Billy’s Baby

[billys-baby]

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 coming soon...

𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 slow ride - drabble - f!reader middle of the night - drabble - f!reader ‘what would your daddy think’ - f!reader delectable - f!reader

𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚊 / 𝟸0+ / 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 ~ 𝚕𝚎𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚍𝚘 '𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜' 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

[notgaybuckybarnes]

TOM BLYTH Wasteman (2025)

[zeglythpics]

TOM BLYTH on the set of Billy the Kid S3 (2025)

[billys-baby]

Billy the Kid x fem!Reader smut warnings: smut, oral (f!receiving), upperclass reader (again, I'm loving this trop atm), risk of getting caught

“Mmh— Billy, not here, it’s too risky.” 

His wandering hands continued their steady path, calloused fingers catching over the filigree embroidery of your bodice, the curve of his lips against your own enough for you to realise he found the proposition at least the slightest bit funny.

“If you don’t like risk, sweetheart, you shouldn’t be messin’ about with an outlaw, should you?” 

Your retreat from his lips was intended for reprimand, the soft scolding already poised on your tongue. Billy, however, had always been an opportunist, seizing the distance to bend and catch the fabric of your skirts, bunching the material roughly, hauling it together as he might rope so that his hand may vanish beneath more easily.

His fingers found their mark, curling sweetly, succinctly, to find the evidence that you were enjoying this far more than you should be, given the party beyond the door. 

“Tell me to stop, and I stop.” His mischievous edge dissolved with the rasp in his tone, lips lowered to the shell of your ear so that he might press closer still, the warm pad of his palm pressing more firmly to where you needed him most. 

“I— no, please,” it was a struggle to so much as wet your lips. “Just, quickly. Please, Billy—” 

His smirk returned, broken only as he lingered against your cheek in a kiss, then your jaw, then your throat, each one slower than the last. He drew in a deeper breath there, as though seeking a fix of his favoured drug, the scent of you beneath your delicate perfume breaking through more insistently now. 

“Be quiet for me, carińo.” 

You could do little more than nod, fingers finding his hair, aiding his slow descent to his knees, the gathered fabric concealing him, your weight against the desk – your father’s desk – as his lips pressed so reverently against the curve of your thigh. His fingers sought new purpose, pressing slowly, curling, one followed by the other until your cunt took them to the knuckle, rough from hard labour, now toying so delicately with the spot he knew would make you mewl, his quiet challenge to your composure. 

His lips, as attentive as they had been to your own, fixed themselves quickly, as promised, offering little adjustment. Sucking at the ridges of your clit like a man starved, lapping with all the frivolity of a puppy as if this were for his own pleasure, irrespective of your own. 

“B-Billy—” 

One hand clamped over your mouth, a desperate attempt to stifle the sounds drawn from your chest by his dexterity, breath catching against his precision. The other moved blindly to him, finding the rough outline of his presence beneath the cloth, close enough to feel, not close enough to control, pressing him closer, regardless. 

There was no denying the way your walls pulled him deeper, desperate in truth for the stretch only he could offer. His tongue flattened, lapped, swirled – every flick draining the control from you, undoing you precisely. You could feel him melting against you, his own groans barely muffled by the fabric. It was obscene, the cover – as if anyone who walked in could not tell at once what was happening – but as the crook of his fingers urged another spasm of your cunt, there was little concern left for reputation, nor for your father’s disapproval.

If he had wished for you to remain sweet, he should never have employed such a man.

The slurp was positively salacious, beyond the border of indecent, and you knew you were soaking his chin. The image of the glisten of his skin developed against your closed lids, the harsh suckle against your bud, the reverberation of each depraved groan, the ragged force of his fingers urging the tension in your stomach tighter, tighter still, until you snapped, teeth baring into your palm hardly suppressing the broken sob of his name, fluttering around the rough pads of his fingers. He allowed mercy, slowing, twitching just barely against the abused muscle. 

He emerged flushed, just as you imagined yourself to be, his chin still damp and glistening. That same self-satisfied grin lingered on his features as he accepted your handkerchief from trembling fingers, buffing at the evidence of your slick on his skin. 

“Delectable, darlin’” 

𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[mirasmohan]

exothermic reaction

billy the kid x fem!reader

warnings: fingering, penetrative sex, overstim, alliteration, bad science metaphor (?)

thinking about hot, heavy days with billy. these afternoons that tumble into evenings into nights where he spends more time than you can conceive working you open on thick fingers, prodding aching pleasure from spaces in your body you didn't even know existed. though overzealous, the overstimulation is (mostly) in good faith. it doesn't prevent the burn of the stretch when he enters you, but it does ease it. maybe it's because your mind is too fogged to register much at all, never mind a little bit of pain. he fucks you in earnest, the sticky slide and slap of his sweaty front against the backs of your pleasure-slicked thighs desperately lewd in a way that would have you both blushing if the ability to think hadn't drifted far, far away long ago. when he works another, innumerable orgasm out of you with the skilled strum of calloused fingers over your swollen clit, he has to jerk his hands from where they've been to grip at the plush fold of thigh into hip. you're writhing to and away from him in the uncertain way you always do, unsure if you can handle more but frantic to try, and the onus falls to him to decide - to make you take it. with a palm on your lower belly, he presses your arching back down and forces you to feel the way his cock drags against your insides once, twice, three times more before he's grinding deep with a crackling, broken moan. he rests there for a moment, listening to the slowing heaves of your breathing, and smiles against your flushed skin. it's inevitable that you'll be half-asleep by the time he works up the motivation to pull out and clean you both up, but he's okay with that for the feeling of a few more minutes of your bodies exchanging heat as sweat cools on your skin, like you're meant to keep each other at equilibrium.

[billys-baby]

beautiful

[billys-baby]

Billy the Kid x fem!Reader smut warnings: smut, oral (m!receiving), upperclass reader, slightly rough billy, gagging, mild corruption kink written for @toastiecrumble

“Ah– doll, you don’t have to, I–” 

“What if I want to, hm?” 

It took little more than the deliberate flutter of your lashes and a slow, warm kiss left on the strained fabric of his trousers for him to relent. The rigid self-composure that had carried him through the evening’s party, thrown by your papa to so graciously welcome his new partnership, finally gave way, collapsing with a rumble from his chest. The very picture of him, uncouth, his pupils steadily blooming in the dim light of your bedroom. 

Rough fingers combed the loosening strands of hair from your forehead as you worked at his belt. Your head turned just enough to press a lingering kiss into the warmth of his palm, slow, indulgent, hardly proper – the tip of your tongue skimming just barely across his skin, teasing at what you wanted most.

“Gonna be the death of me, cariño.”

His hips lifted impatiently, giving you room to tug the fabric from him, cuffs catching briefly at his ankles before you pushed them aside with more haste than grace. You settled onto your knees as comfortably as you could, the hardwood biting beneath you even through the rug and now crumbled layers of your dress.

“What would your daddy say,” he murmured, voice rough with amusement as his hand returned to the mattress (far softer than he was used to, you were sure) balancing himself against his palms as if the slow drag of your nails against his thighs were enough to hold him on the brink, “if he knew you had me up here like this, huh?”

You considered him for a moment, half bare, twitching and erect against the cheap shirt he could afford, achingly pretty in a way that called to the depths of your own depravity — to your desire to be entirely ruined by your outlaw boy.

“Nothing good, to be sure.”

His smirk mirrored yours, dropping with the last of his composure as your lips closed around his leaking tip, fingers enveloping the base of him, urging your throat relax. The heat of him against your tongue was maddening, the erratic throb of his arousal enervating, toying with your impatience to have more of him. 

Each bob of your head took him deeper, measured breaths forced through your nose with the effort. His rough fingers tightened steadily against your scalp, the strands of hair acting as his anchor as he worked you lower, barely tempering his restlessness until his hips bucked of their own accord. 

“Oh, fuck—” 

The wall of your throat contracted against the intrusion, saline slick coating your tongue to match the budding water on your lashes, holding your composure in place by force alone as his disintegrated with alarming speed in the palm of your hand. 

“S-sorry, doll,” his breathing quickened, the resolution in his apology diminished by the next roll of his hips, meeting the back of your throat again, fingers tightening to fix you in place. 

You didn’t mind one bit. 

“S’ goddamn pretty like this.” The resonance of your groan seemed to satisfy, each broken reverberation drawing him closer. “My lil’ lady.” 

Each word punctuated by a less rhythmic stutter, the effort of his pleasure evident in the thickened drawl, the heavy twitch of him against the roof of your mouth. He never was so pretty as when he was fighting so tenuously between respect and debauchery, exploiting the wet heat of your tongue, pressing himself deeper with barely veiled consideration for the effort it took to accept him without retching.

“Shit, gonna–” 

You didn’t need his hand to guide you lower this time, to press him against the barrier of your throat until your nose brushed the thick curls of hair at the base of him so that your senses were so utterly commandeered by him, fighting the spasm as he spilt, thick and warm and satisfying, coating your tongue. 

“Fuck—.”

𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[billys-baby]

[billys-baby]

Billy the Kid x fem!Reader smut warnings: soft smut, somnophilia, dub-con i guess?

He knew better. It was late, and knowing you as he did, it was highly likely you had only just drifted off, having forced consciousness waiting for him to return safe until your eyes surrendered at last, the lamp left to burn itself out.

And yet, with you looking so lovely, your cheek pressed softly into the worn pillow, your nightgown gathered in delicate disarray about your thighs, how, truly, was he meant to resist?

You took him so perfectly even in half-conciousness, hips shifting instinctively, pressed thighs tightening only momentarily, dragging a broken whimper from his chest as he seated himself fully. It was frankly obscene how diligently your body responded, even in its state of unconsciousness. 

“Billy?” 

He shushed you gently, his fingers sweeping disordered strands from your forehead, tenderness balancing the intrusion, easing the tension that has settled in your shoulders as you woke slowly, struggling against your somnolence, caught between threat and dream. “‘S me, doll,” he murmured, voice catching as you shifted comfortably, drawing a quiet, strained breath from him. His hand tightened on your thigh. “Couldn’t help myself… ’m sorry.”

You answered him with a soft, drowsy sound, your hand reaching awkwardly to cradle his cheek. Your thumb brushed slowly over his lips, tugged between the plush until it settled behind his teeth, heavy against his tongue with the first slow roll of his hips, drawn as far as he could muster for fear of slipping from your cunt after the effort of seating himself. 

“Take what ya need, baby.” 

His body acted of its own accord, pressing forward far more roughly than he intended, forcing the unsteady breath from your lungs, your eyes shutting again not with drowsiness but the sudden fullness. His lips parted, your thumb falling from his tongue and gripping for his hand, your fingers slipping quickly into his, enclosing them as though to anchor him – as though anything might steady the tremor that coursed through him as he drove his cock into the glistening slick that drooled down the back of your thigh to the sheets, a mimicry of the drool still dampening the pillow beneath your cheek from your brief sleep. 

“Jus’ relax, cariño–” his gaze fixed on the stretch of your lips around him, your walls suffocating his length, grinding intuitively to pull him deeper, so desperate, “I got you.” 

You only whimpered in response. 

𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[geminibsworld]

i’m growling?????

[milliesfishes]

i desperately need more of billy being pampered: billy is having a hard time sleeping, and reader cuddles and kisses him until he falls asleep.

౨ৎ꣑ৎyou help billy fall asleep౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid large text version here!

Holding up your needlework to the candlelight, you smiled fondly at the design. Flowers stitched along the neckline of your dress with blue thread you thought matched Billy's eyes. These little pieces of him kept you company for all the time he spent away from him. You treasured whatever he was able to give, even if it was in memories.

He told you a thousand times not to wait up, that he wanted you to get rest more than he wanted you to greet him. You couldn't bear to get in bed without him; the routine of changing your clothes together and getting under the covers gave light to the candle in your soul. It was those moments that affirmed him as yours.

On the days he was afforded time off, you cherished him, showering him in kisses and keeping him in bed far longer than was sensible. Some of your favorite memories were laying on the too-small mattress, cheek pressed to his smooth chest, his scratchy chin on your forehead.

It was never your premonition to wish the day away, but you couldn't help your excitement whenever the sun began to set. He would start riding home just before, hopefully to make it home before dark.

When you heard his horse outside, you stood, going to the stove to dish up his dinner. When the door swung open with a loud creak, you smiled, concentrating on your task.

"Gotta fix that," he muttered. You could picture him hanging up his hat and coat, shaking snow off his shoulders.

In moments, you felt a warm pair of arms around your waist. Giggling, you leaned into his chest. "How are you?"

"Good." He kissed your temple, nestling his chin into your shoulder. "Missed you. Wish you were here and there."

"Me too." You turned around, threading your arms around his neck. "Are you okay?"

Billy kissed your nose. "I am. I am." He grinned, rubbing his thumbs up and down your waist. "How's my girl?"

"I'm good. You want some dinner?"

"Smells good." He kept his hands on you when you turned around to retrieve his plate. He sat down and drew you to sit on his thigh, one arm around you while he ate.

"Billy, this isn't practical," you laughed, kissing his cheek. "I'm going to go finish my sewing."

"Sweetheart," he pouted, and you succumbed to the look in his eyes.

You delighted in what he told you between bites, about the cat who was expecting kittens soon and how often the other ranch hands complimented the lunches you packed for him. He cleared his own plate once he finished and sent you off to prepare for bed.

Donning the pretty nightdress he so adored, you got into bed and watched him trek inside, kicking off his boots and pants. His shirt came off too, and you reached for him when he turned around.

He smiled, but you could see the weariness behind it. When he laid down, he let out a sigh, and you turned onto your side. "Hmm?"

Billy shook his head, drawing you into his chest. "Just tired."

You settled your head onto his chest, stroking your fingers up and down. "Close your eyes, dearest."

His arms tightened around you, like he was holding a teddy bear. Billy inhaled deeply, tracing his finger over the neckline of your nightdress. He was asleep in minutes, his chest rising and falling slowly.

[billys-baby]

Billy the Kid x fem!Reader smut warnings: smut, praise, mild size kink, piv sex, lazy sex/riding, fem!reader, soft dom Billy

“F-fuck, Billy—” 

“That’s it, atta girl.” 

A slow bead of sweat traced the edge of your collarbone, slipping to saturate the crumpled shift clinging to your frame uncomfortably. Each languid roll of your hips drove him deeper still, shaping him to the curves of your body, whittling away at the edges of your sanity – stretched thin already by the summer heat. 

“I can’t—” 

“You can.” The hard line of his voice softened, liquifying with the softest exhale, pulled from his ribs with another reflexive shift of your hips. “Done s’well already, ain’t you?”  

Your nod was unsteady at best, the movement stuttering with each flutter of your cunt, the strained muscle yielding to his stretch. It was too suffocating to move more than this, propped as you were against the plain of his chest, fingers bunching at the clammy fabric of his shirt, barely unbuttoned in the sluggish rush that had you saddled in his lap, thighs caged by his palms to keep you slipping from the rickety kitchen chair. 

He had only sat for the comfort of a glass of water. 

Calloused fingers ventured further, catching the damp skin, pressing the worn lace hem higher so that he might find purchase at the juncture of your hip, thumb pressing into the fold, vice-like, enveloping the bone, dragging you more decidedly onto his length and back again, urging the fervent undulation of your body against his. 

You had passed the point of restraint, limited only by the oppressive humidity, heat clinging to your skin like a crude corset, driving breath from your lungs in whines too unbecoming for the open windows, accompanied in some strange harmony by the creaking wood below you both. 

The backs of your thighs were glossed with perspiration, slick against his own with every shift, tacky but unavoidable. You were too beyond the point of bliss to care. 

“B-Billy…” 

“I’ve got you, that’s it.” His thumb dove forward, dipping beneath the now-sheer fabric of your slip, seeking where he sensed you needed him most, tracing the soft ridges of your clit with an absentmindedness that bordered on torturous. “Make it pretty for me, darlin’.” 

Your fingers curled, clutching with soft desperation to his damp collar, tender mewls splintering with the tremor that arced through your spine, sending your skin a degree hotter, burning from the inside out, a syrupy slick saturating his cock. 

“There’s my sweet girl.” 

𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝