#rope wrapped stool

[intrepidcrow-girl]

Chicago Vestibule Mudroom Inspiration for a mid-sized eclectic entryway remodel with gray walls and medium tone wood flooring

[mysteria157]

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

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

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!

[peachesofteal]

Fae!Price/female reader This is a little piece of Long and Lost from this world.

Inside the pub on main, there is a girl. 

She’s a normal girl, to most, perfectly ordinary in nearly every way. She works her job, sees her coworkers, visits the darkly lit bar for a pint every now and then. Within the throngs of people drinking and eating and laughing, she appears like any other. Dark eyes watching the television with mild interest, glancing across other people’s faces politely. A brown coat, dusky orange scarf, a pair of blue jeans. Black leather boots that are scuffed at the toe. She orders a beer, keeps to herself, and minds her manners. She blends in so seamlessly, you’d never take a second look her way if you were in this bar, drinking with your friends, having a laugh. 

The only thing that could possibly distinguish her, is the black ribbed turtleneck. The bartender has never seen in her any other shirt, even in the summer. He assumes it’s because she’s a creature of comfort who likes what she likes, the type who enjoys a staple piece. It’s how he thinks of her, whenever she settles herself at his bar. The turtleneck girl.

He doesn’t know the turtleneck hides the most unique thing anyone in this town would ever see. He doesn’t know that the skin beneath her jaw glows with a sea glass green mark, one that calls to a world beyond a veil, that shines like a lighthouse guiding its lover home through treacherous seas. A mark unique in its shape, size and power, unlike any of this realm, or any realm, save for one.

It’s nearly midnight when they arrive. 

Almost everyone has gone home for the evening, and only the bartender, the turtleneck girl, and the old man linger. 

When the bell chimes, they all glance at the newcomers, and only the girl does not say hello. She does not say anything in fact, choosing to look immediately down into her half empty pint, turning the options over in her mind. The bartender welcomes them, directs them to choose a place a sit, wherever they like, hospitality their kind does not deserve, a truth no one here could know, except for her. The back door is so, so close to where she’s perched, and she could make it, if she ran. If she flew, she could be outside the pub and over the rooftops in seconds, leaving this town to the ash, to the destruction that the 141 will surely wring from its bones, as they do most places, in most realms. 

A trace of power slithers across her skin. It’s a probe, an inquiry of some kind, scratching at the shell surrounding her magic, tapping against the ethereal light that sits trapped inside her chest. Her muscles tense, thighs shaking with the effort to hold still, hold her breathe, hold herself at bay. She wants to explode, wants to Shine inside this pub and shred the Fae hunters to pieces, wipe them from this plane of existence and send them back to their own. 

They’re war addicted, hungry beasts. They don’t belong here. 

But they’re not the only monsters in this room. 

She shoves the power away, shoves it as hard as she can, a pulsing shockwave that rattles the foundation, and leaps from her stool, sprinting out the back door, run, run, run-

She makes it as far as the alley before she feels the Prince’s sun kissed whip around her throat, jerking her backwards like an animal, restraints wrapping around wrists and legs, forcing her to her knees. 

Maybe if she begs, if she cries, they’ll let her go. They’ll spare her. 

“It’s not me.” She croaks, flexing against the sun searing rope that stays taut around her neck. “You’ve made a mistake. Release me.” 

“I don’t think so.” The Prince croons, smiling in a sick, sadistic way that turns her stomach. She rails against the binding, straining with everything inside of her, urging her power up through her pores, wings screaming beneath the sinew at her back. Shine, they cry. Shine and blow them all back to Faerie.

It’s no use. She’s no match for a single Fae in this world, let alone four of the most powerful, not with how weak she’s grown. 

The Captain settles himself on the pavement, bending at the knees, still straight backed and proud, blue eyes meeting her head on. He’s not afraid, does not tremble, does not falter before her like the others who have tried to collect their bounty have. 

“Fuck you.” She sniffs, turning her face away. The other three loom in the background, unmistakable now that they’ve dropped their Glamour. 

The Ghost.

The Chaos.

The Prince.

The 141, in the flesh. 

The Captain rises to his full height, motioning for the Ghost, some sort of magical bond sizzling through the air, communication that burns in the breeze on this cold winter’s night. “You’re in a lot of trouble, little angel. And so far from home, too.” He cocks his head, arms crossed across his chest, and she snarls, snapping her teeth.

“Keep your cretinous fucking hands off me.” She spits, and John Price only smiles, cupping her jaw in a wide, warm palm. 

“No.” 

[miniwheat77]

Sweet. (Captain Price x Reader)

!NSFW, Smut, Fingering, Roofies, Oral Sex (fem recieving), unprotected p in v sex !MINORS DNI! Edited!

*added p in v sex part*

When you were recommended for 141, nobody really seen why.

Captain Price didn't think you were all that special, none of the others did either. But nonetheless, he decided to give you a chance. He was a little hard on you for awhile, pushing you during training, being a little rough when it came to talking to you, and his punishments were even worse. He was very difficult and you didn’t understand why he seemed so passive to everyone except for you.

You hated being apart of 141, it was the worst thing Laswell had ever recommended. You thought maybe Captain Price hated you because you were young. He seemed to have the mentality that the military wasn't meant for young adults. Which, truth be told. It probably wasn't. But it was the only means of escape you had.

"This mission is different." Captain Price makes his way inside the conference room. Stacks of papers in his hands. "And I think this is the perfect time, we see what Y/N's got." he smirks. This clearly wasn't an important mission. Otherwise he wouldn't have you on it. Because for some reason, he hated you. "This is a capture only mission. Y/N will lead the way." He smiles.

—

A sigh falls from your lips. "You know. I'm a little annoyed that I got roped into this. I had intentions of someone else doing it." You complain. Captain Price chuckles. Sitting next to you in the limousine. "Well, sweetheart. You happen to be the only female around. Besides, you never said how you'll get him to tell you anything or how you'll capture him." He smirks. "I have a plan. Just trust me." He nods his head. He's wearing a suit and you have on the tightest black dress known to man. Tall black heels and your hair and makeup is done to the best of your ability. Something Captain Price hadn't ever seen before.

"Follow my lead." You mutter. He follows you up through the front doors of the penthouse, very similar to the one you'd captured Valeria in. It's full of people dressed to perfection. There's a huge dance floor surrounded by tables. The both of you make your way inside, sitting at the bar.

For the next hour, it's the both of you trying to blend into this party, even going as far to dance with one another on the dance floor.

"I have eyes." You whisper to John on the dance floor. He spins you around, your back pressed up against him, his mouth right next to your ear. "I see him too, you ready for this ah?" he smirks. "Oh yeah." His hips brush up against yours and he closes his eyes for a second.

It doesn't take much for you to get your targets attention. Sitting a few stools down from him at the bar. "Whatever you do, do not let me be in a room alone with him for too long. No more than 5 minutes if you have no eyes." You mumble into the radio.

"Copy." John says, he's a little confused by how crucial you've made it sound. The man sits down in the stool next to you and begins talking to you. It doesn't take long until he's wanting to get into a room upstairs with you. You sweet talk him the entire time. You get into the elevator with him, nervous the entire time. "Eyes." Ghost says into the radio, a sense of relief going over John. He had seen you enter the elevator.

Once he has you alone upstairs. He puts a hand on your side. "I know who you are. American Military ah?" He whispers, the hair on your body stands up. "Yes." He wraps a hand around your throat and Ghost lines up a shot. "I came here to warn you. They planned to attack tonight. I'm on your side, I want to join you." You plead with him.

John narrows his eyes, he's still sitting at a bar on the first floor. The radio is oddly silent. "Look now!" you plead, just as soon as Soap makes his way up the stairs, the man draws his weapon. Soap lets out a yell as the man shoots at him. "Falling back Captain!" Your radio goes off.

The man narrows his eyes at you. "Why should I trust you?" he asks. "She knew he was going to shoot and didn't tell me. We need to leave, regroup, and find a new plan." Soap says into the radio. "The hell?" John shakes his head. "I'll tell you anything you wanna hear." You breathe out. He nods his head. He grasps your wrist, dragging you along. "Is she working for him?" Soap asks. "Don't know. Whatever you do Ghost, do not lose sight of her." John says into the radio, attempting to make his way up the elevator but it was taking forever. "Yes sir."

"That cheeky little minx!" Ghost exclaims into the radio. "What? What's going on?"

"She's just roofied him!" He laughs. "What? How?" Soap asks. "She must've convinced him it was acid. Put it on her tongue and than swapped it to him." He laughs. "Gross, like... she kissed him?" Ghost rolls his eyes as soap says it. "Shit, he's pulling her into a room. Get to her now, I have no eyes." Ghost says frantically.

Price hears it and gives up on the elevator, trying to make his way up the stairs.

He pushes passed everyone, reaching the second floor where you were.

He opens the front door. Seeing there’s nothing but random stuff laying around the room. He quickly moves to look through the rooms, opening a door to a bathroom. The other must be the bedroom. He kicks it open.

The man is on top of you, he's delirious but he's pulling your dress up. You're trying to fight him off, but he's got your hands pinned with his knees. John pulls him off of you and he passes out as soon as he hits the floor.

"Y/N?" He asks. You look far more scared than he’s ever seen you. "Captain." You hug him quickly. "What happened darling? Are you hurt?" He pulls away, looking you up and down. "He.. He tried to.." John shakes his head. "Did he?" He asks. You shake your head. "It's alright. You did amazing Y/N." He breathes. Pulling you into his side. Soap pushes into the door, seeing the room is a little messy and the man is on the floor. "Why were you so adamant on 5 minutes?" Soap asks.

"She's a virgin." Ghost says, he's on the windowsill. He startles all of you. He'd used a tool to get across to the building. "What?" Soap asks.

He laughs. "You wouldn't notice at first glance. But around him she was a little awkward. Maybe a bad idea to throw her out there as bait." Ghost starts to tie up the man. "I had no idea." John says. You look at the ground, cheeks lighting up. "I... Yeah." John nods his head. "Come on, lets get him back to HQ."

—

"Hey." John says, tapping on your door that was already open just a crack. "Hey." You say back, turning toward the mirror. You were pulling all of the bobby pins from your hair. He closes your door behind himself.

He pulls his hat off, sitting down next to you on the edge of your cot. "I owe you an apology." He says, grasping your hand in his to get your attention. You turn to look at him, your eyes were stunning to him, complimented perfectly by the eyeshadow you had put on.

"I should not have sent you in there like that. I know how bad people like him could be to women and I didn't think about your well being. For that, I'm very sorry."

You smile, looking down. "I should have been up front. I should have told you I was uncomfortable. I let him intimidate me in there. I didn't like it at all." You look down at your free hand, the other pulling out the final bobby pin. You almost take Johns breath away when your hair falls out around your face, something he hadn't ever seen before. "I just.. you're kinda hard on me. I wanted to prove to you that I could handle it, but having him stare me down like he did. Touch me like that. Just made my skin crawl." You mumble.

He places his hand on your bare thigh. "I know love. I am a little rough on you, but I have to be. I want you to understand that if you let your guard down even just a little, you'll die. I care about you and I don't wanna see you hurt. Ever. If something happened to you, I'd never forgive myself." He sighs. "You really proved yourself today, you did great. And by the way, you're a great dancer." He smiles. "You had me fooled, ya did. I would've never guessed you were a virgin." Your cheeks heat up. You laugh.

"How the hell did you convince him to take the roofie ah?" You smile, looking down. "I'm very sneaky and manipulative, Captain. It was easy." He laughs. "Try it on me." he turns. "Okay." You look forward, taking a deep breath. "You know, this dress is a little tight." You spin around, pretending to be uncomfortable, moving closer to him. “You mind helping me?” You mumble. He thinks it’s bait, unraveling the back of it where it’s tied. Once he’s got it taken off, you pull it down slightly. Revealing your cleavage.

You turn to look at him. Staring into his eyes. You swallow hard feigning innocence.

You lean into him, pressing your lips to his.

He's got a tight grip on the blanket, and you keep his interest for quite some time. Even going as far to wrap your arms around his neck.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are closed and when he opens them again, you look at him, a smile on your face. "Okay. I don't see how that's manipulative in any way." He looks confused. You tilt your head. "Maybe not manipulative but sneaky.” You smirk. "Check your pockets."

He narrows his eyes, feeling around his pockets, but they're all empty.

He looks confused.

You bring your hand from behind your back, holding a cigar and a dog tag in your hand.

His eyes widen, a grin covering his lips. "You are a cheeky little thing aren't you?" He laughs. "That kiss even felt real." He laughs. Your smile falters a little bit. His eyes widening. "Oh, because it was, wasn't it?" He laughs. You blush at his teasing and turn away from him. He smiles, grasping your chin and pulling your face to look at him. "Look at me, lass.”

He presses his lips to yours again and you smile into his lips when you feel him reaching for his cigar. You push his hand away, sliding it into his pocket, not taking your lips away from his for even a second.

He starts to lean back and he pulls you with him, lifting your hips up so you could straddle him as he lays back on your bed. Your lips stay on his and he needs to stop you, but he can't. "Y/N, you gotta stop me sweetheart. I can't stop myself." He pants.

"I.. I don't want to stop you." You’re breathless. He pushes you back slightly and he stares into your eyes. They glimmer in the light from your small lamp and he needs to stop. Before he goes too far and gets you both into trouble.

In a way, he feels like he's taking advantage of you. But he can't stop himself. "Lay on your back." He mumbles. Once you do, he pushes himself between your legs. He leans down, kissing you again. This time with a little more desperation than the last. He pulls away, planting a kiss right onto your chin, than again on your neck. He trails them down, tugging your dress down along with him. Sucking love bites into your chest where your breasts were nearly exposed to him.

"Do you want me to stop?" He pulls away for a second, hands gripping the top of your dress. You shake your head. “No..” you whine.

He pulls the top down, revealing your breasts to him entirely. You suck in a sharp breath. How someone could go from hating you to touching you like this so quickly was beyond you.

He plants a kiss to your nipple, maintaining eye contact as he does so, parting his lips just slightly to run his tongue along it. Sucking it between his lips gently. A whimper falls from your lips, you start to squirm underneath him. His facial hair scratches your skin perfectly, creating a burn that feels so good, you couldn't quite describe it.

He moves to the other side, doing it once again to your other nipple until you're starting to whimper a little too loud. You were waiting in anticipation, wanting nothing more than to feel that burn between your legs from his facial hair. The thought alone making arousal pool between your legs. He kisses down your stomach, tongue running along your skin as he moves, lower and lower. He pushes your dress up and over your hips, fingers wrapping around your panties and pulling them off. Your dress bunches up over your stomach. Revealing you to him completely. He looks up at you again, eyes meeting yours. As he lowers himself into you, he keeps eye contact.

Licking the first stripe up your slit, swirling his tongue around your clit, having to hold back a grin when your eyes screw shut. Watching you fall apart beneath him. He's gentle, flicking his tongue against you, gripping your hands tight in his. He draws one of them back, gathering up the wetness from you and his saliva, pulling away for just a second to rub his finger up against your opening, gathering the wetness on his finger.

You whine out, bucking your hips into him. Clutching a handful of his hair.

He lines his finger up with your entrance, you take a deep breath as he slides it in.

You feel full immediately.

He flicks his tongue slow and steady over your clit, pumping his finger inside of you until he could get you wet enough to handle 2. Once he slides the second finger in, you practically melt beneath him.

You cover your mouth with both of your hands, trying so hard to stay quiet. He wants nothing more than to hear you call out for him. Moan his name. He’d put money on it that ‘John’ would roll perfectly off that sweet tongue of yours.

He starts to flick his tongue a little faster, sucking lightly on your clit when his tongue would get tired and you couldn’t help but buck your hips into him. He tries to hold you steady with his one hand, but you’re struggling. Moaning and whimpering but it’s muffled by your hand. Squirming and bucking your hips into him. At this point, he wonders if you’ve ever even been touched at all. He circles over your clit, the wet sounds he makes is lewd as it fills the room.

“John… I- I’m gonna cum.” You whimper. It’s so low it’s almost inaudible. He almost misses it. But he doesn’t, he pumps his fingers into you, scissoring them and curling them up into you, watching the way your body reacts so perfect to him, flicking his tongue against your clit. It’s so much for you, and finally.

Your hips buck into him, a whimper escapes you as you reach your climax. John keeps flicking his tongue and pumping his fingers to ride out your high until you close your thighs around his head, whimpering as you grasp his hand to keep him still. He smiles up at you, lips and beard glossy with your juices. Your face is flushed, you’ve got love bites all over you Mr skin, artwork. Your hair is a little messy now. He takes a deep breath, sitting up as he palms himself through his jeans.

“You taste fuckin sweet darling.”

Your cheeks burn.

It was intense, but you can’t help but want more.

“We’ll get you used to me. We’ll move slow, yeah?” He nibbles at his lip. You nod your head at him.

“Good girl.” He breathes. “Maybe we should wait to go any further-“ he goes to stand up. You reach out for his hand, stopping him. “Wait-“ You breathe. “I.. I want more.” You bite your lip. He looks confused. “Please-“

He sits down. “You.. you want me to-“ he freezes up. You sit up, taking the lead and pressing your lips to his. You move yourself on top of him, hearing him sigh into your lips. You pull away for just a second to unzip his pants, tugging his cock from his boxers and pulling them through the zipper in his pants. You line him up with your entrance, sinking down onto him. Between his saliva, your arousal, and his fingers stretching you out. You’re ready for him.

His fat tip parts your folds, you shake slightly. He’s big. Stretching you.

You slide down onto him, mewling out as he reaches depths nobody has ever before. Your thighs give out when he bottoms out. “Fuck!” He gasps. He looks between the both of you. Watching you raise yourself up and slide back down onto him. Starting to bounce your hips on him. Riding him.

He hisses out, lifting his shirt up and pulling it over his head. You soak the jeans that wrap around his shaft. Reaching down to unbutton them. You’re whining out. The soreness of losing your virginity has subsided. Now, you just rock into him. He reaches up, taking your nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers, rolling them between his fingers. You cry out, tipping your head back. Rocking into him back and forth until you can feel something building in your stomach. “John-“ you mewl. Hearing his name come from you in such a filthy way has him desperate. “Can’t take it baby.” He groans. He forces you over, flipping you until he’s on top of you.

He’s rough, the cot creaks beneath you as he fucks you hard. Hips hammering into you as he approaches his high. He’s sweaty and horny. Desperate for his high. You’re tight around him, the sound of him sliding into you eggs him on further. He’s trying hard to keep himself from cumming so soon, but it’s been so long. You pull him into you, kissing him to silence the both of you. He keeps his steady pace, hard, deep thrusts. He pulls away to attack your neck with his mouth. Not caring if he leaves marks on you.

“I’m gonna cum baby.” He gasps.

You look up at him. Moaning out. “Me too.” You breathe. “Cum with me sweetheart.” He breathes. “Look at me.”

He keeps your eye contact, hips moving with yours.

When you reach your climax, feeling him twitch inside of you. It’s pure bliss. Something you’ve never felt.

Something you can already tell you’ll be desperate to feel again.

He whines when he cums, riding out his high and sliding out of you. Moving to lay next to you.

It’s silent aside from the both of you panting. Coming down from your highs.

It’s him who finally breaks the silence. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass to you.” He mumbles. “It’s alright.” You giggle. “It’s not. I’ll be nicer I swear.” He laughs. He trails his fingers over your bare stomach. “I hope this isn’t the only time I see you like this.” He mumbles.

“I was hoping for the same thing, Captain.”

[coffeeghoulie]

Ghostober Day 12: Bondage

Much thanks to @kroas-adtam for putting Ghostober together <3

Pairing: Zephyr/Ifrit

Zephyr wants to make their flame look pretty, and Ifrit is happy to oblige.

Mature, 1.1k. They/Them for Zephyr. Contains bondage (technically shibari but i have plans for that day re: the other prompt)

Divider by @wrathofrats <3

"Are you ready, my flame?"

Zephyr's voice cuts through the chatter already starting to cloud Ifrit's mind; he shakes his head to try and clear it. He straightens up, shifting a little on the cushioned stool Zephyr's directed him to sit on as they set their cool hands on his broad shoulders, the point of their chin resting between his spiral horns.

Ifrit takes a deep breath, relaxing some under the points of contact. "I, uh." Ifrit pauses. Clears his throat. Zephyr doesn't try to fill the silence. "Not sure if I'm going to be able to sit still for this, Zeph."

Zephyr hums, a warbling, soft note like a dove's call. Considering. "Would you like some help?"

The fire ghoul huffs a breath through his nose, charcoal lashes resting on his cheeks as he shuts his eyes. "Please help, Zee?"

The air ghoul's head moves to press a kiss just under the point of his ear, nose nudging the several gold earrings threaded through the lobe. "Of course I'll help. Hands?"

"Will they be in the way if they're behind my back?" Ifrit cranes his neck to glance at his mate over his shoulder.

"Not terribly, no," Zephyr hums, trailing kisses down random spots over Ifrit's shoulders, over freckles that look like little flakes of white ash. "I think I saw a modification to what I wanted to put you in that restrains the arms behind the back as well."

"You gonna share with the class, 'specially because you're putting me in it?" he asks lightheartedly, taking a deep breath of the sweet apple blossoms and mint of their scent, letting it settle any residual nerves. There is no one else Ifrit trusts as much as his air ghoul. Will put himself into their hands time and time again.

Zephyr hums again. Drags one of those hands down Ifrit's sternum, feeling the rabbit pulse of his heart. "Was thinking a chest harness. Frame your perfect tits. But," They trail off, pianist's fingers tracing a pattern of lines across his skin. "A nice pentagram across your chest."

Ifrit groans softly, letting his head roll back softly onto Zephyr's shoulder. "We making this a religious thing, Zee? Lust for our Lord and all that?"

Zephyr shrugs, raising an eyebrow. "If you'd like to see it like that. I imagine we don't need to dedicate it to Him for it to count."

"I mean, just wasn't expecting a ritual when you said you wanted to play, is all."

Zephyr smiles, gap between their front teeth. "No, flame, no ritual. Just wanted to make you look nice for me."

"I'll never say no to that," Ifrit says. "Just, might need some help sitting still. Don't want to mess up your work."

"That can be taken care of," Zephyr laughs, finally leaving Ifrit's side to grab the two hanks of rope set out on their nightstand. They're beautiful pieces, if they had to say, each length dyed an ombre of yellow to orange to red and back. Slowly, Zephyr makes their way back to their mate. "Grab your elbows."

Ifrit flashes them a grin before complying, wrapping thick fingers gently around his arms. Zephyr pulls up a matching stool to the one Ifrit's on, taking a seat and unwinding the shorter hank of rope.

Zephyr hums something soft and melodic as they begin to work, tying Ifrit's wrists together with a simple cuff. It's slow and precise, even with such a simple tie. Zephyr smiles as they watch Ifrit's shoulders relax as they check the tightness and tension. He's always so worried he'll move and mess up a tie, wants nothing more than to be good for them, and Zephyr's always happy to indulge him in stillness.

"Better?" they ask as they tie off the cuffs.

"Much," Ifrit nods, not a moment of hesitation.

Zephyr smiles, rubbing their cheek against his shoulder with a soft coo before unwinding the second hank of rope. They give him a moment to enjoy the nuzzling before straightening, adjusting his posture. "Alright, my flame. Nice and still so I can make you look pretty."

Ifrit's back straightens, his shoulders flexed as the rope holds his hands behind his back. Even the finest sculptors' works couldn't compare to their flame, but Zephyr shakes their head as they begin to work.

It's meditative, and Zephyr even dares to think they might enjoy this more than Ifrit does, even as they sense his breathing slow and ease. They don't need to be quintessence to know that all of the thoughts have quieted in his overactive brain as they work.

Zephyr weaves the rope carefully over and around Ifrit's shoulders, between his biceps and his body. Solid horizontal bands that sit above and below his pecs. Each tie is checked meticulously, two of Zephyr's fingers between the rope and Ifrit's skin, warm to the touch like they're holding their hand over a flickering candle. The rope gets undone if Zephyr's not satisfied, finds the slightest flaw in how the tie sits over Ifrit's body. Nothing but perfection for their fire ghoul.

If Ifrit ever gets impatient with Zephyr's meticulous fussing, he never shows it; when Zephyr stands in front of him to arrange the pentagram over his heart, his eyes are soft and unfocused.

Ifrit lifts his head slowly, meeting Zephyr's eyes, giving them a tiny, crooked smile. His dark hair falls out of its ponytail, loose waves brushing the tops of his shoulders. Zephyr returns his expression as they tie off the last knot, taking a step back to admire their work.

As always, Ifrit's a vision, and Zephyr lets their eyes rake hungrily over his chest, his dusky nipples peaked from exposure to the cool air around them. His tits are perfectly framed by rope, seemingly making them bulge even further. Zephyr, despite their grip on their composure, feels their mouth water at the sight.

"You did such a good job staying still for me, my flame," they coo. Something in Ifrit's eyes flash and spark at the praise, and a glance down to his lap finds his cock bulging at the front of his gym shorts as he starts to harden. "I suppose I should reward you for such good behavior."

"Yeah?" Ifrit asks, voice slow as Zephyr moves to stand behind him once again. Their hands come up to his chest, pianist's fingers dimpling the muscle and fat.

Zephyr nips at Ifrit's earlobe, at the gold ring threaded through it as they begin to whisper. "Anything for my good little flame."

Ifrit's responding groan is music to Zephyr's ears.

[archangeldyke-all]

Touch starved reader crushing on sev and totally overthinking and overanalyzing everything, trying to be respectful and not make sev uncomfortable - all the while missing the signs that sev likes her back 👉🏻👈🏻and then maybe some soft ending - if you‘r like

oh, so you mean like me? lmaooo

men and minors dni

you've been in love with sevika since the first time you laid eyes on her. you can remember it like it was yesterday, though at this point it's been years.

you'd just been hired at the last drop as a barback, still learning the ropes. you weren't allowed to make drinks, just clean the bar and collect empty glasses for thieram.

but then, you met sevika. sevika who came storming into the bar, a bruise blooming on her cheekbone. sevika who bumped into you as you carried some new bottles behind the bar, who took one look at your uniform and sighed, then demanded, "whiskey. and bring the bottle."

you tried to explain to her that you weren't a bartender, that you couldn't bring her a drink, but you were completly gobsmacked by how fucking hot she was, and she was already walking away to settle down in a booth.

so you brought her whiskey. and the bottle.

she just nodded at you in thanks.

the next time you saw her, about a week later, she caught your eye and burst into laughter. your stomach did a somersault at the sound, at the sight of her sharp canines and the gap in her front teeth.

"why didn't you tell me you aren't a bartender?" she asked, approaching you. you gulped.

"i-- uh. you seemed stressed. and i knew where we keep the whiskey so..." you trail off with a shrug. she just laughs and settles down at the bar, watching you polish glasses.

and since then, you guys have been great friends.

sevika keeps you company on slow nights; and you've kept your habit of pouring her her glasses of whiskey.

she gets upset when thieram tries to serve her now-- insisting that you somehow pour her glass better.

your crush doesn't subside. no matter what you do.

each time you pass sevika a glass over the bar, her fingers brush yours. it's like electricity zapping up your spine, and you snatch your hand away swiftly each time.

when she catches you staring, you turn away quickly, biting your cheek and cursing yourself for being so obvious.

when she's tipsy enough, and stumbling away from the bar, you have to pinch yourself to keep from offering her a shoulder to lean on or a chauffeur home.

she's all you ever think about.

you're pathetic.

one night, sevika's drunk and happy, high off a big win from a round of cards, giggling and watching you work with her chin in her hand. she's so cute. she's got some sauce from the wings she'd been eating on her chin, and without thinking, you lick your thumb and swipe the sauce off.

sevika freezes.

you die on the inside.

"s-sorry." you mumble, before turning on your heel and taking off for the bathroom.

you hide out in the stall for half an hour, trying to get your breathing under control. when you leave, sevika's gone.

a few weeks later, you're sweeping up after closing while sevika's smoking in her stool.

as you finish up, putting the last chair up on the table, sevika rises from her stool, stretching and groaning.

with her hands over her head as she stretches, more and more of her abdomen becomes exposed as her hem rides up. you stumble into a table in your temporary distraction, and she laughs at you.

you sigh in embarassment, looking away and scratching the back of your neck.

"you're cute." she says. you gulp, not looking at her, knowing she's just teasing you.

"sorry." you whisper. she laughs and strides over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

she's so solid and warm, you almost melt in her grip. you haven't been held in... months? maybe even years. a lump forms in your throat, and you carefully look up at sevika.

she's smirking down at you, the same cocky little thing she always wears when she's got a girl in her lap or hanging off her arm. you sigh, and pull away before she can ruffle your hair, blinking back the tears in your eyes, reminding yourself that it's sevika, and you're just... you.

she doesn't want you. not like you want her.

over time, sevika becomes your best friend. there's nobody who knows you better, and you're pretty sure it goes both ways.

sevika's always telling you about her latest sexual conquests, how none of the girls she sees at babette's can ever fully satisfy her. you just laugh and shake your head, your heart breaking a little more each and every time.

she's always sharing her meals with you, insisting you eat, not letting you deny her. it's how she shows she cares, you figure, her thanks for always listening to her rants.

when she's tired from a hard day, she's quiet, just watching you work, a small smile on her face. she's told you before about how she used to work as a barback, way back before she got involved with silco. you figure she's just jealous, reminiscing on when her work was easier, when times were simpler.

tonight, you're feeling fragile.

you've had a horrible day. customers have been assholes, thieram's sick so you've been swamped, and you've been delivering drinks to sevika and some girl from babette's tucked away in a private booth all night.

you're just trying to get through this shift, so you can go home and cry into your pillow until you fall asleep.

the night's nearly over, only a few stragglers hanging around as you begin to close up shop.

and just when you think you'll be able to make it home without any further incident, an empty bottle you're carrying back to the bar hits the corner of a table, and it shatters in your hand, cutting your palm.

a sharp pain shoots up your arm, blood quickly filling your palm as tears fill your eyes.

frustration, anger, and exhaustion take over, and you start to cry as you run to the bar to clean your wound.

sevika's there in seconds.

"are you okay?" she asks, rounding the bar to stand beside you. she only makes you more upset.

"i'm fucking fine." you spit, swiping furiously at your eyes as you run your wound under the faucet. "go back to your girl."

"shit, you're bleedin' real bad. lemme help you." she reaches out to grab your wrist, and the overwhelming comfort of her touch only makes you more upset.

"fuck off, sevika!" you cry, your emotions finally bubbling over. she blinks at you, eyes wide.

"...did i do something to piss you off?" she asks. you just huff and turn away from her.

"i'm just being fucking stupid." you whisper.

"you're not stupid." sevika says, quietly. she touches your shoulder and you flinch away from her. she sighs. "i'm sorry." she says. you look over at her.

"you didn't do anything wrong." you say. she chuckles.

"clearly, i did." she says, gesturing to you. you roll your eyes, too tired to mince words.

"i'm just tired, sev. it's been a hard fuckin' night and now i'm not gonna be able to use this hand for a week, and you--" you cut yourself off. she raises an eyebrow at you and you shake your head. "you were distracted tonight. weren't keeping me company. i just... missed you." you say quietly, pressing gauze to your wound before wrapping it up.

"i don't get you." sevika says, studying your face.

"what do you mean?"

"i dunno. i flirt with you all the time, and you don't do anything about it. every time i touch you, you jump away like i'm gonna hurt you. i get it in my head that you don't like me back, but then i bring another girl to the bar and you act like you're jealous, and you get all snappy with me. what the fuck is that?" she asks.

"what?" you ask, completely floored. "when the fuck do you flirt with me?" you ask. sevika blinks at you.

"are you kidding? all the fucking time!" she says. you blink, and she laughs. "you're kidding, right?" she asks again. "holy shit, you aren't. you're serious. you seriously don't know?" she asks. "i'm-- i'm all over you! all the time!" she exclaims. "i share all my food with you, i'm constantly ogling you, i'm always lookin' for an excuse to touch you-- what the fuck did you think was happening here?" she asks.

"...wha?" you ask.

sevika giggles. "fuck, you're kinda clueless, aren't you?" she asks, reaching forward to swipe up the tears on your cheeks for you. you shiver at her touch, and sevika sighs, dropping her hand back to her side. "see, there you go again." she says, gesturing at you. "all fuckin' jumpy." she says.

you gulp. "i... i don't..." you say. she laughs.

"relax, i'll leave you alone." she says, pulling away. "i can take a hint."

sevika sounds sad. she's never sad.

but right now, she's looking down at her feet with big wet eyes, her shoulders slumped, her lip between her teeth. you take a shaky breath, and reach forward with your un-wounded hand, grabbing her wrist. her eyes snap up to yours.

"it's not a hint." you say. "it's just-- i don't-- you're always talking about your girls! i didn't think you'd be... and it's not-- i don't-- i like it when you touch me. it feels nice... too nice. makes my brain melt, can't think straight... it almost hurts, touchin' you. 'cause you're not mine." you finish weakly with an unsure shrug.

for a second, you and sevika just look at each other. then, someone on the other side of the bar clears their throat. you jump, dropping sevika's wrist and turning to look at the woman across the bar-- the girl sevika'd come in with.

"this is her, huh?" she asks with a smirk. you blink. sevika's shoulders come up to her ears, and she rubs the back of her neck.

"y-yeah." she whispers.

the woman looks you up and down, her smirk growing. "good for you, sev. 'm happy for you y'know." she says. you blink in confusion.

"what--"

"here're those files. i'll get outta your hair, clearly i'm interrupting something." she says with a wink, passing a few files over the bar to sevika, then turning on her heel to walk out of the bar. you blink.

"what--"

"i brought her here to close my tab at babette's." sevika says, avoiding your gaze. "it... was a pretty big tab." she says with a self deprecating laugh, gesturing to the files in her grip.

"wha-- why?" you ask. she shrugs again.

"i... i'm not really satisfied with the services offered at babette's anymore." she says. you blink.

"what're you talkin' about, the girls at babette's are kinky as shit!"

sevika chuckles. "no that's not-- i caught feelings for someone." she says. "'ve had 'em for quite a while, actually." she says, hesitantly reaching forward to grab your healthy hand. "it's not the same fuckin' the girls when i all i can think about is you. 's just a waste of money, really." she says shrugging.

"...you have feelings for me?" you ask. sevika laughs and nods.

"hence the flirting." she says slowly, like you're stupid.

you feel a little stupid.

but mostly... you feel giddy.

"oh." you say. sevika nods.

"yeah." she says awkwardly.

a smile slowly creeps up your lips, and you adjust your hand in sevika's so you can intertwine your fingers. "oh." you whisper again, butterflies fluttering in your stomach, your heart racing, your palm buzzing at sevika's touch. she snorts.

slowly, hesitantly, you step into her space, releasing her hand to wrap your arms around her body. sevika blinks at you, but doesn't stop you, so you just lean forward and rest your head against her chest, hugging her to you.

sevika's heart is beating crazy beneath your ear-- almost as crazy as yours. she takes a deep breath, and then her arms wrap around you, tugging you impossibly tighter against her.

something inside you cracks open, and warmth floods your body, you sigh against sevika, and she sighs against you, nuzzling against your shoulder as she holds you close. you giggle, and she giggles, and soon, you're both laughing hysterically against one another.

when you catch your breath, you pull away just enough to see her face, not releasing your grip around her waist. she smirks down at you.

"hi." she says. you grin.

"i'm in love with you." you say. sevika's teasing smirk melts, her eyes going wide and her mouth forming an 'o'. you giggle.

she shakes her head and gulps, blinking rapidly, before shooting forward to press her lips against yours.

you melt in her hold, knees going wobbily, a sigh escaping your lungs as you kiss sevika back.

she pulls away far too soon, laughing at the pout on your lips.

"i'm in love with you too." she says.

tears well up in your eyes, and your head falls forward to rest on her shoulder.

"shut up." you say shakily. she laughs.

"no fuckin' way." she says. "i've got years of flirting to catch up on-- now that you know i'm flirting." she teases. you giggle against her, and sevika kisses the top of your head.

"fuck." you whisper against her. she laughs again, gently pulling your head away from her chest to admire you, wiping your tears away. "i'm so stupid." you say with a giggle.

"you... you're perfect." she says. "a little airheaded, sure, but so am i." she says shrugging. you raise an eyebrow at her.

"you're the smartest person i know."

"it took me two years to realize i liked you. i couldn't figure out why i wanted to be around you so much. for a while, i thought i wanted to fight you." she says. you burst into laughter.

"oh." you say between giggles. she nods at you with a sweet smile. "we're perfect for each other, both the same amount of oblivious." you say, teasing.

sevika doesn't laugh, though. instead, she just goes quiet, a soft smile on her face.

"we are perfect for each other." she whispers. tears start to well in your eyes again.

"y-yeah. i always thought so too." you admit. sevika grins.

"so... will you be my girlfriend?" she asks. you grin.

"only if you'll be mine." you say. sevika laughs.

"deal." she says.

you swoop forward to seal the promise with a kiss.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess

[herlondonboy]

Dear Reader

Pairings: Wednesday Addams x platonic!reader / Enid Sinclair x platonic!reader / Larissa Weems x platonic!reader / Eugene Otinger x platonic!reader

Summary: To whom it may concern, I’m sorry.

Warnings: suicide, suicide notes, grief, guilt, self hate, kinda graphic? sad, spelling mistakes. part 2 of 7:3 (read here), but can be read as a solo fic. (Tagging: @natashamaximoff69 @lxtins @hizzygizzy @justarandomweeblol @donnabenevientosbitch @capryuk @dksjskx @maryannecrimsworth @nitchxhdc @x666hours @allisonsblog

Word Count: 1.3k

“No!” Wednesday exclaimed as she ran up the hill at an unnatural speed.

She had gotten the vision too late. She saw whilst she was beekeeping with Eugene and Enid, you were supposed to be coming down, but they had gotten started because you were usually late. Enid had caught her when she suddenly collapsed and shook. She saw you emotionlessly tying a noose by your tree. Then you were placing four envelopes underneath a rock that read “E W E y/i”

“Wednesday?” Enid asked in concern when the shorter girl gasped awake.

“y/n.” Wednesday said softly before jumping up. She took off the beekeeping uniform and rushed out. “y/n’s in danger. Get Weems.” She called out behind her.

She watched from afar as you stood onto the stool and wrapped the rope around your neck. Wednesday called out for you, but she was too far away. Her legs ached as she tripped over her feet. She groaned and pushed herself back up. Enid and Eugene had just got to Larissa and she immediately shot up into action.

You strained to kick the stool away and Wednesday watched in horror as you struggled until there was no fight left in you.

It looked like you were sleeping, she hoped that you were sleeping, she hoped that you were sleeping.

Wednesday made it to the tree and, with shaky, sweaty, she untied the rope from the trunk. She let you down slowly and once you were lying on the ground, she rushed over to you. She took the rope from around your neck and placed your head onto her lap and checked your pulse. Her heart was beating so fast it hurt. You looked so peaceful.

She was alone like that, cradling your head in her lap for what felt like hours. Guilt ridden by your death. She should’ve been there for you. All three of them should’ve been there for you. Why didn’t you tell them that you were hurting? Why?

“Wednesday?” Weems asked, approaching slowly.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop them. I’m- I’m sorry.” Weems kneeled next to Wednesday over your body. She sobbed for you, her child.

Enid, who was walking in front of Eugene saw the rope on the branch and the shake of the principal’s shoulders and stopped. She turned to Eugene with a fake smile. “Uh, I think that they have it sorted. y/n will be alright, I’m sure. Let’s go… keep the bees.” Enid said, spinning Eugene around and he smiled at her.

Some alone time with his crush would surely do him some good, right?

-

Dear Enid,

You were the first person that could ever tolerate me. You gave me the gift of friendship and because of you, I found another reason to live. I’m not saying that you’re not enough, or that you weren’t enough, because you are. I’m so incredibly sorry. I hope you don’t cry over me, I don’t deserve your tears. If you saw my body at the tree, I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to take my life in our spot, but it was the one place where I felt comfortable.

I could’ve taken pills, I could’ve drowned myself in a bathtub, I couldn’t cut myself and watched myself bleed, but I chose to ruin our spot. I’m sorry if you won’t ever come here again. I’m sorry I’m the reason you can’t sleep at night. I’m sorry that your worries meant nothing in the end.

My favourite thing about spending time with you was when you’d talk about that boy, Ajax. I loved hearing the things he did, waving or smiling at you. The date, how he stoned himself by accident. I’m sure Wednesday won’t mind if you started biting her ear off two times more than usual. Between you and me, I think she might have a little crush on you.

There were so many words I wanted to say to you, but I just couldn’t.It's so tough to talk when you desire to madder yourself. That's overhead and farther to everything else, and it's not a mental complaint-it's a physical thing, like it's physically difficult to begin your mouth and make the words approach out. They don' t approach out composed and in conjunction with your brain the way ordinary individuals's words do; they approach out in chunks, as though from a crushed-ice dispenser; you stumble on them as they accumulate behind your lower lip. So you just stay quiet, you know?

My sincerest apologies,

y/n <3

P.S. you can have my rainbow sweater, I know how much you like it.

-

Dear Wednesday,

I assume that you had some psychic vision and saw me tying the noose and all and I apologise for that. Don’t beat yourself up for not getting to me in time, Wednesday.

We didn’t talk much, but I feel as though I know everything about you. I know how you would do anything to protect the people you love, like dropping piranhas into a swimming pool full of guys. I also now how you’d make Thing travel to my bedroom on a night to drop off riddle that always ended the same way. “You’d tell me if you weren’t okay, right?” I should’ve told you. Maybe if I did you would’ve stopped me and talked me out of it. I apologise for lying to you, day in and day out. I just didn’t want you or anyone else to worry. I don’t want you to you blame yourself if you didn’t get to me in time, wat ily this is in no way your fault.

I’d say don’t cry, but knowing you, you won’t, anyway. :,).

I don’t really know what else to say to you other than, thank you for being you. Thank you for being a friend. Gracias por enseñarme a amar.

Kindest regards,

Your y/n

-

Dear Eugene,

Hi, buddy! I’m sorry that I’m missing your birthday this year, that’s very insensitive of me. I told you that we would go to Jericho for the whole day and miss all of our lessons doing just nothing. I’m sure Enid and Wednesday wouldn’t mind doing that with you if you asked.

You were like my brother, in fact, no. You were my brother. Your opinion means the most for me. I know you’ll cry, but I will always be with you. And between you and me, I think Enid has a little crush on you too, you know? I’m telling you, Eugene, make a move.

And, hey! A little joke for you: did you hear about that old Italian chef?

Lots of love,

y/n <3

P.S. He pasta-way! Too soon?

-

Dear Larissa Weems,

Last night I sat in your office and watch and you work. You looked so peaceful when I didn’t speak. I’m sorry if I bother you. Thank you for taking me in and giving me a home and family even when I felt as though I didn’t deserve it. It’s proving that I don’t though, isn’t it. You were an amazing mother, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be an amazing child.

I loved how on Saturdays we’d drive down to the Weathervane and you’d listen to me being me for hours alone. I’m sorry that I kept on hurting you, I never meant to. I know apologies won’t take back my actions and somehow I’ve said more in these notes than I have since that night.

Tonight the thoughts were about how to end things, with a heavy emphasis on the how. The process of suicide isn't exactly easy. It takes preparation, scheduling, and a certain level-headedness to kill yourself. A person has to be ready for it. They have to make the necessary plans, take the necessary steps. And, most importantly, he has to not only feel like dying, but also like killing. And the two feelings couldn't be more different.

I love you times more than all the stars in the world combined,

Your dearest, y/n.

[thesweetnessofspring]

Post-epilogue Everlark family. Inspired by a conversation I had with a little one. Rated T for theme.

On the walk home from school, the boy is quiet, letting his sister monopolize Peeta's ear. He doesn't even stop to examine a bug or an interesting rock, or to say hello to the shopkeepers they pass. Peeta listens to their daughter, who chatters about the jump rope tournament coming up, and how she and her classmates compare to each other.

Thankfully, the boy's teacher had phoned Katniss and Peeta to let them know their son would be getting the first lesson about the Games. And that would always include the old star-crossed lovers, the baker and the huntress. The children had to be assured that such atrocities were over, and their story central to that ending.

Katniss waits anxiously in the bakery, helping a customer pick out a box of pastries. Peeta takes the kids through their normal routine of heading to the back and getting a snack, while Katniss finishes with the customer and flips the sign over to "closed" just a little earlier than usual.

Katniss first looks at their son, sitting on a stool at the counter and somberly pushing around an apple slice, and then to Peeta. He gives a quick raise of his eyebrows and a shake of his head, indicating a lack of response from their son. The boy has always been the quieter of their two children. The girl had come back home with a million questions when she learned about the Games, but the boy is taking the opposite approach.

"Hey bud," Peeta says, taking a seat at the counter next to him. "Your teacher told us you learned something hard in school today."

He looks up at his father with discerning gray eyes, older than his six years and gives a short nod.

"I'm learning long division," the girl says. "That's harder than anything he learns."

"You learned about The Hunger Games today," Katniss says. She stands next to Peeta, an arm wrapped around his shoulder and he puts his arm around her waist. "Your teacher told us."

Their daughter closes her mouth, pressed in a line. When she first came with her questions, Katniss and Peeta had been sure to have her promise not to tell her little brother, not until he was old enough to know.

"No one else's parents were in The Hunger Games," the boys says. "Only me."

"You're right," Peeta says. "Here in Twelve and in your class, only you and your sister have parents who had to go in the Hunger Games. There are a few other people whose parents were in the Hunger Games, but most of them are grown up now and live far away."

The boy scrunches down, eyes on his plate. Katniss knows this boy and how he works. She works in a similar way, thoughts becoming dangerous without being spoken out loud to have someone help straighten out.

"Do you have any questions for us?" Katniss asks. "Anything you want to know?"

"Did you kill anyone?" the boy asks, glancing up through pale lashes.

"Yes," Peeta says. "Neither of us wanted to. Never, ever."

"Were they bad guys?" the boy asks, desperation in his voice.

"No, bud," Peeta says. "No, they weren't."

Not most of them, Katniss thinks, her final arrow in Coin's chest flashing in her mind, but they were keeping things simple for their children until they were older.

"They had no choice," the girl says, sitting up straight in her stool. "Momma and Daddy wouldn't kill anyone if they didn't have to."

The boy's lip wobbles, though he ducks his head to try and hide it underneath his mop of blond curls. Katniss slides her arm off of Peeta and holds their son to her, pressing his cheek to her breast. She wishes she could take this fear and ache away from him, knowing how heavy it rests on such a little body. She would take his pain onto her own, if she could.

"I don't wanna kill anybody," the boy wails in his mother's arms.

"Oh, baby, you won't have to kill anybody," Katniss says. "There are no Hunger Games anymore. Daddy and I made sure of it."

"My teacher said there was a war," the boy says, his grip tight on the back of his mother's shirt, his words muffled between fabric and one squished cheek. "Didn't people have to kill then, too? What if there's another war?"

"We don't think there will be another war," Peeta says.

"But what if there is and I have to kill somebody?" the boy asks. "You and Momma had to. That means I might, too."

There was no reason to believe Panem would succumb to the horrors it had when the baker and huntress were young, but there was always that what if, that chance history's cycle picking up again. It haunted both Katniss and Peeta still.

"It's scary to think something like that could happen again," Katniss says, brushing their son's curls out of his eyes. "But remember the game we play together?"

"The good things game!" their daughter bounces in her seat excitedly and her brother lifts his head to turn and look at her, light coming back to his eyes.

"Yes, the good things game," Katniss says. "That's what we can play when we get worried about bad things in the future."

"Let's play the game now," Peeta says. "Only the good things we think about will be about you, bud."

The boy squishes his shoulders inward, his chin ducking to his chest in bashfulness, but the slight lift of the corners of his mouth let them know he's pleased with the idea.

"What about me?" the girl demands.

"We'll do you another day, baby," Katniss says. "For now, let's focus on your brother."

Their daughter is less intrigued by this, hand now propping up her chin against the counter.

"Let's see," Peeta says. "There's no one better at catching tadpoles than you, that's for sure."

"Or such a help when we have to clean up the kitchen," Katniss says.

"And you're so bright and curious," Peeta says. "You ask questions I've never had before."

"And so friendly to all of our customers that come in."

Their daughter jumps in, "You help get us free candy from the store."

"Free candy?" Peeta asks. "Well that's just about the best thing to the two of you, isn't it?"

Peeta gives their son a tweak on the nose and he laughs, glowing at the game revolving around him. They share a few other good things about their son and brother, until if he's still worried about having to kill anyone like his parents, it's far from his mind. The boy tucks into his snack and then he and his sister are off playing.

Peeta can sense the worry coming off Katniss with the way her brow hangs heavy over her eyes, and he draws her to him from behind, kissing where her neck and shoulder meet.

"You all right?" he asks.

"Yeah," Katniss sighs. "I just hope we weren't lying to him."

"I wasn't," Peeta says. "He really is the best at catching tadpoles."

"I mean about what he's worried about."

"We weren't lying. We don't think he'll need to, but..."

"Right. The 'but.'"

"Maybe we need to play the game ourselves," Peeta says, turning Katniss around so they face each other.

Katniss sighs, putting her arms around Peeta's neck. The game gets tedious and long for her, but she's always willing to start off with her first good thing.

"You," she says. "Saving me with that bread."

And Peeta returns his first good thing. "You. Coming to find me in the arena."

They usually banter back and forth all of the good things they'd done for each other, purposefully leaving out the messy complications of their early relationship and only remembering what made them fall in love in the first place. But today, Katniss skips ahead.

"You," she says. "Helping me talk to our little boy about this."

Peeta gives her a kiss, then says, "You. Having the courage to carry and birth and raise our children."

And all they can do is hope they can do enough to protect their children from their fears coming true.

[dollyfl1rt]

check out part one “anyone but you”!

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, PinV, fingering, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, flirting and just absolute filth

six months after the amazing hook up in omaha, you were now in kansas occupying yet another dive’s stool.

you were flirting with some guy. don, daniel, darren? one of those names. “so what do you do for work darling?” he questioned as you crossed your legs “i’m a..” how do you explain to someone you’re a hunter “i work for a security company” you lied sipping your beer. ‘dean’s probably to drunk to notice anyway…no his name is…’ you trailed off thinking in your head about the events from that glorious night you did sleep with dean. ‘the dean’ your friends called him.

“well i need a security system installed, you up for it?” don flirted before his hand slid up your thigh. why was he so much like dean? moments prior to your reply, the bar’s door opened. you spun in the stool to see who was also looking for liquid courage and music.

dean and sam.

“speak of the devil” fell from your lips in a low tone “huh?” don asked as you spun back towards the liquor wall, your back now to the new comers of the bar, “hey it was nice meeting you dea- don, i meant don..i’m gonna go before i get any more buzzed” you smiled politely getting up and gathering your purse and jacket. “leaving so soon?” you heard from behind you.

turning on your heels to face the two men “sam..” you nodded towards him then released a sigh before looking over to the man you had slept with “..dean”. you weren’t going to bring up anything from the one night stand forever ago. “you look good…” dean started “better than you left me anyway” he shrugged with a smug grin as you scoffed at the pass he made at the hook up “considering, you left me at three in the morning”

did he have some smart ass reply for everything?

“yeah sorry about that, something came up” you stated putting on your jacket and purse “oh i bet” he nodded his tone sarcastic and a tight lipped smile on his face. jerk “so anyway, we’re going home, you want a ride…in my car i mean?” he asked winking at you.

then and there, you wanted him.

it was probably the stare the two of you shared.

“i can get a cab” you told feeling a humid and heavy breeze as you looked intensely at dean. he looks so..fuckable. you wanted badly to see what he could do with his fingers since seeing him tie different knots with rope.

little did you know he wanted just as badly as you did to show you how talented he was with his hands. well, his middle and ring finger to be exact. god, were you jealous of the silver ring that decorated his finger.

secretly wishing it was your va-

“you sure?” the hunter questioned with a smug look “im sorry if im overstepping just..don’t want my baby in the car with a stranger” was when dan got the hint and scurried off. dean laughed stepping closer to you, sam off doing research on their case “lets go talk in the car, it’s too loud in here” as if that bothered dean.

did you refuse? no. how could you?

11:58 pm

heavy breathing filled the impala along with grunts and moans. “damn it girl” dean growled slapping your ass as you recoiled up and down on his wide cock.

“ngh” you moaned at the feeling before dean ducked his head to your breast, sucking. that only made you draw him in closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. “keep going baby, thats right, grind it out” the man instructed snaking one hand down to rub your clit. “aah- wait, right there..fuck im gonna cum” you expressed for the second time this night.

“ride it right, pretty girl” he pleaded with a grin on his face as he slid himself out of you. you felt so empty “why’d you stop?” you question as he laid you down on the reclined seat of the car then began peppering kisses down your face all the way to your wet cunt.

he kissed it a few times before looking up at you with that same smug grin. that was before he stuck in his two fingers as his nose rubbed against your clit “mm” you whined arching your back and tangling your fingers in his hair.

dean then started licking and sucking your sensitive skin. “let me hear how pretty i make you feel” he demanded finger fucking you.

maybe dreams do come true.

“please dean..” you begged as he understood and increased his pace flicking his tongue faster. “shit” you cried out as his talents made your vagina throb.

“you’re doing so good baby, hold it” he praised before leaning down to rub his tongue against the little ball of nerves between your legs. “please, please dean i ca- i can’t” you begged as your thighs swallowed dean whole and you went into a squirting fit.

“ou fuckk” you moaned quivering whilst dean is pushing your legs open and laughing “atta girl” he grinned toying with your clit a bit more before seeing that your eyes went blurry as he stopped to kiss you.

maybe he was the man of your dreams.

@taylormarieee 💋

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

📖🚬🩹 I absolutely adore your writing and was super excited to see you opened requests back up!

Cas <3

Here We Go Again - Johnson/Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N, gender-neutral reader, canon violence but just a little.

Wordcount: 2172

Summary: When the Phoenixes enter your bar right on the edge of Ghoul Territory it usually meant they were looking for a brawl and to prove themselves. But when a single Phoenix walks in alone with no desire to do anything but fight without talking, it makes you almost concerned for him even though he's supposed to be the enemy.

Notes: A shorter one this time, but I can seriously see myself writing more for this one thanks to the ending 😏 Thank you so much for requesting my favourite man, you already know how much I adore your writing so I was very happy to see this one as the start of my new batch ;w; 💗💗💗

To say that you didn't expect him to show up again would be a lie, his presence slowly becoming a familiar one in your bar. He shouldn't be here, you both knew it, and Gary knew it too as he turned to the door and sighed; he'd warned him before to stay away, this was Ghoul Territory and he'd already had to kick his ass when he and the other Phoenixes didn't take it to heart, but this was now becoming a recurring problem, almost like clockwork at this point, and it was starting to concern you even though he was the enemy. 

‘Back again, Johnson?’ Gary sighed as he stared at his beer, the other Ghouls gathered around the bar around him also becoming aware of his return, a couple of them already starting to stretch for the upcoming fight; you stayed out of it like you always did, the Ghouls provided you with a steady income since your bar was within their turf, this kind of thing just came with the paycheck.

Johnson didn't speak, he never did, especially when he was alone, the scrappy blonde one usually did all the talking for the both of them, but there was something about him tonight as he rolled his neck and stretched out his arms. He wanted that fight this time, he was impatient for it, and it would only be his death wish as Gary downed the rest of his drink and stood. You made sure to collect everyone's glasses and bottles before stepping back, the last time you'd been too close and a bar stool leg had nearly clipped you, and Johnson shot you a quick glance that you almost missed as he made sure you were safe as a bystander. You let the fight proceed, and even though he was always able to hold his own, five on one was never very much of a fair fight, and it wasn't long before Gary had him on the ropes while two of his buddies advanced to hold him down. This wasn't fair, it never was when he came alone, at least with the other two around he stood more of a chance, and you wanted to call it off when he was held down against the pool table and punched relentlessly by the other three.

‘How many times we gotta tell ya that we ain't giving this place to the Brawlers?’ Gary grunted as he hit him, each one punctuated with more and more of a sound until you finally heard his voice when a hard jab to the side made him grunt loudly. ‘We thought you learned that lesson when we threw all three a’ ya outta here!’ Another hit as the rest of the bar ignored what was happening, and you were about to turn your back on it when you saw the way dirty metal wrapped around his fingers and caught the light. ‘This is your last warning, you stay outta here or we'll kill ya, you understand?’

Johnson sat up as much as they permitted, and he looked ready to answer when instead he just spit onto the floor, blood and saliva mixed together from the beating, and he grinned up at Gary and dared him to do it with reckless abandon. You swore under your breath, he'd regret this, and all it took was Gary pulling back his arm to stick him with the spiked brass knuckles he sported before you finally cracked.

‘Alright, that's enough for tonight, you don't gotta bring it that far,’ you spoke up before he could strike, and all five Ghouls stared at you before Gary took a step back towards the bar.

‘If we don't teach this sonofabitch a lesson then he and Matty are gunna keep coming back around here, you wanna break our truce for him?’ he demanded, and you looked at Johnson all spread out and looking the worst he'd been so far before setting your rag on the counter.

‘No, but I can still keep this place in Ghoul Territory with you banned from it,’ you warned, and it was not an empty threat as Gary flexed his fingers and eventually relented. 

He approached you before slamming the brass knuckles on the old wood, the sound filling the place as he made a warning of his own. ‘Bartenders are replaceable if there's any chance you might be workin’ for the Brawlers,’ he said lowly, and you kept eye contact until he motioned for the others to let him go. ‘Let's get outta here, it stinks like Phoenix shit in here now.’

The others snickered as they grabbed some drinks for the road and followed him out, Johnson sitting up on the end of the pool table before hopping to the ground and rolling his neck again. He gave his back a quick crack and flexed his sore fingers before giving you a nod, he was done for the night, and you waited until the sound of the Ghouls’ bikes disappeared into the distance before leaving the counter to follow after him. He pushed open the door and casually strolled out just like he did every other time he'd come there, and he didn't make it to his car as you threw open the door and called out to him.

‘Hey, uh, it's not busy and they're gone now, I can serve you a drink if you want one?’ you asked as he reached for the door, and when he looked over at you you could swear that maybe he'd been waiting for that. He lit the cigarette he'd placed in his mouth and accepted your offer, the Phoenix following you back inside to the other patrons’ surprise. ‘Don't say a word and drinks are on the house tonight,’ you told them seriously, and the pact was sealed as he sat down on Gary's seat. He looked at your stock before motioning towards the bottle of Thorndrip to your left, and you went to pour it into a glass when he motioned again for you to just hand it over.

He really was quiet as he drank, and you weren't used to anyone other than a Ghoul sitting across from you as you busied yourself with work, this enemy of your employers just relaxing and drinking until the bottle was empty. He was all busted up, and while it looked like his healing nose hadn't been broken again it still bled along with his lip, cheek, forehead, as well as every single knuckle from the punches he'd managed to get in. You didn't want to know what state he was in under that thick velvet jacket, but at the same time you did as he set down his bottle and you grabbed him a second.

‘Why do you keep coming back here? You know they're never going to give this place up,’ you couldn't help but ask as he popped off the top effortlessly, and he took another long drink before shrugging.

‘Got my reasons,’ he finally spoke, and you shivered involuntarily at the sound of his voice.

‘Yeah, well next time I might not be able to stop them, this place has been in my family longer than the Ghouls have been around, y'know, I'd hate to lose it over a bar fight,’ you muttered as you cleaned the same glass for the fifth time, and he watched your hands work before staring at your face.

‘I can handle myself, ain't just Matty that can fight for what he wants,’ he said mysteriously, and you had to wonder what he meant when you noticed that he was getting dangerously close to getting blood on his jacket. 

‘Here, come to the back with me, the place will be fine without me for a second,’ you told him as you reached out with a tissue, and he actually flinched away from you when you got close after all the fights of never once backing down from the Ghouls. You recoiled in surprise, maybe he really did have a personal bubble after the fighting had stopped, but he was back to normal again as he grabbed his drink and stood. He headed for the back without you, so in charge and sure of everything that he made you forget this bar was yours, and you quickly grabbed the first aid kit and hurried after him before you allowed him full access to your office without you.

You called it your office but in reality it was more of a bedroom with a desk; after you'd inherited the business you just sort of moved in while you searched for a place nearby that wasn't your father's, but over time you ended up just staying since the Ghouls tended to drink late into the night and this was easier to do than drive back to any potential home at 3AM. He admired your things before sitting on your bed instead of at your desk, and you swallowed before grabbing your chair and rolling it over to him so you could work. He shrugged off his jacket and took another drink before allowing you to begin, and you wondered if he'd ever had anyone other than his fellow Phoenixes to do this for him as you carefully dabbed at his forehead.

‘What's it like, over at the Bang-a-Rang? I've never been in before, obviously,’ you asked just to make small talk to fill the small room, and he thought about it before switching back to the cigarette he'd snuffed out and tucked behind his ear before walking in.

‘Loud,’ he decided, and you let out a small laugh as you finished cleaning his forehead. ‘Energetic, wild, it's hard to describe, you gotta be there to take it all in.’

‘I don't think they'd let me through the door,’ you chuckled a bit sadly as you moved on to his cheek, and he blew some smoke towards your open window as a courtesy before thinking again. 

‘If you come in with me they might,’ he said casually, and your hand stilled as you soaked up a bit of watery blood. You couldn't tell if he was joking or not, his face remained serious but his tone had been easy, and you stared at him curiously before starting to wipe up the blood around his mouth.

‘Why do you keep coming back here?’ you asked again, and he waited until you were done before putting out his cigarette on his tongue and washing down the burn with the rest of his drink.

‘Because you're here,’ he said simply, and your hand froze midair as the smallest of grins tugged at the right corner of his mouth. ‘Can't seem to getcha outta my mind since we brought Ethan over.’

This was dangerous, the enemy couldn't be saying this kind of thing to you, but you still wanted him to as he took over and wiped down the rest of the blood himself; he licked his lips when he was done, his eyes on you before he gestured towards the kit in case he needed it, but you shook your head after a quick observation.

‘Better not, they'll know someone else cleaned you up,’ you pointed out, and he shrugged again before pulling his jacket back on.

‘They won't question it if you come back with me,’ he figured, and it felt terrifying but also thrilling as you looked around your small room.

‘I can't.’ This bar was your life, you didn't know anything outside of it and didn't know what to do if either side knew you'd accepted his offer and took all of this away, but you almost wanted to find out as he took your silence as your answer and stood. He didn't push it, he was happy enough seeing you when he came in for these fights, and you let him leave as you continued to sit there and stare at the space where he'd been sitting. You didn't move until you heard the front door slam shut again as he strolled through it, and in a flash you were on your feet and hurrying after him. ‘Bar's closed, please leave,’ you said quickly as you shut off the lights and grabbed your keys before anyone could even stand, and sure enough drinks were still on the house as you left the mess behind for tomorrow and ran out.

He was waiting behind the wheel as you locked up, and he looked almost smug as you climbed into the passenger seat and strapped in.

‘I can't believe I'm doing this,’ you said as he definitely didn't strap in as well, his bottle still in hand and the engine revving to life.

‘What's life without a little bangarang? he asked before pulling out of the gravel lot, and your heart pounded as you started off for the wild side with the enemy of your employers, the promise of this being your own secret recurring problem following you the entire way there.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Several Shots Later (Pro!Sero x Black!Chubby!Fem!Reader) 

Pairing: Pro!Sero Hanta x Black!Chubby!Fem!Reader (Strangers to Lovers) 

Synopsis: In which you go on a vacation in an effort to relax and feel more confident, but find yourself falling for the sexy stranger who sends you a drink across the room and also happens to give you some firsthand dance lessons and a night you’ll never forget. 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Aged Up!Sero (he’s in his late 20s); Chubby!Reader; Black-coded!Reader (but anyone can still read this); Marijuana/Alcohol Use; Sero Speaking Spanish; Petnames: (Baby, Mama, Mami); Skinny Dipping; Strangers to Lovers; Drunk Sex; Exhibitionism; Public Oral; Shotgunning; Dirty Talk; Daddy/Papi Kink; Rope Play; Spanking; Spitting; Facefucking; UNPROTECTED PIV Sex; Mild Choking; Mild Degradation; Cum on Body; Aftercare 

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: HAPPY B-DAY WEEK TO MY FAVORITE LATIN KING SERO!! I typed this from his bed btw. Posting it early cuz this weekend, I'm gonna be soooo busy. Anyway, I had this idea after listening to "She's Hot" (the song above) & thinking about dancing to it with Sero cuz y'all know damn well he can MOVE. Enjoy! -Jazz 💋💋💋

P.S. If my Spanish is trash or inaccurate, please PLEASE let me know! I used Google Translate lol

Read on AO3 here!

*********

He’s been staring at you all night, ever since you sat at the bar twenty minutes ago. If he continues to do so, you’re sure to soak the stool you’re sitting on.

You’ve never been stared at in such a way before––so brazenly and intimately. Though the lust is hidden beneath the surface of his charcoal eyes, you can tell that this isn’t all that is there. You’re used to being lusted after, but this feels different. More…romantic.

And all just from one look! You know you’re probably looking too deep into it though. After all, you haven’t even spoken to the man. But fuck, do you want to, ever since you caught a glimpse of him when you stepped into the resort’s nightclub twenty minutes before with your two friends and vacay buddies. 

The man is the definition of “fine”.

Though he was sitting down when you first saw him, you’d place him at a good height over yours. He is all lean muscle, but not overly so, all of which you can see straining against his black polo shirt that he leaves unbuttoned to expose the sliver of chest and a gold chain underneath. His arms, which you’d love to feel wrapped around you, are roped in tattoos, his fingers adorned in rings and his wrist encased in a Rolex watch. The man must got money.

He sits back in his seat now, his shot of rum in his lap and his thighs open wide as if not aware that every woman (or man) could be staring at his crotch in those tight-ass jeans. 

You’d never thought you’d ever see a man make a mullet look good either. He rocks it perfectly, several strands of black hair hanging in his alluring eyes that continue to stare you down, making you feel hot all over. His eyes sparkle just as his lip ring and silver hoops along his ears do, his long lashes making you think of a doll’s. He’s so, so beautiful. 

You don’t know what he does, but judging by the watch and the Nike Air Forces on his feet, you’d guess he could be a singer. Maybe a business owner or CEO of some company? Maybe even a model? Regardless, he could have any woman in here just with one look and a smile. Why is he so entranced with you? What is it with you that he wants? 

“Girl, you’ve been staring right back at him,” Mina chuckles from beside you. “If don’t hop on that man, I will ‘cause he’s fine.”

You side-eye her from your spot between her and Uraraka, watching her sip on her second cocktail of the night in her little pink mini-dress. “Why don’t you just go over and talk to him like a normal person?” she snickers. 

You turn away from her and the beautiful stranger, staring down at your half-drunk Mojito. “You know I don’t make the first move,” you sigh. “I don’t even know how. Plus, I didn’t come here for a man. I came here to relax and find some confidence in myself.” 

“That’s what a hot guy like him is for!” Mina argues, nodding at the stranger. Though you’re sure he has looked away from you by now, your body still burns as if he is still watching you, waiting for you. “No,” you protest. “That’s what the beach, the spa, and endless drinks are for. I’m not here for sex after the last time a hookup went wrong–which was only a month ago.” 

You huff, stirring your drink around before sipping on it to calm your nerves and push those memories away. You came here to get away from all of that, after all. A month ago was the last straw when it came to dating and hooking up, especially with men online. You had been on Match for months but always seemed to run into men who either had a fetish for plus-sized women, and only that, or ghosted you as soon as they saw you outside of your pretty profile picture. 

The last hookup you had seemed to break your spirit completely. You and the guy had been talking for a couple of weeks before he asked you out for dinner. Though you were excited, you felt that nabbing feeling in your gut that something would go wrong the moment he saw you in your dress, all of your rolls and jiggly parts on display.

But surprisingly, when you met with him at the restaurant, his smile didn’t even falter. He hugged you and kissed your cheek as if nothing was wrong. You even started to believe that this would be fine...until it wasn’t.

Until you invited him back to your apartment after one too many glasses of wine and got him out of his clothes. Until he stripped you, spread your legs wide eagle, and attempted to go down on you but didn’t. “I can’t do this,” he had sighed, already moving to grab his shit to hastily put back on. “Look, you’re pretty and all, and I thought I could handle you, but I can’t. You’re just too…big.” 

To say you were hurt was an understatement. You said nothing to him as he profusely apologized; said it wasn’t your fault but just his preference; that he knew you’d find someone that would be attracted to you. If only he knew that this hasn’t been the case in years. If only he knew that most men only saw you as an object of their fetish and kinks; not their affection. 

You weren’t asking for the fucking moon here. Just some love and affection. Just some intimacy. Just some good ol’ big dick. But you always seemed to lack in those departments because of your shape and size. There are times you wished you looked like your friends–so small and socially acceptable with their flat stomachs and breasts that didn’t sag. They could wear tight-skin dresses and crop tops without getting ridiculed or laughed at. You couldn’t. 

This is why you took the offer for this trip to the beach resort on the coast of [Insert Country Name Here]. It was a short five-day trip that Mina and Uraraka had been planning to get away from your home in the US for a while and escape the sweltering heat.

When they offered you a spot and a ticket, you took that shit. You knew that this was your chance to finally gain the confidence you were missing and get away from the problems and men your city brought for a while. So far, it’s been working. Ever since you flew in this morning, you’ve been wearing all the bikinis and sundresses you want without getting side-eyed or gawked at. It feels damn good! But getting eyed down by that stranger feels even better. 

“He was just a porn-addicted asshole,” Uraraka huffs, crossing her toned legs over each other in her pretty, flowery sundress. “He wasn’t worth your time. As much as I understand your reluctance, Y/N, you’re not behind a screen this time. You’re sitting here, looking sexy as fuck in your mini skirt, and he’s eyeing you down like he wants all of you.” 

“She is right, babes,” Mina agrees. “The way that guy is staring at you is making me kinda jealous.” She smiles at the way you bashfully advert your eyes to stare down at your outfit. They forced you to put on the shimmery mini skirt that hugs your ass and the low-cut top that exposes your cleavage for tonight’s activities. 

“What’s the point of being on vacation if you don’t indulge in hookups with hot people?” she giggles, sipping suggestively on her straw. You raise your brows at her, more than happy to correct her.  “Vacations may be about that for you two, but I’m more about sleeping till the afternoon, lounging by the beach, and drinking my bottomless mimosas.” 

Though the sexy stranger makes you think differently, you know that you’re never going to find the courage to get up and talk to him, no matter how much you drank or how sexy your friends said you looked. You wanted to get away from hookup culture and just find confidence on your own without looking for it in sex with a nice-looking guy. You just want to relax! But Mina and Uraraka aren't taking no for an answer.

Mina downs the rest of her drink before staring at you pointedly. “And that’s about to change tonight.” You gawk at her, laughing in disbelief at her stubbornness. “It’s only the first day!” you laugh. 

“Exactly!” she agrees. “And we’ve got about five days left here at this resort. You know time flies extra fast while on vacation, girl.” She winks at you, encouraging you to go through with catching a body for the night. But you hum disapprovingly to yourself, stirring your straw around in your glass. “I don’t know, girls,” you sigh. “It just doesn’t seem right to use a guy just to boost my confidence and have a good time.” 

Mina dramatically scoffs, rolling her golden eyes. “Please! You’ve got men in here who would gladly give their left lung to do all of that for you and more. Probably even that hottie with the mullet.” Though her words are encouraging, you still feel that roil of fear and uncertainty in your gut. What if he refuses you? What if he says yes but then changes his mind once he gets a look at you under your clothes? 

Uraraka’s soft hand on your knee pulls you out of your head. “How can you know if you don’t at least try, Y/N?” she soothingly asks. “You deserve to have a good time, including getting some great sex if that’s what you want. And from the way you’ve been staring back at that stranger, we can tell it’s exactly what you want. So go on and get him!” 

Mina places a hand on your shoulder, the smell of her fruity perfume overtaking your senses. “What happens on vacation stays on vacation,” she giggles. 

And you realize that they’re absolutely right. You can never know what will happen if you don’t at least try. Plus, even if it goes wrong, there are plenty of other men at this resort you can try to snag, even if for the night or the remainder of this trip. You came here to not only relax, but to find confidence and let loose. Maybe you can do all of that in one night with a hot stranger with no strings attached. 

“Maybe you’re right,” you say, suddenly feeling a boost of confidence in your body. “Lemme just finish this first.” You reach for your Mojito and down it, already feeling the effects of the alcohol in your body. You feel warm and tingly; sexy and powerful like you could take over the whole world. You’ve got this. You’re a sexy ass bitch. 

Uraraka cheers you on when you slide out of your stool, pulling down your skirt over your stomach and thick, jiggly thighs as you do. “Go get him, girly!” Mina shouts encouragingly. “Let us know if you need us to push him into the pool.” 

You giggle, feeling nervous yet excited. You can’t believe you’re really coming out of your comfort zone like this. But as you turn in the direction of the sexy stranger, you find his seat open and him gone. “Oh,” you breathe, disappointment blooming within you. “He’s gone.” Mina and Uraraka look around in disbelief. “Where’d he go?”

Uraraka huffs, her bob as she turns her head from side to side searching for the mystery man. “He was just right there!” Mina puts a comforting hand on your arm. “Well, don’t fret, babes. There are plenty of other fine-ass men in here who would gladly give you their undivided attention.” She begins to look around, squinting into the flashing lights on the dance floor despite your disinterest. “Let’s see…what about–“ 

“Excuse me,” someone says from behind you. You turn, finding the bartender holding another delicious-looking Mojito. “This is for you, miss. It was already paid for.” You and the girls stare at the drink in shock and suspicion. “Already paid for?” you parrot, baffled. “By who?” 

“Well, it was supposed to be by your secret admirer, but I think I fucked that up comin’ over here.” A light chuckle leaves the lips of a man you already know is fine judging by his voice–it’s raspy and laced with a slight accent you can’t quite decipher; very pleasant to the ear. A real panty dropper. 

When you and your friends turn, you swear to nearly drop dead right there in the club. There, standing behind you with a smile playing on his pierced, plump lips, is the hot stranger from across the room. And he’s even sexier up close! From this angle, you can see the ink on his chest peeking from out of his collar and how clean his nails are. Not to mention his scent––so sweet yet musky. It’s intoxicating. You and the girls stand there like idiots, silently drinking in the fine-ass stranger. “Oh, shit, he’s even finer up close,” Mina whispers to Uraraka, earning a shush in response. 

The man smiles, two dimples popping on his cheeks. You love dimples. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he sheepishly says, and you catch a glint of something shiny in his mouth. A tongue piercing. ‘Oh, fuck me,’ you think. This man is trouble.

“I’m sorry if I am, but I couldn’t help myself. You just look too good tonight.” His charcoal eyes are planted firmly on you though you see them falter to trail down your form. You have to hold onto the stool behind you to avoid falling out. Your knees suddenly feel too weak to hold you up. “I thought the drink would’ve been a good icebreaker, but maybe that was kinda douchey,” he wonder aloud, rubbing the back of his neck. His bicep bulges as he does so, making you picture yourself running your fingers over it. 

“U-Uh…” You desperately try to find the words to speak, not wanting to come off as a weirdo. But your mind is completely blank, all except for some naughty images of this man’s hands on you and his cock buried deep inside of you as he bends you over the bar. “No,” you reply, finding the words to finally speak. “It was sweet of you. Thank you…for the compliment too, not just the drink.” You cringe at yourself, realizing you’re babbling.

The stranger laughs lightly, the sound like sex to you. “I’m Sero,” he says in his sexy, raspy voice. “Sero Hanta.” He sticks his hand out for yours and you take it. As soon as your hands make contact, you feel an electric current soar through you as if you’re being shocked from the inside. His hand is big and calloused as if he’s been using them for years. You’re not sure if he feels the same zing that courses through you, but his eyes do trail to your mouth. 

“I’m Y/N,” you timidly reply as your hands drop. “L/N. These are my friends; we’re on vacation.” You turn to your friends that you find leaving their posts, guilty smiles on their faces. “And we were just leaving,” Mina replies. “We’re just gonna go on the dance floor. Text us if you need anything!” 

“Very nice to meet you!” Uraraka shouts with a wave before she and Mina hurry to the dance floor. 

“Wait!” You hiss, but they’re already moving out of earshot. You watch them skid off to the dance floor with the sharpest glare you've ever given a person. If looks could kill, they would be dead. Now it’s just you and Sero the Sexy Stranger.

Though you’re not exactly alone, you may as well be the only two people standing in the room with how awkward and tense the air feels. Sero isn’t immune to it either. He stands rather rigidly, his arms behind his back and his eyes looking anywhere but at you in fear of making you feel uncomfortable. Knowing you can’t stand here all night, you clear your throat and pat the stool next to you. “Uh…did you wanna sit?” Sero shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face. “If you’re cool with it.” 

You nod and slide into your own seat while he hops up next to you. “So you said you ladies are here on vacation?” he asks, giving you a friendly, warm smile that eases your nerves. You nod, lacing your fingers together to give them something to do. “Yeah, for five more days. We just flew in this morning all the way from the US.” 

Sero’s charcoal eyes widen in shock. “The United States?” he gasps, making you giggle. “Shit, that’s a long way. Where are you from?”

You tell him, including the state. You may as well also tell him the capital and the population of your city with how much you’re babbling, but it’s hard to keep calm in the presence of such a sexy, sweet-smelling man. Sero is full of questions, his curiosity adorable. “What’s it like there? Is the food good? I heard they’ve got the best tour sights too!” 

You tell him everything, from the food to the museums to the entertainment there for tourists along with the weather, your neighborhood, and how you’ve been living there ever since you were young. “I met my friends back during college,” you explain as you sip on the Mojito that Sero bought you. “We decided to take this trip to get out of the city for a while.”  Sero nods, his attention firmly on you and only you. It makes you blush and you thank God that He made you a Black woman.

“Well, you ladies picked the best place for a vacay. I’ve been coming here for years ‘cause I’ve got family down here.” He waves a hand, flagging down the bartender. “Are you from here?” you curiously ask. 

He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Nah; I was born in Musutafu, a city in Japan. My mother is Latina but my father is Japanese.” Your interest in him piques here as you have a big soft spot for mixed men. “So are you bilingual?” you giggle. “That’s pretty cool. I’ve been trying to learn Japanese forever ever since I started watching anime.” 

Sero turns to face you, one muscled arm slung across the bar. “You’re an anime fan, huh?” he asks, interest and the flashing strobe lights in his black eyes which you now realize aren't charcoal at all––they’re a very dark brown, almost like dark chocolate. “What’s your favorite? And if you say Naruto, I’m leaving.” 

“What’s wrong with Naruto?” you laugh, gaping at him. 

“Everyone says Naruto!” he complains, rolling his eyes dramatically. “If not DBZ! Those are the two anime shows that reached the mainstream and everyone knows about.” You decide to leave your obsession with Naruto in middle school on the back burner for now.

“Well, I’ll give you my top five,” you giggle. You give him each one, most of them being very underrated and less popular than other anime. Sero looks impressed when you finish. “Daaamn, girl!” he praises. “You’ve got taste! I didn’t think anyone knew about your fifth pick. It’s more of an underrated one.” You nod, agreeing. “Yeah, but I’m into mystery. The twists and turns make each episode so fun to watch.” 

He nods in agreement, a strange smile on his face. Though it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, it also feels…weird. You’re not used to being smiled at in such a way, like what you’re saying is so interesting and intriguing. You turn away to sip your drink, hoping more alcohol will make you feel less weird and take you out of your head. 

The bartender suddenly returns to your side with a tray of multi-colored shot glasses and tiny bowls of salt, lemon, and lime on the side. “Here you are, Mr. Hanta,” he says. "On the house.” Sero gives him a look as he lowers the tray in front of him. “I keep tellin’ you to just call me Sero,” he sighs, pulling out a twenty to tip the bartender. “I ain’t my dad.” 

When the bartender scurries off with the bill, Sero fills you in on why he got the order of rounds: “They give me free shit every time I come in here but I still tip ‘em well. Probably because I know the owner. He’s a good friend of my dad’s.” He takes one of the shot glasses and downs the contents inside with ease, not even sucking on a lemon or lime slice as a chaser. You don’t realize that you’re staring at him until he raises a questionable brow at you. “Want one?” he asks. Flushing with embarrassment, you shake your head. “You sure? They’re rum shots. Some are just plain, some are apple, and some are coconut.” 

Your eyes flick from him to the shots, slowly becoming seduced by the different flavors and the idea of letting even looser. “Just one,” you say, giving in to defeat.

Sero passes you a shot before picking up another one of his own, giving you a white-toothed smile. “To an amazing vacation,” he says, raising his shot. You do the same and clink your glass with his before downing your rum at the same time he does. Though you taste the hint of apple, the rum is incredibly strong and nearly burns your tonsils. You gag as he goes down, making Sero laugh behind his hand. “Don’t laugh!” you pout. “This shit is stronger than the stuff you find in the US.” 

Sero snickers as you take a lemon slice and vigorously suck on it, chasing away the strong taste of the rum. “Yeah, I bet,” he chuckles, nodding at the shots. “This is straight rum, mama. Definitely not to be played with. Lemme order you some water.”

He leans over the bar, raising his muscular arm, and you don’t know if it’s you or the alcohol starting to speak, but his arm looks very appealing to you right now. You picture wrapped around your waist or your tummy, maybe on your side while his cock is plunging in and out of the wet, gummy walls of your pussy over and over again, his sweet, raspy voice whispering in your ear. 

You blink, alarmed. ‘Where the fuck did that come from?’ you think. The alcohol is definitely talking now. You have to try to act as normal as possible and not like you’re a horny mess when the bartender returns with a glass of cool water.

But you don't touch the water. Instead, you go for another shot, determination flooding within you that is only conjured by the alcohol. “You wanna try again?” Sero snickers. “Be my guest. It always goes down better the second time around. Don’t drink it too fast, now.” He keeps his intense eyes on you as you down your next shot. He’s right: it does go down a lot easier. While you feel the burn as he slides down your throat, it settles into your tummy nicely, making you feel warm and tingly. 

Sero downs his third shot of the night, as do you. Soon, the room is starting to get hotter and seems a little fuzzier than before. The music is sharper, Sero seems a lot sexier, and you’re having trouble focusing. You know that you are only another shot away from drunk, so you decide to take a couple of sips of your water. Unfortunately, your being tipsy means that you have zero filter. “Uh…so what do you do?” you randomly ask Sero. “Like, for work?” 

Sero stares at you, perplexed, his pink, pierced lips wrapped around a straw to his glass of water. You flush with embarrassment and go to apologize for being too personal, but his smile eases your nerves. “Relax,” he chuckles. “It ain’t like you asked me what my social security is.” You return the smile, becoming accustomed to his humor and laid-back attitude. “I’m a house renovator, so I fix up houses for people to rent, buy, or put on the market. I’ve got my own business back in Japan. I’m also a dance instructor on the side.” 

Your ears perk at his hustle. So he’s got money and he can dance? “So you’re extremely talented, basically.” It could be the trick of the lights, but you think you see Sero’s cheeks grow pink. “I try. What about you?” You tell him your job along with what you do all day while working at it five days a week. His handsome face scrunches in pain. “That’s a great job, but it sounds time-consuming. You ever get bored or have time for yourself?” 

You discard your water and sip on the rest of your Mojito, nearly forgetting it was there. “Time for myself is what the weekends are for,” you joke. “But in all seriousness, some of the time I get tired of it. That’s why my friends and I booked this trip as a way to relax and boost my confidence.” 

Your eyes widen when you realize what you just said. 'Fuck!’ you think, panicking. Goddamn, the alcohol! Why does it have to make your tongue so loose and you so dumb?

Sero’s eyes flash with interest. “Boost your confidence?” he asks, quirking a brow at you that makes him look increasingly hotter. “How so?” He leans in as if to kiss you, a secretive smile curling onto his lips. You avert your eyes, hoping he doesn’t see the fear in them. You hope he doesn’t push this. You couldn’t bear the thought of telling a stranger all about your problems with your body and dating. 

“I’m kidding,” he finally says, probably noticing your change in demeanor. “You don’t have to tell me, but you could’ve fooled me ‘cause the outfit is certainly doin’ its job.” His eyes trail across your form in your outfit, making your body feel like it just got stuck in an oven. “Does that confidence-boosting also include dancing like your friends are?” he asks, nodding at the dance floor. There, you see Mina and Uraraka on the floor, twirling their hips and sipping on their drinks, carefree and beautiful. 

You don’t think you could be that carefree with so many eyes on you. It’s different in the comfort of your own home, but here? It’s just too harrowing of an idea. “I-I don’t dance,” you timidly admit to Sero. “Not ‘cause I can’t, but I just…don’t.” 

Sero scowls confusedly at you, his brows furrowing. “Why?” he asks, sounding absolutely baffled. “When the music is this good, it’s just too good to not move! You know how to salsa? Or bachata?” You stare at him, gobsmacked. This man can really move like that? “You teach all of that?” you ask, suddenly even hotter knowing this. You can only imagine how his hips can move in bed. 

Sero smirks proudly. “Damn right,” he chuckles. “And I’m gonna teach you. You’ve got the best in the business, baby.” He takes his hand in yours and helps you down off of your stool. But before he can lead to you the dance floor, you pull him back. “Wait!” you protest. He peers over his shoulder at you and you feel your stomach flutter with butterflies. “I-I don’t know if I’ve got dancing shoes.” 

The sexy stranger turns around to face you, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Really?” he asks. “That’s the best you’ve got?” You stare down at your shoes, even more apprehensive. It’s bad enough that you’re afraid of how you’ll look, but you’ve never had a man ask you to dance with him on the floor before. You’ve never had a man pursue you in such a way. You’re not sure how to handle it or what you’re even doing. 

You’re aware of Sero getting closer to you until all you see is his chest in your face. He leans down to whisper in your ear, his cologne fogging your senses and self-control. “If you’re worried about what you look like, don’t. You’ve got people in here who dance worse and if you step on my toes, I’ll just act like it didn’t happen.”

At this, you smile though hesitantly. “There’s that smile,” he coos, interlacing his fingers with yours. “C’mon, before the song ends.” 

The song playing now is one you recognize from TikTok from the Spanish guitars and Latin beat pumping through the speakers that you’d roll your hips into a mirror to. The strobe lights have now brightened to a seductive red that makes the dance floor look like it’s on fire. Sero leads you to a space on the dance floor between the grinding club-goers and stands in front of you, his height blocking the others dancing behind him. 

You rigidly stand with his hand in yours a good distance away from him. You can already feel yourself wanting to run. The confidence that the alcohol provided you is starting to fade. All you want to do now is go back to your hotel room and go to sleep. ‘No,’ you think stubbornly. ‘You’re not doing that. You came here to find confidence and this man is trying to help you with that.’ 

Sero smirks jokingly at you. Unaware to you, he thinks your shyness is the cutest thing in the world. He’d fuck you right here in front of the whole club if he could. “You’ve gotta stand a little closer than that,” he chuckles. With some hesitation, you move an inch closer to him, barely toe to toe with him.

“Closer,” he teasingly repeats. Maybe it's the guitars in the song or the intensity of his gaze on you, but you find yourself moving closer to him like a moth being beckoned by a flame. Suddenly, you’re close enough to kiss him, your nose nearly brushing his chest.

“Perfecto,” he whispers, and it has your heart racing like it’s trying to win a track race. “Now you put one hand on my shoulder.” Keeping one of your hands interlocked with his, you raise your free hand and place it on his broad shoulder. 

Then his hands are on your hips, secure and…nice. This feels nice. “Is it okay if I hold you like this?” he asks, his lips at your ear. You can barely speak––your throat is dry and your mind has gone completely blank. “Give me your words, mami,” he demands though not aggressively. The pet name, along with his accent curling around the almost-forbidden word, has you blushing profusely and thanking the Lord that He made you a Black woman. 

Sero tenses as soon as the word flies, pulling away to apologize face to face. “Sorry,” he says embarrassingly, a blush coating his cheeks. “No,” you protest, shaking your head. “I-I like it. And it’s fine…you holding me like this, that is.” A beaming smile crosses his lips; one that makes you smile too and seems to ease the awkwardness of the situation.

“Now just follow me,” he instructs you. “When my foot goes back, yours goes forward, like this.” He puts one foot back and you timidly bring yours forward. “Now vice versa,” he says before bringing his foot back to the front. You pick up on things quickly and press your foot back. “Good!” he praises you. “Now let’s try it with the music. It goes 1, 2, 3…1, 2, 3…just like the beat. Listen to the beat.” 

You do as he says and listen to the music, trying to match your foot movement with the rhythm. Sero is a natural at this, as he should be since it’s his side hustle. He moves like he is the damn music, his body turning into water. His moves are loose and languid but not out-of-beat or uncontrolled. His back is straight, his shoulders are squared, and his hips? They roll like fucking waves.

You find yourself wanting to touch them; roll your tongue against them and the washboard abs you know are just up under his shirt. He never lets you go as you attempt to copy his moves and his confidence. And yes, you step on his feet a few times, but he never loses that patient, kind smile. Soon, you start to feel more comfortable and your moves grow looser than before. 

Sero feels your body relax and his eyes gleam with excitement. “There we go!” he laughs. “And you said you were worried about havin’ the wrong shoes. You’re a natural at this.” He twirls you twice, making you giddy and dizzy with joy. You are hot and sweaty, and your makeup has probably seen better days, but you don’t care. You feel good, all because of the man you're dancing with tonight. 

Suddenly, a newfound confidence blooms inside of you that could either be from the alcohol or from the closeness of this fine-ass man. One that has your hand moving from his shoulder to his chest, just briefly caressing it. “I guess it helps to have a good teacher,” you say in a tone that you’ve never heard come out of your mouth before. It is low and sensual. 

Sero notices it immediately. His kind smile turns into one that is more secretive like he is hiding something you don’t know about. He twirls you once more, causing your braids to fly around you and a laugh to burst from your mouth. Then he’s yanking you to him, emitting a surprised gasp from your lips when you find yourself chest-to-chest with him. One of his big hands moves to caress your lower back while the other still holds yours. He stares deep into your eyes as he begins to move his hips against yours, rolling and grinding his body into your own.

Suddenly, like a cliche romance trope, everyone disappears and all that is left are you and him. You only see him. You only know him. From somewhere on the floor, Mina and Uraraka shriek, hyping you up. “Yaaaasss, Y/N!” Mina screeches, much louder than Uraraka and the music. “Get it, girl!” 

Before you even realize it, you’re grinding right back onto him, rolling your hips into his. He twirls you around once more, but doesn’t allow you to face him again. Instead, he presses his front against your back and grinds against you from there. His hands grip your hips, coaxing you to wind your ass back into him. You get lost in the music and in him, feeling safe in his arms despite only knowing him for an hour or so.

“You’ve got it,” he laughs into your ear, making your inner thighs tingle. “You were so scared to do this, and now look at you. I bet every man in here is jealous that I get to be the one to dance with such a pretty thing like you.” 

Those words are what do it for you, and before you even realize it, you're looping your arms around his neck to bring him closer and turning your face to kiss him. It is a quick kiss, but it’s enough to have your heart hammering even faster and your stomach twirling. When you pull away, Sero's eyes are wide, a shocked expression on his face.

You immediately jump away and cover your mouth, horrified. “I’m so sorry!” you immediately apologize. “I-I don’t know why I…” You trail off, suddenly feeling disgusting and awful. Your confidence is gone and the effects of the alcohol are waning. "I should go,” you whisper, on the verge of tears. 

But as you turn to storm off the dance floor, Sero stops you by grabbing your wrist. “No,” he says, a silent plea in his eyes. “Don’t go.” 

Before you can even process what’s happening, one of his arms is looping around your waist while his hand gently cups your cheek. His lips are then on yours, planting one of the softest, hottest kisses you’ve ever had on you. His lips are smooth and soft, his piercings tickling your bottom lip. Your lips dance against his until you give a soft moan of longing as your arms move to wrap around him, hugging him close. Your parted lips allow him to slip his tongue into your mouth, the taste of rum and mint there as his tongue gently swirls with yours. You hold each other, kissing among the sea of people. Once again, you feel as if there is no one but you, him, and the throbbing of the music above. 

Unfortunately, the moment is interrupted when the club-goers surrounding you begin to annoyingly scream and whoop over you and Sero. “Oh, shit, they 'bout to fuck on the floor!” someone obnoxiously screams over the music.

Sero pulls away from you, eyeing the faceless voice. “Let me join!” another shouts. 

“Fuck off!” Mina yells from somewhere behind you. “Leave them alone!” You’ve never been so thankful for your friends than at this moment.

Sero smirks down at you, arms still around your waist. “We’ve got ourselves an audience,” he whispers. “Not that I mind some eyes, but I’m more interested in getting you somewhere more…private.” 

His accent makes the word sound like sex to you. Even if that isn’t on the table, you’ll still go anywhere with him. “Where’d you have in mind?” you breathlessly ask.

He trails his fingers from your waist up your arms to lace through your fingers. “Well, if you want the bedroom now, I’m down for that,” he says, making your pussy quiver excitedly beneath your skirt, “but there’s also a cabana on the beach that’s screaming my name right now if you wanted a good view and some quiet.” 

‘Yes!’ your body screams. ‘Do it, bitch!’ But even you know that you can’t give it up to him that fast. All good things come to those who wait, after all. “I’d love that,” you shyly answer. “Can we finish the shots first though?”

You nod at the bar to which Sero chuckles, raising a brow at you. “If you’re dying to get beat by me at my own game, then sure.” 

********* 

The sea is by far the most especially thing you’ve ever seen. It looks even better while drunk. 

After downing two more shots and guzzling down water (and taking a trip to the bathroom beforehand), Sero swoops you away to the seashore right outside the resort where the ocean stretches out for your eyes to behold under the big, white moon that looks so much bigger in the sky tonight. It hovers over the water, making the waves crystalize like diamonds below, just as the stars in the ink-black sky do.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, in awe at the beauty laid before you. “This is beautiful! Look at the moon and the stars!” 

You stand at the top of the sandy shore, pointing at the sky with your heels in your hands. The sea breeze wafts your hair and cools the sweat on your body from the club. You feel good away from the people and activity now, the serenity that the beach provides is too nice to put off. 

Sero is settled down beside you in one of the many cabanas lined up on the beach that are currently empty. He sits on the bed there with his shoes off and an almost-dazed look on his face as he stares at the ocean. “Look at the stars,” he softly sings. “Look how they shine for you…” His cheeks turn red as he stares up at you sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m a little drunk.” 

“Me too,” you giggle. “I need to sit down.” You put a hand to your head, feeling light and slightly dizzy from the alcohol. Sero pats the empty seat next to him, smiling up at you. “Feel free, mama. This cabana is open for two.” You flush with heat despite the coolness of the salty, sea breeze as you sit beside him, feeling flustered at being so close to him. Now you don’t have the shots or the music as buffers. There is nothing but the sea and the empty beach. 

However, the silence isn’t awkward––it’s rather peaceful and serene. You dig your toes into the sand while Sero hums to himself, digging into his pocket. He then pulls out a ziplock bag of a few pre-rolled blunts and a lighter. “Mind if I smoke?” he asks, pausing to look at you for an answer. You shake your head, giving him the green light to do his thing. You watch as he works, entranced by his veiny hands as he takes out a blunt and ignites the lighter to lit the tip of it. 

You wish his hands were working you instead. 

Still entranced by him, you watch as he wraps his lips around the blunt and takes a short tester puff before putting the lighter away. He takes a deep inhale before exhaling all of the smoke out of his mouth, a peaceful look on his face. “I love doing this on the beach,” he contently sighs. “Nothing like a view of the stars and saltwater breeze while you puff on a blunt.” He gazes at you out of the corner of his eye. “And sitting with a pretty woman.” 

“Whatever,” you tsk, gently smacking his thigh to hide the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “You’re just sayin’ that to make me feel good.” He takes another hit of his blunt, though short. “Well, yeah,” he admits, "but also ‘cause it’s true. You are pretty. Did you see the way the security guard was checkin’ you out when we left?” 

You retrace your mental steps to try to remember, but come up short. “Uh…no,” you respond, not sure if you believe him. He laughs at this, smoke billowing from his mouth. “Exactly, ‘cause you were oblivious to it, but not me. You had eyes on you like bees on honey.” He then holds the blunt between his thumb and forefinger out to you. “Want a hit? You smoke?” You look down at the blunt, slightly intimidated. Then, for some reason, the thrill of trying something new floods you. “Not really,” you admit. "But there’s a first time for everything.” 

You take the blunt between your thumb and forefinger before trying to imitate Sero’s actions. You wrap your lips around the end of the blunt and inhale only to nearly hack up a lung when the smoke invades your lungs. Sero laughs at you while patting you on the back, helping you out. “Take it easy, mama,” he chuckles. “Second time’s the charm as I say. Do it slower.” 

You do as he says and inhale the smoke much slower than before. It goes down easier the second time and you’re even able to hold it in your lungs for longer before exhaling. “Theeeere we go,” Sero praises with a laugh. “I love a girl who doesn’t quit.” 

He lets you puff on the blunt for a few minutes longer, gazing out at the starry sky and sea. He then glances at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Please tell me if this is too personal, but I’m curious about you coming here to boost your confidence. I’d think a woman as beautiful as you are would have plenty of confidence in herself.” 

You can already feel the weed beginning to work its magic. You feel relaxed and kind of sleepy, but not enough to pass out. All of the insecurities and uncertainty you felt before have washed away. You pass Sero the blunt and sit back on your hands, exposing your jiggly tummy a little more. “Well, the reason I’m here is after a hookup gone wrong where this dude told me I was too fat and left in the middle of sex with me. I was gutted by it, so when my girls told me about their trip, I took that chance and came here.” 

You inhale the sea breeze and exhale solemnly, catching Sero’s attention…not that you didn’t have it already. “Finding love when you look like me,” you confess, running a hand over your body. “Like the dating pool isn’t built for girls like me. I’ve tried dating so many times, online manly, but as soon as a guy gets a view of me from the waist down, they want nothing to do with me. If I’m not seen as some extra pushin’ for the cushion, I’m not seen at all.” 

You’re aware that you’re oversharing, but the alcohol, weed, and Sero’s warm personality have all made it where you’re like an open book now. “Not that I mind being perceived sexually,” you reiterate, “but I feel like that’s all guys see when they look at me. I’m a fetish; not a woman who is worthy of affection as well as desire. I deserve better, y’know? I’ve got a good job, a car, an apartment, a pretty face…like everything I have should be worthy to get me a good partner, right? But it’s not. All because of…of…this.” 

You grip the jiggly fat of your stomach, huffing frustratedly to yourself. “I don’t hate being in my body, but society does.” Instantly, like a slap in the face, you realize you’ve fucked up. “Sorry!” you immediately gasp. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I said way too much.” 

Sero is staring at you like he just realized you’re a person and you feel even worse. “Look, I don’t mean to pile this all on you, but you’re so easy to talk to and this weed is gettin’ to me and–“ You abruptly stop when Sero suddenly stands. He takes another puff on his blunt before dropping it into the sand and stubbing it out with his foot. 

He then proceeds to kick off his shoes and socks, strip himself of his shirt to reveal his beautiful body, and reach for his belt to loosen his pants. When his pants fall, you can’t help but admire how good he looks in his briefs. You stare at him, confused, hot, and bothered by the gorgeous view. “What are you doing?” you softly ask. 

“Let’s take a dip,” he says huskily. You stare at him, dumbfounded. Is he serious, drunk, or just high as a kite? “But…I don’t have a bathing suit.” Sero raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Who said anything about that?” Now you know that this man is gone. There’s no way he is seriously considering skinny-dipping…and there’s no way that you’re actually thinking about it! He must see you fighting with yourself because he runs a comforting, soft hand down your arm, his touch making you shiver. “I’d like to see you,” he murmurs, “if that’s okay.” 

You search his face to see if he’s joking or daring you only to laugh at you when you do so, but you find no indication that he’s playing with you. There is a molten tenderness in his gaze that has you shivering in pleasure and anticipation, wondering what else he has in store for you.

So you strip. You start with your top and then your skirt, biting your lip at his sharp intake of breath at the sight of your underwear. Then you’re stripping off your bra, letting your full breasts fall from the cups and against your stomach. Sero’s eyes widen at the sight of you as if you are a piece of art he is admiring in a museum. “Hermosa (beautiful),” he whispers, completely in awe at your body.

You’ve taken enough Spanish in school to know what this word means and it lights your body on fire. He then offers his hand which you take, giggling when he pulls you along to the ocean. “Come on,” he laughs. “Vamos, before the water gets too cold!” 

You want to ask him what the fuck he means because the water is like you stepped into the damn Arctic Ocean when your semi-naked body finally makes contact with it. You gasp as the water shocks your body out of its tired state from the alcohol and weed. Sero keeps his hand in yours despite the crashing waves that roll against your bodies the further you wad into the ocean. Finally, you two settle and just let the water caress you. You sigh in contentment as you tip your head up towards the sky, admiring the stars twinkling above. 

“Nice, right?” Sero chuckles. You lazily nod, wanting to stay here forever––among the water, stars, and him. You don’t realize how close he’s gotten to you until you’re suddenly staring at his upper torso and the water beads that drip down his abs. “Can I hold you?” he gently asks. You peer up at him through your lashes, afraid to speak in fear of ruining the moment. 

You nod and he slowly wraps his arms around you, engulfing you in them. You let yourself be pulled into him, sighing when your head meets the crook of his shoulder. You embrace him back, crushing your breasts against his hard chest. There, you two stay, bobbing in the water, linked with one another. “This feels so nice,” you drunkenly confess. “Like a fairytale.” 

“I’d hope so,” he murmurs to you. “You deserve it, mami.” And you start to believe it. After a few silent seconds, he pulls away from you, his eyes as dark as the night sky. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, his gaze hopeful. “I know I didn’t ask in the club and I feel bad about that, so I wanted to ask you now and–“ 

You don’t hear the rest of what he has to say because you’re too busy planting your lips on his. This kiss is hungrier now. Your lips move against each other’s like you both are starving for one another. You can tell Sero wants the same thing you want when his hands move below your waist to squeeze your ass, the feeling making you moan into his mouth. He replies with his own moan and pulls away, his eyes glazed over with lust.

He wordlessly kneels before you in the water and takes both of your breasts into his hands, kneading them gently. “Shit,” he softly hisses to himself, amazed at the sight of your hanging fruit and brown, hardened nipples. 

You softly whimper at his calloused hands caressing your sensitive breasts causing him to move on to other matters. He leans in and latches his lips onto one of your nipples where he begins to suckle on it. You throw your head back to stare at the endless sky, your mouth open in an O as pleasured moans fall from your lips. You can’t yourself, especially when Sero begins to suckle and flick his tongue along the sensitive bud of your nipple, his hand kneading your other breast in the process. 

Then he switches, giving your other breast the same treatment. Your hands find his hair, your fingers aimlessly wandering through the black locks of his hair. You’re ruining his mullet, but he doesn’t seem to care. He is more concerned with nibbling along your nipple, making you sharply inhale before your voice chokes on a broken moan.

You can’t take this. All of this is going straight to your pussy which is now throbbing and begging for attention between your thick inner thighs. “Please, Sero!” you whine, gripping his hair. “I need you to touch me.” Understanding immediately, Sero stares up at you, looking uncertain. He then stands, his body dripping in water, making your pussy throb even more at the sight of his glistening muscles. “You sure you want this?” he asks, his voice low and hushed. 

You practically throw yourself at him, giving him a deep, passionate kiss that nearly takes his breath away. “Yes,” you plead. “Yes, Sero, please. I don’t care, just please touch me.”

You grapple for his shoulders, gripping them in desperation. You don't care how much you come off as desperate or slutty to be sleeping with a man you just met. You need this right now. And Sero is willing to give it all to you. “Okay, baby, okay,” he shushes you, pressing a chaste kiss to your waiting lips. “Let’s get us out of the water first.” He takes your hand and helps you navigate the waves as you make your way out of the water. Once you’re out and standing naked on the shore, you realize the gravity of what you just asked and initiated. Especially when Sero leads you to the cabana. Your eyes flit up to the resort yards away, realizing anyone could come out and see you two naked. “Will anyone see us?” you timidly ask.

“They may, they may not,” Sero replies, a devious smirk on his face. “If they do, they’re in for a treat watchin’ a gorgeous woman gettin’ her pussy eaten.” He then sits you down on the bed and kneels down in front of you. He gently pries your thighs open, revealing your sobbing, wet pussy. You watch his face change from playful to downright feral as he stares at your cunt. You flush at his expression, still feeling weird about this despite how hot and bothered you are. “But what if–“ 

He shushes you, leaning forward to press wet kisses along your inner thighs. “No more talkin’, mami,” he growls against your inner thighs. “I want my name on your lips if not those pretty moans I heard in the water earlier.” He continues to pepper your thighs in kisses while his hands pin your legs apart, his hold on you firm. He doesn’t want you hiding from him despite your cellulite and stretch marks, and rolls and imperfections. And it feels good. 

You don’t stop him when he dives right into your pussy, first peppering your lips and clit in open-mouthed kisses as if he’s making out with them. You can’t believe the way this man works his mouth! Especially when he starts to flick his tongue along your clit. His tongue swirls around it and flicks it gently depending on how you respond. And shit, are you responding well! Your body can't help but react pleasantly to the sensations––your toes curl; your back arches; your eyes flutter closed; your mouth falls open into an O as moans and gasps fall from your lips. 

Sero is not only good with his tongue, but also with his hands. He reaches up and plays with your titties, tweaking and pinching your nipples according to your verbal cues. “H-Harder, please!” you beg to which he pinches the hard, brown peaks a little harder, the bursts of pain making you gush all over his lips. “Fuck, Sero,” you moan. “That feels so good!” 

Sero moans approvingly into your cunt, the vibrations making your clit quiver pleasurably. “Keep feelin’ good for me then, mami,” he says in between wet flicks of his tongue on your rosebud. “Lean back and wrap your thighs around my head. I can handle it.”

He pauses to stare up into your shocked eyes, a grin on his face and a pussy-drunk look in his eyes. You’ve never had anyone ask that of you before. Plus, your thighs really are on the thicker side. What if you suffocate him? Before you can even agree or refuse, he is already pushing you back onto the bed, emitting a squeal from you. 

He stands on his knees for a moment, taking you in. His lust-blown eyes trail up and down your naked form, drinking in every part of you that you either like or dislike. Then he inhales deeply as if struggling to process the beauty in front of him. “Tu cuerpo es un país de las maravillas, mami (your body is a wonderland, mami),” he huskily says. You have no idea what to say to that. All you can do is shyly smile up at him as he smiles down at you, both of you enchanted with each other. 

Then he’s ducking back down and throwing your thighs across his shoulders with ease, wrapping your legs around his head. This gives him better access to your pussy so he can easily tongue-fuck you. As soon as you feel the wet muscle entering your wet folds and his nose brush against your clit, you are in heaven. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your hands find his hair, gripping the black locks as your hips begin to grind shamelessly into his face.

“Mmm-hmm,” he hums approvingly, keeping up the pace. He doesn’t pause or slow down. He continues to work your pussy just how you want, making you see stars behind your eyelids and cry to the moon above. 

It doesn’t take long for that feeling of release to dawn on you. You can’t help it. His tongue just feels too good! Plus, the atmosphere and the whole idea of getting caught in such a risqué position turns you on more than you’d like to admit. Sero must realize you’re close because his jaw starts to move faster, accompanying his tonguefucking with porn-worthy moans of his own that nearly throw you over the edge. “Fuck, Sero!” you whine. “You gotta stop or I’m gonna cum!” 

“Mmm-hmm!” he eagerly hums into your pussy. He pulls his tongue out of your hole and proceeds to suck on your clit while his finger begins to stroke the outside of your slit, barely touching your insides. But it is enough to push you further and further down that road to orgasming all over him. His darkened eyes flick up to yours, staring you down between your thighs. “Ven por mí,” he demands. “Cum for me, baby. Don’t fuckin’ hold back a damn thing.” He grins up at you, his piercings glistening in the moonlight. “I can take it; I’m a big boy.” 

He attaches your mouth to your pussy again and runs it until you can't help but fall over that edge. “Ven por mí,” he moans into your cunt, becoming gradually louder as your moans reach higher pitches. “Ven por mí, ven por mí, ven por mí!” 

And you finally do. That tight knot in your core finally snaps and a wave of euphoria washes over you as you cum all over Sero's face and eager lips with a loud moan that would shatter glass. You see the entire galaxy and beyond as your pussy gushes, your body shivering and shuddering. Your back arches and your hips wind into Sero’s face, trying to keep as much of the feeling going as possible.

When it finally fades, you’re left feeling tired, spent, and oh-so-good. Sero eagerly cleans you up, taking extra care to not overstimulate you as he runs his tongue over your sensitive, twitching pussy. Then he lifts his head up away from your thighs, giving you a peak of his chin and mouth shining in your juices. With the moon in his glazed eyes, he hums to himself. “You taste better than the rum,” he sighs. 

Something in that sentence and the way he looks at you brings something out of you––a passionate, raging fire that can only be tamed by him. Slowly, you bring yourself to sit up in front of him and grab his face to smash your lips against his. He moans into the kiss, surprised at the suddenness of it, but soon melts into it the more your lips move against his. Finally, you pull away and stare into his eyes. “I take it you liked it?” he breathlessly asks. 

“I loved it,” you purr, running your hands up and down his tatted chest. “Now I want to thank you in my way…if that’s okay with you.”

Your eyes trail down to the bulge in his briefs that has only gotten bigger. You also notice the visible wet spot soaking the fabric, meaning the guy was secreting precum when he was eating you out. The idea of this makes the fire inside of you grow. You may as well have told him you want to give him a million dollars with how fast he scrambles up on the bed, ready for whatever you want to do with him. You giggle, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before laying him down on his back. 

Keeping your eyes locked with his, you slither between his thick, muscular thighs and finally, finally, getting at those briefs. You gently pull them down, being careful to not scratch him with your nails, and gasping softly when his cock springs free from its trap. It pops up like a Jack-in-the-Box, hard, thick, and veiny. There is nothing but smooth skin down there, Sero’s pubic hair completely shaven. He notices you looking and blushes. “I sweat a lot down there in the summertime,” he sheepishly explains. “So I shaved…it isn't weird, is it?” 

You don’t even answer him. You just wordlessly take his dick in your hand, your pussy throbbing at how heavy it feels in your palm. You feel him tense at the feeling of your soft hand on him which coaxes you to begin stroking him, just seeing how he feels. He is soft and smooth, his skin stretching back and forth along his dick as you stroke him.

You pay attention to his body language, peering up at him every so often to see how he’s responding to your touch. He lays with his hands fisting the cushions underneath him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and his eyes closed. Deciding you’ve got him right where you want him, you spit into the palm of your hand and continue to stroke him, lubing him up.

Once his dick is shining in your spit, you attach your lips to the top half of him while your hand busies itself with the bottom half. “Fuck,” Sero sighs when your lips wrap around his shaft. “Tan apretada (so tight)…” 

You hollow your cheeks and open your throat to take him easier, realizing how big he is the moment he enters your mouth. He practically stretches your throat! How would it feel to get him inside of you? The thought makes you curious to take him deeper. After a few slow test runs where you slide your mouth up and down along his head, you begin taking him deeper. Sero’s hand moves to your head while his other arm moves behind his head, his hooded eyes gazing down at you.

“Easy, mama,” he coos. “Take your time. Don’t take any more than you think you can.” You do as he says, only taking as much as your throat will allow. You gag around his cock as you begin to bob your head up and down along it, emitting orgasmic groans and swears in Spanish from his sinful lips. “Mierda! (Shit!)” he hisses, his hand tightening on your hair. “Lo estás haciendo tan bien…you’re doin’ so good for me, baby.” 

He continues to whisper praise as you gag and bob around him, using as much of your skill as you can. This includes using your free hand to stroke his balls, tugging on them when he begs you to. You ignore the ache of your knees in the sand and the tears pricking at your eyes, no doubt fucking up your eye makeup. The control he allows you makes you want to give him the best neck of his life, hopefully causing him to nut deep down your throat. You’ll gladly take all of it. 

Soon he begins to thrust into your mouth, his hips bumping against your chin as his cock fucks your throat. “Still doin’ okay?” he asks, to which you nod, emitting a moan from him when the roof of your mouth slides along his dick. “God, you look so good with my cock in your mouth,” he whines. Wouldn’t it be somethin’ if someone came out here and saw me fuckin’ that pretty throat of yours?” 

You tilt your head up to look up at him better, loving the view of his body as he bumps your hips against your face again and again. Spit drips from your lips the sloppier your head gets, only making him fuck your face harder. “You like that idea, don’t you?” he chuckles breathlessly. “Naughty girl. What if that someone is one of your girlfriends? What if it’s a resort worker? You wanna be seen on your knees with dick deep down your throat?” 

‘Yes,’ you think, your pussy crying beneath you. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ You want that more than anything. You don't care how slutty that makes you. You want to be his slut tonight. You want to be his everything and more, if just for one night. Before you can eagerly finish him off, he slides his wet cock out of your mouth, sighing as he does so. You look up at him, confused. Doesn’t he want to cum down your throat? 

“You can say no if you want to,” he says, his chest heaving, “but I’m gonna be real with you: I wanna fuck you. I don’t care if it’s out here or back at one of our rooms, but if I’m gonna cum, I wanna feel that pussy wrapped around me first.” His words cause your pussy to gush desperately around nothing. You’ve never wanted someone inside you more. “I want that too,” you breathlessly answer, hurriedly getting to your feet. Sero does the same, taking your hands in his. “We can go back to my room, if you want. If the girls are there, we can go to yours.” 

Sero is more than happy to agree with that judging by how his cock twitches between his thighs. 

After gathering your clothes and other items, you both hastily dress in the resort robes to avoid getting kicked out of the lobby for entering nude before hurrying to the resort and through the lobby for the elevators. You use your key card to get upstairs, giggling at Sero’s wandering hands along your hips and his lips on your neck. When you finally make it to your floor, the man carries you–carries you–to your room. When you’re finally at your door, you press a finger to your lips, signaling for his silence. You’re not sure if the girls are back yet. 

Carefully, you unlock your door with the card and open the door to find your hotel room still quiet, dark, and neatly cleaned, meaning only the floor maid was in here. You’re going to feel so bad for ruining her nice work later, but you can’t bring yourself to feel bad now.

When the door finally shuts, Sero is on you instantly, his hands ripping off your robe and his lips hastily moving against yours. You’re no better. You can't stop yourself from tossing his clothes off too, revealing his naked body and hard cock in the silver moonlight that pours through the window overlooking the resort’s pool and beach in the distance. “I need to fuck you,” he huffs against your lips, his hands squeezing your ass. “Is it okay if I do that? It’s okay to say no if you don’t–“ 

You silence him with a kiss, gently sucking on his tongue and exposing yourself for your oral fixation. “Shut up and fuck me, Sero,” you purr to him. “I want you to take me to my bed and fill my pussy up the way I know you can.” You then pluck the robe tie from the floor, dangling it in his face. “And I want you to use this on me…please?” Despite feeling emboldened to talk to him in such a demanding manner, that shyness still peeks through. 

Sero looks stunned at your naughty request before a smile creeps onto his lips. “I should’ve realized how freaky you were,” he murmurs before pressing a wet, passionate kiss on your lips that makes you think of his mouth in other places. “Let’s waste no more time then.” He takes your hand and leads you to your bed which is right across from Mina and Uraraka’s. You were so happy that your room came with separate beds since you like to sleep with your panties off. 

As soon as you plop down on the bed, Sero is hovering over you, his knees on either side of your body. He holds the rope in his hands, staring down at you questionably. With a nod and a reassuring smile, you raise your wrists towards him. Take me.

He doesn’t need any other confirmation that this is what you want. He takes your wrists and wraps them in the tie before attaching them to your headboard so your wrists dangle. “Good?” he asks. You move your wrists around, testing out the new binds. Not too tight but not too loose either.

You nod and he pecks you on the lips before prying your thighs apart. You raise your hips up to meet him, gasping when his cock begins to slide against your slit. His eyes, hooded and hazy with lust, tick up to meet yours. “You still want this?” he huskily asks. You nod, whimpering with need and already yanking helplessly on your binds. 

“No,” he firmly replies. “Don’t just nod. I need your words, mami. Tell me you want me.” He slides his cock up, nudging the head against your clit. “Tell me you want all of this dick inside of this pretty lil’ pussy.” You moan in pure desperation, going crazy with need. “Yes, I want you!” you cry out, tears pricking your eyes. “Please, Sero! Please just fuck me, Papi!” 

The word slips out before you realize it, but Sero catches it immediately. You see his eyes widen an inch and then, in a flash, his entire personality shifts. As soon as he finally slides his cock head inside of you, you know that this is a different person in your bed. He is no longer the sweet, upbeat, concerned man you met earlier at the nightclub, but someone more dominant. Someone who has no problem breaking you completely and then putting you back together again. It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“Say that again,” he growls, beginning to roll his hips, sliding his cock head in and out of you at a slow, teasing pace. “Call me that again.” 

Weak moans leave your quivering lips as you struggle to stay still, afraid he’ll stop if you move. “Papi,” you whine, “please, please fuck me. I can't take much more of this. Please, please just–“ 

Your pleas are silenced when Sero slides in a little deeper, filling you up. A mutual gasp leaves your lips as your pussy walls tighten around him, keeping him nice and snug inside of you. He keeps up the slow thrusts, letting you get used to his girth. “That feel good, mami?” he huffs. “You like this?” 

As if he can’t see your eyes rolling into the back of your head and hear the moans coming out of you. “Yes, papi!” you sob. “Yes, I love it! Please go deeper!” Sero does just that, his hands gripping your hips as he begins to bump his hips against you a little faster now, never going any harder than you want him to. It is just the right speed and pressure to slide against your G-spot, causing you to cry to the ceiling. 

“Yeah,” Sero laughs, staring down at you. “You like this. You love gettin’ filled by a stranger’s dick, don’t you?” His hand finds your throat, applying a bit of pressure and emitting a gasp from you. “This was all you needed to give you that confidence boost, right? Just to get slutted out the way you need to be.” 

“Sero,” you groan, your pussy squeezing and clenching around his cock from his words. He leans down close to you, his lips nearly grazing yours as he continues to fuck you into the mattress. “But only I could’ve done this job right,” he whispers. “Only I can fuck you good like this. Right, princessa?”

His hips move faster, harder, his pelvis bumping against your throbbing clit that is close to exploding from the amount of stimulation and care it’s receiving. “Sero!” you loudly sob, gripping the tie around your wrists for dear life. Without a warning, Sero suddenly tosses your legs up to your ears so he can sink in deeper, causing you to nearly scream out as you see heaven’s light before your eyes.

“Tell me,” he grunts, his eyes posted firmly on yours. “Tell me only I can fuck you right like this. Tell me how good it feels!” Whines begin to leave his lips the more rapidly he fucks you, causing your titties to jiggle and the bed to rock. 

“So good!” you babble as your pussy squelches and clenches around him. “You’re making me feel so good, papi! I’m gonna cum soon!” You can feel your orgasm beginning to rise the more he grinds his cock into you, filling you to the brim with him. 

“Me too,” he groans. “Dios mío (my God), you just feel to fuckin’ good. And you look so pretty stretched around my dick.” He takes his hand off of your neck and strokes your cheek, his thumb swiping against your bottom lip.

“Eres tan bonita (you’re so pretty),” he murmurs, staring down at you in utter adoration. “Eres mia…you’re mine now, honey. I don’t give a fuck if it’s just for the rest of your vacation. I’ll make you mine again and again, every fuckin’ day and night, so you won’t even look at another man back at home.” 

He begins to fuck you right into the headboard where luckily you have a pillow to cushion the blows. The feeling of him hitting that spot again and again without fail is so intense that you can’t help the noises that escape you––screams, cries, and sobs of pure, molten pleasure that you know you’ll never get again. He knows it too and that’s why he begins to slow down, working his hips the way he did on that dance floor. It’s too much on your body, too much on your pussy, and you can feel yourself beginning to reach your limit. 

Sero leans down to your ear, nibbling on the flesh of your earlobe. “I want you to cum with me,” he whispers into your ear. “Cum around this dick. Cum for me, mami.” He repeats the same line in Spanish, his husky voice filling your ear as his cock kisses your G-spot and his fingers move down to rub your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the brink of no return. 

It doesn't take long for you to finally burst around his cock the way you want to. You cum with a long, loud moan that tears out of you as your orgasm washes over you. The moment your pussy clenches around Sero’s cock is the moment he cums too. He grips your hips and swears in Spanish before he pulls out.

It doesn't take long for him. He rapidly pumps his cock in front of your face before his nut spurts all over your body. You gasp as his moans bounce off of the walls, his cum feeling warm on your skin. When you look down, you find it the creamy substance coating your breasts, thighs, and jiggly tummy. There’s even some on your ass due to how high he has your legs up. You are completely covered in him and his scent. And you love it. 

Finally, after he feebly gropes one of your breasts and presses a kiss to your foot, Sero unties your wrists and pulls his flaccid cock out of your tender, sensitive pussy, emitting a soft, weak moan from you. Then he’s rolling off of you and plopping down beside you on your bed, exhaustion overtaking him. 

The two of you lay there in silence for a moment, basking in the afterglow and processing what just happened. You just had sex with a total stranger. You let him tie you up and fuck you. You let him see your naked body. What shocks you is though you feel stunned at the whole thing, there is no ounce of shame or embarrassment anywhere inside of you. If anything, you feel satisfied with what just transpired.

You turn to Sero, realizing he’s looking at you already, his eyes shimmering in the slant of moonlight pouring through the window. “I meant what I said, you know,” he says, sounding out of breath. You blink at him, confused. “I want to be here with you, every day and night.” A blush coats his cheeks. “I’d like to spend your vacation with you…if you wouldn’t mind.” 

You blink at him again, stunned to silence. You have to be dreaming. You just have to be. There is no way this fine-ass man that you just met and gave up your pussy to is really talking about willingly spending the rest of vacation with you. He could have anyone he wants with that face, voice, and body, but yet here he is, laying in your bed, completely pussy-whipped for you and enthralled by your body.

Suddenly, for the first time tonight, you think to yourself, ‘Maybe I am that pretty. Maybe I am that sexy bitch he sees. Maybe I am beautiful.” 

“Is that okay?” Sero timidly asks, becoming nervous. Instead of verbally answering, you lean forward and press a long, passionate kiss to his lips that draws a purr of approval out of him. You pull away, staring up into his eyes. “Sero, you’re acting like you didn’t just give me the best two orgasms of my life,” you giggle. “Why wouldn’t I want that?” 

The biggest, brightest grin stretches across Sero’s lips at your answer and he leans in to bring you into another open-mouthed kiss that has you craving more. “You know what this calls for, right?” he murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips. Heat pools inside of your core as your mind goes to other places. ‘Please say more sex.’

“A smoke,” he answers, giving you a wink. Though that isn’t the answer you were hoping for, you also know that you have plenty of time to persuade him for another round tonight. He gets out of bed to get his jeans and retrieves his baggie of blunts from out of his back pocket.

Then he swiftly gets back into bed with you and prepares a blunt for you to share. He does the test smoke first and you watch, aroused and entranced, as the smoke billows from between his pink lips. He then passes it to you and laces an arm around your shoulder, watching you lazily as you puff on the blunt. The silence that surrounds you is serene and comfortable as you pass the blunt back and forth between one another. 

When you pass the blunt back to Sero after your turn, you flush with embarrassment as naughty thoughts run through your head. “You think we can try something?” you timidly ask. Sero raises a brow. “I’ve…never shotgun with anyone before,” you softly confess, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Sero lets out a laugh that you weren’t expecting. “And you wanna do it with me?” he asks, his smile teasing and playful, making you flush even more. “I think I’m honored and turned on.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips before passing you the blunt. “Here, you inhale first.”

You do as he says and inhale the smoke, letting it fill your lungs. He slowly leans in with his lips parted as if to kiss you, silently coaxing you to blow the smoke into his mouth in one slow, steady rhythm. You feel even more relaxed now–not just because the weed is working on you, but because you realize that Sero is a man who doesn’t judge.

He accepts every single part of you, inside and out. The thought of leaving him when vacation is over almost pains you, but you’re not going to think about that right now. Tonight and the next fun-filled days here are all that matters. 

“Feel good?” he chuckles, admiring your hooded eyes. You slowly nod, a smile creeping onto your lips. “Now it’s your turn.” He takes the blunt and puffs on it pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Come here,” he murmurs, and you’re helpless to resist him. You lean in, but he takes you by surprise when he firmly places his hands on your hips and flips you onto him so you’re now straddling him. 

You slowly part your quivering lips for him and nearly moan when he blows the smoke into your mouth in an indirect kiss. It is just as addictive and as sexy as a direct one, but nothing beats Sero’s lips on yours. You lean in and devour his mouth, swirling your tongue around with his. He tastes like weed, mint, and rum. You find yourself nearly shoving your tongue down his throat which he groans at, his hands grabbing your ass and giving you a smack that has your pussy crying. 

When you pull away, a sheen line of saliva connects to your bottom lips. “Round two then?” he asks, staring up at you with hooded eyes.

Before you can say yes or even plant your pussy on his cock that you feel hardening beneath you, you hear the hotel door unlock. Your heart leaps as you immediately jump off of Sero and hide under the covers while he sits up, hiding you from the strangers behind the door. 

In walks Mina and Uraraka, drunk and hyped up on attraction judging by the two hot strangers trailing in behind them. One is tall, buff, and redheaded with a toothy grin and his hand in Mina’s while the other is shorter but just as fit and sexy with platinum-blonde hair and crimson eyes that you know have panties dropping. His hand is on Uraraka’s lower back, his fingers toying with the little strings keeping her dress together. 

“So this is our room,” Mina giggles, inviting the men inside. “We have three different beds, so we can–“ She stops when her eyes land on you and Sero, naked under the sheets and staring at the four like deers in headlights. Uraraka gasps, covering her mouth and going as red as a tomato. 

“Looks like your room is preoccupied right now,” the redhead chuckles, grinning at Sero. “See you finally got her, man!” The blonde rolls his eyes, his hand still on Uraraka’s backside. “It’s about fuckin’ time,” he grumbles. “He’s been eyein’ this woman down the entire night like an idiot.” 

Sero looks at Mina and Uraraka who look like they want to shoot themselves. “I see you met my friends, girls,” he chuckles. “You’ve got good taste.”

The redhead winks at him and wraps an arm around Mina's waist. “Y’know, why don’t we go back to our room? We’ve got a hot tub, a minibar, and a great view of the beach. We could give these two some much-needed privacy, too.” 

Mina quickly nods and practically pushes the three out of the room, winking at you on the way out. The door shuts behind them, leaving you two alone once more.

Sero turns to face you and slithers his hand up your thigh. “So,” he purrs, “we still on for round 2?” He could’ve asked for five rounds and you would’ve given it to them. 

The rest of the night is spent in bed, with kisses, touches, snuggling, and endless pleasure that make you want to miss your flight at the end of the week. 

THE END. 

[ahollowgrave]

what's in your wol's travel bag? any trinkets? any vital items they cant go without? do they travel light and figure stuff out on the fly, or do they bring way too much with them? (bonu

Odette is a Nun Errant, traveling is part of her duties! She spends a lot of time on the road and is always adjusting what is in her pack. Here is a general list of what she might carry with her:

An extra set of traveling clothing.

Weather-proofed boots, spare.

Homespun wool yarn and knitting needles.

Whatever knitting project she’s working on currently.

A very beefy first aid kit. Just in case!

Supplies for cleaning graves:

Brushes of various sizes and bristle stiffness

Clean cloths, and dirty ones stuffed into a ‘to wash’ bag.

Gentle cleaning solutions

A little folding shovel for particularly gritty situations.

Blessed cloth of various make to use for burial shrouds and wraps, as needed. 

Bottled moon-touched waters for blessings.

A substantial letter writing kit.

Karakul Feed (Rou)

Hoof care supplies (Rou)

Rope.

Tent and bedroll, weather-proofed.

Various herbs used to quiet the restless dead.

Armor Care Kit (cloths, oils, wax, etc)

Sword Care Kit (cloths, oils, wax, whetstone, etc)

Fire Starting Kit.

A camp chair/stool.

A hammock.

Approx four to six books, swapped as she travels. 

Foraging books, just to double check her finds and to press flower petals with. 

Compass and several maps of regions.

Odette’s is not very good at ‘figuring stuff out on the fly.’ She would love nothing more than to be a cool go-with-the-flow kind of girl. Alas, the bees. Even her day-to-day wear tends to feature a lot of bags and deep pockets. In these she carries:

Small vials of moon-touched water for blessings.

Several polished moonstones to give out as worry stones and good luck charms.

Several trinkets to give to friends for protection and love, made by her own hand.

Her prayer beads, carved and assembled by her Sisters

Pencils and notebooks.

At least one book she’s currently reading.

Snacks.

Mints.

Whatever she’s pinched from other people’s pockets.

Thank you so much for the ask!

][ Pre-Dawntrail WoL Questions ][

[fortune-fool02]

In Her Grasp

Leon Kennedy x Serial killer female reader

Summary: The rookie policeman finds himself in the claws of a notorious serial killer. 

Warning: Angst. Blood. Kidnapping. Dark themes. Torture. Serial killer themes. 

Word count: 2,373

Thank you for reading this. I've been planning this for a bit now and wanted to write something angsty for this baby boy. Please leave feedback and reblog as it really helps and is very appreciated. Thank you. 

Please enjoy. 

The door opened and [Name] stepped into the house, softly humming as she closed the door behind her and took her shoes and jacket off, setting them aside. She carried the bags into the kitchen, setting them aside and pulling out the contents she had purchased. A visit to the D.I.Y shop had given her some rope, thick, black cloth and some other bits and pieces. 

After putting away her shopping, she gathered the rope and cloth, heading towards the cellar door. Darkness completely encased the cellar, making the steps leading down to it appear to vanish beyond the first two. Unfazed, she continued down them, flicking a light switch at the base of them. A weak flicker sparked, casting a small pale yellow light out, doing little to brighten the room. Her guest remained secured to his seat. The man was stripped of his clothing, rope tied securely around his ankles and wrists, binding them together to prevent any attempt of escape. Noise-cancelling headphones over his ears with thick cloth around his eyes, blocking out his vision and hearing. 

He was no one. Someone she picked up a few days ago and had been keeping him here since. Walking over, she stood in front of him and looked at him. Black and blue blotches covered his skin, the hard strike of a bat or metal pole leaving their mark. The rope burns gnawing away at his wrists and ankles, an ugly red raw against his skin. She had her fun with him before, hearing him cry out and beg for forgiveness for something he hadn’t even done. Hell, she didn’t even know the man’s name. There was truly nothing personal about this. He was just there at the wrong time. 

Moving around the other side of the chair, she held up the piece of rope in one hand and used another to drag a stool over, securing the rope to a hook in the ceiling. Giving it a firm tug, she was satisfied with its security before using the other side of it to wrap around the man’s neck, feeling him whimpering behind the gag in his mouth. Once it was on, she tied the other side of the rope to a heavy weight on the table before pushing it off, letting it fall to the floor. The man was lifted up into the air and held there, pained gasps and cries were cut off by the rope. [Name] just stood there and watched his legs try and kick around for a few minutes before his body went still. Pulling on some disposable gloves, she walked over and pulled the cloth off his eyes to confirm he was dead, a small smile tugging her lips at the sight of his hollow, empty eyes. 

A sense of fulfilment flooded her body, a comforting sensation that made the smile on her lips grow more. She savoured it for a bit longer, looking into those empty eyes, imagining how they must have looked in their final moments of light as the life slowly faded from them. Regardless, she turned herself away, her attention now on a new prey, a new target. A photograph was pinned on the wall, those sweet, baby blue eyes staring at the camera with such vibrant light with the shadows casting due to his hair. The policeman uniform peaking just above the bottom edge. The rookie policeman at R.C.P.D. At the bottom of the picture was a name: 

‘Leon. S. Kennedy’ 

Her latest target. It had been chance that they had crossed paths, a man had tried to mug her in the street and he swooped in to her aid. Something about him had made her whole world freeze in place, like the frozen film of a camera. A streak of vibrant colour in her bleak, bland world. From that moment on, Leon was the only thing in her mind, haunting her thoughts like a siren’s song. Any other target was nothing to her anymore, very little enjoyment pulled from their time together. None of them had that look in their eyes like Leon did. That sweet little glimmer, a twinkling star in his eyes. 

There was something about him being a policeman that made the whole ordeal that more enticing. A man in uniform, ready to serve and protect innocents from people like her, and yet, he was oblivious to the threat that stood in front of him. The fly gazing at the spider, falling deeper and deeper into her web.

[Name] disposed of the body, wiping everything down and scrubbing it clean to ensure there was nothing left behind. Nothing of that boring thing's presence as even an indication he even existed. Once done, she picked up her phone and dialled the number Leon had given her.

Her voice soft and sweet as honey as she spoke to him, wishing to speak to him in person to discuss something of importance before hanging up the phone. Grabbing her bag, she headed out. 

- 

Leon sat in his car, looking down at his phone, reading over the text messages. This was the spot [Name] told him to meet her at. The street was quiet, especially at this time of night. A knot of worry irritated his stomach, [Name] wouldn’t say what was wrong, just that they needed to meet in person and it was important. He was off duty so he made his way over as soon as he could. 

His window was rolled down, allowing the night’s cool breeze to brush through his hair, past his cheeks with a gentle touch as his eyes scanned around again for the [Hair colour] woman. He brought his phone back up, his fingers moving along the screen as he sent her a text message and sent it off. A ping behind him drew his attention, the sudden feeling of cloth shoved in his face brought a pang of concern and worry. The grip held the cloth firmly in place while the other hand latched onto his arm, keeping it down as the chemicals entered his system. 

Muffled cries and yells soon grew quieter, his attempts at fighting slowing as his muscles grew heavy, his vision swimming a little before encasing in darkness. 

When he awoke, his head ached. A pounding in rhythm of his heartbeat that made the back of his eyes hurt. He turned his head, trying to bring his hand up to his eyes but found it held firmly in place. The rough texture of rope chewing into his wrists, panic shot through him, forcing the drowsiness away as he took in his surroundings. Darkness filled every corner, making it difficult to make anything out. His clothing had been stripped away, leaving nothing but his underwear, as was his handgun he kept on him at all times. The coldness seeped into his skin, raising goosebumps along his skin. 

He couldn’t panic now. He had to think and try to figure out how to escape. The rope was secured tightly, restricting movement. Faint, light taps could be heard above his head, settled in a steady rhythm. Footsteps. Followed by a click of a lock before the door opened, the footsteps making their way downstairs. A light was turned on, casting a weak light around him. 

“...[Name]?” Confusion was thick on his voice, his eyes locked on the woman. What was going on? 

“Oh, I thought you’d still be asleep.” Her voice held that sweetness to it, the same sweetness that Leon has ever known from her since the moment he met her. She passed by him, setting a bag down somewhere behind him. Leon tried to follow her but he couldn’t turn his head far enough. 

“What’s going on, [Name]? Let me go!” He demanded, trying to keep his voice firm but those little cracks in it gave him away. He felt vulnerable. Weak. He couldn't escape these binds, he couldn't defend himself. Left at the mercy of the woman with the sweet smile.

"I can't do that, even if I wanted to, Leon." She moved around, settling back in his line of sight. A chair scrapped across the floor and she seated herself directly across from him. Their knees touching. There was something unsettling in those pretty eyes of hers, as if he was gazing into the eyes of a viper ready to strike. Dread coiled in his stomach.

"You see, for a policeman, I was kinda expecting you to put up a little more of a fight. Or at least have been more alert, especially when there's a serial killer on the loose." [Name] lightly scolded, as if talking to a child who was misbehaving and being reckless. "But I can't blame you. You're the new rookie. Things like this don't happen to the rookies, eh?"

Leon tried to keep his breathing steady, gripping his bindings a little as he tried to assess the situation and tore his eyes away from her, tried to think of an escape. Something metal flashed in the low light, and he felt the cold kiss of a steel blade under his chin, tilting his head up lightly. "Don't look away from me, Kennedy." Her voice, just like her eyes, held a venom to them that was sharper than this knife under his chin.

"[Name], please. You need help-" The tip of the knife pressed itself into his skin, just enough to draw a single droplet of blood, a stinging sensation followed.

"I've been told I've needed help my entire life." She slowly pulled the knife away from him, her eyes not once moving off of him, "This, all of this, helps me." Her other hand rested on his knee and she leaned close to him. He could feel her warm breath against his lips. She brought the blade to her open lips, gently smearing the droplet of blood on her lips like it was lip-gloss before grabbing a fist full of his hair, yanking his head closer and pressing her lips onto his.

A surprised sound spilled his lips, the taste of his blood on her soft lips, lips he had dreamed about kissing time and time before, but not like this. [Name] held him there for a few seconds, savouring his lips before pulling away with a smile.

"If you behave, like a good boy, then this won't be as unpleasant as I can make it." Beneath that soft, honey-laced tone, beneath those twinkling eyes, there was a threat there. A promise of danger if he doesn't listen to her. A mouse trapped in the claws of a cat.

-

Despite his best efforts to keep track of time, it was hard to do so in this cellar. [Name] had set this little routine of sorts. Whenever she would leave him, she would cover his eyes with a blindfold, and cover his ears with headphones that played different music, music that he loved, all of his favourite songs, at a comfortable audio. All the times they had hung out together, all those moments they shared, she had been learning about him, studying him, picking out information to use in her favour.

But this time, [Name] had something else in mind for him. Leon had attempted to try and escape while she had been "gone". He had gotten free of his restraints, he had made it up the stairs and out the front door, only to find the woman herself sitting on her porch right outside the front door. She had been waiting for him to try and escape. She knew he would try to escape. And the second her eyes met his, and he saw that disappointed look in them, he felt his blood run cold.

Now, Leon was back in the cellar, his body secured so he was laid bare before her on the cold, stone floor. His wrists and ankles tied to prevent any form of movement, any form of resistance was impossible.

"You know, I really didn't want to do this to you, Leon." [Name] spoke, her back facing him as she set something up on the desk across from him. In her hand, she held an old leather belt with a large, metal buckle at the end. Her hand motioned to the clock she had set up. An old pendulum clock. Confusion chewed at him at the sight of the clock.

"Every sixth tick from the pendulum, I am going to hit you with this belt. Every seventh tick, I am going to kiss you." She explained calmly to him, her fingers gently brushing strands of his hair from his face, she wanted to see his expression as she did this.

With that, she pressed the key on the back of the clock and allowed the pendulum to begin swinging.

"Wait, [Name], I-I didn't-" Before Leon could finish his sentence, a piercing snap of leather filled the room, followed by a burning, biting pain in his side from the belt buckle. A pained cry ripped from his throat as his body tensed, the pain throbbing in his side. But not a moment later, her lips were on his cheek in a gentle, almost loving kiss. The two opposite interactions conflicted with one another. Her loving kiss on his cheek was warm compared to the cold bite of the belt buckle. Each time it struck his flesh, her lips were on his skin without fail.

Six strikes. Six kisses passed before the pendulum's dreaded ticking finally fell silent. [Name] setting the belt down beside the clock and moving over to Leon's side, her hands gently on his skin as she stroked his cheek, smiling at him.

"See? If you behave, I won't have to do this. I don't want to hurt you, Leon. So please don't make me, baby." [Name] leaned down and kissed his lips, humming softly as he tried to pull away from her. He only looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixed concoction of fear and unease at her.

She loved that look, but she wanted to see something else in those pretty eyes of his.

"Don't worry, baby." She smiled at him, "You'll learn to come around. Then we can be happy together."

[rascal-xo]

Special Affairs Pt. 2 | 141 x Frank Woods x Reader |

Chapter Summary: In light of working with the 141 again, you begin to get your affairs in order.

Warnings: Minor SMUT, language, smoking, no mention of readers pronouns

Word Count: 1.3K

Tags: @ladyelissarose @lonely-ofc @whore4dilfs

A/N: I really hope you guys enjoyed Pt.1! I’m excited to see where this very mini series goes 🩷

|NOT CANONICALLY ACCURATE| |OVERLAPPING OF TIMELINES|

3 Years Earlier...

You were almost never home nowadays due to always being away on an assignment, so when you walked through the door of your small Langley apartment it almost seemed foreign.

You didn’t waste any time getting into the shower. The water fell like rain against your sore muscles and you sighed in relief, letting the stress of the past few months wash away.

You closed your eyes and let yourself enjoy the sensation for a few moments before turning off the water and wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel. You slipped on a pair of boxer shorts and a t shirt not bothering to dry your hair and lit a cigarette, before walking into the kitchen to crack open the window.

The mail had piled up in the months you were away and you were unbothered to check it.

As you leaned against the kitchen counter, exhaling a plume of smoke through the open window, the sound of a knock at the door disrupted the quiet solitude. Your first instinct was to ignore it, assuming it was probably the landlord coming to nag you about your absence.

Taking a final drag from your cigarette, you stubbed it out in the ashtray and made your way towards the door. As you opened it, your eyes slightly widened, and the half-formed greeting on your lips faded away. “I thought we weren’t doing this anymore, Woods.”

“I changed my mind.” Frank pushed on the door slightly and let himself in.

You met Frank the same day you met the rest of Adler’s team, when you were recruited. Frank showed you the ropes when Adler was elsewhere and over time you had developed a bond with the Sergeant.

He was older, and far more seasoned of a soldier than you with his years of experience. A few months prior you and Frank hooked up after a mission and since it was on and off between the two of you.

“Fuck, Frank. I just got back.” You sighed, now regretting putting out the cigarette. With Frank came a lot of baggage and emotions that always seemed to work against the two of you.

Regardless of the outcome that came everytime you and the sergeant, you found yourself gravitating towards him anyways. His crystalline blue eyes looking down at you and his hair a mess from the winds blowing outside.

“What, you want me to leave?” He raised an eyebrow, taking your silence as a no. He shrugged off his signature blue flannel jacket and tossed it onto a nearby counter stool.

“I cant fucking stand you sometimes.” You said, looking back up at him to meet his piercing eyes.

“I know.” He muttered, pulling your body into his suddenly as your lips met half way in a familiar kiss.

The heat between the two of you was instant, fueled by a mix of frustration, desire, and a shared history. You melted into the kiss, your arms instinctively wrapping around his broad shoulders as his hands found their way to the small of your back, pulling you closer.

In one swift and fluid movement, Frank scooped you up effortlessly, his arms supporting your weight against the wall. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, drawing you even closer to him, eliminating any space between your bodies.

You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the way his muscles rippled under his skin. It was a physical reminder of the danger and excitement that came with being with him, a thrill that was impossible to resist.

By the time you two had made it to your bedroom you had lost track of where your body ended and his began. You laid in his arms after what seemed like hours, tangled in the soft sheets as he smoked from the cigarette between his fingers.

Your fingers traced gentle patterns on his bare chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. You turned your head to look at him, his face was serious, as the wheels turned in his head.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke before meeting your gaze. You took it from his fingers and stretched your neck up to leave a lingering peck on his lips.

“You cant keep coming back.” You mumble against his lips, not meaning a single word.

————————

3 Years Later

The tension between you and the captain seemed to thicken, the air charged with unspoken words.

You both knew that you working with the 141 again was a possibility, but the question of whether or not Shepard would come after you lingered in the air. “You’d go after Shepard?” Price raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve done worse for less. Besides he doesn’t like us CIA folks anyway.” You rolled the glass in your hands again, watching the liquid swirl.

“There’s a place for you here if you want it, but I know it’s soon. You should think about it, Y/N.” He spoke, leaning an elbow on the bar.

You felt the scotch begin to get to your head, the feeling of tipsiness starting to edge you on.

The scotch's warmth spread through your veins, making you feel a little bolder, a little more open to taking risks. Price's words echoed in your mind, his offer hanging in the air.

You turned to face him a little closer, a mischievous glimmer in your eyes. "You know, Captain, I've always been one to embrace the unexpected. And the thought of going after Shepard? Well, it's certainly intriguing."

Price raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. "Careful, darling. You might find yourself tangled in more than you bargained for."

A smirk played on your own lips. "I'm well aware, Captain. But sometimes the thrill lies in the danger itself."

“Is that so?”

As the night grew darker and the bar's atmosphere became increasingly crowded, you and Captain Price found yourselves yearning for a moment of solitude. The noise and distractions seemed to fade away as you both made your way out of the bustling establishment.

Stepping into the cool night air, you found yourselves in a dimly lit alleyway, the sounds of the city muffled in the distance. The tension that had been simmering between you all evening now crackled in the air, almost palpable.

Price turned to face you, his eyes meeting yours, and a subtle shift occurred between you. The unspoken attraction and connection that had been building now demanded acknowledgment. It was as if the weight of the world had momentarily lifted, leaving only the two of you in that narrow alley.

Without hesitation, Price reached out and gently cupped your face, his touch sending a thrill through your body. In that vulnerable moment, the boundaries that had separated you as captain and agent, blurred and gave way to something more.

But as quickly as the kiss had ignited, it ended, leaving you both breathless and craving more. Price pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, a mixture of emotions flickering within them.

You’re stay in London had began to look longer than you had expected…

————

What do y’all think?? Should I keep going and do a Pt.3? Lmk🩷🩷

gifs - @collinnmckinley

[vibratingskull]

If we are talking about sub!Thrawn

How about one were he lost his virginity to reader at royal imperial and has been reader sub since then.

Maybe with some smut, go with whatever your hearts desire.

Sub!Thrawn is consumming me right now... I just slightly tweaked the timeline, I just cannot imagine him having sex with someone he knows for only three months, I hope it's okay for you.

Gorgeous art by @sinnuous

Thrawn x F!reader

Tags : Submissive!Thrawn, loss if virginity, aphrodisiac, shibari, penis cage, restraints, face sitting, P in V, creampie, breeding kink

Thrawn being casually Aroace in my fics? Who would have thought ? 😏

You intently look at the picture and look back at your cord knots. Yeah... Good enough for a new try! You take a step back to observe your masterpiece. Thrawn is sitting naked on a stool, his mighty body wrapped in shibari knots, adorning his vibrant blue skin, making a walking piece of art. 

You cover your mouth with your two hands, refraining from an excited giggle rising in your throat. 

“What is the final result?” Thrawn asks, turning his red gaze to you. 

“It’s... magnificent.” You can only say. 

You hook two fingers in one knot, testing the cords. 

“How is it?” You ask. 

Thrawn breath deeply and rolls his powerful muscles to test the restraints. 

“Tighter please.” He demands. 

You adjust the deep red ropes, so ravishing on his deep blue skin. You pull on the ropes, tightening them. 

“Tighter.” He demands again. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, “We never tried this tight before.” 

“I am curious, please tighten the knots again.” He responds with his deep melodious voice. 

You pull the ropes again, observing how they bite into his flesh. Thrawn greets his teeth and hisses as the shibari compress his muscles like never before. You keep going, knowing that if need be, he will use your safe word to stop everything. But he never does. 

“Now?” You ask, weary of the cords around his thick throat. 

He exhales between his teeth, his head thrown backward in a mix of pain and pleasure. He rolls his shoulders to test his restraints, appreciating the compression of his muscles. 

“Perfect.” He judges, “That is... Perfect.” 

You circle him, observing the final result, how the cords cross and wave and tie around his body. They are quite thin to be discreet and invisible under clothes but they are damn strong, no risk for Thrawn to inadvertently tear one apart. You take his hand to guide him to the big mirror of the suite, to let him observe his new body. 

He remains silent, observing every minute detail, every knot dancing on his flesh. You look at him with a big smile, proud of your work. 

“Do you like it?” You ask. 

“This is... Glorious. You outdid yourself, Ch’acah.” He compliments you, tracing the cords on his arm. 

This is not your first Shibari rodeo but those knots are new for you, but the results are so worth it! You place yourself behind him, raising on your toes, and lick his cheek with a satisfied grin. 

“Satisfied, my sweet?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He breathes as your hand comes caressing his throat, lazily squeezing it. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

You hum satisfied and peck his cheek. Thrawn fascination for art also appears in the bedroom and making him a breathing piece of art is a must during foreplay for him! He just loves becoming your canvas for your sessions, letting you create patterns on his skin. Sometimes he is the one who finds new figures to tie, like today. He submits to you, letting you experiment with your craft for both of your pleasures. 

“On your knees, big boy.” You whisper in his ear, nibbling his lobe. 

Your high heels resonate in the suite as you walk to fetch your accessories. He obeys and gets on his knees, his red eyes getting foggy with desire and eagerness to submit. His breath gets shorter as you review your different options lying on his desk. You have cuffs, crops, blindfolds, paddles, gags and gags bars, clamps, floggers... A lot of options! 

You both quickly realized  Thrawn absolutely loves to be restrained in some way, with cuffs, ribbons, cords, or tape. His hands, his legs, tied to the bed or behind his back, nailed to the floor, wall or hanging from the ceiling... And then he let you play with his exposed and defenseless body, teasing him, torturing him, toying with him. He relinquished all of his powers to you. 

Trusting you completely. 

You reminisce about the start of your relationship, how you took Eli and Thrawn “under your wing” in the Academy, begrudgingly becoming friends, taming each other. What was your surprise when you learned you followed them both on the Blood Crow, apparently your time together wasn’t over yet. 

You fooled around with some male and female colleagues, having fun while Thrawn and Eli kept to their art and Excel sheets. That’s around this time you learned you liked to take control in the bedroom, seeing others submit at your feet. 

Is was thrilling! Exhilarating! New and fresh!  

How they tried to get back control, and how you fought to keep command. You always came up on top, always finding the trick or the sweet little thing making them submit to your will. 

Some were easy, some were reluctant, but you always found a way... 

You even slept with that bitch Rossi in exchange for her promise to not punish Thrawn after one of his “political miscalculations” of one of his tactical prowess during a mission. She thought you would be a piece of cake, that she would have some free fun and come back on her words to punish Thrawn as it pleased her. 

How wrong she was... 

She did not punish Thrawn after the night you spent together and she stayed pretty much away from your trio until you got your new affectations. 

You never told Thrawn about that. Maybe you were already falling for him at that time... No, in retrospect you definitely had fallen for him! But you didn’t know it back then. So you kept meeting them both, bitching with Eli about Rossi, playing cards with Thrawn, drinking with them both... 

Nice times. 

For your next post, you specifically asked to follow Lieutenant Thrawn wherever he might go, because frankly, things could get so batshit crazy with him that you found it both hilarious and terribly worrying for the health of your two friends. You needed to keep an eye on those two walking catastrophes.  

And the Navy obliged. 

You followed him on the next ship, your relationship growing and flourishing into something new but undiscovered still. You regularly played Shah-Tezh together in your or his cabin, he taught you new strategies and slowly, you were growing on him, unbeknownst to both of you. 

And then. 

Came that mission... 

The one that turned your relationship around. 

It started rather mundane, you were both sent as escort to a diplomat to bordering worlds of the Empire for a political soiree. Let’s just say Thrawn was less than thrilled. 

“Knowing you will be at my side ease my worries, my friend.” He said to you. 

You smiled at him, promising to run to his rescue if he ever ended up in a political conversation with one of the aliens. You had to abide by the dress code and you appeared in an evening gown and Thrawn in a black suit. You discreetly checked him out, the suit was deliciously tight and becoming on him. He looked like a full-course dinner. 

You abstained from any comment, of course, Thrawn wouldn’t have appreciated to get objectified like that. 

Or so you thought... 

You appeared in the ballroom arm-in-arm, the diplomat had ordered you to remain discreet and not be too obvious in your mission, so you watched over them, pretending to be simple guests.  

As the only alien of the Navy and not yet recognized for his true genius, Thrawn was perceived as disposable and was designated as a poison tester for the diplomat. Any dish or drink they wanted to taste, Thrawn had to taste first. In solidarity with your “good friend”, you tasted everything with him. 

Until at some point you tasted the same glass of a certain sparkly champaign and advised the diplomat to not touch it, the taste was... something else. None of your chemical reactive you had detected any deadly poison, so you expected to endure stomach pain for some hours. 

Uncomfortable but manageable. 

How wrong you were... 

Around 10 minutes after you start to feel hot and sweaty all of a sudden with some vertigo to spice things up. You immediately searched for Thrawn to check up on him, finding him taking fresh air on the balcony. He had his usual cool and detached tendencies but he was sweating too and his hand holding down the rail was trembling slightly, very unlike him! 

You seized his arm and pulled him back inside, groped Eli to tell him you headed towards the infirmary. You walked side to side in those long and torturous corridors, the silence only broken up by your increasingly short breaths. You forced open a door with a kick, thinking it was the closed infirmary only to discover it was a bedroom. 

Crap! 

It will had to do, your organism refused to go farther without relief. You were now hot and, to your horror, bothered. 

Did you drink an aphrodisiac? You gave a side glance to Thrawn in the hope he would be able to make a sane decision because you were in no state to make any informed choice yourself, only to realize he was in worse shape than you! Laying against the wall, his head thrown backward, his breath was only a painful hiss, his apple bobbing up and down as he gulped with difficulties. He sat down on the bed and opened his collar with a trembling hand, sweat trickling down his temple, breath short and painful.  

“Take your shower first.” He gentlemanly proposed, “I will go after you.” 

“With all due respect sir, you look way worse than me.” You retorted. 

Whatever they put in this glass, Chiss are more sensible to it than humans. 

He held his head in his hand like it was too heavy to stand on his neck, messing his hair up, he breathed through his greeted teeth. He may appeared just a little roughed up, but it was so unlike him to act as such you didn’t even try to guess the real discomfort he was in. 

“Nonsense.” He retorted with a raspy voice, his melodious tessitura even deeper than usual and that stroke you straight to your core you had to press your thighs to silence the longing of your awakening desire, “I am perfectly fine, nothing a fresh shower will not fix.” 

The effect of his voice on you was so powerful you chose to run under the shower without any other words to not be in the same room as him. He always looked good to you, but under the raw effect of the aphrodisiac, he was absolutely ravishing. 

A true apparition. 

You came out of the icy cold shower still as hot and bothered. It had absolutely no effect whatsoever! You felt yourself trembling with such lust and desire you never felt before! So much so that you considered bashing your head in the wall a viable option. 

You gulped and re-entered the bedroom to discover Thrawn laying on the bed, his black jacket nonchalantly thrown on the desk, is white chemise halfway undone, revealing toned pecs to your gaze. 

Oh dear Maker, that will be a trial, is it not? 

He raises back in a sitting position at your arrival, restrained relief painted on his face. 

“Lieutenant commander.I trust the shower was beneficial.”  

“No...” You reveal, “Not at all.” 

He looked at you with a closed expression. 

“That is unfortunate news.” He simply said, “Those effects might last hours, we are in no shape to pursue our mission like that.” He held his chin in his fingers, searching for a solution. 

Like it wasn’t evident enough... 

None of you two wanted to say it but you both knew what was going to happen was inevitable. 

“Listen.” You initiated action, “We are both adults. Let’s get done with it, the sooner we get to it, the sooner it will end.” You came next to him, taking his hand in yours. 

He looked at you intently with a mixed expression of surprise and... shock. 

“I do not think this is a good idea, Lieutenant Commander.”  

“You have another idea?” 

He turned his head away from your gaze, admitting his lack of resources in such a situation. You smiled at him, squeezing his hand gently. 

“Come on, Commandant. A man of your experience surely isn’t afraid of a simple woman?” You joked, laughing in the hope of relaxing the atmosphere, “Your collection of lovers must be impressive, what’s one more to your body count?” 

He sighed, ruffling his hair, his head in his palm, clearly displeased.  

Okay, ouch? 

“Okay, I’m maybe not to your taste but no need to look so disgusted.” You laughed acidic. 

“No, (Y/n), no. You truly are a beautiful woman and any man would be honored to have a chance with you, but...” 

“But?” 

“I...” He started, looking at you with some despair you never saw in his eyes before sighing, “I have never been intimate with anyone before.” 

You remained mute at that news, your eyes wide open and mouth agape. 

A full minute passed looking at each other, you absolutely dumbfounded by that revelation and him awaiting your reaction, hoping you would go easy on him. 

“I do not believe you for a second.” You finally left out 

Him? A virgin? Mister handsome face, smooth voice, and sculpted body? Mister dy humor gentleman? This was not possible. You couldn’t believe nobody never tried to sink their teeth in the meal he could offer! Granted he is not the smoothest in social situations, but still! You saw some real pieces of shit collecting suitors, why not him? 

“That is the truth nonetheless.” He softly insisted, his breathing worsening again. 

“But... How?” You asked flabbergasted. 

He shrugged like your question made no sense at all. 

“It simply never happened. I never pursued such intimacy in my life.” 

“And nobody ever proposed to you? I find it really hard to believe.” 

“Why?” 

Was this man for real? 

“You are handsome and carved by the gods! Maybe a little aloof but you care and you have delicate dispositions. A lot of people with way less to offer get asked regularly! And you tell me you had no opportunity ever? Sorry but no, that’s not adding up.” 

He looked at you with rounder and rounder eyes. 

“Nobody ever referred to me in such terms.” He just said, surprised. “I never knew you looked at me in such a way either...” 

You cleared your throat, calculating your error. 

“I just find it hard to believe, that’s all...” You tried to save yourself. 

“I never took someone to bed before and never intended to. At least not in the immediate future.” He corrected himself “I never saw my fellow beings in such light. I never felt this urge before.”  He explained, gulping in his discomfort. 

“Well... I’ll agree with you this is not the most romantic setting for a first time.” You conceded “You want to try and wait?” You proposed. 

You’re not about to force someone to sleep with you, aphrodisiac or not. He seemed to weigh the pros and cons, before straightening his back and rolling his head like he was preparing himself for a trial. 

“We have a mission to accomplish, Lieutenant Commander. If we must go through it to become operative again... This is our duty to act on it.” He said assertively. 

How romantic... 

You spin your seated position to face him fully. 

“Alright. Let’s go.” You agree. 

He looked at you intently, like he was expecting more reluctance or shyness on your part. You looked back in his eyes unashamed.  

You were torn on your end, in some way you were really glad you got a chance with Thrawn, he always was to your taste, both body and mind. On the other side, what kind of fucked up setting was that? 

“I am going to kiss you, Lieutenant Commander.” He announced with a trembling tone. 

His hand tentatively came cupping your cheek. His palm was deliciously warm and his skin soft and smooth. Your mind immediately wandered to the rest of his body, is he as soft everywhere? You mentally shook your head. 

He very slowly approached his lips to yours, stopping only a mere centimeter away. You could feel his jerked breath on your lips and waited for him to close the gap, you wanted to go at his rhythm, letting him set the pace. That was the least you could do for him. 

You reopened your eyes when he still didn’t kiss you yet. What is he waiting for? 

“Thrawn?” You gently called. 

“Yes?” He said, but the hesitation in his tone was apparent. 

“Did you ever kiss someone before?” You asked softly, trying to get him to open up. 

He breathed deeply. 

“Once. And it was a disaster.” 

“Do you want me to show you?” 

“I... Yes, Lieutenant Commander. Your experience in this field is superior to mine.” 

You snorted. 

“Okay, one thing. Drop the ranks. We are friends and we are in this situation together. Call me by my name.” 

He shaked his head. 

“That would be disrespectful of me.” 

“I’m going to be frank with you: the ranks make me uncomfortable right now. Let's use our names, it will make things easier.” 

His lips stretched into a fine line. Clearly, he is not comfortable at all. 

“Very well. I will trust you on that.” He conceded. 

“Nice. Close your eyes, Thrawn. Let me show you how is it done.” You whispered. 

You looked at him breathing through his nose and closing his eyelids. You gently took his gorgeous face in your hands and kissed his lips tenderly. You kept it chaste, just trying to get him to relax a little. 

And he did. He started to respond to the kiss, not trying to take command or anything, simply testing the waters and the limits of this intimate act. You pecked his lips again and pushed your tongue inside to meet his, he let you explore as you wanted, focusing on his breath. Your tongues danced together, hugging each other, gently brushing and teasing each other. 

When you reopened your own eyes you realized you were lying on top of him, both breathless, your hand disheveling his hair and your lips swollen. He opened his eyes slightly, letting only a ray of red light peak as he tried to get back his breath. You smiled comfortingly at him, gently caressing his sharp cheek. 

“Was it better?” You asked. 

“It was a completely different experience.” He admitted, his heart beating fast against yours, “Could we try it again?”  

“Of course.” You chuckled. 

And one thing leading to the other you relieved each other of the pain and discomfort of the aphrodisiac. Thrawn proved himself an inexperienced but eager-to-learn student. You kept things vanilla, only leading the dance for him to find his steps and it was a very pleasurable experience.  

He kept asking if you would like it if he touched you there, if it would increase your pleasure if he tried this movement, willing to experiment. He was cautious of any new act before rapidly getting the gist of it and enjoying himself. You almost thought he would stop you when you lowered himself to give him head but he trusted you and let you guide him in the sea of pleasure he felt for the first time in his life! 

You rarely took care of virgins and tried your best to make it enjoyable for him. You rode him slowly, letting him appreciate the feelings of his cock getting squeezed by a pussy for the first time, he held on to your hips desperately, throwing his head back in the pillow with breathy moans. He let you lead the way without any fuss, obeying your instructions like a good soldier. 

You will humbly admit you lost a little of your control when you bit down his shoulder. You swear it was unintentional, you were simply kissing his neck as you lazily rode him, pressing your two bodies together when your instincts ordered you to bite down that beautiful blue flesh. 

The lecherous gasp that escaped him... You almost lost it all at that moment. 

“Do it again.” He breathed, “Please, (Y/n), bite me again.” He almost begged in his daze, pushing your head down the crook of his muscular neck. 

No need to ask you twice! 

He uncontrollably cummed inside your pussy as your teeth sank back into his skin. He apologized profusely, asking for your forgiveness when you just had difficulties not exploding laughing! Of course, you were on birth control, with a sex life as active as yours it was imperative. You calmed him down with an amused smile, easing his worries. 

You felt way better and Thrawn too! For two minutes top before the effects came back with a vengeance...  

His face turning back in his flustered purple shade he took your hand, trembling, and asked you if you minded staying a little longer to keep him company while he waited for them to go away... 

Wishful thinking... 

You never got to come back to the ballroom, spending the night in each other embrace, having sweet and lazy sex, letting him discover the limits and discovering what he was into together. 

He held you close in your sleep, a faint purr resonating in his throat as he hugged you close. 

You awoke the next morning to Thrawn gently caressing your cheek. 

“How was it?” You asked, “Do you feel better?” 

“It was... An unexpectedly good experience.” He gently smiled at you. “I thank you for teaching me, it was truly enlightening.”  

“I am just a little sad you had to experience like that with me. You should have had the right to discover it with a lover, in better circumstances.” You responded a little demoralized for him. 

It was not in your right to take his first time, he should have had the choice of his partner. 

“In retrospect, I am glad it was you.” He confessed, kissing your knuckles “I trust you with my life, my friend. It was the best scenario possible.” 

You smiled, a bit relieved. 

None of you spoke to Eli about that mission and you tried to keep it cool and relaxed between you two, but none of you could resist looking at the other a little longer, brushing your two hands almost inadvertently, hugging just a little longer than most friends do... 

The tension kept rising until one day Thrawn invited you for your regular Shah-tezh game and you ended up spending it doing something completely different than Shah-tezh, kissing each other on the small bed of his cabin, waving your body on his... 

“Ch’acah?” 

You shake your head, Thrawn’s melodious voice calling you back to the present moment with him in shibari knots and on his knees for you. 

“Is there a problem?” He asks gently, looking at you with a hint of worry in his gorgeous red eyes. 

You smile brightly and lower yourself to kiss him, holding him by the throat. 

“Nothing is wrong, big boy. I was just thinking back to our first times.” 

He purrs in the kiss, eagerly kissing you back. 

“We were clumsy back then.” He noted a touch of amusement in his voice. 

Indeed you were! They were pretty pathetic and hilarious, to be honest. Your errors were naive but genuine, both experimenting and discovering each other limits and boundaries. 

“Do you remember how you destroyed your first harness with sheer strength?” You wonder. 

“You told me to resist.” 

You burst out laughing at that memory, caressing his handsome face. 

“I wanted you to resist for the roleplay! Not to literally break free of your bonds.”  

This harness was just a piece of crap anyway! You were trying restraints for the first time as Thrawn suggested to test it, in retrospect choosing the first price wasn't a bright idea. 

Witnessing Thrawn breaking free of his leather restraints so unexpectantly you started laughing uncontrollably. Like damn, it was so sexy but that was so off-script it threw you off your rhythm and you ended up rolling on the bed, holding your stomach with Thrawn looking at you confused. 

To be fair he didn’t expect the harness to break down so easily either... 

Now you have way better products, but deep down you know he could break them too with a musculature like his. And you would love that, for sure! 

Ten years later, you are still a couple and going strong despite everything thrown at you! 

You peck his nose. 

“Do you want me to free you, big boy?” 

“Yes ma’am.” He purrs, brushing his nose with yours. “Please.” 

You kneel and take off your necklace holding a small key and open the chastity cage around his cock, relieving the tension in his impressive member. He lets out a sigh of relief and you gently stroke his length up and down, not enough to give him an erection, just enough to get rid of any discomfort after so long. 

“How much time did you last, big boy?” 

During your last session he wanted to keep it on, preventing him from getting an erection. You try to see how far you can push his limits, testing his resilience. 

“5 months, ma’am.” 

Damn! 5 months in this contraption? No masturbation nor penetration, you couldn’t hold on that long in his place. 

Let’s not even talk about your difficulty finding a cage accommodating his length and girth... A real headache! 

But he loves the sexual frustration it gives him, the feeling of relief when he finally gets to enter you after a long period in his cage is like anything else he told you. Every sensation gets enhanced and sublimed, giving him even more pleasure. 

Thrawn isn’t even that into sex and sexual release in the first place. He just loves to submit, it helps him relax, emptying his well-ordered mind to blindly follow orders without a second thought. Someday he just likes you tying him down in shibari knots and going about his day with the compression of the cords under his clothes for the whole day. 

The simple act of tying the cords around his body and creating art is enough for him, it is intimate enough to his taste, no need to get down and dirty. 

Not to say he neglects your own needs, not at all! He bought you plenty of toys and loves to go down on you, he simply doesn’t feel the urge to go all the way. If you ask him to help to masturbate he will gladly take some time off his busy schedule to indulge you. Sometimes you just want him to observe how you fuck yourself on your toys, he sits down in his favorite chair and doesn’t lose a crumb of the spectacle, complimenting you on your stamina and beautiful expressions as you pleasure yourself, addressing you in your favorite titles. 

Sometimes he will join and finger you like you taught him to do, sometimes he will remain an enthusiastic spectator.  

“It allows me to learn how you prefer to be touched.” He let you one day know when you asked him if he even liked to watch you going at it while he did nothing, imprisoned in his cage, “I experience a facet of sex I do not usually live through, and it is simply a beautiful sight to witness, Ch’acah. I love watching and hearing you giving yourself pleasure.” He reassured you. 

You regularly hold “meetings” together in your suite to propose new ideas and new kinks, sometimes you just want to make a show of the new leather corset you bought. Sometimes you just talk about your last experiences, what you liked and would prefer to do differently, both lying on the bed, looking into each other eyes, caressing hands. 

Vulnerable and sensitive.  

Simply intimate... Close to one another. 

But from time to time he does appreciate going all the way with you. You are the only one in the universe who got to see this part of him and you are thankful for that. 

You stand back up and present him with your shoe. 

“Kiss.” You order, your hands on your hips. 

He leans forward and reverently kisses your shoe, pecking the diamond adorning it before giving it a lick, slowly reaching your ankle, and kissing his way up your leg. You close your eyes, appreciating the sensation of his lips on your flesh. 

He stops at your knee and looks up at you with a puppy look you were shocked he had. He hugs your leg while looking at you already entering subspace with a dazed expression. He can enter it so rapidly, looking at you with such a ravishing expression, his red eyes shining brighter in the dim light. He kisses your knees, looking into your eyes with eyes half-closed, a slight moan escaping his mouth. 

“You are handsome, do you know that?” You asks with a satisfied sigh. 

Of course he knows, you never lose an occasion to tell him. 

“Thank you, ma’am. You are magnificent yourself.” He whispers. 

You caress his hair, brushing his ear with your thumb.  

“You promise to be good?”  

“Yes, anything to please you, Ma’am.” He breathes softly. 

“On the bed, big boy.” 

He stands up instantly and lays on the bed obediently. You let the tip of your fingers dance on his legs, from his foot to his hip, drawing little patterns on his muscles until you take his cock in your hand and gently stroke it. You play with his tip, circling his crown with your thumb. He hisses and whimpers under your touch, all his sensations multiplied by his time in the cage. 

“Will you tie me down?” He gasps, “Please, ma’am?” 

“Not yet, my big boy. Wait a little more.” You promise him. 

You lean forward to kiss his tip already leaking pre-cum. You hop on the bed and throw your leg on the other side of his head, looking down at him, hovering over his face. 

“First I want you to put your mouth to good use, alright?”  

He nods, his hands already coming to grope your hips and inviting you down towards his eager lips. You sit down comfortably on his face and he immediately gets to work, licking your pussy voraciously. 

How he loves that... 

You hold onto the frame of the bed, to not completely suffocate him. Not that he would mind. You can feel his flexible wet tongue trailing your slit conscientiously, licking up and down as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips. He makes indecent sounds, getting his fill of your sex. He gently kisses your pussylips and starts focusing on your clit, sucking on it, making it roll between his blue lips.  

A shudder strikes through your entire body, shaking your entire being between his hands. You throw your head backward, mouth open under the pleasure. 

Damn! He’s so good at it! 

You feel your stomach muscles contracting under his care and the fire between your legs spreads through your veins, teasing your nerve endings. 

“Good. Keep going, Ch’acah.” You praise, “AH! Do not stop!” 

“Of course, ma’am.” He docilely answers. 

He resumes his diligent work, playing with your pearl, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. He suddenly gives a long lick with the flat of his tongue from one end of your slit to the other. You can feel your wetness dripping off you, and he opens his mouth wide open to receive it on his tongue, a purr of raw satisfaction emanating from him. He drinks it down greedily, gulping your essence down his throat with glee. 

He forces your hips down further against his face, asphyxiating himself between your thighs. You try to raise your hips to not choke him but he firmly holds you in place against his swollen lips. 

“Do you enjoy my pussy, my sweet?” You investigate with a voice dripping with pleasure. 

“Yes, ma’am, a lot.” He asserts “I absolutely love it.”  

He goes back to licking you without missing a bit, kissing and sucking avidly. Your legs start trembling under the bliss you are feeling coursing through your limbs.  

“Fuck!” You cannot help but curse as he suddenly gives short and quick licks at your clit, darting his tongue, flicking it rapidly. 

You feel your slick and his drool rolling down his jaw and your thighs. Your hands leave the bedframe to seize his head, griping his hair desperately as you ride his tongue and mouth furiously. He keeps drinking your sweet nectar, his purrs growing louder and louder. 

You gasp his name as you cum, squirting in his mouth, a shudder shaking your entire body. Thrawn’s body quivers as you feel his hands squeezing your hips. You inadvertently press his face against your greedy pussy before promptly releasing him. You raise your hips to release the tension on his jaw but his head follows your movement, finishing to licking you clean.  

You sit down on his stomach, sweaty and out of breath, as he licks his lips like he just ate a tasty dinner. His satiated expression sends new shivers down your core. He wipes his lips with a loud purr, looking at you bedazzled. 

You lean forward to capture his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. He embraces you close in his arms as you lick his lips. 

“Did you have fun, big boy?”  

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” He kisses you back. 

You sit back and turn to take care of his big cock when you notice a white, sticky substance soiling his lower stomach and the cords there. You look at it for a second, incredulously. 

“Did you cum?” You ask stunned. 

“Yes, ma’am. I could not control myself, I am sorry.” 

You cannot refrain from snorting. He cummed licking your pussy, like you could ever get mad at him for that! 

You swiftly peck the tip of his nose and leave the bed to head to the desk where all your accessories are waiting for you. You choose a bar gag and cuffs and come back to your lover. 

Thrawn gives you his hands without you having to ask and you tie them together before tying them to the bedframe.  

“Open your mouth, big boy.” You gently place the bar between his teeth and close it behind the back of his head. 

It is just tight enough for him to be able to spit it out and pronounce his safe word if need be. The bar design also allows for better breathing and greater comfort. You mount him again and take his girth in your hand to align it with your entrance. You let yourself sink on it slowly, mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ as his shaft gently pushes past your flesh, invading your secret temple. Once fully seated your pussy is filled to the brim, you feel stuffed like always with him. 

“You are soooo big, Ch’acah.” You praise, contracting your inner muscles to squeeze his cock and tease him. “You always fill me so much!” 

He gasps, already on edge. He loves the compliments, the praises, your adoring tone when you refer to him... You hear him whimpering through the gag and he waves his hips, desperate for friction and delicious sensations. 

“Impatient, are we?” You tease, making sweet circles with your hips to torture him. 

He nods hurriedly, looking at you beseechingly. You can see the muscles of his throat contracting and relaxing repeatedly.  

You place your hands on his large pecs, feeling his heart palpitating against your palm, and start riding him sloppily. His breath gets stuck in his throat and his muscles start rolling under his blue skin. His thick cock easily brushes every sweet spot inside you and you revel in the sensations. 

You can feel his shaft already leaking pre-cum again, mixing with your essence and leaking on his loins. You rise up and down repeatedly, licking his pecs and throat as he mewls and whimpers on his gag. He eagerly meets your pace with his hips, increasing friction and rutting into you.  

Your little pussy is stretched to the max, impaling yourself on his stupidly big cock. It is exactly like his body, long and thick and giving you so much pleasure. You accelerate your pace, sprinting after a new release together. You kiss his bumpy forehead, holding his gorgeous face between your hands, delicately caressing his temples. 

He whines and pleads through the gag, waving his entire body under yours. He drools all over the gag, biting down the bar at the pleasure you give him. 

“Sweet boy.” You whisper into his ear, “You are so good for me, Ch’acah. You are doing so great.”  

You can feel his heart skipping a beat under your hand at the praise. It is quite satisfying to feel. 

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmh... You’re so good at it, my love. You were made for me, don’t you think?” You lick the outer shell of his ear. 

He nods with a long moan, approving your words. 

“Do you want to come inside?” You tease, “Do you want to fill me with your seed? Breed me?” 

He jolts, his entire body contracting under yours, his breath short and heavy. He looks intently at you, fixed only on you, hoping you would let him finish inside. 

He so longs for a little one of himself, a baby he could call his. A baby with you would simply be perfect! He discussed it with you several times already and you have been trying since then. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it.” You bite, looking down at him, “You did come without my authorization after all...” you stop moving altogether. 

Thrawn agitates himself in his restraints, threatening to break them again, scandalized at the idea of getting his right to breed you revoked, even just once. You observe him struggling with great interest and a sadistic smile. 

After all not everything can be fun and game... 

“Careful now...” You boop his nose playfully, “If you don’t behave I’ll pull you out and leave you here.” 

He instantly stops, but he looks at you badly, infuriated, his breath short and quick. You squeeze his cock with your pussy, making him shudder in pure pleasure. 

“You really want it, big guy?” 

He nods again with an animalistic growl raising in his throat. 

“Alright. But only because it is you.” You smirk. “And you better give me your all, mister!” 

And you resume riding at high speed. It is a real workout out but seeing Thrawn crumble between your hands and thighs is such a sight! Your pleasure builds back up rapidly as Thrawn meets your pace with his hips, bullying his length inside you. You lay on his chest and bite down his neck harshly. 

Thrawn cums in a flash, emptying himself inside your greedy pussy. It is so much, you can feel your tender tummy swole up with the quantity he offers you. Thrawn keeps going, feeling that you didn’t cum yet, his tip reaching your cervix with so much ease. You gently kiss him where you bit him, feeling him spurting hot ribbons of seed inside your womb. 

You mewl your pleasure to encourage him before standing back on to ride him properly. With Thrawn eagerness to please you it doesn’t take long at all before you cum too, getting blinded by a white light, your toes curling deliciously. You shout Thrawn’s name, with no regard for who could hear you on the Chimaera before falling on him, exhausted. 

You both remain still, breathless and hearts in a frenzy. You tiredly raise yourself to get rid of his gag and free Thrawn of bounds. He takes a deep breath, lying still. You open the drawer of your bedside table and take out a wipe and you clean his jaw and cheeks of his drool. You kiss his lips and nose tenderly. 

“Are you all right, my love?” You observe his gorgeous face, eyes closed shut and hair disheveled “Do you want something? A glass of water? A bath?” You ask to ease his descent from subspace and orgasm. 

You feel his long arms wrapping around your form, embracing you tight. 

“Just allow me to remain inside for another moment, Ch’acah.” He demands, burying his head in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent. 

“As you wish, Thrawn. Tell me if you need anything.” 

“Hug me tight. That would be a great start.” He proposes kissing your neck gently. 

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay, @obbicrystaleo, @germie2037

[alex99achapterthree]

Once upon a time, there was Columbia House...

Back in the day Columbia House ads like this were in all the major magazines, and they also did direct mailings. The offer seemed too good to be true... ten albums for ONE PENNY!!! Of course it was too good to be true. What you were getting roped into were future albums being automatically sent to you (along with a bill) each month unless you answered an earlier mailer to refuse them. Even albums you wanted were much more expensive than you could buy locally, and you were required to buy so many over the next year.

Enter me, a 10-year-old kid.

One day we get this mailer with all these albums depicted as little stamps. Just paste your choice of ten stamps to the card, tape a penny onto the indicated spot and return in the postage paid envelope. Cool! I didn't really know music so I just picked 10 (including one I'll talk about in a minute) that looked interesting and mailed it off. Of course, it never occurred to me to ask my parents.

A box of records soon arrived and the other shoe dropped when MORE records began arriving... with bills. The parental explosion was epic. I spent months cutting grass and looking for odd jobs a 10-year-old could do to pay my way out of this, and forget about my allowance, that was garnished instantly.

Anyway...

One of the albums I picked was this one...

Even as a ten-year-old I was noticing girls so no wonder it caught my eye. It turns out it was a pretty good album and I enjoy Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass to this day.

About that album cover photo...

Meet Dolores Erickson. Now 86, back then she was an Eileen Ford model who appeared in all the ladies magazines of the day.

In 1965, she got a call from her agent to fly to Los Angeles for a photo shoot for A&M, a new label started by Herb Alpert and Jerry Moss. The photographer was Peter Whorf, with whom she had done other covers. Payment would be around $1,500 ($11,000 in today’s dollars), plus expenses.

The shoot lasted the better part of the day. Wearing a bikini with the straps pulled down, Dolores, who was three months pregnant at the time, sat on a stool and was wrapped in a white blanket that was covered in shaving cream (real whipped cream quickly melted and went rancid under the hot studio lights). An epic image was born.

A Taste Of Honey indeed...