#and I wore it with a gold glitter cowboy hat

[wallflowerglitter]

Oh man, when I look back on some of the things I wore as a kid.

[mickandmusings]

third times the charm

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: life has a funny way of putting people in your path, and ultimately making them part of your life. but what happens when the one person you never want to see stumbles in over and over again, a disastrous tornado tearing up your path of moving on?

aka: the two times tyler owens enters and, consequently, leaves, your life at the wrong time, and the one time he comes at the perfect moment and finally stays.

warnings: reader is described in a feminine manner; why are we ignoring his bull rider trope? cause i'm not babes xx; angsty mainly, but fluff too; lovers to enemies back to lovers (sorry); this author knows nothing about tornadoes or weather so sorry

shoutout to megan moroney and her banger new album where this title and idea come from :)

-

i.

"What do you mean you're leaving?!"

Tyler shuts the tailgate of his red pick-up with a loud slam, the cowboy hat on his head nearly flying off with the force. Y/N stood just a few feet away, her arms crossed over her torso as her chest heaved in short, shaking breaths. The sunlight hits her just right, and the gold chain around her neck glimmers in the sunlight. It catches Tyler's attention from the corner of his eye-it had been burned into his mind from the moment he'd bought it with a chunk of his earnings from last year's rodeo. The chain was delicate, simple, but the charm had been the main appeal: it was gold, the same shade as the chain, but in the center of the small heart shaped pendant sat a capital 'T'. She'd worn it since he'd given it to her for a birthday present, and it had been the center piece of even their most intimate moments-her bare beneath him with only the glittering jewelry adorning her as he had her unraveling under his touch. Even the thought of it had heat traveling up Tyler's neck, and he swallowed down the feeling, along with all of the guilt bubbling to the surface.

"I'm leavin', simple as that."

"Ty, I-I don't understand. You get bucked off one time and you're giving up?! You've been riding since we were kids, I-"

He turns to her, emerald eyes blazing with an emotion he couldn't put a label on.

"I didn't just get 'bucked off', I almost got my head trampled in case you forgot!" His voice is laced with anger. He's not angry with her, he's angry with himself. After a series of unfortunate injuries in last month's local rodeo, Tyler knew he couldn't ride again, it would kill him. He'd spent the last few weeks in physical therapy and doctor's offices just to make sure the damn bull hadn't left behind more than scars.

It was better this way, he could leave his town behind, and forget about the deep, gut-twisting feeling of failure that sat like acid in his stomach. But leaving his hometown also meant leaving her.

Tyler had fallen for Y/N their junior year of high school, and they'd rarely been seen without one another ever since then. She was sweet and shy to his brash and confident, his biggest supporter-always sitting in the stands for all of his rides-whether he was the talk of the town or stumbling home, his shotgun rider, and the girl who wore his heart (literally and figuratively) on a chain around her neck. Looking at her now, with tears lining under her gorgeous eyes, he wanted to just forget all of his plans and pull her into his arms. He wanted to reassure her that he'd stay here, that he'd give her the life that he'd promised her-apple pie and babies, the perfect picket-fence life she deserved.

"Tyler, you-you can't be serious! W-What about your parents, your plans, hell, Tyler, what about me?!" Her shoulders now moved as she let out shuddering breaths, eyebrows furrowed as she grew frustrated. "Tyler Owens you promised me, you promised me a farmhouse, and a wrap-around porch, a-and babies! And now you're just gonna take off to God-knows-where to what? Storm chase?"

She stops and lets out a dry chuckle. She'd been 'chasing' with him before, vivid memories of him scaring her shitless chasing tornadoes in his truck, only to 'apologize' to her by making love in the backseat after the storm had passed. Through their time together, she, too, had grown to love the storms. Y/N took her camera into the storms with them, more than ready to capture the freakishly beautiful moments of pure disaster before it struck. She'd stand in the pouring rain next to him, laughing as wind whipped hair around her face. He'd snap a picture of her with her own camera that she'd set aside and she'd roll her eyes. They'd been happy, bonded by a mutual love of mother nature's chaos and one another. Now, she turns her back to face him, shaking her head as her bottom lip trembles.

"Ya know, I should've listened to everyone who told me to stay away from you in high school, that you'd just hurt me. I didn't believe them, not one bit, because I know you. You're running because you're scared. You don't have to run, Ty. You've never run from your fears, for God's sake you ride them! What the hell are you thinking?!"

Tears stream down her face, and Tyler feels his resolve slipping. He hadn't thought it through, not really, and now as she stands in front of him, he realizes he's only hurting her more and more. He needed an out, he needed to skip town, no matter who it hurt.

"I'm thinking that I'm a fuckin' failure at everything, no matter what I try! The only thing I'm good at is storms, chasin' them, getting close enough to see something! I fail at everything, Y/N/N, and if I stay, I'll just fail you, too. Over and over."

"Tyler, you've never failed me," she brings her hands to either side of his face, her thumb brushing a cut that still hadn't scarred over from his fall. Her eyes were blurry and her hands trembled. "Please, stay." Her voice was hardly a whisper, pleading desperately.

"You know I can't."

She nodded solemnly, wiping tears so she could take a final look into his eyes. She gave no warning when she launched her arms around his neck, all but hanging onto him like a child. He hugged her tighter than he ever had, and when she let go, he placed a final heated goodbye kiss on her lips. Y/N looks at him, her brain screaming pleas to make him stay, but she simply kisses his cheek before speaking.

"C-call me when you get there?"

He takes one last glance at her, taking her in completely, as if trying to memorize her. His eyes land on the jewelry adorning the spot just below her collarbone, the gold shining in the sunset, knowing he'd never see it on her again-if he ever even saw her again.

"You'll be the first person I call, baby."

Y/N's call never came.

She spent the summer miserable, but refused to take off the gold chain she hid under shirts. It burned her skin in a metaphorical sense, but she ignored it, just like the heartbreak that had festered into deep resentment for Tyler Owens. She'd decided to take off to the local university for a clean start, somewhere new, somewhere his ghost wouldn't haunt her. Things had begun to look up, and she found herself smiling again. The morning before her first day of classes, she almost took the chain off, but couldn't bring herself to do so.

When she spotted his tall figure sitting a row ahead of her in her Intro to Meteorology class, she pretended not to know who he was. It was only fair, he'd done the same to her. For a reason that neither of them could vocalize, they begin to hate one another. Without knowing it, Tyler had become the storm that had sparked her into chasing after danger forever, the one that had left destruction so fatal she wasn't sure if she'd ever recover.

-

ii.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Y/N rolls her eyes and nearly throws her laptop across her dorm room when she looks down at her field partner pairing. The name in bold stares back at her like some sick joke.

Tyler Owens.

She shuts her laptop with a force that could shatter glass and slams her face into her pillow to let out a scream that could have easily been heard four counties over. The universe had to hate her.

With one glance at her watch, she hops from her bed and packs her duffel, her camera slung around her other shoulder. After silently praying that this storm takes her away in one quick swoop, she opens the door to her room and stumbles down the stairs to the lobby, where he was waiting for her outside the double doors. She can already feel her skin flaming with anger when she catches sight of his towering frame, baseball cap thrown backwards over his head.

"'Bout fuckin' time sweetheart, thought the storm would pass before we even got out there!"

"Oh, kiss my ass, Owens."

She rolls her eyes and climbs into the red truck she had once been a permanent fixture in, feeling almost like nothing had changed since the last time she'd crawled into the passenger side. She had half a mind to let down the driver's side visor to see if her picture still sat inside it, but Tyler climbs in the second she thinks about it. The half hour drive is uncomfortable, silent, and laced with tension so thick both halves of the couple begin to wonder if the air supply is getting thin. But as the storm approaches, both of their eyes are locked on the massive twisting figure just ahead of them. Y/N reaches for her camera, focusing the lens as best as she can through the windshield of the truck. She sighs when the view is less than satisfactory. Without much thought, she begins to move the window crank on the door to let down the window.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Tyler's voice breaks their silence.

"What does it look like, Owens? Getting a better shot." Her body hangs halfway out the window, camera leaning out the window as she moves the lens and clicks.

"Get your ass in the truck, I'm not payin' your hospital bills when you fall out and I run over you."

She rolls her eyes and ignores him, almost her entire body hanging out the window.

"Okay, okay, get in the truck, I'll get you closer, Jesus."

She pulls herself back into the truck and rolls the window back up as Tyler moves forward down the muddy path, closer to the storm now building ahead. The wind and rain grow more intense, shaking even the bulky vehicle that could easily withstand even the most treacherous of conditions. The spiraling tunnel only moves at a more pummeling speed, and Y/N's sharp shout fills the air.

"Stop the truck!"

He hits the brake and before the truck even stops, Y/N's rolling out of the passenger side, camera raised as she captures a monster of a storm. Tyler finds himself silent, momentarily distracted-her hair blowing with the force of the wind, the smile drawn across her face, and the long sleeve button down she'd been wearing was slipping down her shoulders, exposing her tank top and-wait-he raises an eyebrow, his heart stopping. Against her neck sat a gold chain he knew too well. It stops him completely in his tracks, shocked that she still wore his initial around her neck. The sound of a roaring train pulls him from his thoughts and sends him leaning out his own door.

"Y/N," he's shouting over the loud winds. "GET YOUR ASS IN THE TRUCK!"

The barrel of wind only gets closer, the fierceness of wind making Tyler's heart race. The girl outside his truck, however, only smiles wider, raising her camera for another shot of the approaching storm.

"I'M FINE, TYLER. WIND'S NOT EVEN THAT BAD!"

Tyler huffs as his voice, raspy from yelling, shouts again.

"THAT WASN'T A REQUEST, SWEETHEART. GET YOUR ASS IN THIS TRUCK!"

She ignores his shouts, only squinting her eyes at the horizon as the wind picks up another notch, making the shirt now halfway down on her arms blow like a flag in the wind. Tyler gives her a minute to comply, hoping this was just a momentary phase of her being stubborn. After five minutes, Tyler cursed and stomped out of the truck over to her. He says nothing, picking her up over his shoulder.

"TYLER! WHAT THE FUCK?! PUT ME DOWN, ASSHOLE!"

He doesn't give in to her retorts, simply swinging her door open and shoving her into the passenger seat. He gets into his driver's side and slings his arm on her headrest, turning to back the truck around.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have some sort of sick kink where you get off on ruining my life? I had a perfect shot, it-"

"You had a perfect shot of getting sucked into a tornado is what you had, Y/N. You're gonna get yourself killed gettin' that fuckin' close!"

"Like you would care." Her voice isn't even a mumble, and Tyler hardly hears her over the sounds of the storm.

It sends a jab of pain through his heart he doesn't expect, and instead of saying anything, he lets her stew in anger in his passenger seat. When he drops her off at her dorm, she agrees to email him her half of the project, and a week later he receives it.

He opens the email to find exactly what he imagines, the most spectacular shots of a storm he's ever seen. After the report and photos are submitted, the two never speak to one another again. They both graduate under the same Arkansas sun, but lead different lives in the same area of the country. Y/N swears she sees his truck pass her every time she goes out to shoot, and he sees her in every girl that stands in a field with a camera.

Y/N would never admit that she has a burner account subscribed to his livestreams, or that she laughed and smiled as she watched him hoop and holler with his ragtag group of friends, memories of the chases they once went on filling her mind more fondly than painfully these days. And if she had one of the red and white shirts with his stupid cartoon face plastered against it, well, no one would ever know.

When Boone and the rest of his crew would stop for food and rest breaks, if Tyler saw her name plastered in a newspaper or magazine, he'd put it on the counter next to his plethora of snacks. He'd never admit he'd cut her articles out of them and kept them in a small scrapbook that lived in his glovebox, right next to the picture of her that once lived in his visor-only because a magazine cut-out clip of her lived there now, her smiling with a massive twin barrel storm behind her, the gold chain peeking from the shirt was wearing.

-

iii.

"Ty, man, this one's a beaut! She's unreal!"

Boone's voice filled Tyler's ears from the passenger seat, but as Tyler looked out at the horizon, his attention was far from the brunette that sat next to him. He saw her car before he saw her-the same rink-dink, decked out, black Subaru she'd had in college, meaning she was here on her own, not for business.

His green eyes darted to the field across from where it was parked, spotting her instantly as she stood in the tall grass, hair blowing as she brought her camera to her face, crouching down to get the perfect shot. She shook her head when she pulled back from it, enjoying the sight in front of her.

Tyler puts the truck in park and all but barrels out of the door, his boots taking him towards her, but not nearly fast enough.

"Jesus, who's that? And why's she got Ty all in a tizzy?" Boone leans over to Lilly, who gives him an incredulous look.

"That's Y/N Y/L/N, she's a storm photographer, apparently he's got some fan girl crush on her or somethin', he keeps her work in a binder."

"Holy shit! Tyler knows the Y/N Y/L/N?"

Tyler would've blushed and denied Lilly's statement vehemently, but he was too far away to hear. Instead, the whipping winds and the sound of Y/N's delightful laughter filled his ears.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Tyler's voice carries over the noise, falling on Y/N's ears. She takes a breath and turns to face him for the first time in years. She nods slowly.

"Yeah, she's gorgeous. Got some great shots."

Her throat feels dry as his eyes peer down at her. She finally braves a look up at him.

"Um, I'm not studying it or anything, just bored, really. I'll let you and your crew have her."

She gives him a small smile, but he notes it's genuine as she caps the lens on her camera.

"It was good to see you, Ty. Good luck."

"Y/N, wait. I-I need to ask you somethin'."

She pauses her steps, turning back to face the man in front of her. For a split second, he looks just like the younger version that had left her all those years ago-the hat, the belt buckle, but none of that same all consuming fear.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you still wear it? I saw you, that time in college, and when you did that shoot outside of Kansas City, the picture they published of you, it-you can see it real clear."

Y/N stills, pushing back hair that's blowing in the wind as she looks at him. She could say a multitude of things-how she wore it because she'd gotten so used to always wearing it. That she wore it because she wanted to hold onto him the only way she could. She could lie and say that she used it as a good luck charm. None of them would be the truth, and she was sick of lying to him, so she simply told the truth.

"Well, all the best chasers, they carry their first storm with them, right?"

She pauses, realizing how vague that was.

"What I mean is, without you taking me through my first storm I never would've done this. I was terrified of them, and you and that stupid red truck of yours showed me how beautiful they can be, and now I capture their beauty for a living. I never would've had any of this without you, so-"

She shrugs, giving him a small chuckle. The silence suffocates as he looks at her.

"Tyler listen-"

"If you're gonna apologize, don't. I'm the one that should apologize, I left you all those years ago. That was real shitty of me, and I didn't give you a warnin' or a reason why. So, I'm sorry, for all of it."

She nods, giving him a smile. The quiet floods between them again, and she pushes back her hair again before she speaks.

"I-I watch your videos, y-your livestreams. You're still crazy, but it reminds me of when we used to chase, and you'd scare me to death, and then you'd, uh, 'apologize' for it and, sometimes it's like I'm there with you."

He laughs with her.

"I-I've got every newspaper and magazine clippin' you've ever been in. You're pictures they're-breathtakin', it feels like you're standin' in the field right there next to you. I guess that's just because I used to be and memories, ya know?"

She nodded, giving him a sweet smile, one that sends his heart racing. They both turn their attention to the horizon where the storm seems relatively calm, at least by their standards.

"Uh, Y/N? I'm sorry, I promised you somethin' all those years ago, and I never made good on it. I think about that a lot, and-just-I'm sorry."

"I forgave you a long time ago, Ty, we were kids." She pauses, tilting her head as she looks at the storm brewing. "Besides, I don't think I'm cut out for that life anymore, I like life on the road. I mean, where else do you get moments like this? The storms back home are wonders, but nothing like this."

"I agree with you there," he chuckles. His heart pounds, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. "I miss you though."

She cuts her eyes to his own, as if waiting for him to explain himself.

"You were my original chasin' partner, ya know? Plus, when things got scary, you never flinched, not really. This reporter I've got now? God help us all, can't stand much more than a strong wind."

Y/N laughs loudly before she shakes her head.

"Well, you might be in luck. I hate working for that magazine, I really, really do." She turns to face him, camera pulled close to her chest. "The Tornado Wranglers hiring? I'm looking for a job. I have a portfolio if you need it, references too."

Her statement is laced with sarcasm.

Tyler finds himself laughing now, a wide smile plastered across his face.

"I'm familiar with your work, have it on good graces that you're just what we're lookin' for. Lucky for you, we've always got room for one more, that is, if you'll have us. I gotta warn you, those over there are a handful."

"If they're anything like you, I'm likely to fall in love with them instantly."

Y/N doesn't register the words stumbling out of her mouth until they'd already filled the air between them. Without a word, Tyler grabs her hand, pulling her in closer than people who have a history like theirs should. His calloused fingers reach out to the gold pendant lying on her neck, moving it back and forth between its fingers. It had withstood their time apart-it was scratched and a little weather-worn, but, then again, so were they.

"The clasp broke about a year ago, the rest is all original. Pure gold, willing to sell it for a good offer. The guy at the pawn tried to undersell me, I know what I've got."

Tyler's chest warms, that sarcastic, witty humor he'd missed back in full force.

"Do you take alternate forms of payment?" He pulls her in by her waist with a cocky grin.

"Depends, Owens, what did you have in mind?"

He cocks his eyebrow, giving her a sort of contemplative look as his hands rest on the small of her back, hers around his neck.

"Well, I still owe you about-," He lifts his hand from around her and pretends to count on his fingers. "A billion apologies, we could chase this stunner of a storm, drop these characters back off at the motel, find us an empty field, and I could apologize like I used to...maybe?"

She shakes her head and pulls him in for a heated kiss. They're both smiling so hard its hardly a kiss, but the feelings are there.

"You've got yourself a deal, but I'm keeping the necklace."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, baby." He kisses her head, pulling her back towards his group of friends, who were now whistling at the pair, obviously catching the interaction. "Fair warning, after he finds out just who you are, Boone's likely to fall in love with you."

She raises her eyebrow, pulling away and heading towards the motley crew ahead of her.

"Guess you'll just have to chase me next."

-

taglist:

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

[stranger-nightmare]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐎𝐧𝐞 | 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 ’𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫’ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 & 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 ’𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧’ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧

requested by anonymous

A/N: happy halloween darlings!! here we have the final kinktober post, and it’s not a short drabble like the rest of my kinktober posts, oh no no no my lovelies, this is a full-on, long-ass oneshot, so enjoy!!

I hope you’ve enjoyed the rest of my kinktober posts too, and I hope you’ve all had / are having a wonderful halloween!!

“Hey Angel,” Jake winks at you, letting his gaze rake up and down your body languidly, a smirk plastering his face.

You roll your eyes at the cliché joke, clearly referencing your outfit for the night. It was Halloween and you, along with all the other Top Gun pilots, were at a party for the evening hosted graciously by Yale at his impressive beach house. You’d decided to dress in accordance to your callsign; Angel.

A plain white dress, simple, elegant, and still sexy as hell. It was tight, hugging your curves and contours of your body. The material was thin enough that your nipples were just apparent beneath the delicate fabric. It’s neckline just low enough to be enticing, its hemline the same; just short enough to be tempting, showing a fair amount of your bare thighs. A soft glimmer of glitter was dusted over your skin, giving you an ethereal glow. And last, but not least, you wore a simple halo headband for the full effect.

“Very clever,” you quip sarcastically to Jake’s comment.

You then let your gaze rake over Jake and his costume, taking in the glory of his body and how much of it he’d left on display. Not surprisingly Jake had decided to dress as a cowboy, and a slutty one at that. A beige cowboy hat sat atop his head, accentuating his tanned skin. He wore a blue chequered shirt which he hadn’t bothered to do up, leaving it open to reveal his almost obscenely perfect torso. His light blue jeans were tight and hung low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination. His belt was thick, a large oval gold buckle sitting between the v of his muscles which glared like an arrow towards where you were most curious to peak…

“Like what you see darlin’?” He tilts his head cockily, letting his Texan drawl deepen his voice. 

You shrug, trying to look nonchalant, attempting to hide your warm cheeks by taking a swig of your drink. Thankfully at that moment you feel a hand on your arm and turn to see Bradley behind you. Your gaze flicks over him quickly, taking in the blue jeans, blue denim jacket, and orange puffer vest. You knew immediately who he was dressed as; the one and only Marty McFly from Back to the Future.

“Ah, just in time,” you joke lightly, referencing his outfit.

“Very funny, Angel,” he squints playfully at you as you roll your eyes at the cheap joke for the second time that night. 

“Seresin,” he nods a greeting at Jake.

“Bradshaw,” Jake returns the greeting nod, his signature cocky smirk adorning his face again.

“You look good,” Bradley compliments with a wicked gleam in his voice.

“I am good, Rooster. I’m very good,” Jake quips, his smirk growing even more. 

You shake your head with a small laugh. You reach behind you, feeling out until your hand wrapped around Bradley’s. Your other hand reaches out to grab Jake’s. 

“Come on boys,” you giggle invitingly, starting to tug the boys along with you as you moved towards the centre of the living room where other people were dancing, “let’s go dance!” 

The boys let you drag them along, guiding them towards the dance floor. You giggle as you start to dance, swaying in time to the music, your hands still gripping the boys. Bradley is quick to join in, letting himself move with you as you swung your arm with his. Jake, on the other hand, releases your hand with a shrug, mumbling something about how he didn’t really want to dance, before he moves to lean against the wall just opposite you.

Of course Jake Seresin was too cool to dance, you think to yourself. Your eyes roll again before an idea flashes in your mind. You keep your gaze steady on Jake’s as you slowly press yourself backwards, letting your body lean into Bradley’s. You break your gaze away from Jake’s for a second as you twist your head to look up at Bradley behind you. You let your hand reach up until it snaked around Bradley’s nape, your nails scratching at the base of his scalp.

At the same time, you start to rock your hips in time with the music, swaying lightly, deliberately pushing back against Bradley so your ass was grinding against his crotch. Bradley lets out the softest of groans, so quiet you’d have missed it if his mouth wasn’t right against your ear as he pressed his cheek against your head. His hips quickly start to match your rhythm, swaying with you, rocking into your backside. 

His hands quickly snake around your body, one finding purchase on your hip, helping to guide you as you moved together. The other lies flat against your stomach, keeping you in place flush against him. You let out a gentle sigh as you tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, eyes closed, as you grind with Bradley. It’s then that you let your eyes open again, landing on Jake where he was still leaning against the wall. But now he was leant forward, his eyes burning as they watched you with such an intensity you could practically feel the heat on your skin. You let your lips part with another soft sigh as you determinedly keep your eyes steady on Jake’s. Your hands wander over your own body, caressing yourself as you moved to the music. Jake’s eyes follow your hands, drinking in each movement as they roam over the curves of your body. 

You decide to push him even further, determined to break his resolve. Your hands move to the already short hem of your white dress, pulling it up slightly, revealing even more of the soft skin of your thighs, tugging it until it just barely covered your clothed core. You see Jake’s body physically tense as he watches your movement, his eyes transfixed on the exposed skin of your bare thighs. You hear as light chuckle behind you as Bradley cottons on to your little game.

A small gasp escapes you when Bradley decides to join in on your little game. You could feel his head shift as he tucked it into your neck even further, his lips lightly brushing against your skin, sending a shiver through your spine. But you knew, somehow you knew, that his eyes were also locked onto Jake. You let your back arch against Bradley, your mouth hanging open with a soft moan as one of Bradley’s hands move to caress your thigh, his fingers dragging across your bare skin, slowly moving higher and higher until they also toyed with hem of your short dress. 

That was the final straw for Jake, his resolve finally breaking.

He pushes himself up off the wall and stalks directly towards you. You don’t let him talk, barely give him a second as he approaches you, before you’re reaching outwards and grabbing him by the belt buckle and pulling him in until his hips collided with your own. Your hands immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him in close as you keep your hips rocking, bucking up against Jake, feeling the push of his belt buckle into your abdomen. Jake’s hands are quick to grip onto your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he moves you against him. The surge of power that flows through you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. To have these two beautiful men pressed against, hips rocking against yours, hands all over your body; it made you dizzy, in the best possible way. 

You don’t know how long you stay like this with them. The music, the chatter, it all blurs into the background as your focus remains solely on the two men holding you, touching you, intoxicating you. Their hands were all over your body, caressing and grabbing at your waist, your ass, your hips, your thighs. You thanked the gods there was music playing loud enough so that no one else could hear the moans that fell freely from your lips.

Well, except Bradley and Jake, who seemed to drink in each of your moans, meeting them with a buck of their hips, a pinch of their fingers on your dress, a groan of their own against your skin. Both of them had their faces buried in your neck, letting their heavy breathing fan over your skin, the brim of Jake’s hat knocking against your head. You could feel both of their lips barely brushing over your skin, but neither of them moved to take anything further, neither moved to actually kiss you yet, no matter how desperate you were for it. 

You didn’t think you could take it much longer; your body was aching for more. And from what you could feel poking into your ass and your crotch, both boys were aching for more too. You let one hand reach behind you again, searching for Bradley’s nape and twisting your fingers into his hair. You reach out with your other hand, scratching down Jake’s bare torso until your fingers hook into his belt again, pulling him somehow even closer, yanking to get his attention. You can feel Bradley smile against your neck as you tug on his hair. Jake, however, lifts his head, removing it from the crook of your neck, until his eyes met yours again. His eyes are alight with lust, flickering with wicked intent. 

A whispered ‘please’ passes your lips before you can think better of it, causing that god forsaken smirk to return to Jake’s face. He leans in closer to you until the tip of his nose brushes against your own. Your breath hitches in your throat as his hungry gaze devours you.

“Please?” He mocks, titling his head to the side. “What is it that you want, angel?” 

You stammer helplessly as all words fail you. Your cheeks heat as you feel Bradley chuckle into your neck, equally as amused as Jake by your withering composure. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Jake prompts teasingly, his lips dangerously close to yours, your breathes mixing with his.

“I- I want-“ you pant heavily as all of the sensations almost overwhelm you, your mind spinning. 

“Hmm?” Jake prompts, his eyes darkening as they drop to stare greedily at your lips. 

“I want… you,” you finally manage to sigh breathlessly. 

You twist your head slightly towards Bradley, your cheek bumping his nose where he still had his face buried in your neck. The arm that still held onto Bradley’s nape tightened, tugging on his hair slightly with trembling fingers. 

“I- I want both of you,” your voice quivers as you finally admit to it, your cheeks warming. 

Your eyes flick back to Jake in front of you, your knees going weak as you take in the sheer look of hunger and desire that darkened his green eyes. His tongue darts out to wet his lips quickly as his eyes drag over your entire body greedily. 

“Hmm,” Jake acknowledges darkly, “is that so?” 

His gaze then shifts to behind you, locking eyes with Bradley.

“You alright with that, Bradshaw?” He drawls.

You can feel Bradley smirk against your skin as he places a quick kiss below your ear. He then lifts his head to meet Jake’s stare: “oh, I’m more than okay with it, Seresin…”

The next thing you know the three of you are snaking through the crowd, making your way upstairs until you eventually landed upon an empty bedroom. Jake locks the door behind the three of you, turning to face you where you stood somewhat awkwardly in the centre of the room. Bradley was just behind you, already shucking off his puffer vest and denim jacket, tossing them on a chair in the corner of the room, leaving him in just his button up and jeans. You gulp loudly, nerves flowing through you as Jake stalks over to you, moving to stand right in front of you. Your breath hitches in your throat as he towers over you, his eyes locked onto yours as he drinks you in, his green eyes glowing with desire.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?” Jake looks at you seriously as he takes off his cowboy hat and tosses it so it lands on the bedside table. 

You couldn’t believe that this was about to happen, your knees felt weak and you couldn’t tell where the nerves ended and the excitement started. You nod, not trusting your own voice to sound steady. You then feel a strong body sidle up behind you, a hand moving to cup your jaw, turning you gently until your face met Bradley’s. His thumb strokes your jaw reassuringly as he looks at you just as seriously as Jake did.

“You can tell us stop at any time, okay? Just say the word.”

You nod again, a tiny nervous smile gracing your lips. Bradley’s eyes dart to your mouth just as his thumb shifts to tug on your bottom lip. His eyes flick to yours for a final check in before he slowly, tentatively, leans in to push his mouth against yours. His lips start soft with yours, moving languidly, letting the two of you learn each other’s mouth. His thumb keeps stroking your jaw as his hand still cups your jaw, each brush of skin sending flares of electricity through your body. 

Beside you Jake saddles up closer, his head dipping into the crook of your neck again. But this time his lips work to caress your skin with kisses, his warm tongue tasting you with each mark he gently sucked into your skin. A soft moan escapes you, passing into Bradley’s mouth. He swallows it greedily, reciprocating with a gentle groan of his own. The noises seem to provoke something in Jake, who starts kissing his way up the side of your neck, moving upwards until he nipped lightly at your jaw.

You got the hint immediately, smiling lightly as you kiss Bradley for a final moment before you turn to your head towards Jake. Your eyes lock with his for just a second before he crashes his mouth greedily against yours, a barely contained restraint evident in his lips as he fights to be gentle, but everything in his body seems to want to devour you whole.

You whimper against his mouth, which seems to break the last of Jake’s restraint. His hands move to cup your face, pulling you against him. His body arches until his hips collide with yours, almost throwing you off balance with the force. Thankfully Bradley was still behind you to hold you steady, his hands gripping your waist. Jake’s lips are insatiable against yours; he kisses you dizzy, breathless, until your body is almost slack against Bradley as your knees go weak again. 

You moan into Jake’s mouth when you feel Bradley’s lips start to move on your neck, his moustache tickling your skin. Your hands rake down Jake’s chest again, scratching over his hard muscles. You then slide your hands back up his body, roaming over his shoulders, pushing his open shirt off him as you go. His hands release your face for only a second as he lets his shirt fall to the floor. His mouth is about to collide with yours again when you dodge him with a smirk, twisting your body between them as you face Bradley. 

Jake groans behind you as you lean to capture Bradley’s lips with your own, kissing him deeply as your hands desperately fumble with the buttons of his shirt. You feel the warmth of Jake’s body press into you from behind, his lips replacing where Bradley’s had just been on your neck, working to leave marks of his own across your skin.

You didn’t even realise you were trembling until your fingers fail to undo Bradley’s buttons. Mercifully he steps in to help, smirking against your mouth as he deftly undoes his own shirt, swiftly shirking it off and onto the floor. Your hands roam his torso just as greedily as they’d explored Jake’s, scratching again over the hard surface of his muscles. 

A surprised gasp tears from your mouth when you feel Jake’s hands caress your thighs, dragging up your skin until he reaches the hem of your dress, pulling it up slowly as he goes. The kiss with Bradley is broken as you allow Jake to pull the dress off you completely. Bradley’s breath hitches in his throat as he looks down at you, left bare except for the thin white lace panties you had on. Jake groans deeply, a sound of satisfaction as he looms over you from behind, causing you to look up at him and bat your eyelashes with a coy innocence.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Jake hums as he dips his head to kiss your neck again.

“Fucking perfect,” Bradley concurs before he crashes his lips to your again. 

Bradley’s hands grip your waist, pulling you against him. Meanwhile, Jake’s hands slide around your body until they found your tits, cupping them in his large palms. He uses his grip to pull you towards him, letting your back arch and your head tilt until your kiss with Bradley was broken again and Jake could once again close his mouth over yours. Your soft moans are swallowed by Jake as he plays with your tits, squeezing and kneading them, his large fingers pinching your nipples gently. For a moment you’re so lost in Jake’s kiss again, in the feeling of his large hands caressing your tits, that you barely register as Bradley’s hands curve round your hips, his fingers curling around the fabric of your panties. 

“Don’t think you’ll be needing these anymore, angel,” Bradley whispers wickedly against your neck just as he yanks hard and rips your panties right off you, tearing through the thin fabric. 

You gasp a pathetic whimper just as both boys chuckle darkly. You turn your head back to face Bradley, barely able to get out a complaint at your ruined panties before Bradley’s hand is moving to hover just above where you were aching to be touched, his fingers skimming over your pubic bone. You look up at him pliantly, eyes wide and pleading as you silently beg to be touched, bucking your hips into his touch, your pussy throbbing in desperation for some, any, kind of friction.

But Bradley’s eyes shift to look beyond you, locking gazes with Jake as they silently communicate their next move. Jake’s hand moves from behind you until he finds his place between your thighs. A strangled moan tears from your throat as he starts to rub his fingers between your folds, collecting and spreading your slick.

“Fuck Angel,” Jake groans, “you’re so wet. This all for us, hmm?” He hums cockily, already knowing the answer. 

You whimper, nodding lightly as your cheeks flush with heat, hiding your face in Bradley’s chest.

“Come get a feel of this Bradshaw; she’s practically dripping,” Jake’s voice is laced with a wicked edge.

Bradley accepts the invitation without hesitation, finally letting his hand dip lower until his fingers too were between your folds. He hisses in a sharp breath as he feels your slick coat his fingers.

“Shit,” he grunts with a smirk, “she’s soaked.” 

Your cheeks heat further, but by now you’re almost beyond caring; you just needed these boys to stop teasing you and to start touching you.

“Please,” you breathe quietly against Bradley’s chest.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ve got you,” Jake coos against the shell of your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “Gotta make sure you’re nice and ready to take us,” he whispers just as he sinks a finger into your aching cunt. 

You moan loudly, hips involuntarily pushing back against him until his finger was sunk to knuckle inside you. Jake holds you steady with his free hand, keeping his arm wrapped over your torso, pressing you against him. Your head falls back pitifully against his shoulder as his lips continue to roam your neck. Bradley’s hand, the one that was also between your legs, started to move in sync with Jake, his fingers rubbing at your clit.

You gasp and lurch forwards, pleasure starting to build and flow in your body. Jake’s lips are attached to your shoulder, kissing and biting even more marks into you skin. Bradley kept his head up, cocked to the side, as he watched you intently, enjoying the way your face was twisting with pleasure even from the slightest of touches. Your mouth hangs open in a soundless gasp when you feel Jake push another finger inside you, starting to use a scissoring motion, stretching you out slightly. Your breathing gets heavier, practically panting as you look at Bradley helplessly, so overcome with pleasure already. 

And these boys hadn’t even got to fucking you yet. 

Your legs were weak at the prospect. Bradley hums in satisfaction as he watches you become more and more undone between them. He leans down to place a kiss to your lips, his fingers still working your clit with expert ministrations. Jake starts to move faster, pumping inside you with even more fervour, his long fingers reaching that sensitive spot that had you mewling from how good it felt.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, the sound muffled against Bradley’s lips, as you feel the coil start to tighten inside your belly, your orgasm fast approaching.

You lurch forwards, your head dropping as you now lean heavily against Bradley’s chest. Your knees start to feel weak, a tremble radiating through your thighs as they bring you closer to the precipice of your climax. All it takes is a final few thrusts from Jake’s fingers, a final few circles from Bradley’s fingers, and you’re gasping loudly as pleasure washes over you. Your pussy clenches, your body convulsing as your hips rock against their hands, riding out the euphoria. 

“That’s it, baby,” Bradley praises proudly just as he starts to slow down his movements until he eventually pulled his hand away as you started to shiver with sensitivity. 

“Mmm,” Jake hums against your neck as he scissors open his fingers inside you a few more times, “I think you’re ready to take us now sweetheart.” 

A tiny moan escapes you at the prospect; the fact that you were finally going to have both men inside you… it was enough to nearly have your knees buckling from under you. Bradley keeps a hold of your waist, keeping you steady as Jake releases you and moves away as he starts to strip himself of his jeans and boxers, kicking off his cowboy boots. Once Bradley is satisfied that you’d found your footing again he quickly follows suit, freeing himself of his own jeans and boxers.

With both men now naked beside you barely knew where to look or what to do with yourself. Both of them were glorious, and a part of you noted that they could have gone as Greek gods for Halloween, and it would have made perfect sense. Of course, Jake quickly notices you staring and tilts his head cockily, his smirk returning.

“Like what you see, Angel?” He taunts, calling back to the same question earlier in the night, as he saunters back over to you.

Jake encircles you in his arms and pulls you until your right side was pressed against his chest, letting your naked body collide with his, your skin flush against his, his hardened cock resting against the side of your ass. You can’t help the warmth of blush that creeps into your cheeks as he stares you down cockily. He chuckles cheekily just as he moves to climb onto the bed, guiding you with him.

He lays on his side, coaxing you to do the same, so that your chest was still pressed against his. Barely a moment later you feel the bed dip behind you and another large, strong body settle against your own. You look back over your shoulder to be meet with Bradley’s warm brown eyes. He quickly ducks his head to capture your lips in another kiss, keeping his mouth moving against yours as he slides in close beside you, his hardened cock pushing against the curve of your ass.

At the same time Jake pushes his hips forward against yours, his dick slipping between your thighs. You gasp against Bradley’s mouth as the tip of Jake’s cock rubs through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Bradley takes advantage of the moment, licking into your mouth and deepening the kiss, groaning at the way you were starting to rock your hips in response to Jake, your ass now sliding across Bradley’s dick. 

Jake’s head dips to latch his lips onto one side of your neck, his breathing starting to become as heavy as your own as he slowly starts to fuck himself between your legs, gliding between your thighs. Bradley swiftly follows suit, pushing his hips closer into you, angling his dick until he was also slotted between your thighs. Between your legs was a wet mess, your arousal, your cum, and a mixture of both men’s precum. They both rub their cocks fervently between your legs, fucking your thighs, gliding against each other; Jake’s cock just barely brushing against your folds, Bradley slotted just below him, rubbing his cock against the underside of Jake’s. You see their gaze lock for a minute as they rub their dicks against each other, both of their eyes alight with a kind of wicked challenge, as if daring the other to go on. They both smirk as they both rise to the challenge, letting themselves move between your thighs as they fuck against each other at the same time. 

Your moans are nothing but pathetic mewls as you move with them, squeezing your thighs together, revelling in the sounds it pulled from both men. Your grind your hips, pushing down, desperately hoping to gain more friction as Jake’s tip just barely moves against your throbbing pussy. Your hole clenches over nothing as you frantically buck your hips. Pathetic pleads pass your lips before you even realise you’d spoken aloud.

“Please,” you whimper. “Need you. Need you both,” you pout, nudging Jake’s cheek with your nose, your lips ghosting over his skin. “Need you both inside me,” you whisper brokenly as you reach an arm behind you to caress Bradley’s nape, twisting your head to look at him with imploring eyes. Strong fingers hook under your chin and pull your head until you were confronted with Bradley’s face in front of yours. 

“You still sure you want this?” He whispers gently.

You nod quickly, digging your nails into his nape where your hand was still caressing his neck. Bradley’s smile grows into a taunting smirk that matched the one you were used to seeing on Jake.

“You think you’re ready to take us, angel?” He murmurs darkly, his voice dangerously low and deep.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please,” you add in a whisper, rocking your hips back against him for emphasis. 

Both men hum deeply in acknowledgment to your pleas. They then lock eyes again, that silent communication once again passing between them. The men nod briefly at each other, wicked smiles growing on both their faces.

Bradley moves first, shifting his hips and grabbing his dick in one hand, guiding it from between your messy thighs to between your ass cheeks. He rubs himself between your cheeks for a moment, lubing your tight hole with the slick mixture he’d coated himself in between your legs a moment ago. The head of his cock, wet with his precum, gently nudges against your hole, causing a low moan to lodge in your throat. His warm brown eyes flick up to meet your gaze, silently checking in with you a final time. You nod once, pushing your forehead against his, a tiny ‘please’ passing your parted lips. Bradley tilts his head to press his lips against yours briefly just before he finally, slowly and gently, pushes inside you.

Your mouth hangs open, your breathing ragged as you feel the dull ache of him stretching your tight hole. Bradley moves slowly, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. He takes his time as he steadily sinks inside you, letting you adjust to his size. 

“That’s it baby, you can take him. You’re doing so well,” Jake hums quietly as he kisses your neck lightly. “Such a good girl for us,” he mumbles against your skin. 

Your breath hitches in your throat, your chest rising and falling heavily as Bradley bottoms out, pushing as deep as possible into you. He hums gentle shushing noises as he kisses your face delicately. 

“You feeling okay, baby?” He whispers against your lips, his forehead still pressed against yours. 

You nod, again not trusting your voice. The dull ache was still there, but it wasn’t exactly painful. In fact, it felt good, a delicious throbbing that made you feel spectacularly full.

“Good,” Bradley hums in satisfaction. 

Just then Jake starts to move his hips again, pushing up higher this time. He rubs his dick through your folds, his head nudging against your clit, causing you to jerk towards his touch, your ass moving slightly along Bradley’s cock. Bradley keeps your face turned towards him, his fingers still cupping your chin. 

“Ready to take Jake now?” He murmurs quietly, his moustache tickling your skin as his lips lightly brush against your own. 

You nod silently again.

“Good girl,” he hums, his eyes briefly shifting to Jake’s, as if giving him permission to finally make his move, to finally slot himself inside your aching cunt.

Bradley releases your chin and you’re quick to whip your head back round to face Jake in front of you. Jake's hand, the one that wasn’t pinned underneath him on the bed, moved so his hand could cup your cheek. He thumbs your lips, tugging on your bottom lip, keeping your head in place so he could keep his gaze on your face as he moved to sink himself inside you.

Jake moves just as slowly and gently as Bradley had done, steadily pushing into you, giving you that time to adjust as he stretched you out even more. You hiss lightly at the slight burn, the sensation of being so full. Jake moves cautiously, watching your face the entire time, admiring the way it contorted with a mixture of pleasure and pain, the way your mouth hung open lightly. 

With a final shift of his hips Jake bottoms out inside you, causing moans to escape the both of you as clench already just at the feeling of them both filling you up. 

“Fuck,” he croaks, his voice sounding strained, laced with a strangled groan, “you’re still so tight.”

You mewl pathetically, nuzzling your nose against his neck as you revel in the look on his face; tightened with restraint, as if he was completely overcome with how good it felt to be inside you. 

“Feel how she’s clenching already, Seresin? We haven’t even started fucking her yet,” Bradley hums darkly beside your ear, his voice coated in a taunting chuckle.

You moan pathetically at his taunt, your body involuntarily clenching around them again, causing both men to snigger lightly. You pout pitifully as they taunt you, batting your eyelashes up at Jake as he looked down at you. But he just smirks before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He kisses you hard, messily, hungrily. His tongue and teeth collide with yours just as he starts to gently rock his hips, his cock slowly starting to drag in and out of you. A shiver runs down your body at the sensation, your body reacting on instinct, jerking against him.

Consequently, your ass moves against Bradley, the feeling of his cock dragging within you simultaneously causing your body to wrack with the sensations. Both men groan, almost in sync, as they both start to set a steady rhythm of thrusting into you. They both keep their pace gentle for now, still giving you that time to adjust. But you didn’t need any more time. Their slow pace was only serving to drive you wild with the need for them fuck you faster, fuck you harder. You mewl and whimper pitifully, your body moving frantically, trying to find a rhythm between them, a bit more speed, struggling to move your hips against both men simultaneously.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Bradley hums against your ear, his hand giving your hip a quick squeeze. “Let us do all the work. You just relax, angel,” he coos, gently coaxing your body to stay still as they both keep working to fuck you. 

“But I… I want… I need…,” you whimper between heavy pants.

“Mmm, what do you need sweetheart?” Jake hums in a breathy whisper, his head dipping to kiss your chest, his lips moving towards the valley of your breasts. 

“Use your words angel,” Bradley taunts, his warm breath caressing the shell of your ear, sending another shiver through your body. 

“Please... move faster. Harder,” you pant desperately, as you close your eyes and let your head drop onto the pillow beneath you.

You can practically feel their smirks, the wicked gleam in their eyes. They don’t need to answer you verbally; they let their bodies do the talking for them. Your eyes snap open, a gasp flying from your mouth as both men start to pick up the pace, fucking you a bit harder, a bit faster. Your entire body seems to tighten and convulse as pleasure already starts to sear through you. Bradley keeps one hand on your hip, helping to pull you back against him as he fucks your tight asshole. Jake lets his hand roam the curves of your torso, caressing your side, occasionally moving to knead at your tits before travelling your body again. 

Your upper body had fallen onto the mattress beneath, practically letting the boys use you as they pleased, almost limp in between them. 

Both Jake and Bradley, however, kept their torsos sat up slightly, leaning on their respective elbows as their hips moved against yours. You twist your head slightly to look up and see the men practically glaring at each other as they fucked you. Their rhythms pick up even more, their hips slamming against yours, squashing you between them, each thrust of their hips sending you jolting against the other. A tiny, knowing smile twitches at your lips as you quickly realise what was going on. As was typical between these two usual rivals, they were competing; competing over who could fuck you harder, fuck you better.

The boys’ grunts seem to get louder and louder as they stare each other down, their hips seem to slam into you with more fervour. You roll your eyes despite how hot the scene was; you knew it’d be even hotter if they’d just put their egos aside for a while and let it happen. You sigh deeply as you lean your head back and to the side, letting it fall against the pillow, giving the boys even more space as they glared at each other.

“Will you two cut the shit and just make out already?” You huff finally, gripping their necks and practically pushing them together. 

Bradley just smirks, clearly game for it, inviting Jake in, enjoying the small flare of panic that paints Jake’s face for a second. Jake looks to you momentarily, his eyes wide, just before Bradley’s mouth is on his. Jake sputters for a second, his entire body tensing, hips faltering. But it’s only for a moment, and then he’s melting into the kiss, his eyes closing, lips starting to move with Bradley’s.

You moan loudly, almost exaggeratively, as you watch the two of them. Your pussy clenches at the sight, eliciting synchronous groans from both men as you squeeze them. They continue to make-out, the kiss getting more and more heated, their bodies starting to move in time with each other, rocking against you, sending pleasure coursing through your body. The sight of them of together, their tongues dancing in the heated kiss, it was enough to almost have you cumming sooner than intended.

You can’t help as your body arches, pushing against them, almost involuntarily fighting for their attention to come back to you as a whimper passes your lips. Your nails dig into the back of Jake’s neck as you grip him tightly, pulling him towards you. Jake pulls his mouth off Bradley’s with a sinful pop, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he looks down at you. 

“Something wrong, princess?” Jake taunts, an equally wicked chuckle sounding from Bradley behind you. 

You whimper and pout as you lean to reach for his lips. Jake’s chuckle reverberates against your lips as his mouth attaches to yours again, still curved with his signature smirk. You’d only been kissing Jake for a second before you mouth goes limp, losing focus on the kiss, your lips hanging open as pleasure surges through you, taking over your mind, your body. 

“F-fuck,” you croak as your back arches, your toes curling. “You both feel… feel so fucking good. Sh- shit… I- I’m close. I’m gonna-,” you’re cut off with a pathetic squeak, unable to finish your sentence as your body tenses, reaching the precipice of pleasure. 

“Let go for us baby,” Bradley coos against your ear. “Give us everything, let us feel it,” he whispers huskily. 

With a final strained gasp you obey Bradley’s instruction, letting the build-up of pleasure crash over you. Your body shakes and convulses, rocking between the two boys as your orgasm wrecks through you, your pussy and asshole clenching, squeezing both boys as they continues to fuck you carefully. Jake curses incoherently as you clench over him, his hips losing rhythm just as he ducks his head into your chest, his hot breath fanning the valley between your breasts. A strain groaned is muffled against your skin as Jake’s hips finally still, his cock twitching and pulsing inside you as he reaches his own climax. 

“Fuck,” he groans in a dragged-out sigh, “feels incredible, doesn’t she Bradshaw?” Jake hums as he rocks his hips gently, fucking out the last of both his and your highs. 

Behind you, Bradley’s pace quickens, his thrusts getting sloppy and messy in rhythm as he chases his high.

“Y-yes, so good,” he sighs just before a loud groan falls from his lips, his hips stilling as he pushes deeply into you, pressing you tight against Jake’s chest again. 

Bradley groans deeply, almost laughing with his pleasure as his orgasm rushes through him. The room is full of the sounds of heavy breathing as you all slowly rock together, drawing out each other’s highs, bringing yourselves down slowly as the men fuck you gently.

The only other sound in the room is the wetness of the boys still moving slowly inside you, fucking their own cum out of you. The sounds were filthy. Sinful. Far from befitting your callsign and costume. Outside the room you could still hear the steady thrum of the music from the party, the chatter of all the guests. But that wasn’t of concern right now. 

All that existed for now, in this moment, was Jake and Bradley as you lay in between them coming down slowly from your highs.

Yale was definitely gonna kill you guys for the mess on the sheets though…

A/N: I have to admit I don’t think this is my finest work tbh but I was in a rush to finish it bc I worked a 14 hr shift today and I had to scramble to finish this yesterday so yeah sorry if it’s not the greatest piece of writing but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless!

Main Masterlist // Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

[purplefangirl42]

I am wondering if you can do a Hunter as a Cowboy Sheriff X Female Reader

Thanks for the request! I hope this meets your expectations! I'd totally be open to doing a second part for this if you want.

Tags: Stranded reader, Western AU

Dust covered everything. Your skirt, your boots, your hair, even your eyelashes were coated in dust. You had tried to rub your eyes to remove the offending particles, but had only succeeded in getting in your eyes, which caused more problems. What you really needed was a bath, but even a dip in a cool creek would suffice at this point.

You had been traveling across the sandy plains with a friend and her family, making your way to the next town when you were attacked by bandits during the night. You had managed to steer your horse away from danger and ride off into the darkness on your own. Unfortunately for you, the horse had gotten spooked by something and dumped you in the dirt before taking off, leaving you all alone. 

You had spent the last few hours trudging across the empty land in front of you, not really sure which direction you were headed. For all you knew, you could be going in the complete opposite direction of the town you had been traveling towards before the attack. It was likely that you would never see civilization again. 

Eventually, you came across a large bush and you sat down in the dirt beside it. The sun was beginning to rise and you knew that once it was high in the sky, you would truly be in danger. You had no food and no water. This bush was the only thing around you, offering you a place to sit where you would be shaded. Wandering aimlessly would get you nowhere, so here by the bush you decided to stay.

After a few more hours had passed, the sun was indeed high in the sky, scorching down on you despite the shade provided by the bush. You could feel your skin heating up under the sunshine and your discomfort grew with each minute that passed. Your refuge didn’t seem so appealing now. Maybe it would have been better to keep walking.

The sound of hooves grabbed your attention and you sat up to peer over the top of your bush. In the haze of the dusty air, you could see two horses, one with a man sitting atop it and the other free of a rider. You didn’t know if this was one of the bandits that had attacked you the night before, so you quickly ducked your head back behind the bush.

Then you heard it. The man was calling your name. You didn’t recognize the voice, how did he know your name? Curious, you poked your head up again to look at him. He had gotten down off his horse and was crouched in the dirt, as if he was looking for something. Your need to get out of this situation overpowered your wish to stay hidden, so you waved your hand to get his attention.

“I’m here!” you shouted.

The man looked up from his crouched position at the sound of your voice and quickly got back on his horse. He rode towards you, leading the unoccupied horse behind him. When he reached the bush, you stood to your full height, determined to put on a strong front. 

The man got down from his horse and approached you, raising his hand to cover his eyes from the burning sunlight. He wore a black cowboy hat and had a red scarf around his neck, but what really got your attention was that half of his face was covered in a black tattoo. Your gaze drifted down to the front of his chest, where a gold star badge glittered brightly in the sun.

A sheriff. A sheriff that knew your name and had come to look for you.

“I’ve been looking for you for hours, ma’am,” he said. “Your friend rode into town like hell itself was chasing her, screaming for help. She said she had lost you in the confusion and that you were still out here by yourself.”

“I’m glad you found me,” you said, pointing to the spare horse, “and my horse apparently.”

“I found him wandering around all alone, so I followed his trail back to where it looks like you were thrown from his back and then followed your prints from there. Are you alright?”

“I’m sore, dirty, parched, and exhausted. But other than that, I’m alright.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said, giving you a small smile. He removed his hat and held it across his chest as he bowed his head. “I beg your pardon, my name is Sheriff Hunter. I’m from the town not too far from where you were attacked.”

“I am grateful to you, Sheriff. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to get out of this dreadful heat.”

Sheriff Hunter placed his hat back on his head and gestured to your horse. He helped you up into the saddle before climbing back on his own horse. He guided the pair of you in the direction he had appeared from, which you guessed led towards the town he had spoken about. 

As you rode, you had a pleasant conversation to pass the time. He told you about how he and his brothers worked together to protect the town from bandits and others that had no good intentions. He also mentioned he had a younger sister that they were raising, and that he hoped she’d be something great someday.

“How many brothers do you have?” you asked.

“Fo…three,” he said, correcting himself in the middle of his sentence. “There were five of us originally, but one of them made some poor decisions and he’s no longer around.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said. “Maybe he’ll come back someday.”

“Maybe,” Hunter said softly.

After that, your conversation ground to a halt. You could tell that he was bothered by the fact that his brother was no longer in the picture. You hoped that your handsome rescuer would be able to have his family reunited one day. You knew how it felt to lose a sibling, and you wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone.

After some time, you could finally see the town in the distance. Hunter urged the horses to move faster and soon enough, you reached the edge of town. He led you through the bustling streets until you came to a stop in front of the Sheriff’s station. A small blonde girl sat on the front steps and she perked up at your arrival. She bolted to her feet and ran inside, calling for someone as she went.

You climbed down off your horse, and made a futile attempt to brush the dust off your skirt. You heard a voice call your name and when you turned, you saw your friend standing in the doorway to the station. She gathered her skirt in her hands and ran down the steps toward you, wrapping you up in her arms when she reached you.

“I’m so glad you’re safe!” she shouted as she pulled you into a tight embrace.

“You have Sheriff Hunter to thank for that. If he hadn’t found me, I’d be wandering the desert for the rest of my life.”

Your friend released you from her hold and turned to Hunter, nodding her head in thanks.

“You have my gratitude, Sheriff.”

Hunter returned her nod and turned to look at you.

“Try to stay out of trouble for a little while, darlin’,” he said. “Don’t want to have to come rescue you again.”

You gave him a soft smile and turned your gaze down as your cheeks began to heat up.

“I’ll try my best, Sheriff.”

[meat-wentz]

i saw your post about gerard/costumes and just wanted to say it made me emotional and stuff kthxbye. i was wondering if you were comfortable elaborating on some of the costume parties you went to? they sound so cool and i wanna know what theme warranted a machine gun cheerleader.

omg!!!! ty and also i’d love to go over some of the most iconic ones, most of them are already in that post, but i’ll go over them in more depth:

the extra party: theme was extra af, this was a bday party for me entirely because i wanted to dress as a glitter cowboy. backless champagne strappy mini dress, layered with rhinestone gold mesh bra and rhinestone choker, gold cowboy hat with a tiara, pink velvet heels. there was a lot of fur and a lot of wigs at this party. had a gold glitter banner that said “happy bday cunt” which is still one of my favorite things i’ve ever custom ordered.

trashy lingerie party against capitalism: commonly known as lingerie party 1. exactly what it sounds like. at my friend’s parent’s house. the only chaser was one (1) purple gatorade that was already spiked and soy sauce. there was a lot of hooking up and a 6 person orgy in my friend’s parent’s bed. it was a legendary party but also a total shit show. pretty standard bra, panties, garter belt, thigh highs and heels. followed by lingerie party 2: the squeakquel, impromptu lingerie party, the red white and blue lingerie party, and the “dress to get screwed” party (very fun i had a belt around my throat that we used as a leash for multiple guests).

a very greasy homecoming: greaser/50’s inspired party complete with a rockabilly band that played on the porch, everyone had leather jackets and greased hair and switchblade combs. i wore a gunne sax pink strapless dress complete with tulle skirt and ruffled sweetheart neckline black flats and a leather jacket.

neonoir ((party)): a decadent neon night complete with all blue, pink, and red lighting and an insane playlist. i went full hotline miami in a letterman jacket, pig mask and baseball bat. there was a full sized glow in the dark skeleton in the bathroom (a recurring guest, his name is skelly, also married to the other recurring guest, a graffitied full sized mannequin without arms or a head named manny).

historical drag party: i don’t know what i even went as it was so long ago but i do remember that my friend came as edgar allen hoe and looked so like edgar allen poe that i nearly died. they had a raven and everything. i don’t even remember anyone else’s costumes.

different ways to die party: my 20th birthday and my favorite theme, probably the most poppin off party i’ve ever hosted. i painted bruises around my neck. my friend made me a miami vice werewolf cake. various costumes included: shark attack, struck by lightning, gunshots, slit throats, generally bloody and bashed. was a fuckin banger of a party, very cathartic.

the lcd soundsystem funeral party: a going away party for a friend. everyone wore black suits with skinny ties. i wore a black dress. we listened to lcd soundsystem all night. gradually dissolved until i almost walked face first into someone lighting hairspray on fire for fun. end of an era party.

alien pajama party: like it says. i still carry around a little alien toy in my jacket pocket because it’s lived in there since this party.

21st holy communion: double bday party/christening a new party house. wore a veil and a slip dress. ate vodka gummy bears from a giant bowl. insanely packed party, lots of randos (due to house location). notable for chairs breaking, the biggest after party slumber party, biggest hangover clean up crew, no sleep till brooklyn, and a friend voluntarily getting shot in the ass with a blow dart in the driveway.

hedonist party: roman/greek gods and goddesses party. i was mercury and had wings on my sandals and a little white tennis outfit i thought it was cute. lots of wine.

a very twin peaks party: we drank coffee and ate pie and had baguettes with butter and brie, dressed up and watched a bunch of twin peaks all day. this is actually different than when i was laura palmer (boy meets christmas 90’s television party), i was bobby briggs for this party it was a big gender moment for me.

old hollywood spooktacular: not a very successful theme i was primarily the only person dressed to occasion everyone else was just gothy. 19th bday. i have spoken about this before but my crush didn’t show up so i spent most of this party openly crying in front of all my guests and someone had gifted me a vibrating cock ring as a joke and i tied my hair up with it on vibrate while sobbing my little heart out. very iconic moment for me. it’s my party and i’ll cry if i want to swag.

internet royalty party: me and a couple friends were tumblr famous at this point in time so we had an internet royalty party to gas up our shitty little egos. took a shot every time someone walked through the door, ended up plastered in the first ten minutes, apparently i held a class on how to smoke cigarettes outside, had to be carried to the car.

sticker and glitter party: lmao we were washing out the glitter from our hair for months. i got a temporary glitter tat on my chest that didn’t completely go away for like 3 weeks and i had to go to class with it. the carpet never recovered.

80s christmas goth night: i went as an 80s goth marie antoinette with fishnets, velvet shorts, full black lace bustle train, velvet corset, and shoulder padded black blazer with white face makeup, pink cheeks, bottom eyeliner straight out to the edge of my face, and little black lips like a doll, piled all my hair up and had chains hanging from it. i gave a friend a lap dance to santa baby.

and finally: nye and halloween parties were kind of our fucking thing, the two biggest nights of the year. so machine gun cheerleader actually started out as an assassination nation costume but no one had seen the movie yet (it had come out the month before) so i changed it around to machine gun cheerleader. i have also been nurse 3d (at an event we call: shitshow halloween, literally so bad for every person there for entirely separate reasons), hellboy (my best costume to date), the attic bride from haunted mansion complete with a glowing beating red heart in my dress, jennifer check, most recently joan of arc which was an under appreciated costume imo. nye typically has a theme of extravagance but the only all out theme we’ve ever done was new year’s feve which was a disco party because my roommate and i had just watched saturday night fever and really vibed.

notable mentions: 2012 end of the world rapture party, big hair, various drag parties, hell, bad trip, murder mystery, the annual lotr marathon (we have to start at like noon), goth princess, century icons, end of the semester zombie party, scene kid karaoke, oh god i feel like there’s more but alas my memory hath failed me after close to 8 years of parties.

THIS WAS REALLY FUN THANK YOU ANON I JUST TOOK A CRAZY WALK DOWN MEMORY LANE.

[skinsharpenedteeth]

Prompt Fill - “Guess I’m stuck here until the storm breaks”

Sweet, sweet Nonny... I’m not sure this is what you were looking for when you sent this prompt to me what seems like 8 thousand years ago... but this is what you got. I hope you enjoy it. 

Enjoy it on AO3 here! Words: 9.6k Rating: Explicit (smut and fluff)

.

               A glance out of the cabin window showed the last hour of daylight retreating under the heavy, slate colored sky. Alex’s weather app told him it would be a full moon tonight, but he doubted he’d get to see it since the app also warned there might be a winter storm. The sky felt heavy over the cabin, like a weighted blanket ready to descend over him, and he couldn’t quite get the chill out of the house. He’d brought wood up to the porch to keep the fireplace going all night in case he lost power and he was already wearing his thermal gear under his jeans and long sleeve shirt. He’d just have to wait and see how bad it would hit. He was sipping a cup of coffee when the first pattering of rain and crack of thunder outside started up. A pair of headlights caught in the falling water and Alex squinted through the dark blue dusk to see if he could tell whose car was coming up his drive. As the car drew closer, he could hear the engine over the rain hitting the cabin���s metal roof and felt his stomach tighten in anticipation.

               Alex made for the cabin’s front door and opened it as soon as the lights from Michael’s truck switched off and the engine died. A quick flash of lightning and the gentle taps of rain became intermixed with the pings from small pieces of ice. Alex watched Michael hop out of his car and hold onto his hat as he jogged the distance between the truck and the porch, the sleet coming down seemingly harder with every thump of his boots against the hardpacked dirt. When he jumped under the porch overhand, Alex took in the glittering, melting ice stuck to the fabric of his coat and hat and the way his breath whooshed out from his mouth in puffs of steam. It was so desperately charming, he almost smiled when Michael looked at him somewhat sheepishly from under the dripping brim of his cowboy hat.

               They hadn’t seen each other one-on-one in weeks. There was always Kyle or Max or someone else standing nearby to interrupt their covert stares and smooth over their stilted conversation. It was awkward now that they were both single and unsure how to proceed with building a more solid foundation between them. Much like the sky earlier that evening, there was a pregnant quality to their interactions that neither of them knew how to handle the weight of. But they kept trying. They kept trying to use the pieces of them that worked together to their best advantage while slowly fixing the ones that were broken. It was why they hadn’t allowed themselves to be alone in a while, why they had tried to always have a third party with them. Now there was no third party and not likely to be one available. Michael stood on his front porch and it made Alex feel slightly exposed to have him there with nothing to divert his attention.

 Alex took in Michael’s appearance as objectively as he could. Besides his thick wool patterned coat and signature black cowboy hat, he was wearing a white thermal smudged with black grease and red brown dirt under a red plaid flannel shirt. His jeans were one of his rougher pair with holes and tears everywhere making Alex exceedingly glad he could see matching white thermal leggings underneath. The skin of his hands looked dry and dirty as they rubbed against each other trying to generate warmth while Michael waited for Alex to finish his inventory. It didn’t seem to matter to Alex what Michael wore or didn’t wear, he always found himself one impulse decision away from pushing him against something sturdy so he could get his mouth on him. When Alex met his eyes again, he caught the knowing grin Michael barely hid behind his half-frozen fingers.

               “Sure you want to be here, Guerin? The weather’s getting bad,” Alex asked in a clipped voice, a little embarrassed that Michael had been letting him check him out without interruption and that he seemed to know what Alex had been thinking. Michael’s grin grew wider as if Alex’s brusque manner amused him and Alex tried to squash the part of him that answered Michael’s reaction with a different type of heat.

               “Well, you invited me so I came. Oh and you left this the other day. I didn’t know if you needed it,” Michael answered casually, pulling out a flash drive from the inside pocket of his coat. Wind was rocking the sage brush and trees around the cabin as Alex buried his hands between his upper arms and ribs for warmth while he stared nonplussed at the drive in Michael’s outstretched hand. He looked back up into Michael’s eyes hoping he looked unimpressed but feeling like he probably looked mad. Mad seemed to be his default expression and the cold was making him hunch his shoulders in a vain effort to block the wind from sneaking under his collar. He’d be shivering soon if he didn’t get back inside and he wouldn’t be going in there alone.

               “You didn’t have to bring that back to me. I can’t do much out here with it. I barely have cell reception,” Alex complained, meeting Michael’s eyes again while leaving the drive hanging between them in Michael’s outstretched hand. Michael shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, and pushed the drive into one of Alex’s front pockets when he made no move to take it from him. Alex drew in a quick breath at the unexpected touch and felt himself blush a little when Michael stepped forward, keeping his fingers hooked into Alex’s front pocket.

               “I figured since it was on my way home,  I'd at least drop.this off,” Michael explained, voice low as he waited for Alex’s response. Alex was nodding automatically, but then he registered what Michael had actually said and looked up at him in confusion.

               “What?” Alex asked. “How in the hell is this place on your way home? I’m a good fifty minutes from Roswell.”

               “I was working out at one of the ranches on a broken tractor. They’re seventy minutes from Roswell,” Michael responded, emphasizing how close he’d been all day to Alex without him knowing. Alex huffed out a sound of exasperation and then a squeak of surprise as Michael took a step towards him. Alex automatically took a step back, and then another, as Michael backed him against the door jamb. The frozen rain was near torrential behind them and Alex could see the ice starting to build up on Michael’s truck. The ground was already grey and white with accumulation. Michael turned his head and followed his line of sight, taking in the conditions past the end of the porch.

               “Looks like I’m stuck here until the storm breaks after all.”

               Alex gave him a sharp look and was only met with a mischievous grin for his effort. Michael reached around him and opened the door, brushing past him into the warmth and brightness of the cabin. Alex stayed on the porch for a moment longer to collect himself, not sure any of this was a good idea, but sure he couldn’t just kick Michael out to try and drive in the ice. He took in a long, cold breath that seemed to put some steel in his spine and began to turn to go back into the cabin.

               “Hey, grab a log or two. Your fire’s getting low!” He heard Michael call from further in the cabin before he could so much as shift to take a step inside. Huffing out a laugh at Michael’s audacity, Alex walked over to his pile of wood and grabbed an armload before going back into the cabin’s interior. The door made a small slam behind him as he kicked it shut with his foot before going to the hearth to deposit the firewood pieces. Michael was sitting cross legged in front of the flames, hands held out to catch their warmth, looking far too at home in Alex’s space for comfort. His boots, hat, and coat were already put up next to the door over the drip tray and Alex felt his chest tighten pleasurably at how they looked next to his own drier pieces. When Alex turned back to look at Michael again, he felt his heart give a hard thump at the sight of him. He looked softer in the firelight, hair floating from the bursts of hot air that were pushed from the fireplace by the wind coming down the chimney and a warm, orange glow was catching the honey and gold tones in his skin.

               “Any other orders, master?” Alex asked in a teasing voice as he loaded a few sticks of new wood into the fireplace. Michael gave him a positively filthy grin and Alex ducked his face back towards the fire, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering as he waited for whatever suggestive, wonderful thing Michael was going to say or do next. This was a thing they did now; they teased and teased until one of them broke. It was hot, but they’d made great strides to try and talk over the phone or text before seeing each other so they knew the rules.

               “Got any food in this place?” Michael asked instead, throwing Alex off balance when he didn’t immediately respond with innuendo. Alex stood up slowly, using the movement to help him gather his thoughts as he brushed his hands off. Michael stayed on the floor, watching Alex expectantly, relaxed in that too-casual way he adopted when he was nervous about something. Alex couldn’t fathom what it would be that Michael would feel anxious about, so he answered the question instead of the body language.

               “Nothing made. There’s coffee though,” Alex offered, pointing over to where his coffee pot sat on the counter still half full. “Mugs are in the cabinet above. I’m going to check the weather to see how long this is supposed to last.”

               He retreated to the back corner of the cabin where he had the best bet of picking up a satellite under Michael’s inscrutable gaze. Staying out in the cabin had the same drawbacks as it did benefits. There was a landline still connected for emergencies, but that wouldn’t help when trying to connect to the web. He tapped the weather app on his phone and waited as it tried to download the newest alerts and weather conditions. Alex was aware of Michael getting up off the floor and moving around the cabin towards the kitchen area. The cabin wasn’t big, only three rooms and a bathroom. ‘And the bunker,’ Alex reminded himself, trying not to think of the pink bed and wardrobe beneath their feet. He could offer it to Michael if he had to stay over but… it felt weird to do anything with it except try to ignore that it existed. He still hadn’t come to terms with the idea that Rosa was Jim Valenti’s daughter and Kyle’s half-sister. A flash of color on his phone brought his attention back to the present and Alex looked down to see the radar covered in white, blue and green cloud formations over New Mexico. He scrolled down to read the weather bulletin and cursed inwardly.

               “See something you don’t like?” Michael asked in a concerned voice as his heavy footfalls echoed around the suddenly too tiny living space. Alex swallowed at the picture Michael painted as he moved around the room barefoot and casual with Alex’s second favorite mug in his hand. Alex wanted to push him down onto the couch and cover him with his body, burrow his face into that spot behind Michael’s ear that smelled so strongly of ozone and summer rain it almost covered every other scent that clung to his skin from a life spent elbow deep in engine grease and bourbon bottles. He could almost feel the way Michael’s moan would feel through his skin, vibrating against Alex’s mouth as he-- Alex shook himself out of the daydream before it took the erotic turn he knew it was headed towards and smiled a little too brightly at Michael who merely raised an eyebrow at him in return.

               “Uh, looks like it’s supposed to last the rest of the night and into part of the morning. Should clear out around three,” Alex stammered, looking down at this phone again as he remembered to answer Michael’s question. Michael hummed in response, still watching Alex intently as he sipped his coffee. “So I guess you are staying the night.”

               Michael looked around the cabin speculatively, his eyes running over the worn couch and sitting chair, the half-full bookshelves, the small kitchen table and chairs, and turned back to Alex with a strange smile on his face.

               “I mean, I figured I’d take the couch, but where do you sleep?” Michael asked with a raised eyebrow and grin.

               “OH! Uhm, so, off the kitchen? There used to be a breezeway out there that I closed in to put in a bathroom and it has a door that leads through to my bedroom. I… I hadn’t really thought about the sleeping arrangements,” Alex lied, though he didn’t think he was fooling Michael one bit. The lights flickered as Michael nodded at him through another sip of coffee.

               “Shit, tell me you have a generator?” Michael asked, eyes glued to the ceiling like he could see through the metal roof to the sky beyond. Alex could hear the wind whistling around the edges of the house and the constant, dull roar of ice and rain hitting the windows and metal sheeting. He sucked on his teeth for a moment before giving Michael a sheepish grin.

               “I don’t. That was going to be my next big purchase for the place,” Alex admitted with an apologetic shrug as the lights flickered again after a roll of thunder. Michael widened his eyes and met Alex’s for a moment before abruptly turning and going to the fridge.

               “What are you doing?” Alex called after him, pushing his phone into his back pocket and following Michael into the kitchen. Michael was bent over with his head hidden behind the door and giving Alex a very nice view of his ass.

               “We need to go ahead and make something to eat in case we lose power. Are omelets okay with you? That’s about all you have stocked for in here,” Michael called over his shoulder. Alex had settled with his shoulder against the wall as he watched Michael paw through his meager cold foods.

               “I’ve got canned soup and bread? We could make soup and sandwiches?” Alex suggested. Michael paused and stood halfway up with his hands full. He squinted over at Alex in distrust.

               “What kind of soup?” he asked, seeming to hold a lot of stock in the answer. Alex walked over to the pantry and opened its doors to see what he’d bought last.

               “Uhm, vegetarian vegetable, chicken noodle, tomato bisque, lentil.... and I think there’s a ten-year-old can of chef boy-ar-dee back here somewhere?” Alex listed off as his eyes scanned over the various cans he had. Michael was making him realize he probably should’ve gone grocery shopping before heading up here for his self-imposed long weekend of disconnecting from the real world. He felt a line of heat behind him and then Michael’s chin dropped onto his shoulder as he looked into the pantry as well.

               “Okay. I can work with this,” Michael said in a distracted tone. Alex shifted so he could look into Michael’s face and felt oddly sad at how serious and calculating he seemed about the food supply.

               “We’ll be fine, Guerin. This will only last for a day or two tops and I’m sure we can find ways to distract ourselves if the hunger becomes too great,” Alex teased, trying to lighten the mood. Michael gave him a shocked, pleased expression that Alex took a minute to comprehend and then promptly blushed over.

               “Yeah, I’m sure we can,” he mumbled at Alex before turning back to the kitchen. He’d laid out bacon, eggs, salsa, and cheese on the countertop before following Alex to the pantry. He started pawing through the lower cabinets next to the ancient gas stove and Alex swallowed roughly when his shirt rode up past the waistband of his jeans and showed a strip of smooth, tan skin. Clearing his throat, Alex tugged at his collar subconsciously before turning around quickly to grab a random can of soup from the pantry and shut the doors. There was the sound of metal on metal as Michael pulled out a skillet and a pot for the soup.

               “How’s fried egg sandwiches and soup sound?” he asked over his shoulder at Alex as he turned on the burners.

               “Yeah, sounds great,” Alex answered, walking over and setting the can of soup down next to the stove. He watched Michael pick up the can and read the label, snorting to himself in amusement before he pulled the tab on the can of soup and poured it into the pot.

               “Here,” Michael said, turning and catching Alex’s eye as he held out a spoon, “you get to watch the soup while I make the sandwiches.”

               Alex plucked the spoon from Michael’s hand with a nod before hopping up onto the counter by his side of the stove. He watched Michael separate bacon slices and put them in the hot pan to start cooking and immediately hummed in pleasure at the smell.

               “How do you like your bacon? Crispy or kinda floppy,” Michael asked as he nudged the pieces around so they wouldn’t stick to the bottom of the pan.

               “Crispy,” Alex replied. Michael shot him a smile before stepping over and taking back the spoon from where Alex had set it next to his thigh. “HEY!”

               “You’re not doing your job, private,” Michael scolded him with a smile before stirring the soup in the pot. He set the spoon down in a spoon rest and then turned back to his bacon, flipping each piece.

               “I can’t help it! I don’t think I’ve ever watched you cook before and here you are making bacon and drinking coffee and… ugh. I think I’m developing a domesticity kink,” Alex joked, leaning back on his hands and enjoying the smug sense of pride at seeing Michael’s cheeks pink up at the compliment. Michael grabbed his mug of coffee and took a quick sip, glancing over at Alex quickly to see if he was watching before looking back down at the bacon. When he was finished, he held out the coffee cup towards Alex who looked at it with a raised eyebrow.

               “Since I’m the cook, you can be the helper. Make me some more coffee?” Michael asked. Alex slid down off the counter and took Michael’s cup from him before turning to the pot of coffee and pouring the last dregs into Michael’s cup. He fussed with the cup, making it the way he knew Michael liked it, before holding out the finished product to him.  Michael took the cup absentmindedly as he plucked the cooked bacon out of the pan and set them on a bunch of paper towels to drain. He cracked two eggs into the pan, salting and peppering them each, before he took the time to sip from his fresh cup. Alex had already turned away, clearing out the used coffee grounds from the coffee maker and preparing a new batch when he felt a hand wrap around his waist and pull him against Michael’s body a split second before he could feel the scrape of stubble against his chin and coffee on his tongue. He relaxed into the kiss, his hands sliding up Michael’s chest to bury themselves in his curls, keeping him locked in the moment until the taste of coffee diluted to where they tasted the same. He let go of Michael’s curls reluctantly and opened his eyes slowly.

               “Sure you don’t want to just get married and live happily ever after?” Michael asked, tone dreamy and slow after their kiss.

               “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Alex breathed in reply, before softly pushing Michael back from him, “But I might change my mind if you burn the eggs.”

               Michael looked over at the eggs before quickly grabbing the spatula and flipping them. He laughed lightly before turning back to face Alex.

               “Good catch,” he congratulated Alex. Alex had also turned and started working on refilling the coffee reservoir, a small, pleased smile stuck on his face. He could’ve responded with something witty like ‘That’s what they call me!’ but it felt cheap after their little flirtation, so he kept working in silence. Michael turned back to the food and before the coffee pot was done refilling, they were moving towards the living room sofa with their plates and bowls.

               Michael sat back down on the floor in front of the fire, his food in front of him. Alex started to pass him to sit on the couch when he felt a tug at his jeans. Alex stopped and looked down into Michael’s upturned face.

               “Bring me my coffee?” he asked, sticking out his lower lip and making his eyes look comically sad. Alex snorted out a laugh at him and nodded, moving to set down his things before returning to the kitchen. He grabbed both their coffee cups, topping them off with the fresh coffee, before returning. He handed Michael his before sitting on the couch. Part of him wanted to join Michael on the floor, but the idea of having to navigate getting settled with his prosthetic and the food made him decide he’d take the couch for now.  They ate in silence, listening to continued pinging of rain or ice on the roof and the crackle of the fire.

               “Sounds like it’s slowing down a little? It’s been a while since I’ve heard thunder,” Michael commented after swallowing a bite of soup. Alex listened again for a moment before nodding. He could still hear the faint whistling of wind around the sides of the cabin, but it wasn’t the same howl it had been earlier.

               “A little, yeah,” Alex agreed. Michael was almost finished with his food and Alex looked down at his mostly full plate.

“Hungry?” he teased.

“So hungry. I barely got lunch. I was trying to get through with the tractor way before the storm and it was like one thing after another. It wasn’t the easiest fix in the world. One of those little pieces that breaks and looks like something else so you have to work through twenty other problems before you get to the one that caused them all. Ugh, it took so long to get through it all,” Michael groaned as he pushed his food to the side and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Alex watched him stretch his arms over his head, fingers intertwined and pushing towards the sky. That urge to tackle him and cover his body with Alex’s was back, but he needed to eat. When Michael relaxed, body reclining back onto his elbows and eyes half-lidded while he watched the fire, Alex felt his fingers twitch to comb through Michael’s hair until he fell asleep on the floor.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” Michael asked, eyes looking more awake as he turned to consider Alex who was still slowly eating his sandwich and daydreaming about making Guerin and himself feel good.

“Yeah, I mean—no! I don’t mind, you can take a shower. Want to borrow some clothes so you don’t have to put your dirty ones back on?” Alex asked, already pushing his plates onto the seat next to his on the couch. Michael scowled at him.

“Trying to say I’m dirty?” he asked, head tilting down to look at Alex through his eyelashes as he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Only your mind, Guerin,” Alex sighed, pushing up out of the seat to stand. “Come on, I’ll get you set up.”

Michael followed him to the bathroom and then through to the old bunk room he’d turned into a master bedroom. The room had its own fireplace as part of the original design. He’d indulged himself with the décor a little. He’d gotten a Queen-sized bed and put it against the wall so that he could lay in bed, spread out, and look over at the fire. The bed frame had a tall headboard wrapped in dark, espresso brown leather. Alex had let Isobel talk him into buying slate grey, velvet shams and grey cotton sheets so soft he felt like he was slipping between clouds when he got under them. The blanket was a deep winter Ikea duvet with a dark moss green linen duvet cover. A modern style side table sat next to the bed with a gold and cream globe lamp. The room wasn’t huge, but it had enough room for a standing wardrobe finished in a dark mahogany and a dark honey gold sitting chair between the bed and the wall opposite the fireplace. He hadn’t put anything on the walls yet, but Isobel assured him she’d find something for him. He was half worried, half anticipating what she’d find for him. Michael stood in the doorway looking around at Alex’s bedroom while Alex opened the drawers inside the wardrobe and pulled out a navy set of thermals for Michael to replace his white ones with. He also grabbed out a pair of thick socks. He bundled the items together and handed them over to Michael who had finished his survey of the room and was watching him casually.

“Towels are in the closet by the shower,” Alex informed him as Michael took the clothes from Alex’s outstretched hands. His fingers brushed over Alex’s as he did and Alex felt electricity sing through his nerves at the feel of it. Michael tucked the clothes under his arm and made no move to leave, just watched Alex watch him back.

“Sure you don’t wanna come and join me? Save some hot water for tomorrow morning?” Michael suggested cheekily as he gave Alex meaningful up and down.

“Tankless water heater,” Alex countered smoothly, crossing his arms and moving to lean against the door jamb across from Michael. Michael stepped into his space, fingers edging under his shirt to touch Alex’s bare stomach. Alex sucked in a breath at the coolness of his fingertips but didn’t tense or move away. Michael must’ve taken it as encouragement, because he bent his head closer until his lips were inches from Alex’s.

“Maybe I just wanted to see you naked and wet for me?” Michael whispered, hands moving further under Alex’s shirt until he could cup his hands around Alex’s waist, thumbs rubbing softly over the tops of his hip bones. Alex felt the yearning between them pulling him in, making him feel like he was swaying closer with every inhalation to what they’d been dancing around since Michael had stepped onto Alex’s porch. It was intoxicating to be so close to Michael and know down to the marrow of his bones that Michael wanted him, to know what he wanted from him.

“Why don’t you show me exactly what you want from me?” Alex replied, dropping his hands to his side and enjoying the feeling of Michael’s hands skimming up his ribs and continuing until Alex’s shirt was the first piece in what would be a soft pile of clothing on the floor. Michael tossed the bundle of clothes Alex had given him towards the armchair before he shed his own shirt and added it on top of Alex’s on the floor. Alex watched him as he reached out and began roughly undoing Alex’s jeans and pushing them down to pool at his knees. Alex was halfway hard and getting closer to fully hard every second. Michael stared him straight in the eye, but his hands… his hands never seemed to stop moving. He let the back of his knuckles from one hand graze over Alex’s length while the other moved to grip Alex’s neck, thumb caressing the tendon behind his ear. Alex felt a shiver go through his body, liquid heat pooling in his belly at the way Michael watched his face and licked his lips at the small, involuntary gasp Alex let out when he felt Michael cup his balls in his hand, pulling gently, the tug going straight to Alex's molten core.

“Get down on your knees and finish getting me naked,” Michael finally said, removing his hands from Alex’s body and stepping back to give him room to move. With his pants still trapping the lower part of his legs, Alex had to be careful getting down, but he managed it. He looked up the line of Michael’s body, enjoying the view of him standing over him and watching expectantly for Alex to follow his directions. Slowly Alex moved his hands to the waistband of Michael’s jeans, fingers skimming over the top edge before he started working at the button and fly. He could see how turned on Michael was through the dark denim and he suddenly wanted nothing more but to put his mouth on him. 

His fingers curled under the waistband of the pair of thermals Michael was wearing under his jeans and began to peel down the denim and cotton layers. He was only faintly surprised that Michael wasn’t wearing underwear under his thermals, but Michael so rarely wore underwear that he didn’t know why he let it surprise him any more. He bent forward and kissed the base of Michael’s cock, breathing in deeply the musky smell of his sweat and sex. He was mostly hard, cock head beginning to bead with precum where it pushed past his foreskin. Alex’s mouth flooded with saliva at the sight and he ached with the need to get Michael in his mouth so he could feel him pressing against the back of his throat. But Michael hadn’t told him to do that. He’d told him to get him naked so Alex sat back on his heels and worked the jeans and thermals off Michael’s legs, depositing them in the pile of clothes by his hip, and then took off his socks, giving them the same treatment. When Michael was gloriously, gloriously nude in front of Alex he smoothed his hands up his thighs to grasp at his hips, looking up to stare into Michael’s face while he bent forward slowly run a flat tongue from root to tip over his cock in question. 

“I’ll let you have it in a few minutes. Finish getting undressed so we can get into that fancy shower you had built,” Michael replied with a grin, holding Alex’s chin and pressing his thumb past his lips to let him suck and swirl his tongue around it in lieu of what he actually wanted. Alex hummed in approval and moved to get himself untangled from his jeans and prosthetic. Michael held out his hands for Alex to grip to help him stand once he was disrobed. When they were once again eye to eye, Michael grabbed Alex and pressed their bodies together, his mouth capturing and plundering Alex’s, making him moan and melt into the other man’s warm embrace. He felt Michael’s hands slide down the slope of his spine, parting and grabbing onto handfuls of his ass. The kneading pressure of Michael’s hands was heaven as he massaged the muscles, occasionally pulling and exposing Alex’s most intimate spot to the cool air of the bathroom and sending goose flesh over him. Michael tore himself away from Alex’s mouth and in a quick as lightning move hefted Alex up into his arms. Alex felt his legs part and squeeze around Michael’s waist as he fought down his knee jerk reaction to try and take control of the situation. Michael’s solid grip held him steady as he looked up into Alex's shocked face, grinning cheekily. Alex laughed at him and bent down to kiss him, arms draping over his shoulders as Michael turned to start them towards the shower. 

When he’d had the bathroom built, he’d given himself all the luxury he could afford in a place where he wouldn’t be living full time. He’d put the toilet and vanity along one wall, a wide walkway, and then the shower and linen closet along the other wall. It was all close enough he could get around without his crutches if he needed to with stylized hand rails everywhere. 

The shower, his pride and joy, was a beautiful dark stone with black iridescent glass tile insets and a long bench that stretched end to end. It had fog resistant glass on the outside so he could see into the rest of the bathroom which satisfied the paranoid, hypervigilant part of him that he so often warred with when he was alone. He’d had an overhead rain shower put in along with his regular shower and hand held nozzle combo. Alex figured if he was going to use this place as a space where he could get away and disconnect, he wanted it to feel like someplace he didn’t want to escape from.    

Michael set him down slowly once they were in the shower stall, slow enough that he could continue until he was sitting on the shower bench. He watched Michael turn and start fiddling with the dials until the overhead rain shower started, warm water immediately falling around them.The soft, warm water felt good against Alex’s skin and he sighed in contentment as he waited for Michael’s next move.  Michael grabbed the shower gel and took the two steps back to where Alex was waiting. 

“Hold out your hands,” he instructed. When Alex complied, Michael squirted some of the gel into his palms and then some into his own, before placing the bottle back into one of the shower insets. He sat on the bench next to Alex and leaned back, motioning for Alex to climb onto his lap. Awkwardly, Alex did, knowing Michael wouldn’t let him slip or fall by the gentle pressure of his TK against his side. When Alex was straddling him, Michael immediately began moving his soap covered hands over Alex's skin. 

“Come on, baby, clean me up,” Michael encouraged him as he grabbed Alex’s hips and pulled him forward to grind their bodies against one another. Alex let his hands fall onto Michael’s skin, moving them in slow circles over his shoulders and back before sliding down towards where his flushed, eager cock jutted between them. Alex wrapped both his soapy hands around both their cocks, pressing them together and creating a tight, slick grip for them to fuck into. Michael started rolling his hips, hands directing Alex’s in a similar rhythm as he swore under his breath. When Alex took up the movement on his own, Michael’s hands pushed inwards until Alex felt his cheeks spread wide over Michael’s lap and then the pressure of his fingers rubbing over the outside of his exposed hole. 

“Fuck, Michael,” Alex swore, body rocking forward so he could rest his forehead against Michael’s shoulder as his fingers teased at his tight rim. Alex kept rocking his hips, eyes drawn to the way his and Michael’s cocks looked slipping through his fingers. 

“As soon as we’re all squeaky clean,” Michael teased, pushing the tip of one finger into Alex and causing him to swear and writhe. He wanted more. Alex began moving his lips, planting soft kisses on Michael’s shoulder as he rode the mounting tension between their bodies. Alex let one of his hands come up to clutch at the back of Michael’s neck, pulling their mouths together in a feverish kiss. Michael rewarded him with a quick tweak of his nipple, a sharp pain that made his gasp against Michael’s lips. 

“I think we’re clean enough for now,” Michael commented a little raggedly. He reached to the side of them against the shower wall and with a quick flick of his wrist turned on the hand held shower wand and brought it over to rinse hot water over their bodies, clearing away any lingering suds.

 “Hold onto me again,” Michael said after he hung the wand back up and turned off the water in the shower. Alex slid his body forward, wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck and his thighs around his waist. With a gentle heave, Michael stood up and carefully walked them out of the shower. He set Alex down by the sink and grabbed a towel from the rack, blotting it gently over Alex’s skin before turning him around to face the mirror. Alex watched their reflection as Michael met Alex’s gaze over his shoulder and grinned mischievously before he sunk down behind him. 

“What are you--? Oh!” Alex exclaimed at the gentle pressure against the middle of his back encouraged him to bend forward onto the cool granite of the countertop. He felt Michael’s bent leg slide under his right one, giving him a place to rest his residual limb. Warm, broad hands spread his cheeks open and Alex felt a rush of heat that straddled arousal and embarrassment at knowing what Michael was looking at. 0He wished he could see Michael’s face, know what he was thinking by the set in his eyebrows or the quirk in his mouth. Alex had gotten into his head waiting and had missed the whisper of movement from Michael behind him until the sharp tickle of Michael’s stubbled cheek across the sensitive skin of his crease made him jump and squirm. 

“Shhh,” Michael soothed before licking a broad stripe over him. Alex felt like his breath had been stolen from him at the feeling so he wouldn’t have been able to make a noise anyway. He felt another long, flat swipe and his brain immediately sank back into quiet. This was something Michael was excellent at. Alex personally hadn’t found much that Michael was mediocre with when it came to sex, and certainly nothing he was flatly bad at, but eating ass? Michael was excellent at eating ass and Alex didn’t care how he’d gotten so good because it tended to elevate him to new planes of existence whenever Michael got him still enough to let him take his time to do it. 

The first few licks were always broad and wet. Michael’s tongue didn’t press, only passed over Alex’s hole, the stubble on his chin following after and occasionally scraping gently over Alex’s oversensitized skin. Next, he started pressing, still with a broad flat tongue, pushing at the tightly furled ring of muscle. One of his hands snaked between Alex’s spread legs to grasp and stroke at his cock in a light grip while he pushed forward with his tongue. 

“Fuck, Michael, fuck….” Alex moaned, pressing his hips back against the pressure, head dropping to rest against his arms. He covered his head with his hands, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging as he felt Michael’s hand spreading sticky precum around the head of his cock while he pulled his mouth back to suck and nip at the skin around Alex’s hole. Alex reached over to a stack of small shelves on the countertop and opened the bottom drawer, blindly feeling inside until his fingers found the small bottle of lube he kept there. He grabbed it and reached behind himself, tapping Michael’s shoulder, internally loathing that he was distracting him while he interspersed sucking kisses and presses of his tongue behind him. Michael grabbed the lube from him and Alex felt him pull back away from him. 

“Mm, thanks babe,” Michael murmured and Alex heard the telltale click of the cap. A moment later, Michael’s hand was back on his cock, slicked and smooth as he spread the liquid over Alex’s length. Michael returned his mouth to Alex’s ass without another word, but his grip tightened around Alex’s shaft, making it hard for him not to fuck forward through Michael’s grip even as Michael started pushing more insistently with his tongue. Now pointed, it riggled past Alex’s rim and back out, sliding through the tight muscles and forcing him to relax. By the time it became easy for Michael to fuck his tongue in and out of Alex’s loosened hole without meeting resistance, Alex was becoming a shaking, needy mess on the countertop. The hand on his cock and the tongue in his ass was so much, plenty to make him cum wet and sticky onto the floor, but Michael hadn’t told him he could. He wanted Michael to give him permission to cum and so he shook and moaned and writhed back against his face and tried not to meet the crest of no-turning-back. 

“Fuck, Alex, look at you,” Michael said finally, backing away after having to squeeze quickly against Alex’s frenulum to keep him from blowing his load. Alex was sweating and panting, ass pink from Michael’s stubble and intimate attentions. Alex felt Michael push a finger past his rim, steering clear of his prostate while he came down from his almost orgasm, but still stimulating him. He pulled his finger back and came back with two, slicker than spit and giving an easy stretch. A high pitched, whimper pulled out of Alex’s mouth even as he relished the almost pain of his overstimulated body’s response to Michael’s ministrations. “Yeah? I wish you could see how needy you look right now. You’re practically fucking yourself on my fingers while your cock is dripping on the floor.”

Alex flushed with embarrassed arousal at Michael’s observation. He hadn’t been aware he had started moving his hips, but at Michael’s words he noticed that he had been, had been chasing Michael’s fingers and silently begging for more. He stilled and whined causing Michael to chuckle behind him and kiss one of his cheeks sweetly. 

“It’s okay, baby. It’s so fucking hot to see you this needy and ready to be filled. I like watching you fuck yourself back against my hand, like seeing you try to take what you need from me,” Michael continued talking, fingers finally taking a swipe against Alex’s prostate. Alex cried out, biting down on the skin of his forearm at the overwhelming feeling that washed through him. It felt so good but was almost too much and it was the edge of too-much that was his favorite. Michael reached for his cock and began jacking him off, fingers loose as they moved over him, and then his fingers were back with another teasing swipe over his p-spot, and then another. Alex could feel his face flushing, chest heating up as he fought the urge to cry and beg for Michael to just fuck him already, to just make him cum and end the torture, but he didn’t. He needed more. Michael knew that and he’d give him what he needed.  

“So sensitive,” Michael murmured against his skin before nipping softly at the skin near where his fingers were buried in Alex before licking over the spot and smoothing away the sting. “But not yet, love. I want you crying for my cock before I’m going to let you cum.”

He pulled his hands away from Alex’s ass and cock, laying them on either side of his outer thighs and smoothing his palms over the skin as he slowly stood up behind him. When he grasped Alex’s hip with only one hand, Alex chanced a look up into the mirror in front of him. He could see Michael behind him, staring down at his body as he stroked himself. Alex licked his lips at the sight of Michael’s flushed cock, ready to feel it stretching him wide. Michael caught his eye in the mirror and smirked. 

“Stay right there, baby. I’ll be right back,” he instructed before turning and leaving Alex bent over the counter waiting for his return. He didn’t take long and when he came back, Alex could see the black, bulbous plug in his hand. He felt a rush of anticipation. Michael picked up the lube from the counter and let Alex watch him coat the plug with it before positioning it at Alex’s entrance. Alex felt the hair on his body rise at the cool, slick silicone resting against him and then Michael was pushing it slowly into him. His body accepted it easily, ready to be filled by something, but it didn't make him feel quite full. When Michael pressed at the plugs base Alex felt the electric zing of the plug pushing against his prostate, his back arching automatically at the sensation.

“It’s not the biggest one, love. I know it’s not enough, but I want you to still feel a stretch when I push into you,” Michael said somewhat apologetically as he bent over Alex’s body and kissed his shoulder blade. He pulled Alex into a standing position and handed him his crutches. 

“Go kneel on the bed for me, facing the headboard, hands behind your back,” Michael directed him, eyes hot as they traveled down the front of Alex’s body before he took a step back to let Alex pass him. Alex moved as quickly as he could, the plug in his ass jostling at every foot fall and making him want to whimper and take himself in hand as he fucked the plug in and out of himself. It wouldn’t be enough though, he knew that. He could get there, he could make himself cum like that, but it wouldn’t satisfy the intangible need that letting Michael get him to the same place would. 

He set his crutches to the side of the bed and rolled onto the mattress. He pushed himself to the center and then assumed the position Michael had requested. Alex felt the bed dip behind him and then the heat of Michael’s body near his. He felt the whisper of cotton soft rope against the backs of his hands.

“Still want to be tied up?” Michael asked, lips catching on the shell of Alex’s ear as his chest hair tickled the skin of Alex’s shoulders. Alex swallowed and nodded. 

“Blindfolded?” Michael asked next, and Alex felt Michael’s hard on brush his clasped hands and he fought the urge to reach and grab and touch. Instead, he nodded again and tried to wait patiently, eyes already closed. Michael’s hands were gentle as they positioned Alex’s forearms against one another behind his back and then he did a quick single column restraint. The press of the rope against Alex’s arms was comforting, taking away the chance for him to mess up their game by being too impatient. Then came the satin mask over his eyes, throwing the world into total darkness instead of the semi-darkness that just closing his eyes had given him. 

“Baby…” Michael sighed reverently after he finished. Alex could hear the utter adoration in his voice, imagined he could feel the caress of Michael’s gaze as he looked down at Alex's naked body ready and waiting for him to do whatever he liked with. Fingers glided over Alex’s skin and he felt the bed move as Michael knee walked around to kneel in front of him. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” Alex replied, stretching and moving his arms as far as the restraints would allow. Michael rested his hands to either side of Alex’s neck, thumbs settling into the notch behind Alex’s jaw, and then he was licking his way into Alex’s mouth. Alex opened to him easily, letting his tongue draw him in and the hands on his neck make him feel safe and steady. As they continued to kiss, Michael’s hands slid down over Alex’s chest to rub and pinch at his nipples. When Michael pulled back, Alex was breathless with want. 

“Fuck, your mouth, Alex. Already so red and I haven’t even fucked it yet,” Michael said, the praise washing over Alex and making a wave of heat rush through him. Michael started to slowly push him down, and Alex used his core strength to keep himself steady as he let himself be put into whatever position Michael wanted. 

As soon as Alex felt the first sticky touch of Michael’s cock to his lips, he opened his mouth and began to suck him down. He used his lips to push at the foreskin and his tongue swirled and collected all the precum that had gathered on him. It was bitter and tangy and Alex pushed himself further down Michael’s shaft, loving the weight and solidity of him in his mouth. After the first few passes, Michael’s hands were back on him, grabbing the rope binding his arms and using it to keep Alex steady as he began to shallowly pump his hips and fuck Alex’s mouth. Alex relaxed his jaw and let Michael have his way, loving the feeling of him taking control over his body. Michael slowed as he thrust deeper into him and Alex prepared himself to relax and let Michael push past his gag reflex and fill him. He let him work his way in, Alex swallowing reflexively around his girth as he held his breath and let Michael use him. 

“You’re doing so good, baby, fuck. You look so good taking my cock like this. You deserve a reward for doing such a good job,” Michael said after he backed away, pulling out to let Alex pull in a few much deserved breaths. When Alex was ready again, he opened his mouth and waited for Michael to feel his cock back into him. Alex thought the reward was his getting a quick breather, but then he felt Michael’s torso curl around his head and then the plug in his ass was being tugged and pushed lighting up his prostate once more. He moaned around his mouth full of Michael and felt his cock give a heady throb at the pleasure rolling through him. Michael started to time his thrusts into Alex’s mouth with the thrusts of the plug in his ass and Alex felt himself getting lost in how good it felt to be so full both places. He lost himself in the feeling of it and found himself sinking past the breakers in his mind to the deep end where he was calm and full. He could just accept everything coming at him and not think about it, not worry about how far Michael would push him. 

A grunt above him was the only warning he got before Michael pulled himself completely back from Alex’s mouth. He whined at the loss of Michael’s cock in his mouth and felt Michael’s hands under his shoulders helping him sit back up. Michael’s mouth was back on his in a moment, feverish and urgent as he chased the taste of himself from Alex’s tongue. Alex’s lips felt almost numb from the constant motion of Michael’s cock rubbing against them and it felt strange to be kissed when he couldn’t fully feel that part of himself. 

“Fuck, you’re so good, baby. You’re so good,” Michael was mumbling against his lips as he took Alex’s cock in hand. It was almost too much. Alex was so close to cumming and Michael’s hand was hot and perfect and too much and not enough. He felt his breath whistling roughly between his teeth as his body tightened and he fought his approaching release.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m going to take care of you. I know, I know,” Michael said, releasing Alex before he got too close. Alex felt Michael’s hands on his face wiping his thumbs gently across his cheeks and realized he must be crying. He turned his head quickly and captured one of Michael’s thumbs, tongue swirling around to see what his tears tasted like on his skin. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Michael breathed adoringly, leaning his forehead against the side of Alex’s face while Alex continued to swirl his tongue around Michael’s thumb. Michael gently extracted the digit from Alex’s mouth and moved around behind Alex. The plug in Alex’s ass was pulled out and then there were Michael’s fingers again, filling him and retreating wetter than before. “I’m going to undo your hands so you can steady yourself, but we’re keeping the blindfold on.”

Alex felt his arms released and stiffly he brought them in front of him. Without a word he pushed his body forward until his head rested on his folded arms, back arched and ass high as he waited for Michael to fill him. 

“God, Alex, you look like a fucking wet dream right now,” Michael praised as he ran a hand over Alex’s bowed back. Alex felt the thick length of Michael’s cock nestle into the crease between his spread cheeks and he moaned, pushed back against the feeling even though he wasn’t positioned to enter him yet. “I know, baby. I got you.”

Michael made good on his promise, pulling back and pushing the blunt tip of his cock against Alex’s shiny, winking hole. He pushed slowly, knowing it was still a stretch for Alex’s muscles to take him. Alex’s body lit up at the feeling of Michael filling him. His mouth opened in a panting, soundless cry of ecstasy while Michael just kept slowly pushing further into him, spearing him open until Alex felt the gentle bump of Michael’s hip against his. Alex was happy for the pause after Michael filled him, happy to have a moment to flex his inner muscles around the immense pressure inside of him that made him feel feral and pinned and utterly perfect. Then Alex started rocking, unable to stay still any longer, needing to feel Michael’s cock making room for itself inside of him over and over again. 

“You’re so greedy when you get my cock in you,” Michael gritted out, but Alex could hear the amusement and pride in his voice as he let Alex fuck himself back onto his cock until his movements were jerky with desperation because Michael hadn’t moved at all and it wasn't enough. He’d let Alex take and take and take, but it wasn’t enough. The angle was wrong and as good as it felt, he needed… he needed… 

“Okay, I’ll stop being mean,” Michael finally said and then he began to move. The first thrust had Alex’s stomach tightening but then Michael pressed his hand on Alex’s lower back and changed the angle of his hips and on the next thrust, Alex swore he saw white. Michael set up an increasing tempo that pushed his cock over Alex’s prostate and finally gave Alex what he wanted. Alex cried out under him, little punched out mewls of pleasure muffled against the duvet, and Michael pushed his shoulders further into the mattress as his thrusts got rougher and more pointed making Alex’s body tighten like a stretched coil. 

“You can cum when you want to, baby,” Michael said, his voice ragged with exertion. He pushed his body on top of Alex’s, hand pulling one of Alex’s legs high towards his side as buried himself deep into Alex’s body, thrusting short and fast against him. The weight of Michael on top of him and the perfect angle of his rolling hips finally tipped Alex over. His body seized around Michael’s, cock swelling and releasing onto the cover, and then relaxing as Michael’s final thrusts stuttered and then stilled as he emptied himself into Alex’s body. Alex felt an arm wrap around his middle and while still joined together, Michael rolled them onto their side, spooning himself as close as possible to Alex’s body. Alex felt the dull throb of his muscles around Michael’s slowly softening cock and the slick, wet feeling of the skin between them. He hummed in pleasure, lifting a leg to push his hand between them, feeling where they were still joined and the thick, sticky mess between them. 

“You like that?” Michael asked, tone curious but without judgement. Alex opened his eyes and realized he could see Michael looking down to where Alex’s fingers were rubbing gently at where the cum and lube leaked out of him. The blindfold must’ve worked itself off at some point because Alex didn’t remember either of them removing it. He met Michael’s eyes and nodded, turning his torso to meet his mouth in a gentle kiss. The move unfortunately dislodged Michael from Alex's body and he hummed in disappointment. Michael’s fingers were there in an instant, pushing into him and keeping him partially full while he came down from his orgasm. 

“You’re so amazing, Alex,” Michael said, pressing kisses to Alex’s lips, cheeks, nose, jaw and anywhere he could easily reach. Alex sighed in contentment, letting Michael litter his skin with praise while he drifted. At some point Michael withdrew his fingers and then his body. Alex watched bemused as he went to the bathroom and grabbed a towel, cleaning them both up before wrapping the clean part of the duvet over Alex’s body. He kissed the sweaty spot behind Alex’s ear as Alex drowsed on the bed. 

“I’m going to start the fire in here and go take care of the one in the living room for the night. I’ll be right back,” he said and Alex hummed his acknowledgement before letting himself be pulled into sleep. 

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

The Switching Hour

A/N: it’s been just over a week since halloween but i finally got this piece done and i’m quite happy with it! :D i hope you guys enjoy and feedback is always welcome and cherished!! ilyyyy

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word count: 8.4k 

content: dramatic perfectionist demon!h, fluff, and a lil bit of smutty sexual tension

preview:

Her voice chimes up, prickly with annoyance and just the slightest bit of awe. “Are you always this picky when it comes to your Halloween costume?” 

Harry rubs the material of a Jack Skellington pantsuit between his thumbs and forefingers, humming in absentminded disapproval at the flimsiness of the fabric. “Always.”

“Why?” 

He drops the article of clothing, watching it sway back and forth on its hanger for a second before glancing up to meet her irritated expression, answering with a prideful undertone. “Because Halloween is the best holiday of the year and I’ve built quite the reputation for myself amongst my group. I always outshine and I tend to keep it that way, darling.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “Right, I forgot how competitive you are.” 

“Actually, I like the praise,” Harry gives her a slow, sultry once-over, lips buckling with a sly smirk, “but you already knew that.”  

Her arms tighten instinctively across her body. 

Harry goes back to filtering through hangers, scrunching his nose in distaste at yet another Dracula ensemble. Drac never even wore a cape, he preferred tapered vests. He was the one who taught Harry how to style flared pants centuries before they came into fashion. With the way humans stained his cherished outfit designs, he’d be rolling around in his grave right now if he had one. He wasn’t even a vampire— just a crossroads demon with a very peculiar taste in beverages.

Y/N toys with the visor of an astronaut helmet, staring at her warbled reflection in the grey plastic and sighing with defeated boredom. “Why don’t we just get the Purge masks and go?”

Harry gives her a look of incredulous disdain. “And cover up one of my most prized assets? I’d rather let a hellhound disembowel me again.”

///

Harry was aiming to be an angel. 

Well, not literally. Hell forbid it, in his opinion. Most of them are wound so tight, they wouldn’t be able to fly if they tried. 

Plus, he actually quite enjoys being a demon. Immortality, flexible work hours, free range of the human world, and not to mention a pretty sick gig with the sorcery. It’s a sweet deal, once you get past the decades of excruciating torture and training, of course.

So no, he’s not aiming to be a literal celestial being. Rather, he’s planning to be one for Halloween on behalf of Y/N’s approach to switch identities as a couple’s costume. 

The idea had stemmed from when they had been walking around Party City a few days prior, trying to gain inspiration for the annual costume party a friend of Harry’s is hosting. 

Y/N hadn’t really been keen on going, despite the invitation being extended to her through Harry. She felt like she never really fit right with her boyfriend’s inner circle and it was for an obvious factor: they were all demons. 

She’d only ever gotten along with one demon before (granted, she’d only ever put effort into befriending this single one) and she was perfectly fine with that number. It isn’t that Harry’s friends treat her coldly in any way (they were pretty welcoming, much to her surprise), but she could practically drown in the awkward tension that milled whenever they had to interact. She stuck out of place in a painfully obvious manner and she refuses to force herself into bonding with them; it would just make the situation a whole lot worse. 

The connection remained as a polite acquaintanceship, and from what Y/N could tell, both parties are more than happy for it remain as so. 

Either way, Harry had managed to sway her into accompanying him. She wanted to give out candy to the children from the complex and he wanted her to be his plus-one, so a compromise was settled. They would hand out candy from six in the evening until eight, then get ready and leave for the party at nine.   

After agreeing upon the terms, they’d spent well over forty minutes in pursuit for their costumes at the store. 

The choices they had weren’t very compelling, according to Harry.

He outright refused to be a vampire, warlock, or werewolf— the overuse of the genres made them tacky. He’d rather be caught dead (a second time) than have to wear a cowboy hat, so that was a bust on Y/N’s part. No aliens, no zombies, no Frankenstein (which he filed under zombie and it was an entire five minute bicker session between them before Y/N finally let it go with an exasperated sigh). 

No superheroes. He’d cycled through all of them already, including Black Widow. He looked great in a bodysuit, if he does say so himself.

Historic figures were a bore considering there isn’t anything truly scary about King Tut, other than his crippled foot and untimely demise. Animal costumes are for children, as well as ghosts and ghouls. Mummies were too messy. 

Due to his selectiveness, they ended up circling the store five times, coming up empty-handed. Y/N had stopped giving him suggestions after he’d used a release spell to make her drop the Elvis wig she’d been inspecting.

Her voice chimes up, prickly with annoyance and just the slightest bit of awe. “Are you always this picky when it comes to your Halloween costume?” 

Harry rubs the material of a Jack Skellington pantsuit between his thumbs and forefingers, humming in absentminded disapproval at the flimsiness of the fabric. “Always.”

“Why?” 

He drops the article of clothing, watching it sway back and forth on its hanger for a second before glancing up to meet her irritated expression, answering with a prideful undertone. “Because Halloween is the best holiday of the year and I’ve built quite the reputation for myself amongst my group. I always outshine and I tend to keep it that way, darling.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “Right, I forgot how competitive you are.” 

“Actually, I like the praise,” Harry gives her a slow, sultry once-over, lips buckling with a sly smirk, “but you already knew that.”  

Her arms tighten instinctively across her body. 

Harry goes back to filtering through hangers, scrunching his nose in distaste at yet another Dracula ensemble. Drac never even wore a cape, he preferred tapered vests. He was the one who taught Harry how to style flared pants centuries before they came into fashion. With the way humans stained his cherished outfit designs, he’d be rolling around in his grave right now if he had one. He wasn’t even a vampire— just a crossroads demon with a very peculiar taste in beverages.

Y/N toys with the visor of an astronaut helmet, staring at her warbled reflection in the grey plastic and sighing with defeated boredom. “Why don’t we just get the Purge masks and go?”

Harry gives her a look of incredulous disdain. “And cover up one of my most prized assets? I’d rather let a hellhound disembowel me again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He pulls a pirate costume out from the metal rack, eyeing it judgingly. “You don’t get crowned best costume every year without being dramatic.” 

The outfit holds a decent aesthetic with the passable material and colorful gems. The embroidery on the cosmetically tattered vest holds up and there’s no stingy parrot accessory in sight, though the cheap plastic sword is a bust. He’ll have to rummage through his storage and find a real one (probably the one he used during the American Revolution). If he’s lucky, maybe it’ll still have some dried blood on it.

With a bit of smudged black eyeliner and a pair of silver hoop earrings, he just might strike gold at the party. 

Best of all, the costume gives him an excuse to show off his broad chest (not that he needs one, but the fact that it adds to the genuinity of the look is a win). 

“Harry, look.” 

The giddy hilarity in Y/N’s voice draws his attention upwards from examining the purple buttons on the potential candidate. 

She’d clad herself in a bright red glittering cape that goes down to her knees, the button of the collar a large pentagram and perched atop her head is a pair of bedazzled devil horns about five inches in height each. In her hand she holds the rest of the costume— an attachable pointed tail and a three foot tall blood red pitchfork. 

“What do you think? Kinda reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite place my finger on it.” She looks up in faux thoughtfulness, tapping her chin for effect. 

Harry’s cheeks twitch with a grin of endeared amusement, dimples blinking. “I think you look absolutely adorable. Although...”

He trails off as he drift towards her, tugging lightly at hem of the cape, looking past his girlfriend towards the array of other devil costumes. He reaches for another, pulling it out and holding it up for consideration, shrugging his brows suggestively. “I think I’d rather see you in this skimpy little red dress and fishnet stockings.”

Y/N’s eyelids droop into a stern scowl. “And I’d rather not have my ass hanging out in front of all your friends.” 

“That’s the whole point, minx.” Harry holds the hanger up in front of her, humming admirably as an image swipes over the front of his eyes of her prancing around in a pair of glossy red-bottom heels, a pentagram choker, and some bold cherry-colored lipstick. “Just wanna show off my girl.” 

Y/N shoves the garment back towards him, tone cocky and pointed. “If you like it so much, why don’t you wear it, then?”

He lowers his arm, slinking his head slightly to the side and tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, the edges of his mouth twitching cheekily. “I don’t think all my bits and pieces would fit inside these stockings properly.” 

She unclasps the pin that holds the cape closed, pushing it off her shoulders as she sing-songs her words teasingly. “Won’t know until you try it.” 

Harry puts the articles of clothing back into their designated spot. “You’re no fun.” 

His focus dances to a few hangers down, a random twinkling nabbing his curiosity. He moves the surrounding pieces away with the back of his hands to get a better look, a smile creeping across his face at the fit. 

“Hey, babe. What d’you think of this one?” 

Y/N glimpses up from fiddling with the bendy devil tail, scoffing in entertained delight at the sight before her. 

Harry stands with his elbow propped on the top of the metal clothing rack, his legs crossed at the ankles with the tip of his worn tan boot tapping at the sleek black floor beneath it. He’s decked himself out in full angel attire, a light-up, wire-supported halo flashing brightly above his head, alternating patterns between quick bursts of yellow light and longer, drawn-out fading. The wings across his back span about four feet in total, strewn with white and gold holographic feathers, some covered in glitter. 

“I think you look dashing.” 

Harry pushes off the metal rail, the whole set-up quaking a bit under his strength. He ambles over until he’s right in front of his girlfriend, holding his arms out to his sides grandly. “I think I look dashing, too.”

He then turns his torso to the side, propping his chin on his shoulder and batting his lashes, going for a faux effect of adorable pureness. “Personally, I feel like I’d blend right in.”

His eyes suddenly ink black, dark veins protruding under his waterline and snaking their way down his cheekbones. “I’m as innocent as they come.” 

Y/N glances up at the ceiling with pretend mild annoyance, irises focusing back on Harry with the left corner of her lips curved, her sentence deadpan. “I beg to differ.” 

Harry drops the act, a look of insulted shock painting over his features as he carefully removes the halo headband from his quiffed curls. “You don’t think I’d play off being a good angel?!”

Y/N reaches over his shoulder and gives the tip of one of the fluffy wings a signifying tug. “Frankly, I don’t think you’d get past the gates. You’d get smited on sight.”

He gently grabs the hand that was playing with a gold polyester feathers, sifting his fingers between her’s and thumbing over the back of her knuckles temptingly. He cocks his head sideways a tad, stepping forward until his chest is ghosting over Y/N’s, the air of his sultry words just barely caressing her lips. “Maybe you could sneak me in, then?”

Y/N squeezes his digits playfully, snorting softly. “And why would I do that? So you can wreak havoc in the dining hall?” 

Harry releases a boyish giggle, the edges of his eyes crinkling as his nose scrunches. The childish grin slowly melts into a brazen smirk, teeth gnawing at the inside of his lower lip as some very explicit scenes bounce around the inside of his skull. He shakes his head lightly, making a low mm-mm sound to hint that he has other plans in mind. 

“Want you to sneak me in so you can take me up to your room. Show me around a bit— beginning of the universe memorabilia sounds interesting.” 

“Yet something tells me prehistoric rocks aren’t why you’d want me to sneak you up to my room.” She gives him a knowing stare, the pad of her thumb toying with the glossy black surface of his painted index nail. 

“Well aren’t you a clever little thing?” Harry leans in closer, his lip piercing grazing the skin along her jaw, settling nice and snug right against her earlobe. Her blood feels like it’s boiling. 

His whisper send tendrils of electricity revving across her temples and down her neck. 

“You’re right, though. Honestly, I just wanna fuck you on your bed instead of mine, for once. Make you whine and whimper for me to let you cum, all right under your dad’s nose. Make you stain your sheets and leave a few nail notches on your headboard.” 

“Harry, we’re in public...” Y/N’s urgent murmur is warm against his neck, causing him to whine deeply in the back of his throat as the heat washes down his jugular, leaving his ears tingling. 

His voice is thick and full of gravel as he answers. “I know, makes it so much hotter.”

He pauses his breathing for a heartbeat and Y/N gets the sensation that he’s analyzing her. She then feels him press a conceited grin across the back of her jaw, his two front teeth nipping at her earlobe tauntingly. His tone is heavy with arrogant certainty. “You’re wet.”

She digs her nails into his knuckles, looking down at her feet out of embarrassed instinct. “Shut up.” 

He ignores her request. “I’d have to muffle those pretty sounds you make— we both know how loud you are. Would cover your mouth with the palm of my hand while I spread your thighs with my hips and fill you up with my cock until you feel it at the pit of your tummy. I’d run my lips across your stinging nose and hot cheeks, hushing you and mumbling dirty things against your skin. Telling you what a good girl you are for me and how tight and warm you feel. How good you’re taking me and how cute you look all sweaty and needy, trying to keep quiet so no one finds out you snuck a demon back home, all because you wanted to get your brains fucked out with everyone right outside the door.”

A sudden prickling slithers up the back of Y/N’s neck, her muscles tightening in heightened anticipation. “Someone’s watching us.” 

Harry’s arm wraps around her waist, the hand holding the halo sliding over Y/N’s hip and maneuvering her out of sight of the prying eyes he can feel burning into his broad back, piercing right through the material of his leather jacket. He glimpses over his shoulder, catching a snapshot of the culprit peeping into their exchange: an elderly woman, partially hidden behind the black and orange tensile decorations, staring at them with disgust. 

Harry mumbles a quick basic spell under his breath. “Dis.”

Push.

The aged woman spontaneously jars forward, stumbling out of sight down the aisle she’d been loitering. 

Harry cranes his neck back towards his girlfriend, a happily satisfied smile staining his lips. “Took care of it.”

Y/N’s wide, astonished gaze leaves the empty space where the target had been, zoning in on her boyfriend with alarmed outrage. “You just shoved an old lady!”

His giddy grin immediately drops into a confused frown. “And?”

Harry didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to go wider, but she puts rest to his doubt. 

“And?! She could be hurt!” She immediately slaps his hand off her hip, releasing their conjoined fingers and smacking her palm across his chest as a repercussion for his actions (though he barely feels it). 

He rolls his eyes at her theatrics. “She’s fine! It was a light graze.”

“It was a satanic spell!” 

“She was intruding!”

“Oh, and that warrants you pushing her down the aisle?”

There’s a halt in the argument, followed by Harry’s eyes darting across different points of Y/N’s face— her tinted lips, her creased brows, her slightly flaring nose, and her faintly glowing eyes. The look in them is intense and begrudging. 

He hadn’t even realized his lips were parted in aroused surprise at her vehement outburst— she always looks so hot when she’s mad. He licks over them lightly, willing them closed and exhaling loudly through his nose. His eyebrows jolt upwards with salacious intent, the corners of his pursed mouth following suit. “Are y’gonna spank me for it, then?”  

“You’re insufferable.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Harry pecks the tip of Y/N’s nose and steps sideways, purposefully leaving just enough space for Y/N to squeeze between his chest and the clothing rack. 

A swift peek at the designated aisle confirms that the woman is indeed fine (just a little bewildered) and Y/N is finally able to move past it, though still grumbling condemnation. 

She pulls at the thick clear straps of Harry’s fake wings thoughtfully. “We still haven’t found any costumes.” 

“Speak for yourself. I think I’m gonna go as Captain Jack Sparrow over there.” He hooks his thumb towards where he’d hung the pirate costume while he tried on the angel props. 

Y/N squeezes the cushioned bedazzled devil horns, an idea dawning. “What if we go as each other?” 

Harry raises a single brow, intrigued. “Well, that’s an idea.”

“It’d be a cute couple’s costume!” 

He removes the wings from his back. “I dunno. I quite like my pirate costume. I look great in black liner.”

Y/N pouts, though he doesn’t think she notices, which makes it all the cuter. “Pleaseee?”

He lightly tugs at the collar of Y/N’s striped t-shirt. “I could be persuaded...”  

She huffs. “Why are you such a handful?” 

He taps the pad of his index finger against the faint hollow at the center of her throat. “I’m more than a handful and you’re well aware of that.”

She forces herself to keep a tab on the electricity threatening to brim into her irises. “Please?” 

“Say it again. Love the way your voice sounds when you’re begging.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, irked (and slightly aroused, though she’d never admit it) at the way he’s being so crude. “Pretty please?”

The sensual touches at her neck halt, the atmosphere suspended for an elongated second. “Pretty please...?”

His tone suggests he’s waiting for her to utter something more, eyes waltzing with pompous appeal at the way she’s stroking his ego.  

Y/N grinds her teeth, jaw muscle visibly ticking. When she speaks, her voice is low and timid. “Pretty please, Daddy?”

The amusement swimming in the amber specks around his pupils translate across the ends of his mouth. “Sounds like a plan. Cliché, but I’ll bite.”

She clears her throat to break the puncturing sexual tension. “We just have to figure out the outfits to wear with the accessories. It can’t be that hard, right?” 

Harry smiles confidently, dozens of combinations of clothing already buzzing around his mind. “You leave that to me, sweetheart.” 

He doesn’t disappoint. He brings the rest of their costumes home the next day after three grueling hours at the shopping mall, carrying two frosted plastic covers over his shoulders (as well as an exhausted yet triumphant expression) when he saunters into the living room. 

Y/N falls in love with her fit before it’s even fully out of the bag. 

It’s a two-part velvet design and it’s absolutely dazzling. The main statement piece of the garment is the actual pantsuit: flared cuffs that cut perfectly just below her ankles, the soft fabric a pigment mix between a bright red and deep maroon. As the eyes draw upward, the suit ombrés into a murky black; by the time one’s sight gets to the bando-style top, the color is solid. The accompanying second half of the outfit is a blazer, tinted the same shade of maroon and covered with carefully embroidered crystal clear gems, resulting in material that both absorbs and reflects any light that hits the jacket, giving it bewitching juxtaposition. The cuffs and grand folded collar are lined with elegant glittered lace— a small detail that makes a world of a difference. 

The beauty of it draws attention, clutching it effortlessly and Harry knew it would match her ideally the moment he laid eyes on it at the store. 

He even managed to work an aspect of his little skimpy dress fantasy into the mix: the red-bottom heels. They compliment the look down to the detail with the chic, dark glossy surface on top and the flashy red lining along the underside. The model of the pumps is sleek and tapered, made to give an air of sensual confidence to anyone who dons them. 

He doesn’t regret a single cent of the thousands he’d spent— the way his girlfriend’s eyes are twinkling with enamored awe makes it more than worth it.

Y/N had been rendered speechless as she passes the pads of her fingers gingerly over the plush velvet, almost as if she’s scared it will disintegrate if it wrinkles. Her voice is a stunned murmur. “Jesus, Harry...”

“You like it?” He sets his own protective carrier down along the arm of the couch, the blurred plastic keeping its contents hidden. 

She holds the top portion of the pantsuit up to her chest, trying to imagine how it’ll look with her hair and makeup done. “Like’ doesn’t even come close.”

Harry smiles shyly as he takes the spot beside her, chest fluttering at the notion of making her so happy, fingers rising up to mess with the hoop piercing hooked along his eyebrow— a bashful mannerism. “Good. Always love making your eyes glow like that. Metaphorically speaking.”

Y/N laughs lightly at his joke, face shimmering with a certain loving warmth that makes his insides stir. 

Harry drops his hands into his lap, leaning a bit to bump her shoulder jestingly with his. “Where’s my thank you?”

Y/N returns his gesture, hugging his gift to her stomach gratefully. “Thank you. You spoil me rotten, honestly.” 

He ducks his head down to press a lingering kiss to her temple, inhaling her scent of lavender and cherry blossoms and baby powder and another odor he can’t quite place but it reminds him of a time in his life long ago when he was happy and fulfilled and loved. “I’d do anything for you.”

“You better stop before my eyes start glowing non-metaphorically.”  

Harry’s full-hearted chuckle chimes the air like a thousand bells. It dies down slowly, his forehead pressing against her cheekbone, the tip of his nose brushing across her skin in a caring manner. When he speaks, his voice is gentle and raw. “Can I have a kiss?” 

Y/N bobs her head, craning her face towards him, their noses bumping. She flushes her forehead to his, gazing deeply into his irises as they twinkle with delicate admiration. 

Contrary to the usual, there’s no lascivious teasing or suggestiveness in Harry’s behavior; just simple, subtle affection. And the fact that he’d asked permission makes it sweeter. It’s intimate moments like these that make her cherish giving love a chance.

She buttons her lips to Harry’s tenderly, feeling him sigh dreamily through his nose. It’s not a messy kiss, there’s no desperate sexual drive behind it. It’s homey and mellow, like a hug from someone long lost.     

It lasts a solid ten seconds before Y/N draws back, dwindling the singular kiss into a dozen tiny pecks across Harry’s cheeks, nose, and eyelids until his face is puckering up at the feathery sensation, lashes fluttering open sleepily. 

Y/N sponges her lips between her boyfriend’s brows with finality. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She attentively eases the cover back over her expensive present, zipping it closed and making sure the metal bit doesn’t catch on the cloth. She lays is out across her lap, already glancing over Harry’s shoulder investigatively, trying to make out what he had bought for himself.

“So what’s yours look like?” Her hand stretches out towards the costume with the intent of undoing the zipper. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” Harry’s fingers come town over the top of her own, smacking them away humorously. 

Y/N’s head reels back quizzically, insulted. 

He shrugs his brows ominously, one of his large, ring-clad hands streaming across the bag protectively. “It’s a surprise.” 

“That’s not fair!” She exclaims adamantly, though the giggles escaping her are doing a horrible job at backing her claim. “You got to pick mine and I can’t even take a peek at yours?”

Harry defends his secret with another playful slap at her insistent hand as it attempts to reach below his arm. “You know how much I love edging.”

Y/N slumps her shoulders dramatically, the weight of the mystery already itching the back of her brain. She doesn’t know how she’ll be able to put up with it for the next couple of days. “Can I at least see the shoes?”

Harry shakes his head, an evilly delighted simper coiling onto his face. “Nope.”

“Unbelievable.” She snips, crossing her arms over her stomach. 

“‘Good things come to those who wait’ and all that.” 

He’s having way too much fun with this.

Y/N narrows her eyes at him challengingly. “I’ll have my way when you’re asleep.”

He belts out a laugh. “Over my undead body.”

With that, Harry springs up from the couch, jetting towards the stairs that head up to the top floor of the condo, the forbidden costume in tow. 

“Hey!” Y/N vaults up to chase him, well aware of all the possible hiding places scattered upstairs. It’ll take her ages to find it; by the time she does, it would already be past the date.

Harry has a decent amount of time ahead of her, his lanky legs taking the steps two and even three at a time, easily leaving her in the dust. How he keeps from slipping on his jack o’lantern socks is beyond him.

Y/N scurries up the spiral staircase after him, both of their airy giggling bouncing off the intricate metal railings and dark hardwood panels.  

Harry stumbles into their room and slams the door shut behind him with a simple spell, the lock magically flicking shut. He’s laughing so hard his stomach aches, whipping around on his heels to keep alert as he backs into the room, picking his brain for a proper enchantment. He mumbles the invisibility incantation out of breath and half-snickering, but gets it out nonetheless. 

“Fallax flamma, ignis de potentia, et in abscondito, ego ignire te evanescit.”

Cloaking flame, fire of power and concealment, I ignite you to vanish.

A blinding red and blue flame engulfs the entirety of the plastic cover, extinguishing almost immediately, leaving behind no trace evidence of the object he had under his arm moments ago.

And without a second to spare, the door flies open, Y/N rushing in with a victory elating her features. “Gotcha—!”  

Her head swivels from side to side, confusion furrowing her brows as she takes in the image of her boyfriend’s empty arms, alongside his smug, self-satisfied expression. “Where’d it go?!”

Harry creases his brows to mimic her own baffled appearance, mocking. “Where’d what go?”

She ignores the dig. “You can’t possibly have hid it that fast! Not unless you used…”

Realization floods her face. “Cheater!”

“It’s not cheating, it’s called using my resources.”

“Cheater!” Y/N reiterates, lunging forward and koalaing her arms and legs around Harry, sending him stilting back and crashing into the mattress, the duvet rising up in a puff of fluffy black cloth.

His back bounces three times against the bed yet she manages to stay latched on, her knees digging into his hips as her hands fumble to pin down his wrists. 

He fights back, wriggling from side to side to try and shake her loose, kicking up his legs wildly in hopes of teetering her off. “This is wrongful punishment, I didn’t even get a fair trial!”

Y/N ducks down, running her soft lips over the spot where his neck meets his jaw, knowing full well it’s one of his most ticklish places. She whispers her words warningly. “Let me see it.”

Harry can’t help the high-pitched, half-suppressed laugh that escape him, jitters coursing through his bones, stemming from the area where her mouth rubs along his heated skin. He wills the bubbly shrieks to die down, teething at the ring that adorns his bottom lip, eyes alight with pure ecstatic energy. “No.”

Y/N shrugs off his refusal, her supernatural strength proving valuable as she manages to keep her boyfriend stretched to the sheets. “Fine, then. Guess I’ll just have to torture it out of you.” 

Harry sticks his tongue out at her mockingly, the ruby gem piercing glinting in the faint, grey evening light streaming in freely through the large glass wall that overlooks the city skyline. “Guess you will.” 

Her method backfires almost immediately. 

Harry’s sneaky ways and matching inhuman strength accomplish to outmaneuver her. After a fair share of complaining grunts, palms slamming against cheeks, carefully coordinated pinches to side, and a somewhat harsh tug to her hair, she ends up splayed over the mattress beneath him, heaving shallowly as he traps her forearms against his chest, nimble fingers wrapped around her wrists. 

Harry kinks his brows up boastingly. “How’s that, then? Taste of your own medicine.”

Y/N squirms excessively, but slipping free seems unlikely. “I could totally kick you in a really sensitive place right now, but I won’t.” 

He calls her bluff, words sticky and warm against her chin. “It’s in your best interest not to considering you’ve taken a liking to bouncing on it.”  

She yanks at her arms almost savagely, snapping her head sideways to avoid him taking a piss at her as her irises flare up a pale neon blue. 

Harry ends up getting his way. The costume remains unseen until the night of the Halloween party, hidden in some tear in the universe where he knows she won’t be able to find it.  

It remains in its magical alcove until Harry summons it out after his shower, hanging it on an unused towel hook on the marble wall.

He gives it a calculating once-over, chin propped on his loose fist, elbow supported by the wrist of the arm he has swung across his torso. He sways ever so slightly, the towel clinging to his hips dangling dangerously low on his structured pelvis. His wet curls caress the back of his neck, mopping over his small ears and itching his brows, resulting in Harry combing them out of his face with his fingers and sighing lightly.

He taps absentmindedly at the center of his plump lips, running the pad of his index digit along the ridges of his bottom one, feeling the smallest bit off since his piercing is lacking in its rightful spot. The things he does for the authenticity of the look. 

The hand across his stomach clenches and unclenches thoughtfully as he chalks up the details of the full costume in his head, cracking each of his knuckles one at a time with his thumb as he dwells on his ideas. He can never seem to stay still when he’s plotting. 

He glances down at his nails, smiling fondly at the white lacquer Y/N had painted on them to go with his theme. He knows the suspense has been killing her and it amuses him to no end.

Harry rummages through the bathroom cabinets, retrieving his hair drier along with his favorite mousse. Y/N’s makeup bag also makes it onto the counter, as well as his Dove Fresh Cucumber deodorant, cologne, and a pair of dangley pearl earrings he’d acquired as a gift centuries ago from a French noblewoman more than willing to give him what he wanted (in more than one sense).

He knows exactly what his costume is going to look like now and he doesn’t waste a second in beginning preparations. 

On the opposite side of the door, Y/N thinks quite the contrary— he’s taking forever to get ready, the minutes wasting away just like her patience. 

The plan had gone as intended, to an extent. They’d handed out candy to all the children that had come and she’d even weaned Harry into buying a cute jack o’ lantern bowl to set the mood. She enjoyed seeing all of the creative costumes the kids had conjured up; she thinks her favorite was probably the ten year old girl dressed like Thanos from the Avengers movies. Y/N’s favorite part had been the gauntlet, which had carried different colored Jolly Ranchers in place of the Infinity Stones. Quite clever, if you asked her. 

There was an incident with a twelve year old who gave them attitude for their choice in the candy they gave out, but Harry handled it before Y/N could even react. He’d crouched down to her level, mumbled something unintelligible, and then from what Y/N could see in the split second that it occurred, flashed her his demon face. The preteen fled without a single word. 

He had pushed himself back up with his palms to his knees, brushing past Y/N into the apartment, grumbling under his breath. “Entitled miscreants.” 

No more kids ventured towards their door after that. 

She had been the first to get ready, well aware of how long Harry tended to take when preparing himself to go out. 

He casually suggested that it would go by faster if they showered together, not to mention it’d “help the environment and what not,” though she knew his intentions would likely set them on a detour. He was playfully insistent, however, and she ended up having to shove him out of the bathroom with his underwear already half off. 

After she had cleaned up and blow dried her hair accordingly, she left the bathroom to him, deciding to finish getting ready in the bedroom to avoid being late (and also because she knew he wasn’t going to let her see him putting on the costume). 

“I know we have an eternity to live but try not to fill it all up with your showertime.” She’d quipped as she drifted past him on her way out of the foggy, humid washroom.

A sudden tug at her towel had sent her hands fumbling, just barely managing to keep her chest covered. Harry’s snickering had bounced off the shell of her ears. “I make no promises.”

Now Y/N sat on the large bed, distractedly rocking her heels back and forth against the thick-carpeted ground, running her fingers over the silky velvet fabric of her flared pantsuit as it bunches around her thighs. 

She isn’t one to brag or boast because she had been wired to be humble, but she doesn’t think she’s ever looked better. The suit fit her perfectly, all of the seams and cinches falling exactly where they should. The jacket was loose enough to be comfortable but snug enough that it hugged her shoulders properly, not to mention the inside was made of velvet, as well. The wide-legged portion of the fit stopped just below her ankles, giving away to the shiny, midnight-tinted glassy shoes. She’d practiced her walk for about ten minutes. 

Her hair is parted to the side, the front section pinned back from her face to showcase the makeup she’d applied. She’d tightlined her eyes with black kohl eyeliner and a red lip pencil she’d had to make due with (which she’d ducked into the bathroom to get, disappointed when she didn’t see the familiar plastic covering hanging anywhere along the walls) and applied the bright red lipstain Harry had gotten for her. 

Around her neck lays a delicate gold chain, Harry’s large ruby ring glittering at its center. He always loved seeing something of his on her and he always joked about how this specific act was a vintage antic that dated back to the nineteen twenties; girlfriends would wear their boyfriend’s rings around their necks as a symbol of love. The first time he’d mentioned it, she had fallen head over wings for the idea— fallen for its simple yet deep meaning. And it just confirmed to her that under the layers of the hard exterior he donned, Harry was a hopeless romantic at heart (despite the fact that his no longer beat).

Y/N thumbs over the big stone encapsulated in the aged gold band, sighing restlessly through her nose as the pattering of the water echoes through the walls of the bedroom. He’s probably taking this long on purpose and she has half a mind to stalk in there and drag him out by his wet curls, but she refrains. His surprise better be worth it.

The water spout creaks to a stop, the only sound resonating in the bathroom being Harry’s faint humming to Thriller as the door to the shower cracks open loudly. Fucking finally. 

Y/N scampers onto her feet, nearly breaking an ankle as she forgets her choice in shoes. She heads towards the washroom door with an attentive stride, rapping her knuckles on the wooden door lightly, voice tinged with irritation. “Are you done?”

Harry chimes back, tone full of airy, cocky humor. “Not quite. Still balls-naked, but I suppose I could go like that, if you want me to. Don’t mind it.” 

“Just get dressed already, would you? You’re taking forever.” 

“Haven’t you ever heard of being ‘fashionably late?’”

Y/N growls in exasperation, crossing her arms and pacing back and forth in front of their bed, trying to reign in her nerves. Going to a party where she barely knows anyone is bad enough, but Harry isn’t easing her woes any by being a little shit. 

On the other side of the wooden door, Harry is finger-combing mousse through his hair as he harmonizes to Monster Mash, twirling strands here and there around his index finger to accentuate the ringlets just the way he likes. He flips his head over, mussing up the roots to ensure the soft volume and fullness he’s so known for. He always takes his hair seriously— a residual mannerism from when he had it shoulder-length for almost a decade. 

Blow drying doesn’t take long and he’s buttoning up his top before he knows it, leaving the last three buttons undone to expose his swallow tattoos and upside down cross necklace, the antennas of his butterfly inking peeking out from the edge of the open shirt, along with the curved tips of its wings. 

He fishes out a couple of products from Y/N’s cosmetics pouch as he wiggles his toes into his new shoes, zipping them up with finality and leaning in closer to the mirror for the makeup application. 

Once he’s finished and everything has been returned to its rightful spot, he spritzes a few pumps of his Tom Ford cologne across his flexing necking and down his jaw, capping it and giving himself a thoughtful once-over in the mirror. He’s proud of what he’d achieved. 

He murmurs a spell, retrieving the halo and wings from the magical storage facility he’d placed them in, fitting them onto his costume and humming in approval. 

The door to the bathroom swings open, startling Y/N enough to trip up her angry loitering.

Harry steps through the frame of the door, completely decked out in his attire for her to witness in its fully glory. “Let the switching hour begin.”

Y/N can’t stop her jaw from dropping in astonishment. 

Harry looks incredible— breath-takingly ethereal, to say the least. She scans the look from bottom to top, taking in every detail slowly, feeling almost as if time had slowed down around her. 

It starts with the footwear. They’re a pair of glossy, bright white heeled boots, silver metal tips adorning the front of the shoes. She’s never seen anything like it and knowing how dramatic Harry can be, she wouldn’t be surprised if they’re custom. 

The boots disappear under the flared cuffs of the off-white, wide-legged pants he is sporting, the fabric ironed and crisp, complimenting his height. They’re high-waisted, ending just above Harry’s navel, the front embellished with two parallel rows of gold buttons, each engraved with a capital, Roman-font letter G that glints under the soft, buttery low light of a single lamp. 

His top is probably the statement piece of the layout. It’s a baby blue long-sleeved button-up blouse with a frilled collar and cuffs, the buttons decently-sized opal crystals that shimmer holographically with every movement. The fabric of the cloth presents a similar effect, the material frosty and see-through with reflective, multi-colored sparkling fibers sewn in. The shirt is tucked into the high waist of Harry’s pants, fitting loose and flouncy around his torso, the twinkling faintness of the thread juxtaposing the darkness of his tattoos in an unexpected yet flattering manner. It hugs his shoulders and back tightly, muscles rippling the cloth in a way similar to how a stone wrinkles the surface of a still lake. 

The layers of the collar ornament Harry’s sharp jaw and grace the intricate pearl earring dangling from his right ear. She takes notice of the inversed cross necklace resting at the center of the valley that is his chest, glinting with a type of poetic irony. His fingers are garnished with his usual plethora of rings, his two blocky initials hugging his second middle finger and pinky amidst an array of gems and carvings. 

Though the dazzling clothes and expensive jewelry are eye-catching, Y/N can confidently say Harry’s makeup is the real caviar of the entire look. 

White liner runs across his waterline and over the crevices of his top lashes, opening up his eyes and making the olive tone of his irises pop more than usual. Glitter has been strewn across the curve of his cheekbones and faded up onto his temples, the holographic flecks of pastel blue, baby pink, and snow white glued down securely and glimmering under the flickering light-up halo. The lustery specks have also been combed into his fluffy, soft curls with a dash of gel, twinkling like a billion little stars. Evenly-spaced rhinestones decorate along the curve of Harry’s thick eyebrows— a final touch of grandeur that pairs adequately with the rest of the accessories.

Harry lifts the palms of his hands upward expectantly, giving a slow twirl and showing off the glitzy wings (which mold into the look effortlessly). “So, what d’you think?”

Y/N puts all of the pieces of the costume together in her brain, attempting to process it all at once and being rendered utterly speechless. The broadness of his body— the thickness of his chest, how his biceps and back muscles strain the dainty material of the top, his towering height with the heels, his sharp, defined features— contrast the delicateness of the fit, but it somehow it works. It somehow makes heat pool at the pit of her stomach and makes her ears crackle with spurts of electricity. 

All she manages to croak out is a quiet, tender, “You look pretty.” 

This sends Harry into a round of light-hearted giggling, his smile more blinding than any of the flashy props he carries. He glances down, zoning in on the metal tips of his boots to avoid her noticing the blush invading his cheeks. He pushes it down, scolding himself for being so mushy. 

He clears his throat lightly, giving a quick glimpse over her own costume. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Y/N instinctively looks down at her outfit, grabbing the excess fabric around her thighs and curtsying jokingly. “Thanks, my boyfriend picked it out.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, his two front teeth digging into his bottom lip, eyebrows jolting knowingly. “He has great taste.” 

Y/N steps closer to her boyfriend, draping her arms over his strong shoulders, the corners of her lips twitching. “Yeah, but he takes centuries to get ready. That’s kindof a trade-off.”

Harry’s hands coast onto his girlfriend’s hips, squeezing jestingly as he draws her body flushed against his, the golden buttons of his pants cold against the ombréd cloth of her pantsuit. “He sounds like an ass.”

She wobbles her head from side to side as if mulling over his comment, eventually nodding in agreement. “He is.” 

His jaw falls open into a shocked smirk, raising his eyebrows in silent objection. “Is that so? Why do you stay with him, then?”

Y/N’s palms glide down the taut muscles of Harry’s arms, the pads of her fingers pressing into his skin suggestively. “He’s got a few redeeming qualities.” 

Harry’s heavy lashes dust over the tops of his cheeks, catching a few stray particles of glitter that shimmer alluringly in the dim lighting. His forearms suddenly tighten harder around her waist, pulling her so close she can feel his groin pressing into her thigh. His tone is slathered with arrogant self-assurance, the ghosts of the words dancing across her stinging lips and her eyes nearly roll back as whiffs of his intoxicatingly delicious scent numbs her sinuses. 

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

Y/N has a hard time swallowing, feeling her voice lodge in her throat as he begins brushing his lips up and down her jaw. “I’ll keep that to myself.” 

Harry chuckles deeply and she can feel the vibrations down to her bones. “S’okay, I’ve got an idea of what you meant.” 

“You sound awfully confident.”

“I speak from experience.” 

Y/N moves her face back a tad, noticing that her fingers had somehow ended up tangled in the chain of his necklace, tugging at it so hard it's bruising Harry’s throat. He doesn’t mind it— he liked the burn. 

He ducks down further, wisping his mouth over her’s, groaning lowly in the back of his throat when he sees her lips are stained with the tempting red color he’d picked out. “Your mouth looks so pretty like that. Bet it’d look even better skimming down my chest and over my thighs.” 

His hold has her leaning back so far she’s now balancing on the tips of her toes, her chest heaving slightly against his. “Bet it would.” 

Harry reaches one hand up, cupping her jaw with his fingers, his thumb rubbing slowly over her bottom lip, watching the color transfer faintly. “Wouldn’t mind some of the glitter on my face ending up across your inner thighs, either.”

A small whine strains the back of Y/N’s throat at the image of Harry’s head ducking between her legs over and over, the white liner smudging under his eyes due to sweat while her damp skin rubs the glitter off his cheekbones, his ringed fingers clamping over her plush thighs as the light from the moon bounces off the glossy surface of the white nail polish. 

Harry presses a warm, sloppy kiss to the center of her jugular, her knees quaking as heat surges through her veins. “Some of it on your fingers, too, from pulling at my hair.”

He slowly dips his thumb past her lips, it’s weight heavy on her tongue. She acts on impulse, closing her mouth around it and sucking drunkenly. 

Harry’s teeth skim along the side of her neck, a breathy purr of, “That’s my good girl” simmering her nerves. 

Her words are muffled and weak, but she manages to get them out into the open. “We’re gonna be late.” 

It’s not that Y/N doesn’t want to because, fuck, she wants to, but she knows that Harry would leave her a disoriented mess for the rest of the night, and it’d be pretty obvious. The last thing she wants is his friends teasing her about it— the mortification would be eternal. 

He sighs grandly against her throat— which nearly sends her crumpling to the floor—  and reluctantly pulls away. 

Harry knocks his forehead against her’s, his sparkly lashes dusting her eyelids as they barely conceal the puncturing sexual hunger glinting in the amber flecks around his pupils. “You’re lucky the pantsuit is a one-piece or I’d have you riding my face right about now.” 

With that, he refixes her crooked demon horns atop her head, retrieving the cape, clip-on tail, and pitchfork from where she’d placed them on the bed. He tangles their fingers together and yanks a very hazy, unbalanced Y/N towards the door. 

She stumbles after him in her heels, gaining enough footing to avoid rolling as they descended down the stairs, the sounds from both of their shoes pounding hard inside her temples. Harry hands her the rest of her costume, grabbing his favorite navy blue trench coat from it’s hook next to the entryway and shrugging it on, carefully working his hands through the sleeves to keep the frill detailing from bunching up. He pats down his pockets to make sure he has his keys, fishing them out with his index finger as he unlocks the front door. 

He steps off to the side for Y/N to go through first, kissing her cheek chastely as she brushes past him with a tiny, soft, “Thank you.” 

“Of course, darling.” Harry follows her lead, turning back to lock the door to their apartment, checking the knob the same way he’s done his entire life. 

Y/N loops her arm around his as they walk towards his car, the chilly air rustling her velvet jacket and drying the light sheen of sweat that had accumulated across her hairline. The moon hangs calmly amongst the stars, illuminating the high points of Harry’s face in a very fitting heavenly manner, the soft sounds of chirping insects and hooting owls setting a comfortably spooky tone for the rest of the night. A few straggling trick-or-treaters are turning in for the night, exchanging happy halloween’s and heading towards their complexes. 

The beeping of the car rings across the still air along with the quick flash of the headlights. Harry opens the door for Y/N, just as he’s always done, helping her get settled into the passenger’s seat. He then leans down a tad through the frame of the door, fingers tapping at the hood of the car, eyes half-lidded in a sly simper.

“Just thought I’d tell you in advance, you might wanna get the situation between your thighs settled before we get to the party. I’d be able to smell how wet you are from a mile away.” 

[aintgonnaleaveyoumikey]

Pairings: Trikey Rating: M Summary: They fell into a pattern, an infinite loop. To break it, Michael has to stay or Trevor has to let him go. Post main story pining and a suggestion for why Trev is so bitchy when he’s found throwing grenades in his driveway. [AO3]

.*Breaking Chains*.

Trevor pulled the pin and for a brief moment, it was like holding sundown in the palm of his hand: fleeting. And then he let it go.

The subsequent bang brought with it a flash of gold, a rumbling in his eardrums and bones...and the routine appearance of a black sedan pulling up garage-side in the dusty street. He watched it come to a stop—watched while the scent of cash blew into a slum and a lamb fell into a shark tank.

He wasn’t sure which he’d rather be.

Fuck.

There wasn’t enough liquor in the entire world now, not that there ever had been or would be when it came to Michael fucking Townley. It was the same feeling, whether he wore the clothes of a lover or a traitor, whether he had the swagger of youth in his step or a decade of mistakes written between the wrinkles now creasing his features. Mikey: always two steps out of reach with meaningless promises, a mirage of water in a parched wasteland of loneliness.

And yet, there he was. Again. And again and again and again and...

Despite the futility of it all, cracked lips met the whiskey bottle while Trevor’s eyes rolled back with his head. Bottoms up, he drank deep to will away the ghost now leisurely approaching, as if another unannounced visit to Sandy Shores was no more than a Sunday stroll around the block.

“T. Hey.”

His lashes parted again to a pair of black birds soaring over the colors of dusk and without facing the apparition, Trevor blindly set the whiskey down behind him. “I’d get out of the way if I were you.” He pulled another pin free and breathed a singsong, “Thank fuck I’m not you, though.”

Toss. Bang. Gold. Rumble.

Sundown after sundown.

“Guess this is what fun in the desert looks like. Heh, wish I’d known about it when we were playing house here.” It was a joke, both the sarcastic-laden suggestion and how it could still pierce Trevor’s heart despite knowing its jest.

“Mmhm, yep.” Still refusing to offer even the hint of a glance over his shoulder, he reached back for the booze. “Your life in Plastic Town isn’t playing house though, right? Sugar Tits, how do you live in such denial?”

With the kick of a polished shoe to the driveway, Michael squinted and sucked his teeth. His shoulders were loose, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets and he jingled his keys before giving off an airy sigh. “Some things never change, huh...”

The laugh that erupted from the depths of Trevor’s throat went short-lived and preceded another swig of liquor stinging its way down. “Now if those ain’t the truest words ever spoken.” At last, he turned and thrust the bottle toward his visitor. “You’ll always be an entitled prick, for instance.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, T, can we just—”

“Disappearing for ten years and then just showing up whenever it suits the frequent swingin’ of your moods. Must be nice, Mikey.”

“Look, man.” Shrugging, Michael pulled his hands free and slid the tinted shades from the bridge of his nose. They folded with a pointed snap. “If you wanna keep throwing grenades and pissing off your neighbors, that’s fine by me. I can go get lost for another ten if it’s what you want.”

Ouch.

Trevor peered at Michael for long enough to err on awkward silence, before his arm finally fell with the whiskey sloshing as consequence. “You are an asshole.” He relented, however, the anger that shaded his tone dissipating in the bat of an eyelash. “So what favor do you need from ol’ T this time, mm?”

Michael’s brow twitched but he wasn’t quick enough to inquire.

“What? What else would bring you to my ever humble abode again, if not to inconvenience me in some beyond annoying way?” Trevor’s fingertips caressed over grooves and smooth edges, turning the next grenade around in his hand. If his dear compadre over there wanted to do this ridiculous dance every week, they’d dance. Every week. Until it got boring, of course.

Would it ever get boring, though? The name inked on Trevor’s bicep suggested he already knew the answer, but his imagination could deflect and chase a proverbial butterfly all it liked.

“Nah, it’s not...it’s not like that, T. Come on. I was in the neighborhood and felt like dropping in.”

“In the neighborhood.”

Rocking to and fro on his soles, Michael remained aloof and let his gaze wander. “So, uh, drinkin' with me is an inconvenience?”

Trevor scoffed and cocked his head. “When you speak in bullshit innuendos, yeah, a bit.” The final pin hit the ground with a soft clang and the shell went rolling toward the street. Boom. “Buuuut I never did like doing shit the easy way, so let’s get a move on, porkchop.” He approached with a slap to Michael’s arm, his fingertips pressing inward then and trailing down to the small of his back. “Let’s get a drink.” The words spilled from Trevor’s lips in a dangerous half purr. “Make up for a whole seven days of lost time.”

Michael’s face turned in slow motion until the tips of their noses nearly touched, his eyes half-lidded and the curl of his dark lashes prominent. He spoke just as softly then, a whisper riding out on his breath over the scent of mint and cigarettes. “Whatever it takes, Trevor.”

And that was that.

The pair approached the trailer door without so much an acknowledgement of Ron sitting on the porch, tinkering with some dilapidated tinfoil hat device as per usual. He’d have enough sense to leave soon anyway. ...Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Whatever the case, Trevor had one fuck to give at present and if Ron wanted to linger about while the whole universe rattled and his voice sang to the gods, so be it.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

His gaze met Michael’s while Phil Collins’ “I Don’t Care Anymore” played on the kitchen radio.

...Nor would it apparently be the last.

~

“I love my life,” declared a vapid voice, while cigarette smoke drifted in lazy tendrils through a conspicuous melancholy looming over the bed.

Outside, the sun had long relinquished its reign to a sea of diamonds, the moon a giant glowing pearl cradled in the lap of glittering celestial fabric. It was strange to think that Sandy Shores and Los Santos existed under this same sky, and even stranger that for ten years, Trevor and Michael had too—as separate and distinct as their places of residence. It was strange that neither yet moved now to trade the view of a rusty metal ceiling for the stars outside, strange that each found some vestige of comfort lying beside the other in less than favorable conditions.

Such was life, though: the very one Michael spoke of.

“I love it,” he repeated in a whisper, his eyes unblinking for too long.

Though an empty can was present on the nightstand next to him, Trevor flicked accumulated ash over the side of the bed. His right arm was raised and resting against a wafer-thin pillow, the crook supporting his head. The cigarette met his lips and he drew on it once more, while music no one was listening to continued wafting from the opposite end of the space; it was just Pat Benatar, anyway...

Only when the glowing orange line threatened to burn into the filter was when he put the smoke out, stretched, and finally turned his face. “So. What’s next, cowboy? Mm?”

Michael kept his attention trained on the ceiling, several moments of mock consideration passing before he answered, “The Yellow Jack?”

“...The Yellow Jack,” Trevor repeated in disdain.

Squinting, Michael licked his lips. “All right. The bar next door.”

When that suggestion was met with a huff out the nostrils, he sat up in annoyance. “The meth lab then. A fucking...road trip to the mountains, tennis at the god damn beach. Let’s steal a fucking plane and fly it until it burns up in the fucking atmosphere, I don’t know, T. What the fuck do you want me to say?”

“It’s the same shit every week, Mikey. Think about that.” Trevor pushed himself to stand at the bedside, and bare-ass naked, peered down at his companion humorously opting to remain covered by a thin sheet. “You’re not stupid. You just love denial.” From there, he itched at his groin and strutted to the bathroom for a piss while calling out, “Always have, always will.”

“Fucking whatever, man.”

It wasn’t long before Trevor reappeared in the doorway. “So, the Yellow Jack. And after that, the lab, the mountains, the beach. Then we fly into the sun. And then?”

“And then what?”

“How long would you say is too long, Michael? To wait for someone.” Trevor wandered to the closet and swatted at a pair of moths. “Ten years?”

Silence.

“Or is it twenty?”

Silence.

“Mm, I see.” He slid into the greatest treasure ever found at Binco—his prized pink leopard print briefs—and continued dressing. “Looks like the Yellow Jack Inn it is, porkchop.”

“Trevor.”

“Hurry the fuck up or you’ll be walking. I’m ready to stomp out some redneck ass, relieve myself of some fucking pent up aggression.”

The front door swung open and closed, Trevor’s voice muffled and permeating from the porch.

“Ronald, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Everything, Trevor!”

“It’s one week,” Michael answered at last, to no one. “One week is a long fucking time.”

He dragged out the process of cleaning himself up and donning his clothes, simultaneously hoping and dreading that he’d taken too long. To no surprise, though, Trevor still sat waiting in the truck when he finally made it outside.

~

Climbing to the roof of an abandoned motel while intoxicated was both a stupid idea and cheap thrill. Driving hours to the desert to run from a reality he’d given everything up for was a fitting parallel, so naturally, Michael went along with it.

He stood at Trevor’s side under a million stars and stared into infinity itself.

“I want to love my life, T.”

“Yeah.”

“So I should stop. Man, I gotta stop, it’s...”

“Yeah.”

“And we should probably...”

“For sure, Michael.”

They were quiet for a long while in a universe only big enough for two, each wondering in a drunken haze if the other knew what the hell he was even talking about. And then they questioned if they even knew, themselves.

At some point, their pinkies entwined first to test the waters, and the other fingers followed, threading together tighter and tighter yet. Was this holding with possession before letting go forever, or the intention of never letting go at all? The answer remained irritatingly elusive.

In any case, when the first rays of sunlight embraced the horizon once more, Michael’s eyes opened to find himself back in a bed which both did and didn’t belong to him. He elongated himself in a stretch, pointed his toes downward, and then looked to Trevor—watched while he took steady breaths in his sleep, focused on his barely parted mouth, and felt the magnetism drawing him in.

He used to feel this pull on his heart, twenty years ago.

Michael leaned over slowly. Their noses touched, the space separating his lips from Trevor’s closed to mere millimeters and just before it became none, a familiar ghost posed a familiar inquiry.

What’s next, cowboy?

He stopped short of consummating the kiss.

Get a drink. The Yellow Jack. The bar next door... Michael’s gaze drifted to the side. Actually feel alive for a few hours and then return to the life he should love, must love—the life he gave up everything, gave up Trevor for.

...How long was too long to wait for someone?

And how long was too long to burn in the inferno of a self-made purgatory?

He withdrew; got up, got dressed, walked by Ron passed out on the porch couch with a beer in hand, and slid into the car. It was only 6AM and the heat was already suffocating, but that wasn’t a new feeling for Michael. He turned up the AC, pulled onto the dirt road, and drove.

It wasn’t until he reached the entrance ramp of the highway when he noticed how silent the world was outside of his mind, so he reached for the radio just in time to once again hear Phil Collins singing about how he didn’t care anymore. Must be nice.

~

He was becoming a true creature of habit. That was what Michael decided when he found himself strolling up a dusk-colored desert driveway exactly seven days after the last time he found himself doing the same thing...after a previous seven and another seven before then, and more yet. But he wasn’t the only one. In the same place, entertaining himself with the same activities, was the same person as always.

And that was when it occurred to him, the infinite loop: redundant and reiterating, comfortably uncomfortable, never a change or deviation. And in it, with no foreseeable end and no clear beginning, they were both stuck.

Michael slid the shades from his face and closed them with a snap. “...T. Hey.”

“I’d get out of the way...”

His freshly polished shoes remained in place and he said nothing more, simply opted to watch Trevor’s avoidance of him while he kept tossing grenades and drinking straight from the bottle. Someday, Michael thought, he might be strong enough to stay. Or perhaps Trevor might be strong enough to finally let him go. The latter was the path of least resistance, and what he strangely both dreaded and hoped for.

But when his eyes fell to his name inked on a bicep, he studied it for some time. And then finally... “T.”

“Time for the weekly drink, the weekly argument. The Yellow Jack, the bar next door...” Shrugging, Trevor set the whiskey down. “Let’s get a move on, porkchop. Make up for that lost time, mm?”

Michael huffed with a shake of his head. “A week? Or ten years of it?”

Raising his chin quickly, Trevor looked to him but Michael pivoted and let his footsteps carry him back to his car.

“I dunno, T. But I’m going back to the roof of the motel to try to figure it out.” The alarm disengaged with a chirp and as the door opened, he cocked his head. “You comin’?”

Trevor hesitated, scrutiny worn with conspicuous measure across his features. At last, his shoulders rose and his apathy was almost believable when he capitulated. “Ah, sure, why the hell not?” He tossed the bottle over the fence and strutted to the passenger door. “Would break up this fuckin’ monotony anyway.”

Michael breathed a laugh. “Yeah.” When he slipped into the seat, he changed the radio station to something new—some kind of electronic noise kids these days listened to. “I was thinking the same thing.”

As they drove down the street, Trevor put his feet on the dashboard and pressed his thumbs together. “So. This is really the end of us getting drinks, Mikey?”

“Shit, T. The end, the beginning.” Michael’s right hand slipped off the steering wheel and fell open-palmed between them. “Who fuckin’ knows anymore.”

It was a moment before Trevor’s fingers entwined with his own. “Good enough for me, Michael.” A beat. “For now.”

“For now,” Michael echoed. He drove past the motel and chased the sun until the last of its rays bled into the darkness—without ever letting go of Trevor’s hand, without Trevor ever letting go of his.

Hey. Maybe it was a start after all.

~

// Thank you for reading! This is my first story for this pairing and fandom. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

[skincare-us-blog]

DeJ Loaf, Musician

New Post has been published on http://skincareee.com/dej-loaf-musician/

DeJ Loaf, Musician

“Growing up, I was always just into music. Some people played sports—I always gravitated to music. It was my escape as a kid. I came up in a household where they played all the jams. My parents used to listen to R&B, rap, everything…Jay-Z, Nas, Mary J. Blige, Sade. Toni Braxton is one of my favorites. Now that I’m older, I’m also listening to a lot of jazz. When my first mixtape came out, I was a sneakerhead, which is part of the reason it was titled Just Do It. Outside of Nike and sneakers though, that motto told me to stop procrastinating, follow my dreams, and just do it. Even with my upcoming album, Liberated, it’s still my motto. It’ll always be. But now, I’m having fun with my image. I first came on the scene with short hair, curls, and a bucket hat. Three years later, I got braids and it feels like I post a different hairstyle on my Snapchat every day. It can be tough to switch up your image, but it’s about growth for me.

Speaking of which, I used to be so scared to wear makeup. I never understood why girls wore it until I started wearing it. It enhances beauty a little bit–it’s fun. Glitter is one of my things. I like putting it under the eye; lately, I’ve been using the Urban Decay’s Heavy Metal Glitter in Glam Rock and Midnight Cowboy. Being very vocal about what I want in a look is somethiing I’m learning. I love wings with eyeliner, but I’m not into smoky eyes or dark lips. I like a nude lip, I love shimmer, and a good highlight is important. And of course, so is a little lash. I don’t have a favorite brand, but I love mink eyelashes. The Kara ones I use are definitely more silky and luxe than others I’ve tried. But I try not to do that much. My natural lashes are already pretty cool. My Better Than Sex mascara is something I’ve been liking actually. And today, I picked up Fenty Beauty’s Killawatt in Trophy Wife for a highlight. I’m into gold–yellow is my thing. I had yellow hair for Fashion Week, and also a Basquiat look that was kind of unplanned. My lips don’t have any dryness at the moment, but that’s because I’ve been using e.l.f.’s Lip Exfoliator. Lip scrubs are important for me because I smoke when I’m in California, but I still need to have my lips on point.

My favorite foundation is MAC Studio Fix in NC50, the one in the pump. That and their Pro Longwear Concealer in NC45 and NC50 is what I use when I’m getting a look done. I’ve been trying to practice, and I use only MAC products when I’m doing my own. I’m a beginner–I’ll eventually work up to other brands. [Laughs] For eyeshadow, I’m currently using the Karrueche x ColourPop She Palette. I like to go with the light colors—rosy pinks and natural tones are the furthest I’ll go. I’m wearing Rihanna’s Gloss Bomb right now–it reminds me of the nude Lipglass I had when I collaborated with MAC. Hers is kind of pink and has a little shimmer, but when I put it on, it fits my natural lip color which is cool. When I go out tonight, I’m going to have to bring my lip gloss.

On nights out, I like to smell clean instead of a sweet or strong scent. Usually, it’s L’Eau D’issey by Issey Miyake or Eternity by Calvin Klein, but CK One by Calvin Klein is one of my favorite scents. Oh, and I also love Aventus by Creed. You spray that Creed and you can really get the night going.

My hair’s a little…different, so I like to use Murray’s Pomade instead of ORS’ Edge Control. [Laughs] I use that and it lays them down. And Cantu Shea Butter is pretty much all I use for haircare. I love the shampoo and conditioner because of how it feels. How often I wash my hair per week depends on how long I keep my hairstyles in, but I don’t like to leave in any kind of product. I don’t like things that feel hard on the hair—I like a soft finish. Braids–they’re sporty, they’re easy, you can put it up, you can do whatever. With them, you start off with one style and then it can become three or four later on. It’s always fun to play with them and I would love to have my hair like this everyday, but the time it takes to get done…that’s the downside. When I’m done with a style, I take it out and wash it using all my conditioning stuff. My mom does hair, so I know to do a hot oil treatment before I wash my hair once a month.

When I have a night off, I’ve probably got on pair of shades–no makeup. I relax when I can. I really do enjoy masks and candles. I like Dr. Teal’s Lavender Bubble Bath–it’s like an Epsom bath. When it’s an ideal setup: I’m in a hotel, music is playing…it’s perfect. Lavender is something I love to have in everything. But I also use sandalwood incense a lot. I just like it to feel like nature in my space–like, in my house I always have plants, flowers–it’s good to get back to that feeling, you know?

I can’t tell anyone my spots in Atlanta. Everybody will start coming! But…I do go to live music places. There’s a place I love called Cafe 290, and the audience is all older people and it’s very low-key. People come and perform; it’s karaoke, it’s drinks, it’s food. I’m a wings girl, depending on where we go while I’m there. The best wings I’ve ever had are in Detroit, my hometown, from a place called Sweetwater Tavern. People don’t know that Detroit has some of the top wings! But while I’m out, my favorite drinks are dark. Depending on the night, I like Jameson and whiskey in general. And I like Hennessy, obviously.”

—as told to ITG

Dej Loaf photographed by Tom Newton in New York on September 11, 2017.

[anavoliselenu]

Creighton chapter 20

I wait my turn at the single blinking red light in Gold Haven, Kentucky, and turn left before pulling into the gas station. This is the first place I ever pumped gas in my life. It was a lot cheaper then too. My Pontiac isn’t a whole lot nicer than the 1988 Fiero I drove back then, but in this town, it doesn’t stand out, and that’s exactly what I need. I tug on a trucker hat and slip on sunglasses before opening the door and climbing out. The old pumps I expected, the ones where the numbers click over as you fill up, have been replaced with newer models. Even better. It lowers the chance that someone will recognize me if I can avoid all human interaction. I swipe my card, get my gas, and twist the gas cap back on. When I get back to Nashville, I’m finally going to look into replacing this car. I rarely splurge on anything. Even though I won a “million-dollar recording contract” on Country Dreams, the amount I saw was laughable. Albums? They’re expensive as hell to produce. And as far as the pay I get per show when I’m on tour, after all the expenses are covered? It’s also nothing to write home about. But as my share of the ticket sales goes up and I build my fan base, that will eventually change. But for now, I’m saving every penny I can and getting by on the bare minimum because I don’t know when the bottom will fall out. Not much has changed about that since I married billionaire Justin Karas. Thoughts of my husband spiral through me, followed by equal jabs of guilt and regret. I can’t believe I did it again. This morning I just up and walked out. I don’t know what I was thinking beyond . . . if I didn’t get out of that penthouse at that very moment, I felt like something inside me was going to break. I had to get out of that city. I know I’m a coward and an idiot. No one has to tell me that because I’ve already called myself every name in the book. I tear the receipt off and tuck it into my coat pocket before slipping back into my car. I turn the key. Click. I try it again. Clunk. Shit. I sigh, releasing a huge breath, and drop my forehead against the steering wheel. This is karma, I’m pretty sure. This is what happens to women who leave their husbands—not once, but twice—without an actual explanation. Crap. As much as I want to indulge in a pity party, now isn’t really the time. I gather myself, haul my purse over my shoulder, and push the car door open again. This place used to provide full-service fill-ups, but they discontinued those about the time I was learning to drive—not that I would have paid the extra two cents a gallon for the luxury. I check my trucker hat to make certain it’s secure before crossing the small lot and turning the corner to the side of the building where the garage bays are. Both overhead doors are closed, probably due to the howling wind, so I pull open the cloudy glass door and step inside the waiting room. Creedence Clearwater Revival is jamming so loud you’d think you were standing right next to the stage at Woodstock. The cheap wood-paneled walls I remember from before have been replaced with metal diamond plating and spiffy blue paint that matches the outside of the building. The gas station has definitely gotten a makeover since the last time I was in town. I ding the bell, but it can’t be heard over the ringing guitar riffs. I don’t listen to enough CCR. But the fact that I could use a couple more upbeat songs takes second place to the fact that I need to have a vehicle that works, and there are no employees in sight here. I decide to take matters into my own hands and sneak behind the counter to the doorway that leads to the garage. Inside, the smell of oil, exhaust, and rubber fills the air. Not unpleasant, but very real. It’s darker in here, so I pull my sunglasses off and balance them on the bill of my hat. My attention snags on the man bent over, turning a wrench under the hood of a classic Mustang. He’s wearing coveralls tied around his waist, and a black thermal shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. “Hey. Can I ask you a question?” My voice loses the battle against the volume of the music. “Hey!” I yell. Still no response. I scan the room, locate the stereo, and march over to it. I slap my hand on the power button, and the music cuts off mid-lyric. The man jerks up and turns to look toward the now silent stereo. “What the hell?” he barks, his eyes catching on me and staring intently. “Who the hell do you—” “Sorry. You couldn’t hear me over the music.” I turn to face him fully, taking a few steps closer. I open my mouth to apologize again, but recognition sets in. “Logan Brantley?” His narrowed eyes widen. “Selena Wickman. Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.” He pulls a rag from the back pocket of the coveralls and wipes his hands. He looks like he’s about to hold one out for me to shake, but looks down at it and frowns. “Hold on a sec.” He turns on his heel and strides to the sink in the corner. The scent of citrus cuts through the oil and exhaust, and I realize he’s scrubbing his hands clean before he offers me one. I’m not sure whether I’m embarrassed or flattered. After all, Logan Brantley was the premier bad boy of all bad boys, and I’ve crushed on him since I was old enough to crush on boys. He never looked my way, though. Older than me by a few years, he cruised around in his vintage Camaro like a badass, always with a different girl in the front seat. I was beneath his notice, and then he lit out of town as soon as they handed him a diploma. I had no idea he was back, and I can’t help but wonder how the years have treated him. He finishes washing and comes back to me, the scent of orange clinging to him. “Of all the gin joints . . . What the hell are you doing in my garage, Selena Wix?” He throws my stage name in this time, and the heat of embarrassment creeps up my neck. I lick my lips, rough from the heat of my car blasting on them during the blur of a drive from Nashville. I turned my radio up nearly as loud as it would go and started belting out the lyrics to every country oldie I could find. Anything to distract me from thoughts of Justin, and how he might have reacted when he found the note. The voice in my head that sounds like Mama says he’s just going to write me off this time. “Selena?” Logan drags me back to the present. “Sorry. I, um, my car won’t start. I was getting gas, and then I got back in and turned the key, and just nothing. Well, a click, but then nothing.” I snap my mouth shut when he grins, because I think he’s laughing at the fact that I’m babbling like an idiot. “A click. Bad starter then, probably.” He cranes his head toward the overhead doors. Trying to see my car, maybe? “What kind of hot ride you got these days? I could see you in a Lexus. You always were classier than the other girls around here.” My eyebrows shoot up. “Me? Classy?” I wore hand-me-downs from the ladies at church who had daughters a few years older than me until I was sixteen and moved up to shopping at the ultra-discount stores. Maybe he’s referring to the fact that I kept my boobs and butt covered, unlike some of the girls who scored that ride in his Firebird. What’s he going to think when he gets a look at my Pontiac? I’m going to blow his Lexus theory right out of the water. I’m still the same Selena I was before; the fringe and glitter of Nashville haven’t changed me yet. Nor have the couple of weeks of being tied to Justin’s billions.

Logan’s eyes fix on mine again. “Yeah, you. You’ve always been a class act. Although these days, I’m probably wrong about the Lexus. I bet you’re rollin’ in a Bentley.” His reference to Justin’s money is impossible to miss, as is the slow, measuring look he gives me. “Yeah, I could see a Bentley suiting you just fine.” I’m not sure why he’s so impressed. I’m wearing washed-out skinny jeans, a heather-blue thigh-length sweatshirt, a short black leather jacket, cowboy boots, and my trucker hat. Not exactly runway couture here. “No Bentley. No Lexus.” Although Justin has a chauffeur-driven Bentley, it’s not mine. So I might as well burst Logan’s bubble quickly. He shrugs. “All-righty then. Let’s go see what we’re working with.” I follow him out, almost slamming into his back when he stops short in front of the Pontiac. “Please, woman, tell me that ain’t your ride.” I pull my shoulders back and brazen it out. “Sorry it’s not up to your standards.” He jerks his head to the side to get a look at me. “It ain’t up to your standards—that’s the problem.” I shrug. “The high life isn’t always as glamorous as you’d think.” He mutters something under his breath, and I don’t catch all of it. What I do catch sounds like sorry excuse for a husband. “Keys?” He holds out a hand, and I drop them into it. He has to adjust the seat way back before he can squeeze into the car. When he slides the key in the ignition and turns it, there’s nothing. Not even a click or a clunk. “Um, there was a clunk too. After the click.” “Yep. Starter or the solenoid’s shot. I can order one, but I won’t be able to get the part until Monday at the earliest. Maybe Tuesday.” Considering it was going on five o’clock on Saturday, I wasn’t surprised by this. “Okay. I really appreciate it.” He climbs back out of the car. “Happy to help out the hometown girl who made good. I’ll get Johnny from the gas station to help me push it into the garage.” “Thank you. Seriously. That’s one less thing to worry about then.” Except for how the hell I’m going to get to Gran’s, I add mentally. I’m exhausted from the long day, but I pop the trunk anyway and haul out my bag. I round the car to the passenger side door and collect my purse. Hooking the strap over my shoulder, I shut the door and start around the hood. Logan throws a hand out in a “stop” gesture. “What the hell are you doing?” My eyes cut to his. “Going to Gran’s house.” “On foot?” “It’s not that far.” “It’s cold as shit, and it’s at least three miles if it’s a step. You ain’t walking.” I bristle at his pronouncement. Lord above, save me from alpha males. “I’m not sure when you decided it was cool to make decisions for me, but I’m just going to do whatever the hell I want, thanks.” “Selena, don’t be ridiculous.” My temper flares hot and fierce. All thoughts of previous embarrassment are shoved right out the window. “Do you not recognize the signs of a woman about to break? Because I’m hanging on by a thread here, and the last goddamn thing I need is another man telling me what I can or can’t do.” My voice has climbed an octave and a half by the time I finish snapping the words out. “Whoa. Honey. Calm—” “Don’t even . . .” He holds up two hands in front of him, as if warding off the she-beast taking shape before him. “I’ll give you a ride. If you want.” He hastily tacks on that last bit, and I can feel my anger draining away as I agree. “Okay. Thank you.” Logan tugs my bag from my hand, and I don’t fight him. I’m whipped. Dog tired. Worn out. I just want to get to Gran’s so I can face-plant on what I hope to God are clean sheets, and hibernate for a few days. We pull out of the service station in Logan’s big black jacked-up Chevy truck. The seats are dark gray leather, and it smells new. I scan the interior, looking for a dangling pine tree air freshener labeled New-Car Smell, but I don’t see one. The electronics are so fancy that I think it must be new. Apparently Logan Brantley is the one living large these days. He flips on the radio—to a country station, of course—and heads out of “downtown” toward my gran’s. I do the mental quote-y fingers around “downtown” because it’s one blinking red light and four corners. Given that the people of Gold Haven, Kentucky, aren’t all that creative, they just refer to downtown as the Four Corners. There’s the beauty shop corner, the pharmacy/post office corner, the pub corner, and the service station corner. That’s the sum total of the Four Corners. The radio DJ’s voice catches my attention when he says my name. My latest single comes on. I should be giddy over the fact that I’m getting airplay, but all I can manage right now is a slight smile. I didn’t come home to be Selena Wix. Logan looks at me as if he’s expecting me to say something, so I mumble the first thing that comes to me. “Guess you know you’ve made it when you hear yourself on your hometown radio station.” Logan shakes his head. “That’s satellite. Local station plays you all the damn time. Don’t play much else.” “Oh.” The word comes out shaky. He’s looking out the windshield when he says, “I always knew you’d make something of yourself. Glad you took your shot when you had the chance.” He glances sidelong at me before adding, “Even if it did put you out of my reach.” I’m so blown away by the surreal situation I find myself in—back in Gold Haven, riding in Logan Brantley’s truck—that I can’t even fumble for a response. Apparently Logan doesn’t mind, because he continues. “So, what the hell are you doing here, looking like you been rode hard and put up wet?” I choke out a laugh and raise an eyebrow. “And here I thought you said I looked good.” He smiles, glancing toward me again and then back at the road. “Oh, you do, but you look tired, strung out—and you’re short a husband.” I ball up my left hand and cover the rock with my right palm. Here in Kentucky, it seems even more obscenely large. “I just needed a break,” I say. “I needed to step away for a little while and sort some stuff out. By myself.” Logan flips on the blinker and turns right into Gran’s gravel drive before slowing the truck to a stop close to the house and shifting into Park. He turns toward me in his seat. “I would’ve thought this was the last place you’d come running to.” A million memories await me inside this house—and whatever mess Mama left behind after she broke in and helped herself to some of Gran’s most prized possessions. I take a breath, my shoulders rising, and then let it out slowly, straightening. “I guess when you decide to make a run for it, the most natural place in the world to run is back to your roots. I’ve only been gone nine months, but so much has changed. I wanted a bigger life, and boy, did I ever get it.” I don’t even think before I speak, the truth of my feelings spilling out of me. “But it’s gotten so big, it’s like I don’t know who I am anymore. I thought if I came back here, maybe that would give me the answers I can’t seem to find anywhere else.” “You made a run for it?” I’m not surprised that’s the part he picks up on. “It’s a long story.” Hoping to leave it at that, I reach for the handle and push the door open before jumping down to the ground. Practically need a damn stepladder for that thing. I hoist my purse up one more time and meet Logan at the front of the truck where he’s holding my bag. He follows me up the front steps to Gran’s purple porch. She picked that color the summer before she passed because she was banking on it pissing off her crotchety old neighbor. She was right. Gran was always right. I guess the real reason I came back is because I’m hoping I can find her guidance and wisdom here, even if she’s not. I unlock the dead bolt and push the front door open. Dust motes float in the air. I guess getting picked up and tossed in jail got in the way of Mama doing some cleaning. Logan drops my bag just inside the front door. He takes a step back, and I slip inside. “Thanks. For the ride and for the help with the car. You can leave a message on Gran’s machine when it’s ready. I’ll be checking it.” “Ain’t no trouble.” He’s standing with his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his coveralls, and I have no idea what he’s waiting for. I start to push the door closed, but Logan says, “Be ready at eight.” “Wha—what?” “You heard me.” “But I . . . What?” “You came back to find your roots, Selena. I’m gonna reintroduce ya.” I told myself I wasn’t going to go as I crawled under the clean sheets of my old bed and didn’t set an alarm. I told myself I wasn’t going to go while I ignored the high-pitched chime of the doorbell at seven forty-five. I told myself I wasn’t going to go while I covered my head with a pillow to muffle the pounding coming from the door. I told myself I wasn’t going to . . . until Logan Brantley was standing in the doorway of my old bedroom. Stunned, I shot up in bed. “What the hell? How’d you get in here?” “Told you I was coming at eight. Figured you wouldn’t be ready, so I came early. Now get your ass out of bed. We got places to go tonight.” “What part of me ignoring you for the last fifteen minutes hasn’t clued you in to the fact that I’m not going?” He strolls into my room as if he’s right at home and leans against the lilac-printed wallpaper. “You came here for a reason. I recognize someone looking to hide away and lick her wounds, but that don’t help much. Trust me. I know.” I push the covers down, thankful I opted to sleep in my sweatshirt and some leggings. “You’re really going to drag me out of here?” “Kicking and screaming, if I have to. Given that any picture of you is going to end up online somewhere, you might want to fix your makeup.”

My jaw drops, and I blink at his blatant honesty. “Jesus, it’d be a wonder if you had a girlfriend. You’ve got zero tact.” His lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “Maybe I’ve got more than one. Tact isn’t exactly what the ladies are looking for these days, Wix.” “Whatever. Get out of my room.” I jerk my head toward the door, in case he isn’t getting the message loud and clear. Logan laughs, and I can’t help but appreciate that the man grew up real nice. He changed out of his shop clothes into worn jeans and a clean thermal Henley, this time in a deep forest green. From the way it stretches across his chest, I can tell the man is built. I might be a married woman, but I’d be doing the sisterhood a disservice if I didn’t take a minute to appreciate the fine specimen in front of me from an academic standpoint. I make a shooing gesture with my hands, and he finally turns and walks out . . . and I’m obligated to appreciate the back view as well. Shaking my head, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and reach into my bag. I pull out a pair of jeans and a longish black sweater. I search until it becomes clear that I didn’t pack any socks. At least I remembered to bring underwear. That reminds me of being backstage with Justin and him freaking out when he thought I didn’t have any, and that I’d have to do my show in a dress without panties. Why is it we seemed to find our rhythm in the midst of the craziness that’s touring, but as soon as we step foot back in his world, I nearly have a nervous breakdown? What does that say for our future? I push away the insistent question. I’ve got time to figure this out. I just need to get right with myself before I can start trying to figure out the rest. So instead, I head for the bedroom bureau and score some socks alongside the other odds and ends I left and never came back for. I’ve been meaning to come back and clean the house out and sell it, but something always stops me—and not just the general lack of time in my schedule. When I wrote a check for the property taxes a couple of months ago, I told myself it was time. But I haven’t been able to pull the trigger. Even now, I’m not quite ready to let go. Which is ironic because in so many ways, I couldn’t wait to shake the dust from this town off my boots. And once Gran was gone . . . coming back was too overwhelming. And yet, like I said to Logan, it was the only place I thought to run. Life is funny that way. I, being the Kentucky girl that I am, recall a line from the movie Days of Thunder. Tom Cruise’s nemesis, Rowdy Burns—the guy who becomes his friend after they smash their rental cars all up on the way to dinner—says something about how as a kid he farmed so he could race, but later he was just racing so he could get back and live on the farm. At least I think it went something like that. It may not be some classy, iconic movie quote, but it always stuck with me. Just one more way of saying the grass is always greener on the other side. I’m not in the same position as Rowdy Burns, because I don’t have some burning desire to come back to Gold Haven permanently, but I can’t help but wonder if, someday in the future, I’ll be singing and touring my ass off to save enough to quit. It’s unfathomable. I freeze in the act of pulling a sock on. Did I just imagine my future without Justin in it? Because if Justin is part of my future, money surely isn’t an object, right? And then comes the bigger questions: if Justin is part of my future, will I still be touring and singing ten years from now? Even if this does work between us, at what point is he going to think the country music gig—while cute—is getting old? Stop borrowing trouble, Selena. I make a conscious decision to bury the questions again for tonight. I’m not ready to answer them yet. Maybe having Logan show up at my doorstep was some kind of serendipity in the form of a welcome distraction. Stripping out of my leggings, I pull on the jeans and trade the sweatshirt for the sweater, and look at my reflection in a mirror that saw me through the awkwardness of my teen years. It’s easy to catalog all the ways I look different now. My hair is longer and shinier—courtesy of using the products my stylist recommended and not Suave. My entire body is slimmer—thanks to the restrictive diet and calorie counting. But would you believe that my boobs are perkier? No, I didn’t sell my soul to the devil; I discovered the miracle of push-up bras and was actually fitted for one in my size. My face, to go along with my slimmer body, is narrower, my cheekbones sharper, and my eyebrows have been professionally shaped. But beyond that, I’m still the exact same girl I was when I left. Is that girl ever going to be enough for Justin? “Stop it,” I scold my reflection. “Just stop.” “Hurry up, Selena!” Logan yells up the stairs, interrupting me.