb swipes his tip again, and his hands move to your hips, pushing you up a little to position you over him. 

“You got a little handsy and I got…so fucking hard. Swore I’ve never gotten that hard in my life ever,” Sam chuckles at the memory, holding himself at the base and dragging his tip against your cunt. It’s hard to focus on him reminiscing on this story. You almost want to tell him that, but all that’s in your mind is fuck fuck fuck just fuck me sam, fuck me.

“And you offered…to help me out…with such a cute fucking look…you were just as nervous as me…I swear we both felt like it was the first time we’ve ever done anything,” Sam says, aligning his cock at your entrance.

“Gonna tell me why you're thinking of this…wonderful memory?” You manage to get out, your breath hitching and your hands gripping to his shoulders. You start to sink down on him, and Sam lets out a low groan, leaning his head back, then looking down to watch. 

“That was the last time we did something in a car,” he mutters, cursing under his breath as you continue to sink down on him until you’re buried at the hilt with him. A moan leaves your lips. 

“Ah…yeah, that’s…took it good, baby,” he whispers, his hand dropping to your stomach and thumbing down on your clit. You whine at it, and clench around him, “Sam…”

“I know, lovey, you’re good. You got it.” Sam continues the slow roll of his thumb while you adjust to him, his eyes roving over your face as your’s stay shut. 

When they open, you nod to him, “I’m gonna move.” 

Sam nods, giving your hip an encouraging pat. You move up, and immediately hit your head on the car ceiling. “Ow, fuck,” you curse. 

Sam bites his cheek hard. “Oh no, my baby,” he says, leaning up and pulling you against his chest, cradling your head. He rubs the back and top of your head, stifling his laugh, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Don’t laugh,” you whine at him, but Sam can’t help his chuckle. He reaches for the recline of his seat, and presses down on it, but the recline goes too fast and the seat falls back quick enough for his head to hit back on the seat. You laugh.

“Oh. Oh. I see how it is huh?” He tries to sound mad, but he isn’t. You’re laid against him, head to his chest and Sam bends one of his legs up, thrusting up into you which halts your laughing. 

“Yeah, thought so,” he mumbles, his voice taking on a huskier tone, and he thrusts up again, and again, and again, working himself into you. 

You brace your hands on his shoulders, kissing to his collarbone and the base of his neck, a short breaths and small moans leaving your lips. A louder moan rocks through you when he fucks up in a harsher move, and he says, “you’ll take anything I fucking give, yeah?”

All you can do is nod again him and Sam groans, “Just…letting me fuck up into you…in my car…you’re gonna make a mess on my seat, baby…you’re so wet, you hear it?”

You can. The wet squelch every time he thrusts is pounding in your ears, his breath turning more into a grunt. Your hips move to meet his movements and once you have the burst of energy, you push yourself to sit up in his lap, rubbing  your hands down to his chest and bouncing steadily at him. There’s an air of caution you have, so as to not hit your head again, but fuck did you want to bounce on his cock.

“That’s my fucking girl, look at you,” he almost growls, resting one hand behind his head, letting his hips relax for a moment and letting you take the reins. His other hand rubs to your stomach and down to toy with your clit again. 

A whimper leaves you and his touch spurs you on to rock on him faster, desperate to feel him fill you to brim. 

“Look at you taking my cock, holy fuck, baby.” Sam watches you with a glint of awe in his eyes, unable to look away from where you two connect, then back up to your face, strewn with pleasure. 

He rubs your clit faster, breath shakier as he speaks, “Want me to cum in you? I can’t cum in the car.” The joke he threw in causes a breathless chuckle to come from you and you swat his chest. 

“Yeah, Sammy, cum in me,” you mumble, humming to stifle the bigger moans you’d only let out if you were home. He groans at your words and nods, his mouth parted. Your thighs ache and Sam notices your movements get sloppier, so he grabs your hips to help, moving you up and down on his dick. 

“Cream on it, lovey, c’mon, c’mon give it to me,” he grunts, a tremble in his voice. 

You let out a quiet strangled noise, nodding your head, “Yeah, yeah Sammy I’m gonna cum,” you sputter out as you contract around him. 

Sam’s eyes almost roll back, but he keeps his gaze to you, His words are frantic, his voice raspy, “fuck I’m cumming, I’m cumming, baby, fuck.” As he says it, you feel his warmth. His load releasing into you and the jerk of his hips as he grunts a bit louder. 

He quickly puts his fingers back at your clit as he breathes through his orgasm, rubbing at you quick until you’re squeezing him impossibly tight and cumming around him. You bite on your cheek hard, an attempt to not cry out in pleasure as Sam rubs your sensitive bud, his cock twitching inside of you gives you enough reason to keep going, but then you remember you’re in his car.

He helps you lift off of him, his cum starting to leak down your thigh. Sam sees it and sits up quick, and fixes your panties. So you have to sit in it. You look to his face. 

His stupid grin is there. 

“I love you,” you whisper, and he softens, cupping your cheek, and rubbing his thumb to your cheekbone. 

“I love you more.”

He pats your cheek, “Now, get in your seat, missy, the shower at home is calling our name.” Sam almost shoves you over to the passenger seat as you laugh and he fixes his boxers, then his jeans, leaving them unbuttoned and unzipped. 

“Why?” You say, pointing to his crotch as he puts the car in drive. His face doesn't break out into another stupid grin as he backs out of the parking space, but he does let out a weary sigh that you would classify as part of his 'acting'.

“Need to let him breathe.”

Oh, how you love him. 

[emshyperfixations]

oct. 1st - on trial

ModernLawStudent!Coriolanus Snow x Reader

mdni! cw; cunnilingus (yeah that's it ) wc; 2.6k

kinktober2024 masterlist

a/n; enjoy the first day of kinktober :) also the title does not make sense cause the plot changed mid-writing but i like the title so nobody speak on it

Coriolanus lets out a big sigh as the hot shower water cascades down his body. 

If he could, he would erase the day from his memory. He woke up late, which means you woke up late, and both of you scrambled to get ready for your respective morning classes. You handled that easier, but Coriolanus was brimming with anxiety over the mere notion he might be late to class. 

He sat through his first one of the day, hoping to dear god his stomach wouldn’t rumble too loudly since he did not have time to have a decent breakfast. All he ate was half a granola bar while walking to class and he learned very quickly it was not enough to satisfy him for even thirty minutes. 

After the class, he treated himself to a breakfast sandwich from the campus’ best cafeteria. One plus of the day. But then his second class had a pop quiz. Which he promptly almost failed. Close enough to failing that he had to ignore your texts about something he can’t remember now. 

He went to the library after to decompress. Coriolanus decompressed, however, by reading yet another book for his psych class which had a midterm coming up. He needed five sources and he was running thin, and the book his professor suggested to him was so long, he wanted to say some choice words in an email, but he held back. 

He was a speedy reader anyway, it wouldn’t be so bad. 

But it is bad. Coriolanus has to reread every other sentence because of the way this apparent academic scholar writes. He usually would pride himself on being able to handle some of the densest texts, but none of this was getting through to him. 

To make matters worse, his grandmother kept him on the phone for an hour. Yes, an hour. She could not figure out her login for something and Coriolanus, being the ever so gracious grandson that he is, spent the time helping her, but by the time he hung up, he wanted to rip his hair out. 

So yeah, the shower was good. Really fucking good. He pays attention to the time though, not wanting to take too long and use up all the hot water before you come home. 

Coriolanus does the basics. He washes his body, rubbing every spot he can as if it will wipe the day clean. Give him a refresh. No shampoo today, since he cleaned his hair yesterday, but he does wet it, smoothing his hands back against his wettened curls so it’s out of his eyes. 

He turns the shower off and grabs the towel hanging on the hook, drying off a bit of his chest, ruffling it in his hair, then he wraps it around his waist, stepping onto the bathmat in front of the sink mirror. 

With a washcloth, Coriolanus wipes the steam from the mirror, then opens the right side drawer of the counter to take out his skincare. 

He almost feels a bit of relaxed excitement in the tips of his fingers that he’s finally at the end of his day. Like all is well and soon you’ll be home, and he can cuddle up with you and listen to you ramble about whatever show you’ve been watching. He never tells you how much he loves that, but he’s sure you know. 

Coriolanus clips the front curls of his hair back so they don’t get in his face, opting for the soft pink ones that you compliment all the time. 

Right as he grabs his cleanser, he hears the front door open and close shut. He smiles at himself in the mirror, rinsing his hands in the sink. 

He can hear a muffled groan from you, then the sound of a cabinet closing a bit louder than it should be. 

Coriolanus already opens his mouth to speak right when there are three incessant knocks on the bathroom door, “Are you-,” he cuts himself off, “Come in.”

The door opens, revealing an exasperated-looking you, rivaling Coriolanus’ freshly showered ease. He raises his brow, “What? What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t get those cookies I asked you to pick up,” you say, and in any other circumstance, he might laugh at the statement, since it sounded so minuscule, but the look on your face told him to keep that in. 

“You asked me to get cookies?”

You roll your eyes, “I texted you like three times if you could pick them up for me.”

Oh. The texts he ignored. He gives a sheepish smile, “Oh, I’m sorry, I just had a bad day and-”

“Yeah, so did I, but you can’t ignore my texts, Coriolanus, even if you couldn’t go to the store or whatever, I would’ve appreciated you responding or something.”

He nods. But his face returns to its blank slate which he could tell annoyed you. “What happened?”

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face as you lean against the doorway. He can tell you’re trying not to look at his stomach and his cheeks heat up at the thought of that. 

“It’s not worth it, just a shitty day and you always do this. You always ignore my texts when I’m asking for something.”

“I didn’t open the text, I didn’t know,” Coriolanus says, his voice more soft than defensive, but you take it that way. How could you not? You’re already so worked up from your day. You feel bad he also had a not-so-kind day, but you can say full-heartedly that you would text him back regardless if the day was going bad. 

Coriolanus was a good boyfriend, but he was also an awful texter. 

“You should have opened it,” you tell him and he nods, fingers fiddling with the edge of his towel at his hip. You can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose to entice you or if he’s just nervous. 

“Are you gonna tell me what happened? Besides the waking up late thing.” Coriolanus raises his brow at you, and your eyes dart to the pink clips in his hair. 

“Ran into Festus,” you mutter and it earns a scoff from Coriolanus. That vapid human was the bane of his existence and your ex rolled into one. He couldn’t believe you even dated a guy like that. Coriolanus was sure you were joking when you told him that Festus was an ex. You were not. 

“Vague,” he calls you out for how short your explanation is, and he wants to hear the details so bad. He knows you’ll never go back to him, so the little blip of jealousy in the pit of his stomach is only there for a few seconds before it vanishes. But Festus had to have said something to you for you to deem your entire day as, ‘shitty.’ 

Coriolanus can tell you don’t want to talk about it. So as the silence lingers on in the still-hot bathroom from his shower, he lets out his own sigh. He reaches for your wrist, which you reluctantly let him take. 

“I really wanted those cookies,” you mumble, as he pulls you closer, until your back against the bathroom counter next to him. 

“I’ll go out and get them,” he says, his thumb rubbing circles to your inner wrist, sending a bit of heat into your skin. 

His words make you stiffen a little and you study his face with a furrowed brow, “You hate going out after your showers.”

He replies immediately, “I do,” and his voice comes out more like a whisper. Your hand is brought to his side, and you naturally caress your fingertips to his stomach, feeling the bit of muscle there, just as his head dips down to kiss the side of your neck. 

“Thank you, then,” you whisper back, although you don’t need to. It’s just the two of you in this apartment. In this bathroom. The warmth from his shower starting to get to you. Coriolanus raises his head back and looks over your face. He’s contemplating. You know the look well. 

But you can only watch it for a few seconds because he’s made a decision. Unceremoniously, Coriolanus kneels on the tiled ground in front of you, head tilted up to see your face. His nose twitches and he grabs his discarded pants, putting them under his knees so they don’t get uncomfortable. 

“What’re you doing?” You could take a guess, but with Coriolanus, sometimes your guesses were always more fun than what he had in store. 

His eyes lock to the space between your legs, then back up at you.

Nevermind. What he had in store sounds fun as fuck. 

Coriolanus’ hands touch your knees, then slowly caress their way up to the top of your thighs, “Yes?” 

He is not sure what’s compelled him to do this, seeing as he’s never eaten you out in this way before. Maybe it was your annoyance. Maybe it sparked something in him he did not want to admit to. Maybe it’s the fact you were staring at his mostly naked figure and he wanted you to join him on that front. It’s mostly the annoyance. 

You nod, “Yeah,” and his fingers, shaky yet quickly, undo the button and zipper of your pants. 

He tugs them down, then remembers your shoes. With a curse under his breath, Coriolanus unties your sneakers and takes them off you, tugging your pants off the rest of the way, then trailing his hands back up your legs. 

You rest back against the counter, both hands against the cool stone of it as his breath hits your inner thigh. 

No matter how much it stirs a giddy feeling in him, Coriolanus can’t take his eyes off of your face as he leaves the softest of kisses on your thigh. He’s been between your legs so many times, but every time feels like he’s discovering some new part of you, like there must be an area of your skin he hasn’t touched, that’s begging for his lips to grace it. Your breath is hitching andyour hand rests on his head. 

He nuzzles his head against your other thigh as his teeth graze the skin right at the edge of your underwear.  

The exhale you let out causes tingles to spread throughout his body, “too slow?” 

“No,” you tell him, your fingers lightly threading into his semi-wet hair. Coryo flattens his tongue on the skin of your inner thigh, licking up to the edge of your panties. He skims his tongue along the line until he gets to your hip. A small kiss lands on it, and you let out a breathy chuckle, “Maybe a little too slow.”

He smiles, tracing his tongue back down to the dip of your thigh, and feels you tighten your hand to his hair. 

“Maybe we should-oh.”

You’re cut off by the press of his nose over the cotton of your panties, his tongue flicking out to lick against the cloth as his hands rub to your hips, toying with the waistband. 

“Mhm,” he replies, rubbing his nose against you at a slow, languid pace, the smell of you enticing him, he curses silently at himself for not doing this for you recently. 

“Coryo,” you breathe out, and he mumbles an apology that makes you laugh. 

“What? No, no sorry, this is…oh my god,” your voice trails off as he presses a wet kiss right over where your clit is. 

Not able to keep this going much longer, Coriolanus tugs your underwear down, letting you kick them off, and he gives you no time to say anything. He buries his nose into you, groaning at the wetness you’ve accumulated from all of his previous actions. 

Both of your hands find his hair, messing up the clips that are still there, but not knocking them out. His eyes watch you, hooded and dazed from the taste of you. The way his tongue teases your entrance, dipping in for only a second before moving out, has you whining for him already. 

He moves up to your clit, swirling with the muscle of his tongue and sucking it to his mouth, relishing in the way you pull his hair. 

You let him dig his hands into your thighs, half to hold you up for him and because the strong grip is one you feel only now and then with him. He always expressed not wanting to bruise you like that, but you wanted his tight hold on you. 

“Coryo, shit, shit,” you mutter as he sucks on the sensitive bud more harshly, then licks his tongue back to your entrance, lapping against you like a needy dog looking for water. 

“Mhm mmm,” he mumbles against you, fingers pressing into the back of your thighs like he’s urging you forward. 

But he pulls back a little, lips shiny and red, the ache in his lower region increasing from the whimper you let out at the loss of contact. He splotches kisses on your thigh, “It’s okay…it’s okay, I’m gonna make you come, just give me a moment.” 

You notice how heavy his breath is, almost as if he’s on the verge of finishing himself, but he steels himself quickly. His kisses never stop, caressing every part of your inner thighs, before he trails back to your cunt, lapping eagerly, and smiling when you moan at the contact. 

“I know, that’s what you wanted,” he mumbles, his hands slipping up to your ass and pushing you to his face. 

“Fuck,” you grunt out, unable to stop the jerk of your hips from his touch. Coriolanus’ eyes close at the movement, feeling his nose bump back into you. You give another test, but it’s awkward from this angle. 

Coriolanus can’t think. Your taste, your sounds, the fact he can feel you pulse as he licks you, he’s sent into a complete overdrive. 

He moves one of your legs up and over his shoulder, slotting him more comfortably between your legs and effectively making you gasp out and hold to him tighter. 

“C’mon, do it now,” he encourages, pushing on your backside and helping you grind against his tongue. It snaps something inside of you. To rub yourself down on him and feel how hungry he is to take whatever you give him. 

“God…fuck you for holding back on me,” you say through a moan. He’d laugh if he wasn’t buried in your pussy, desperate to taste the release fast approaching you, wracking through your body and waiting for that last chord to be struck. 

You can’t recall when he’s been this insatiable, but you can’t complain. Maybe you two needed this. 

“I’m so close,” you say, though you don’t need to. Your hips rock against his face, his nose catching and rubbing against your clit just right with every other thrust, and Coriolanus fucks his tongue as deep as he can in you. He tries to keep his eyes open as you let out a shaky moan, but it’s difficult. With your taste and with your hands tightening in his hair so hard it burns his scalp, he has to close his eyes as your orgasm rips through you. 

Your hips stutter and he grips the backs of your thighs tighter, making sure you don’t fall. His tongue licks up everything he can until you feel too sensitive and gently push his head back. The hair clips hang on to his curls for dear life. You can see how hard he is under the white towel, begging for attention.

The whole bottom half of his face is wet. His mouth parted and his lips redder, almost swollen-looking. 

“My knees hurt,” he whispers. And you lightly tap his cheek in a scolding manner, sending him a lazy grin.

[emshyperfixations]

𝓦𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓕𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓕𝓮𝓼𝓽!

Hello my loves!! I am so excited for this month and all of the fics coming out!!! Truly this has been so fun to write and such an amazing project to complete! Thank you a million times over to @kellielovesmovies for helping me put all this together and for coming up with this idea!! MWAH love love love you 🫶🫶🫶🫶

I hope everything is good and I hope this October is so fun!! There's a lot of great writers for the TBCU (tom blyth cinematic universe) doing month-long events and it's gonna be such a good time! Make sure to check them out!! Linking a few below as well as my own masterlist <3 <3

Enjoy all the fics- I had a great time writing them all for you MWAH!!

Emi's Fluff-tober

Phantom's Halloween Countdown

Kit's Kinktober

Millie's Fall Fest <3

[emshyperfixations]

Let’s talk about it