I'm here to yap about Star Stable

By the time the Equestrian Festival rolled around, you found yourself trying harder—dressing up, riding sharper, angling for her gaze. Which led to a series of tack room quickies, hurried kisses behind trailers, and way too many hickeys you had to hide from Linda and Alex.

But now that the festival was over, so was the daily access. You'd gone from seeing her constantly to this—staring at your phone, hoping for a reply, and getting left on "Delivered." Typical Sabine. She only texted back when she wanted something.

You sighed, glancing at your phone for the millionth time today. Still nothing. Pathetic. Desperate. As if the throbbing between your legs hadn’t already made that painfully clear.

You’d just finished training with the Soul Riders near the druids’ paddock, now trotting alone through the Hollow Woods, the air thick with the smell of moss and damp earth. You shoved your phone into your saddlebag and shifted your grip on the reins, trying to ground yourself—feel the rhythm of your horse’s movement, breathe in the crisp, green stillness.

But all you could think about was Sabine’s fingers inside—

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Maybe tonight you’d have to dig out that toy from the bottom drawer—the one you hadn’t used in months—and give yourself what she wouldn’t.

You tried to focus on the ride. Let your horse's steady rhythm lull your thoughts into something manageable. But it was no use—Sabine was in your head, under your skin, between your thighs.

Silverglade Manor came into view, its windows glowing faintly in the late afternoon light. You unsaddled quickly, muttering a half-hearted goodnight to the stable hands before heading upstairs to your room, still sore from training and tenser than ever.

Once inside, you stripped off your riding gear, tossing your boots into the corner and peeling off your sweat-streaked shirt. The drawer was already open before you’d even made the conscious decision to go for it. Cold metal brushed your fingertips before you grabbed the familiar shape—sleek, discreet, mercifully charged.

You climbed into bed, letting the quiet swallow you. Your hand moved with muscle memory, but your mind? Your mind was on Sabine. The smell of her sweat, the way she used her body like a weapon—how she held your throat like a promise, not a threat.

You were seconds away from starting when your phone buzzed.

A single notification. You scrambled to pick up the phone.

Sabine: You home?

Your breath caught. She never asked that.

You stared at the screen, pulse thudding.

Then: Sabine: Be there in 10. Leave the door unlocked.

And that was it.

No explanation. No apology for the silence. No tenderness, no sweetness. Just Sabine, like a storm that showed up without warning.

You should’ve told her no. Set a boundary. You were tired of feeling like a toy she picked up when it suited her.

But instead, you got up. Tossed the toy back in the drawer. Smoothed your hair, cleaned your face, and left the door unlocked.

Because you already knew:

She wasn’t here to talk. You weren’t going to stop her.

And you definitely needed to change out of the mismatched underwear you were wearing.

You glanced down at yourself—black cotton panties and an old grey bralette with a loose strap. Sexy. In a tragic, freshly-dumped kind of way.

Nope.

You took a deep breath and snapped into action.

Step one: Find something better. Sexier. You dug through your drawer, tossing aside practical bras and boring socks until you found the set—the deep burgundy lace that hugged you in all the right places, something you swore you were saving for someone who actually cared. But who were you kidding? If Sabine didn’t care, at least she’d notice.

You slipped into the matching set, adjusting the straps until they sat just right. Already, you felt more in control—even if that control was hanging by a very thin thread of lingerie.

Step two: Deodorant. Perfume. A quick swipe of both, subtle but intentional. You didn’t want to smell like you’d just ridden through a forest and fantasized about your enemy's fingers for the past twenty minutes.

Step three: The room. You kicked clothes under the bed, fluffed your pillow, closed the drawer like you hadn’t nearly used the toy out of desperation, and dimmed the bedside lamp. Soft light, good shadows—nothing too intimate, but just enough to make your skin glow and hide the chaos under the bed.

You checked your phone.

Five minutes.

Heart in your throat, you stood in front of the mirror. Hair—fine. Face—presentable. Lingerie—devastating.

You looked… like someone waiting to be ruined.

And Sabine? She was always more than willing.

A knock echoed from downstairs.

She was early.

You threw on something to cover the set—an oversized sweatshirt that hung just long enough to keep the illusion of modesty, even though you knew it wouldn’t stay on for long. Twenty minutes, tops. Maybe less, if Sabine had her way.

You barely made it down the stairs before the knock came again, sharper this time.

You opened the door—and there she was.

Sabine.

Dressed down in black joggers and a worn leather jacket, her hair pulled back in a quick, messy knot like she hadn’t bothered with mirrors today. Her boots were scuffed. Her expression? Hard. Pissed. More so than usual.

Her eyes flicked over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your bare legs beneath the sweatshirt, the faint scent of something sweet on your skin.

And yet, she didn’t say a word. Just clenched her jaw.

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to look too flustered.

“Hi to you too,” you said dryly, stepping aside.

Sabine walked in without hesitation, brushing past you with a barely contained tension, like she was a storm barely zipped into that jacket.

You shut the door behind her, heartbeat in your ears. “You’re early.”

She didn’t answer at first—just stood in your living room, arms crossed, eyes roaming the space like she was looking for something to break.

“I wasn’t sure if you were actually coming,” you said, trying for casual, but it came out too soft. Too revealing.

Sabine turned to you, finally. Her gaze dragged over your legs, up to your hoodie, then back to your face. “Didn’t think I needed an RSVP to fuck you.”

Oh.

You laughed once, bitter. “Still the charmer.”

Her expression didn’t change. She stepped in closer. “You been waiting for me, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitched. You hated how easily she unraveled you—how just a look could make your knees want to give.

“You left me on delivered for three days,” you snapped, trying to hold onto your dignity. “What, now you want to play like nothing happened?”

Sabine’s hand came up, her fingers brushing your jaw, thumb dragging lightly over your bottom lip. “I never said nothing happened.”

Then she kissed you—fast, rough, like punishment. Like possession.

Like the last three days had been driving her crazy, too.

Her hands were already on you before your mind had even caught up.

One gripped your ass—firm, possessive—pulling you flush against her like she had every right to. The other snaked under your hoodie, fingers dragging up your stomach, slipping under the lace of your bra like she knew exactly what she was looking for.

She wasn’t messing around.

Her mouth was still on yours, biting at your bottom lip like she was mad you made her wait. Like you’d done something wrong. And maybe you had. Maybe missing her was a crime in her book. Maybe daring to want more than this was what pissed her off.

But then she groaned—low and throaty—when her hand finally cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple with expert, devastating pressure. That sound alone made your legs wobble.

You gasped into her mouth, and she took that as permission. Her grip tightened, mouth dragging down your neck, teeth scraping the spot just below your ear that always made you melt. Your hands scrambled up her shirt, fingers tugging, clawing, desperate for skin.

“Sabine,” you breathed, more plea than warning.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark. “What?”

You blinked at her, heart thudding. “I… fuck me.”

A beat passed. Then she leaned in close, lips barely brushing your ear.

“Of course.”

And just like that, she had you pressed back against the wall, hands working fast—hoodie halfway off, fingers pulling at your shorts like they were the enemy. Her breath was hot against your collarbone, her movements rough and practiced, like she’d had this scene playing in her mind since the last time she touched you.

Twenty minutes?

Try five.

Sabine made quick work of your hoodie, dragging it off and tossing it somewhere behind you without looking. The air hit your skin, and her eyes dropped instantly to the lace you’d chosen—the burgundy set hugging every inch like it had been stitched just for her to ruin.

Her lips quirked. “This for me?”

You opened your mouth to come up with something clever, something flippant—but then she hooked a finger under your bra strap and snapped it against your skin, and whatever thought you had vanished in the heat pooling low in your belly. You gasped at the sensation.

“I—maybe,” you managed, breath hitching.

“Definitely,” she muttered, almost to herself. Then she kissed you again. Rougher. Deeper.

She walked you backward, one hand gripping your waist, the other dragging up your thigh until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. She pushed you down with a pressure that left no room for second thoughts.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” she said, low and certain, kneeling between your legs. “Acting all cold in your texts, like you don’t miss me.”

“I didn’t text you,” you lied, trying to sound in control, but your voice wavered when her hands tugged your thighs apart.

She smirked. “Right. That was someone else blowing my phone up all week.”

You glared down at her, breath catching as she pressed a kiss just above your waistband. “You’re a cocky bitch.”

“And you love it.”

Her fingers slid under your panties, pulling them down so slowly it felt like torment. She didn’t break eye contact. Not once. Like she was daring you to look away first. You didn’t. Couldn’t.

Then her mouth found your inner thigh, and everything else stopped mattering.

She took her time. Not sweetly—Sabine didn’t do sweet—but deliberately, like she was reclaiming you piece by piece. Your hands tangled in her hair before you even realized it, head tipped back as her mouth moved higher, closer, until—

You bit your lip hard enough to leave a mark. She laughed. Then sucked.

You threw your head back almost immediately at the sensation of her lips sucking and licking your clit.

She didn’t rush. Sabine didn’t do sweet—but she did deliberate, claiming you with every touch, every breath. By the time her lips met your clit, your hands were already in her hair, your back arching off the mattress, a moan ripping from your throat.

Say what you wanted about Sabine, but she could eat someone out like it was sacrament.

She pushed your legs farther apart, her mouth unrelenting, her tongue insistent. You were trembling—so close already—and it only got worse when she added her fingers to the mix, dragging them over your slick skin like she knew exactly how to break you.

Your orgasm hovered just out of reach, the heat curling low and tight.

Then she pulled back.

You whined, desperate, but she rose above you, bracing herself on her elbows, her thumb brushing gently along your jaw. Her eyes softened—just barely—but her voice stayed rough.

“You taste fucking divine,” she rasped, lips against your skin.

You shuddered as her words sent a jolt straight through you. Sabine’s voice was low and gravel-rough, each syllable a promise—and a warning.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, voice trembling. It was more a plea than anything else.

Instead of answering, Sabine slid a hand between your legs, pressing firmly against the bare skin above your hip. The contact was electric. Your back arched, and a soft moan slipped out before you could catch it.

She paused, chin resting against your thigh, eyes locking onto yours with fierce intensity. “God, you want this bad,” she murmured, tracing lazy circles on your skin. “I can feel you—”

Her words were cut off by the wet heat of her mouth, and all semblance of control vanished.

Sabine’s movements were precise, deliberate, never rushed. She explored the landscape of you—every curve, every shiver—claiming you as she went. You lost track of time, of where you ended and she began, entirely consumed by the pull of her touch.

You felt the weight of her presence, felt how she fit against you like she belonged there—and it only made the aching tension between your legs grow.

“You’re too damn tempting,” she muttered under her breath, fingers ghosting over your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Everything felt too fast, but also so slow, like every second was dragging and speeding at the same time. The air around you thickened with desire, a heavy, electric pulse that hummed through your veins.

Sabine’s touch wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either. It was rough and sure, a controlled urgency that made your pulse quicken. When she kissed you again, it wasn’t soft—it was hungry, like she couldn’t get enough of you, and the rawness of it ignited something deep inside.

Your body arched toward hers instinctively, every inch of you drawn to the fire she sparked in you with every movement. Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, until your breaths mingled, sharp and shallow. You felt the heat of her against you, her skin burning with a promise of more.

The weight of her on top of you—solid, unyielding—was a constant reminder that you weren’t in control anymore.

Each shift of her hips against yours, each kiss, each soft groan sent waves of heat coursing through you, a pull you couldn’t escape even if you tried. Your hands gripped at the sheets, the familiar ache building again, deeper this time, more desperate.

You arched up into her instinctively, your body speaking a language your mouth couldn’t form. Her hips pressed down against yours, skin to skin, friction hot and blinding.

The weight of her—solid, grounding—made your pulse race. Each slow grind of her body, every moan, every low gasp lit your nerves on fire. And when she grabbed your ankle and lifted it over her shoulder to align your hips, your vision blurred.

Now you were pressed flush together, cunt against cunt, slick and hot and needy.

She started to move—slow at first, then faster, her body working perfectly in rhythm with yours. Your fingers gripped the sheets, then her shoulders, then her back, dragging your nails along the muscle there. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

Her name was a breath, a plea, a prayer.

The next moments were a blur of skin and heat, the world outside of the space between you two fading away. Every touch, every kiss was a promise, every movement a vow. And you felt it—all of it—every pulse of sensation, every surge of want. She looked right into your eyes as she continued her ministrations, her eyes never leaving yours. It made the moment that much more intimate, pleasurable.

Sabine's expression stayed carved from stone, but her eyes betrayed her—dark with heat, wild with want. Every movement between you two was sharp and precise and real. The slick press of her against you, the obscene sound of skin and breath and need, the way her brows furrowed when her body started to tremble.

It finally slowed, when the frantic pace of your bodies gave way to something slower, something deeper, you felt both more vulnerable and more connected than ever. She held you softly as you both moved against one another.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting yours with something unspoken in them, and for the first time that night, you saw something other than hunger—something softer, something real.

But Sabine’s touch was like fire, igniting every inch of your skin, pulling the tension tighter, tighter, until you thought you might break from the pressure alone. Every movement, every whispered breath against your ear, felt like a promise of something more—something raw, something wild.

When she kissed you, it wasn’t just her lips—it was the weight of everything that had been left unsaid, all the desire that had built up between you in the silence, in the longing. You felt her everywhere. Her hands were as much a part of you as your own. Every touch was a spark. Every kiss, a flood.

Your breath hitched, your body responding before your mind could catch up. Sabine’s fingers curled into you, soft and sure, and the world blurred as your pulse quickened, every beat of your heart syncing with hers. It was like you were drowning, but you didn’t want to be saved. She clenched her hands into your hips and legs tighter as her brows knit, getting close herself. She picked the pace back up, sensing your closeness as well. The way you squirmed, how your noises got louder and more frequent, how your back arched into her.

“ You close, Hm?” She whispered, pressing her forehead to yours, her tone still coky as ever.

You bit your lip, nodding as your hands moved from the sheets to her back, caressing the bulky yet defined muscles there.

The first wave of your orgasm hit slowly, curling in your stomach, deep and powerful, building like a storm that rolls in from the horizon. You could feel the tension in your muscles, the way they coiled and tightened with every passing second, until it was all you could do to keep breathing through it.

You shattered. Every inch of you alight with sensation. You gasped her name, your voice hoarse, as the release rocked through you—deep and overwhelming, like being pulled under by something bigger than both of you.

Sabine followed close behind, her body stuttering against yours, her grip tightening as she cursed low against your shoulder. Her climax broke over her in waves, hot and raw and unfiltered, and the way she held you through it—the way her hands trembled against your skin—felt like more than just sex.

It felt like something breaking open.

Sabine’s breath came in ragged gasps, her hands trembling against your skin as she held you, anchored you, her own release threading through every tremor in your body. She whispered your name like a prayer, like a promise, her body shuddering against yours in a rhythm you couldn’t break.

The world spun around you both—faster and faster—and when it all finally slowed, when the storm inside you ebbed into something softer, something almost peaceful, it was like coming home. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, her heartbeat steady against your ear, and for a moment, there was only the silence between breaths, the quiet aftermath of everything that had just unfolded.

Her lips brushed against your forehead, a quiet, intimate gesture that spoke louder than any words ever could. In the stillness, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

And just like that, it was gone.

The heat, the softness, the way her breath had once matched yours—it all slipped away the moment Sabine rolled off of you, her body suddenly distant despite how close she still was. She ran a hand through her hair, breathing deep like she was trying to steady herself. Like she’d almost lost control and hated that she had.

You watched her in the dark, heart still racing, sweat cooling on your skin. You could see it happening—bit by bit, the walls stacking themselves back up behind her eyes, brick by unforgiving brick.

Your eyelids fluttered, heavy from the crash, but you didn’t want to sleep—not yet. Not if it meant she'd disappear again before morning.

You woke to the sound of movement. Not loud. Not frantic. Just... deliberate.

The sheets were still warm beside you, but Sabine was gone.

Your eyes blinked open, adjusting to the pale gray light bleeding through the curtains. The ache in your body reminded you of everything that happened. Your lips still tingled. Your skin still hummed with her touch.

But she was across the room now, already half-dressed. Pulling on her jacket. Buckling the strap of her satchel with that same practiced, cold efficiency she used when handling a sword.

“You’re leaving?” you asked, voice hoarse from sleep and something else. Something raw.

She paused.

Not a full stop—just a stutter in her rhythm. Her fingers hesitated at the last buckle, then resumed.

“Yeah,” she said. Flat. Controlled.

You sat up, blanket falling to your waist. “You could’ve said goodbye.”

Sabine didn’t look at you. “Wasn’t sure you’d want me to.”

Your chest tightened. You pushed your hair out of your face, watching her shoulders rise and fall. “ I mean… I wouldn’t have complained.”

She let out a breath—sharp, almost a laugh, but bitter at the edges.

“That’s not the same thing,” she said, finally turning toward you. Her eyes met yours, unreadable, and you wished she’d stop hiding behind that armor of indifference. It didn’t suit the woman who had kissed you like she meant it. Like she needed it.

Like she needed you.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as a dull ache bloomed in your side. She noticed—of course she did—but she didn’t move. Just stood there, braced against the moment, all rigid shoulders and stiff posture. That mask on her face again. The one she wore when she wanted you to believe she didn’t feel anything. You hated that look. It was a lie.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked softly. “Walking away like none of it mattered.”

Sabine’s jaw tensed. A flicker of something—regret? guilt?—moved across her features like a shadow.

“Because it can’t matter,” she said finally, and though her tone was flat, there was a tremble underneath it. Barely there. Almost lost. “You know that.”

“No,” you said, standing slowly despite the protest in your muscles. “You decided that. I never got a say.”

Her gaze faltered, just for a second. Then she looked away.

“That’s not fair,” she muttered.

“Neither is leaving before I wake up,” you shot back.

That silenced her.

You walked closer. Careful. Measured. Like approaching a wounded animal that might bolt if you made too much noise.

“You touched me like you wanted something real,” you said, voice low. “So unless you’re about to stand there and tell me it meant nothing—”

“I’m not,” she said quickly, almost cutting you off. “Don’t ask me to say that. I won’t lie to you.”

“Then don’t go.”

Silence. Thick as fog.

Sabine’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her throat worked around words she clearly couldn’t find. And for a moment, her whole body seemed to sag under the weight of the choice she was making.

“I want to stay,” she said finally, and it came out so raw, so quietly broken, it didn’t feel like hers. “God, I want to. But wanting something doesn’t make it safe. Doesn’t make it smart.”

You could feel your heart racing, a pulse behind your ribs that seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. “So what, you’re going to pretend none of this happened? Go back to the others like you’re still some untouchable shadow? Like I didn’t see the way you looked at me last night?”

Sabine turned away from you then, like she couldn’t stand to face what she’d done. She ran a hand through her hair, the motion shaky now, her armor cracking at the edges.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” she whispered. “If I stay, if I let this become real… it changes everything. And not just for me.”

She meant the war. The Riders. Your friends. Hers. She meant consequences neither of you could outrun.

“I don’t care,” you said.

“I do!” she snapped, spinning back around to face you. Her eyes were blazing now. “Because if someone finds out, if they use you to get to me—do you know what they’d do to you?”

“Then let them try,” you said. “I’m not scared.”

She laughed then—quiet and miserable. “You should be.”

There was a beat. A heartbeat where neither of you moved, and the whole room felt like it was holding its breath.

And then, suddenly, she was stepping forward. Two strides and she was in front of you again. Her forehead pressed to yours, her hand cupping your cheek so gently it almost hurt.

“I dream about you,” she admitted, barely audible. “Even when I’m awake.”

Your breath caught.

“I see your face every time I close my eyes,” she continued. “It’s the one thing I don’t hate myself for. But if I stay, if I keep taking pieces of you like this, I’m going to ruin it. I’ll ruin you.”

You reached up and took her wrist. Not hard. Just enough to keep her there.

“You don’t ruin things, Sabine,” you whispered. “You just don’t know what it feels like to be loved without conditions.”

Her eyes flinched like the words struck bone.

Then she kissed you. Desperate. Deep. Like drowning and coming up for air all at once. Her hands cradled your face like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

When she pulled away, her breath was ragged.

“I have to go,” she said again, softer now. “Not because I want to. But because if I don’t… I won’t ever leave.”

And then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her like the end of a song you weren’t ready to stop hearing.

You stared at the door for a long moment after it closed, the silence pressing in, thick and suffocating. The room felt colder without her in it. Without the low hum of tension, of heat, of possibility.

You scoffed, but it came out quieter than you meant it to. Almost like a sigh.

“So much for fuck buddies,” you muttered.

It was supposed to be casual. That was the deal. The unspoken agreement you both danced around with skillful precision—touch without meaning, kisses without consequence. No strings. No feelings. No goodbyes.

And yet here you were. Still tasting her on your lips. Still hearing her voice in the hollow space she left behind. Still aching in places that had nothing to do with bruises or broken bones.

You dragged a hand down your face, let yourself fall back onto the bed with a low groan. The sheets smelled like her. Like her soap, her sweat, her skin. It made your chest tighten.

Casual wasn’t supposed to hurt.

You rolled onto your side, eyes fixing on the dent in the pillow where her head had rested. The memory of her curled there beside you just hours ago was so vivid, so warm, it felt like a ghost now. Something you weren’t sure you’d ever touch again.

You hated her for leaving like that. For not fighting harder. For making you feel like this when she had no right.

But more than that, you hated how much of you wanted to chase after her.

Because somewhere in the middle of all the pretending, the flirting, the tests and tension and bruises and breathless nights… you’d stopped keeping score.

Warm wishes

Ranger days

Willow

Fripp

Pride

Mysterious star

10th Anniversary

Galloper Thompson

Winter Foxes

Equestrian Festival

Katja

Mischief

Beatrix

Morrigan