All works are written by me. Do not steal or copy!
Disclaimer: All stories contain strong language & mature content!
mini masterlist – a collection of small drabbles
⏤ S E R I E S:
↳ PROHIBIDO. | brother’s best friend au | fluff, angst smut
synopsis; Namjoon is an art himself. Shame that he’s forbidden - he’s your brother’s best friend. And your colleague..
chapters: index | completed
⏤ O N E – S H O T S:
↳ BELLISSIMA | parents au | fluff, smut
synopsis; once your husband finds the meaning behind your rejection, he’s having none of it
chapters: 01 | completed
⏤ O N E – S H O T S:
↳ A PLAN | friends with benefits au | fluff, smut
synopsis; You’ve a plan — trying to dominate your extremely dominant roommate who also happens to be your friend with benefits.
chapters: 01 | completed
⏤ D R A B B L E S E R I E S:
↳ MY TINY SECRET | unexpected pregnancy, mistress au | angst, smut
synopsis; Pretty face doesn’t make it up for an ugly personality. And Kim Seokjin is the perfect proof of that.
chapters: index | completed
⏤ S E R I E S:
↳ AWAY FROM YOU | divorce au | fluff, angst, smut
synopsis; Trying to divorce Yoongi might be harder than you thought it’d be. Especially when you’re having a two year old toddler.
chapters: index | ongoing
drabbles
↳ MONACHOPSIS | fluff, smut, angst, mini series
synopsis; After receiving unpleasant news that doesn’t allow you to grow your family, your husband comes up with an idea that unfortunately involves his brother whom he despises
chapters: index | ongoing
↳ LOVE LOCKDOWN | zombie apocalypse, enemies to lovers | angst, smut, fluff
synopsis; It started with a supposed virus all around the world. It continues with people turning into monsters who want to eat everything that’s alive.
chapters: index | ongoing
⏤ O N E – S H O T S:
↳ NEXT DOOR | neighbor au | fluff (?), smut
synopsis; Your neighbor doesn’t respect your complaints about him being loud, but you don’t let it slide so easily.
chapters: 01 | completed
↳ STAY HIGH | exes au | fluff, angst (?), smut
synopsis; You’ve to stay high to keep your ex out off your mind when he comes back into your life.
chapters: 01 | completed
⏤ S E R I E S:
↳ HOPE WORLD [ON-HOLD] | enemies to lovers au | fluff, angst, smut
synopsis; You’ve decided to try dancing class, but the one who teaches you how to dance actually hates you.
chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | ongoing
⏤ O N E – S H O T S:
↳ THE BOSS | boss!reader | fluff, smut, tiny bit of angst
synopsis; In the middle of important business meeting, Hoseok spreads his mouth free and it almost costs you one of the greatest business deals. You’ve to remind Hoseok who’s the boss.
chapters: 01 | completed
⏤ S E R I E S:
↳ ONE TIME THING [ON-HOLD] | best friend’s boyfriend au | fluff, angst, smut
synopsis; What are you going to do when your best friend asks you to have a sex with her boyfriend?
series masterlist
⏤ O N E – S H O T S:
↳ ADAYWITHOPPA | smut, fluff
synopsis; adaywithoppa is a website where you can book a tour guide, what happens when you book one without you knowing?
chapters: 01 | completed
↳ ONLY YOU | single dad, best friends to lovers au | fluff, smut, tiny bit of angst
synopsis; You’ve been always there for your best friend, even when he became a single dad
chapters: 01 | completed
↳ SUCKER | vampire au | smut, angst
synopsis; You wish you’d pay more attention to Jimin. Like, how his eyes kept changing color. How cold his skin was, too unrealistically to be natural. Or one second, he flashed you with his sharp canines and the next one he didn’t have any. How much he craved for you, but not the way you thought he was.
chapters: 01 | completed
⏤O N E – S H O T S:
↳ CHEATER | cheater au | angst, smut
synopsis; Ten proofs you got to find out the truth but you were too blind in love to see.
chapters: 01 | completed
⏤ S E R I E S:
↳ DRUNK [ON-HOLD] | alcoholic au | fluff, angst, smut
disclaimer: this story contains alcoholism, strong language & mature content [do not read it if you’re sensitive about alcoholism]
synopsis; You fell in love with Jeongguk so hard thinking he’s everything you’ve ever wanted. But there’s a one catch – he’s an alcoholic.
chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | ongoing
↳ MUTUAL HELP | fake dating, best friends to lovers au, slow burn | fluff, angst, smut
synopsis; In order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires - he calls it a mutual help
synopsis; Being independent while living the harsh reality of adulthood is sparked by arrogance in the form of the most infuriating man you’ve ever met.
chapters: index | ongoing
↳ FOR ME | dilf au, enemies to lovers au, neighbors au | fluff, angst, smut
synopsis; A collection of drabbles accompanied with dilf!jk
⏤ O N E – S H O T S:
↳ SLEEPOVER | best friend’s brother au | fluff, smut
synopsis; Jeongguk is your best friend’s little brother who invites you to have a sleepover at his place. Nothing can happen, right?
chapters: 01 | completed
⏤ D R A B B L E S:
↳ STRAWBERRY LIPS | professor au | fluff, smut
synopsis; it’s not your fault your professor is extremely young and oh, so hot
SOOOOO I had a thought as im sitting here watching Rescue Me....I wanna see Michael B. Jordan playing a firefighter.....or a fanfic where he is. I feel like he'd actually fit the role
Ships: LouStack, StackMary, LouStat, Vampire Smoke x Human Annie, Sammie x Vampire Pearline
Warning: Explicit violence
🦇🥀⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺🍺🪕
PREMISE:
As Claudia, Lestat, and Louis make their way across the Mississippi Delta in search of vampires, they come across Club Juke. A night spent among their people, dancing and sweating, it almost made them feel human.
‘Til a cultish vampire by the name of Remmick slithered his way to the gates of the paradise. Upon reading his mind, Louis, Lestat, and Claudia are made aware of Hogwood’s nefarious plot to slaughter Club Juke’s patrons come sunrise. Louis stays behind to deal with the shady vampires at the Juke Joint, while Lestat and Claudia go and eat their fill of racist fuckwads.
Mary still manages to turn Stack into a vampire so get ready for some messy Loustack, StackMary, Loustat, and more!
“Pale, pale, moon!”
“You gon’ let me in? Or just sit there blockin’ the door?”
Mary slipped her way past Cornbread and back into the warm, golden light of the juke. Passion, adrenaline, and blood swept quickly through Mary’s veins. Something more exciting, more ferocious than she’d ever felt before was now coursing through her body all at once. Mary’s own heart pounded in her ears. Only Mary's heart was finally in tune with the music around her. She was among her people, their music, their food, except now, she could finally give something back. She could give them freedom – Heaven! Right here on Earth. Mary figured that this burning feeling underneath her skin had been a gift, and she'd be selfish not to share it.
As Mary crossed the dance floor, she walked with the confidence of a woman who truly belonged. Far beyond a red velvet curtain, Mary could hear the pulse of her lover quicken. Stack was gambling, or rather, he was losing. Mary drew the curtain back.
The words of her maker lingered in her mind. “Go on in there and show ‘em what real love looks like,” Remmick had a smile like the crescent moon, ear to ear, all unnatural like.
As Stack met Mary’s eyes, she finally spoke.
“Elias.”
That was enough to pull Stack from his seat.
“Pale, pale moon!”
Smoke caught a snake trynna slither his way out of the juke joint after swindling folks outta their money. Smoke rolled the loaded dice between his fingers. Yup, the man was definitely cheating. Can’t have that.
“Take care of this fool,” Smoke sealed the snake’s fate. The stompin’ of the dance floor smothered the man’s cries as he was jumped by the other patrons. Sammie caught Smoke’s ice cold, unfeeling glare in the corner of his eye. He shivered, hoping his cousin wouldn’t sniff out his lies too. See, if anyone had asked Sammie, “Are you scared shitless right now?” He’d have to say no, seeing as Smoke was right there. But that would be a bold faced lie if he ever told one.
“Go get my brother,” Smoke ordered. He got a yes sir from Sammie right away.
On the way, Sammie crossed the front door. Cornbread was still sittin’ there guarding the entrance. Of course, that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual – and what made Sammie stop dead in his tracks – was the trio smiling up at Cornbread underneath the pale moon light.
“Pale, pale moon!”
“I wanna scream, scream.”
It wasn’t those creepy white folks either, nah. These three had a different kinda creepy laced in their Louisiana suits and ties. A little girl, not too much younger than Little Sammie, glared past Cornbread with a pair of cold, dead fish eyes. Sammie flinched – she was staring at him. Her eyes sliced right through him like he’d somehow offended the young lady.
“Sammie,” Annie brushed a soft hand along his back, pulling him out of his trance. “Where’s Stack?”
“I was just about to go lookin’ for him, Miss Annie,” Sammie said politely. “But..” He trailed off, pointing at the door.
Annie sucked her teeth. “Them again?” Those South Carolina freaks were real persistent.
Sammie shook his head. “No Ma’am, it’s not the same folks from before. These people… they’re different…”
“Pale, pale moon!”
“I wanna hoo… I wanna…”
“You sure y’all in the right place?” Cornbread laughed awkwardly.
Claudia huffed impatiently. Her voice echoed in Louis’ head. “It’s cold out here, Daddy Lou. I wanna go inside and watch the pretty lady sing.”
How could Louis say no to his little girl? Especially now, as they took their first field trip out of Storyville. The world was now her oyster and Claudia could go anywhere she wanted.
“We got money to spend, Sir,” Louis smiled real soft and talked real smooth; that usually worked.
“Yeah,” Cornbread snickered. “That’s a tale I heard before.” Seriously, this is the second time tonight that a creepy trio with funky eyes came crawling their way to the door. Could Cornbread not take a piss in peace? Goddamn.
“Mon cher,” Lestat’s cold, pale hand crawled up Louis’ shoulder. “I believe my presence is… unwelcome here.” Lestat was pretty dim, but he wasn’t ignorant to the nuances of race. This was not New Orleans. Surely not, as Lestat had never heard such passionate, raw talent come from a hidden gem such as Pearline. Lestat was overtaken with reverence for the singer as she crawled across that stage. To see a musician in their element was to witness Mother Nature at work. Truly, it would be a sin of him to interrupt the singer as she cast her spell across the crowd. Pained as he was, Lestat was willing to appreciate Pearline’s magnificent art from outside if it meant she could sing uninterrupted.
“Go on without me,” Lestat reassured. “And Claudia,” he raised a stern brow. “Be good for your Father. Let him enjoy this.”
Claudia giggled, “Yes. Uncle Les!” She would pack up her mischief for tonight.
“Can we come in now?” Louis whispered, sewing his irritation behind a smile.
“Pale, pale moon!”
“Ain’t no love in the heat of the sun.”
“Goddamn, where the hell is Stack?” Smoke burst out of the gambling room with Bo Chow in toe. “We need all hands on deck.” As the drinks kept pouring, trouble kept on stirring. Fights were brewing from every corner of the juke and the excitement was starting to boil over far beyond what Smoke could handle on his own.
“You sent Sammie out to go gett’im,” Bo recalled.
“Motherf– where the hell is Sammie then?!” Smoke was losing track of everyone and everything far too fast. This was a two man job and he was missing his second pair of arms. Pearline had the crowd stompin’, and while it was great for business it wasn’t great for Smoke’s nerves. Annie wasn’t at the bar and neither was Grace, leaving fresh Italian wine and Irish beer unattended. Too many lights, too many sounds, nothing was where it was supposed to be–
Smoke’s voice nearly trembled, “I need a goddamn cigarette.”
“Comin’ right up.”
“Pale, pale moon!”
“Sing my song when the day is done.”
A cold air swept the back of Smoke’s neck. He swerved ‘round, hand on his holster. His own reflection smiled back at him with ghoulish, red eyes.
“Stack…?” Smoke squinted. “Your eyes are red.”
Stack expected him to be blunt about it. “Yeah, I uh, I been drinkin’.”
Smoke looked him up and down. The mojo bag tucked deep in his suit felt warm on his chest. “You good?”
“Yup,” Stack smiled wide, flashing golden grills under the warm, glistening lights. “Never better.”
“Good.” He didn’t have time to press Stack about it, even if his gut was sounding off an alarm. “Now get the fuck back on the floor,” Smoke ordered. “I need you out here, Stack. Not wherever–”
Mary wiped her mouth as she came out from the closet. Smoke’s blood ran hot.
“I thought I told you to get rid of her.”
“Cmon now,” Stack wrapped his arm around Smoke. Stack could hear just how hard his brother’s heart was working just to keep him from flying off the handle. “We all family in here, you remember that. Ain’t that what your Annie said? Go on ‘n find her. I’m sure she’s lookin’ everywhere for you.”
“...” Smoke glared cold daggers at him. “You sure you alright, Stack?”
Stack offered no reassurance, just a freshly rolled cigarette and a Cheshire Cat grin. “Yup.”
Annie, Sammie, and Grace watched those two peculiar folk waltz on into the bar.
“They give me the creeps,” Grace muttered.
Annie nodded.
“Wait a minute!” Grace gasped, nearly offended. “Is that a child? Is he bringin’ a little girl in here?!” She watched as Claudia twirled giddily beneath the ceiling lights. Louis let himself laugh a little, lookin’ around with his hands in his pockets.
“I can’t tell how old she is…” Sammie shared his piece. “But she was lookin’ at me real mean earlier.” He likened it to the way that white man was staring at him earlier. That same curiosity, that same hunger– suppose if Sammie could put his finger on it, he would call it jealousy. Of course, he couldn’t imagine why a doll shaped girl and a creepy white man would be jealous of him for any reason.
“You stay beside me, alright, Sammie?” Annie gave him another soft pat on the back. “Somethin’ ain’t right here.”
The crickets sang, though not nearly as sweet as the singer on that stage. Lestat put up a fair protest when Claudia begged that they slug all the way down to Mississippi in search of vampires. New Orleans was Lestat’s mistress, his new home; a perfectly blended mix of French art and African American culture. Mississippi had never been on his map, he hardly recognized the name when Claudia began spouting about it and the series of vampire sightings around the Delta.
“Vampire hunters! Isn’t that something? That mean there's gotta be more, Daddy Lou!” Claudia had been ever so convincing back in New Orleans, with her puppy dog eyes and incessant whining. “Pleaaaase!”
While Lestat refused to entertain her ramblings about Romanian counts and French covens, Louis insisted that they support Claudia’s interests.
So, here he was. Lestat de Lioncourt, the most feared vampire in France, sitting on a rock swatting away mosquitos. Pearline’s song had long ended. Now, the only sound was–
“Hey Frenchie…”
Lestat was too content staring at his nails to address the obvious stalker in the woods. “No,” Lestat sighed. “No, I am not interested in the cultish musings of a gaudy old vampire.”
He finally tilted his head back, staring at Remmick boredly. “Hmm, I do apologize but I am under oath. You see, I made a promise to my husband and daughter that I would let nothing disturb them as they indulged. If you planned to turn this place into a hunting ground… then you are sorely out of luck.”
“Huntin’? Nah, nah…” Remmick looked genuinely offended by this. “We ain’t lookin’ to feed on these lovely people. We just want to– to warn them.”
“My family poses no threat to them tonight,” Lestat stood.
“Oh no,” Remmick shook his head. “There’s sumn’ far more dangerous lyin' in wait once this party’s over. Sumn’ far more vicious than vampires.”
.
.
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.
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.
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🦇🥀⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺🍺🪕
Thank you so much for reading this first chapter! I’ve been yearning for more LouStack and overall messy but not heartbreaking Sinners content XD. I’m having lots of fun with this fic so let me know what you think!
Much Love!🧛♀️❤️
PLEASE consider leaving kudos and love on the ao3 version!
Link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81827071#main
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: They call you the Infamous Five—outlaws whispered about in saloons and church pews alike. Smoke, Stack, Delta Slim, Remmick, and you have left a trail of bodies, stolen gold, and ghost stories across every back road worth riding. Now, a heist bigger than any you’ve pulled is on the horizon. But between the whiskey, the blood, the secrets, and a love triangle set to tear you apart, the question isn’t just if you’ll make it rich—it’s if you’ll make it out alive.
Warnings: Love triangle, murder, lies, betrayal, smut, alcoholism, mention of religion, theft & more
observational skills: anthony joshua x black!fem reader
summary: 😅
warnings: 18+, NSFW.
wc: 1.7k
“I feel like your hands would look so good around my throat.” You casually said.
Anthony doesn’t reply, he looks over at you. You feel his eyes on you, but instead you decide to play clueless, keeping your head down your phone becoming so interesting.
“You wanna repeat that for me?” He asks.
As you lifted your head to meet his eyes, you shrug. “I think you heard me just fine.” Turning your attention back to your phone.
He nods once, sort of like he’s making a mental note.
The night wound down just like the rest of the day, easily. You and him both had time in y’all schedules to do nothing; spend a little time together. Then come back home and be lazy. Anthony was finishing his nightly routine while you were barely paying attention to the TV. He came out of your shared bathroom shirtless in a pair of sweats hanging low on his hips; he makes his way over to you, climbing in the bed laying on his stomach between your thighs.
He rests his head on your thighs, kissing the exposed skin since you’re wearing an old T-shirt of his. His clothes are your favorite thing to sleep in and he highkey loves seeing you in them. “You ‘gon keep playing coy?” He asks lowly, letting hands rub up your thighs, always having to touch you in some way.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about AJ.” You breathe.
He hums, not in approval but in feigned surprise. “You don’t?”
Your eyes are low as you nod slowly, watching your man rest between your legs like it’s his favorite place to be. “Guess we gotta change that, right?” He says, shifting himself onto his elbows, allowing him the space to move around. He drops a kiss on the inner part of your thigh, working his way up to under the old shirt. As he gets closer to your pussy, he switches to your other thigh doing the same thing.
“Stop teasing me.” You whine.
He of course ignores you. In his mind he’s already made up that he’s setting the pace for tonight. His eyes look up and you truly take in how beautiful he is. His eyes were your favorite feature of his; they just held this light to them. You could always get lost in them. Tonight though, the usual light in his eyes is replaced with a smoldering heat.
As he finally ends his teasing, he pulls you close to him, letting your legs rest on his shoulders. In moving you closer to him, the shirt rode up and leaves your lower half uncovered; to get it out the way completely you pull the shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you. He breathes in deep, taking in the scent of your arousal mixed with whatever body wash you used during your shower and some vanilla scented body butter, your skin soft and supple against his. You watch as he unfurls his tongue, then flattens it while dragging it up your slit. You moan softly, the eye contact from him turning you on more than the act of him eating you out. His tongue continues to lap against your pussy; your hands caress the back of his head, trying to pull him closer to you while your hips grind against his face chasing your release. You try to close your legs over his face, the pleasure too much but, he quickly readjusts his arms under your thighs, keeping them open allowing him to feast.
His tongue moves to your clit, lapping at it softly; like he’s eating ice cream on a hot day. Alternating between that and the sloppy figure eights against the sensitive bud. You feel that coil in your stomach tightening, your moans get higher and airier, like you’re begging him with out actually saying a word. He releases your thighs, only to push them back, folding you in half while keeping his mouth attached to your pussy.
This new position allows him to slip two fingers inside of you, slowly pumping in and out of you. Your walls clench around them involuntarily, a low groan leaving his mouth as he mutters against your center, “Uh uh, open that pussy back up for me baby.” Fingers still dragging against your walls, a breathy mewl slips out of your mouth. You can feel him smile against you, he knows your body better than you do. He knows you’re close.
“Give it to me.” He mumbles, wrapping his lips around your clit pulling it gently between his lips.
“Anthony— “you gasp squeezing your eyes shut.
As if on command, the orgasm crashed into you. Body tensing up while your back arched; and he licked you through it all.
He pulls back, lower half of his face drenched in you. He doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath, instead he’s hovered over you, gold chain that he always keeps tucked under his shirt, dangling in your face as he drops down to start kissing you, allowing you to taste yourself off his tongue. You moan into the kiss, it all being an aphrodisiac. Slowing down, he breaks the kiss and pulling back enough to let a line of saliva drip from his mouth into yours. You catch it, pulling him back down to you, immediately turned on again, getting loss in the lip lock.
He moves to your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there. “You got another one for me?” He rasps between the sloppy kisses he’s leaving. Continuing his assault down your body, he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, sucking softly, his other hand pinching the other one between his thumb and index finger. Your answer wrapped in a moan while nodding at the same time. He moves to stand at the edge of the bed then it dawns on you that he just ate you out like his life depended on it, completely forgetting he also has dick to offer too.
Your eyes rake over him while he takes his sweats off, that being the only article of clothing between you and him at this point in the night. As your eyes work lower, they focus on the deep V cut that leads to his dick. He’s palming it through his sweats before he takes them off fully. His dick bounces out, resting pretty between strong thighs. It’s about a shade darker than the rest of his skin, with the tip being slightly lighter and a thick vein running down the underside of it.
He’s stroking himself, looking at you laid out in front of him. Naked, hair wild, pupils blown with lust and both sets of lips swollen from his doing. To him, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Absentmindedly, your hand slipped between your thighs, rubbing small circles on your clit. He watches you, tongue running against his bottom lip. Not the one to want to miss the fun, he pulls you to him by your ankle, your legs falling open.
Your fingers are still moving over your clit as he grips his dick at the base, pushing himself in bottoming out in one full stroke. Anthony takes a moment before moving again as he feels your walls fluttering around him. A moan slips out from how warm you feel around him. Your legs rest on his hips as he begins a lazy stroke, moving his hips slowly, the curve dragging over that sensitive spot deep inside.
You move your hands from between your thighs, bringing them to his mouth, letting him taste you off your fingers. You grip his chin slightly to get him to focus on you—you wanted him to be in the moment for this.
“You feel what you do to me baby?” You coo.
He had a thing for talking you through it, but you wanted to let him know how he made you feel tonight. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him down closer to you, tugging his ear lobe between your teeth, nibbling on it softly. He exhaled, like he was trying to hold back.
“Don’t hold back, I can take it.”
And that was the line that broke his resolve; his hips sped up, thrusts becoming messier. He wraps his hand around your throat, and you gasp from the amount of pressure he ‘s applying. It’s just enough for you to feel a little lightheaded from the lack of oxygen but also pleasurable— intensifying the relentless strokes he’s giving. The quick moment of silence between the two of you allows you to hear how wet you are.
Your moans are rolling from your lips freely and he loves how vocal you are.
“Make a fuckin’ mess for me,” he mutters. His strokes slow down as you both look at where you're connected. A steady in and out motion, the sounds almost obscene. “Can you do that for me baby?” nodding your head rapidly, you feel that telltale sign that you’re close and he does too. You squeeze your eyes shut, “I’mcomingI’mcomingI’mcoming!” Pleasurable waves crashed over you, body tensing for a second before it relaxes into the mattress. Anthony’s not far behind you, heavy breaths against the side of your face and those once again messy strokes.
“Let go for me, daddy.” You whisper into the room.
Like a command, his body tenses, white-hot pleasure consuming him, with zero urge to even try to pull out. He fully drops his weight on you, trying to catch his breath. After a few moments, he pushes himself up over you and pulls out slowly. The sudden loss of him causes a shaky exhale from you, and he’s watching the mixture of you and him spill out of you—eyes fixated between your legs. He shakes his head, turning to walk to the bathroom. Coming back a few seconds later, he gently wipes between your folds, cleaning the mess that was made. Once he’s finished, he tosses the towel with the rest of your clothes scattered about the room and gets back in bed with you. You snuggle up against him, body fitting perfectly against his. You press a kiss to his chest as he pulls the sheets over the both of you, falling into an easy slumber.
Pairing: Elias 'Stack' Moore x Reader
Summary: You're just Stack's type — feisty, strong willed, and damn pretty. Only thing is.. You won't give Stack the time of day on account of your daddy.
Your upbringing was a lil' different than girls your age. It was 1932 — you were nineteen, having grown up on your daddy's ranch. Instead of white cotton dresses, neatly combed hair, and puppies, you were raised wearing stained skirts, your hair wild and curly, riding horses and rejecting every boy that dared come near you.
Mama died when you were real young — too young to remember her face without staring at a photograph. Daddy did his best, though. He didn’t much care for you doing "girl’s work" when there were fence posts to mend and cattle to brand. So he raised you like he would’ve raised a son: rough around the edges, stubborn as a mule, and twice as fast with a rifle. By thirteen, you were driving the wagon solo into town. By sixteen, you could outshoot most men at the fair. And by nineteen, most folks knew better than to speak to you sideways.
Still, no matter how tough you acted, there was something that always drew in men. It was a competition almost. Any time you walked home from the schoolhouse at age 16, you heard them talkin'. The boys. Betting on who could secure a kiss first, maybe a date.
"First one to kiss the farmer’s daughter gets braggin’ rights for life," one of ‘em would say, real cocky. Like you were a trophy instead of a person.
But you weren’t some daisy to be picked. You were wild thistle — sharp, stubborn, and grown in hard soil.
None of those boys ever made it past your front gate. One tried and ended up limping back home with a busted lip and a bruised ego. After that, they mostly kept their distance. Called you a spitfire. A man’s girl. Trouble wrapped in curls and sunburn.
And maybe they were right.
You didn’t care much for dresses, or dancing, or sitting pretty at socials. You cared about the land, about your daddy, about making it through the droughts and the hard winters. You were proud of the calluses on your hands and the dirt under your nails. You knew how to clean a gun, break a horse, and break a man’s nose if need be. You didn’t need anyone — and that scared the hell out of every suitor that came sniffin’.
Until Stack Moore.
He was the opposite of his brother, though they were both law breakers. They'd come back into town like a storm, claiming it back again when they got sick of being men of war or taking over Chicago. They brought money, they brought booze, and they regained the enemies they'd always had before.
Your daddy knew exactly what type the Smokestack twins were. That's why he was so put out the day Stack spoke to you.
It was hotter than hell that afternoon, the kind of heat that made the air shimmer off the dirt road. You were hitchin’ the mule to the wagon outside the general store, sweat rollin’ down your spine, dust clingin’ to your boots. Stack leaned against a post with a matchstick between his teeth, lookin’ like the devil dressed in Sunday black — suspenders off his shoulders, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make your throat go dry.
"Need a hand, sweetheart?" he drawled.
You didn’t answer him. Just wiped your brow and kept workin’, jaw tight, heart louder than it oughta been. You felt his eyes on you like heat from a fire. That was the first time he spoke to you.
You grunted, finally getting it hitched, before glancing up at Stack with irritated (and curious, though you wouldn't admit it) eyes.
"I got it. Somethin' I can help you with, Stack?" You responded coldly. In a moment, your daddy would be coming out of the store. He wouldn't take kindly to Stack chatting you up.
Stack smirked, slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world and not a care who saw him spending it on you. That matchstick rolled between his teeth as he looked you over, not lewd, not disrespectful — but bold. Real bold.
"Nah, darlin’. Just figured I’d say howdy," he said, voice molasses-smooth with that slick edge he and his brother hadn’t lost, even after years in the city. "Hard not to, when you’re standin’ there lookin’ like trouble in a skirt."
You narrowed your eyes. "Keep talkin’ like that, and you’ll find yourself wearin’ that matchstick in your eye."
He laughed — a warm, low sound that made something flutter deep in your belly, though you kept your scowl firm. He liked that. You could tell. The way his head tilted slightly, his eyes sharpened like he was memorizing the way your mouth twitched when you were pissed.
"I like a woman who bites," he said.
You opened your mouth to fire back, but the screen door of the store slapped shut behind you. Daddy stepped out with his purchase — a sack of flour and a bottle of tonic. His boots hit the porch with that heavy rhythm that always said someone was about to get corrected.
Stack’s smirk didn’t fade, but he straightened up. He tipped his hat slow and easy, like he wasn’t worried one bit about the man standing between him and a shallow grave.
"Afternoon, Mr. L/N," Stack said, polite as a preacher.
Your daddy didn’t respond. Just stared Stack down, eyes like steel under the brim of his weather-beaten hat. You could feel the tension crackling in the air, thick and dangerous.
"You got business here?" your daddy asked, voice flat.
"Just admirin’ the view," Stack replied, not looking away from him — but the weight of his words sat heavy between you and your daddy. Like a line drawn in the dust.
You cleared your throat, loud enough to break the moment. "We done here, Daddy?"
Your father gave Stack one more look — the kind that could kill a lesser man — before nodding to you. "Yeah. Let’s get home. Storm’s comin’."
You climbed into the wagon without another word, trying not to think about how your skin still tingled from Stack’s gaze. As the mule started off, you glanced back once, just once — and saw him watching you, arms crossed, eyes lit up like he’d just spotted a gold vein in a rock.
It was the first time Stack Moore spoke to you. And the last time you knew peace for a long while.
When you got home, Daddy cleared his throat awkwardly, cleaning his gun in the common room of the house.
"Y/N." He called to you from where you stood in the kitchen.
You paused, hands deep in the dish basin, the soapy water stinging a nick on your finger you hadn’t noticed ‘til now. His voice was gruff, but there was something under it — something tight. Wary. Protective in that way only a father could be when he knew his daughter had just caught the eye of a wildfire in a man’s body.
"Yes, sir?" you called back, wiping your hands on a dish rag as you stepped through the archway into the common room.
He didn’t look up right away. Just kept running the cloth over the barrel of his Winchester with a quiet, deliberate focus. You could tell he was turning something over in his head, chewing on it like a dog with a bone.
"Stack Moore," he finally said, like the name tasted bad. "You stay away from him."
You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness.
"Didn’t plan on inviting him for supper," you muttered, crossing your arms.
Daddy looked up then — sharp and dead serious. "I ain’t jokin’, girl. That boy’s got blood on his hands and more comin’. His kind don’t leave nothin’ but ruin behind."
You didn’t say anything. Mostly ‘cause you weren’t sure what you wanted to say. It was the first time a man had looked at you like you were a woman and not just the farmer’s wild daughter in scuffed boots. And maybe that was dangerous. Maybe Daddy was right. But maybe you didn’t give a damn.
"I know you think you’re grown,” he went on, his voice softening a bit, “but there’s men out there who take one look at a girl like you and see a challenge. Not a future. Stack Moore’s one of ‘em."
You swallowed, throat dry. "I’m not stupid."
"I didn’t say you were. I said he’s trouble. And I’ll be damned if I let him put you in harm’s way."
Silence hung between you. Thick as molasses. You could hear the wind picking up outside, dust scratching against the shutters. Storm was comin’, alright. But it wasn’t just in the sky.
You finally nodded. "I hear you."
He held your eyes for a long moment.
"You're better off with that Boone. If you really hafta marry. He's a nice boy and ain't gonna put you out when he has his fill."
Boone was a ranch hand your daddy had hired. He wasn't unattractive, no. He was tall, strong, worked with a smile and never complained. His parents were respectful and they were fans of how your daddy did business. Boone was who you should've been with, if you gave any man a chance.
He'd been pining after you since the two of you were sixteen.
You rolled your eyes, smirking in amusement.
"You like Boone so much, why ain't you marryin' him?"
Daddy’s face went dark, like you'd just knocked over a beehive.
"I’m your father. I make the calls ‘round here."
I folded my arms and leaned against the table, matching his glare. "Ain’t no law says I gotta marry the man you pick."
He set the gun down with a heavy thud. "It ain’t about law, girl. It’s about keepin’ you safe. Boone’s steady. He don’t bring trouble like those Moore boys."
You groaned.
"I ain’t sayin’ I’m takin’ up with Stack. But don’t reckon I’m gonna be Boone’s bride just ‘cause you want it."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re stubborn as a mule, just like your mama."
You knew that was the final word.
But that night, long after the lights were out and the crickets had taken over the silence, you found yourself sittin’ on the edge of your bed, fingers twitchin’, heart restless. Because even though you’d said you understood, and even though you knew what kind of man Stack Moore was…
You also knew you weren’t the kind of girl who turned her head away from fire.
Your friend Lizzie had to beg you to go out.
"I swear, Y/N, one night won’t kill you," she said, tugging at your arm as you rolled your eyes. "You need to dance. Laugh. Hell, even just drink something that ain’t water or dust."
You weren’t exactly the type for blues clubs or lipstick-stained whiskey glasses, but Lizzie had that kind of persistence that wore you down like river water over stone. So by the time the sun dipped low and the sky bled pink, you were dressed — not dolled up like the city girls, but enough to turn a few heads in town: a dark skirt that hugged your hips, boots polished cleaner than usual, and your wild curls pinned just enough to look like you tried.
Club Juke was loud, smoky, and packed to the rafters. Lights glowed like sin on velvet, blues players' moaned from the corner stage, and the air buzzed with liquor and secrets. You followed Lizzie in, your fingers hooked into the belt loop of her dress, and tried not to flinch when a man brushed too close or looked too long.
You made it to the bar and ordered something you didn’t even hear over the noise — some whiskey drink served in a chipped glass. Lizzie had already pulled a fella onto the dance floor, leaving you with a half-sip of burn down your throat and the sudden awareness that someone was watching you.
You didn’t have to look far.
There he was. Stack.
Sitting in a corner booth like he owned the place (because he did), sleeves rolled, collar unbuttoned, smoke from a lit cigar curling around his jaw. His eyes were on you, unmoving. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just looked like he’d found exactly what he came here for.
Your pulse jumped. Damn it all.
You turned back to the bar, heart thudding. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d —
A warm voice slid in behind your ear like a sin on Sunday morning.
"Well now," Stack drawled, low and slow, "ain’t you a sight. Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this."
You didn’t turn around. Just took another sip of your drink, ignoring the heat rolling off him in waves.
"Didn’t come for you," you said coolly.
He chuckled. "Maybe not. But I figure fate don’t give a damn."
He moved beside you, close enough that your elbows brushed. You could smell leather, smoke, and something sharper — danger, maybe. He rested his forearms on the bar and nodded to the bartender.
"Two of whatever she’s drinkin’."
You shot him a glare. "What’re you doin’, Stack?"
He looked at you then — really looked — and for a moment, the noise of the club faded under his steady gaze.
"Tryin’ to figure out why a girl raised to fear me keeps lookin’ like she’s itchin’ to find out what makes me so damn interesting."
You swallowed.
Then, you fixed the usual glare back onto your face.
"Well, what the hell makes me so interesting? Everyone with a dick in this town can't look away."
Stack barked a quiet laugh, low and raspy, like he wasn’t expecting you to come back that sharp — but damn if he didn’t like it. He leaned in just a hair closer, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes and back again, that grin of his growing just a little wider, a little darker.
"What makes you interesting?" he echoed, voice like smoke. "You walk into a room like you own the land under everyone’s feet. You don’t smile unless you mean it, and you don’t flinch at a man like me." He tilted his head, still watching you. "That kinda thing makes folks look. Makes ‘em wonder."
You crossed your arms, hip cocked, not letting him get the upper hand. "You mean it makes ‘em bet. Run their mouths. Act like they got a chance."
Stack shrugged. "Let ‘em. Boys bet. Men watch. I’m just here enjoyin’ the view."
You scoffed. "You’re all the same."
His expression shifted then — just a flicker of something deeper beneath the charm. He leaned in again, but this time his voice dropped lower, real low, just for you.
"No, darlin’. If I were like them, I’d already be braggin’ about what I could do to you. Not sittin’ here waitin’ to see what you’ll let me do."
That shut you up for a second. Long enough for the air between you to grow thick and heavy.
Before you could fire back, the music kicked into a new number — a slow, sultry blues rhythm that rolled across the club like honey.
Stack held out a hand. "Dance with me."
You looked at his hand like it might bite you.
"I don’t dance."
He smirked. "Then just stand close and sway. I promise I bite softer than I look."
You stared at him, heart thudding somewhere stupid.
And then, without knowing why, you placed your hand in his.
His palm was warm. His grip was gentle. And your daddy’s voice was nowhere in your head when Stack pulled you onto the floor like he’d been waitin’ his whole damn life for this.
The floor didn’t feel real under your boots.
Stack's hand rested firm against the small of your back, pulling you close — but not too close. Just enough to feel the heat rollin' off him in waves, enough to smell the faint scent of whiskey and smoke on his collar. Your fingers hovered just barely on his shoulder, stiff at first, like you were afraid of giving in.
"You’re stiff as a fence post," he murmured against your temple, voice rough and warm. "Ain’t nobody lookin’ to bite."
"You just told me you were," you shot back, eyes narrowing even as you swayed to the rhythm.
That earned a quiet chuckle from him — one that rumbled in his chest and traveled straight through you.
The music curled around the two of you like a fog, blues guitar crooning through the haze of cigar smoke and perfume. Other dancers swayed nearby, but none quite like you and Stack. You moved like magnets pulling in, fighting it, pulling in again. A war with no guns — just glances, breath, and the occasional accidental brush of leg against leg.
His thumb stroked a small, deliberate circle at the back of your waist. You stiffened — just slightly — and he caught it.
"You alright, spitfire?" he asked, voice a low purr. "Ain’t used to men touchin’ you, or just not used to likin’ it?"
You glared up at him, lips parting to throw fire — but the words got stuck somewhere between your pride and the warmth blooming beneath your ribs.
"…You think just ‘cause you talk smooth, I’m gonna fall at your feet?" you finally snapped.
Stack leaned in, close enough that his breath kissed the edge of your jaw.
"No," he said. "I think you’ll fight me every inch of the way. And I like a fight."
The tension snapped taut between you, so tight it hummed. His hand slid just a breath lower on your back. Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt. You weren’t smiling, but you weren’t pulling away, either.
"I ain’t your conquest," you muttered.
"No," Stack said, eyes locked to yours like a vow. "You’re the kind of woman a man earns. Or dies tryin’."
The music slowed to a crawl. The last long note of a saxophone kissed the silence.
Neither of you moved.
You didn’t know who leaned in first — but suddenly your face was inches from his. Lips barely apart. Breath tangled.
"Lord.. If you ain't the devil."
His mouth curved just slightly — not a smile, not quite — something darker. Hungrier.
"Then what’s that make you, sweetheart?" he murmured, breath brushing your lips. "The lamb wanderin’ into the fire… or the flame that keeps draggin’ me back to hell?"
You blinked up at him, your heart thudding so loud you swore the whole club could hear it.
Everything inside you screamed to pull away — to do what you’d always done when boys got too close, when their hands wandered and their eyes lingered too long. But Stack wasn’t like those boys. He didn’t leer. He didn’t plead.
He waited.
Like a man sure of the storm and patient enough to let it come to him.
Your voice came low. Dangerous.
"I ain’t no lamb. And I sure as hell ain’t chasin’ you."
He laughed — a quiet, genuine sound that rolled through his chest.
"No," he said again, like he was committing it to memory. "I'm chasin' you, baby."
Then his hand slid up — not low, not greedy — just firm and reverent, fingers skimming the side of your jaw like he was feeling the edges of something sacred.
"And I’m tellin’ you now," he added, voice dropping like molasses in your ear. "You keep lookin’ at me like that… I will find out what you taste like when you stop pretending you hate me."
Before you could bite back, before you could even think, the club doors burst open again —
And Boone’s voice came, loud and panicked:
"Y/N! What the hell are you doin’?!"
The spell shattered.
You jerked back like burned, your spine stiffening, eyes snapping toward the entrance.
Boone’s chest heaved, face red and soaked in sweat. Eyes darted from you to Stack, and the rage built fast — like a match tossed in dry brush.
Stack turned lazily toward him, jaw twitching. The charming smirk faded into something else. Something sharp.
"You know," he said, stepping just slightly in front of you, “if he was any kinda gentleman, he wouldn't swear at a lady."
Boone didn’t flinch. Just pointed a finger, shaking with fury.
"Your daddy’s gonna hear ‘bout this. And when he does, he’ll bury that bastard himself."
Your breath caught.
"Boone, it's—"
"Oh hell no. This ends now."
You stiffened, pulling away from Stack slightly. A glare rose to your face.
"You think you control anything I do? You're daddy's ranch hand, you ain't his informant, and you definitely ain't my husband, so I don't reckon you should be telling me what ends now."
Boone's jaw dropped.
"You know this is against his damn wishes. He wants you with me, not with Stack Moore."
Stack smiled, his gold grill glinting in the light of the juke.
"She don't want you, Boone Jones. Hell," he snorted, stepping forward. "She don't even really want me. I suggest you get to movin' before my brother and I toss you out this juke."
Boone’s eyes flashed, muscles tightening like coiled steel.
"You got a real mouth on you, Stack. But don’t think for a second I’m scared of you or your brother."
He stepped forward, the heat between them crackling like a storm about to break.
You swallowed hard, heart pounding. The tension was thick enough to slice through, and neither man was backing down.
Stack’s grin twisted, teeth flashing like daggers.
"Well then, looks like we got ourselves a showdown. You ready to back that up, Boone?"
Boone faltered for a moment. He spotted the gun on Stack's hip, glinting under his jacket. He was torn. But eventually, he turned away from the two of you.
"Get home, Y/N. I'm warnin' you. Your daddy'll be out lookin' for you soon as I tell him this shit."
With that, Boone spat on the floor and walked out.
The jukebox sputtered a slow country tune as Boone’s heavy footsteps faded into the night. Stack turned to you, smirking like he’d just won a war without firing a shot.
"Well, looks like the ranch hand knows when to fold ‘em."
You stood frozen, the weight of Boone’s warning settling deep in your chest.
Stack’s voice softened, almost mockingly gentle. "Now, tell me… what’re you gonna do with all this heat you’re sittin’ on?"
Your eyes burned with quiet defiance, but inside, a storm was brewing — one that wouldn’t be settled so easily.
Without another word, the defiance and want burning in your chest boiled over. You pulled Elias Moore into a crushing kiss, ruffling his suit jacket.
Stack’s smirk faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of surprise flashing behind his gold teeth. His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing the side of your jaw with a teasing, deliberate lightness that sent a shiver down your spine. His voice dropped, low and dangerous, like a velvet promise edged with steel.
"Careful, baby. You’re playin’ with fire."
But you didn’t pull away. Instead, your breath hitched, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears like a wild stallion breaking free. The air between you thickened, charged with a heat that wasn’t just from the summer night or the sticky tension in the jukebox’s flickering neon glow. It was raw, electric, and impossible to ignore.
Your fingers curled into the lapel of his jacket, tugging him closer, hungry for the heat that radiated off his body. The scent of leather, musk, and something uniquely Stack invaded your senses. Your lips pressed harder against his, demanding more, needing more. His hands found your waist, strong and possessive, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left — only the desperate dance of two bodies claiming their own wild territory.
His mouth moved over yours with fierce intention, teasing and tasting, trailing a path of fire down your neck. You arched against him, breath mingling, every nerve alight. The weight of Boone’s warning dissolved somewhere in the back of your mind, drowned out by the thunderous storm between you and Stack.
Stack’s voice, rough and low, was a whisper against your skin.
"You gonna be my woman. One way or another."
His hands slid lower, fingers digging into the curve of your hips, grounding you even as your pulse raced with reckless abandon. You tugged at the buttons of his shirt, exposing the warm skin beneath, your nails grazing, marking. Every touch was a challenge, every breath a promise.
Your lips parted in a silent plea, and Stack answered, his tongue tracing the line of your jaw, down to the swell of your collarbone. The heat in your chest ignited into a blaze, scorching and sweet. It wasn’t just passion — it was war, desire, defiance, and something dangerously close to surrender.
The air thickened, charged and heavy with all the words neither of you dared say. His fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he wanted to press you into him and make sure you couldn’t slip away. Your hands trembled slightly, caught between the urge to push him away and the desperate craving to keep this fire alive.
Stack’s breath hitched as his mouth dipped lower, kissing the hollow at your throat, leaving a trail of heat that seared through your skin. Your fingers tangled in the coarse fabric of his shirt, dragging it open just enough to feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your touch. Every beat was a promise, wild and relentless.
That night, you thought you'd be in wicked trouble with your daddy.
You got home and he was sitting in his chair, rifle by his side. There was no glare. No anger. No fight. Just disappointment.
His eyes met yours — quiet, heavy, like the weight of every unspoken word between you.
"Boone stopped by. Said you was almost kissin' Stack in the back of his juke joint. That the truth?"
You froze in the doorway, the screen creaking shut behind you. Your boots felt heavy against the floorboards.
"Is that the truth? I won't ask again." he asked again, voice like gravel and smoke, worn down from years of silence that meant more than shouting ever could.
You swallowed, but your throat was dry.
"Yes, sir."
Your daddy looked away then, toward the window. The moonlight spilled across the hardwood like spilled milk, cold and pale. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even shift in his chair.
“Didn’t raise you to chase heat just ‘cause it burns bright.”
You stepped further inside, your heart thudding in your chest.
“It ain’t just heat.”
He turned back to you, slow and steady, the way storms roll in without hurry.
"That boy’s trouble, Y/N. His people bring it like flies bring rot. You think Stack Moore gives a damn about you come winter? When the crops are dry and the nights are long?"
“I ain’t askin’ for your blessing,” you said, quietly. “But I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness, either.”
His jaw worked, clenched and tight. The rifle stayed at his side, but his hands curled on the armrests like he was gripping the weight of every fear a father could carry.
"You know I’d ride to hell for you, girl."
"I know."
A beat. A breath. The porch creaked under the weight of the wind.
"Then don’t make me bury you for someone who wouldn’t ride back. If you think Stack Moore is worth it, I can't stop ya," he asserted wisely. "But he better be. Because if a single tear drops to this floor and he's responsible for it, I'm buryin' him. And his brother."
Your breath hitched, but you didn’t let it show.
He wasn’t threatening. He was promising.
That old chair creaked as he leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, eyes pinning you like a hawk pins its prey.
"You understand me, girl?"
His voice was low, but there was thunder in it — a quiet kind of rage built on love and fear and the kind of heartbreak only a father can carry.
You nodded, chin up even though your chest was tight.
"I understand."
He let out a long breath through his nose, like he’d been holding it for years.
"Then go on to bed. And think real hard ‘bout the kind of man you’re givin’ your name to. 'Cause once you do… you don't get to take it back."
You stood there for a moment longer — the screen door groaning open behind you again, the wind pushing against your back like even the night was trying to warn you.
But you didn’t look back.
The next day, Stack stopped by the ranch, as if he was askin' for a gun to go off towards his head. You were out back, tending to the horses, brushing your favorite tenderly.
The horse, Annie was her name, blew air out of her nose, as if she knew trouble was approaching. You cooed at her.
"Settle down, pretty girl. Ain't nothin' comin' to get you."
But even as you said it, your eyes flicked toward the dust trail creeping down the long dirt drive — slow and deliberate. A dark car. Stack’s.
Annie shifted under your hand, hooves stamping once against the earth. You didn’t blame her. You felt the same tight pull in your chest. That mix of anger and ache, nerves and want, all tangled together like barbed wire.
Stack stepped out like he owned the goddamn world. Boots still dirty from whatever hellhole he'd walked through last, and that cocky tilt to his mouth like he'd slept just fine while the storm he stirred brewed all night long.
He spotted you in the paddock, and his smirk deepened like he’d expected a bullet and got a welcome mat instead.
You didn’t wave. Didn’t call out.
Just kept brushing Annie’s side like you weren’t burning from the inside out.
Stack leaned on the fence, one arm slung over the top rail, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that ever moved slow in his world.
"You didn’t call," he said, voice low and teasing. "Thought maybe Boone talked you outta me."
You looked up then, slow and measured.
"No one talks me outta anything, Stack. Least of all a man who runs when daddy’s rifle’s on the porch."
That knocked the smirk clean off his face for a second. Then he chuckled — slow, deep.
"Figured I’d come back ‘round today. Let your old man know I ain’t runnin’. I’m standin’."
You shook your head, a bitter little smile tugging at your lips.
"He already knows. Question is… do you?"
Stack’s jaw twitched. His eyes dropped to your hands on the horse — the way they moved, firm but gentle. Like you could break things and fix them all the same.
He straightened off the fence.
"I ain’t scared of your daddy," he said. "And I ain't here for a quick trip to the sheets. You're the typa woman worth marryin'."
You froze.
Annie huffed beside you, but you barely heard her over the rush of blood in your ears. Stack’s words hit you like a hammer to the ribs — not because you didn’t believe him, but because deep down… maybe you did.
Still, you kept your hands busy, brushing through Annie’s mane like she was the only thing keeping you grounded.
"You don’t even know what marryin’ me means, Stack Moore," you said quietly. "It ain’t just Sunday dresses and kissin’ under porch lights. It’s long winters and hard land and family that don’t forget where you came from."
He stepped into the paddock without asking, boots crunching over the straw and dirt. That alone told you something — Stack had never waited for an invitation in his life.
"I know it won’t be easy," he said, stopping just a few feet from you. "I know your daddy don’t think I’m good enough. Hell, maybe I ain’t. But I know this — I’d rather fight every damn day for your heart than spend a single one without it."
Your hand paused on Annie’s shoulder. For the first time, you looked at him — really looked.
There was no grin now. No sharp teeth. Just a man, standing there with his scars and swagger stripped down to something real.
"You’re serious," you said, more to yourself than him.
"I’ve been in fights I ain’t walked away from. I’ve stared down the barrel more times than I can count. But you?" He stepped closer, voice low and steady. "You’re the first thing that’s ever made me scared to lose."
Your chest tightened.
Goddamn him.
Because you wanted to believe it. Wanted to throw your arms around him, take him in the barn, and kiss the past right off his mouth. But you’d learned too young that want didn’t make a man stay. Promises were easy when the sun was out — it was the nights that told the truth.
So you swallowed hard and said the only thing you could.
"Then don’t say you want me, Stack. Show me."
His eyes flickered, something fierce and warm lighting in them.
"I intend to, darlin’," he said. "Every damn day. Starting now."
And when he reached for your hand, you let him take it. Just for a moment.
Just long enough to remember how it felt.
He raised it to his mouth. Kissed it gently, if Stack Moore was even capable of being gentle.
"Now.. Take me inside to see your daddy. I'm sure we can find somethin' to agree on. Gotta get along before I ask for the blessin'."
You snorted, tying Annie up and kicking his boot with your own.
"It ain't that easy. You've got to court me before you marry me, and even then, you gotta impress daddy."
Stack chuckled low in his chest, the sound rich like molasses and twice as thick with trouble.
"Darlin’, I didn’t think anything about you would be easy," he said, falling in step beside you as you started toward the house. "Hell, if you were, I wouldn’t be out here riskin’ a shotgun sermon and a boot up my ass."
You cut him a sideways glance, amused despite yourself. "You’ll get more than a boot if you don’t stop runnin’ that mouth."
He grinned, flashing that infamous gold tooth like a warning sign. "That mouth’s gonna be the reason you marry me, just you wait."
You stopped at the bottom of the steps, boots crunching in the dirt. Stack did too, waiting for your lead. Waiting, you realized, for your say-so — and that was rare.
"You serious about this?" you asked, voice lower now. No teasing. No fire. Just the honest question of a woman who knew how easily hearts cracked under pressure.
He nodded once. No swagger this time. Just steel and heat.
"I want a wife. I want babies. I wanna hang my guns up until I need 'em. And I want you. So, little lady, let's go."
You held in a tear, the only tear that had ever developed in your cold e/c eyes since mama died. Then, you willingly threaded your fingers into Stack's and tugged him towards the house.
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