Nah, I Genuinely Find The Idea Of Hand-feeding Boothill Bullets, Like You Would Feed A Horse Some Sugar

Nah, I genuinely find the idea of hand-feeding Boothill bullets, like you would feed a horse some sugar cubes, fucking hilarious but surprisingly wholesome. It's like giving a dog a treat for good behavior. Since he munches on them out of boredome, having a handful of them in your pocket is actually quite useful. You want him to do something he would rather not do? Just tell him you've got some new, crunchy bullets for him to try and he'll be there, grumbling and frowning yet listening to you diligently.

He would actually lean down and take them from the palm of your hand with his teeth, too. Boothill knows it makes you giggle every time, so he's always ready to do the most boring shit for your sake if it means you'll smile for him.

BOOTHILL — COWBOY BUSINESS

This is a big deal, cowboy. Of course, it'll be dangerous. ... Dangerous? Well, fudge. Dangerous for who!? Bring it on, baby!

Just imagine...

...getting fucked by all your favourite men, one by one. They take their time with you, savouring the pleasure of your tight heat and your quiet whimpers – and the fact that you cannot see them.

Blindfolded, tied up, absolutely helpless you can do nothing but throw yourself at their mercy as they take and take and take. However, there is a catch. Of course, there is a catch.

Little one, can you tell which one is which? Can you name him when he enters you? When you cannot see him, cannot hear his voice, cannot feel the touch of his skin, of his breath, of his hair, of his anything – but his dick inside of you?

You have to tell though. Utter a name between sobs and hiccups. Are you trying your luck? Or do you actually know it? 

If your guess is correct, you get a reward. If your guess is correct, he will kiss you. Take care of you. Whisper in your ear how proud he is of you. Oh, what a good girl you are for him. If your guess is correct, you will have the permission to come with him.

But If your guess (how unfortunately, how truly unluckily for poor little you) is wrong... well then. Good luck coming on the next dick, sweetheart.

(Oh, but trust me, in the end they will fuck you so good, so thoroughly and so great, gods, they will fuck you so much, you will be able to tell them apart just by the tip of their cocks. They will make sure of that).

a smutty mindless boothill rumbling; fem!reader (even though it's only stated in one phrase); pretty self-indulgent; some weird comparisons to canines

N.B. English is not my native language

MDNI

Do you think Boothill pants like a dog while he's balls deep into you? Red tongue lolling out, strings of saliva drip-drip-dripping down on your skin? Do you think his voice module cracks and wheezes with static, his breath a white noise against your own shaky moans?

With each thrust, each slap of his balls – soft, smooth silicone, warm almost like a human skin, a delectable stickness connecting your bodies, – he pants: ah, ah, ah. He sings of desperation and need, but the undertone is thick with untamed, unknown and unexpected lust.

Boothill takes you with the selfishness of a starving coyote that finally sniffed out a piece of meat. He's greedy, cocky and perhaps a little too self-assured, throwing 'sweets' and 'm'ladies' and 'darlin's' left and right. But when you take off this hat of his, when the cold metal meets the silk of your skin, that's what he turns into – a dog.

He's rutting into you, movements uncoordinated and jerky, his body, a machine that's supposed to be deadly in its precision, failing him time after time, thrust after thrust, and he doesn't even need to breathe, not really, but he wheezes and whines, and groans, and almost coughs with the phantom feeling of pleasure creeping up his broken throat.

And if you look up at him, he'll smile down on you, all teeth, a crooked cut across his face, a feral display of desire to bite and rip apart. But that's what he's about – all bark.

Boothill laughs, the sound of it almost hurting your ears, and he's handsome and wild and perhaps a little fucked in the head, but you've never been more enamoured with a man before. And when he starts moving again, his brows drawn together, eyes hazy yet all-seeing, gaze heavy with lust yet all-knowing, his hot mouth close to your face, saliva hitting your cheeks, nose, forehead – that's when you know that between the two of you you are even crazier.

Because you'll definitely stay here, in his bed, come morning. You'll take the coffee he'll make for you and wear the hat he'll generously clap on your head. You'll let this scoundrel of a man whisk you away – and to hell with it all if you won't let him fuck you like this again and again.

'Atta girl'.

So, people seem to love werewolf Wriothesley and yet nobody has made him a werewolf? The two-meters-tall-monster kinda werewolf? The long-snout-and-sharp-fangs kinda werewolf? The actual kinda werewolf? With furry body, yellow eyes, dripping saliva and smelling of a wild dog?

That's very disappointing...