#I never have and never will play LoL but I love this one fuzzy man so so much | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nicksolemnlyswears · 5 months ago

Note

hi! i just saw the ask you answered about leaving aemond out and i giggled.

if i may offer an idea, what about if reader finds out where aemond goes to find comfort (the brothel) and is upset because she thought differently of him but maybe he confesses what he actually does there (tittie suckin and therapy) and she offers aemond her own comfort. maybe reader looks more like their mother and it's exactly what aemond wants/needs. he's such a broken boy with horrible mommy issues.

this is not me at all telling you that you NEED to write a fic about this. i just had this idea jumbled around in my head and i don't know how to write it myself. 😂

thank you for your fics. they are truly wonderful. 💜

pairing: aemond targaryen x hightower!reader

word count: ~8.3k

warnings: 18+, cursing, spoilers of s2 of hotd, talks about brothels and prostitutes, fingering, p in v, lactation (milk play? i don't even know what i did), nipple play, slight mommy kink (or a lot depending how you see it), talks of infidelity, slight somno, riding

a/n: it's funny that this ask was sent cause i had something similar in mind. so this came super easily to me. i added some fire to the reader cause after ep 4 of hotd i was so angry at aemond (and still am). i can't believe he did that to aegon (he's my boy of the season) not to mention what he did to queen meleys and queen rhaenys. i'm not sure if i'd be able to forgive him. @heybank i hope this is somewhat like what you had in mind!

it came out a little longer than expect but nonetheless i hope you all enjoy! also aemond is stubborn in this fic but an equally stubborn reader and i love her for it. the reader and aegon are lowkey besties because i only want the best for him lol so don't mind that. i am ecstatic for the next episode and see the fall out of ep 4.

do you know the struggle i had to find aemond's whore's name. omg most difficult part of this oneshot.

after this fic i think i need to go to church and confess. i'm sure the priest will douse me in holy water and make me pray a hundred holy marys or something.

enjoy!!

It slipped out in the midst of their endless teasing and banter. The one secret Aemond never wished for you to find out. You're strong enough to know about the others; you recognize who he truly is at his core: an ambitious, envious man, but this one secret? This one he prayed you never knew about.

Aegon and you had been indulging in the sweet wine imported from High Garden. A delicacy that made your head fuzzy and your body loose. After finding you strolling all alone through the gardens, he insisted on drinking with you. If someone were to appease him by complaining about matters of the council, it would be you.

Those meetings drag on for hours on end on multiple occasions during the day as ravens fly in to share news of the brewing war. It robs you of your husband's attention and robs Aegon of his will to live as they tell him what to do and say, completely ignoring any input he might have—as idiotic as it may be.

You meet your distant cousin midway, complaining about how boring the meetings are and how uptight everyone is, including your husband. You offer the new King honest advice disguised as flippant comments, hoping he'll accept it even if he thinks of it as his own.

"It's not like I'm the only one who indulges in the pleasure of the street of silk. Every nobleman loves to get their cock wet by those whores," Aegon mumbles as a response to being reprimanded for his escapade late last night with his guards.

The charitable King paid for the villager's drinks and entertainment for the night. It was a prosperous night for the brothel. The 'ladies' will do just about anything to get coin. Who says the King doesn't aid his subordinates in need?

You stifle a laugh with the back of your hand and shake your head at him, "Yes, but you're the King now. It's not about laying with a commoner. It's about security. There are people who would do just about anything to gain Rhaenyra's favor, including hurting you, Aegon…"

Reasoning with Aegon is a challenge. His mind spins in ways you will never comprehend, but you try to keep your cousin safe while appeasing the council.

If Aegon values something, it's his life. If he knows there is danger out there, he will hold back, even if it's for a night or two. Her duty as his friend is to keep reminding him of all the danger lurking in the dark corners of the silk street.

"I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Guess we'll have to bring them here," he laughs as he thinks of the pandemonium it will cause. "I'll have Thalia and Margery or perhaps Dorothy. Hell, why limit myself? I'm the King! The guards can have their pick of the lot, Aemond will have his old reliable, and Lord Lannister can have the beautiful Sarah."

Aegon tips his goblet, drinking the last drops of wine to quench his dry mouth, failing to notice his slip-up.

Aemond's name sends a burning chill down your spine, and your mouth turns to cotton as it dries up. As you repeat Aegon's words, your heart promises to break out of your ribcage. Surely, you misunderstood his words.

"Aemond's old reliable?" You laugh to keep Aegon at ease. Grabbing the pitcher of wine to fill both of your cups, urging him to drink more and get his tongue looser. He won't remember your interrogation by morning.

"Ah yes, the first woman he fucked. Thanks to me, might I add. He still loves to visit her. I'd say her tits got him all enamored."

Just like the women in court, Aegon prattles on and on about everything he knows about Aemond and his whore. Including how he found him laying with her just last night—naked as the day he was born, blue sapphire glinting freely under the candlelight.

Blinding hot fury courses through your veins, lighting you up in flames from the inside out. Aegon will assume your reddening face and chest are from the wine and his vulgar words. There is no use in correcting him as you urge him to continue talking.

By night's end, you are equally as drunk as Aegon. The Guards escort you both to your respective chambers, watching amusedly how you argue with Aegon about whose dragon is strongest, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. In reality, you were plotting which sibling would aid you in yelling dracarys in Aemond's direction.

You wish the alcohol would make you forget, but the sad truth is you will remember every single detail. The pounding headache you'll have in the morning will be a painful reminder of the secrets spilled over red wine.

For a fortnight, you sit and think about the valuable information Aegon shared with you. Anger burns ardently inside of you as it has nowhere to go. As a lady of the court, you're not allowed to train with the men, and as a Hightower, you have no dragon to channel that anger through.

If your fury were to be caused by any other reason, you'd find release in Aemond's arms. His aching cock stroking your drenched walls fervently. His sweaty skin sticking to yours. His fingers digging into your curves to find purchase. The low tone of his voice in your ear whispering words you'd never dare repeat and shamefully make you peak around him.

The thought makes you sick. How many times has he fucked her in such a way? Is it different? Does he let go and fuck her harder as he's not afraid she'll break?

Thinking is your worst enemy. As you imagine every possible scenario, your insecurities rise from their hiding spots. Does he love her? He laid bare with her; he must feel something if he allowed her to see him in such a vulnerable position.

The memory of the first time he took off his eyepatch in your presence pains you. So many conversations and stones of trust had to be set to get to that point, yet he did it with her. A common whore that dares ask for coin to please him with her presence.

You are different from the other ladies of the court who accept their husbands sleeping around with unknown women. You are jealous and territorial, something Aemond knew when you married. Under the eyes of the seven, he swore that his loyalties lay solely with you.

Alas, all men do is lie. Not even the noblest of men can be trusted. All you asked for was a good husband that would not embarrass you. How foolish of you to believe Aemond would be it.

Your fury grows and manifests as you observe Aemond and his whereabouts. It's hard to keep your anger at bay, but he's too busy plotting with Criston Cole to notice your withdrawing nature and emotional distance.

Visiting his quarters nearly every night tells you all you need to know. In that fortnight, you find him missing a multitude of times. There's no doubt he's in the brothel. Where else might he be deep into the night as the world sleeps?

When you ask about his location, the guards hesitate and stumble over their words. They try to save their necks by lying because the Prince continues to slip from their grasp time and time again. They are not as skillful at lying as your husband.

Having had enough, you wait for Aemond's return in his quarters. A goblet of wine is balanced between your fingers. The red liquid swirls along the rounded goblet, mimicking how your anger swirls around you.

You observe the map laid out on the wooden table. His plans are incredibly different from Aegon's. You pity the King as his most trusted advisor and Hand do as they please behind his back.

You've barely drank the wine. The goblet is merely a distraction from your fidgeting hands. You do not need the courage it provides; your anger fuels your intentions.

Old stone rumbles and sets behind you. Turning on your seat, you find Aemond emerging from one of Maegor's tunnels. This is how he sneaks out so damn easily.

"Wife," Aemond greets, keeping his composure, but his tense posture reveals shock. Your husband tends to wear a relaxed stance in your presence. You're the last person he expected to be waiting for him.

"Husband," you reply. The word is bitter on your tongue.

"What brings you in so late? You should be resting," Aemond speaks, taking off his cloak and approaching your seated figure.

Your eyes lazily move up to meet his. "Rest," you chuckle humorlessly. "I haven't been able to find rest in weeks."

"Does something ail you? Should I call a maester?" He asks, giving you a once over. Other than the dark circles around your eyes, there seems to be nothing out of place.

You're still you. Beautiful copper hair that easily identifies you as a Hightower flows down your back, and big brown eyes that resemble his mother's look back at him, although contempt has replaced the unconditional adoration that typically resides there.

His worry sickens you. His existence is an annoyance like a pebble in your shoe. You've harbored this anger for too long, and simple distaste can quickly transform into hate.

"Where were you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. He's not going to get out of this. He must face the consequences of his actions. You will not live in bitterness while he runs around doing as he pleases.

"Conducting some business for the King." Aemond tilts his head, observing your posture and the set of your eyebrows. There's an electricity around you that shoots warning signs at him.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I'm afraid it is none of your business," Aemond says with a sharp exhale. He steps away to avoid your glaring gaze, unbuckling his sheath and setting it on one of the many desks that litter his room.

"I didn't realize we were keeping secrets from each other." The goblet's thud on the table is as loud as your unspoken fury. Wine splashes on the map like blood will spill in battle.

"There are always secrets. I have them. You have them," Aemond answers, leaning back on the desk.

Your hands smooth down the fabric of your dress as you stand. Finding his calculating gaze, you say, "So that's what you call your whore over at the silk street? A secret? I thought her name was Sylvi?"

Aemond freezes, and his muscles tense. You can't possibly know. He's entirely still as if the action would stop time and give him a chance to come up with an explanation, a lie. "I do not know what you speak of," the hesitancy of his voice unveils the cruel truth.

"Spare me the lies, and do not treat me like a naive maiden, Aemond. You know how much I loathe being made a fool," you snap loudly.

Aemond takes three long strides to reach you. Reacting, you take a step back but have nowhere to go. He doesn't touch you, but Aemond towers over you as he glares back. "Who told you? Was it Aegon?" He hisses.

"Please," you scoff. "The maids talk, the guards talk, husband. It was only a matter of time. Did you think I'd never find out? Are you truly that dense, Aemond?"

Your glare is sharp enough to cut him. He fell in love with that look when directed at others, but now that it's looking straight at him, he finds it's the one thing he might hate most.

All people around him have looked at him like that at some point. Aegon. Daemon. Jacaerys. Alicent. All except for his sweet sister and you, his beloved wife.

That look alone makes him regret stepping into the brothel many moons ago.

You should've never found out about Sylvi. It was meant to be a fleeting moment, but the war takes a toll on everyone, including Aemond.

Alicent's disapproving attitude towards him after Lucerys' incident led him to the whore more times than he can count as he sought the comfort Alicent never gave him and he craved.

"What is it that whore gives you that I do not?" You maintain eye contact as your chest presses against his. Your stubbornness will not let you back away from this argument. You deserve an answer.

You thought you were a good wife. Because of you, Aemond has two sons. You provided male heirs, a nobleman's dream. You warmed his bed whenever he asked and even when he didn't. You confided in him. You chose him.

"Talk, damn it. Your scheming plans won't get you out of this one," you yell, slamming your fists on his chest. Picking a fight is the only thing you have left. You want to scream at him until your voice turns raw.

"There is nothing to say. She's a quick fuck; that's all she is," Aemond seamlessly lies, grabbing your thundering fists. His thumb rubs over the back of your hands, hoping the calming gesture will tame your anger.

"A quick fuck? I could've been queen if I tolerated Aegon's quick fucks. The option was right there, and I chose you because I stupidly believed you'd make a better husband," you scream as your cheeks turn an unbelievable shade of red.

"Wife, please," Aemond pleads as you remind him.

The choice to wed you was not his to make. It was entirely yours. Each night, he prayed you'd choose to marry him. A woman of incredible smarts and hypnotizing beauty deserved to be with a man who acknowledged those attributes, not a blundering man like Aegon, who would only use her for her body.

"Do not touch me," you spit, tearing your wrists from his grasp and pushing him back with all the muster you could gather. "How dare you try to touch me after you've laid with her? After you fucked her? You repulse me."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you spew your words. Aemond stands there, taking it all of your fury—he deserves it. What you hate the most is that he does nothing to defend himself, as if all of your words are the maddening truth.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Aemond swallows as tears fall down your cheeks.

"These tears do not stem from hurt. They are from humiliation. You embarrassed me, Aemond. Do you know how many hours I've spent praising you in front of the other ladies of the court, speaking about how perfect of a husband you've been these past two years?"

Your pride might be bigger than his, and he's done the worst thing he could ever do— wound it. Such a prideful woman will only forgive him if there's a good enough reason and with lots of begging.

At his silence, you push past him and reach for the door. "I've made my duty as your wife and given you two sons. Do not expect more from me. Go to your little whore and see if she'll perform the wifely duties you asked from me." With one more glance towards your husband, you slam the door.

It is no mystery why Aemond is in a mood from that night forward. Guards stand straighter with him around, Aegon's so-called friends keep quiet, and Criston Cole bears the brunt of it all as Aemond calls him to spar. Each passing day becomes more brutal.

You have stayed true to your word and kept your distance from Aemond. You've never felt as far away from him as when you sit by him during meals. You no longer place your hand on his thigh when Aegon throws jabs at him or smile his way when he says something worth admiring.

If you must address him regarding the children, you do so but with a straight face and without awaiting his answer. The Red Keep has turned grey as you no longer pull him through the halls between duties to find a dark corner to kiss or touch him. Fleeting moments he truly cherished.

He's losing you, and he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He's sure that you will never look at him the same if he comes clean with the truth. It will burn whatever thread is left of your marriage.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Alicent asks. They're in her quarters discussing one of the many plans to prepare for war, and yet he's not paying attention.

"Nothing," he says softly, eyeing the map in front of him. We should send our men to the east."

Alicent tilts her head and sits across from him, studying him closely. "Is this about your wife?"

The glint the young Hightower carries is missing. Her constant search for Aemond throughout the day has ceased abruptly, startling Alicent and Helaena. She rarely mentions him, only speaking about him when asked, and even then, her words have bite.

Alicen believed her son could do no wrong regarding his wife. Aemond adored you. He pinned after you from the moment it was announced that you were searching for a husband.

Alicent was hesitant at first. Marrying inside the family was a queer Targaryen custom, not a Hightower one, yet Otto insisted. Another Hightower in the Red Keep meant more power. He pushed you to marry Aegon while Aemond asked Alicent to consider him instead. She left it in your hands. It was only fair that you made the choice of who you shared your life with.

Aemond is silent momentarily, "She's upset with me." His words are short as he avoids talking about the subject.

"What did you do?" Alicent sighs disappointedly, leaning back on her chair. Why must her sons ruin all good things in their lives?

Alicent's reaction causes him to close back up just as quickly. Yes, it is his fault, but his mother's lack of faith is disheartening. Once upon a time, Aemond would've confided in his mother, but recent events have severed that trust. "My marital problems are none of your concern."

"Then how am I to help you fix this?" She asks in a knowing tone. Alicent feels the weight of her house on her shoulders. She's responsible for keeping everything together.

"I don't recall asking for your help, mother." Aemond ignores her judging eyes, moving the metal pieces around the map. He was here to make war plans, not talk about his feelings.

"Very well," Alicent clears her throat, moving farther away from her son. The gods are punishing as each one of her children drift away from her.

Unlike Aemond's mother, you take your duty as a mother quite seriously. Your children are all you have, and you cherish them equally. You refused a wet nurse when you birthed your first, and when the second followed a year after, you proceeded to do the same.

Feeding them from your breast brings a wave of emotion that is impossible to describe. The bond that forms between mother and child is strengthened by this natural action. Why do the other ladies in court not do the same? All they do is gossip and indulge in the luxuries of the keep. They have no responsibilities other than to please their husbands and care for their children.

The loud cries of your youngest filter through the door and echo throughout the halls of the keep. The babe has been incessantly crying for the past hour for no reason. Feeding and changing his nappy did nothing to ease his discomfort, leaving you overwhelmed. Nonetheless, you continue to soothe your child because if you didn't, what kind of mother would you be?

You ignore Aemond as he steps into your chambers, bouncing the eleven-month-old in your arms. He must've followed the cries. "There, there, Baelor," you coo, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing through the thin strands of pale silver hair.

The babe continues to sniffle and release weak cries. The poor thing is exhausted yet refuses to sleep. He hangs onto his mother's dress and hair, opening and closing his chubby fist.

Aemond approaches you, extending his hands to take him from you, "May I?"

You cannot refuse him. Baelor is his son, and while he seeks the pleasure of common whores you know he adores his sons.

Baelor is fuzzy and complains when he's taken away from your warm embrace, but he immediately settles in his father's hold when he recognizes him. The smell of Aemond's leather clothes offered him the comfort he was searching for.

Baelor missed his father.

"Clearly, you're his favorite," you murmur, settling down in the chaise that faces the fireplace. You're worse for wear. It's hard to find rest when questions remain unanswered, and you've lost the person you love most.

"Only till it's time to feed," Aemond says to lighten the mood between you.

You scoff, removing your jewelry and tossing it on the cushion beside you. "Great, I'm a glorified cow, only used to feed."

Aemond falters, his hold on his son tightening as he curls closer into Aemond's neck. Baelor's soft breaths tickle his neck. "That's not what I meant, wife."

You continue to stare into the fire as tears line your eyes. "I know," you whisper. It's been a difficult day.

Had you not been betrayed by Aemond, you would've sought his attention and spilled all the thoughts running through your mind so he could tell you you were being unreasonable.

He would reassure you that you're intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, cunning, captivating, and a dream come to life.

You're punishing yourself. You decided to distance yourself, and came to the horrid realization that it is much harder than you bargained. You underestimated what three years of always being together would do to you.

Aemond catches on to your apprehension and puts a sleeping Baelor on the cradle the nursemaid left by your bed. He returns to your side and kneels on the floor right by your feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the first time since that night. It's been a long, difficult four weeks without you by his side. He misses all the little things you did for him.

All the check-ups throughout the day to make sure he's broken fast or slept well. Brushing his hair at night before he takes you to bed and shows you his gratitude. Your eyes meeting his across the room, suggesting he takes you elsewhere for a stolen private moment away from everyone else.

He misses you telling him about everything Baelor and Rhaegar got up to in the day and about every new milestone they hit, suggesting they are as healthy as they can be. He misses the late nights spent tangled together, talking about what the future holds for you both, the idea of having a baby girl for Rhaegar and Baelor to protect.

"What do you apologize for now?"

"For betraying your trust. I made an oath and broke it, and for that, I apologize. It is my biggest regret in life," Aemond says, reaching for your hand. "Please, forgive me."

"Then why do you continue to lie?" You whisper as a tear rolls down your cheeks.

"That's the only truth there is," Aemond whispers breathlessly. You give him a pitiful chuckle and tug your hand away from his despite wanting to hold onto it forever.

Your nose burns as more tears spill from your eyes. Insecurity wrapping you in its arms. "Please, do not lie. Why do you want me to believe you went to the brothel for a fleeting pleasure when I have always been here? Am I not good enough for you?"

Your anger has simmered down to a smoky sadness that envelops you. Aemond is lying to you when you're the person he's supposed to trust the most. If there is a chance of rebuilding this marriage, he must tell you the truth, even if it ruins you.

"Gods, you are everything I wanted and more, my sweet wife," Aemond speaks, cupping your face to wipe away your salty tears.

He's at a loss. He's hurt you, but the pain can be remedied if he speaks the truth. How can he allow you to believe you're not enough when you're the perfect woman. His endeavors in the street of silk stem from his own damaged soul, never yours.

"I am afraid," Aemond confesses, brushing one last tear with the pad of his thumb before he retreats his hands. You stare back at him, puzzled. "It is not what you believe. I have not laid with another woman since I married you."

"Then what is it, Aemond? Because my mind has conjured up the worst of scenarios."

"You will not think of me the same," he says, ashamed, hanging his head to avoid your hurt gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" You ask aloud, and without awaiting his response, you continue to speak, "Until you work up the courage to tell me the truth, things will remain the same. No matter how much it hurts."

Standing, you leave Aemond kneeling on the floor to prepare for sleep. You glance over your shoulder and watch Aemond stare deep into the fire. When you step out of the privacy screen, he's gone.

It takes another week of agony for Aemond to come to a decision. He cannot bear having you so close yet so far away. He misses you and greatly underestimates how much happier you make him.

He hasn't been to the brothel since the night you confronted him. He barely spares it a thought nowadays. You are the only person wreaking havoc in his head.

He fucked up his marriage, and now he has to pay his dues, even if it means coming clean about his intentions with Sylvi. It was barely sexual, he hasn't fucked her since he married you, but he couldn't let go of the comfort she provided, and Alicent withdrew.

He's smart enough to know it's a farce. The women in the brothel will do just about anything if it means they are paid. But Aemond deluded himself into believing Sylvi cared about what he had to say and told her things he hadn't spoken to anyone else. She played the part well, giving advice freely and reassuring him with soft touches and softer words.

When the guard opens the door to Aemond's chambers, allowing you to enter, he instantly stands, approaching you to ask for your hand and kiss the back of it.

You raise an eyebrow at him but allow him nonetheless. The press of his lips to your skin sends a spark up your arm and down your spine.

"Wife," he greets, guiding you to sit.

"Aemond," you reply, not quite giving in to his sweet actions. Aemond summoned you with the promise of the truth. That is why you're here.

"How does the day find you?"

"Aemond, please," you plead. You came for the truth, and niceties won't do anything to soften the brunt of his words. Prolonging this won't help anyone.

"Very well," Aemond sighs, gesturing you to sit. His hands remain on his lap where he opens and closes them anxiously. "I met her when I was three and ten. Aegon forced me to the brothel because he thought it was time I…became a man."

You dare not speak as Aemond justifies his actions. You need to know the truth before your nerves consume you.

This is the tricky part of his story. After a brief pause, he clears his throat and continues, "She was far older than I was and offered something I lacked in the Keep. Comfort, solace, familiarity, whatever you want to call it. I continued to visit her throughout my youth, although it wasn't always to find release rather than someone to listen and give me what my mother never could."

Aemond avoids looking at you, afraid of what he might find written on your face. Perhaps disgust, shame, or disapproval.

He owed you the truth, so he spoke about all the details of this affair. How he liked the intimacy of lying naked with Sylvi, suckling at her breast. How she would hold him in her arms and touch him. The advice she would offer. The things they spoke about. How he rejects her when she makes any advances, thinking that's what he wants. He admits that he is completely vulnerable and free for those hours because she will have his side no matter what he says.

"Do you have feelings for her?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. It's terrifying to think he might harbor feelings for her. Such intimate acts easily allow feelings to infiltrate one's being. "Aemond, look at me."

Hesitantly, Aemond meets your eyes. Your face is blank, devoid of emotion that may indicate what you now think of him.

"No, and I never will," Aemond says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He chooses his words carefully, "She was an escape, someone to listen to the tragedy that was my life. She knew what I wanted and gave it unsolicited. I know it is not real, wife, but I was foolish enough to seek more."

The emotion that surfaces in your face is not directed at him; instead, it reflects the insecurities you have about yourself. "Did you not think I could give you what she did and actually mean it?"

Insecurities of his own rise up and make themselves shown, "I thought you would see me as a weaker man."

You're both so young with so much to learn, yet if there is one thing you're certain about, it's the love you share. That love would never make you see Aemond as weak; it would transform that quality he refers to as weak into something totally different and positive.

"You are not weak but a fool," you shake your head, reaching for him. It is your turn to cup his face to force him to focus only on you. "I know of those feelings you hide firmly, Aemond. I spent most of my childhood here in King's Landing. I watched while Aegon and the Strong boys teased you. I was here when you returned from Driftmark without an eye. I heard your cries of pain. You come off as this stoic man to everyone else, the fierce Aemond, but I know the real you."

"I am ashamed." Aemond is truthful. No more lies weight his beating heart.

"Do you swear to never look for her again? That you will come to me instead?"

"I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it by the seven. I swear it by my life," Aemond promises. "Will you return to me, wife?" He asks hopefully, placing his hands over yours, afraid your touch will leave him.

"Yes, husband," you nod, pressing your forehead against his.

Your lips find his as the last word you speak is uttered. It's been far too long, and his dragon blood is calling for you. Aemond is quick to react, moving his lips desperately against yours and pulling you to his lap.

He comes to you late at night once there are no more council calls or responsibilities to tend to. It's around that time when he has nothing to busy himself with, and the ache in his chest makes itself known.

It's a constant reminder that he is far from invincible. Pain and hurt live within him, ready to resurface at the most unexpected times.

"Husband." You greet him with a bright smile when he steps into your chambers.

"Wife," he speaks quietly, standing uncomfortably by your door. While he's agreed to come to you in his times of need, Aemond is unsure how to approach the situation.

"What is the matter?" A pout adorns your lips as you walk over to him. It's genuine concern.

Aemond stiffens when you approach him, tilting your head to assess him. You wrap your arms around his waist, searching for his gaze.

"Aemond?" You call to him softly.

"Please," he whispers with shaking hands that he places on your hips. The expensive material of your night shift is soft against his palms.

The tone of his voice and the reserved behavior tell you what he's asking for. You nod wordlessly and grab his hand, guiding him to your bed.

This is unlike those moments when passion takes over and desperate need forces you to tug and tear his clothes away. With patience and delicate fingers, you calmly help him undress.

Unbuckling the clasps of his leather doublet, you slide it down his arms and throw it to the side. The tunic that covers his chest comes off next, exposing the strong panels of his abdomen and the ropes of muscle of his arms. All a result of his extensive training.

Featherlight touches to his skin make his breath hitch as they slide down to his breeches, where you agilely untie the laces. You don't meet his eyes as you do so, giving him some resemblance of modesty, but Aemond watches intently how you treat him with such care.

You gently push him to sit on the bed, where you kneel to take off his boots and socks. Aemond allows his breeches to fall to the ground, leaving him completely naked, except for the eyepatch he wears like armor.

It protects him from the disgusted expressions people shoot him with because of the deformity he acquired as a child.

It never stops hurting.

You've never been repulsed by his missing eye. On the contrary, you're fascinated by the scar and the sapphire embedded in the empty socket.

Reaching around his head, you unclasp the leather and place the eyepatch with the rest of his clothing. You offer him a delicate smile while placing your hand on his cheek, and he leans into it.

Your touch on his raised scar eases the pain.

Withdrawing from him, you tug in the lacing of your night shift and shrug it off your shoulders to uncover your body. You had promised to offer him the same care she did in that wretched place.

The bed is covered by pillows and blankets to protect you from the cold of the incoming winter, and you mentally thank the maids for preparing the fire before they left you to rest. You lie over the furs, extending your hand towards Aemond to welcome him in.

Aemond's timidness is present, but he pushes it to the side as he climbs onto the bed and settles across your lap. Your skin is soft and warm against his, and your soft curves, molded to accommodate his children, bring him comfort.

As you brush through his hair with your fingers, you gently untie the band holding half of his hair up. You massage the silver tresses, his scalp prickling from the release of tension. He hums quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on his hair.

"What troubles you, my Prince?" You finally ask.

Aemond's head rests on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbones. One of your hands rests upon his back, drawing figures across the expanse of it, feeling every bump and curve of his spine and muscles. The other grasps his hand, pulling it to your lips to press a reassuring kiss to the palm of it.

"That title. Prince." He murmurs sadly, taking a deep breath.

That familiar scent of oils invades his senses. It's a smell he remembers from his childhood when Alicent still cared for him. In turn, his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes momentarily.

"It is a stepping stone in the hierarchy," you reply, recognizing what he implies. Aegon does not have what it takes to rule a kingdom, while Aemond years to sit on the throne.

Aemond reaches up to grasp at a strand of copper hair. The same shade as his mothers. He twists it around his finger while shifting to make himself more comfortable. "I thought all of my achievements would be more fruitful," he ponders.

It seems that ruling a kingdom falls on the eldest male heir, even if they are not fit to rule. Aegon sits on the throne, yet the rest of the council rules on his behalf. This puts the Targaryen name to shame; the fool barely speaks High Valyrian.

"Patience is key. Aegon shows no signs of changing. He will be his own downfall," you respond thoughtfully. You hate thinking about Aegon in such a way, but it's the truth. He wants to prove himself so badly but goes about it all the wrong way.

Copper hair leads to naked skin the same shade as his mother's, and for once, he can imagine himself in his mother's embrace. It brings tears to his eyes as he curls further into you, and his nose brushes against your skin.

With the pillows propping you up and Aemond curled on your lap, you press a kiss to the crown of his head. Your touch runs all over his skin, from his face to his feet.

Aemond continues to speak his mind, and you offer the perfect responses to his dilemmas, calming him when his emotions get the best of him and tears spill from his eyes.

He should've come to you sooner. You're a high-born lady who knows much more about life in court. There were always warning signs with Sylvi. She tried to manipulate him into thinking about the common folk and their ailments more than once. She would never understand that while House Targaryen is at war, there is no space to think about the well-being of its subordinates.

When silence ensues, Aemond allows himself to look up at you. You're serene as you hold him close to your body without an ounce of impatience. The resemblance to his mother is there, but he got something much better.

He got a woman who loves him unconditionally, flaws and all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Aemond closes his eyes and melts further into your touch. You hug him close and whisper your affections. This is how it was always meant to be.

That night, Aemond sleeps in your chambers. It would be wrong for him to leave after you've treated him with such tenderness. You are no simple whore from the street of silk. You are his wife, and as such, you are meant to be treated with utmost respect. Something he had failed to do but no more.

Breathy whines, wake him before the sun rises. Recognizing your voice, he wakes, looking at his surroundings for any danger. When you whine once more, he glances over at you.

You squirm in your sleep, seemingly uncomfortable. Something bothers you, but your exhaustion prevents you from waking. One of your hands reaches for your chest, and another whine spills from your lips.

Aemond's eye is drawn to the action. He reaches for the sheet covering your body and pulls on it to find the cause of your discomfort. His breath hitches, and his cock aches.

Your breasts are swollen and tender from being filled to their capacity, causing beads of milk to leak from the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Aemond briefly remembers you mentioning how Baelor has been fuzzy lately, and Rhaegar is getting older and doesn't seek you as often for food, yet you continue to produce copious amounts of milk. He has been blessed with a perfect wife and an excellent mother who produces enough sustenance for his children.

Aemond's pointer finger traces a path down your neck to your left breast. They are calling to him as his finger follows the curve of your breast up to your puffy areola and tip of your nipple. A slight press to the taught skin prompts more fluid to leak down your sides, and you hiss in discomfort.

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he licks the whitish liquid. Perhaps it's a mistake, as he's left wanting more. Aemond uncovers the top half of your naked body and leans over your chest. With one look towards your beautiful face, he wraps his lips around the plush flesh of your breast.A surge of liquid fills his mouth.

You have the sweetest milk he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Aemond moans at the saccharine taste. It is so much better than the farce he had in the brothel. This milk comes from his wife, who nurtures his healthy sons.

A loud, sultry moan spills from your lips as some of the pressure is alleviated. You're now between sleep and awareness. Your hand cradling the back of Aemond's head.

Aemond's cock is painfully hard as it presses against your thigh. He's been driven into a frenzy, your milk serving as an aphrodisiac. His hand brushes against your inner thigh to answer a rising question.

Careful fingers find your wet slit, proving his theory right. He's not the only depraved person in the room. Your body is responsive to him even in altered states of consciousness.

Your cunt is absolutely drenched, making it so easy for Aemond to push a finger in. It's enough to fully wake you from your slumber. "Ah, Aemond." You throw your head back in pleasure.

It takes you a second to take in the entirety of Aemond's actions. The pleasure coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. A loud moan tears through your throat at the realization that Aemond is not simply teasing your breasts. Aemond feasts on your aching tits.

"Have your fill, my prince," you beg as that ache in your chest is pleasingly soothed.

Aemond is eager and rough. The light stubble of his jaw sends a current of electricity down to your cunt where you clench around his fingers.

"My Aemond, good boy." He responds to the praise why sliding another finger into your tight cunny. The slick sound of your arousal accompanies the suckling of his lips.

You squeeze your other breast to alleviate the tightening discomfort and drops fall on your hand. Drawn to it, Aemond switches, and you squeal as his teeth scrape the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond ruts into your thigh as he quickens the pace of his fingers intruding on your cunny to part through your walls. The vibration of his quiet moans stimulates your swollen peaks.

If this is not heaven, he doesn't wish for it.

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair when you arch your back to offer yourself to him. His eye meets your hooded gaze and sets himself to give you whatever you please. His thumb circles your pearl expertly, and he curls his digits to hit your spot more firmly.

You cry in pleasure with your hips, riding his fingers until you come with a shudder and his name on your lips. Your walls clamp down on his fingers hard enough it is hard for him to retrieve them.

Aemond rises from your chest and pinches your cheeks with his fingers that remain coated with your slick, prompting your mouth to open. A stream of your milk falls from his mouth to yours as he gives you a sweet taste.

You believe another orgasm rips through your body as his lips press against yours to share a sweet tasting kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, allowing you the pleasure of tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Please," you beg for him, spreading your legs wantonly.

One to indulge his wife in all pleasures, Aemond pulls you on top of him, "Take what you desire."

His cock is fully erect and begging for attention. The tip is swollen and flushed a deep pink as it leaks pre that beads down his shaft.

Aemond acknowledges you've reached your limit when his beautiful wife, who adores worshipping his cock on her knees, grabs his length and sinks onto him without a preamble.

"Go on, my love, you can take it," Aemond hisses as you try to lower yourself to take all of him. His hands grip your hips tightly, urging you on. He swears your walls continue to contract from your previous peak.

"Aemond, husband," you moan lewdly. Your hips tentatively begin bouncing on him, and your tits follow to Aemond's delight.

He's mesmerized by them and how they continue to leak. Aemond mouths one more aggressively, teasing your nipple with his tongue, nipping at the surrounding flesh to leave his mark. His hand massages the other, allowing droplets to fall down your abdomen and onto your cunt.

"My perfect wife, such a good mother," Aemond mutters, praising you, "Pretty tits always full and her cunny always wet."

You hold onto Aemond's strong shoulders, your nails leaving marks across his back. Your hips grind on him deliciously as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

"Aemond, please," you beg, quickening your pace. You're on the verge of yet another delicious peak. "I want another." You'll have as many as he wants as long as he treats you with this much attention.

Aemond kisses up your neck and growls in your ear, "I shall give you as many as you'd like."

Swiftly, he turns you so your back is to the bed. He hikes your thighs up around his waist and snaps his hips fiercely. You first the bedsheets around you as Aemond holds bruisingly against your hips and thighs.

He's close to his own peak as well. Aemond manages to hold back because of all the attention he's giving your tits, but his cock cannot take anymore, especially with how deliciously your walls wrap around him.

Aemond admires his perfect wife. Your hair fans out on the pillows, and your facial expression morphs into one of pure ecstasy as you come once more. Your breasts are less swollen, but your stiff peaks remain puffy and flushed from his attention. Your cunt chokes his cock, knowing exactly what it takes to please him.

His rhythmic thrusting begins to falter, so with a couple more jerks of his hips and a groan, he paints your insides white. "There we go, all for you."

"Thank you," you lilt, biting your lip at the sensation of being filled.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss all over your face, a laugh of his own reaching your ears.

The door creaking open wakes you up, bringing the sheets to your chest, you sit up. Aemond lets the bedsheet fall to his lap, ready to scold whoever dares interrupt his time with his wife.

A small blonde head peaks in, and a big grin unleashes on its lips when he sees his parents. Young Rhaegar toddles into the room, and his head is barely seen as he stands on the edge of the bed. His tiny hands try to grasp the edge, but he's still too small to get himself up.

Aemond reaches over to bring him up, pressing a kiss on his head, but Rhaegar happily crawls over Aemond and falls into your waiting arms.

Aemond's exposed sapphire earns no reaction. In fact, the eyepatch tends to catch his son's attention more. Aemond ensured that when his sons came into this world, he would greet them as he truly is.

You pepper kisses all over Rhaegar's face, and he giggles, squirming on your lap. While Baelor favored his father, Rhaegar was entirely yours. "What are you doing here, little dragon?" You ask him sweetly.

The nursemaid stepping through the open door answers your question, "Prince Aemond, Lady Hightower. My apologies, he scurried away before I could-"

"It is alright. You may leave us," Aemond says, waving his hand to dismiss her. The young girl bows her head, hiding her blushing cheeks, and scurries away without saying another word, aware of the compromising position of the Prince and his wife.

"My sweetest, why are you up so early?" You coo, threading your fingers through his messy hair that sticks up in all directions.

Rhaegar hides his face on your chest, mumbling, "Missed you."

You gasp dramatically, facing the young boy with a surprised expression. "You missed me? I missed you!" Your son laughs and presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

"What about me, little dragon?" Aemond asks, tickling his belly.

Rhaegar cutely shakes his head with a mischievous smile, squealing loudly when Aemond reaches for him and takes him into his own arms to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar's childlike laugh pierces the air as he asks for your help.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Aemond grumbles, playfully glaring at his son as he continues to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar repeats, pushing Aemond's hands away and waiting for you to scold Aemond or something.

You watch the interaction with a wide smile. It's nice to see Aemond this calm. "Give me back, my little dragon, or there are no more kisses for you," you threaten Aemond with a furrow of your eyebrows and a pout. Aemond abruptly stops and loosens his hold on the toddler.

Rhaegar laughs and throws himself in your arms, hugging your neck. His giggles never cease. Aemond winks at you and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"How about we go see Vhagar later?" Aemond asks Rhaegar who calmed down to a drowsy state. It's still very early for him to have been up. He must've had a bad dream.

"Sunfyre?" Rhaegar gasps, looking up at his father. Aemond rolls his eyes and nods. He guesses he can invite Aegon so his son can see the golden dragon.

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" You ask him amusedly, although you agree. Sunfyre is a beautiful dragon and much friendlier than Vhagar.

Rhaegar nods enthusiastically as he babbles about the pretty dragon. You lay with your back to Aemond's chest as he envelops you both with his arms.

At that moment, Aemond realizes he feels fulfilled with his little family by his side.

it was not part of the plan to let this oneshot be this long. there is something about the complexity of aemond's character that doesn't let me write something brief.

nonetheless this was a super fun oneshot to write. it took me the whole week because i was so busy but i had been thinking about it nonstop. i think i overdid it with the lactation part but oh well!

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept aemond's sapphire, rhaenyra's crown, criston cole slander, emojis, words of encouragement, a lot of praise, virtual hugs and gushing about sunfyre and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

-nikki 🖤

629 notes · View notes

mysteria157 · 3 months ago

Text

Pairing: Sheriff!Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Summary: You have a system, and it's worked perfectly until now. But in this dusty Western town, Sheriff Nanami Kento is making things...complicated.

By day, you're the town's sweet schoolteacher, loved by all. By night? You're the very secret that drives Nanami to sleepless nights and relentless pursuits.

You're drawn to each other, so it makes keeping your worlds separate a dangerous game that you can't help but play.

Rating/CW: slow burn romance, mild intoxication, brief violence, cowboy activities?, fluff, suggestive content, eventual smut, angst, explicit sexual content (eventually). MDNI!

WC: ~12k (strap in, I guess lol)

Author notes: Hello! It's finally here! I had so much planned for this story that I had no choice but to break it into parts. I struggled a little because there was a lot more world-building than I expected, but I'm proud of the result. This will be a slow burn, so please don't expect any smut right off the jump, lol.

Thank you so much, @pmpmyread @rahuratna, not only for looking this over, but for your advice and support! And thank you all for your motivation as I put this together!!

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated.

Happy reading!

Header: myself (image from pinterest) | Divider: @anitalenia @saradika network tag: @pixelcafe-network

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Part Two

The saloon door creaks open, letting in a blast of scorching summer air that does little to freshen the stale interior. Nanami steps inside, the cool dimness a refreshing difference from the blazing afternoon sun previously on his back. It smells familiar—scents of whiskey, tobacco, and sweat wrapped around camaraderie like an old, worn blanket.

Tired eyes flicker up from cards and empty glasses, recognition dawning on weather-beaten faces. A chorus of solemn nods greets him, a silent salute to their town’s protector. Nanami returns each nod mechanically, his own gaze carefully schooled to hide the bone-deep weariness that threatens to consume him.

His leather boots, caked with the dust of another fruitless chase, thud heavily against the worn floorboards. Each step feels like a defeat, a reminder of always arriving too late or right before his goal slips through his hands, touching his fingertips like a tease.

“Whiskey,” he grumbles as he plops onto a stool, the wood creaking under his weight. “The bottle, preferably.”

The young bartender—who he knows means well—sends a knowing smirk that sets Nanami’s teeth on edge. How many times has he found himself here, drowning his frustrations in amber liquid? Far too many, he thinks, as a tall glass of whiskey appears before him like a mirage in the desert.

Nanami snatches the Stetson hat from his head, slapping it onto the bar with a force that sends a small cloud of dust into the air. His fingers, calloused from years of handling a gun and reins and rope, curl around the glass, lifting towards the bartender in question. The young man simply shrugs as he cleans a cup with a dirty white towel.

“You drank an entire bottle two days ago, Sheriff. Gotta save some whiskey for the rest of us.”

Nanami doesn’t offer a remark because he has been drinking a lot more lately. While he’s never been one to be too many sheets to the wind, lately, consuming until his vision is fuzzy seems to turn off his thoughts. He takes a generous sip, the whiskey burning a familiar path down his throat but doing little to ease the sting of failure. As he watches the strong alcohol slosh in its glass, he gets lost in its color. The flaxen hue morphs into the fluttering of long lashes and mocking eyes, of a form quick and nimble—always just out of reach.

“You’ll catch ‘em eventually, Sheriff,” the boy offers, more out of habit than conviction. He’s seen Nanami here too many times, that frustrated look etched on his face, chasing something far too fast for him.

Nanami huffs an admonishing chuckle. “Maybe,” he concedes, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “Or maybe I’m chasing the wind.”

He takes another swig, the alcohol doing little to dispel the sour taste of defeat or replace the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of justice served. But it’s all he has right now. As the waning daylight stretches long and hazy into the sky, somewhere out there, a thief laughs at the law’s futile efforts—at his futile efforts.

He downs the rest of his whiskey, slamming the glass on the counter and ignoring the eyes of patrons who dart up to him from the mild disturbance.

“More,” he demands, sliding the glass across the counter to the bartender. As he watches the whiskey pour, he wonders, not for the first time, if he’s lost more than just a criminal in this endless game of cat and mouse. His integrity, his purpose, his peace of mind—all sacrificed on the altar of justice. And for what? A town that still suffers, and a thief who dances just beyond his grasp.

While the whiskey offers no answers, it at least dulls the ache of what he can’t achieve. But that comes at a price. As his mind fades from the present, it ruminates on the past. On how he grew increasingly disillusioned with his responsibility to protect. It broods on that fateful day when a bullet tore through his dear friend’s body, losing momentum enough to strike Nanami’s badge with a dull thud—a cruel reminder of how close he’d come to joining Haibara, and how utterly he’d failed to protect him.

For a time, he disappeared, carving a new life miles away on his family’s ranch. It was quiet there, peaceful and free of the failure he feels now on a daily basis. But eventually…it wasn’t enough. It was one too many desperate souls who stumbled upon his doorstep, knowing that he would be the only one to help, that he finally decided to come back.

Not that it’s made any difference.

Nanami’s reputation precedes him—the best sheriff this side of the state, a lone wolf who gets results. His name alone makes outlaws think twice before darkening his town’s doorstep. Or at least, it used to.

These past few months, a shadow has been making a mockery of him. A bandit, cloaked in night and silence, slips through his fingers like smoke. Jewels, coins, and the like—all vanish under the cover of darkness, present one morning and gone by the time the sun rises again.

The most maddening part? It’s a woman. He’s caught glimpses—the curve of a hip, a mask of charcoal smudged behind alluring eyes, a whisper of a deep laughter on the wind. She’s a riddle wrapped in black leather, a ghost that haunts his waking hours and torments his dreams.

In all his years, he’s never encountered a more elusive creature.

He lifts his glass, ready to down the contents and ask for more when the rays of sun catch, making the amber gleam like a beacon. The flash of light makes him turn to the saloon’s grimy windows, eyes squinting against the sudden blinding glare.

That’s when he sees you.

Framed by the dusty window pane, across the street, you stand in the golden rays, a vision that seems to part the haze of whiskey and self-pity that’s been clouding his mind. Your smile always seems to make his breath catch; it’s warm and genuine and lights up your face when your smooth lips curl at anything you hear. Right now, he sees it as you bid farewell to your students. They swirl around you like an autumn breeze, their laughter permeable through the glass.

The pink-haired boy—Yuji—who loves to follow Nanami around, wobbles from around the schoolhouse, both hands on the reins of your beautiful Palomino Morgan mare, Buttercup, as he yells to you with a toothy smile.

Nanami blinks, realization slicing through his slightly alcoholic haze like a sharp knife. He’s lost track of time, nearly forgetting his daily ritual that you both share. With a muttered curse, he pushes away from the bar, throwing a few coins on the wood and leaving the half-empty glass behind.

The sudden brightness of the outdoors makes him wince, eyes adjusting to the shift, but never leaving your form. With a soft click of his tongue, Nanami’s handsome chestnut stallion, Flint, nickers at his approach on the side of the saloon, nuzzling his master’s cheek as Nanami strokes his mane and grabs his reins. The horse’s hooves kick up small clouds of dust with each step, matching the steady rhythm of Nanami’s spurs. As he crosses the dusty road, he hides his gaze beneath the shadow of his Stetson to take you in fully.

Nanami’s seen many pretty women in his lifetime. Delicate desert flowers that bloom and wither with the changing seasons. And for the sake of not being the hopeless romantic that Deputy Gojo makes him out to be, you are different. From the moment he laid eyes on you, stepping off that dusty stagecoach with determination set in your jaw and hope shining in your eyes, he knew you were something else entirely. It took him weeks to even speak to you.

Your hair, usually neatly pinned back for teaching, has come slightly loose after a long day with energetic children. A few curly strands dance in the hot breeze, catching the sunlight. Your dress, modest but well-fitted, flows down your body in pale blue, the hem slightly dirty from the grass and dirt. You stand with a posture that commands attention—an undeniable grace in the way you move and Nanami is victim to the call of your hips when they sway.

There’s a smudge of chalk on your cheek, dusty white against smooth brown skin that glows in the sun, and the slight furrow in your brow makes the side of his lips flinch to fight a smile. You’re tired—happy to have another day with children, but ready to get home and relax. You’ll probably take a bath, brush Buttercup’s mane, and try a new pie recipe. It’s little details about you that he’s learned over the years since you moved here, the small moments you’ve both shared that seem to make his heart pound faster than what it should when he’s near you.

Your beauty isn’t just the curve of your cheek or the curl of your lashes. It’s the gentle patience in your voice as you help a struggling student. It’s in your laugh, rich and uninhibited, ringing through his ears when he has the blessing to be near you. It’s in the fire that burns in your voice from ranting about yet another student leaving school to help his family’s farm, a passionate frustration that both terrifies and mesmerizes him.

The sun in this small town is unforgiving, but it paints you in hues of amber and gold, careful with its rays so as not to burn you. Nanami realized a long time ago that ‘pretty’ doesn’t begin to cover you. You’re breathtaking, in every sense of the word. A force of nature wrapped in pale blue calico and lace, stealing his breath and his weary heart with each passing day.

You ruffle Yuji's hair, taking the reins from him and nudging his shoulder to move him along, smiling as he takes off down the street towards his home. Sensing his approach, you finally turn to meet his gaze.

For a moment, Nanami feels exposed. Surely you can’t see the slight cloudiness in his irises from the whiskey? Hopefully, you can’t smell the alcohol that carries in the wind from his breath. Your smile only widens, a hint of knowing in your eyes, and his heart skips in his chest, missing a beat.

“Sheriff,” you greet him, a harmonious voice carrying a note of warmth that bubbles like hot oil in his belly. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”

Nanami clears his throat, fighting the rush of blood to his cheeks. “Never,” he manages, one hand resting on his horse’s flank.

“Still in the whiskey?” you tease, lifting an elegant brow. “My, my Sheriff, I didn’t imagine you to be the man.”

It’s easy for you to slice him open and leave him exposed to the open air, vulnerable. Nanami has never been one to be caught by surprise, but you always have him on his toes. In a gesture as old as the West itself, Nanami reaches up and removes his Stetson, holding it respectfully to his chest.

It’s a mechanical response, born from years of ingrained politeness from parents that have long gone, but it’s also more than that. The removal of his hat is an unspoken apology, a show of respect, and a moment of vulnerability all rolled into one.

He falters, unsure and throat tight as he struggles for something to say. To prove to you that he’s a good man and not the drunkard he feels like the mornings after a failed chase. He’s sure he looks like a schoolboy caught in mischief. But as he opens his mouth to defend himself, you chuckle, a rich timbre that makes the bubbling in his belly drip in thick rivulets down his pelvis.

“I’m only teasin',” you insist, stroking Buttercup’s mane, a mischievous smile doing little to help Nanami’s resolve.

Relief washes over Nanami’s face and he visibly relaxes, still not used to just how much you kid with him when you’re both together. He can’t bring himself to answer you or admit that drinking was exactly what he was doing. So he simply clears his throat, offering a gentle pat to your horse.

“Shall we?” he offers, moving to help you mount.

You nod, holding your breath as Nanami’s strong hands encircle your waist. With seemingly effortless strength, he lifts you onto Buttercup’s back, watching to ensure you’re secure before returning to his own horse. He swings himself up onto the saddle with ease, sliding his Stetson on carefully parted blonde locks. Side by side, you begin the ride home, your horses falling into a comfortable trot.

You never speak much, content to bask in your surroundings as you both walk together, but to him, just being close is everything he could ask for. He wishes he could whisk you up onto his horse and nuzzle his nose into the soft skin of your neck as you recall your day. He wishes he could smell the lavender soap you bathe with and the rosemary oil from your silky strands that he’s seen you buy at the general store. When he’s around you, he wishes for so much—he wants.

But an unmarried woman and man, both of position no less, would only garner gossip that he refuses to make you the center of. And his job is a dangerous one, filled with brutality and misery, of justice that seems to never be fulfilling, and he won’t be a man that leaves you in pain when he’s unable to come home.

As you both walk, the familiar sounds of the town surround them—the distant laughter of children, the creak of wagon wheels that pass them on the dirt road, the rhythmic sounds of hoofbeats and the occasional jingle of Nanami’s spurs, the smell of fresh-baked bread that floats in the cooling breeze, mingling with the earthy scent of dust and grass.

“How were the children today?” Nanami asks, trying to break through the self-inflicting resignation that clouds his mind.

You smile, launching into a story about Yuji's latest escapade with a frog in the classroom. Nanami listens, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he imagines the always enthusiastic boy causing a fuss. He marvels at the way your eyes light up when you talk about your students, the passion evident in every word.

As you speak, Nanami can’t help but think of all the times over the years he’s wanted to ask for more. To invite you for dinner, to teach you to shoot on the acres of his ranch, to ask for a dance at the town social when you’re sitting alone, clapping along as Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara scuttle wildly in the lantern-lit barn. The words have been on the tip of his tongue countless times, but he always swallows them back. Content to tell himself he’s doing something noble even as every fiber of his being screams the opposite.

Your laughter pulls him from his thoughts, guttural and melodic in the air, and he realizes he’s missed part of your story. It feels like a crime to not be fully in your presence.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asks, feeling the flush return on his cheeks. His mind has only wandered off for moments, but already your house is in view, the front door signaling another end to a conversation with you. Another walk over, another day done. But you’re safe, and for now, that’s enough for him.

“Sheriff, do you actually listen to me when I speak?” you begin, playful in your accusation.

“Of course I—”

“Or you just like hearing me speak?” you interrupt, a smirk growing, mirth sparkling in beautiful eyes that always make his throat dry. “I didn’t realize my voice was so alluring.”

Nanami chuckles softly, dismounting Flint when you reach the gate on the side of your one-story house. “I’m not sure I can answer truthfully, ma’am.”

You hum, pursing your lips as you smooth the invisible wrinkles off your dress. He refrains from tracing the movement of your hands as they ebb and flow generous curves that rest beneath the fabric. “So you just like me then?”

I do.

Is what he wants to answer. Because he wants, and wants, and wants.

Instead, he guides you down from Buttercup, savoring the meat of your waist between his fingers, the warmth of your body in his hands. He waits patiently as you guide her through the gate and inside the stable behind your house. When you return, he can’t help but note the subtle disappointment in your eyes, the way one side of your lip pulls in as you bite into it. He wonders if his own face conveys the same, if you can see the subtle sag in his shoulders of having to leave you so soon.

“Same time tomorrow?” you ask, eyes simmering with what he wants to think is hope.

“Because I like to hear you speak,” he unwittingly teases, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, ma’am.”

As he moves to mount his horse, you’re transfixed by the fluid grace of his movements. He places one scuffed boot in the stirrup, strong corded hands gripping the saddle horn as he swings himself up and onto the Flint’s back like it’s nothing.

Atop his chestnut stallion, Nanami cuts an impressive figure. His sheriff uniform fits him perfectly. A tailored deep blue shirt with long sleeves rolled to his elbows and tucked into denim around a lean waist. A sturdy brown leather vest creased from long days under the sun emphasize his broad shoulders. On one side of his chest rests a gleaming tin star, a symbol of authority and responsibility with a bullet-sized dent beneath the words that signify him. On his left hip, a lasso is coiled neatly, ready for action at a moment’s notice. On his right, his gun rests in its leather holster—a weapon you’ve seen him use a few times—and a constant reminder of the dangers he faces to keep the town safe.

The late amber light casts a warm glow over his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes—a man who’s seen both laughter and hardship. Laughter he gives you when he can, hardship he refuses to indulge. His Stetson sits low on his brow, casting a shadow over umber eyes that make his gaze seem even more intense as he looks down at you.

No matter how many times you are both together, you are always struck by how handsome Nanami is. Rugged and weather-worn, yet with a gentleness in his eyes and kindness in his warm voice that makes your heart flutter. He’s the embodiment of everything a cowboy should be—strong, capable, and undeniably attractive.

As if sensing your admiration, he clears his throat loudly, dramatically, the corners of his lips twitching as you blink back to the present.

You retaliate in the only way you know how. “And stop calling me ma’am, as if we haven’t known each other for a few years.”

You insist on this every single time the title slips past his lips. And like every time before, Nanami smiles softly, reaches up, fingers grasping the brim of his Stetson, and tips his hat to you in a gesture that’s both gallant and a little playful.

“Have a good night, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, mouth pulling into a small smile, heart beating like a drum in your chest, before you huff. “Goodnight, Sheriff.”

He watches you enter your home, waiting until the door closes behind you before clicking his tongue and shifting his weight, setting Flint into motion. The ride back to his office seems longer somehow, the town sounds a little dimmer as he gets closer, and the alluring smell of fresh bread he noted on the way to your house is now replaced with an enticing whisper of more whiskey now that you’re no longer by his side.

The church bells chime softly as you settle into your usual pew, absentmindedly picking lint off your lavender Sunday dress. You nod politely to Mrs. Watson, the baker’s wife, as she shuffles past with a hand on her youngster’s shoulder. Your eyes, soft and inviting to all who meet them, scan the congregation with practiced nonchalance.

Pastor Roberts steps up to the pulpit, black hair slicked with too much pomade, enormous silver rings on too many fingers, his voice booming through the small church. “Before we begin, I’d like to thank everyone who contributed to our new railroad station fund. And I’d like to give a very special mention to Mrs. Thompson, whose generous donation has brought us significantly closer to our goal. Your generosity truly embodies the spirit of our little community.”

The crowd breaks into genuine praise and applause. Mrs. Thompson, always seated in the back pew in her faded but clean dress, ducks her head modestly with a sheepish smile. Your heart clenches in despair, knowing she works grueling shifts at the general store just to make ends meet, her children practically raised by her neighbors. You’re sure that she’s only going above and beyond so her husband, who works many miles away, can come home often. She probably has nothing left—you just know it—and the thought makes your blood boil.

“Now, regarding the final sum we need,” the pastor continues, clearing his throat, “I’m sure we can count on our more…fortunate members to help us reach our goal.”

From the front pew, Mrs. Jones pipes up, her haughty voice carrying over the congregation. “Oh, we’d love to help next time, Pastor! We would’ve contributed more, but we had an unexpected expense with some…essential purchases this past week.”

She adjusts the luxurious new fur draped over her shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the irony of her words. You glare at the offensive garment, boiling blood now thickening with unquestionable anger.

Like so many other wealthy families in this town, the Jones are always eager to flaunt their excess, parading their luxury with heartless disregard for those who sacrifice their last penny for the common good. Content to take what they want, they turn a blind eye to those who truly need help, their indifference as cold as the coins they keep to themselves.

To others like them, poverty is a personal failing. In their minds, if people like Mrs. Thompson would try harder, work longer, or simply stop being sad and hungry out of sheer will, they too could reach the heights of wealth and respect. Preaching a gospel of bootstraps and self-reliance, willfully ignorant of the walls that keep the poor trapped.

Stepping foot in this sweltering church each Sunday is a test of your patience and resolve. But, you push through, hidden behind a mask of piety. As the pastor’s words fade into a monotonous hum, your attention shifts to the whispered gossip around you, ears poised for information that might prove useful. If Mama was still alive, she’d probably scold you if she knew your true intentions.

“Shameful,” Mrs. Clark mutters to her friend, her tone leaking with disdain and disbelief. “The Jones had enough for that fancy social at their house last week and an entire shipment of new furs, but not enough for something that we were all asked to contribute to? Just shameful, I tell you.”

“And here’s Mrs. Thompson giving what little she has just so her man can come home more often.”

You shake your head as you pretend to join in the gossip, your resolve hardening by the second.

Bingo.

After the service, you linger, making small talk with a widow about her new rhubarb pie recipe, when you spot your target.

“Oh, Mrs. Jones,” you call out, your voice dripping with misplaced sweetness. She turns around to face you, regal in cosmetics, a shade too bright, her fur sitting nicely on her neck even as she sweats like a sinner. “I meant to tell you earlier. Your fur is lovely.”

Mrs. Jones preens, her chest puffing like a peacock, basking in the attention. “Why thank you!” she gushes, dripping with false modesty. “Got them fresh last week. I would love for you to see the rest when I’m back in town. Jimmy and I leave for Millbrook and we’ll be gone for a week or two. It’s so refreshing to meet someone who appreciates fine things.”

You offer a small smile, excitement filling your body of your plans unfolding before you. “You’ll surely be missed. I do hope you have a wonderful time.”

She beams again, red lipstick cracking down the middle. “Make sure you stop by when we return, won’t you?”

You do stop by, but it’s a day after the Jones leave, a shadow among shadows. Buttercup leans into your touch when you brush a gloved hand along her glossy mane. You hop on her back, clicking your tongue to urge her into the night.

It’s further out of town, which makes this better for you—the fewer eyes, the better. The Jones estate looms ahead, dark and silent. You leave Buttercup a few yards away, patting her side as she lowers her head to graze. “I’ll be right back, girl. Just wait for my call.”

You circle to the back of the Jones’ house, glaring at the clean paint and beautiful greenery. A flickering light from a first-floor window catches your attention, and you duck down on impulse—the night watchman, no doubt. The Jones have enough money but spend too excessively to afford a maid. While this is a hindrance you can easily deal with, it’s still a thorn in your side. Patience has always been your ally, but tonight, it’s tested.

You know the town’s law enforcement, led by Sheriff Nanami, has been increasing patrols around wealthy homes because of your activities. The thought of him potentially catching you always sends a confusing concoction of thrill and dread through your veins.

Still, you wait, hidden in the shadows and the lush greenery around you, watching the guard’s routine. He leaves every ten minutes to patrol the house, returns, and scratches the sparse hair of his beard before plopping in his chair. His yawns grow more frequent as the night wears on, but he seems to alert himself with each distant noise. It takes a few more patrols and a few deep breaths to soothe your anxiety when you think you hear hoofbeats in the distance, but eventually, he settles one final time, his chin dropping to his chest as he dozes off, and you make your move.

A few windows over, a trellis catches your eye—perfect. Years of practice have taught you to distribute your weight evenly to avoid creaks as you climb the lattice. At the second-story window, you pause, listening. From your vantage point, the only source of light dimly from the living room below is the guard’s open door. The sound of his distant snores sets you back in action.

With ease, you manipulate the window latch, easing it open slowly to avoid any squeaks. You slip inside, your feet silent as they land on a plush carpet. The lavishness is an immediate assault on your senses—the air tinged with rose and peppermint, your eyes widening at the guest bedroom walls covered in paintings and deer heads. You grimace. Extravagant niceties that those less fortunate would give their soul for the value.

You pause at the top of the stairs, eyes scanning the house around you for anyone else, ears straining for any sound from the guard below or, worse, the approach of patrol outside. Satisfied, you ghost through well-decorated hallways towards the master bedroom. Without a moment to waste, you scan the ornate space. You know to secure your exits, and your entrances, and you smirk when you spot a sturdy chair on the other side of the room.

Silently, you wedge the chair under the doorknob, its back legs lifted slightly off the ground. It’s not the best, but it should buy you precious time if needed. You turn back to the master bedroom, eyes narrowed as you move on to your next step.

You’ve seen it all before, and no matter what, they keep their valuables in the same predictable places. A bookshelf with too much space that you can push against to open a second compartment. A floorboard slightly elevated than the rest. But for the Jones, it’s the garish family portrait above their bed—the same one Mrs. Jones boasted about at church weeks ago. Another unexpected but essential expense.

Your fingers work quickly as you carefully remove the painting, revealing the gleaming safe behind it. You press your ear against the cool metal, your fingertips ghosting over the dial. With precision, you begin to turn it, listening intently for the telltale clicks of the tumblers falling into place.

First to the right, slow and steady. Click. Back to the left, past the first number. Click. Right again, slower this time, feeling for the slightest resistance. Click.

Your breath catches as the final tumbler falls into place, heart racing with the promise of success as you slowly turn the handle. The safe door swings open with a satisfying creak, and inside, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight streaming through the window, sits your prize. Stack of crisp bills and glittering jewels, a physical manifestation of the good that they can do in the right hands.

As you transfer the wealth into your satchel, a floorboard creaks downstairs. You freeze, every muscle in your body taut as a bowstring, lungs seizing in your chest. You hear the rustle of clothing—the guard stirring in his chair. It feels like seconds stretch into an eternity as you wait, hand hovering over the gun on your hip. Just as your lungs scream for air, his snoring resumes, and you exhale slowly, your racing heart gradually steadying.

You’re hyper-aware of every sound as you work. The whisper of the bills, the soft clink of jewels—each seems magnified in the stillness of this gigantic house. You’re nearly finished, only two more stacks, when another creak echoes through the house, this one closer, more deliberate. There’s no settling floorboards from a new house or snoring night guard.

Someone’s here.

Suddenly, the doorknob jiggles violently, a voice on the other side booming through the previously silent house. You know the voice anywhere, one that haunts both your waking hours and your dreams.

Your heart picks back up, ice water filling your veins as the hairs on your neck stand up straight, but your hands remain steady as you gather the last of the valuables and ease the safe closed. Even in the face of being caught, you have to remain calm. It’s what’s kept you unnoticed and alive this long.

You replace the painting, your eyes already scanning the room for escape routes. You can easily go back out through the window, but the trellis you came upon is in the guest bedroom a few doors over. The jump from this window won’t be damaging, but it’ll hurt, and you don’t have time to use your rope to help you down.

Banging erupts against the door, the wood jumping from the force of the assault. “Sir! I’m here!” The night guard’s voice joins in beneath the noise, and you hear his hurried gait up the stairs.

You don’t have time for schematics. Time’s up. You throw the satchel around your shoulder and bolt for the window, only seconds before the door frame splinters from the strength of two men, the chair tumbling across the floor.

“Freeze!” A deep baritone barks, harsh and volatile, but you’re already halfway out the window, your leather boots pressed to the paneling, your hands holding you up like a spider monkey. You can’t help but pause, your wide-brimmed hat and black bandana obscuring most of your features. Coal-smudged eyes, their true color blending with the blackness surrounding them, meet the gaze of the man before you. He’s never been able to get a photo or any sort of evidence from you, not in times like these. He’ll never know who you are. But you know exactly who he is.

Sheriff Nanami Kento stands in the moonlit room, his stance wide and authoritative. Protector of the town, your number one purser, and a man who, despite your best efforts, has made a permanent home in your thoughts.

Mysterious mahogany eyes, usually kind and warm when they look at you during the day, now burn with determination and anger. That gun that you’ve seen him use to shoot targets and make Yuji laugh now points directly between your eyes.

As you look at him—the tension in his broad shoulders as they rise and fall beneath his shirt and vest, the dark circles under his eyes that speak of sleepless nights chasing your shadow—a pang of guilt slithers down your chest. Maybe if you take a small break with your escapades, he could get some sleep. You hate it when he’s tired, especially when you’re the cause.

But these thoughts are dangerous. Over the years, you’ve let him get too close, allowed him to see much of the real you, and now you’re beginning to feel the consequences.

But you can think about this another time; you’ve stayed longer than necessary. Right now, you have a job to finish. With a hitch in your breath, you drop to the ground. You land with a thud, your ankles absorbing the impact. A sharp pain shoots up your right leg, but you grit your teeth and push through it. You can’t afford to stop now.

The wild grass is thick as you sprint through the open fields, the satchel of stolen valuables bouncing heavily against your hip. Your breath slices through your lungs in short gasps, the cool night air burning in your chest. Behind you, you hear the chaos of pursuit. Nanami’s commanding voice mixes with the night guard’s confused shouts, and the sound of boots hitting the ground tells you they’ve made it out of the house.

You ignore the ebbing pain in your ankle, pushing yourself harder, faster. The grass gets taller with every inch you gain, whipping at your leather-clad legs as you tear through the field, the darkness both a hindrance and a shelter. You use the moonlight to guide you, your eyes scanning the landscape for the rock face you left Buttercup at on your way here.

A distant whinny in your ear cues you instantly. You whistle for her sharply, praying your faithful steed is close enough to hear. Her thundering hooves answer your prayers, growing louder by the second as she matches your sprint.

She appears like magic, slowing enough for you to leap onto her back and urge her into a gallop with a click of your tongue and a squeeze of your knees. With your view no longer obscured by the tall grass, you turn back to the disappearing estate, your heart dropping when you spot several riders—Nanami’s men, no doubt—headed toward you.

Gunshots pop through the air, the whoosh of silver bullets whizzing past your ears and missing their mark. But they’re getting closer. You hold your breath, absorbing the minute fear that blooms in your chest as you risk another glance behind you. Nanami is now at the front, his face grim and emboldened.

A snort from Buttercup turns your attention ahead. You fold low over her neck, your thighs contracting and relaxing in harmonious sync with her thunderous gallops. You taught yourself how to ride after Mama died, determined to do whatever it took to make it through the world. You found Buttercup then, neglected and forgotten, a mirror of your own lost soul. Now, years later, you both move as one, you anticipating her every move born of trust and time, she responds to the smallest shift of your weight as if reading your very thoughts.

Up ahead, the path narrows, winding through a rocky formation that makes you pull in your shoulders on reflex, as if you’re squeezing to fit. You guide Buttercup with a slight shift of the reins and a coo to her twitching ears.

There’s a fallen tree a few yards away, blocking most of the path and making it almost impassable. But you know what you can do. With a click of your tongue and a minuscule pressure of your knees into her sides, she reads your message immediately, huffing before launching over the thick oak in a magnificent leap. She lands with grace on the other side, hooves kicking up dirt in victory. It buys you the seconds that you need, but it won’t be enough. Nanami and his men will find their way around, and you need this chase to end. Now.

Ahead, a boulder ten times your size, with jagged edges and thick cracks, creates a fork in the path. You form an idea that is risky but will buy you the time you need to get home safely.

You guide Buttercup down the left path, your hand reaching for the pistol on your hip. You wind up the reins in one hand, squeezing the leather to hold you steady as you swiftly turn in your saddle to face the dusty world behind you. With the change in position, your hips work against the momentum of Buttercup’s stride instead of with it, and your tweaked ankle stings with every slap against her side. But you’ve practiced this before, and your balance is perfect, hand steady even as you move at breakneck speed.

Nanami and his men emerge from the curve of the path, eyes locked on you with deadly intent, and in that split second, you take your shot.

You’re not aiming to kill or even injure—your target is the lanterns that hang from each saddle horn. Amidst the bucking of your hips and the wind that whizzes past your ears, you hold your breath—forcing your heart to slow as your vision tunnels, and your finger squeezes the trigger. Before Nanami and his men can even reach for their guns, the air cracks, gunshots from your firearm hitting their mark to make the lanterns explode. It has its desired effect—their horses are startled, bucking onto their back feet as they whine in fright.

Nanami doesn’t want to, you can tell from the look in his eyes, but he has no choice but to look away. His eyes leave you as he tries his best to console his stallion and the rest of his gang. You take advantage of the chaos and twirl back around, relaxing your hand on the reins and exhaling the painful breath that was lodged in your lungs.

“Good girl,” you murmur, patting Buttercup’s neck as you coax her into a more fierce gallop and disappear into the night, the sounds of pursuit fading behind you. The satchel on your hip bucks with your mare’s kicks, reminding you of a job well done.

Even with the adrenaline of success thrumming through you, your mind always wanders back to the ‘why’ of it all.

When the guilt tries to curl in your chest when you least expect it, you remember Mama’s sunken face as she divided a molded loaf of bread between the two of you. You remember the hollow eyes of your neighbors too proud to beg. You remember the day you and Mama stood outside the general store in your hometown, staring at a display of fresh fruit, its price more than your weekly earnings. You remember being shooed away by the store owner, muttering about “ill-bred women,” lowering the tone of his establishment.

That night after Mama finally fell asleep, you stole for the first time. So skinny that you could slip through the gap in Mr. Thornton’s fence of his apple orchard. You took only one—a small, slightly misshapen apple covered in dirt—fear rattling your bones at the thought of being caught. But its sweetness, shared with Mama the next morning, was everything you could have asked for.

The concept of right and wrong has always been blurred for you. You’re certainly not right in the eyes of the law, or perhaps even in the eyes of God that Mama believed in so much. But when you distribute your spoils in the dead of night, slipping money through house doors. When you see the disbelief turn to joy on a widow’s face because she can feed her children another week. When you watch a frail old man cry over a warm coat that will see him through the winter—you sleep a little better.

The world isn’t fair. You learned that lesson far too soon in your life. But in your own way, with these midnight heists and heart-pounding adventures, you’re trying to balance some sort of scale. It’s not justice…but it’s something. Something that lets you look at yourself in the mirror each morning, that calms the angry, helpless, and hungry child still living in your memories.

Tomorrow, you’ll begin distributing this wealth to those who truly need it. Yuji's grandpa will have enough to buy his grandson new clothes. Mrs. Thompson will have enough to make up for the remaining savings she gave to the church. And come Monday, you’ll greet Sheriff Nanami with a warm smile as he walks you home from a day’s work at the school, your secret safe for another day.

The thrill of every heist, the satisfaction of outwitting the law, the knowledge that you’re helping those in need—it all mingles in your veins like the sweetest whiskey you tease the Sheriff for indulging in. As the stars twinkle overhead as you wash the coal from Buttercup’s nose that hides her white markings, you allow yourself a moment of pride. It’s probably not much in the grand scheme of things, but to someone in this town, it’ll mean the world.

“Did you hear about Mrs. Jones’s place?”

“Ma says the bandit struck again, cleaned them out in seconds!”

You keep your face carefully neutral as you pick up on your student’s conversations that dance on the hot air, but you’re filled with pride and guilt. You can’t help but think of Sheriff Nanami, of the frustration you see etched on his handsome face so often. Even yesterday, those determined eyes flickered with hints of shame. For a moment, doubt creeps in, whispers in your ears like a tease, threatening to unearth everything you’ve worked for.

But then you look at Sarah’s new turquoise ribbon that compliments her wheat-colored hair as she twirls in a circle on the dusty road. You remember Tommy’s gait as he said goodbye to you just minutes ago, no longer wobbly now that his toes have room to move in new shoes.

The whispers of your students and how surprised and elated they were to find money under their doorstep make you steel yourself. Despite the risks, despite the growing complexity of your feelings—it’s always worth it.

Your life is a study in contrasts. Mornings are quiet affairs—a cup of coffee, a soothing hand down Buttercup’s mane as she eats her breakfast, the silence of an empty classroom. Afternoons explode with energy—eager questions, laughter, and the occasional disagreement amongst your students. You think of Mama, how she read to you as a child, planting seeds of knowledge that would one day bloom into your passion for teaching. It’s another way you give back—maybe some form of atonement you aren’t ready to address—but to fill another generation’s head with knowledge is a gift you wouldn’t trade.

Coming to this town years ago was an escape—from the pain of Mama’s death, from the constant fear of your life as a thief. You only meant to stay a few months, take what you needed, give it back to those like you, and vanish. But loneliness has a way of anchoring a soul.

Months became years. A solitary existence morphed into friendships with neighbors and an undeniable connection with the stoic sheriff who walks you home, an unspoken affection blossoming between you.

Years of experience have made you attuned to the whispers in town. You know how much Mr. Fletcher has hidden away in his safe. You know what date and time certain shipments come in and who they are going to.

Lately, though, whispers of a different sort have caught your ear. Tales of a hidden treasure in the old mine outside of town. Yuji talks about it almost every day, how his grandfather is convinced the treasure is real. The town’s cobbler rolls his eyes at the rumor, often grumbling about how the citizens should focus on earning revenue through hard work and no shortcuts. The more adventurous of the town have scoped the plains around this town time and time again. But it’s never bore any fruit.

Even you have dismissed it as just another local legend. But the thought nags at you, a persistent itch you can’t quite scratch. While you do not doubt the well-meaning residents of this town, they may not have your experience. They may not know how to scale a rocky mountain or where to look. But you do.

You’ve spent years justifying your actions, convincing yourself that the end justifies the means. That it’s a necessary evil in a world that turns a blind eye to suffering. To walk away now feels like the biggest betrayal of everything you’ve fought for, everything your Mama taught you about standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. Even last night, you went through your routine of reiterating that what you’re doing is for a good cause.

But the twinge in your ankle when you woke up this morning. The bleariness in your eyes from little sleep. The exhaustion weighs heavily on you. The loneliness is more palpable every morning when you roll over to an empty bed. Because you can’t share the darkness of your secrets with anyone. Is it selfish to want a normal life after being exposed to the rotten core of it? To want stability, a future untainted by the shadow of your past, to want love? Or is it more selfish to continue on this path, risking everything—including the hearts of those who’ve come to care for you—for a cause that seems never-ending?

The infinite revolving of these thoughts makes you think twice about those rumors. So…what if the treasure is real? What if there’s enough hidden away to help everyone in town, to right all the wrongs you’ve seen? Enough to let you hang up this hidden life for good, to just be the schoolteacher—no more lies, no more risks, no more seeing the weight of failure in Nanami’s eyes.

Hours later, after your students have long gone, you’re atop Buttercup, having decided an afternoon ride might clear your head. You break through the bustle of town, the sun painting the landscape of open plains. As you crest a small hill, you scan the horizon, absorbing every detail with practiced observation that’s served you well in your double life.

You remember it all from your first few weeks here—a dilapidated shed outside of town, a small lake where wild animals drink from to the north. But with more focus, to the West, you spot unfamiliar rocky terrain. What catches your eye is how the rocks seem to fit together—not stacked with the random chaos of nature, but with an almost deliberate precision. It’s as if the hands of a giant stacked them long ago, their edges now overgrown and softened by wind and time.

If you were to slowly move the rocks over time, you could find an unexplored cave on the other side—not a mine like the rumors claim. Whatever it could be, it’s definitely worth investigating. You make a mental note of its location, your innate sense of direction and topography—honed by years of midnight runs—ensuring you can find it easily again.

As you make one last sweep across the landscape, your ears pick up on the stressed mooing of cows and the yells of men. After riding toward the source for a few minutes, you finally spot the commotion. Mr. Williams’ well-maintained fence is broken with wooden boards sprawled on the plains as a group of cattle amble and run free. They shuffle as fast as their heavy bodies will take them, mooing loudly in distress.

You’ve done some wrangling as a young girl, a grueling job that paid you very little to feed you and Mama, so you immediately hone in on the weak points of the fence and the patterns of the cattle’s movement.

You spring into action, clicking your tongue and squeezing your thighs around Buttercup to make her take off. The wind whips through your hair, loosening curls from your usually neat bun. As you draw closer, your heart leaps in your chest.

There, in the midst of the chaos, is Nanami. He sits on his stallion with an easy grace that makes your mouth go dry. Eyes narrowed with determination, cheekbones glossy with sweat and dirt. His vest is gone, and you note the navy long sleeve that squeezes his thick form, his forearms exposed and veiny. His strong biceps flex as he twirls his lasso, long fingers cinched tight around the base of the noose, wrist twirling in a motion you’ve thought about late at night with your fingers buried deep inside of you.

Gods, he’s handsome. Even that first day when you both met in front of the general store, Nanami reaching down to collect the books you had dropped, you knew then he would be your undoing. He has proven to be the one constant in your mind when you should be thinking about your goal.

He’s the kind of man that you could bring home to Mama, though you’d have to keep a watchful eye on her so she doesn’t flirt herself. He’s the kind of man who can work the fields and protect a town, that can fend off criminals and walk children the school, that can come home after a long day and kiss you until your eyes roll into your skull. That can grunt in appreciation from the fingernails that dig into his back, your legs wrapped around his waist as he buries himself to the hilt and—

“Need a hand, Sheriff?” you call out, shaking yourself back to reality, swallowing the saliva in your mouth. You can think about him later. Right now, that adventurous itch comes to life at the base of your spine. You love being a teacher, but you miss things like this—the thrill of the ride, the tingling sensation of a challenge, and Nanami’s presence all combine to create a heady rush of adrenaline through your veins.

Nanami’s head turns at the sound of your voice, deep brown eyes widening in surprise. The movement of his wrist stops, and his lasso plops on his head, musing perfectly parted blonde locks as the rope smacks the sides of his face. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, yes, but adoration and something more pungent that makes your skin tingle.

“Ma’am, this isn’t exactly—” he starts, but you’re already taking off.

A whistle from your lips springs Buttercup into action, galloping a wide birth around the scattered calves. You free your own rope from your saddle horn, the weight in your hands a comforting reminder of late nights practicing in your stable. You hitch up, bunching your thighs with hidden strength, twirling the lasso once, twice, feeling the perfect balance of it.

Then, with a fluid movement, you send the rope flying towards the calf closest to you. It arcs through the air before finding its mark, settling around the calf’s neck with perfect precision. You ignore the feel of Nanami’s eyes on you as you wrestle to rebellious calf back into Mr. Williams’ yard. The man himself is already releasing the rope and ushering the calf away from the fence that is slowly being repaired by his ranch hands.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Nanami asks when you pace up next to him. The lasso is still haphazard over his head, lips parted in astonishment.

“Are you implyin' that I shouldn’t know how to do that, Sheriff?” you tease, guiding Buttercup in a slow trot around Nanami and his stallion. He fumbles to correct himself, cheeks heating as he pulls at the rope around his neck and shoulders. “Should I only know teachin' and how to care for a home?”

“N-now you know that’s not what I—”

You cut him off with a sharp chuckle, making another rotation around him and his steed, a mischievous glint in your eye. “You’re so gullible.” He throws you a wary look, finally pulling the lasso off his body in a huff. “Now, are you gonna help me, or not?”

You and Nanami fall into sync, working in tandem to herd the cattle back into Mr. Williams’ enclosed space. It’s perfect choreography—when Nanami moves right, you’re already swinging left.

Before long, you spot a flash of white in your peripheral vision. Deputy Gojo leans against the fence, his shock of white hair practically reflective in the sun. He’s been practically absent up until this point and, unlike you and Nanami, seems in no rush to join the action. He eyes you with a charismatic smile, flirtatious in his gaze, but you’re quick to roll your eyes playfully and get back to the task at hand.

There’s a grace to Nanami’s body as he works. His hips roll with each movement of his horse, the rock back and forth, a rhythm hypnotic and alluring. The muscles in his denim-clad thighs flex as he grips his mount, powerful and thick. His face maintains his usually iron-faced composure, focused on the task, but an undeniable beauty to his concentration. The setting sun enhances his features, the shadows accentuate his strong jaw and cheekbones. A bed of sweat traces a tantalizing path down his neck, disappearing beneath a collar that’s three buttons undone.

As you drive a cow forward, Nanami is there to lasso and guide it home. The way he hands his horse, the quiet commands and clicks, the subtle shifts of his body, and the grunts that leave his form when he throws his lasso—it all speaks of a man completely in control, and you find it mesmerizing…and utterly arousing. There’s something primal and enticing about watching him move, about being in such perfect harmony with him. It’s a blaring reminder of the attraction that’s been simmering between you.

At one point, you end up riding side by side, so close that your legs brush against each other. The contact, even through the layers of your dress, is scalding. You steal a glance at Nanami, darting through the disheveled curls in front of your eyes, only to find him already looking at you. Those dark eyes are smoldering—intense with an emotion that radiates from you both and squeezes your throat tight.

As the last cow meanders through the repaired fence, you both are panting from exhaustion, guiding your horses to a slow stroll. Mr. Williams jogs towards you both, followed closely by Gojo, a lazy saunter and an ever-present mischievous look on his face.

“I had no idea you could wrangle so well,” Mr. Williams exclaims, waving enthusiastically as he reaches up and takes the reins of both your horses to lead them towards a water trough. “That was incredible. I have no idea how to repay you.”

You wave him off, trying not to preen under the praise. Gojo's incredibly rare and well-bred snow-white Quarter Horse saunters up to you, the animal indignant in his strides just as much as its owner.

“Well,” Gojo drawls, crystal blue eyes sweeping appreciatively over your form. “Didn’t think a schoolteacher had fine lasso skills. Any other skills I should know about? You can show me at the town festival in a few weeks.”

It’s undeniably forward, enough to make a dignified man turn beet red in anger and a fragile woman faint. But it’s Deputy Gojo Satoru—uncaring of the world that he feels revolves around him.

“Gojo,” Nanami snaps, harsh and biting with an undercurrent that makes your spine straighten. “For once in your life, stop pestering every woman within a few feet of you.”

You can’t help but chuckle, shrugging dismissively and patting Buttercup’s neck as she drinks. “No harm done, Sheriff. I’m sure Deputy Gojo here was just being friendly, weren’t you?” You ask, voice laden with a double meaning that makes Gojo smile warily, suddenly apprehensive. “Though I’d caution against mistaking friendliness for interest. Wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea and end up disappointed…again.”

Gojo's jaw drops, Mr. Williams chokes on a snort a few yards away, and you hear Nanami stifle a harsh grunt that cracks on the edges.

Gojo sputters, pale white cheeks burning, his usual confidence faltering in the night air as he flaps his gills. “I’ll have you know, I’ve never been disappointed in matters of the heart.”

You hum nonchalantly, pursing your lips in disbelief. “Oh? So that wasn’t you I saw sulking behind the saloon last month? What was it you were muttering? Something about Geto turning you down for the second time?”

At the mention of Geto's name, Gojo's blue eyes widens, a squeak eeping from glossy lips. Nanami, unable to contain himself any longer, lets out a bark of laughter.

“I—that’s not—how did you—” Gojo stammers, looking between you and Nanami with wide, suspicious eyes. You simply shrug, glancing at Nanami. There’s a glimmer of amusement there, a shared moment of mirth at Gojo's expense. At some point, Gojo grows tired of entertaining you both, clicking his mouth in annoyance and taking off towards town. You snort at his retreating form, giggling with the rush of excitement of the evening.

When Mr. Williams sees you both off, the night is a cool blanket around you both. The moon sits high, a silver pendant on the velvet black sky, while the stars twinkle like scattered diamonds. For awhile, you both ride in silence, the rhythmic clop of hooves a soothing melody to your turmoil from earlier in the day. The air carries the scent of grass and wildflowers, mixing with the sweat that lingers on your skin. It’s Nanami who breaks the quiet, his deep voice a relaxing current of electricity down your spine.

“He will only take your wit as a challenge,” he muses, mildly amused.

“Gojo will forget all about me the minute Ms. Foxworth bats her eyelashes at him.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, casting his face in a brief flash of masculine flirtation that makes your heart skip. “And Ms. Foster,” he adds, catching onto your game.

“And Ms. Chamberlain,” you continue, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“And I’m pretty sure Mrs. Jones,” Nanami finishes, snorting to himself because she’s married, and that’s never stopped Gojo before.

Your eyes meet, scandalous realization settling over you both, and in that moment, the ridiculousness of it all bubbles up inside. Laughter erupts from you first, a released cascade of glee as your head tilts to the night sky. The sound of Nanami’s deep chuckles mingles with your giggles, creating a harmony that seems to resonate in your very bones. It feels good to laugh with Nanami. Just like any other time you spend with him. It takes your mind off the thought of leaving this town—of leaving him—forever.

The night is cool against your skin, but your chest blooms with warmth. You’re about to comment on the beauty of the star-studded sky when you notice Nanami reach into his vest pocket. He pulls out a cigarette, lips wrapping around the filter with a firm but gentle grip.

Your heart sinks, a leaden weight pulling it further down your rib cage. You’ve noticed he only smokes when he’s particularly stressed, and the sight of it now, after such a wonderful evening, makes you frown. You know it’s because of his work, the harshness he sees every day, and his relentless pursuit of the bandit—of you—only makes it worse for him. The remorse gnaws at your insides like a rabid animal.

Doing your best to mask the torrent of emotions threatening to consume you, you aim for a teasing approach. “Stressed, Sheriff?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow and hoping he can’t hear the slight shake in your voice.

Nanami pauses, the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks at you with a flicker of embarrassment, highlighting the tired lines around his eyes that you wish you could smooth away with your fingertips. “Ah, my apologies,” he says, moving to put it away. “The smell—”

You wave him off. “I don’t mind. Not much of a smoker when I need to relax.”

He hums but doesn’t respond, striking a match and cupping large hands around the flame. The brief light illuminates his face, casting shadows across his face. You find yourself transfixed by the way the flame reflects in his dark eyes, like embers in the night.

He takes a long drag, the tip brightening in burnt orange and gold. Nanami exhales, the smoke curling seductively from his nose and into the air, the sight more enticing than it should be. “So, when do you smoke, ma’am?”

His voice is entirely too low, entirely too deep. You playfully glare at the use of ‘ma’am’ for what feels like the nth time since you’ve known each other. You decide to be mischievous, precariously throwing caution to the wind.

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, looking up at the sky as you try to emit an air of faux innocence. Nanami looks at you cautiously, raising a dark blonde eyebrow expectantly, eyes narrowing as he picks up on the teasing tilt in your voice. “You smoke when you’re stressed. I smoke to unwind from a job well done. Preferably, after taking a good man for a ‘ride’.”

Heat simmers beneath your skin as you speak, low and husky and loaded with suggestive humor that surprises even you.

It’s an immediate effect and more satisfying than you could have ever imagined. Nanami sputters, choking on the smoke. His eyes go wide, and crimson erupts up the glimpse of open chest and neck, visible even in the moonlight, spreading to his cheeks in a way that makes you want to trace its path with your lips.

You can’t help but giggle as he coughs. “You make it too easy sometimes, Sheriff,” you say between laughs.

Nanami clears his throat repeatedly, desperately trying to regain his composure. But you catch the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting a smile that makes you bite into your bottom lip. His chest heaves as he takes in deep breaths, and your eyes watch the way his shirt stretches across his wide shoulders with each inhalation.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he finally manages in a rough voice, glaring at you with a mix of exasperation and fondness that warms you from the inside out.

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink, reveling in the way his breath catches again at your boldness. He shakes his head with a chuckle, turning back to the open plains in front of him.

You notice that some of the tension has left Nanami’s shoulders, his posture relaxed once more. Your guilt eases a little, knowing that, at least for this moment, you’ve managed to lighten his burden rather than add to it.

“Gojo likes trouble as much as he likes wit. Stay away from him and pick someone else.” He pauses, opening his mouth as he weighs his next words with delicacy. “I imagine you have a line of suitors with far more promise than Gojo hoping to escort you to the festival.”

Nanami’s voice is soft, almost wistful, wrapped around an overwhelming cluster of resignation that makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. His eyes are fixed on the horizon as your horses walk side by side, but you can see a tightness around his mouth, a tension in his jaw that speaks volumes.

“I haven’t really paid much attention, to be honest,” you admit, surprised at his sudden remark. You try to keep your tone light and nonchalant, praying he can’t hear the slight tremor, the silent truth that threatens to spill from your lips—that the only man you truly notice is him. Every day, all the time, from sunup to sundown, it’s always Nanami Kento.

Nanami hums thoughtfully, fingering the sharp cut of his jaw. “That fellow from the saloon a few weeks back? He seemed taken with you.” He pulls in a deep drag, sunset orange ebbing to life at the tip.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. The memory of that particular encounter was both amusing and exasperating. “He was three sheets to the wind, Nanami. Claimed to know my drink of choice and got it wrong when he recommended scotch, of all things.”

Nanami exhales a smoky breath, the wisps ghosting around a smirk that makes him look statuesque with the rolling plains behind him. “You prefer moonshine,” he muses, “The kind Kilmer makes, if I’m not mistaken.”

Your heart skips a beat at his casual observation. Moonshine isn’t exactly legal in town, but when the bartender Kilmer works the saloon on Wednesday nights, most of the residents ask for his prized moonshine if no deputies are around. Of all the things for him to pay attention to, your drink of choice seems like such a small, insignificant detail.

You bite the corner of your lip to keep from breaking into a wide smile, belly warm at the thought.

“Not like I can admit to that,” you tease, digging your teeth harder into your bottom lip as the simmering grows in your stomach. “Aren’t you supposed to be upholdin’ the law?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you want to snatch them back. You’re aware of how much pressure the sheriff places on himself. How he feels unworthy of the badge on his chest. There has never been a day in your knowing him where you felt he was undeserving. Of the town, of all of its citizens, of you. If you could turn his face to a mirror and stand by his side while you tell him just how deserving he is, you would in a heartbeat.

Nanami’s smile fades slightly, a heavy weariness etching onto his features. He takes another drag and turns his head away as he exhales. “This town is small, and times are hard. Sometimes…moonshine is all someone can afford if they need to get away from the world for a while.” He pauses, his eyes meeting yours in the moonlight. “A good lawman knows when to look the other way for the sake of his people.”

It’s times like these when you admire the man Nanami is. He’s rough around the edges and stern with the law, but he’s also empathetic enough to know when some rules should be lax based on those they affect. Maybe he could think the same about you? Maybe he could understand your self-imposed noble acts and forgive you for causing him so much pain.

Nanami clears his throat, seemingly eager to change the subject. “The man at the general store two months ago? He could hardly string two words together around you.”

“He was at least five years younger than me,” you counter, giggling at his persistence. “Hardly appropriate. What will the town think?”

“That you’re incredibly picky—” he starts, but you cut him off with a playful swat to his arm.

“Or maybe,” you chuckle with a playful roll of your eyes, “they’ll think I have standards. Is that so wrong, Sheriff?”

“Not at all. Though, I can’t help but wonder what those standards might be.”

Oh.

You’re immediately aware of how dangerous this conversation has become. You’ve never flirted so blatantly before, never with such clear intention. The banter between you and Nanami has always been a harmonious push and pull, as natural as breathing, even though you both treat it as a forbidden dance. But this shift now—it’s palpable, exciting, and terrifying all at once. But the night air, the lingering adrenaline from the cattle drive, that pump of electric fire that pulses through your veins when you can feel free for a moment, all of it makes you bold.

“Someone kind,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment. “Intelligent also helps, dedicated to his work and cares about the people around him.” You risk a glance, hiding beneath the curtain of your curls. Your heart races, each beat echoing the recklessness that coats your tongue with every word. “Someone who notices the little things…like a lady’s drink preference.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. It’s as if you’ve finally given a voice to the undercurrent that’s been flowing between you, transforming your ocean of subtle flirtation into something more tangible, more precarious.

Nanami’s gaze, usually so controlled, molds before your eyes. In the flickering embers of his cigarette, you see something molten, a desire that slides down your body with liquid arousal. His lips purse around his cigarette, your eyes flickering to the muscle that curls around the filter, watching with rapt attention as he inhales deeply, slowly.

When you slide your eyes up to meet his, your breath catches at the still-burning intensity. Your vision tunnels to the reflective desire in his eyes, the moonlight on his face, the tension that crackles between you like lightning before a storm. It’s almost too much, your chest tightening with still stolen breath in your lungs.

But just as quickly, he looks away, severing the connection and turning to exhale a plume of smoke into the darkness.

“He sounds like a fool.”

The tension breaks like a dam, and you find yourself choking on a surprised laugh, chortling at the full smile he shoots your way as if bashful. He seems like a flirtatious teenager, basking in the attention from his crush, and you hold on to the sight—to the way it’s making you feel.

As your laughter fades and he puts out his cigarette on the heel of his boot, the atmosphere shifts again. The sizzling lust that danced around you both softens into something more intimate, more tender.

The moonlight catches in Nanami’s hair, turning the golden strands liquid silver. No longer the pristine part he maintains, the strands fall in gentle tufts around the tops of his ears and over his eyebrows. Your fingers twitch on the reins of Buttercup, itching to reach out and brush those disheveled strands away, to feel if they’re as soft as they look.

Nanami, soft when he speaks again, almost reverent. “You’d be surprised, you know,” he murmurs, looking at you once more. “Just how many people notice you.”

His words sway in the air, loaded with meaning. You find yourself frozen, caught in the earth of his gaze, the sincerity making your throat dry. Even as your hips move with Buttercup’s trot, it feels like the world narrows to just the two of you, eyes on each other as everything else fades into insignificance.

Suspended in time and bathed in moonlight, you wish you could push a little further, draw out a confession, or make a declaration of your own. You want to stretch this moment into eternity, to live in this space where you only exist as a schoolteacher, and Nanami could put his own happiness first, just for once.

But reality intervenes, as it always does, with a painful wave of guilt that crashes over you. The weight of your secrets, of your double life, of your part in his pain, settles heavily on your shoulders like lead. So, instead of the words you long to say, you offer only a gentle smile, letting the serene silence of the night envelop you both.

As the first glimmers of the town’s lamplights come into view, you allow yourself this moment of peace. You bask in Nanami’s presence beside you, in the rhythm of the horses’ hooves, in the soft ‘plop’ of his Stetson against his back with each step. You breathe in the memory of shared laughter and adventure, storing it away like a precious treasure.

It’s dangerous—this indulgence—you know. Every shared moment, every word, every loaded glance yanks you further into a web of feelings you can’t afford to have. But as you ride side by side through the moonlight, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Not tonight.

Instead, you hold this memory close to your heart, a keepsake against the long, lonely nights ahead. It’s a bittersweet reminder of what could be, in a world where you aren’t who you are—a world that exists only in these fleeting moments under the vast, star-studded sky.

By the time you clamber up to your doorstep, Buttercup is already resting in her stable, and that terrible feeling of guilt and confusion roars to life in your chest. You wrap your hand around your doorknob before turning to look at Nanami. He’s still there, with messy hair and sweaty skin, as he reaches into his vest for another cigarette. Handsome and otherworldly and right there. He catches your stare as he places the filter between his lips, one eyebrow quirking up in concern.

“Everything alright?” he asks, the unlit cigarette dangling as he speaks. “I’m not leaving until you’re safely inside.”

You wish you could relish in his concern, bathe in his care, and savor the warmth that blooms in your chest. But you’re not sure you’ve even earned it.

“I’m goin’, I'm goin',” you joke, cracking the door as you step one foot inside your home, still angled to him.

“Well, hurry along then,” he insists, a gentle demand lingering beneath. He lights the cigarette, cheeks pulled in as he inhales full-chested and exhales a deep plume of smoke. Through the haze that dances around him, you find mischief as he smirks. “Ma’am.”

The laugh leaves you before you can stop it, rolling your eyes at his deliberate use of the title he knows annoys you. With a final wave, you step inside, closing the door behind you.

The laughter dies on your lips as soon as the door clicks closed and you press your forehead against the cool wood, eyes stinging with the promise of tears. The clop of Flint’s hooves slowly fades as Nanami gets further away from you, and the only thing you wish at this moment is to yank open the door and run to him. To run away from your terrifying thoughts and forget everything.

Next week, when Mr. and Mrs. Phillips leave town, you have another heist planned. It should feel promising. Another chance to do good, to make others happy at the expense of your safety. But the thought sits heavy in your stomach, the lightness you felt moments ago with Nanami leaving in a flourish.

That nagging feeling from this morning, the festering loneliness born from your decisions, finally breaks free now that you have nothing else to distract you. It makes everything so much harder now. The thrill that once drove you feels muted now, overshadowed by something else—something warm and achingly intimate that’s taken root in your chest.

You slide down to the floor, back against the door, bottom lip quivering as conflict rages like an inferno within you. Tomorrow, you’ll have to start preparing. But tonight, you can’t help but wonder if your heart is truly in this anymore.

Thanks for reading! I hope to have part two out in a few days!

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miaoua3 · 3 months ago

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ooh I finally figured this out- anyway could you do how seventeen members would treat you on your period? It might seem weird but you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to 😅 *sorry I’m not so good with this type of stuff because I’ve never requested before 😭*

sorry for making you struggle with this bae lmao my bad😭

and sure i can, i was actually planning on doing something like this in the future anyway so lmao anyway i hope you enjoy this! love ya

SVT-How They Would Treat You While You're On Your Period?

scoups: he handles everything like a champ. he probably has one of those tracking apps so he can know when to stock you up on your pads/tampons, as well as your favourite snacks and drinks. takes such a good care of you-will cuddle you all the time, his big and warm hand rubbing your lower stomach in comfort the entire time, his warm chest pressing into your back as he hugs you tightly. and your mood swings? nobody was ever as successful into talking you down from them as he is.

jeonghan: he can tell a few days before you get your period that that time of the month is nearing simply by how sensitive and snappy you are. so, surprisingly, he tries to behave to the best of his abilities and not getting on your bad side. when he comes home a few days after and sees you wrapped in a blanket on your couch, he immediately coos and and walks over to you to hug you. will run to the store to get you more ice cream if you want to. will treat you like fragile little doll the following few days, always babying you and and following you around in case you need him for anything

joshua: the best one for this type of thing tbh. similar to cheol, he tracks your cycle, so he's always prepared, both physically and mentally. the fuzzy blankets are prepared, the tea is brewing, your favourite show is on the tv, and joshua is beneath you, softly cradling your head close to his chest while every few minutes his lips press themselves to your forehead, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. you can’t really remember the last time you bought yourself the sanitary items because joshua always makes sure that you’re stocked up on them. and he’s so gentle with you when he sees that you’re either in one of your bad moods or crying or something similar, he will just pull you onto his lap and pat your head as he talks you through it with his gentle voice❤️

jun: not inherently bad at it but just a bit lost and scared😭 he kind of gets very cautious around the time he notices you being irritable and snappy, so this little sweetheart will literally bring you flowers as an apology (even when he did nothing wrong) every evening after work oh my sweet junnie how i love you. will try to make those few days as easy as possible for you by taking over all the chores, cuddling you as much as you demand for him to do, making you yummy soups and easy meals, brewing you your favourite tea a few times a day-there literally isn't anything this boy wouldn't do for you on the days he knows and sees that you're struggling

hoshi: may lord help this man to survive those scary few days lmao. he's so scared of getting on your bad side that he will low-key avoid you on the first few days of your period (because he knows those are the worst). you could be laying on your couch, holding your tummy tightly in hopes of this passing quickly and you will just see the top of his head peaking behind the wall of your bedroom lmao he's so cute. but he will eventually realise how ridiculous he's being and will step u to his role as your boyfriend and will low-key do a whole 180 on you and will start babying you so much that you will start getting annoyed a bit lol, he will just be squeezing your cheeks while talking through a pout "oh my baby, you're having such a hard time aren't you? tell me what i can do to make it better" like bro maybe laying of for a bit and cuddling you will be okay for starters lmao but he's so cute so how could you ever be mad at him?

wonwoo: he becomes extra gentle with you it makes your heart ache a bit. when he wakes up and notices that you aren't next to him so he immediately gets up to look for you, only to find you on the couch, squeezing your stomach with furrowed eyebrows. he's immediately getting down on his knees, stroking your hair as he prods and asks what's wrong. after you tell him that it's that time of the month again, he's immediately preparing a bath for you that you can relax into while he prepares the breakfast (something easy but yummy because jeon wonwoo should NOT be trusted around knives lol), maybe even joins you if you want to. the rest of the day will be spent in his arms, where you always feel the safest, trying to overcome this difficult day with his help

woozi: see, this is where i see this getting kind of tricky. hoonie wouldn't ignore you or be super unhelpful per say, but he also wouldn't go so out of his way like seungcheol or joshua would. if you want cuddles, he will cuddle you. if you need something, he will buy it for you. i guess he just feels a little bit awkward with the whole situation, so he won't be super extra prepared like the rest would, plus he isn't tracking your cycle so he doesn't really know when you will get your period until it already happens and you ask him to buy you the toiletries you need. i guess what i'm trying to explain is that he wouldn't pre prepare like some would? but he will still take car of you- he will give you as many cuddles as you want, his warm hand will rub those little circles on your tummy and his lips will kiss your temple many times in comfort. just be a bit patient with him, he just needs a bit time to feel less awkward about it

minghao: see, the thing about hao is that he will take such a good care of you without making you feel weak or like you're incompetent or something. he will get you the medicine, he will let you lay your head on his lap while he strokes your hair and reads you a book aloud, your cup would never be empty of the tea he bought for you on one of his visits to china, he will go to the store to buy you everything that you need, he will even shower with you and wash your hair for you because he wants to take that worry off your plate. and he will do all these things and not once will you feel like you're weak or anything like that. instead you will feel taken care of and so supported. it made you realise that it's okay to take a break and take care of yourself when you need it, as well as that it's okay to let other people help you when you're not really able to do it yourself.

mingyu: like hoshi, also low-key a bit scared of what this period may bring lmao except he won't avoid you, but he will just be more cautious of what he's saying and how he talks to you. if he does something wrong, count on him to cook you all your favourite dishes, to take care of all the chores and to basically grovel (bro low-key overdoes it, he just made a bit of a tasteless joke and he's acting like he killed your hamster lmao). will go beyond cuddling, that man will be glued to you any chance he gets, but the bonus of that is that his big hand will act as a heat pack for your tummy so...you win some, you lose some lmao

dk: oh this little angel, if he could, he would take all of your pain and let himself feel it if it meant you could go on with your life pain-free. constantly gives you forehead kisses and caresses your hair. he knows that you also struggle with self-love, especially during your period, so he always makes sure to say "i love you" extra often during those few days. lets you lay on his chest and nap as much as you want, even when he has things to do- that all falls to the second place of importance when it comes to taking care of you.

seungkwan: pretty good at taking care of you on your period. he won't rival joshua and seungcheol or anything like that but he's very decent at it. considering that he's always very busy, he's still very present in the moments where you need him. buys you everything that you ask him to, comforts you if your mood swings make you cry (might even come home earlier if possible), hugs you till you pull away, kisses you so softly it gets you teary eyed etc. overall, very good at knowing exactly what you need in moments like that.

vernon: surprisingly very decent in this, probably because he had sofia train him how to act in these type of situations when he was younger lmao. is still pretty much the every day vernon you know, he won't change how he acts around you like some members do. he won't attempt to cook anything (and i think that's for the best lol) but he will make you something to snack on until the delivery gets there. he will turn on some movie for you two to watch while you two cuddle, your legs resting on his lap while your head rests on his chest, his back comfortably resting against the back of the couch as he’s sitting. will call you before he goes to the store to ask if you need him to buy you something. overall sofia trained him well lol

dino: oh this little sweetheart, he would be so gentle and patient and sweet, he would talk in that gentle voice of his, and his eyes? his eyes would look at you so gently with so much love. he would make sure that you stay in bed the whole first day, he would tuck you in and fluff up your pillows. you wouldn’t see it but he would watch you while you sleep and would caress your hair gently, hoping that you will feel better once you wake up. cuddles are a MUST, his biceps being your pillow while his firm chest make for the extra warmth on your back, his lips littering soft kisses on your neck. he’s just so- i love him sm. don’t even worry about the things you might need such as pads, tampons, medicine and snacks- he’s already taken care of it. in conclusion dino best boyfriend

#seventeen #svt #svt x reader #fypシ #tumblr fyp #fypage #scoups #fluff #jeonghan #joshua #wen junhui #hoshi #wonwoo #woozi #minghao #kim mingyu #svt dk #seungkwan #vernon #svt dino

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silly-honeybee · 1 year ago

Text

What Blue Lock boys would get you for Christmas🎁

Edit: only old fic I’ll not delete as ppl seem to like this one lol

~🐝 Happy late Christmas my lovely sillies! I have been rlly busy lately so I haven’t had time to write💔 so I hope you enjoy this lil headconon on what the Blue Lock boys would get you for Christmas!

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Characters: Bachira, Isagi, Chigiri, Nagi, Kunigami, Reo, Kaiser, Alexis, Hiori

Headcanon ~ Fluffy fluff ~ fem!reader ~ not proofread

Warning(?): mentions of bras and panties in Kunigami’s part. (don’t know if that makes anyone uncomfy or not so I’m putting this here)

~~~

start~~~🐝

Bachira Meguru

Silly things. He’d get you some silly and unnecessary things—

Like he’d probably get you a shirt saying “I love pizza” or something stupid😭

But he’d also get you some pretty cute things.

Anything matching, plushies, shirts, bracelets, etc..

He is indeed a goofball(we love him for that), but of course he knows how to give serious gifts(somewhat)..

The wrapping would be horrible, I gotta say that.. probably a bunch of holes basically revealing what the present was before you even opened it.. (he’s trying his best)

Oh well, whatever he gets you just know that he means it with a lot of love💕

Isagi Yoichi

He’d probably get you nice things for the winter, like a fuzzy sweater, scarf, boots..

Or he’d find a cute dress that he thinks would look nice on you, if you don’t like dresses then a cute pair of shorts or pants..

But, in general he would make sure to get you something he knew you liked, he thinks about you a lot, yk? ^^

(This is rlly short I’m sorry��)

Chigiri Hyoma

This man will spoil you.

You like Sanrio? Sanrio it is. You want makeup? Makeup it is. You want the full series of your favorite book? Books it is!

He never disappoints on Christmas, he knows what you like even if you haven’t told him—

Like he just noticed a certain detail of you having quite a few of this and that. He’d then proceed to Google about it and then find nice things from it🫶

Nagi Seishiro

He’d probably be a little clueless on knowing what you’d want.. (not in a rude way).

So what he does is probably look back on the comments you made on certain characters you two have played in a game or what not. And the ones you liked he’d find some merch of that character..

Kunigami Rensuke

He’d definitely be brave enough to casually walk into the woman’s section of Target and get you a brand new bra and panties.

Based on his sister’s at home, they always seem to complain about their bras becoming loose and slack after a year..

So he assumes that maybe that happens with you too? He wants you to be comfy at all times💕

(I love this man😭)

Reo Mikage

He’d also spoil you like Chigiri, but probably in a more *ehem* Reo way..

Like he’d get you tons of stuff, too much to count. This man has money💰🤑

Every. One. Of. Those. Gifts. Have been thoroughly thought through as he was buying them.

He wanted to make sure everything was perfect💝

Michael Kaiser

Probably getting you something fancy..

A fancy robe, shoes, dress, etc..

Would also treat you to a restaurant date, Egon or something idk 🤷‍♀️

Alexis Ness

He’d get you anything you want😭

He’s such a sweetheart about it too, he would wrap your gifts in cute wrapping paper.

Every one of the gifts having a little tag in the shape of a heart saying: “To my love, from Alexis💕”

He’s such a cutie istg😭🙏

Hiori Yo

You two probably played animal crossing at some point together, so he’d definitely get you a plushie of whichever one was your favorite character!

He probably would accidentally reveal the gift before you opened it.. oopsie💕

~~~🐝 end

~🐝 I’m so sorry if some of these were short😭 like idk how to write for Kaiser,I sagi or Nagi- and there is no Rin included here bc I have no idea how to write for him🧍‍♀️ anyway! I wish you sillies a lovely rest of 2023💕

See you guys next year😋🙏 (I’m so funny haha)

Also look at this Bachira plush I got for Christmas AAAAAAA MY BBY😭 MWA MWA💋💋💋

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axiina · 1 year ago

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HIII wdyt about Snow with vibrator thing? XD

fem!reader, smut

warnings: using of 'you' referring to reader, NSFW || control play, overstimulation, using of vibrator ofc, switch!Coriolanus, mention of bondage, in some way dacryphilia (Idk crying Coryo), teasing in public

18+, minors don't interact

Coriolanus has a love-hate relationship with vibrators.

Let's be honest, Coryo loves anything that involves teasing. When he has the opportunity to make you have enough of the night and at the same time love it until going many times during the night, he is all for it.

He loves the expression on your face when this happens, your teary eyes. He loves how your toes curl and your back arches. When the only thing that leaves your mouth is his name or your pleas for him to stop. This is accompanied by the feeling of control he loves so much. You are completely at his mercy.

He loves the moment when he touches your clit with the toy and your thighs tense. At such moments he always has this grin on his lips. Usually, Coriolanus uses vibrators to tease you.

When a small vibrator on a remote fell into his hands it became his favorite toy to use on you. Going to public places when the vibrator was deep in your pussy and he could watch you trying to muffle all the sounds that wanted to leave your mouth was the best fun. When it comes to sex he rarely uses a vibrator. He prefers when you are brought to a state of pure bliss by him alone, especially his dick. He's jealous lol.

However, the problem appears when you want to try the vibrator on him. The situation is always the same. He's totally against it and tries to convince you that it won't be fun and each time it's the last time. Yeah, the last time, my ass. He loves it and it makes him hate it at the same time. The vibrator makes Coriolanus lose control incredibly fast. Just like when he uses it on you, when you treat him with his own medicine, it never ends with one round.

I'll tell you a secret you're probably waiting for, he's the crying type. Coryo doesn't fully know if he's crying because he's overstimulated or if it's just so enjoyable. He likes it the most when he's completely at your mercy and can act like a pillow princess.

At first, he always tries to regain control. Worse when you tie him up. When you do, he's gone. His brain is already fuzzy and you can abuse his cock for hours and he will be the happiest man on earth. Of course, he won't tell you that because he's Coriolanus Snow, but you can tell that he loves that just by the look of pure bliss that you can see on his gorgeous face.

He loves it when you tease him and touch his nipples with a toy. He's embarrassed every fricking time, but this way is always reliable, especially at the very beginning of the session. He could cum just from this. When he thinks nothing better will happen to him, you come, all in white, and touch base of his dick. He also won't complain if the vibrator ends up in his hole and against his prostate.

I mean he will complain, but only later. After some time, because right after that sweet boy needs an aftercare so don't forget about it.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #tbosas #the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #hunger games x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #x reader #thg x reader #character x reader #x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #young coriolanus snow

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williamkisser · 6 months ago

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♡— The Mercenary and Forward when they’re sick

♡— I don’t know how to start…. here we are. I was talking with @fishermanshook some time ago on discord about random stuff as always when i expressed that i feel like writing something. I discussed it a little, i started writing a draft on tumblr and ended up writing something completely diffrent lol. But anyways. If you know me from my @williaml0ver account you’re most likely aware i retired from writing like… three months ago? I just gave up on doing it. But now that time passes i feel quite rested and ready to write something silly. Maybe from time to time i may write something more. Either way, i hope you all enjoy writing my goofy fic.

♡— Warnings: g/n reader, short fluffy hcs, a little over 400 words for each character

♡— You instantly received some mixed signals from the rugby player when he refused to wear warmer clothes on the way to his match. Sure, the days were still fairly warm, however at nights it could get really cold. William, who seemed very bold before going out, is now tucked in his bed with two blankets on.

♡— At first, the Forward feels embarrassed. He should have listened. William would like to pretend everything if fine to save his pride, but he can’t hide the symptoms even if his life depended on it. When he sneezes, it’s like if there was a small earthquake in the room - at least from what you can hear in the other room.

♡— This man leads a healthy lifestyle. Obviously, he is an athlete. He also eats a lot, mostly healthy food and has a consistent diet. You barely see him ill. But when he IS, he can be very unbearable, only calm when he’s asleep. Thank god he gets back to his shape swiftly.

♡— Inevitably, the signs of William’s illness grow stronger with time. Still, it’s just an ordinary cold, but judging by his dramatic behaviour you’d think you’ve got a victorian baby about to die from fever.

♡— That’s right. Being sick is never a fun thing, but William plans to make the best out of it. He loves being babied by you. He’s a cute menace. Constantly whimpering or whining that he’s dying and needs cuddles and kisses. He will convince you to snuggle together, knowing there’s a risk of you catching the cold as well.

♡— Whenever you’re not around, he would play with his plushies by throwing them up the ceiling and then catch them. Obviously, if one of them falls on the floor, he will specifically call for you to pick them up. Later on, he claims to already feel better, which obviously is not true. He’d get scolded for going to the toilet on bare feet, without slippers on. Much to your horror, William even takes off his fuzzy pajama and starts walking around only with his boxers on. He claims the sweat is unbearable. To avoid such situations, he needs some entertainment. Maybe play board games together? Or just have a nice chat. He’d also appreciate it if you read him a bedtime story and cuddled together.

♡— When it comes to medicine, William struggles with swallowing pills. For some reason, he just can’t do it. He needs all of his medicine as liquid, and still he would complain a little, claiming the taste is unbearable. If there’s no drinkable alternative, you may as well attempt to blackmail him into swallowing. Just say you won’t cuddle with him anymore, he’ll swallow those pills immediately.

♡— Overall, when sick, William turns into a baby. Like i said, he’s only calm when he’s sleeping.

♡— As a Mercenary, Naib has to deal and interact with a lot of people, dead and alive. He is, of course, always very cautious. There is literally no room for a mistake at a job like this, which means he pays a lot of attention to hygiene. Obviously, even if someone tries to avoid illness, everyone can get sick sometimes. Mercenaries included.

♡— When Naib’s approaching home, he begins to feel some sort of weird feeling in his throat. One thing leads to another and quickly enough he starts sneezing and feeling cold. The first feeling that comes to his head is confusion. Is this sickness going to develop further? Will he be able to continue his duties the next day? As soon as he comes home, he actually seeks medicine, but he doesn’t explicitly tell you that he’s caught a cold - though there will be signs. There’s just a growing feeling of unnecessary shame in his mind. He wishes for both of you to live peacefully, without worrying for money, so he considers to continue, despite being sick.

♡— Naib, just like William is a healthy man. He has his routine and is fit, he also eats healthy. He gets ill a little more often than the Forward, but still, it’s a rather rare occurence when you see him coughing. Surprisingly enough, when you realize he’s sick, he doesn’t protest when you tell him to rest. Naib is actually calm and obedient. As much as weak and uncomfortable the virus makes him feel, he probably enjoys not having to be in charge from time to time. He as well heals fast.

♡— The Mercenary tries to stop the cold before it starts to intensify. He stays in bed and takes the needed medicine, but it is sadly no help. Yet, he won’t make a big scene of it. You might hear him complain about having a sore throat here and there, but it’s not constant.

♡— He won’t mind, and will be actually grateful when you take care of him, but he’s capable of healing on his own. It’s up to you if you want to take the risk and cuddle with him, Naib won’t force you, although he’d like it a lot. Usually, you’re the one clinging to the Mercenary when sleeping, to your surprise, for this period he becomes a greedy cuddle bug. You may tell him that he’s gripping you a little to rough.

♡— Whenever you’re not around, at first he’d probably find a way to kill time. Would appreciate it if you brought him a book. While going through illness, his appetite, which already is quite big by default, would raise drastically. You should control him a little, unless you want to see him running to the toilet every ten minutes. After some time, Naib states that he already feels stronger and wants to help around the house, which you should not allow him to. Make sure he’s not overworking himself. While he usually prefers to sleep in boxers and a tank top, for sick days he actually dresses up in his pajama.

♡— About medicine, he won’t complain about it and will take whatever you offer him, Naib however is an avid enjoyer of natural medicine, saying that the factory-made one doesn’t taste that great. Both ways are fine though. Maybe prepare some warm tea for him?

♡— Overall, taking care of a sick Naib is a pleasant experience. He is very calm and doesn’t make much hustle.

Idv x reader tag how are you guys feeling today……. im kind of eepy…….. it’s almost 2am yippee

#idv #identity v #idv x reader #idv x you #naib subedar #william ellis #naib subedar x reader #william ellis x reader #idv forward #idv mercenary

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come-away-with-me87 · 7 months ago

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All I Need Chapter 1

Summary: You lost your love during the battle at Shie Hassaikai. Could a certain tired-eyed, quiet man make you feel better, and perhaps, make you fall in love again?

******

Pairings: Shouta Aizawa | Eraserhead x Fem!Reader; Mirai Sasaki | Sir Nighteye x Fem!Reader

******

Warnings: This beginning of this story takes place during the Shie Hassaikai Arc. Character death. Angst. Light smut (I say light because I feel like I am *not* good at writing smut LOL).

******

Your day started off as most people: by going to work. You worked as the student guidance counselor at the U.A. High School, alongside the other guidance counselor, Ryo Inui. Even though you were born without a Quirk [which you were certain would be the reason you would not get the job], Principal Nezu was so impressed by your resume and interview, that he offered you the position on the spot. And you loved your job. Even though you were Quirkless against students with Quirks, they were still just kids who sometimes needed emotional guidance, and you were there for just that. Ryo and you made a good team.

Because of this job, you became friends with the teachers and other staff. You were particularly good friends with Nemuri Kayama (Midnight), Toshinori Yagi (All Might), Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic), and even the ever monotone and tired Shouta Aizawa (Eraserhead). Even though you were Quirkless, they saw how good you were with the students. One time, you were even able to calm down Katsuki Bakugo who was throwing an absolute fit over something trivial. He calmed down enough that he was able to return to class. Due to your rapport with the students at the school, the staff welcomed you with open arms and you had yourself a great group of friends.

When it came to romantic relationships, you were also very lucky in that department. You and Mirai Sasaki, more commonly known as Sir Nighteye, had been in a relationship for four years now, and you were very happy together. Sure, he may have come across as intimidating and stoic to the public eye, but one of the many reasons he loved you was because of your sense of humor. You weren't a comedian, by any means, but you had made him laugh more often than he could count. Besides that, you had a mutual respect for one another, and cared for and loved each other deeply.

There was only one rule you established with Mirai at the beginning of your relationship: he could never use his Foresight Quirk on you. You didn't want either of you to know your future. When you explained your reasoning to him, you stated that you just wanted to live in the moment and take every day as it comes, as life is too precious to live in fear of what could happen. He respected your wishes, and never used his Quirk on you once in the four years you were together.

When your shift was over at work, you returned to your shared home with Mirai. He wasn't home yet; he often worked late nights at Nighteye Agency. You decided to make some dinner, covered a plate of food for Mirai and put it in the refrigerator for him. You texted him letting him know so, and asked him to try not to work too late tonight. You were feeling...needy. For some reason, you just wanted to be close to him that night. He replied back that he would be home as soon as he could. You put on his favorite lace babydoll nightie you owned, covered yourself up with a fuzzy robe, and put on a movie to watch until he got home.

It was around 8:00pm when he finally arrived home, and he came in to find you sleeping soundly on the couch, with the movie's menu playing over and over on repeat. You awoke to him gently shaking your shoulders, "Y/N, I'm home, my love." You smiled up at him, "did you eat anything? You must be starving. I made dinner and put a plate in the fridge for you, all you need to do is heat it up in the microwave." His tall, slender frame bent down and kissed you on the cheek, "that's why I keep you around," and you both laughed. After he heated up his food, you both sat down at the dining room table, and you just watched him lovingly while he ate. "Anything on your mind, Y/N?" he asked in between mouthfuls, noticing you watching him. "Not really, I just missed you today."

He smiled at you, finished his meal, and patted his leg, motioning you to come sit on his lap. "So, you missed me today, huh?" he asked thoughtfully. "I did. No particular reason why, you were just heavy on my mind today." He kissed you in response. You were still feeling needy for him, so you decided to deepen the kiss by using your tongue, to which he happily responded to. He pulled away from the kiss for a moment, "wow, you really did miss me today," he said with a small chuckle. At that moment, you stood up, took your robe off, letting it fall to the floor, where he finally could see what you were wearing underneath. "Y/N..."

"I know this one is your favorite," you said in a sultry voice. He just gulped in response. He was so cute. You two have had sex many, many times over the course of your four years together, but you still found it so endearing that even after all this time, he still looked at you as if it was the first time he was seeing you. You grabbed him by his hand, and led him to the bedroom. You were so needy for him. You both sat down on the bed, where you continued what you started in the dining room. You kissed him deeply while slowly untying his tie and unbuttoning his work shirt, revealing his muscular frame underneath.

You pushed him back onto the pillow, where you straddled his lap and continued to kiss him. In the position you were in, you could feel how hard he already was for you, and you felt how wet you were. You pulled away from the kiss, sat down on the side of him, and took the opportunity to pull off his work pants, leaving him in just his boxers. It was at that moment that he seized the opportunity to take you by the waist, and practically threw you down on the bed, where he continued to kiss you feverishly. He pulled away from the kiss just long enough to pull your straps down on your nightie past your breasts, where he started to kiss and gently bite down on your nipples. You moaned in response.

"I want you, Mirai. Now." He didn't even hesitate at those words; he peeled off his boxers, thrust himself into you, and you two made love. You couldn't put your finger on it, but this time your lovemaking was different, in a good way. It was more passionate than usual, like you were two souls bound together in one body. "I love you so much, Y/N," he said breathily during your lovemaking. "Oh, Mirai, you are my everything," you replied back to him with tears in your eyes. You were so happy and fulfilled in that moment, not realizing that this would be the last time you would ever share a moment like this together.

******

To be continued!

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recreationalfanfics · 1 year ago

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Do you have any thoughts on older/jack the ripper dlc jacob? Personally i think older jacob is hotter than young Jacob- both are hot, but older jacob does something to me fr 😮‍💨 I honestly think Jacob would send his darling off to Evie during the whole thing or away with their children (if they had any) but still. I just like the thought of Jacob being a little more chill with his darling but also still being completely delusional over how the start of their relationship was love at first sight and totally perfect while their darling is just like 🤨 Jacob tells his kids that you and him just instantly connected whereas you’re biting your tongue from pointing out that you almost threw at a beer mug at his head 😂 I’m so curious on your thoughts- i just love this man lol

ANON, YOUR MIND IS SO POWERFUL. I LOVE JACOB BUT WHY DIDN'T YANDERE! OLDER JACOB COME TO MIND!? THANK YOU AND YES, I DO HAVE SOME THOUGHTS.

- I can imagine that first and foremost, he would definetly send you and any children you two have (should you want any) over to Evie or somewhere far away where Jack can't hurt you when he gets threatened by him.

- Also, since Jacob adopted Jack, imagine Jack being sort of like a platonic yandere but the kind of yandere who thought it would be more merciful to "free you" from Jacob by killing you, so Jacob being conflicted but also feeling guilty for not recognizing Jack and the darkness in him sooner (or even making it worse by filling his head with his ideologies).

- But yeah, no, at that point you have Stockholm Syndrome so you're honestly relieved when you return home and quickly become concerned when you see Jacob and when Evie leaves to go back to India, you caring and tending to Jacob and helping him adjust.

- And even without his other eye, the intensity of his obsessive passion for you is not dimmed by any means. It burns as bright as they cursed day he laid eyes on you for the first time. He's so happy to have you back in his arms safe and sound.

- Also, yes, older Jacob becomes a bit "fuzzy on the details" of how you two meet. He often jokes about how you "played hard to get" and by that, he meant "you literally tried to flee the country but his rooks cut you off and then brought you to him where he trapped you and kept you locked away from the rest of the world" and how you've given up on correcting him because he's so convinced that's what happened.

Older! Jacob: "I was determined to make sure they weren't the one who got away!"

Older! You: "Yes. Yes he was. Very determined. Scarily determined, some might say."

- Both couples old and young envy the both of you and women of all ages tell you how lucky you are to have married a man who was so handsome and so obsessed with you. If you were younger, you would've looked at them in disgust but instead, you nod your head and say: "Yes, there is no one quite like my Jacob" and when Jacob hears, he feels his heart skip a beat and he's suddenly back to being the love sick puppy he was when he first "courted" you.

- But yes he would be rather chiller the older he becomes and this is mostly because you've finally accepted that you're never getting away from him. If you make any bitter or passive aggressive comment, instead of pouting or being upset, he will chuckle or roll his eyes before kissing you because for all that sass; you both know that he won in the end.

- He also trusts you enough to go on morning strolls with him, his arm linked around yours as you both walk down the city just for the view or go to the market together and he isn't worried to let you out of his sight for a bit (Younger Jacob would've been stressing and wouldn't calm down until you were back in his line of sight) and he enjoys how the two of you have conversations instead of screaming matches, conversations where he is reminded of why he loves you so much and how he simply will never let you go.

- The mornings are nice the older you two get, your chairs next to each other as you read the paper and you feel Jacob's eyes on you, admiring you, studying you, enjoying the fact that you were finally his and his alone. Then he'd grab your hand and tenderly rub his thumb on top of your knuckles before he sits up to kiss your cheek. When you were younger, he would've had to grab you by chin to keep you from moving away but instead you stay still and turn to give him a peck on the cheek which makes him hum in delight.

#THIS MAN IS DELICIOUS NO MATTER THE AGE.#Fucked up Ubisoft made me a native woman obsessed with this british man-#BUT LIKE LOOK AT HIM #tw yandere #yandere jacob frye x reader #yandere jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #assassin's creed x reader #yandere assassin's creed x reader #yandere imagine #yandere headcanons #JACOB FRYE IS THE OG GIRL DINNER

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hermesserpent-stuff · 4 months ago

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soooooo void!remy meeting the x men and being freaked is a love of mine. and him mistaking kurt for a weird vamp due to void things lol.

based on convos with @golden-buddle

tw: human trafficking, violence, child abuse

Remy clicks his tongue, fighting the urge to hiss and show off his teeth. He has to keep his poker face on. He had been working his way into gambling dens, digging down deeper and deeper, and now he has entered one of the darkest vilest gambling dens in the city. They dealt in things beyond the chump change of the rings that Remy preferred. No, this one deals in people. And not just people, but with a particular eye for vamps, mutants, and the young of both.

He hates it. And the arch vampires of the city hate it. They had hired Blade to help them out clear out some of these dens of depravity. Which means Remy hunts them down and gets in and Blade and the rest come a knocking.

Remy feels like his skin is itching as the proprietor of the establishment escorts Remy’s little group past the cages. Remy slips charged bits of paper into as many locks as he can. A little jolt and they would explode. He does not plan on things lasting long enough for him to actually to sit down and play a game of poker. He tenses as one of his many many explosions goes off. Well now. It seems someone tried rattling a cage.

He hears the howl of Wolverine and the snikt of his claws coming into play as the sound of Deadpools endless pool of chatter springs.forth. Remy is ready to join in the chaos of the fight when he notices a little mutant girl being dragged down the stares through a door he thought was a wall. He makes a beeline for it, pulling out his favored bo staff to hit and explode any who tried to oppose him.

The door leads to winding stairs that go deeper and deeper. He doggedly follows as the men take note that they have a prayer and start trying to do things that might slow him down. The little girl yowls and struggle, Remy spotting her fuzzy cat ears and tail as she struggles. One of the men hits her head and something in Remy snaps. He chucks a card forward, exploding the man's arm off. Then a silver knife finishes the job, lighting the vampire up. He dispatches the other two with similar explosions lighting up the ill-lit room that surrounds them. He pants and the little girl stares as she sits on the floor.

Remy pulls himself together and lowers himself to the floor.

“Hey mom petit. I'm not here to hurt.”

She sniffs the air. Probably has abilities similar to Logan's in the smell department.

“You smell like cat.”

She whispers and Remy smiles with no teeth.

“Sure do. Got a princess at home named Beignet. She's the sweetest fluffiest drop of midnight to come into my life. I would never hurt her. Or you.”

The girl seems to trust this, launching herself forward and burying her face in his neck.

“I don't want to hurt anymore. I always hurt.”

She begs and he gently pets her hair crooning lightly.

“Then Remy promises he gonna get you out. You got a name, mon petit?”

She noses his neck, sniffing and holding tighter.

“They… they took it. Said I wasn't allowed to name myself. They called me Kitten.”

He wants to rip the world apart. Kill those men again and again. Names were important. Knowing his name was his helped keep him sane in the horridness of the void.

“I don't wanna call you something they made you take. What do you like to be called?”

She pauses, her little nails growing out into tiny claws that are sharp through his shirt. But not a threat. She is just scared.

“My momma called me Eleanor.”

He hums at the name.

“Alright. That's a pretty name, cher. Eleanor. I'm Remy.”

He gently pets her hair, and she noses his throat. He stands up with a playing card slotted into his free hand. She presses close, a light purr there as he spins and starts make his back to the stairs.

A man jumps out the block his path and Remy throws his charged card. He slides to the side as the man spits insults and tries to grab at the girl. She whimpers and presses closer into his chest, little pinpricks of blood coming out. He fires off another card and leaps up the stairs and around the man. He kicks his head and throws another charged card, blowing up his chest. Another man bursts into the stairwell and knocks him down. Remy keeps a tight grip on the little girl, determined to not let her down. He throws three cards at the staircase. But the guy dodges the cards and fires at Remy with a gun. Remy ducks down and throws a few more cards, hissing loudly as he shifts backwards away from the guy. His charged cards light up bright pink against the darkness, little flares of hope that explode in a ver familiar way. He gets a good shot on the man’s chest and he blows up.

Once more he tries to get to the stairs. Eyes flash in the darkness ahead of him and the smell of sulfur reaches his nose. Remy freezes, arms tight around the child that clings so fiercely to his chest, her cat ears pinned back at all the sound. In front of him stands a demon- or some sort of vamp? Either way, he does not know their allegiance and his throat fights down a sob of weariness. He just needs to finish breaking free of this hell, to meet up with Blade and Wolverine who he can hear ripping the place a few floors overhead.

The blue vampire steps forward and Remy pulls out a cross and chucks it and hisses long and loud, showing off his teeth and stepping backwards. He is scared, so scared. The thing grips the cross, mouth opening slightly to say something right before the wood explodes. Remy’s feet are already moving when he hears a poof intermixed with the sound of an explosion. He skids to a stop at the sight of the vamp popping out in front of him.

“Hey, hey. Beruhige dich. Calm. We are on the same team. No need to disrespect the cross.”

The guy's hands go up showing three phalanges instead of the normal five. Remy hisses stepping back. This guy is fast. Too fast. Remy is too slow while carrying someone else, but he is not going to put her down. She whimpers and he gently pats her.

“It's okay Eleanor.”

He whispers, hand pulling out another weapon, a gun full of silver hollow points filled with garlic. The blue vamp loosens his posture, crouching down and curling his tail close. Tail? Maybe a really weird vampire.

“I dunno what game you be playin’ vamp, but if’n you be with the guys upstairs, we gonna have an issue real quick.”

Remy bites out, terror nipping at him. He was not supposed to be so far from the others. But he had been drawn in deeper at the chance of helping a child.

“Ah, mein Freund. Breath. I am not a vampire. I am like you and her. Mutant. Im here with some friends of mine. To help.”

A mutant? That… that actually makes more sense. That or the guy is a straight up demon. The little girl peeks out, arms still tight around Remy.

“I see. Your group helps mutants… X-men?”

He knows the name from Wade’s friends who come around occasionally that he and Logan avoid. The girl would be safe with them. He would really like to avoid Charles Xavier, not needing to meet another terrifying telepath, no matter how sweet other mutants seemed on the guy. Logan is probably avoiding them for a different reason.

“Ja! You know us!! We're the good guys!”

The guy cheers, tail swinging in presumable delight. The little girl’s eyes follow the tail, her own responding a little.

“Mmph. Remy will be believin’ he be seein’.”

“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed. But we’ll make an exception for you, herr und frau. Now! Let the fuzzy elf help you out!”

The guy winks at the girl flicking his tail through the air and grinning. She lets out an amused sound and Remy finds himself relaxing.

“I'm Nightcrawler. And I can teleport. Let me port us out of here. Ja?”

Remy considers it, tucking his teeth away. He looks down at the little girl, who he does not want to scare more.

“What do we say cher? Do we trust a fuzzy elf?”

She sniffs the air and presses a little tighter into Remy.

“Uh-huh. Yess.”

She whispered, hissing the last syllable. He pats her head and nods.

“Alright. Get us out. To somewhere safe.”

Remy steps towards the mutant and Nightcrawler grips them both gently. Remy flinches at the poof noise and forces his eyes back open as the scent of sulfur hits his nose. He sees that they are right outside the doors of the gambling ring. He spots one of the vampire workers bolting out and Remy presses the little girl close, shielding her eyes and ears as he fires. The vampire lights up and explodes and Nightcrawler freezes.

“You just-!”

“Don't feel bad. Bloodsucker was helpin’ hurt children. This weapon does not blow up normal folks. Just hurts like the devil.”

He hisses and then snaps his head to the side. Blade is there, sword wet with blood. Remy whistles, knowing that the vamp will be able to notice it even with the battle going on. Remy also notes that there are other people who are wearing outfits that have some shared designs. Remy keeps the girl on his hip and aims, firing to keep people away. Blade gets to his side and sniffs for wounds.

“Blood?”

Blade growls and Remy laughs.

“Aw, don't worry about Remy none! This sweet gal accidentally clawed me through my shirt.”

Eleanor makes a soft noise and he shushes her.

“And you shouldn't worry either, petit. I don't mind being clawed accidentally by you, cher.”

He gently pets her head and looks to Blade. Blade scrunches his nose.

“We’re almost done cleaning it out. Cops are coming and these X-men are helping get the mutants somewhere safer. And some vamps are collecting the fledglings.”

Remy slowly nods. Good. everyone was being taken care of. A few stragglers try to escape but he and Blade make sure they do not escape. Nightcrawler helps keep people from sneaking up on Remy and Remy keeps anyone from being able to touch the blue fur ball. Remy ends up sitting on a half wall next to the entrance. Eleanor is currently eating some of the Rolo’s that Remy had in his pocket, pressed against his chest with her legs tucked up against him. She seems to enjoy the caramel and chocolate, tugging on Remy’s sleeve to get more. He happily gives her more. Blade sits him on his left and Nightcrawler sits to his right.

Nightcrawler speaks softly to him.

“The institute is a very safe place for mutants. She can learn there without people discriminating against her.”

Remy smoothes her hair down. He feels a little tense at the idea of just handing her over. She curls a little tighter into Remy while staring at Nightcrawler.

“That'll be up to Eleanor. Watchu think? Remy’s happy to help you, but he's no good a teachin’.”

“But… what about you?”

She whispers, claws digging down into his shirt. He croons softly to her.

“I'll be okay.”

“He can come visit. I’ll give him the address and everything!”

Remy looks at Nightcrawler who looks genuine.

“You'll help her?”

“All the best medicine and teaching. And protection. Xaivers is safe.”

He knows they are headed by the person who is the brother to Cassandra. It makes him nervous about going anywhere near.

“Will you visit Remy?”

She asks, hope in her voice.

“I-... I'll come, cher. Remy will come and visit. Keep an eye out for me on the edges petit.”

“Or you could come too.”

“I got a place already.”

He says with a shake of his head and scooches closer to Blade who hums pleasantly. Nightcrawler looks like he understands. Maybe. He presses a playing card gently into Eleanor’s hands and kisses her forehead before she goes with Nightcrawler. Blade gently rubs his nape with a firm hand and Remy leans into with a croon.

#hermes speaks #void remy lebeau #remy lebeau #void gambit #gambit #a wolverine finds a spider #nightcrawler #deadpool and wolverine

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mylovejimimi · 1 year ago

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SNEAK PEEK | A MINIMONI STORY PT 1

— PAIRING: boyfriend!jimin x fem!reader x friend!namjoon x ??? — GENRE: smut +18. minors dni — WARNINGS: smut, dirty dirty talk (jimin's a menace), vaginal sex, oral sex (m receiving), not as much fluids as the last one lol but still fluids, riding, accidental vouyerism, talks of kinks, mentions of gang bang, jimin calls reader mean names, jimin and reader are in fluffy love, SOME plot — SUMMARY: It's your sweet, loving boyfriend's turn to plan your weekly date, and his sweet, homey plan comes with an exciting surprise in the form of a friend that he totally forgot was crashing at his place. — WORDS: almost 5k This one is like the holy scripture compared to the tae and jk one lmaooo but don't forget there's gonna be a part 2!!!!! promise to make it worse <3don't be shy and tell me what you think about my works! also i lied and say i would post it last night but my first draft didn't save <3 i love technology <3333 please remember you can send me a tip by buying me a ko-fi if you like this stories, it will meant the world to me and it will help me ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ Enjoy !

Whenever your schedules coincide, you and Jimin always made sure to have a date. Today was no exception.

Having an idol boyfriend, it was never an easy task to find time to spend together. And to have quality time, on top of that; a moment when he wasn’t too tired or overworked, or even anxious, and could engage in conversations or activities with you as his stress-free, lovely self. You always understood and supported him because that was his passion after all – though it never got any easier to watch him be away in tours or stay in the city but be unreachable, busy every second of the day. Also, you worked too, a less glamourous job of course, but a lot of times you had to give up your free time for some extra-hours or documents to finish at home.

Luckily for you, the boys just wrapped up the promos for their latest comeback, which meant they were relatively free for a couple weeks. It was Jimin’s idea to have a date every week, as long as he wasn’t required to work 24/7, to make up for past or future time apart.

So, it was a late Friday night and both of you lazed around in Jimin's apartment. You two loved going out and about the city, doing whatever activity you could think of, but since it was your boyfriend’s turn to plan the date – and he had been feeling like a homebody lately – he decided to have a chill night with you, the love of his life. You cooked, laughed, drank, danced around a little to his songs and now you were drinking again, sitting on the mat in between the sofa and the coffee table, chatting while soft music played in the background.

“It was an awful fit to be ever seen wearing! Whoever told you it looked good was lying” you laughed out loud at your boyfriend’s frown, before downing what was left of a bottle of soju, one of the many that you and Jimin already drank. You had the capacity to hold gallons of alcohol if you wanted; Jimin often joked that was what made him fell in love with you.

“It was you who told me I looked hot! I sent you a mirror pic and you replied with fire emojis” Jimin accused you with an offended pout, pushing you playfully and, in your tipsy state, making you fall fully on the ground. You giggled.

“I surely wasn’t in my best moment. Must had been one of those weeks of forced celibacy you make me go through when you release music, and thirst possessed me.” Jimin rolled his eyes with a little smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You get horny just like the rest of us, you’re not special.” You felt giddy and fuzzy inside because of both the alcohol and Jimin’s company. Goddamn, how you loved that man. Couldn’t help your big smile, heart in your eyes.

“Like the rest of you? You have no idea the depths and length of my horniness.” You started to draw random patterns on his thigh with your finger but kept staring adoringly into his eyes, always bold and teasing around him. With a hint of a smirk, he arched an eyebrow at your words and actions.

“Oh my God, right now too? You’re a horndog!” Jimin laughed heartily, pushing you again. You laughed along joyously, feeling happier than you ever been. You were sure you would never love a person the way you loved Jimin.

“Can you blame me? My boyfriend is way too hot.” Despite the dying laughter, Jimin, always up for flirting, had a smug expression that could be only mean problems. Sitting side by side, you only needed to crane your necks a little to be inches away from each other’s face, which was so helpful to your playing. You smirked, whole body facing Jimin’s now and buzzing with alcohol and imprudent ideas.

“Praising me for free? You’re totally too horny for your own good right now. But you’re right, I’m hot.” His smile got bigger and bigger the closer he got to you, stalking you slowly in the manner a predator about to attack his prey would. Soon enough, you could feel his breath caressing your lips: sweet with the fragrance of the flavored drinks, warm and intoxicating. Your eyes found his and in them you saw the glossy filter of alcohol mirroring yours, but the desire in his blown-out pupils was beyond comprehension. Your boyfriend was a menace – for you more than for anybody else. “And my girlfriend is hot as hell as well.”

“I am.”

“And we’re both very drunk.” Your heart accelerated in a second, just feeling the heat that radiated from Jimin and his gaze on your lips. And you knew Jimin was no better, if the ragged breaths escaping his mouth was any giveaway. “And we’ve been apart from each other for so long already.”

Call it a signal from the universe or simply your guts instincts being one step ahead of you, but a ray of clarity downed upon you carrying a possibility that, while it turned you on a bit, wasn’t completely right. Before taking things further, you frowned slightly.

“Baby wait, we’re in the living room, what if Taehyung or Jungkook just drop by without notice? They know the code for the door.” Jimin just shrugged, giving no importance to the very real, very probable problem. You, on the other hand, were too aware of it, remembering all the times you were there and any of the boys – usually the maknaes – would just walk in. Your boyfriend did not back off though; he just tilted his head playfully.

“Why does it matter? Everybody had seen us before at some point, and, like, this is my home. Plus, we’ll hear the door if anybody comes in.” Finally, he moved just the littlest bit so his lips could move yours whenever he talked. Jimin stared intensely into your eyes, speaking in this sultry, seducing tone that was so unique to him. “It’s been so long, baby, and I need you so much right now. I can’t even think of anything but having you right this moment. We’d waited long enough, my love.” And he closed the distance with a fervent kiss. You were never strong enough to fight his kisses, much less when you wanted it as much as him.

It always amazed you just how synced up you and Jimin were; but, well, everybody said all the time how right you were for each other for a reason. He knew exactly how deep to kiss, how fast or how sweet, and, of course, how to touch all the magical parts of your body to make you go feral. And you knew all of him too – but the truth is that both of you shared a lot of likes in every aspect of life, including intimacy. So, you knew he liked as much tongue as possible and as desperately as one can make it. Also, he liked to be touched everywhere at all times, because his body tended to get so sensitive, so brittle to your hands when he was turned on. Jimin loved feeling adored, and you loved to adore him.

He settled his hands on your ass, pulling until you were straddling him. Not missing a single beat, Jimin moved his lips to your throat, making sure to bit and kiss the most sensible spots. You gasped and whined and said things that Jimin couldn’t hear well with all the blood rushing in his ears. Then, all of a sudden, you gripped his hair in a fist and tugged his head backwards, away from your neck, because you knew he loved to roughhouse too. Jimin could clearly see the arousal and drunkenness swimming in your eyes, and he knew he must look just the same, but it was okay because you had been together long enough to be very acquainted with the wildest part of each other. Now it was your turn to attack his neck, and Jimin couldn’t help but think how good you were at it, surely more skilled than him. He groaned and whined loudly as the kisses became sucking and light nibbling everywhere; it went from his neck to his jaw to his ear and all the way down again, always mindful to avoid leaving too noticeable marks on the flesh.

At some point, he began grinding his crotch into whatever part of your body it could grind into, becoming impatient and whiny, so you stopped and left his neck to grip his jaw and look into his eyes. Only then, both of you realized what a mess of red lipstick you were.

“Who’s domming?” You asked, panting. As an answer, Jimin whined more and pouted, making you giggle. “You pretty, spoiled pillow bitch. You will have to do all the dirty work on your own someday, you know.” And you got back to work.

Not much time passed between the teasing and the doing, both of you needing to satiate the constant thirst you had for the other. You two were so high on arousal and desperation, aided by the alcohol, that you skipped the step of taking the clothes off. Jimin lowered his sweatpants to his upper thigh to get his girthy cock and heavy balls out, and then lowered your camisole enough to get your breasts out too, because he was obsessed with them.

“Baby –” you breathed when you took a hold of his member and felt how hard he was. He thrusted mildly and unconsciously, groaning when you tightened your hold on him. The precum his tip was leaking started to cover your fingers once you started fisting him, and you couldn’t resist the temptation: you released his member to take your hand to your mouth and lick his fluids away, making a show of it all for your boyfriend, who groaned loudly.

Before taking your hand down again, you licked your palm, but this time, instead of his cock, you took both of the man’s balls, playing with and gripping them. Jimin threw his head back on the sofa, moaning in a high pitch and tightening his grip on your hips, surely imprinting his fingers on the skin. Once again, you took his cock and got up your knees before moving out of the way your skirt and underwear. You were so wet that your folds squelched when you separated them to descend on your boyfriend, impaling yourself on the meaty, delicious member of his. The stretch left you breathless for a moment, because Jimin was large enough to fill you up fully even if he wasn’t hard. To get you out of the discomfort, he captured your mouth in a sloppy kiss, guiding you to move slowly on him and taking the liberty of put his thumb on your clit. You moaned, and mere seconds later, you were bouncing on your own, increasing speed and clenching your insides sporadically. Your boyfriend, in return, pushed you back down when you bounced up until you both found the perfect rhythm.

You two were too immersed in your own world; too consumed by pleasure to hear the distinct sound of the door lock being unlocked and the footsteps that followed.

“You’re my bitch, got it? This ass is only mine to fuck,” Jimin exhaled close to your mouth, trying to keep his eyes focused on you moving face. You whimpered but nodded. “I will use you like the cockslut you are, whenever I want to and however I want to. And with whoever I want to.” He thrusted up with vigor, clearly liking the idea of sharing you. “Can you imagine it? To get fucked by me and then by any of my friends? Or all of them, because I know the greedy whore you are.” And he made you gasp out loud by biting your nipple and suctioning it. You panted open-mouthed now, forcing your eyes to stay open and watch how your boyfriend went from one nipple to the other, and then to insert his tongue shamelessly in your mouth.

You almost lost your mind at the way he licked filthily your wet insides, but the idea of being shared was pushing stronger. It was no secret to your boyfriend that one of your deepest fantasies was to be shared by several people, submitting to them, being at their mercy; and despite the natural jealousy that arose in Jimin at the beginning, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head for days. He thought about it so obsessively that he got desensitized to jealousy, and, at one moment, he found himself getting hard and needing to jerk off to the made-up image of you being used by multiple people. So, it became his fantasy too.

“You always wanted that, to get passed around like a pretty toy, cock after cock fucking this useless pussy.” Jimin chuckled with gritted teeth, getting more turn on by his own words. You whined loudly, just as loud as Jimin was talking – because he simply couldn’t regulate his voice while fucking –, which was pretty loud for anybody else in the room to hear. And there indeed was someone hearing and watching you from the entrance. Not like any of you realized though. “You know what else a filthy slut like you wants? To choke on cocks. To get your pretty face fucked rough. To have cum dripping from your mouth and still get your throat fucked over and over again. And I know you want to choke on my members’ cocks, don’t you? Get on your knees for the seven of us, suck dry the cocks of those friends that think you’re just my cute, little girlfriend; their pretty, dumb friend.” Jimin hissed with a particular tight squeeze, so close to release. He gripped your hair, tight, and pushed your face closer to his. “Who is the spoiled pillow bitch now?” And he kissed you, knowing both of you were mere moments away from the best orgasm of the year.

And then, a phone rang strepitously right there in the living room, some meters away from where you were. And you knew it was neither yours nor your boyfriend's.

Both you and Jimin jumped in your places, separating from each other's body once you saw a blushing and frantic Namjoon hurriedly looking for his phone in his pants. With one hand, Jimin hurried to help you fix your bra and top that were half off your body, while with the other hand, he tried to put himself inside his own pants as hastily. As if Namjoon hadn't been watching your passionate encounter for the last five minutes.

Your head? Empty, come back later. Your body? Burning with shame and, well... other things had arisen too.

“J-Joon” you started, still out of breath, but you had nothing else to say. You just stared at your friend, who arrived at the perfect time to see you being dommed.

By your peripherical vision, you saw your boyfriend getting red in the face, expression twisted into pure fury.

“Yah! You –“ And he stopped himself in his tracks, staying completely still for a second and then clearly his throat, his whole demeanor changing in an instant. It was completely weird for Jimin to stop himself from berating someone, being the most argumentative man ever as he was.

What the fuck is going on?

“S-sorry you had to watch us, Namjoon” he said calmly but still harsh. Overcoming quickly the initial surprise and change of behavior, Jimin showed his friend he definitely didn’t like the unconsented voyeurism.

Namjoon, on the other hand, was petrified in place, holding both of his friends’ stares. Mind completely blank, he couldn’t think of any excuse or justification, not even the very real reason he was there.

“It’s, uh, it’s okay. I didn’t see much.” He wanted to slap himself for saying that. It implied he had seen at least a little. “I just arrived, really didn’t see or hear anything. No big deal.” And then both you and Jimin saw it – the proof that Namjoon saw some and heard some and he even liked some. The bulging in the front of his sweats wasn’t that obvious but it definitively was there, where it wasn’t in everyday happenings. You both got visibly surprised, maybe a little aroused too, but said nothing. Instead, you two, in all your lipstick-messed glory, stared Namjoon in the eye with some sort of dignity.

“I would have appreciated it if you hadn’t seen anything or said something or go somewhere else.” Jimin was always borderline aggressive when he thought something was inappropriate; and, though you didn’t always agree with this approach, you stood by him on this one because he was right.

“But I told you we shouldn’t do this here in the open,” you whispered, a little ashamed. Namjoon blinked, speechless.

“I-I…” He swallowed and inhaled deeply. “You’re right, I’m sorry I watched you and I’m sorry I interrupted too.” He said all of that sporting the brightest color of red ever seen in someone’s face. “I forgot both of you would be here and that you both do these things. I should have called before coming, sorry.” Jimin was totally satisfied with that reaction but you were not. You felt bad that Namjoon was putting all the blame on himself when you had a feeling something like this could happen and did nothing.

“It’s okay, Joon. Just… don’t watch us without asking ever again.” Though it did feel a little hot. Being caught was one of the many fantasies you and Jimin shared, and you knew that Jimin felt as aroused and excited as you. But he was sterner than you and so, he was the one that put the ruthless mask on and delimited the boundaries to all the people outside your relationship.

“Ask you?” Namjoon asked in utter disbelief, like he was hearing the craziest nonsense ever. He could ask? He could watch? You and Jimin looked at each other. Of course he could watch. Any of them could watch, if they wanted. You both discussed it a million times; if any of Bangtan, six of them being single and unlucky, approached the couple seriously, they had no reason to tell them no. You trusted them a lot, and it wouldn’t necessarily ruin the friendship; not if they didn’t make it weird.

“Well, if you want to do something that involves other people, you usually ask if they’re OK with it.” And yet Namjoon couldn’t believe what his group member was saying. He felt weird. So weird that his nervous system was firing all alarms. His heart started beating faster than when he came home to the image of two of his friends doing each other. He felt so overwhelmed suddenly.

“Okay,” he said, before spinning on his heels and almost running to Jimin’s spare room. You were confused. Why did Namjoon go to that room instead of getting out of the house?

“This damn dumb bitch interrupted us in the best moment.,” Jimin grumbled, upset.

“Babe, why is Namjoon here?” you inquired harshly, crossing your arms. Jimin pursed his lips and looked at you with his big, puppy eyes. You didn’t buy it. “Jimin, were you the one that made Namjoon come tonight?” Your boyfriend sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, baby, but – Wait, wait! I didn’t ask him to come! I just let him come!” he explained in a rush when he saw you open your mouth to yell at him. “There’s a problem with the water system at his building and I told him he could crash here for a couple nights. He is out all the time so I totally forgot he was sleeping here this week.” You scoffed.

“You’re dumb, did you know that?” Jimin just giggled at your response. It was an accident, so there was nothing to get angry at. You grinned at him, playing with his fingers. “Can we finish what we started now?” But he grimaced at that.

“I don’t know how to feel about fucking you after what happened. I mean, is one thing to fantasize about it and other completely different to experience it without consent.” Jimin didn’t look convinced. You appreciated so much how tactful he was about the situation.

“You’re right, baby, maybe let the shock pass first.” You squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile. “But would you, at least, let me help you? As a reward for being a good friend.” He smirked, and passed his arms around your waist to hug you to his body.

“How could I say no to a reward?” …

And just as fast as you agreed, you were on Jimin’s bed. Currently, your boyfriend was laying on his back, sweats on his mid thighs, with you kneeling by his side and pumping him with all your heart. And yet, he was fixated on the ceiling, barely reacting to the stimulation.

“Man, why the fuck are you just laying there? I’m giving you a hand job right now,” you huffed, frustrated with the indifference your boyfriend showed toward your efforts. “If you want a blow, you just have to ask, you know.” You stopped all movements and Jimin finally focused on you, coming back from being lost in his head.

“Sorry, babe, you’re amazing as always. I just can’t stop thinking about what happened.” He sat up, now being face to face to look you closely.

“Well, same. It was awkward but also kinda hot.” Jimin nodded a little absent-minded.

“He seemed surprised that you said he should ask.”

“It’s not every day that two of your friends indirectly invite you to watch them have sex, though.” At that, Jimin arched an eyebrow, playful all of a sudden.

“So you were inviting him, huh?” You blushed.

“I mean, yeah. Wasn’t that what we wanted? Did I read your eyes wrong?” Jimin, once more, got closer to your face like a menace, until you were millimeters from touching.

“So, you really plan on having him watch while you’re getting fucked mercilessly, in every way, in full dom/sub display? I bet you would like to get dicked down by him too.” He smiled and you felt your heart racing. What was your boyfriend implying?

“Uh, I don’t know? I mean, sounds… Yeah.” You really tried to form a rational sentence, though it was difficult with all your thoughts all over the place. As an avid over-thinker, you needed three to five business days to sit down and dissect the whole situation from beginning to end to sort out your opinions. “And what about you? Would you be fine by that? Would you also like to get some of his dick?”

“Nah, love. I don’t think it flows like that between us. Would be super embarrassing to bounce on his lap and go to a company briefing with him the next morning.” And he smirked deviously at you. “But it wouldn’t be weird watching him thoroughly giving it to you. Or should I say, hammering it into you.” He extended his arm and fondly caressed the side of your face. “Mmh, I think the shock had already passed because I just unlocked a new fantasy. Baby, I really, really need to see you being fucked into dumbness by him” he expressed with a pout, like begging you to give it to him. “I can attest he has a horse dick too.”

“Jimin!”

“And I think it will help me to shut up that annoying ego of yours for once; you’d been domming for too long and need humbling” he added to tease you. You frowned at the teasing; frowned even deeper at the weird list of cons of fucking Namjoon that your boyfriend just gave you.

"You’re getting a little too brave for a man with his dick in his vengeful girlfriend’s hand,” you told him lowly, narrowing your eyes and gripping said dick harder. Jimin took a sharp breath but smiled anyways.

“That’s it, babe, that’s how I like it. Just tug a couple times more while I imagine Namjoon folding you into two and fucking you to tears.” You scoffed and pinched Jimin’s nipple, way too hard to be pleasurable.

“Ow! But I’m being honest!” Jimin complained with a laugh.

“If you want me to blow you, stay fucking quiet, whore” you warned Jimin, getting comfortable on your knees. Your boyfriend helped you by taking your long hair in a makeshift ponytail in one hand. And you did exactly what you said.

As always, Jimin was loud and, at times, rough. Whenever you bobbed up, he only let a second pass before push your head down on his cock again. He lived for hearing you gagging and choking on him. And, as expected, he loved it messy and with a lot of saliva involved.

“Holy fuck, this mouth is amazing, baby, just like your pussy. Dirty little bitch, where did you learn to deepthroat this good? Is because you used your whore mouth on many cocks? I bet that’s why.” With each word, Jimin thrusted his hips against your mouth rougher. He was very aware of your limits and knew that his words and movements were making you drip. “Those late nights waiting for me in the company? I bet you spend them being used by the guys. Whose cocks do you slobber, you fucking cumdump? Yoongi hyung’s? Hobi hyungs’s?”

Your eyes welled up just as your pussy creamed the skimpy panties you wore for Jimin. Though you had a pretty dominant and defiant personality, you became fully submissive from time to time to humor boyfriend. Like in that moment, when you let him control your head by taking fistfuls of your hair to make you gobble his cock however he wanted. His balls hit your chin each time he snapped his hips up, and, since all that movement made it very difficult for you to keep your saliva in your mouth, most of it ended up falling towards Jimin’s body, dampening his testicles and inner thighs.

“Ah, I know -shit- you act all innocent but you let Namjoon use your mouth every night, like the disgusting slutty toy you are.” He was really close; you could tell by the precum that his cock leaked on your tongue and how his member throbbed. You looked up at him and catched him devouring you with his eyes, plump lower lip tucked between his teeth (and you couldn’t help internally melting at his cute crooked front tooth). On the other side of the blowjob, Jimin felt his abs flexing uncontrollably while he fixed all his attention on you, the most perfect being that ever existed. You were a sight for his sore eyes, with that fucked up face he loved – the only thing that could make him come in seconds. “Oh fuck, I won’t stop thinking about his come dripping from your mouth. Shit, shit, shit—”

Despite having your mouth way too full and roughed, you moaned to assist your boyfriend in cumming. The thrusts became erratic and a loud, long moan left Jimin’s lips when he threw his head back to finally let go, coating your mouth and throat. He pushed your face against his crotch and held you there tightly until he stopped coming. In a couple seconds more, his breathing was steadier and he could let go of your poor head.

You lifted yourself slowly and breathed deeply, composing yourself despite being a mess of tears, saliva and cum. Wiping some off with the back of your hand, you looked pointedly at Jimin, who just raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

“You’re getting a little too insistent with this me and Namjoon thing. Are you really that fucked up? That you would enjoy the emotional torture of seeing me with someone else? Do you have a kink about being cheated on?” Even with a rough voice, Jimin understood what you said instantly, and his response was a roll of eyes and a snort.

“Don’t be an idiot, I just find it hot, ok? I DO NOT want you to leave me for him.”

“So hot that you had to talk about it so detailly to cum?” You helped to get his pants back on their place before fishing one shirt you found nearby to clean your face. Jimin admired you for a moment, hands behind his head.

“Yes.” He smiles brightly. “And I’m serious when I say I need to see you get fucked by him. It’s, like, vital for me right now.” It was your turn to snort. “Maybe all of us could benefit from his stay here.” Eyes drooping, you rested your body on his, using his chest as your pillow. Too many things happened in the span of an hour and just now all the alcohol intake had its effect of making you sleepy. Whatever other things Jimin said, you missed them after giving your veredict:

“Maybe.”

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