#untacked

[horsefriends]

Horses Playing in the Snow by Sheila Swayze (x x)

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: fluffy, domestic grumpy Joel drabble—he finds you after a trail ride with Ellie, acting all huffy like you were gone for days instead of a few hours. But for all his grumbling, he can’t seem to keep his hands off you, sneaking in every touch he can while you untack your horse.

I had this dream last night and after getting done with my morning shift at the barn (yes im a tried and true horse girl) I had to get home to write it asap. I really hope you guys don't mind my random stream of consciousness fluff ideas because I don't plan on stopping

The sun was dipping behind the mountains when you and Ellie rode back into Jackson, the warm glow stretching long shadows across the main road. The ride had been good—brisk air, the scent of pine, the rhythmic drum of hooves against the dirt. Ellie had been chatty, as always, rambling about how she totally could’ve shot that deer quicker if you’d just let her.

You laughed, nudging your horse forward as the gates swung open, and right there—like he had been waiting, though he’d never admit it—was Joel.

His arms were crossed, his mouth set in that usual line of perpetual disapproval, but the second his eyes landed on you, something softened. It was quick, a flash of warmth before he scowled at Ellie instead. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

Ellie huffed as she swung off her horse. “We weren’t exactly in a hurry, old man.”

“Obviously,” he muttered, though his gaze flicked back to you, sweeping over you like he was checking for any sign of trouble.

You grinned as you slid off your horse, your boots hitting the ground. Before you could even brush the dust off your pants, Joel was there, his hands bracketing your waist as he pulled you in. His lips pressed firm against yours, warm, familiar, and entirely unapologetic despite the fact that Ellie was loudly gagging in the background.

“Oh my God, can you guys not?” she groaned, dragging her horse toward the stables.

Joel ignored her, his thumb tracing along your cheek as he reluctantly pulled away, his voice gruff but low just for you. “Go get cleaned up. I got the horse.”

You tilted your head at him with a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “I'm perfectly capable to untack my own horse,”

Joel exhaled through his nose, already shaking his head. “Never said you weren't.”

“But I want to.” You met his gaze, steady and unwavering, knowing exactly how this would go.

He held your stare, jaw ticking, that stubborn streak flaring like he was about to tell you to get your ass home. But you saw it—the way his resolve crumbled almost immediately. Joel never really fought you on anything, not when you looked at him like that, not when he’d do just about anything to make you happy.

With a sigh, he muttered, “Stubborn woman,” before stepping back and nodding toward the stable. “Fine. But you brush 'em down. My back ain't gonna put up with that tonight.”

You beamed, looping your arm through his as you led your horse inside, and though he grumbled about how he was too old for this, you saw the way his fingers lingered against yours, like he had missed you the entire time you were gone.

The scent of hay and leather wrapped around you like something familiar and safe as you entered the stables with your horse in tow. Ellie was already tending to Shimmer, loudly talking about how next time she’d take you to a cool spot by the creek she found, but you weren’t paying her much mind. Joel was right behind you, keeping close, as if he still wasn’t convinced you’d made it back in one piece.

You pulled your saddle off and hoisted it over the railing, rolling your shoulders to ease the weight. Joel moved beside you, unclipping the bridle from your horse, his touch careful as he slipped the worn leather over her ears. “Good boy,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a rough palm against the gelding’s neck. His hand brushed against yours as he stepped past, slow and deliberate, like he was making sure you felt it.

It was such a small touch, but it sent warmth curling up your spine.

“You do the brushin',” he murmured, voice low beside you. “I’ll put this away.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Delegating, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Gotta keep you in line somehow.”

You shot him an unimpressed look. “Oh, that’s what this is? You think you’re in charge?”

Joel gave a low huff, shaking his head as he passed behind you, his hand dragging slow along your waist. “Ain’t no thinkin’ about it, sweetheart.”

You smirked, brushing your horse with a little extra purpose. “Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that, Miller.”

That earned you a sharp look, but it didn’t have a single ounce of bite. He moved past you, close enough that his palm landed at your lower back, just for a moment, a quick press of warmth before he was gone. Always touching, always making sure you were there, close enough to reach.

You picked up the brush and started working through your horse’s coat, sweeping in long, even strokes while it grazed on its hay. Joel returned a moment later, settling in the stall, already working the leather cleaner into the seat of the saddle on the railing. But every time you passed near him—every time you shifted to reach another spot—his hands found you. A steadying palm on your hip. A slow drag along the small of your back. Fingers curling at your elbow, thumb smoothing over the inside of your wrist. You wondered if he was even trying to help or just wanted to stare.

“Y’know,” you mused, keeping your tone casual even as heat bloomed under every touch, “you could help.”

“I am helpin’,” he said, completely serious. “Cleanin' yer damn tack. Supervisin’.”

You shot him a look. “Uh-huh.”

Joel exhaled a slow breath, like you were really putting him through it, and finally relented. He stepped behind you, so close his chest pressed against your back as he reached around you to grab another brush. Instead of moving away, he stayed there, caging you in with warm, steady hands.

“Like this,” he murmured, guiding your hand with his own, their weight pressing down together against the horse’s coat.

You swallowed hard, heart knocking against your ribs. “You think I don’t know how to brush a horse, Miller?”

He smirked, his breath warm against the side of your face. “Just makin’ sure.”

You scoffed, but your voice came out softer than you meant it to. He was teasing you, but you could feel the way he lingered, the way he soaked up every second of being this close, like he’d been waiting for it.

Ellie made a disgusted noise from across the aisle. “Are you guys seriously flirting while brushing a horse?”

Joel barely even glanced her way. “Go home, Ellie.”

She groaned, muttering something about old people being gross as she grabbed her stuff and left. But you barely noticed. Joel’s hand was still over yours, fingers brushing slow circles into your skin, like he had no intention of letting go.

“You miss me that much?” you teased, leaning into him just a little.

Joel grunted, pressing a kiss against the top of your head before stepping away to put the brush back. “Every damn minute.”

Your stomach flipped at that, at the gruff honesty of it, no hesitation in his voice. You watched as he opened the stall door, letting your horse into the pasture for the night, his movements slow, easy—so at home here, so at home with you.

When he turned back, his hand slipped around your waist, pulling you gently from the stall. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Let’s go eat.”

You exhaled with a smile, warmth curling through your chest. “Fine. I’m starved.” You hesitated for just a second, then reached for his hand, fingers slotting between his as you squeezed. “And, Joel?”

He glanced down at you, his grip instinctively tightening. “Yeah?”

Your smile turned softer, quieter. “I missed you too.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but his hand slid from your waist up to the back of your neck, tilting your face up to lean into you. He kissed you slow, deliberate—like it wasn’t enough to just hear it, like he needed you to feel it. Needed to remind you, in the only way he really knew how, just how much you meant to him.

Joel Miller was never a man of many words, but the way he held you, the way he kissed you in moments like this...it said more than words ever could.

[0mg-bird]

Caught In The Rain ~ Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your date with Tyler gets spoiled when a storm rolls in, but there’s an upside to getting caught in the rain.

Warnings: Smut! And cursing

This was only your second date, but Tyler has been pining for you for a while. Sitting in the same booth in your section, he’d order the same thing and hang around the diner where you worked for too long. At first, you wanted nothing to do with his conceited energy, but after you finally got to know him a little better, you came around to the idea of having dinner with him.

The first date went well, the night was fun and romantic, and now as he picks you up to spend the day on his family property, you imagine it will be the same. He had everything planned, it would just be the two of you. You’d have lunch on the deck, you’d go horseback riding down to the creek and maybe have a few drinks.

So far, everything was going perfectly, it wasn’t until the two of you sat on the creek bed that trouble started to arise.

Tyler sat with his back against a tree, you laid between his long legs with your back to his chest. The two of you drank your beers while he told you a story from his bull riding days.

“I hit the mud pretty hard, I honestly thought I broke my back.” He said, letting his fingers brush through your hair.

A shiver ran through you at the intimate touch. “Wow, you have to be some kind of crazy in order to willingly get on an animal who wants to stomp you into the ground.” You say, trying not to focus on the heat flushing through you.

Tyler chuckles, the shake of his chest vibrates you. “You aren’t the first person to tell me that. My mama thought that when I gave up rodeo, she’d finally not have to worry about me, but then I told her I was gonna be a storm chaser and she about had a heart attack.”

You laugh as you bring the can to your lips, about to tell him something when the rumble of thunder in the distance catches your attention. The two of you look up to the once clear sky to see the way dark clouds roll in.

“Well, Mr Weatherman, that doesn’t look good to me.” You say, making him sigh.

“No, it doesn’t.”

You stand, immediately he misses your touch. “I don’t have my degree in meteorology or anything but it looks like we better head back.”

He follows suit. “There goes the day I had planned.”

He can’t help but feel utterly disappointed as the first few drops of rain come. You look to him in guidance.

“I take it you didn’t have ‘rain soaked evening’ on your list, huh?”

He shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t exactly on my agenda.” Then, he urges the horse he was on to go a little faster. “Let’s go before we melt out here.”

Despite the two of you racing each other back to the barn, by the time you got there, the light drizzle had become a full on downpour. The two of you quickly untack the horses and put them back in their stalls. You stand at the large barn door and look at each other.

“Ready?” He asks you, taking in the way your wet hair falls in a perfectly messy way.

You bite your lip, then nod. “I’m ready when you are.”

He slowly reaches to grasp your hand, a spark goes through him as he sees the way it fits in his. “Alright, let’s hope we don’t drown on the way back to the house.”

You laugh, then tug him along with you as you brave the storm. Cold and thick water droplets pummel the two of you as you race back to shelter, thunder claps, making you shake in surprise. You can’t stop your giggle as you become soaked to the bone, Tyler quickly pulls open the screen door and urges you inside.

You shiver, dripping onto the hardwood floors. “That was brutal.” You say as your teeth chatter.

He pulls you into his arms, embracing you. “Jesus, you’re freezing, sweetheart.”

You nod feverishly, laying your head against his chest. “I feel you shaking too, cowboy, you aren’t fooling me.”

He pulls away, only to guide you up the stairs.

“Tyler, we’re dripping water everywhere.” You fuss.

“I’ll clean it up later, c’mon.”

In his bathroom, he hands you a fluffy towel. You take it gratefully and soak up the water caught in your hair. Your cheeks are flushed and you’re slightly out of breath still, too focused on drying your skin to notice the way Tyler is looking at you.

As he runs his own towel over his head, he takes in your form. Still shaking, eyes wide, clothes soggy, you look absolutely beautiful.

“I’m sorry the night’s ruined.” He tells you, making you look up at him finally.

His white t shirt is practically transparent now and it clings to his upper body deliciously. His hair looks darker and it lays against his forehead.

“The night isn’t ruined, I had a great time.” You smile.

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, staring deeply at each other before Tyler clears his throat. “You can let your boots dry in here.” He says, kicking off his own boots.

“Oh.” You blush at the way he moves past the moment so quickly. “Thanks.”

Once you’re out of your soggy shoes, he brings you into his bedroom as he searches for some clothes you can wear. The large window is covered in rain and flashes of lightning light up the room every once in a while.

“Here you go, you’ll warm up once you’re out of your wet stuff.” He hands you one of his t shirts and a pair of boxers, you take them with gratitude.

“Thank you.”

You look at the clothes in your hand, then to him, then to the door. When he gets the hint, he scrambles. “Right, sorry, sorry.”

He leaves the room, you hide your smile as you slowly shut the door. Tyler stands, trying not to be too perverted but he can’t help himself, he watches through the crack the door left when you didn’t shut it all the way. You peel your soaked shirt off and drop it to the floor, then un button your jeans. As you pull them down your legs, he takes in a deep breath.

There you stood, half naked in his bedroom.

The sight of you sent a rush of attraction through his body, his skin buzzed. He sees you pick up the shirt, then pause.

You turn, facing the door before stopping.

You knew he was right there on the other side of it, looking utterly perfect. Would he reject you? Would he tell you it’s too soon?

Your chest pumps up and down as you try to talk yourself out of it, but you can’t. You stalk to the door, pulling it open and there he was, already looking at you.

Without a word, he’s embracing you, one hand on your cheek, the other on your bare waist as he bruises his lips onto yours. You breathe him in, pulling him closer as he backs you into the room.

Kissing him was something you can’t believe you ever missed out on. He meets your motions perfectly, tilting his head to slot his mouth with yours. You groan, hands pulling at his wet t shirt. He pulls back, letting you take it off.

“Do you want this?” He asks, watching you look over his toned upper body.

You meet his starving eyes and nod. “I do.”

Immediately, he pulls his belt loose and unzips his jeans. You pull him back to you, lightly gasping as the backs of your knees hit the edge of his bed. With light pressure, he pushes you to sit. Your greedy hands tug his jeans down his thighs, you continue to shake as you stare at him in just a pair of boxers.

“Are you shaking cause of the rain or because of me?” He asks, his hand burying in your hair.

“Both.” You look up at him with round eyes.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “We don’t have to.”

“No.” You shake your head. “I want it, Ty. I’m just a little…nervous.”

His brows furrow. “I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Looking down at you, asking for him, it makes his brain short circuit. He leans down, hands on either side of you, pressed into his mattress, his body movement urges you to scoot up the bed before he’s laying you flat. Hands in his hair, you get lost in the feeling of his tongue pressing against yours. Your eyes are heavy, but as he separates your thighs and slots himself between them, you’re on high alert.

Your knees cage his hips in, when he deepens the kiss further, you can feel the brush of his hard on against the growing heat between your legs. You lightly gasp, you didn’t want to admit it but the feel of him was intimidating.

Tyler pulls away, staring down at you with deep eyes. “I’m kind of grateful for the rain now, I wouldn’t have been able to get this close without it.” He says in a heavy tone. You sit up just a touch so he can unclasp your bra, then he’s pulling it off to join the other soggy clothes on the floor.

“How do you know that it’s all the rains fault?” You question, trying to sound coy but as his large hand palms your breast, your voice wavers and you fall back against the pillows.

Tyler grins at the reaction. “Would you have let me touch you like this if it had turned out to be a calm evening?” His mouth takes a moment to work down your neck.

“I’m sure the storm helps.” You groan, a strike of lightning illuminating the shape of him.

You watch his head as he dips to kiss over your breasts, hot and open mouthed kisses that have your skin aflame. He trails down your stomach, kissing just below your naval as he pulls at the lace of your underwear. He looks up at you, making sure what he’s doing is okay before he does it.

You watch his back flex, the low light painting him in such an artistic way. You squirm with anticipation, and when his fingers collect the arousal of your core, you can’t help but whimper. He curls his two fingers up your center, swiping perfectly at the bundle of nerves that longs for affection.

“Do you like this?” He asks, slowly pressing into your entrance.

“Yes.” You shutter. Clenching around his fingers, you can feel precisely the way he pumps his pointer and middle finger in and out of you, slowly at first. The action has you taking shallow breaths. “Don’t act like you’re going to break me.” You say, digging your heels into the mattress. “Show me what you want to do, Ty.”

He looks at you, searching your face for any doubt before curling his fingers with no warning. The noise you let out is shrewd and entirely a whine. He’s addicted, figuring out that he wants you to keep making those sounds. He does it again, hitting a perfect spot inside of you that makes you feel warm and your stomach fuzzy.

You grasp onto his wrist, keeping his hand in the position it’s in. “Keep doing it, it feels so good.”

Your eyes shut, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, making your moans come out muffled.

“Is it this easy for you to get unwound? Just a couple minutes of my fingers inside of you and you already want to cum?” He asks, leaning down to your ear. “I could listen to you pant all day, I wonder what it’ll sound like when I’m fully inside of you?”

His filthy words put an image in your head and immediately, there’s a knot forming in your stomach.

A loud clap of thunder echos around you, rumbling the room and you yelp at the shock of it, your hand grasps the back of his neck and your head turns to watch the window.

“Shhh, don’t be scared, pretty girl. Focus on me instead, how good my fingers are fucking you.” He coos to you, lightly kissing your temple and your cheek.

The mewls and moans are getting closer and heavier as you feel your peak form. When he pulls his soaked fingers from you, you don’t even have time to process before he’s focusing back on your clit.

Slow and with tasteful pressure, he runs the pads of his fingers in a circle over you. His mouth waters at the sight, it has him considering if the second date is too early to pin your hips down as he eats you out. He wants to see the look on your face as you drip down his chin, wants to fight for air as your thighs suffocate him.

That’ll have to come later because your chest heaves up and down and you dig your head into the pillow. “Tyler, wait, I’m going to finish.” You warn.

“Good, I want you to. C’mon, cum for me, show me how good this is making you feel.”

Your mouth hangs open. “So good, you’re making me feel so, so good.”

Fingers digging into the sheets, you feel your body clench, then his name is falling from your lips as relief floods you. Tyler watches in awe, seeing the glow you have as you whimper, processing the pleasure you just went through.

“You did so good.” He praises, kissing your lips. “You warming up now?”

You nod. “Trust me, I’m warm.”

He chuckles, pulling your thighs forward to close any space between your dripping center and his boxers. Cautiously, he pulls the material down, a wet spot already on them from the precum that dripped from him. He sees the way your eyes widen, then he feels your warm grip on him as you stroke him up and down. The touch of your palm against his erected length makes his vision blurry for a moment.

“Make me yours, Ty.” You beg, eyes wide and still blown from the orgasm you just went through.

He groans, getting lost in the chills of pleasure. When he gains his composure, he’s pulling your grip from him and kissing you in a sweltering heat. You moan into his mouth.

“I’ll grab a condom.” He mutters, going to pull away.

You protest immediately. “No, I don’t want the condom. I’m on the pill, and I can trust you, right,” You say, desperate for his lips again.

“Of course you can, but are you sure?” He asks.

You nod, pulling him back towards you. “I want all of you, please.”

Your voice was so needy and it was just for him. Tyler nods, kissing your neck as he grips himself and guides to your entrance. At the first feeling of his tip brushing against your wetness, your thighs lock around his hips.

“Just breathe.” He coaches you, briefly looking at the storm outside before pushing his hips forward.

You lose your breath as he slowly enters your walls, he keeps going until he’s bottomed out and you feel the intrusion of him in an almost stinging way.

You groan, head falling back and you startle again at the thunder.

“Fuck, it feels so good.” Tyler states, slack jawed. He looks down at your expression. “You’re okay, take as long as you need, sweetheart.”

Your hands slide along his shoulders, you adjust and stretch around him perfectly. Swallowing thickly, you softly nod. “Okay, just start slow.”

He focuses on control, as he gently pulls out a few inches and lightly thrusts back in, your walls are welcoming him too well. It makes him feel intoxicated and it’s just getting started.

Your finger tips press into his skin, you slowly becoming more comfortable with the rhythm. Your little huffs tell Tyler you’re ready for more, so his hips adjust and he speeds up his movement.

“This is good, fuck, this is better than good.” You whine, hand slipping up into his hair.

“I’m trying not to cum too fast but you’re making it pretty hard, sweetheart.” He tells you before he hikes on of your legs up to wrap around his hips. You do the same with the other and at the slight change of position, you inhale sharply and grip his hair.

“Fuck, you’re so deep. Go harder, I want it.”

Your dirty words spin his mind dizzy, he does just what you say. Grunts leave him as he fucks into you, he kisses your sweet lips passionately. He wanted to give you it all, wanted to give you pleasure in any way you asked for it. The white lightening coming through the window paints your skin perfectly, as your chest heaves up off the mattress, he watches you like you’re in art form.

“You’re gorgeous.” He praises, sliding out of your dripping core.

Before you can protest or even miss him filling you up, he’s gripping your hip and instructing you to roll over. You hide your smirk, hungry for something new. You turn onto your stomach, then feel the way he pulls at your hips, pulling your ass up.

“You want it harder? Deeper? I’ll give it to you, darlin’. Whatever you want.” He says through bared teeth as he kneels behind you.

You gasp as he slips right back in, jerking into you.

The feeling of him deeply fucking you from behind is what has you heaving into the pillow. The change of angle is making your toes curl, he’s brushing against a spot inside of you that makes your skin feel hir, it starts a knot inside of you.

“You’re even gorgeous like this. Shit, I love the way you look, taking me so good.” He says, biting his bottom lip.

You turn, looking back at him as his big hands pull you back into him, trying to push you further to your downfall. The sounds the two of you make are crude and wet, you can barely even form sentences. Your breath quickens, your legs begin to wobble at the waves of pleasure crashing over you as he hits it perfectly and over and over. You haven’t been with many people, but by far, the way Tyler is making you feel is better than anything you’ve previously experienced. Your open mouthed moans are entirely whiny.

“I’m so close.” You hum out, gripping the pillow your face is pressed against to ground yourself.

Tyler curses behind you, suddenly burying himself deep inside you. “I’m right there too, sweetheart.” He huffs.

Your eyes screw shut, muscles contracting as the tip of your second orgasm comes. “Fuck, Tyler!” You cry, over stimulated by the way stutters in his movements and pushes deep inside of you.

His head falls back, you pulse around him as you finally reach your finish. Tyler grunts once more and moans as he finishes inside of you.

You let yourself collapse fully onto the bed, taking Tyler down with you. His weight is comforting on top of you as he catches his breath. After a moment, he slowly pushes off of you and slides out of you. You cry out quietly as pulls out.

“Shh, you’re alright.” He says, laying beside you.

He pushes your hair off your shoulder, then gently leans to kiss your warm skin. You turn onto your back, chest fluttering up and down. You gently reach to touch his face and smile wide.

“Kiss me.” You tell him.

“Yes ma’am.” He grins, closing the close proximity and gently kisses you, slow and sweet.

He tucks loose hair behind your ear and kisses your forehead when he pulls back. “I’ll be right back.”

You watch out the window, seeing the rain continue to fall. After a moment, Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel. You watch him with affection as he gently cleans the mess between your legs. He kisses your knee and then moves to pull his boxers back on.

Lying on his chest, your fingertips dance over his skin. “I’d say the rain made the date better.” You declare.

He lightly laughs. “Yeah, nothing ruined after all.”

[training4theapocalypse]

A Royal Misunderstanding (Prince Friedrich x f!Reader)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 7k

Warnings / Tags: SMUT, virgin Prince Friedrich and experienced(ish) reader, kinda switchy Prince F, unprotected sex (for the plot).

Summary: He's looking for the future Princess Consort. You're looking for a life out of the spotlight. It'd never work.

A/N: K and an E and a T and a T, E and an R and an ING. T and an O and a W, N. Kettering Town. F.C. Also thank you to my regency queens @stealsteels and @shinytalent for reading this 👑

Masterlist

There’s an unnecessary knock on the open stable door as you move to untack your mare. She needs a thorough brush after the ride you had today.

“You are the stable hand?” inquires a young man’s voice.

You whirl around, ready to deliver a sharp retort, but hesitate when you see his earnest, slightly incredulous expression. You’ve never encountered him before, you’re sure of it. His handsome face, tuft of blonde hair and wide-eyed demeanour would certainly have been memorable.

“I was told I would be meeting the stable hand here,” he continues, still uncertain. “To collect a horse.”

An accent. Foreign. He must be part of Prince Friedrich’s contingent, newly arrived from the Kingdom of Prussia this morning. And he must be exceedingly green to mistake you for a stable hand. Despite your riding breeches being muddied from your ride, any discerning footman would recognise that the fine tailoring is not typical of a servant's attire. Even one in the employ of the Crown. His own attire, however, is old-fashioned and ill-fitting - it bears all the marks of a hand-me-down from another household servant or perhaps an older family member.

You purse your lips to stifle a smile. The opportunity to toy with one of the charmingly naive lackeys from the Prussian delegation sparks your mischievous side. Besides, he’ll need to toughen up if he’s to survive in London. “Don’t they permit women to become stable hands in Prussia?”

He blinks. “No.”

“And this horse is for Prince Friedrich?”

“Yes.” He raises his eyebrows, as though it should be self-evident why he’s here. As if everyone should recognise Prince Friedrich’s footman. The man pulls his shoulder back and there’s a subtle hint of authority in his stance. You’re unsure if it’s the language barrier or his presumption, but his curt answers irk you.

“Very well, then,” you say, gently guiding your horse towards him. “This is Artemis. She’s the finest in the stable.”

“This is your finest horse?” He chuckles heartily and your mouth becomes a thin line and your nostrils flare. 

“Perhaps His Royal Highness would prefer a pony?”

He straightens, a haughty glint in his eye. “It’s covered in filth.”

“My lady is a keen rider and has already been out this morning. But if Prince Freidrich can’t handle a little dirt -”

“Of course, I can manage.”

You arch an eyebrow, his tone further irritating you. “If you say so,” you reply, handing him the reins.

As he mounts Artemis, you can’t help but decide to give him a parting gift. You give her a firm slap on her hindquarters. Artemis bolts forward, sending the young man bouncing precariously in the saddle. You watch with satisfaction as he disappears down the path, his shouts of alarm fading into the distance. 

Perhaps now he’ll think twice before assuming someone is a servant.

With a contented smile, you leave the stables, already brimming with excitement at the thought of telling your ladies-in-waiting about your encounter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As far as you’re concerned, there isn’t enough wide open space in London. Far too many locked doors and whispered secrets. Or worse. Written down secrets. Specifically, the sort published by Lady Whistledown.

You’d much rather be at home than endure another visit to the capital, but when Queen Charlotte invited you to stay at her residence for the duration of the social season, you could hardly refuse. Not when Her Majesty and your late father, the Duke of Kettering, were such dear friends.

You suspect this invitation to spend the season at the palace might be the Queen’s final attempt to honour your father’s memory — a final shove toward marriage disguised as royal kindness.

It was expected, of course, that you’d be eager to find a husband after his passing. On paper, it should have been simple enough — your inheritance is respectable, your manners usually passable, and you’ve been told you’re pretty when the lighting is kind.

But finding a suitor hasn’t been easy. You’re not asking for much. Not titles, not palaces. Just a man who’d let you ride in the mornings and not force you into evening waltzes with strangers. A man who wouldn’t mind if you preferred ledgers to lace, if you thought more about sheep prices than silks. A man who wouldn’t be marrying the house.

Because that’s the real issue, isn’t it? Kettering Hall — your home, your duty, your anchor — hangs over every introduction like a dowry with teeth. If you don’t marry before your next birthday, the estate passes to your father’s cousin, Lord Bertram. The Queen may host you out of fondness, but the law is colder.

And even if you do marry, the house becomes your husband’s. Your mother would be a guest in someone else’s drawing room — and you, a tenant in your own childhood.

No, it’s not just the ballrooms you dread. It’s everything they represent.

Yesterday, as you stepped into the centre of the palace ballroom, after waiting outside with the rest of the debutantes in white dresses for what felt like hours, your palms turned cold and you could feel your stomach turning inside out as you waited for the Queen to give her verdict. There’s an old saying: the brighter a lady shines, the faster she may burn. And you’d rather not find yourself turned to ash at the hands of the ton. 

You exhaled an audible sigh of relief when Her Majesty remained seated and deigned to give you a small nod of approval. Neither the diamond nor the disgrace of the season and you’re glad of it - it means fewer eyes on you. But even that short burst in the relatively dim limelight made you want to flee from the room and vomit. You put yourself through your paces in the saddle this morning just to shake off the lingering feeling of dread.

You should be grateful that the Queen did not wave you away dismissively. This is your second social season after all and your value is quickly plummeting. You just need a husband who is content to stay out of the spotlight. And is resigned to the fact that you’ll probably prefer your horse’s company to theirs. 

If only you really were a stable hand instead of the late Duke of Kettering’s daughter.

And now, as you mingle in Queen Charlotte’s banquet hall amongst other guests, waiting upon the arrival of Prince Freidrich, you feel a twinge of guilt about your encounter with his footman this morning. Perhaps after this welcome dinner, you’ll discreetly invite him to meet you in the stables as a gesture of apology.

The footman was handsome, after all, despite the blonde whiskers he must have grown in an attempt to appear more mature. You wouldn’t mind ruffling his perfectly coiffed hair before letting him bend you over the stable door.

Your companion jolts you from your daydream by squeezing your arm with her silk glove excitedly. You turn and smooth the front of your gown as Queen Charlotte and her nephew Prince Friedrich’s arrival is announced. 

The doors open and it takes every ounce of your self-control to maintain a dignified composure as Queen Charlotte walks in, arm-in-arm with Prince Friedrich’s footman.

Or the man who you thought was Prince Friedrich’s footman.

Damn.

Of course, you sent Prince Friedrich himself chasing across the palace grounds on the back of your startled mare.

While your face retains a dignified composure, you can’t do anything about the prickle of embarrassment flushing your chest. It’s only a matter of time before the Queen introduces Prince Freidrich to you and you will need to eat copious amounts of humble pie, slathered with grovelling apologies and dusted off with begging for forgiveness.

There’s no avoiding it. Even though tonight’s dinner isn’t an official event of the season - just a small dinner for the fifty or so palace guests and members of the Royal Family, Prince Friedrich is still introduced to every eligible woman in the room. Including you. 

Queen Charlotte, eventually steers him towards you. “Allow me to present my nephew, Prince Friedrich of Prussia.”

You curtsy and allow him to greet your gloved hand with a kiss but your stomach twists in anticipation, waiting for him to admonish you in front of the Queen.

“Lady Kettering, your gown - it is exquisite,” he says, in the usual formality. “And I hope your ride this morning was more pleasant than mine.”

You take a breath to compose your apology but you’re saved from the necessity.

“Yes, the Prince had a simply awful time this morning. First, his footman forgets to pack his riding wear so he has to borrow some from the Viscount of Paisley. And then a common girl posing as a stable hand gave Prince Friedrich your horse and sent him galloping across the plain.”

“I see,” you say cautiously but the corners of Prince Freidrich’s mouth twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. You ask, “And is my horse alright?”

Queen Charlotte laughs at this. “I should have known that you would be more concerned about your mount than the Prince of Prussia.”

You smile. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. It’s only that I’m confident a duplicitous stable girl was no match for His Royal Highness.”

“Your mare was returned safely,” smiles Prince Friedrich, a roguish glint in his eye.

Prince Friedrich bows and Queen Charlotte bustles him away onto the next group of eager girls. 

As you watch him greet the next group you wonder: why is the Prince of Prussia making excuses for you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the grand dining room, you search for your place setting at the far end of the table beside the other noble families from minor houses to no avail. They’ve missed me, you think in horror as you look around at the filled seats but one of your friends nudges you and nods at the empty seat next to Prince Friedrich. 

There must be some mistake. 

But when you glance at the Prince, still standing behind his chair expectantly at the middle of the table, he catches your eye and places a hand on the empty seat. 

Barely daring to breathe, you wonder if this is his way of getting back at you for the events of this morning. Perhaps he arranged for your table setting to go missing and you’ll be publicly humiliated when you dare to assume the seat next to him would be for you. 

You walk for what feels like a very long time to the other side of the table, feeling eyes on you as every step is like your shoes are made of lead. You do your best not to clench your fists as your face grows hot in anticipation of being embarrassed in front of everyone. 

Dipping your head, you refuse to look at Prince Friedrich and instead discreetly look at the place cards as you pass. The titles become increasingly grand as you approach the centre of the table until you reach the grandest of them all.

Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte.

His Royal Highness, Prince Friedrich.

Then you see your name. Etched in gold on eggshell paper. At the place setting beside Prince Friedrich’s.

You blink, feeling relief course through you. You’ve never sat this close to the Queen before. The centre of the table was reserved for distinguished guests like, well, Prince Friedrich.

“Lady Kettering, I hope you don’t mind me stealing you away from your usual dinner companions,” says Prince Friedrich, looking at your friends staring wide-eyed at you from the other end of the table.

“It’s my pleasure, Your Highness,” you say, giving them a sharp look. As the servers remove the cloches from the banquet before you, conversation erupts around the table, giving you the chance to swallow your pride. “And I do apologise for this morning,” you add quietly. “I had mistakenly assumed you were Prince Friedrich’s footman.”

“A footman?” He grins, and tilts his head, picturing himself as a footman before adding. “I too would like to apologise. I should never have assumed a beautiful woman such as yourself was a stable hand,” he says. 

“When did you come to the realisation that I wasn’t?”

“I knew your horse’s name. When I asked who owned her, I was told it was a lady who was as wild as the horses she keeps.” Your mouth twists into a reluctant smile. “Is that true?” he asks, his green eyes twinkling with interest.

“Oh no,” you smile, sipping your freshly poured wine, aware of his eyes following your every movement. “My horses are very well-behaved.”

He laughs. It’s a pretty laugh. “Can I assume that means you are looking forward to the season beginning?” He gives you a wry smile. His eyes are alight with enthusiasm as he waits for you to share in his excitement for the beginning of the social season. But there’s something else in his gaze, something more intimate.

You must put an end to this before he gets the wrong idea and you’re made a spectacle of. Prince Friedrich will be the most sought-after man of the season and you don’t want the attention that accompanies competing for his affections - to be thrust into the spotlight and have Lady Whistledown write about you would be more attention than you could bear. 

You glance around to see if anyone is listening before lowering your voice. “Your Highness - may I speak candidly?”

“Nothing would please me more,” he says sincerely, his tone softening.

“Why did you arrange for me to sit here?”

Prince Friedrich looks taken aback. “Well… after this morning, I knew I had to find out more about you.”

You nod sadly. This is what you were afraid of but you had expected it nonetheless.

“This is my second - and hopefully last - season. You see, I’m not used to being in the public eye and I find the social season to be entirely mortifying.”

“I see…” says Prince Friedrich slowly.

“You Highness, please don’t mistake me. I’m honoured to be in your presence but -”

“Lady Kettering -” Prince Friedrich lowers his voice. “You told me you would speak candidly. Please disperse with the airs and graces.”

You push your food around on your plate. It’s risky to speak so plainly to aristocracy. Their fragile egos normally demand a guarded formality. “I am sorry but the idea of competing with other women to become the Princess Consort of Prussia is more publicity than I can handle. I need to find a husband quickly. A marriage of convenience.”

“Convenience…” He nods thoughtfully. “I understand. A marriage to me would certainly draw attention.”

He’s not offended. Thank god. “Exactly, Your Highness. Being in the public eye. The scrutiny. It would be unbearable.”

“It is a pity,” he says quietly. “Because I’m sure a mutually convenient marriage would have its benefits.”

Mutually convenient? Your own inheritance pales in comparison to the riches that Prince Friedrich is heir to. What would he gain from marrying you?

You look up from your plate to see that he’s brazenly smirking at you. 

Oh. 

It’s undeniable this time. He’s flirting with you. You feel heat creeping up your neck and you know you must look feverish when his eyes roam across your corseted chest.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Your Highness,” you say, your whisper barely audible.

“I mean that sharing a marital bed would have its… advantages.” Prince Friedrich takes a sip of his wine, seemingly pleased that he’s made you flustered. Now, you can’t have that.

You glance over his shoulder to make sure Queen Charlotte is occupied. “I don’t need a husband to reap those sorts of advantages.”

When you say that, he slops half of his wine down his front in surprise. “You - you don’t?”

You arch an eyebrow. “You don’t have other companions for that sort of thing?” You pass him your napkin so he can clean himself up, your fingers grazing his knee under the table, making him inhale a sharp intake of breath. “You’re not worried about being unable to please your new wife?”

He stares straight ahead, momentarily stunned. Like he never realised sex was something you could be bad at. After a beat, he shakes his head. “It would not be prudent if people knew I was having - ”

“You mistake me. It is not my intention to get caught.”

Prince Friedrich sighs, a sad smile playing on his lips. “If only it were that simple. I’m surrounded by people. Always.”

The two of you sit quietly, allowing the servants to replace your empty plates with dessert. You can practically hear the cogs in the Prince’s head as his brain works overtime, trying to decide how to respond to this new information. Prince Friedrich takes a polite bite of chocolate cake and sits back.

“Once again, being the Queen’s nephew complicates things,” you say, sitting forward and sliding your fork through a sizable portion. “Don’t you have an appetite after your ride this morning, Your Highness?”

“I think the news that you do not wish me to court you has disappointed me so much that I never want to eat again,” he jokes half-heartedly before returning his focus entirely to you.

“If only we really were a stable hand and a footman - waiting until all the palace guests had gone to bed to meet in the stables after dark,” you say after eating the last bite of cake on your plate. 

Prince Friedrich swallows thickly and your eyes move from his Adam's apple to the almost untouched piece of cake on his plate.

“Are you - are you still hungry, my lady?” he asks.

You lean forward and steal a scoop of whipped cream from his plate with your fork. You eat the whipped cream and he watches with bated breath as you take several seconds longer than necessary to drag the polished silver fork from between your lips.

"I'm insatiable, Your Highness."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You scratch Artemis’s head in the dark stables, wondering if you’ve made a mistake in being here. Mostly you were interested to see if the sweet, naive Prince Friedrich would turn up. But you know how noblemen are. Their egos are so easy to bruise that an adverturess could scare them off simply by existing. 

Which is why you can scarcely believe it when there’s a knock at the closed stable door. You don’t breathe for a second before remembering that only Prince Freidrich would knock before entering a stable of all places.

He opens the door and for a moment is visibly relieved to see you. You stare at each other. The only sound is the soft rustling of the horses, that is until he closes the door behind him and moves to you with an agility that surprises you, considering how unstable he was on your horse earlier.  

If he had no appetite earlier, it has certainly returned now. Prince Friedrich has a hungry look in his eyes as he pulls you close by the waist and kisses you. You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting a clash of teeth but his kiss is passionate, even skilled. Your shoulders untense as you relax into it and slide your arms around his neck, allowing him to pull your body against his. Even through the many skirts under your evening gown, you can feel that he’s hard.

His tongue enters your mouth, licking and swirling it against yours - it’s surprisingly good. And he smells good. A beautiful sandalwood cologne that can only be from the finest perfumery.

You pull back breathlessly before you can allow the inebriating scent and feel of him to rid you of your senses. “Prince Friedrich, I -”

“Please, just Freidrich.”

“Friedrich.” Even with his permission the name feels strange in your mouth. “How much romantic experience do you have?”

“I’ve read books,” he says quickly and you press your lips together to stop laughing.

“You mean romance books? Like Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron?”

“No, I mean… instructional.”

“Instructions on how to fuck?” He nods and flushes a deep shade of pink at the question and this time you can’t help but laugh. “Remind me to spend time in the palace library in Prussia if I ever visit.” You study him. “I meant more… practical experience. It’s not the type of thing you can learn from a book.”

“I have a little experience.”

“Like what? Just kissing?” He hesitates and you move your hand down between your bodies and brush his hard cock through his trousers. “Or has anyone ever touched you like this before?”

Friedrich swallows. “Before now, you mean?” You nod and he hesitates again, guessing that it’s not the answer you want to hear. “No,” he says, truthfully.

You withdraw your hand. “Maybe this is something you should save for your future wife.”

“Marry me, then,” he blurts out, his voice trembling slightly with urgency.

You groan inwardly, shaking your head. “Friedrich, I wasn’t being coy when I told you I don’t want to be wed to a Prince. Besides, the season is starting tomorrow and you’ll be introduced to a hundred wealthy, beautiful women. Each one of them would be a better match than I.”

“Impossible.”

“You don’t know that -”

“I know that nobody has ever spoken to me the way that you did tonight. Or this morning for that matter.”

You smile despite yourself. You can believe it. If you were trying to secure the Prince’s hand in marriage, you would have carried yourself with much more grace and dignity than you have thus far.

“That’s because I have the manners of a common mule and the propriety of a common whore,” your grin falters and you look at him seriously. “And both of those qualities make me thoroughly incompatible with the Prince of Prussia. Marrying you is out of the question.”

“I understand,” he says, clearly worried that you’re reconsidering lying with him. “Let me be one of your companions. Show me how to do it.”

“Will you promise not to ask for my hand in marriage when this is done?”

Your hands undo the lacing on his trousers as he hitches his breath. “Anything. Sh-show me. Please.”

You remove your gloves and toss them on the stable floor. You slide your bare hand into his underwear and feel him shudder when you grip his cock. Christ almighty. It’s bigger than what you had expected from the innocent Prince.

“Since we’re practising so that you can please your future wife,” you tell him as you jerk your hand along his length. “I’ll tell you what feels good and what doesn’t. And you must do the same.”

He exhales shakily. “This - this feels good.”

“That’s a good start,” you smirk. “And you have a nice cock, Your Highness. The Princess Consort of Prussia will be a very lucky woman indeed once I’ve shown you how to use it.”

“Oha,” he breathes. 

“So eager,” you tut playfully, your face inches from his. 

You pull him close and he moans into your mouth as you kiss him. The sound of his evident pleasure sends heat tearing through you. You make a mental note to tell your future lovers to share their vocal appreciation because the sounds Prince Friedrich is making are driving you wild. 

As you kiss him, you lead him over to the loose pile of straw and get to the floor. The straw is scratchy on your bare arms but your legs are thankfully spared by the protection of your skirts. 

“When the time comes to do this with your lady wife, you should both undress. But our clothes will remain on - mostly. This is more convenient if there’s an unexpected intruder. Plus, this hay is itchy.”

“Allow me,” says Prince Freidrich, sitting back on his knees and pulling off his jacket. For a second you wonder if he’s misunderstood what you said about undressing but then he flattens his jacket on the straw behind you for you to lie on.

If you were the swooning type, you might just have fainted then and there.

“May I?” he asks, touching the hem of your skirt at your ankle. You nod and he pushes up your skirts. You lift your hips, allowing him to remove your satin underwear. “Verdammt,” he breathes. He moves his head between your legs and you almost sit up in surprise. You don’t mind him having a better look at you if it’s his first time but this feels extremely personal.

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

He looks up at you and you pull your skirts close to your stomach. “My book - it said to kiss you here to make sure you are ready.” His face is so close to you that you can feel his hot breath against your pussy.

“Your book said to kiss me… there?” Your eyebrows knit together but you think about how his tongue felt swirling inside your mouth and a stab of ache pierces through your ribs. 

“It is not customary?” You shake your head and he frowns in confusion but doesn’t move. 

And you realise that you don’t want him to go anywhere. That the idea of him kissing you there in the skilled way he was kissing your mouth inflames you. Out of amused interest, you lift yourself up onto one elbow only to find him looking at you intently, hanging on your every word, waiting to find out what he should do. You realise that you rather like the look of him here, between your legs.

“You -” You swallow. “- You may try. If it pleases you. But I warn you, I - oh -”

Your warning dissipates into the air as Prince Friedrich leans down and glides his hot tongue deep into the seam of your pussy with absolutely no hesitation. You feel yourself relax as you let him get on with this custom he’s learned from his book. You admit, it’s not unpleasant. But you’re not sure what he’s trying to achieve. 

It sort of feels like when you touch yourself. Maybe less dextrous but it’s hotter and wetter and - and - 

Good lord.

Much to your surprise - and your delight - you feel a soft, delicious warmth spreading from your core as he kisses you where you’ve never been kissed before. You splay your fingers through his blonde hair - your other hand still clutching your dress as his velvet mouth envelops your clutch of nerves and a wave of pleasure cascades through your body.

“Oh - oh fuck,” you curse, not caring that you’re swearing in front of the Prince. He pulls back abruptly and you pant.

“My lady?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yes - god, yes,” you whine, impatient for his mouth to return to you.

He looks at you with that same subtle glint of authority he gave you this morning and says, “In that case, you are not keeping up with your side of the bargain. You promised you’d tell me what feels good.” 

Prince Friedrich dips his head and resumes, going from sucking on your clit to lapping up your juices and back again as you squirm and rock against him. This time you remember to hold up your side of the bargain. You pant and tell him how good his mouth feels - how good he feels. Everything is soaked, from your skirts to his chin and nose as he lets you grind yourself against his face. 

The flat of his tongue slides across your heat and it’s heavenly. Usually, when you’re with a partner, you’re used to working hard for your release - at the exact right position and tempo to pry yourself apart. But right now you’re just lying back and taking what Prince Friedrich’s tongue offers to you. And it’s offering exactly what you need.

“Don’t stop,” you mewl. “So good. S’good. So good -”

You feel yourself unravelling, your praise and words of affirmation turning into an incoherent babble as your orgasm breaches the surface. You must be making some semblance of sense because he listens - he keeps going and it’s all too much and not enough at once as your walls squeeze around nothing while Prince Friedrich continues his delicious assault on your bundle of nerves. 

Damn. You do your very best not to cry out and draw attention to the stables as Prince Friedrich gets closer and closer to making you cum on his tongue. But it’s nigh impossible as you feel the heat rise from your stomach and pull back like the tide. 

And then there’s the drop you’d been waiting for. 

“Oh - god,” you moan, drawing out the last syllable so that it drips as slowly as treacle. Ecstasy courses through your body as your release washes over you, making your thighs tremble on either side of the Prince’s head. Your chest heaves and you gently tug on his hair, away from your oversensitive cunt. “That’s - that’s good. It’s good. It’s enough,” you gasp before collapsing your head back onto his jacket.

Prince Friedrich gives you a few more slow, gentle licks and murmurs, “So feucht.” before drawing a finger over your twitching, soaking wet entrance, admiring his own handiwork. You don’t know what his words mean and you don’t have the cognizance to ask as you stare up at the wooden beams and try to regain your senses. 

After what feels like a lifetime of bliss, you’re happy for your view of the stable roof to be interrupted when Prince Friedrich moves up your body to kiss you and you taste the unfamiliar taste of your arousal on his lips. You kiss him back, slipping your tongue into his mouth and nipping at his bottom lip. God, this was supposed to be you teaching him a few things - not the other way around. When you anonymise this encounter and retell it to your friends later they will certainly be hearing about this.

“Good?” he asks when he pulls back and you nod, before swallowing air.

“I have half a mind to sell my estate and move to Prussia after the social season is over if that is what they do there,” you say breathlessly. 

He smirks. “I have told you that it could be arranged. Come home with me and we won’t have to be discreet. We could do this every day.”

You pout playfully and push a loose curl from his forehead. “But I like the stables,” you joke even though your back is aching and a palace bed sounds much more appealing. 

“Well, we have stables in Prussia. You could bring Artemis.”

Artemis. 

He remembered her name. 

Your face softens as you picture her as a royal steed, wearing a white feathered plume like she’s the diamond of the season. 

But then the fleeting daydream disappears when you tell yourself that it’s a fantasy you can’t allow either of you to indulge in. As much as Queen Charlotte favours you, you know it would be seen as unacceptable for the Prince to marry someone from such a minor house.

And besides, you remind yourself that you don’t need a royal husband. You have your own home. You have your own horses. You have your own friends. You have everything you’ve ever wanted. But then, why does the thought of him making his social season debut at the ball tomorrow make your heart ache?

“There’s something else I’d like to ride, presently,” you say, in an attempt to rid the thought from your mind as you gently push on his shoulders until he lies on his back. 

You straddle the Prince and unfasten his trousers so you can pull his cock out. The sight of him, hard and ready for you and the way he twitches involuntarily in your palm makes your heart pound as hard and steady as horses hooves galloping.

You wriggle forward until you feel the smooth underside of his cock sliding under your messily slick folds, still wet from the orgasm the Prince had bestowed upon you with his mouth. A flicker of dark enjoyment ignites in you when you see a line between his brows as he knits them together and watches as you lift your skirts so he can watch you sliding back and forward along the length of his cock.

“Do you enjoy watching me do this, Your Highness?” you ask as you grind against him.

“I would enjoy watching you do anything,” he says, pushing your gown out of the way to take hold of your hips. “Du bist schön.”

You pause. “Do what?” 

“Nothing. Please. Don’t stop.” He presses his thumbs into your hipbones, urging you to create friction against him again. 

“You don’t want to fuck me?”

“Isn’t - isn’t that what we’re doing?” stutters Prince Friedrich. 

“Oh, my sweet Prince.” You bring your hand to his jaw as you lift yourself so you can position the head of his cock between your soaking folds with your other hand. “We’re only just getting started.”

You lock eyes with him and watch his face contort in pleasure as you slowly sink down, inch by glorious fucking inch. “Oh gott,” he whines. Your German is poor but you’re pretty confident you know what that means. 

“Let me know when you’re going to spill - I don’t want to carry your bastard,” you murmur, still cupping his face. “Do you understand?”

“Ja,” he says through gritted teeth. “I understand.”

You’re not sure he really does but that primal part of your brain that wants to fuck him now and worry about the consequences later tells you to shove your hips down against the resistance. You force the rest of his thick cock into you and inhale through your teeth, feeling the delicious way he stretches and fills you. His hands clamp down hard on your hips, his thumbs pressing fresh bruises into your hipbones. 

They don’t make them like this in Kettering. Or London for that matter. Equal parts sweet and naive yet firm and decisive. He doesn’t know what he wants yet but he still wants it. Desperately. 

As if proving your point, you lean forward to feel the beautiful way he drags out of you and he seizes the opportunity to bury his face into your cleavage, your corseted dress making it exceptionally easy for him. 

He moans open-mouthed against your chest, his tongue sloppily trying to find your nipple. You move your hips back and down and wildfire bursts in your lower belly when his cock nudges against that sweet spot you’ve been longing for. 

It’s not enough for him - he wants more. He lifts his hips and the tip of his cock drives against your G-spot.

“Oh - fuck. Freidrich. That feels good.”

“So it is okay for me to move too?” he asks.

“Please,” you murmur, closing your eyes and feeling him slide back into you at that perfect angle. 

You don’t need to tell him twice.

He rolls his hips upwards to meet yours as you ride him. You can hear how fucking wet you are.  Everything is slick and hot and drenched as you roll your hips up and down on top of him and he fucks himself into you.

“So schön,” he grunts and the foreign words sound guttural to your ears. 

“I hope that means ‘good’,” you tease, leaning forward to breathe hot air onto his neck.

“Pretty,” he murmurs in your ear. “So pretty.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage as his hips pick up pace. Fuck - you like him being under you like this. Even here, in the stables where someone might come looking if they notice that Prince Friedrich is missing from his chambers. 

The sound of your stretched, wet cunt fills the stables so obscenely that it peppers shame into your consciousness. But he hears it too. He jerks up so fiercely that his balls slap against you. You suck air in through your teeth at the sharp sting and he looks concerned but you reassure him. “It’s - oh fuck - keep going. Right there.”

You go from slamming yourself down on him to your whole body stiffening, letting him drive up into you as your hot orgasm approaches, creeping over you in pulsing waves. Your walls grip him, tightening and convulsing as -

“I should - tja - remove myself from inside you -” he stops thrusting up into you and you almost wail with disappointment.

“No - fuck - keep going.” What are you saying? You rock your hips and bounce on him, every nerve inside you applauding your decision to ignore your conscience as you manage to hang onto the precipice. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m going to -”

“Fuck it,” you heave, your walls squeezing impossibly tighter as you fuck yourself on him. “Cum in me. I don’t care.” What the fuck are you saying?!

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

It’ll be fine. 

You’ve had an accident or two and have been lucky so far.

You may as well have told the Prince that Christmas had come early. The sight of your flushed face, dishevelled hair and the way your tits are threatening to spill out of your dress with every bounce of your hips drives him wild. 

Frankly, you’re the most deliciously intoxicating thing he’s ever experienced. He just doesn’t have the necessary vocabulary to tell you this in English.

By this point, “Oh gott,” is the only thing he says that you can understand. You hardly hear the rest as he babbles away in German - you can barely hear anything over the pulse of blood pounding in your ears as Friedrich picks up his pace again. Your body locks down around him so tightly you wonder if you might break him. 

“Just like that - fuck, there,” you whimper. He takes the instruction well, driving his cock deep into you - exactly where you need it. The coil of heat in your core tightens impossibly tighter as he chokes words you don’t understand into your ear as he pulls you close to his chest

Maybe one day he’ll teach you what those words mean and you’ll find out that he was telling you what a good girl you are for taking his cock like this.

“Fuck - I’m - that’s it,” you sob, your chest heaving against his fine silk shirt and your fingers entwined in his soft blonde hair. You squeeze around him like a vice. “Friedrich, I -”

“Do it,” he groans. You hadn’t expected him to say that. And certainly not with the commanding tone he chooses. “Let me feel it.”

The coil inside you snaps. A blaze of white-hot fire bursts through you like stitches being ripped. You seize and cry out as your release whips through you with such force that you think you might go cross-eyed. You bury your face into his neck, smelling the rich sandalwood scent splashed on his skin, mixed with his sweat. 

Freidrich keeps his tight hold of your hips, fucking into you even as you shake and tremble. 

“Ich komme,” breathes the Prince. “Ich komme, ich komme.” It only takes a few more rough, slapping thrusts until you don’t have to guess what that means. You feel him finishing inside you, thick ropes of his spend painting your insides. 

You lie here like this for a few moments, collapsed onto his chest and feeling his seed leaking out of you. You feel dizzy as his chest rises and falls underneath you and his fingers tenderly trace lines up and down your back. He closes his eyes, feeling the satin of your gown as his fingertips dance across it.

You could easily fall asleep like this.

Instead, you hoist yourself off him and lie flat on your back as if unattaching yourself from him will place a barrier between you. Put a halt to the immense surge of affection you feel for him in this moment. But he doesn’t let you get far. Prince Friedrich rolls onto his side and cups your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone and skirting across your lips before he leans down to kiss you. You close your eyes, letting the kiss dissolve into a wet, lazy haze.

He pulls back and looks down into your eyes. “I promised I would not ask for your hand when this was over. So I have nothing else to say.”

“At least now you are prepared for the social season beginning tomorrow.”

“I don’t care about the season. I want to leave. Tonight. To take you with me.”

“I don’t have the wealth or the beauty for that to be allowed to happen,” you say. “The Queen would never find us to be a suitable match. Never mind Lady Whistledown having a field day.”

“You have more than enough of both for me.”

“For you, Friedrich. But not enough for Prince Friedrich. Not enough for The Crown,” you say, your heart breaking as you do. This was a bad idea, after all. You adjust your gown and get to your feet, pretending to ignore Prince Friedrich’s attempts to help you up.

“And what about my - my seed? What if you’re with child?”

You laugh mirthlessly. “We’d have to be exceptionally unlucky for that to happen on our first try. Put it far from your mind. Go and meet with the diamond of the season tomorrow and all of the ladies queuing up to become the Princess Consort of Prussia. They will make you much happier than I ever could.”

You walk towards the stable door but he takes your hand and gives you your discarded gloves. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m sorry, Friedrich.” You can’t. You can hear the gossip already. A thousand people whispering behind your back about how you’re not good enough for the Prince. It would be like that every day for the rest of your life in the spotlight if you did marry him. You tear your eyes away from him and open the stable door. 

“Will I ever see you again?” he asks after you.

You pause and turn around. “Perhaps.” You smile at him sadly. “Who knows? If I am with child, maybe you’ll have no choice but to whisk me away back to Prussia and marry me, never to be seen in London ever again. And everyone will wonder why.”

You turn back before he can see your face crumble, leaving the stable door open behind you as Prince Friedrich watches you leave into the night. Your mare whinnies, nudging him gently over her stable door.

Prince Friedrich gives in to her pestering and scratches her neck, much to her enjoyment. Before dawn, he will write a letter. To make sure a stall is prepared for Artemis in the palace stables in Prussia.

Just in case.

[imagine-darksiders]

'Untacked.'

I need Paleo Pines in my veins, it is so relaxing.

Lucky and my Rancher taking a moment of respite from a hard day's work on the ranch.

[bullet-prooflove]

A Southern Man: Harry Wilson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @buckysteveloki-me @hagarsays @misskrose @rainmg

Companion piece to:

Sugar - You're Harry's first stop when he makes it back to New Orleans.

Bourbon (NSFW) - The things you and Harry get up to with a 10k bottle of bourbon... it's sinful.

Court Days - Court days are your favourite days.

The Corkscrew - You realise Harry isn't the person you thought he is when you see him on a date with another man.

Harry’s a gentleman, a Southern man raised with honest to God Southern manners. That’s why he takes off his jacket when he notices a chill in the air, why he drapes it across your shoulders as he walks you home along the pathway that leads from the stables to your house.

You haven’t said much since he revealed his true nature. You’d listened diligently while you untacked Midnight, checking on the other horses before locking up the stables. He’d helped the best he could, filling the silence with stories of his adventures, explanations. He doesn’t know if that’s helping or hindering, if the deeper he gets into the lies, the further away he pushes you.

“I feel sorry for you.” You say finally and he swallows hard against the ache in his chest because that hope inside him, it’s dying. He’d prayed that you’d be able to see past the deception, that you’d understand it but truly how could anyone expect you to. “I have no idea how hard it must have been to keep everything so balanced, knowing that one slip up could just bring everything tumbling down.”

“Lying to you…” He struggles to find the words. “I hated it. I tried to keep everything as close to the truth as possible, when I said I was going out of town it was for business…”

“It just wasn’t the type of business you allowed me to think it was.” You summarise considering your past conversations. “You never actually said you were doing lawyer things, I just assumed and that’s part of it isn’t it? Letting people assume. It’s very clever, allowing people’s brains to fill in the blanks from their expectations. It’s like you’ve learned how to hack people.”

He's silent then because he realises there is no way on this earth he can take back what he did, the year he’s spent lying to you. The year that’s also been the best of his life.

“It must have felt very lonely being you.” You say as you reach the steps of the house. “Holding onto all of that, knowing that you couldn’t share that part of yourself with me.”

“No.” He says softly, shaking his head as you remove the jacket from your body. “When I’m with you I feel complete, like you see the real me, the person I am even without all the cons and the heists. You just see Harry.”

“I do see you Harry and that’s the problem.” You tell him, handing him back the garment. His eyes sting as he pulls it on over his broad shoulders. “If anyone else had lied to me like this I’d be kicking them off my land so fast their head would spin but I’ve seen the good you do, I’ve been a recipient of it. I know your heart is in the right place, that you’re trying to make amends, to redeem yourself after the whole evil lawyer thing.”

“But…” He can sense the word hanging in the air between the two of you.

“But…” You drawl as your fingertips trail along the lapels of his jacket adjusting them. “I need full disclosure from here on out. If we’re going to make this work, I need the truth at all times-”

“There are going to be some things that I can’t tell you.” He says his forehead coming to rest on yours. “Things that could endanger other people.”

“I understand that.” You respond, your nose grazing his as you look into his eyes. “I know the nature of the job, I get the need for secrecy, just no more lying alright? My heart can’t take that.”

“No more lyng.” He promises, his voice barely more than a whisper as his gaze lowers to your lips. “Only the truth from here on out.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[theetherealbloom]

IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.6

Chapter Six (Epilogue): The Only One I Belong To Is With You

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction, Kissing, Marriage,

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Well, we made it. Thanks for sticking around.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Bloom (Eros) by Sleeping At Last

← Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

HIDDEN COTTAGE, OUTSKIRTS OF ROME — EVENING  

By the time you returned to the cottage, the sky was cloaked in twilight, stars beginning to shimmer faintly against the deepening indigo. The scent of damp earth and woodsmoke greeted you as you dismounted, exhaustion weighing heavily on your limbs. Ravi met you at the edge of the small clearing, taking the reins of your horse with a steady hand.  

“He’s alive and awake,” Ravi said with a small smile, though his eyes betrayed his own fatigue. “Won’t stop asking about you.”  

Relief washed over you like a tide, and you nodded, voice trembling slightly. “Hanno—Lucius is looking for you. If you can make it back to the Colosseum…”  

Ravi gave a resolute nod as he began to untack your horse. “I’ll leave before first light. I’ll find him.” He paused, his expression softening. “I’ll be back in a few days to check on you both.”  

“Thank you, Ravi. For everything.” You managed a small smile, the weight of gratitude heavy in your chest. “Tell your wife and children hello for me.”  

“They’ll want to see you,” he replied with a chuckle, brushing off your thanks as he always did.  

You touched his arm lightly in parting before heading inside, the warmth of the firelight spilling out from the small window.  

Inside, the cottage was quiet save for the crackle of the fire. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the stone walls. Marcus sat in a chair near the hearth, his face lit by the soft glow. His color had improved, and though he still looked weary, his sharp eyes softened the moment they found yours.  

You crossed the room quickly, dropping to your knees beside him, your hand instinctively reaching to touch his. His fingers, rough and calloused, closed around yours, and the warmth of his grasp steadied you.  

“You’re back,” he said, his voice rough but threaded with relief. His gaze swept over you, taking in every detail as if to reassure himself you were truly there.  

“I did it,” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion. “I rode to Ostia, just like you asked. The army marches for Rome.”  

Marcus exhaled, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight had been lifted. “And you?” he asked, his tone tender, his free hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Are you unharmed?”  

“I’m fine,” you said softly, though the strain of the journey still clung to you. “But Marcus, so much has happened…”  

You began to recount everything—the chaos of Ostia, the confrontation between Lucius and Macrinus, the bloodied battlefield beneath the arch, and how Lucius had risen victorious. Your voice faltered as you spoke of the lives lost, the fear you’d carried with you, and the hope that had sparked in those final moments.  

Marcus listened intently, his thumb tracing soothing circles against the back of your hand. When you finally fell silent, he pulled you closer, his voice low but steady. “You are stronger than any army, braver than any soldier. You carried my hope, my love, and brought it to life.”  

Tears welled in your eyes as you shook your head. “I only did what I had to, Marcus. For you. For us.”  

He cupped your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. “For us,” he echoed, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve given me more than I ever deserved.”  

You leaned into his touch, your forehead resting against his as the fire crackled softly in the background. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, precious moment.  

“I thought I’d lose you,” you admitted, your voice breaking.  

Marcus pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if to anchor you both. “You’ll never lose me,” he murmured. “Not in this life, nor the next.”  

You stayed like that for a while, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm, his presence grounding you in a way nothing else could.  

When you finally pulled away, your fingers lingered on his as you whispered, “Rest now, Marcus. I’ll stay with you.”  

His eyes, heavy with weariness but still alight with love, softened. “And when I wake, you’ll be the first thing I see.”  

You smiled, brushing your lips against his in a fleeting kiss before settling beside him, letting the warmth of the fire and his presence lull you into a rare moment of peace. 

A YEAR LATER

HIDDEN COTTAGE, OUTSKIRTS OF ROME — DAWN  

The first light of dawn spilled through the small windows of your cottage, the golden rays painting the stone walls in warmth. Outside, the world was quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of nature awakening and the faint rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze.  

Inside, you stood in the kitchen, your hands busy kneading dough for the morning bread. The simple, repetitive motion grounded you, though your mind often wandered to memories of the past.  

A soft creak of the wooden floorboards drew your attention, and you turned to find Marcus leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His shirt hung loose over his shoulders, the fabric crumpled as if he had just rolled out of bed.  

“You’re awake early,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips despite the lingering heaviness in your chest.  

Marcus shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you with that slow, deliberate stride you loved. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, his voice still husky from slumber.  

You tilted your head, your hands pausing their work. “Bad dreams?”  

He shook his head, slipping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. “No dreams. Just missed you.”  

The warmth of his embrace chased away the lingering chill of the morning. You leaned back into him, savoring the solid weight of his presence.  

“Missed me? I was just here,” you teased, your voice soft.  

Marcus chuckled, the sound low and rich in your ear. “Every second without you feels like a lifetime.”  

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed. “You’re terrible.”  

“I’m honest,” he countered, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. His lips lingered, and you felt the familiar heat of desire simmer between you.  

“Marcus,” you warned lightly, though your tone lacked conviction.  

“Hmm?” His hands began to wander, one slipping to your hip while the other brushed away the stray strands of hair that had fallen into your face.  

“You’ll distract me, and the bread won’t get made,” you managed, though your breath hitched when his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your neck.  

“Let it wait,” he murmured, turning you in his arms so you were facing him. His brown eyes, soft and warm, locked onto yours. “You’re far more important than bread.”  

You laughed despite yourself, your hands instinctively resting on his chest. “That’s bold talk from a man who eats half a loaf by himself every morning.”  

Marcus grinned, his smirk that boyish one you adored. “I have my priorities straight. Bread can wait. My wife cannot.”  

Your heart skipped at the way he said it—my wife. A year had passed, and still, the sound of those words from his lips filled you with a quiet, profound joy.  

“And you, my darling,” he said, his voice softening, “you are my wife. It’s like I’ve waited my whole life to say those words.”  

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and consuming. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him. The kiss deepened, and you felt yourself melting into him, the world outside the cottage slipping away.  

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the quiet morning air. “You’re incorrigible,” you whispered, though there was no bite to the words.  

“And you love me for it,” he replied, his smirk returning.  

You laughed, swaying slightly in his arms as the moment softened into something quieter, gentler. Your hands slid up to cup his face, your thumb brushing along the edge of his beard. “I do,” you said, the words a quiet confession. “More than anything.”  

His expression turned serious, his dark eyes searching yours, burning with a quiet intensity. “Then let me take care of you today,” he murmured, his voice like a promise, soft but laced with undeniable authority.

You opened your mouth to protest, out of habit, but the way his hands gently cupped your face silenced you. He brushed his thumb across your cheekbone, his calloused touch reverent, as though you were something sacred. “Please,” he added, his voice rougher now, filled with a longing that was impossible to deny.

Before you could respond, Marcus lifted you effortlessly into his arms, holding you close as though he were afraid to let go. His strength had always been undeniable, but in moments like this, it felt like more than just physical power. It felt like safety. Like home.

As he carried you toward the small bed in the corner of the room, the morning light spilled through the cracks in the shutters, wrapping the two of you in a warm golden glow. The world outside seemed distant, inconsequential, as though it had no claim on this moment or on the love that filled the space between you.

Marcus set you down on the soft linen sheets with a care that made your heart ache, his touch tender despite the fire in his gaze. He didn’t pull away immediately; instead, he lingered, his hands tracing a path from your waist to your shoulders, his thumbs brushing over your collarbones in a way that left your skin tingling.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. His fingers threaded through your hair as he leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

You shivered beneath his gaze, his words settling over you like a caress. “Marcus…” you began, but whatever you meant to say was lost as his lips finally claimed yours.

The kiss was slow at first, teasing and deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second of it. But then it deepened, growing more urgent, more consuming, until you felt as though the ground beneath you had disappeared. His hands roamed your body with purpose, his touch equal parts gentle and possessive, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, his voice dark and honeyed, sending shivers down your spine. “My wife. My everything.”

You barely managed to whisper, “Yours,” before his lips found your neck, his beard grazing your skin and adding a delicious roughness to the tender kisses he placed there. His hands slipped beneath the fabric of your tunic, his touch igniting sparks wherever it landed.

His voice was low, almost a growl, as he spoke against your ear. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of this? Of having you like this—just you and me, with nothing standing in our way?” His words were a heady mix of vulnerability and desire, the weight of them settling deep in your chest.

You arched into his touch, your body answering him before your mind could catch up. “Marcus,” you breathed, your voice trembling with a need you couldn’t contain.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression softening even as the fire in his gaze remained. “Let me show you,” he said, his voice gentle but insistent. “Let me show you how much I love you. How much you mean to me.”

And he did.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of golden light and whispered promises, of hands exploring and lips discovering, of soft gasps and quiet laughter. Marcus worshipped you with a devotion that left you breathless, his every touch and word a reminder that you were his entire world.

When it was over, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as the sunlight spilled across the room. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, his breath warm against your temple.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible against his chest.

He tightened his hold on you, his lips pressing against your hair. “You deserve the world,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to give it to you.”

As the morning faded into day, you allowed yourself to believe him, to let go of the doubts and the fears that had haunted you for so long. Because here, in Marcus’s arms, you were home. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the future seemed bright.

[inexplicifics]

#7 - geralt/eskel

#11 - Broken Lock verse milena/lambert/aiden

#14 - Jaskier/Geralt

If any of those tickle your fancy, cheers!

Geralt feels the tension drain from his shoulders as he rounds the last bend and Kaer Morhen finally looms into view. It may be cold and bleak and full of terrible memories, but it’s still home as long as old Vesemir keeps the fire burning, as long as his brothers return each winter to drink and share stories and keep company together through the coldest months.

As long as Eskel makes it back, it’s home.

And thank fuck, when he leads Roach into the stable it’s to find Scorpion already in a stall, looking sleek and well-groomed, which is a damn good sign. Geralt untacks Roach and brushes her down and puts a blanket on her and makes sure her stall has water and oats and hay, and leaves her to get reacquainted with Scorpion and the handful of other horses - Lambert’s nameless gelding, Frank’s sturdy mare Easy, Gardis’s high-strung Jitters and Vesemir’s nondescript Stomper, and the ancient donkey which everyone just calls Bitey for good and valid reasons.

Geralt pats each of them on the nose as he leaves the stable, of course, even Bitey. Dodging the donkey’s teeth is good practice, after all.

Snow is starting to blow across the courtyard as he crosses it, and he hunches his shoulders and tucks his nose into his scarf as the bitter wind bites through his clothes and armor like they aren’t even there. Sometimes he thinks it gets colder here every winter.

The door is heavy, but it’s set into an alcove so the wind doesn’t blow it out of Geralt’s hands. He trudges up the stairs to the room he and Eskel share, setting his bags down near the door and hanging his coat on a hook and taking a moment to bury his face in Eskel’s cloak and breathe in deeply. No perfumer in the world would make a scent that’s mostly leather and blood and bitter potions ingredients and a strange sharp topnote that is probably pure Chaos, but Geralt thinks it’s the second finest scent in the world.

And then he makes his way back down the stairs, down past the main level to the kitchen-basement, and slips in through the half-open door to what may actually be the witcher version of heaven, or at least Geralt’s heaven:

A warm, well-lit room with a steaming pot of stew on the back of the fire and the scent of fresh-baked bread filling the air, and Eskel, his shirtsleeves rolled up to bare brawny forearms and his collar open almost to his navel, wielding an oven peel as skilfully as he does his sword. He pulls the last loaf out of the oven and sets it on the counter to cool, then hangs the peel on its hook and turns to Geralt, smiling the crooked perfect smile that Geralt dreams of when the Path is hard.

“Wolf,” he says softly, and opens his arms.

Geralt stumbles forward into the offered embrace, tucking his nose against Eskel’s neck and smelling fresh bread and clean sweat and sharp Chaos - Eskel home, Eskel safe, Eskel uninjured and relaxed, which is the actual finest scent in all the world.

“‘Skel,” he mumbles, and Eskel chuckles, closing his arms even tighter until Geralt can feel his back creak. He squeezes just as hard.

He’s not sure how long they stand there, clinging to each other, but at last Geralt sighs and lifts his head and Eskel’s scarred lips meet his in a kiss that starts soft and ends deep and hungry, and then because neither of them wants the lecture from Vesemir about appropriate places to fuck (which do not include the kitchen), they settle at the long battered table and Eskel breaks open a loaf of fresh bread and they eat warm bread dripping with butter and honey, shoulders pressed against each other, and Geralt thinks the whole long slogging year upon the Path was worth it for this moment right here.

(Or HERE on AO3!)

[gallavich-annise]

Aside from day one, this was the only other prompt I had a specific idea for before the week began... I didn't have time to fully do it justice, but I hope you will nonetheless see my vision.

Gallavich Week Day Five: Riding

Hay is for Horses

Ian leans against the fence. He doesn't want to stare but he can't help but watch. Mickey's been breaking horses in for years now, and there's something about watching him straddle half a tonne of muscular animal that has him rooted to the spot.

Mickey doesn't even seem to notice. He's got an easy seat in the saddle; upright and balanced, not gripping too tight or digging his heels in; he's easy on the bit, controlling the horse mostly with shifts in his weight. It's why he's so good at this. Why he can get a horse used to a rider quicker than almost anyone. 

At the moment he's riding the young chestnut. Chestnut with four white socks is going to be a hard sell when it comes to it, but Ian feels like Mickey might just keep this one. The four-year-old is clearly his favourite. Spirited but friendly. Strong and hard-working. And yeah, they've already had to deal with a bout of mud fever that required extra care over the winter, but Mickey's comfortable on him, and neither of them are strangers to hard work.

They don't get to keep all the horses they love, of course. They've had to sell or give back plenty of beautiful animals. But every so often the stars align. Maybe they'll do so now. Maybe Mickey will eventually come up with a better name for him than "Red" (because frankly it's embarrassing the number of times both he and the horse looked up when he called). 

Ian's favourite horse is a trickier prospect. Raven black and beautiful. Speedy as a racer, if anyone could hold her to a course. She's already kicked her former owner, and several other horses... Has to be kept in a separate field, and even then she's escaped a few times. A good jumper, if they can tame her. 

She reminds Ian of someone else. Not that he'd say that out loud. Maybe he'll get to keep her, too. 

"Yo, Gallagher!" Mickey calls from the other side of the arena where he's walking the chestnut on a loose rein, cooling down. 

Ian looks up to meet Mickey's eye and sees the knowing look on his face. 

"If you've got nothin' better to do, the hay loft's a fuckin' mess."

It's hard to read him at distance and there are a few other people nearby, so Ian doesn't yell back. Mickey's walking the horse towards the gate, and sliding off as he reaches it. Ian gets there first, lifting the latch to swing it open it for them. 

As Mickey leads the chestnut past, Ian says, "will you be joining me, Milkovich?"

"Absolutely," Mickey replies, a fiendish grin taking over his face for a fraction of a second before he schools it and leads the chestnut horse back towards the stable. 

Ian laughs, a short, bright laugh, because even though they've been fucking for the better part of a year, Ian still gets that same thrill when Mickey initiates something. When he's so blatant and flirty, and pretends like the rest of the yard workers don't already know they're a thing. 

He watches Mickey and the chestnut round the corner to the stables. It'll take the other man a few minutes to untack and settle his horse. But Ian's patient. He can wait. 

So he starts towards the hay loft with a spring in his step. 

---------

@gallavichthings

[straows]

𝘎𝘰𝘫𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘜.𝘚 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘭 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘳.

(Idk wtf this is don’t come for me)

First time Gojo had ever been to the United States, he went to Oklahoma. The culture was a huge difference, and it definitely shocked him.

However, it wasn’t until he went to a rodeo did he truly realize that this was a 100% different world.

And that was when he saw you. Hair curled, cowboy hat on, button up shirt, blue jeans a buckle from your last win in the rodeo. You were gorgeous.

You’d been tacking up your gelding, a pretty bay American Quarter horse. Humming along with the music that played with the loud speakers. Grabbing onto a chunk of the horses mane, you put your foot in the stirrup before hoisting yourself up.

“Atta boy.” Lord did you have one hell of an accent.

It near about had him weak at the knees. He had to meet you. Had to.

However, when he went to go walk up, the announcer was calling your name and you were lining up at the gate. Your gelding’s ears were forward and head up, a fast working walk as he made his way to the entrance.

Gojo was in his seat as quickly as possible. Eyes wide and curious as he watched you and your horse shoot out, both hands on the reigns up on his neck to give him more room to move.

You had a winning time, a huge smile on your face as you rubbed your horses neck and received your buckle. Putting your belt on the saddle, you guided your gelding back to the trailer and began to untack him.

That was until a tall man with some crazy ass blue eyes walked up behind you.

“Uhhh…nice horse?” Gojo grinned, for once not sure how to A) flirt with you, and B) fucking approach you.

Blinking up at him, your brows furrowed, “you sure as shit ain’t from ‘round here.” Eyeing him up and down, before looking back to your horse, “thanks tho.”

Gojo smiled when you accept his compliment, before leaning against the trailer beside you. “Sooo, you come here often?”

You could only give him an unimpressed look, “I live five minuets away.”

“Well that’s uh- convenient.” He looked over to your house before watching as you began to wipe down your horses legs.

“Can I help you with somethin’? You know most people stay in the stands to watch the rest of rodeo.” You slipped on your horses rope halter and tied it to the trailer, before moving to get the hay bag ready.

“Right yeah- yeah… uh wanna go get drinks? Sake maybe?” He rose a brow, praying to god he got the drink right or maybe that y’all had that in America.

“The fuck is that?” You gave him an odd look, “But yeah, I’m down for drinks. It’ll have to be a little later tho.” Looking away again to finish tending to your gelding.

“How about tomorrow night? Drinks on me?” He looked at you eagerly, and only smiled when you sighed and wrote your number on his palm.

“Sure. As long as your payin’ for my shots.” You shrugged, “what’s your name tho?”

“Gojo Satoru.”

You just stared at him, “definitely not from around here.” You murmured, “I’m y/n. Y/l/n.”

“Pretty name for a pretty woman. Hey can I touch your belt—“

“Hell no. I’ll call you tomorrow.” You waved him off before disappearing into your trailer to grab another hay bag.

Gojo just smiled before walking back to the stands. He quickly took a picture of his hand so he wouldn’t forget it or rub it off.

He was definitely excited for tomorrow.

Yall idk what this is. But it’s what it is 😭I was just thinking about his pale ass going to a rodeo for the first time. Idk but I rlly wanna make another one of these but barrel racer you is like batshit crazy (they all are, respectfully) when someone pops your trailer tires or some shit.

Also what does huzz mean???

[horsefriends]

Fjord Horse From Behind by Kristin O Karlsen

[dckweed]

NEXT THING YOU KNOW, gator tillman

in which gator tillman and his arranged bride figure out life and each other and what a real relationship means to them.

warnings: mentions and depictions of abuse, mentions of bruises, arranged marriages, romance, humor, dead parents, slow burn relationship (not completely but not not), basically we know the tillman men are asswipes so i 100% see Roy forcing gator into this kind of situation for money for his militia, eventual smut with kinks such as thigh riding, gun play, choking, spanking, lots of marking and possible spit play.

okay don't ask how i got this out so fast, im literally so fuckin obsesessed with this series right now.

series masterlist here, series playlist here.

PART THREE: the weekend

thursday.

“What in the hell did you put me up to?” Gator’s voice rings out across the barn a couple of hours later. You wince, hearing the anger swirling under the tense tone as his footsteps thunk closer to you across the wooden floor. You’re still facing Bubbles, trying to get her untacked but it’s not easy when you don’t have a step ladder, you didn’t check if there was one in the trailer when you left and you didn’t feel right going snooping around the Tillman barn, afraid it might get you in trouble. 

“It’s just a few days,” You roll your eyes, grateful that he can’t see you because something tells you that the Tillman didn’t take kindly to bratty behavior like eye rolling. Not married yet or not, you were pretty much belonged to Gator now in the eyes of society in Stark County, nobody would bat an eye if he reprimanded you for it. “And i put us up to it, genius.” 

“Well gee, Pearl, you could have fuckin’ consulted me first, dontcha think?” He’s right next you in the stall now, his much larger hands moving yours out of the way as he could actually see over the top of your horse to undo all of her stuff. “Why the hell would i want to spend my weekend babysitting my sisters?” 

You scoff, turning to face him with your hands on your hips. You roll your eyes again and you know he sees you as his eyes narrow. “Ya know what asshole, you’re fuckin’ right!” You say, not going to put up with any of his damn attitude. “I shoulda slid right off my horse, left your daddy right out there in the field and come find you just to ask if it was okay.” He opens his mouth to retaliate, or maybe to tell you off for cursing at him or getting cross with him. “I may be younger than you but i’m still an adult, Gator, i’m gonna be your wife not your fuckin’ kid, don’t ever expect me to wait and ask your fuckin’ permission to do shit unless it’s necessary. That isn’t how this is goin’ to work.” 

He doesn’t say anything but pulls the saddle off of the horse with a huff and you turn on your heel, leading her out of the stall and out to the trailer. Gator stands in the stall for a moment after you’ve gone, listening to the clip clop of the horses hooves as you guys go. He closes his eyes for a second, readjusting the weight of your heavy ass saddle before guiltily following you along. You weren’t wrong, he was being an asshole. He hated being wrong, and he hated apologizing even more but he couldn’t let you go around stomping your feet and being mad at him all damn weekend, something told him that probably wasn’t in his best interest. And besides, he did actually feel bad for snapping at you like that, you didn’t deserve it. He did like seeing you get all riled up like that though, the storm that started brewing in your eyes..it was a nice change from your normally friendly and people pleasing personality. He liked that you obviously knew how to stand up for yourself too.  

The door of the trailer was open by the time he had finally meandered his way out of the barn, and he can hear you getting the horse settled into it. He makes quick work of putting the saddle into the back of your Jeep, closing the door and making his way to the trailer. He watches you, one arm braced against the metal door as his eyes follow your movements. You pat your horse on her long nose and then turn around, hands on your hips as you step down onto the ground of the driveway. 

You’re staring up at him expectantly, chewing your plump bottom lip with your hands on your hips. It took all the will power he never knew he had not to put his thumb on your fucking mouth, stopping you from what you surely couldn’t have realized was a surprisingly sinful act. He licks his chapped lips, looking off to the side before sighing. “I’m sorry for bein’ an asshole.” He says quietly, brown eyes searching your face for any sort of reaction. “I shouldn’t have snapped at ya like that..” 

Your face softens and something close to a smile graces the corners of your mouth as you push his chest lightly, your hands no longer defensively on your hips. “Apology accepted.” You say, meaning it. You had forgiven him the moment you had snapped at him too, you knew he was just as new to this whole situation as you were, you guys were still learning one another, that wasn’t any excuse to be yelling at each other but it was a reason to never let it happen again without at least trying to talk first. “But i’m not sorry for snappin’ back at you. You deserved it.” 

He laughs, a genuine, hearty sound coming from his throat and brings a hand up to muss your hair as he helps you close up and lock the trailer. “Alright..suppose we better go get that lunch you were talkin’ about earlier and then go pack up your stuff for the weekend.” The sun was fully up now, and even though it was only nine thirty in the morning, and he had all of an hour and a half of sleep under his belt, he was ready for lunch with you, and he was ready to get his dad and his wife out of the fuckin’ house so he could maybe relax just a little bit, maybe get a few more hours of sleep..

After a small squabble about who’s going to drive the Jeep you’re pulling up to the curb of Gator’s favorite diner in town, and he’s letting out a breath of relieved air as he steps foot on the ground. 

“Oh stop bein’ so dramatic!” You laugh walking side by side with him up to the door of the busy diner. He had spent the whole ten minute drive with one hand braced on the back of your seat and the other braced on the dash, telling you to slow down or to not hit your brakes so damn hard or to stop taking corners so fast and sharp with a damn horse trailer attached to you. You rolled your eyes after every comment, but found them more and more endearing as you heard the actual fear in his voice. That wasn’t the first time a boy had been scared to be in your passenger seat before. 

“Stop bein’ such a bad fuckin’ driver!” He retaliates, brown eyes wide as he holds open the door of the diner for you, you cackle and duck under his arm, breathing in his cologne and the smell of that damn fruity ass vape that he keeps puffing on. “You’re a menace to the road, Pearl, i swear!” 

He hears you mocking him and pushes the back of your head gently as the two of you find an empty space in the busy restaurant, a booth in the back corner next to windows where the light shines in. He insists on taking the side of the booth that faces the rest of the diner, wanting to have a good view of any potential danger (though he doesn't tell you that). 

A friendly waitress sidles up to the table as the two of you settle, you giggling after he mutters something more about your driving. “Mornin’ Gator, miss.” She says, nodding at the two of you. She’s plump and motherly, her hair brown and curly. You can tell from the smile on her face that she clearly knows the boy across the table from you. “Coffee for you, hon?” 

“Yes Ma’am,” Gator nods, one of the friendliest looks you’d seen in your whole short time of knowing him on his face as he looked up at her, his brown eyes filled with warmth you hadn’t seen towards anyone before. “And..i’m feeling lunchy today, how about a patty melt and fries, please?” You realized he must come here pretty often if the waitress knew his coffee order, and he didn’t need a menu to order. 

“You got it Gator,” She says warmly, turning to you next. “And for your..friend?” 

“Fiance, actually.” He says before you have the chance to speak, you’re stunned for a moment and so is the woman. This is the first time anyone outside of your families and the people directly involved with the wedding planning had been told that you guys were technically engaged, your face flushes as the realization and the weight of the title actually being out in the open for the first time. 

You can tell that she wants to ask more questions by the furrow in her brow and the hesitation before she clears her throat, but she thankfully doesn’t pry any farther. “And for your fiance?” 

You give a sheepish smile, that quickly turns to a deep rooted frown when the friendly woman tells you that they don’t stock flavored coffee creamers, or serve iced coffee. “Dr. Pepper then,” You say, the smile returning back to your face as Gator makes a mental note to stop by the local coffee shop for you on the way back to the Augastine ranch. “And I’ll do chicken tenders, with fries please!” 

She gives a smile and says she’ll be back soon, as soon as she gone Gator cracks up laughing at you. “What?” You pout, and he only shakes his head at you, causing your pout to deepen. “It’s not nice to laugh at people, is there dirt on my face? Gator!” The way you whined his name struck a different kind of chord in him and he quickly stopped laughing, shaking his head as he situated himself in his seat. 

He knew most men would have found the whining annoying but it was clear you didn’t do it on purpose, and it sent a tingle down his spine when you said his name like that. “Flavored coffee creamer?” You roll your eyes and kick him under the table, which only makes him laugh more. 

You had to admit, you liked how young and happy it made his face look when he laughed, and you wished he would do more of it. 

A couple of hours tick by as the two of you sit in your cozy little booth in the diner, eating and bickering and laughing at each other as customers come and go around you. He was sweet in his own rugged, rough way, your own personal diamond in the rough. You didn’t mind, it just meant you could have fun chipping away at him and softening him up around the edges. The more you got to know him over the past week, the more you started to think that maybe this marriage thing wouldn’t be so horrible. You could both learn to love each other over the years, and who knows, maybe you would fall in love in the way that all those people in the movies did. You had always wanted a silver screen romance..

Gator pays for the both of you before you can even dig your credit card out of your stupid little purse, which causes you to pout. “Hey, I was the one that asked you to come eat!” You argued and boy just sighs, giving you a pointed look that clearly said to shut the fuck up. You pout but don’t push on the matter, letting him steal the Jeep keys off of the table top as you slide off of your fluffy, overstuffed bench. 

“Alright, lets go pick up your stuff for the weekend and drop your trailer off,” He had work tonight again and he was hoping to get a couple extra hours of sleep in before his father left. The nights were always longer when he was tired, but he wasn’t going to complain. Gator loved his job. 

You follow him through the crowded diner, staying right underfoot. You hadn’t realized before but people were staring at the two of you, it made your cheeks flush when eyes bored into you as you walked and nervously, you grab onto the back of his shirt. He stiffens beneath your touch, and cranes his neck to look at you, eyebrows furrowed under the brim of his hat. “People are staring.” You whisper, he purses his lips and looks around before shrugging as you get closer to the door. “Why are they staring?” You weren’t used to attention like that, and you were afraid that somehow it would get back to Boyd that you were here with Gator and you would somehow get in trouble for it, fiance or not. 

“Because i’m the Sheriff’s son, and this is the first time i’ve been out in public with my fiance.” He says, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. “Sherry probably went and spread the word while we were eating, it’s no big deal Pearlie, the whole town was gonna find out one way or another.” He pushes the door of the diner open with one hand, and with the other he grabs your hand off the back of his shirt, using his grip to push you in front of him out the door. 

“I figured they would have done an announcement in the paper or somethin’ by now.” You mutter, hands in your pockets as you walk side by side to the jeep with him. You don’t argue when he opens the passenger side door for you, but you do give him a shit eating grin as you step up onto the running boards to climb in. 

“Yeah, well, they’re probably leaving that up to us too.” He mutters as he closes your door and quickly walks around the front end. You thought it was rather sweet of him, opening the doors for you, but you wouldn’t say anything, you didn’t want to freak him out. He wastes no time in pulling away from the diner, casually driving your car with one hand while the other rested on the gear shift on the center console. 

You studied his hand, how much bigger than the gear shift knob it was, you could barely fit your own around it but his smothered it, leaving no trace of it under his palm. His thick fingers tensing and untensing around it, as if he were squeezing it like a stress ball. You bite your lip, looking up as the car comes to a stop and he throws it in park. “What are we doing?” You ask, noticing him lifting his ass out of the seat out of the corner of his eye, shoving his hand in his pocket. 

“You ask a lot of questions, you know?” He quips, grabbing a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet holding it out towards you. You simply stare at it, and then lift your big ass, curious eyes to stare at him. He sighs, sagging against the seat. “Go in and get your damned flavored coffee, felt bad they didn’t have it at the diner..” 

You feel your cheeks start to flush, and though you were tempted to argue and tell him he didn’t need to stop, you felt yourself unbuckling your seatbelt because that was just too damn sweet. You start to get out of the car, grabbing your purse when he clicks his tongue at you, shoving his hand at you again. You decide it’s best not to argue, you don’t want to annoy him anymore than you clearly already do without meaning to, you take it, using the grip on his hand to pull him across the console. You kiss his cheek sweetly, pulling away with a smile. “Thank you..” You say, turning and jumping from the Jeep as quickly as you could without hurting yourself. 

Gator is stunned by the show of affection, his neck flushed red from the interaction. He shakes his head, fighting back the smile on his face by putting his vape to his mouth as he watches you happily skip into the fucking coffee shop. “She’s gonna be the death of me..” He grumbles to himself, running a hand down his face after breathing out the fruity flavored vape that he filled his lungs with. 

You’re grateful that he’s with you when you go home because you can sense Boyd’s mood before you can see him, the house is still and quiet, the girls off at school for the day, the nanny is not needed until this afternoon. You walk through the front door with Gator laughing about the way he had narrowly avoided a hoof to his head when he was walking with Bubbles, you giggle at him as he exaggerates the scene that you had had your back turned to, shaking your head as you start for the stairs. 

“Where have you been?” His voice is cold and sends a shiver down your spine. You stop in your tracks, one hand on the bannister and turn to face him. You don’t dare look at him, but you put a complacent smile on your face nonetheless. You can feel Gator behind you, his hands sliding into his pockets much like they were on the first time he had been to your so-called home. 

“I was on that ride with Roy,” You say, calling Gator’s father by his name, he tenses behind you at the mention of the man, and you’re tempted to glance up at him and offer him a comforting smile. “And we got to talking about the wedding and what not and how i would like his girls to be in it, and he thought it would be a great idea,” You’re starting to babble, and you begin to worry that your words aren’t making any sense because of the way that his face changes. “So now Gator and I are here to pack up a bag for me because we’re going to be watching his sisters while their parents are gone for the weekend..” 

“We stopped and got an early lunch first,” Gator steps in, you feel his hand on your lower back and it brings a sense of calmness to you for some strange reason. “She was hungry..sorry, i shoulda had her call you or somethin’ didn’t mean to make you worry, Sir..” 

Boyd is quiet for a long beat, his jaw ticking like it does when he’s angry and trying not to show it. You swallow back your fear knowing that you’re safe with Gator here. 

“When will you be back?” He narrows his cold eyes at you, they hold no emotion other than the contempt that you know he feels for you, and that makes you nervous for what you’ll endure when you come home Monday afternoon, but grateful for the time you’ll have away. 

“I’ll be back Monday afternoon, after his parents come home.” You say, tired of the conversation and no longer wanting to be involved. You turn and start heading up the stairs, knocking Gator’s hand from your back as you leave without being dismissed, something you’re sure you’ll hear about next week. “See you then.” 

Gator is quick to follow behind, giving your step father a friendly smile as he clambers up the stairs behind you. “What was that all about?” He asks in a hushed voice as he follows onto the second floor landing. 

You shake your head and walk past your sisters’ room and farther on to yours, locking the door behind you. You don’t notice the way Gator’s eyebrows pinch when he notices you’ve barricaded yourselves in the room by locking it. 

“He’s an asshole.” Is all you say, shrugging off the encounter before heading to your closet to find your suitcase. 

When you come out you see Gator with his hands in his pockets again, looking around your bedroom, the one area of the house that was completely and utterly you. Pink and red accents, white frilly lace..teddy bears and fluffy pillows and blankets..the room was so..you. He had gotten his attention caught to a smattering of photo frames on your big white dresser, all of them held you in them, smiling that big beautiful smile of yours (sometimes it would be reaching your eyes, lighting them up happily, but most times it wasn’t), all of them held different people, your sisters mostly, and whom he assumed was a friend from school, a tall brunette with killer legs in a bikini with her arms around you. There was another guy in the photo too that he tried not to be jealous of, but he had his arm around your waist and was grinning down at the two of you as you guys stood on a dock in front of a boat. He loved how happy you looked there in that moment, like your mind wasn’t laden with such heavy burdens like planning a wedding you were legally bound to, or dealing with a clearly tense situation with your step father. His favorite picture though, was one of you and an older woman, your mama, he assumed. You were laughing in the photo a mess of birthday cake frosting smeared across your cheek and some pink tinsel in your hair. The silver balloons behind you said ‘15’. 

“That’s my mama..” You said, sliding up behind him. He jumps, slightly scared. “That’s the only picture i have left of her..Boyd has all the rest, wont let me see ‘em. I think they’re up in the attic somewhere.” You sniff a little, trying not to cry as you turn away, hands on your hips. “Right, lets get this stuff together.” 

After about an hour or so you’ve stuffed the whole suitcase with more clothes than you really need for an entire weekend, Gator had lightened the mood by teasing you when you tried to hide your panties and bras as you packed them, telling you it’s not like he hadn’t seen any before, and he would be seeing yours for the foreseeable future, and then making you laugh at his genuine confusion at your array of shampoos and body washes in the your shower. 

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re one of those 3 in 1 off the shelf at the grocery store kinda guys..” You laugh, looking at him looking at the four different bottles of soaps in his hands. “Please tell me you use something that costs more than ten dollars on your hair! It’s too pretty not to use cheap crap!” You hadn’t really meant to call his hair pretty out loud, but it really was pretty, you couldn’t deny it.

He doesn’t mention it though and instead looks up at you bewildered. “Are you tellin’ me you spent more than twenty dollars on all this crap combined?” He asks, completely in awe. “Oh my god Pearlie, please tell me you’re not gonna be breakin’ my bank on fuckin’ shampoo- it’s shampoo!” 

The two of you burst out in laughter after a moment and you deemed it best not to tell him how much you spent on hair care quite yet, afraid that he would have an aneurysm if you did. He’s gentlemanly enough to help you carry the suitcase back out to the Jeep. 

He even carries it into his daddy’s house for you, and up the stairs where he shows you his bedroom. He tosses the case unceremoniously onto his bed, where it bounces. You look around for a moment, eyebrows raised as you take in the scenery. It was messier than you had imagined, but it smelled so much like him and his damn vape that you couldn’t help but to take a deep breath of air. The room wasn’t too big, and his queen sized bed took up most of the space, the rest of it littered with his clothes on the floor and posters on the wall..you noticed some trophies on a shelf that you would have to ask about later. 

“It’s not much, and it’s usually not so messy..” He says, you think he might be a little embarrassed by the red flush of his cheeks. “I’m sorry you have to sleep in here with me, but it’s better than the couch or crashing on the floor in the girls’ room..” 

“I don’t mind, Gator..” You say, giving him a little smile as you turn to face him. “It’s a fuckin’ pig stye though.” You laugh and he follows suit, nodding along with you. You had a pretty good idea of what you would be doing to keep yourself busy while Jessica and Maude were at school tomorrow, or until they would come home this afternoon. 

The rest of the early afternoon was spent with Karen giving you a run down of the girls’ schedules and how to feed them and dress them. Something about the woman irritated you to your core, maybe it was the way she clearly held nothing but disdain for her step son, or maybe it as the way that she spoke to you like you were stupid and couldn’t possibly be capable of taking care of her children, either way, it made your eye start to twitch the more you thought about it. 

You were grateful when Roy seemed to have finally had enough of hanging around after he had dutifully packed their bags into his old chevy and got a little snappy with his wife, who quickly scurried out of the door. He gave you a friendly squeezed of your shoulder, his giant hand engulfing your shoulder, before mentioning something to Gator in hushed tones that seemed to only upset the boy as his voice turned tense and cold and his back stiffened like it did earlier in the day. 

The house was quiet once the door shut, creepily quiet once the old Chevy had meandered it’s way out of the gates of the house and down the road of the ranch. You stood in the doorway of the kitchen, not quite sure what to do with yourself as you kept your eyes on your fiance. He’s watching out the windows next to the door, his back muscles still tense. You wondered if he would be upset with you if you asked what his father had said, if you asked if he was okay. You decide against it though. “Gator?” You ask, your voice soft, small and quiet. He hums in response, hands on his hips as he glances back at you. “Shouldn’t we go pick up the girls?” You noticed it was nearing time for school for your own sisters  to be out, and while Gator’s went to a private christian school you figured they probably had the same start and out times as your sisters’ school. “It’s almost three..” 

“Yeah..” He runs a hand down his face, clearing his throat. “Yeah, let’s get going.” 

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[horsesarecreatures]

Titan was a mostly good boy today. He did not want to trot in the outdoor arena. I couldn’t find a crop, so he would pick a trot up then stop 2 seconds later the moment I stopped nudging. If I kept nudging he would hold it longer, but in my experience nudging once a horse has gone forward is a good way to get them dull to the aids, so I try not to do it. At this point in time it doesn’t annoy me that he stops because he is huge and hasn’t been ridden in months, so ring work is probably hard for him. I do think he is ring sour too though.

I think that because when I hacked him instead, he trotted very fowardly down some of the pathways.

Then when I untacked him he tried to sample some cat food on the way out. 😆

[urhoneycombwitch]

cowboy/farm boy!Eddie throwing you over his shoulder with practiced ease from slanging bales of hay?

hiking up your sundress against the side of the barn as the sun starts to set?

wearing his hat, and just his hat, when riding him on his creaky ranch house bed?

thoughts?

I’M LISTENING 🤩👂

he comes home from bringing The Girls 🐄 in, on horseback. you’re waiting for him at the barn door as he leans down from the saddle for a kiss. he smells like sunshine and sweat and that spiced Irish soap he got from the farmers market. he untacks and you ask him about his day 😇 and if the new cattle pup (🐕 whom you’ve grown quite attached to and named Sam) had done well.

and Eddie tells you a silly story from his adventures out in the fields that day. all while his deft fingers are working at the leather straps, untacking, brawny shoulders moving smooth as silk through his space. pausing to look over his shoulder and wink at you. all southern charm and well-earned bravado. chewin’ on a long sprig of mint he’d plucked, teeth white and flashing at you. says “s’cuse me, darlin’,” to get past and hang up his saddle.

as soon as he’s done you’re pulling him in by his strappy black fringed chaps. and he’s nuzzling up your neck with day-old stubble, biting first sweet then a lil mean, calloused hands sending goosebumps where they find the bare skin of your waist.

Eddie crowds you against the barn wall, fits his denim leg in between your skirts, makes you gasp. “can’t even wait until the house, hm, sweet thing?” (he’s got this way of talking, demeaning but coated in a layer of sugar, makes you crazy) and he’s sucking a proper hickey into your neck, pinning you in place with the length of his body and his strong hands 😵‍💫

[equinista]

DRAWN-UP STIRRUPS. Available for Download on My Patreon (free!) now! <3

I am SO excited to finally be able to release these and share them with everyone! This was a a lot of work and am so thankful to the amazing content creators who created/converted them from SSO and helped me with several issues I ran into while creating these. This is a collaboration between myself, Schrodcat, and Kamill. There are 3 different Versions, and the top photo gives an explanation along with several photo examples of all 3 versions. (LINKED IN MY PATREON POST ARE LINKS TO Schrodcat's PATREON FOR THEIR SADDLES AS YOU WILL NEED THEIR SADDLES IN ORDER TO ATTACH THE ACCESSORY VERSION TO THEM) --The 1st version is always attached to SC's Jump saddle, that way no accessory slots will be used up and all accessory items can be used on the horse (such as polos/boots/fly bonnets/quartersheets/ect)

--The 2nd Version is always attached to SC's Dressage Saddle, so like with version 1, none of the slots will be used up. --The 3rd Version is an Accessory version of just the Drawn-Up stirrups and can be used on ANY/all of Schrodcat's REALISTIC FIT saddles of any riding style/discipline. (I chose to only attach the drawn-up stirrups 'permanently' to SC's Jump and Dressage saddles as those are the 2 "most commonly used riding styles/disciplines") (Please read the post on my Patreon for more info and Download links!) These draw-up stirrups are perfect for using for photos of lunging horses, before and after rides, tacking up/untacking, leading, having the horse stand tied at a horse trailer between horse show classes, and whatever other situation you can think of as their use is as limitless as your imaginations!

[ahedderick]

Welllll it's a damn good thing I had some fun this morning, because everything sure did get complicated after that. *@#&#^.

I had to run in to town to pick up Special Tax Returns because the financial person decided she couldn't mail them in (I had made a prior trip to sign the damned things; she was going to do the rest. but . . no.)

Got home and did some much-needed tidying up, then tried to Accomplish a sewing chore involving Rosalie's slightly-too-small dog bed. I made some progress on that, using heavy, upholstery-weight fabric we found just lying around down at Home Farm. With a bit of hand stitching this evening, I may get that done.

At one I was supposed to meet with Son at his house to continue work on his pre-lab and safety quiz for organic chem. I still strongly feel that, if the "Safety procedures" part of the lab manual is twenty blippin' pages long, it should actually contain all the material he'd need to, you know, successfully take the safety quiz. Oh, so much not the case.

He was running a bit behind schedule, though, so I took some time to clean/sort/declutter in the library. There were a couple of boxes and bags that I had promised I'd work through so his space was a bit more usable. I did feel good about getting a big "donate" bag together, and a storage box of things to be taken to the barn for an eventual yard sale.

With both of us working together to look up unfamiliar chemical names and think through "common sense" (I disagree) safety questions, he did manage to get a reasonable score. We simultaneously took a deep breath, then he pulled up the prelab quiz.

That was the point where we heard Roommate enter the kitchen and call for help. He had been riding Leo while one of his dogs ran along. Something happened, Leo and Roommate crashed to the ground, and Roommate thought his ankle, um, might be broken? I volunteered to take Leo home to the pasture, Roommate was going to get cleaned up (mud from his shoulders on down), and Son would drive him to Urgent Care if needed.

I could have ridden Leo, but I wasn't dressed appropriately and he was drenched with sweat. We trudged on back up the road together. When I led him through the gate into the pasture, Hero managed to zip out the gate before I could close it. Aaaaugh. As I loosened/unbuckled Leo's saddle and breastplate/martingale, he gave himself a big shake and the whole mess fell on the ground. At once, he moved a huge back hoof forward so that he was stepping on it. BECAUSE OF COURSE HE FREAKIN' DID!

It took some extra work and a few muttered Power Words, but I got Leo untacked and Hero back into the pasture. Not sure how the rest of this day is going to go, but.

The chem assignment is not done. Oop - the phone's ringing. . .