Princes and Birthday Wishes

Prince!Tom Holland x Princess!Reader

Summary: It's your birthday, so you should be able to do whatever you want, right? Nope. Not when you're royal. Ever since you were little, there was never enough 'a princess must never...' rules coming from your mother's mouth. However a certain Prince convinces you to live your life a little more dangerously...

Themes: fluff n smut (18+)

w/c: 4k

Includes: outdoor sex (unseen, unheard), unprotected sex, slight choking

MASTERLIST

Tonight you sit, more anxious than usual, in the position that's moulded your posture ever since you were a little girl. Your mother always told you that a princess must never slouch. Well, there was never enough 'a princess must never...' rules coming from your mother's mouth, but that one in particular was exercised daily.

And today is no exception.

The 90° regal chair has your spine crumbling with discomfort, but yet you comply with the expected attribute influenced by your mother's incessant lessons on being royal. Surrounded by many alike you, you dine in celebration of your 25th birthday. The champagne tastes bitter, the food barely edible for its decadence and barely satisfying for its gourmet portions; the meals being the only thing in this room that are less interesting than those who serve it.

You discreetly glance around the room, struggling to pair faces with names and names with faces and you realise there's a substantial gap between knowing someone and knowing of someone. You peer to your sister, dressed in her finely detailed gown, sitting elegantly around her hips and shoulders flattering her almost-perfect body. You know everything there is to her especially being 3 years older, familiarity couldn't come closer to you with anyone else. Again you peer around the room, spotting the old gentlemen talking to your uncle with a sincere, solemn look to his ageing eyes. Who is that? Why is he invited? What relation does he have to your family? Should you know him? Have you met him before? These are the questions that burn your mind and you ask yourself if all guests really are as important as your mother entails. Because God forbid you invite your own guests to your own birthday celebrations.

Drowning the nerves with the glass of champagne that sits neatly in the curve of your hand, you plaster on a smile, clear your throat and make your announcement.

"Good evening everyone. I would like to express my gratitude to everyone who came today in celebration of my 25th birthday. From family members to office secretaries, and from dukes and duchesses to school friends, I cannot personally thank you all enough for the wonderful gifts I have received. Now, if you would like to join me in the grand hall for refreshments and entertainment, that would be absolutely wonderful.”

If only you could cut to the chase sooner. But, as royalty, everything you say must be formal to some respect. Your mother always tells you that whatever you say must show a degree of intelligence, otherwise you'll be mistaken for someone who is uneducated, immature, inexperienced: traits that won't be tolerated at this level of authority. Whether anyone has ever thought of you like that, you don't know. But you always do what you are told despite what you believe.

It's just all part of being royal, isn't it? Your life has been decided for you since you were able to take your first breath, and it will remain that way until you take your last.

Just as you had advised, the crowd of people slowly disperse into the grand hall as waiters and maids begin to clear the table, the murmuration of voices overlapped by the clinking of glassware and cutlery. You sheepishly follow behind, lagging behind the rest to gain some privacy in the dining hall to gather your thoughts before mingling with the guests, familiar or not.

Well, at least you thought you had some privacy.

"It must be hard," a gentleman's voice appears from beside you. You whip around to see a man of around your age sauntering closer towards you. His navy blue uniform hugs him in all the right places, multiple badges glistening and polished to a sheen on the recognisable Order of the Garter blue sash. He's royal alright, a duke or perhaps, if your luck strikes fortunate tonight, a prince. It’s a conclusion evident enough not because of the obvious uniform, but by the way he composes his elegance and stands poised with such stature. Suddenly the air is sucked from your breath as he demands your attention, reigning in the existing aura and suffocating it with his own presence until his prestige is in full command of this room and everything in it. The brown eyes are familiar, but memory of his name fails you which is a shame. Surely with a man as strikingly charming as the one standing before you, his name would come easily to your lips.

"What is?”

"Being polite to complete strangers you'll probably never meet again and who are only involved with your family because they're desperately hanging on to the idea that somehow your power just might become theirs," he bluntly remarks, plastering a proud grin on his lips. A sly snigger escapes you, blown away by his blatancy which, you admit, speaks some truth.

"You know that because…?"

"I'm not deluded by manners. It's clear to see, but you just don't observe," he asserts.

"And who do these wise words belong to?" You take two timid steps forward towards him, locking him under your glare with a slight smile on your face. You can't help but swing your hips playfully as you stride towards him, branching out and putting aside the typical behaviour of royalty since he’s already done so through his words.

He fixes his posture, arms and legs locked in and upright, as if mocking his seniors.

“Thomas Stanley Holland, Prince of England, your majesty." He takes ahold of your hand bringing it to his lips and place a gentle kiss on your skin.

Yet again, another example of a face you failed to match to name.

"Oh a Prince, how delightful!" You mock, resembling your grandmother with her wavering voice ringing through your ear.

"Now, your royal highness, would you care to take a stroll with me through the garden, which I might say, has the most impressive botanical display I have ever seen.”

You buffer slightly and the comical impressions wear off, debating whether to take up his offer. You turn your head back to the grand hall where everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, oblivious to your absence. Should you? You are the guest of honour, wouldn't people notice? Your mother won't be too happy either…

"Look at them, princess. They're too wrapped up in their own little lives to notice that you're not there." His voice hums softly your ear, hands resting gently on the curves of your shoulders, fingers tracing over the silk fabric as if to coax you into his offer. Your mind latches onto the cold sting of the insignia ring wrapped around his pinky finger before being lost in the ghost of chills that follow his breath, skimming along the curve of your clavicle. “It’s your birthday party for God sake. Leave them, they're not worth your time. Come with me, I want to show you something that is worth your time." You turn to face him. He reads the doubt on your face like it is written in words. You don't think it's possible for you to sink any further into the gentle tones of his voice, but yet, he fails to disappoint. "I promise you they won't notice,” he whispers and seals his promise with a wink. He's ever so persuasive. So much so that you link your arms with his and wander down the hall to the back garden, giggling as you share one last glance to the crowded room behind, successfully leaving without witness.

It's late and the gardeners have switched on the fairy lights decorating the trees that line the stone pathway leading you directly into the botanical greenhouse. The flowers are in full bloom and there's a majestic array of colours bouncing around every corner of the room. From the pink vibrancy of the peonies to the midnight blues of the hydrangeas; every shade lures you towards them, fingers twitching to steal one for yourself. There's a twinkle in the air with the occasional firefly hovering above the flowers, setting the atmosphere perfectly. Although it’s a beautiful sight that is only deserving of your eyes, you can’t help but close them to soak in the calm and natural aura of the room as your ears slip into the low hum of the electric buzzers hidden far in the corners and the delicate trickle of the small waterfall.

Admittedly, it takes your breath away. Mother never allowed you out here this late, 'a princess must be in bed at a reasonable hour to preserve her youth' so she says. You always hated that rule. Especially as a child where your curiosity knew no limits; you wanted to explore everything but you were never allowed. You still aren’t, even as an adult that curiosity still roars as furiously as ever, so being here at this time of night is like a whole new world to you.

"Wow," you whisper, eyes fluttering open once more to take in the botanical magic around you. “It's...beautiful."

"It is, isn't it? Spotted it while I was out having a walk through the garden earlier.”

"I've never seen it like this before, mother never let me out after dark," you cowardly mumble, sweeping your fingertips across the petal of a rose. Imagine: a 25 year old still living under the authority of her mother. He gives you a scowling look.

“You’ve never…? But…you live here.”

You shrug your shoulders, eyes hidden with shame.

“You need to stop letting your mother take control of you. You're a mature woman, there is no doubt you are competent enough to make your own decisions! You're a princess not a pet!”

"And she's the Queen! It just doesn't work like that. I can't disobey her, she'll...she'll disown me."

You can't disregard the look of pity evident in his chocolate brown eyes, nor the soft smile playing on his lips. He closes the distance between you just an inch at a time.

"Princess," he sighs, tongue rolling in the golden honey of his accent. “Life goes too quickly. Especially at our age. I understand perfectly-“

"Do you, though? You're a boy, I bet your mother didn't have any reins on you," you snap, admittedly rather unladylike but your mother isn't here to scorn you.

“No, that may be true enough but I'll tell you what she told me.”

Your heart rate picks up the pace that it's almost bursting through your chest. He's almost a hair's breadth away and you listen very intently to the words being whispered in your ear, ever so gently.

"If you don't challenge it, then it won't change you." He draws back and once again his eyes meet yours purely to see your reaction. A minute passes and nothing is said. Tom’s philosophy, or more rather his mother's, imprints a rebellious thought in your mind. Defying your mother was always hypothetical because you feared of the consequences that you had yet to challenge. You've always been the ideal, obedient daughter your mother always wanted, but what about what you want? If you are to eventually rule this kingdom, then what sort of Queen would cower and fall so easily beneath the authority of others? What Queen leads a kingdom if she cannot even lead her own life?

There's a knowing smile playing on his lips as he observes your epiphany. He brings up his hand towards your face, fingers lightly skimming against your forehead like you were made of glass as he neatly tucks away a stray strand of hair. Every gesture and every word leaves you swooning over the little mannerisms that he owns. It's the way he treats you like you are the most fragile and delicate thing, but yet knows that you are far from it; knows that there’s a spark inside you waiting to be ignited where your true power manifests.

"Happy birthday, princess.”

Just as that sweet, little sobriquet rolls effortlessly off his tongue, his head veers down and blesses your cheek with a kiss so soft, you almost don't feel it. Ironically, the effects are quite the opposite. Now that the distance between you and the Prince is almost close to nothing, a sudden, intense urge pushes you to take advantage of the moment and of his words. It’s almost tantalising how there’s only just a slither of air separating you and feel nothing more than the insatiable desire to make a move. That, and the urge to go against everything your mother has ever taught you.

'The gentleman always makes the first move, it is not ladylike to throw yourself onto them' you hear the echo of your mother's obnoxious tones swimming through your mind.

Oh yeah?

"You mentioned that I should start making my own decisions…"

"Princess?" His eyebrow perks up as does the smirk on your lips.

"How's this for a decision?”

Without even thinking, you instinctively crash your lips onto his. A surge of adrenaline courses through your veins knowing that you're deliberately going behind your mother's back, and completely obliterating everything you know about royal etiquette. The Prince seems more than willing to share this new found maturity with you, mirroring your devotion and giving even more, sinking his lips further into yours that you have to take two timid steps back.

It's sweet, giving you that first taste of independence but it doesn’t last long and you yearn for more. He eases just centimetres away from you and you look up to find his lips still parted and his eyes still closed, taking a moment to himself to savour those precious moments. In your peripheral, you see his tongue run across his bottom lip, but your eyes are glued to the bobble of his Adam’s apple as he swallows and there’s something about the natural instinct that strangely alluring, seductive. A quality you very rarely find in someone whether that be your naivety or the dullness of any other man you have ever come across.

"That's...more like it.” The Prince’s eyes open once again, finding you with rosy cheeks and a fluttering heart beat pounding against your ribcage. Itching, his hands slither around the tight corset at your waist and grips the fastenings at the back. There’s a spark of mischief evident in his eyes. “Any other decisions waiting to be made?” He pulls you closer towards him.

Tom radiates a particular suggestive tone to his words that once heard instantly attracts the newly-born rebel inside you. It drowns out the warnings of your mother until they slip into oblivion, and just like that, you take control. You bite your lip as your hands sweep away the fine lint gracing his chest.

“There might be a few,” you whisper.

“Then go ahead,” he whispers back, eyes darkening with hunger. “There’s nothing to stop you, princess.”

Slowly, tentatively, your hands slide down to find his adorning your waist. Keen eyes watch for his reaction when you guide his hand to your throat and he’s completely captivated by you. You can’t help but let your eyes flutter close when you start to feel his fingers coiling around your neck, deliberate but calculated, not too hard but not too gentle. He hears the quick gasp when the cold insignia ring presses against your skin. Gold, pressed with his family crest, its symbolism of power recreates itself in Tom as he lets go of his inhibitions, closing his fist around your neck.

“Thomas…” A soft whimper escapes your lips and he drinks it in. His lips lie just millimetres out of touch from your own, teasing with the soft sweep of his breath. You need his kiss again. Once is definitely not enough. You’ve explored too much, your curiosity isn’t nearly satisfied and you fear it might never let up knowing what it’s already gotten a taste of.

“What do you want, hm? Tell me. What has the birthday girl wished for?”

“I want…” you take a breath, “I want you to use me.”

“Oh, Your Royal Highness, I like this side of you.” A sinful smirk stretches wide across his lips before he crashes them into yours. You mewl as he melts his lips into yours, his tongue breaching into your mouth, exploring and mingling with your own. All the while his hand coils tighter and tighter. You yelp when your hips bang against the table laden with smaller plant pots, shaking like an earthquake erupts beneath them.

The Prince snakes his way across your cheek, along the line of your jaw and down the column of your neck, replacing his hand with his lips as they kiss your pulse with each beat. You are inevitably stuck with the press of Tom’s body against yours, shaking under his touch as it roams all over you, and a certain heat rises at your core.

“Mmm,” he hums. “You smell amazing, princess. I should keep you all to myself.” He seals his pledge with the sharp pinch of his teeth, sucking a blemish into your skin. Your eyes whip open when you realise that he’s branding you, liberating you from your mother’s clutches and claiming you as his own. Although you know you should be worried about the very visible mark that will be left on your neck, and what insults it’ll pay your mother and her work to make you perfect, but you can’t help lose yourself to his seduction. It’s all so appetising, so alluring, it’s delicious.

He pulls away ever so slowly, noses briefly clashing for a fleeting moment while he peers down to you, lips swollen and glistening. His hands, ever curious, circle around your waist and feel the curve of your hips as they suffocate under the tight corset. Somehow, he grips tighter and whips you around, holding you just as close as before, so much so that his breath funnels against your ear.

You stare at your reflection of the glass, nothing but darkness looming behind it. Prince Thomas catches your gaze with his, darkening by the second and it steals a gasp from you. You are simply pooling at the sight.

“How naughty are you feeling, princess?” He whispers in cool tones.

“Very.”

“Good.” Hands catch themselves on the table in front of you as Prince Tom lifts the hem of your dress until it rests around your hips, throwing you forward. The Prince behind you can't resist to feel the shape of your legs as his fingers drag closely behind, and the closer he gets to your cunt, the more visible the chills become. You release a soft mewl when his thumb trickles down the centre of your underwear, pressing into the wetness and dancing it around in circles. You lean into it, evoking an amused chuckle to swarm your ears while he watches you fall so easily for him. He knew you would.

Standing there, you can’t ignore how good it feels having someone pay you so much attention, listening to your needs instead of reprimanding you for debauchery. The Prince plays you like his own, a puppet and her puppeteer.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally hooks the thin material of your underwear and peels it away from your cunt, slowly, leisurely, adoring the way the wet material grips onto you for just a second longer.

“Fuck.” The expletive sounds like a holy berceuse in his voice. “So wet for me.” He’s almost panting at how tight you look, and he grips your hips like a vice because he’s not going to let you run away now. Not a chance.

Instinctively, he ruts into you and releases just the hint of a groan, suppressing it until he can fully feel inside of you.

The thrill of adrenaline runs ragged in your veins, eagerly waiting for what you know is coming. However, when you feel his hand coil around your wrist, pulling it blindly behind you, you feel a certain trepidation. Yet, you find it completely justified when he coils the palm of your hand around his cock and shit, he’s huge. A bead of cum seeps from his tip and your hand catches it, and with his slow thrusts, it spreads along his length. He’s teasing, you realise. Your cunt waits impatiently just inches away from him, his tip poking and prodding sparingly, but yet he thrusts into your hand instead.

“Stop the teasing,” you beg. Your head cranes over your shoulder to catch a glance, but he snakes his hand around the back of your neck.

“Patience, your highness. I’m going to take my time to fuck you.”

Your hand slips, and his cock buries deep inside of you. A sharp inhale pierces your lungs where a low growl leaves his. For a moment, he stays still to feel the minute clenches of your walls as they try to acclimate to his size. Overwhelmed with pleasure, his fingers grip around the curve of your neck and your hip, holding you down while he pushes himself to reach your limits. You're on the verge of tears and very quickly losing control over the scream that’s trapped in your throat, but you have to hold it in: letting it out would alert everyone in the palace.

He shifts and you squeal. The Prince starts to rut his hips back and forth, grinding himself against you in the filthiest of ways, uninhibited and drunk of the tight squeeze of your cunt.

“God. Fuck. You feel amazing. You feel like fucking royalty.”

His virile thrusts are torturous, meticulously slow in their movements as he savours every twitch of your cunt, every lewd noise, every moment his hips grind against yours. He keeps you hanging on the edge for what feels like hours, internally pleading for more.

Things thankfully change pace when your clit suffers under his fingers and his cock pumps harder and harder into you. The table beneath you is shaking and threateningly close to breaking, but you lack the attention to care. Everything on your mind evolves around Prince Tom and the way he’s making you feel, the way he expertly arouses a very particular feeling to pull taut in your stomach. You cry out for release and Tom responds with something similar, guiding you over the threshold until suddenly, you’re cumming.

It washes over you hard and fast. With your head sunken low against the table, your body falls victim to its instincts, squeezing around Tom as he remains deep inside you to feel what he can from the repercussions of your orgasm. It feels dirty and obscenely vulgar, but yet you’ve never felt so unrestrained, finally living the liberation of the many etiquette rules your mother forced upon you.

God, what your mother would think of you now…

“Oh my God,” you breathe. “I can’t…I can’t believe we just done that…”

Prince Tom heaves a mirthful chuckle, gently easing away from you and coaxing you into his care with the warmth of his hands. He sweeps them across the expanse of your hips and thighs, soothing them, forcing them to unwind from the strain. He graciously fixes you up while you recover, pulling you up into his embrace when you eventually do.

“I mean, we’re outside! Anyone could’ve walked out here and seen us! We could’ve been caught! My mother…she would absolutely kill me. She would kill you! Thomas-“

Tom silences you with his lips, a small smile shaping his kiss while he sinks into you. You audibly hum, sighing into his lips. When he pulls away, you seem to be more level-headed.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “Killed the mood, didn’t I?” You’re all-too-aware of the bashful, coy smirk that dons your lips when you face him again. He can’t suppress the compulsion to gently pinch your chin, and let his thumb graze over your bottom lip, trapped in between your teeth and visibly smiles at your diffidence, eyes twinkling with admiration.

Is that your heart fluttering?

“Not at all, princess. That’s just what happens when you live a little.” With the lightest of touches, he traces around the shape of the blemish he left on your neck…that you completely forgot about. Stunned, you grip his hand but his smile just stretches wider.

“I don’t think I’ll be living much longer if my mother sees this.”

Faster Gun - Payne x Reader (Slow West)

@wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​ @wrenx02​ #MendoTagSquad

Payne + 21 - “I’m bulletproof…but please, don’t shoot me.” Requested by @sufferthesea​ (Happy belated 25th Birthday!!)

Author’s Note: The first fic of my 100 Sentence prompt requests! I hope you enjoy all of these, and what I’ve done with the sentences you’ve chosen! 😁 Or... I guess in the case, the sentence you let me choose! (Line highlighted!) Please enjoy! 💙🙏💜

Faster Gun - Little Big Town

Disclaimer: Slow West Characters not mine / gif not mine / lyrics not mine

Premise: You didn’t ever exactly want a tour guide, but Payne didn’t give you much a choice. That’s alright with you, he’s about to find out you can put up a hell of a fight...

Words: 2202

Warnings: Swearing / ...ehhhh, like a tiny little bit of sexual banter

______ You walk in six gun style Put another bullet in the chamber with your smile You move in and you don't stop Till your pretty little finger pulls the trigger and the hammer drops Cold steel, gun powder kiss Livin' for the taste of new blood on your lips Your high noon is a midnight moon Puttin' every Jesse James to shame with your killshot move Love for you is like a wild west movie You always end up on the run You draw quick and your aim is deadly And then you ride off in the sun Someday I hope you find a faster gun ---

You’d never particularly liked frequenting saloon bars when you travelled. Always too much trouble for a girl like you to get into. Even in the company of someone else, your eyes still darted from table to table before you even considered settling down at the bar. Payne didn’t really care much for that, all he wanted was a glass of something. You followed him slowly, checking that everyone else was keeping to themselves before you sat beside him, satisfied. “Don’t know why you think you’re so special, darlin’ – No one’s paying you any mind.” You folded your arms with a scoff as you regarded him – considering the kind of vulgar commentary he’d been running as he escorted you, you were sure at least one person in here thought you were worth the attention he was giving. Even when it was unwelcomed. He wouldn’t be your first choice of escort. You just happened to be a victim of circumstance. Payne had caught you off guard, repacking your things after your night at camp – and you knew he was trouble from the second you saw that smug little smirk; “Well, well, what do we have here?” You were a quick draw, but unfortunately his gun was already cocked and aimed at you. You narrowed your eyes at him, “Why don’t you just move on-!?” “And leave a girl like you all alone out here?” He gestured, not daring to take his eyes off you just in case you ended up being a decent shot, “Why don’t you let me escort you.” He didn’t expect the venom in your spat reply; “Fuck you, I’m fine alone. Probably better that way.” Your eyes traced him for a moment; he certainly looked like a whole lot of trouble. “Now, is that any way to talk to someone who is offering safe passage West?” “I don’t need your help!” You said, through gritted teeth. But it was obvious neither of you were going to budge on this. “We appear to have reached an impasse, darlin’.” “DON’T call me darling-!” That only riled you further, but apparently it only amused him. “Well you got two options, you come with me – to wherever you’re headed… or I could just kill you.” You raised an eyebrow; “Yeah, I’d like to see you try.” Although if you were honest you didn’t see the point of coming all this way just for some opportunistic asshole to shoot you. Still, neither of you were giving an inch, so you decided to be the bigger person and holster your pistol, taking it just a little on faith that he wouldn’t actually just kill you now. He didn’t, and placed his own away. You were still watching him warily as you mounted your horse. “So, where’s a pretty thing like you headed, anyhow?” You shrugged, ignoring the ‘compliment’; “Maybe the mountains… maybe I just want to know what’s beyond them.” Although your eyes flicked suspiciously to him; he better not think he was taking you all the way there. “Why would you want to escort me?” “I wouldn’t mind the company-” Your eyes narrowed and you cut in sharply before he got any further “If you think for one second that I-” “Ah! Now there’s an idea.” He smirked, and then laughed at your expression; “Now, I don’t think I caught your name, sweetheart? I’m Payne.” “Y/N.” He liked that, but not the glare you were giving him, “And I’m NOT your sweetheart.” “Can’t blame me for trying…” He urged his horse to fall inline with yours; “I think we’re gonna be good friends, Y/N.” You hated that he insisted on giving that slightly sexual edge to your name, and gave it about 2 hours before it pissed you off enough to want to kill him. Irked you even more that Payne suggested you’d be ‘friends’. Instead you kept your gaze ahead of you, and your voice steady; “We’ll see.” You constantly let him know that you weren’t overly impressed with your predicament, and for the first couple of days you were cold and distant. Payne liked running his mouth, and you were very nearly the opposite until you could trust someone to tell them anything. Obviously it was wise not to trust him as far as you could throw him. “Not very talkative are ya?” As if to prove his point, you responded only by shooting him a look. But as you were forced to spend your time with him, you found yourself warming to Payne’s ways. He still annoyed you, but you found yourself at least partial to liking him. And the more you found your attitude changing, the more talkative you got. Which pleased him no end. He was something of an awful flirt though, and you revelled in the opportunity to coldly shut him down when he took it a step too far. Payne never slipped into anything more than words, which was a good choice on his part (and he knew it) because you’d have killed him on the spot, even if you had to do it with your bare hands. Still, he noticed that in groups of people you were always uneasy, how you’d move a little closer to him. Payne never asked why that was, and he wasn’t sure you’d respond to him even if he did. Especially as on the times you’d both run into trouble you were a quicker shot than even he was. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed – but it was yet another question Payne wouldn’t be voicing. Who’d taught you to be that good? Why would a girl like you ever feel the need to be that good? Your unease made him conscientious enough to make sure that your rest breaks in towns were minimal – but sometimes he just needed the respite of not having to set up camp. So now you found yourself at the bar, where he ordered you two glasses of absinthe – this also came of no great surprise to you, considering how much of it he drank. Having said that, he’d built up a tolerance to it, and you were more than just a little careful with your measures. “You tryna kill me?” “I’d say it was probably the opposite!” Payne clinked his glass to yours and took a sip “Mmmh. Yeah that’s good stuff.” You shook your head at him slowly and turned to your glass, studying everything from the measure to the shade of green. Before he nudged you, “Look, Y/N! Will you just drink the damn thing or I’ll do it for you!” “I’m getting to it!” You pushed him back with a smile, “Give a girl a sec-!” As you continued laughing to yourselves, you’d created quite the stir in the rest of the saloon. It was quiet between tables – and now your guard was down and you were drinking. See, the reason you were so wary of everyone else was you had a substantial bounty on your head. A lot of people you’d had the misfortune to meet knew this – and there wasn’t one that wouldn’t take advantage of the opportunity to take such a bounty for themselves. Considering you knew Payne was a bounty hunter (one of the many things he’d casually mentioned during your many conversations) you were surprised he didn’t know. Or that wasn’t the reason he’d picked you up in the first place; either that or he was playing the long game, and if he was you were impressed. The whispers began to stir, and although you were listening to your companion you were aware of the strange hostility suddenly building in the room. Ah, shit. The hand not tipping your drink back reached to click the safety off your pistol. Payne clapped his hand to your shoulder; “Thata girl!” causing you to almost spit the bright green alcohol all over the bar. You swallowed with a cough and were about to turn to him to offer your sarcastic thanks, when in the bottom of the glass you caught the reflection of movement behind you. “SHIT!” You exclaimed, slamming the glass on the bar you whipped around – your shot rang out, but he wasn’t alone. You realised maybe a little too late that the whole saloon was up on its feet. You have GOT to be kidding-!? But you didn’t have much time to think beyond your trigger finger and your bullets flew in rapid succession; before you ran out of them and immediately turned to Payne – who was both stunned and useless. Snatching his gun (thankful it was loaded) you dispatched a few more, movement across the bar allowing you to dodge flying bullets and take a little bit of cover whilst collecting further scores of loaded weapons. All the while you noticed that Payne would rather sit back and watch; and wasn’t taking any fire himself. That only lead to you jumping to obvious conclusions; Asshole! I KNEW IT! The last shot rang out and the final body collapsed onto the floor; you stood shakily and brushed yourself down, blowing out a breath. “What a mess…” “Fucking extraordinary, though.” Your eyes flicked to Payne, still sitting on the bar stool – eyes wide and slow blinking as he surveyed the damage. Your pistol arm shot up immediately to turn his own gun straight at him. Payne bolted from his seat hands up; “WOAH! Y/N! Don’t take this the wrong way-!” “You expect me to believe you didn’t have something to do with this-!?” “Why would you think that-!?” “They didn’t appear to be shooting at YOU!” The accusation in your voice was apparent. “They were all so interested in you-!” As you kept walking towards him he paced backwards; he had no line of defence. “How did so many know I was going to be here, huh?” “That’s bad luck! That’s not on me, when have I had time to tell anyone?!” “You have a group, that’s what you said…” Your eyes flashed and your finger didn’t falter on that trigger. Payne inclined his head, yeah he had a gang, but he hadn’t seen them for a while since he was busy with you. Then his eyes flicked back to the barrel of the pistol, realising there were more pressing issues at hand. “But you wouldn’t want to waste a bullet, right?” You raised an eyebrow; “Huh?” He grinned, “I’m bulletproof…but please, don’t shoot me.” Then cleared his throat; “I mean, that’s not something you have to test – you should know it’s the truth.” He waved his hands towards everyone else, “They all knew, that’s why they didn’t bother.” You very nearly laughed, but instead kept walking, hand steady; “Uh huh. Which is why you don’t want me to shoot you?” “Like I say, waste of precious resources… clearly you need ‘em.” You were a few steps from him now, hard look in your eyes that he couldn’t place. Angry and powerful; and had certainly just proved yourself a formidable force. “I’m impressed, though.” You didn’t think he needed to voice it, behind the slight fear in his eyes that you were quite capable of pulling that trigger, his expression said it all; fairly soon it faded to a cocky little smirk; “So, you have a bounty!” “Yeah.” By now the barrel of the gun was against Payne’s chest, and he had to be very careful with his choice of words if he didn’t want to end up like the rest of the patrons. “I do.” “Well, I don’t know about that, but I suggest that maybe you aught to tell the guy you hired as an escort that kind of information before he took you all the way across the West, huh?” You flashed a smirk of your own; “Wow, tell a bounty hunter I have a bounty. Sounds like a smart move for a girl trying to be careful.” By now the metal was digging into his skin, and Payne really had to hope against hope that you were being playful. You drew a breath, and that smirk become a sweet smile, blink bringing your eyes back to the gentle warmth he sometimes caught a glimpse of; “It’s good I like you.” “Oh? Why’s that?” Payne didn’t need to ask, because suddenly you’d yanked him to your lips by his coat. Your grip was strong, and even if he’d have wanted to Payne couldn’t have pulled away. Instead he went where you dragged him, arms winding around you and hands firm on your body – you knew he wouldn’t leave them respectful. You didn’t give a damn though; right now you wanted him wherever he’d place them and the kiss became hot, hungry and passionate as you backed him into the bar. He growled into the kiss, pulling back for just a second, eyebrow raised. That smug smirk of his hasn’t really dissipated; “So that’s how it is, huh?” His eyes flicked to the back of the room, and that look on his face became suggestive; “Y’know… this place has guest rooms.” You sighed with a gentle head shake; “Payne. Just shut the fuck up for once in your life and keep kissing me, damn it!”

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