#icon mahogany

[digital-media-enthusiast]

[bitter69uk]

“Whenever Diana Ross goes shopping in Paris, it is a sign of what a famous person’s charisma can do. One day, she wanted some trinkets to wear to go dancing. After having lunched with friends at Maxim’s, her mile-long stretch limousine (something rare even in Paris) pulled up, and she was the first outside on the sidewalks in her floor-length sables at noon. Off she cruised to E. Oxeda, the Faberge of antique jewelers. Inside, she threw her sables on a chair. She jumped up on a Louis Something desk, her fake hair flying at half-mast. She crossed her legs, dangled them as she selected in ten minutes an antique pearl necklace, a diamond clip and some earrings that did the shake, rattle and roll between her cheeks and hair. The image of fame came when the bill was drawn up. “Would you like some identification?” asked Diana. Mme Oxeda said: “No, Miss Ross. We will deliver the jewels to your hotel this afternoon before six.” And this was a high Saturday when no banks could be called to verify her astronomical check, drawn on a bank across the Atlantic Ocean. It could have easily been an imposter, a drag queen, a professional thief. But Diana Ross’ super glamour is so authentic, it can’t easily be imitated.”

/ Andre Leon Talley in the book Mega-Star (1984) /

All hail the Queen! Call her Miss Ross! Happy 80th birthday to durable, volatile veteran pop diva, occasional (Oscar nominated) actress, sequin enthusiast, all-round glamour icon and one of Detroit’s finest daughters – the fabulous Diana Ross (born 26 March 1944)! Understandably everyone loves Ross’ music (both with the Supremes and solo), but I particularly treasure Ross’s spectacular 1975 film Mahogany in which she plays a struggling aspiring fashion designer who achieves the pinnacle of supermodel mega-stardom in Italy. It’s an unassailable so-bad-it’s-GREAT camp classic in the tradition of Valley of the Dolls, Mommie Dearest or Showgirls (and Ross’s outrageous costume and wig changes surely sparked the imagination of generations of Black drag queens, including “Mama Ru” himself). Fittingly, La Ross is currently one of the official muses of Saint Laurent’s Spring / Summer 2024 campaign – and it feels like a belated Mahogany moment! Portraits by David Sims.

[littledaemati]

“I watched with furious cynicism, peculiar to women whom circumstances force mutely to witness folly.”

—The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter

[liquidgirl13]

Theme From Mahogany "Do You Know Where You're Going To"

Theme From Mahogany (Do You Know Where You're Going To)

Do you know where you're going to?

Do you like the things that life is showin' you?

Where are you going to?

Do you know?

Do you get what you're hopin' for

When you look behind you, there's no open doors

What are you hopin' for?

Do you know?

Once we were standin' still in time

Chasin' the fantasies that filled our minds

You knew how I loved you but my spirit was free

Laughin' at the questions that you once asked of me

Do you know where you're going to?

Do you like the things that life is showing you

Where are you going to?

Do you know?

Now lookin' back at all we've planned

We let so many dreams just slip through our hands

Why must we wait so long before we see

How sad the answers to those questions can be?

Do you know where you're going to?

Do you like the things that life is showing you

Where are you going to?

Do you know?

Do you get what you're hopin' for

When you look behind you, there's no open doors

What are you hopin' for?

Do you know?

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Michael Masser / Gerry Goffin

[hasmishabeenbannedfromtwitteryet]

Has Misha been banned from twitter yet?

21/03/2023: No.

[jamminvroomvroom]

777.

ln x fem!reader

in which lando has a wild week in vegas

on a bit of a roll whoops! had to write something slutty for vegas week/lando’s birthday so here it is! enjoy my loves and please please pleeeeease tell me what you think! 🎲💘 have literally been thinking about this since vegas was announced and i couldn’t stop listening to silk sonic lol

posting this with the @lavenderlando seal of approval 🫡🤍

inspired loosely by 777 by silk sonic

warnings: 18+ minors dni i am so serious!! listen it’s smut. it’s a lot lot lot of smut. alcohol, swearing, fuckboy!lando, one night stand vibes, choking, unprotected sex, general sex acts, some kinky shit, fluff, minor angst bc lando is a moody little shit

5k words

lando had gotten used to the taste of champagne.

the golden bubbles had grown on him over the course of the season, they tasted like success. so, he didn’t protest when several magnums showed up at the round table, some ridiculous happy birthday remix being blasted over the casino speakers.

it was the night of his 24th birthday, and the drinks hadn’t stopped flowing. he was surrounded by his friends, max and ash joining him, as well as the drivers that had arrived in vegas. the crisp white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows by now, midnight fast approaching, the material half unbuttoned.

they’d started the night in a bar, drowning in a river of alcohol, and now they were in a casino, one of many on the strip. it was all a bit predictable, kitschy decor everywhere he looked since he’d arrived in las vegas, but that’s what made it iconic. the tackiness seemed to mesh well with the old money vibe, and lando knew this would be a birthday to remember. 


everything was mahogany, gold or red. nothing didn’t twinkle in the lights. his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, curls messy already from the light breeze of november in the desert. his cheeks were champagne rosy, the alcohol going straight to his head and he felt so fucking good.

everyone toasted to the birthday boy, slot machines rattling in the background. lando didn’t usually enjoy this sort of environment, but he was too drunk to care, deciding to embrace the insanity of his life and live on the edge for one night.

he found himself hunched over a gaming table, fingers drumming against the green felt. his eyes scanned the embroidery, taking in the game that was being played. blackjack, he assumed. this really wasn’t his type of place.

by then, as if by some sort of divine intervention, it was.

a flash of red. a swish of hair. manicured nails on a martini glass.

suddenly blackjack seemed like the best fucking game in the world.

lando couldn’t look away from you.

you were stood right opposite him, drink in hand, red satin draping over every curve of your frame. the dress seemed to cover everything, and nothing at all, perfect for the environment you were in. it was daring, enticing, and lando sure liked being enticed.

from the very second he laid eyes on you, he was picturing what you’d look like against a clean, white bedspread, how his name would sound rolling off your tongue in the form of a desperate whimper. it was a crude thought, but he’d become a crude man.

things had changed a lot since his last breakup. he was messy, leaving a trail of clothes and kisses across every country he stepped foot in. he didn’t get off on the number of people he’d slept with, he got off on the rush of someone new, and he knew before he’d even touched down in vegas, a week earlier than he needed to, that this would probably be the messiest week of his life.

but then he saw you, and it felt weird. he didn’t just want to learn your name and bend you over the nearest surface, gone from your bed before the sun was even in the sky. he was addicted at first sight; he had to take you home, at the very least.

his fixation on you was broken by the dealers voice; it seemed like you were up to play next and you needed at least another player. lando’s eyes flitted back to you, wondering if he even knew how to play blackjack before he offered himself up to you on a glaring shiny platter. you took the decision away from him, because this time, you were staring right back at him.

internally, he was choking on air. externally, he was mentally undressing you with a filthy smirk on his face.

“wanna play, birthday boy?” you smiled coyly, an eyebrow quirked seductively. he could have fallen right to his knees at just the sound of your voice. sweet and spicy.

lando realised that you’d seen the embarrassing display the boys had put on for him. maybe you even knew who he was. he definitely wanted to know who you were, and that’s why he decided to give in to your electric stare.

“you’re on.”

he lost.

every. single. game.

numbers were never lando’s thing.

it was hard to care, though, when he had you sprawled out on the desk of his hotel room, his lips all over your neck.

the walk from the casino up to his room had been short, a bottle of champagne in his left hand and the curve of your ass in his right. there’d been very little small talk, very little convincing needed to seduce you, not with the way you’d been eye-fucking from opposite sides of the table, cards laid bare before you both.

he’d kissed you in the elevator, sloppy and desperate, pressed you against the door to his suite, and quickly pinned you to the other side of it once you were finally inside. you tasted like fruit liquor and cigarettes, your dress slowly bunching at your hips as his hands roamed the silky material. lando was restless, craving everything you had to offer, so he picked you up effortlessly, spreading his palms across the back of your thighs.

it had been a short walk to the desk from the door, and he placed you down carefully. lando slid the dress up your thighs, his finger grazing your calf as he did. you were arching into him, pushing his jacket off his frame and frantically tugging at the buttons of his dress shirt until it was hanging undone off his shoulders.

the look in your eyes sent his blood rushing, frenzied and desperate for him as much as he was for you. taking your jaw in his hand, he tilted your chin towards him until you were looking up at him through your lashes. lando tucked your hair behind your ear, continuing to graze down your neck until he reached the flimsy strap of your dress.

“are you gonna let me have you?” his grip on your jaw tightened and he studied your face.

he gulped when your lips twisted into a smile, conniving, dangerous, red lipstick smudged deliciously. you hadn’t caved into his touch, fallen into submission, and suddenly lando was swimming way out of his depth.

it seemed he’d finally met his match.

you pushed him away, giggling as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, and stood from your place on the desk. slowly, you made your way towards him, until you’d backed him up all the way to the foot of the bed, at which point he collapsed. he scrambled up onto his elbows, smirking up at you.

your eyes raked over his frame, swollen lip caught between your teeth. he looked disheveled in the best way, shirt framing lean sun kissed skin.

slowly, you unzipped your dress, letting it fall off your frame. the material pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it carefully, kicking it away. lando had moved up the bed so that he was sitting against the headboard, watching you hungrily. you were left bare, aside from a lacy thong and red stilettos. lando could have cried tears of joy.

happy fucking birthday.

lando’s eyes lit up like 777 had spun onto a slot machine. he may have lost at blackjack but he’d definitely hit the jackpot.

you crawled onto the bed towards him, not stopping until you were sat on his lap. his hands scaled your thighs, stroking up and down the soft skin. you rolled your hips, experimenting, toying with him, and he groaned, low and loud.

“does this answer your your question?” you whispered, leaning into him so that you could loop your arms around his neck.

lando kissed you, slow and sloppy, sitting up even further just to feel you closer. he could feel your nipples brushing against his bare chest, low whines breaking through the kiss your shared every time you felt too sensitive. your bodies were rolling together in unison, friction building nicely between your legs.

he was growing impatient, itching to get rid of the remaining barriers between you. lando held you still, tight, flipping you both over so that he was hovering over you. his lips worked your neck, hickeys littered down your neck and over your collarbone, while his hands moved down your body. he toyed with the band of your thong, snapping the material against your waist.

lando left you there, keening for his touch, while he peeled his shirt off. his trousers went next, along with his boxers, and then he was right back where he’d left off. your panties disappeared in a flash, his kisses punctuated by a splotchy purple mark sucked below your left breast.

and then he was buried between your legs, licking stripes into you like he was starving. he moaned into your pussy when he felt the first pull on his hair, spurring him on. he applied more pressure, taking it slow, revelling in the way you tugged harder and harder with every swipe. lando slid two fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick.

when he slid the digits inside of you, his mouth latched onto your clit, flicking against it relentlessly. he found the perfect rhythm, balance, everything he was doing made you see stars behind your eyelids. you were thrashing, helpless, and he was getting off on it.

you jaw went slack when you raised yourself onto your elbows just to find him grinding against the mattress, groaning into your cunt at the sensation, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. you couldn’t even hold yourself up then, dropping into the mattress as you fell apart beneath him.

lando resurfaced a few moments later, a glint in his eyes, his mouth glistening in the dim light. your vision was hazy, body shattered, but you ached for more of him. the feeling only intensified, your legs tightening around his waist, when he raised his coated fingers to his lips, lapping up every last drop of you. his tongue swirled around his digits lewdly, and you shuddered.

lando didn’t mind at all when you pushed him onto his back, clambering on top of him. you looked wild, animalistic even, as you guided the tip of his cock through your folds, and he folded his arms behind his head to enjoy the view. once you’d slicked him up, not that he really needed it, you sunk down on him.

fingerprints stained your hips; his grip on you increased tenfold as you adjusted around him, your walls throbbing around his swollen cock. lando sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, holding you down on him. your movements were stuttering, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the way he fit inside you so damn perfectly. you tested the waters, rolling your hips a few times, and his eyes rolled back in his skull.

you felt heavenly, like velvet and butterflies.

he lost all sense of control, every fibre keeping him from wrecking you. his grip didn’t loosen when he fucked up into you, bending his knees for any extra leverage he could get. your nails scraped down his chest, his abs, dripping at the way he tensed under your touch. you tried your best to keep up with him, to meet his thrusts, holding your own for longer than you thought you would.

and then you were folding, melting into his chest, one of his hands pulling both of your behind your back, holding you down as he fucked you into your orgasm. your whines were panted right into his ear, sending him hurtling towards his own high.

lando couldn’t help himself, spilling into you, your body pressed helplessly into his. you were exhausted, wrecked, grinning lazily against the thrumming of his heartbeat.

with your hands held behind your back, you couldn’t stop him from planting you on your back, snaking down your body, burying his tongue deep inside you. the room was filled with the sound of sex, his tongue dragging over you like you were the last meal on earth and he was ravenous. he cleaned up the mess he’d made quickly, sounds that would make the population of sin city blush bouncing off the walls.

your vision was white, maybe your were screaming, it was hard to know what was going on when he had you about ready to ascend. when you fell over the edge, you were boneless, at one with the bed. you watched as he licked his lips, flopping onto the bed beside you.

he stroked your hair and you hummed, content and satiated.

lando didn’t dare look away from you while you came down.

apparently, it was rare to wake up after a wild night in vegas and remember the events of the night before.

lando remembered everything.

the exact shade of your eyes, the feel of red satin and black lace, the way you tasted.

your lips on his skin, hips in his hands, the way you moulded pliantly to his touch.

the way you gave as good as you got.

he was smiling before he’d even opened his eyes, reaching blinding across the bed, ready to propose round… four? five? lando had lost count.

warm hands met cold sheets and suddenly he was wide awake.

lando sat up dead straight, searching for a sign of life in the room. there was none. no shoes on the floor, no dress to match, no thong hanging from the door handle. a pit formed in his stomach.

is this how he made people feel?

waking up alone after the best sex of his life and no trace of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was quite miserable.

he thudded back into the mattress, hands shielding his eyes from the burn of daylight. he felt like shit, that was undeniable. when he’d fallen asleep, naked and with you nestled into his side, he couldn’t wait to wake up, perhaps arrogantly thinking that you’d be waking up with him. what was that saying, again?

hope breeds eternal misery.

his brain was wracked with the image of you and him, champagne flowing right before he’d taken you again, bent over the desk. and then again in the shower, a harmless attempt to clean yourselves up ending up with you on your knees before your cheek was pressed against the shower screen.

lando tried to fathom why you’d leave after the night you’d shared. there was something about it, something more intimate in the desperation you’d shared, that left him senseless as to why you were gone before the sun was in the sky.

just like he usually was.

it dawned on him, quite quickly, that the habits he’d made of quick fucks and fast getaways was not good form. it was reckless and casually cruel, and he felt guilt for the first time since his string of one night stands had begun. perspective was a crazy thing.

when he sluggishly made his way out of bed, he felt even worse.

-

“where’d you get to last night? we lost you after that terrible game of blackjack.” max teased, sipping his coffee.

lando found himself at the breakfast table, head rested on his hand and hoodie pulled tight. he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but max was like a dog with a bone; there was no avoiding this conversation.

“met a girl.” lando mumbled, aimlessly stirring the tea he knew he wasn’t going to drink.

“ah, understood.” max said, grinning knowingly. but then, as if lando’s bad mood finally clicked, he continued. “wait, why are you in a mood then?”

“tired.” lando replied, monotonously. he wasn’t quite sure how to unpack this one.

“bullshit.”

“woke up alone.”

“oh.”

“she was- i don’t know. just thought it would be different, that’s all.” lando couldn’t disguise the deflated tone of his voice.

“don’t tell me you caught feelings from a shag.” max rolled his eyes, chomping away at his toast. lando could barely stomach the sight of food.

“shut up, i’m not saying i fell in love. just liked something about her.”

“well, anything can happen in vegas. you never know, mate. she might find her way back to you.”

lando was getting ready for the netflix cup before he knew it. he’d managed to shake off max, escaping to the darkness of his room, the curtains drawn and the lights off.

he pretended it was the hangover that had him laying face down on his bed.

the last thing he wanted was to go and play corporate circus on the golfing green, but he figured some fresh air wouldn’t hurt. and so, he was in the backseat of a car well on his way to the tournament.

carlos couldn’t distract him, neither could alex or pierre. rickie fowler was much less interesting that he hoped, or maybe he wasn’t and lando just wasn’t interested enough. not even zak’s mclaren printed trousers could cheer him up.

lando was leaning into his golf club, starting mindlessly into the crowd, waiting for this garish event to begin when he caught a glimpse of someone he recognised. in a sea of influencers and obnoxious businessmen, there you were.

there you fucking were, in your knee high boots and a mini skirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, skintight top under an oversized blazer and hair shining under the warm sunlight. he lost his balance, the golf club slipping from underneath him, and the only thing that kept him upright was the burning urge to keep his eyes on you.

just who were you?

lando didn’t need to clarify whether or not you were looking at him, too. no, you made it abundantly clear by the way you winked at him, before pushing your sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose.

you fucking winked.

he took a step in your direction, shaky legs ready to carry him all the way over to you. he only had your first name and he craved your second, your phone number, anything really. he’d just take the small talk, to be completely honest.

but then the klaxon screeched, knocking him out of his trance and he whipped round to discover that they were ready to tee off. lando cursed under his breath, rapidly turning to search for your face but you were nowhere to be seen.

had he imagined you? had he imagined all of it?

every golf ball hit was hit with frustrated vengeance.

the week disappeared in a bittersweet blur.

lando had achieved multiple hangovers and about zero dollars in winnings, but he’d successfully managed to take his mind off of you.

okay, so that was a bare faced lie, but if lando didn’t lie to himself, he wouldn’t be able to lie to anyone else.

he wouldn’t be able to lie to max that he was no longer moping. he wouldn’t be able to lie to the media when they asked him if he was oh so excited about the race. he wouldn’t be able to lie to his team when they asked him if he was still suffering the consequences of his week long hangover.

lando had been rushing around all day, after a solid p4 in qualifying the night before. the entire day had been horrendous, sequins and bright lights being shone in his eyes. all he wanted to do was hide, get in the car and then go to bed.

fate had other plans.

lando was rushing to the front of the grid for the national anthem, certain that whatever display that was about to occur would make him nauseous. he was derailed on his journey, caught by rachel brookes in the pitlane, and then accosted by martin brundle once he’d made his was onto the grid.

“good qualifying yesterday and good luck today!” martin called to lando, turning to wrestle another insufferable celebrity.

as lando was making his getaway, ready to jog through the masses of people to his place at the front, he went barrelling into another body, putting his hands out to steady himself and the poor person that had become his collateral damage. as he regained his balance, he must have looked like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his head.

“are you stalking me?” was all he could choke out when his eyes met yours.

what the actual fuck were you doing here?

lando had given up on the possibility of ever seeing you again, and yet, here you were, stood under the bright floodlights on the grid, his office. this was the last place he’d expected you to show up, paddock pass swinging from your neck. again, what the actual fuck were you doing here?

“might as well be, at this point.” you teased. “hopefully you’ll do better today than you did at golf on tuesday.” you smiled coyly up at him, tucking your hair behind your ear.

lando was on quite the time crunch, glancing at the time on the clock at the front of the grid. he had a minute to spare, if he was lucky, but he had to talk to you, before you inevitably disappeared again.

“thought i’d get at least your phone number before you left.”

“from what i hear, you don’t usually stick around long enough for those.” you smirked.

well, his reputation certainly proceeded him. he couldn’t really argue with that.

“maybe i’m trying to change that.” lando attempted to flirt but really, he sounded desperate. you didn’t seem to mind.

“i’ll make you a deal,” you proposed, leaning in just a little bit closer. lando’s breath hitched in his throat. “get on that podium, and i’ll be waiting in your hotel lobby.”

“and if i don’t?” lando’s mouth was dry.

“maybe i’ll see you next year.”

lando watched you walk away, your hips swaying tantalisingly, wondering if the hefty fine he would be bollocked with would be worth it if he didn’t move his ass for the national anthem.

this would be the drive of his fucking life.

lando couldn’t recall a time he’d left a track faster in his life.

media duties were rushed, so was the shower he had before he fled. it was lucky he was already on the strip, so the walk to his hotel was blissfully short.

he entered the lobby with a shit eating grin and a comically large bottle of champagne in hand.

a string of second places had gotten rather frustrating, but this one felt particularly good. a podium was a podium, fair and square, and assuming you’d kept to your end of the bargain, he was in for the best celebration of his life.

sitting pretty at the bar that stretched through the lobby, you were waiting for him, heels swinging from the stool you rested on. denim clung to your hips, a dark corset style top moulding to your curves. he wondered if love at first sight was real; lust at first sight certainly was.

lando’s eyes beckoned to towards him, and you slipped inconspicuously into the elevator together, not wanting to draw too much attention to your rendezvous. it was a futile attempt, frankly, because he had you backed into the mirror before the doors had even fully shut.

kisses on your neck had your eyes fluttering closed, one of his knees slotting comfortably between your thighs. one of his hands was clasped tight around the neck of the neck of the bottle, giving lando the fantastic idea to find your neck with his free one. he held you firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“i’m gonna make you wish you never left.”

-

hours on the mattress pulling countless orgasms from one another left you both weak, exhausted, a little bit clingy.

lando felt electric. no other person had ever left him so feral, so euphoric.

he’d had you first against the door, pulling your jeans off and pinning you against it, your thighs in his firm grasp as he fucked you into the wooden panel. then, he’d taken you to bed, your knuckles turning white from your brutal grip on the headboard when he’d planted you down on his mouth. two orgasms later, you were face down in the sheets, ass in the air for him while he slammed into you like his life depended on it, pulling you into his chest by your hair when you reached your climaxes.

all that hard work called for a bath, where you both found yourselves now. it had started off quite innocently, sat at opposite ends of the extravagantly large bathtub amongst the bubbles. but then you’d given him those eyes, and then your back was pressed against his chest, your body draped over his. his head was nestled into the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. his other hand brought the bottle of champagne to his lips, the liquid going down smoothly. lando pressed the bottle to your pursed lips too, trading backwards and forwards while your bodies relaxed into the hot water.

lando’s hand on your waist was getting restless, fingers drumming over your abdomen, up, up, up, until he found your breast. he circled your nipple with his finger, not quite touching the bud yet, but he could feel it hardening from his scarce touch. your hips rolled backwards into his, feeling him hardening once again against your lower back. lando cupped your breast, massaging it in his hands before he switched, flitting between your tits.

you slumped somehow even further into him, not a millimetre of space between your bodies. he was winding you up beautifully, heat burning between your legs once more. you didn’t know how you did it, how you could be so ready for each other after the eventful evening you’d already shared.

lando was flicking your nipples between his finger, switching back and fourth until you were moaning quietly. you took charge, the sensitivity building too quickly, and so you rolled over in his arms, clambering into his lap.

the bath water splashed around you, moving in small waves across the tub as you situated yourself on top of him, grinding down on him until he was buried deep within your walls. he found that spot, rolling your hips against his, and then you were rocking up and down on him, nice and slow. he touched parts of you that never had been before, the pace and the angle intensifying every little sensation. your head was thrown back, hands clawing at his shoulders for something to hold onto, just for the feel of him.

lando reached over the edge of the bathtub, blindly searching for the bottle he’d discarded while you’d been switching positions. he felt the green glass grazing his fingertips and brought it back to his lips, eyes trailing over your body in sheer awe.

he couldn’t help himself, taking a sip before tilting it towards you, pouring the golden bubbles over your clavicle, jaw tightening - just like your cunt did at the sensation - as he watched the sticky alcohol drip down over the curve of your bouncing breasts.

you quivered when you felt his tongue lap over your nipple, then the other, dragging over your sodden flesh until he reached the junction between your neck and your shoulder. he bit down, hard, eyes rolling back at the taste in his mouth and the way you clamped down around him, whimpering out between breathless pants.

lando felt you let go, stuttering on his cock and sinking down on top of him, the water - now lukewarm - soothing your tired limbs. he held you close, basking in the intimacy of the moment, his hearing honing in on the dull hum of ecstasy you expelled.

the bath grew colder and colder as you sat there, comfortable silence filling the air along with the quiet rush of water that came with any movements made. when the time came, lando held you up as you got off of him and stepped onto the plush rug, quickly following suit. you were eyeing the shower when he turned to hand you a towel.

“i think i need a shower, as much as i enjoyed the bath.” you spoke, opening the screen and stepping in to adjust the knobs.

lando weighed up his options, agonising over joining you or doing his back in. he couldn’t exactly tell his trainer that his back gave out from too much sex.

“am i invited?” lando asked, stepping in behind you, hands on your waist.

“seems like you’ve already invited yourself.” you teased, looking at him over your shoulder.

“no funny business, you.” lando rested his head on your shoulder.

“from me? you’re just as bad.” you quipped, letting the hot warm stream all over your flushed bodies.

lando stayed as he was for a second, but then you turned your head again, looking at him from the corner of your eye and he needed to kiss you. he couldn’t help but, and so he twisted you round to face him and leaned in. you were more than receptive, fingers raking through his wet curls.

the hot water rained down on you while you stood there, holding each other close. lando couldn’t put his finger on it, why he didn’t want to let you go. he couldn’t even begin to process the idea of having anyone else in his arms like this. it was absurd, really, but he was too caught up in the moment to care.

when you were both clean and dry, you laid down in bed, gazing mindlessly at one another. his eyes followed the lines of your face, the curve of your lips. he learned a lot about you, a formula 1 fan with who ran her own business and took herself on holiday to vegas. the conversation flowed like the champagne had and you were laughing at all his stupid jokes. in turn he grinned like a fool at your quick wit, the sound of your laughter.

“so what are you doing next? back to work?” lando asked, an idea forming in his mind like a tornado.

“nope,” you popped the p. “giving myself some well deserved time off.”

“have you ever been to abu dhabi?” lando asked, lips quirking mischievously.

-

inbox me your thoughts bc aaaaaaaa 😨😨

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Hearts On Fire

A/N: I completely adored writing this—like OMG!!! I just wanted to thank my bestie, @amariiyagurl , before diving into the story since she was the one who gave me the wonderful idea. Once again, I really, really enjoyed writing it, so thank you, girlie!!🤎🧡 Art(s) by: mariammew2 & Pinkiemme

🐴staring: BountyHunterMiguel O’Hara x Fem!SassyVaquera

      🌵preview: 

“What do ya want from me? To see me lose control? To go against my damn duties?!” The hunter shouted, his face trembling in uncontrollable anger. “What ya find pleasure in that? Seeing me lose my shit?”  

“Why, yes indeed..."

🐮summary: Miguel O’Hara is a ruthless and cold bounty hunter of the Wild West, renowned for his sharp wit, perfect aim, and unprecedented tracking skills. He never cared about the outlaws he arrested, sometimes even killed. It was merely business in his eyes, nothing more.

It wasn’t until you revealed your beautiful face as an outlaw of the Wild West that the hunter found himself completely smitten by your gorgeous smile, ravishing body, and sharp tongue, which he both loved and hated.

But you were an outlaw, and he, a bounty hunter. 

You and he were like water and oil.

You didn’t mix…

Or so it seemed…

🐴tw/cw: Bed-Sharing, Big Dick Miguel, Bondage, Butt Groping,  Cock Bulge, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Doggystyle, Forbidden love, Late 1800s, Missionary, Multiple Orgasms, NFSW,  Olfactophilla, Praises, Rough Sex, Squirting, Temperature Play (If you squint), Western Themed, Wild-West Base, 19th-Century

🍺Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Querida (Dear), Miel (Honey), Vaquera (Cowgirl), Bebè (Baby), Princesa (Princess), 

     🤎Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🌵 Word Count: 14.4k words 

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

"Mierda!"

The curse fell from the lips of the notorious bounty hunter, Miguel O’Hara, upon dodging yet another set of flying bullets being shot at him. He growled, straightening up on his saddle and giving the reins of his ebony horse a sharp snap, pressing the spurs of his boots into its side to urge his adored stallion faster.

He couldn’t let you get away again. 

Not this time...

Miguel O’Hara was a famous bounty hunter who was known throughout the Wild West for his reputation as a relentless tracker and unmatched sharpshooter. The mere mention of his name struck fear into the hearts of outlaws, knowing that if you had a hefty price and were on the bounty hunter’s list, you were as good as captured, or in some cases… 

Dead.

Although Miguel had an infamous reputation of being the end of many ruthless and cunning outlaws, there was one that always managed to slip through his fingers…

You.

Y/N, the vaquera with the excellent aim, sexy body, and witty tongue always seemed to continuously evade his capture. He couldn’t help but despise the woman just as much as he secretly admired her.

It was always that damn mouth of hers…

She could sweet-talk and charm almost anyone, even the infamous bounty hunter, which was the reason behind his countless missed arrests of the beautiful vaquera.

But not today.

Miguel was going to make sure of it.

"Vamos, Xian! Vamos!" Miguel shouted to his horse, his body leaning forward as his black stallion snorted in response, her hooves thudding faster against the rocky and dry terrain of the desert. Miguel's black durst coat blew behind him in the wind as his mahogany eyes were trained on your figure, riding upon your horse just a few miles ahead.

A wicked smirk spread across the hunter’s lips upon getting closer to you.

‘You aren’t getting away this time.’

Miguel thought, effortlessly, he hoisted his iconic steel six-shooter from its holster, aiming the long barrel directly at you, who was galloping at lightning speed to escape the notorious bounty hunter. With a click of his thumb upon the hammer to cock the gun, he didn’t hesitate to shoot, pulling the trigger.

Only for a second, the piercing sound of the bullet’s release reverberated through the desert, to be followed with a frustrated snarl from the hunter at the sight of you dodging it.

You let out a gasp, one hand flying up to clutch your brown wide-brimmed hat to keep it from flying away, just as you veered your horse to the left to avoid the passing bullet.

You glanced over your shoulder with a taunting smirk on your cherry lips, the sight only making Miguel’s blood boil. “Stop fuckin’ runnin'!” He bellowed, his gruff voice full of rage with a potent Western and Latino accent.

A soft laugh passed your lips at him. “Stop chasin’ me then!” You shouted back with an amused smile that almost took Miguel’s breath away; but in that brief moment of awe, he didn’t notice when the attractive vaquera pulled her gun out, firing at him once more.

His attempt at dodging the bullet was unsuccessful as a loud whine from his horse filled the desert.

“Xina!”

Miguel exclaimed in shock and worry, feeling his stallion stagger in her steps and begin to slow down. His mahogany eyes snapped up to see you getting further away from him, Xina’s whimpers of pain bringing his attention back to his wounded horse as he knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up with you.

Not in this state…

At that revelation, irritation filled Miguel's being. “Shit! I almost had her!” He hissed in frustration, watching the beautiful vaquera ride off into the distance. He clenched the reins of his horse tightly, trying to calm his anger.

“I’ll find you again, Cariño. 

I promise you…”

It was now evening, and you were sitting inside a saloon in a town you'd encountered, enjoying a nice glass of whiskey after your successful getaway from the infamous bounty hunter.

“Another glass, and keep ‘em comin’,” you exclaimed to the bartender with a grin as he poured you another glass of the alcoholic drink.

You smiled, bringing the whiskey to your lips when you, suddenly, felt something hard press into your side. You winced at the sensation of the solid object being jabbed harshly into your ribs before a warm and overpowering presence came over you.

"Holler or make any sudden moves, and I’ll gladly put a bullet in ya.”

You bit your lip, instantly recognizing the deep voice of the owner of the gun currently prodding into your inner organs. “Why, if it ain’t Miguel O’Hara. It’s nice to see ya again.” You chuckled in a breathy tone due to the piercing pain, watching the large bounty hunter take a seat on a wooden stool beside you at the bar. His grip on his gun seemed to tighten after your greeting.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips at the sight of the massive, stoic Latino.

Miguel O’Hara was a hunter you’ve never met before—so determined, stern, and versatile. He was honestly a jack of all trades, and one that had greatly piqued your interest upon encountering him for the first time six months ago.

Dressed like a shadow, he was adorned in his usual attire of a black durst coat, collared shirt, pants, and black sturdy boots. A wide-brimmed hat, with a skull, also sat upon his head of coffee-brown curls and tanned, rugged features.

Instantly upon meeting his cold mahogany orbs, you knew he’d be fun to play with—more than the other hunters. But you had to admit, the Latino didn’t get his great reputation senselessly.

He always gave you a run for your money—just like now…

You peered at the silent bounty hunter, trying to suppress the urge to wince from his gun still poking into your side. Your eyes roamed his face, taking in his hardened expression of a clenched jaw and permanent scowl that could curdle milk. His mahogany eyes, hooded by his black hat, traced your seated figure.

You could see the conflict occurring behind those enchanting orbs of his.

He was trying to make sense of you, but he simply couldn’t…

In all of Miguel’s years of being a bounty hunter, you always seemed to surprise him. With a loaded gun pressed into your side that could be fired any moment, you didn’t seem a bit fazed.

He’d seen outlaws that practically shit their pants at being held at gunpoint, yet you continued to drink your whiskey and kick your legs under the table like you were enjoying a nice lil’ ride on a wagon.

The bounty hunter was secretly impressed, but that damn taunting smirk of yours was working his last nerve.

“I can’t say the same 'bout you, chica,” he bluntly replied, leaning in close, as you instsntly felt his anger radiating from his body.

“You not only robbed that fuckin’ train, but you shot my damn horse.” He spat harshly, his voice full of malice. His gun dug deeper into your side, and his face was so close to yours that your breath was practically mixing. “And you hurt my Xina; I should shoot you dead right here. 

Right now.”

The bounty hunter threatened through gritted teeth. You rolled your eyes, hearing him say the same thing before. “Then why don't you?” You asked, taking a sip of your whiskey.

Miguel's thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion at your inquiry, his puzzlement only making him angrier. Once again, you were using that sharp tongue of yours to try and screw with his brain. “What shit are you yappin’ now?” He growled, irritation found in his voice.

A snicker left your cherry lips at the hunter’s perplexion. “It's not that hard a question, Miguel.” You giggled, peering over at him from under the hood of your brown hat.

“Why haven't you shot me dead yet, hm?”

You smirked, watching his tan, rugged features scrunch up further in rage, the sight pleasing you immensely.

Miguel's grip tightened upon the handle of his pistol, his teeth clenched so harshly that he believed they'll break any moment. “Perhaps I'd rather see how that pretty face of yers would hold up in prison.”

You laughed, taking note of his compliment. “Whatever you say…” You snickered, turning to take another sip of your whiskey.

"Whatever I fuckin’ say!?" Miguel snarled, unable to believe how nonchalantly you were taking him. Most outlaws’ attitudes would hastily change at the mere presence of the infamous bounty hunter, but here you were, still badmouthing him and acting like this was a joke.

It was only enraging Miguel further…

His scowl deepened as he sharply thrust the barrel of his six-shooter into your side, making you groan. “Here you are playin’ games and talkin’ shit like this is just a fun lil’ evening for ya.”

“Because it is.” You retorted, trying to ignore how your side would surely be bruised with how deep his gun was burrowed into your skin, despite being covered by your shirt.

Miguel figured you'd say that, but it still didn't make him less pissed.

“Then I'll love nothin’ more than to wipe that damn smirk from yer face, especially after what ya did to my precious Xina.” Miguel threatened, his mahogany eyes seeming to become a scarlet red at his seething anger.

You scoffed, shooting him a glare. “This fuckin’ horse again?!” You spat in irritation. “I believe your damn horse is real fine.” You replied, casting a glance at the entrance of the saloon to see his ebony horse standing behind the gated entrance. She looked relatively healthy, aside from a bandage upon the side of her massive black body. “Stop over exaggerating; it looks like just a darn graze to me.”

“And that fucking ‘graze’ is going to cost me a hefty sum of cash,” he sternly said, but despite how angry he was at you…

Damn, you were too sexy for your own good…

He couldn’t help letting his eyes drift down your body, taking in your vaquera attire of a simple pair of dark blue, slim-fitted pants and a matching button-up with brown fringe along your outfit. A set of brown boots and a wide-brim hat sat upon your head. He also took notice of how the outfit seemed to accentuate every piece of you.

Your attire was not only breathtaking, but it broke all the regulations assigned by men when it came to the makeup of a woman. Unlike the proper lady, pants adorned your gorgeous legs instead of the usual housewife skirt.

However, despite how rebellious your entire outfit was, it made you look hotter than a Texas summer; your stunning body was a quality the bounty hunter couldn’t get enough of, and it never failed to stir a wave of conflicting emotions through him.

Miguel cleared his throat, shaking off his adoration and lust for you to replace it with the annoying and rageful traits you shared instead. He leaned in close, his western and Latino-accented voice dropping to a low whisper.

"You must be aware of the hefty bounty on yer head, don’t ya, princesa?” He inquired in a hushed tone, not wanting anyone to overhear.

Miguel's breath fanned against your cheek due to his closeness, the sensation causing tingles to run down your backside. “Indeed, I do.” You simply stated. “A thousand…Correct?”

Miguel laughed darkly at your reply, shaking his head. “After your little shenanigans in that boom town last month, your price has been raised, sweetheart.” He uttered, your sweet natural scent along with the sweat and dirt on your skin filling his senses, igniting his concealed desire.

“Five thousand...”

The hunter stated, causing your heart to drop. However, your face held its usual unbothered expression upon hearing the new price. You looked away from him, snatching up your glass of whiskey in frustration. Miguel smirked, watching you gulp down the rest of your glass in hopes of calming your nerves.

“Five thousand is on your head, dead or alive, querida.” He said, finally taking notice of your adamant attempt to avoid his eyes, the sight angering him.

Without warning, he took your chin in his large, gloved hand, snapping your head to meet his stern and rageful ones. Your eyebrows furrowed in a mix of anger and surprise upon his sudden action.

“Be thankful I haven't filled ya with lead, chica, with yer attitude that option is seemin’ more and more temptin’.” He growled, his eyes roaming the beautiful face that has caused so many problems in the West. Your beauty only fueling his fury.

“You've been a damn thorn in my side since your first robbery down in the Southwest.” He rasped, his gloved fingers tightening around your jaw as with his every word, his barrel pressed deeper into your side, causing your eyebrows to screw together in pain.

You groaned softly, glaring daggers at him, and noticed some of the customers of the saloon starting to look over at the two of you.

“I'll be darn, that's Miguel O'Hara, ain't it. Look, Willy, ain't it?”

“And here I thought you were pullin’ my leg, Hank. That is him—but wait… and that's that cowgirl too, right?”

“Shoot dang, it is!”

The chatter of two loud older male customers filled your ears. Their recognition of not just Miguel but also you really pissed you off.

‘I didn't come here to cause a damn scene and draw attention to myself. Got enough shit to deal with as it is.’

You thought angrily, deciding it was time to make your exit. With an endearing grin, you gazed up at the bounty hunter, placing a hand onto his forearm that grasped your jaw and giving it a gentle caress with your fingertips. “Miguel, dear, we've been at each other's throats for months now…ain't we, babes?” You stated with a pout, continuing to brush the pad of your fingers along his arm with your eyes trained on him.

The bounty hunter completely stiffened at your touch, his mahogany eyes glancing down to your hand before snapping back to you.

He knew you were trying to seduce him with your alluring eyes, hypnotizing touch, and sultry voice, but damn was it hard to resist you. His desire was already growing, and your enticement was only feeding the flames.

“We have…” He practically growled through gritted teeth, the only thing keeping him stable was his grip on his steel six-shooter that was still piercing into your ribs, reminding him of his duties and reputation along with the importance of him detaining you…

Or killing you…

Miguel's eyes, practically red, glared down at you; seeing the bounty hunter angry always seemed to rile you up even more. You bit your lip, running your fingers up to his bare wrist, the only bit of skin that wasn't concealed by his sleeve or leather gloves.

You traced your fingertips along the valley of bulging veins that resided there, keeping your eyes on him. “Indeed, hunter…so perhaps, we can become allies instead of enemies, eh?” You suggested while caressing his wrist.

Miguel's jaw clenched, unable to ignore the wave of heat that was spreading through his being at your touch, and he only became more enraged at his body's adorning responses.

It was always like this with you…

He finally gets you cornered with nowhere else to go, believing he has won before you allure him enough to give him the slip.

Miguel had promised himself that today would be different, that today would be the day he would finally catch you; but with the way you were looking up at him from under your beautiful eyelashes, stroking his wrist and speaking to him so seductively…

He was close to taking you right there at the bar.

“I don't align myself with people, let alone outlaws, miel.” He said, trying to stay focused on his mission and not the growing excitement in his pants.

At his rejection, your pout deepened.

“And here I thought the last time we met up like this was somethin’ special…”

You slyly trailed off with a devious grin, watching, for a moment, as the bounty hunter’s thick eyebrows furrowed in disbelief and shock.

‘She really went there.’ Miguel thought, smirking at the recollection of his previous heated encounter with the beautiful vaquera and how very pleasing it was.

He removed his revolver from your side, tucking it back into his holster but not removing his large hand that encased your jaw. “You think bringin’ that up is going to save your sexy ass?” He inquired with a chuckle, his words bringing a smile to your lips. “No…not with you.” You giggled, batting your lashes up at him. “You are too smart for that.”

Miguel’s eyes narrowed in frustration. He hated how slick that mouth of yours was—it was like an eel dipped in oil, able to outwit and outsmart anyone with just a smile and a little teasing.

And goodness, did you love to tease…

You grinned, looking up at Miguel. “Mmm, but just think of how good it was, Miggy.” You uttered, moving your hands to run along the front of his duster coat, gripping the flaps and pulling him closer to you.

Miguel growled softly, his pants seeming to become painfully tighter the more you spoke and talked to him.

With a glance down, it wasn't hard to miss how aroused the hunter was. The enormity under the black fabric of his trousers demanding attention and yours, in particular. You smirked, finally having him under your control.

“You remember, don't ya?” You whispered, leaning in closely to the hunter's face, his stern expression faltering at your nearness. 

Miguel tried hard to resist you, but it was like he was under your spell, feeling your lips ghost along his jaw, up to his ear.

“How good ya felt in my throat and how well I took ya?”

You muttered seductively into his ear while removing a hand from his coat to trail down his chest. Your fingers tracing his bulging pecs and abs as you descended further. 

“Just imagine how good yer feel elsewhere? Perhaps…”

Your fingers found what you desired, looping through his front belt loop of his pants, and tugging him towards you with a seductive grin. A gasp escaped his lips, his black-gloved hand landing on your arm, ceasing your movements as his mahogany, slightly dazed, and lustful eyes gazed down at you. Your hands upon his pants, temptingly close to where he wanted you the most, drove him to the edge.

You instantly became surprised, the rare sight of such an expression upon your gorgeous face enough to cause him to stir underneath his briefs; however, he was once again conflicted—not knowing if he should listen to his head or his desires when it came to you.

You were just too risky to let go, and too sexy to lock up…

And there was a wretched part of him that didn't want to see the sexy vaquera in bars, regardless of how much of a pain in the ass you were.

So, what should be done with you...?

You gazed up at Miguel, taking notice of how his stoic expression had returned—that attractive smirk of his gone and replaced with his scowl like before. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Was he not buying it?  

Was he about to arrest you? 

Shit, you were nervous as hell.

“Miguel? Babes-”

“Stand up.”

Miguel abruptly said, removing his hand from your jaw and pulling away. You laughed nervously, reaching out for his gloved hand.   “O-Oh, Miggy, who knew you were quite the funny one-”  Your dismissive words were cut off by the hunter suddenly swatting your hand from him and hastily grabbing your arms, pulling you onto your feet. A gasp passed your lips at his rough actions.

“What the hell?!” You shouted as effortlessly, Miguel tossed your body over his broad shoulder as if you were featherlight. His burly arm wrapped around the back of your thighs to hold you firmly against his massive body.

You scoffed in disbelief, laying upon what felt like a boulder for a shoulder.  “What the fuck is wrong with ya! I-If you don't put me down, ya sidewindin’ two-faced piece of shit!” You hollered whilst punching his backside in hopes of him releasing you, but to the hunter, you were like a dust devil—all wind and no impact.

Miguel turned, taking notice of the obvious attention the two of you were bringing—many of the customers now staring. The hunter tipped his hat to the fellow individuals of the saloon in a gesture of apology. “Pardon the ruckus, folks, this just business.” Miguel said in his usual, gruff voice, the vibrations of his tone rumbling throughout his massive body.

With a smirk, the bounty hunter carried you out of the saloon, your loud and repetitive kicks and curses following the two of you.

Miguel stepped outside, taking in the earthy and sagebrush scent of the new town he'd tracked you down to, named Roca Roja. It was a town that he could count on his fingers how many times he'd visited, but currently, he'd never seen so many bodies decorating the streets, especially as the sun was now setting on the horizon.

However, he couldn't exactly enjoy the nice, dry breeze of night with your damn yelling in his ear.

“I don't know what the hell is goin’ on in that thick skull of yer's, but yer've done lost yer darn mind!” You yelled from atop Miguel's shoulder as his black boots crunched under the rocky terrain of Roca Roja.

He continued to ignore your insults and shouts, clicking his tongue to signal his horse that fell into step beside him.

The hunter's Xina, an Appaloosa with a beautiful white spotted pattern down her ebony backside and around her snout, walked next to the both of you. Her loud snorts and clomps of her hooves filled the night and drawing your attention, but what really caught your eye was the nicely wrapped bandage that covered her torso.

You averted your eyes from the horse, feeling slightly guilty, but your demands and protests never ceased while the hunter continued to bring you to this unknown location. “Where are ya even takin’ me!?” You exclaimed, continuing another barrage of heavy punches to his muscular backside to no avail. His boulder of a shoulder digging into your already bruised side, only further angering you.

Your punches and kicks were completely useless to the huge male. Once you became tired, you slumped upon his shoulder, wincing slightly at how it continued to jab into your bruised ribs. You scowled, glaring over at the hunter. “What the hell is the matter with ya? Kidnappin’ a gal like this is a crime too if ya didn't know!” You shouted in annoyance.

Miguel heaved an irritated sigh, not understanding how a sexy thing like you can have such a nasty attitude. “If ya stop ya bitchin' I just might answer yer questions!” He shouted back at you.

A growl passed your cherry lips, finally quieting down to allow the hunter to speak. “Now…what's going through that pretty noggin’ of yer's is correct.

I'm takin’ ya in.”

Your eyes widened at his words, hastily, returning back to trying to escape.

You'll be damned if you go to jail so easily like this…

Swift hands flew to your holsters on your hips to find them empty, your revolvers missing from their places. The dark laughter from the hunter following your discovery only made your heart drop.

“Looking for yer guns, Cariño?” He taunted, giving your ass a playful smack, making you jolt. The sensation left you in a mix of anger and arousal at his spank. “Yer been a bad gal, so no guns for a beaut like you.”

You snarled, glaring at him. “So what!? After everythin’ we've been through, yer just gonna throw me to the wolves? You know what they'll do to me in there!” You exclaimed, trying to hide the worry in your tone at possibly being a part of such an unsanitary place with harsh conditions that could cause any sane person to lose their sanity.

Miguel's arm tightened around your thighs, his heart shamefully tugging. “Don't tell me yer scared, vaquera,” he teased, continuing to walk through town with you over his shoulder. “Shut it, hunter,” you scowled, delivering another punch to his backside in rage that only left him laughing. “Why, if ya do the crime, ya do the time. You know the law,” he replied.

You heaved a sigh, not believing after all your fun you would be sent to a place so hideous and dehumanizing— some jails didn't even separate by genders. 

You'll surely lose your mind in there…

“Yer not…seriously goin’ to take me back to Nueva Yorkano in one night, ain't ya?” you inquired, hoping it was a ‘nay.’

Miguel grunted, acknowledging that his horse, Xina, wouldn't be able to make a trip to the town, Nueva Yorkano, where you were most wanted in, without breaks, especially at night. There were many obstacles a traveler could encounter—coyotes, ruthless vaqueros, the harsh elements, and the extreme drop in temperature were all your enemies on a night journey through the desert.

The hunter cast a glance over at his horse whose steps were already starting to slow down. His wounded stallion hurt him more than anything due to him raising her from just a young foal; seeing her like this tore him up inside.

“Nay, we'll be gettin’ a room,” Miguel stated, clicking his tongue and gesturing with his head for his horse to follow him to the right, changing his destination to the nearest inn.

A grin spread across your cherry lips at your delayed arrest.

‘Perhaps, I can escape before we-’

“Fuck! What the hell!?!” You exclaimed at the sharp spank Miguel delivered to your rear, the smack pulling you from your thoughts and leaving an intense sting. “Don't get any funny ideas, chica, I'm still pissed at you about Xina,” he growled. “So try anythin’, I won't hesitate to rough you up, got it!?”

You rubbed your sizzling rear-end, muttering under your breath. “Rough me up…” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You won't dare put ya hands on me,” you said from atop his shoulder as Miguel heard every word, bringing a smirk to his lips.

“Why…there are other ways I can ‘rough’ you up, Muñeca.”

Miguel uttered suggestively; one could dare say the hunter was flirting with you. You chuckled, smiling over at the stoic male. “Well, puttin’ it like that, it sounds like somethin’ I wouldn't mind experiencin’ then.” You giggled.

Miguel grunted in irritation at your comment, trying to ignore how turned on he became at your response. His mahogany eyes located a small inn nearby, its sign holding in big letters:

‘Cobweb Comfort.’

“We'll rest there,” Miguel replied, walking over as you looked over in the direction he was taking you, a groan passing your lips.

“You must be pullin’ my leg, Miguel. Here! Of all places!?” you whined, taking in the rustic and aged inn with paint peeling from its walls from years of neglect and windows layered with desert dust.

The closer Miguel got to the place, you could make out the uneven porch, loud creaking rocking chairs that sat upon it, and the nearby stable that showed many signs of disrepair but held many horses inside.

Everything about the inn was distasteful in your eyes, wishing to reside elsewhere that actually gave some care to the appearance of their establishment unlike this one.

Despite your complaints, the hunter ignored you, signaling for his horse to wait by the door before going into the inn.

The door creaked open, and you observed how the tall hunter's hand clutched his black hat as he slightly lowered to pass under the short doorway upon entering.

The interior of the inn looked quite similar to its exterior, with peeling wallpaper, heavily scuffed floors, and faded landscape paintings upon the walls.

Miguel's eyes took in the lobby of the rustic inn, instantly making contact with a rather familiar man sitting behind a weathered wooden counter. The innkeeper seemed more invested in smoking and reading his book to even notice the both of your arrival.

You scoffed. “Trash-ass customer service too. Darn, didn't see that comin’.” You mumbled sarcastically with an eye-roll, earning an annoyed grunt from Miguel.

The hunter approached the desk, his boots thudding upon the wooden floorboards, causing it to creak with his every step. The wood and smoky scent only intensified the further he walked into the inn.

Miguel peered over the counter, staring intently at the male that looked to be his same age, who was still oblivious to him having customers. Strangely, the innkeeper seemed familiar to the hunter, but due to the few oil lamps that hang from hooks inside the lobby, he was unable to see him clearly.

Miguel cleared his throat, hastily getting the male's attention, his amber eyes glancing up in surprise. “Ah, pardon me, didn't see ya there.” He chuckled, closing his book and standing from his chair, although, upon making eye contact, both men recognized each other.

“Well, I'll be damned, Miguel O'Hara! My buddy!” The guy said, giving the stoic man a friendly pat on the shoulder that the hunter simply glanced at.

Peter B. Parker was a bubbly and too jolly innkeeper that Miguel had saved a few months ago from being shot dead by an outlaw he'd been tailing. On the spot, the auburn-haired man bought Miguel drinks and offered him a free spot anytime at his inn to repay him—but the hunter didn't think he'd ever actually encounter him again…

Miguel gave Peter a mere grunt for a greeting, the male snickering as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette. “Still not much of a talker, I see.” Peter joked.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise at Miguel actually having friends.

You never would have thought…

You peered over your shoulder at the innkeeper, making eyes with the rugged-featured male that had auburn short, slick back hair upon an ivory skin tone face of stubble with a cigarette hanging from his lips. A dark blue button-up, tan pants, and dark brown boots adorned his rather lean body, except for his plump stomach that was visible through his shirt. You glanced upon the name tag that clung to his top, reading Peter B. Parker.

“Well, I see yer still on the job.” The guy named Peter commented, looking at you as you flashed him a smile and a wink from Miguel's shoulder. The male wolf whistled at the sight. “And a looker too-”

“Peter!”

Miguel barked, his mahogany eyes flashing red. “Give me a damn room and stop wasting my time.”

You chuckled at Miguel's evident sign of jealousy while Peter only shook his head at the hunter's sudden anger. “Fine, fine, seems someone is ready to hit the hay.” Peter said, rummaging around on his desk for his desired items.

“But just wonderin’ if it's your own head that's gettin’ the rest or yer alluding to somethin’ else.” Peter smirked, glancing over at you and then Miguel playfully. “I must warn ya, them walls in this inn ain't that solid.” The innkeeper laughed as you could feel the fuming rage radiating from Miguel's body at the innkeeper's comment. It took everything to hold back from laughing at the rather hilarious interaction.

“Peter…” Miguel growled through gritted teeth, his voice full of warning. “Okay, pardon me, let me see here…” Peter said, snickering to himself while peering through another large hardback that looked similar to a registration book.

Miguel stared at Peter as he located a room for the two of you in his ledger, never in the hunter's entire life did he wish to leave a conversation.

After a while of looking in silence, a disappointed, shoot dang, was muttered by Peter. He shook his head, looking up at Miguel. “There's only one room left.” He said, looking over at you and then at the hunter.

“And it's a singles.”

“Mierda.” Miguel cursed under his breath, looking at you and then at Peter. He was certain that spending a night with you in an enclosed bedroom would lead to nothing but disaster.

One that would only lead in himself and you tangled up in the sheets and experiencing another moment of unashamed passion.

“Why the hell is there only one!?” Miguel inquired in irritation causing the innkeeper to chuckle, raising his hands in defense. “No need to yell at me. I'm just doin’ my job.” He said. “But a few days ago, gold was found along the bank, folks been comin’ from all ‘round to try and get some.” He explained, causing another curse to leave the hunter's lips.

You sighed, glancing over at Miguel. “Told ya, we shouldn't have come here.” You added as Peter looked up at you. “Actually, every inn is real full in Roca Roja, due to the gold strike and everythang.” Peter said, picking up a quill and dipping it into the bottle of ink. “But gotta love it, has my business boomin’ at the moment.” He chuckled, glancing up at the hunter and you.

“So…You stayin’?” He asked, his amber orbs mainly on Miguel, awaiting his response.

The hunter sighed, seeming like he'd hit a trail's end.

He knew Xina would need time to recover—her injury wasn't major compared to what it could have been, but his stallion being on her hooves would only worsen it.

Xina resting up would do her some good.

Taking Peter's word that the inns were all full, Miguel would hate to try his luck and spend the night roaming all of Roca Roja, pushing Xina and hearing more of your yapping, just to end up roomless.

At least here, he wouldn't have to pay…

“Fine.” Miguel growled, watching a beaming smile spread across the smoking innkeeper. “That's the spirit. Here ya be well takin’ care of.” Peter promised, jotting down the hunter's name under a room and handing him the key.

Miguel tucked the brass key into the pocket of his black durst coat. “And Peter, ‘nother request.” The hunter added, suddenly dropping a wad of cash upon the counter, the sight surprising both Peter and you. “I know ya have connections, so find Xina a good doctor and tend to her real nice.” Miguel ordered.

The brown-haired male nodded, tucking the cash into his pocket and walking around the counter. “Of course, I love nothing more than to help my buddy.” He chuckled, thanking Miguel and you for staying at his inn with a pat on the hunter's back and a tip of his hat in your direction before he left to fulfill Miguel's requests.

The hunter heaved a sigh, standing alone with you in the lobby, who was still slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He casted you a glance, already feeling a stir inside of him at the mere thought of seclusion with you, and he hated every bit of it…

He already had a feeling that disaster was impending—one he wouldn't be able to stop no matter how hard he tried…

“Yer jokin’, right?”

You asked from your curled position upon the singular bed in your shared room. It wasn't the fact that Miguel had insisted on sleeping in a mere lounge chair across the room that led to such an inquiry; it was the fact of how the hunter believed you'd get any sleep with your hands and legs tightly bound together by rope.

Your eyes were trained on his seated form upon the aged lounge chair of the room, his massive legs spread, and his body dressed only in his black wide-brimmed hat, black button-up top, pants, and boots. His durst coat hung on the back of the raw umber cushion while his mahogany eyes stared back at your restrained being.

He lit what felt like his fourth cigarette since the two of you entered, placing the tobacco between his lips and taking a deep inhale before releasing the smoke through his nose.

He remained silent at your question, simply keeping his eyes on you like a guard dog.

It was quite unnerving…

“Hey Miguel! You there, or are ya lost in the tumbleweeds!?” You shouted at him in annoyance while wiggling upon the bed like a fish out of water.

“What is it?” He said, finally acknowledging you with his words rather than his piercing gaze. You sighed, looking over at him through your long eyelashes and putting on your most pitiful expression. “Oh why…t-this rope is real tight, you see. I-I can't even feel my limbs.” You uttered, laying on your side with a pout. “Can't you maybe…loosen them a tad bit?” You genuinely asked because upon bounding you, Miguel had fastened the ropes so taut that it was practically etching an imprint into your skin and cutting off blood circulation.

“Nay…” Miguel simply stated, taking another puff from his cigarette. At his denial, you growled in frustration. “Why, at least stop your damn smokin'. You're makin’ it hard to breathe in this already dusty inn.” You complained, burying your face into the beige blankets in irritation.

But if only you knew how much Miguel was holding on by a thread.

Upon entering the shared bedroom, he instantly felt it…

The longing. 

The arousal.

He never gave a damn about things like that—too busy with his bounty job to care. But ever since you've shown your face and made an appearance as a new fugitive, he began to desire it…

You were always on his mind, even during the times you went into hiding, and he was tracking someone new.

He craved you,

needed you.

Now you were laying upon a bed, bound tightly like a pig being served to him on a platter, and it was taking every fiber of his being to stay rooted in his seat.

Miguel's eyes traced your body, taking in your fallen hat and unkempt hair upon the bed, hands bound behind your back along with your ankles secured tightly together. Your clothes hugged your figure even more than they did before, the sight only leaving Miguel clawing at the armrests of his seat.

He took another huge inhale, watching his cigarette slowly losing its life because of his need for solace when your voice filled the room again. “Hunter, can I ask ya a question?”

“I'd rather you not.” He hastily responded in his dead tone, knowing any signs of flirtation or seduction would have him out of his chair in a blink of an eye.

You rolled your eyes at his words. “Come on, now. I can't sleep; you ‘parrently not going to either, so… let's talk.” You chuckled, looking over at the bounty hunter from your restrained position.

“Since my days of freedom are numbered. Might as well…” You added, causing Miguel to sigh, your words secretly tugging at him. He took his dying cigarette into his gloved fingers, snuffing it out in a nearby tray. “Speak then, but say anythin’ improper, I won't hesitate to put ya to sleep myself.” He threatened, but you couldn't help but have your head go straight into the gutter.

“Put me to sleep, ya say…?” You smirked, biting your lip at the thought of having some other type of restless fun with the hunter. Miguel scowled at your suggestive tone, anger the only thing keeping his arousal at bay. “You know what I mean; now either ask yer question or shut yer mouth and sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, taking in the hunter's booted foot constantly bouncing against the wooden floorboards and the sight of him lighting yet another cigarette. “Are ya stressed or somethin’?” You asked, watching his chest greatly rise due to his massive inhale of the cigarette—his pecs and abdominal muscles becoming accentuated under his shirt.

“You can say that.” He replied, avoiding your eyes to look out the window behind you. “Well, then let's talk 'bout it. What's yer problem?” You inquired with a grin. “What's got ya so antsy that yer glued to that pack of cigarettes?”

Miguel glanced at you, mahogany eyes narrowing in thought of if he should speak about his ‘problem’ or not, soon deciding the latter. “None of your darn business.”

You snickered, expecting him to remain secretive. “Damn…must be real bad.” You assumed, glancing over at him and making eye contact, causing the hunter to hastily look away, a grunt of irritation passing in response.

Miguel was obviously avoiding your gaze, and you couldn't help but find the large male's attempts rather adorable. You grinned, turning your eyes up to the ceiling, allowing a pleasant silence to fill the room, except for the rhythmic bounce of Miguel's sturdy black boot upon the floorboards. You deeply inhaled, taking in a big whiff of the hunter's cigarette smoke before speaking.

“I believe I know what yer ‘business’ is, hunter...”

Miguel's heart dropped at your words, his blood running cold as every part of his body stilled. His tongue fiddled with the cigarette between his lips as he eyed your tied body, taking notice of your ability to maneuver onto your back, now gazing up at the ceiling.

He took in the sight of you, your waves of beautiful hair spread like a tapestry, creating a soft frame around your head. He clicked his tongue, taking another puff of his cigarette. 

‘This gal is just tryin’ to get under my skin. She don't know a thang.’

Miguel thought, trying to keep a level head. “Vaquera, you don't know what yer talkin’ ‘bout,” he said dismissively, leaning back in his chair and taking his cigarette into his two fingers, exhaling the smoke through his lips.

You hummed, his avoidance only making you want to poke the bear further. “Oh, I believe I do,” you stated, keeping your eyes on the ceiling. 

“Over these past couple of months, yer've been watchin’ me, as I've also been watchin’ you, hunter.” You said in a mysterious voice, Miguel's hardened face faltering at your confession.

A sly grin spread across your lips as you pressed on. “I've read and heard how the great bounty hunter captures and kills many outlaws—never taking him more than a week to complete a bounty and not given a rat's ass about any of ‘em.” You explained. “‘Even toppin’ yer rival, the great, Jessie Owens and her gunslingers on many occasions with yer many arrests.” You chuckled tauntingly.

Miguel felt a mix of emotions, stuck between being flattered and irritated at your constant prodding. He glanced over at you, flicking the ash of his cigarette into the tray, trying to figure out what you were getting at.

The hunter hated when you screwed with his brain and made him feel like a hopeless mutt that you had wrapped around your finger.

He wanted you to get to the damn point…

“And what ‘bout it?” The hunter snarled, glaring daggers at you. You simply giggled as if you weren't being targeted by a raging bull. “Be patient, Miggy, I'm gettin’ there.” You teased, your tone of voice and nickname causing the hunter’s insides to stir.

“What did I tell ya ‘bout that name?” He spat coldly, his voice holding a tone of dominance. You only laughed, struggling over onto your side to get a better view of the hunter. “To not call ya that, but yer should know better than anyone that I don't follow the rules.” You said, giving him a fake pout whilst laying your head upon the soft blanket, trying to find comfort despite being tightly restrained.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your fake pout that he couldn’t help but find adorable. “‘Cause yer've never had proper punishment.” He bluntly stated, his cigarette smoke leaving his lips and nose to further encase the room.

You bit your lip, glancing over at the smoking Latino up and down. “And what punishment is proper in yer eyes, hunter?” You inquired, knowing he'd surely take the bait.

Miguel looked at you, your perfect skin, the way you bite your lip, the sight only causing his breath to catch in his throat. It didn't help how tightly your clothing hugged your body, the rope only further accentuating your figure and leaving nothing to imagination of how you looked underneath all that fabric.

He wanted nothing more than to see you in all your glory…

Your eyes darted down at an evident bulge that poked against the hunter’s black pants, the corners of your lips turning up into a devious grin. The Latino, like you anticipated, took the bait, falling right into your trap.

“A proper punishment is tossin’ ya across my lap and bruisin’ that pretty ass until ya learn to behave.”

The hunter said huskily, desire potent in his western-Latino accentuated voice; however, upon seeing your amused smirk and raised eyebrow at what he'd just confessed, he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Just…goes to show that yer parents didn't teach ya how to conduct yerself properly. Anyone would believe the same.”

“Mhm…” You hummed teasingly, unable to hold back from laughing. Miguel scowled at you, hating how you always seemed to make him feel like a schoolboy time and time again. His lust and arousal blinding him so greatly that he’ll forget everything—his duties, the consequences, who you were to him.

You were a damn criminal, a dangerous one at that, with your sharp tongue and killer body that can seduce any and everyone. You did whatever it took to satisfy your own wants and desires, so why the hell was it so troubling for him to detain you?! He'd taken down and killed many outlaws, so why?

The hunter’s hands clenched tightly into fists upon the armrests, his knuckles turning white with tension under his gloves. His mahogany eyes appeared redder with his raging fury. “Stop playin’ ‘round and get to the damn point!” He barked, taking another deep inhale of his cigarette.

You grinned at his satisfying anger, the hunter never disappointing you when it came to him showing how evidently you were pissing him off, but you’ve gotten what you were seeking from him— his previous response answering your prediction.

“Fine, ya fancy me… 

Don't ya, hunter?”

Miguel's heart skipped a beat at your perfect assumption. It took everything in him to hide his emotions—something he'd never had a hard time doing until now.

He scoffed, averting his gaze. “Ya wish, sweetheart.” He coldly said, snuffing out his fifth cigarette into the ashtray and wetting his lips with his tongue.

You chuckled, shifting upon the bed to soothe the growing ache in your wrists due to the tight ropes. “Well, Miggy, a wish or not, you ain't answer my question.” You emphasized, watching his defined jaw clench and his black, gloved hand enter into his pants pocket once more, fishing for his box of cigarettes.

Miguel's entire body was heating up, feeling like the room was closing in on him; it was taking all of his willpower to not do something that could jeopardize his duties. But with you using that nickname he's told you countless times not to address him by, it was causing his pants to become increasingly uncomfortable around his already swelling member.

The hunter's bushy eyebrows tightened, his mahogany cold eyes trained on you. “Outlaws and hunters ‘re like water and oil—we don't mix, it's why we're enemies for goodness sake.” He sternly said, lighting a match to ignite his sixth cigarette. He took a deep inhale of the tobacco, a sigh of contentment passing his lips. “And I've told ya, I don't experience such feelin’ for people, and definitely not ya.”

“But yet, ya do.”

His head instantly snapped over to you, finding your gaze already on him with a grin upon your cherry lips. “And ‘cause ya do, it's tearing ya up inside… 

Ain't it, Miguel?”

A scowl crept upon the hunter's lips, his nose scrunching up in anger at your persistence.

‘What did she want? For me to spill my guts? To see me weak?!’

Miguel pondered, trying to discern your motive behind your pressing questions. He took another huge puff of his cigarette, trying to control himself.

“What game are you fuckin’ playin' at?” He growled, becoming tired of your jokes and giggles.

You laughed, giving him an innocent shoulder shrug, still bound tightly due to his handy skills. “I simply am askin’ questions like yer've allowed me to.” You said, raising an eyebrow from your laid position. “What? Have I struck a nerve?”

Miguel's eyes flashed red at your taunt, and before he could stop himself, he was standing up from his seat and walking over to you. “Don't play fuckin’ innocent with me, smartass” He snarled, his large hand encasing around your throat, effortlessly pulling you up onto your knees on the bed, bringing you face-to-face with him.

A small gasp passed your lips, his grip tight around your throat more in intimidation than harm. You glared back at him due to his sudden rough action, but upon seeing he was clearly holding on by a thread, you couldn't help but give him a flirtatious smile, one that caused his rage to deepen. “What do ya want from me? To see me lose control? To go against my damn duties?!” The hunter shouted, his face trembling in uncontrollable anger. “What ya find pleasure in that? Seeing me lose my shit?”  

“Why, yes indeed... ”

Miguel's eyes widened in disbelief at your confirmation, his anger hastily bubbling back to the surface.  “What the fuck did ya just say?” He said through gritted teeth, his cigarette hanging dangerously low from his lips, its ash dropping close to your face.

Your eyes roamed his facial features, taking in how furious he was, but you were certain his fury wasn't solely from you.

He was frustrated…

Sexually…

It was like you were a slab of meat to him and he was a starving dog. You were teasing him with your mere presence and honestly…you were enjoying it.

You could never understand why you secretly liked this hunter. Yes, he was the best of the best, and it was so fun to watch him blow his top, but it wasn't what truly led you to want to know everything about him—what kept you yearning for another encounter with him.

It wasn't until now that you finally discovered it…

His resilience to temptation was what you adored. How fascinating it'll be if he was to experience even a taste of what he craved.

It was why you allowed him a little bit of fun during your previous interaction; but even still, he was composed, never losing himself in the moment of you down on your knees for him, granting him the relief and satisfaction he so desperately was yearning for.

But you wanted him to forget your roles of hunter and outlaw and give in to his desires.

That's what you wanted from him, needed even.

You bit your lip, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “Ya heard me, hunter. I want ya to give in to yer wants, and if that means losing control…

Then so be it...”

You smirked, watching his cold expression falter to one of surprise at your request. You grinned, never before seeing him so speechless. To entice him further, you leaned in close, your hands still bound tightly behind your back and his gloved one still around your throat, the smell of smoke and his natural musk filling your nose, only exciting you more.

“It'll be so good, Miggy to finally let go—to crave that hunger ya have for me.”

You coaxed in a low whisper, your western accent potent in your voice. Your eyes glanced down to his lips that were pulled into its usual scowl, unable to ignore how enticing they looked.

“You know I won’t stop you..."

Miguel groaned softly, his fingers flexing around your throat as his member twitched inside of his pants, begging him to give in to your words—to submit to his desires. The more you gazed up at him, saying all the right things in that sexy voice of yours…

He was tempted to give in…

“Do ya even know what ya askin’ of me?” He inquired, his eyes full of lust as he removed his cigarette from his lips. You nodded, wanting so much to touch him and persuade him. He was so close to submitting—you could feel it.

“Yes…I want ya, Miguel O’Hara. I’ve wanted ya for a long time.” You honestly said, biting your lip and looking him up and down. "Gosh, I’ve never wanted someone to fuck me so badly.”

“Mierda.” He muttered under his breath, his restraint snapping at your words of desperation as he crashed his lips to yours.

Miguel devoured your mouth in an intensity he’d never felt before. His hand tugging you closer to him by your throat to keep you pressed to him, feeling the softness of your body against his firm one was enough to make him lose it. His tongue penetrated your parted lips, finally tasting you after preventing himself for so long.

It was like he was finally tasting the forbidden elixir of the Wild West. Your sweet scent and lips enveloped him and lingered like the aftertaste of a smuggled bottle of top-shelf whiskey, each moment a clandestine sip that descended him more into the depths of no return.

You moaned softly into his mouth, his hunger being what you’ve wanted for so long. His dominance and lust grew with each interlock of your lips, and when he finally parted, you realized how breathless and aroused you were.

Miguel gazed down at you, breathing heavily while taking in your flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. Every time he saw you, you seemed to become even more breathtaking than before.

You looked back at him, panting and feeling a throbbing in your lower belly that longed to be satisfied. Now that you’ve gotten a taste of the bounty hunter, he was like a drug—his roughness and hunger turning you on more than anyone ever had in your entire life.

You wanted so much to touch him, to caress his sharp jawline decorated with a hint of stubble and feel how painfully hard his member was, but you were still, sadly, restrained—hands bound behind your back with your ankles tied together as well. Miguel ensured you wouldn’t be escaping him tonight upon entering your given room at the inn, but you wished for nothing more than to be released.

Currently, you had no desire to leave…

“Miguel…unbind me.” You requested a little desperately through ragged breaths, causing the hunter to chuckle. “Untie ya? That what ya want?” He inquired with a grin, bringing his cigarette to his lips to take another puff, exhaling the smoke. You nodded, wanting nothing more than to be free, so you could touch him in return.

The hunter saw the eagerness in your expression, bringing a smirk to his lips. He couldn’t help but feel satisfied at finally having power over you for once; it was honestly, a good feeling.

He held his cigarette between his lips, his gloved hand slipping into his pocket to pull out his steel pocket knife, effortlessly cutting through the thick rope that covered your wrists and ankles.

You sighed in relief at the sound of snips, along with subtle fibers separating, soon feeling yourself being freed. Usually, you’d instantly feel the desire to escape, to run for the heels with a huge grin upon your cherry lips at being able to outwit the hunter once more…

But not this time…

Your hands found his waist, caressing his taut skin through the fabric of his black collared top. “I knew ya could have fun.” You teased, bringing a rare smile to the hunter’s lips. He took your face in his hand, bringing you closer to him once more.

“Then saddle up, Muñeca. I’m just getting started.” He whispered, inhaling his cigarette once more before pressing his lips to yours, releasing the smoke into your mouth with each kiss.

The sharp, lingering bitterness of the smoke mingling with each exhale, accompanied by the combination of his sweet lips, created the perfect harmony. Each kiss left you breathless and lusting for him even more.

Miguel groaned softly, his thick gloved fingers moving from your neck to begin unbuttoning your dark blue and brown fringe top, revealing your gorgeous skin and assets that had been teasing him from the first time he’d encountered you.

Leaving your mouth, he trailed his lips along your throat, kissing the sensitive spots and not hesitating to push the dark blue top from your body, exposing your bare chest and stomach to him.

Your eyes fluttered at his kisses as you took the lit cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag and relishing in the serene tingles that filled your head along with Miguel’s kisses, sucks, and nibbles along your skin. You felt Miguel smirk at your action, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone before pulling away.

The sight of you gazing up at him, that playful smile on your lips as you smoked from his cigarette had to be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen—his cock throbbing in his pants to be released.

“Vas a ser la muerte de mí.” He muttered, his mahogany eyes dark with lust, as they trailed your body. His face of awe—enough to show how he was feeling.

You chuckled at his expression. “I’ll take it you like what you see?” You teased, bringing a toothy grin to the hunter’s lips. “I’ll be lyin’ if I said I didn't.” He chuckled, his large gloved hands cupping your perky breasts in his massive palms—the pair feeling like soft pillows in his hands.

He savored the soft moans that escaped your pretty mouth, capturing each whimper with a peck to your lips, unable to resist how addicting it was to kiss you.

You were aware that the hunter had experience, but it felt like he knew your body like the back of his hand. His massive palms kneaded your supple flesh, switching between soft and rough squeezes, while his fingers flicked and pinched your hardened pebbles.

In your fingers, you held your shared cigarette, eyes half-hooded. With every maneuver of his hands along your chest, your juices spilled down your thighs. “Ya like that?” He asked with a smirk, gripping your breasts tightly, making you cry out. “Mhm, Yes! Just like that,” you gasped, chest heaving with the growing pleasure.

Miguel growled at your words of satisfaction, feeling the need to be released from his clothes—his cock painfully hard inside his pants. “I have something better for ya,” he said, pulling away to remove his black wide-brimmed hat, tossing it across the room, and tugging his shirt over his head.

You bit your lip, your core pulsating at the mere sight of his defined chest. His chiseled pecs, bulging biceps, and toned abs were covered with dark brown hair, each muscle completely taut from his years of being a bounty hunter. Along his torso were faint scars and beauty marks that only emphasized his attractiveness. “Not bad, hunter,” you laughed, giving his body a once-over. Your gaze followed the happy trail of coarse hair that descended from his navel to dip under his pants towards the massive bulge that was begging to be freed from its confines. At the sight, memories of your previous encounter with him filled your mind, causing your juices to further coat your thighs and drip down your legs.

Miguel smiled, savoring the way you were looking him up and down, appreciating his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had experienced this, but it felt good to be admired, especially by you. He noticed your eyes focused on his crotch, prompting a chuckle from him. “Don’t be scared, ya seen it before,” he said tauntingly, making you roll your eyes but unable to hide your small grin.

You crawled towards him, placing the cigarette into your mouth and beginning to unbuckle his belt, maintaining eye contact. “I must say, hunter, I’ve missed this,” you snickered, pulling his pants down to release what you’ve desired since your previous encounter.

The sight still left you speechless…

His fully erect, tanned member was presented in front of you, slightly darker than the olive skin tone of his body. A bush of dark brown coarse hair sat atop his veiny shaft, his tip a Tuscan red, with a protruding vein running along the underside that led to a pair of large, heavy balls. The hunter was definitely above average, being very girthy and long as well. You bit your lip, feeling your arousal soaking through your pants, sullying the dark blue fabric.

Miguel completely adored that look of awe upon your sexy face, leaning down to kiss along your neck while lifting you slightly to lay you down upon the bed.

His teeth and lips sucked marks along your skin that you gladly accepted whilst his heavy shaft rested against your stomach, causing your belly to flutter, and a whimper to escape your lips. “Gosh, I-I can’t wait any more,” you whined, wanting to feel him inside of you, the throbbing of your empty core becoming painful.

Your desperation was music to Miguel’s ears, his body needing you as well. “Then, let’s not wait 'round no more, Cariño.” He effortlessly whipped you around to lay you on all fours upon the bed—your forearms and knees holding your body up as your clothed rear end was thrust into the air, left completely vulnerable to him.

Miguel took in your gorgeous backside, an evident trail of your arousal sprouting down your pants like the trails of a passing storm, nature’s delicate brushstrokes down the dark blue fabric that covered your bottom, the sight making his cock twitch.

He licked his lips, reaching over to remove the lit cigarette from your cherry lips to place it in his, inhaling it as he ran his large hand along your clothed bottom. Your eyes fluttered, the sensations seeming to be heightened due to your inability to see him. The hunter groaned, giving your cheeks a rough squeeze, releasing a moan from your throat.

Fuck, ya perfect,” he whispered, feeling his gloved fingers roam along your clothed, drenched folds, adding slight pressure that caused you to further soil your pants—your essence soaking the fabric even more, and revealing the evident outline of your soppy pussy underneath. Miguel groaned, roaming his hands to squeeze your bare hips and caress your rear, soon returning back to where you wanted him the most.

You whimpered softly, savoring how good he was making you feel until the loud sound of a rip filled the room, causing your eyes to snap open.

A rush of air suddenly made contact with your rear end and throbbing pussy as you looked over your shoulder to see that Miguel had ripped your pants open—granting him a clear view of your heavily dripping core.

You were conflicted, not knowing whether to be angry or even more aroused; however, you weren’t able to respond as the hunter didn’t hesitate to grind his massive length along your dripping folds—the wet sound filling the walls. “O-oh fuck,” you moaned, arching your back and moving in sync with him.

Miguel couldn’t get over how wet you were, his thick cock gliding through your folds, testing your saturation. “Hmm…ready?” he asked in a small growl.

You were only able to muster a broken, "Mhm," in response before feeling his massive tip begin to seep inside of your soaking entrance.

A drawn-out moan passed both of your lips, his gloved hand clenching the remnants of your pants that enclosed around your waist, holding you during his insertion. Once he bottomed-out, it took everything in him to not lose himself in how much your pussy was gripping him, the urge to thrust into you with total abandon being very enticing.

Your fingers gripped the beige blankets tightly, eyes rolled into your skull at how much he was blissfully stretching you. It instantly made your mind go blank.

The pleasure only heightened with his slow slide out and breathtaking slam of his cock back in, releasing a loud mewl to erupt from your throat. With each drag of his member inside your dripping entrance, his force and speed increased until he was brutally fucking you like a rabid animal.

Miguel couldn’t help himself; he tried so hard to take it slow, to not harm you like he feared this whole time, but you were too perfect, he swore you were.

You took him so well, too well, that he became lost in the pleasure. Your exquisite pussy gripped his cock just right with each thrust, his hips smacking loudly against your rear.

The room was filled with the echoing of slapping wet flesh, high-pitched moans, deep grunts, and the loud creaking of the bed.

The scent of sex and smoke was potent as Miguel occasionally took puffs of his cigarette. You didn’t even notice the pleasurable and painful tears streaming down your face at the sheer intensity of his pace—switching constantly from erratic and rough to slow and deep.

The ashes from his cigarette occasionally dropped onto your lower back, burning your skin and sending a sting throughout your entire body. The pain only deepening the extreme sensations coursing through your being. Your brain was scrambled, your body trembling, and already releasing for the second time under his influence.

Miguel groaned, brushing your hair from your shoulder to nuzzle into your neck, inhaling your sweet, natural scent, his pace never ceasing. “Fuck, bebé, you feel so good. Mierda.” He moaned into your ear, his cigarette hanging from his lips, as his praises caused the familiar knots to form in your stomach again.

It seemed Miguel had found the weakness to your witty tongue. With his pace, you couldn’t form a word—whimpers, whines, shrieks, and the occasional cries of his name were the only sounds you could muster.

With any other man, you would have felt pathetic, but with him, you’ve never felt so alive.

With a gasp, Miguel pulled out, flipping you to lie on your back. Your dazed eyes blinked, trying to settle your blurry vision on him.

The hunter gazed down at you, your rosy tear-stained cheeks, messy hair, hickey-filled neck, dripping pussy only arousing him once more. He inhaled the rest of his cigarette, pinching the end to snuff the flame before kissing you, his cock entering your eager hole once more.

You moaned into his mouth, the smoky taste, and his lips only intensifying the burning tension in the pit of your stomach. His thrusts were slow and deep while his mouth ravaged yours, exchanging the smoke of his cigarette with you with each interlock of your lips.

Miguel was feeling himself getting terribly close, his balls becoming painfully tight, every clench of your pussy leaving him twitching; but he needed another orgasm from you.

He groaned into your mouth, your kiss becoming more messy. Saliva dripped from your chins whilst your tongues entwined with each hungry mesh of your lips.

With each kiss, Miguel slowly increased his pace—his coarse hair grinding into your swollen clit, heavy balls smacking into your rear along with his gloved hands gripping your hips, angling himself as he pulled you against him in a frenzy.

Your eyes rolled, moans constantly becoming stuck in your throat with each of his deep thrusts. His member constantly attacked your G-spot, causing you to become a moaning, trembling mess underneath him.

Abruptly, your orgasm crashed into you like a stampede. You cried out Miguel’s name through your climax, spraying your juices in thick spurts, haphazardly, into the air, coating your stomach, thighs, and Miguel’s abs and cock with your essence. The loud sounds of dripping and squelching filled the room upon your orgasm.

At your release, your pussy clutched Miguel’s cock tightly, a blissful rush of tingles coming over him. His thrusts became sporadic and inept following you in your climax.

He hastily pulled out, shooting his creamy, white load upon your stomach with a guttural groan, the veins upon his lower belly and thighs pulsated, his mahogany eyes closed whilst breathless grunts passed his parted lips with each release of his essence.

Your eyes fluttered at the warm sensation as you tried to catch your breath and regain your thoughts and strength after the intense moment, but it was no use…

Miguel had fucked you senselessly.

But it was so worth it.

You’ve gotten what you wanted—the hunter to give in to his desires, to grant you the fucking of a lifetime, and he’d done so and even more.

Miguel climbed on next to you, the bed creaking under his heavy weight as he laid down beside you. His burly arms wrapped around your frail body, pulling you gently to his chest. He found your pants and small tremors utterly adorable as he kissed your bare shoulder. You blinked back the dizziness from your previous encounter, glancing over your shoulder at the hunter to find something you couldn’t believe…

You found love in his eyes…

“You okay?” He asked in his usual gruff voice, stroking his thumb across your rosy, tear-stained cheeks, his mahogany eyes roaming your face with a trace of concern. You scoffed at his expression. “Of course.” You chuckled, noticing that he wasn’t at all breathless and tired as you were—simply lying upon the bed like the two of you weren’t just fucking like two animals in heat.

“Did ya enjoy yourself?” You inquired, turning to face him, but with some struggle—your body already feeling sore. He placed a hand on your hip, caressing you with a smile. “Of course, what was not to love?” He genuinely said, making you raise an eyebrow at the flattery. “Oh really now, is the infamous bounty hunter complimenting me?” You asked teasingly, finding his damp coffee-brown curls clinging to his sweaty forehead rather cute.

At your playful remark, hus grin broadened on his tanned face. “You can keep a secret, can’t ya, sweetheart?” He smirked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Miguel never felt his heart swell so much. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he didn’t want it to ever stop.

You laughed, gazing up at him. “Of course…At a price.” Miguel snickered, anticipating the response, but it still piqued the hunter’s interest. “And what’s that, miel?”

“Don’t turn me in.”

At your words, meant as a joke, Miguel’s heartfelt smile instantly dropped, bringing him back to the reality of the West.

You were an outlaw… 

He was a bounty hunter… 

Bounty hunters and outlaws didn’t mix… 

He’s supposed to take you in…

“Mierda.” He sighed, every happy emotion he felt draining from his face to be replaced with his usual cold expression of a scowl and dead mahogany eyes.

“Miggy?” You called out to him, your eyebrows furrowed. “Are ya okay?” You inquired, your turn now to ask about his well-being, but it was met with silence.

Miguel had never felt more disheartened and conflicted. He adored his job as a bounty hunter, the thrill of the hunt and the ability to use his exceptional skills to track down any criminal for a hefty amount of gold and cash, but you made him question everything…

It’ll be hypocritical of him to chase down outlaws like a damn dog, arrest them or either kill them depending on their crimes, and do neither to you.

You were a criminal, you’ve robbed and stole from many, and have taken a few heads with you along the way.

But fuck…

He couldn’t bring himself to hurt you or arrest you.

So he’d returned back to the question once more.

What should be done with you…?

He turned over to look at you, taking in your troubled eyes that gazed back at him. His hardened expression softened at your face that showed genuine interest in him in return.

Or were you playing him once more…

The hunter reached out, cupping your cheek in his large gloved one, the action instantly making your heart warm. You leaned into his palm, eyes trained on him. “Ya thinkin’ again. Ain’t ya?” You asked, heaving a sigh.

Miguel stroked your face with his thumb, relishing in how soft your skin was. “How can I not? This is goin’ against everythang I stand for.” He uttered, but unable to pull his hand away, and neither did you wish him to.

Even though you were used to the seduction of many men—only sleeping with most of them for survival or for a means to escape, but now…

You desired the hunter, despite him being your enemy.

He’d killed and arrested many people like you— did it without a blink of an eye, but instead of feeling fearful of that, it oddly, only made you want him more.

You placed a hand on his chest, delicately tracing patterns along the curves of his chiseled and ruggedly hairy pecs, a comforting silence enveloping both of you. Miguel’s deep sigh of contentment escaped his lips as his large hand moved from your face to tenderly stroke your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

“Yer never answered my question.” Your western accent filled the room once more, looking up at him. Miguel's bushy eyebrows furrowed, his mind a little foggy due to your mere closeness and touch. “What question?” He asked, glancing down at you, his confusion making you giggle. “Gosh, how did I remember and not ya?” You playfully teased, believing he’d previously scrambled your brain to no return, instead, it seemed you’ve done so to the hunter.

The corners of his tightly drawn lips twitched to a smirk. “I was just…lost in the moment.” Miguel replied. “But what’s the question I didn’t answer?”

“If ya fancy me or not.” You stated, the hunter’s heart jumping at the reappearance of the question. He grunted, his burly arm enclosing around your waist possessively, pressing his firm body against your soft, supple one. “I shouldn’t...” He whispered with a heavy sigh, feeling with each passing second, he was doing what he’d told himself he’d never do.

Love… 

Feel…

“But ya do.” You retorted once more, cupping his face. “So whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?” You asked playfully with a grin.

That smile—that smile was everything to the hunter and always made his heart flutter and his stomach to stir. “That’s what I’m debatin’ in my head, Cariño.” The Latino sighed. “For the first time, in a long time, I don’t know what the hell to do.” A troubled expression crossed the hunter’s face, making you feel sorry for him—you’ve never seen him so conflicted.

"What's yer head sayin'?" You asked, already knowing the answer. "To take yer fine ass in," he replied in a gruff voice, tightening his grip around you, as if he never could let you go.

You hummed, feeling him rest his chin upon your head, another sigh passing his lips. "And how 'bout this?" You asked next, placing a hand over his right pec, where his heart resided.

"What's that cold heart of yer's tellin’ ya?"

Miguel's mahogany eyes snapped down at you, your inquiries seeming to punch him in the gut each time. He kept your gaze, staring into your intrigued orbs.

The hunter wet his lips before cupping your chin between his gloved fingers, leaning close to you, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes roamed your face before allowing his heart to speak the words he'd been holding in for so long.

"To make ya mine."

Miguel said, his mahogany eyes never leaving yours. "I wanna take care of ya, not allow ya to have to steal another coin in yer entire life," the hunter uttered, his fingers caressing your chin and jaw. "I wanna protect ya, love ya, ride alongside ya in the desert—not as enemies with an intent to capture ya…, 

But as lovers…"

You stared back at the infamous and cold bounty hunter, not quite believing the confession pouring from his lips.

In all your life of being an outlaw and criminal, you've had moments where you've tangled in the sheets with a few individuals, them speaking similar things as the hunter did, but you never felt the same. Simply flashing them a grin, and upon them falling asleep, hastily finding the nearest exit and riding off into the sunset. However, right now...

You didn't want to run.

"Ya sure?" You asked with a smirk. "I'm quite the handful." You said, tucking a curl of his damp coffee brown hair behind his ear. Your words caused a deep rumble of laughter to erupt from the hunter, one that surprised him. His mahogany eyes that usually held death and coldness in them, now were full of love and affection.

"I reckon I've always been fond of a good challenge." The hunter said, pressing his lips to the top of your head, his kisses always bringing a wave of warmth to spread throughout your body. "I figured as much." You giggled, meeting his loving gaze. "But let me let ya in on a 'lil secret." You grinned, beckoning him closer with a finger. Miguel raised an eyebrow, a small smile upon his lips as he leaned in, awaiting your next words.

"I've always had a soft spot for ya, hunter."

You said in a low whisper, the Latino swiftly pulling away in shock, meeting your eyes to find any sign of deceit, but either you were playing him again, or you were genuine. Either way, his heart swelled at your confession.

"So…whatcha tryin' to do, vaquera?" He asked, his duties, reputation, or him being a hypocrite vanishing to the back of his head. Your confession tugged at him more than he'd expected. It was something he'd always secretly wanted, needed even—for his oppressed affections and missed arrests to not have been for nothing.

That after all this time of exchanging bullets and cutthroat words, you actually felt the same…

The hunter still couldn't wrap his head around the fact you fancied him in return, but he was certain he was willing to do anything for you in this moment.

You flashed him a grin, knowing his duties as a bounty hunter were tied to his very soul, unable to separate from him as your troublesome nature was with yours. "Then how 'bout we try this whole… secret lovers thing, eh?" You proposed, caressing the side of his thick neck and along his broad shoulder.

Miguel hummed at your touch, deep down liking the idea very much. He wanted nothing more than to experience moments with you that didn't end with guns being drawn. "I'll be willin' to give it a go." The hunter replied, not knowing how much his agreement made your heart soar.

You hastily pressed your lips to his, capturing him in a passionate kiss. Miguel smiled, kissing you back with much fervor and pulling you on top of him. His hands caressed your soft flesh while you straddled his hips. Your kiss swiftly became more heated and intense as a small groan escaped the hunter's lips, soon feeling something hard brushing against your thigh.

You parted from him with a laugh, glancing down to find he was heavily aroused once more before meeting his eyes. "Ya want me again, hunter?" You asked in a sultry voice, causing a huge grin to spread across his lips, a sight still so foreign from his usual deep scowl.

"Always…"

He uttered, cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a long searing kiss. Your evident adoration for each other felt in each deep interlock of your lips.

And in that moment, the hunter knew he loved you, as you knew you loved him in return…

“Ya sure it’s him?”

The rough western accent of a woman uttered through the quiet of the night, the breeze brushing along her ebony skin and running through her thick, black curls.

“Absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt,” the older male replied. “Yeah, he was lookin’ real close with that outlaw back at the saloon, a lil’ too close if ya know what I mean,” the other added, causing a growl to escape the woman’s crimson lips.

“What the fuck are you doin’ Miguel?”

She hissed under her breath, her gloved thumb spinning the caliber of her pistol in thought.

“So…Jessica…what’s the plan?

We gettin’ rid of him?”

“Nay…” Jessica Owens replied, whipping around to look at the two gunslingers. Her cold amber eyes bore into them through her black eyeglasses, and the two straightened up under their leader's harsh gaze.

“I wanna see this for myself…”

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!! I know I've already mentioned it, but gosh, I enjoyed writing this, and to confirm, yes, there will be a part 2. 🧡🐴

Honestly, along with my other stories, Entangled Desires (The kink series), and requests, there is a lot that I'll like to get done, so please be patient with me lol. 😅 Once again, thank you so much, bestie, @amariiyagurl for the idea. Love you so much girlie!! 🫶🏾🫶🏾

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! If you'd like to add a request to the kink series, Entangled Desire, or have an idea in general, just message me or submit an ask. I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe! 🤎🧡

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[cartermagazine]

Today In History

Diana Ross, actress, legendary solo singer, and lead singer for the Supremes, was born in Detroit, MI, on this date March 26, 1944.

Defines an icon, a national treasure with a magnificent legacy that has changed the course of music history and popular culture-Diana Ross would help to create a national cultural movement and become the premiere artist at the renown Motown Records. Her extraordinary journey from the leader of The Supremes to her solo career has inspired and empowered countless musicians, artists, celebrities, and young dreamers.

Her voice, described as “honey” and “angelic,” has over 100 million streams, downloads and sales around the world.

In what has been described as one of the greatest live concert performances, Diana Ross drew a crowd of over 800,000 people to New York’s Central Park on July 21 & 22, 1983. Soon after the show began on July 21, pouring rain and heavy wind threatened to put an end to the show, but she pushed on for much of the set, urging the drenched crowd to remain calm and stay with her. Eventually the storm put an end to the performance, but not before she promised her fans that she would return the next day. True to her word, she performed the entire concert again on July 22nd for the people of New York City.

Ms. Ross also shined on the big screen, with films like “Lady Sings The Blues,” “Mahogany,” and “The Wiz.” Her artistry reached near and far, inspiring audiences across America and around the globe.

“As you hear my voice, you hear my heart. ‘Let Love Lead the Way.’ I am so happy to have music as a part of my life. For the many moments of traveling and singing songs to you and loving you, I am so, so grateful. Thank You for all the blessings in my life that you have given me. I have always felt your beautiful love. Thank you to my children and all my family. Thank you to all those that have made this incredible journey possible.”

CARTER™️ Magazine

[digital-media-enthusiast]

[jasfhercallejo]

Going on Bohol countryside tours is perfect for first-timers on the island, as it includes stops in some of the most famous tourist spots in Bohol, including the Chocolate Hills, Tarsier Sanctuary, and the Bilar Man-made Forest. It also features one of the most popular Bohol activities for tourists, Loboc River cruise tours which usually include a buffet lunch and a performance from the locals.

The iconic Chocolate Hills cover an area of over 50 square kilometers across three different towns. There are over 1,000 of these symmetrical and conical hills, and during the dry season, the grass on these hills turns brown, making them resemble giant mounds of chocolate. Never a complete Bohol trip without seeing this majestic view!

The trees in Bilar Man-made Forest are not man-made but are the result of a reforestation project that was started over 50 years ago. The trees planted here are a mix of red and white mahogany trees, which make for beautiful photos. The forest is located in the towns of Bilar and Loboc, and tours usually make a quick stop along the highway that passes through the trees. 

Here in Lobos River Cruise, you can experience cruising along the jade-green Loboc river while you feast on a sumptuous buffet of local dishes. The combination of stunning natural landscapes, local cuisine, and cultural performances creates a memorable experience. Whether you’re looking to enjoy a peaceful boat ride, savor local dishes, or experience Filipino culture, the Loboc River Cruise offers a delightful and enriching addition to any visit to Bohol.

The river cruise starts from Loay Bridge near the Church of San Pedro. Midway through the 1-hour cruise, the raft stops in front of a large hut for a short performance by more singers and dancers dressed in traditional baro't saya where they invite guests to dance with them (read: hello siyempre papatalo ba kami haha). The raft moves along the river until it reaches a small portion of Busay Falls, from which it maneuvers for the return trip. At the end of the performance, you can help support the locals by tipping them via the donation box or by purchasing a ukulele to keep as a souvenir.

Tip: if you want to explore the river more intimately and at your own pace, you can try Loboc River kayaking or stand-up paddleboarding. For kayaking, you can rent a kayak, a paddle, and other gear from some of the resorts and tourist establishments along the river. You can also go on a guided kayak tour along the river, and if you’re brave enough to do it at night, you can even join firefly-watching tours that use kayaks.

[nogu-d-reamers]

POPPY PLAYTOWN (SMILING CRITTERS ICONS)

(Yeah, the name is awfull, but that's what there is-).

Well, I still reserve the lore and structure of the au, but in simple words it is a= no humans, no experiments, just the characters from which the toys are inspired in a world where the toys are THE living beings; and in an environment similar to a Ghibli film(including magic, technology and of course... WAR-).

With SC! icons there is not much to explain, of course; except for the review that Hoppy and Catnap had, more than anything because she was not satisfied with the first design.

BOBBY BEARHUG.

DOGDAY SUNNYHOWL.

KICKIN CHICKEN.

HOPPY HOTSCOTCH.

CRAFTYCORN MAHOGANY.

BUBBA BUBBAPHANT.

CATNAP MIDDLEMOON.

PICKY PIGGY.

[chaoticvintagelesbian]

Spoilers for Catching fire of the Hunger games series, if u havent watched it dont read.

Rewatching the 2nd hunger games film, Catching Fire for the first time in a years here r my thoughts chronologically, & I've got a lot to say about this one:

- They actually show Katniss's PTSD, flashbacks and nightmares.

- Gale being a "nice guy", christ hes a an sh*tty

- watching them back to back, they recast the cat!!!

- Snow is a fabulous villain.

- CINNA 🥰

- Caeser Flickerman's banger theme tune!

- The camera's interview is so awkward

- Effie deserved Katniss snapping at her on the train

- Peeta acknowledging that he cant hold her to wot they did to survive in the games! Peeta's already way above Gale. Peeta king 👑 of communication.

- just asking each other their favourite colour is adorable

- The Mockingjay!

- Peeta offering to talk to make it easier for Katniss

- Peeta giving Thresh & Rue's families some of their winnings. Katniss's speech about Rue is beautiful, I'm sobbing

- I love district 11, f*ck the peace keepers!! That poor old man! Haymitch: Who's going to protect them!?

- Haymitch knows better than anyone that you never escape the games.

- Jennifer Lawrence is fabulous

- Haymitch cares about them so much, we love him.

- Katniss barely holding it together on the victory tour. She looked so horrified at the little girl saying she would volunteer just like Katniss did.

- Caeser Flickerman has no right to be so iconic.

- Peeta is amazing! I love him and Katniss

- Does Effie have to say Mahogany in every film?

- Peetas disgust at the Capitol compared to what people in the districts are going through.

- I love the politics of catching fire

- Seneca decided to stop breathing - Plutarch

- F*CK GALE!!!! SHE DOESNT HAVE TO LOVE U ROMANTICALLY FOR BOTH OF U TO SAVE UR FAMILIES!!!!! Gale's right about rebelling, but he isnt even trying to understand her trauma.

- I love the anti corporal punishment, pro riots/rebellion, f*ck the police message of catching fire

- Peeta without question helping to save Gale cos he's not selfish

- Prim being a great nurse!

- I don't think Katniss has ever had any romantic feeling for Gale, he's just her best friend at most, a lot of the time he's barely that, she would've thrown herself in front of that whip if it was anyone she remotely cared about.

- The trauma of all the victors. Haymitcch is right they're not winners, they're survivors. Nobody ever wins.

- Effie actually kinda realizing the games arent the honour shes been indoctrinated to think they are.

- Katniss didnt ghetto say goodbye to Prim 😭

- Finnick & Maggs!!! We love them.

- Finnick Odair 🥰

- The Capitol is even more perfect in this one

- Johanna Mason is iconic and fabulous

- Wiress & Beetie r great

- Maggs is the sweetest

- Transition from Seneca Cranes hanging body to Caeser Flickerman's banging theme song!

- The Victor's interviews are very persuasive & interesting, they each show a lot about the characters

- Slay Johnnana!!! Make him pay for it

- The costumes in this one is a step up from the first.

- the fact she knows that Cinna is in danger for the Mockingjay dress

- Peter "We actually got married" Mellark, Peter "If it werent for the baby" Mellark

- All the Victor's holding hands in a show of unity

- CINNA 😭 (Jennifer Lawrence was amazing in this scene)

- The arena is beautiful

- finnick: oh Sh*t Katniss might actually love Peeta.

- THE FOG ,, MAGGS!! 😭😭

- Tick Tock The arenas a clock

- PEETA! JOHNANNA!

- bye bye district 12

I love this film, for me, it's my favourite in the series.

[masha-nikita]

Better have a good enemy than a crazy friend (cont.)

I re-used Rommel from a previous work, because I like this Rommel but dissatisfied with the other work :/

Two Scorpios. INTERESTING.

The whole thing started with this post. The said friend finally agrees to help a little bit with fanfic. She doesn't speak English and I'm clueless with omegaverse; that is a problem LOL.

Here goes nothing.

They’ve been through this ritual for… how many days now? Making love in abandonment till the slim golden dawn undulates across the desert’s pale dunes. The intercourse continues well into morning hours, when the sun begins to burn their fragrant skins a little, and the inside of Rommel’s lower belly laden with his enemy’s alpha seeds.

“Indeed, this grand scenery does not exist in Europe.” Monty says as he sits up, “here, in Africa, this is the hill I am willing to die on.” Then, he smiles at his own military humor. Rommel lazily eyes him, still basking in post-coital bliss. He could only make out “Europe” and “Africa” from the other man’s monologue.

Montgomery along with his squad captured Rommel when the daring Fox got too close to the British base, during a foolhardy scouting mission with limited supplies of his necessary medicines. Once Montgomery accidentally triggered his enemy’s omega response, the Fox becomes Monty’s willing POW-- even his iron will had to bend before this primitive drive. Rommel knew it was his own blunder, and a terrible one. He has no right to complain.

Rommel grabs the English man’s hand and places it on his abdomen, muttering a few German words. Monty playfully wanders his hand downwards between his thighs. The Fox snaps it back, places Monty’s hand, yet again, on his flat belly. Seeing Montgomery in the mood of messing around, Rommel gives up communication, punches him squarely in the face, gets up, collects his clothes, promptly walks off towards the general direction of the Afrika Korps.

Montgomery does not treat him like a POW. It’s his own blunder. Rommel thinks to himself in utter frustration.

“Wait! I apologize! What is it you want to say? I'm listening!” Montgomery catches up to him, his face freshly swollen from the punch. He has nothing on him but his iconic black beret and underwear, a rather pathetic sight for this good general, but one that gives Rommel the illusion that the otherworldly love between enemies is possible.

Rommel sighs, damn this language barrier, damn that this barrier is powerless against enemy penetration into his soul. He carefully brings out a medal from his uniform front pocket, places it in Montgomery’s palm. It is both small and light and incredibly heavy, its color creamy porcelain blue.

“I am a man of duty, both to my country and my wife. I cannot further blacken my already tainted conscience.” He says, in a tongue he knows the other man does not comprehend, “But I do owe you. I’ll bring this child to you and reclaim my honor, eventually. I’ll be a part of their life until the very end of mine. This embodies my highest promise to you.”

Montgomery could tell it is the renowned Pour le Merite, prized treasure of all the 3rd Reich's officers. His heart sinks a little.

“Here.” Monty takes the golden badge off his beret, his movements clumsy with haste. “This represents me, all those politicians, and the civilians back in London recognize my status by this symbol. May it be with you, as though I am with you.”

“Thank you.” In a low voice, he speaks the only English he knows. Rommel's intention is to come back for his medal, but Monty has a hunch, they'll never see each other again.

///

Tension runs high in the OKH headquarters. Both Halder and von Brauchitsch are absent. Hitler throws the papers flying across the mahogany table. Apart from that, the room is eerily silent.

“I am not going to approve of your discharge, Field Marshal Erwin Rommel.”

“Since I am also implicated in the conspiracy case, Führer, I…”

“Don’t Führer me, you traitor, you whore!” Hitler snaps at him, already showing signs of nervous breakdowns, “Goebbel has been working his head off to promote you as our Reich’s prominent alpha hero! Only a few of us knew what you really are. You have that little extra bit to make you a whore.”

“There never have been any intention in my heart to betray you, Führer . I am speaking with my soldierly honor and utmost honesty. You knew me.”

“You used to be my personal security, but that was in the past. I don’t think I know you anymore.”

True, the trust has been broken completely. Rommel holds loyalty to his country, but not to this angry mess in front of him. Not anymore.

The Führer’s bloodshot eyes darts around his neck: “where is your blue cross Pour le Merite? What is that thing on your chest?”

“It is Field Marshal's gold wire embroidered badge…” Rommel paused, “of the British Army.”

“so you are literally in bed with Bernard Montgomery. I mean, physically and who knows what else, Is that so?”

Rommel understands at this point, in Hitler’s eyes, it is further confirmation of high treason. This whole conversation is a demonstration of his political naivety.

“Who else knows about this... scandal? Does Von Rundstedt know? Your wife Lucy?” Hitler motions the slightly visible bump in Rommel’s belly. Rommel shivers in disgust. He feels exposed.

“My trustworthy chief of staff Alfred Gause does. No one else.”

“Gause runs a good staff. He does not keep a good eye on you for me, however.” Hitler coldly comments, “Does HE know? I mean, the other father.”

“I cannot confirm that.” Rommel whispers.

“I bet that Brit doesn’t speak even a little bit of German. You may as well fuck all day and not exchange a word.” The Führer’s voice is loaded with irony. Rommel falls into a grey silence, a hint of red flies onto his cheeks.

“Old friend,” Hitler changes his tone, a manipulator that he is, “I could still find it in me to forgive you, on one condition: you take a bite of one of these bitter medicines.”

Two black boxes, one contains a cyanide pill, the other an abortion tablet.

“Choose, it’s Führer’s order.”

Rommel chooses; hands steady, his gaze dark. The choices are cruel, but one of them allows him to not break his promise. He’s a man of duty, after all.

“Don’t you beg for mercy?”

“I obey your order, mein Führer.”

He leaves with the pill option. An SS officer escorts him outside.

Friend- Hehe I am satisfied with the historical accuracy.

Me-

[psalacanthea]

idk just some DAI Solavellan stuff. Solas POV, 2.6k, Mature.

Three hours of pensive searching and troubled wandering had finally borne fruit.

Ellana had been impossible to find since their tumultuous arrival at Skyhold, a habit which had become her silent protest against what she could not change or control.  Solas understood, but he knew it was not merely suffering that drove her away.  It was also spite and anger, two emotions she felt perhaps more deeply than even he realized.  At first he had thought her reticence was merely distrust.

Now that they were acquainted, he could see instead the rage that fueled her silence and stubbornness, the hatred she bore towards the Chantry that had made an icon and a prisoner of her.

He had no doubt that Leliana had an idea of where the newly-christened Inquisitor was, but she and the spymaster had an odd understanding.  He hadn’t intended to overhear Ellana taking her own life hostage to make a point to Leliana, but it had deepened his understanding of her.  Solas had little doubt Ellana would in fact kill herself if they tried to drive her too far.

There was a selfishness in her he abhorred, but a desperation he understood.

Unfortunately, to find her forced a contemplative stroll through the ruins of what had been built over Tarasyl’an Te’las.  It was foreign enough to dull that distant pain, but every now and again there would be a sign.  A piece of Elvhen statuary shattered into gravel, visible only due to its material, hints of older stonework at the base of some walls.  The bones of an ancient dragon encased in stone formed long after its death.

She was atop the walls, in the center of an intact section bounded by shattered stonework; a destination with no easy path to reach it.

A tower kept it from view, but he had heard the sounds of metal on stone in the distance, giving her position away.  After navigating the crumbled stonework to the top, she came into view at last.  The way between them was treacherous, a long section of fallen wall caved by ancient siege weaponry, no doubt.  It was tumbled into a pile, some of which had fallen down the side of the cliff.  

She sat on the intact wall beyond it, her back to Solas, a campfire lighting her silhouette.  Tendrils of deep mahogany hair were pulled free of her messy braid, streaming in the cold wind that blew past; the only signs of motion from her.  He knew instantly why she had gone silent and still.

Better to simply admit his approach, then, since she knew he was coming.  “Were you intending to stay all night, I wonder?”

In one fluid movement, she rose.  Her limbs unfolded, and then extended, arms stretching over her head until she stopped, short and sharp with a wince.  The left elbow again, he imagined. The fingers stretched wide over her head towards the evening sky curled in, hands balling into fists as her arms fell like dead weight to her sides.  Turning on her toes, she faced him at last.

Her impenetrable, sharp-jawed face was calm, eyes dark with their current distance and the light behind her.

Wide lips pursed minutely as she walked to the edge of the wall, the crumbling gap and the tempestuous mountain wind between them.

“I am displeased to see you, falon.  You should take care.  If you keep pestering me on word of the Andrastians, I may begin to think of you in the same light.”

“The only curiosity I sate is my own, lethallan,” he said, ignoring her return to sarcastic formality.

A grim smile touched her lips, but not her cold voice.  “Not going to fetch me for Cassandra this time?”

“No.  I asked that she no longer involve me.”

Her expression was bland and unreadable, but her eyes were alight with a gleam of curiosity.  “Why?”

“In light of your considerable and ever-increasing quarrel with the Chantry, I have decided to alienate them rather than you,” Solas replied, rather than lying to her.  She accepted lies without question, but counted them, and he had already lied to her more than he was comfortable with.  Every lie compounded, and renewed scrutiny might see things he would rather not be seen.

Finally she smiled, half-hearted and rueful, shaking her head.  “Your placation skills are as impressive as ever.  Don’t feed me medicine and tell me it’s honey, Solas.”

“It was a great unkindness, what Leliana did.”

Her smile faded away, and the light left her eyes.  “I’m tired of shouting over the wind.  Find your way across or go away,” she said, turning on her heel and returning to her fire.  He could see the frustration in her sharp steps, in the way she threw herself down on the stones.

By now he knew that his struggling might amuse her, but it would garner no sympathy or softening of her attitude.  And so, rather than making a show of attempting the dangerous climb, a feat which would be simple for her, he made the trek simple for himself as well.  Using magic, of course.  

Whatever occupied her continued to, and he knew it wasn’t merely a show of ignoring him.  

  Crossing the ruined wall was completed in a heartbeat, and as she was watching he didn’t bother to reduce his ability down to a spell she might recognize and accept.  Ellana seemed intensely familiar with magic, he’d cast before without a staff in the midst of a fight and he’d seen her discreetly checking his hands for injuries at camp.  Which he’d had, of course.  Some singed fingertips were a small sacrifice to his facade.

Not that she had any herself, but unlike the humans she treated it as something unremarkable as lighting a fire with flint and steel.

“Mac na galla,” she cursed under her breath, in a language he recognized but did not understand.

Something from the Free Marches, which made sense considering her origin.

As he came close, able to see over her shoulder, he could see what she was doing.  A small, rectangular metal box rested next to her knee, an array of tools and half-finished pieces spread before her.  Resting in the heart of her fire was a small crucible approximately the size of a teapot, which was filled with melted metal.  The source of her curse seemed to be a shorn nail, which had torn the delicate skin underneath, leaving a thin, ragged piece of nail behind at the edge.  It was bleeding, but she’d apparently already dismissed that injury, tossing a piece of her nail aside and picking up a half-finished arrowhead.

Having just been unmolded, it was rough and covered in burrs from its casting.  She picked up a file and began working at them, barely moving as he circled the fire to sit across from her.  There was a flicker of a sidelong glance, but nothing else.  

She had obliquely invited him to stay, and so he had no qualms about interrupting what was obviously some form of meditation. Self-soothing, perhaps, or simply a repetitive task to help clear her mind.  The Inquisition had plenty of arrows.

“Your finger is bleeding.  Might I assist?”

“Bleeding cleanses the body,” she muttered, which was entirely untrue.

“I am fairly certain all that bleeding accomplishes, in most cases, is to relieve you of your blood.”

“You can do some blood magic with it if you want,” she said, finger dripping onto her thigh as she filed down a spike of pebbled iron from the edge of the arrowhead.  It was a narrow, pyramidal one, of the type she tended to use against templars.

“I will abstain.  Was it you that left the basket in my tent?  If so, thank you– it is exactly what I was in search of.”

“The mountain pine trees have good bark for weaving.  The inner bark, not the outer.  The outer makes excellent fire-starters, especially if you can find a pitch-knot.  If you soak their cone-buds in honey for six months, strain, boil, and then ferment it, it makes something called melash, I think, but we just called it pine wine.  I learned it from a Frostback clan during the Arlathvhen.”

He had to admit, privately, that at times her presumption that he was an ignorant, helpless scholar that needed to be taught everything did grate.  On the other hand, in his company she was completely free with her speech, manner, and all of those vicious bristling edges she hid from everyone else.  She treated him, for better or worse, like she would any Dalish despite their disagreements about her people.  With one glaring difference– Ellana habitually acted as if he was a bird fallen out of a nest, something pitiable and fragile.

At least he had proven he knew how to forage, which had quelled her fears that he was three seconds from starving to death at all times.

Her concern was amusing, but knife-edged and imperious.  He knew it by now intimately, and no longer felt any arrogance in it.  She simply knew no other way to show people that she cared.  Not with her guard up constantly.

She and Sera were constantly at odds due to it, which was amusing to witness.  

Solas sat in quiet, contemplative silence, watching as she finished the arrowhead and moved to the next.

The metal box split in half, width-wise, revealing an interior packed with damp sand.  She pressed it back into each disheveled half, leaving it flat, and then carefully pressed her new arrowhead into the surface.  Then the box was closed over the arrowhead, to force its impression into the sand.

It was calming to watch her, scarred, graceful hands moving with authority and purpose, not a moment’s hesitation to impede her work.  He could imagine her as she doubtless had been, doing this exact same thing at a thousand firesides, during a thousand nights, small practiced movements as intricate as a dance and just as full of beautiful artistry.  The arrow was removed from the mold, and she set it atop her left knee, perched for later use.

The mold closed again, with a small reed caught between the halves to leave an opening for the metal to pour into the cavity.  The metal glowed, a sullen fiery hue, as she used a small metal ladle with a spout to scoop up the molten iron and tipped it into the mold.  The arc of magma-hot liquid iron was transfixing, despite the brevity of the moment.

She set the mold aside to cool, and lifted her narrowed eyes back to his face.  “You heard her threaten me.  You heard me threaten her.”  It was a statement, not a question, so he waited until she continued.  “You must be disappointed again that I had to be forced into the role they have chosen for me instead of happily sacrificing myself to save Thedas like a good little icon.  So please, tell me how selfish I am for attempting to choose my manner of death.  Make certain to be abstruse, or I won’t know how smart you are.”

“Yet again I am scolded for preferring specificity in my speech.  Lethallan, were I to write a treatise on you, it would be filled with contradictions.” 

Solas was pleased to see her smile, sly and barely-stifled.  Still, he hadn’t quite spoken his thoughts, which was what he had come here to do.  It was a faint hope that his words– marred by secrecy and a thousand lies– would do any good to comfort her, but he could try.

“It need not end in death, Ellana.”

“It will,” she replied placidly, staring into the fire.  “One way or another, it will.  To be raised up is to be chiseled down, the pieces of yourself that are inconvenient, or wrong, or too uncomfortable removed from you.  By force, if necessary, and by history, inevitably.  Whatever survives this will not be me, if anything does.”

She looked up at him, eyes reflecting the molten metal, gleaming like a predator in the night.

“I am already dead, Solas, I’ve told you.  I can feel them killing me.”

It was too matter-of-fact for dramatics, the words laden with a hard-won weariness and resignation that gave them a vicious certainty.  

“If you can think of any wisdom, any wisdom at all that will make this burden lighter for me, then speak.  But until the day I do not feel my back breaking under the weight of their expectations every time they look at me, this is where you will find me.  But eventually…”  She reached over and knocked open the mold, pulling a jagged arrowhead from it.  Lifting it, Ellana shifted her gaze over to it, gently spinning the metal in her fingers.  “Eventually there will be nothing of me left.  But there is no sympathy for me, no.  Because I am a thing, a beacon, a hand and not the woman connected to it.”

She turned the arrowhead one last time, and then tipped it towards him.  He could see the flaw in the metal, a hollow that had not filled properly during the casting.  It was thrown back into the crucible, his eyes tracking it, watching the metal begin to soften at the edges as it gave in to the heat.

“Would it make for a better tragedy for me to be hopeful, Solas?  To rail against the very sky, to stand up against an ancient magister like a child flinging stones at a giant?  Would that make it sad enough?  How pathetic must I be?  How humbled?  Tell me, Solas.  What form of martyr must I be?”

There was no answer that was both kind and true. “Ir abelas, my friend.”

Ellana laughed, soft and hollow, graceful, able hands limp in her lap. “Are you disappointed in me?”

“No,” he said quietly, “I am not.”

The wind whistled past them as the conversation fell silent.  

Fading from the edges of the sky, the day finally ended, leaving them in a circle of firelight   with the darkness all around them.  Ellana made no move to craft another arrows, busy, helping hands unable to do anything to lighten her burdens.  The guilt he felt in that moment eclipsed, even for a moment, the shield wall of duty and distance that kept him focused on his goals.

They had always felt small, these vestiges of the Elvhen, but at this moment he felt as overwhelmed by inevitability and grief as she did.

In this moment they were joined, and equal.

Victims of his grief.

“I’ve been thinking about when we spoke of your dreams.  Your Fade journeys.  It was some time ago, when–”

“I remember,” Solas said quietly.

“Not even the spirits will really remember me as I am, but as whatever they make of me,” she said with a small, faint laugh.  “Somehow that makes it all worse.”

“I will share my memories of you," he said, an odd, uncomfortably impulsive promise. It was no burden to make, of course, but it came with an emotion that must be ignored. Thrust aside. "Such as they are."

"Unflattering?" she joked grimly, and shook her head, leaving a smear of char on her forehead as she pushed her hair away. "The truth often is unflattering, Solas. You have ink on your chin."

Hastily he reached up to lick his thumb and wipe it away, her tired laugh easing some of the tension in the air. When he glanced up, she was smiling at him, and her eyes were clearer. Less heavy.

"Will you tell me a story?"

"I would be glad to," he assured her quietly.

And he did- ensuring it was a story with no villains, no struggle, and most importantly, no heroes.

There had been enough tragedy already.

[glittercakes]

If the Sparklas modeled for a famous fashion house specialized in perfumes, which names and notes would their iconic perfumes have and how would the bottles of the respective perfumes look like?

Sarasaland Scents Presents: The Sparkla Collection!

Brenda/Swordfighter: Slice of Heaven (a floral perfume with notes of rose and gladiolus in a rose-shaped bottle)

Austin/Cowgirl: Desert Wild (an earthy perfume with notes of cactus, sandalwood, and straw in a barrel-shaped bottle)

Patty/Patissiere: Triple Berry Parfait (a sweet perfume with notes of strawberry, blueberry, and raspberry in a cupcake-shaped bottle)

Kage/Ninja: Moonlight (an earthy/floral perfume with notes of cherry blossom and hinoki wood in a moon-shaped bottle)

Robaire/Dashing Thief: Stolen Heart (a woody perfume with notes of mahogany and blackwood in a diamond-shaped bottle)

Sherman/Detective: A Quiet Moment (a citrus perfume with notes of green tea and lemon in an upside down magnifying glass-shaped bottle)

Hiro/Mighty: Kickstart (a spicy perfume with notes of cayenne pepper and cinnamon in a rocket-shaped bottle)

Wu Xie/Kung Fu: Eastern Wind (a floral perfume with notes of plum blossom, orchid, and chrysanthemum in a cylinder-shaped bottle)

Isa/Figure Skater: Winter Wonderland (a floral/minty perfume with notes of poinsettia and peppermint in a snowflake-shapes bottle)

Marissa/Mermaid: Tropical Breeze (a fruity perfume with notes of coconut and pineapple in a conch-shaped bottle)

Coming to Stores Nowhere Near You!

(Disclaimer: Glittercakes is not a perfumer and in fact has pretty much no knowledge of what makes a good perfume at all. Do not come at her in the notes of this post with “Um, actually, these scents clash and a perfume with those would smell really bad!” She knows.)

[xeas]

I SLITHERED HERE FROM EDEN (JUST TO SIT OUTSIDE YOUR DOOR)

🍍 IN WHICH: mr. inference cant seem to give himself a break. eli wants to help.

🥥 NOTE FROM XEA!: there's like, not a single surveyor icon on pinterest. idk if its because i searched the wrong stuff up or smth but i found an icon for every eli skin BUT surveyor . also no cop x criminal...that's tuff asf to write sorry,,,,,,i also have a tough time writing for men so i took this as a challenge ;;;;; sorry if it seems a little rushed or not as good as previous works

🫧CONTENT WARNINGS: not proofread; inference smokes a pipe, surveyor smokes the same one, surveyor is a flirt, relationship is up to the reader but its intended to be on the romantic spectrum, surveyor goes by eli, Mr. inference goes by naib, these two dudes kiss btw

There is something lonesome about Mr. Inference.

He spends most of his days (and nights) cooped up in his office organizing paperwork, writing reports, and putting two and two together.

And yet, some people just manage to get through locked doors (both physical and mental) to get on the detective's last nerves.

He considers himself a common man with common thoughts. No plaque or statue will be dedicated to his name, that will sooner be forgotten than remembered.

The detective cups the bowl of his pipe, exhaling a stream of smoke as he looks up at the drab ceiling of his office. Steel blue eyes stare up at the ceiling lost in thought, his classic coat hanging off of the leather chair he sat in.

The doorknob rattles. What?

Half of a moment passes. The door hastily creaks open and the detective doesn't even need to look to see who it is, the sound of black shoes clicking against the wood already making his head ache.

A figure with a mop of brown hair against porcelain skin sits on his desk. He watches, he is always watching. Naib continues to write and write and write with no end in sight.

"I believe it's past working hours, dear detective."

"Work picks up around this time."

"You're neglecting yourself, Naib."

The assault of ink to paper is halted. Naib suddenly feels the weight of exhaustion presses itself upon him.

"What do you need now." His voice is like a tangy whiskey against ice.

The surveyor hums, hands splayed on the mahogany of the desk. "Nothing, as of now. But a close friend of ours wanted me to check on you."

It doesn't take a genius to know who.

Naib puts his lips to the stem of his pipe and inhales, pulling away. He exhales away from Eli, offering the pipe to him. He takes his offer and repeats the same motion Naib does. Smoke hits the side of the detective's face.

"I know you won't talk about it Naib. Even it might kill you," Eli started, exhaling leftover smoke.

"But you have people you can talk to." The detective's brows furrowed.

"I know."

"Okay."

The two of them sat in pregnant silence. Eli observed what he saw. A man drowning himself in paperwork. His hair was messy, his overcoat draped over his chair, white collared shirt with 2 buttons open, you could see his rich olive skin-

Let's look at something else.

"I got you something." Eli interrupts his own thoughts. Naib looked over at him.

"I'm not going to get drunk with you." Naib cuts in.

"You're no fun," Eli pouts, setting the 'surprise' bottle of bourbon on the desk.

Naib just rolls his eyes, smoking the pipe again.

This time, Eli can't resist.

Almost as soon as he exhales the smoke Eli leans over the desk, planting a kiss on Naibs chapped lips. The detective's perpetually tired eyes widen a fraction, a hand suddenly gripping the desk.

As Eli pulls away he feels the detective grip a wrist of his. He watches him wet his lips.

"Stay for a while?"

"Of course."

୨🐙୧ ‧ 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝘼𝙉 𝘼𝙈𝘼𝙕𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝘿𝘼𝙔! ⋆ ˚｡

🌺 𝙓𝙊𝙓𝙊,

XEA!