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forestclan-clangen · 15 days ago

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MOON 5 (Part 2)

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- In the middle of a thunderstorm, Olive goes into labour. Despite the threat of lightning strikes, Living Tendrils still invade the camp and take one of Olive's kits. Warblerkit foolishly tries to stop the tendril, and is also taken. Warblerkit is spared the fate of being fed to the woods, as StarClan strikes both him and the tendril with a swift bolt, killing him instantly. The Clan mourns the death of Olive's unnamed newborn and Warblerkit.

---

The sun had just set on the horizon when the dark storm clouds rolled over the territory. They thought it was a gift from StarClan when Olive reported she was feeling contractions. A thunderstorm was considered a good omen for ForestClan - many of the creatures of the woods feared the sound of thunder. But what was initially a gift quickly became dangerous.

Windfur and Iciclepool had been in the middle of discussing which den would be safest for Olive to give birth in. It was only by nature's hand that they were forced to keep Olive in the nursery. No cat could hear each other over the sound of billowing winds and the torrential downpour that came down upon them. Windfur couldn't risk moving Olive and worsening her broken back.

Redstar realized quickly that this wasn't a thunderstorm - this was worse. Trees started to bend against the wind's strength and large puddles started pooling in the middle of camp. She screamed as loud as she could over the winds - "FLOOD! Get to my den! Now!"

The cats of ForestClan had already begun moving up past High Rock. Morningpaw had grabbed Shiverkit by the scruff, desperately trying to find her footing. Cloudthunder grabbed the kitten and told the apprentice to keep going. Hopechase was at the back of the line, helping Talonpaw find solid grip for him to scramble into the den. Redstar looked down in the middle of camp, her long fur already soaked and dragging. She saw that Barleywave was still looking around in a panic.

"WARBLERKIT! Where are you?!" he yowled.

"Barleywave! Get inside my den!" Redstar called as she hopped down the rock and approached him. Her blue eyes were grave. "I'll go look for him. He couldn't have gone far."

Barleywave's hazel eyes were wide with indescribable terror. For a brief moment, Redstar recognized this emotion. She had seen it in Iciclepool's eyes, many seasons ago.

She was determined to erase that terror from the young tom's face.

"Go, Barleywave," Redstar started pushing him towards High Rock. "I'll find him."

"Promise me." His voice shook with feeling.

"I promise." Redstar's answer was firm and immediate. When the tom saw the look in his leader's eyes, he surrendered his fear and climbed towards shelter.

"Redstar!" She veered around to see Iciclepool braving the storm towards her. Her white coat had been coated brown in the mud. "Redstar, Olive is going into labour."

"Now?" Redstar exclaimed.

"Yes, now. Moving her in this weather with her condition is just not possible."

Redstar felt dread creep into her feet. Talons gripped her heart. She prayed to the stars above.

Oh, StarClan. Please, please watch over us. Please don't let the Tendrils come. I beg of you.

Far in the distance, above the sound of the cruel winds, ForestClan heard the call of the Pale Herald. Redstar's fur bristled on end. The tall, grey Twoleg contraption that towered over every tree in the forest, far from their camp across the border, started its howl - loud and ethereal. It held its sound high, before slowly descending, then ascending once more. Repeat.

The warning of the Twolegs.

Even this storm was too dangerous for them.

She had to find Warblerkit. Now.

**********

Windfur was scared. He was really scared, but he didn't dare show it. Not in front of Olive. Not when someone needed him. He shielded the she-cat with his body, towering above her sightline, his back turned towards the entrance of the den. He could feel the water pooling in, and the hard rain splashing so hard it fell on his pelt. Still, he lied to her. He had to.

"It's alright, Olive. It's just a thunderstorm. Thunderstorms are good for ForestClan. You're doing great."

"This is the fourth time you've said that! Shut your muzzle!" Olive hissed. She failed to suppress a cry of effort and pain as she sobbed. Windfur had positioned her in such a way that her back would not move, but as a result, all of her muscle work came from her glutes and abdomen, and it was exhausting. She could feel Windfur pressing his paws on her stomach, waiting for the next wave of contractions. They felt wet; driven into the mud.

When she started hearing the distant, howling cry of the Twoleg alarm, her eyes widened in terror and her breath hitched.

Not safe. Not safe. Hide. She wanted to hide. She was going to die. This was it. This was the end.

"Hold your breath for five seconds, Olive," Windfur's voice edged, betraying his fear. "Exhale, then inhale deeply. It's going to be okay. You have no choice."

Olive wanted to scoff. 'She had no choice'. It would be ominous, if she wasn't already terrified. She did as she was told. She could hear Windfur splashing lightly, as though searching for something. Then, he handed her a branch.

"Bite this. Then breathe deeply."

She knew what he was asking. She could feel the ripples in her body as well. She clenched her teeth around the branch and bit hard as pain thrashed through her. Her vision became blurred and her ears throbbed with pain as she could barely hear the faint cry of a newborn kit. Windfur said something to her. She couldn't process it.

There was a voice that she did hear. A young one. A tom. Deep from the back of the nursery.

"Windfur?"

Windfur jumped and hissed, and his eyes grew wide with terror as he looked at where the voice came from. "Warblerkit! What in the name of StarClan are you doing in here?! Why aren't you with Barleywave?"

The white and gray kit bristled defensively and protested. "I...I promised Olive! I said I'd scare away the monsters for her!"

Olive's heart raced like a panicked deer. "Oh, no, Warblerkit, no, you can't. Please, you can't..." Her voice cut off in a high pitched mewl as pain surged through her again.

Warblerkit's hazel eyes, inherited from his father, burned with anger. "I'm not scared!" he hissed.

"You should be," Windfur spat. He attended to Olive quickly as she hissed in pain again, then swivelled his head outside, his dark blue eyes filled with increasing panic. He needed help. Iciclepool was supposed to come back - where was she?

From the misty curtain of downpour, Windfur could barely make out the tall, regal shape of his leader drenched in water. She was screaming - but he could barely hear what she was saying.

"REDSTAR?!" he yowled. He felt relieved when the silhouette turned its head towards the nursery and trotted towards them. Redstar's eyes were wild with fear.

"Have you seen - " She cut off as she spotted Warblerkit now huddled next to Olive's face, his body puffed and tail lashing. "Warblerkit! Do you have any idea how worried we were?!"

"I'm fine!"

"Your father was calling for you! He was terrified that he lost you!" Redstar looked furious, which caused even Windfur's ears to flatten. Warblerkit recoiled and looked up at Redstar with guilty eyes. He stared at the ground, his paws kneading nervously.

"But I…I promised Olive I'd protect her. Dad said a warrior keeps their promises…"

Redstar must've noticed Windfur's jolt of fear and Warblerkit's guilt, because she removed the fury from her tone as much as possible. "You are not a warrior yet, Warblerkit. Your responsibility is to be safe, and listen to the adults," Redstar continued crossly.

From outside, the winds blew harder. Flashes of light appeared in the distance, only to explode with sound a few moments later. Trees started bending under the weight, and the sounds of snapping wood and collapsing branches followed.

"Redstar, I can't move Olive, I need help," Windfur hissed over the noise. Redstar looked outside in horror. She couldn't bring Warblerkit out in this. She had no choice but to keep him here. As she heard the sound of a newborn kit mew, there were more pressing matters.

"Warblerkit, move out of the way and stay near the back of the nest," Redstar ordered.

"But - "

"Please, honey," Olive said weakly. Warblerkit reluctantly listened to Olive and retreated.

After a few moments of pain and careful precision, Windfur helped bring a second newborn into the world.

The pool of water beneath them grew larger, and the moss bedding Olive lay on grew heavy. The newborns mewled in protest at the cold, despite Redstar's attempts to clean them.

A third and final newborn came, and Windfur's composure deteriorated as Olive's condition was worse than the queen could see.

"Redstar, I need to get moss and cobwebs. I have to…" Windfur muttered something quickly under his breath as he stared at the blotted out medicine den in the distance.

"Windfur - "

"StarClan's sake, just stay here!" Windfur finally snapped at Redstar before darting out into the chaos.

Redstar watched as her cleric vanished in the storm.

What happened next, Redstar couldn't put into words. It was like the world suddenly slowed around her.

Despite all impossibilities with the raging storm - the woods had come. Lightning flashed, and revealed the shadows of long, finger-like tendrils emerging from below their outer walls.

It snaked towards the nursery, wet and crackling.

Olive was hyperventilating, her eyes wide with horror.

It was only when one of the vines finally coiled towards the mouth of the nursery did Redstar find her instincts. She launched towards the vines, yowling so loud that it rivaled the howl of the Pale Herald.

The vines thrashed under Redstar's claws and teeth. One of the tendrils swept Redstar off her feet, throwing her off balance and planting her in the wet ground. She hissed as she felt smaller tendrils try to wrap themselves around her legs. She clawed at them. They grabbed her front legs. She caterwauled and bit at the roots on her paws. They engulfed her muzzle. The air was pushed out of her lungs as she was forced face-first into the mud, the weight immobilizing her.

She snarled as she craned her neck towards the nursery entrance.

She wished she hadn't.

Lightning flashed again.

More vines curled themselves near the nursery. The shapes of her clanmates hovered over the rock of her leader's den.

Warblerkit had placed himself between the vines and Olive's kits. Warblerkit, the once-bully who wrestled too hard with Shiverkit and threw tantrums at the adults. He puffed up as big as his 3 moon old body could handle, and hissed as loud as his voice would muster.

Like a constrictor lashing at prey, a vine wrapped around one of Olive’s kits.

"NO!" Olive wailed.

“Leave her alone!”

Lightning flashed, and Redstar's heart stopped as she saw the shadow of a kit throwing itself at the largest vine.

Warblerkit latched himself onto the tendril, and bit down hard.

An alien hiss came from the crackling roots. It wrapped around Warblerkit too, and pulled out of the nursery.

Barleywave yowled in despair from above, jumping down from the High Rock and dashing after them. Redstar thrashed violently, desperate to escape the grip of the woods.

Lightning flashed one last time in the middle of camp. The thunder roared with the fury of a thousand lions, and Redstar heard the wicked screech of dying tendrils. The ones that caged Redstar unravelled from her and retreated into the darkness like frightened rats.

Redstar wrestled to her feet. In the middle of camp, Barleywave was sitting still.

She limped towards him, and stones replaced her stomach.

A chunk of burnt tendrils had been severed from the colony, dead. Their remains were still wrapped around Warblerkit, his body now still.

The rain poured lighter.

Barleywave broke into a sob. He desperately ripped off the chunks of burnt vines from his son's body. He wrapped himself around him, and wept.

Redstar stared at the scene, numb.

One of Olive’s kits was fed to the woods, but Warblerkit was struck by lightning – dead in an instant. Was it a mercy from StarClan? Did they refuse the woods their vengeance?

The world moved around her. She thought she heard Iciclepool and Hopechase. She thought she heard Windfur, and Olive's distressed cry.

Barleywave lifted his head to look at Redstar. The molly could only look at him with deep sorrow.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Barleywave shook his head. "You did what you could…"

Redstar felt bile rise in her throat. She wanted to spit. She wanted to scream. She wanted to curse the land and the sky and everything that ever lived. She did nothing. Barleywave buried his head back into his kit's muddied pelt.

The Pale Herald fell silent.

---

(Redstar, leader, female, 64 moons) (Warblerkit, kitten, male, 3 moons) (Olive, mediator, female, 61 moons) (Windfur, medicine cat, male, 19 moons) (Barleywave, warrior, male, 34 moons) (Iciclepool, deputy, female, 61 moons)

Olive was in dismay. Yes, she lost a kit. She felt her heart sink horribly. But two. Two of her kits were alive. At the cost of Warblerkit and one of her own. She sobbed as her two remaining kits mewed in distress. She didn't want to name them. Not yet. [CONDITION: QUEEN'S GRIEF]

(Olive, mediator, female, 61 moons) (??? Brown pelt, newborn, female, 0) (??? Lilac pelt, newborn, female, 0) (Warblerkit, StarClan cat, 3 moons) (Pebblekit, StarClan cat, 0 moons)

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spideyhexx · 3 months ago

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oct. 24 - bloody, bliss, belt and billy

Saccharine!Billy Bonney x FemaleReader

mdni!!! wc; 3.4k cw; guns, death, blood, bloodplay, fingering

kinktober 2024 masterlist

saccharine masterlist (this is standalone!!!)

a/n; very happy to bring saccharine back :) i love these two so much, fyi some dialogue is taken from s2ep5!!! Enjoy you lot and preemptive apologies ig

Fuck Buckshot. Like seriously, fuck him. And Murphy. And Jesse. And the whole lot of those guys who are after your Billy.

Not yours. Yours in theory.

He doesn’t know yet.

They are after you too and all of the guys who run with Billy, but you couldn’t give a fuck. If Billy the fucking Kid died at one of their gross hands, you would be seeing red until you were riddled with bullet holes.

It’s an unfortunate thought.

You always thought about him getting killed. He would typically brush it off when you bring it up to him. Billy was prepared to die and you hated it. But any ounce of the topic leaving your mouth, he would brush you off and redirect you.

In hindsight, he could give a small wave of his hand and you would be distracted from your initial thoughts. By his hand.

And thoughts of his hand.

Anyway, fuck Buckshot.

It was a no-brainer that Murphy sent him out to the hideout you and the rest of the gang have been holed up in for the past week. How did they find you all? You’re unsure. There was a rotation of being a lookout and none of you have seen any of Murphy’s guys.

You all were unlucky indeed.

Being truly scared by something was not in your blood, but Buckshot left chills in your damn bones. Not as good of a shot as Billy, but Buckshot was still good and he was ruthless. A kind of violence you only read myths about but you have seen with your own eyes what that grimy man was capable of.

Buckshot had approached your little hideout alone. He’s at a distance, but George recognized him the moment he saw the lazy movements of a man sipping from a flask while on his horse.

It’s a slow, but urgent rush of moving inside the small house after Billy. Billy’s jaw is tight. Not that you are looking at his jaw.

But your eyes naturally fall on him in the adrenaline rush of a possible shootout. It can’t be that bad, can it? It‘s seven on one, and the odds are in your favor, but a flash of Billy’s chest destroyed with bullet holes did not help your stomach.

He moves closer to the small window, and you and Tom trail quickly behind him. “Do you think-”

“Shh,” Billy hushes you and the restraint you hold on rolling your eyes should earn you a clap from him.

“He already knows we’re here,” you mumble and Billy only gives you a momentary glare before he’s watching through the small window again.

He raises his rifle, and cocks it, keeping it aimed right at the bumbling man coming down from his horse, his fingers gripping the weapon with an ease only Billy could have.

Your fingers twitch at your gun in your holster, but you don’t pull it out yet. Your shoulder brushes his arm and Billy shakes his head ever so slightly.

The nerve of this fucking man. A brush and he’s shaking his head at you. If you weren’t fearing for potential lives lost, you’d smack the back of his head to really get a reaction.

You can vaguely hear George’s words to Buckshot, wondering why he’s here, how he found you all. Billy is impossibly still besides his jaw clenching.

“I come to capture the Kid…alive or dead,” Buckshot says in the distance your eyes refocus out the small opening of the house. Your hand tightens to the handle of your gun. If Billy is miraculously not quick enough, you’ll get this done for him.

It’s annoying that you’re distracted a few seconds by Billy shifting up closer to the window, his fingers clenching and then relaxing on his gun, keeping it pointed, ready. You’re especially attracted to his finger near the trigger and the slight tenseness in his voice as he mutters, “C’mon Georgie, move.”

When you look back over, George is as calm as ever, stating his ground, though you echo Billy’s words in your head. Buckshot starts to laugh though, sending more chills up your spine. Your heart beats fast as he quickly pulls up his rifle.

A flurry of guns raising and cocking fills the air. You go to do your own, but Billy stops your hand, then returns his to his gun. Your brow furrows at him and he doesn’t look back at you.

By the time you look back out the window, Buckshot is shooting at George.

A gasp leaves your lips and shots ring out, Tom grabbing your arm to tug you down out of sight of the window. You hear Billy’s gun go off once, and twice, and the anguished sound of pain from outside the house. Your friends are getting shot.

You pull your gun out.

Buckshot yells out, “Billy! You fuckin’ coward, where ya at!?”

You peek from the doorway to asses who’s hurt, only to feel someone’s hand grip at your collar and pull you back.

Billy. His face is screwed in annoyance and he pulls you back completely out of the way as his voice booms, “Y’all stay here! It’s me he’s after.”

Your eyes widen as you process his words, “Bonney!”

“No,” Billy all but pushes at your head so you stay on the ground and away as he nears the doorway, “Buckshot, hold your fire!”

Maybe you’ll kill Billy before Buckshot has a chance. You stare daggers into him, but stay put on the wooden floor. His eyes quickly glance at you, before he yells, “I’m comin’ out!”

Your brain scream at you to lunge forward. Grab to his leg! Pull him down with you! Barrel yourself in front of him! But your limbs don’t work. The chills that went up your spine reached your head then flowed back down your entire body, leaving you frozen and breathing heavy as you watch Billy hold his hands out.

“You can take me alive,” he shouts over to Buckshot, stepping slow out of the house. Bouts of worry fill your chest and you force yourself to move the slightest bit to be able to watch him.

“Puttin’ my rifle down,” Billy continues, slowly setting his gun against the nearby post of the house. Some of the other men scatter to get into better positions and you take that opportunity to give yourself the final push to bring you to your feet.

You move out of the small house as Billy continues his small steps towards Buckshot. Your hand firm on your gun, staying crouched down enough to hide yourself and have a good eye on Billy.

“It’s just you and me,” he calls out. Your gaze stays strictly on his back, his broad shoulders tense as he holds his arms out in surrender. What the fuck is he thinking, you wonder, and you’re already coming up with ways to berate him later for this if he doesn’t get killed.

Buckshot rises from his hiding spot, then you feel a heat spark deep in you. It’s so quick, you should have expected it, but Billy pulls his gun from his holster like lightning and shoots at Buckshot, getting him right near his hip.

Billy stalks forward with his gun raised and you subconciously clench your thighs together, your back to the post, but head turned to watch every single one of Billy the fucking Kid’s movements.

He cocks his gun just as Buckshot fumbles for his gun, but the man stands no chance as Billy fires off again.

Billy’s steps quicken until he can drive his booted foot to Buckshot’s wrist as he was reaching for his rifle, “No, leave it,” Billy spits out and you find yourself inching closer to the scene, gun at the ready in case Buckshot gets an upperhand.

But who are you kidding?

You can feel Billy’s sneer almost as if it’s directed at you. His boot digs into the man’s wrist, as Buckshot garbles out a, “fuck you,” at Billy. His hand holds his gun with less tensity than you would expect, but that’s because Billy is all confidence. All of his actions are met with no hesitation and full bravado, enough to make you roll your eyes back and look away from him to collect yourself.

You can’t look away for too long.

Billy kneels down and grabs at Buckshot’s free arm to keep pressing him down, his voice gruff, “You lookin’ for me? You lookin’ for me huh?”

All Buckshot does is laugh like the evil son of a bitch he is but you can’t focus on him. The man on top of him, the man on top of him cocks his gun and he jams the barrel to Buckshot’s mouth, “Here I am.”

Billy squeezes the trigger, killing Buckshot in that mere instant. The beating of your heart almost hurts your chest as you stare at him, mouth parted and hand loosening on your own gun.

The man chokes for a few seconds and Billy removes his hands from him, panting. His head lifts and his eyes lock to yours. For those few moments Billy looks at you, you see the pure violence and ruthlessness swimming in his bright eyes. It should scare you, and it does, but it also excites a part of you that you wish did not exist. The same part of you that’s brutal.

His eyes flit to your lap, where you had not realized your hand was awfully high on your thigh. You feel yourself heat up, and move your hand quickly, holstering your gun, but he’s already looking away, gaze back down at Buckshot. You’re locked in as Billy spits on his corpse before he stands back up.

Spits.

Your eyes flutter and you swallow down hard, barely catching the sound of some of the men walking over, but when your eyes focus again, Billy’s stalking off towards the thicket of trees ahead, alone.

A push of adrenaline surges you onto your feet and you jog after him, ignoring any of the looks from the others.

“Billy!”

He stops short and you almost bump into his back. Well, you purposely let yourself bump into his back. It’s a little chilly outside but he’s warm.

A sigh leaves him and he turns to face you, his typical blank look challenges that violence still swarming in his eyes, but you center your attention to the blood on his face. Then drop your gaze to the blood on his hands. The redness shouts out it’s danger in a wordless manner, you know Billy, but who is this Billy? This Billy that kills without a moment’s hesitation and is not looking bothered in the slightest that he’s got another man’s blood on him. He must be bothered, you know that. His fingers twitch at his side and the blood on his pointer finger calls your name. His other hand still holds to his gun.

Get it together, cowgirl, you think to yourself. Fuck that, you think immediately after. You grab his gun from him and stuff it into his belt. Billy does nothing to stop you.

His brow raises. “What?”

“That was really fuckin’ stupid,” you mutter. In your head, you said it louder and with a bitterness to your voice, but no matter how hard you could try, it was not gonna come out that way.

His jaw tightens and he looks off to the side at nothing in particular, then back to you. His eyes rake down then back up to your face. The familiar chill runs through you, but not a scared one.

“Maybe, but it’s done. Go back to the guys, see if they need help,” Billy says, his voice still rough, nodding towards where you both came from.

“Haha. You’re not gettin’ rid of me like that, Bonney, you know that,” you tell him with a touch of that bitter tone you were hoping to give him. You step closer to him to almost be chest to chest. He doesn’t flinch or move.

“That was stupid. Buckshot is-was a good shot and he coulda easily gotten you and then killed all of us right after ya! You’re lucky you’re such a good fuckin’ shot too because-”

“Cowgirl. Slow. Your. Roll,” Billy says, his voice a bit lower, head tilted down enough to meet your gaze head on.

You grit your teeth. The indifference on his face makes your blood boil and your underwear get wetter but that’s besides the point, “No! In fact what was that stunt ya pulled in the house? You know I can handle my own and you grab me and pull me back? You push me away when I was gonna help? Billy fucking Bonney, how many times do I-”

His chapped lips from the incoming cold winter press into yours and you would not have it any other way.

It’s the…second? Third time he’s kissed you? It’s better by a million each time. The force in which Billy grabs your face, digging his bloody fingers to your cheeks and bruising your lips with his own leads to the filthiest thoughts you think you’ve ever had. This violent man that you deem yours, a little bloodied, none of it his own. Rugged and roughly giving you his all through just a mere kiss?

You give him back as much as he gives, pressing to him and fisting your hands to his vest, until you remember why you were telling him off and you push at him. “No!”

Billy blinks at you with a dazed look in his eyes and he shifts his gun belt, as if to hide the growing bulge in his pants.

It was that easy.

“Oh fuck you,” you grumble, stomping back closer and slamming your lips back to his. You don’t think about the blood now staining your cheeks or the slight metallic taste that gets in your mouth when you bite on Billy’s lip. His groan is enough to suffice and quench the way you were angry at him.

Still, you mumble to his lips through kisses, “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know,” he says, backing the two of you up until you’re up against a tree. His lips trail down along your jaw, nipping at the skin, his hands awkwardly not holding onto you.

“Billy, just touch me.”

“They’re dirty.”

You roll your eyes. “Billy you already touched my face, I don’t care about the fuckin’ blood.”

To prove your words, you undo the buttons of your trousers, then grab his wrist, pulling his hand down the front of your pants. For a second you’re afraid he’ll reject this. You have yet to do something as much as this with him, but your body is aching. Your feelings beyond being angry or worried about him, but feeling fucking alive at the way he killed Buckshot.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Billy the fucking Kid. Man. He’s a man.

Billy moans and leans his forehead to your cheek, his fingers dipping into your underwear and sliding against your cunt to get a feel for you.

“I would watch you kill that motherfucker over and over again if you did it that way,” you whisper to him with a harsh breath as his fingers circle your clit, like he knows your body already despite having never touched it like this.

“This is sick of you,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your cheek and lingering his lips there. You don’t point out to Billy that although it may be fucked of you to enjoy this while his fingers are bloodied with someone else’s blood, he may be just as sick for kissing near the blood stain on your cheek and promptly licking over his lips to let the blood into his mouth.

You want to call him out for it so bad, but he eases his finger into you just right, breathing hot on your face.

“Oh…fuck,” you whisper, glancing down, your knees almost buckling as he starts to slowly thrust his finger into you, and you catch the side of his bulge, more prominent than you may have ever seen it, straining to his trousers and begging for your attention.

“Bonney, can I-”

“Yes,” he cuts you off, taking his finger out just enough to add a second. You bite your lip to stifle your moan, your hand finding the outline of his cock and palming him, giving him some sort of friction that he clearly needed because Billy adjusts his arm and begins fucking his fingers quick up into you.

Billy nods to your cheek when you whimper, “I know, I know, I knew you’d get so fuckin’ wet for me, Cowgirl, but…fuck you’re dirty, fuck I got his fuckin’ blood…,” Billy can’t finish his words because he has to muffle his own noise, pressing his face into your hair and nuzzling his nose at your temple.

“You…you spit on him,” you mumble and Billy shakes his head against you, curling his fingers and massaging them in you to get you to whimper. He likes that sound, you deduce.

“I spit on him,” Billy repeat and his free hand shoots up to your jaw, holding your face up and he spits on your lips before you can open your mouth to receive it. It makes his eyes flutter and his forehead rest to yours, his fingers making quick work even with the restraint your pants give. You can both hear the sound, how wet you are and how his palm slaps to your cunt with each thrust.

He knows you can’t focus on rubbing him, but what you are able to do is enough in the moment. Your thumb rubs right at his tip over his pants, feeling the wet spot forming the more you press into it. You can barely look at your Billy, though that’s all you want to do. All you want to do is look at the man.

He squeezes your jaw and kisses the corner of your mouth, a sweeter kiss than you’d expect in the moment as you clench around his fingers and resist screaming out his name. Another time.

“Gonna come on your fingers, Billy,” you shudder, and he quickens the pace, brow furrowed and eyes locked intensely on your face.

“Make ‘em more of a mess, go ahead, please,” he whispers, a desperation wafting from his voice and his hips bucking your hand. What sends you over the edge is his thumb just barely slipping to your mouth, the taste of blood filling your senes as you spasm on his fingers, and bite your cheek hard enough to draw your own blood.

You’ve never felt this blissed out. Your legs almost buckle, but Billy presses against you enough to keep you standing as his fingers work you through the orgasm, his breath panting and his nose finding your temple again, where he leaves the softest kiss, you almost would not notice it.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, his fingers slipping out of you and then pulling from your pants. His fingers surely are a slick mess, the remnants of blood still there and the wet spot on the front of his pants bigger than when you first saw it.

You stare at him. He stares at you. Your breaths aren’t returning to normal, but you cannot look away from him.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt either,” he blurts out, referring most likely to why he pushed you back earlier.

“No shit.”

He straightens up and shakes his head. He would roll his eyes at you, you’re sure, but he doesn’t.

You slap at his chest but he grabs your wrist, “Hey!”

“Don’t ever remind me of this,” he tells you in a low voice. You frown. Was this him rejecting you? That it was a mistake all along? That he acted on some weird impulse and did not care to continue this despite the constant-

“About this part,” he mutters, awkwardly gesturing to his pants.

Your Billy.

Your lips start to quirk and he squeezes your wrist tighter, “Cowgirl, No. I said no.”

“One sentence,” you beg, even adding a little whine. Just for him.

He tries to give you a stern look, but his shoulders slump and he shifts on his feet, “One.”

Letting yourself smile, you take a deep breath, “You must reallyyyyy fuckin’ like me if you come that easily, Bonney. And-”

“Ah Ah Ah,” he interrupts and puts his palm over your mouth, but you can see the hint of a smile on his lips, and the violence gone from his eyes.

Your Billy.

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