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save a horse, ride a what?

SYNOPSIS: all eyes are on an expo held out west with plenty of treasures showcased that catch the attention of two prominent thieves. with a one month time frame to plan the perfect heist, you find yourself wrangling more than just a getaway plan after catching the attention of the town’s sheriff.

CHARACTERS: sonic, rouge, amy, blaze, vanilla, vector, espio, knuckles, cream, shadow cameo

TAGS: western au, fem reader, 18+ MDNI (unprotected p in v, creampie, porn w plot, sonic is kinda mean in this, light spanking, mild blood (he bites), mild bondage, cowgirl, mating press), vectilla sneak, 20.4k wc (yeah buckle in for this one)

TAGLIST: @hisvelvetfur , @karrodestroyer, special thanks to @shutupfruitgummi and @angeliteeyes for proofreading!

NOTES: first time writing smut kinda nervous 💔💔💔

there will be a pt. 2!

dividers by @ anitalerina and @ enchanthings-a!

When the notice comes through the telegraph in Sheriff Sonic’s office that his town has been selected to host this year’s national expo, he isn’t sure how to feel. It’s a real honor to be chosen, he knows that. A lot of thought goes into deciding the site for an exhibition– does it embody the specific theme for that year? Is it equipped to handle a massive influx of visitors and if not, how much funding and time will be needed until it can? Most importantly, how much investment and revenue is that site predicted to generate compared to others? But the icky feeling that he’s merely a pawn in the government’s overreaching schemes just won’t go away.

He folds up the notice and tosses it carelessly onto his desk on the way out to get some fresh air. Moments to himself like this won’t come so easily in the next few months.

The dry early evening air hits his face as he steps outside through the back door, taking a seat directly on the steps. He pops a stalk of wheat into his mouth, mindlessly chewing on it as he gazes out at the vast stretch of the desert that’s his backyard. The beginnings of a headache are already starting to form and Sonic hisses, massaging his temples. Either way, there’s no way out of this now.

His quills twitch uneasily and he looks toward the horizon, bathed in warm colors from the setting sun. Something- or someone- is approaching, but he’ll face it as he always has: head-on with no hesitation.

Sand rustles as the wind blows it across the barren desert, while insects and birds buzz and chirp. Some fennec foxes curled together in a shrub sleep peacefully– until they’re startled out by two horses threatening to crush them underfoot. They yip and scatter across the sand, sparking a flurry of panic from other wildlife in the area, until it’s completely silent save for the sound of the wind and vultures circling overhead, looking for carrion.

You come to a stop and dismount your horse. The sand is soft beneath your feet and it’ll make for a nice mattress tonight. It’s certainly better than some of the other surfaces you’ve had to sleep on the past few days, at least.

You hear loud yawning behind you and the flutter of wings as Rouge takes to the sky, stretching her wings and flying in circles above you. You lead your horses to a spring you had spotted nearby and leave them to drink their fill.

“Sometimes, I wonder why you have a horse when you have wings,” you ask as you unload supplies off their backs. Rouge lands with a soft crunch behind you and leans against her horse, feeding her an apple as a treat.

“You can’t possibly expect a woman like me to fly for hours on end, can you? That’s cruel and unusual punishment to the highest degree.”

You sigh dryly, already used to her dramatics.

“Besides, I have an image to maintain. This little band of thieves?”- she follows you and slings an arm around your shoulder, leaning all her body weight against you- “We do things the good ol’-fashioned way. Clean, efficient, on horseback, and leaving law enforcement no choice but to eat our dust.”

“Can’t imagine it’s that much more efficient than simply flying away,” you grumble as you begin setting up the campfire. She groans and rolls her eyes.

“Oh, but honey, the image it paints is simply timeless!” she exclaims, pressing a gloved hand to her forehead dramatically as she sighs. “And I’m nothing if not a thief of artistry.”

The campfire crackles to life beneath the starry night sky after a couple attempts with the flint. Rouge plops down next to you and lights a cigarette.

“Best you hide those things before we reach town,” you advise with a sidelong glance. “They’re a dead giveaway that we’re city folk and I’m not looking to stir up trouble on our first day there.”

“Fix up that prissy city girl accent of yours first and then we’ll talk,” she scoffs as she takes another drag of her cigarette. You send her the most scathing glare you can manage on an empty stomach as you begin grilling some fish you had caught earlier today.

“Like you’re one to talk. And I’m bein’ serious,” you grumble as you rotate the skewer, purposefully laying the accent on thick. “Switch to chewing tobacco or this heist will never make it off the ground.”

She purposefully blows a puff of smoke in your direction.

“No way. That’ll stain my teeth!”

“As if cigarettes don’t already do that already. Either make the switch or invest in cigars. Or you could roll ‘em yourself with corn husks.”

Rouge scowls and smacks you over the head, but it lacks any real ill intent. You cautiously nibble on a fish, then hand one over to the bat once you’ve confirmed it’s cooked thoroughly.

“I’m not getting my hands dirty just to smoke.”

“Tell me that once you’ve burned through your pack and there ain’t a shop in sight sellin’ ‘em.”

She clicks her tongue and blows another puff of smoke in your direction.

“I’ll make it work,” she grumbles. “I’ll stretch my supply. And you can drop the accent now, you know. No one out here but us.”

“Famous last words.”

A comfortable silence settles into the space until you’ve finished dinner. Rouge chuckles and turns to pull out a rolled-up newspaper, unraveling it with a flourish and presenting it to you. The first thing you see is the headline in bold, capital letters.

UNPRECEDENTED MOVE! FEDERALLY-SPONSORED EXPO TO BE HELD OUT WEST!

“An expo out here? In the middle of nowhere?” you mutter reluctantly as you turn the page, where you see a photograph of who you assume to be the town’s sheriff, judging from the wide-brimmed hat and lasso looped around it. He’s sporting a smug grin and his arm is raised in a two-finger salute at the camera.

“The town of Green Hills has witnessed unprecedented growth without sacrificing safety ever since its inception thanks to the longtime sheriff’s efforts,” you read out loud. “Beloved by all and the most famous name in town, Sheriff Sonic is the fastest hedgehog in the west with the matching skill and wit to boot. With a heart dead-set on doing what’s right, he personally guarantees the safety of all attendees at this year’s expo.”

The black and white photograph of the hedgehog draws your attention for a second longer, before you turn the page to see a paragraph about himself.

“Said to have never missed a shot in his life, this charming hedgehog, quick in both mind and body, will do anything to protect the prosperous town he calls home. Horse-stealing bandits and villainous murderers alike are no match for him and his speed. Blink, and you’ll miss him!”

You heave a sigh. What an idiot, you think. With a grimace, you hand the paper back to Rouge.

“Blue boy not your type?”

“He looks stupid.”

“It’s always the seemingly-stupid ones you have to be careful of,” she warns as she lightly smacks you over the head with the newspaper. “But it’s a shame,” she continues. “He’s quite easy on the eyes. It’s just the sheriff thing that ruins what he’s got going for him.”

“You mean what little he’s got going for him,” you grumble as you flick fish bones into the crackling fire.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You don’t like Rouge’s tone. You send her a withering glare as she relights her cigarette and takes another deep drag of it.

“Your point being?” you ask.

“The point is that’s why I’m sending you in!”

A loud “oof!” escapes you as she heartily claps you on the back.

“What for?” “Why, to do what you do best, obviously- going undercover!”

You look off to the side, over where your horses are sipping at a puddle of water, as your mind slowly pieces together her implications.

“You’re sending me in to go undercover.”

“Correct.”

“There’s very few opportunities for work as a woman in a frontier town.”

“Mhm. You’re getting warmer. Almost there.”

“One of the only few is a saloon girl.”

“Getting hotter now. So hot it almost burns now.”

You sigh, already resigning yourself to your fate with a shake of your head.

“You want me to go undercover as a saloon girl and gather information. Specifically, butter up to the sheriff and squeeze as much information out of him as possible.”

She claps her hands together.

“Bingo! Sharp as ever, darling. And with looks like yours, he’ll be head over heels for you in no time.”

Rouge nudges you in the side with a conspiratorial giggle at the last part.

“Sure you don’t want to give him a chance? I think you two could hit it off real nice.”

You slap her away.

“Absolutely not!”

She clicks her tongue and looks off in the distance, where a stray tumbleweed rolls across the sand.

“What’re we stealing though?”

“Good question. They’ve been tight-lipped about the goods. Can’t find any mention of them in the papers. But I have a hunch it’ll be something worth coming out all this way for.”

You grab the newspaper again, scanning for any hint of what they’re showcasing. But you can’t find anything specific, aside from a generic sentence promising “wondrous sights and new delights being unveiled for the first time.” Whatever that means.

“Says the expo is going to be held a little over a month from now. They should’ve started preparing by now.”

You toss the newspaper to the ground. It hits the sand with a soft thump.

“Meaning I have a month to figure out everything, from the floor plan to shipment times and locations, and then put together a flawless plan to swipe it all out under their noses.”

You look at Rouge out of the corner of your eye. She makes eye contact and a smirk tugs at the corners of her glossed lips. It’s infectious and you already feel the familiar stirrings of excitement within you.

“Don’t make me laugh,” you declare. “We’ve pulled off heists flawlessly on tighter time crunches than this.”

She cackles and slings an arm around your shoulder.

“That’s my master of disguise for you. Always seen, yet never recognized.”

“We ride at dawn tomorrow?” you ask, settling in for the night.

“We ride at dawn.”

The dawn air is cool and crisp, smelling of desert flowers and dew, but it won’t last for long. You move hurriedly as soon as the sun’s rays peek above the horizon, packing everything up with practiced efficiency and covering as much ground as you can while the weather allows it.

“Doing good back there?” you ask once you’ve settled into a good pace.

It’s quiet for a second, aside from the thud of your horse’s hooves against the sand, until Rouge’s voice comes from the bag slung over your back, irritated.

“Cramped. Hurry up.”

You click your tongue and tap your horse’s flanks with your heels. She responds by speeding up and soon you’re galloping through the desert, kicking up a storm of sand in your wake and scattering the once-stationary tumbleweeds across the landscape.

“Feel bad for you. Almost,” you call out. Sand is kicked into your face and with a hiss, you pull your bandana up, squinting through the warm haze cast by the sand and rising sun, the heat quickly becoming merciless. “Was this really the only idea your genius mind could come up with? Smuggling you into town like illegal goods?”

“The only one,” she confirms, although she doesn’t sound very happy about it. “This gorgeous face of mine? On every wanted poster in small town and big city alike? Honey, we’d be arrested as soon as we got within shooting distance of that town if I simply walked up.”

“And how much does that inflate your ego?”

Despite her uncomfortable hiding spot, she manages a haughty laugh.

“Makes me feel like no treasure in this world is safe from my grasp,” she sighs, followed by another giggle.

“Feel like smuggling you in like this would knock it down just as much and then some,” you grumble.

The only response you get is Rouge kicking you roughly in the back.

The sun continues its lazy ascent across the sky until it hangs dead center above you, beating down on you relentlessly. Sweat sticks uncomfortably to your back, thick as molasses and just as difficult to scrub clean. The town sits low against the horizon as you approach it, its silhouette shimmering in the high noon heat. The sight of it reignites your hope, and you urge your horse to go faster until before you know it, dust settles around your horse’s hooves as you come to a stop at the town limits.

Most frontier towns you’ve come across are piss poor, held together by splinters and who knows what else. But this one? This one is flourishing. The streets are surprisingly clean and the town is far more developed than what you would expect from a place like this. There’s a general store, a gunsmith, a post office, a saloon which also happens to be the biggest building in sight, and a tailor all along the same street. Construction is happening everywhere you look, most likely in preparation for the expo. There’s a new hotel that’s close to completion and a massive structure still in the works, which you assume to be the exhibition hall just from its sheer size.

No wonder it was chosen to be this year’s expo site. It’s the poster child of what they’re trying to promote.

“How’s it looking?” asks Rouge as you urge your horse into a slow trot, slowly making your way into the town.

“A lot bigger and busier than I would’ve expected from a place out here,” you mutter. “And decently guarded,” you add once you notice the various lawmen patrolling the area, visibly armed. “We’ve got our work cut out for us with this one.”

Your spine crawls suddenly and you look around. There’s faces peeking out of windows and doors at the sight of a stranger. The construction crew has stopped their work and deputies are looking at you suspiciously, hands resting on their rifles. Your horse comes to a stop and tenses up, kicking at the sandy dirt.

“Easy, girl,” you whisper as you run your hand along her neck. It’s more so to soothe yourself than her and she seemingly senses your anxiety. She snorts again and her tail flicks back and forth agitatedly. You tighten your grip on the reins, restraining her from thrashing about wildly, but one of the gunmen steps forward, finger resting on the trigger, and it’s all over. She bucks and you lurch to the side with a yelp, squeezing your eyes shut on instinct. Rouge lets out a loud “oof” and you sharply inhale, praying no one heard that.

“Whoa there, easy! Don’t want your pretty rider gettin’ hurt now, do we?”

Your eyes fly open. Standing before you is the town’s sheriff. You recognize him from the photograph you saw in the papers. Same hat, lopsided belt, and lasso. A shiny gun, polished and well-maintained, is hooked into the waistband of his chaps. A .45 Colt single-action revolver. The wide-brimmed hat he wears covers everything but the sharp-toothed grin on his face as he strokes your horse’s muzzle to calm her down. To your surprise, it works, and he rewards her efforts with a carrot and a short chuckle.

Your throat suddenly feels dry, and it’s not because you’re in a desert climate. You grip the reins tighter and the movement draws his attention, his gaze flicking up to meet yours.

It’s like the world has suddenly come into focus. Every detail about him is crisp and clear, like the sound of a revolver being reloaded. Bright green eyes that practically glow even under the blazing midday sun bore into yours and make you freeze under the intensity of them. They carry the same barely-restrained energy as the lightning that accompanies the frequent thunderstorms in this stretch of the west. Though bright and energetic, there’s a hard edge to his gaze that makes you tremble– hopefully imperceptibly. Something that says I know what you’re up to.

Virtually no part of him has remained untouched by the bite of the desert. Sand seeps into the grooves of his boots while grit clings to the heel and sole, sullying the once-pristine white leather. His unbuttoned vest and gloves have seen better days, the leather scuffed and worn from wear and tear. The leather is peeling in some areas and the once-vibrant stitching on the gloves has faded. The sleeves of his grey button-up are rolled up to expose his forearms and the faded scars on the peach-colored fur from close calls with criminals in the past. The harsh sun overhead catches on the shiny five-pointed star on his hat, worn and faded from countless days in the sun. It does little to obscure the curious gleam in his eyes as they rake over your appearance. But it’s not an innocent curiosity, no– it’s the hungry kind. The kind that dissects you until you’re laid bare beneath him in the sandy dirt with no dignity or guise left to cover your exposed secrets.

Without taking his eyes off you, he begins to slowly, deliberately circle you. Despite being the one looking down on him upon your horse, you feel as if he’s the one that has the advantage right now. Not you. Ocean-blue quills twitch with every step, a far deeper and richer blue than you expected. Photographs wouldn’t do the color justice, you think. Not even the latest technology in daguerreotypes would be able to capture the rich hue that stayed vibrant despite the desert’s tendency to strip color away from everything until only a dusty shell remains.

The soft jingle of his golden spurs, caked with the red clay of the sand, are the only sound breaking the tense silence as the town watches with bated breath. The red neckerchief tied loosely around his neck, although sun-bleached, still bleeds as striking as a fresh gunshot wound. Like a warning as to what he was capable of. It flutters in the hot, arid breeze that offers no comfort from the sun beating down mercilessly or the strange sensation gripping your heart, making it hard to breathe.

He tilts his head to the side as he examines you unblinkingly, gaze slowly trailing over you from head to toe, until he straightens up and nods in your direction.

“I knew we’d be expectin’ new faces, but not this early. I’m the sheriff ‘round here. The name’s Sonic. What’s yours, sweetheart?”

His voice is a lot more boyish than you’d expect from someone of his position. You give him your name and he rolls it around, like he’s trying it on for size.

“A pretty name for a pretty thing like you. Guess I should consider myself lucky to be the first to welcome you.”

“A welcome from the sheriff himself?” you gasp, hoping he can’t hear the frantic pounding of your heart. “Oh, I’m in good hands now.”

He grins and tugs the brim of his hat lower, casting a sharp shadow over everything but the smug grin that tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Keep sweet talkin’ me like that, darlin’, and I might be a goner for good.”

You suddenly feel a little too hot beneath your layers. And you’re not wearing that much to begin with.

He extends his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, you take his hand. It’s like a spark of electricity has zapped you, running up your spine and setting your nerves abuzz. A soft gasp escapes you the same time his mouth slightly parts, surprise flickering in his eyes. His grip is strong but not painful, holding you steady as you hop off your horse. A small cloud of dust is kicked up beneath your feet as you land with a soft thump, but he doesn’t let go just yet. A thumb rubs over your knuckles as he bends and presses a kiss to the back of your hand, all while maintaining eye contact that’s one part vaguely unnerving and one part electrifying. His lips are rough and chapped from being in the sun all day against your hand, and they linger for a few seconds longer than what you would consider socially acceptable. When he does pull away, his lips ghost your skin as the smooth leather of his glove lingers on your fingertips and he lets go completely. Cool relief washes over you, alleviating you of the heat that was crawling up your neck and face.

Hushed whispers start up behind you and with a jolt, you remember you’re still surrounded. Embarrassment comes back with a vengeance, crawling through your body furiously and hand-in-hand with nervousness. Sonic’s quills twitch and he looks down at you. Something shifts in his eyes– he must’ve sensed your discomfort.

“Pack it up, nothin’ to see here,” he calls out, shooing away the curious citizens that still linger. You catch sharp grins concealed behind delicate gloved hands, ears pricked forward for juicy gossip already spreading like wildfires during the dry season.

“Look’s like the sheriff’s got a pretty lil’ thing on his hands now.”

“She reeks of trouble masked with sweet perfume.”

“I sure hope he doesn’t stray from the right path. Girls like her always leave men high and dry, I can tell.”

“Come on now, don’t make me repeat myself,” he calls out again, voice a little tighter this time. With another round of barbed laughter and whispers, the last of the ladies disperse, leaving nothing but the howl of arid wind behind. Sonic sighs and dusts some sand off your dress that, with a delayed reaction, you realize must’ve been intentionally kicked onto you.

“Now then, what’s a lovely lady like you doin’ around here all alone?” he asks as his hand rests at the small of your back. “Surely, your husband didn’t abandon you in the desert, right?”

This feels… oddly intimate, especially for someone you just met. You push it aside and deeply sigh, an expression of great longing and sadness crossing your face.

“I’m… a widow, Sheriff.”

His eyes widen and surprise washes over his face. His mouth parts slightly, forming an “o” shape that’s surprisingly cute.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

You hold up a hand to stop him. The simple wedding band around your ring finger glitters in the sweltering high noon sun. It’s one of the plainest rings you own in your expansive collection and you wouldn’t look twice in its direction normally, but it’s perfect for this job. He glances down and you don’t miss how his gaze lingers on the small cluster of diamonds. They’re small. Rough. The cut is of poor quality and gems like these are a dime a dozen. But it would’ve cost a fortune for a poor coal miner and be something his wife wears for the rest of her life with pride.

“I’m sure you heard of the town next door that had a mining accident lately?”

His brows furrow and his foot taps rapidly against the dirt as he thinks.

“The one where the tunnels collapsed and took the lives of everyone inside?”

You wince and shy away, as if merely hearing the news physically pained you.

“... Yes, that one,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “As misfortune would have it, my late husband was caught in the tunnels and-”

You turn your head and cover your eyes with your sleeve. A sharp sob escapes you and your shoulders tremble. He averts his gaze bashfully and while still sobbing into your sleeve, you grin. You shakily exhale after a few seconds and dab the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes away.

“I-I’m sorry. I know I should be gettin’ over it by now, but-”

He hands you a handkerchief silently. You wipe away the last of the crocodile tears before folding it neatly into a square and returning it to him, ensuring your touch lingers for a second longer than necessary.

“He left everythin’ he had to me– bless his heart– but there just wasn’t much to begin with. We were strugglin’ to get by already, and there’s no way I’d be able to live off what little he had saved up. So–” you heavily sigh and gesture to your bags– “I packed everythin’ up and left everythin’ I’d known behind in search of a new life.”

Your heart is pounding so violently out of anxiety you’re surprised he can’t hear it. It doesn’t matter how many times you do this; the fear that your lie won’t be believed is always a very real one. But, much to your relief, he nods in understanding after a few moments of silence.

“Well, darlin’, you’ve made the right decision comin’ here. This place will become home before ya even realize it.”

He straightens up and whistles sharply, the sound just as piercing as a gunshot.

“Cream! C’mere, I got a task for ya!”

A few seconds later, and a rabbit comes flying into view, her oversized ears acting as wings of sorts. With your consent, Sonic hands your horses over to her and sends them off to the stables with a pat on the back.

“That was my good buddy Cream,” he explains as he walks you to his office. “She’s the saloon owner’s daughter and manages the stables. She loves animals. Animals love her. It works out perfectly.”

You pass by the saloon and stop in your tracks. It’s a two story building, with olive green railings and window frames. As it’s only midday, it’s quiet and the batwing doors remain stubbornly shut. Yet you know that come evening, the place will transform and come alive with the sounds of drunken men and gambling.

“I’m ‘fraid this might be one of the only places you can find work,” sighs the sheriff behind you, resting a hand on your shoulder as he speaks. “Most other places simply don’t hire women.” You tense up imperceptibly at the contact, yet he seems to not have noticed it, as he looks up at the establishment as if realizing something.

“The saloon could always use more girls…” he mutters to himself, but your keen ears pick his words up. After a moment, his ears flick and he nods.

“Tell ya what. I’ll getcha set up with the Madame of this place after we fill out all the paperwork. The saloon is always short-staffed and I’m sure she’d appreciate another girl on board.”

His office is located on the edge of town, by the telegraph office and the county jail, which all happen to be conveniently grouped near the courthouse too. It’s a bit of a mess inside– fitting for his restless energy. There’s two empty holding cells in the back for those waiting to be processed and transferred to the jail next door. A desk with two chairs sits in the center of the room, presumably used for meeting with residents. Another larger desk is pushed against the wall to your right, which is covered in a pile of papers and a lever-action rifle tossed carelessly atop the mess. Spare horseshoes, handcuffs, and a lasso are hung on the nails protruding from the wall, while dog-eared wanted posters are plastered across the corkboard. The one with the highest bounty depicts an intense looking hedgehog scowling at the viewer with anger so fierce it almost burns, even in illustration.

The world of crime is a surprisingly small one. Maybe you’ll ask Rouge if she knows anything about him later.

To your left is a filing cabinet that spans almost the entire length of the wall, most likely containing documents for all the residents in town. He stops in front of it to dig up some papers, while you continue looking around. There’s a door in the corner that leads to another room– his bedroom after you catch a glimpse of the unmade bed. The room looks barebones from the small window on the door giving you a glimpse into it, with minimal decoration aside from a guitar leaning against the wall.

He takes a seat at his desk and pulls the chair out for you. You sit facing him, legs crossed at the ankles and hands folded politely in your lap— the very image of a well-mannered lady. It’s standard stuff you’re filling out– proof of citizenship, basic information about yourself, whatever whatever.

“As for proof of residency… hmm,” he says as he shuffles through the stack of paperwork. “If you’re workin’ at the saloon, most likely you’ll be livin’ there alongside the other–”

“No need,” you interrupt. “I have enough money left to rent out a room at the hotel.”

He stops shuffling through the paperwork and looks up at you.

“Really?”

He says that like he doesn’t believe you- or rather, he suspects you of something.

“Heaven forbid a lady wants her privacy,” you scoff, looking the other way as your heart rate spikes. It’s uncommon, but not unheard of for this to happen. Hopefully he doesn’t ask too many questions. He merely laughs and signs off on the slip, before placing it back into the pile. All done. Time to go now. He leans back in his chair and watches as you get up, eyes briefly lingering on the hint of exposed cleavage when you bend over to gather your bags, looking away just in time when you stand up straight again.

“Relax, I ain’t out to get ya, sweet thing. Come along now. If luck would have it, the Madame should be at the saloon and we can get you workin’ as soon as tonight.”

His words repeat in your mind on the walk there. Sweet thing. It takes all your willpower to keep walking in a straight line despite your legs feeling weak. He’s smiling all the while; you’re not sure whether that’s his usual demeanor shining through or amusement at seeing through your act.

“Miss Vanilla? Are you home?”

The saloon is silent for a few moments until a door swings open in the back, and out steps a tall rabbit. A lazy, pleasant grin decorates her face as she comes to a stop, the kind that you’d find on someone’s friendly grandma. She wears a wide-brimmed hat, decorated with fresh flowers that leave a sweet floral trail of scent in her wake, and a lacy parasol rests against her shoulder. She looks kind enough. But you know better than to blindly trust others, especially based on appearances.

“Sheriff,” she greets calmly, as if she’s been expecting him. “How can I help you?”

He takes his hat off and presses it to his chest, dipping his head in greeting.

“Got a sweet angelica for you right ‘ere. She’s lookin’ for a job and I’d reckon you’d fix her up juuust right.”

Her gaze shifts to you and she hums. Though that smile remains on her face, something in her eyes sharpen as they rake over your form. You get the feeling she’s appraising you, much like how you or Rouge would for a selling price estimate of a precious gem.

“What is your name?”

You give her your name. The only response is a nod.

“Are you literate?”

“To an extent. Don’t go askin’ me to read and write some smarty-pants stuff, though.”

“Enough to write down drink orders?”

“Pssh. Yes.”

She seems to be growing more and more pleased with each answer. Perhaps finding a literate girl out here is like striking gold.

“Can you dance?”

“Set a tune and I’ll dance at the drop of a hat if you please.”

She’s all but beaming at this point. You’re mastered all the desirable traits of a saloon girl– pretty, literate just enough to not seem like a bumbling fool and a tarnish on the Madame’s image, and intelligent enough to keep men hooked but not enough to pose a threat to them. A piece of cake and all in a day’s work for a master of disguise like you.

“Lastly… are you a virgin?”

This one comes out of the left field. A scandalized gasp escapes you. Heat flares in your cheeks, all too aware of the man standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

“H-How forward of you!” you exclaim. Sonic merely laughs and places his hat back on his head, stepping outside momentarily. Once he’s gone, you turn back to the Madame and shyly nod.

(A lie told straight through your teeth. You’ve slept with men multiple times before to extract information out of them. It’s part of the job description; you and Rouge using your bodies to your advantage. But how would she know?)

She raises an eyebrow. Suspicion clouds her features.

“You have a ring on your finger. Surely, you and your husband have…?”

“Madame, I am a widow.”

The unexpected revelation surprises her, eyes going wide and eyebrows raising.

“I also have no children,” you point out. “I think that should be enough proof, no?”

A pause hangs in the air as she considers your words. Finally, she seems to accept your explanation. Your hair is parted with a fine-tooth comb and examined for lice. A measuring tape is wound around your body as she takes your measurements and writes them down. She inspects your eyes, then your teeth, then your nailbeds, before pulling away.

“You have a good eye, Sheriff. I’ll take this one and shape her up to be a proper lady.”

Though your disguise remains unshakeable, an imperceptible chill runs down your spine at the way she says it. A hand pushes the batwing doors open and his head peeks inside. Your unease must’ve been written all over your face, because he flashes two thumbs ups and a reassuring grin your way. How childish.

“Don’t be too harsh on her!” he calls out as you’re led into the back, hands cupped over his mouth. “I know of your methods, Madame Vanilla!”

“I won’t,” she giggles, her voice light and melodic. It somehow unsettles you even more.

She hums, eyes closed, and the doors swing shut again. A menu is thrust into your hand the moment you can no longer hear his footsteps.

“Memorize this front to back before sundown tonight. Your shift begins at five. I expect to see you on time.”

She leaves, layers of petticoats and skirts swishing in her wake, and you’re left to frantically commit the menu to memory, front to back.

Rouge, just what exactly have you signed me up for?

The sun begins to go down. Rather than retiring for the night, though, the town comes to life as the men come home from a long day of work. Kerosene lamps are lit behind windows for wives to welcome home their husbands. All unmarried men foot traffic is directed toward the town saloon; the warm lights and the promise of a good time with one of the many beauties there too tempting to ignore.

For you, however, your day is just starting. Makeup palettes lie open and scattered across the vanity from when Rouge was excitedly doing your makeup. You stare at your reflection in the mirror and tighten your corset with a sharp huff. Showtime. All eyes will be on you tonight as the new girl in town, especially that sheriff– if he decides to show up. Hopefully you can weaponize that and squeeze some information out of him.

Rouge whistles from where she lounges atop the bed.

“Looking good, hot stuff. Butter that sheriff up into buying a few drinks tonight and he’ll be all over you like a dog to a bone.”

She laughs at her own joke and rolls over, staring up at the ceiling in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint.

“Imagine that. The dutiful sheriff caught sleeping with the pretty stranger from who knows where. Sounds like the plot of one of those shitty romance novels I catch you leafing through– ack!”

The cushion you toss hits home, hitting Rouge square in the forehead. She dissolves into a peal of hysteric giggles, kicking her feet in the air as you scoff and roll your eyes.

“Whatever. I’m leaving. Don’t go causing a ruckus now.

You leave the hotel out the back door, scurrying across the alley and climbing the stairs leading up to the second floor of the saloon in the back. The hinges squeal as you force the door open, before it slams shut with a sudden force behind you. It’s dark up here, and somewhat dusty too. You cough and sneeze after just a few seconds. There’s several doors along the hallway and you quickly realize this must be where the girls live, just from the strong smell of perfume alone. Already, you can hear the sounds of the men downstairs vying for the attention of the girl on the floor and the out-of-tune piano drifting upstairs faintly.

The door to your left opens and out steps a purple cat, fur styled in an elaborate updo of feathers and silver combs. She stops and stares at you in the doorway silently, her gaze stoic yet with a hint of suspicion peeking through.

“... You must be the new girl the Madame hired earlier today,” she says. You merely nod.

“First day on the job and she’s already got you working? No training or anything?”

“A lil’ bit. But hardly ‘nuff to be considered practical.”

Her yellow eyes give you a once over before a frown tugs at her lacquered lips.

“That skirt of yours is too long. The Madame might not say anything about it, but the men certainly won’t appreciate it and it’ll be reflected in your earnings after tonight. Come here.”

Damn. You overshot your estimate for acceptable skirt lengths around here. She beckons you into her room and you follow. She motions for you to take a seat on the footstool as she goes digging through one of her many drawers. The whole room is dripping with extravagance and money, but also cleanliness and order. The white high pile rug in the center of the room, despite its color, is pristine and fluffy. The bed has been made perfectly, with pillows piled high and clean sheets. Every exposed surface has been cleaned off to the point where you can’t spot even a speck of dust. An assortment of expensive perfumes sit on her vanity and some equally expensive makeup palettes too.

“Stand up,” she orders. “Hold your skirt out.”

You do as she says. With a steady hand, she cuts off a good length of the fabric and hems it quickly. The whole alteration takes less than five minutes.

“... Thank you,” you say as you take in your appearance in the elaborate floor-length mirror. She merely offers a nod as she returns the sewing kit back to its original spot.

“What’s your name?”

“... Blaze,” she says after a moment of hesitation. She gestures for you to face her with a curl of her fingers.

“Take this,” she says, pressing a bejeweled dagger into the palm of your hand. You already have a gun hiding in your boot tops but you slide the dagger between your cleavage without a word. Once you’re done, she leaves the room without a word to follow her. With a start, you hurry to catch up to her. She moves surprisingly fast.

“It’s for your own good,” she says once you’re back at her side. “Men never change and it’s only worse when they’re drunk.”

She closes her eyes. The sound of piano music and tipsy men grow louder as you descend the stairs.

“You will shadow me for tonight,” Blaze declares, and her voice leaves no room for argument. “I will teach you everything you need to know, but you will be on your own from here on out. Rule number one: always wear a smile, even if the last thing you want to do is be nice. The men will complain to the Madame about a sullen girl. I know, because I have seen it happen.”

She sighs and looks off to the side.

“That’s how the last girl here got fired. A sweet thing, but rather serious and wore her heart on her sleeve, including anger… I would hate to see the same thing happen twice in a row.”

Blaze shakes her head, fur accessories jingling like bells.

“Rule number two, always try and sweet talk the men into buying a more expensive drink, but do so at your own risk. Yes, a higher quantity or quality of drinks sold equals a higher commission, but you never know how a man will behave once he is drunk out of his mind. Rule number three, almost all mistakes and oversights can be forgiven as long as you act charming enough. Not so much on the Madame’s part, but especially effective with the men. Blow them a kiss after delivering the wrong drinks and they will be slobbering all over you like a dog to a bone.”

She stops to examine her appearance in an oval-shaped mirror hanging on the wall.

“And the most important rule of them all: never let a man take you to bed. We are saloon girls, not prostitutes. It does not matter what price he is offering. Always refuse. It reflects badly on the Madame and she will kick you to the streets if you do so. Although…”

Blaze glances at you out of the corner of her eye.

“... You aren’t living here, so I suppose if it does end up happening, she will never know as long as you keep it a secret.”

Your thoughts drift to a certain blue hedgehog and your knees threaten to buckle and give out beneath you. You wobble mid-step, and Blaze gives you a weird look.

You descend the last flight of stairs and now you’re standing on the main floor of the saloon. A purple chameleon is tending the bar and arguing with a customer. A red echidna stands by the door, arms crossed over his chest and gaze sweeping over the floor periodically. His eyes, upon landing on you in the back, narrow suspiciously, and it takes the bartender calling him over for him to stop staring at you.

“That’s Knuckles. Ignore him,” mutters Blaze as she watches him argue with that same customer, before he grabs them by the ear with a start and practically tosses them out of the saloon. “He’s our bouncer and while he seems scary, he’s actually very shy around women. Don’t tell him I said that though.”

“Then why’s he working in a place overflowing with women?”

“He has to put those muscles to use somehow,” she guesses with a shrug. “I suppose it’s also an excuse for him to let off some steam. You saw the way he threw that unfortunate gentleman out the door with one hand.”

“You know quite a lot about working here,” you offhandedly remark.

“I’ve been here for quite a while.”

“Then, who’s been here the longest?”

Blaze points her fan at a pink hedgehog weaving between tables. Pleas for a second of her attention and wandering hands follow her as she delivers drinks and briefly sits down at games of poker to wish the men good luck. She never lingers in one place for more than a few seconds, but it’s enough to give the men a taste and have them hooked for more.

“See her? That’s Amy. She’s the most experienced of all the girls here, and a crowd favorite for good reason.”

“Even with the sheriff?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Already vying for the sheriff’s attention? You will have stiff competition in that department.”

You merely scoff and look the other way.

“Merely wonderin’. She seems like his type of girl. Sweet ‘n cheerful ‘n all.”

“She’s everybody’s type of girl,” mutters Blaze as her narrowed yellow eyes linger on Amy for a few more seconds. “You would be hard-pressed to find a man in this town who doesn’t want a piece of her.”

When she notices you still staring at Amy, she lightly smacks your arm with her fan.

“Enough gawking. Let me introduce you to the rest of the staff.”

She leads you over to the bar, periodically stopping to greet a man or blow a kiss to those who whistle at her. The purple chameleon you spotted earlier looks up as he pours a shot of whiskey. He greets Blaze with a respectful nod, then turns toward you.

“I’m Espio, the bartender. Did the Madame make you try and memorize all the drinks?”

When you sadly nod, he laughs.

“Don’t take it to heart. She does this to every new girl and most patrons get the same one or two drinks anyway. If you have questions, just come to me.”

His voice is smooth and measured, every bit of him a gentleman. It helps ease your first day jitters somewhat. Blaze excuses herself and leads you over to where Knuckles is standing guard by the entrance again. The only acknowledgement you get from him is a side eye and an annoyed-sounding grunt.

“Don’t bother,” he says bluntly, cutting Blaze off. “I already know who you are. Everyone does. I’m Knuckles. Send any and all persistent customers my way. I’ll handle ‘em.”

After a word with Madame Vanilla, Blaze motions for you to follow her around on the floor and with that, your first shift begins. It’s a simple job, really. Smile nicely, bat your eyelashes all pretty at the men, push your cleavage forward and let their starved eyes feast on what they can’t have as you lean forward to deliver drinks. Let your dress ride up your thigh and your garter belts snap against the flesh as you pull on them. Go down a size with your stockings so they squeeze the soft plush of your thighs and hike up your skirts to give the men a good show. Show off your assets– but not too much since you’re only supposed to give them a taste– don’t spill your drinks, and you’ll be golden.

“Got a lil’ shadow there now huh, Blaze?” slurs a patron as he kicks his feet onto the table and tips his head back to look up at the purple cat. The other drinks on the table slosh over the rims and the other patrons grumble and glare, but the bastard doesn’t care. He’s too infatuated with Blaze standing above him, a dopey, drunken smile stretching across his face like she’s the best thing he’s seen all day. Probably is, from the dirt caked onto his boots and the lines of exhaustion etched onto his face.

“Now, now, be nice,” she chides, gently swatting his bicep with her fan. “You remember what I was like when I first started, yes?”

“Can’t make any promises,” he mumbles, glancing over at you. His eyes are already bloodshot and glassy and the stench of alcohol on his breath wafts over you. “Especially when she’s just as pretty of a thing as you are.”

The doors swing open. The pianist is the first to see who the newcomer is. His eyes go wide and he bungles a chord, causing the rest of the saloon to stop and stare. And stare they do. Games of poker are forgotten about as they stare at the newcomer and it’s so silent you can hear the squeak of Espio’s dishrag as he polishes glasses. But the silence is soon shattered by whispers and wide-eyed expressions, patrons straightening up and trying their best to seem sober, even as they sway while seated and hiccup loudly.

“It’s the sheriff…”

“You think he’s here ‘cuz he found out I swindled a bunch of rings from my neighbor the other day?”

“If he didn’t know before now he does! Shaddup!”

Blaze looks as surprised as someone of her reserved nature can get. You nudge her in the side, all without taking your eyes off him as he plops down at a table halfway through a round of poker. He takes his hat off and hangs it on the back of his chair, seemingly oblivious to the way the saloon has come to a complete standstill now that he’s here. The three other men are completely frozen and he laughs at their stupefied expressions.

“What’s with the surprise? I thought I was a familiar face by now?”

“Does he come ‘round here often?” you ask under your breath. It takes Blaze a few seconds to recover from her stupor as the other men nervously laugh along with him.

“He’s not exactly a regular per say… but he does come around here often enough for us to remember his drink of choice.”

You watch as Amy sets down a glass in front of him. Whiskey, on the rocks. The color is a deeper, richer brown than the rest of the whiskey being served. Stronger and more expensive, reserved for the wealthy in town– and him too. On the house as well from how Amy politely declines the rings he offers as payment.

The next round of poker begins and he seamlessly joins the game, pushing a couple of his chips forward into the pot. Slowly, the usual ruckus of the saloon builds back up again. The pianist works up the courage to resume his playing, ragtime filling the space. The chatter of other patrons returns as they attempt to refocus on their games of poker, eyes constantly flickering between the pot at their table and the sheriff just a few paces away. While the rest of the saloon girls carry on with work as usual, you see the way they’re suddenly more aware of what they’re doing. Blaze’s back is ramrod straight now. Amy’s grip on her tray as she delivers drinks is tighter, and of course– Madame Vanilla is in the back watching all the girls, including you, with a warning in her eyes to be on your best behavior. You fight back an eye roll and instead, deliver some shots of whiskey to a table of men who leer at your exposed cleavage without shame.

Sonic examines his hand with an impassive expression before setting them face-down back on the table and looking around. He greets everyone that meets his gaze with a nod and a whistled compliment if they were a lady. Those are always accompanied by batted lashes and dreamy sighs, with some irritated grumbles from the men who know they’re in no position to say anything.

“Isn’t he just perfect?” sighs a new voice next to you. Your gaze flicks over to see Amy fawning at the sight of the sheriff. A blush dusts her cheeks and even the tips of her ears.

“You got a thing for him?”

“Who doesn’t? Chivalrous, a sweet-talker, a kind heart… he’s the man of every woman’s dreams! Including mine, teehee.”

(You don’t miss the envious looks on the faces of the men within earshot.)

His emerald gaze sweeps around to your section of the saloon. He greets Amy with a sharp whistle and a compliment on her new dress (she starts giggling uncontrollably and her tail starts wagging so furiously you swear she’ll start flying), but, oh then he looks at you. He freezes mid-pose, arm still extended and pointing at Amy before his cheery smile drops into something… hungrier. Knowing. A cold chill washes over you even though you’re sweltering beneath your dress. Much to your horror, he sets his glass down and gets up, spurs clinking in time with his steps as he approaches you. All eyes are on him and the chatter dies down with each step he takes until the saloon is dead silent again when he’s face to face with you. His emerald eyes burn brighter than the kerosene lamps as they rake over your form appreciatively, lingering on your exposed cleavage and garter belts. A low whistle pierces the air like the hiss of a rattlesnake as he nods in approval.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You did show up tonight. And while lookin’ like a delight for sore eyes, might I add.”

You laugh. Even to your ears, it sounds high-pitched and too loud. Nervous. Guilty. Your facade is slipping.

“Well, I don’t make promises I don’t follow through on, Sheriff.”

He tilts his head up and looks down on you through half-lidded eyes, smug as ever. The hazy lights of the saloon feel a little too bright and hot all of a sudden.

“Then can you promise me a dance tonight?”

The laugh that escapes you is one part disbelief and one part… something else that makes your stomach erupt with butterflies. His snaggle-toothed grin stretches wider at the sound, seemingly pleased.

“I don’t work for free, Sheriff.”

“I’ll make it worth your while. Promise.”

“Begging won’t get you anywhere.”

Sonic groans and rubs his face with his hands.

“Yer really gonna make a man work for it, huh? Have some mercy, at least.”

You merely smirk and wag your finger at him. He laughs, and the act falls immediately. He takes out a sack of rings and lets it fall onto the table with a loud thud, the impact shaking the stacked poker chips.

“Will this satisfy you, sweetheart?”

Gasps erupt around you and you catch barely-concealed jealousy and greed in their eyes. Wandering hands crawl toward the sack (and your body) and Blaze has to smack them away. You stare at the rings, rooted to the ground. Money isn’t a concern for you. Your bank account back in the big city is loaded to the gills in cash alone, gemstones and other valuables you have yet to bid notwithstanding. Rouge is also the one more akin to a pickpocketer between the two of you, and yet…

You push the rings back at him. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“This reeks of bribery.”

He scoffs and pushes the rings back toward you. You push them back. Tension crackles in the air between you, waiting to see who would let up first.

“Don’t be like that. Think of it as a little… gift. From yours truly.”

Sonic grabs your wrist and plops the bag into your hand, refusing to let go of you until you finally relent. Barely even a fight.

“You give the girls gifts?” you ask as you pocket them.

“Sure, I make it a point to treat the girls here to a lil’ somethin’ every now and then. Amy’s favorite pair of silk stockings she just so happens to be wearin’ right now were a gift from me.”

You look over your shoulder to see her dancing arm in arm with a man who looks like he could die happy right now. Even at this distance, you can tell they’re of decent quality.

“How’d you get her measurements?”

Sonic shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

“The Madame gave ‘em to me upon request.”

You think back to earlier in the day when she had taken your measurements, and you’re not sure how to feel all of a sudden.

“Blaze’s favorite red lipstick? The shade she wears almost every night? Got a tube for her after she mentioned she was runnin’ low one night. But as for you, sweet thing… hm, I’m actually stumped.”

He leans forward, propping his elbows up on the table and resting his chin on his interlocked hands. Green irises darken as his eyes narrow, drinking in your form, and his quills subtly twitch as his head tilts to the side.

“The picture-perfect image of elegance… You look like a lady chasin’ that comfy city-girl life. Fine dresses, jewelry…”

He nods and hums in agreement with his own words. Then, in a rasp so low only you can hear it—

“Gemstones, perhaps?”

Your heart stops, and you feel like you’re seconds away from a heart attack. The wolfish expression vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by a cheeky and boyish grin, but the image haunts your mind. It’s like a completely different man sitting before you; one that only rears its true nature around you.

“Now, what ever gave you that idea, Sheriff?” you manage with a shaky laugh on the last syllable. He hums and downs the shot of whiskey in one go, sliding the empty glass across the table. You deftly stop it right at the edge before it falls to the ground and place it back on your tray.

“Well… diamonds are a girl’s best friend, after all. Doesn’t that string of ‘em around your neck prove it?”

“They’re no diamonds, Sheriff. What makes you think I could afford ‘em?” you call over your shoulder as you walk back to the bar. Espio sees you coming a mile away and a new shot of whiskey is already waiting for you.

(Those are real diamonds around your neck, but that’s a secret only you and Rouge are privy too. The cheapest, lowest-grade cut of them you own, bought just for the sake of blending in during this heist.)

“The sheriff is a very interesting man, no?” asks Espio as you swap out the empty glass for a new one. His eyes gleam with something knowing as he looks over your shoulder, at the man himself. Sonic shows his hand, and the men at the table groan. He snickers as he rakes the pot in.

“A very perceptive one too,” you admit with a sigh. “How much does he know?”

Espio merely smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“More than you’d expect from a man of his nature.”

All the men have gotten off work now and the saloon is packed. You stand off to Sonic’s side, hands folded in front of you, with all your attention on him rather than the game playing out. Ice clinks around in glasses and condensation drips onto the worn wooden tables. Absent-minded hands knock over drinks as they immerse themselves in the game, sticky alcohol spilling onto the tables and floor and making it even harder to walk without feeling like your high heels are sliding off. Glasses hit the tables with a soft thump as girls deliver replacements, always accompanied by wolf whistles and lust-driven wandering hands, fueled by the lowered inhibitions brought on by the alcohol.

And even with the drunken chaos and gambling happening around you, your attention remains focused on the sheriff. He leans back in his chair, shoulders slumped and legs spread lazily as he examines his hand. You can’t resist a peek over his shoulder– a full house. He stands a decent chance for this round. His ear twitches and he looks up over his shoulder at you, making you freeze at the sudden movement.

“Bein’ nosy, aren’t ya? If I didn’t know any better, I could’ve mistaken you for a little spy.”

Little spy. Your blood runs cold and you cover it up by feigning humiliation, awkwardly laughing and averting your gaze.

How much does he know?

He hums amusedly, as if he enjoys seeing you like this– an anxious, bumbling mess. The perfect image of a nervous girl on the first day of her new job.

“Atta girl. Which is why it’s important for you to learn the rules of the game. C’mere.”

With a hungry grin, he pats his leg slowly. An invitation. Your breath catches in your throat. The rest of your body remains frozen as you glance around the floor. No one else seems to have caught his gesture. The two other men at the table are arguing with each other. Espio is swamped with drink orders. Knuckles is a second away from throwing someone out. Blaze is teaching a lecherous customer a lesson with a few choice words. Sonic rolls a poker chip across his knuckles and beckons you forward with a curl of his fingers. With no way of refusing, you lean in until your ear is at his mouth.

“My patience won’t last forever,” he whispers tauntingly, low enough for only you to hear it.

You risk another glance around the room. Everyone else is either too drunk or trying to dodge advances to pay any attention to you. Even Madame Vanilla, who’s being sweet-talked by a crocodile trying not to trip over his words and feet.

With a resigned sigh, you lower yourself into his lap. A strong arm immediately snakes around your waist, squeezing you tight like an angry rattlesnake, and holding you against him with no wiggle room. He’s warm, heart beating loudly and steadily beneath his chest as you try and make yourself comfortable. His gloved hand, previously resting atop your stomach, drifts down to lightly squeeze your thigh, making goosebumps erupt beneath his touch. One finger ghosts the hem of your stocking, light and teasing and keeping you on your toes.

“Why so stiff? I don’t bite. Unless ya want me to, that is.”

Sonic laughs at his own joke. You muster an awkward smile. His touch gets under your skin more than you’d like to admit.

You stay nestled in his lap for the rest of the game, like a lucky charm for him to show off. Madame Vanilla gives you a look once she sees you in his lap, but relents when he tugs you back down as you try to get up.

“Stay.”

It’s not a request.

Drinks keep getting delivered to the table. The other men are practically drowning in booze, swaying side to side and eyes unfocused. He’s nowhere near as far gone, but his cheeks and the tips of his ears are flushed. A finger slips beneath your garter strap, pulling at the flimsy strip of fabric like it personally offends him. Like he wants it off.

“Sheriff, I think you’ve had too much to drink,” you whisper. He merely grunts and holds you tighter. His finger stubbornly stays there beneath your garter strap.

“‘M fine,” he grumbles as the community cards are dealt face-up. His eyes flick over them, then down to his own hand. “Not drunk. Yet.”

Everyone else folds, perhaps realizing they wouldn’t be able to afford their next trip here if they don’t, except for one other guy. He glares Sonic down, hiccuping and eyes so bloodshot it looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. His beady eyes dart to you nestled snugly in his lap and he practically starts foaming at the mouth out of… jealousy, if you had to guess.

“Ya lucky bastard,” he spits out, drool dribbling out the corner of his mouth. “Winnin’ this game by a landslide and with a pretty thing in your arms. Sickens me.”

Sonic doesn’t take offense. Rather, he takes it all in stride. He tips his head back and laughs loudly, squeezing your hip tighter beneath the table.

“I like your spirit! Bring it on!”

Bets are placed. Sonic matches the drunkard’s bets without hesitation until the latter can raise it no more. Beads of sweat drip down his leathery face as more community cards are dealt, while Sonic’s poker face remains impassive. His hand is conveniently kept out of your sight and to your surprise, he raises the bet. Though the drunkard across the table is flushed redder than the color of the sky at sunset, you swear he pales. He grits his teeth and folds.

The third round of betting begins. Sonic folds this round, and the drunkard lunges at the chances to raise the bet by an incredible amount. He laughs to himself, sounding more like a dying wheeze.

“I win, Sheriff! Get ready to pay up!”

Sonic merely smiles, something enigmatic that unsettles you– like he already knows how everything will play out. He raises the bet in the final round and after a beat of anticipation, reveals his hand the same time as the drunkard does. A moment of silence falls over the table as the realization dawns. It’s his full house against Sonic’s royal flush. The sheriff wins the game.

The other men bemoan at their losses as he rakes the pot in, eyeing the pile of rings with longing and greed. Sonic laughs and claps them on the back.

“Tough luck! Maybe next time, gentlemen.”

They grab their hats, grumbling under their breaths and shooting him dirty looks on the way out. Sonic merely laughs and leans back in his chair, a hand lazily stroking your thigh as the thrill of the game dies down. He tosses a couple of rings at the drunkard hobbling away, but he smacks them away.

“Don’t want yer dirty money,” he hisses before hobbling out of the saloon. Barely a few seconds pass after the doors swing shut when there’s a loud thump. Sonic rolls his eyes, taking another swig of his whiskey as he looks away.

“You’re not going to help him?” you ask. He shakes his head and watches as Knuckles stomps out the door.

“‘M off the clock now,” he mumbles, resting his head against yours and shutting his eyes. “Nothin’ Knuckles can’t handle either.”

With the rings he just won, he buys a drink for you behind Madame Vanilla’s back, winking and motioning for you to stay silent. You sip on it when she isn’t looking as the Sheriff plays with your hair and the dangling bits of your clothes and jewelry.

“Y’know,” he begins, finger trailing over the underside of your jawline. It takes all your effort to not shudder at the brush of smooth, warm leather. “I never heard a no to that dance–”

Amy sharply gasps as she passes by your table. Her eyes rake over your form nestled securely in his lap and you catch longing reflected in the green irises, and perhaps even a hint of jealousy.

“A dance?” she exclaims loudly, grabbing the attention of anyone still conscious. “Oh, you lucky girl!”

No way out of this now, but he looks far more eager than you feel. He gets to his feet, practically yanking you up with him, and leads you out to the dance floor.

“Must be the luckiest man alive,” he muses as the music starts. A hand rests on the small of your back and pulls you in close– a bit closer than necessary, in your opinion. “Can’t believe I scored a dance with ya.”

“Sheriff, you seem to be conveniently forgetting that I never agreed to this.”

“... Well,” he coughs out. “Here’s your chance to leave. Although…”

His hand slides off the small of your back. You’re free to go now. And yet, you don’t move. Something compels you to stay on the dance floor. Is it the groove of the music making its way into your bones and urging you to dance anyway? Maybe it’s all the eyes on you that would surely judge you for the rest of the week if you turn down a dance with the sheriff. Or maybe it’s—

“... I’d really be thrilled if you indulged me.”

His hopeful and bashful voice is the trigger you need that makes you forget about everything else. You turn back toward him, pressing your hand into his. An invitation for him to accept. A sharp intake of breath, only audible to you, is the only sign of his surprise, before it morphs into something tender as his other hand slides up your back again.

“I must’ve done something absolutely amazin’ for this to happen,” he murmurs like he’s in a daze. You quietly chuckle.

“Or perhaps you’re just lucky.”

“I’d say this is outside the realm of luck now, sweetheart. But if so, I must’ve been blessed by Lady Luck ‘erself.”

Beady-eyed, jealous men watch his every move, wishing it was them up there instead of him. But even as their eyes burn holes into your backs, he leads you through the dance expertly. Liquid courage is surging through your veins, even though you haven’t had that much to drink tonight, and you boldly meet his gaze, holding it as he continues to sway in time to the music and spin you around without missing a beat. The usual barely-restrained explosive energy in them is soft now, like the lingering flashes of lightning that hardly illuminate the sky after an intense thunderstorm. Likewise, the electric green of his irises is warm and hazy now, just like the saloon lights bathing the edges of your tiny world in a soft glow.

“Is there somethin’ on my face, Sheriff? You keep starin’,” you whisper. He laughs softly.

“Nope. Just enjoyin’ the view.”

He dips you back as the piano reaches a crescendo. Warm breath tinged with the scent of whiskey fanning across your face and tickles your eyelashes. Is he drunk– or at least tipsy? His cheeks and the tips of his ears are faintly pink, but the sharp focus in his eyes belies your impressions.

“I think you’re enjoyin’ this a biiiit more than you should, Sheriff.”

He raises an eyebrow and leans in closer.

“Don’t hear ya complainin’, though.”

He pulls you flush against him, not an inch of space between your bodies as the music ends. There’s a faint smattering of applause, far less than a dance of this nature would receive– perhaps out of jealousy or shock at how bold he was with his advances. Sonic looks out the window and after seeing the color of the sky, puts his hat back on. Something tugs at your heart at the sight, and your face falls.

“Leavin’ already?”

Your voice comes out a lot more disappointed-sounding than you expected. He laughs at the equally-pitiful expression on your face and pats your head, taking care to avoid ruining your hairdo.

“Can’t stay in one place for long. That’s just the kinda guy I am. Although…”

He tugs the brim of his hat lower to obscure his eyes and looks around the saloon, avoiding your gaze, and is that a blush you see crawling up his neck?

“... I might stop by here more often from now on.”

The doors swing shut with a quiet creak behind him and in his absence, the saloon suddenly feels too silent. The air hangs still and even the other patrons seem dazed.

“First day on the job, and you’re already the sheriff’s favorite girl. I can’t tell if you’re blessed or just cursed,” remarks Blaze, who silently snuck up on you, as you both watch him leave.

“This feels like a curse somehow,” you croak, throat drier than the desert this town is situated in. You can still feel traces of him on you– the condensation on your fingertips from his drink, the ghostly warmth of his hand resting on the small of your back, and his scent invading your senses like a guest overstaying their welcome. He smelled like the great outdoors; ozonic like the thunder rumbling on the horizon of an approaching storm, but also dry and sandy like the desert, with a hint of tobacco and gunpowder clinging to him. It leaves you feeling on edge even now after he’s gone, but in a good way– a tingly sort of way.

And with that, your first day of work comes to an eventful end. On the walk back, the realization of what you were supposed to do hits you like an anvil and you nearly stumble.

You were supposed to get information from him. And you walked out empty-handed.

You all but crumple under the weight of your failure. Rouge isn’t going to be happy when she hears about this…

… Or so you think. She’s lounging atop the bed lazily when you return, as if she’s been expecting you.

“Welcome back. How’d your first day of work go– hey, why the long face?”

You’re hunched over like an old lady as you trudge toward the bed, face-planting into the sheets next to her.

“I-I’m sorry, Rouge,” you snivel. “I didn’t get any information out of him tonight…”

Silence hangs in the air, before she… laughs? You tilt your head up to peek at her with one teary eye.

“Why, you…” she wheezes out between laughs. “Always been dedicated to a fault, but I can hardly get mad at you for it.”

She helps you into an upright position and wipes away your tears with a handkerchief.

“Don’t beat yourself up over tonight, honey. I was expecting this. Saw it coming a mile away.”

“... What?”

She laughs and dries the last of your tears.

“You and blue boy over there got some serious chemistry. I’d be more surprised– and disappointed– if nothing happened tonight. Chin up. We still have a month to gather information. And how much time do I need?”

“Rouge only needs five minutes,” you mumble, her catchphrase ingrained into you by now. She laughs and begins wiping off your makeup with a gentle and steady hand.

“Exactly. We can steal the goods and get you a sweet fling with the sheriff in less time than it’d take for your new mail-order dress to arrive. Just leave it to me, m’kay?”

That night, you dream of green lightning and gale winds.

The rumors surrounding you never quite go away. There’s always a whisper in the piss-soaked alleys that you’re a cheap street whore; a dirty good-for-nothing sent to ruin their upstanding sheriff, but they go from rumors in plain daylight to something only the drunken dare to bring up with no one listening.

It’s a slow, lazy start one morning. The calendar on the nightstand shows that two weeks have gone by ever since your arrival, leaving you with just over another two until the expo date, circled in red. Rouge is still fast asleep when you leave the hotel. Your first stop is the stables to check on your horses and to take them on their routine morning ride. Cream is taking good care of them; they’re in high spirits and eagerly accept your treat of sugar cubes, eating them out of the palm of your hand.

“Wanna go for a ride, sweet girl?”

Your mare perks up and nods. You saddle her with a laugh and you’re off. Cream waves to you as she takes her post at the entrance to the stables for the day, and your horse gives her a little kiss as she walks past.

Sandy dust is kicked up in your wake as you leave the town limits. Your mare quickly breaks into a moderately-paced gallop, covering several paces of the desert in a single stride. For a while, it’s just you, your horse, and the sound of her hooves hitting the sand, when you spot another rider on the horizon amidst the early morning sun having just risen. You tense, hand reaching for the gun at your hip, and aim. Your horse snorts and comes to a sudden stop, ears pulling forward and staring intently at the rapidly approaching horse and rider. They come to a stop a few paces before you and to your surprise, it’s the sheriff, covered in a light layer of sand already and panting slightly from exertion.

“Sheriff?” you exclaim, scrambling to lower your gun.

“Mornin’! What’s got you up so early?” he asks cheerfully, as if you weren’t just aiming a fully-loaded revolver at him.

“... Just an early morning ride to start my day.”

His horse leans forward and sniffs at yours curiously. Yours blows a big gust of air from her nose in response before pulling away with a whinny. It seems as if they like each other…?

He tilts the brim of his hat up and squints in the direction where you came from.

“We’re a ways out from town. Follow me. I’ll lead ya back home.”

Your mare keeps trying to bite his horse’s tail on the way back despite your best efforts. Eventually, you give up. If she gets kicked, she gets kicked.

“What were you doing out here so early, Sheriff?” you ask as you tug on the reins to have her trail a few more paces behind.

“Early mornin’ patrol,” he responds without missing a beat. “There’s been an uptick in bandits and petty thieves around ‘ere now that news of the expo has spread all over the country. I really got mah work cut out for me now.”

The mention of other thieves makes your eye twitch. That treasure is yours! No way are you letting them beat you and Rouge to it!

“But don’t worry!” he says, most likely mistaking your extended silence as nervousness. “I’ve sent ‘em all packing with their tails between their legs!”

“Oh? You’re sayin’ you challenged them and won?”

He smirks and winks at you over his shoulder.

“Sure thing, sweetheart, especially after seeing my speed and quick-draw skills for ‘emselves.”

You pass by the saloon on your way through town, and it takes a few seconds for you to realize that there’s voices coming from within, even at this hour when they’re closed. You urge your horse to backtrack a few steps and hop off, tying the reins around a post and giving her a shoulder scritch before heading inside. Sonic waits until you’ve safely disembarked before sending you off with a kiss to the back of your hand and intense eye contact that lingers even as he pulls away.

You push the doors open. It’s just Espio and Madame Vanilla inside, sorting through shipments they received earlier this morning.

“You’re up bright and early,” she remarks as your boot heels click on the wooden floor. Espio nods in your direction as a greeting. “Did something bring you here?”

You shake your head and take a seat at the bar. When she turns her back to move a few boxes aside, Espio discreetly slides you a drink and motions for you to stay silent about it.

“Had nothin’ else to do. Thought I’d stop by.”

“Mine being a dear and helping me with these packages then?”

The packages are mainly drinks. It’s seemingly endless bottles of whiskey, kegs of beer that you have fun rolling across the floor to the bar, and the odd bottles of wine and champagne. Decks of cards and poker chips are found in another box. There’s also some nicer-looking boxes with return labels to department stores in the city that must be dresses the girls or their admirers ordered.

You and Espio are rolling a beer keg across the floor like it’s a game when Madame Vanilla lifts up a box and to your surprise, calls you over.

“Got a package for you, sugar. Looks like you’ve already got yourself a secret admirer.”

The package is small and light in your arms. The return address is to a high-end boutique chain in the city that you frequent often, but you act clueless, staring at the shipping label.

“What’s this store? H-o-n-e-y’s…”, you slowly say, squinting at the words and sounding them out as if it’s your first time encountering it.

Vanilla giggles at your feigned ignorance, seemingly finding your country bumpkin “nature” utterly amusing.

“This, my dear, is a very expensive and fancy store in the big city, catered toward upscale and elegant ladies. Whoever gifted you this must have lots of money and a great fancy toward you.”

She sighs as she watches you stare at the box like you’re unsure what to do with it.

“You’re quite a lucky lady, you know? Most girls here don’t start receiving gifts like this until they’ve been here for at least a few months and made a name for themselves.”

Something about her voice gives you the hint she already knows who the sender is. You press your ear to the box and gently shake it, hearing the soft rustle of clothes inside.

“Well, go on,” she urges. “Open your present and try on whatever’s inside. I’m sure they would be very happy to see you in them.”

… Yeah, she definitely knows who the sender is, and you have an inkling too. With a slightly hurried nod and a “thank you” in her direction, you scurry out the door. You return your horse back to the stables and arrive back at your hotel room in record time. Rouge looks over from where she’s still sleeping on the bed, rollers in her fur and sleep mask riding up her face.

“A gift?” she asks once she catches sight of the package. “Lemme see.”

A note sits atop the contents. Rouge snatches it before you can and reads it out loud, voice progressively growing higher-pitched and excited.

“I saw these for sale in the mail order catalog the other day and couldn’t stop imagining you in them. Wear these for me some night, will you?”

She squeals, tossing the note aside carelessly, and practically tears the wrapping paper to shreds with her sharp claws. The two of you gasp in unison at the contents, but for different reasons. Her eyes glimmer with excitement, while shock is scrawled all over your face. There, folded neatly atop each other, lies a pair of silk stockings and garter belts. The weave on the stockings is so fine the garment is all but transparent as you stretch it and hold it up to the sunlight streaming in through the window. The garter belts are a shade of deep blue that squeeze your thighs just enough to draw attention to the plush flesh. He’s not even trying to be subtle about it and it makes something flutter deliciously in your gut.

“He shelled out a pretty penny on you. Does he have deep pockets, by any chance?”

“Don’t even think about it, Rouge,” you sigh exasperatedly. Though your wardrobe is lined with fine clothes, you hang them up in plain sight, where you’ll reach first. Rouge smirks at the action.

“You should wear them tonight,” she urges. “Give him something nice to look at after a long day, and maybe he’ll be more receptive to letting you pick at his brain.”

That same night, as you get ready for work, you pull out one of your more luxurious dresses. Silk of this quality is almost unheard of out here, and it shows in the way it shimmers and drapes over your body. The stockings and garter belt, along with a pair of evening gloves matching the dress and a dark blue lace-up corset, already lie atop the bed. You just hope your gamble will pay off tonight and that he’ll actually be there.

“Saw your favorite blue boy toy leaving his office and headed in the direction of the saloon,” calls out Rouge as she swoops in through the open window as you’re doing your makeup. Relief floods your system and you feel the faint tug of a smile on your lips. Looks like your gamble paid off.

She pauses at the sight, before lowly whistling and sliding up next to you.

“Well, don’t you look expensive? All in his colors too. Hoping to give him a taste of luxury tonight?”

“I’m simply putting his generous gift to good use like you told me to,” you say lightly as you wrap the corset around your waist. “Lace me up?”

Rouge huffs and puffs as she digs her heels into the plush carpet, yanking the ribbons as tight as you can withstand.

“More,” you gasp. She gives you a look.

“You’re going to pass out in the middle of the floor like this.”

“Either way, I’ll get his attention.”

She gives the ribbons an especially punishing tug and relishes in the screech you let out.

It’s busier than ever that night. Espio is up to his neck in drink orders and at this pace, another shipment of whiskey will be needed before next week. The air is hot and muggy with the sticky scent of booze and sweat and lust, all mixed together. Even Amy seems a little frazzled right now and Knuckles has already lost his temper too many times to count.

You stand at the top of the stairs, fiddling with your hands. You tug the neckline of your dress as low as you can without catching a public indecency charge. You suck your stomach in even though you can hardly breathe in this corset. A fresh coat of lipstick is applied. No more getting swept away in his charms! Tonight, you’re here to do your job and that’s that! You vigorously shake your head, shaking away those doubts, and it’s showtime now.

You slip downstairs into the saloon seamlessly, waving and letting your gloved fingertips dance along the pleading hands of men that grab at you as you stop by the bar. One look, and Espio knows what you already want, sliding a glass down the table. The sheriff is sitting in his usual spot by the windows, boots kicked up on the table and leaning back in his chair as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s asleep… somehow, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as he snores, but his ear flicks and his eyes fly open as you approach. With a start, he scrambles to sit upright and wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Took you long enough,” he says breathlessly, foot tapping rapidly against the floor. You laugh and pull up a chair next to him, leaning to the side and against the table. The neckline of your dress hangs even lower now, and you can see him swallow. His fist clenches beneath the table and you pinch your arm to stop yourself from laughing.

“Drink up, Sheriff,” you snicker as you slide the glass of whiskey across the table. “On the house, as always.”

You cross one leg over the other as he takes a big gulp, perhaps trying to distract himself with the burn as it goes down. As you do, the sheerness of the stockings gives your thighs a lustrous shine as the low light catches on them. The satin weave of the garter straps makes them look like precious cuts of sapphires wrapped snugly around an even greater treasure. He splutters, then slowly– deliberately–sets his glass down and leans back in his chair, taking in the treat before his eyes with bated breath.

“Cat got your tongue, Sheriff?”

“I knew they’d look good on you, but not this good,” he croaks out, throat drier than the desert. Though he tries to seem unbothered, his tail, like the traitor it is, wags excitedly behind him, hitting the back of the chair with loud thumps. He growls and reaches behind him, squeezing it, but it still continues to twitch eagerly in his crushing grasp.

“Why, thank you,” you purr. Like a puppy, you think as you watch him wrestle with his emotions.

The batwing doors keep swinging open. There’s seemingly no end to the patrons in sight and with a sharp call of your name from Madame Vanilla, you reluctantly leave his side to do your job. But even as you dance around wandering hands and struggle to not spill heavy trays of drinks, his half-lidded gaze stays glued to you with an almost unnerving intensity that you notice every now and then, in fleeting moments of peace from the hot, sweaty chaos. Though the saloon is packed to the gills and threatening to burst at the rafters, no one dares to sit next to him, out of respect but also out of fear over what he could do if disturbed from his starstruck state.

You finally catch a break and all but collapse at his table. He looks over at you after a few seconds delay, the heat beginning to addle his mind.

“‘S too hot in here,” he grumbles, tugging his neckerchief off and stuffing it into his pocket. You’re not in much better condition either. Sweat sticks to your back like a film and your hairdo is deflating and frizzy from the humidity. You merely grunt in agreement as your head hits the table, looking no different from the many drunkards passed out around you.

“Say, how ‘bout we… ”

He leans in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“... Leave this place for a bit? Go somewhere nicer?”

“Sheriff!” you hiss incredulously. “How could you suggest such a thing?!”

“What?” he asks, grinning cheekily with all his sharp teeth on display. It infuriates you; the way he baits you and the way it works every single time.

“Just follow me.”

“But the Madame–”

“I’ll talk to her if she gives you a hard time,” he counters, already dragging you up. Though your mind says no, your heart and feet say yes, and you slip out of the saloon unnoticed. The cool desert air is a sweet relief from the heat of the saloon. You greedily inhale the crisp, fresh air, not realizing just how suffocated you felt back there. Veering away from the trodden paths illuminated by the kerosene lamps on houses, he leads you to a sandy clearing on the outskirts of the town borders. Only cacti and the stray tumbleweed rolling by, propelled by the sweet evening breeze, are witnesses to your escape.

“Come here often?” you ask, looking up at him as you tuck your skirts beneath you and sit down.

“I do whenever I need to clear my head. Either that or going for a run. Usually the latter.”

He huffs and some of the tension balled up in his shoulders dissipates.

“Wait here for a second.”

He speeds off in a blur of blue and returns with his guitar in hand a few seconds later. He plops down next to you, hip ever so slightly brushing against yours and legs sprawled out lazily in front of him.

“You seem stressed,” you note as he tunes the instrument. He hums and tightens the peg.

“Can’t blame me. Got a lot on my mind with the expo ‘n all.”

“Now, who’s givin’ you a hard time?”

He humorlessly laughs as he begins absentmindedly strumming a tune.

“The feds are on my ass, tryna get me to bend over backwards in all directions. ‘Sheriff do this, Sheriff do that!’” he mimics in a high pitched, squeaky voice. Sonic scoffs, green eyes rolling dramatically. He fishes out a stalk of wheat from his pocket and chews on it as his fingers dance skillfully across the fingerboard.

“I’m not a doormat,” he grumbles. “I’m honored to have been selected to host this expo, but this is my town and I call the shots around here. Not those arrogant high hats.”

He plucks the string harder than necessary and fumbles a chord. A muttered curse slips past his lips and he grips the instrument so tightly you think the wood is about to snap. A soft touch against his shoulder makes him pause and look over to see your hand, delicately gloved in lace, resting there. You softly smile and gently squeeze when your gaze connects with his, despite the butterflies in your stomach rapidly building and about to bubble over.

“Well, I think you’ve been doin’ a fine job, Sheriff. But those’re just the thoughts of a mere saloon girl.”

You see how he tries to hide the proud smile stretching across his face after hearing your words. His ears flick and he rubs his nose, looking the other way.

“‘Course I am. Ain’t nobody better fit to run this place than me. And don’t sell yourself short like that. You’re a lovely lady. Any man would–”

He stops himself short before the rest of the sentence slips out.

Any man would be lucky to call you his.

He glares at the stupid ring you still wear around your finger. With a huff, he goes back to his guitar. Soft music fills the air now, mixed with your quiet breathing. Sonic was right; it does help with stress.

By the time he finishes his song, the moon is high in the sky and the howl of coyotes echo from a distance off the canyon walls. Sonic glances over to see you half-asleep against his shoulder.

“Sleepy?”

“A bit,” you admit. He huffs and gets to his feet, extending a hand.

“Let’s get you back home safely.”

The saloon is mostly cleared out when you stop by along the way to let Madame Vanilla you’re heading home for the night. She barely looks your way, too engrossed in the crocodile from earlier, as she waves you off. Espio is closing down the bar and Blaze is cleaning up her section. When she glances over to see you standing shoulder to shoulder with the Sheriff, she raises a brow and gives you a knowing look. But she pointedly looks the other way, and you know your secret is safe with her.

The streets are deserted, save for a few drunk stragglers stumbling into the alleyways and passing out. You come to a stop in front of your hotel. His hand lingers on the small of your back, a bit too long to be considered protective in a platonic way.

“... I didn’t know you could play,” is the first thing you say once the silence turns awkward, and you almost kick yourself. You call yourself a master of disguise, yet say the stupidest shit like this? Unbelievable…

But Sonic just laughs and adjusts his hat.

“‘Course I do. I’m a man of many talents, y’know?"

You just hum and look back at him.

“I wouldn’t mind hearin’ you play some more.”

His eyes widen and for a second, he freezes. For all his admirers, he’s never had anyone show interest in him beyond the surface, or try and get to understand him. Heat crawls under his fur and he looks away, tugging the brim of his hat down to obscure his face.

What a sweet feeling it is to be seen.

“Goodnight, sweet thing. See you tomorrow.”

With a fluid motion, as if he were planning this all along, he takes his hat off and places it on your head. You softly gasp as your vision is suddenly obscured. By the time you lift it off, he’s long gone, leaving only a rapidly-dissipating trail of sandy dust in his wake.

“I overheard something particularly interesting today.”

Your only response is a hum as you continue leafing through the paper. You gave the sheriff his hat back the day after, not wanting even more rumors to spread during such a crucial point in the heist. He laughed it off and accepted it, but ever since then, he’s been finding ways to slip you little gifts. A desert flower slipped into your updo while working that went undetected, until you caught your reflection in a mirror after your shift ended. The usual drink or two he buys for you behind Madame Vanilla’s back. The hairpins and dresses he splurges on occasionally when he’s saved up enough rings. The latest proof of his admiration is sitting in a vase on your hotel room desk: a bouquet of assorted desert flowers he picked for you this morning after unexpected and heavy rainfall last night.

“Your beloved sheriff has a telegraph in his office and he’s expected to receive some information from the government tonight. The federal government.”

The sound of rustling pages stops. You still as her implications register in your mind, hand frozen mid-turn. Rouge huffs and smirks, seeing the gears turn in your mind.

“Our lucky break already?” you ask, setting the newspaper down. She flashes you a wicked grin.

“Looks to be it. Keep him occupied tonight, will you? I’ll be handling this myself.”

The bedspread is a mess of papers when you return. Rouge sits in the center of it, pouring over maps and newspaper clippings. A small paper is gripped tightly in her hands, most likely the telegraph message. Her eyes dart back and forth as she cross-references information. They flick up to meet yours as you silently slip into the room, locking the door behind you with a quiet click. Relief spreads across her face and she eagerly beckons you to sit next to her.

“Honey, I got a boatload of information!” she exclaims as she practically shoves the message into your face. You grunt and snatch it out of her grasp, holding it out to read the short message in blocky letters.

Two Chaos Emeralds en route via train. Scheduled to arrive this Friday at noon. Send only your most trusted men to retrieve them.

Short, but this heist suddenly becomes the heist of the century.

“Chaos Emeralds?” you gasp. “And two of them at that?”

Rouge’s eyes are sparkling like polished diamonds as she eagerly nods. She’s practically drooling at the thought of finally getting her paws on more of them. Only seven of them exist, rumored to have unfathomable power and the ability to turn the user’s desires into reality. Rouge already possesses one, hidden in a place only the two of you know of. The other six are scattered throughout the country, frequently trading hands with the rich and powerful but never staying in one place for too long.

One emerald alone is already powerful enough. To have two more in the collection… you tremble at the mere thought. A delicious shudder runs up your spine and you nearly drool, just like the bat already doing so next to you.

The stakes are higher than ever now. You aren’t so foolish as to believe you two are the only thieves that have caught wind of this. You’ve seen signs of other bandits on the outskirts of town during your early morning rides with your horse– a hastily-scuffed out campfire, horseshoe footprints in the sand, and the scent of greed, so thick you can practically taste it on your tongue if you sniff the air with your mouth slightly parted. Sonic spoke for the both of you that one day: you’ve got your work cut out for you as well.

The floor plan for the expo begins coming together. Every morning before work, you and Rouge secretly scope out the area, eavesdropping on the laborers to learn which exhibits are going where. At night after your shift, you tell Rouge what you’d overheard over drinks with the sheriff and work to piece together a map of the grounds.

The map is nearing completion now. Just in time, as only a few days remain until the dawn of the expo. You and Rouge are working overtime now. The wall is covered with a giant map that’s just pieces of paper taped together. Rouge tears it down and carries it with her before the housekeepers arrive to clean your room every morning, and puts it back up every night. It’s tedious work, but anything to avoid drawing attention to the second thief you smuggled in is worth the effort.

The night before the big day comes. Tension hangs in the air as the town sleeps. It’s silent, but it’s soon broken by a rustle in the bushes. Sly green eyes peek through the foliage and a large white ear swivels around, listening for any sign of activity.

“All clear,” whispers Rouge. “Let’s move in and scram before these poor souls know what hit ‘em.”

A second rustle follows as you cast a glance around.

“You know the drill,” she says as you shake leaves off yourself. “I swoop in and steal the goods. You keep an eye out and once I’m done, we disappear into the night. The town wakes up the next morning and bam! Nothing but empty display cases.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you mutter as you move out, back pressed to the wall as you turn corners and avoid the men on patrol. You have their schedule memorized by now. Their shift should be winding down soon. There’s a five minute period in between when the first shift exchanges information with the next, and that’s when you two will act. There’s a lot being showcased, but you aren’t stealing everything. No, you’re only stealing the most valuable of them all.

The foreman whistles and calls all the men over. It’s showtime. The clock starts… now!

Rouge takes to the skies, following you as you dart between tents. The mental map you pieced together through days of research and eavesdropping unfurls in your mind as you guide Rouge to where the most valuable items are being stored. You stand guard near the entrance as she makes quick work of each desired exhibit, leaving no trace behind, before moving onto the next. As she does, you mentally cross off the ones you’ve raided as you go.

The southwest section has been cleared. We’re almost done with the northernmost part as well. Our horses are waiting for us on the western edge of the grounds. It’s a clear shot to them if we hit up the center next–

A shadow is cast against the wall as the door is flung open with a loud bang. The two of you freeze in your tracks. Rouge is hunched over a display case in the corner, partially hidden, but you’re completely exposed, bathed in moonlight as you stand frozen. This shouldn’t be happening. Not yet at least. There’s still at least another two minutes before the next shift takes over.

You recognize the silhouette first, much to your growing horror. Sharp quills, wide-brimmed hat, lasso and revolver already in hand–

“Run for it!”

Rouge grabs your arm and takes to the skies, wings beating furiously and valuables in the other hand. You’re barely airborne when the end of the lasso shoots out and wraps itself around your ankle with expert precision and yanks you free of her grip with a quick tug. You hit the ground hard, the air getting knocked out of your lungs and you lie there, stunned. It’s precious time being wasted, and you fight against the disorienting pain to get back on your feet. Rouge gasps and nosedives toward the ground, racing against the clock and his lighting-quick reflexes, when a sharp gunshot forces her to dodge and drop the valuables. Another gunshot forces her back to the skies before she can even think to retrieve them. She casts one last look at you over her shoulder in the few seconds she has as he reloads, worry evident in her eyes even though the world is hazy. You nod at her. She attempts to swipe the valuables she dropped but he reloads faster than expected. A third gunshot forces her to cut her losses and retreat. The dust settles and the clearing goes quiet, as if the struggle that just happened never even occurred. The pain in your head and your vision begins to clear up just enough for you to see the sheriff making his way toward you slowly, lazily, as if he has all the time in the world for what’s in store for you.

Now just a few feet away from you, Sonic tightens the lasso around his wrist, giving it a sharp twist and tightening the rope bound around your body just enough to make you gasp.

“Tried to pull a fast one on me, didn’t ya? You’ve got guts, playin’ with the fastest thing alive like that.” He drags you forward with another tug on the rope. The plain, unassuming clothes you wore for the getaway are scuffed and covered in a light layer of dirt now. You dig the heels of your boots into the ground, trying to resist, and he laughs.

“Well, sorry to disappoint, darlin’, but I was never fooled. Not even for a moment.”

You look up at him from your humiliating position on the ground.

“What gave it away?” you wheeze. Even stringing the words together in your mind is starting to become taxing.

Sonic makes a show of thinking hard.

“Hmm, oh I dunno… maybe it was the scent of trouble that followed your pretty ass everywhere you went? Or housekeeping reporting signs of a second person staying in your room when you claimed you were by yourself back at my office? Or maybe it was the way you kept digging for more information, using your body as a distraction? Don’t think I didn’t recognize your tactic. Do I need to go on?”

This is humiliating. Did he see through your plan a mile away? Your face burns at the thought and you look away, fixating on a cactus in the distance. He takes your silence as an invitation and presses further.

“Hedgehogs have better hearing than most assume. Don’t think I didn’t hear the rustling outside my office late at night, which just so happened to be every time I received a telegraph from the feds. Could smell your perfume and the scent of the saloon drifting along the sweet evening breeze too.”

“So you were playing along this entire time?”

He chuckles lowly and nods.

“Y’know, you almost had me a few times. Could’ve fooled myself into believing you were just a pretty face with a penchant for stirrin’ up trouble, until I heard somethin’... interesting the other day.”

He licks his lips as he stares down at you accusingly.

“Caught wind of two bandits who hadn’t been seen in a while over the telegraph, one of them being a jewel thief while the other a master of disguise. The whole thing wasn’t sittin’ right with me, so I did some research and whaddya know. Both of ‘em were hiding in plain sight under my nose all along. I dunno whether to be impressed in your skills or disappointed in myself. You do live up to your master of disguise reputation, but that all ends here.”

“Rou–!”

The rope digs further into your ribs and you cough up a sharp gasp.

“Ah-ah-ah. None of that is happenin’ on my watch.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” you wheeze, lungs begging for air. He raises a brow.

“Oh really? You’re callin’ this punishment.”

A dark chuckle escapes him.

“Well, darlin’, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you haven’t seen the worst of it yet.”

The rope loosens slightly around your body and you gasp, lungs greedily sucking in air, but that sweet relief doesn’t last long, as the world turns upside down and a strangled gasp escapes you. He hoists you up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, laughing at the way you stiffen up. Your strangled gasp morphs into a snarl ripping low in your throat and you thrash about like an unruly stallion despite being hogtied, no different than a pig ready for slaughter, and kicking and spitting all the way. Sonic huffs and sharply smacks your ass, grinning widely when you yelp at the stinging pain that fades just as quickly as it came.

“Quit actin’ up, and I might let you off with only a slap on the wrist,” he growls. You go still at his threat, just long enough to delude yourself into a sense of security when he smacks your ass again, this time squeezing the soft flesh.

“Just kiddin’.”

He kicks the door to his office shut with a loud bang, not even bothering to light the lamps as he makes his way to the corner of the room. A door creaks open and cold realization washes over you as you make out faint, yet recognizable shapes in the dark: a guitar propped against the wall, an unmade bed; sheets mussed and blanket half-pooled on the floor– oh no.

“Wait, I–!”

The springs in the bed groan as you’re tossed upon it. You barely have a moment to fight back before he climbs atop you, boots half-off and hat tossed carelessly over his shoulder into some corner. In the dark room, you make out the electric glint of his eyes, clouded with lust, as he bites his gloves off, tossing them to the side to accompany his likewise forgotten hat. Now-bare hands squeeze your wrists tightly and his knee wedges itself between your legs, forcing them apart and pressing himself up against your growing need. A shaky breath is the only warning you get before his mouth descends upon yours, swallowing up any protests with a greedy, open mouthed kiss. The taste of whiskey lingers on his tongue as he pushes his way into your mouth, tearing an involuntary moan from you. A hand reaches up to fist his quills and he all but groans at the sensation of you tugging him closer, tongue swirling against yours and sharp teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he tries (and fails) to contain himself.

“You’re— mmph— the embodiment of sin,” he groans between kisses trailing down your neck, nipping and sucking at the flesh to leave a bruising claim behind. “And you look and taste like it too.”

A thin trail of saliva connects your lips when he pulls away, deeply gasping and eyes glazed over. His ears are pricked forward, chasing the sounds of your breathless pleasure, and dusted a deep pink at the tips.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted this for,” he breathes out. “And now that I finally have you within my grasp, I hardly know where to start.”

His lips descend upon you again, this time more ravenous, if even possible. What little he’s wearing comes off in a flash. The red neckerchief falls to sheets with a flutter, revealing a flush the same color and intensity crawling down his neck. His boots are finally fully kicked off, landing with a thump somewhere. He all but tears his shirt off, too impatient to bother with the buttons and sweltering beneath his fur, and lets it pool around his legs as he struggles with the leather chaps until they too finally slide off. His belt hits the mattress and bounces off, landing on the floor– but the lasso, however, is put to a better use. One end is skillfully looped and knotted around your wrists, binding them together, while the other end is secured to the bedpost.

“There,” he says smugly. “Can’t run away now, can ya? Not like you’d be able to outrun me anyway.”

Unable to fight off his touch now, he makes quick work of undressing you, already desperate to feel you wrapped around him like a vice. Your dress is yanked off you, pooling at your ankles and already forgotten about as his eyes drink you in. His pupils are blown so wide they resemble black holes, greedily swallowing you whole as they linger on the swell of your breasts and the mouth-watering scent of your arousal that makes him drool.

An embarrassing moan escapes your lips as two fingers slip into you, pushing far deeper than yours ever could. They curl up, hitting that spongy spot in the back that makes you buck beneath him and bite your lip so hard it bleeds. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His tongue darts out to lap away at the blood, grinning at your scandalized expression, but scowling when you nip at him, jerking away just in time before your teeth nick him.

“Naughty,” he chides, adding a third finger inside you. “I thought Madame Vanilla would’ve drilled manners into you by now. Guess no amount of teaching can hammer out what you really are deep inside.”

Your walls burn pleasurably at the stretch and just when you think you can’t take anymore– his other hand reaches down to harshly pinch your clit. A half-strangled sound of pleasure escapes you and he hums at the sound, trailing kisses down to your neck before lightly biting above your throat.

His thumb presses into the sensitive nub and you think you see stars in that moment, body twitching and a noise no other man has managed to tear from you escaping your lungs. Your walls spasm around his fingers knuckle-deep inside you and he grins into your neck at the way your pussy clamps down on him like a vice. With some effort, he pulls his fingers out as you come down from your high, the wet squelch far too loud in the silent room, and eagerly laps at your juices dripping down his wrist.

“Sweet,” he purrs. “But I bet you’ll taste sweeter once I give ya what you want, hm?”

A hint of red peeking through the soft blue fur draws your attention. Though he tries to act cool, his body betrays his growing desperation. He’s already painfully hard, the tip angry and leaking with each twitch. His whole body shudders as the cool evening air washes over him, desperate for any relief to the need itching beneath his fur. You have half a mind to tease him about it when he lifts you up effortlessly, hands cupped beneath your tits, and pulls you onto his lap, legs straddling his hips and thighs parted. The tip of his cock brushes against your dripping cunt and you shudder. With your wrists still bound behind your back, you’re unable to resist. Somehow, it turns you on and you don’t exactly hate it.

“Safe word is chili dog,” he mumbles and you’re about to ask what the hell is a chili dog when he slides himself between your folds. The stretch burns deliciously and more fiercely than all the other men you’ve slept with in the past. Your head rolls back and a loud cry escapes you. Just the tip alone eclipses the stretch his fingers provided, splitting you apart to the point of feeling light-headed. His head sinks into your pillowy soft breasts, muffling his groan as your pussy greedily sucks him in and hugs him snugly.

“F… Fuck,” he hisses, cock sinking forward bit by bit. “You feel… incredible.”

A shudder runs up his spine and his hips stutter violently. He has to resist the urge to bottom out immediately and instead, lowers you down slowly until he’s finally, finally, buried to the hilt inside you. The torturous feeling of edging himself, and you, is replaced with sweet relief and a drawn-out moan from both of you. Nothing, nothing, could compare to the mind-numbing pleasure of you wrapped around him, especially not the nights he spent with his fist around his cock and imagining it was you instead. Your sweet perfume clouds his senses in the way it always has, but this time he’s not getting off to your scent alone. He finally has the real thing in his hands.

“Go on. Give me a show for my troubles.”

Cowgirl. So he likes it when a girl takes control, at least every now and then. It’s always a delight when you come across a man like this. Your hands press into his thighs as you raise and sink your hips down in a circular motion, sighing in tandem with his stifled hiss as his hips buck upwards. His head tilts back and he groans, hands squeezing your hips even more forcefully as he hisses out curses over how good you are at this.

“Who the hell… taught ya how to… ride like that?”

“Men like you, Sheriff,” you pant out, chest heaving in time with each nasty squelch of your pussy taking him up to the hilt.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” he growls, spanking your ass for your cheekiness.

“Men that like their woman to hold the reins every now and then, Sheriff.”

You swear you see his eye twitch, but a particularly loud groan escapes his mouth as you clamp down around him.

This is nice, but he needs more. His hands squeeze your hips, still panting feverishly, and he lifts you off him despite every nerve in his body screaming at him not to. A wet pop fills the air and your pussy flutters around nothing, drooling onto his thighs and already craving him again. At the sight and smell of your arousal, he all but salivates and his pupils expand so much there’s hardly any green visible. His tongue darts out to lick away a drop at the corner of his mouth before you can see and tease him about it. Even a few seconds without you wrapped around him feels like torture and all other needs die out until the only one left is the need to have you.

He lives up to his famous speed, acting so fast all you feel is the thump of your back hitting the bed as he folds you in half like a pretzel, legs going behind your ears, and slamming his hips against yours without missing a beat. A half-moan, half-scream tears its way from your throat; in this position, you can feel him deeper than before and hitting spots you didn’t think were possible.

“Screamin’ so loud the entire town can hear,” he growls, squeezing your waist tighter. Claws dig into your skin and draw pinpricks of blood. “Almost makes me think you’re into that.”

You involuntarily clench around him and he grins.

“So you are. Didn’t take ya for the kinky type, but I’m not complainin’.”

His callused hand roughly squeezes your breast as he angles his hips to thrust into you deeper. Your legs hook over his shoulders, toes flexing and curling in a pleasure that’s almost unbearable. The headboard hits the wall with rhythmic thumps that match the tight, accelerating beating of your heart.

“Go on then,” he growls into your ear. “Scream as loud as you want. It’ll at least tell the men in town to keep their hands off of ya.”

What little restraint you had left dies out at his command. You turn your head and bury your face into the pillows and scream his name out, broken up by choked moans. He grunts, displeased, and yanks the pillow out of your grasp, punishing you further with a quick slap to the ass. You gasp, eyes rolling back at the delicious sting that blooms across the skin. The sound is music to his sensitive ears and he needs more of it. One hand loops around your hair and tugs on it like the reins on a horse. You arch your back further and he rewards your actions with a particularly deep thrust, so deep you can feel it in your chest.

He grins when you convulse beneath him, giving a strangled cry of his name and clamping down so tightly he feels like he’s about to pass out. His head spins from delirious pleasure as he presses his forehead to yours to try and ground himself.

“Can’t last… much longer,” he pants, voice cracking. The words barely make it out before he’s groaning, spilling deep into you and trembling; too far gone to think about the possible consequences and not really caring anyway. Thick warmth floods your gut and you weakly twitch, lacking the energy to even whimper now. He pulls out and collapses on top of you a few seconds later. Heat clouds his gaze and forms low in his gut again at the sight of the creamy ring around his base from your combined releases. But he forces it back down. You’re warmer than the rush of alcohol beneath him and smell much nicer too. With a shaky exhale as he tugs you closer, he finally falls asleep.

It feels like you’ve been kicked and run over by your horse and Rouge’s at the same time the next morning. Your entire body is sore, especially between your thighs, and it’s a struggle to even roll over in bed.

“Rise ‘n shine, darlin’!” calls out Sonic, far too loud and cheery for the hour. “Expo starts in an hour. Dontcha wanna be there?”

A cup of coffee is set on the nightstand beside you. Your nose twitches at the smell, but you grunt, refusing to get up. He laughs and lies back down beside you, ruffling your hair.

“Well, good mornin’ to you too, sleepyhead. Slept well?”

A kiss is pressed to the side of your head as he yanks the covers off you with a flourish. You melt into the sheets at the touch, too tired to even feel embarrassed at your naked form completely on display to his greedy eyes. Something smooth and silky is tossed over you and with a brush of your fingers, you realize it’s one of your dresses.

“Found this on mah doorstep this mornin’. You’re lucky that partner of yours had the foresight to leave a gift to save your dignity.”

Rouge. Now that he knows the existence of her, your plan has basically fallen apart. For some reason, you’re not as distraught about it as you normally would be.

After a quick breakfast, the sheriff takes pity on you and gives you a ride on his horse to the venue, but not without a teasing slap to your ass as you disembark, and right over a particularly sore spot at that. You got a prime spot towards the front of the crowd, with the obscured podium in front of you. Sonic steps out on stage to the thunderous applause of all, waving and welcoming everyone. As he goes through the script of thanking the attendees and sponsors, his eyes keep drifting down to yours. Your eyes narrow and you impatiently tap your foot. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s trying to blow his cover, like how he blew yours and Rouge’s.

“And now… for the star of the show!”

The white cloth is lifted with a flourish. Everyone gasps, but not out of awe, no– out of shock.

The two Chaos Emeralds are missing.

Disbelieving whispers fill the space and suddenly, Sonic’s promise of guaranteeing the safety of the expo doesn’t feel so airtight anymore. His eyes meet yours in the crowd and for once, you’re both thinking the same thing– how?

Rouge has silently snuck up on you while you were distracted. You turn to her, who’s equally as stunned. She shakes her head slowly, eyes wide and disbelieving as she holds her hands up, as if to say see? I don’t have them either. She must’ve never been able to retrieve them after being forced to flee last night– wait.

You both freeze as you come to the same conclusion. Assuming those were the real Chaos Emeralds that you stole and not decoys, then someone must’ve swiped them out from underneath your noses. Someone clever enough to evade Rouge’s keen senses and best her at her own game, and with enough foresight to cover their tracks. And someone that’s clearly been watching your every move too, if they were able to rob them in the brief period of time they left Rouge’s clutches.

So if not you two… then who did it?

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