#rustic mud room

[ibs-gateway]

Farmhouse Entry - Mudroom Medium-sized country entryway idea in porcelain tile, with beige walls and a dark wood front door.

[darrenishedwig]

Mudroom - Mudroom

White walls and a medium-sized transitional wood floor with a brown floor are used in this mudroom.

[type-greninja]

Sun Room in New York Design ideas for a mid-sized cottage sunroom renovation with a stone fireplace, a regular ceiling, and a regular fireplace.

[design-and-html]

Mudroom - Mudroom Entryway - mid-sized cottage light wood floor entryway idea with gray walls and a dark wood front door

[scrapxrat]

Burlington Mudroom Entryway - mid-sized transitional brick floor entryway idea with beige walls and a dark wood front door

[meatconfetti]

Mudroom Grand Rapids Mudroom - large transitional ceramic tile and multicolored floor mudroom idea with gray walls

[ura-okitu]

Rustic Laundry Room

Mid-sized mountain style single-wall brick floor and brown floor utility room photo with shaker cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops and beige walls

[imfromsixam]

The Hacienda Getaway (CC Pack for The Sims 4)

Welcome to "El Agave" Hacienda Resort!

Hey, Simmers! With the arrival of the "Ciudad Enamorada" world in The Sims 4 Lovestruck, I couldn't resist recreating a beautiful spot I visited last year in Los Cabos, Mexico.

This CC Pack is all about an old hacienda where they produce the finest tequila. Even though I'm not a big drinker, the place was simply magical! Of course, I had to try a couple of Paloma cocktails and some tequila shots – when in Rome, right? 🍹

In this pack, you'll discover a treasure trove of old archways, grand double doors, and windows made of wood, clay, and iron, all available in open versions to bring your spaces to life. Plus, there's a full set of cozy, leather-style living room furniture where your Sims can chat, relax, or get a little romantic. 💕

I had a blast crafting the rustic coffee table and console with carved wood finishes. The iron chandeliers add an authentic old-world charm, and the mud planters with cacti are a perfect touch of the local flair. 🌵

But wait, there's more! I've added new flowers, a traditional-style rug, rustic painting frame, cushions, armchair, cool beams for your ceiling, beautiful terracotta tiles, and of course, a tequila set to make it all complete.

I had a lot of fun creating this set, reminiscing about one of the best vacations I've had. I hope to go back soon, but in the meantime, my Sims can enjoy a bit of that life.

Dive into the fun with this custom content for The Sims 4, and as always, happy simming!

About this CC Pack

Build: Arch, Door, 2 Floors, 2 Windows

Comfort: Armchair with and without pillows, Armchair, Loveseat, Sofa

Decorative: Cushions for sofa, Cushions, Beam, 3 plants (cactus), Paiting, 1 Flower (Dalia), Rug, Tequila Bottle, Tequila Set, Mud Vase

Lighting: Chandelier, Wall Light

Surface: Coffee table, Console Table

GET EARLY ACCESS HERE

[izzrd]

Denver Rustic Entry

Mid-sized mountain style mudroom design example with beige walls and a limestone floor.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Tears In His Ferrari || Chp 1

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Words Count: 2,070

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10 , Chp 11 , Chp 12.

Under the relentless blaze of the scorching sun, Bucky Barnes, the pampered scion of the country's largest retail business, was far removed from the air-conditioned boardrooms of his family's empire. Grumbling incessantly, he swatted away the relentless flies that seemed to thrive in the rural heat. 

"Pick them up gently, Bucky. We don't want scrambled eggs before breakfast," Y/N instructed sternly, her eyes narrowing as Bucky clumsily reached for the first egg. The delicate shell slipped through his fingers, meeting the unforgiving ground with a sharp crack.

"Really, city boy? You gotta treat 'em like they're made of glass," Y/N scolded, her tone unyielding. Bucky, now sporting a mix of irritation and embarrassment, shot back with a sarcastic retort.

"Glass? They're just eggs, not Fabergé. And who knew these chickens were so high-maintenance?"

Bucky, wiping sweat from his brow, replied with a half-smile of his own, “This is absurd. I'm a Barnes, not a farmer.”

How could the sole heir of the country's largest retail company find himself toiling like this? It all stemmed from a bet he made with his father.

2 weeks ago:

Under the glittering Dubai night sky, Bucky, driven by the thrill of rebellion, decided to join a race car event despite his father's explicit warnings. The roar of the engines reverberated through the darkness as Bucky sped along the circuit, the city lights blending into a streak of colors.

As Bucky pulled into the pit garage, the bright lights revealed an unexpected sight – his father, stern-faced and waiting. The realization struck Bucky like a sudden brake, his heart pounding in rhythm with the fading echoes of the race.

His father's disapproval was palpable as he approached, a storm gathering in his gaze.

"Dad!" Bucky exclaimed, but his words were drowned by the tirade that followed. His father, fueled by a mix of anger and concern, chased after him, leaving no room for escape.

The victory that should have been a sweet taste of triumph was overshadowed by the looming storm of his father's wrath.

His father, face etched in a stern expression, strode towards Bucky, a potent mix of anger and disappointment simmering beneath the surface. Bucky's heart sank, realizing that the victory he had just tasted was now tainted by the disapproval in his father's eyes.

"Damn it!" Bucky muttered as he reluctantly shut off the engine and climbed out of the race car. His father's presence loomed over him, a formidable figure casting a shadow on Bucky's moment of recklessness.

His dad, arms crossed, began to unleash a torrent of frustration. "For the whole year, you roamed overseas to live your wildlife. You promised me after graduating that you'd take a year off before entering the company."

Bucky hails from a family that owns the largest retail company in the country, a business empire built over generations. As the sole heir to this colossal enterprise, Bucky enjoys the privileges that come with his family's success. 

Bucky is set to inherit Verve, a retail giant in the country. Despite the family's success, his spoiled and impulsive nature creates a conflict between his privileged upbringing and the responsibilities tied to the business. 

Seated on a nearby bench, Bucky nibbled on his snacks, a subconscious attempt to deflect the gravity of the situation. His eyes, darting between the snacks and his father, conveyed a mix of guilt and defiance.

He heard his father's words but struggled to understand why he, the heir to the family's business empire, should start as an intern when his friends effortlessly landed positions in their family companies.

"Why intern, Dad?" Bucky interjected his tone, a mix of frustration and confusion. "We own the company. Why don't I get the same treatment as my friends?"

The tension in the pit garage hung thick as his father expressed his feelings. "I'm fed up with it!" he declared, his voice a mixture of anger and disappointment.

Bucky, attempting to downplay the situation, replied nonchalantly, "Dad, chill. At least I gained some money from this."

His father responded swiftly and cut, "And you blew it all in a second! How can I trust our company to you?"

He rubbed his chest, a physical manifestation of the stress and disappointment weighing on him. "I feel like our ancestors are judging me. They were never big spenders like you."

A moment of silence followed as both father and son grappled with the underlying issues. Bucky's father couldn't shake the feeling that he had spoiled Bucky too much, especially since the loss of Bucky's mother when he was still young.

Feeling offended, Bucky retorted, "Do you think I can't handle my own money? I could make a million in one week."

"Really?" his father questioned, a skeptical look in his eyes.

Bucky, fueled by pride, affirmed, "Yes."

The challenge was set. Bucky's father nodded, "Alright, if you could make our farm profitable with a million, I will give you any position you want in the company."

"Really?" Bucky's eyes widened, a glimmer of opportunity sparking.

"Yes. If you manage to do it, I will never interfere with your life anymore," his father declared. Both of them shook hands, sealing the deal.

But then came the unexpected twist. "By the way, I'm going to cut all your access to your money," his father dropped the bomb.

"What?" Bucky exclaimed, shock and disbelief etched across his face.

"Your great-grandfather started his business with $100. You need to appreciate money, stop wasting it all in one day," his father explained sternly.

"But how am I going to live without money?" Bucky protested, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

"I've provided everything you need on the farm," his father countered, emphasizing the gravity of the challenge. "You're my only son, and I don't want you to be a wastrel!"

The moment's intensity lingered in the air as the weight of the challenge and the drastic shift in Bucky's circumstances began to sink in.

Bucky couldn't help but roll his eyes at the daunting challenge ahead. "Fine. I'll show that I can do it on my own. How difficult can it be?" he muttered, perhaps more to reassure himself than anything else.

Oh, how he wished he could take those words back as his Ferrari pulled up to the family farm, the only luxury permitted by his father. To his dismay, the farm appeared desolate and barren, a stark contrast to the lavish lifestyle he was accustomed to.

Bucky, sporting his usual city-boy ensemble of expensive leather shoes and a sleek leather jacket, stepped out of the pristine car only to find the uneven terrain immediately wreaking havoc on his attire. Mud splattered on the once-immaculate leather shoes, a cruel irony of the stark contrast between luxury and the rustic farm reality.

As Bucky surveyed the damage to his meticulously polished shoes, his eyes widened with panic. "No, no, no. You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered frantically, attempting to wipe away the mud with his hands, only succeeding in making matters worse.

The realization of his Red Ferrari parked amidst the farm's untamed landscape hit him like a ton of bricks.

A look of horror crossed Bucky's face as he surveyed the mud-smeared exterior of his prized possession. "This is not happening," he exclaimed, his voice laced with a mix of disbelief and anxiety.

The once-gleaming Ferrari now stood as a symbol of the clash between opulence and the unyielding demands of rural life, leaving Bucky in a state of mild panic about the fate of his beloved car amid this unexpected farm adventure.

His panic only intensified as he turned his attention to the house assigned to him. It was a far cry from the sleek, modern apartment he was accustomed to. With its weathered exterior and superficial charm, the rustic farmhouse left Bucky in shock. 

"Wait, this is my house?" he stammered, disbelief etched across his face. The reality of the situation sank in, and Bucky grappled with the stark contrast between the urban comfort he knew and the quaint simplicity of his new rural abode.

In sheer disbelief, Bucky scratched his head and pulled at his hair. "How am I going to do this? I'm so dead," he lamented, realizing the task's magnitude.

Just as the weight of the situation began to sink in, a voice disrupted his thoughts. "James Barnes?"

Turning around, Bucky saw a woman seated in a farm truck, wearing a practical flannel grey shirt. She stepped out of the truck, her attire markedly suitable for the farm environment.

Still grappling with the shock of the situation, Bucky mustered a response, "The one and only call me Bucky. And you are?"

Undeterred by his casual attitude, the woman retorted with a smirk, "The one who will make your life miserable."

Bucky's eyes widened in disbelief. "Is this how you introduce yourself when meeting a new person?" he shot back, a mixture of surprise and amusement playing across his face. 

Y/N's face remained stoic, her expression unwavering as she delivered the news to Bucky. "I will be straight to the point; your life won't be easy like in the city," she asserted, leaning down to rest her hands on the wooden rail. "I'll be your mentor."

With a pointed finger, she continued, "We're neighbors. My dad asked me to help you." Her tone hinted at an unspoken determination to ensure Bucky's time in the town would be far from a leisurely escape. She was poised, ready to make him regret ever leaving her domain.

Flashback start

Y/N had returned from the farm two days prior, dropping fresh milk on the kitchen cabinet with plans to make cheese—her mother's favorite. Her family, owners of a dairy farm and several crops, had a livelihood deeply rooted in agriculture. The biggest of their ventures was their dairy farm.

As Y/N washed her hands, her father said their family would assist their new neighbor. Y/N, although accustomed to helping neighbors, Y/N couldn't hide her disdain when she heard the name 'Barnes.' She gritted her teeth at the mere mention of the family.

Her aversion to the 'Barnes' name was reflected in her unyielding body language, a subtle tension in her shoulders, and a clenching of her jaw. The prospect of aiding Bucky, the city boy from the family she held some resentment toward, added an unexpected layer of complexity to her already busy life on the farm.

Years ago, in their relentless pursuit of expanding their retail empire, the Barnes family made a business move that significantly impacted Y/N's family farm. The Barnes Corporation, seeking to acquire more land for development, had set its sights on the quaint farmland owned by Y/N's family.

Despite Y/N's family's resistance and the sentimental value attached to their land, the Barnes Corporation, driven by profit, successfully carried out the acquisition, leaving Y/N's family with no choice but to relinquish the farm that had been in their possession for generations.

The ruthless business dealings and lack of empathy from the Barnes family left a bitter taste in Y/N's mouth.

Despite the Barnes Corporation's relentless pursuit of their farmland, Y/N's family salvaged a small piece of their ancestral land.

But, the memories of losing her family's cherished farm to the corporate giant fueled Y/N's resentment and distaste for the Barnes family. 

Flashback end

Y/N flashed Bucky an assuring smile, though it carried an undercurrent of intimidation. Her expression was a blend of warmth and a silent warning. Bucky, feeling the weight of the unspoken challenge, involuntarily gulped.

It was a realization that, from that moment onward, his life was destined to be anything but easy. The smile that seemed promising also bore the weight of a mentorship that would test his resilience in the unfamiliar terrain of the farm.

Still processing the intensity of Y/N's smile, Bucky mumbled uncertainly, “What have I gotten myself into? ... and I have no clue where this is headed." With a mix of trepidation and curiosity in his eyes, he took a hesitant step forward, realizing that the journey ahead was bound to be far more intricate than he had initially bargained for. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7

Join the taglist? 🩷💙🩷

@bagoffeelings

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@starsofcloud

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@freshlemontea

[haee-elia]

spence-tober: day 2 - farmer

pairing: farmer!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: in which you live a quiet yet exciting and passionate love with your husband on his family's farm.

word count: 1434

warnings: domestic fluff, crop farmer not animal, mentions of a knife in terms of cooking

spence-tober masterlist

There was a creaking noise. There, as you stood at the large farm style sink while you were washing off some vegetables for dinner. You almost missed it with the sound of the water rushing out of the faucet, but you caught it. Just barely.

A stone cold expression washeed over your face and you turned the faucet off.

No other noise permeated throughout the one-floor renovated country farmhouse. No more water. No more creaking. Not even the sound of your breath, as it caught in your throat.

You slowly turned your torso and body around, a full 180 degrees. 

“Spencer Walter Reid. You better not be trekking mud and dirt through this kitchen.” You scold lightly as you look at your husband who froze in his step. 

Like you had guessed by the lack of shuffling or scuffing sounds at the back door of the house, Spencer’s work boots were caked in layers of dirt and mud and soil. The cuffs of his overalls were tucked into the boots to avoid the grime from touching his skin, but that did no good for his arms and hands judging by the look of them. 

His face was a little better off. A perpetual redness decorated his cheeks and tips of his ears, slightly sunburned from being outside all day, nearly every day. His hair was a mess, but it was a sign that he was indeed wearing that large brimmed hat you got him for his birthday. 

His expression read guilty but he still didn’t respond.

You nod at his feet, “Boots off. Wash off in the sink, please.” You say as you move out of the way of the sink, bringing your collander of vegetables with you to the island of the rustic kitchen.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Spencer responds finally, following your instructions and shirking off his boots to the nearby shoe rack and moving towards the sink.

“How’s everything looking?” You inquire as the sound of water echoes through the room once again.

“Good,” Spencer responds, “The rain from this morning helped shorten the work day so I only had to check the hydration in the greenhouse. The humidity was a little high, but everything’s straightened out now.”

His now clean hands turned the water off and he turned to you as he dryed them off with the little hand towel hanging on the rack above the sink.

“Did you know that too much humidity in the air can cause crops and other plants to attract bacteria, fungi, pests, and grow mold? Not only will crops attract more bacteria, but imbalance humidity levels to the type of crop can cause the transpiration rates to slow, prohibiting development and growth.”

His eyes gleam with excitement and wealth of knowledge as he looks at you, explaining with a smile. Hanging up the towel in its rightful place, Spencer shuffled over to you and wrapped his arms around your middle, resting his chin on your shoulder, almost nuzzling into you.

You turn your head and kiss his cheek with a gentle smile, “No, I didn’t know that.”

Spencer had met you when he was in university studying agriculture and you for renewable energy engineering. You started dating in your undergrad, moved in together and got engaged while pursuing masters, and got married once you both had graduated. 

Moving back to Spencer’s family’s farm was a joint decision between the two of you when his mom started getting a little tired of the work. Diana retired and started traveling while you and Spencer started making the land your home. 

Spencer kept up with the farm and greenhouse, hiring extra farmhands when harvest came along and you implemented some new energy equipment that would cut down on power costs in the long run.

“What did you get up to today, sweets?” He asked, returning your kiss on the cheek with a tender peck at your temple.

You reach up with your hands, abandoning the dinner prep, and hold onto his arms that drape around your shoulders. You both start swaying to non-existent music, just drifting back and forth together, relishing in the closeness of your bodies. 

“Well,” You start to think, “I finished a few proposal costs and went through some freelance work.”

Renewable energy was really taking off, even in the smaller town that you both now reside in. Other farms as well as other businesses have consulted you for evaluations, plus you did accept freelance work from the city nearby.

“I finished the final coat of paint for the guest room and I’ll need your help moving the new bed in there this weekend before your mom comes to visit. We should also decide what we want to do with the old study.”

You felt Spencer nod at your neck. “That sounds good.” He says.

He pulls away slightly, “We can move in the bed tonight after dinner and we should wait on the study until Mom comes to town. She won’t want to sit and do nothing and I don’t need her out in the field with me.”

You giggle, “You mean you don’t want Diana to scold you when you step on a tomato on the ground?”

He groans from your neck, “It was only that one time!” He shakes his head, but you can hear a smile on his face, “I swear, she watches me like a hawk watches it’s prey.” He grumbles.

“Too many farmers in the field?” You ask jokingly. 

“Yes.” Spencer responds, gruffly. 

“Well,” You start to say, “Diana would agree.” You pull away from Spencer and give him the vegetables and a chopping board. You start to move around the kitchen, working on other aspects of dinner.

“She said you weren’t wading through the corn the right way and that it would hurt you and the corn.” You tell.

Spencer looks up at you from chopping up some carrots with a doubtful look on his face, “She only mentioned it hurting the corn, didn’t she?” He asked.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing and nod. 

Diana and Spencer were two peas in a pod. But one thing they could nearly never agree on is the occupation and hobby that they share. They teased and compared and playfully poked fun at each other in the field, but it was Diana who gave Spencer his love of farming in the first place.

She was the one who made it fun for the lanky child in his youth, at first just picking berry bushes, then helping out in the greenhouse, and then again in his teens during harvest season.

You were worried when first meeting Diana that she wouldn’t like you, but you got along quickly with both of your loves of nature and green energy. Plus your shared love of Spencer would always bring you together.

After a few giggles escape you, you turn back to your husband. “Oh!” You say, getting his attention.

“That reminds me, you need to call Jim Harvey back. He wanted to see if we have the harvest this year to expand his existing order.”

“Again?” Spencer asked in amusement, not looking up from the knife in his hand, being careful to chop the vegetables without taking off a part of his finger. 

You nodded, “Yeah, something about expecting more calves this year or something.” You remember.

Spencer scoffs, adding the finished vegetable pieces in a bowl for you. “But he says that-” 

“Every year.” You both finish together. 

You giggle as Spencer chuckles. You gladly take the bowl from him and set it aside, them grabbing his hands and enveloping them around you. You cage yourself in his arms and look up at your husband. 

You bring your hands up to his face, the slight scruff of his chin making you smile fondly. “Why don’t you call him back and take a shower while I finish up dinner.” You say.

You press a kiss to his lips, which are slightly chapped from staying outside in the sun all day.

Spencer smiles and chases your lips for more, “That,” He gives you another peck, “Sounds.” Another peck. “Good.” And another. 

You regrettably untangle yourself from your husband. “Dinner will be ready by the time you’re out of the shower, my love.”

Spencer pulls you into him once again and presses a longer, more passionate kiss on your lips, stealing your breath away. His lips are pinker and a little swollen, you believe yours aren’t too far off either. 

His eyes gleam with his love for you, his smile just the same.

“And maybe dessert?”

a/n: i promise not all of these will be established relationships... so, how are we liking this so far? i just love alternative universe possibilities and imagining spencer in different professions and or walks of life!

[cagenewman]

CAGE & CORDELIA'S WEDDING OCTOBER 19, 2024

Themed with a little bit of rustic country glamour, the colors for Cage & Cordelia's wedding are cranberry and tones of peach and cream, with the flowers ranging from red sunflowers to roses, dahlias, peonies and hydrangeas, with others mixed into the arrangements. The ceremony is taking place on their countryside farm, with lots of natural wood and antique pieces, and beautiful fresh florals. | RECEPTION POST

In lieu of full wedding parties, the bride (Cordelia Newman) and groom (Cage Newman) chose to get ready with friends and family at their home. They were assisted by Sylvia Cuenco-Burke for hair, Elena Vazquez for make-up, and Nari Gim and Arturo Vasco for fashion assistance.

To start the ceremony, Colton Newman will walk his little sister, Rosalyn Newman down the aisle as she tosses flower petals. The bride chose to walk herself down the aisle to an instrumental version of Love Story, where the groom's brother, Kellan Newman will officiate the ceremony, and the bride and groom will share personal vows with one another. After sharing a kiss, the officiant is to invite everyone to stick around for the reception.

Photography will be handled by younger sister, Lucie Newman, and Stelly Carter. Live music provided by a local string band, and flowers were purchased from Lavender Lane. Special thanks to the gals of Memorable Affairs, Kennedy Warren & Eliana Vagh.

OOC THINGS: while we want this event to be as much fun for you guys as it is for us, we do ask that everyone please be respectful of the fact that this is a wedding, taking place on someone's private property! Cage & Cordelia's home is off limits, with only the mud room and first floor bathroom open to guests (there are portable bathrooms available). The barn and greenhouse are also off limits (for the safety of their animals / property). If you have questions about threads / plots, please message me personally -- we want this event to be a good time for everyone (IC & OOC), but also remain respectful of the purpose of the celebration. As usual, please tag socials to #merrocksocial, and outfits to #merrockfashion, but feel free to use our wedding tag, as well!

PLEASE USE THE HASHTAG #BUILDINGTHENEWMANS FOR ANY WEDDING POSTS.

[ryrywrites]

𝕺𝖈𝖙. 16. Hair Pulling - Sam Winchester

mdni divider cred: @cafekitsune

pair: Sam Winchester x hunter!fem!reader

description: Sam and Y/N have been at each other's throats since they met. After their most recent hunt, they're finally back at the motel but Sam's locked out of his room and Dean's out with the only key. They decide to be mature and stay in Y/N's room until Dean gets back.

warnings: 18+ mdni, rough hair pulling, slight choking, facefucking, slight dubcon, oral (m & f receiving), softish!dom!Sam, sub!reader, lil rough, pretty angsty, fluffy near the end, enemies to lovers, little bit of forced proximity, lemme know if I missed anything

WC: 3.4k (this is my first post, I'm so sorry y'all 😞)

A/N: if you've read my rules or requests, you'll know I use Y/N for your character's name but I'll be using you, your, you're . if you wanna request a one-shot or drabble, my inbox is always open. this is set around episodes 5-6, season 5. Enjoy, my lovelies! ❤️

kinktober masterlist × main masterlist

"Wipe your feet," he was tracking mud all over the carpet. "Where?" Sam countered with the same level of distaste and annoyance Y/N held in her tone. She scanned the room for a mat but remembered she was staying in a filthy one-bed motel room. "Just take them off." Sam sharply exhaled, sitting in the rustic (gaudy) yellow recliner and fumbling with his laces. He dropped the gunk-filled boots with a huff and rubbed his eyes. The rain started off peacefully but as soon as she and Sam got out of the impala, they were welcomed by a cold wind and raindrops coming down like bullets. Dean had insisted that this was the perfect weather for a six-pack and a burger so he headed out to find a dive bar that served both. He claimed he'd bring them back some burgers but the likelihood of him remembering what they wanted was little to none so they found contentment in the mini bar and turkey sandwiches.

Y/N had never preferred the younger Winchester brother in any way besides his good looks. Sam only tolerated her attitude because Dean trusted her (and because he secretly enjoyed her company). There was always a snarky remark, he was never bored with her around. Y/N, on the other hand, found his determination to irritate her whenever possible, exhausting. She often chose to overlook his aggravating side because she liked him. She appreciated his witty, sarcastic humor and the way they could come together to save lives. She admired the loyalty and love he had for his brother and the gold in his eyes. She had never seen eyes like his, she caught herself staring at him constantly. He was, though she wouldn't admit it, beautiful. Sam shared this attraction, despite their animosity towards each other. He found himself captivated by the groves on her hands, her lips, her laugh. He found her charming and so infuriating.

When they got to their rooms, Sam realized Dean had the only key to the room. He considered breaking into the room with his lock-picking set but Y/N knew she'd feel guilty about leaving him out in the rain. They were partners or, at the very least, co-workers. So, she invited him in and locked the door behind him. She grabbed two towels off the small rusted rack, tossing one at Sam's head and drying her hair with the other. He laughed dryly and wiped his face. "So," she started. "You good?" He quirked a brow at her, "What do you mean?" She looked at him for a second too long and quickly focused on drying her hair. "Since the...everything? Are you okay?" She tried not to seem too concerned, the last thing she wanted was Sam Winchester thinking...she cared? She knew she wanted one thing right then; to be there for him. Even if that meant breaking down some of their walls.

Sam knew exactly what she meant. It had been weeks since they'd last had a real conversation, since he and Dean had separated. When it came down to Sam leaving, he wasn't surprised when Y/N told him she was staying with Dean but it still stung. He was trying to redeem himself but it was obvious his guilt was eating him up inside. He had lost her trust, not completely, but mostly. When he chose Ruby over her and Dean, it felt like a betrayal. They had been working together since John had gone missing back in '05 and he still abandoned her and his own brother. Y/N had never been the type of person to judge someone based off of their mistakes but...Sam was different. If their relationship was rocky before, it was on eggshells now. She expected more from him, set him apart from his brother. Sam was someone she considered reliable but now...it would be harder to get it back to the way it was. But Sam didn't want it to go back to them bickering daily, stolen looks, the tension, those little touches they both missed. He wanted something...just something.

"I haven't seen Lucifer since that night in the motel, if that's what you're asking." It wasn't. She wanted to know he was okay, all of the bullshit they were in aside. She was convincing herself he could still do this, that he could still be the man she knew he was. "What about the nightmares?" She squeezed her eyes shut at the bluntness of the question, wishing she had self-control. "I mean," he rubbed his eyes, thinking before he spoke. He understood she was trying to help, he just felt so undeserving of her understanding. What had he'd been to her in the last couple of months? "Better." He lied. She knew the second he cleared his throat before he answered. That was his tell, she knew. And he could tell she didn't believe him. Y/N grabbed a shirt she had stolen from Sam months ago and tossed it his way, "You can change into that. Here, Dean's." She tossed Dean's sweats. "You're gonna get sick, sitting in those wets clothes." He got the hint to change and headed to the bathroom, half-heartedly swinging the door semi-shut. She crossed the room to grab his soaked towel and hang it up when she caught a glimpse into the dimly-lit bathroom.

She had seen Sam shirtless before, same as Dean. When you live around someone long enough, you see a load of things you wish you hadn't. This was not one of those times. To say he was built would be an understatement. He had the physique of a Greek god and his hands, they were three-times the size of her own. His fingers were slender and long and his hair fell perfectly, still wet, over his eyes. She felt creepy after a second of staring and just when she thought it was time to look away, they made eye contact in the mirror. Y/N panicked, trying to rush away from the bathroom as quickly and casually as she could manage in the moment. She was standing over her folded clothes, pretending to look for something to change into herself when she heard the bathroom door creak open. She didn't make eye contact, she tried to forget what had just happened by becoming more and more interested in finding adequate pajamas. She had given her only pair of sweats to Sam so the only option she was left with was a large shirt (another she had stolen from Sam) that stopped about halfway down her thighs. The rest of her clothes were in the trunk of the impala so this was the best she had.

Sam, being the flustered dorky gentleman he was, tried to make her feel as comfortable as possible by standing as far away from the bathroom, where she was changing, as possible. This made her feel a thousand times worse about peeping on him. "Fucking weirdo." She mumbled quietly to herself. When she got out of the bathroom, she felt dirty for looking at him the way she did. And even worse for continuing to stare at him while he attempted to set his clothes out to dry properly. It irked her that he was so oblivious to hanging clothes out to dry (but what really irked her was the way his back muscles flexed as he did the most simple of tasks). She nudged him to move over so she could do it for him. He watched her intently, admiring how delicate she was being with his tattered clothes. So, as their clothes slowly dried, Y/N asked Sam if he would grab her some M&Ms from the machine outside. The second he was gone, her thighs instinctively rubbed together. The tension was unbearable, she was so pent-up. It had been months since she got laid and even then, it was so bad. The guy was lame and the sex was lamer, that's what she gets for sleeping with some bartender while tipsy.

Sam came back into the room and this made Y/N jump a little bit. He eyed this and seemed convinced she had to be guilty of something to jump like that all of sudden when he came back in the room. "What's wrong?" He questioned her, closing the door with his foot. "Nothing," she tried looking unsuspecting but the whole deer-in-headlights thing didn't work on him. He brushed it off as him overthinking but his suspicions were correct. She was guilty of something. She couldn't focus on anything, not when Sam turned on the TV and settled on Family Feud. She could only shake her leg mindlessly and chew her bottom lip, fidgeting with the bottom of her shirt and staring at him. She was disgusting, this was someone she had known for years, since they were children, but she couldn't control her thoughts. Now, all she could think about, was his lips. Everywhere. On hers, on her neck, kissing in-between her thighs. She munched her M&Ms and tried to distract herself with the game show but found it impossible to think of anything but his hands gripped her hips for dear life- "Hey, you feeling okay? No stimulating conversation tonight?"

She knew he was expecting a chuckle or at least a smile but when he said 'stimulating,' all she wanted was to rip their clothes off and be shoved face first into a pillow. She scrunched up her nose and rubbed her neck, "Since when do you find our conversations interesting?" He shook his head in protest. "Didn't say interesting. Stimulating." He corrected. Any other night, this would've sparked a heated debate on whether or not 'stimulating' and 'interesting' could mean the same thing in this situation but she didn't have the mental capacity for anything but dirty fantasies involving a certain hunter and his pretty eyes. He, again, waited for a smart-ass retort but got nothing. "Tough crowd." He accepted defeat and pretended to focus on the show. Really, he was paying attention to Y/N's every movement. She was nervous, anxious...excited? Almost like she was in her own little world. Sam looked through the channels to see what was on, hoping to find a good movie. He stopped at one he didn't really care too much for but knew Y/N liked it. Prom Queen, with Jamie Lee Curtis.

At this point, she didn't give a fuck about the movie they watched. All she wanted was him, all over her. Sam knew something was off but ignored the building tension. Y/N sat up against the bed's headboard and picked at her nails, willing this frustration to go away. Sam scooted to sit next to her, accidentally grazing her thigh. He went on to talk about how Prom Queen was one of Jamie Lee's lesser horror films and how he preferred Terror Train. She would've called him crazy if she thought she could without her voice cracking. Her anxiety was through the roof and his leg was resting against hers. She wanted to hear him groaning in her ear, she wanted to feel him bite her, she needed him. "You're wrong. Jamie Lee's performance in Prom Queen completely outranks Terror Train. There's no comparison." She looked over at him, her head resting against the metal bars of the headboard. She was staring again but this time, she didn't stop herself. She wanted to see what he'd do, she wanted him to see how much she cared. He finally turned to look at her, meeting her eyes. Y/N's pupils were blown out and she felt like she was ready to explode.

Sam quickly looked down at her lips and up to her eyes. She hesitated for a split second, gathering the courage, and slamming her lips onto his, she was chasing a release. He placed both hands on her face, gentle as he could be. He didn't want to hurt her or be too rough, he didn't want the kiss to end. The kiss started slowly and quickly progressed into a full makeout. He pulled her deeper into the kiss by her neck, controlling the pace of the kiss. His hands explored her exposed skin and he caught himself completely enchanted by her taste. He traveled down to her neck and kissed every sensitive spot he could find. He nibbled and licked, making her squirm and grab at the back of his shirt. His fingertips brushed the soft skin of her thighs, never ceasing his bites. Y/N was a mess, horribly vulnerable. It all felt like heaven, so passionate and intense. She couldn't believe she was letting this happen. She was letting Sam Winchester grapple at her thighs. She hated how well he knew her body, never having felt so intensely attracted to someone. How could he resist her for so long? He was grinding so subtly, he guided her legs open to gain better access. "Fuck, Sam." Y/N was whispering his name like it was a prayer.

His fingers dipped between her thighs, tenderly rubbing her sensitive clit through her panties. Her mouth fell open in praises, "Please, Sam. Oh my-baby. So good, yes, baby." Slurring her words and knowing there was no turning around from here, she gripped his hair and clenched around nothing. This was torture, he was so gentle and loving and considerate, but she wanted a different side. She wanted the Sam that called her insatiable, she wanted Sam take her, she needed Sam to mean it. She tugged slightly on his hair, he let out a muffled groan that felt almost like a growl against my neck. In a haze, Y/N moaned out his name in a way that drove him absolutely insane. The next thing she knew, he was kissing down her chest. He lifted the night shirt above her thighs and kissed down her stomach. He didn't want to miss a square inch of skin, he was greedy and wanted every detail of her satiny skin to be his. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to steady her breath. All those hunts, all those late nights, through storms and scorching heat, she never would've guessed this would be happening. Her father always told her, 'don't get involved with other hunters, they're not long for this world.' But Y/N couldn't think that way, not anymore.

Not while his head was slowly tracing its way to the place she needed him most. Every look, every touch had led up to this moment. Sam knew that in the morning, she may want him gone and never want to speak to him again. But for that night, he would give her everything under the moon. He halted his pace and looked her in the eye, "May I?" Y/N's jaw dropped at the image in front of her. Sam Winchester, his calloused rough hands massaging her legs, his hair tousled. He looked like he needed her more than she needed him. "Please," she quietly begged. A switch flipped in Sam, he was taken over by a hunger; the need to make her feel him. He dove into her clothed clit with this hunger. He licked the fabric separating his tongue from her core, this sudden warmth sent Y/N into overdrive. Her senses were heightened, she could taste how badly she needed more. He pulled her black panties to the side and plunged his hot tongue into her cunt, sucking and pinching her clit. Her eyes opened to catch a glimpse at the pleasure he was awarding her.

His eyes were completely fucked out, he was already staring at her. Her legs were placed on his shoulders to allow him deeper access. He gave her a look and she didn't know what it meant until he had slipped a finger inside her sopping wet cunt. His fingers were so long, so much thicker than she expected. A second later, he inserted another long finger and began to curl them. He was deliberately hitting her g-spot relentlessly and licking her clit in rhythm. The room was filled with the filthy sounds of squelching and moaning. "You okay, hon?" He had a shit-eating grin on his face. "Shut up, dick." He smiled condescendingly and sat up. Instinctively, Y/N shut her legs and sat up right, trying to cover herself back up. Sam watched her squirm and realized just how much he loved this newfound power she had over him. His fingers gone from her sore cunt, she felt an emptiness. She wanted more, she felt so helpless. She could feel the hold he had on her. But then came the overthinking, why was he suddenly so interested? He didn't know what the fuck he wanted. She scoffed at her behavior, how could she be so immature? She got out of the bed and rubbed her temples. Sam was surprised and concerned, did he do something wrong?

"Y/N, wait what's wrong?" He followed her off the bed, she turned around quickly and put her hand out to stop him. She could feel the heat radiating off his chest, she wanted to ignore her doubts and jump into his arms but she knew this wasn't right. "Sam, I'm not...God." He was confused for a second but understood what she meant. "Woah, nothing else has to happen." "You need to know that this-" she pointed between them, "isn't just some small town hookup." she had worked dozens of cases with Sam and Dean and every time some small town fling came along, life went on for the boys but time stood still for the women they leave in their wake. Lisa, Dr. Roberts, Sara, Cassie... "If we cross this line, it has to be more than that. It has to be-" it was so obvious for so long, how did he not see? "I've broken every rule I've given myself," he sucked his bottom lip to keep himself from blurting out everything he was thinking. "I've wanted this for so long." She jumped into his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. Sam quickly cupped her ass and attacked her neck. He slammed them up against a wall, he needed some sort of friction. Y/N noticed his desperate thrusts and decided he deserved a thank you.

She hopped down and fell to her knees, hating the feeling of the itchy carpet against her sensitive skin. Sam couldn't believe his eyes; Y/N, the intense, guarded hunter he'd known all those years, was gone. Wearing her smile and cat eyes was a completely different person. She wasn't looking at him with her usual uninviting glare, she looked...in love. Sam brought his hand down to run his thumb over her bottom lip. "So beautiful." She could feel her face burn red. She looped her finger into the band of his sweats and pulled them to his ankles. His pupils were blown so big, his eyes looked brown instead of their usual blue-green hazel. She slowly pulled down his briefs and watched in shock as his eager member sprang loose. The tip of his cock was red and she swore she could feel him pulsing in her hand. He was biting his lip so hard, he thought he might break skin. His hands traveled from her lips to her hair, yanking her head back to look up at him. She slowly stroked his thick, heavy cock. He tensed for a moment before relaxing in her petite hand. She brought his tip to her warm tongue and licked the slit, the unexpected pressure had him jerking her head back. He gave her a warning look, she kept her smug smile hidden as best she could.

Sam began to thrust the air in anticipation, she loved teasing him so gently. She couldn't resist; she licked a long stripe up his cock, from the base to the tip. He shuddered and gripped her hair so tightly, she knew she'd have to ask Dean if he could grab some aspirin on the way home. She decided to give him what he wanted, wrapping her lips around his member and bobbing her head. She started slowly, circling her tongue around his tip. He groaned and mumbled curses under his labored breath, "Aw fuck, just like that," he started thrusting at the same pace she was sucking. "You're so sweet, angel. So good." Y/N choked on his member, tears streaming down her cheeks. Sam let her up to breathe and just then, the door opened to a shocked and horrified Dean. Sam quickly tucked himself away and helped Y/N onto her feet. Dean placed the burgers on the bed and put his hands up in defeat. "I don't even-" He walked away in disbelief. "SICK!" He shouted down the hall, they flinched. She readjusted her shirt and stood bug-eyed. "I'm gonna-" Sam started, "Yup, nope, go." Y/N agreed. "Okay, I'll be back." He kissed her passionately and went after Dean. She huffed and grabbed one of the burgers, finishing Prom Queen and wondering how much Dean saw.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Week 2 - Storms

Okay, Week 2...How about some Telenovela Faramir and horses?

With eventual Farawyn? How about that?

Prompt: Storms

Pairing: Faramir & a horse

Words: 1 095

Warnings: Injury, PTSD, Faramir is not healing, stormy night

Faramir gritted his teeth, hoping that his old, battered truck wouldn’t get stuck in the mud so close to his destination.

If that happened, he’d walk, he decided as another sudden jolt made his battle wound ache fiercely—there was no way he could free the wheels while being this tired and sore.

As a white-hot wave of annoyance surged through him, he groaned softly.

His father had meant well, he knew, but—now that he was creeping along the slippery road—Faramir couldn’t imagine what good anyone had thought could come from exiling him.

After having been grievously injured in a noble war for his country and family, the young captain had struggled to adapt to civilian life. His physical therapist, dismayed by the lack of progress despite his flesh knitting and skin healing perfectly, had soon started to insinuate that he was suffering from a kind of mental impediment.

Thus, the ludicrous idea of sending him to mend in the countryside, far away from the mundane worries and stressors of his previous life, had been born.

At that point, Faramir had been so exhausted and heartsick that he’d simply agreed, but now he wondered whether he should have resisted more.

He didn’t like the idea of being left alone to rot in isolation, and—in his present state of near-delirious fatigue—he even wondered whether his father had not sought to rid himself of a tiresome burden.

No, he chided himself, he was being puerile and unfair. For all the problems he’d encountered in his relationship with Denethor, he could not believe that his father would be capable of so vile an act of paternal treason.

Moreover, Boromir—Faramir’s older and much-revered brother—had promised to come out as soon as he could to share in the promised peace and calm of the remote cabin that had been rented in their name.

Even though the rain didn’t let up, Faramir conjured up a grim smile as he drove on, his bright eyes fixed on the winding road ahead stubbornly.

When he, at long last, came to a slithering halt in front of a small but impeccably maintained lodge, he gave a deep, shuddering sigh of relief.

Now that he was safe and only a few torturous steps away from a dry, motionless living room, he regretted not having paid closer attention to the fields and farmsteads he’d passed on his way here.

There was, he considered, a distinct chance that he’d spend a considerable time holed up in this refuge, and it would have been wise to take note of his closest neighbours in case of an emergency.

He grimaced as he all but fell out of his vehicle—he disliked thinking about himself in the terms of “invalid” and “damaged”, but he couldn’t deny that every bone in his body was screaming in agony as he hobbled up the few steps leading to a teak patio.

His scarred fingers were stiff and cold as he fumbled for the keys in the thrice-mended pocket of his favourite leather jacket, but he managed to get the door open just as the deafening rumbling of thunder exploded behind him.

“It’s only starting?” he gasped incredulously and stared at the flash of greyish green behind the fogged-up window of his truck. He’d forgotten his luggage in the car, and he was in no hurry to retrieve it.

“Get something warm into your belly,” he heard Boromir’s mocking but affectionate voice in his head. “And the world will look much brighter. There’s no hurry.”

Again, Faramir felt the corners of his mouth droop. His brother was always quick to reassure others that there was no need for rash decisions that would potentially lead to regrettable outcomes, but—at the same time—he was known to be recklessly selfless and stupidly brave when it came to himself.

Looking around, Faramir found the rustic but utterly charming interior of his temporary abode spotlessly clean and well-stocked with firewood and food supplies.

With a soft sigh, he filled the kettle and bargained with himself for a moment—he’d drink a cup of steaming hot tea, and then he’d go get his bag to turn in for the night.

He had no doubt that a place like this one would have a backup generator, but the idea of sitting by the open fireplace while the storm was raging outside had its charms as well.

Wasn’t that the reason why he’d come here rather than stay in his father’s cool, draughty halls?

Thus, he sank to his knees with a loud groan of pain that, for once, didn’t make him flinch guiltily as there was nobody to come running and look at him with badly dissimulated pity and got a fire going.

When he’d emptied his mug and stared at the dancing flames for entirely too long, he discovered that the tempest only seemed to gain in fervour and violence in the meantime.

“Nothing for it, my boy,” he told himself and dashed to the car and back as fast as his protesting joints and stiff muscles allowed.

Despite his haste, he was soaked to the bone when he slammed the solid wooden door shut behind him—he was breathing hard, and it took a moment for him to realise that he was laughing.

They’d wanted him to spend time alone so he might heal on his own terms and in his own time, Faramir thought not without a hint of pettiness, so he would do exactly that.

He doubted that a cleaning lady had been retained on his behalf, so he only hesitated for a single second before discarding his wet clothes, sticking disgustingly to his pale skin.

Shame reared its ugly head but was squashed instantly by Faramir’s sober self-awareness; he knew every wound, every gnarly scar, every ugly bump on his body, and—as long as there was nobody else who had to witness them—he didn’t mind them overmuch.

He returned to his fire eagerly, basking in its healing warmth and letting his thoughts drift as the damp discomfort melted into sleepy solace little by little.

Just as he was about to drift off, though, a sudden noise startled him wide awake once more.

Forgetting about his unfortunate state, Faramir jumped to his feet, ever the soldier, and looked around with deadly concentration to localise an appropriate weapon.

This perfunctory scan let his eyes sweep across the window beside the front door. He gasped.

Outside his lodge stood a fully grown horse, staring at him reproachfully and neighing.

@fellowshipofthefics

-> Masterlist

[daughterofhighever-blog]

Castle Cousland - Spring, 9:28 Dragon

[for @icewolfcaptain ]

The night air was delicious and light - Ferelden had come into the end of winter; with warm, sun kissed days and crisply chill, windy nights. The beating of bodhran drums, the whistles of tin flutes, and the bright and bouncing vocal harmonies all floated into the air and on the wind as the post-hunt celebration drew on.

The tables at the head, and along the sides of Highever's castle hall were laden with stews and seethings, dumplings, roasts, and even fish pies - perhaps not the same as the more well known variety in Starkhaven, but unique in its flavor, and a pleasantly delightful effort nonetheless. It was a celebration unique to this country - most other 'civilized' nations, and certainly the Chantry, marked of note the sun-driven holy days of the year - not the moon's. But in Ferelden, when warm days were precious, the the season of new life even more so - the first days of spring were some of the best.

This year was a bit more colorful and vibrant than perhaps may have been usual... The Couslands were hosting a guest of import, and Bryce had never been one to skimp when it came to matters of hospitality. The laws and mores of guest rights and hospitality were woven deep into the fabric of Ferelden - since days uncounted long before the land had even been called 'Ferelden'. It was something they undoubtedly still shared with their more "rustic" cousins.

'Ferelden is but one foul day away from reversion to pagan barbarism.' Or so said the Empress of Orlais, when advising her most recent Ambassador to Denerim.

Elissa waited at the head table with her mother - a few flowers braided loosely into her dark hair, in a coat and dress of differing shades of blue and trimmed with gold. In both her hands she held a two handled cup, carved and inlaid with images and icons of wolves and laurels. Her eyes flickered about the end of the room as the other attendants and servants milled about, but they were always drawn back to where her father stood, conversing with her brother and their guest of honor...

Thane Isolfr of Skjeggestad...

She was not ashamed to admit her fascination had taken a firm hold of her since being informed of her father's plans to host the Avvar leader and a few of his companions to discuss trade and passage through the lands he controlled in the Frostbacks. With how much she'd been in the castle's library, reading and studying what knowledge they had on the Avvar - Aldous had wryly commented that the Teyrn ought to 'invite barbarians to sup more often'.

"I don't know why his Lordship wastes his time with so much extra frivolity - They're just Avvar after all... you could impress them with huts made of anything better than mud, shit, and twigs..."

The sneering condescension in Arl Howe's voice to the left of her sent an unpleasant shudder down Elissa's back. She whipped her head around with an openly indignant expression and had opened her mouth to speak, but Eleanor reached out to grab and squeeze her arm.

The elder Lady Cousland then looked at the good Arl and arched a brow - her voice was superficially sweet, but her look was cold and sharp.

"Speak of your own guests in your own hall however you wish, Rendon - But you will keep a civil tongue in your mouth while you're here in ours."

There was a darkness that passed over Howe's expression before he forced a smile and inclined his head deferentially.

"Of course - as your Ladyship commands."

Elissa sighed and shook her head trying to clear away the sour feeling being around her father's friend often caused. There was distraction enough, and her expression was more relaxed as her father and Fergus finally approached with their guest.

"... would like to introduce you to the rest of my family. My wife, Eleanor... and my daughter, Elissa."

A warm smile spread across her face, the corners of it reaching up to her glittering blue eyes. She took a step forward, and lifting the cup with both hands, she offered it to him in, and with, the traditional greeting.

"Ver heill ok sæll, Thane... Welcome to my father's hall."

[scapegrace74-blog]

The Man from Black Water, Chapter 19

A/N  *cracks knuckles*  Let’s give these kids a little reward for spending the last eighteen chapters in Victorian chastity, hmm?

This is the last full chapter of this story.  There will be a brief epilogue, once I find time to write it.  In the meantime, thanks for coming along for the ride while I indulged my obscure crossover kink.  It’s been fun.

Previous chapters are available on my AO3 page.

Jamie came back from putting Donas away in the barn to find Claire standing in the middle of Lallybroch’s sole room, looking dazed.  After a twenty-four-hour headlong dash into her future, it was all becoming real.  He could empathize.  There were times that he found his rustic existence overwhelming, and he had been born to it.  He would give her the time and space she needed to come to terms with her new life.

“Are ye hungry?  I’ve some provisions I bought in Dundee.  No’in special, but I can fry ye up some bannocks tae eat wi’ the preserves.”

Claire blinked.

“I could, umm, if you tell me what goes into a bannock, I could do it,” she offered, wanting to prove she could don the mantle of wife.

“Tis jes dough, Sassenach.  An’ besides, ye’re still wearing yer wedding gown,” Jamie pointed out.

Claire looked down at herself in surprise.  The mud in the churchyard and the long ride on Donas had probably ruined the skirts, but that was no reason to waste the perfectly good material of the bodice.  She had no idea when she’d have occasion to wear embroidered silk in the Highlands, but thrift seemed an important habit to adopt.

“Do ye need,” Jamie cleared his throat when his voice broke nervously, “do ye need any help wi’ the buttons an’ such?”

With a great deal of diffidence for a bridegroom, the large Scot carefully unmoored the long row of buttons that bisected the back of the gown.  Try as he might to keep his attention focused solely on his task, his eyes couldn’t stop straying to the generous swell of hips and rump directly below, nor could he keep his hands from grazing the milky white skin on either side of her spine.  

Claire shivered, despite the blazing fire in the hearth. A deep inhale followed by moist air expelled against her nape informed her that Jamie’s lips were inches from her neck.  She longed to turn around and crash into his arm, but her feet felt rooted to the floor.

As the last fastening gave way, the voluminous weight of the gown caused it to slide over her hips and puddle around her knees.  Claire instinctively crossed her forearms over the top of her corset.  As she did so, the forgotten hundred pounds tumbled to the floorboards.  The pair stared at the bank notes like they were a loaded weapon.

“A nighean,” Jamie finally found his voice, “what have ye done?”

“Nothing criminal, I promise you.”

Claire explained how the money was her dowry, even though James Fraser was the last person Henry Beauchamp would have chosen to benefit from it.

“I meant to tell you,” she explained guiltily, finally turning to look into Jamie’s stormy eyes.  “With everything that’s happened, it just slipped my mind momentarily.  Now we can make improvements to Lallybroch and buy that livestock you wanted.”

A hundred pounds was enough to purchase ten times the number of cattle he’d planned to acquire from Netherton’s herd, but an abrasive kernel of doubt was rubbing on Jamie’s conscience.  He’d married Claire to save her from her father’s strict authority, but he’d never intended for it to come at the expense of her dreams.

“Sassenach, how much would the schoolin’ tae become an animal doctor be?”

Her eyes rounded in shock, but he could clearly discern the yearning his words had lit in her heart.

“Jamie, no.  That money is for us.  For Lallybroch’s future.”

“Aye, an’ what better way tae secure tha’ future than to ensure the health of our kine, and perhaps earn a bit o’ coin besides?” he argued.

“I’d have to be away from you for almost a year,” she explained. “We’ve only just married…”

He wasn’t particularly fond of that part himself, but it seemed a matter of short-term sacrifice to gain something of great worth.  Not just the points he’d already listed, but something far more valuable: Claire’s autonomy.  He’d already been resigned to spending the winter months without her.  With Claire away in Edinburgh and the balance of her dowry, he would have ample time and resources to make the upgrades to his simple croft that he’d been dreaming of.  He’d never been to the capital, but perhaps he could visit her there when their separation grew unbearable.  With the train now coming to Dundee, it was a mere half-day’s journey.

All these arguments and more he wielded against his hard-headed wife until finally, with a watery laugh, she capitulated.

“I never imagined our first undertaking as a married couple would be to agree to be separated again,” she sighed.

It wasn’t how Jamie pictured his honeymoon either.  That thought brought another, more unpleasant one on its heels.

“I suppose, given yer schooling, we shouldna, erm, make things official just now.  In case ye get wi’ child” he said, trying hard not to show his disappointment.  The fact that Claire was still wearing naught but her shift and corset was doing nothing to soften the blow.

“Oh!” she blushed once she ascertained his meaning.  “That’s… that is, that really isn’t necessary. There are ways to, you know, avoid such consequences.”

“Really?” Jamie perked up hopefully.  He supposed he should have guessed, given that he was an only child whose parents certainly hadn’t avoided being amorous after he was born.

“Yes,” Claire grew bolder, although she still couldn’t quite meet his eyes.  “If that’s something you want, I could tell you which days it would be unlikely for me to conceive.”

Jamie chuckled brokenly.  “Something I want?  Lass, I’ve hardly thought of anything else since I saw ye spittin’ fire at me from yer eyes and wearin’ those wee trousers in a Dundee square.”

As they spoke, their hands were having a conversation of their own, meeting and parting, twining together as their bodies longed to do. Claire led Jamie’s fingers to the hooks of her corset, which he disposed with in all due haste.  Meanwhile, she untucked his coarse linen shirt and tugged urgently at the buckle of his belt.  Midway through disrobing, their mouths collided wetly, too desperate for finesse.

“Christ, Sassenach,” he hissed as the outline of her breasts came into view beneath her thin shift.  “Ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve e’er seen.”  

Tentatively, as though expecting to be rejected, he lay his broad hand across the dewy skin of her sternum.  He could feel her heart rebelling beneath her ribs.  Her coral lips were parted, sucking air in erratic gulps. His touch slid down and he cupped the firm pillow of her left breast, the nub of her nipple teasing his palm.

“I want to see you too,” she begged between kisses, his mouth too restless to stay in any one place for long.

Jamie tore the shirt over his head in a single gesture before unfastening his flies and kicking his trousers angrily across the floorboards. He stood naked and proud, letting Claire drink her fill.  He knew he was well-made, but it wasn’t until he felt the blistering heat of her look that he understood the beauty of his body as it reflected in her thirsty gaze.

Claire glanced down nervously at Jamie’s prominent erection, aroused and terrified in equal measure.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, worried he’d somehow be disappointed by her ignorance.

“Neither do I,” he confessed, “but I reckon if dumb animals can figure it out, we will too.”

“Like horses, you mean?”

Something dark and untamed settled on Jamie’s countenance. Seconds later, he was everywhere, hands caressing her backside, tongue inside her mouth, rough chest hair teasing her sensitive skin.  It felt like riding in a tiny boat over wind-tossed seas, alarming but also exhilarating and life-affirming on some fundamental level she’d never known before.

Jamie lifted Claire into his arms and brought her to his parents’ bed – their bed now, and one he could hardly wait to consecrate.  Some stalwart corner of his brain urged him to slow down, lest he hurt Claire with his ardour.  Reining in his excitement was no mean feat, however, especially when his wife’s tiny hands traveled hungrily over his torso and her pretty mouth released breathy moans of pleasure.

“May I take off yer shift?” he practically begged.  Claire hummed in affirmation.

If he thought he’d been aroused before, seeing his first naked woman up close set his blood afire.  She reminded him of stepping outside on a sunny winter’s day, the white and shadow stinging his eyes with their fearsome beauty.  He couldn’t hold himself back another minute.

“Are ye ready, Sassenach?”  Her eager nod untethered the last of his inhibitions.  He tried to work out the logistics of how their bodies fit together.

“Get on yer hands and knees then, lass,” he urged, mourning the loss of her kisses until he caught sight of what was hiding between her milky thighs.  

A sudden urge to bend over and touch her there with his tongue came over him, but he pushed it aside.  Kneeling behind her and holding his cock by the root, he aimed carefully towards her quim, a cerise opening between twin hillocks of furred flesh.  The first contact between his head and her cleft had him gnashing his teeth to quell his urgency.  The stillness of Claire’s breath told him he had the right place.

“Awright?” he confirmed breathlessly.

“Yes,” Claire murmured from where her head was hanging below her shoulders, only her half-unbound curls visible through the haze of his lust. “Just go slow.”

The sensation of sliding inside Claire’s body was akin to a bracing slap of wind that momentarily stole his breath.  Heat flowed through his veins as sweat broke out across his face and chest.  He’d only advanced an inch or so before Claire’s muscles clamped down and she let out a tiny whimper.

“Is it all the way in?”

Jamie looked down to where he was splitting her in two and silently begged forgiveness for lying.

“Aye, that’s it.”

One skeptical golden eye peered at him over her ivory shoulder. He shrugged helplessly.

“I dinna want tae hurt ye, Claire.  Ye’re jes sae small.”

With no warning except a resolute clenching of her jaw, Claire rocked her hips backwards.  Hard. They both howled in anguish and pleasure.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”  Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of being held in a hot velvet glove. He was surrounded by a viscous wetness that he prayed for Claire’s sake wasn’t blood, because there was no power on Earth or Heaven that could stop the first stabbing thrust of his hips.

Once he began to move, the relentless impetus to push towards release carried him forward like a flash flood from which there was no escape.  He saw his hands like dark stains on either side of Claire’s rounded arse, heard his feral grunts and her mewling gasps, but nothing swayed the whirling maelstrom that seized hold of him and wouldn’t let go.

Claire tried to catalog the myriad impressions that were assaulting her.  The sting of tearing flesh was abating, and in its place was a buzzing hum that radiated from the place Jamie’s body pummeled her own.  It felt heavy, dense, an aching craving that demanded to be assuaged.  

Her husband’s virginal hesitancy had fallen away, replaced by a brute force that had her locking her shoulders to avoid being pushed face down into the soft mattress.  She could hear the wet collision of their bodies, hear Jamie’s huffing breaths, and knew instinctively that he was close to finishing.  Some voice she’d never heeded before cried out for more time to find the source of her hunger and feed it.

With a triumphant cry, Jamie’s thrusts came to a shuddering halt. She could feel the hot flood of his seed inside of her and it only heightened her nameless desperation. Unable to hold himself upright, the naked mass of her giant Highlander came slumping forward, pushing her into the rumpled bedclothes which applied friction where she was still tender and tingling.  Like her husband before her, she couldn’t quell the seeking thrust of her hips.  

Thinking she was objecting to his weight, Jamie struggled to pull away, only to have the bite of Claire’s fingernails on his arse hold him in place.  She squirmed beneath him, rubbing herself all over his sensitive cock, but he wouldn’t have denied her for the world.  Not when she needed something from him so badly.  In a minute she was seized with a paroxysm so powerful, it nearly pushed his weakening flesh from her body.  The cry she emitted, half astonished and half victorious, told him she was seeing the same glimpse of heaven he’d so recently experienced.

With a heave and a groan, Jamie rolled onto his back and pulled his wife, still trembling, into his arms.  She hid her face against his chest as she tried to gather her wits.

“Are ye well, Claire?” he asked tentatively while playing with the morass of her curls.

“Yes.  At least, I think I am.”

“I didna know a woman could…” he broke off, unsure what word to use for the rapture he’d just witnessed.

“Neither did I!” she choked out on a laugh.  “Are you… did you… do you mind?”

“Mind?!” he sputtered.  “Christ, lass.  That was… the most beautiful thing I’ve e’er experienced.  It only confirms what I kent from the first.”

Claire peeked up at him from beneath her eyelashes and he felt himself stir against her hip.

“That I would be the luckiest Scot to e’er walk the earth, should ye see fit tae love me.”

“I do, you know.  Very much.”

“I ken.  Jes as I love ye, my Sassenach.  Now come here, an’ let me love ye some more.”