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wandaslovey · 7 months ago

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ᴍʀꜱ. ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏꜰꜰ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 7k

authors note: i’m so excited to share this with you guys - this was so much fun to write! i’m planning on writing the first few parts as chapters where one will pick up right after the other and then once i get to a certain point i’ll do random time skips within the same au. oh also! i’m starting a tag list, so comment below if you’d like to be included on the next chapter! enjoy loves! 💕 as usual, this is not proofread.

content warning(s): legal age gap (w=30, n=33, r=23), natasha and wanda being two hot intimidating lawyers (except natasha kinda steals this show in this part, especially in the beginning. don’t worry though, wanda will have her time to shine!), conversation about kinkery and reader knows very little

if you’d like to read the drabble that inspired this series, click here

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you stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your white button-up blouse for the 10th time. you huff, frustrated that your wardrobe just wouldn’t cooperate with you this morning. as you look yourself over in the mirror—the rest of your outfit consisting of a mid-thigh black pencil skirt, some black nylons and black combat boots—you couldn’t help but wonder if your attire was okay for the interview.

the interview…you can’t believe you landed an interview at thee M.R. law firm. you knew how unqualified you were for the position, so you felt extra pressure to compensate somehow with your appearance.

you turn to the side in the mirror, first left and then right, scrutinizing yourself at every angle. you readjust the pieces of hair framing your face that you pulled out of your bun, before deciding you’d done all you could to look your best.

you glance at the clock on your nightstand in the reflection of the mirror, seeing it was time to go. you grab your knock-off brand purse and slip out of your apartment. when you walk down the stairs and open the door to the outside, the noise from the city fills your ears. the sounds of cars, horns, sirens, music and people all blended together, creating a sort of hum all new-yorkers were familiar with. you step out onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding some tourists that were taking a picture in front of the trendy restaurant you lived by. you hail a cab, quickly sliding into the backseat and telling the driver your destination.

now that you were settled in your seat with only the taxi drivers quiet music to distract you, the nerves you’d been attempting to snub out suddenly hit you full force. there was no way you could do this. you were sure you were just wasting your own time and the poor person who had to interview you. you knew your 6 months working as a receptionist at a dentist office nowhere near qualified you to manage things at M.R. law. you mentally curse yourself, thinking you must’ve been half asleep and entirely too desperate when you sent in your application at this place. you needed a job though—urgently. with your roommate moving back home, and no one else taking her place, you were stuck with paying the rent on your own. on top of that, you were still paying back loans for school. you knew you should cut your losses, leave new york and transfer to a much more affordable school, but you really wanted to stay as much as you could help it.

every stoplight you hit along the 20 minute drive only makes you more nervous. the fluttery feeling in your stomach turns into full blown pterodactyls by the time the driver has pulled up to the very tall M.R. building. you pass some folded up cash to the driver, mumbling out a quiet ‘thank you,’ and then step out of the car. you stare up at the intimidating building, the lettering of “maximoff-romanoff law” taunting you—daring you to step inside. you let out a stubborn exhale, squaring your shoulders and walking in with a confidence as fake as grape flavored candy.

you stride over to the front desk, noticing that the only employees in sight are all women.

“hi, i’m here for an 11 o’clock interview,” you tell one of the women behind the desk. she offers you a polite smile, giving you instructions to head into the elevator and up to the 8th floor. you nod your head, thanking her and make your way to your doomsday interview.

as the elevator doors shut behind you, you find yourself all alone in the small space. there was no background music to distract you now. you stare at the floor, noticing a slight glint to the black tiles you were standing on. you listen to the beeps counting up each floor, your eyes dragging up the stainless steel panel when the number reads 8 and the final beep sounds. the doors open and you’re immediately greeted with the sight of more women pacing around the place. some seemed to be in a rush while others were leisurely walking across the floor while chatting with a co-worker. you walk over to the front desk again, repeating what you had told the other kind lady downstairs. she gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the waiting area, letting you know someone will grab you in a few minutes.

you take a seat on the black leather couch, figuring this piece of furniture probably costed more than the rent for your apartment. you cross your legs, interlocking your fingers together at your knee. you glance around the office, taking in the decor. it was very tasteful, some touches of greenery that went nicely with the black and dark woodsy vibe this floor was going for. you try your best to ignore the bile rising in your throat and the pterodactyls still swarming in your stomach. it was a good thing you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

as two minutes turns into ten, and then fifteen, you can’t help but feel the urge to just get up and leave. you felt so out of place here; you couldn’t imagine working at this place with all these women who were so obviously out of your league.

just as you were settling on the idea of ditching this interview, you hear clacking footsteps making their way over to you. you didn’t dare look up yet, pretending to be very interested in the tiny hole in your pantyhose just above your knee.

“miss (y/l/n)?” the most heavenly, sultry voice calls out to you. your eyes slowly trail along the tile, up the woman’s legs covered in black slacks, her blouse and matching black suit jacket, and then finally her face. it was her.

thee mrs. romanoff.

mrs. romanoff was the person who was going to interview you? you couldn’t believe your eyes, or the situation. you clear your throat, realizing you had yet to acknowledge her calling out to you.

“yeah, that’s me,” you reply, standing on slightly wobbly legs. you watch as mrs. romanoff’s eyes slowly take in your appearance, her eyes lingering on your frame. you feel a little scrutinized, wondering if you really did mess up with what you were wearing.

“follow me.” she turns and leads the way. you stumble a bit as you follow behind her, not expecting her to have as long of a stride as she does.

“you’ll have to forgive me for the wait—we had a couple meetings run over this morning,” she talks to you over her shoulder, slowing her walk a little when she notices you’re not directly behind her like she thought.

“oh, no worries. i didn’t mind the wait.” that was technically a lie, but it wasn’t the wait that bothered you as much as the fact that you were left alone with your thoughts a little too long.

she rounds a corner at the end of the hall, pausing and gesturing for you to enter in one of the two doors that were side by side on the wall to the right. you walk through the doorframe, stepping into what you assumed was her personal office.

“have a seat, miss (y/l/n),” she says in a low voice, walking from behind you and around her desk to sit in her chair. you sit in one of the two chairs across from her, your heart thudding violently in your chest from being in such close proximity to her.

you adjust your seating position three times before finally settling in place, forcing yourself to sit still. mrs. romanoff humors you, remaining silent and patient through your nervous fidgeting.

“so, i have to say i was a little surprised to see your application come through to my desk,” she starts and you immediately feel your cheeks grow hot, the feeling of being in a place you don’t belong filling your whole body with dread.

she pauses, and you realize she was waiting for you to respond. right. this was supposed to be where you attempt to prove yourself adequate to work in this position.

“yes, um… well, admittedly i myself did think it was a stretch to apply here, but then i figured, i’m a fast learner, i’m very thorough in all i do and i enjoy learning new things. i thought i’d try my hand at something i haven’t done before.” you rattle off an answer that while it was true, it was also something you rehearsed 20 times in the mirror while getting ready before you got here. you were almost positive the slight robotic edge in your voice was noticeable.

mrs. romanoff hums in acknowledgment, nodding slightly at your rehearsed answer. “how well can you handle multi-tasking in a fast paced environment?” her lack of acknowledging your first answer puts a damper on your already fake confidence. you shift in your seat again, finding it harder to maintain eye contact with the sea of green that was her eyes.

“i would say i fare pretty well. i’m usually very good at managing stressful situations.” that was a complete lie—but most people bullshit their way through interviews, don’t they?

“usually?” she echoes, tilting her head to the side. she purses her lips, half attempting to hide a small smirk. she easily picked up on all your nervous antics the moment she saw you. you averting her gaze, walking unsteadily, fidgeting in your seat and the cute rose-y blush currently coloring your cheeks.

you clear your throat, interlocking your hands together in your lap. you notice they’ve already started to feel damp with sweat. “yeah, yeah most of the time i’d say so.”

“well, miss…” she glances down at what appeared to be your application and resume sitting in front of her on the desk. “(y/n)..you don’t sound very sure of yourself.” she sits upright in her chair, crossing her arms and leaning over the desk. your heart beats impossibly faster, the feeling of intimidation settling deep into your bones.

“no, i mean, i am sure—totally 100%.” you try to laugh, but it comes out sounding as nervous as you feel.

“okay, if that’s how you’d like to proceed…” she trails off, looking down at the papers in front of her again. you didn’t know what she meant, but your eyes fall desperately to the same papers she was looking at, as if they could provide some sort of answer to you. “what are your greatest strengths and weaknesses?”

you internally breath a sigh of relief. this was another answer you’d rehearsed in the mirror, it just needed to sound less robotic this time. “i’d say my greatest strengths are, i’m very punctual—i’m always on time if not early—um, i do all things thoroughly, as i mentioned before…i’m very reliable—hardly sick or need time off for family things, and i enjoy a good challenge. my greatest weakness is that i like to be very organized and sometimes i can spend a little too much time completing a certain project before moving onto the next.” you exhale after you finish talking, your eyes flicking across her face to try and get a sense of how she’s taking in your answer.

as you speak, you can’t help but notice that she was watching you so meticulously. it seemed that she was taking in not only your words, but your facial expressions, hand gestures and body language.

she looks at you for a moment as if she’s thinking hard on something. without taking her eyes off of you, she presses a button on her desk, the small ding from an intercom sounding. “joan, please track down mrs. maximoff and have her come into my office right away.”

your heartbeat now thrums loudly in your ears, your breath picking up its pace. you were not only going to be in the presence of mrs. romanoff but now mrs. maximoff too? never in your life had you seen such a powerful couple—and that was only in photos and billboards you’d seen around the city!

“is everything okay?” you ask nervously, feeling the permanent blush on your cheeks travel to the tips of your ears.

“everything’s fine, (y/n),” she gives you a smile but it was anything but reassuring. in fact, there was something about the expression that felt more intimidating with how devastatingly beautiful she was.

she grabs a pen and starts writing something on the paper. whatever it was was brief, but you couldn’t see clearly from your seat.

a quiet knock comes from the door and your posture becomes rigid as you hear who you assume to be mrs. maximoff entering the room.

“you called for me?” mrs. maximoff asks as she walks the length from the door to mrs. romanoff’s side. she walks around your chair and stands next to her wife, placing her palm flat against the desktop and leaning some of her weight on it.

“yes, i wanted you to meet our new interviewee,” she smiles with her lips and gestures to you in your seat. you look between the two beautiful, impeccably dressed women, feeling extremely small and insignificant. mrs. maximoff turns to look at you for the first time, a warm smile gracing her features.

“hi,” she offers simply, extending her hand to shake yours. you sit forward, reaching your arm out to shake her hand across the desk. her hand was incredibly soft and a little cold to the touch, but you wouldn’t expect anything less since the office was kept at such a cool temperature.

“mrs. maximoff is going to sit in on the rest of our interview. is that okay with you?” mrs. romanoff asks, her eyes daring you to object.

you quickly shake your head from side to side, shifting once again in your chair. “no, no that’s perfectly fine,” you reply easily, though you were feeling anything but fine. you notice mrs. maximoff giving her wife a curious glance but she doesn’t otherwise question it.

“let’s move over to the couches so we’re a little more comfortable,” mrs. romanoff stands up and heads over to the long olive green velvet sofa. you follow suit, except you take a seat in the smaller sofa, designed for only one person. mrs. maximoff sits closest to you on the long couch, brushing some of her pretty brown hair behind her shoulder. you watch as she glances back at her wife, mrs. romanoff giving her a certain look that you weren’t sure what it meant.

“so, (y/n), tells us what your career goals are,” mrs. romanoff proceeds with the interview as if the interruption never happened. you find yourself even more nervous to respond now that there were two, hot, older women sitting before you.

“umm…for now i really just need something steady that will simultaneously be giving me good work and life experience.. long term though, i’d like to become a therapist once i finish my masters program.” you bite your tongue once you finish your sentence, realizing this is not the sort of job where you tell your interviewers you’d like to pursue something that has nothing to do with their company.

“what appeals to you about becoming a therapist?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side curiously, just like mrs. romanoff had done earlier in the interview.

you lean back in your chair, a little surprised at her interest in your reply. “well, it’s a cliche answer, but i’m very passionate about helping people. it’s impossible to go through this life without getting seriously hurt and dealing with trauma. the vast majority of us have no idea how to cope or process through our experiences, so just knowing what i know, i’d like to try and be of some help for those who need it.”

the two lawyers look at you thoughtfully, mrs. maximoff nodding her head as you speak.

“that’s a very admirable passion. are you currently enrolled in a masters program?” she asks, crossing one of her legs over the other as she gets more comfortable in her seat.

“i am,” you reply with a shy smile. you never wanted to come across as bragging about your education, so you always sought to speak about it in the most humble way.

“you like school?” mrs. romanoff chimes in, leaning forward as she speaks.

your smile turns a bit rueful as you reply. “yes..i do. i know so many young people my age loathe school and all the hard work that needs to be put in, but…i love everything about it. i love taking notes, making flashcards, studying, taking tests, everything about it, i just love. i know it sounds a little crazy.” you laugh once, suddenly feeling more relaxed as you speak about something so genuinely. you feel a little more surprise again as you hear mrs. romanoff chuckle with you, nodding her head towards her brunette wife.

“sounds like somebody i know. this one here was a school addict. i had to practically pry textbooks out her hands just so we could do anything other than study,” she chuckles again, mrs. maximoff joining in with her.

“i won’t apologize for being so pointed about my studies. we both got straight A’s, didn’t we?” she jokes light-heartedly and you find yourself smiling warmly at their light banter.

mrs. maximoff turns back to face you, a smile still touching her lips. “what else do you do aside from school?” her question makes your face fall slightly as you now had to admit you were technically unemployed. you knew that didn’t look good for potential employers.

“right now, not a whole lot. just keeping busy with my studies,” you respond vaguely to which they both hum in response.

the pair of them continue asking you questions, except they become progressively more personal until they don’t attain to work or working at this position at all.

“do you like living alone? or do you prefer living with others?” was one of the questions mrs. romanoff asks you after you had explained you were currently without a roommate.

even though it was strange, you find that the more you talk about yourself, the more relaxed you feel. mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff both noticed it too. they could see more of your personality showing through as the nerves slowly but surely dissipated.

it had been near 40 minutes by the time mrs. romanoff checked her watch and noticed the time. she looked at her wife, mrs. maximoff seeming to sense her eyes on her as she automatically looked to the side. they shared a look, one of them nodding to the other before turning back to face you.

“well, we’ve kept you here much longer than was intended—i apologize for that.” mrs. romanoff says as she stands, mrs. maximoff following suit. you stand also, smoothing your skirt back over your legs. as you stand so closely to them now, you notice how they were both taller than you by a few inches, making you feel small again like you had earlier.

“it’s no big deal. i’m in no rush,” you smile shyly as you look up at the two of them. you extend your arm out, shaking both of their hands before getting ready to leave. they both give your hand a gentle squeeze and when mrs. romanoff shakes your hand, she grasps on longer than her wife, holding your gaze with a certain intensity.

“we’ll be in touch, miss (y/n),” she says smoothly, calling you out by your first name, and for some reason the combination between her voice and her eye contact made your knees feel weak.

you swallow thickly, nodding your head and thanking them both for the interview before turning away. mrs. maximoff leads you to the door to exit and walks you all the way out to the elevators. you pace the short distance in somewhat comfortable silence. when you turn to face her to say your final goodbye, your surprised to see mrs. romanoff behind her. she was following so quietly that you didn’t notice her presence.

“bye! thank you again,” you smile, stepping into the elevator once the doors open. the two women stand side by side of each other, giving you a near identical smile which portrayed some sort of knowing behind it, almost like they were expecting something.

“it was a pleasure meeting you miss (y/l/n),” mrs. maximoff calls out to you as the elevator doors slide closed.

you exhale a breath you didn’t now you were holding, slumping back against the elevator walls.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

that evening, you cook up a box of mac n cheese, too lazy to try and find the ingredients to make anything else. not to mention, your mind was still a little bit jumbled after your interview with thee lesbian power couple.

mrs. romanoff’s words kept echoing in your head.

”we’ll be in touch” she’d said. but didn’t your interview totally blow? especially at the end. it wasn’t so much an interview but rather more like a conversation where people try to get to know each other better. maybe they were looking for a personality hire? you really doubted that though.

you eat your mac n cheese while staring blankly at the wall, thinking over the whole exchange with mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff. as you mindlessly feed yourself spoonfuls of your dinner, you realize you didn’t even know their first names. you remembered you had once seen them on a billboard somewhere but didn’t remember exactly what they were. mrs. romanoff’s first name was natalie or something similar? you were at a loss with mrs. maximoff. you decide to google them to put your curiosities to rest.

pulling out your phone, you google their names and the law firm. after doing just a little bit of digging, you see their full names: natasha romanoff and wanda maximoff. ah, so you were close with mrs. romanoff’s name. you wonder if they only go by their last names at the office. it definitely seemed like their vibe to have things be so professional.

as you go throughout the rest of your evening, showering and getting ready for bed, you continue thinking about them. the longer your mind lingers on them, the less “professionally” you think about them. you couldn’t help but notice how utterly beautiful they both were. they both carried themselves with a confidence that anyone would find intimidating. there was something so forceful about their presences, but not necessarily in a bad way. it seemed like natasha—mrs.romanoff—was a little more rough around the edges, but you could see she easily held a soft spot for her wife and life partner. mrs. maximoff gave off a much more approachable vibe, but she was still intimidating in her own way.

as your mind continues wandering, you find yourself becoming more tired before you finally drift off to sleep, your brain fatigued from all your analytical thinking.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

the first thing you notice when you wake up is the light shining through your thin curtains. you blink a few times, slowly adjusting to the light. you blindly reach over to your nightstand, unplugging your phone from the charger. as you unlock your phone, you notice a missed call from an unknown number nearly two hours ago. you shoot up into a sitting position in your bed, suddenly feeling much more awake. it was just passed 10 am. was the unknown number a call back about your interview?

your fingers furiously swipe on your phone, quickly googling the number for M.R. law. you breath a sigh of relief when you cross reference the digits in your phone and the number online, realizing it was just a random unknown caller. you let your body fall back limply on the bed, your leg dangling off the side as you clutch your phone to your chest. that would’ve been humiliating if they called offering you the job and you didn’t pick up the phone.

as you go about your morning leisurely—not having any classes this day—you try to push the two hot lawyers out of your mind. there was no point in dwelling on them if you’d never hear from them again.

you leave your face bare of makeup, not intending on leaving the apartment and you opt for wearing comfy clothes—or “frumpy” clothes as you called them—instead of something nice.

you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a bowl of frosted flakes cereal. you let it sit there for a few minutes to soak up the milk, as soggy cereal was your favorite. you’d argue with anyone who claimed crunchy cereal was best. as you wait, you power up your laptop, intent on working on some homework.

you’re munching on your cereal, blue-light filtered glasses adorning your nose as you work on your computer screen. you were mid-bite when you hear your phone buzzing on the counter next to you. you glance down at your phone and frown slightly when you notice it looks to be the same unknown number from earlier.

you continue chewing your bite, raising the phone to your ear as you accept the call.

“hello?” you ask, your voice mumbled a bit as you still had some food in your mouth.

“good morning, miss (y/n),” you hear a warm, velvety voice greet you. after almost an hour interview with her yesterday, you’d recognize this distinct voice anywhere.

“mrs. romanoff?” you just about choke on your food as you swallow, your body tensing slightly as you feel much more alert.

“that would be correct.” you hear her chuckle softly into the phone, your tone laced with obvious surprise she must have found endearing.

“i’m so sorry! i think i missed your call earlier? i didn’t recognize the number- i had no idea it was you, i’m sorry!” you apologize quickly, thinking that if she was actually calling to offer you the job, you might have just ruined it.

“don’t worry about it. i would be surprised if you recognized it given that this is my personal number,” her voice was low and warm. it was entirely too enticing.

“oh.. umm, right. well, good morning,” you stumble slightly over your words, unsure what else to say to her.

“are you normally a late riser?” she asks with humor in her voice.

“what? oh no, not normally no. i just don’t have classes today,” you explain, a little embarrassed at her having called you out on your sleeping habits.

“i see. well, we just wanted to call and ask if you’d meet us for a coffee,” her question came out as more of a statement and you were left wondering why on earth she would want to go out for coffee with you and…wait.. did she say we?

“we?” the words echo aloud from your mind.

“yes. my wife and i,” she reiterates calmly. you look around your small excuse for a kitchen as if the reasoning behind her posing this question was written on the walls.

“like today?” you ask stupidly. of course she meant today.

“yes - today. can you meet us in 15? we’re going on lunch break. i’ll text you the address.” your eyes zip to the digital numbers plastered on the microwave. you only had 15 minutes to try and look presentable, get a cab and meet them.

“ummm..yeah. yeah sure,” you nod your head as if she could see you through the phone. you quickly hop off the stool you were sitting on, walking briskly to the bathroom with the phone still held firmly to your ear.

“perfect. we’ll see you soon.” she hangs up and you all but toss your phone on the bathroom counter, staring down at the device as if it’s offended you. you quickly snap out of it, only having 5 or so minutes to un-hobo yourself. you quickly apply some concealer on your dark spots, powder on a little blush and brush on a coat of mascara in record time. in your haste, you stumble from the bathroom to your closet, trying to find something to quickly throw on. you grab a simple white baby tee, putting it on and then aggressively stepping into some loose light wash jeans. grabbing your belongings, you half jog out the door, nearly slipping down the last two stairs of your apartment.

you quickly get a cab, thanking whatever higher power there is in your head that there was very little delay in one driving by. as the taxi driver takes you to the address you gave him, you sit forward in your seat, gathering your hair in a pony tail near the top of your head. you secure it with an elastic you always keep around your wrist and pull some pieces out to frame your face. you glance in the cab rear view mirror, seeing you looked fairly presentable. you exhale shakily, sitting back in your seat as the same nerves you felt yesterday on the way to your interview were coming back now.

what was this about? i mean, you knew it wasn’t normal to meet with potential employees for coffee. it was especially suspicious because it was mrs. romanoff *and* her wife.

your thoughts are interrupted as the taxi slows to a crawl and he pulls up to the coffee shop. you’d never been to this one before, granted there were hundreds of shops all over the city so there were probably many you hadn’t gone to. your heart leaps in your chest as you see both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff waiting outside for you.

you pass the driver the money, thank him and slip out of the car. as you step onto the sidewalk, mrs. maximoff greets you with the same warm smile she’d given you when you first met. mrs. romanoff smiles too, though it’s not as wide as her wife’s.

“hello again, (y/n).” your heart skips a beat as you hear mrs. maximoff use your first name for the first time. mrs. romanoff had been calling you by your first name since you’d stepped foot into her office. you liked the way your name fell from both of their tongues.

“hi, good to see you both again,” you smile despite your nerves, making eye contact with both of them in a polite manner.

“shall we?” mrs. romanoff suggests as she opens the door for you, her wife placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. you inhale shakily, the unexpected contact surprising you in a pleasant way.

as the three of you file in behind the small line of people waiting to order, your eyes skim the menu, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted.

“cute outfit,” mrs. romanoff murmurs from behind you. you could hear what sounded to be amusement in her tone but you weren’t sure.

you turn to the side to face her, her being on your left and mrs. maximoff on your right just a half-step behind you. “thank you. i threw it on—literally. i was wearing something a lot less presentable when you first called.” you glance down at both of their outfits. the duality between yours and their outfits was almost laughable. they looked impeccably fashionable and you were just in street clothes.

wanda chuckles lightly at your comment. “what were you wearing before?” she asks.

“just an oversized tee and some biker shorts,” you shrug, crossing your arms casually over your chest. you always felt more comfortable when you had your arms wrapped around yourself.

as the line moves and you’re next, mrs. romanoff quickly stands in front of you, her body moving between you and the counter. “what’ll you have?” she gives you an expectant look, ready to give your order.

“an iced mocha?” you ask a little shyly, her show of putting herself between you and the cash register did something to you for some reason.

she nods, and turns to the barista, repeating your order along with hers and her wife’s. you’re about to protest, wanting to tell her she doesn’t have to pay for you, but you feel mrs. maximoff’s hand return to the small of your back, swiftly maneuvering you away from the line and over to the small cluster of tables.

you sit down in a chair she pulled out for you and you scoot yourself in as mrs. maximoff settles in her own seat across from you.

“you really don’t have to pay for me, you know,” you pipe gently, glancing over at mrs. romanoff who was standing at the counter waiting for the drinks before you turn back to mrs. maximoff.

“of course not, we want to. plus, neither her nor i would ever allow you to pay for yourself even if you insisted,” she smiles winsomely, her eyes gleaming with something warm and bright.

mrs. romanoff returns with all three coffees, somehow handling all three and setting them down in a graceful manner.

“thank you,” you give mrs. romanoff a gentle smile as your fingers interlock around the cup and you drag it closer to you.

they both take a sip from their coffees—which were both hot—before mrs. romanoff clears her throat, her eyes narrowing in on you as she leans forward on the table.

“so, i imagine you’re wondering why we asked you here.” she throws a glance at her wife who was already looking at her speak.

“it may have been on my mind…” you trail off, sounding as innocent as possible.

mrs. romanoff smiles knowingly, her eyes appraising you in a way that made you squirm slightly in your seat.

“it’s not about the job, as i’m sure you might have figured, but rather about offering a different type of position,” she begins. your brow furrows in confusion. what did she mean?

“a different position? like a cleaning job or something?” you immediately go to thinking about jobs that require little to no experience, figuring that might be all they’d have to offer given your background.

they both laugh at your guess, mrs. romanoff being the one to shake her head no.

“no, not a cleaning job,” she pauses, seeming to measure your expression before continuing. “(y/n), have you ever heard the term bdsm?”

your face goes blank and you look from mrs. romanoff to her wife who appeared to be watching you just as carefully.

“um…i think so? i’ve heard the term a few times before.” your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, an unfamiliar pit settling into your lower tummy at the abrupt shift in the topic of conversation.

“what do you know about it?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side which causes some of her neatly curled hair to fall forward.

you look between the two of them, unconsciously shrinking further down into your seat. this was such a taboo subject to talk about it public; you found yourself already growing warm from just the thought of this discussion.

“well, it’s..sex stuff…right? like being tied down and whipped?” you speak hesitantly in a small voice, throwing quick glances at the strangers littered across the coffee shop.

“those things can be a part of it, yes—if all parties discuss that’s something they like to participate in” mrs. romanoff explains and then continues. “what else have you heard about it? or is that the gist of what you know?”

you shrug, your shoulders slumped forward and your head bowed slightly to try and obscure your flushed cheeks. you suck your bottom lip into your mouth—your nervous habit.

mrs. maximoff pipes in again after noticing your bashfulness. “a lot of people have that imagery in mind when they hear the term ‘bdsm,’ so it’s understandable that that’s your impression. there is so much more to it though. really, bdsm is about exploring people’s sexual interests in a safe space. you learn about your limits, what you like, what you didn’t expect to like, and so much more.” you listen to her explanation intently, your mind immediately wandering and wondering where this conversation was going to go.

mrs. romanoff picks up off her wife’s words. “some people simply dabble in certain aspects of bdsm while others treat it more as a lifestyle—and for my wife and i, it is a lifestyle.”

you nod hesitantly as they both pause for a second, watching you digest this information. you’re unsure how to respond, feeling progressively more restless in your seat.

they both give each other a look before mrs romanoff nods and mrs. maximoff speaks.

“normally, for people who live this lifestyle, they draw up contracts between themselves and the person they want as their submissive.. now we know this is all very forward, but there’s just no other way to put it. we’d like to have you as our new submissive.”

your face turns bright red for reasons you’re not fully aware of. you weren’t quite sure what being a “submissive” all entailed, but you couldn’t wipe the imagery of being helplessly tied down and whipped from your mind. you’re silent as your brain flits through one imaginary scenario to the next. you were so clueless though, you weren’t sure if the things you were thinking up were things people actually did or if they were just shown in porn.

“me…? i just..well it’s just that..i’m-i don’t know if i would be your ideal candidate,” you stumble out, your eyes glued to the table as you avoid looking at either of them at all costs.

“on the contrary, (y/n), i singled you out almost immediately at our interview. i knew i wanted you. that’s why i had wanda join us.” her face softens as she notices your slight uneasiness. being a bit of a sadist though, she couldn’t help but find your innocence and embarrassment so incredibly gratifying. it only made her want you more.

your teeth worry into your bottom lip again as you look between one set of green eyes and then the other. “do you guys normally.. share, uhm..submissives?”

“not always, but we do like to when it’s possible,” wanda shares, a reassuring smile on her face. you purse your lips, chewing on the inside of your cheek as more questions arise in your head.

“how does that work? sharing i mean.” you knew there were people who participated in polyamorous relationships, and you had no issue with it, you just had trouble visualizing the dynamic.

natasha grins wickedly to herself, realizing now how truly innocent and unknowing you were. she suspected a little yesterday at the interview, but had no idea the true scope of your innocence. wanda also found herself undeniably more attracted to you after this conversation. her hands twitch in her lap, thinking of all the things she could do to you that you probably haven’t ever dreamed of.

“it works (y/n), trust me…” mrs. romanoff says seductively.

“we know this is all very foreign to you, sweetheart. you don’t have to say yes today, just think about it?” mrs. maximoff reaches across the table and affectionately holds onto your wrist. your stomach does a little flip-flop at the term of endearment paired with the affection.

there were so many thoughts and feelings swirling around you, but one thing stuck out above the rest. you wanted to learn more. you didn’t want to say no and close a door on something that you might enjoy.

“i want to.. i mean, um, i will think about it,” you clear your throat for the umpteenth time that day, pulling your hand back from mrs. maximoff’s light grasp. it was suddenly feeling like her hand was searing your skin.

“you want to what?” mrs. romanoff presses, her eyes looking at you with intensity again.

“i just meant that i want to learn more..about this,” you reply quietly, peeking at mrs. romanoff through your lashes. you notice her clench her jaw and flex her fingers that were resting on the table, but you weren’t sure what it meant.

“well, there’s a lot to learn, but luckily i’d say we’re both pretty good teachers,” mrs. maximoff grins more wickedly this time, her expression giving you a new glimpse into something you hadn’t seen in her until this point.

“why don’t we meet up again sometime this weekend? we can answer any questions you have—help you learn more about what we’re asking from you,” she adds, to which you surprisingly feel eager to agree to the idea. you find yourself already wanting to learn more, especially if the people who were going to educate you were two of the hottest women alive.

“yeah…let’s do that,” you nod once, your blush slowly creeping off your cheeks though a slight honey glow was still present.

you all begin to gather your things, mrs. maximoff noticing their lunch break was just about up. the three of you hardly touched your coffees, the conversation too intense to take swigs of the drinks.

the two of them walk you out of the shop, mrs. romanoff hailing down a cab for you. you turn to say goodbye to mrs. maximoff and find that she’s standing closer to you than expected.

“i look forward to seeing you again so soon, dragotsennaya veshch’,” she murmurs, reaching to give your arm an affectionate squeeze. you smile at her, unsure what she said but not caring much to know now.

you step closer to the cab after mrs. romanoff opens the door for you. before you can slip inside the car, mrs. romanoff leans down, murmuring in your ear.

“if you have any questions before the weekend that simply can’t wait, don’t hesitate to text me. you have my number.” her voice was a little rough which makes you shiver.

you nod slowly, sucking on your bottom lip again. you give mrs. maximoff a shy hand wave which she mimics with an amused grin. you sink down into the car seat, mrs. romanoff shutting the door behind you.

as the taxi drives away, you can’t help but look behind you as the two women grow smaller and smaller on the sidewalk. as the car turns a corner, the couple remain standing there until you disappear. you sigh and turn back around in your seat, resting heavily against the cushion behind you.

what just happened?

——————————

tag list:

@poppyshuman @wandamaximoffsbadgirl @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123 @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha

#venturing is inevitable: series #vii #wandanat #wandanat x reader #wandanat smut #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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prythiansprincess · 2 months ago

Text

DELIRIUM | a stalker! theo au.

"you're so fucking special; I wish I was special."

word count: 5,662.

warnings: please read all trigger warnings before proceeding. dead dove do not eat, noncon, murder, coercion, stalking, assault, manipulation, gaslighting, knife play, blood play, abusive behavior.

author's note: I don't say it lightly when I say that this fic is very dark. I fully understand that the topics and themes discussed are not for everyone, so please be mindful of the warnings before engaging. special thanks to @writingsbychlo for proofreading and encouraging my over all psychophathy.

♫ creep - radiohead. nav. stalker! theo.

There was something wrong with Theo Nott.

Perhaps it was a result of his traumatic upbringing or perhaps it was simply encrypted into his genetic code, but whether nature or nurture was to be blamed, this simple truth was certain: a sick, twisted, and insatiable monster lurked within him and its hunger could be satiated by one thing and one thing only — you.

In the deepest and darkest depths of his inky black heart, Theo knew that he was completely and utterly fucked up. This thing inside of him — this madness — rendered him incapable of forming healthy relationships. Time and time again, his passions and proclivities hinted towards a more sinister nature. Some called him deranged, delirious, delusional, but Theo simply thought of himself as a hopeless romantic.

Theo was not the type of man to harbor a crush or entertain a fling or succumb to a fleeting infatuation that eventually faded over time. When he loved, he loved with his entire being. He loved until it became a fixation, a compulsion, an obsession. This has and always will be his fatal flaw.

From a young age, Theo learned that he was not normal. When he presented Pansy Parkinson with the front teeth of the boy who dared knock her off the swings, that was not normal. When he gifted Daphne Greengrass the rotting carcass of a bird that had kept her up with the incessant tapping of its beak against her bedroom window, that was not normal. When he offered to carve the initials of Mattheo Riddle into his skin to prove his loyalty, that was not normal.

Theo was bereft when his friends cried and fled from him, feeling distraught and disappointed by their reactions. After all, he had only done those things to make them happy. Why couldn’t they see that?

When his mother found him crying in the Nott Manor gardens, she explained to him that he was a very special boy. That his capacity for love would be misunderstood by those around him because they simply could not feel the way that he did. The intensity of his emotions surpassed their understanding; they didn’t know what it was like to be irrevocably consumed by love. His devotion could be misconstrued, his affection scorned, which is why it became imperative for Theo to shield himself from the world until the right person came along.

So, he conformed, he adapted, he survived, but Theo knew it was only a matter of time before his carefully constructed mask slipped.

In the back of a crowded restaurant, Theo swirled the glass of wine in his hand before taking a long sip. The waiter had recommended the red vintage, droning on and on about the quality of the 1978 Barolo Montorfino and the meticulous aging process of the Nebbiolo grapes to produce this particular bottle. Theo fought the urge to roll his eyes. He already knew all of this, given that the wine was produced by his family’s vineyard in the Italian countryside.

The complex flavor danced on his tongue. On any other occasion, he might have savored the hints of cherry, roses, and truffle peeking through its rich-bodied profile, but Theo tasted nothing but ash in his mouth. Because across the rooftop sat the woman of his dreams, drinking and laughing and dining with another man. Theo gripped the stem of his glass until his knuckles turned white.

Needless to say, the night was not going as Theo intended it to. It was supposed to be him feeding you little bites of tagliatelle, topping your wine off with a wink, and listening to your melodious voice recount silly anecdotes about yourself. Instead, Adrian fucking Pucey was blattering on like a bloody twat, failing to appreciate the goddess seated across from him. The stupid prick was probably too busy gauging whether or not he was going to get lucky tonight. As if Theo would ever let that happen.

No, that simply wouldn’t do.

Sure, he had enjoyed the game of cat and mouse between you over the past few months. Since the day you moved into the house next to his, there had been this constant push and pull between you. The flirtatious banter as he helped you carry your dresser into the foyer after he found you struggling in the yard, the freshly baked goods you presented to him as thanks after the fact, the shy way you smiled at him every time you crossed paths when you departed and arrived back home.

Something awakened within him the second he laid eyes on you. Something dark, something dangerous, something that he thought was long buried in the depths of his depraved soul.

It wasn’t all in his head. Hell, you had invited him in on that very first day. You wanted him there. You wanted him near you. You wanted him.

All the darkness that he tried so hard to push down seemed to resurface all at once. Suddenly, Theo found himself falling back into old old habits. Watching you through your bedroom window while you undressed, sneaking into your house while you were away at work, planting cameras in every room without your knowledge, and even going so far as stealing your lingerie.

But Theo wasn’t stalking you.

No.

He was merely keeping an eye on you.

Clearly, you needed someone to look after you if you were putting your trust in a man like Adrian Pucey. You were too soft and sweet and innocent for this world. Theo wanted to protect you. In his eyes, Pucey was a threat to your relationship and there was only one way to deal with a threat — eliminate it.

The opportunity presented itself after that sordid dinner. After dessert was served, Theo quietly slipped out ahead of the happy couple. Well, the two of you wouldn’t be happy for long. Not if he had anything to do with it.

Surrounded by silence and darkness, Theo laid in wait until he heard the tell-tale sounds of the front door unlocking. He observed in quiet rage as Adrian kissed his girl. The door snicked shut, but the two of you barely noticed as you stumbled through the foyer, his lips sucking at your neck, his hands roaming underneath your dress, his cock pressing against your core as you mewled for him. Theo couldn’t stomach a second more of this. The sound of Pucey’s name falling from your lips was enough to awaken the monster within him.

A sickening thud echoed through the house as Pucey dropped to the floor. With wide eyes, you scrambled in the darkness, blinking in disbelief at the sight before you. The silk strap of your dress fell from your shoulders at the abruptness of the attack. Your pupils, which were previously blown from desire, now shifted into fear.

“T — Theo?” Disbelief colored your expression as you looked up at your neighbor. Dressed in all black, his tall and lithe form blended in with his surroundings. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t really think I’d let this prick weasel his way into your bed, did you?”

You blinked in confusion. On the floor of your living room, Adrian nursed his broken nose, trying and failing to staunch the blood flowing through his fingers.

“Do you know this asshole, Y/N?”

“He’s my neighbor,” you answered. Theo’s face twisted in anger at your response. You cowered under his gaze and scooted backwards against the wall. “Theo, what’s going on? Why are you doing this?”

Theo sneered. “Isn’t it obvious, bella?” Your blood ran cold when a flash of silver appeared in his hand. “I know why you went on this date tonight. You wanted me to fight for you, so here I am. I love you and I won’t let anyone keep us apart.”

“What are you talking about, Theo?” You cried as he stalked towards you. “I barely know you. We’re neighbors, just neighbors, that’s all.” You pleaded, begging for him to listen to reason. “Please, just stop this. You don’t have to do any of this.”

“Shh, my sweet Y/N,” Theo cooed as he wiped a stray tear away with his thumb. His blue eyes bore into you with such intensity that it made you shiver. There was something lurking behind that dead eyed stare and you feared for whatever it might unleash.

Theo caressed your cheek with reverence while you trembled in fear. “You just don’t know any better, cara mia. But don’t worry, I’ll show you how much I love you. I’ll protect you; I’ll keep you safe.” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m going to take care of this. He will never come between us again.”

Before you could protest, Theo had already rounded on Adrian. The brunette threw his hands up as Theo pulled him up by his collar. “I almost feel sorry for you, you know,” Theo taunted. “You probably thought you were so smart, preying on someone as sweet and innocent as Y/N. You never deserved her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adrian retorted, crimson staining his dress shirt as he struggled against his captor’s hold. “It was just a few harmless dates.”

“A few harmless dates?” Theo repeated in a mocking tone. “Christ, you can’t truly be that stupid, can you? You don’t even understand how lucky you are to have gotten the chance to be in her company. She’s a fucking goddess and you — “ Adrian groaned when Theo yanked his hair back to give him a proper view of you. “Well, you’re nothing.”

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. I was just lookin for an easy fuck — “

Fury simmered in Theo’s gaze. The careless words that Adrian spoke cut you deep, but not nearly as deep as the blade that sliced his throat open. The crimson river flowing from Adrian’s neck bathed Theo in blood, covering his face, his hair, and his clothes.

You screamed as Adrian slumped to the floor, his lifeless body discarded onto your cream rug as his vacant gaze stared at nothing. The gravity of his death sent a surge of adrenaline in your veins. You needed to get the fuck away, The instinct to survive kicked in and you darted for the door, but unfortunately, Theo was quicker.

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you away from your only form of escape. You struggled in his hold, clawing and kicking and screaming as Theo dragged you through the living room.

“You killed him!” You screamed while you continued thrashing. “He’s dead, you killed him, oh my god — “

“Don’t be like that, cara mia,” Theo said in a soothing voice. “I thought you would be happy. With our little problem out of the way, we can finally be together.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath!”

With a swift kick to the balls, Theo stumbled backwards which gave you time to frantically reach for your purse. The slick blood that coated the wooden floors now sullied your dress, but you pushed the thought away as you recovered your phone. As you tapped on the screen, it came alive with a bright light. With shaking hands, you tried to swipe up to dial emergency services, but the screen buzzed with static before completely dying out.

“No!” You screamed in frustration as you pressed the dead screen over and over again. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening!”

Behind you, Theo sighed and shook his head in disappointment. Crouching down before you, the warmth of his palm felt like a slap to the face as he cradled your jaw.

“You’ve been a bad girl, bella,” Theo purred. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.”

Your eyes widened as he produced a set of handcuffs from his pocket. “No, please, you don’t have to do this. Just let me go and I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“Let you go?” Theo repeated in a cold, menacing voice as he clamped the handcuffs over your wrists. “After all that I’ve done for you, do you really think I would be capable of just letting you go?” He tutted in disapproval as he tugged you towards the stairs. “You’re all mine now, you’re not going anywhere.”

The short walk to your bedroom felt like a march towards death. You began to shake violently as Theo guided you towards the bed, instructing you to lie down as he tinkered with the handcuffs. Tears blurred your vision as your heart hammered against your ribcage.

“Are you going to kill me?” you whispered.

“Don’t be stupid,” Theo said with a scoff as he rearranged the cuffs and chained you to the bed. “You wouldn’t be any fun if you’re dead.”

Fear gripped every fiber of your being in a chokehold. Theo leaned back and admired his work. The intensity of his gaze felt like a brand against your skin as he drank in the sight of you spread out for him. The silk of your dress was stained with blood, the fabric nearly see through from how soaked it was.

“You’re such a pretty little thing all tied up like a present for me, principessa.”

His blue eyes were nearly black as he gazed at you with unadulterated desire. The pale moonlight streaming through the window casted sinister shadows on his face.

“If you’re not going to kill me, then what do you plan on doing?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Theo declared with a deranged smile as he brandished his knife. “I plan on worshipping every inch of your body.” The cold edge of his blade traced the curve of your jaw. “I plan on making you see God with my tongue, my fingers, my cock.” The knife continued its path down the valley of your breasts. “I plan on possessing you, owning you, and ruining you for every other man.”

“You barely even know me,” you pleaded, shying away from the blade that now rested on the hem of your dress. “I’m not yours, Theo.”

The air left your lungs all at once as his hand wrapped around your throat. The lack of oxygen made you dizzy and you grew limp against the bed, barely even registering the blade caressing your skin.

“I’ll carve my name into your thigh if that’s what it takes to get it through your pretty little head that you are mine.”

You coughed as he released his hold, disoriented by the sudden rush of air into your lungs. “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me, oh fuck —“

Your hips jerked at the sudden cold sensation between your legs. Theo watched in amusement as he pressed the hilt of his blade against your clothed core, drinking in the way you writhed underneath him.

“What was that, bella?” Theo teased. “I can’t hear you over all that moaning.”

Your cheeks burned with shame as you continued his ministrations against your clit. It was a purely physical response, but it felt like your own body was betraying you. This wasn’t supposed to feel good. You hated the way you reacted to his touch, his words, his gaze. You hated him.

“You’re a sick fuck,” you yelled as you tugged at your restraints. Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pleasure. “This is vile, this is evil. I hate you. I fucking hate you —“

Theo chuckled darkly as he tugged your panties to the side and slipped the hilt of his blade through your folds without warning. “Then why are you so fucking wet for me?”

“I’m not!” In all your life, you had never felt more degraded and humiliated. The conflicting emotions warred in your mind, but the truth of the matter was that you had absolutely no control over your own arousal. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Theo growled as the handle of his blade squelched in your slick. “But by all means, keep lying to yourself. In fact, I quite prefer it if you put up a fight. I like it rough.”

You groaned, delirious with need as he fucked you with his knife. “When I make you cum, I know that I’ve earned it.”

You bit down on your bottom lip until blood filled your mouth. The horror of the scene unfolding before you filled you with dread yet you couldn’t stop the moans and whines that escaped past your lips. When you looked up, Theo was transfixed by the sight of your greedy cunt taking his knife.

“That’s it, Y/N,” hummed Theo. “This will be a lot easier if you just stop fighting it. You want this. You want me.”

“I — I don’t! I don’t want —“

“I —I don’t want,” Theo mocked. “How fucking pathetic. You can’t even finish that sentence without moaning.” He pulled out his knife and slid two fingers in without warning. His cruel laugh echoed in the bedroom when the sound of your slick filled the silence. “If you don’t want me, then why are you riding my fingers like this, hm?”

There was no answer as he plunged the hilt of his knife into you again, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. His thumb rubbed your sensitive bundle of nerves in tantalizing circles, pushing you towards the edge of pleasure.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an orgasm, but it couldn’t be helped. There was no stopping the intense pleasure that barrelled through your body. As you crested over the finish line, your vision went dark. The depravity of the act filled you with mortification and indignity. Theo, on the other hand, looked euphoric.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum,” he whispered softly.

You wanted to claw and scratch and hit him for the way he made you feel. Theo presented the knife to you with reverence. The blade was soaked in blood, but the hilt dripped with your cum. His tongue darted out and licked and lapped at your arousal with long, languid strokes as his eyes rolled back in euphoria. The way he moaned when he tasted you was obscene.

“You taste so sweet,” Theo rasped in a choked groan. “Such a good girl for me.”

This was beyond fucked up.

Theo was beyond fucked up.

You watched in alarm, waiting for disgust to overwhelm your senses, but it never came. Instead, your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight. What the fuck was wrong with you?

Theo leaned over you, his brown curls brushing against your nose as he smirked. “Don’t I get a kiss as a reward for making you feel so good?”

The absence of pleasure finally made you come to your senses. “Fuck you.”

The depth of his blue eyes was swallowed by a void that threatened to suffocate you. The man before you transformed into a monster as he growled and held his knife against your throat. “Let me rephrase that,” he hissed as the blade nicked your skin. “If you don’t kiss me, I’ll slit your fucking throat.”

You whimpered as the blade dug deeper into your neck, causing small droplets of blood to stain your sheets. Theo stared at you with malice, his face hovering a few inches from yours as he waited for your next move. His cool breath fanned over your skin while his lips ghosted over yours.

“Please, Y/N?” Theo pouted as he blinked down at you through his thick, dark lashes. “Just one kiss, please.”

It was apparent that he wanted you to make the first move. As if it would absolve him from this abhorrent act. As if it would exculpate him despite the threat he made on your life if you refused to comply. In some sick, twisted way, you knew that the second your lips touched his, Theo felt absolutely vindicated.

The growl that crawled out of his throat was purely animalistic. It spoke of need, of desire, of lust that had simmered underneath the surface for far too long. The taste of you, soft and supple and sweet, was better than anything Theo could have ever imagined. His cock strained against his pants as he deepened the kiss, tongue sweeping over the seam of your lips to demand entrance.

A part of you wanted to fight back, to pull away from him, but it was nearly impossible when he harshly grabbed your jaw and forced his way in. You opened for him reluctantly, but that was all he needed. Theo was the type of person to take a mile when given an inch. His hands roamed your body while his tongue massaged yours, moaning, panting, licking the roof of your mouth with unabashed glee. Theo squeezed your tits and gripped your hips and wrapped your legs around his waist. He felt like a dog in heat as he rutted himself against your clothed cunt.

Fuck, he was so hard it hurt.

Dazed and drunk with desire, Theo pulled away, his gaze sweeping over your kiss bitten lips and flushed cheeks. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

It was fucking horrible, horrendous, atrocious. You wanted the deepest pits of hell to open up and swallow you whole. Because that kiss had lit a fire in your belly despite your disgust for the man forcing himself on you.

Before you could think twice, you reared back and spit right into his face. Theo blinked in surprise. You expected anger, but amusement greeted you instead. The motherfucker was enjoying this.

“You’re a feisty thing, aren’t you?” Theo drawled as he unclasped his belt. The sight caused panic to grip you from all sides. “Don’t worry, principessa. I’ll fuck the fight right out of you. I will break you until you become the good girl that I know you can be.”

“Theo please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you sobbed and begged. “Don’t do this, please.”

Theo chuckled darkly. “You’re not sorry,” he said as he cut your dress open with his blade. “But you will be.”

Exposed and vulnerable, you struggled against your restraints as Theo trailed kisses down your torso. His lips were a searing brand against your skin, sucking and biting and marking your skin as though he was staking his claim on your body. His deft fingers unhooked your bra and his pupils were completely black as he ogled your chest.

With his lips latched around your nipple, Theo blinked innocently up at you. “I’m so fucking in love with you,” he murmured as he flicked his tongue over the stiffened peak. “You make me crazy, Y/N.”

You moaned as he sucked fervently, losing himself in the heat of your skin and the scent of your perfume. Roses and vanilla. Sweet and simple, just like his pretty girl. Theo groaned as he lavished your other nipple the same treatment.

There was such reverence and awe in the way that he touched you. For a brief moment, you forgot how truly vile he was because the second his fingers slipped inside of you and curved against that sweet spot, every ounce of common sense abandoned you.

“I bet Adrian would’ve never gotten you this wet, huh?”

Your eyes snapped open at the reminder. Somewhere underneath you, Adrian’s lifeless body was still bleeding out on your wooden floors. “You’re fucking awful — o —oh —“

The involuntary whimper that crawled up your throat was pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. Theo had ripped your panties to shreds and positioned the head of his cock over your folds, teasing and taunting at your entrance as you continued to resist.

“Theo, Theo, please,” you pleaded as he began to breach your cunt. You kicked your legs in the air and tilted your hips away from him, anything to keep him away from you, but it didn’t work.

Theo held your hips down, his large hands forming bruises on your skin. “Stay fucking still,” he growled against your neck before biting down hard.

Shocked, you stopped struggling and cried as the sting broke skin. Theo took the opportunity to push the head of his cock inside of you, making your eyes water from the sheer length of him. He was too big, it didn’t fit, it fucking hurt. But the desperate pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears as Theo fully sheathed himself in your warmth.

“So fucking tight,” Theo grunted as he slowly dragged his cock out of your pussy, entranced at the way your bodies melded together, watching your cunt clench around nothing before slamming all the way in. Your teeth clattered together from the force. “Dio mio, you feel so fucking good. I want to ruin you.”

Once more, he pulled out and pushed into your warmth, savoring the way you squeezed around him. The sensation made you dizzy with desire. Try as you might to fight it, every breach of his cock only stretched and filled you even more, the filthy sound of your pussy squelching with every thrust echoing in the room.

“Wanted this for so long,” Theo grunted. “You have no idea what it’s been like for me, cara mia.” His hips snapped against your ass while he drove deeper and deeper, thick cock kissing the tip of your cervix. “But now I finally get to have you all to myself.”

Your knees buckled, every brush of his cock within your snug walls weakening your resolve as he fucked you into the mattress. His pace was relentless, punishing, and it was all you could do to lose yourself in him completely.

“Don’t fight it, bella.” Theo murmured as he hiked your legs up over his shoulders. “I could be so good to you.” He punctuated his statement with a slam of his hips. “I know everything about you. Probably better than you know yourself. I’ve watched, I’ve waited, I’ve wanted.” Another slam caused you to writhe and arch your back off the bed. “No one else could ever love you like I do.”

A breathy moan pushed its way past your lips without your consent. Self-loathing made you flush with embarrassment; your body was betraying you in the worst way as your own slick dripped down your thighs while Theo angled your hips to sink in deeper. He had spoken true about knowing you better than you knew yourself, because he seemed to know how to caress you, how to kiss you, how to command you until you were teetering off the edge once again.

His long fingers circled your clit, stroking the sensitive bud in the exact same way that he had watched you touch yourself over the past few months. Theo was diligent in every sense of the word; his studious nature pushed him to perfection. The focus in which he devoted into pleasuring you was singular. He was obsessive and possessive; he was determined to make this good for you. His pretty girl deserved nothing but the best.

“You can’t deny that we’re a perfect fit,” he murmured, dead-eyed gaze drinking in the sight of him slipping in and out of you. You tried to avert your gaze, but Theo gripped your chun and forced you to watch. “Look how well you’re taking me. It’s like we were made for each other, my love.”

Words failed you at the heat of the moment and even if you regained the ability to speak, you wouldn’t know what to say. Theo took your silence for submission, his lips pressed against yours, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip while he pounded into you.

The instinct to fight dimmed with each urgent thrust, buried deep within the recesses of your mind. All you could do was moan in pleasure and Theo eagerly drank in every gasp and pant and whimper, studying your face as though he was committing every detail to memory.

“Please, please,” you panted. You weren’t quite sure whether you were begging him to stop or urging him to continue, but either way, Theo seemed to know exactly what you needed.

His kisses were open mouthed and filthy, swallowing your protests with the flick of his tongue. You jerked when Theo slapped your pussy, chuckling against your mouth before he kneaded his thumb against your tender nub harder and faster.

“Theo —“ The realization that your climax was near filled you with both excitement and indignation.

“Be a good girl and come for me, Y/N.”

You clenched as Theo squeezed your throat in his fist, momentarily robbing you of oxygen. Somehow its absence intensified the sensations. The combination of Theo pushing his cock into you again and again while his thumb stroked your clit harder and harder sent you barreling over the edge. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, making your legs shake and your walls spasm around his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Theo cursed, his resolve close to breaking. “Just like that, cara mia. Squeezing me so tight, milking my fucking cock dry.”

Stars burst behind your lids as his balls slapped against your clit, coaxing yet another orgasm out of you. Your mind went fuzzy with static. A faint ringing echoed in your ears while you trembled and convulsed.

“Such a good girl,” Theo grunted as he chased after his own pleasure. You were limp and boneless underneath him, unable to respond save for a pathetic whimper. “I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up with my cum, bella. You’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

You started to shake your head, but Theo paid the action no mind. “Take it, cara mia,” he said forcefully. “Take my cock, take my heart, take all of me.”

Your tits jiggled as he fucked you through his own orgasm, his thrusts growing erratic as he spilled his thick, hot cum inside of you. His eyes rolled back at the thought of filling you and stuffing you full of his seed. It overflowed past your sensitive, puffy folds and dripped down your thighs. Even when he pulled his softening cock out of you, Theo made sure to push it all back in with his fingers. You whimpered at the sensitivity between your legs as he leaned back to admire his work.

Theo seemed to take pity on you, tutting at the red circles around your wrist. “M’gonna take the cuffs off now, okay, bella?”

You nodded, trembling slightly when he finally unchained you from the bed. Theo cooed over your raw wrists, kissing and fawning over the sensitive skin. Taking full advantage of the distraction, you snatched the knife Theo had carelessly discarded by his thigh and drove the blade into his shoulder.

Theo hissed in surprise, his blue eyes widening. “You fucking stabbed me,” he declared incredulously. “You really fucking stabbed me.”

“Oh my God —“ you sobbed, regret flooding you all at once as your hands shook over the blade. “Theo, I didn’t mean — fuck, are you okay —“

The shock caused you to let your guard down, tears streaming down your face as the realization of what you had just done crashed over you. Despite the blade sticking out from his shoulder, Theo seamlessly switched positions so that you were straddling his lap.

Your right hand was frozen in place, still holding the blade while shaking violently. You expected anger and fear, but Theo only flashed you a lovesick smile as he wrapped his slender fingers around your wrist. “Don’t be shy, Y/N,” Theo teased. “You can do better than that, can’t you?”

You screamed as Theo drove the blade further into his shoulder, the wound splattering a rain of blood all over your face and hair. “Stop, stop it! Don’t. Theo, stop, please —”

Theo tilted his head and examined you with a curious expression. His gaze softened as you sobbed and trembled in his lap. In his silky voice, he whispered soothing words in your ear and stroked your back to calm your growing hysteria.

“Aw, you’re worried about me? That’s cute, bella.” The timbre of his voice almost sounded proud. “I wouldn’t waste your tears, though. I'll be fine. It’s just a silly little nick. Besides, now that I’ve had you, it won’t be that easy to get rid of me.”

You gasped as his hardness poked against your ass. How could he be fucking hard at a time like this? There was goddamn knife sticking out of his shoulder, for fuck’s sake!

“Look at you, crying over me.” His voice was husky with need as he rolled his erection against you. It seemed that not even a murder attempt could faze the man underneath you. If anything, Theo seemed turned on by it. God, he was so fucked up. “It’s a good sign, bella. It means that you care. To think, just moments ago, you said you hated me, but here you are concerned for my well being.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to listen to him speak. It only confused you more. Theo kissed your tears away and caressed your cheek. His violation of you earlier was a direct contradiction of the way he handled you with such gentleness and care, almost like you were something precious to him. You couldn’t reconcile the warring versions of him in your mind.

“Please, stop,” you murmured as you tried to cover your ears. “You’re confusing me.”

“There’s nothing to be confused about,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Clearly, you care about me. Otherwise, you would have aimed for my heart.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you whispered in a broken sob. “I just wanted — I wanted —”

In truth, you didn’t know what you wanted. It was all too traumatic and taxing to fully process. Theo pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Shh, hush now, principessa. I told you, I’ll take care of you. You never have to worry about anything ever again. You can trust me, I promise. I would never let anything or anyone hurt you. I’ll kill anyone who tries. I love you so fucking much.”

Theo gently pried your wrists away and kissed your fingertips. “You don’t love me yet,” he admitted in a wistful tone. “But you will, bella.”

#── .✦ stalker! theo. ‧ ₊˚ ⋅#theo nott #theo nott smut #theo nott fic #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine

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rentenier3148 · 2 months ago

Text

I Tried Not to Love You

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: You're an ex Avenger turned legislative assistant at the same time your ex boyfriend turned congressman. After avoiding him for years, Bucky calls you one night and asks for help. When a black void threat plunges the team, not only are you fighting the world—but also the versions of yourself you tried to forget.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warning: THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, So... so much angst, ex boyfriend and congressman Bucky (yes, it needs it's own warning), PTSD with a dark past, mentions of violence but nothing graphic, no use of y/n, not proofread

A.N: I did say I want to write something for Loki which is in the works! But I had to get this out of my head after watching Thunderbolts. Requests are open! I'll gladly make more!

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“Are you kidding me, Barnes?” You tell him frustrated over the phone pinching your nose bridge.

You’re sitting at home munching on some grapes you had in a bowl while you reviewed some pending bills waiting to be signed on your lap. The TV is on with a movie playing that you stopped paying attention to. It’s just some background noise to disturb the silence.

“I need someone who won’t flinch.” He said on the other line.

You haven’t talked to Bucky in years, you tried avoiding him after your break up. Until you found out he was running for congress at the same time you became a legislative assistant. Then the gala came that Valentina Allegra de Fontaine hosted is where you—unfortunately, but quite amusingly—encountered him again.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

The tux he wore made you gasp slightly and stand still for a good few seconds. He saw you eye him down and a small softness glazed over his face that nobody else would notice but you. Then you both looked away at the same time.

When you stood before the big ‘A’ he walked beside you. Quite frankly you didn’t notice him while you were reminiscing of your past as an Avenger. Maybe your keen assassin senses were starting to lack, or maybe his super soldier stealth was too good for you to catch up. You two were always butting heads about that.

“Didn’t think I would see you here.” He told you softly, he glanced my way but I stayed looking at the ‘A’. He pulled you out of whatever memory was playing in your head, and now you’re back to reality.

“Only here for the hors d’oeuvres and also my boss wanted me to gather information on others for an impeachment of someone.” You said with a sigh, like you were exhausted.

Bucky’s ears perked up. “Impeachment of who?” He asked but quieter this time. Hiding the fact he already knows who the suspected person is.

“It’s none of your business. Besides, why are you talking to me, congressman Barnes?” I say finally looking at him. I furrow my eyebrows at him, hoping it would scare him off but to no avail.

“I can’t compliment you and your outfit tonight, sweetheart?” He smiles the smile that makes you cause a flutter in your stomach. You hated it.

“No.”

“Well, you look absolutely beautiful tonight.”

You stayed quiet with the scowl on your face that’s contradicting with the blush slowly coming up your cheeks.

“Look, I know we ended things on bad terms back then. But since we’re in the same job now—why not at least be a bit friendly?” Bucky asks gently this time. That smile is still plastered on his face.

“I'd be more friendly if I was your assistant, but I’m not—aren't I? Plus if I was, one of us would've been dead by now.”

“I would love to be killed by you, doll.” He says playfully. I’ve had enough of his smile and petnames already.

“You’re infuriating.” You say as you quickly turn around and walk away. You didn’t notice the biggest breath of air he let out and his smile faltering as he remembers how much he loved you.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“So… his name is Bob?” You ask. It almost sounds like a joke. On the other side of the line you hear a faint ‘Yeah, Bob.’ and a sigh from Bucky.

“... I’ll go.” You said after a moment. Bucky on the other side sort of hoped you didn’t agree so that you could stay safe. But he has no other option and really needed you to help him out.

“I’ll send you the coordinates so be prepared to leave soon,” he says until he goes softer, “thanks, by the way.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You both stayed on the line until you finally tell him that you’ll be on the way. You hang up on him and stare off at the TV huffing a big sigh. You cannot believe that you got yourself roped into this. But you needed a bit of excitement anyway.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You are currently sitting in the back of a van on the way to the old Avengers tower—now called the Watchtower—where it held many fond and sad memories. You feel an ache in your stomach the closer you get.

Bucky and a bigger and older—though probably not as old as Bucky—man who you met named Alexei sit in the front while Bucky drives. You can slightly overhear them talking about being super soldiers and what kind of ‘super serum’ each one got.

“I don't know. Regular? Hydra.”

It’s an awkward silence between everyone else that you briefly met. You try to look anywhere else but at the others, but you guess the ceiling is quite appealing.

“How do you know Bucky?” Asks the blonde short haired girl. Yelena you faintly remember. You were best friends with her sister, Natasha. Yelena sought comfort in you after she died trying to find some type of closure. But you don’t think you helped her out much with that, and you get the sense she still feels the same way.

“We fought together when we were in the Avengers.” You intentionally kept it short and sweet. Yelena slightly squints her eyes at you—probably sensing I’m hiding more. A lot more.

The man with an odd copycat uniform of Steve’s Captain America suit—John—barks a short chuckle with a small shake to his head. You’re confused by his reaction.

A soft hum of acknowledgement from the other girl in the much cooler uniform comes out of her—Ava you think—until you crash into the tower.

You all get out of the van and start fighting the OXE group soldiers.

Then someone’s voice overhead speaks. It’s Valentina. She says that she intentionally left the doors unlocked and was expecting us. You watch Bucky headbutt a soldier as they hit the ground, making you slightly jump at the sight.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

Bucky’s arm is broken off as he is hauled to the wall. Bob—or Sentry as he is referred to now—sees you and comes towards you. You don’t know if it’s because of how terrified you are or because he is too quick, but he seemingly appears behind you and grabs your neck. Cutting off your oxygen supply and throws you hard against the wall making everything in your vision a bit blurry and feeling lightheaded.

You lift your head and see Bucky’s metal arm being picked up at the same time you are lifted by your feet and stumbling quickly to the elevator. The lights in the elevator are so bright that you don’t notice that Bucky was holding your side, gripping hard enough to not let you fall but supple enough to not hurt you further.

You all stumble out of the elevator and into the streets. The heated arguments commence between each other while you try your best to catch your breath. With your eyebrows knitted together, you take a look at Bucky as he reattaches his arm and does that swing thing to get it working again.

How it still makes your stomach flutter, but your emotions are so strong that you don’t notice.

“Are you okay?” He says to me with concern.

“James, what the hell was that?” You scold. “I didn’t agree to this, I agreed to help you get Bob and take down Valentina. Not almost die.”

“I… didn’t think this would happen.” he looks at me solemnly, a hint of regret behind that sentence.

“Yeah, like how you didn’t think I would be hurt after what you said that night.” You are full on angry and seeing red at this point.

It was bound to happen that you and him were to eventually work together. But not like this. You expected an office, writing memos and debate about the tax increase on produce. Quick, simple, and nothing more. This was more than that, and you were livid. Along with the past starting to resurface.

“What does that have to do with what’s going on now?” His eyebrows are now furrowed. By this point, everyone else had already walked away, you both were the only ones left in front of the tower.

“Oh, it has everything to do with what’s going on now. I really didn’t want to be part of this at all. And I really didn’t want to see you at the gala, much less have you talk to me. I wanted to never see you again because you let me go that night and I wanted so badly for you to come chasing after me… and yet you didn’t.”

A beat.

“I want to hate you so bad… but I can’t bring myself to do that sometimes…” you grew quieter with your head starting to hang low and your eyes staring at the concrete.

Bucky stood there listening to me. His eyebrows slowly unfurrowing and a sigh comes out of his mouth.

“I didn’t want to let you go that night. I couldn’t chase after you either, I thought that you didn’t want me around anymore. At the gala, you looked so stunning that I needed to talk to you. I couldn’t resist how beautiful you looked. I thought things were okay and that maybe I could fix things.” He spoke softly, as if he slightly raised his voice that you would disappear.

“Well obviously they aren’t okay. Especially now.” You huffed out, you looked up at him to fully see his sorrowful expression.

A quiet wave came over the both of you.

“I’m sorry, doll.”

“A bit late for that.”

Then suddenly a suspicious overcast started looming over you. You both look up with a squint and see a floating black figure, It’s hard to recognize who it is at all. Even the outfit and cape the figure wore was pitch black.

You see the figure stretch out their arm and slowly a black starts emerging from the ground. The moment it touched a person, it was just a shadow.

A panic crashes into you as you see people running, cars are crashing into each other, and a helicopter crashes into a building. The rubble starts falling, you and Bucky immediately run to rescue any standbyers who were about to be crushed.

Bucky saves an elderly couple by a car flying towards them with his metal arm sending the car flying over. I speed over to a little girl to grab her away from the falling rubble.

The blackness is starting to creep closer and closer.

From the corner of your eye, you see John trying to hold up a large piece of rubble from a mother and baby. You go over and try to hold it up as well, then everyone who had swarmed off came to help. Bucky was the last to join, you sensed his reluctance.

After saving the mother and baby, the six of you head over to find cover under an alcove in a building.

The blackness is quickly spreading, turning more and more people into shadows. You lean against the wall looking down at the ground, wondering what can be done. This is basically impossible, there’s no way to fight a thing that can turn people into shadows.

You’re taken out of your trance to see Yelena step out to confront the being. You stare off in shock when she's turned into a shadow. Something hits you on the inside which makes you realize what needs to be done—or perhaps a guess at trying to fix it.

You step out and follow Yelena’s footsteps immediately turning into a shadow.

You didn’t hear when Bucky cried out your name thinking that you had just made a suicidal decision.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You jolt awake, looking around your surroundings. You recognize it too well.

You’re standing in the warehouse of your first mission during your youth.

The organization was a hybrid between the Red Room and Hydra, it essentially was the worst of the worst. Training you and rehabilitating you to become their most perfect assassin. Potentially becoming better than their Winter Soldier program and the girls who were trained in the Red Room.

You stood with a pistol in your hand that’s aimed at the temple of your older sister. You remember that your age didn’t hit double digits yet while your sister just turned ten. Your sister is on her knees with her hands tied behind your back. Your job was to execute your family to prevent you from being held back and expressing empathy.

Your sister pleaded your name and cried to let her go. You did not want to remember anything else so you merely closed your eyes as you heard the ‘bang’ that little you produced from the pistol. Your breathing staggers, then you open your eyes.

The same scene is repeated. You go over and grab hold of the gun to stop little you from doing anything else.

“Don’t do this, please.”

“You’re in my way, you need to leave!” Little you squeaks, quickly positioning the gun to your face and pulling the trigger.

You seemingly open your eyes again to turn and see the same scene repeat again. Before doing anything else, you see an open door with a white light emitting from the other side. You run towards it and step through.

As you step through, you open another door. You looked back and it looks like you stepped out of a small storage closet with the warehouse completely gone. You look around and it’s your room back at the Avengers compound.

You see ahead of you the scene play out. Past you and past Bucky in the most heated argument you’ve ever had. You look outside the large panned windows of your room and recognize it’s night time.

It’s that night.

“I can’t believe you did that shit! Are you too stuck in your Winter Soldier ways? Is that why you turned on me?” Past you scolded.

“You know I had no choice, you would do the same if you were in my position. I know how blood thirsty you can be…” He says with a scowl. You notice the blood stained knuckles past Bucky has and past you’s hair was slightly damp from sweat and stress.

“I’m not as bloody thirsty as you, Winter Soldier.” Past you leaned closer with her finger pointing into his chest.

“Winter Soldier or not, I would’ve murdered you on the spot if I wanted to… And I really did.” Past Bucky said with no remorse. Not even a change of expression, from your perspective you could see a hint of Winter Soldier peeking through his pupils.

Past you was mortified at his emotionless retort. With a small breath in, she looked deep into his eyes and said those words that you—and possibly her—never thought you would ever say in your life.

“I’m done with you.”

With that, past you storm out of your room slamming the door. You watch past Bucky bury his face in his and a long breath comes out of his mouth.

He didn’t go chasing after past you.

A single tear also falls from your face. You feel a presence slightly behind you. You quickly turn around and see it’s Bucky.

Your Bucky.

You can’t contain it anymore and the flood gates open. A hitch escapes from you from the sight of him. Bucky comes over and holds you so tight as if the entire world depended on it.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Bucky whispers so gently. You cry into his chest, unable to produce any other word. But you feel like Bucky understood what you wanted to say.

The scene starts repeating itself. Neither of us could help to look at it again. It was already too painful to experience it a second time.

“I found a way outta here.” He tells you once you started to calm down. You look up at him and see a few tears falling from his eyes as he wipes yours away. His hand stays there a bit longer cupping your cheek and you both give in to a kiss.

It was deep and emotional that it almost made you cry again. You missed this so much, you’re certain that he does as well since his hands didn’t leave your face. Cradling you so soft and so warm, despite his cold vibranium hand and his flesh one.

It feels like eternity when you both finally separate. Bucky’s hands graces down your neck to your shoulders, however the vibranium hand is the one that holds one of yours to guide you to the supposed exit out of this nightmarish memory.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You wake up on the ground all sprawled out. Your head is pounding with a fading memory. The last thing you remember was holding back Bob from beating up his ‘Void’ with everyone else holding on as well.

Also when we all reunited within the ‘Void’ someone asked about how our pasts were and Bucky said a sarcastic comment. “Oh I have a great past, so I’m totally fine.” or something along those lines with that stupid smirk he sometimes gives.

You slowly gather yourself up and push your hair out of your face. You notice everyone else is getting up as well, then you see Bucky. You both embrace and lips crash. The moment was shortened when you overhear the others checking in on Bob who’s no longer the other ‘him’.

Turns out, he doesn’t remember a thing and is just happy to know that he’s back with his friends.

You all spot Valentina Allegra de Fontaine getting up from the rubble. We walk up towards her as she tries to defend herself and walks behind a plastic sheet. From behind it, we are encountered with the press. The flashing lights and shuttering noise of the cameras overwhelm you that you don’t even hear Valentina introducing the lot of you as the ‘New Avengers’.

But you do see Yelena going up to Valentina and whisper something in her ear—a potential threat—as she falters slightly.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“I don’t think Avengers with a ‘Z’ is gonna cut it…” You say concerningly to Alexei.

“It’s so soft too! It feels like the bottom of a baby seal. ‘Lena touch it.” Alexei proclaims in his new ‘Avengerz’ jumpsuit as he walks to Yelena and stretches out his arm inviting her to feel the… softness.

“No. I don’t want to touch the bottom of a baby seal.” Yelena sternly says without looking up at him.

You sigh and lay back on the couch. You never would have thought that Sam—of all people—would have a lawsuit against us. He is Bucky’s closest confidant and someone he considers as family. You’re sure that Bucky feels a little backstabbed by all this.

You glance up at Bucky, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks down in deep thought. You place your hand on his lower back and draw circles of comfort on them. Bucky looks back at you and gives you a small kiss. This—unfortunately—catches the attention of Alexei.

“Wait, since when did you and him become… a thing?” He points between us trying to connect the pieces together.

“Since last year right? Our anniversary was a few months ago.” You say calmly while Bucky tries to—very poorly—hide his gentle smile.

“Months?!” Everyone says in unison.

You draw an awkward smile at everyone with a prolonged “Yeah…” and a giggle right after.

“So there was more of a history between you two, huh?” Yelena confidently says. Her suspicions a year ago were proven correct.

“A lot more history.” Bucky quietly says looking back at you confirming his statement. You just softly nod back with a hum.

“Wonder when we’ll know the rest…” Ava says quietly.

Silence hits the room, until the suction of Bob’s milkshake ignites a lightbulb in your brain. You stand up immediately.

“You know, if Sam is going to file a lawsuit against us he’s gonna have a good lawyer with him.”

Everyone chimes in, intrigued but confused at what you’re trying to say.

You start pacing the room with a finger on your chin, Bucky could probably see the gears turning extra hard.

“That means we’re gonna need a lawyer.”

“Well duh, how else is this supposed to go down? We represent ourselves?” John retorts to you while fiddling with the unlabeled buttons of his chair.

“I think that wouldn’t go well if we did, you know… since my other ‘me’ did that last year… um, yeah.” Bob says out loud from his secluded spot, then returns to drinking his milkshake.

Your pacing stops as you look at everyone in the room, a devious smirk spreads your cheeks. Bucky also smirks, but you don’t think he has the same idea as you do.

“I know a lawyer… a really good lawyer…”

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

I really love all the engagement on my series so far! I promise I'll return to it soon. If you want to be tagged, just comment or pm me and I'll add you. Thanks for reading!! <3

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honeyncherry · 4 months ago

Text

we never tell - joe burrow

summary who could blame you? the night before thanksgiving was never meant to be innocent — especially not when the boy you’ve known forever looks at you like he’s already decided to ruin you

content 18+, smut, language, alcohol

part one ; next

The bar is loud. Too loud. Voices crash over each other, music shaking the walls, laughter splintering through the chaos. The air swirls with spilled beer, sweat, and cheap perfume. A cocktail of regret already in the making. It all clings to you, settling within your skin.

The heat inside is nearly unbearable, a sharp contrast to the biting Ohio cold just beyond the fogged-up windows.

You push through the crowd, brushing past bodies pressed too close together, faces blurring under the neon glow. Familiar ones. Unfamiliar ones. Ones you hoped you’d never see again.

Same bar, same people, same exhausting routine playing out like clockwork.

You don’t usually look forward to this night — this annual reunion of your hometown’s finest washed-up athletes, ex-prom queens, and guys who still bring up their glory days at state championships like they happened yesterday.

But it’s tradition.

And tradition says you show up, smile when people ask about the semester thus far, dodge questions about your major, sip overpriced drinks, and pretend you care about who got engaged or knocked up this year.

This is only your second Blackout Wednesday.

Sophomore year means you’re not a newbie anymore, but you’re not a regular either. You know the drill now. The way the bartenders barely glance at the fake IDs slid across the counter, even though they grew up with half the people using them.

You’ve watched guys you went to elementary school with order rounds of shots like they didn’t once throw up grape juice in the cafeteria. Girls who used to sneer at you in the hallways now drunkenly grabbing your hand in the bathroom, slurring about how much they "missed you soooo much."

It’s all fake. A well-rehearsed play where everyone pretends they aren’t counting down the minutes until they can escape this town again.

Still, you’re here.

Because what else is there to do?

You’re halfway through your first drink when you see Joe.

It shouldn’t be surprising, Thanksgiving means everyone comes home.

Home from his first year at LSU, taller and broader, shoulders filling out the long-sleeved black shirt stretched over his frame. He looks different, but not in a way that makes you stare, more in a way that makes you double-take.

You remember when he was deciding where to go after graduating OSU. The transfer talk had stretched through the beginnings of the year, the same names cycling through every conversation your brother and his friends had at the house. North Carolina? Nebraska? Alabama?

And then it happened:

Cincinnati.

Your head had perked up. Just slightly. Just enough for you to feel stupid about it later.

It wasn’t like it would’ve meant anything. It wasn’t like you would’ve seen him, not really. The University of Cincinnati was huge and you were wrapping up your freshman year. You weren’t sure why it even mattered. Why, for a brief second, the idea of your worlds overlapping for the first time beyond family ties, felt like something worth entertaining.

But then, suddenly, it wasn’t a thought at all.

Because LSU happened.

And when his family held that small going-away gathering, there was no red and black in sight. No UC decorations, no Bearcat colors bleeding into the napkins or tablecloths. Just purple and gold. Bold, glaring, almost mocking.

You remember standing in front of the dessert table, staring at royal frosting of all things like it had personally insulted you.

Some nights, when the dorm was too quiet and your phone screen was the only light in the room, you’d find yourself typing his name into Google. Just once. Just to check.

Never interest. Never anything more.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

It wasn’t hard to keep up. LSU was making noise, and so was he. His name started popping up in articles, on Twitter, tucked into game recaps with words like poised and potential thrown around like confetti. You’d skim them, half-engaged, never needing to look too hard because if you didn’t see his name online, you’d hear it from your mom.

"Robin says Joe’s adjusting well down there…" she’d mention casually, somewhere between asking if you needed more laundry detergent and updating you on which neighbors had finally sold their house.

Sometimes, she’d go on. He really likes Baton Rouge… Jimmy says the coaches are impressed�� Robin says they miss having him around.

But sometimes, she wouldn’t.

And when enough time passed without a mention, without hearing his name tucked neatly into conversation like it had always been, you’d find yourself searching again.

Just to know.

And then you’d close the tab, lock your phone, roll over in bed, and never think about it again.

Until now.

Because now, he’s here, standing in the middle of your hometown bar like he isn’t creeping into conversations, like his name isn’t slipping into headlines, like he isn’t the reason some guy at the other end of the counter is repping purple and gold instead of Bengals orange.

He’s different. Or maybe it’s just that, for the first time, you’re seeing him as something other than the annoying older boy who was always there, easy to roll your eyes at and even easier to ignore.

You look away.

It doesn’t matter.

Or at least, it shouldn’t.

But something lingers. The kind of awareness that prickles along your skin, that makes your fingers tense around your drink, that keeps your shoulders squared even as you force yourself to focus on something else.

He’s not looking at you.

Not that you can tell.

But you can feel him.

Somewhere past the crush of people near the bar, past the bodies leaning against sticky tabletops, past the haze of smoke and too-loud music and bad decisions waiting to happen: he’s there.

And maybe it’s just in your head, it could be nothing. Maybe it’s that he’s familiar, but not in the way he used to be.

Because you know the set of his shoulders, the way he pushes his hand through his hair when he’s thinking, the way his jaw tenses when he’s listening but not speaking.

You know him without knowing him.

And yet, the weight of his presence is pressing into you like a hand at the small of your back.

You huff and try to shake it off.

"Bathroom?" one of your friends says beside you, looping her arm through yours before you can respond.

You let her pull you along, weaving through the throng of people, past someone attempting to order another round, past a couple making out against the wall like they’ve forgotten they’re in public.

The bathroom is a war zone, as expected.

Girls pressed together in front of the mirrors, smudging eyeliner with unsteady hands, fixing lipstick that’s already faded from stolen kisses and mixed drinks. Strangers throwing compliments like candy: oh my god, your hair looks amazing and I love your dress, where’d you get it? whispered between girls who wouldn’t acknowledge each other outside of tonight.

You slip into a stall, locking the door, leaning against it for just a second.

The bass vibrates through the walls. The distant hum of voices, the occasional burst of laughter. You inhale deeply, steadying yourself.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

And if you say it enough times, maybe you’ll believe it.

By the time you wash your hands and step back into the crowd, your drink is gone, condensation leaving a damp circle on the table where you left it. Your friends have drifted toward the dance floor, the blur of movement and music swallowing them whole.

You decide on another drink, pushing your way toward the bar and waiting your turn only for someone to shove past at the last second, slamming a twenty onto the counter and barking out their order over the noise.

Your eyes narrow. Brandon Wilkes.

Of course it’s him. Always cutting ahead, always acting like he was owed something. You roll your eyes and shoot him a glare, resisting the urge to call him out. Some things never change.

"Didn’t think I’d see you here."

The words slip through the noise — smooth like they belong there.

Your breath catches. A pause, just long enough for recognition to crawl up your spine.

Joe.

Closer than before, the sharp angles of his face softened by dim lighting, his eyes flickering with something unreadable as they settle on yours.

You swallow, tilting your chin slightly. "Didn’t think I’d see you either."

His lips twitch. Not quite a smile, but something close. "Guess we’re all bound to make a few questionable decisions tonight."

You nod, shifting your weight onto your other foot. "Wouldn’t be Blackout Wednesday without a little regret."

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Regret, huh?"

"Regret," you confirm.

His eyes flicker down to your empty hand, then back up, considering. "What are you drinking?"

It’s not a question, more like a next move.

You hesitate for a second before giving him the answer.

Before you can even think about ordering yourself, Joe lifts a hand, barely even a motion, and the bartender is there in an instant. Of course.

You bite back a scoff as she leans in, all too eager, but Joe doesn’t so much as glance at her. Just gives your order, smooth and easy, like it was never up for debate.

And just like that, the bartender slides a fresh drink across the counter, and Joe beats you to it, picking it up before you can reach for it.

Your fingers brush when he hands it to you.

And it’s nothing.

But it’s also not.

You take a sip, watching him over the rim of your glass. "Trying to get me drunk, Burrow?"

His smirk deepens. His tongue flicks over his bottom lip, quick, unconscious. He leans in just slightly, just enough to see if you’ll move. "Don’t think you need my help with that."

Your stomach flips and you hate that it does. You hate the way your body reacts before your mind can catch up. The way the bar suddenly feels too warm, the noise fading into something distant, like nothing else matters except the inches of space between you.

It’s reckless. It’s stupid.

It’s inevitable.

One drink turns into two.

Two turn into stolen glances, subtle but unmistakable. A slow, unraveling pull that neither of you acknowledge out loud.

The brush of his arm against yours, the warmth of his skin radiating through the fabric of your sleeves. The way your conversations slip into something easier than they should be, like you’ve done this before, like you’ve always known how to hold a conversation between each other.

And then a touch.

A simple thing, really.

It’s subtle at first, fingers grazing the fabric of your shirt like a passing thought, something fleeting and unintentional. But then he doesn’t move away. Instead, his hand sticks, settling against your waist, his thumb brushing over your side in a way that feels effortless but also like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away.

He leans in, voice low, threading through the noise of the bar like it belongs there. His breath is warm against your skin, steady, even, completely at ease. The conversation around you dissolves into background static, something distant and irrelevant, because suddenly, this is the only thing you can focus on.

Your breath catches, you glance up, and that’s the moment everything shifts.

Because when you meet his gaze, when you catch the flicker of something dark, something hungry in his expression, you know.

And so does he.

All you can hear is the low thud of the bass and the shallow breath you take in when Joe shifts closer, when the heat of him presses into your side. His palm flexes just slightly, enough for you to feel it, enough to make your stomach tighten.

And then he leans in.

Slow. Unhurried. Like he’s savoring the moment before it happens.

His breath is warm against your skin when he speaks, just for you. "You gonna stop me?"

You should.

You know you should.

You should think about what happens after this, about how easy it would be to fall into something that was never meant to be.

But you don’t.

Your body betrays you first, tilting toward him, your fingers brushing his forearm where it rests against the bar. His jaw tenses at the contact, his fingers curling tighter against you, his head tipping down just slightly, just enough for his lips to hover above yours.

His eyes flicker, searching yours, asking a question without saying a word.

And you answer by not moving away.

It would be so easy.

So easy to close the gap. So easy to give in, to let this spiral into something neither of you can take back.

But then—

A sharp burst of laughter, too close, too jarring, snaps you back into reality. A body stumbles into Joe’s back, jostling both of you just enough to break the moment. The spell fractures, and you blink, breath catching in your throat as the bar crashes back into focus. It’s loud and crowded. Filled with too many people, too many eyes.

Joe’s gaze flicks past you, scanning the room. His fingers squeeze once more against your skin before he pulls back. "Come on," he murmurs, barely audible over the noise.

Your pulse pounds as he nods toward the door. You hesitate for less than a second before following behind him, glancing over your shoulder and realizing everyone is too busy to notice the two of you leaving together.

The air outside is crisp, sharp against your flushed skin, but it does nothing to cool you down. Joe walks ahead, his pace slow and measured like he’s thinking. Like he’s trying not to think.

The parking lot is mostly empty, just a few cars left. You recognize his truck instantly, parked toward the back under a flickering street lamp and distant from the other cars.

He stops beside the driver’s side, one hand gripping the handle, the other resting against his side. He exhales, his breath visible in the air and his head tips back slightly before he looks at you.

It’s different out here.

No music to drown out your thoughts. No crowd to get lost in. Just the sound of the wind, the distant hum of traffic, the weight of his stare. The space between you feels bigger now, stretched thin by the cold and the quiet. More time to think. More time to overthink.

His gaze locks onto you like he’s seeing something he can’t turn away from and that makes his jaw shift, fingers twitching at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to move, to close the last bit of space between you.

But then he does.

A step forward. Then another.

His hand lifts, fingertips grazing your wrist first, barely there, before slowly sliding up the length of your arm. His palm finds your waist, the same way it had inside, only now there’s nothing stopping him.

His lips part like he’s about to say something, but instead he dips his head, his nose brushing along your temple before his mouth finds your jaw. The first drag of his lips is barely a kiss, more of a test, a question traced against your skin to make sure this is real.

Like he needs you to know that this is happening.

"Tell me you want this."

The words come out against the soft skin beneath your ear. His lips linger, moving slowly, tracing a path down your jaw, stopping just at the corner of your mouth.

Your body answers before you do. Your fingers tighten into the fabric of his shirt, your breath hitching and head tilting slightly, giving him more. Giving into him.

"Tell me." His pulse hammers beneath your touch, a steady, thrumming beat against your palm as your hands slide higher, over his shoulders, curling around the back of his neck. Joe exhales sharply, the sound making it seem like he’s barely holding himself together.

You don’t answer him with words.

You tilt your chin up, closing the space between you, pressing into him until there’s nothing left but heat. Your lips part, hovering just close enough that you can feel his breath mix with yours, can feel the way he’s waiting, hanging onto the moment like he needs it just as badly as you do.

And then, he gives in.

His mouth crashes against yours, a searing pull that steals the breath from your lungs. His fingers tighten at your waist, flexing like he’s making sure you don’t slip away, like letting go isn’t an option.

The kiss starts slow, but it doesn’t stay that way. Not when your nails scrape lightly against the nape of his neck. Not when he groans against your lips, the sound low and raw, before his grip tightens, his other hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you into him.

He pulls you closer and closer until there’s nothing left between you but heat and the undeniable weight of whatever this is. His tongue slips past your lips, deepening the kiss, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes you, the sound swallowed by his mouth.

His hands are everywhere; on your waist, your back, your hips — all like he can’t decide where to touch you first, like he’s trying to memorize every curve of your body.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling with each labored breath. His eyes search yours, "get in the truck."

You don’t hesitate. You climb into the backseat, the leather cold against your hands, but you barely notice. Joe follows, his movements quick and borderline impatient as he shuts the door behind him. The space is intimate, the windows already fogging up from the heat of your bodies.

Joe’s hands are on you again, laying you down gently while his fingers sliding underneath the hem of your top. His lips find yours once more, his kiss harder this time, more demanding. You can feel the need in him, the way he’s holding back, the way he’s trying to keep control.

But when your hands slide down his chest, feeling the hard lines of his body through the fabric of his shirt, he groans against your lips, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. "You’re driving me fucking crazy.” His hands slither up your thighs, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans.

"Do something about it," you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears it. His eyes darken, his jaw tightening. Before you can say anything else, he’s pulling your jeans down, his hands rough but careful, like he’s afraid of breaking you.

A flicker of self-consciousness washes over you, but it disappears as quickly as the heat of his body sinks into you, settling himself between your legs. His hands caress your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. "Couldn’t stop looking at you all night,” he mutters, almost to himself.

You can feel the hardness of him pressing against you, the sensation stealing the air from your lungs. You lift up to capture his lips, nipping at him, unable to stop the way your hips instinctively arch to meet him. Your body moves on its own, desperate for more.

Joe’s breath hitches, his lips trailing a path of fire as they move lower, scattering kisses across your collarbone. His hands, calloused yet gentle, slide up your sides, pushing the fabric of your top higher until your skin is exposed to the chill of the truck’s interior. But you can’t feel the cold, not when his touch burns hotter than anything else.

“So soft,” he murmurs, his voice almost reverent as his fingers trace the curve of your waist. His touch is slower now, as though he’s savoring every inch of you. His lips follow, kissing a line down your sternum, his breath warm against your skin.

You shiver, your hands tangling in his hair and urging him closer. His name escapes your lips in a whisper, a sound that seems to ignite something deep within him. He groans, the vibration of it sending a jolt through you.

His eyes flick up to yours, and for a moment he just watches. His chest rises and falls with the same urgency that’s coursing through your veins, and then, without a word, he lowers his head again, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your panties.

Your back arches, a soft gasp escaping you as his hands move up your thighs, his fingers hooking into the lace and sliding them down. His touch is teasing as if he’s testing your limits.

When his lips finally meet the heat between your legs, you nearly cry out. His mouth is warm, his tongue sliding against you in a slow, skilled motion that has your fingers tightening in his hair. He’s relentless, his movements measured yet unwavering as though he’s determined to unravel you completely.

“Jesus—” he chokes out your name, his voice muffled against you. “Taste so good,” the vibrations of his words send a shiver up your spine. His hands grip your hips and hold you in place as his tongue circles that one sensitive spot, driving you closer to the brink with every flick, every stroke.

You can feel the tension building, coiling tight in your core, but Joe doesn’t let up. His pace quickens, his tongue moving faster, more urgently, until you’re gasping for air, your hips bucking against him.

“Joe, I—I can’t—” you stammer, your voice breaking as the pleasure crests, threatening to overwhelm you.

But he doesn’t stop. His hand trails up, fingertips skimming over your stomach, teasing, exploring, until he reaches the lace of your bra. There’s no hesitation, just an easy push of the cup, baring you to him. His thumb grazes over your nipple before he pinches, rolling it between his fingers, his grip firm, possessive.

The sensation sends a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your belly as the sharp edge of pleasure tightens, unraveling the last threads of restraint. Your body tenses, a cry slipping from your lips as the wave builds, crests, and crashes over you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

Joe doesn’t stop — not yet. His mouth still moves against you, coaxing out every last shudder, every last breathless moan. His hands hold you steady, his grip firm, grounding, as if he’s keeping you tethered to him while you fall apart.

When he finally pulls back, his lips glisten and he watches you — really watches you. For a split second, something flickers in his eyes. Guilt? Hesitation? Regret?

But then it’s gone.

His gaze darkens, hands sliding up to frame your face, thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles over your cheeks. Like he needs you to feel it, to feel him. To know he’s here.

And then he moves.

His body presses flush against yours, the heat of him searing through the layers still between you, his length hard and insistent against your thigh. The thought, the uncertainty, dissolves beneath the weight of him, beneath the way his mouth finds yours in another kiss, deeper this time, hungrier.

You taste yourself on his tongue, and the sound that leaves you is nothing short of desperate. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, gripping, pulling, needing more.

Joe groans, the sound reverberating between you as his hips roll forward, grinding against you, the friction sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you. His breath shudders against your lips, his hands tightening where they hold you, like he’s just as lost in this as you are.

“Please,” you beg, your voice trembling with need.

Joe hesitates, his eyes locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering in their depths. His jaw tenses, his breath uneven, and then he nods, his fingers curling around the waistband of his jeans. The sound of his zipper is deafening in the quiet of the truck, each metallic click sending another pulse of anticipation through you.

And then he’s there, guiding himself to you, his breath catching as he pushes inside.

A sharp gasp escapes you, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in as he stretches you, inch by excruciating inch. He goes slow, like he’s savoring every second, his forehead pressing against yours when he finally sinks all the way in. His body shudders against you, “you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his voice rough, almost pained.

Your fingers twitch against his skin, needing more, needing to feel him. You reach for his shirt, bunching the fabric, pushing it up just enough to reveal the solid warmth of his stomach, the defined ridges of his abdomen. Your palms slide over him, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips, the way his muscles tense under your touch.

He grunts at the contact, his body responding instantly. His hips shift, just slightly, but the movement is enough to have you whimpering, your legs tightening around his waist, pulling him deeper.

That’s all the encouragement he needs.

His grip on your hips tightens as he starts to move, slow at first, dragging every thrust out like he wants to commit this to memory. But it doesn’t last, his control frays too quickly and soon, he’s driving into you with a force that steals the air from your lungs.

The sounds between you; his breath, ragged and uneven, the wet slap of skin against skin, the soft creak of leather beneath you, fill the small space, drowning out the world beyond the truck.

Every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you, every noise he makes only fuels the fire burning inside you. His hands roam, gripping, teasing, pushing you closer to the edge until it’s too much, until the pleasure coils so tight you feel like you might snap.

“Joe, I’m—” The words are barely out before he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that has your vision blurring, your body bowing into him, every thought dissolving into pure sensation.

He groans, his pace quickening, his thrusts turning rougher, more desperate, his breath hot against your skin. “C’mon,” he rasps, voice thick with need. “Let me feel it.”

And you do.

Your body tightens, your back arching as pleasure overtakes you, crashing through you in waves, leaving you breathless, trembling beneath him. The sound that escapes you is involuntary, raw, and it sets something off in him. Joe follows a second later, his hips stuttering, his movements turning jerky as he buries himself deep, a ragged groan ripping from his throat as he comes.

For a moment, the only thing that exists is the sound of your heavy breathing, tangled together, filling the confined space of the truck. His forehead presses against yours, his body still trembling with the aftershocks, and for just a second, everything else fades.

But then his grip on you loosens. The heat of his hands disappears, replaced by the cool air settling in the space between you. Reality creeps back in, slow but certain.

Joe exhales, shifting back against the seat, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of uneven breaths. He moves sluggishly, almost like he’s reluctant, lifting his hips just enough to drag his boxers and jeans back up. His fingers fumble with the button before securing it, and then he rakes a hand through his damp hair.

And just like that, the shift is instant.

The momentary haze shatters, and cold clarity rushes in.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, your skin still tingling where his hands had been, but the weight of what just happened slams into you all at once.

You move fast, scrambling to pull your pants up, to fix your shirt, to smooth down the mess of your hair — to piece yourself back together before it all slips too far out of reach. Your fingers shake as you fumble with the fabric, your breath still uneven, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

You need to leave.

Just for a second, your eyes lock with his. Joe doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t try to stop you. He just watches with an unreadable expression and parted lips, like he might speak.

But he doesn’t.

You don’t wait for him to. Your fingers wrap around the door handle and you push it open, stepping out into the night. The air is sobering, biting against your skin, but it does nothing to take away the feel of him.

You don’t look back, because no amount of distance can undo what’s already been done.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow angst #joe burrow x you

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iamespecter · 4 months ago

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My phone's battery keeps dying (I think something's wrong with it) but I cooked a little bit more on this Doctor!Caine and Patient!Pomni idea.... and this may or may not become bigger than The Amazing Digital Roadtrip.....

My mental illness cannot be contained!!!!!!!!!!!! Also these designs are subject to change because yes ✌️

Things I've come up with last afternoon while going crazy from the lack of dopamine are:

- Abstraction is currently determined to be a terminal illness

- It's contagious via skin-on-skin contact, and can be inherited through genes

- it can even bloom late in life, but that doesn't mean everyone that the patient has touched before is immediately affected

- The physical symptoms are inky black "cracks" forming along the skin, physical degradation, loss of saturation and many more

- Depending on a lot of factors, this illness can be aggressive, or at most be dormant.

- Once it reaches the patient's brain, it is too late

- But the progress of abstraction can also be delayed through amputation, depending on where the "source" is

- It only really affects "organic" stuff

- Which means AI robots are immune, and can touch the patient as much as they want without risk of infecting themselves

- Kinger is the CEO/Founder of the AI Association that focuses on the research about Abstraction, and how to cure it

- He is also, strangely enough, kinda immune? idek he seems fine except he's a bit cuckoo

- Because of it's contagiousness, people who suffer from the abstraction illness are GREATLY FEARED by others

- People who have the illness have to wear a lot of protection (such as gloves, face mask, etc.) in order to even interact with the outside world

- They also need to have their AI Doctor/Nurse with them AT ALL TIMES.

About the main pairing:

- Pomni is the only daughter of Kinger and the late Queenie

- She used to be more upbeat early in her life, until Queenie passed. She then became depressed, and it only got worse as her illness began to show and she became cynical as a result, believing she'll die early, and alone

- Caine was named and created based off of the image of Pomni's imaginary friend during her childhood, in order to ease her into accepting Caine as her personal doctor

- This did NOT, in fact, ease her into accepting Caine as her personal doctor because what the fuck.

- Pomni hates AIs for being unable to save Queenie.

- She also thinks that her new doctor won’t be able to save her, and that her dad’s efforts to delay her situation are fruitless.

- Part of her still clings onto hope. However, said part is also dying.

- Caine is a test prototype of a model that’s supposed to handle (and even possibly cure) the symptoms of abstraction, so there’s defo a lotta pressure on his shoulders

- Especially when he gets assigned to SPECIFICALLY THE DAUGHTER OF THE CEO WHO OWNS HIM

- He’s also one of the first AIs to not only be psuedo-sentient, but also self-evolving; in order to be able to adjust to patient needs and wants.

- He can “manifest” anything physical as long as it’s within the size limit of his own physical manifestation. For example, if Pomni is hyperventilating; he can manifest a pair of artificial lungs that pump oxygen in order to give her breathing space. (You know what that means)

- Not only is he able to float, he is also able to carry Pomni like she weighs like a couple of grapes because this is not me being self-indulgent and thinking he should carry her bridal style all the time (lie), this is me saying “it’s for emergencies when Pomni is too weak to even stand or walk”

- Pomni hated Caine A LOT at first because she hated having to be co-dependent on this walking life support so yes this is an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers kinda story (except it was one-sided "enemies")

- As the story progresses, Pomni clings onto the hope of not just surviving, but also living again; as Caine learns what it means to be not just existing, but alive!!! because me and my homies love stories about positivity and hope amongst shitty situations!!!!

- And then they fuck. Oh yes, they fuck eventually. And they fuck a lot after that

I don’t care this is MY story, MY AU, I will do whatever the fuck I want!!!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAA

I have no idea if I want some of the gang to be AI Doctors/Nurses too but erm. we'll see

#ziku's insane rambles #tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc au #pomni #caine #caine x pomni #pomni x caine #showtime shipping #showtime ship #showtime #The Preposterous Digital Lifeline AU #Lifeline AU #Lifeline Pomni #Lifeline Caine #Yes I'm nicknaming this AU “Lifeline” because FUCK IT WE BALLLLLLLLL #some suggestive stuff #so ummmmm #yeah

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whatever-vi-is-thinking · 1 year ago

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i feel like this wasnt the point but wtv. An i the only one who thought it was just a teensy weensy minor itty bitty tiny winy bit odd that Dana own a chicken and waffles joint 😭. LIKE THAT IS CRAZY RIGHT??? or am i trippin. Im new around here but my black spidey senses raised they’re eyebrow at that. Not only that but like she talks about wanting late night grits almost in the same breathe???? i aint never in all the big ole years of my life heard of any nga eatin no late night grits what are we doing. Like idk i just found it a little wierd that her place HAD to be chicken and waffles. She couldn’t own a burger joint? an ice cream parlor? a cute little breakfast cafe? Are chicken and waffles and grits important to her character in a way that I’m not aware of? (this may be the case idrk that much about dc YET!) but this feels like some low key on the low on the slide like a minor offense. and in the year of our lord 2024 at that? 😬

someone PLEASE tell me im trippin tho PLEASE like omg

also can we take pause to notice jasons reaction at the end of their initial conversation, and according to my scientific deductions and the calculations and pythagorean theorum, Jason Peter Todd loves a black woman from infinity to infinity!

i really feel like im trippin but please let me know lol

end of post!

"Killer Croc. Aren't you supposed to be locked away in Arkham? -Cut a deal. Early release for good behaivor. Aren't you missing some Outlaws? That Artemis is smokin'. -Step out. Let's do this."

Red Hood: The Hill (2024) #0.

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wonwauu · 6 months ago

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god i js had a thought, what if we edge/tease diluc for his whole shift at the tavern and he’s a pent up and flustered by the end of his shift and begging us to touch him!!

i love this too much, cheers to a new year with new beginnings.

as the owner of the dawn winery, diluc does not have free time to overlook his job at the angel's share. he's swamped with work, from making sure that the exports of the winery's famous dandelion wine goes smoothly, to maintaining an amazing reputation in order to keep his clan's business alive.

however, after diluc has met you, he's allocated time to work at the angel's share in order to spend time with you.

as the sun sets, the angel's share fills with bustling noises. laughter erupts from drinkers celebrating their latest feats. you push open the door, greeted by your lovely partner's smile as he notices your presence.

a familiar bard also welcomes you, albeit a bit too enthusiastically. "ahaa~ you always have a dopey smile whenever they're around. welcome! wanna be my drinking partner for the night?" venti leans a bit to face you, but you can tell the amount of drinks he had due to the blush across venti's face.

"hi venti, i would love to be your drinking partner, just don't pass out again." you chuckle, "diluc, i thought you weren't working today?" venti pats an open seat next to him as he orders another drink.

diluc lets out a sigh, glancing at venti then looking back at you taking a seat in front of him. "my workload has decreased significantly, so i decided to pick up a shift tonight."

"well i'm glad we have a chance to talk in person, i haven't seen you in weeks." you're a very popular adventurer, just returning back from a tough mission in sumeru that required more of your time than expected.

"i can say the same. the dawn winery has felt empty since your departure." diluc turns around to grab a bottle of grape juice, knowing that you both enjoy this drink.

venti hiccups as he looks at you, then at diluc. "i need another drink before i can get used to diluc's puppy eyes." venti fakes a gag sound as he promptly rests his head on your arm.

"you feel nice and cool." venti grabs your hand and rests his cheeks on it. he knows that diluc gets extremely jealous and loves to tease him with you.

"this is an unexpected perk of being a hydro vision wielder," you glance back at diluc who's currently staring into venti's soul. there's a little crack that forms on the glass that he's cleaning.

"aww baby, don't be jealous; you know that venti will fall asleep instantly from having too many drinks." glancing over at venti, you didn't have to finish your sentence to see him already passed out.

gently removing your hand off of venti’s face, you lean over the table to your partner. "you'll get lots of love once we go home", you coo at his reaction; ears burning as a blush forms on his face.

although you're dating diluc, you've made the decision to not use petnames in public. this is mainly to save diluc's face as he gets very flustered from any form of public affection.

as you get up, venti's arm knocks over your glass of grape juice, spills on diluc's stomach and pants.

diluc hisses, not amused by the new stain on his white shirt and black trousers. "baby..." you walk behind the counter, grabbing a tablecloth to help with the purple stain.

you feel diluc squirm under your touch. "not.. not in public." he shields his face, feeling the heat spread through his cheeks. "babe, if you don't stay still, this stain will spread. plus, everyone's drunker than venti and he's knocked out right now. they won't care what we're doing." you grip onto his waist, holding him in place as you continue to unintentionally brush over his crotch.

you weren't wrong though. although there was chatter in the tavern, it was barely comprehensible as everyone got extremely drunk.

"diluc, are you really getting hard in public? i never knew you're into this." you place down the tablecloth and run your hand over his bulge, earning the sweetest whimper from his mouth.

oh how you've missed that sound. "you're delusional, with all this touching.." he decides to not finish his sentence as he's embarrassed to admit that your touch got him hard at his workplace.

"reallyy? it seems like you're eager for this.." you unzip his pants, revealing his bulge that's forming a wet spot.

diluc's ears match the colour of his hair, "we can't do this, now in front of venti."

"baby, he's not even going to notice anything, trust me." you pull out his cock from his underwear, revealing his red tip, leaking precum.

he's been craving your touch since you left weeks ago, even though diluc's words are showing hesitancy, you can see it in his eyes how much he wants this.

after all, you know him too well. before diluc can let out another word, you start slowly but firmly jerking him off, occasionally swiping your palm over his tip.

your other hand lightly grazes your nail under his tip, eliciting moans that have to be muffled. he's hunched over the table as you coo into his ear, picking up the pace every time he lets out a breathy sigh.

"you're such a slut, getting hard in public and now you're moaning lewdly as i jerk you off. imagine how people will react if they see you like this?" you whisper into his ear, biting it as you slip a hand around his back, sneaking up to play with his hardened nipples.

from a civilian's point of view, it looks like you're consoling diluc on a bad stomach ache he's having.

all of a sudden, new people walk into the tavern. they seem tipsy enough, but not completely drunk.

diluc gasps. new people, at this time? he stands up straight, trying to maintain his posture as you halt your movements.

"hey there. can we get 2 dandelion wines?" one of them drunkenly takes a seat next to venti, where you were previously sitting.

"of course." you say, grabbing them 2 bottles as diluc stands there, not moving. he's afraid to be seen by random adventurers. but the thrill kept you going.

diluc is devastated from the lack of stimulation, but he knows better than to touch himself without your permission, let alone in public.

"aren't you the famous power couple in mondstadt? i came all the way from fontaine in order to try this wine." the drunken dude chippers, sober enough to recognize you both.

"i'm flattered if that's how people see us. fontaine is a beautiful place, we're planning on a vacation there once our schedules are free." you chuckle, standing closer to the bar table as you grip diluc's hard cock again.

"well i would love to hear how you guys got together!" the other drunk guy laughs, excited to listen into some gossip.

your voice is tuned out by diluc as he's practically humping your hand, trying to hide his desperation as you tease him.

you run your hand over his tip and speed up your pace. diluc lets out a wince when you use your thumb to press harshly under his tip.

this goes on for what felt like an eternity (20 minutes) of you stopping when diluc was close, continuously edging him as he started to crumble.

one of the guys notices diluc's strange expression, but was too tipsy to care. only if they saw the dirty things you were doing to your partner.

at the end of your story, you happily giggle "and that's how we started dating!" as you rest your head on his shoulder, giving a devilish smile as you squeeze his dick as he lets out a continuous flow of precum. he lets out a choked moan as he covers his mouth, tears forming in his eyes.

"can you guys be a dear and help us escort the others out of the tavern? we're closing soon and diluc is having a bad headache right now." you say, feigning an apologetic look.

although the guys are drunk, they try to do what they're told. stumbling around to wake up other patrons.

diluc is looking at you with a dazed expression, not to quietly begging for your touch. "why- why did you stop?" he whined in your ear.

"i can't have others seeing your cute cumming expression." you glance over at him, then at the drunkards leaving the tavern.

"now why don't you tidy up that disheveled look of yours and call charles to close up?" gently grabbing his face, you brush away the strands sticking to his skin as you kiss his cheek.

"but i need you now" his appearance is a mess, but you love it. messy, red hair that's slipping out of his hairtie, his white top that's slightly transparent has sweat clinging onto his skin, revealing his flushed body.

he grabs onto your waist and ruts against your thigh. not caring that there's people around. he's lucky that everyone has left, venti included.

you tug his hair, pulling him away from you. "you’re humping my leg like a dog and you’re not closing up? do you want me to fuck you here, at your own workplace? you should’ve told me earlier, i would’ve fucked you in front of everyone.”

diluc lets out a loud moan at the thought of that. giving a show to the drunkards at his tavern. this is something he’ll never tell a soul, but you know his kinks and how much he’ll get off at being watched by others.

“now help me close up so we can continue this at home.” you pat his ass and start walking towards the door.

“h-hold on,” diluc frantically zips up his pants and follows you out the door. his bulge is still prominent but the night will help conceal it.

he knows that charles will be there for the morning shift to clean up. but how will diluc explain the weird stain on the wooden floor and bar table? oh well; that’s not his priority right now.

this is not proof-read but i hope you enjoy this work. i've never written actual smut before, just suggestive works. should i do that for my next fic?

#dom reader #dom fem reader #dom!reader #diluc x reader #sub genshin #sub genshin impact #sub diluc #genshin impact #dom male reader #sub!character #diluc ragnivindr x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines

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apiswitchcraft · 8 months ago

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altars for kemetic/egyptian gods

hi yall, another purely based in UPG, new agey post! historically, deity offerings for the ancient egyptians often took the form of art/sculpture/hymns, incense (like frankincense or myrrh), or offerings of food (especially meat and bread) and drink (wine/ale, mostly). dialogue with the gods was often facilitated through the pharaohs or funerary rites, but your average person had access to daily magic and regular temples as well.

Colors: yellow, orange, red for the sun

Offerings: eye of ra, dates, figs, grapes, apricots, sunflowers, morning glories, chocolate, pastries, orange juice, honey

Crystals: sunstone, yellow/red jasper, citrine, carnelian, honey calcite, angelite, kyanite

Animals: falcon

SHU

Colors: white, blue for the air/sky

Offerings: feathers (especially ostrich), sandalwood, gardenia, anise, paper fans, cornflower

Crystals: white/clear quartz, angelite, selenite, blue calcite, fluorite, blue lace agate

Animals: lion, ostrich

TEFNUT

Colors: white, blue for water

Offerings: sea salt, reeds, shells, water, coral, water (especially dew), lotus root/flower

Crystals: blue calcite, sodalite, lapis lazuli, amethyst, larimar, ocean/blue lace agate, aquamarine

Animals: lioness

NUT

Colors: blue, black for night. white for stars

Offerings: amber, sandalwood, sycamore, moonflowers, morning glories, milk

Crystals: lapis lazuli, star jasper, azurite, obsidian, smokey quartz, black tourmaline, labradorite, sodalite, moonstone (especially black)

Animals: boar, cow, sow

GEB

Colors: green, brown for earth. black for the underworld

Offerings: grain, beans, yarrow, cinnamon, coffee, egg shells, foliage, dirt, rocks, snake shed, milk

Crystals: jasper (various types), aventurine, moss/tree agate, unakite, obsidian, jade, malachite

Animals: snake, goose, rabbit, bull

OSIRIS

Colors: green for renewal, black for death, white for rebirth

Offerings: bandages, dark chocolate, dried fruit (especially oranges or dates), dark chocolate, coffee, cedar, vetiver, bones

Crystals: lapis lazuli, moss agate, jasper (various types), malachite, obsidian, smokey quartz, pyrite, jade, howlite, star jasper (for his astral form)

Animals: heron, ram, cow

ISIS

Colors: white, grey for the moon. blue, black for the night. green for life and resurrection.

Offerings: the tyet symbol, cow horn, milk, sycamore, feathers, dried fruit (such as raisins or dates), pomegranates, nuts, pastries

Crystals: star jasper, moonstone, rose quartz, amethyst, fluorite, bloodstone, red jasper, carnelian, labradorite, aventurine

Animals: birds (especially a kite hawk or vulture), cow, cat, scorpion, sow

HORUS

Colors: blue, purple for insight and intuition. white and red for pharoahship.

Offerings: eye of horus, weaponry/iron, lotus flower/root, feathers (especially hawk or falcon), yarrow, chocolate

Crystals: malachite, aventurine, pyrite, amethyst, lapis lazuli, jasper (various), howlite, sunstone, aquamarine, labradorite, hematite

Animals: falcon

NEPHTHYS

Colors: black for darkness and funerary rites

Offerings: beer, linen, feathers (especially of a crow or vulture), bones, coffee, nuts, milk

Crystals: obsidian, smokey quartz, black moonstone (because of association with Isis), black tourmaline, red jasper, bloodstone

Animals: vulture, crow

SET

Colors: red, black for chaos and storms

Offerings: lettuce, sand, alcohol, dragon's blood, patchouli, yarrow, vetiver, charcoal, dark chocolate, black pepper

Crystals: red jasper, black tourmaline, howlite, obsidian, labradorite, sodalite, bloodstone, malachite, pyrite

Animals: the set animal (which resembles a canine, giraffe, and aardvark), donkey

THOTH

Colors: grey, blue for intuition/intelligence. white for the moon

Offerings: quill, ink, pieces of writing/books, feathers, rosemary, citrus, sage, moon water, lavender, nuts

Crystals: amethyst, lapis lazuli, malachite, moonstone, selenite, howlite, angelite, sodalite, fluorite

Animals: ibis, baboon

ANUBIS

Colors: black, grey for funerary rites/death

Offerings: bones, ash, charcoal, red/black peppercorns, marigold (associated with the dead), linen, yarrow

Crystals: hematite, obsidian, black tourmaline, howlite, jasper (various, but especially red), smokey/rutilated quartz, bloodstone

Animals: canines, especially a jackal

BASTET

Colors: white, red for pharaohship

Offerings: ointments/perfumes of most types, cedar, anything cat related, rosemary, black salt

Crystals: tiger's eye, cat's eye quartz, bloodstone, red jasper, black tourmaline, howlite, milky/smokey quartz, pyrite, carnelian

Animals: lioness, cat

SEKHMET

Colors: red for war. grey for justice

Offerings: sand (especially red), scales of justice, iron, cypress, red pepper, black salt

Crystals: bloodstone, red jasper, carnelian, garnet, ruby kyanite, jade, smokey/clear, hematite

Animals: lioness

HATHOR

Colors: pink, red for love/sexuality

Offerings: dancing, dried fruits (especially figs/dates), pomegranates, sycamore, milk, honey, pastries

Crystals: rose quartz, amethyst, citrine, carnelian, fluorite, jade, aquamarine, garnet/ruby

Animals: cow, lioness, cobra

KHONSU

Colors: white, grey for the moon. blue, black for the night.

Offerings: lavender, sage, mugwort, dried fruit, moon shaped items, moon flower, ash

Crystals: moonstone, selenite, sodalite, obsidian, black tourmaline, smokey/milky quartz, jasper (various), blue lace agate, lapis lazuli

Animals: falcon

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shelovesosa · 13 days ago

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UNTIL THE GRAPES TURN SWEET

art credits to k4enyu and aransmind on X!

Pairing: COWBOY!Choso x CITYGIRL!reader

Contains: MDNI, eventually smut, oral ( f + M receiving), dom Choso, p in v, unprotect sex, enemies to lovers, western life, jealously, tension.

SUMMARY!! You were born with dirt-free hands and a silver spoon in your mouth—spoiled, sharp-tongued, and heir to your father's sprawling ranch empire. Sent away to "learn responsibility," you expected dusty boots and boring sunsets. You didn't expect Choso—the quiet, brooding ranch hand with eyes like storms and a voice dipped in molasses. He hated your attitude, and you hated his silence.

Part 2>>>

The carriage ride had been absolutely vile. The air was dry, the roads uneven, and the driver smelled like something that had died and come back meaner. Your silk dress was wrinkled beyond repair, your shoes were dusty, and your mood was one second away from spontaneous combustion.

When the wheels finally creaked to a stop, you didn’t even bother to wait for the stableboy to open the door.

You flung it open, climbed out, and slammed it behind you like it had personally insulted you.

The ranch was quiet. Too quiet. Wide open sky. Hills in the distance. Barns. Horses. Men with hats and dirt under their nails.

You wrinkled your nose.

“Absolutely disgusting,” you muttered.

A stablehand gawked at you. Another whistled low and mumbled something like, “She ain’t gonna last two days.”

You shot him a glare sharp enough to skin a man.

You weren’t afraid of cowboys. You were afraid of being bored.

And from the looks of this dusty hellhole, you were going to die of it.

Until he walked out of the barn.

He wasn’t like the rest of them.

His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, long black hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He moved slow—not lazy, not tired, just… calm. Deliberate.

You could tell immediately: he didn’t care who was watching. And that pissed you off. Because you were always worth watching.

Your arms crossed automatically. “Do I need to introduce myself or do you all just gawk like sheep?”

The stablehands stiffened. A few chuckled nervously.

But not him. He walked right past you. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t bow. Didn’t speak. Not even a glance.

That burned. You had just been ignored. You, in your imported dress, standing in front of a man who smelled like horses and hay—and he acted like you didn’t exist?

You spun after him. “Excuse me?”

He stopped. Finally looked at you. His eyes were dark. Not black—deeper than that. Deep like river water at night. And there was something in them you didn’t understand.

He spoke slowly, voice rough and low.

“Wasn’t talkin’ to me, were you?”

His accent was strange. Not Southern. Not from around here. Clipped vowels. Foreign. But steady. Calm.

You blinked. “You work for my father.”

He nodded once.

You tilted your head. “Then don’t you think you should say ‘yes, ma’am’ when I speak?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. More like… a warning.

“I work for your father,” he repeated. “Not you.”

You should’ve slapped him. Or yelled. Or walked away. But you didn’t. Because for the first time in weeks… someone wasn’t trying to please you. Or flatter you. Or lie.

He turned and walked away again. And you let him. But only because you were already memorizing how his shoulders moved.

That night, you asked your father:

“Who is that man?”

He didn’t look up from his brandy. “Which one?”

“The one with the long hair. He barely speaks English.”

Your father took a slow sip. “That’s Choso.”

“That’s not a local name.”

“No. He came from far off. Don’t ask where—he won’t tell you.”

You frowned. “And you let someone like that work for you?”

“He’s the best shot I’ve ever seen. Keeps to himself. Stays outta trouble.”

“He was rude.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll learn somethin’.”

You slammed your glass down, scowled, and stormed off—heels clacking across the hardwood. But the truth was—

You couldn’t stop thinking about him. That man. With eyes like a storm and a voice like a warning. Choso.

The sun hadn’t even crested over the hills when someone had the audacity to knock on your bedroom door.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” a deep voice hollered. “Time to earn your keep!”

You groaned into the feather pillow, barely lifting your head. “Go away!”

“Your daddy said you’re helpin’ out today. Don’t make me come back up here.”

You could hear him laughing as he walked away. Some obnoxious cowboy with too much confidence and not enough brains.

You dragged yourself up like you were being summoned for execution.

Out on the main lawn, three of them stood by the hitching post: all dust and denim, leaning on fence rails and grinning like devils.

The loud one—Eli—was tall, tan, and cocky as hell. “Well, look who’s up. Mornin’, princess.”

The other two, Joel and Beau, snickered.

You scowled. “Touch me and I scream.”

Eli tipped his hat. “I was just admirin’ the dress. Bit frilly for herdin’ cattle, ain’t it?”

You looked down at your perfectly tailored riding outfit—pearl buttons, embroidered hem, spotless white gloves.

“It’s French,” you said.

Joel raised a brow. “Well. French is about to meet mud.”

You opened your mouth to retort— And then he appeared. Choso.

Walking from the barn, sleeves rolled, black bandana around his throat. His hair was pulled back today, neater than yesterday, but the tired look in his eyes was the same.

He barely glanced at you.

“Which one of y’all is takin’ her?” he asked the group.

Eli smirked. “I was thinkin’ me and the boys’d let her try saddlin’ Bluebell. Might be fun.”

“Bluebell?” Joel laughed. “She don’t even like me.”

“She don’t like anyone,” Beau added. “Least of all strangers in perfume.”

Your fists clenched. “I’m right here, you know.”

Choso ignored the bickering and looked directly at you for the first time that morning.

“You ever been around a horse before?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve ridden. In the city.”

Eli laughed so hard he nearly choked. “Rode a carousel, maybe.”

Choso didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile.

Just said, “She bites.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” he said calmly. “It’s a fact.”

Twenty minutes later, you stood in a fenced corral with Bluebell, a high-strung chestnut mare who looked at you like you owed her money.

The saddle was too heavy. The sun was too hot. And your gloves were stained with dust.

Choso leaned on the fence nearby, arms crossed, unreadable as ever.

“Loosen the girth,” he called. “She’s puffin’ her belly.”

“I know what I’m doing,” you snapped.

Bluebell suddenly reared.

You screamed and stumbled back—right into a trough of water.

SPLASH.

Mud and water soaked the back of your dress, and your perfectly styled hair clung to your cheeks like vines. Laughter erupted behind you.

Joel wiped tears from his eyes. “Oh hell—someone get a painting of that.”

Eli howled. “Mud’s a good look on you, sweetheart!”

Beau tipped his hat. “Bet Paris don’t have puddles like ours.”

You started to rise, face burning with rage and embarrassment—

And then a hand reached down. Calloused. Strong. Choso. You took it, more out of shock than choice, and he pulled you to your feet like you weighed nothing.

You looked up at him—close now. Too close. His brow furrowed.

“Why are you here?” he asked quietly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You ain’t cut out for this.”

The words stung more than they should have.

“I didn’t ask to come here,” you hissed.

He looked at you a moment longer. Then let go.

“Should’ve stayed in the city,” he muttered, turning away.

But he didn’t walk off. Not like yesterday.

Instead, he stepped into the corral and approached Bluebell slowly—whispering something low, touching her neck, settling her. And when he turned back to you—

“Try again,” he said.

You stared at him. Mud on your dress. Heart thudding in your chest. Not from fear. Not from embarrassment. But from something far more dangerous. Interest.

You were gonna kill Eli.

Strangle him with your garter, bury him behind the barn, and never think twice.

“Go on, then,” he’d said, that smug little smirk on his face. “Since you’re such a natural. Take the trail up through the ridge. Easy loop. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

What he didn’t tell you was that the trail was overgrown, the mare was half-wild, and the “easy loop” included a steep drop, sharp rocks, and a snake you nearly screamed off the saddle for.

Now, your left boot was caught in a stirrup, your thigh was scraped raw from sliding down a hill, and your dress—God help you—was ripped halfway up your leg.

You were covered in sweat, scratches, and dirt. And worst of all? You were lost.

The sun was already sinking, bleeding orange across the sky when you heard the hooves.

Slow. Steady. Unrushed. And then… him. Choso. Black horse, black shirt, black hair—all shadows and silence. He didn’t speak when he found you crouched beside a broken fencepost.

Didn’t smirk. Didn’t scold. Just dismounted, walked over, and looked at your torn dress.

“…You okay?”

You stood up fast. Too fast.

“I’m fine.”

He glanced at your leg. At the blood. The dirt on your skin. The stubborn fire in your eyes.

“Sure you are.”

You hated the way your stomach flipped when he said that.

You hated the way he looked at you like he could see right through all your noise and lace.

He walked past you, reached for your horse’s reins.

“Don’t touch her,” you snapped.

He stopped. Looked over his shoulder.

“You fall again,” he said slowly, “and it’s not gonna be a scratch.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“That’s not what your leg says.”

You stepped toward him, furious now—furious at him, at the mare, at Eli, at the way your chest tightened every time he spoke.

You shoved his chest. Big mistake. It was like shoving a wall. He didn’t budge. Didn’t even blink.

“Back off,” you hissed. “I mean it.”

His jaw flexed. Something dark passed through his eyes. Then he stepped in close. Close enough that you had to tilt your chin up.

“Don’t push me,” he said quietly. “Unless you want me to push back.”

The silence between you crackled. You didn’t speak. You didn’t breathe.

Because his hand was at your waist now—barely. Not even touching yet. Just hovering.

Like a dare.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

And you couldn’t. Because every nerve in your body was screaming don’t.

But he didn’t kiss you. He just helped you mount the horse—quiet, efficient, no words. His hands brushed your knee and you almost shivered.

He led the way back in silence. The whole ride, your mind replayed that moment—his voice, his breath, the way your name might sound if he ever let go.

That night, you found him in the stables. Alone. Shirtless. He was cleaning a saddle, muscles shifting under moonlight, a gash running along his upper arm.

“You’re bleeding,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He looked up, mildly surprised. “Got into it with the new bull. I’m fine.”

You didn’t ask. You just walked over, pulled the cloth from his hand, and wet it with a bucket of rainwater.

“Sit.”

He didn’t argue. You cleaned the wound, silent at first. His skin was hot beneath your touch. Scarred. Firm. Real.

“You don’t act like the others,” you said finally.

“I ain’t like ‘em.”

“You don’t flirt. You don’t smile. You barely speak.”

“I don’t like games.”

You swallowed. Your voice came quiet.

“What do you like?”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“Honest things.”

Your hands stilled on his arm. The air between you charged. Like lightning had just kissed the barn roof.

Then, slowly—too slowly—his hand rose to yours. Rough fingers closing over your wrist.

Not harsh. Not fast. Just sure.

“If I touch you,” he said, voice low and rough, “I ain’t stoppin’ at your hand.”

Your breath hitched. But you didn’t reply.

He didn’t move. Didn’t lean in. Didn’t kiss you. He let go.

“Not yet.”

And walked out. Leaving you standing there, trembling, heart racing, hands still warm from where he’d held you.

The next morning, everything was fine. You’d woken up sore, tired, and vaguely humiliated—but fine. Until Eli put his damn hands on your waist.

“Woah there, darlin’. Didn’t think you’d come back after that little tumble.”

You gritted your teeth. You were only standing in the barn because your father insisted you "help clean the tack." Eli, of course, had “offered” to help. Which really meant: hover near you like a buzzard, grin too wide, and touch things he wasn’t invited to touch.

Like your hip. Like your shoulder.

“Y’know,” he drawled, leaning in just close enough to smell like chewing tobacco and cheap soap, “you got a real pretty kind of mad.”

Your hand twitched. So did someone else’s.

“Back off,” came a voice from behind you.

You turned, already knowing who it was.

Choso. Leaning in the barn’s shadow, arms crossed, watching.

Eli straightened but didn’t move far. “We’re just talkin’. Ain’t like I’m hurtin’ her.”

“Let her talk for herself,” Choso said, slow and low.

That struck a nerve.

You stepped forward, pissed now. “Don’t speak for me.”

Choso’s gaze snapped to you, sharp and unreadable.

You jabbed a finger toward both of them. “Neither of you get to treat me like I’m something to fight over.”

Eli held up his hands. “Alright, alright—no harm meant.”

He left with a whistle and a wink. You were still fuming when you turned back to Choso.

“You can’t keep acting like I’m yours to protect.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Really? Because every time you show up, it’s to tell me what to do, who to avoid, what to feel—”

“I didn’t say any of that.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snapped. “You act like you know me. Like I’m some spoiled thing you’ve already figured out.”

You were in his face now. Breathing hard. And he was still silent. Still watching you. His eyes flicked to your lips.

“I don’t know you,” he said. “But I’m tryin’ real hard not to want to.”

That stunned you. Just enough for him to take a step closer.

“But you walk in here, smellin’ like perfume and trouble, lookin’ like everything I ain’t allowed to touch—”

His hand came up, slow.

“—and tell me to stop?”

His fingers brushed your jaw.

“Make me.”

You didn’t move. You should have. But you didn’t. And then he kissed you. Hard. Hot. Unforgiving.

One hand sliding into your hair, the other anchoring your hip like he was done pretending he didn’t want to ruin you.

You gasped into it. For a split second, the world went quiet. Except your pulse. Except the heat. Except him.

Then you shoved him—hard. He stumbled back, breathless. And you slapped him. The crack echoed in the barn.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” you hissed, lip trembling.

He didn’t apologize. Didn’t flinch. He just breathed heavy, dark eyes pinned to you, chest rising and falling like he’d just been in a fight.

“Then stop lookin’ at me like that.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you want me to.”

Your cheeks flamed. You turned on your heel and stormed out, skirt swinging behind you, throat tight with rage and something worse—Want.

That night, in bed, you touched your fingers to your lips. And cursed his name. Twice. It was already storming by the time the warning came.

The sky opened like a fist, pouring thick ropes of rain over the pasture. Lightning cracked the sky like it was angry.

And you were stuck, boots deep in the mud, hauling feed buckets back to the barn like your life depended on it.

Which, considering your father’s mood lately, it did. He’d cornered you after dinner last night, stern and stone-faced in his office.

“You stay away from that boy, you hear?”

“Choso?” you’d asked, trying not to show anything in your voice.

“I’ve heard things. Things I don’t like. That man’s trouble.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’ve got half this town on your payroll. I bet everyone’s trouble.”

He’d slammed his fist down.

“He’s not for you.”

And that was that.

Now, soaked to the skin and shivering, you stumbled into the stable—nearly slamming the door behind you with a loud crack of thunder.

And froze. Because he was already inside. Choso. Back turned, stripping off a wet shirt.

Your eyes landed on the muscles in his shoulders before your pride caught up and yanked your gaze away.

“Seriously?” you muttered. “Of course you’re here.”

He didn’t turn. “You want me to leave?”

Yes. No. Yes.

“…I don’t care,” you said, voice clipped.

He hung his shirt on a nail, chest bare, hair dripping. Rain slashed against the stable roof like bullets.

You kept your distance. So did he. But the air between you was not still. It vibrated.

Ten minutes passed. Thunder rolled. Neither of you spoke.

Your dress clung to your thighs. Your soaked bra peeked through the fabric. You could feel his gaze flicker and then pull away every time he thought you weren’t looking.

“You gonna keep pouting or just admit you liked it?”

You turned sharply. “Excuse me?”

He was leaning against a post now, arms folded. Watching you like a storm waiting to strike.

“The kiss. The way you leaned into it.”

“You’re full of yourself.”

“I ain’t the one who kissed back.”

You stormed toward him, fists clenched.

“You’re a coward,” you spat. “You want me, but only when no one’s around. You flirt without smiling. You touch without meaning it. You’re all heat and no fire, Choso.”

That got him. He pushed off the post. One step. Then two.

“You think I don’t mean it?” His voice was gravel and smoke. “You think I ain’t been tryin’ to forget every goddamn second I looked at you too long?”

You faltered. Just slightly. Then: “Then prove it.”

Lightning struck again. He grabbed your wrist. Hot. Firm. Not rough—but sure.

He yanked you closer, chest to chest, breath to breath, hand sliding up your damp back like a warning and a promise.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

You did. And didn’t. His mouth hovered above yours—so close you could taste his breath.

“Don’t you dare—” you whispered.

He kissed you. Slower this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that stripped you raw. That asked a question with no words, no logic. Your hands were in his hair.

His arm circled your waist like he’d always meant to hold you this way. You made a sound you hadn’t meant to. One that told the truth.

But just as quickly— You shoved him back.

“No.”

Your voice cracked.

His brows drew tight. “Why?”

You stepped back, heart pounding, throat thick.

“Because if you kiss me again, I won’t want to say no.”

The barn fell silent. He didn’t chase you. Didn’t reach for you again. He just stood there, soaking wet and breathing like he’d just ridden a wild bull straight into hell.

And you?

You turned and walked out into the storm. Soaked. Shaking. And maybe—for the first time—scared of what would happen if you ever let yourself fall.

The storm had passed by morning.

But things between you and Choso hadn’t calmed—not even close.

For the next few days, you kept your distance. You weren’t hiding. You just… refused to acknowledge him. You made a show of laughing too loud around the other farmhands. Wore your shortest skirts. Told Eli he smelled nice on purpose.

And Choso? He ignored you right back. Which only made it worse.

He’d walk past without a word. A nod. Barely a glance. Like that kiss hadn’t even happened. Like your hands hadn’t been in his hair, your breath against his neck, your thighs pressed tight between his knees.

You hated him for it. Because it meant you didn’t matter. And it made you want to matter so bad, you’d start a damn war over it.

On the fifth morning, while you were brushing dust from your boots, Eli leaned against the barn door and tipped his hat.

“You comin’ to the grape stomp tonight?”

“The what?”

He grinned. “Annual town festival. Everyone gathers from the surrounding ranches. They bring wine, music, food. And the ladies”—he tipped his hat lower, tone turning cocky—“they climb up in them big old barrels and dance grapes into wine.”

You arched a brow. “That sounds unsanitary.”

“Darlin’, that’s the point.”

You were going. Not for the wine. Not for the music. Not even for the dancing. For him.

You picked your dress carefully—white cotton, low in the back, cinched at the waist. The kind of thing a proper rancher’s daughter would wear to behave. But you had no plans to behave.

Your father was distracted, talking trade with the men from the north vineyard. Eli met you at the edge of the town square with a peach in his mouth and a dimple when he smirked.

“You look good enough to eat,” he said, handing you another peach.

You took it.

Only because you saw Choso across the crowd, leaning near a booth, one boot up on a crate, talking low to one of the other ranch hands.

He didn’t look your way. Not even once.

The grape barrels were set near the center stage—raised just high enough for the crowd to see the women stomping barefoot inside.

The tradition was old: the ranchers' female workers would wear white, stain their dresses purple with juice, and the men would vote on whose barrel tasted sweetest.

You didn’t care about the vote. You cared about the view from the barrel—how high you stood. How clearly you could see him.

Your dress clung tight in the heat. Your legs were bare. Your laugh rang louder than usual as you stepped up into the barrel and tossed your hair over your shoulder.

The grapes burst beneath your feet with every stomp—cool, sticky, luscious. Girls around you laughed and danced to the folk band playing nearby. Wine soaked your hemline. Your thighs.

And then you saw him. Choso.nAt the edge of the crowd. Watching. Stone-faced. Eyes fixed.

He looked at you like sin had dressed itself up just to taunt him.

So you twirled. Tipped your head back. Laughed. Let Eli toss another handful of grapes at your feet and reach up to steady your waist when you "slipped."

You didn’t even have to touch Choso to feel him unraveling.

Later, under the string lights, you found him alone. Leaning against a post, shirt half-unbuttoned, drinking from a flask. You walked up slow, wine-stained and smug.

“Didn’t think you’d show.”

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak. You took the flask from his hand and sipped it. Slow. His jaw twitched.

“You jealous?” you asked, batting your lashes.

Still nothing. But his silence was sharp. Worse than yelling. So you tried again.

“You looked like you were ready to break Eli’s neck.”

He finally looked at you.

“He ain’t worth the blood.”

You swallowed. “And me?”

His eyes burned. But all he said was:

“Ain’t like you’re mine.”

It stung more than you expected. You handed the flask back.

“Then stop looking at me like I should be.”

And walked away again. It was late.

The music from the festival had faded to soft strings and slurred laughter. Most folks had drifted home, heavy with wine and good cheer. But you stayed.

You were restless. Sticky. Petty. And more than a little drunk on attention.

Eli had offered to walk you back. You didn’t say no. But you didn’t say yes, either.

You just… wandered toward the vineyard rows, white dress stained red from the grapes, bare feet brushing over the cracked dirt path.

And just when Eli reached for your hand— You heard his voice.

“She ain’t lookin’ for you, Eli.”

Both of you froze.

You turned to find Choso standing at the edge of the vines. Lit by the moonlight. Unsmiling. Still half-undone at the collar.

Like trouble incarnate.

“I can speak for myself,” you snapped, brushing past both of them.

But Choso didn’t move. Neither did Eli. There was a pause—tense and ripe—before Eli finally muttered something under his breath and turned back toward town.

You were alone again. With him. Of course you were.

“What do you want, Choso?” He stared at you. Didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. You hated that your breath hitched. You hated that you still wanted him to say something—

To say anything. But all he did was walk closer.

“You gonna slap me again?” he asked, voice low.

“Try me,” you whispered.

And then he kissed you. Fast. Rough. Full of everything you refused to say aloud. Your back hit the vine trellis. His hand pressed into your waist, fingers sliding against the dried juice on your thighs. It was frantic. Heat and sweat and frustration.

“You drive me crazy,” he growled into your mouth.

“You’re not even trying to stop,” you whispered back.

“That’s the problem.”

But just when you started to lose yourself again— You pulled away. Hard.

Pushed him off. Your palm came up again. And this time, he caught it.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“Then stop playing games,” you hissed. “Stop kissing me and walking away. Stop acting like you care and then ignoring me for days.”

He stepped closer. Nose brushing yours. Eyes blazing.

“You think I’m ignoring you? You got Eli hanging off your hip and a dozen cowhands watchin’ every swing of that skirt.”

“And what? You don’t care?”

Silence. Then—

“I care too much.”

The words gutted you. But before you could respond, a voice cut through the vines:

“Choso?”

You both turned. A girl stood there. Slim. Tan.

Work-worn jeans slung low on her hips, and a frayed flannel tied at the waist. Her name was Marlene.

She was one of the senior ranch hands—tough, respected, and impossible to ignore. She’d been here longer than anyone but your father. Could ride better than most of the men. Could drink most of them under the table, too.

And she was looking at you like you were trespassing.

“Didn’t know you were still out,” she said, eyes narrowing just slightly on you before flicking to Choso. “They’re lookin’ for you near the barn.”

You didn’t miss the subtle possessiveness in her tone. Like he was hers.

Choso nodded once. “I’ll be there.”

She lingered. Just long enough to make a point.

Then turned and vanished between the vines.

You stared after her.

“She in love with you?” you asked.

Choso didn’t answer. Which was answer enough. Your heart twisted.

You hated that it did.

“Good,” you said. “Let her have you.”

He reached for you again, but you were already backing away.

“Go to her, Choso. Let her kiss you like she means it.”

Then you walked barefoot through the vineyard, dress stained, breath shaking, teeth clenched.

Because you hated her. And worse—you hated that maybe, just maybe… she had something you didn’t.

The next morning came harsh and hot.

The town festival left the air hungover and dry, and you woke up with a pit in your stomach and dried grape juice on your legs.

You’d barely slept. Not with the image of Choso’s mouth on yours and Marlene’s voice cutting between you.

“Let her kiss you like she means it.”

You could still taste those words. The ranch was already buzzing by the time you stepped outside.

Sunlight streaked the fields in gold. Horses were being led out. Dust kicked up by boots and wheels. And just ahead—your father, standing near the corrals with a glass of sweet tea in hand, beaming like the damn sun.

“There she is!” he called. But not to you.

To Marlene.

She was up on one of the green colts, riding light and fast—no saddle, no reins—just a rope and confidence. Her flannel clung to her waist, curls pulled back tight, boots dusted and broken in.

She looked like the kind of woman this world loved. And everyone loved her back. Even your father.

“That girl’s somethin’, huh?” he said to a group of hands nearby. “Hell, if I had a son I’d tell him to marry her.”

The men laughed. One whistled. And you stood behind the haystack, listening. Burning.

“She’s got grit,” your father went on. “Not afraid of hard work. Hell, Y/N could learn a thing or two from her.”

That hurt. Worse than any slap. Worse than the kiss you still couldn’t forget.

You weren’t Marlene. You were the outsider. The city girl in a white dress and gold earrings. The one no one thought could ride. You’d had enough.

An hour later, you were saddling up a mare. You’d never ridden alone. Not without a wrangler nearby. Not this far out. But you wanted space. And more than that— You wanted to prove them all wrong.

“Where you headed?” Eli asked, leaning against the fence.

You looked up. Smiled too sweet.

“You scared to keep up?”

He grinned. “Sugar, I was born in the saddle.”

You rode out together—past the creek, through the grape fields, up the dry ridge trails that framed the ranch with nothing but cactus, scrub brush, and heat.

You raced him once—laughing, free, wind in your face— Until you hit the edge of the ridge. And your mare spooked. Hard.

It happened fast. She reared. You lost the reins.

There was shouting. The ground spun. You felt the world tip sideways.

Then— Choso’s voice.

“Y/N—don’t move!”

You hit the dirt hard—shoulder, hip, cheek—and tasted copper in your mouth. The mare bolted. Eli cursed.

And Choso? He was there. On the ground beside you. Hands on your shoulders. Eyes wild. Voice shaking.

“You alright? Can you move? Look at me—look at me.”

You blinked. Winced.

“Dumbass,” you muttered. “You followed me?”

His mouth twitched. “Course I did.”

“You think you’re my keeper now?”

He exhaled shakily. “No. I think I’m the only one who cares if you come back alive.”

Silence.

You hated how warm that made you feel. You hated how scared he looked.

“You’re not allowed to die mad at me, alright?” he said softly.

Then he pulled you up. Cradled you like glass.

Held your face in his hands like he wanted to kiss you again— But didn’t. Not with the sound of hooves behind you. You turned. And there was Marlene.

Hat tilted. Eyes unreadable. Lips pursed. Watching. Watching him touch you. Watching him choose you. And hating it.

Back at the ranch, your father helped you down from the saddle. Checked your elbow. Patted Marlene’s shoulder.

“Good girl. I knew you’d keep them safe.”

She nodded. But her eyes flicked to you—only once. She smiled sweetly.

War had been declared. The doctor said it wasn’t serious. Just a bruised shoulder and a bit of pride.

Still, your father insisted you rest—said you had to “take it easy,” whatever that meant.

So now you were stuck. On the porch. In the heat. Wrapped in gauze, burning with boredom—and worse—jealousy.

Because every time you looked up from that damn rocking chair… Marlene was somewhere she didn’t need to be.

You sat with your leg tucked under you, trying not to wince when you shifted. Your sundress stuck to your skin. A jar of lemonade sweat on the railing.

And Choso was there.

Hammering a broken step. Minding his own business. Shirt half-unbuttoned, hair tied back, hands slick with work.

You hated how much you wanted to touch him. You hated how close he kept himself… yet never close enough.

You tossed your voice like a lasso.

“You always this helpful?”

He didn’t look up. “Only for the ones who make grape juice with their feet and fall off horses.”

You rolled your eyes. “You act like you didn’t enjoy watchin’ me dance.”

Choso’s smirk was quiet. Dangerous.

“It wasn’t the dance that made me stare.”

Your heart stumbled a little.

But before you could say something flirty and dumb— She was there.

“Choso,” she called, coming up the porch steps with a tray of fresh bread.

He looked up, brushing sawdust off his jeans.

“Figured y’all might be hungry.”

You sat still, jaw clenched. Marlene smiled that too-polite smile and offered you a slice. You took it. Barely.

She turned to Choso. “They’re askin’ for extra hands with the stallion stall. Colt’s actin’ up.”

“I’ll head that way after this,” he said.

“I could help now,” she offered.

“I said after,” he repeated—cool, steady.

She hesitated. Bit her cheek.

Then dropped her hand to his shoulder.

“Just don’t wear yourself out, cowboy.”

And she walked off.

You watched her go, then glanced at Choso.

“She’s awful friendly, huh?”

He didn’t answer.

“You ever tell her to stop?”

“She doesn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

You laughed.

“You’re either blind or stupid.”

“You jealous?”

That made your blood rise.

“You wish.”

He stepped closer—slow, like a shadow in heat.

“I don’t.”

You swallowed.

“Don’t what?”

He looked down at you—eyes dark, hands on his hips, chest rising.

“I don’t wish you were jealous. I know you are.”

You stood up too fast, shoulder aching.

“Don’t flatter yourself, ranch boy.”

“Then don’t watch me every damn second I breathe.”

“I’m only watchin’ to make sure you don’t trip over your own ego.”

He stepped closer. Inches now.

“You really that scared to admit you want me?”

You licked your lips, heart hammering.

“If you don’t want her,” you whispered, “then stop pretending I’m the one who’s hard to love.”

The silence between you crackled.

And Choso—finally, finally—reached for you.

Not to kiss. Not yet. But to touch your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, slow and reverent.

“You’re not hard to love,” he said. “You’re just scared someone finally does.”

You leaned in, lips parted. The heat was dizzying. And then—

“Cho!”

Marlene’s voice. Louder this time. Urgent.

You both jumped apart. She stood at the edge of the barn, waving.

“We need you now. Colt’s goin’ wild.”

He cursed under his breath.

Turned to you.

“Stay here. I’ll be back.”

You didn’t answer. You just sat down again—hands shaking—heart unraveling.

The colt kicked hard. It happened in seconds.

Choso had one hand on the reins, the other at the gate latch—and then the horse bucked, hooves flaring, teeth bared, panic in its eyes.

The hit landed square in Choso’s chest. You heard it from the porch. A dull, sickening crack followed by a yell.

By the time you got to the barn, folks were crowding in. Dust hung in the air. You pushed through them, ignoring the ache in your shoulder, pushing past elbows and sweat and boots—

Until you saw him. Choso.

Flat on the dirt. Breathing hard. Blood at the corner of his mouth. Marlene kneeling beside him, pressing a cloth to his ribs.

“Move,” you snapped.

She looked up, brows raised. “You should rest—”

“I said move.”

She hesitated. Choso’s eyes found yours.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t talk,” you said, kneeling beside him.

You brushed the blood from his lip. Your hand trembled.

“I told you not to die mad at me,” you whispered.

He tried to laugh. Winced. You bit your cheek.

You weren’t scared. Not really. Just mad. Mad that he could be so reckless. Mad that he let Marlene near him. Mad that you couldn’t stop caring.

The ranch doctor wrapped Choso’s ribs, prescribed rest, and left a bottle of whiskey “just in case.”

Your father stood outside the barn afterward, talking with Marlene in full view of everyone.

“He’s a damn good worker,” he said. “Hard to find a man like that.”

Marlene smiled sweetly. “He’s the best.”

“If I had any say,” your father added, “I’d keep him close. Maybe get him a reason to settle down.”

He gave her a look. One that said I’d be proud to call you my daughter-in-law.

You stood just behind the corner, jaw clenched, heart hammering. You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw something through the fence. Instead—you turned and walked toward the stables. The house was quiet.

Oil lamps flickered on the walls. Your bedroom window stayed cracked, letting in the hum of crickets and wind. You were in bed. Lying still.

But you couldn’t sleep. Not when you kept hearing your father’s voice. Not when you kept seeing Marlene with her hand on Choso’s chest. Not when you knew he belonged somewhere between your ribs, and not in her arms.

And then— Tap. At your window. You looked up. Choso. Ribs wrapped. Hair loose. Eyes dark.

“You lettin’ me in?” he whispered.

You opened the window. He climbed in, wincing with every movement.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” you scolded.

“Can’t. Not when I know you’re angry.”

You folded your arms. “I’m not angry.”

“Then what are you?”

You looked at him. Bare-chested. Bruised. Beautiful.

“I’m tired,” you said softly. “Of pretending I don’t care. Of hearing my father talk about how perfect Marlene is like I’m not even his daughter.”

Choso stepped closer.

“You think I want Marlene?”

You stayed silent.