rynwritesstuff - Tumblr blog

rynwritesstuff · 4 months ago

Text

SHANNON!!!! This turned out INCREDIBLE!! I’m always so impressed with your beautiful descriptions. I saw everything in my mind so, so vividly. I especially loved the descriptions of the mountains and woods, it really set the vibe. This has such a creepy, eerie tone and I’m SO here for it! Thank you for doing such a beautiful job, you absolutely knocked it out of the park. I can’t say enough good things, you nailed all of this. I was hooked the entire time. Thank you, thank you, thank you 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Never Whistle in the Woods

Flip x OC

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Horror. Violence. Monster Action. Cryptids. Creepy things that happen in the woods. Backcountry flavor. Just a nice getaway with Flip. Those never go according to plan. I’m willing to continue this and write more if people like it!

Note: Going forward, I'm going to write characters from now on instead of Readers just because it's really annoying trying to switch back and forth for the non-fic writing I do. However, the female characters will be totally physically vague aside from having a name, so they can still easily be read as an insert by anyone who chooses to insert themselves.

Based on two requests I combined then butchered from @rynwritesstuff and @lumberjack00fantasies

AO3 Link

One of Flip’s favorite things was spending a secluded weekend out at his cabin, nestled in the forested mountains, away from the noise and mayhem of town. And away from people. Nothing cured a man’s love of humanity better than working with them. He enjoyed having a beer and a burger with his friends after work and he enjoyed taking his girl out to dinner. But he liked it a helluva lot more to take her with him into the mountains and not see or hear from another person for a couple days. Actually, it had become his favorite thing.

Knowing this, his girl, Kate, had booked him a nice getaway right up his alley. A solid week squirreled away in a truly remote cabin about as far away from humanity as he could get. It had taken a little online spelunking for her to land on the small town of Kitwanga, British Columbia, but its selling points of having a population of less than five-hundred, being a prime location for hunting and fishing, and being a true gateway to the wilderness with scarcely an outpost North between the little town and the Yukon, had sealed the deal. Besides, for the shrewd outdoorsman who wanted a less touristy experience with a friendlier populace for about a third of the money, British Columbia was a superior option to Alaska with all the same appeal.

Over-the-counter hunting licenses were available for all sorts of game that required a lottery draw or exorbitant fee in the States. Flip laughed when he read in the game regulations that it was strictly prohibited to shoot Bigfoot and that, should a sportsman encounter him, he was to be considered a protected species.

“How many big, hairy Canadians do you reckon had to get shot in the ass before they added that regulation?” He grinned at Kate, sitting with her legs curled under her on the seat of his rented truck as they bounced down the terrible excuse for a dirt road, sloshing in the mud and hitting potholes by the hundreds. Flip had twice hit his head on the bolt of the rifle secured in the headache rack above his head on the ceiling of the truck’s cab. He would have left the rifle inside their cabin, but they had been stringently warned not to take a step outside without it. Bears were a real threat and the animals here had little experience with humans, which meant little fear of them.

“Sounds like you better watch your own ass if you’re out wandering around in low light,” she teased back. “You’re big and lumbering enough to be mistaken for Bigfoot.”

“Yeah, but I’m a lot better lookin,’” he winked at her as he pulled into the only gas station in the tiny town. He filled up every day on their return in case the owner decided to take a day off. Electric pumps were a novelty that hadn’t reached this far north, it seemed. He was in a teasing mood, returning from a day of hiking and, as he put it, takin’ pictures of every goddamn thing in Canada.

“Depends on who you ask,” Kate laughed warmly. “I’ve waged a losing battle for quite a while trying to convince my friends you’re handsome. They tell me I’m blind or brainwashed.”

Five businesses in the tiny town were booming, frequented by most if not all of its citizens on a regular basis: the grocery store, post office, church, bar, and the gas station. Actually, Kitwanga boasted two bars. Flip figured this was a good insight as to the favorite pastime of the locals, especially since it doubled the churchgoers. There were no restaurants, but the bars had all the haute cuisine a man could want, so long as what he wanted was a cheeseburger or a sandwich or some chicken fried steak. However, one bar generously offered to cook anything a person brought in, provided the thing was somewhere between alive and kicking and starting to turn, and provided that gastronome paid in cash. Flip had already taken the owner and bartender up on this offer and handed over several trout he had caught that day to the owner’s wife and cook to fry for dinner. He had to admit it was some of the best fried fish he had ever had, and it paired wonderfully with the potent Moose Knuckle stout beer on tap.

The sign at the gas station read, Headed north? Need gas? It’s now or never. Two lonely gas pumps sat on a rectangle of cement on the otherwise muddy ground – the kind of pumps a person usually only saw on postcards from the fifties, with the rounded tops and numbers for cost and gallons that ticked by on a dial like an old one-armed-bandit style slot machine. A hand-scrawled sign in the window listed the hours vaguely as open from dawn ‘til dusk. An uninformed observer could easily mistake the business for being abandoned, or even condemned, a relic lingering in a ghost town. But for the metropolis of Kitwanga, it was a thriving business. There was even another vehicle at the pumps, a ’79 Ford truck with a lift and a winch on its bumper and a fat man in overalls leaning against the bed, pumping gas.

Flip stepped out of his truck and lifted the nozzle of the gas pump with a rusty squeal. He admired the view of his girl as she trotted into the gas station to forage for supplies. A brisk wind rustled his hair, tinged with chilled moisture. Above, low clouds in a grayscale palette churned in the sky. The snowy tops of the mountains were hidden inside the clouds and rain slashed across their facades in a grey haze. The rain hadn’t yet reached the foothills where the town and Flip’s rented cabin were nestled, but fog was creeping in from the base of the mountains and off a nearby river. Between the thunderclouds and the fog, it was as if the world was slowly closing in, like the vignette on a Bogart movie narrowing in on the dramatic eyes of a starlet.

Tilting his face up into the chilly air, Flip smiled. He loved rain and thunderstorms, and found peace in their chaos. Mainly, he loved holding his girl while a storm raged outside, or having a drink with her while they sat on the porch and felt the electricity in the air, and making love to her and feeling her shudder thunderously beneath him. His smile widened as he anticipated the evening ahead.

“Storm’s comin,’” the man at the pump said to Flip as he spat a string of brown tobacco into the mud. “You here for huntin’ or fishin?’”

“I’m mostly just here to take a break from everyday bullshit,” Flip replied in a friendly tone. “But I have tags for fishing and tags for bear and moose in case one happens to wander in front of me.”

“Storms are bad for fishin,’” the man said, nodding knowingly. “But they can be good for huntin.’ Storms bring the animals down from the big mountains. Moose especially like the mist and bears like to hunt in the rain when their prey can’t hear and see ‘em as good.”

“Good to know.” Flip smiled as he replaced the nozzle and turned to go inside and pay his tab.

“That your girl?” the man asked with a suggestive nod toward the gas station.

“That she is.” Flip turned to face the man, wondering if he’d end up getting in a fist fight while on vacation.

Not taking the hint, the man whistled appreciatively.

Flip decided the rube meant it as a compliment, so he simply agreed with a “Yup,” and went into the gas station. Kate had been suspiciously long inside anyway, something that nagged at the part of his mind that was always an officer on duty.

Inside the dingy little gas station, Flip saw his girl leaning against the counter engaged in an affable conversation with the attendant behind the counter, a squat older man with a heavily lined face and long silver hair in a braid hanging over his shoulder down to his gut. Flip wandered through the store, grabbing a few items that struck his fancy, some beef jerky, chips, candy bars, and other assorted junk food. At the back of the store, a menagerie of terrible taxidermy watched him with glassy eyes. Above the beverage coolers that lined the wall hung several deer and caribou and two enormous moose. A life-size grizzly bear stood on its hind feet in a corner, frozen mid-snarl, its head a solid three feet above Flip’s. He looked at its paws that were larger than his head and vicious curling claws, longer and thicker than his fingers. Facing such a beast, the gun he had in his truck now seemed very feeble. He grabbed a six-pack of stout beer bottles and an over-sized bottle of cheap wine and took his loot to the counter to pile it alongside Kate’s items.

“Have you heard about the wendigo?” Kate asked Flip when he joined her at the counter. The lilt in her voice told him she was highly amused. “My new friend was just telling me about it.”

“Yeah, wasn’t that the name of that stripper I arrested last year for blackmailing the mayor?” Flip smirked. “Wendy-Go?”

“He’s an idiot, I’m sorry,” Kate apologized to the man behind the counter, simultaneously elbowing Flip in the ribs. “Please ignore him and continue.”

The attendant gave Flip a sideways look and continued talking to Kate in a slow, backcountry drawl, “It is said the wendigo were people once, but now they are cursed. A wendigo is born during times of famine or in the harshest winter. When men are starving to death in the cold. When a man is weak, and he chooses the black path of cannibalism over death, butchering his fellows to save himself. When a man eats the flesh of another, he takes a curse upon himself. The wendigo lives in constant starvation, its body emaciated and rotting, only growing hungrier the more it eats. Its hunger can never be sated and it becomes a crazed beast with an insatiable bloodlust.”

“Is this insatiable bloodlust specific to tourists?” Flip asked sarcastically.

“Sometimes,” the man shrugged, unbothered. “It looks to punish those with greed in their hearts. Or, depending on which stories you believe, it seeks people who are like-minded to itself to build its own tribe.” He eyed Flip narrowly. “So, if a tourist is out greedily mining or wantonly slaughtering game, then yes, the wendigo will come for him.”

“Slaughtering is one of the few things I never do wantonly,” Flip deadpanned and slapped some cash down on the counter.

“You should be careful, son,” the old man told Flip seriously. “There are many ways a man can be greedy. He can be greedy for his woman and covetous of her.” Then he shrugged again. “But these are nothing more than old tales.”

“So, you don’t believe in the wendigo?” Kate asked.

“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind he’s real. I’ve seen a wendigo twice. He has antlers taller than a caribou and wider than a moose, teeth like a wolf, and only skull sockets for eyes. But they glow. It’s the glow I remember most,” the man said genuinely as he counted out change. “I just don’t know if he was once a man, or something that was never human at all. Maybe the people who first came here created a myth to explain the monster rather than created a mythical monster themselves.”

“Maybe it’s a convenient way to scare pretty, gullible girls.” Flip smirked at Kate. Then he returned his attention to the cashier. “Let me guess, there’s something that wards off the wendigo? A silver crucifix or whatever? I bet we can buy it right here.”

“Nothing wards off the wendigo,” the man scoffed. “And he is far older than your crucifix. Why would a forest god bow to a stranger on a cross? Fire can stall him, maybe even frighten him, but it can only buy you time.” He looked outside the window at the building storm. “Not good weather for making a fire if you need it.”

“Damn shame.” Flip shook his head and began collecting their provisions in his arms. There were no courtesy bags.

“We do have flares,” the man suggested innocently. “They burn in any kind of weather, even underwater. All the bush pilots carry them.”

“Probably inside their emergency monster-hunting kit alongside the stakes for vampires and silver bullets for werewolves,” Flip laughed. “Go ahead. Load us up with some flares. Consider it a tip for a good campfire story.”

“It’s always smart to be prepared,” the man agreed as he placed two bundles of six red flares apiece on the counter and rang them up. They looked like bundles of dynamite.

Kate took the flares because Flip’s arms were already overfilled. She thanked the attendant and turned to leave.

The old man grabbed her by the elbow, stopping her and causing Flip’s hackles to rise. He spoke seriously, “Don’t whistle when you’re out in the woods. Whistling will summon the wendigo. Sometimes people hear whistling too, before it comes for them.”

“And these people who hear the whistling before it gets them,” Flip said as he edged his body between Kate and the counter and nudged her toward the exit. “They walk out of the woods to tell their story, huh?”

*******************************************************************************************

Their log cabin for the week was almost an hour’s drive from the gas station. It wasn’t that far as the crow flies, but the road was serpentine with switchbacks as it climbed the foot of the mountains and made even slower by soupy mud. It was set deep in the forest, surrounded by old-growth trees with trunks as thick as the truck’s bed. The sun set on their drive back. As it dipped below the mountainous horizon, the landscape glowed a shade of hazy purple only seen in the alpine. The clouds were the color of gunpowder and the rainy vapor was periwinkle. The spruce turned into an army of nearly black silhouettes with a light mist writhing among them as moisture rose from the damp ground as well as drizzled gently from the sky. The drifting mist made everything look as though it were moving. It gave the illusion of eldritch shapes in the trees creeping along the edges of vision and tree limbs grasping like clawed fingers as they swayed in the breeze.

Flip hit the brakes suddenly, slamming Kate forward in her seat and knocking her out of the reverie the gloaming forest had cast over her. A black shape froze in the muddy road a few yards ahead of them. Its eyes sparked cold white in the headlights and the fur on its back was raised aggressively.

“A wolf!” Flip said excitedly. “I’ve never seen one this close.”

The huge animal was coal black, its amber eyes reflecting white in the headlights in the way wolves eyes do. It stood frozen, staring down the vehicle, acting like the truck was a new creature intruding into the wolf’s territory. Something was wrong with its silhouette. Something with its mouth. It took several seconds for Kate to realize what it was. The wolf turned its head uncertainly, deciding whether it should continue on its way across the road or turn around from the metal beast with offense headlights. A dead rabbit dangled from its jaws, its legs swinging lifelessly and ears flopping limply. Its lifeless eyes glinted a dull red.

The simple reminder of nature’s brutality unnerved Kate unexpectedly and her hands felt suddenly cold. She gripped Flip’s hand, digging her nails into his palm with irrational harshness.

“Nature, red in tooth and claw,” he teased and grinned at her, but he laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Some redneck at the gas station told me that predators liked to hunt in the rain. Guess he was right.”

Night had veiled the forest with its velvety black cloak by the time they parked next to the porch of their cabin. It was silent enough to hear all the noises of the forest, from the chattering birds to the subtle rustling of deer browsing in the brush to moisture pattering lightly on the ground. A great horned owl as large as a man’s torso sat perched in a tree branch hanging near the roof of the cabin, its yellow eyes glittering like moonlight as it hooted an eerie cadence. It followed them with its yellow eyes as they unloaded the truck and carried their loot inside, its head turned almost fully backward like a creature possessed.

There was no light pollution and on a clear night, the moon and stars lit the forest bright enough to see easily. On a rainy night, moisture in the air brought out all the smells of the forest, the crisp spruce, the earthy soil, the embers in the fireplace. The cabin had no electric lines and was powered by a temperamental generator and a wood stove. A woodpile was stacked against the back of the cabin, complete with a large timber axe embedded in a nearby stump. Cell service was laughable. Flip loved everything about all of that. He was pleased it had running water, however, mainly because it would have greatly impacted his sex life if it didn’t.

Flip grilled steaks outside that night before the rain hit and they had dinner on the porch, counting lightning bolts. Then they tangled around each other in front of the fireplace, making love as the flames crackled and danced and the thunder rolled. Between dinner and fooling around several times, they finished the bottle of wine and opened another. Night fell early this far north in the autumn and the nights were long. The cabin was equipped with a tv, but it was one of those terrible old boxy things with a tiny screen and antennas. The antennas were only for show since there was no service. Instead, there was a vcr and a selection of campy nineties movies and some even campier porn. It seemed to defeat the purpose of being there to even bother with the tv. They hadn’t turned it on once.

“I’m wide awake,” Kate mused, propped up on Flip’s bare chest, looking down at him. “Let’s do something.”

“I have plenty of ideas,” Flip said huskily. “They’re all sure to wear you out.”

“We’ve tried your ideas. Several times. And I’m still far from worn out.” She smiled. “We’re here in a cabin, basically having a sleepover. Let’s play some sleepover games, the kind you play as idiot teenagers or in sororities in college.”

“I think girls have a lot wilder sleepovers than boys. And my experience with sororities is limited to sneaking in and out of them, so you’ll have to be more specific.” He ran his fingertips along her spine and kissed her throat, doing his best to interest her in another round.

“Later, you animal,” she laughed and shoved his face away while pushing herself up and off him. “You know what I mean. Sleepover games. Like Bloody Mary, or playing a Ouija Board, or the Midnight Game.”

“Packed a Ouija Board, did you?” he teased. “That would explain why your suitcase weighs fifty fuckin’ pounds.”

“I don’t think ghosts care whether or not you use a name brand.” She pinched his chest, making him flinch.

“What ghosts are you gonna find out here?” He squinted as he rubbed his chest. “The Donner Party?”

“Don’t you think they’d be fun to talk to? We can try Bloody Mary. I don’t think she has a centralized location,” she teased and pulled on her discarded pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. She threw Flip’s grey sweatpants at him. “Put that thing away or it might scare off the ghosts.”

Flip grumbled more protests under his breath, but he dressed in his sweats and a thermal henley. “How about we each stand in front of the bathroom mirror with the lights off. I’ll ask for Candyman. You ask for Bloody Mary. And we’ll have a Celebrity Death Match between vengeful ghosts?”

“You know the ghosts always get the cynics and the cocky shitheads first, right?” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest in a faux reprimand.

“Is that a rule?” Flip grinned. “I think the ghosts go for the morally corrupt woman who can’t keep her legs closed first. You’re in trouble, sugar.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” she said with finality.

“How about we play a fun game, like spin the bottle or truth or dare?” He winked at her. “I always pick dare. Do your worst.”

“I can’t imagine where a game of truth or dare with you would lead.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically.

Flip puffed his chest and stepped closer to her until their bodies were almost touching. “I have a better idea. You have some pretty big balls for a pretty little girl. Let’s see how big they really are.”

“Oh my god, Flip, if this is another ploy to explore that region further…” she laughed.

“Everything I do is some kinda means to that end.” He smirked. “But we’ll get to that later. Now, let’s go outside and whistle at the wendigo. There should be some of those sonsabitches around these parts.”

Flip went to the door and stepped into his muddy boots. He leaned against the doorframe, casually cocky, and raised an eyebrow at her in a challenge. “How ‘bout it, hot stuff?”

“I think we’d be better off trying to summon Bloody Mary than a wendigo,” Kate said hesitantly. “Plus, it will be cold out there.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” he teased. “How do you figure that trying to summon a ghost through our bathroom mirror would be safer than trying to call in a wendigo? At least a wendigo will stay outside. Besides, I know how psycho you’d get if I let another woman into our bedroom. Dead or alive. Don’t try to set me up, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes again, Kate pulled her coat on and slipped her phone into its pocket, feeling the bundle of flares she had absently pocketed at the gas station. There was no service, but its flashlight might come in handy outside. Grinning, Flip picked up the rifle that was leaning against the doorframe and slung it over his shoulder. Cocky though he was, he took the advice serious about the threat of bears and always having a gun on him out here in the wilderness. He held the door open for Kate and ushered her outside.

The air was thick with humidity but the rain had stopped for the moment, leaving the moisture on the air to chill their skin and turn their breath into ghostly thick fog. The porch was covered in slushy frost as bright as diamonds. Their boot prints left skeletal black outlines on the otherwise pristine frosty canvas as they descended the steps and walked into the forest that awaited them only yards away.

Flip offered Kate his arm and led her into the trees. The old growth forest felt like being inside a fairytale, surrounded by enormous tree trunks and relatively open ground at their bases. The roots of those great trees were so thirsty, they leeched most of the nutrients and left little for brush and scrub to encroach. After the rain, the ground was muddy and slick, with frost growing denser by the minute as the temperature dropped through the night.

Filling his lungs, Flip began whistling a terribly off-key tune as he walked through the woods. His casual swagger was the same as if he were taking his girl out for a stroll in the park. Kate winced when he struck a particularly loathsome note, and squinted her eyes at him, “What in the hell are you whistling?”

“Season of the Witch,” he replied, acting offended. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I like the song, I don’t appreciate what you’re doing to it,” she laughed. “We’re not going to find any wendigo if you scare them all off with that horrendous noise.”

“I don’t hear you doing any better,” he scoffed.

Mainly in an attempt to save her ears from his screeching, Kate started whistling. She teased Flip first with her best wolf whistle. Smells were heightened in the damp air but sounds were muffled. In the silence of the forest, the whistle sounded unnaturally loud. Now that Flip wasn’t making noise himself, he found himself focusing more on his surroundings. He didn’t feel right, something he couldn’t put his finger on tugged at the back of his mind. It wasn’t just that noises were muffled by the dampness in the air, but something else that he found indefinable in that moment. He told himself it was just the product of being in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar vegetation that he found unsettling. The size of trees still seemed monstrous to him, and the smell of spruce instead of the familiar smell of pine must have been unsettling to his subconscious. And it probably didn’t help that he had cultivated a little buzz drinking wine for the past few hours.

A light gust of wind blew into his face and all of his senses sparked with alarm. He froze in place, seizing Kate’s arm to silence her whistling. The unmistakable scent of a wet animal hit his nose with the force of a slap in the face. Quickly evaluating his surroundings, he unslung the rifle from his shoulder and held it across his chest in high port. It would take him less than a second to aim and fire. But the forest was close around them, visibility limited to fifteen feet or so in any direction. If the animal was a predator, a bear or a mountain lion, it could cover that distance in less than a heartbeat if it wanted. He could still see the faint glow of the cabin’s lights. They hadn’t gone far, but there was no chance of outrunning an animal back to safety.

A heavy footfall sounded inside the trees ahead of them, muffled on the wet ground but distinctive. Straining his ears, Flip thought he heard a branch being brushed aside by something passing by it. Whatever it was, it was very close ahead of them. Flip’s thoughts raced, less cohesive and more a rush of images of nightmare scenarios that he weighed in an instant. He could hide himself and Kate behind one of the huge tree trunks and hope the animal passed them by. But whatever it was had to already know of their presence. If his feeble senses could hear and smell the animal, it had no doubt smelled and heard him much sooner. In that case, he decided it was best to hold his ground and meet whatever it was head on, straight down the barrel of his rifle. That would give them the best chance. Flip would have to make his shot count, and he’d probably only get one, but it was a decent chance.

Stepping in front of Kate, Flip raised his rifle to his shoulder. He kept both eyes open, not limiting his focus to only what was past the end of his barrel, but trying to expand his senses to the full spectrum of forest in front of him. He heard a heavy breath, something panting. Closer now. Flip clicked off the safety and tightened his finger on the trigger. The hardest skill for a hunter to learn, especially when hunting game that hunted him back, is to wait long enough for a good shot but not so long as to let it get him. He wouldn’t waste his shot until he saw his target clearly and could be sure of putting the bullet where it would matter most. His hold on the gun was rock steady, his breath stalled, his eyes unblinking.

The panting grew in volume until it seemed to drum in his ears. Odd for a stalking predator. Before Flip could reconcile that, a bear burst from the trees only feet in front of him. A huge grizzly bear lumbering toward him on all fours, the top of its humped shoulders taller than Flip’s head. His finger tensed, less than a millimeter of movement was required to fire. But something was off with the bear. It was panting heavily, saliva dripping from its open mouth and fog snorting in bursts from its wet nose. The bear stopped short at the sight of the man with a gun right in front of it, clearly surprised, very unlike a predator who had been stalking the man. Flip hesitated. If he didn’t kill the bear immediately with one shot – drop it right in its tracks – it would maul them both before it died. If the bear wasn’t hunting him, it was a foolish risk to take. Grizzlies were not commonly hunting predators; they were scavengers and fishers. Most people who were mauled by grizzlies had either gotten between a mother and her cubs or a bear and its food, or they had startled it like waking a grumpy old man.

Sniffing the air, the bear looked at Flip. He was so close he could see the small particles of moisture the bear blew out of its nose along with steam when it snorted. The bear’s little round ears flicked, one turning backward to listen behind it. The bear’s eyes were wide, showing white, in a nervous gesture that was common to both man and beast. The bear looked back over its shoulder and then broke into a gallop. Flip’s rational mind told him to shoot, but his instinct prevented him. The bear altered course enough to avoid running straight into Flip. It paid him no further mind at all, instead running right by him. Flip followed it with the barrel of his rifle as it passed by him so close that a string of white saliva landed on the rifle’s blue-black barrel.

Turning around about face, Flip followed the bear with his sights until it was well past them and showed no signs of turning back around. He looked back toward the place the bear had come from, still holding the rifle to his shoulder. He didn’t look at Kate when he told her, “Walk back to the cabin. Don’t run, but go now.”

“You want me to follow the bear?” she hissed. “He ran toward the cabin. I don’t want to get near him again.”

“Follow the bear,” Flip gritted. “If a bear’s runnin’ from something, we’d best do the same. He didn’t care about us anyway. Now, move.”

Uncertainly, Kate turned and retreated toward the cabin. They hadn’t gone that far, after all. Flip backed after her, keeping his rifle aimed into the black forest from which the bear had run. A shrill scream splintered the silence, starker than a bolt of lightning. Kate shuddered and Flip ducked, hunching his shoulders like he had taken a punch. The scream shrilled for several seconds, wavering on a blood-curdling note before trailing away. It echoed around them, seeming to float on the mist.

“That’s just an elk bugling,” Flip said, trying to calm Kate. Maybe it was in fact an elk, a sickly, ravenous elk. “Keep moving, slowly.”

“I’ve never heard an elk that sounded like that.” Kate shivered against more than the chilled air. “This is starting to scare the hell out of me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take your mind off of it when we get back,” Flip tried to joke but he couldn’t muster the required lewdness, his mouth was too dry.

The howling scream burst again through the forest. It was something like an elk bugle, but more howling and rasping, with a sort of growling mingled in at the end as it trailed away. It was closer now. Flip felt as much as heard it reverberate inside his skull.

“Whatever that is, it’s not an elk.” Kate had her arms wrapped around her body, trying to prevent herself from being overtaken by tremors.

“Sure, it is,” Flip lied. “They probably just grow ‘em bigger up here.”

Kate blew out a shuddering breath, fighting to keep her steps slow and steady.

“Pick up the pace a little, darlin,’” Flip rasped.

“You said not to run,” Kate hissed.

“I didn’t say to crawl either!” Flip gritted. “This is one hell of a time for you to start listening to me.”

Instead of moving faster, Kate stopped short. So suddenly, Flip bumped into her as he walked backward. A branch snapped somewhere inside the forest. It was strangely loud. Flip realized then that the snap only sounded harsh because the forest had gone utterly silent. The hundreds of small noises from birds and insects were gone. Even the drops of water falling from tree branches seemed to have stopped. The forest felt like a living thing around them, possessed of a presence all its own. Now that presence was altered into something darker and ominous.

“What the hell are you doing?” Flip’s voice had dropped to a whisper without his conscious approval. “I said keep moving. We’re not far from the cabin.”

“Turn around.” Kate’s voice trembled.

Dropping the rifle for a moment, Flip looked back over his shoulder. His nerves must be playing tricks on his eyes. He turned fully around, holding the rifle at high port across his chest. The view of the forest that met him was foreign. It wasn’t the same forest they had walked through only minutes before. The trees were more skeletal, their grasping branches more cloying. Moss hung from the branches like the lank hair of a corpse, and the ground was spongy underfoot, as if the forest was rotting around them. Even the air smelled stale and moldy. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning illuminated the forest in patches like a stop-motion movie. Most unsettling of all, the comforting glow of the cabin lights that could be seen through the trees had vanished or been snuffed out.

“What the fuck…” Flip’s voice trailed away as he took in the strangeness of their surroundings. A burst of lightning brought the forest into focus for a gleaming second. Bizarre shapes hung in the trees like a macabre abomination of Christmas tree ornaments, figures made from twigs lashed together with sinew to form pentagrams and humanoid shapes and horned beings. Flip swallowed thickly and ignored them. “We couldn’t have gotten turned around so fast.”

“We didn’t.” Kate looked around frantically. “I could see the cabin lights, then I heard that horrible bugle and looked around for it. And then the lights were gone. They couldn’t have all gone out, not all at once.”

“Lightning must have struck the cabin,” Flip lied again. Nothing about the forest looked familiar to him now and everything about it felt wrong. “Must have shorted out the lights.” There was no reason to scare Kate more than she already was. “It’s alright, we don’t need lights for what I have in mind when we get back.”

The scent of wet dog hit Flip again on a gust of wind, yanking his attention in the direction of the odor. He saw a heap of dark fur, glistening from the spotty rain and aimed his rifle at the creature. It didn’t move. Steam rose from the furry mass. Flip noted another smell on the air, something with a coppery aftertaste that coated the roof of his mouth. He edged forward, looking at the steaming animal down the barrel of his rifle, his finger resting on the trigger, ready to fire. He recognized the beast when another bolt of lightning revealed the horror to him.

“Don’t look,” he said to Kate, but it was too late. She clasped a hand over her mouth to keep her scream from escaping.

The huge grizzly bear they had encountered minutes before lay on its side in a broken heap of matted fur. Steam spiraled into the air from its torn-open belly, its entrails protruding from the mangled tissue like uncooked sausage. The gaping wound was only minutes old. The bear’s body temperature would plummet rapidly in the frigid air and it was still warm now. Even as they stared, the steam began to abate. Hanging in the branches of the tree nearest the bear carcass were several more bizarre figures crafted from twigs.

The screeching growling bugle erupted again, very close this time. Flip nudged Kate ahead, keeping his rifle at the ready, but not knowing where to aim it.

“Which way do we go?” Her breath came in shuddering puffs of fog.

“I don’t know,” Flip admitted. “Away from here.”

Amid a stand of spruce to his side, bare tree branches swayed in the wind, their spiky fingers waving ominously. Flip hadn’t noticed the wind pick up. Looking at the oddly swaying branches, he realized there was no wind. The air had gone as still as the inside of a crypt. The strange branches were bare, glistening wet and pointed upward, still swaying.

A flash of lightning illuminated the creature and Flip flinched so hard he almost fired accidentally.

What he had taken for bare branches was a set of enormous antlers, shaped somewhere between a moose and a caribou and as large as an Irish elk, with wide paddles and long spiked tines spurting out non-typically like broken fingers. It had a dark mane like an elk with a tawny, painfully emaciated body. Flat tines of several spinal processes protruded through the hide at the top of its high withers and one hip bone showed through the skin. But its head was the most terrible of all. Its face was in an advanced stage of rot, dregs of sagging flesh barely clinging to the skull. White skull bone gleamed in exposed patches, and its sharp, lupine teeth were long in the exposed jawbone and ragged. Its nasal cavity was bare, the fleshy nose rotten away, leaving only the pointed bones and a black hollow. It had no eyes that Flip could see, but there was an evil gleam inside its sockets, like embers inside a pile of ash. The monster shook its head, slinging water from its great spiked antlers. Then it leveled its head like a bull about to charge and fixed its glowing eyes on Flip.

“Shoot it,” Kate whispered, her eyes wide with terror.

“I don’t think it’ll do any good.” Flip looked down the barrel at the rotting flesh covering the walking skeleton and white bone peeking from beneath. The monster’s glowing eyes were not something found among the living. Without lowering his rifle, he looked at Kate and met her eyes. “It’ll come for me first. I’ll make sure of that, and I’ll stall it as much as I can. Get to the truck, darlin.’ The keys are in it. Run like hell.”

“I’m not leaving you!” she said vehemently, her voice losing some fervor when the creature took an ominous step closer, its enormous antlers swaying with its gait.

She felt for her phone, hoping there might be service. Not that another human could even reach them in less than an hour, making any idea of help hopeless. Her hand closed around the lumpy bundle of flares. With an excited breath, she freed a flare from the bundle and fumbled with lighting it.

The monster bugled angrily, a sound so shrill it felt like it grated along their spines. It rushed toward them through the trees, its teeth bared and eyes aflame. Flip fired, sending a bullet right between those glowing eyes. He even saw the bullet strike and tear away more rotting flesh, leaving a pearly white hole in the skull. It didn’t slow the monster or even make it flinch. He bolted another round into the chamber on instinct, staring down the barrel at the demonic eyes that were fixed upon him.

Kate popped the cap off the flare. The cap had an abrasive tip like a matchhead and she struck it to the end of the flare, holding it high as it burst to life. With their eyes accustomed to the darkness, the flare seemed as bright as sunlight, searing black pulsing spots into their vision. The monster squealed again, shaking its head with pain or irritation. Its antlers caught in the tree branches, stalling its advance. The flare burned and popped, hot on Kate’s face even at arm’s length and blindingly bright.

The landscape around them crackled and wavered, like a tv signal trying to come in through static. The trees looked less skeletal and more normal, like they had been before, and the strange twig figures vanished. The cabin lights glowed through the trees, yellow and warm, not far from them.

“It’s in our heads!” Kate shouted. “It’s making us hallucinate, but I can see the cabin and the truck now.”

“The light bothers it,” Flip said as he reached into her coat pocket, grabbing three flares and leaving her the remaining two. The monster wrenched its antlers free of the branches where it was tangled and lurched toward them in a shambling gait.

Shouldering his rifle that was of no more use than a club against the monster, Flip bit the cap off a flare with his teeth and struck the head. He rammed the end into the muddy ground at his feet, leaving the tip burning. The beast reared, shrieking with rage and clawing the air with its cloven hooves as Flip backed away. He could see the glow of the cabin lights now too. It was hard to resist the urge to run to the light.

Flip lit the next flare. Kate was a few yards ahead of him, gaining ground toward the truck. It would take whoever reached it first a minute to start it. Flip had a good throwing arm and even better aim. The monster lunged at him, rage overriding whatever else had been driving it to pursue them so far. Flip drew back his arm, took a second to aim at the gaping black jaws, and threw the lit flare as hard as he could. The flaming tip cartwheeled through the air like a throwing knife before the fiery head struck the monster right where its nose should have been. But it had no nose, its nasal cavity was exposed in its partially skeletal head. Robin Hood could not have struck a finer bullseye. The flaming tip sank deep into the nasal cavity, embedding itself there.

Screaming terribly, the wendigo shook its head and stomped its hooves, rearing and bucking like a horse that had stepped on a hornet’s nest. It couldn’t shake the flare free from its skull. The flames spread, shooting out through holes in the rancid flesh of its cheeks and jaws. It looked as though it breathed fire when it screeched, belching flare fumes and flames out of its hacking mouth.

“We’re not gonna get a better chance than this!” Flip roared at Kate as he burst into a run toward her. She had a few paces head start on him and sprinted ahead toward the truck.

Kate reached the truck first, yanking the driver’s door open and jumping inside. Flip could bitch about her driving all he wanted, but she dared not spare the extra second or two for him to take the wheel. Not with the eldritch monster galloping toward them, bugling terribly, flames bellowing from its mouth and nose. Flip had his one remaining flare in hand when he reached the truck. The engine roared to life.

Instead of joining Kate inside the cab, Flip vaulted into the truck bed and shouted for her to drive. Kate slammed the truck into gear, throwing Flip against the side of the bed. Regaining his balance, he dropped to his knees and planted his back against the rear window, making himself as steady as he could. Kate was speeding as fast as she dared down the muddy, winding road, and it wasn’t fast enough. The wendigo pursued them, galloping after the truck and gaining ground. Striking the tip of his flare, Flip held the flaming tip aloft, casting the entire truck in a halo of searing red fire. The wendigo allowed more distance between them, smart enough to keep outside of throwing range of another flare.

Kate took a slippery curve too fast, the truck fishtailing as she recovered control, slinging Flip from one side of the bed to the other. The flare was nearly whipped from his hand, but he clenched his fist tight to keep his hold. Gritting his teeth, he composed himself, using all his strength to keep his balance and keep his arm held high. He couldn’t afford to lose a flare. They only had three flares left, and it was going to take every last burning second of each one to reach town.

*******************************************************************************************

Tagging some buddies!

@babbushka @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @mrs-gucci @mrszimmerman24 @iamburdened @gabesprincess @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @reyloaddict55 @reylokisses @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @thepalaceofmelanie @reveluving @vedavan @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus @lumberjack00fantasies

#shannon has done it again!!!#not my writing #adcu

89 notes · View notes

rynwritesstuff · 5 months ago

Text

Coriolanus Snow & Billy the Kid Masterlist

Welcome to my masterlist for Coriolanus Snow and Billy the Kid!

☆ All of the content linked below the cut is strictly for those who are 18+! If you are under 18, do NOT continue ☆

*An asterisk indicates smut!

→ Coriolanus Snow

Don't Blame Me*

Lust For Life*

→ Billy the Kid

Unknown*

Unknown - Part Two*

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

rynwritesstuff - 2024. Do not copy, repost, or steal my writing.

Dividers are by saradika-graphics

34 notes · View notes

rynwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

For those of you who didn't see, I posted a part two to this fic! You can read it here :)

Unknown

Billy The Kid x Reader

Warnings: Feisty!Reader, General outlaw stuff (guns, cursing, threats), Mentions of sex work/brothels, Smut (PIV sex, unprotected sex, rough sex), Hint of fluff, Imprisonment, Jailbreak

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: After discovering Billy Antrim one night, you persuade him to travel with you. A wild and interesting adventure ensues.

Author's Note: I've spent the past several weeks reading the most incredible Billy x Reader fics, and I wanted to try my hand at writing for him. I wanted to tag a few of my favorite Billy writers, because they have inspired me to give this a try. (Thank you @billysgun @atrwriting and @goosita you guys are incredible, I admire you so much, keep doing what you're doing <3)

“It ain’t the being alone. It ain’t the empty home, baby, you know I’m good on my own. You know, it’s more the being unknown. So much of the living, love, is the being unknown.” - Unknown / Nth, Hozier

When he hears it – the footsteps – Billy’s head snaps to the side. A million thoughts run through his head. Robbers, outlaws, all-around no good men . . . They could be anywhere. They could be everywhere. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for the gun at his hip. He barely has time to touch it before the sound of a gun cocking comes from behind him. He pauses.

“Don’t. Move,” comes your voice. Billy swallows harshly as he freezes. It’s dark aside from the campfire in front of him and the moon and stars sparkling in the sky. Billy keeps his breathing even and steady as footsteps come closer.

“I need money,” you say.

“You’ve got the wrong man, miss,” Billy says, unmoving. “I’ve got nothin’.”

“Food, then. Got any food?”

Billy nods towards the small pot beside the fire.

“There’s a bit left over there.”

You circle him, and when you do, he catches a glimpse of your face, slightly shielded by an old hat. Your hair is pulled back and you wear men’s clothing. Your too-big boots thud against the grass. Even like this, Billy can tell that you're beautiful, the kind of beautiful that would bring a God-fearing man to his knees.

You keep your gun pointed at him as you look down into the pot and then back up at BIlly.

“It’s not enough.”

“It’s what I’ve got.”

“You’re lying,” you say easily. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way you came this far with so little food. You think I’m an idiot, boy?”

“No,” Billy shakes his head. “I mean it. That’s the last of my food.”

You chuckle dryly, then approach Billy.

“Keep your hands up,” you warn. You tug his gun from his holster, then step back towards the fire. Billy is now completely unarmed. He couldn’t shoot you even if he wanted to. You crouch down beside the pot. It’ll have to do, you decide, and reach in with your bare hand to scoop up the beans and bring them to your mouth. You sigh. They’re salty and warm and earthy, and they soothe the ache in your stomach.

Billy moves slightly, you see him out of the corner of your eye, and you bring your gun up again. He freezes.

“I was just shiftin’,” he tells you. Wordlessly, you look back down at the pot and continue to eat. Billy watches you curiously. Where are you coming from? Where are you going? And, perhaps most importantly, who are you on the run from?

“Billy the Kid,” you say finally, wiping your hand on the grass as you get to your feet. “Hm. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Do I know you?” Billy asks.

“No. But damn near everyone in the West knows you. Ya shouldn’t be surprised.” You slowly make your way over to his horse. You open his saddle bag as Billy turns to watch you. You pull out his shotgun, humming to yourself. You set it aside, and Billy’s heart begins to race.

“The ring,” he says quickly, making you pause, “please don’t take it. It was my ma’s.”

You halt. How strange it is, to hear William Antrim speak so desperately. You stare at him as you pull the small gold band from his bag. You hold it in your palm, and Billy watches you with a pained expression.

“Please. She’s gone, she’s dead. It’s all I got left of ‘er.”

You shake your head.

“I’m not heartless, Billy,” you say, and Billy nearly laughs. No, woman holding me at gunpoint, he thinks. Of course you’re not.

“I’ve lost people, too,” you tell him. You toss the ring to him, and he catches it, clutching it tightly. “I’ll advise you to keep it closer to you, though. People like me aren’t always so understanding.”

You go back to digging through his bag but don't find much; an apple, a pocket watch, a few shirts and a pair of pants. You huff, keeping only the apple, and shove everything back into the saddle bag, including the shotgun.

“You’re shit out of luck, Billy,” you say, stepping towards him as you bite into the apple. You wipe a bit of juice from the corner of your mouth. “No food, no water–”

“I have water.”

“Oh, well excuse me, then. I apologize,” you say sarcastically. Billy clenches his jaw. You sit down a good five feet away from Billy, gun still in-hand as you eat the apple.

“God, fuck,” you breathe. Billy glances at you. “Haven’t had fruit in a month.”

“Neither have I,” Billy says flatly.

“Mm. As I was sayin’ . . . You’re kinda fucked right now. Where’re you headed?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Liar,” you say. You’re confident while you have the gun in your hand, and although you know that Billy could scramble for his shotgun, you also know that you could blow his head off before he got there. If he tries something, anything, he’s a dead man. He must know it, too.

“The next town over,” Billy says finally. “I need somewhere to stay for a while.”

“It’s about fifteen miles East,” you say. You bite into the apple again. “You know where you’re going? How to get there?”

“I prefer to travel alone,” Billy says as he watches you. For a moment, a small, brief, fleeting moment, he wonders what you look like beneath the tattered button-up shirt. He’s only slept with a handful of women, and it’s been a long while since he’s touched himself, much less had someone else touch him. He swallows harshly.

You lap your tongue over the dripping apple to gather the juice, then speak.

“Right. Well, I need a man to come with me East. Nobody takes women seriously in that town, I was there a while back.”

“Surely you don’t want to risk being recognized, then,” Billy says. You chuckle.

“Unlike you, Antrim, I’m moving from town to town by choice. I've got nothing to hide.”

Well. That seems to answer Billy’s questions. He sighs, then looks away. Perhaps this is a good thing. Maybe a woman is what he needs. A fiery, feisty woman who will try to keep him in-line.

“What’s in it for me?” he asks.

You shrug.

“Money, probably. Food. A roof over your head.”

“Until I get caught.”

“I’ll try to keep you out of trouble if you promise to try, too.”

Billy looks over at you.

“I don’t even know your name.”

You smile softly, looking at him kindly for the first time all evening. You tell him your name, and when you do, he tests how it feels to say it. You nod.

“Right,” you say. “Ya got it.”

Billy hums.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” he says.

“No,” you say, tossing him back his gun. “I’d hope not. You wouldn’t be a very good outlaw if you trusted someone that easily.”

Billy slips his gun back into his holster, feeling better now that he has his firearm again. You take another bite of the apple.

“Let’s leave at dawn,” you tell him. Billy still isn’t completely convinced that this is a good idea, but he doesn’t want to argue. He doesn’t want to upset you or set you off.

“Fine,” he says. You nudge him.

“Where are those manners you had a bit ago?” you tease, tossing the apple core aside. “‘Miss’ and ‘ma’am’. Your mama raised you right.”

“Yes, ma’am, she did,” Billy says, offering you a small, teasing smile.

***

Dawn comes, as it always does. You wake before Billy, and take it upon yourself to tidy up his things from the night before. The pot is washed and the fire is out when Billy’s eyes open, and he glances around for a moment. He sees you, and you offer him a nod.

“Get up,” you tell him as you guide his horse over. “I’d like to get there as soon as possible.”

Billy groans softly as he sits up on the blanket that separates him from the grass.

“You don’t have a horse? You came all this way on foot?”

You sigh, leaning against Billy’s horse.

“She got stolen a few miles back,” you say. “I was surprised they didn’t get yours, too.”

“Mm. Sorry to hear that,” he says as he folds up the blanket and attaches it to his saddle bag. You shake your head.

“Not much that can be done about it now. Ya ready to go, Billy?”

He nods as he puts on his hat and approaches his horse. He holds his hand out to you and helps you up onto the saddle. He knows that you can get up yourself, but you shouldn’t have to do such a thing. Not when there’s a man around to help you.

Knowing that you won’t both fit on the saddle, Billy decides to walk. You watch him as he guides his horse. The muscles in his strong arms flex as he goes, and you find yourself staring at him more than the scenery around you. You know what this likely means, of course, but you don’t want to think about it.

You don’t want to complicate things.

Hours pass. The pair of you reach a town. Dust is kicked up as Billy’s horse trots through, and people bustle busily. You glance around. People stare at the two of you, and you wonder if it’s because they recognize Billy, or perhaps you from when you were here previously. You wipe sweat from your brow.

“There’s a brothel that way,” you say, pointing to the right. “Rooms are cheap there.”

“I thought you didn’t have much money,” Billy says, guiding his horse in the direction you pointed in.

“I don’t,” you say. “But I have enough for us to stay somewhere for a week or so.”

You hear Billy sigh, and you clench your jaw.

“You got a better idea?” you ask.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. Don��t worry about it,” you say. Men are so finicky, you think. You arrive at the brothel just after noon, and you get off the horse. Billy goes to follow you, and you hold your hand up.

“Don’t. You’ll get swarmed by whores. Just stay here, let me do the talking.”

Billy’s brow furrows slightly.

“What if there’s trouble?” he asks. You tap the gun holstered at your hip.

“I can handle myself.”

Without another word, you head into the brothel. You locate the owner and speak to her about a room for you and your friend. Just as you remembered, the rooms are cheap, cheap enough for you to rent a room for longer than you thought you’d be able to. You pay the owner, then step back outside.

“Get our stuff,” you tell Billy. “I’ll take your horse to the stable.”

Wordlessly, Billy obeys, gathering the bags before you lead his horse around the building. He steps inside. Just as you predicted, a few whores approach him.

They gush at him, telling him how incredibly handsome he is, and how he must be tired, and how he looks like he needs a good blowjob. He politely turns them down, his cheeks warming slightly. One of the whores, a blonde woman, runs her hand over his chest. He tries not to stare at her bare breasts.

“You stayin’ awhile?” she asks. Billy nods. She hums. “Come n’ see me sometime, won’t ya?”

Billy offers her a kind smile.

“I’m a busy man, I’m afraid. Don’t have time for that.”

He hears footsteps behind him, and moments later, he’s being tugged towards the stairs of the brothel.

“Told ya they’d flock to you,” you say as you and Billy go up to the room. You unlock the door.

“They’re just doing their job,” he says as he steps into the room and sets the bags down. You sigh as you re-lock the door. You put your hands on your hips as you walk around the room, inspecting it. It’s not nice by any means, but it’s a roof over your head and a bed to sleep in, and that’s enough for now.

“I’ll take the floor,” he offers. You glance at him. “Y’know. When we sleep.”

You shake your head with a sigh as you take off your hat.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I don’t particularly care if we share a bed,” you say. Billy doesn’t say anything. You glance at him. He’s staring at you. “What?”

Just as he had noticed last night, you’re beautiful. And if you look this nice like this, he can only imagine what you’d look like all dolled up, or even just freshly bathed. He wonders what it would be like to touch you, to feel you beneath him, to have your body canting up towards his.

He shakes his head slightly.

“Nothing. Just . . . Nothing.”

“If you want the floor, you can have it–”

“No, no, I don’t mind either,” he says. You sit down at the edge of the bed, then lie back on it with a drawn-out sigh.

“I’m gonna sleep good tonight,” you chuckle. Billy finds himself smiling softly.

“Is it comfortable?” he asks. You laugh again.

“Not at all, but it’s better than the ground.”

Billy approaches the bed and sits down beside you, leaving a gap between your bodies. He bounces a bit, and the bed frame squeaks. He hums as he stops.

“Well?” you ask, looking up at him.

“You’re right, it’s awful.”

You hum, rubbing your eyes.

“I know.” You sigh. “Why don’t you go downstairs and eat?”

“What’re you gonna do?” he asks.

“Take a bath,” you say. Billy nods. He knows he should bathe too, especially if he’s going to be sleeping beside you, but he’s so, so hungry . . .

“I’ll go after you, then,” he says, getting to his feet. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

“Hang on.”

Billy pauses, glancing back at you as you sit up. You gesture for him to come back towards the bed. He obliges. There is a foot or so of space between your bodies, and you look up at him with a twinkle in your eye. You know what you want to tell him, but you don’t know how to say it. You know what you want to do, but you don’t know how to get there.

“You’re the most handsome outlaw I’ve dealt with, y’know,” you say finally, voice soft. Billy is surprised but most certainly not disappointed. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“How many outlaws have you dealt with?” Billy asks.

“Quite a few.”

He hums.

“I suppose that means I should be thanking you, then," he says. You reach out and tug on his belt loops, pulling him closer. You put your hands on his hips and look up at him.

“Yes. You should.”

Billy leans down a bit.

“Thank you, then, miss,” he says quietly. You feel his breath against you, and you let out a soft sigh as heat blooms between your thighs. Hesitantly, you bring your hand up to touch his cheek. You feel the stubble near his chin and jaw as you look into his eyes.

“Can I–?”

“You don’t even havta ask,” Billy tells you softly. He leans forward and presses his lips against yours. You inhale sharply as you pull him closer. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, like a man dying. You touch him wherever you can: His cheeks, his jaw, the sides of his throat, his shoulders. He gets on top of you as you scoot back on the bed. You keep one of your hands on the back of his head, which ensures that his lips stay pressed against yours while the two of you move and adjust.

Billy tosses his hat to the side, and once he’s done that, you tug at his suspenders. You push them off of his shoulders, and you spread your legs a bit more to make room for him to comfortably fit between them. He kisses you again, hot and heavy, and you moan against his lips.

“Please,” you sigh. He nods as he unbuttons your shirt.

“I’ve got ya,” Billy reassures you. You kiss him as a sense of safety and security washes over you. He’s got you. He’s got you. You let him unbutton your shirt, and when your breasts are revealed, he leans down to kiss at them. You sigh at the feeling of his chapped lips on your smooth skin. You shrug the shirt all the way off so that your torso is bare, then run your fingers through his dark curls.

“Billy,” you sigh, eyes fluttering. He hums. You want to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. You grab his collar and pull him back up so you can kiss him. You fumble with his buttons, and when you get his shirt off, you yank off his undershirt, too. You grip his bare shoulders, your hands running down to his biceps.

“Fuck,” you breathe. He smiles softly.

“Like what ya see?” he asks. You nod.

“Sure do,” you tell him. When he stands back to undo his trousers, you quickly kick off your boots and stand up to push down your pants to leave you nude. You get on the bed once you’re naked, and when Billy looks back up at you, cock in-hand, he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, a sound of pleasure. You smile as you spread your legs, feeling a bit bashful but excited nonetheless.

Billy says your name, then. It’s a whisper, a sigh, a prayer. He gets back on top of you, and his dripping cock presses against you as he leans down to kiss you. You groan.

“I want you inside me,” you tell him, giving his hair a gentle tug. He nods, pressing his tip against your entrance. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission, and you smile softly.

“Billy, I love that you’re bein’ a gentleman, but I really need you to ruin me right now. We can be polite to each other later, okay?” you tell him. This makes him chuckle, a quiet, hearty sound, and he nods.

“Okay,” he says, pushing his tip in. “Understood.”

You hum, hands moving down to his biceps. You grip him tightly as he pushes in further.

“Oh, fuck, Billy . . .”

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head.

“No, no, just go slow at first. Ease it in, y’know?”

Billy nods.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes teasingly, pushing in further. Your wetness coats his cock easily, and he groans at the feeling of your wet heat engulfing him. “Jesus ffffuckin’ . . .”

Your grip on him tightens as he pushes his cock all the way inside of you. You moan softly as his tip presses against the sweet spot inside of you.

“Oh, god,” you hum. “Mm, Billy . . . Move . . .”

His hand fits into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and he holds you there as he begins to roll his hips. He is slow at first, gentle, but his pace quickly picks up. The bed frame creaks and groans, and you moan loudly.

“How is it?" he asks breathily, wanting to hear your praise.

“F-Feels good,” you groan as he hits that sweet spot. Your legs and thighs tremble. Your breasts bounce. Your heart races. Billy’s body is firm and strong above you, and his hold on you tightens. You lean up to kiss him, moaning against his lips.

“So needy,” Billy says against your mouth. You moan. “Mm. S-So wet for me . . . Needed this bad, didn’t ya?”

You nod, clinging to him as if you’re the only thing keeping him here, as if he could disappear at any moment and leave you aching for more.

“Ohmygod, Billy . . . F-Faster, I need it faster . . .”

“Mm . . . Ask nicely . . .”

His words go straight to your core, and you clench around him just to hear him grunt. You reach up to tug at his hair, and he turns his head to suck at your jaw. You let him.

“Please,” you sigh. “P-Please, Billy . . . Make me f-feel good . . . Fuck me f-faster . . .”

Billy hums as he pulls away from your jaw.

“Atta girl,” he breathes. He’s pounding you, now, fucking you so hard that you begin to worry that the damn bed with break. People can probably hear you, but it’s a fucking brothel, you remind yourself, and you cry out loudly. Your face is hot as Billy’s hips slam against yours. He’s grunting and groaning, and his brows are furrowed in pleasure, and you’re positive that it’s the most wonderful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, fffffuck. Billy, B-Billy, Billy . . .”

“Mm, that’s it,” he groans lowly. “Let everyone know who it is that’s makin’ you feel good.”

Your grip on his hair tightens, and he bites and sucks at your throat as he chases his orgasm quickly. Clumsily and shakily, you reach down between your bodies to rub your clit. Your hips jerk and tears of pleasure fill your eyes as you begin to rub yourself hurriedly. You know Billy is close – his thrusts are getting sloppy – and you want to cum, too.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Billy admits. He reaches for your hand that isn’t on your clit, which surprises you. His fingers intertwine with yours, and he pins you down. He’s holding my hand. He’s about to cum, and he’s holding my hand, you think. Somehow, this small act feels more intimate than anything else the two of you have done in the past several minutes.

“Billy . . . ‘M gonna cum,” you breathe. He nods against you.

“Do it,” he says, encouraging you. “Please. Wanna feel it.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back. Billy kisses and nibbles at your throat again, his thrusts get harder and faster, and you apply a bit more pressure to the circles you’re rubbing on your clit–

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out loudly. Your body tenses for a moment before you relax against the mattress, pleasure coursing through you. Heat moves over you like a blanket, warming you from head to toe. You’re shaking, trembling as Billy takes you through it.

Before you know it, he’s moaning in your ear and pulling his cock from your pussy. He jerks himself off for one second, two, three, and then he’s cumming on your stomach with a cry of your name. You watch him fall apart above you, and you never were a religious person, but this? This sight is enough to bring you to your knees. You’d worship him if it were an option. That glow, that body, that smile . . . It makes you want to weep.

Billy grunts, stroking himself until his orgasm is over, and he shakily lies down beside you with a huff. You stare up at the ceiling, still catching your breath as his arm touches yours. The reality of what the two of you have just done hits you. You just fucked Billy Antrim. And you liked it.

You look over at him. He’s already staring. You smile.

“Good?” he asks. You nod.

“So good.”

He hums and wipes a bit of sweat from your brow.

“I didn’t think a woman like you would wanna be taken like that,” he says gently. You have to give it to him, he really is a gentleman. Even after you held him at gunpoint, and told him to escort you here, and bossed him around, he's still treating you kindly. He’s still here, he isn’t getting up to leave. In fact, he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out his handkerchief. He hands it over to you, then gestures to your cum-covered stomach. You smile softly, wipe it up, then set the handkerchief aside.

“I’ll wash this,” you tell him. He nods, humming. His cheeks are red. You like seeing him like this, all flustered and tired.

He sits up slowly, and you watch the muscles in his back ripple as he does. He stands up and tucks his cock back into his trousers before reaching for his undershirt. Your smile fades, and he notices.

“I’m just hungry,” he says. “You want somethin’ from downstairs?”

You lean up on your elbows.

“Something to drink, maybe,” you say. You smile. “And whatever food you can find. I’m in no position to be picky.”

He nods as he puts on his button-up and begins to do it up.

“I’ll do my best,” he says. Once he’s redressed, Billy glances back at you. “You gonna be okay?”

You nod, reaching for your shirt and draping it over your naked body as you lie back against the pillows.

“Mhm. You know I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to.”

You smile widely. Such a charmer.

“Go, before I undress you again,” you tell him again. He chuckles.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You hum, getting comfortable as Billy leaves. You hear the door open and close, and you sigh. Your eyes are heavy, and the mattress feels so soft and comforting compared to what you’ve been having, and it’s so quiet . . .

***

It’s dark when you wake. You stir, put off by the blackness. You’re still naked, and when you realize this, you haphazardly pull your button-up back on. You do it up as you move over, feeling the other side of the bed.

“Billy,” you say into the dark. There is no response. You roll your eyes. That damn bastard. You thought he was different. You thought he was a good man, a kind man. If he wanted more sex, he could have just woken you up, but no, he left you up here in the pitch black. He’s probably downstairs, drinking wine and fucking whores.

You clench your jaw as you fumble around. You start up the lamp on the bedside table, and grab your pants off the floor. You yank them on, along with your boots, then glance around.

“Fucking asshole,” you mutter. “Couldn’t even bring me water.”

You grab the room key and your gun holster off of the bedside table, then yank open the door and start downstairs. The brothel is bustling now that it’s dark outside. Men and naked women are everywhere. You pull a lady aside as you buckle your holster around your hips.

“The guy I was with,” you say to her, “where’s he at?”

She shrugs, then pulls away. Anger boils inside of you. You push your way through and get to the bar. The woman behind it seems to recognize you.

“You got water?” you ask, frustrated by the entire situation. The woman nods, then silently pours you a glass. She hands it over. You down half of it, then set the glass on the bar and wipe your mouth.

“You’re the lady who came here with Billy Antrim,” she says finally. You look up. You’re positive that Billy wouldn’t give out his name, let alone his full name, in a place like this. You remain neutral and calm.

“Who?”

“The man,” the lady behind the bar says. “The one who went upstairs with you, that was Billy Antrim.”

You cock your head.

“What’re you getting at?”

She blinks at you.

“Don’t you know?” she asks.

Your brows furrow.

“Did something happen?”

She nearly laughs.

“Where have you been? Asleep?”

“Where is he?” you ask sharply. Your heart is beginning to race. You have a pit in your stomach. Deep down, you know something bad has happened. The woman watches you carefully.

“You care about him. It’s dangerous to care about people like that–”

“Tell me where the fuck he is!” you snap, right hand reaching down to rest at your holstered gun. The woman behind the bar clenches her jaw.

“Someone turned him in,” she says flatly. “He was taken away a few hours ago.”

Fuck. You should have been awake, you should have been with him. You could have vouched for him, told them that they had the wrong guy. You told him you’d keep him out of trouble, and now . . .

You storm away from the bar, hurrying upstairs to get yours’ and Billy’s things. You leave in a tizzy, adrenaline pumping through you as you fetch Billy’s horse from the stable. You secure everything to the saddle, pull yourself on, and take off towards the jail.

You tie Billy’s horse outside, then step inside. You glance around for a moment, and the jailkeep looks at you, seemingly irritated by your presence. You offer him a charming smile.

“Sir,” you say, nodding politely as he looks you up and down. “I–”

“Visiting hours are over,” he says flatly. You hum, glancing around. You spot Billy, and your eyes linger on him for a moment. He grips the bars of the cell, watching you intently. You’ve got a look in your eyes, he realizes. He hopes you aren’t going to do what he thinks you’re going to do. He doesn’t think he’s worth the trouble.

You look at the jailkeep again. You’re silent for a moment, and before he can tell you to get out, you’re reaching for your gun. You pull it on him and cock it. He stiffens.

“Unlock his cell,” you say firmly. The man doesn’t move, too surprised. “Now!”

Billy watches you with wide eyes. The jailkeep rises to his feet slowly, and you keep the cocked gun pointed at him as he steps over to Billy’s cell.

“Unlock it,” you tell him again. “Hurry up.”

His hands tremble as he finds the right key and unlocks Billy’s cell. Billy steps out quickly, then grabs the keys from the man and shoves him into the cell. He locks him in, and you take a small step back.

“Don’t yell,” you warn the jailkeep. “I’ll kill you, I swear to God, I’ll do it.”

While you threaten the man, Billy hurries over to the desk to find his gun. He grabs the jailkeep’s holster off the desk, too, while he’s at it.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, woman,” the man says. You hum.

“Damn right I am.” You glance at Billy. “Let’s go.”

Billy takes the keys with him, and the two of you leave the jail quickly.

“There’s another horse over there,” you tell Billy as he runs towards his horse. He nods.

“Go, I’ll keep watch,” he says. You fetch the horse, which you have to guess belonged to the jailkeep, and you hoist yourself up. You ride up beside Billy.

“C’mon, haul ass,” you say, riding past him. His horse gallops after yours, and the two of you ride into the darkness.

The severity of the situation is not lost on Billy. You’re in trouble, now. You broke the law to help him, to get him out, and you did it without hesitation. He would’ve been dead by morning if you hadn’t come to get him, and now you’re an outlaw, too. Guilt claws at him as the two of you leave town.

“You didn’t havta do that,” he says over the sound of hooves hitting the ground.

“I couldn’t leave you.”

Billy shakes his head. He doesn’t understand.

“You don’t even know me,” he says, almost frustrated. What a stupid thing you just did. What a thoughtless, dangerous act.

“I know you’re a good man,” you tell him. “And I know you don’t deserve to hang.”

Billy glances at you, his body bouncing as his horse runs up beside yours. Your eyes meet for just a moment before you look forward again.

“I hope you’re not thinkin’ of ditching me, Antrim,” you say. He can’t help but smile softly. He wouldn’t even dream of doing such a thing. He owes you his life.

“‘Course not,” he says. You hum.

“Then stop lookin’ at me like that and let’s focus on getting the fuck outta here.”

God, where have you been all his life? You’re everything he’s ever needed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

#rynwritesstuff #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #tom blyth fanfiction #william bonney #william h bonney #billy the kid smut #william h bonney x reader #billy the kid mgm #billy the kid x you #william bonney x reader #tom blyth #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid fic #billy the kid fluff #william bonney x you #william bonney smut #william h bonney x you

801 notes · View notes

rynwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

Unknown - Part Two

Billy The Kid x Reader

Warnings: Smut (PIV sex, unprotected sex, brief dirty talk, no female orgasm), softness, TW: attempted assault (NOT by Billy), misogyny, murder, comfort/fluff, confessed feelings, happy ending <3

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: You and Billy find yourselves in a dangerous situation, which causes feelings to surface.

Read part one here!

“Do you know I could break beneath the weight of the goodness, love, I still carry for you? That I’d walk so far just to take the injury of finally knowing you?” - Unknown/Nth, Hozier

Billy is, to say the least, annoyed with you. Traveling with someone for nearly two weeks will do that, you figure. You let him talk to you as you gather wood for a fire. You’re silent while he rants, going on and on about how his body aches, and how hungry he is, and how desperately he just wants to find another town. You don’t respond, and this only irritates him further.

“Say something!” Billy says. You glance at him. He doesn’t often become angry like this, you’ve come to realize, but when something sets him off . . . He gets pissed.

“Jesus, what the hell d’you want from me, Antrim? I’m just getting wood, minding my own damn business, and you–”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, you’re the one who wanted to come this way! Why haven’t we found anything? We’re running out of food!”

You shake your head.

“We have at least two days’ worth.”

“And when we go through that? Hm? What then?”

“Then we hunt, Antrim. We adapt, we make do.”

“You know that there’s not much to hunt out here. We both know that,” he says, following you around. You crouch down to start a fire. Sometimes his age shows during moments like this one. He’s still a kid, still so angry at the world and the cards he’s been dealt. You sigh.

“Then, fuck, I don’t know,” you snap. “I don’t know, okay?”

He scoffs, pulling his hat off and tugging at his hair.

“Fuck,” he huffs as he turns away. You get the fire going, then stand and turn to him. His eyes don’t meet yours. You pull on his suspenders.

“Look at me,” you say firmly. He does. You sigh. “We’re gonna be fine. You need to pull yourself together. I know you’re mad, Antrim, I am too, but we can’t lose our heads. Got it?”

He swallows harshly. He likes it when you talk to him like this, when you re-ground him. You’re the anchor to his ship, the light that shines through the fog in his mind. He glances at your lips. You know what he needs, now. He needed to be snapped at, and now he needs to let go.

It’s been a few days since the two of you were last sexually active, and when you look into Billy’s eyes, they are dark. You give his suspenders another tug, your chests nearly touching. “I said, you got it?” you repeat. He nods.

“Yes,” Billy says quietly. “I got it. ‘M sorry–”

“Don’t be,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s no point.”

You let go of his suspenders and instead rest your hands on his firm chest. You can feel his heart racing, beating quickly, and you know it’s because of you. Maybe, if you’re lucky, it’s for you.

His arms hang at his sides, and you take hold of his wrists and guide them to your hips. He holds you firmly as you reach back up to touch his shoulders and chest.

“Tell me what you need,” you say, even though you already know. You want to hear him say it.

“You,” Billy tells you. “Whatever you’ll give me.”

You smile softly. He’s handsome. Dreamy.

“You know you’ve got me, Billy,” you say. He kisses you, then. It is firm, and his lips are chapped and rough. You sigh quietly, gripping his collar and pulling him closer. He knows how you like this: Rough, quick and dirty. Secretly, though, part of him hopes that he’ll one day get to make love to you, not just fuck you. He wants to know you deeply. Not just your body, but your mind. He knows what kinds of things you like to eat, and he knows that you don’t like rising with the sun, and he knows that you’re unfathomably stubborn, but . . . It’s not enough. He needs to know what your dreams are. Do you want children? A house? A man? Will you long for freedom for the rest of your life, or would you one day settle for the right person?

He needs to know where your parents were from, and what your favorite toys were when you were small, and how you like your tea. Small things. Big things. Well . . . He supposes that all things are ‘big things’ when it comes to the way he thinks of you . . .

You push his suspenders from his shoulders as the two of you kiss, then reach down to press your hand against his clothed erection. He grunts softly at the slight friction, and moves his hips forward. He says your name, quiet and desperate, and you nod.

“Take me,” you tell him, taking a small step back to remove the clothes from the bottom half of your body. While you do this, Billy pulls his cock free from his trousers. You get down in the grass, and Billy easily gets on top of you, fitting himself between your legs. You cup his cheeks and kiss him, desperate for his touch. You tug on his hair.

“Need you, Billy,” you breathe. And oh, how Billy loves to see you like this: Vulnerable and open and ready for him. He nods.

“I know,” he says, pushing his leaky tip against your core. You groan as he eases himself inside of you. He stretches you perfectly. You’re so wet, and he’s got precum dribbling from his cockhead, and the feeling of it makes him grunt. He takes your hands in his and pins you down like that. He’s been doing this more and more often, you’ve noticed. You smile softly, the softness of the moment lasting only for a second before he begins to rock his hips back and forth. You cry out as his cock rubs the sweet spot deep inside of you, your grip on his hands tightening.

“Billy!” you moan. “Ohhh f-fuck . . .”

Your body bounces beneath him, and he groans at the sight.

“Fuck . . . Such a good girl,” he breathes, voice shaky and quiet. His words go straight to your aching core, and you clench around him just to hear the choked sound that he makes. You smirk.

“Y-Yeah? You needed this, didn’t you, Billy?”

He nods.

“Uh huh.”

“How bad? H-How bad did ya n-need me?”

“O-Oh, fuck . . .” he groans. “So b-bad . . . Mmm . . .”

You nod, tilting your head back. Billy takes the bait and leans down to suck and nibble at your throat. You sigh at the feeling. He continues to hold your hands, keeping you gently pinned to the ground.

“Takin’ me so well,” Billy breathes. You hum.

“You’re close already?” you ask shakily, the pleasure in your core building as he sucks at your skin. He grunts.

“H-How did you–?”

“You’re – mm – getting s-sloppy,” you breathe. You turn your head and capture his lips with yours. He chuckles against you, moving his hips faster.

“G-God . . . Fuck . . .” Billy groans. You squeeze his hands.

“Cum f’me, Billy,” you tell him softly. “C’mon . . . W-Wanna see it . . .”

He nods, then quickly pulls his cock from your heat and jerks himself off above you. With a drawn-out moan, Billy cums, his seed covering your rising and falling stomach. You sigh at the sight, and when he finishes, he tilts his head back. You smile, leaning up on your elbows.

“So handsome,” you tell him, gesturing for him to come closer. He does, and you put your hand on the back of his head to pull his lips against yours. You sigh as you kiss him.

“Mm. That felt good,” you tell him. Billy smiles at the praise.

“I’m glad,” he says. You wipe his seed from your stomach, then shakily get to your feet and re-dress while Billy tucks himself away and adjusts his clothing. You sigh once the two of you are both righted.

“Feeling better?” you ask, stepping back towards the fire to warm your hands. He sits down beside you.

“A bit,” he says. He sighs, then looks over at you. He admires you, taking in your features in the dim, flickering light.

“Good,” you say. “If you need something like that, all you havta do is ask, you know.”

Billy nods.

“I know.”

Silence lingers between the two of you for a handful of minutes.

“Do you want to eat?” Billy asks you. You shake your head.

“I’m not really hungry.” You yawn. “I think I’m gonna rest.”

Billy nods.

“Alright.”

He watches you rise and pull the blanket from his saddle bag. You lay it down, then get comfortable on top of it. Billy looks away as you close your eyes to sleep. You’re so beautiful, he thinks. He’s never not going to think so.

You fall asleep quickly, dozing off easily knowing that Billy is here to keep you safe and watch over you.

***

The sound of skin hitting skin is what wakes you. A groan follows, and you hum softly as you sit up a bit, glancing around in confusion.

Another hit, another groan.

You look over, and your stomach drops when you see a strange man standing over Billy. Billy tries to fight back, tries to get swings in, but the man is bigger, stronger. Another man stands beside the first one, and as quietly as you can, you begin to reach down into your pocket where a small pocketknife sits.

Adrenaline pumps through you. The second man notices you, and he nudges his friend, the one punching Billy.

“Lookit,” he says, pointing at you. They both look over, and you let out a shaky breath. Billy is yanked to his feet as one of the men storms towards you. You scramble to get away, but he’s already on you, pulling you up. You struggle to get away, kicking and thrashing, but he wraps his arm around your throat and holds you in place. You gasp, your air suddenly being almost completely cut off. Billy watches in horror.

“Don’t,” he says and blood drips from his nose. The man near Billy has a knife to his throat, which keeps Billy from moving or making an attempt to rescue you. “We have money, take that instead.”

The man holding onto you hums, running his free hand over your chest as you claw at his arm, trying to breathe.

“How could we pass up such a pretty little thing?” the man says, squeezing your breast. You hiss, trying to stomp on his foot. Billy tries to break away, but the knife is pressed harder against his throat, drawing a bit of blood. He yelps.

“Stop!” Billy exclaims desperately. “Don’t touch her!”

“Oh, I’ll do more than touch her,” the man says, suddenly shoving you to the ground. You groan, gasping for breath. He’s on you before you can try to run, and he yanks at your trousers. Without thinking, you shove your hand into your pocket and pull out your pocketknife. In a swift movement, you reach around and shove it into the man’s side. He cries out loudly, and you pull the knife out and plunge it back in again and again.

Seconds after you do this, Billy catches the other man off-guard and pulls his gun on him. The man takes off without a word, knowing that a knife is nothing against a gun. You cry out as you stab the man repeatedly. He groans in agony, blood soaking his clothing and yours just the same. Billy rushes to you, grabbing your arms gently and pulling you away.

You’re trembling, head spinning and heart pounding. You try to break away.

“It’s me, it’s me,” Billy says quickly, pulling you into his arms as the man writhes on the ground. You turn, clinging to Billy’s shirt tightly.

“I-I . . .”

“I know,” he breathes as you shake against him. He holds you, one hand between your shoulders and the other on the back of your head. Tears fill your eyes.

“Billy,” you breathe. It’s all you can think to say. Billy’s head throbs, nose still gushing blood, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s never seen you so afraid, so shaken, and it breaks his heart. You didn’t deserve this.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

You let out a soft cry. You can’t even bring yourself to answer. The man groans and shakes in front of you and Billy, and Billy shields your eyes. He has half a mind to shoot the bastard in order to shut him up, but his cries die out steadily. The life drains from his eyes as he loses more and more blood.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Are you alright?” Billy asks again softly, cupping your cheeks and tilting your head up. Your bottom lip quivers.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I . . . Yes. I think so.”

He nods.

“You’re alright,” he reassures you. “You’re safe.”

Guilt is eating away at him. He should have done something. He should have shot the men right away, he should have fought his way out of it to protect you. His grip on you tightens slightly. You let out a shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” you ask, wiping a bit of blood from his face. He nods even though he isn’t, not really.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he tells you. You nod, then glance back at the dead man beside the fire. You look away, burying your face against Billy’s chest.

“We should go,” you breathe. He nods.

“I know.”

Neither of you move. Billy presses a kiss to the top of your head. God, he was so scared. He isn’t sure what he would have done with himself if the man had taken you. He’s glad he won’t have to know. You wrap your arms around Billy’s middle and let out a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do more,” Billy says finally. You pull away slightly and look up at him. You shake your head.

“He had you cornered, Antrim,” you say softly, shaking your head. “There wasn’t much you could’ve done.”

You lean in and kiss his cheek.

“It’s alright. We’re alright.”

He nods, letting out a shaky breath.

“I’m always gonna do my best to protect you,” he says. “I’m sorry that I–”

“Stop apologizing,” you say quietly. “Please. It’s alright. I’m alive, you’re alive, we’re okay–”

“I care about you," Billy says quickly. You pause. “I . . . I care about you. I’d die if somethin’ happened to you.”

You search his face. He means it. Oh, god . . . He means it.

“Billy . . .” He swallows harshly and looks away. You cup his cheek and tilt his head up so he’s looking at you again. “I care about you, too.”

A small, barely-there smile tugs at the corner of Billy’s mouth.

“You mean it?” he asks. You nod.

“You know me, Billy. I wouldn’t lie.”

His smile widens, and he kisses you gently. You hum against his mouth. “I know.”

#rynwritesstuff #billy the kid #billy the kid x you #billy the kid smut #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid x reader #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney x you #william bonney #william bonney x reader #william bonney smut #billy antrim #billy antrim x reader #billy antrim x you #kid antrim #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth

339 notes · View notes

rynwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

Oh my god, I finally got around to reading this, and let me tell you, you NEVER disappoint! You wrote Coriolanus perfectly: Dominant but a bit unsure from time to time. This is actual art <3

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

#I literally get so excited whenever you post #I’ve been busy but this was worth the wait <3

10K notes · View notes

rynwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

Part two of Unknown is coming <3

#rynwritesstuff #I hope you guys like this #it’s kind of a wild idea but I think I can pull it off

1 note · View note

rynwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Note

Omfg gonna need a part 2 to your latest Billy fic

You guys are the sweetest :') I'll definitely think on this. There's certainly potential for a part two, so keep an eye on my blog for any updates on that!!

#<3

1 note · View note

rynwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

Navigation

Ryn, she/her, 20

✰ My content is not made to be consumed by anyone under the age of 18. MDNI. Any blogs that are blank, nameless, ageless, etc. will be blocked. ✰

☆ Currently working on: N/A

Masterlists for Adam Driver characters, Eddie Munson, Coriolanus Snow, and Billy the Kid are linked below the cut!

→ Adam Driver Characters

→ Eddie Munson

→ Coriolanus Snow & Billy the Kid

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

rynwritesstuff - 2024. Do not copy, steal, or repost my work.

Divider by saradika-graphics

#rynwritesstuff #adcu #adcu author #adcu fic #adam driver #adcu fanfiction #kylo ren #flip zimmerman #clyde logan #paterson #billy the kid #coriolanus snow #eddie munson #masterlist #navigation

16 notes · View notes

rynwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Note

YOUR FICS ARE SO GOOD???? literally perfect.

Oh gosh thank you :’) this is so kind, I’m so so glad you enjoy my writing!! <3

#what a lucky girl i am <3

0 notes

rynwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Note

babe….BABE. that billy fic was SO GOOD omg the way you wrote him was so spot on. and reader ???? the PERSONALITYYYYY 🤌🏻 aaaaa i loved it SO MUCH

Oh my gosh thank you :’) I’m so so thrilled that you liked it, I don’t usually write reader like that so it was a fun challenge lmao. The response I’m getting is definitely making me want to write more for him, everyone is so nice <3

#I’m so lucky that people like it lol #thank you thank you thank you <33

1 note · View note

rynwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

Unknown

Billy The Kid x Reader

Warnings: Feisty!Reader, General outlaw stuff (guns, cursing, threats), Mentions of sex work/brothels, Smut (PIV sex, unprotected sex, rough sex), Hint of fluff, Imprisonment, Jailbreak

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: After discovering Billy Antrim one night, you persuade him to travel with you. A wild and interesting adventure ensues.

“I need money,” you say.

“You’ve got the wrong man, miss,” Billy says, unmoving. “I’ve got nothin’.”

“Food, then. Got any food?”

Billy nods towards the small pot beside the fire.

“There’s a bit left over there.”

You keep your gun pointed at him as you look down into the pot and then back up at BIlly.

“It’s not enough.”

“It’s what I’ve got.”

“You’re lying,” you say easily. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way you came this far with so little food. You think I’m an idiot, boy?”

“No,” Billy shakes his head. “I mean it. That’s the last of my food.”

You chuckle dryly, then approach Billy.

Billy moves slightly, you see him out of the corner of your eye, and you bring your gun up again. He freezes.

“Billy the Kid,” you say finally, wiping your hand on the grass as you get to your feet. “Hm. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Do I know you?” Billy asks.

“The ring,” he says quickly, making you pause, “please don’t take it. It was my ma’s.”

“Please. She’s gone, she’s dead. It’s all I got left of ‘er.”

You shake your head.

“I’m not heartless, Billy,” you say, and Billy nearly laughs. No, woman holding me at gunpoint, he thinks. Of course you’re not.

“You’re shit out of luck, Billy,” you say, stepping towards him as you bite into the apple. You wipe a bit of juice from the corner of your mouth. “No food, no water–”

“I have water.”

“Oh, well excuse me, then. I apologize,” you say sarcastically. Billy clenches his jaw. You sit down a good five feet away from Billy, gun still in-hand as you eat the apple.

“God, fuck,” you breathe. Billy glances at you. “Haven’t had fruit in a month.”

“Neither have I,” Billy says flatly.

“Mm. As I was sayin’ . . . You’re kinda fucked right now. Where’re you headed?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“The next town over,” Billy says finally. “I need somewhere to stay for a while.”

“It’s about fifteen miles East,” you say. You bite into the apple again. “You know where you’re going? How to get there?”

You lap your tongue over the dripping apple to gather the juice, then speak.

“Right. Well, I need a man to come with me East. Nobody takes women seriously in that town, I was there a while back.”

“Surely you don’t want to risk being recognized, then,” Billy says. You chuckle.

“Unlike you, Antrim, I’m moving from town to town by choice. I've got nothing to hide.”

Well. That seems to answer Billy’s questions. He sighs, then looks away. Perhaps this is a good thing. Maybe a woman is what he needs. A fiery, feisty woman who will try to keep him in-line.

“What’s in it for me?” he asks.

You shrug.

“Money, probably. Food. A roof over your head.”

“Until I get caught.”

“I’ll try to keep you out of trouble if you promise to try, too.”

Billy looks over at you.

“I don’t even know your name.”

You smile softly, looking at him kindly for the first time all evening. You tell him your name, and when you do, he tests how it feels to say it. You nod.

“Right,” you say. “Ya got it.”

Billy hums.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” he says.

“No,” you say, tossing him back his gun. “I’d hope not. You wouldn’t be a very good outlaw if you trusted someone that easily.”

Billy slips his gun back into his holster, feeling better now that he has his firearm again. You take another bite of the apple.

“Let’s leave at dawn,” you tell him. Billy still isn’t completely convinced that this is a good idea, but he doesn’t want to argue. He doesn’t want to upset you or set you off.

“Fine,” he says. You nudge him.

“Where are those manners you had a bit ago?” you tease, tossing the apple core aside. “‘Miss’ and ‘ma’am’. Your mama raised you right.”

“Yes, ma’am, she did,” Billy says, offering you a small, teasing smile.

***

“Get up,” you tell him as you guide his horse over. “I’d like to get there as soon as possible.”

Billy groans softly as he sits up on the blanket that separates him from the grass.

“You don’t have a horse? You came all this way on foot?”

You sigh, leaning against Billy’s horse.

“She got stolen a few miles back,” you say. “I was surprised they didn’t get yours, too.”

“Mm. Sorry to hear that,” he says as he folds up the blanket and attaches it to his saddle bag. You shake your head.

“Not much that can be done about it now. Ya ready to go, Billy?”

You don’t want to complicate things.

“There’s a brothel that way,” you say, pointing to the right. “Rooms are cheap there.”

“I thought you didn’t have much money,” Billy says, guiding his horse in the direction you pointed in.

“I don’t,” you say. “But I have enough for us to stay somewhere for a week or so.”

You hear Billy sigh, and you clench your jaw.

“You got a better idea?” you ask.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it,” you say. Men are so finicky, you think. You arrive at the brothel just after noon, and you get off the horse. Billy goes to follow you, and you hold your hand up.