#That’s mainly where cowboy comes from

[lost-my-dragon]

That one medic oc I made on a whim a while ago and my heavy oc I’ve never drawn

[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

[uzurimisery]

bitter frost, honey i'm coming home. / logan howlett x reader / nsfw

warnings: MDNI, angst, p in v, mention of vomit, makeup sex, death (not character), thoughts of suicidal ideation, sappy emotional sex, old man cums quick, Logan yells at reader, smoking, knotting (not a/b/o)

wc: 9k

A/N: I do not know brevity. This was only meant to be 4k max

It’s cold on the ranch now. The first frost came barrelling through, ice crystals hanging on the barbed wire fences and freezing over the troughs out in the pasture. Days on the ranch start early, often before dawn, the first rays of light peeking over the crest of the mountains, painting it pink and golden. He’d step out into the crisp morning air and go to the barn, where he’d feed the animals. The chickens were too loud if he didn’t feed them first, the two roosters crowing till he did, so they went first. After the chickens, it was time for the two horses and the cows. After three years of doing it, he moved with practiced precision. Scattering hay, pouring oats, and spreading seeds are all mindless tasks. 

Logan had to venture out on Weston, a reliable but honorary son of a bitch, with an icebreaker to free up the water for the herd. Then, he had to head into the barns and ensure they weren’t frozen. He should pull out the heated troughs, kept convincing himself he’d do it next weekend 27 weekends ago, and now it was necessary. His back ached a bit at the thought. Pulling out all the equipment and placing it was a full day's job with just himself doing it. He was getting a fucking headache just thinking about it.

It’s not that he wasn’t strong enough. He was just old. He was far too old to run a ranch independently with so little help. Each winter felt a bit long as if there was too much work. Maybe he had grown lazier, too, over the years. No more fighting and not working at Xavier’s school; he was just living on the land now. Cattle ranching. Felt like an All-American cowboy when he had on wranglers, flannel, Justin boots, and some hat he had picked up at the tractor supply store a year back. The hat had seen better days, and the ridge was beaten up and dented from all the times he’d fold it in half and tuck it into his back pocket. He didn’t bother with a jacket, be far too warm that way. 

The ranch was quiet, save for the sound of cattle and horses. Now, the yellow pasture stretches out from the start of his property line on the road to near the base of the mountains. His little private valley. At first, the quiet made him anxious, like he was waiting for another catastrophe to come and tear it apart. That he’d wake up with someone trying to kill him, and all too often, he’d close his eyes and envision all the torture he’d been through—too much pain and suffering in his life. 

The quiet also gave him too much time to think about everything he’d done. Everything he’d lost. He was a man who had known mainly suffering for all his life. Sometimes, he felt he didn’t deserve this peace, this serenity. It was dissonant. He was a fighter, a soldier, a weapon made human to kill and kill and kill again until the only color he knew was red, the only scent he smelt iron, till the collar around his neck pulled so tight it’d break it.

His hands ached, claws threatening to come out as he worked himself up, the sting of vomit on his tongue. The back of his knuckles split open like they weren’t even there, like there was no skin or muscle for the adamantine to cut through. Like it didn’t hurt every time it did.

Weston whinnied under him, tired of lazily trotting around the barn to check for coyote marks. He wanted to gallop around the outskirts of the land while Logan sniffed out any danger to the herd. Didn’t need a cattle dog when he was a glorified one.

“Yeah yeah, asshole.” His spurs dig into Weston’s sides, urging the horse into a gallop. He might as well get the morning round done now. 

The horse broke into a gallop, bouncing Logan in the saddle, wind whipping him in the face. For a moment, the noise in his head quieted. There was no constant thought of you, just what he had to do after rounds. 

As they reached the fence line, Logan scanned the horizon, senses on high alert. He knew he was never looking for just coyotes or stray animals; he was always searching for something more. A threat that might never come. Some bullshit hopped-up mutant on a vendetta or some power-hungry human looking to use him.

Now, at a canter, the two patrolled the whole property line as he took deep breaths, inhaling the cold air, trying to focus on the present. On the life he had here. Not what he had left behind. But the past is never far behind, and he had so much past to run from. It would always be near him, lurking in the shadows. The ranch could never drown it out, cover it up, and make him forget. Maybe it was just another reminder he could never truly escape who he was, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Easy now,” he murmured, pulling Weston to a stop near the far edge of the property. He could see everything from here. It was beautiful and peaceful, but all he could feel was the weight of what he was missing. 

Sometimes, he swore he smelt your perfume on the breeze.

“Let’s head back.” Weston turned around, ready to run the way back toward the barn. This routine was the only thing that kept him sane. The work. The responsibilities. Barely enough to keep him busy but not enough to keep him from sinking too far into the darkness in his thoughts. 

He’d gotten lazy the past week and fallen behind on the hay maintenance, so he’d need to buck it today. Move it all from being covered under some tarps to the hay barn. Move them all one by one. He was glad that 150 pounds felt like nothing to him in times like that. 

The chicken coop also needed a roof repair. The last storm did a number on it. Logan bought the supplies the last time he was in town. It just meant stripping the old one off, resecuring the waterproof liner, and hammering the steel roof. Maybe he’d add some more insulation next weekend in preparation for the winter. 

Today was going to be a long one.

───※ ·❆· ※───

A knock on the door echoed in the ranch house, slicing through the quiet thrum of the fridge kicking on and the TV volume on low. He wasn’t expecting company as he stopped mid-swig of his beer, brow furrowed. The neighbors knew by now to leave him the hell alone and had enough run-ins to steer clear of him unless it was an emergency. There were no ranch hands due to arrive until next Monday. 

His boots thudded with heavy steps as he rose from the couch and walked over. The tips of his claws cut through his skin, the metallic ring soft as he reached the door.

He grabbed the handle, ready for it to be blown off the hinges by someone knocking it down.

“Logan, it’s me.” That's a voice he’d recognize anywhere, unmistakable and achingly familiar. The one he longed to hear to the point it drove him crazy. The one he dreamed of every night, of all the terrible things it had said to him because of what he’d done. Heard it in his sleep and his waking hour like a fucking ghost haunting him.

“Can you open the door already? I know you’re in there.”

He blinked as he did, trying to grapple with his emotions brought to light by the reality of you standing there. 

“What?”  his voice cracked. “What are you doing here?” 

You looked so sad, a deep sorrow in your eyes—the kind that had been there when the two of you had argued the night before he left. It made him feel like he missed something crucial like you had lost a part of yourself—one that settled deep in your bones and moved in your muscles and ligaments.

“Charles told me where you were.”

His throat felt painfully tight, as if the words were squeezing his neck. He didn’t expect this- hadn’t expected you to ever ask Xavier where he was and come see him.

Neither of you moved, the door half-open as he stood blocking it.

“You ain’t supposed to be here.”  His tone was gruff. He had been smoking more since coming to the ranch, trying to dull his brain.

Your voice was steady but filled with so much sadness it made him want to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Plead with you to transgress his sins. Go to confession and tell all his wrongdoings. “I needed to see you again.”

He looked out into the driveway, seeing nothing but emptiness.

“Did you fly over here? You don’t even have your suit on.”

“It’s fine,” you said with a shrug, “it’s dark out anyways.” 

He stared at you. The porch lights set a soft, warm glow on your skin, the panes of your face made clear. You looked beautiful, mesmerizingly so, as you stared up at him.

“You gonna let me in or not?” 

“Don’t get comfortable,” he grumbled, his tone softer now that you were closer. He opened the door wider, letting you walk past him.

He had the fire going, for which you were grateful. Flying without your suit always left you frigid afterward, especially since Logan had taken to living in the middle of nowhere nestled in the Rocky Mountains. You had always been jealous Storm didn’t have to deal with that. 

The ranch house Logan was living in was quaint. It was a three-bedroom, two-story house built in the 1880s that the previous owners renovated in recent years to feature modern amenities. The floors creaked as you walked, clearly still the original hardwood. He hadn’t done much decorating. It was clear that Charles had been the one to decorate the place for him.

He wasn’t ready to see you. Ready to talk about why he left you in the middle of the night four years ago. 

You quickly found your way into the living and dining room. Logan had left pocket doors open in these two separate rooms. Sitting on the couch, you could see through to the kitchen. A large pot was on the gas stove, the flames flickering on low. It smelled like beef stew.

Logan lingered by the entrance to the living room off of the entry space, unsure of what to do next. Watching you settle into the beat-up couch made him feel a mess of relief and anxiety. He was glad to see you were okay. Your hair was shorter, and you must have cut it after he left at some point. Grey hairs were coming through at your temples. 

“It’s, uh, good to see you.” Having his eyes on you like this made you feel small again. Like he was leaving you all over again.

Logan nodded, swallowing hard. “You too.” 

You smiled at him, and it hurt. Cut him like a thousand glass pieces over and over again. He was getting sandblasted and healing through it. 

He walked into the kitchen, trying to distance himself from you and his feelings, and stirred the stew. “I wasn’t expecting company,” he commented his back to you.

Your hands wrung together automatically, anxiety creeping up your throat. Maybe it was a mistake to come here and see him again when he had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do to you the night he left. “It’s fine, I don’t need to eat.” 

The wooden spoon clatters against the rest, and he puts it down harshly, making you wince. “Nonsense. I can hear your fucking teeth chattering from here.”

“I’m fine, really. It's just wind chill.” 

“Just take the damn food!” Logan bellowed, his hand slamming down against the counter, breathing heavily. “Just take the damn food.” 

You were silent for a moment, reeling. He’d never been like this with you before. “Okay.”

Logan closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose, and pushed it out of his mouth, trying to steady himself. He didn’t mean to lash out at you, to snap, but just seeing you again put him in confrontation with his past and his own feelings. It was more than he could handle. He grabbed a second bowl from the cabinet, ladling the stew between the both of them. Even after all this time, he took care to give you more potatoes than beef and half his carrots.

“Come sit at the table. Don’t want soup on the damn couch.” 

You moved quietly, always did. It unnerved him when he first met you. Your mutation lets you float more than walk and never hear any footfall when you move. He sat across from you, and you could finally get a good look at him. The years had never been kind to him, but he seemed older now than ever. The past three had been the worst of his life. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and the wrinkles on his face seemed more pronounced. 

The silence between you was thick with unspoken words, cut only by the scrapping of metal spoons against ceramic bowls. The sound echoed in the quiet house with the TV now shut off.

As you finished up your food, he looked antsy. His left leg bounced up and down, hand strumming on the table.

“Thank you for the stew.” you pipped up, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah, well, you look like you needed it. " Despite all these years, he still cared for you and loved you. It was evident to you. 

You both sat there momentarily, the silence returning but now filled with different tension. The possibility of reconciliation hurts more than anger.

“Why did you come here?” he puzzled. “After all this time, why now?”

You tapped against the bowl, inconsistent drumming on the sharp ceramic cutting against his ears. “I needed to see you.”

“Bullshit, what do you want”

“Jesus, Logan,’ you finally snapped, lightning crackling as you did. He acted like the wounded party when he was the one who had left you. “Am I not allowed to want to see you?” 

You didn’t mean for it to happen. Far past the age that your powers slipping up due to your emotions should be embarrassing. Static electricity builds up around you.

“You left,” you continued, to reel in your emotions, to keep them in check. “You left me without a word, without an explanation, and now you’re demanding an answer as to why I'm here? Do you have any idea what you did to me?” 

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as he looked to the side. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have this conversation with you. Not now. The night he left, you felt like he was ripping out his own heart, running from his feelings and the truth about the world around him.

It was like he was on autopilot as he stood from the table, knocking his chair off balance as he went. Like a bull in a china shop, that’s how he moved. He could hear you talking and feel the vibrations in the air, but none of the words meant anything. You were begging him to just sit down and talk to you, a pleading whine in your tone. 

But he couldn’t.

Just like the last time he saw you, he walked out the door with nothing but the clothes on his back into the night down the porch steps. 

The screen door slammed shut as you walked out after him, your body trembling with the intensity of your emotions, your hair standing on end from the static. He never told you what was wrong or why he did what he did. He just left. Tears blur your vision as your back hits the siding of the house, sinking down.

“Logan!” you yelled, calling out after him, voice breaking. “Please just talk to me!”

He didn’t turn around. His figure grew smaller, illuminated by the porch lights flickering from your lack of control. It felt like your heart was breaking again. The ache of his absence, familiar and painful, made all the more unbearable by seeing him again. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

“I’m staying here till you talk to me.” 

When he finally came back to the house, knowing all too damn well, he had to take care of the ranch, that was the first thing you told him. He didn’t like it but found it hard to argue with you and Charles. It was impossible to change Charles’ mind; he knew you were too stubborn to leave. So he let it happen. 

Letting you sleep in the guest bedroom across from his was easier. It felt like he slept better since you had shown up. Even if you woke him up in the middle of the night, the floorboards creaking in protest under your weight as you went pee around 4:15 a.m. every night.

He’d lie in his bed, now fully aware of the space in it next to him, listening to the sounds of the house. The gentle rise and fall of your breathing, the ticking of the clock downstairs, the wind outside. He would never admit it, but you being there gave him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years. The night terrors that plagued him endlessly seemed to ease. For the first time in a long time, he could close his eyes without fear of being swallowed up and spit out by the past. 

During the day, you had a tentative routine with him, and he woke up earlier than you did. It had only been a week since you had shown up. You had left at one point to fly back to the school and get some of your belongings. Every morning, you’d go out to the chicken coop, collect the eggs, and make breakfast. It was nothing fancy, some variation of a bread product, eggs, and a protein. Sometimes, it was pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Other times, it was steak and eggs. Today, it was omelets. 

You’d help out in other ways, too. Go out and move the steer to a different part of their sectioned-off pasture. You were faster at de-ice the troughs, flying, and whatnot, so he let you take over that job. It was hard work, and your muscles ached like they hadn’t for a long time. 

Logan had to admit it’s helpful having you on the ranch. He’s got a greenhouse and some therapy project Charles talked him into, but that’s been looking worse for wear. The weather pattern changed the past couple of weeks, and there’s been an inversion that has left the valley with no direct sunlight. All the plants inside had started to wilt and were on the path to dying, not that he cared. He’d survive without some tomatoes. Then you threw open the door, solar energy pouring out from your palms, and they’d perk right up. You had that effect on plants, hell, people too. 

Something about you, even if you didn’t have your mutation, would have made you shine as bright as the fucking sun to anyone. All wild curls and big smiles, a helping hand to those in need—just one of those people who made the world a better place by breathing. You always said you were just doing your part, but god, there was so much good, so much sweetness in you. If he took a bite, he’d even get a cavity. Seeing you wrapped up in an old wool sweater of his, bent over coaxing a plant back to life, made him feel so ashamed of himself. 

“The plants in the greenhouse look a lot better this week.” 

Some of the leaves crunched underfoot, but most of them were soggy in the mud as you walked over to the steer barn where he was working. One of the steers had a rock impacting his back hoof, and he had to get it out. Logan had just finished spraying it with salicylic acid and wrapping it as you walked in. 

“Like I said, you don’t need to be doing all that.” He grumbled, standing from the stool and leading the cow back to the enclosure. 

Where he spoke dissent and anger, you heard what he really felt. Fear. He was still that little boy in his father's manor.

“It’s not a problem.”

It hurts to be this close to him and not have him, to know that things could just be better if he were honest. 

You'd cook him dinner in the evening, sit at the old wooden table, and comment about the school. About what you’d been up to. You steered away from the elephant in the room. It was best to talk about the mundane things. Sometimes, you’d slip and tell him something more personal than you meant to. He didn’t add much to the conversation because he hadn’t been doing much since leaving you, but he’d chime in about the animals. About the fox that kept creeping around the chicken coop.

Logan still had moments of withdrawal, times when he’d just disappear from the ranch, and you wouldn’t see him till the morning. It was hard on you, a reminder of just how much had changed between the two of you. You used to come home to him after a day of teaching and collapse into his arms on the couch. He’d offer you a sip of his beer, something dark and hoppy, and you’d taste it and declare it’s gross. Logan had told you one day, he’d find a beer you liked, and he’d stock the fridge with it. The closest you’d gotten was some Mangocart IPA that he told you was meant for 17-year-olds, and you told him to go fuck himself. 

Healing wasn’t a straight path forward. And healing couldn’t start until you cut out the festering parts. You can never go backward, but you must go forward while looking at the past. 

The two of you sat on the porch tonight, twilight hues, deep indigo taking over the sky, and the stars coming out. The first night you were out here with him, you couldn’t stop staring at them. Had a whole thing about them since they charged up your mutation, but he just thought you looked gorgeous. Older but still gorgeous. 

That was another thing that scared him. You are aging. He didn’t know how long he had left to live, hell, if he could even die. Some wounds should have killed him many times over, but they never did. They never do. But he's seen you bleeding out and broken after a fight with Magneto, a laceration so severe you had to self-cauterize the wound on the spot and passed out multiple times while doing so. You were getting older, and he was staying the same. 

You were 24 when the two of you first met. Your parents were good folks, never held any bias towards mutants, and helped you learn to control your powers and keep yourself hidden from the government when they were still rounding up mutants. The only reason you got found out was because of Cerebro and Charles. With so little training, it should have scared him how strong you were back then. A few years with Charles, and you were deadly. Deadly, but a pacifist. 

The air was cold. You could see your breath as you rocked in the rocking chair he had out there. Wafts of pungent tobacco hit your nose as he lit up a cigar. He had stopped when you lived together. You looked over at him, feeling the weight of his eyes on you. As soon as your own met his, he looked back out into the night sky. The silence was heavy.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked softly. 

“Miss what?” he drew another drag from his cigar.

“The school. The kids. The…purpose.”

“I think about the students daily. It was good work. Important work. But…” Logan trailed off, searching for the right words. What were the right words to say without telling you everything? “It got complicated.”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken part of his statement, drawing your knees to your chest. “It’s still important. And the kids still need you.” 

After all this time, you still wanted him. Despite every wrong he had done to you and all the harm he caused you. The most pathetic part of him was ready to take your kindness, love, and care and bathe in it. Draw you back into the bottomless pit of his life and ruin you like he had all the others. 

You saw him clench his jaw. A twisting wave of guilt and self-loathing ate him up. A man made to destroy and he was afraid to destroy you too.

“The kids will be fine without me.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, they’ve been fine without me so far.” He shot back, but there was a hollow note in his voice. There wasn’t any gumption behind it. 

“They’ve managed, but that doesn’t mean they’re fine. You gave them something no one else could, Logan.  They relied on you, they needed you-they need you.” You corrected gently, reaching out to touch his thigh. He was always so warm.

He took another drag, blowing the smoke away from you. “They’ll move on. They’re better off without me.” 

“They didn’t move on, and they aren't okay without you.” 

Logan looked down at your hand on his thigh, his expression a mixture of pain and something else. Something so soft, buried deep beneath the layers of hardened exterior. He didn’t pull away, but you could see his temptation rising.

“I’m not me without you, Logan. Please just talk to me.” Your grip tightened, the denim rough under your fingers, and you begged him to let you in again. To tell you why he left you, why you haven't heard from him since.

He needed to keep you safe from himself.

“You should leave.” Standing from his chair, he threw open the screen door, letting it slam shut behind him as he walked over to the living room. 

You rose after him, chasing him into the house, your heart pounding in your chest. The floorboards cracked up the both of you, echoing in the house. He moved with a desperate, frantic everything. His broad shoulders tense as if he could outrun the conversation you were about to have.

“Why won’t you let me care about you!” You cried out, voice breaking, trembling with the weight of the emotions you've been holding back. He didn’t stop, didn’t turn around, but kept going, and your words spilled out like a damn bursting.  “I am begging you to let me in, to let me love you, to stop pushing me away like you do every time! You left me. In the middle of the night, you left. I woke up, and you were gone. And all I have ever asked of you is to let me love you.”

From behind, he looked like a man barely holding together as he reached the living room.

“I don’t want you to.” he ground out. Each word hurt to say, and he hated lying to you. 

“We both know that's a lie, Logan. I’m not stupid. I know you love me. Just please let me in. Why won't you let me in?” 

“Because I don’t want you to wind up fucking dead!” His voice reverberated off the walls. “Everyone and everything I have ever loved is buried six feet fucking deep, and I don’t want you to join the shithole graveyard that is my life.” 

Logan’s voice cut deep through the room, his shoulder hunched as he leaned over the back of the couch. The sob was settling in his chest as he tried to keep it at bay. He didn’t want you to see him crying. It was like he could see you now, lying in that grave, another name added to the long list of people he’d killed or gotten killed.

“You think leaving me is protecting me? You think that by pushing me away, you're saving me?” You hated being an angry crier, the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m already in this. I’ve been in this for years. You leaving didn’t save me—it fucking broke me.”

“I just,” his breath was shaky, knuckles white against the couch as the wood splintered from his grip. “I can’t lose you too.” 

You stepped closer, a hesitant hand hanging in the air a moment before it made contact. Slipping over his back, meeting your other hand in the front as you hugged him from behind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, voice soft and thick with sadness. “I’m right here, and I’m not leaving. I’m not letting you leave this time.” 

He shook his head, tilting it backward to keep the tears from falling. “You don’t understand. I keep telling you that I’m cursed, that everyone who gets close to me, everyone that I love,” the crack in his voice hurt you, “ends up dead. And I can’t let that happen to you.” 

“You’re not cursed,” you mumbled into his back. “You’ve been through hell, but you deserve a chance at happiness and love.” 

His shoulders shook as the sob he had been holding back finally broke free. He crumples against the back of the couch, wrenching at his waist as his head meets his hands. You went down with him, following the curve of his back with your front, holding him tightly as he cried. 

“I’m here,” you cooed into his ear, your tears cresting down your cheeks. “I’m here, baby.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” he choked out between sobs. 

You tightened your hold on him, wishing that the pressure could soothe his aches and worries and make him feel whole again. That it would wash away all the suffering he’s been through and wipe it from his mind, even if you knew that pain was part of what made him him. 

“Yes, you do. You deserve love and happiness and to find that with me.” 

“I’m just going to hurt you again, like I have before.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me-”

“God dammit, I’ve killed people,” he stood up straight to face you, his voice jumping in volume, shaking you off balance. As you stumbled, he reached out, a hand on your hip to steady you. “I’ve killed so many people that it’d take them years to find all the bodies that I’ve fucking piled up in my 230 years of life. I am a fucking mess of a man who is so goddamn broken, and I don’t want to drag you down in the mess that I have made.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around your face as he did. His beard was grown out, the greys now outnumbered the black, jaw trembling as he spoke. 

“And just when I think I can start to be okay without you in my life, you show up, doll, and it ruins all that progress I made, if I even fucking made any in the first place. Make me realize just how damn much I need you. And how much I am so fucking scared of losing you because I can’t take it if I do.”

You reached up, hand cupping his face against the scruff of his beard. “I know that I’ve always known the life you lived before meeting Charles, and it doesn’t scare me. What scares me is the thought of you shutting me out and living out here on your own till you die. You’re not this terrible monster you think you are. Yes, you’ve done terrible things, but you’ve also done so much good in the world. You’ve saved just as many lives as you’ve taken.”

His eyes softened, tongue darting out to wet dry lips that stuck to his teeth. 

“I can’t change who I am. I can’t be someone you deserve.” 

“I’m not asking you to change.” 

His other hand met your hip, both of them squeezing them tightly as his body shook. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you promised. It was easy to promise that to him. As much as he needed you, you needed him. “You and me, we’ll get through this, and all that's to come.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. 

For a long while, he just stared at you, listening to your heartbeat, his eyes searching yours, looking for any doubt or lie in what you said. Fearful you’d sweep the rug out from under him and leave. He couldn’t find any indication of the sort. All he could see was how much you loved him, how much the distance between you had hurt, and how badly you wanted him to let you in.

Logan let out a shaky breath before pulling you into a kiss. His facial hair tickled your face as your lips met. It was intense as his lips moved against yours, his hands sliding down to your ass to pick you up and hold you. You could feel all his longing, desperation, and the despair he had been holding back. His lips were chapped from working outside, not caring for for himself like he should be, but you didn’t mind.

It sent a shiver down your spine, having him so close after so long. He was so warm against you. Your hands slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Logan groaned as you did, parting his mouth enough that your tongue could meet his. 

The kiss deepened. You could taste the salt of his tears mingling with your own. His grip on your ass tightened, pulling you flush against his body like he was afraid you might disappear. His mouth moved hungrily against your own tongue, nearly forcing yours into submission as he held you close.  He felt like a man starved. 

You matched his intensity, trying to pour all your love and care into the kiss, your lips moving together in a way that felt both familiar and new. Hoping that enough of your love could spill into his cup and fill him so full it didn’t matter what spilled out his cracks. There’d be more poured in every second. A rediscovery of what the love between the two of you had been. 

The two of you have to part far sooner than he liked, your lung capacity smaller than his own. His eyes were still wet with tears as he watched you, your chest rising and falling as you gulped down the air. 

He leaned in towards you, placing a small kiss on your forehead as he rested his head against your own, moving your ass to rest against the back of the couch. You had changed your conditioner; it smelled like honey now, but no matter how fragrant it was, it couldn’t cut through the smell of you to him. You smelled like home. 

“I’m sorry, doll.” his voice was a murmur against your scalp, heavy with regret. If hammer home the point, he’d bend nail after nail into soft wood, splitting it down the middle with how much metal he’d drive into it, just how sorry he was.

“I forgive you.”

Somehow, he gripped you tighter.“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“I know you will.” you pulled away from your position tucked against his chest to look up at him. “Kiss me again?”

He compiled without hesitation, his lips finding yours so tenderly. It was slow, deliberate, a melting of his body with yours. A promise, shared understanding, a soul tie that bound the two of you together.

Pulling away, his eyes met yours, and all he could see was love. 

“You gonna take me to bed or what, big boy?” 

Logan moved quickly up the stairs, taking two of them at a time. The promise of having you again was all the incentive he needed. He missed you. The way you felt under him, the way your pussy felt against his dick. How you fluttered around him every time he angled just right, how you smelt. He'd been jacking off to the thought of you for years now, and finally getting to have you again was like a fevered dream.

It wasn’t graceful the way he swung open his door and tossed you on the bed. You bounced a few times, mattress springs creaking as you did, before propping yourself up with an eyebrow raised, questioning him. No doubt he’d never hear the end of it; could hear you nagging him now. “A spring mattress? Logan? You’re made of metal. You can't have a spring mattress. You know this.” 

You raised a finger, curling in towards yourself, beckoning him closer. He was a dog on a leash for you, moving like a well-trained animal. If they’d found you during Project K, he would have listened to every command they gave. Hell, he’d roll over right now if you told him to. 

His knees enclosed your legs as he crawled over you, dog tags slipping out from his white tank top and dangling in your face. You smelled like him. His body wash and house, mixed with your fruit conditioner. Underneath it all, he could just smell you. The salt on your skin, the heady scent of your arousal. Logan lowered himself, tucking his head into your neck, and took a deep breath, groaning at the smell of you.

“Need you logan.”

That was something he’d missed. That pitched whine in the back of your throat you got when you were all horny and needy for him. Your voice turned raspy and low, caressed his ears so smoothly, and it made him want to purr like a fucking cat. The cadence just scratched an itch in his skull, setting his nerves on fire. 

With a low growl, he cradled your face in his hands, thumbs tracing over your cheekbones, relishing the heat coming off your skin. The little bumps and scars that crossed your skin felt like home to him, a map he’d always know how to read no matter how many years passed. He leaned in, lips meeting yours, and it just felt right. It always felt right. He was stupid for trying to run from you all this time. 

Your fingers laced in his hair on the nape of his neck, fingernails scraping his scalp. He groaned low,  wanton, animalistic, your tongue meeting his own in a warm, wet dance. Logan devoured your lips, his hunger for you impossible to sate. It was messy, desperate, the way he clung to you. Grabbing your waist and lifting you closer to him, you felt like a feather to him, all soft flesh and curves against his hard angles. 

He pulled away from the kiss, moving along your jawline and neck, stubble brushing your skin, making it more sensitive than it already was. Not stopping at your neck, he continued down over your collarbones and the expanse of your chest, all the skin he could access in the v-neck you wore. His fingers tugged at the hem of your sweater, pulling it over your head. You weren’t wearing a bra, perfect fucking nipples already perking up for him.

Logan leaned forward, his lips closing around your nipple. You gasped, back arching off the bed, the cool metal of his dog tags stinging against your skin. His tongue swirled around your nipple, fingers digging in at your waist before he pulled away with a pop, your chest heaving. You always looked so beautiful coming under him, over him, beside him, any position in which your naked body was near his and your flesh met in sinful desire.

“Oh,” his voice was ragged like he had fought all his battles and wars at once. “Oh god, doll…”

Testament and faith could be read about in books and studied. The Bible could teach you of Jesus’ preaching, but true faith, true trust in the unknown, could never be read about. It had to be felt and experienced. Logan slid to his knees, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed as he went. The fabric of your leggings felt too thick, separating him from his worship. He could smell you through them, through the lace of your panties. Heady, musky, a whine rumbles through his chest as his face falls against your thigh, nose pressed against the fast of your pussy. He breathes in deep, savoring your scent, his mouth watering like he can taste you.

“Doll, please,” he begged, opening his bloodshot eyes, his voice needy. “Let me taste you?” 

“You don't have to ask, Logan,” you replied, smiling. “I’m yours, always yours.” 

Logan hooked his finger into the waistband of your legging and panties, tugging them down in one swift motion. The cold air of the room met your skin as he did, but you didn't have long to think about it as he parted your legs, and his hot breath made contact with your pussy. His mouth hovered above for a moment, just wafting in your scent, his eyes fluttering closed. 

“Fucking love the smell of this pussy.” he murmured to himself, a low growl, before he dove in, tongue parting your folds.

Wet muscle slid between you so easily before swirling around your sensitive clit, teasing it. His hot breath ghosted over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your fingers flew to his head, trying to find purchase in his hair as he went. Logan was ferocious. He went from your clit to your hole, delving inside you, trying to taste every inch of you. He grabbed your hips, tilting them upwards, making you squeal as he opened his mouth wider on you. Working himself into a frenzy, growling, the vibrations amplified by his adamantium skeleton. It rumbled through you, low and deep, like the base setting of a vibrator.

He takes a second, not quite remembering the perfect rhythm for you right away, but he gets to it quickly. Starts playing with your pussy like a fine-tuned machine the way he has you gushing in minutes. Your wetness coats his tongue, and that engine is firing.

Each stroke, each flick of his tongue on your clit brought you closer to ecstasy. The stars might power you, but he’d have you see them tonight. He devours your pussy like a man starved, primal hunger driving him. You couldn’t fight back, not that you wanted to. All that you could do was let him keep going. Let him take you to the edge. Push you past it. Over it. Your breath hitches, heart pounding in your chest so hard you feel it in your temples.

You push his head back, abdomen muscles flexing, a thick line of spit and arousal connecting Logan’s mouth to your pussy. His pupils were blown wide, eyes unfocused, hungry. A red, ruddy color spread across his cheeks. He felt hard enough to cut steel with his length, rutting against the bed. They move on their own accord, desperate for friction. There’s a growing wet spot of precum at the front of his darkening blue jeans.

“Cum for me, doll, please, I need to taste it.” That low vibration of his voice made you whine, hips bucking against him.

Logan spread his tongue flat and mercilessly kept going at your clit. Your moans grew louder, fingernails digging into his scalp as he manhandled you around like you weighed nothing. He gripped your hips tighter, tilting them further, ensuring he had better access to your pussy, before taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it. An involuntary squeal came out of you as the added pressure made your back arch. 

The suction made your stomach drop, and your toes curl. He kept swiping his tongue side to side, little pulses of suction in time. It left you writhing and gasping. One of his hands released your hips, moving so that he could slip two fingers into your wet hole. You were so soaked he met no resistance, walls clenching around his digits as he slid them in, desperate for something to clamp down on. The pads of his fingers brush against your G-spot, and the lights of the room glow brighter as you begin to lose control. You’re so close so quickly it feels like you can’t breathe from how overstimulating it was. 

You push his head back, abdomen muscles flexing, a thick line of spit and arousal connecting Logan’s mouth to your pussy. His pupils were blown wide, eyes unfocused, hungry. A red, ruddy color spread across his cheeks. He felt hard enough to cut steel with his length, rutting against the bed. Your vision blurred, light filling your eyes, your only point of focus in the world, his mouth on your sensitive pussy.

“Taste so goddamn good,” he licked his lips, breaking the strand before diving back in. Your legs shook, thighs clamping down around his ears. You were so close, you could taste it. Logan picked up the pace, his tongue rapidly flicking over your clit, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering hole. 

The room was filled with sloppy, wet sounds of Logans eating you out mixed with your cries of pleasure. He presses your pussy harder against his face, moaning as he does. You clench around him, body drawing tight like a bow as your release nears, his fangs scrape on the fat of your pussy lips.  It's like you leave your body for a minute, your ears ringing and your heart pumping. Every nerve in your body is lit up.

Logan reaches up to grope at your breasts, and with a pinch of your nipple, you cum with a loud moan that startles the cows, the lightbulbs exploding as you do. Your body trembles and shakes, juices gushing onto his palette like a tall glass of iced tea after a long day of work during the summer, and his thirst is quenched, but his appetite is only hungrier. You felt like you were melting, pleasure pouring out of you.

“Fuck,” you sound winded, “I haven’t had that happen since I was 24.” Your smile shows crow's feet, crinkling comforts near the sides of your eyes as you smile, really smile at him for the first time this week.

“Getting old, kid.”

“Oh, shut up!” 

He ducks to the side to dodge the pillow you throw his way. 

“You want to keep going?” 

“With you, I don’t ever want to stop.”

His eyes go all soft at the corners, caught up in his feelings. “Promise you won’t ever have to again.” 

“Good.”

He picks you up and places you up on the center of the bed, grabbing the pillow you threw at him to place under your hips for support. His clothes come off, and his blue Wrangler jeans drop to the floor with his tank top and boxer briefs. The dog tags stay on. He knows you’ve got a thing for them.  They glint in the dim light, steel catching your eye.

Rough, calloused hands slide up your legs, starting at your ankles, and he kneels between your legs on the bed. He folds you nearly in half, hooking your knees over his shoulders, his hip meeting yours. You feel the curling wisps of his pubes tickle against the back of your thighs. Always been a hairy guy, told you it's how he was so warm all the time. It makes your stomach flutter.

Logan leans down, capturing your lips against his own in a kiss before lining up his pre-cum soaked tip with your entrance. He eases into you with a hiss, your walls squeezing him tightly. The length was never an issue, he was only about an inch and a half above average, but it was the girth that made your jaw go slack and droll pool out the sides as he fucked you. The stretch is delicious as he slides inside you.

The first inch yielded a slick gushing sound from your pussy, while the second made you gasp, and the third had your walls tighten around him, taking his and your breath away. The stretch felt so good with how fat of a cock he had. One that felt so much girthier than you’d ever imagine it to be. His cock twitched, heavy, inside you, his pulse beating in time with yous.

“Jesus, princess, you’re squeezing me so tight. Relax,” he rolled his hip about halfway in and still meeting resistance.  Relax.” It came out like a pant. Fuck you were so tighter, like a vice around him. He wanted to take it slow, cherish you, show you how much he’d been missing you, but he was an old dog, and he wouldn’t last that long with how bad you were squeezing him. 

Your hands gripped the sheets, nails cutting the threadbare cheap cotton ones he’d been using for all these years. “Too much Logan.” You could barely breathe, let alone get the words out.

“You can take it, doll, remember?” he groaned, finally sliding in, flesh meeting yours in a wet slap. Your poor little hole stretched to the max as you whimpered. “See? You can take it.” Logan emphasized each word with a thrust of his hips. 

He felt his control slipping, thrusts starting to pick up, super strength coming into play. It coiled deep in his belly as he buried himself to the hilt inside you. “Feel so fucking good. Oh fuck. You’re so perfect, perfect little pussy.”

Logan’s hands move to grab your breasts, pushing them together. He plays with your nipples, rolling them between his thumb and index finger. His pace is brutal, and the position allows him to hit that perfect spot on your gummy walls that has you seeing stars. He’s all grunts and whimpers, silver tips eclipsing the skin of his knuckles. It gets to the point he wants to go faster, the need to cum inside you far too great, and he lets go of your tits and balances himself on the bed. 

The base of his cock swelled, his knot beginning to grow. This was the part you missed the most. The way he’d stretch you out so good on his dick, only to then slip his knot inside you and stretch you even further. 

“Ain’t gonna last much longer, doll.” 

You moan, reaching down to play with your messy clit. It’s so wet between your legs it’s hard to find any purchase, and the sensitive nub slides back and forth so easily. The bed creaks, the wood floors groan, and the bed frame slams against the wall. He’s getting rougher by the second, his knot starting to press against you. 

“Give it to me, I’m ready.”

Logan thrusts forward, his knot sliding in with a satisfying pop, your words spurring him on. He pulses, cock swelling impossibly large before he cums. Thick, hot white ropes paint your insides as he stutters and groans, nearly growls, dropping to his elbows and forcing your knees to your chest. His hips don’t stop moving, still rutting up into you as you play with your clit. You just need a little bit more to push you over the edge. 

His voice is gravely in your ear as he careens over you, half squishing you with his weight. “I love you.” 

It’s the emotion of the moment that makes you cum. Tears in your eyes and love in your heart. Love is a lot like faith, blind trust in the unknown. A bishop can train his whole life, be a theologian, a scholar of the bible, know all of his god’s teachings inside out, and have less faith than a man who’s lived through hell. Putting your trust into the unknown and praying that good comes back to you. You felt like you were finally home, like that piece of yourself you’ve been missing for years is clicking back into place.

Logan didn’t know romance. He was gruff and awkward, snappy at the random way things. But he stood on the outside when you walked along the street, never let you carry anything, and opened every door for you. Never bought you flowers because he hated the local guy who sold them. But he picked them for you daily on his runs. Didn’t ever wash your laundry, but he folded every piece of clothing you owned and hung up all your shirts, all of it, just because you mentioned hating folding clothes to him once. 

He’d never be able to admit to you how much you meant to him fully. When you came into his life, he was close to ending things. There had been so many dark, endless days that only he remembered now. Horrors beyond human comprehension were his burden, shadowing his every waking moment until you came walking into his life.

There’d be a conversation in the morning that probably would rise into an argument. He’d likely storm off, and you’d be there waiting, telling him to get therapy, and this time, he would. This time, he’d go talk to a shrink about the mess in his head and sort it out for you, for himself. This time he wouldn’t fuck it up and leave you in the middle of the night. He’d have the difficult, uncomfortable conversations that activate his fight or flight. 

You were soft under him as he lifted off of you, still unable to pull out due to his knot. He rotated the two of you so you were on top, your chests pressed together as he lazily traced your spine. 

“I love you too.” 

“I love you more, sunbeam.” 

“Oh, absolutely not. You know I hate that name.”

©️ uzuzrimisery

thank you @txjis for beta reading

[yanderestarangel]

HEADKANONS MK11 | BLACK DRAGONS DUO | ERRON BLACK AND KANO ☆ HARD SMUT VERSION ☆

A/N: This one goes out to my 3 followers who are horny fans of Kano and Erron Black <3!

TW: daddykink, semi public sex, degradation, smut, nsfw, blowjob, afab anatomy,ftm/male reader, praise, creampie, rough sex, eat out, painkink, anal sex, cunnilingus, v!sex, gun play, dom!kano, dom!erron black.

KANO

He is a vulgar man, and this applies in bed too, he spews disgusting and extremely arousing words, fucking you until you are a dumb mess because of his dick, pulling your hair hard and not worrying if you will feel pain or not - at that moment, all that mattered was fucking your holes with all the vigor he could muster.

"You're just a hole for me to use. This is your purpose - to please me and obey me. Remember that, whore, while daddy fucks your little slutty body mercilessly."

He's so brutal as he fucks your throat, forcing you to the base of his dick, you can touch the tip of your nose to the base of his pubic hair - but don't worry, Kano takes good care of his body, oddly enough, he smells well, a strong smell of expensive, sporty, woody men's perfume is quite pleasant - he will degrade you and praise you at the same time, seeing the tears come down from your eyes with each involuntary choke because of his dick hitting the back of your throat holding your head in place while he looked you in the eyes, his bionic eye glowed even brighter with each expression of pleasure you made when sucking him, phrases like:

"You love sucking my dick don't you?"

"F-Fuuck yeah~ that's it my good boy, choke on my cock."

"That's it! Take my dick, you dirty little slut oh- fuucck yes!"

He will also spend all the money he gets just to make you as beautiful as possible for him, and also on sex toys - vibrators, dildos, special lubricants, heart-shaped plugs that he will force you to use while dating him, so preference in public after fucking your pussy and ass, inserting the butt plug into your canal still filled with his thick, hot seed, placing a collar with his name in diamonds around your neck while pulling the chain to bring you even closer of him, you moaned softly at the feeling of having the hot liquid running down your thighs, mainly because he was going to make a point of complementing the pleasurable torture, he was going to put a vibrator on your clit, watching you whimper for him, while he smiled at the pathetic mess that you where.

"Are you shaking already? Just a cute and sensitive boy isn't that love? Want me to fuck you? Then beg louder."

Kano will wait for you to beg him to fuck you in the nearest alley, while he roughly pulled you down, pulling down your panties and exposing your two needy holes for him, the mercenary didn't really care if anyone saw or not - he was just going to fuck you - He turned around slightly, eyeing your exposed pussy hungrily, as he turned off the vibrator from your clit and removed the butt plug from your body.

"That's mine now isn't it?"

the Australian man will fill you up again, taking turns with his thick cock between your cunt and ass, giving painful slaps to your skin as he watches you go weak in the knees from the brutal thrusts - ending up on your ass, while ramming his thick shaft again in your overstimulated pussy, totally dirtying your thighs, taking out his dick again and hitting his member on your sensitive flesh, laughing hoarsely when he sees you hold on to him - he will reward you later don't worry, everything you want he will buy without question and pamper you like you were royalty -

"That's my warrior, You took it all like a big boy, I'm proud of you... I knew you're mine."

ERRON BLACK

Erron is a domineering and rude man, but not evil. He wants you to make the most of it every time you two make love, he takes the phrase: "save a horse, ride the cowboy" very seriously. He wants to fuck you in every possible position... But his preference will always be "cowgirl", seeing you jumping on his dick so eagerly while trying to control himself not to let out beautiful sighs - which only you do - fills his eyes of the gunman of passion.

"I want to feel your tight little pussy milk my cock dry, my baby boy doll."

"You're a filthy whore, taking my cock so willingly... Your tight, needy pussy is made for me to fuck."

He also likes to see you riding on his face, with his tongue fucking your pussy with all his hunger, the cowboy will make you roll in his mouth - grabbing your hips while placing you even closer to him, doing a provocative cunnilingus while watching you whining for more of him, pulling on his hat while - Erron's scruffy beard tickled your thighs, leaving a trail of juices, he also loves dirty talk, talking about how he missed you throughout the day, how he masturbated thinking about you, while bringing you even closer to him.

"I've fantasized about you, imagined fucking you until you're a moaning mess."

Erron also likes gun play - I think that's obvious - mainly, when you make him jealous on purpose, he will obviously unload the pistol, but he will use the cold, icy barrel to tease your skin, the gun inside your shorts, pressing it against your delicate flesh. It was a shocking and exhilarating sensation - one that made you feel excited, very... Excited.

"No one else can satisfy you like I can... You really like playing with fire, don't you pretty boy?" He continued to rub the gun against your pussy, you found yourself getting wetter and wetter, lightly slapping material on your clit - he will end up fucking you, making a creampie in your pussy while slapping you hard on the face, telling you that you were just his.

Aside from the occasional rough sex, Erron likes to be softer too. Fucking you sweetly on a rainy and tiring day, after a risky mission, holding hands with you looking straight into your eyes as he absorbed every reaction you made to him slowly fucking you - he loves being called "my cowboy" by you, you can see the small smile that forms on his lips, as the older man grabs you by the hips, massaging your breasts, sucking the creamy flesh while leaving small marks.

"I really love you baby...Fuck...Be a good boy and take all of this old cowboy's seed right here in this pretty pussy ok?"

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[buddierecs]

didn't know they were dating buddie fics

all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

baby, say you'll always keep me by: hattalove "the one in which joking about being married to your best friend is all fun and games, right up until you realize that you're not laughing." word count: 8.2k important tags: friends to fiances, getting together, mutual pining, first kiss

things we shouldn't by: ingu "the one where buck and eddie accidentally get set up on a blind date with each other, and everything snowballs from there" word count: 21k important tagsL fake dating, romcom, blind date, idiots in love, mutual pining, oblivious, getting togther

tear me to pieces and make me feel whole by: justhockey "and that’s when it clicks. in the pasta aisle of the grocery store, at 10am on a saturday morning. buck is frowning as he tries to decide what to get - and eddie is in love with him." word count: 2.5k important tags: feelings realisation, getting together, fluff, team as family, oblivious!eddie diaz, coming out the "i" in ikea stands for 'i love you' by: ipretentobesane "buck has some life changing realizations in the curtain section of ikea. mainly, he's really, really in love with his best friend." word count: 2.8k important tags: fluff, oblivious!evan buckley, proposal made your mark on me (a golden tattoo) by: thatbuddie "buck and eddie keep getting matching tattoos, and then discover that maybe everyone is right when they think it means something more" word count: 15k important tags: tattoos, friends to lovers, getting together, first kiss, fluff of bake sales and overdue realizations by: brewrosemilk "eddie doesn’t notice it until it becomes a thing that happens even when it’s just him and buck, without chris anywhere near them - but even then, he doesn’t find it strange, or give it much thought. buck is the one who starts ending their phone calls with a quick ‘love you’ but it doesn't take long before eddie does the same, often beating him to it." word count: 4.8k important tags: feelings realisation, love confessions, fluff, getting together, first kiss, texting sounding like the rest of my life by: coupe_de_foudre "eddie does a ravi and swaps shifts for a bit, only everyone on b shift is convinced that he and buck are married. they might not be as wrong as eddie initially thought.: word count: 6.6k important tags: feelings realisation, getting together, humour, pining baby don't you know? (you're my golden hour) by: ipretenttobesane "a sweet little fic inspired by eddie calling buck "cowboy" because i needed the fluff after 6x10" word count: 2.6k important tags: fluff, first kiss, love confessions the secrets we keep (the ones that spill out) by: sparegarbage "buck and eddie comfort each other with cuddles, hugs, and kisses (platonically—or so they think)." word count: 4.6k important tags: platonic cuddling, platonic kissing, platonic bed sharing, pre-relationship, fluff, comfort, idiots in love

i built a home (for you, for me) by: made_ofmemories "eddie shows up to work wearing one of buck's shirts. assumptions are made and revelations are had." word count: 6.1k important tags: sharing clothes, feelings realisation, first kiss, getting together, fluff, idiots in love you can feel it on the way home (you are in love) by: made_ofmemories "buck's apartment is destroyed when an earthquake shakes LA, luckily there's always a space for him in the diaz household." word count: 23k important tags: roommates, getting together, sharing a bed, sharing clothes, fluff, literal sleeping together, gay!eddie diaz, bisexual!evan buckley

[the-lavender-clown]

MORE COWBOY AU STUFF BECAUSE I’M OBSESSED!!! The au I’ve made with some friends is called Fool’s Gold! I may or may not write some fics for it 👀

Here’s an infodump on it if anyone is interested!!

Raph is tired sheriff who sighs at every newspaper & new wanted poster showing off his blue and purple brothers as well as Donnie’s partner in crime but a he can’t help but be a little proud because he knows their doing good, just in their own special & questionable way.

Mikey is a nomad that travels around & sells self-woven clothes and blankets as well as hand carved & painted trinkets or whatever else he’s made. He treats weary travelers to home cooked meals & tales & legends of four brothers! He’s also the only brother not *constantly* making trouble for Raph.

Leo is a lone hero. Going town to town & over throwing whatever greedy mayor/banker/outlaw has that town in its clutches. He’s able to masterfully manipulate whoever he’s dealing with & using his many resources to gather important information. He ties them up to a post for the sheriff’s convenience when he comes by the town to pick them up.

Donnie & Cass are bounty hunters/mercenaries. They used to chase each other for their bounties & because Cass was a part of the Foot before the brothers took them down & Donnie just so happens to often be the closest to her trail once she popped up again. After awhile of constantly failing to catch each other they started thinking of each other as *their* targets & everyone knew better than to try and catch the other. A fun little song & dance/game of cat & mouse if you will. Eventually they ended up having to run from the same person together & realized that they honestly make a good team & have stuck together ever since!

Shelldon is adopted by Donnie before he & Cass teamed up. He was told by the Purple Dragons to get close to Donnie so they could catch him in exchange for enough money to set him for life, money they had no intention on giving him. He did get close to Donnie but in the end didn’t want to betray him but the Dragons had accounted for that & set off an explosion in a mining tunnel to get rid of them both. Donnie ended up being able to get Shelldon a little clear of the crumbling tunnel before he was trapped under the rumble. Shelldon doesn��t want to leave him but eventually does & immediately goes to try to find help, coming across Leo who had found Donnie’s spooked horse & was trying to find out what trouble Donnie had gotten himself into since his horse never leaves unless something really bad happened. Donnie ends up losing a leg cuz is it truly an F!Donnie if he doesn’t?

Casey is adopted after Donnie & Cass team up. They were in town for some groceries when Raph told them about this kid in some not so great circumstances & said it’d be a shame if someone were to beat up his guardians & kidn@p him while he was busy with all this paperwork. Donnie & Cass were gone before he finished. They weren’t gonna pass up an opportunity where they had permission to do a crime after all!

The main difference between Leo & Donnie’s work is that Donnie always cashes in the bad guys for money & can be hired for jobs as well as uses semi lethal methods while Leo mainly does it for fun & justice (& to mess with Raph) & takes like a free drink as payment before moving on. Leo will leave notes on the bad guys for Raph for when he comes to pick them up.

“The Bread Winners” is the name of Donnie, Casey, Shelldon, & Junior’s gang because Casey’s brownie scouts & my Donnie baker hc. It also shows that they’re in it for the money & fits with how the go undercover as a family often. Plus it sounds innocent enough to disguise how insane they really are.

That is it for now!! Hope some of y’all like it!!

Here’s the drawing without the text in the middle

[poppyflower-22]

Wild Wild West

Summary: Lando walks into a bar and falls for Oscar's barrel racing Cousin.

Side note: I'm Australian so chips to me are fries to most people. Idk in my family we call everything chips. There's properly spelling and grammar errors.

When people think of ranch life they think cows. The smell. But that’s not Lando thinks. He thinks of Y/n. The love of his life.

The woman who changed his life. Meeting her in that bar was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It was like God was leading him to his salvation.

He wouldn't know what to do without now. Meeting her was like meeting his soulmate. He had gotten everything and more from meeting her.

Lando smiled in relief when he saw the glowing sign of a motel. It felt like he was walking for days when it had only been two hours. The sun had gone down while he walked and while it was beautiful he didn't have time to think about it.

When Oscar had gave instructions to him, he never thought it would be that hard to find a house. But then again, he was in the middle of nowhere. All he needed was a phone and everything would be fine.

And maybe a drink. Defiantly a drink.

Lando opened the bar doors and immediately made his way over to the bar. There was the bar with stools, a dancing floor, a pool table and a few more tables in witched he guessed people sat, drank and ate.

“Whiskey. Please.” Lando told the bartender who nodded. Lando sighed and looked around. He saw two-men playing pool. They looked to be in there 20's

On the other side of the bar was an older man reading a paper. No one else was in the bar.

“Excuse me. Do you have a pay phone I can use?” Lando asked the bartender when he placed his drink in front of him.

The bartender chuckled. “You're in bad luck mate. Phone broke yesterday.”

Lando grumbled. “Thanks anyway.” He sipped his whisky slightly thinking of ways to contact Oscar to come get him out of this mess.

The bartender offered him a small smile. “Do you have anywhere to sleep for the night mate?” He asked as he cleaned some glasses.

Lando shook his head. “No. I’m lost. Can you tell me where I am?” Lando looked around the bar and he could tell the bar was well looked after.

The town he was in looked pretty nice but when Lando was walking in he could tell it was small. That not many people knew it was here. He had seen many of ranches and some old looking house when he was looking for a pay phone.

“Old Range.” (Fake) The bartender said. “I’m Jeff, and that old man down there is my father John he owns the hotel across the road. You can sleep there for the night.” Jeff offered Lando.

Lando nodded in thanks. “Thank you.” He sent a smile to Jeff and John; John just waved him off and went back to reading hardly paying attention.

“Yes!!” An excited yell made Lando look over and see the two guys playing pool.

Jeff shook his head at the guys playing pool. He poured Lando another drink. The front bar doors opened and when Lando looked over to the door he felt like the air was stolen from his lungs.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life was standing there looking at him. She had a nice blue dress, compared with a leathered belt around her waist. And of course, cowboys boot along with the black cowboy hat.

Y/n smiled as she walked over to the bar. She stopped and kissed John on the cheek before taking a seat next to Lando.

“Jeff.” Y/n greeted with a smile one he returned. "Whisky please." She turned to Lando and sent him a smile that had him melting. "Not from around here?" She asked as she looked him up and down.

Lando suddenly felt silly for wearing a hoodie and jeans. Mainly the hoodie. "No." He gulped.

You hummed taking a sip of your drink.

"First place again, Y/n?" Jeff asked the girl.

She nodded, "It was tuff, but they can never beat the rebel." She grinned; Jeff just laughed.

"What did you get first place for?" Lando couldn't help but ask.

The boys that were at the pool table laughed making Lando look back at them. Y/n shot them a look making them shut up. She looked at Lando, "Barrel racing." She answered him.

Lando looked wide eyed at her, "Wow." He breathed out. "Isn't it dangerous?" He asked intred.

Y/n shrugged, "Yeah but I know what I'm doing." She nodded to over his shoulder and Lando turned and saw photos and newspaper clipping all over the wall. "Thats all me." She explained to him.

He couldn't help but get up and get a closer look. Y/n got up as well and stood shoulder to shoulder to him. There were folders of her holding trophies and belt buckles from a little age to now he guessed.

"How long have you been barrel racing." Lando asked. His British accent showing making Y/n grin.

"Since I was four. I did it on pony and then horse once I got older. Travel all around the world." She explained. She pointed to a higher up picture. It was a picture collum with five photos of her holding a big trofie with a buckle int he other hand. "I'm a five-time world barrel racing champion." She grinned bumping shoulders with a god smacked Lando.

"Jesus." He breathed out. When this beautiful girl couldn't get more interesting. He chuckled, "And I can't even win a race."

Y/n hummed looking fondly at the photos. "You will one day." She told him.

Lando hummed but whipped around to look at her with frowned eyebrows wondering how she knew what he meant. "Do you now that I'm an F1 racer?"

Y/m turned to him and smirked, "Y/n Piastri. Pleasure." She told him.

Lando just started at her in wonder. "Your related to Oscar? You?"

She giggled. "Cousins. He called me before and told me he had been calling you. He checked where your last known location was and asked me to come and get you." She explained to him.

"Wow." Lando said. He took a seat at one of the bar tables near the wall. "Man, my day has been hectic."

Y/n hummed and sat across from him. "It's easy-to-get lost around these parts. But it has its perks from growing up around here." She told him. "I told Oscar I'll bring you to the ranch tomorrow."

Lando smiled at her in thanks. She smiled back making him blush a little. "But for now we should get some food in you." She beamed before looking at Jeff. "Just the usual." She told the bartender making him grin and nod before going through the doors to the kitchen.

"I should of recognized you from the photos Oscar showed me." Lando told the girl.

"Oscar talks about me?" Y/n asked as she leaned forward a bit.

Lando nodded, "All the time." Making Y/n smile.

Lando and Y/n sat there talking about barrel racing and Y/n asking more about F1. There conversation flowed making John look up from his paper now and then.

It was interesting seeing Y/n take an interest in a boy. She has had past relationships, but they never worked out. Especially the bull riding boys.

A plate being put on the table made their conversation stop. On the plate was a good-sized steak and chips. Jeff winked giving Y/n a small bowl of chips.

"Enjoy." He said before going back behind the bar to get the boys from the pool table another drink.

"This looks amazing." Lando looked at the steak in amazement.

"Yeah, Jeff makes the best steak ever." Y/n told the brit as she started eating her chips. She watched as Lando smiled at the taste of it. "Good?"

"Define." Lando answered making Y/n giggle. For the rest of the night Lando and Y/n had eaten, talked, drank and played pool with the two guys.

The two giggled together crossing the dirt road to the motel, Y/n's hat on Lando's head. John had gone and gotten Lando's key for him before they left the bar. Y/n smiled and looked up at the clear sky.

Lando stopped to see what she was doing. He had his arm around her shoulders with Y/n holding his hand that was round her. "Why'd you stop?" He asked.

When she didn't answer he looked to sky where she was looking. The sky was so clear you could see the stars so clearly. Them shining brightly down to them. "It's so beautiful." Lando spoke soflty.

"I never see stars like this anywhere else." Y/n confessed. "Home is where the heart is." She said leaning her head on Lando's shoulder.

Lando leaned his head on her head. "That's the truth." He whispered.

They stood there looking at the sly before Lando leaded them to their rooms that were next to each other.

"Well, this is me." Y/n said at her door. Lando smiled at her and tucked a piece of her brown blackish hair behind her ear. When Y/n looked at him she couldn't but smile, "Why are you smiling at me?"

"You're so beautiful." He confessed to her admiring all her features that made her, her. He wouldn't be able to live not doing what he was about to do.

Y/n blushed and giggled trying not to let his complement go to her heart. She had already felt like Lando was amazing and could be more. "Your drunk." She told him.

Lando shook his head in refusal and took both her cheeks in his hands. "I have never been more sober then right now. God when you walked into, the bar this afternoon I thought you were most beautiful woman in the world. And I won't be able to go to asleep without doing this." Lando confessed to her.

Before she could ask what, he was going to do he kissed her. It didn't take a moment for Y/n to kiss him back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged on his curls making him groan. It was like a part of them each other had found each other.

They parted. Foreheads leaning on each other. "You don't even know me." Y/n told the brit.

Lando shook his head softly, "I want to know you. I want to know the good and the bad." He told her, his breath fanning her face. Y/n smiled tracing his face with her finger tips.

"You do?"

"Yes."

And they kissed again. So passionately. Y/n smiled into the kiss. In that moment after just meeting a few hours ago they knew they were meant for each other. They both just knew.

When they parted again for the second time, Y/n took a step back and opened her hotel door and beckoned him making him grin and Y/n to squeal when he picked her up again.

It was one of the best nights that Lando had ever had. He had never met a girl as beautiful, kind and just God dam different then Y/n. He fell in love that night when he went to asleep in the old town hotel with Y/n next to him.

It was the start of one of the tales of Y/n and Lando. Anyone that saw them together would think they would never go together. With Y/n all county like and Lando far from it, but just one second with them, you would know that they were better together then apart.

And Oscar had sworn that he had never seen Lando happier than he was when he was with his cousin. And now a new photo sat on the wall of the bar.

But whenever there in their little town they always star gaze together.

You guys can request anything you want for Lando.

[natigail]

"I figured hey, if I'm here, I might as well be honest with myself. So I dug into the archives. And I found teenage Dan. Do you remember HELLO INTERNET? There I was, eighteen years old, your average caucasian British boy with your problematic vocabulary, just wanting so desperately to be liked. I then saw myself age twenty, as a student. Not that I was actually studying anything other than the male anatomy. I had no plan. No prospects. I was in desperate need of a haircut. Jesus Christ. No, look, that was not a hairstyle. It was geometry. My hair was a square. I then saw myself age twenty-two as an adult, just trying to make my way in the world, taking any job that I could, no matter how inauthentic or degrading. And look. I don't hate these past versions of myself, alright? Apart from the square one, it can get in the fucking bin. Mainly, I just feel sorry that it took them so long to work out who they are. I then stumbled across the video titled Existential Crisis. In which I utter the optimistic nihilistic epithet: 'embrace the void and have the courage to exist'. Embrace the void and have the courage to exist. It sounded nice when I said it but for some reason it just didn't hit. I had accepted the absurdity of the world but at that time, I hadn't accepted myself. Looking back at it, it finally clicked. Anyone who has suffered with depression or any kind of trauma that seriously affects your self-worth hopes that one day you're going to have this sudden revelation and then everything is fine. I had my revelation alright. I am unapologetically gay! Don't know if you hadn't picked up on that, so far in the show. But just having this revelation did not immediately fix all of my problems, because I still feel that inherent burnt-on brand that I am wrong. And that doesn't just go away. No, I know what my problem is, alright. My problem I am always living for the future. Every day I am thinking about this dream future where all of my dreams have come true and all of my problem have gone and everything's fine. And so, every day in the present of my life can be this joyless unrelenting grind towards that future. But it's okay. It's going to come any day now, right? Learning to look yourself in the mirror and being honest about what you've been through and keep living in spite of that can be hard. It takes a long time and a relentless persistent resistance against the way that you've been trained to feel by the world. But that doesn't just mean you should give up. Because, sure, sometimes in life, you may feel trapped. I felt trapped by my sexuality. You could feel trapped by your culture or your community. Hell, you could be literally trapped in an elevator but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't try to get out. 'cause, sure, when I look at the state of the world, I am very tempted to just go: You know what - we're all doomed. But that isn't courageous. That is cowardly. It's the easy way out. Even if it is, as I hope you'd all agree, a really fucking cool name for a show. So that's the thing. You can either say to yourself, every day is just a discontent emoji or you can find the courage to force your inner smiling cowboy hat, ye-motherfucking-haw! And just try to find in everyday life. Which is why I made this show. So I'm not living in the future but I'm just right here, right now, with you, just trying to have one good night. And look. Hey. Who knows, huh? We may all be doomed. Death may be inevitable. But first, we get to live. Life might at times be a struggle but just being here, to put one foot in front of the other every day is living. So please, do not let the doom drag you down. You are important. You matter. Please, stay hopeful for the future. Appreciate life. Embrace the void and have the courage to exist." - Dan Howell, closing monologue of his show "we're all doomed" (2022-2024)

[poppy-metal]

me being loved wanted and coveted i’m 😳

citygirl!reader cannot relate

ok but hear me out. ofc art finds himself with your grandma’s hand gripping on his elbow as he’s helping her to their seats. he’s wearing a suit too expensive and too stuffy for his taste, but it was laid out for him this morning on his bed. oh did i forget to mention granny and him are staying in the guest wing of your family’s estate?

luckily you’ve been so busy with the wedding preparation you spending almost no time during the day at home, but are night? art is forced to sit at the dinner table with granny, you, your parents, and your fiancé. he doesn’t miss the way the guy holds your hand throughout the entire meal, rubbing his thumb along the back of it, and bringing it up to press soft kisses to. or how his eyes are sole trained on you. or how every sentence that leaves his lips find their way back to you. art is almost disgusted at how enraged he feels at the amount of love your fiancé is showing you because it should be him. and you are shy under your fiancé’s gaze, quick to try to steer the conversation away from you, but you can’t help at how he adores you. and for once in your life, a man loves you (to your knowledge), and you could find yourself making room for him in your heart,,,until a cold splash of reality hits you in the face when art showed up at your front door steps carrying granny’s bag for her. because as much as he hurt you, art donaldson has etched himself a permanent spot in your heart—cowboy hat and all.

i’m also thinking, art doesn’t realize you’re pregnant yet; no one does. but the way he finds out? this is my vision

art ofc has to sit through the wedding, seeing you in a beautiful dress, teary-eyed, exchanging vows and he wants it to be him sooooo bad. so the reception comes around, you’re playing the proper bride/host. art is DOWNING drinks. somehow the two of you end up in the coatroom (empty ofc—idk how they got there yet) and ofc there’s an Emotional exchange (art reiterating that you told him you love him, reader responding that he never says it back, art bringing up the Phone Call—“remember when you asked me if i was happy?” you nod “remember what i said?”—reader saying “what good does that do now?” ofc tears in her eyes “you’re married, i’m married, i’m—“ ofc she was going to say pregnant but drunk art kisses her. they fuck in the coatroom—actually no, art makes love to her on the expensive coats of her wedding guests LMAO bc “he should’ve done it earlier” but he’s noticing these changes about her. bc as a man obsessed with citygirl!reader, art has her body memorized ok, he fantasizes about it every night. her breasts are fuller, she’s more glowing than usual, and her hips feel different to hold. only in their post-sex bliss, and his post-orgasm, it hits him. he pulls away, hissing as he’s been burned, “you’re pregnant”

and he’s seething because it means that bastard came in you and knocked you up (ofc the bastard is your husband, so god-fearing art is in the back of his head going “chill please.”) but then he does the math, and you can’t lie to him so he knows. he’s going to be a father except it’s not with his wife and the mother of his child doesn’t want him. (she does but she’s in her being good era)

they get into a blown out fight ofc and THIS is where art says i love you. and reader is honestly half elated he loves her back but mainly pissed bc his timing can’t be worse and also, “don’t say you love me just because i’m carrying your baby” and art’s trying to articulate that no, he does love her and he couldn’t say it but reader can’t hear it bc it hurts ! too ! much ! to know that she could’ve had him and still can but she can’t hurt her husband nor can she let art hurt his wife so she tells him she doesn’t love him anymore and it’s too late (i cannot make her say she never loved him bc that will bring irreparable damage that i cannot come back from emotionally) and art leaves bc there’s nothing he can do.

reader returns to her wedding party, to her husband’s side where she’s determined to stay. she’ll be the kind loving wife that this man deserves because he loves her without any expectations, conditions, etc.

art returns home with granny to his little farmhouse where his wife awaits with her chaste touches and polite small talk. finding out you’re carrying his child an animalistic urge to breed takes over him, and he’s trying to fuck a baby into his wife every night. but it doesn’t work. no matter how hard he tries, lucy can’t get pregnant, and she’s tired of trying—too heartbroken at the knowledge she can’t give him babies.

the next summer, granny’s health takes a turn for the worse, so she writes you a letter to return to the ranch to help her get everything settled. and bc you’ve become so fond of your grandma—who sends you homemade jams and knitted booties for the baby every few months—you do with your blue-eyed, strawberry blonde baby girl in tow.

- 🤠

you need your ass ate for this

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | four

🐴Chapter summary: You’re back in the city, but it doesn’t really feel like home— nowhere has felt like home since you were a child. When Jimin suddenly shows up unexpectedly at your apartment, you’re left wondering the depth of his feelings. 🐴Chapter title: It Comes to This 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mentions of not eating because of sadness, mention of past infidelity (parents), mention of past character death (parents). It’s fluff season y’all! 😍 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 7.5k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Locked Inside My Heart” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: okay so this is a short chapter, but it’s mainly oc and Jimin and it’s mainly talking, like backstory and feelings– it’s fluffy! But damn I loved writing this chapter. You’re in for a ride!!!

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

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“I don't pretend the choice is easy I can't pretend I really know I don't believe that you can have it both ways Do you stay or do you go?” - ‘It comes to this’ by Rebecca Lavelle.

Several weeks have elapsed since your departure from the ranch, affording you the time and distance to gain some perspective. Though readjusting to city life is easy, a persistent ache in your heart testifies to the yearning for the open fields, the friendship of the girls, and even the complicated bond with your sister that you left behind.

However, you find solace in immersing yourself in your work, channeling your emotions onto the canvas with each stroke. As you complete yet another painting, a genuine smile graces your lips, proud of the creation that has sprung from the depths of your heart. 

Yet, when your gaze shifts to the collection of paintings surrounding it, each depicting the rustic charm of a ranch, horses, and idyllic countryside scenes, a chuckle escapes you. 

The truth is undeniable – the ranch is a constant muse, an ever-present thought that refuses to release its hold on your mind.

From the days of childhood at the ranch, where painting was a shared joy with your sister, to the present hustle of city life, your artistic passion has seamlessly evolved. Initially, it was a cherished hobby, but as the city years unfolded, it transformed into a profession. While you may not boast fame, your paintings enjoy a steady demand, affording you a comfortable life in the bustling heart of the city.

The soft vibration of your phone interrupts the creative dance of your brush against the canvas. Another painting takes shape – a girl riding her horse, an embodiment of carefree spirit with wind-kissed hair. 

A sigh escapes you; these motifs only deepen the yearning for the ranch. Retrieving your phone, a message from a friend awaits, a lifeline momentarily pulling you from the realm of memories and strokes.

Minji [13.34]: GIRL, get your ass down to the cafe I miss your ass 😏

A burst of laughter escapes you at Minji's characteristically whimsical message. Swiftly, you respond, your fingertips adorned with dried paint, dancing effortlessly across the screen, assuring her that you'll join her in a heartbeat.

After rinsing your pencils and setting them out to dry, you meticulously cleanse the remnants of paint from your hands. Swiftly grabbing your handbag, you step out of your apartment, ready to face the world beyond your creative sanctuary.

In just a few steps, you find yourself at the familiar cafe where you meet Minji. Her radiant face stands out, seated outside, waving at you with infectious enthusiasm. Her ever-changing fiery red hair, a testament to her vibrant personality, frames her face elegantly. Today, she opts for glasses – bold, cat-eyed frames that add a touch of sophistication to her usual look. A departure from her usual contacts, she's adorned in a striking green sundress, perfectly complementing the vivid hue of her hair.

As you reciprocate Minji's enthusiastic wave, settling into your seat, she promptly slides a refreshing glass of iced coffee across the table to you.

“Oh, thanks.”

“No problem. Is it good to be back in the city?” Minji inquires, her bright smile accentuated by the sun's playful dance on her face, a subtle gesture accompanying her sip of iced coffee.

You respond with a nonchalant shrug, “It's fine, I guess,” the uncertainty lingering in your voice, a subtle reflection of the mixed emotions swirling within you.

Her smile falters slightly, and she leans in, eyes searching yours, “You miss it, don't you?” 

The question hangs in the air, laden with understanding and curiosity.

You nod in acknowledgment, sinking into your seat as your fingers trace the rim of the glass. A frustrated sigh escapes your lips, “I do... more than I thought I would.”

Her chuckle fills the air, and she offers you a soft, reassuring smile. “Maybe it's time to go back?” she suggests, her eyes holding a glint of encouragement.

You ponder her question for a moment, though you've wrestled with this very dilemma countless times. “I don't think I can,” you admit, the words carrying the weight of your internal struggle.

Leaning in, she bridges the gap between you two, her eyes searching yours, “Why?”

You release another heavy sigh, frustration echoing in the air as you lift the glass of ice coffee to your lips. “First, my sister hates me; she made it clear she doesn't want to see me again,” you confess, the memory of your strained departure from Jessi lingering. “Second, I believe I royally messed up by sleeping with the wrong brother.”

Minji's eyes widened in shock, her curiosity instantly piqued. “You never mentioned this! Spill the details!”

You release another exasperated sigh. “Yeah, well, I met Jungkook at the party, and he's ridiculously good-looking, you know?” Minji nods knowingly, urging you to continue. “So, I ended up sleeping with him at the party, and later I discover that Jimin is his brother.”

Minji's eyes widen once more, and her mouth drops in shock at your revelation. “Jimin? The same Jimin you had a crush on when you were a kid?!”

“Yes, that Jimin,” you groan, taking a longer sip of your ice coffee. The cold liquid provides a welcome contrast against the warmth of the sun caressing your skin.

“Do you see my dilemma now?” you sigh dramatically, a huff punctuating your frustration.

“Not really,” she chuckles loudly, her laughter echoing with contagious joy. You gaze at her, curious about the cryptic message in her amusement.

“You fucked him once right? It's not like you were in a committed relationship or anything, and people make mistakes,” you look at her, waiting for her to finish her thought. “I don't see it as a problem. You didn't know they were brothers; it's not like you intentionally sought out his brother. I think you're overthinking it. Sometimes life just throws these curveballs at us.” She shrugs her shoulders with a reassuring smile, trying to convey that she doesn't see this situation as problematic, unlike how you perceive it.

“Do you have any idea if Jimin has a thing for you?” She inquires with a mischievous smirk, playfully emphasizing her question with a sly raise of her eyebrow.

“I'm not sure, but according to Jungkook, he does. Jimin's been giving me these intense stares, and it's starting to feel like he's been studying me,” you confide in her. It's a relief to finally share the thoughts that have been swirling in your head over the past few weeks.

“Girl, you should totally jump his dick!” Minji exclaims, her voice escalating in excitement, drawing glances from other tables. A blush creeps up on your cheeks as she practically shrieks the suggestion, and you quickly hush her, “Aish, keep it down.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, “You don't have to alert the whole neighborhood, you know.”

“Ah, sorry. I got overexcited. But it sounds like Jimin likes you,” she teases, giving you a smirk. “If he does, I don't think he sees it as a problem that you had sex with his brother once.”

“Half brother,” you add, and her eyes practically sparkle with intrigue at this new piece of information.

“I say go for it,” she leans back into her chair, sipping on her iced coffee proudly. “Also, I think you should go back and mend things with your sister.”

You groan at the thought, envisioning a scenario that seems destined for disaster. Shaking your head, you can't fathom how it would unfold positively.

“Bitch, take a good look at your paintings lately. Every piece you've shared in our chat revolves around ranches or horses. If that's not your heart screaming out what you truly desire, you must be blind.” She laughs as you furrow your brow, but in your heart, you acknowledge the undeniable truth in her words.

For weeks, your heart has been instinctively immortalizing the place you've desperately yearned for and at the same time desperately tried to erase from your thoughts. Each stroke of paint on canvas was a poignant reminder of the struggle to suppress those nostalgic pangs.

For the remainder of your coffee date with Minji, you delve into the intricacies of her life, relishing the distraction it provides. It's a welcome reprieve to immerse yourself in someone else's narrative, if only momentarily, allowing you to temporarily set aside the weight of your own troubles.

As the coffee date concludes, you bid Minji farewell with a heartfelt hug and a gentle kiss on the cheek. The warmth of her gesture lingers, accompanying you on the walk back to your apartment, a comforting echo in the quiet corridors of your thoughts.

Returning to your apartment, you scavenge the fridge for any remnants of a meal, opting for a quick reheat in the microwave. The familiar routine finds you on the couch, mindlessly consuming your food while the television blares, its content serving as mere background noise to the symphony of your contemplations.

In the last few weeks, nourishment has been an elusive companion, and the reason echoes within the recesses of your consciousness. Since bidding farewell to the ranch, your attempts at a hearty meal have been feeble at best. Despite your earnest endeavors, the appetite that once danced with enthusiasm seems to have deserted you entirely.

As you sigh, the rhythm of your fork against the plate harmonizes with the contemplation swirling in your mind. 

Two diverging paths lay before you, each demanding consideration - to stay or to go? 

Simultaneously, the looming question of the inheritance casts its shadow, forcing you to grapple with the decision to sell or keep it?

As uncertainty clouds your thoughts, a myriad of possibilities unfold before you. Returning to the ranch might mean facing your sister's wrath once more, while selling your share could sever ties irreversibly. 

Yet, holding onto your stake without a return holds the promise of avoiding immediate consequences. 

Startled by an unexpected knock on your door, you briefly contemplate ignoring it. However, the persistent tapping forces you off the couch, curiosity and caution intertwining as you approach to unravel the mystery at your doorstep.

Swinging the door open, your astonishment peaks as you come face to face with none other than Jimin, a soft and warm smile gracing his features.

His unexpected presence leaves you momentarily speechless, your mouth falling open as you drink in the sight of him. Clad in a loose-fitted shirt, denim pants, and those boots that never fail to catch your eye, he exudes an effortless charm. His tousled hair adds to the allure, making him nothing short of breathtakingly handsome.

A sense of amazement causes your eyes to flutter, leaving you standing there like a floundering fish caught off guard. His chuckle breaks the moment, and you realize you haven't even managed to say a simple ‘hi’.

“Jimin?” You inquire, quickly scanning your surroundings to ensure there's no one else lurking behind, ready to spring a surprise on you.

He runs a hand through his tousled hair, a warm smile playing on his lips. “Hey,” he greets with a hint of shyness.

“Come in,” you invite, your voice carrying a mix of curiosity and anticipation. As he enters, his eyes wander around the compact hallway, absorbing the essence of your two-bedroom sanctuary. It might not be a sprawling space, but it's a reflection of you – a place where every corner holds a piece of your story.

He chuckles nervously, a melody that dances through the room as he slips off his shoes. The familiar sight of them, adorned with the remnants of mud, speaks of untold adventures and stories etched in every speck of dirt.

“What brings you here, Jimin?” you inquire, fixing him with eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation, silently urging him to reveal the purpose behind his unexpected visit.

“I came here because there's something I wanted to talk to you about,” he begins, strolling deeper into your apartment. As he glances around, you can't help but feel a twinge of self-consciousness, as if he's peering into your soul, carefully examining every painting, lamp, and piece of decor that surrounds you.

“Do you paint?” he inquires, his gaze drawn to the easel tucked in the corner of your living room, surrounded by a towering collection of finished paintings. Intrigued, he moves closer to your creative space. His eyes sweep over the current painting on the easel – the one capturing a girl on her horse, wind tousling her hair – and then shift to the array of your ‘country’ collection resting against the walls.

“These are stunning. I had no idea you were an artist,” he remarks, his eyes lingering on the paintings, and he turns to you with a wide, appreciative smile.

“Thank you,” you reply, a touch of embarrassment coloring your cheeks, as compliments have always had a way of making you a bit bashful.

“I really hope these paintings find their way into the world, they're exceptional!” he exclaims, his eyes drawn to the one capturing a ranch perched on a hill, surveying a paddock filled with graceful horses.

“Actually, it's my livelihood, so yeah,” you respond with a soft smile, a mix of embarrassment from his praise and a sense of pride for your craft.

“That's incredible,” he remarks, shifting his body towards you, his gaze traveling from your head to your toes.

“You mentioned wanting to talk?” His gaze feels like a gentle but persistent probing, causing you to fidget nervously with the hem of your sundress.

“Sure, let's go to a cafe and have that talk,” he suggests, a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes.

“Absolutely, there's this adorable cafe nearby with the most delightful desserts. What do you think?” you suggest, a smile playing on your lips. Despite your efforts to downplay it, the word 'date' echoes in your mind, and your heart betrays your intentions, quickening its pace at the mere thought.

“Lead the way,” he nods, accompanying the words with a casual stroll back to the hallway.

Silently, you both slip into your shoes, you secure your purse, and step out of your apartment, descending the stairs to the lively streets below. As you navigate the urban buzz, your mind races at a million miles per hour, anticipation building as you wonder about the conversation he's eager to share.

The dessert cafe you're aiming for is a bit of a trek compared to the one you frequented with Minji. The silence between you and Jimin persists, almost becoming stifling as your curiosity intensifies. You can't help but wonder, could something significant have occurred involving Jessi?

The café looms into view, and a surge of anticipation prompts you to quicken your steps. Anxious to unravel the mystery of Jimin's conversation, you settle into an outdoor seat, basking in the warmth of the sun as you eagerly peruse the menu.

Curiosity dances in your eyes as you look up from the menu, questioning, “What do you want to get?” Your intrigue extends beyond the dessert options, yearning to discover the nuances of Jimin's taste in sweets.

A tender smile graces his lips as he places his order, “Just a chocolate cake and a strawberry bubble tea is fine.” You find his simplicity endearing and decide with a chuckle, “I'll have the same then.”

Making your way to the counter, you confidently order the tempting treats, savoring the anticipation. After settling the bill, you return to your seat, careful not to spill a drop of the deliciousness awaiting you in those cups.

You dismiss his attempt to split the bill with a warm smile, insisting that it's your treat. As you explain, a gentle generosity glows in your eyes, emphasizing your delight in sharing this small but delightful moment with him.

As you raise the fork, poised to indulge in the decadent chocolate cake, your gaze locks onto his enchanting brown eyes. With a flicker of curiosity, you inquire, “So, what's on your mind?”

A nervous chuckle escapes him, and he shields his smile with a hand, his eyes betraying a hint of unease. 

“It's about you actually,” he admits, his words hanging in the air with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

Your eyes widen, and your parted lips reflect the shock of his revelation. The mere idea that he wants to talk about you sends your heart into a frenzied rhythm. His gaze, soft as clouds, envelops you, and you can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in the depths of your chest.

Your eyes widen, and you question him with a mixture of surprise and nervousness, “Me?” The fluttering sensation in your stomach intensifies, and your hand hovers over the plate of decadent chocolate cake, dessert forgotten in the wake of unexpected revelation.

He starts, sipping through the straw of his strawberry bubble tea, “We miss you.”

You eye him, the flutters in your stomach intensifying—what does he mean by ‘we’?

“Everybody back home,” he smiles, his eyes crinkling with joy, yet a subtle twinge of sadness lurks beneath the surface, like shadows in the sunlight. You find yourself drawn to the complexity of his emotions, wondering what lies behind the façade of happiness.

You exhale, a heavy sigh carrying the weight of memories and emotions. “That place isn't my home anymore,” you confess, shoulders tensed against the flood of sentiments rushing back.

A subtle flinch in his eyes, a pang of hurt in his gaze—it leaves you questioning whether his sadness is somehow tethered to you. But that couldn't be true, could it?

“It could be,” he says, his eyes softening into a small smile, “everybody misses you, even your sister.”

At this, you arch an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief coloring your expression. “That doesn't sound like Jessi,” you laugh, though the sound is forced and choked.

“Well, she does. She feels bad for how she treated you,” he begins, and the tinge of sadness creeps back onto his face.

“Did Jessi send you here?” you question with a watchful and stern eye, not appreciating the unexpected turn in the conversation.

“No! Absolutely not!” he defends vehemently in mere seconds, sounding almost disgusted that you've even entertained the thought.

“I came here for me. Well, mostly for you,” he grins again, a warm and inviting smile that makes his wonderful brown eyes disappear, and you can't help but reciprocate with a smile of your own.

“I want you to reconsider coming back,” he adds, finally poking at his dessert. You look at him cautiously. “When you left the first time, it made me really sad,” he takes a bite of his cake before speaking again, “and when you left this time, it made me really sad again. The ranch isn't the same without you.”

You give him a contemplative smile, truly empathizing with his feelings, but you remain uncertain about returning to the ranch. The internal struggle weighs on your expression, caught between the desire to make him happy and the uncertainty that lingers within you.

“I'm sorry, Jimin. It's just... I'm not sure if returning is what I want,” you express, lifting the fork to your mouth, savoring the delicious cake. The sincerity in your apology mingles with the rich taste of dessert, creating a bittersweet moment.

“I noticed those paintings in your room. Are you sure you don’t want to come back?” he challenges, his gaze intense. An airy laugh escapes you, acknowledging the truth. Logic may dictate one thing, but your heart whispers another, a silent yearning for what once was.

Jimin leans in, a trace of chocolate on his lips captivating your attention, but you resist the urge to interrupt as he continues, “The ranch belongs to you just as much as it does to your sister.”

You nod in acknowledgment, grappling with the weight of truth in his words. The decision about your share of the ranch hangs in the balance, a pivotal choice between holding onto it or following through with your initial plan to sell.

“I know Jessi can be stubborn,” he remarks, and you burst into laughter, the shared recognition of your sister's stubbornness creating a light-hearted moment that echoes with his laughter.

His laughter fades, and he continues, “You can always return and hold onto your share of the ranch. That place is your home.”

You allow his words to linger within you for a moment, your gaze briefly captivated by the small piece of chocolate on his lips. A smile plays on your lips as you lick your finger, reaching out to his face. With a gentle swipe, you remove the tiny morsel of chocolate from his mouth. In that instant, his eyes widen slightly, yet he remains still, observing your every movement with a hawk-like intensity.

He grins warmly, releasing an airy chuckle that dances through the air. You lean back in your chair, savoring the sweet notes of your bubble tea as you both share a moment of easy laughter.

Appreciation colors your voice as you express your gratitude, genuinely thankful for his words and the warmth of his company today. “I'll give it some thought,” you add, leaving the door open to the possibility he's presented.

As the last bites of cake vanish, and the lingering taste of bubble tea fades, Jimin breaks the companionable silence with a suggestion that catches you off guard, “How about some shopping?” The invitation hangs in the air, carrying the promise of a new adventure.

His unexpected proposal catches you off guard, and you almost choke on the lingering taste of your drink. Despite the surprise, you find yourself nodding in agreement, silently marveling at the surreal nature of this man before you.

In the heart of the city, Jimin sweeps you away on an impromptu shopping spree, indulging your every desire to explore the stores. Patiently, he waits as you try on different outfits, offering his honest opinions on each. The experience is surprisingly intimate, radiating a domestic charm that lingers in the air. Though it simmers with the essence of a date, you resist delving too deeply into that notion, attempting to soothe the fluttering butterflies and the electrifying sensation that accompanies each of his glances.

“This is really nice,” Jimin remarks with a soft smile as the two of you stroll down the bustling street. After spending a few delightful hours shopping, you're en route back to your apartment when a captivating dress in a window display captures your attention. Jimin notices your gaze fixated on the black, flowery dress with its gracefully flowing skirt. “Do you want to try it?”

“Ah, but I'm getting tired,” you confess, allowing your body to sag against his, savoring the reassuring firmness of his shoulder. His touch sends sparks coursing through your entire being. You're keenly aware that Jimin must be weary too; his limp has become more pronounced, hinting at potential fatigue or pain from too much walking. Despite your concern, you hesitate to pry, choosing to respect his privacy for now.

“Humor me,” he chuckles, playfully guiding you into the store. Together, you locate the dress effortlessly. Fingers grazing the hangers, you zero in on your size and confidently snatch it. 

Making your way to the dressing rooms, you draw the curtains, stepping into the private space. Stripping off your clothes, you prepare to slip into the alluring fabric of the dress.

As the dress drapes over your silhouette, you gaze at your reflection in the dressing room mirror. There's an immediate sense of admiration, an unspoken agreement between you and the dress. You don't need to analyze it; the feeling of confidence envelops you. The heart-shaped neckline accentuates your collarbones, and the dress gracefully reaches your knees, a perfect harmony of style and comfort.

Parting the curtains, you step out, adorned in the black flowery dress, and as Jimin's eyes land on you, his pupils dilate, capturing a moment of speechlessness. A playful chuckle escapes you, and, reveling in the newfound confidence, you gracefully twirl in the dress, the fabric swirling around you like a dance partner.

You wear the dress with an air of effortless elegance, and as Jimin utters his compliment, a warm smile graces his lips, “You look really good in that dress.” 

However, when you meet his gaze, you're drawn into the depth of his eyes – dark and possessive, a captivating intensity that sparks a desire to unravel the mysteries concealed within them, as if they hold secrets worth exploring for hours.

Gratitude colors your words, “Thank you. I really like it too,” as your fingers caress the soft fabric of the dress. The tactile sensation adds to the pleasure, leaving you appreciating not just the appearance but the luxurious feel of the material.

“I'll get it for you,” he insists with a warm smile, brushing off your attempts to protest. Despite your insistence that you can purchase it yourself, he remains resolute. 

“Consider it a gift,” he adds, turning a simple shopping moment into a gesture of unexpected generosity, leaving you both touched and perplexed by his insistence on making your day a little brighter.

Opting not to pry further, you offer him a soft, sweet smile, your heart fluttering erratically within your chest. “Thank you,” you express with genuine gratitude, appreciating the gesture and the unspoken connection between you two.

Once you've changed back into your familiar attire, Jimin accompanies you to the cashier, graciously settling the bill for the dress. As you both exit the store, a shared secret wrapped in the fabric of the new dress, you stroll back to your apartment in a comfortable silence, the anticipation of unspoken feelings lingering in the air.

You opt for takeout, a ritual of comfort that usually involves lounging on the couch, indulging in a feast of flavors while the TV bathes the room in a soft glow. Surprisingly, Jimin embraces the laid-back ambiance, seamlessly blending into the familiar routine as if he's been a part of it all along.

As the meal unfolds, a symphony of flavors dancing on your taste buds, the room is graced with a comfortable silence occasionally interrupted by snippets of conversation. After savoring the last bite and clearing away the remnants of your feast, you gravitate back to the inviting embrace of the couch, sinking into its cushions.

Nestled side by side, your arms subtly entwined in a delicate dance of proximity, you both sink into the plush cushions of the couch, the gentle hum of the TV providing a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy shared in the room.

“Hey, considering it's getting late, how about crashing here tonight? I wouldn't want you navigating the midnight roads,” you suggest, extending a warm invitation, while your hands effortlessly choreograph a symphony of comfort by fetching drinks for both of you.

“If you don’t mind, I’d love to,” he grins, settling into your couch as if it were a familiar embrace, a subtle warmth filling the room.

“I actually wanted to tell you something else too,” he confesses, the air thick with anticipation as you turn your gaze fully on him, hanging on to every word like a secret waiting to unfold.

“I wanted to tell you about what happened after you left, all those years ago, when your father took you away,” he begins, drawing in a deep breath that elevates his chest, momentarily diverting your gaze to his well-defined pectorals.

“Okay, I'm all ears,” you respond, shifting your body towards his, allowing your knee to lightly brush against his thigh, a subtle shiver coursing down your spine.

“Well, shortly after you left, my mother passed away,” he begins to share, the weight of sorrow evident on his face, his hands involuntarily clenching as he revisits the painful memory.

“I'm truly sorry to hear that,” you express sympathetically, your hand instinctively finding its way to his thigh. Offering a gentle squeeze, a soft, almost inaudible moan escapes from him, revealing the vulnerability beneath his tough exterior.

“It's alright, it happened a long time ago,” he reassures, his hand covering yours on his thigh, a warm and comforting presence. Returning the sentiment with a smile, you encourage him to continue, sensing the weight of his past experiences.

“Well, we had the whole funeral thing and all that,” he sighs, a hint of deflation and bitterness in his hazel eyes, “but my dad remarried two months after.”

Your mouth falls open, and you gape at him, a strange gasping sound escaping. “Fuck,”" is all you manage to say. The revelation hits you hard, and you can't believe it. “He really remarried two months after your mother died?” Your voice carries a mix of surprise, hurt, and confusion, echoing the shock that reverberates through your thoughts.

“Yep. That's my dad for you,” he jokes and laughs, yet the lingering hurt is evident in his eyes. “The man couldn't be alone, you know. Some people just can't be alone. So he got in touch with one of his ex-girlfriends,” Jimin's eyes soften as he speaks, but a touch of sadness still shadows his gaze.

“And that's how I found out I had a half-brother,” he exhales, sinking back into the couch. You gape at him, utterly surprised by his revelation, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

“So you had no idea about Jungkook at all?” you ask, your hand instinctively covering your mouth. He shakes his head, a silent confirmation of the tangled web of secrets unraveling before you.

“No. My dad never told me. He admitted he knew immediately when he got Jungkook's mother pregnant. He paid her to stay away, and then, when my mother passed away, he promised her anything and everything she desired.” He clenches his hands, attempting to steady his breath. Despite his efforts, you can sense the struggle, prompting you to squeeze his thigh in reassurance, hoping to anchor him to the present moment.

“But Jungkook is younger than you, right?” you question, trying to reconcile the timeline in your head.

“Oh, yeah. My dad cheated on my mother with Jungkook's mother,” he says, running his hand through his hair, a pained expression crossing his face as he seeks solace in the reassuring grip of your hand.

“The whole thing was really hard on me as a kid, and accepting Jungkook as my brother was a struggle. We fought a lot, you know, all the typical sibling stuff,” he chuckles, the sound carrying a sense of relief and maturity, as if the weight of the past has lightened with time. You can sense they've come a long way since their childhood conflicts, now being grown men.

“What about your dad and Jungkook’s mom?” The question slips out, and you realize that neither Jimin nor Jungkook has spoken about their parents, especially considering you haven’t seen them on the ranch at all.

He takes a deep breath before responding, “They both died in a car accident a few years ago.”

“Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!” you exclaim, berating yourself for asking such a thoughtless question. You don't want to deepen his sorrow any further.

“Oh, it's okay. It happens, people die—that's partly why I just want to live my life to the fullest, you know?” The sadness lingering in his eyes persists, but now you can discern flickers of something more, a burning passion he talks about, the determination to embrace life to its fullest.

Under your hand on his thigh, you can feel his leg shake, and you're left wondering whether it's nervousness or somehow related to his limping. Now that he's shared such personal details, you contemplate whether it's the right moment to broach the subject and inquire about the cause of his limp.

“Jimin, there's something I've been wanting to ask you ever since I returned,” you confess, a twinge of nervousness coursing through you. The question is deeply personal, and you're aware that he might not be comfortable answering. Nonetheless, you're determined to respect whatever choice he makes.

He inches closer, his body melding with yours, the shared warmth creating an intimate cocoon. “What's been occupying your thoughts?” he asks, his voice a gentle invitation.

The words tumble out, a torrent of concern escaping your lips, “Why are you limping?” 

The raw honesty hangs in the air, and you wince, wondering if your directness was too much. You cringe internally, hoping your curiosity doesn't come off as intrusive.

The softness in his gaze is accompanied by a profound sadness in his eyes, tugging at your heartstrings and making you ache to envelop him in a comforting embrace.

The revelation unfolds like a carefully guarded secret, his voice carrying the weight of past pain and bitterness. “I was in a riding accident as a teenager. The horse crashed down on my right leg, crushing it. I couldn't walk, underwent surgery, and then grueling therapy to reclaim my mobility. But,” he adds with a hint of lingering hurt, “I'll always have this limping gait.” The anguish in his tone resonates, painting a vivid picture of a tumultuous journey.

Emotion wells up within you, threatening to spill over, but you muster the strength to keep it in check. “Does it ache when you walk for extended periods or ride?” 

The concern in your voice echoes the silent understanding that you share this moment, grappling with the reality of his persistent pain.

He graces you with a tender smile. “Yes, it does hurt, but I've grown accustomed to the pain,” he admits with a quiet resilience, revealing a depth of strength beneath the surface.

As you smile, a wave of empathy washes over you, a bittersweet blend of happiness for his strength and sorrow for the pain he endures. Deep down, an earnest wish stirs within you — a longing to ease the burden he carries, if only you could find a way.

“Does it hurt right now?” Concern colors your voice as you inch closer, your question laced with genuine worry. Leaning in, you search his eyes, silently hoping to catch a glimpse of the pain he might be hiding behind that soft smile.

His nod carries the weight of unspoken battles, each subtle movement a testament to the persistent ache he endures, “It does.”

Your hand, poised on his thigh, ventures boldly along the contours of his powerful leg. Locking eyes, you witness the subtle shift in his gaze, growing more intense with each upward movement of your hand. As your fingers edge perilously close to his crotch, you pause, your touch transforming into a soothing massage. A question lingers in the air, “Is this okay?”

“Y-Yes,” he breathes, the sound carrying a breathless quality, reminiscent of a soft moan. You decide not to dwell on that, focusing instead on the intent behind your actions. If your touch can alleviate even a fraction of his pain, you're determined to offer him the relief he deserves.

Your hand tightens its grip on his thigh, and you observe the way he nervously bites his lip. As you massage his thigh, your movements tracing a path from his knee to his crotch and back up, you become aware of the building tension in the room. Your hands start to feel clammy, mirroring the quickening pace of Jimin's breath, matching the rhythm of your own. It dawns on you that, in the process, you're unintentionally exploring intimate territories, practically groping him and feeling him up!

Your hands retreat as if recoiling from a burn, a sudden surge of embarrassment coloring your cheeks. “I'm sorry,” you utter, the words stumbling out, attempting to cloak the awkwardness that now hangs in the air between you two.

A rush of heat floods your cheeks, a vivid blush that likely extends to your ears. You curse your hands for their wanderings and your horny mind.

“It’s okay,” a reassuring chuckle escapes him, though the aftermath of your touch lingers in his eyes, a subtle impact you can't ignore. The flutters in your stomach take flight once more, swirling in a dance of unspoken tension.

“Would you be up for a movie?” you propose, attempting to redirect the conversation and steer clear of the tantalizing thoughts that have momentarily consumed your mind.

“Sure.” He says with a smile, sinking into the comfort of the couch as you scroll through movies on your phone. With a seamless connection, you stream a quirky rom com from your phone to the TV - a foolproof choice for a laid-back evening.

As the movie unfolds its scenes, Jimin gradually inches closer until your bodies meld together; his warmth envelops you, a comforting shield against the world. Drowsiness creeps in, causing your body to lean against Jimin's solid frame. The rhythmic thud of his heartbeat, resonating beneath your ear on his firm chest, creates a soothing lullaby. Oblivious to the movie's narrative, you succumb to a cascade of yawns, surrendering to the peaceful pull of sleep.

Wrapped in Jimin’s embrace, he becomes a haven of security and comfort, a living embodiment of home. In his presence, your tense muscles unwind, and your heartbeat harmonizes with his, creating a comforting rhythm. As relaxation unfurls through your being, your head descends, settling into the warmth of his lap. Unbeknownst to you, soft breaths escape your lips as sleep claims you, while Jimin, tenderly stroking your cheek and hair. Little do you know, three words escape his lips, destined to alter the course of your life.

In the morning, you gradually rouse to the sensation of something firm pressing against your face, yet there's an unexpected tenderness, a gentle caress against your skin. Your pillow, typically mundane, now cradles your head in an oddly satisfying manner, prompting you to nuzzle into it, seeking additional solace. A contented murmur escapes your lips in fatigue as you attempt to stretch your limbs, only to discover the subtle ache that permeates your entire body.

Wait.

Your eyes snap open in realization. This isn't the familiar embrace of your bed, and the comforting pillow beneath your head is anything but ordinary. A surge of awareness courses through you as you come to terms with an unexpected reality – you're sprawled across Jimin's thigh. 

More precisely, you’re nestled against his groin, where you abruptly discover the undeniable evidence of his morning arousal.

You spring to attention, the warmth of embarrassment coloring your cheeks, heart racing like a runaway train against your ribcage. In the hazy glow of early morning, you fumble for the most sincere apology you can conjure, breathlessly exclaiming, “Oh, goodness! I'm so sorry!”

As you settle onto the couch, your gaze locks with his still sleepy and drowsy eyes. The realization hits that you both must have drifted off in this intimate position, with you cradled in the warmth of his inviting lap.

Jimin's chuckle resonates like a melodious tune in the early morning, a soothing sound that plays a soft serenade to your ears. Despite your efforts to steady your heartbeat and contain the fluttering sensations, his laughter creates a symphony that dances through the awakening air.

“It's okay. I just woke up,” he rises and stretches, a lazy yawn escaping his lips. Why does he have to look this enticing? His blonde locks cascade in unruly curls, framing a face that's both soft and slightly puffy from sleep. Those pink lips, as if kissed by the night, slightly nibbled, beckon dangerous thoughts. As he stretches, biceps tensing and shirt teasingly riding up, a glimpse of his happy trail emerges, a sight your eyes try to resist but fail. Damn it, you scold yourself, but then his armpit becomes visible, and even that seems inexplicably appealing.

Oh, he smells divine—powdery softness, a hint of sweetness, warmth, and richness all mingling to craft an intoxicating musky scent. It envelops you, leaving your entire being tingling with an irresistible allure.

Jimin appears entirely unfazed, but you're left feeling utterly flustered, convinced your cheeks must be ablaze. “I'm so sorry for dozing off on you. I meant to offer you my bed, but I guess I fell asleep before I could say anything,” you chuckle, trying to shake off the lingering traces of sleep from your weary body.

A sudden realization strikes you like a bolt of lightning. 

Oh my god. If you’re sore, Jimin must be too! You practically slept on his injured leg!

“I apologize for your leg—I can't believe I slept on it. I might have undone all the massage from yesterday,” you groan in frustration, scolding yourself for your apparent weakness for this man. He's your childhood friend, the one who came and told you that you belong— at the place you once called home, reigniting something dormant within you, a feeling that has slumbered for centuries, now awakening and blossoming slowly.

“It's really okay,” he assures you with a soft squeeze to your leg. His hand feels firm and warm, mirroring his comforting presence. You realize a desire for more, but you tread carefully on dangerous waters, doing your best to keep your more horny thoughts in check.

“I'll have to head back soon,” he says, punctuating his statement with another heartfelt yawn, a languid stretch emphasizing the inevitable departure.

“Do you like pancakes? I could whip up a batch before you head out,” you suggest, caught between the genuine desire to treat him to a hearty breakfast and the subtle hope that it might extend his stay, sparing him the long drive on an empty stomach.

“Absolutely,” he responds, his soft smile revealing a glimpse of those charmingly crooked teeth. As you rise from your seat and head into the kitchen to whip up the pancakes, a subtle urgency whispers in your mind, warning that if you linger too long, keeping your hands to yourself might become an increasingly challenging feat.

With a culinary flair, you whip up the pancakes in record time, the aroma of warm batter filling the air. As you both settle around the small dining table, the atmosphere is filled with the comforting clinks of cutlery against plates. Amidst bites of fluffy pancakes, Jimin unveils the captivating tale of wild horses roaming the ranch, a narrative that unfolds with tales of Yoongi's quest to tame these untamed spirits, turning them into dependable companions through a gentle, patient approach. 

Fascinated, you ponder the intricacies of Jimin's story. “I had no idea such a thing was possible,” you muse, savoring a sip of water as if to quench not just your thirst but also your curiosity.

“Yoongi has a real knack for gentling horses, it's like second nature to him,” he shares, his smile lighting up the room as he effortlessly joins you in tidying up after the meal.

As the moment lingers, a subtle sense of farewell hovers in the air, but you're not quite ready to part ways with Jimin. The warmth of his company, the echoes of the past, all make you wish he didn't have to leave just yet.

Gratitude colors his words as he stands in the hallway, boots on, ready to step out into the world again. “Thank you for having me over,” he expresses, his gaze carrying a blend of sincerity and a hint of reluctance.

“No problem,” you respond with a soft smile, “having you here was truly enjoyable.”

“I hope to see you again, maybe back home?” His gaze lingers in your eyes for what feels like an eternity. There you stand, like a lovestruck fool, anticipating the one thing your brain has been yearning for since you glimpsed his softly bitten lips in the morning. The hope in his voice resonates, causing your heart to beat erratically in your chest once more.

Your gaze rises to meet his, and as he strides closer, his eyes lock onto yours. The proximity is electrifying; you sense his warm breath teasing your face, and anticipation builds as he leans in, closing the space between you.

You surrender to the moment, shutting your eyes as his warm hands cradle your cheeks. A delicate touch, his nose brushes against yours, setting off a delightful jolt that courses through your entire being. Then, in a tender ascent, his plush lips descend upon your forehead, leaving an imprint of warmth that lingers.

Instinctively, your fingers tighten around his biceps, a reflexive response to the unexpected closeness. A soft chuckle escapes your lips as the realization dawns – he's kissing your forehead, a gentlemanly gesture that leaves a trail of warmth lingering on your skin.

He withdraws, and as you open your eyes, his warm, smiling face is the last thing you see. “See you at home,” he whispers, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a lingering promise in the air.

As he gracefully exits the room, descending the stairs with an effortless charm, your heart beats wildly, a flutter of butterflies threatening to carry you away. Your entire being tingles, breath caught in a sweet suspension. A lovestruck smile plays on your lips, lingering like the echo of his presence.

Home.

He wants you to come home.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog (a reblog would really help getting the story out more), and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy, so please don’t be a silent reader 💜

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[thatbanditqueen]

Come Hell or Come Sundown

A Charro! One-Shot

Summary: It is the summer of 1968 and Elvis finds himself in a New Hollywood, no more production code, just a ratings system with the promise of more sex and violence. This is good, because Elvis is in transition too! He is hot off the set of his TV special and ready to make a gritty western he can be proud of. Things are going well, he's making friends on location in Arizona, but then first they cut some of the violence, and now he's not so sure there is going to be any sex scenes in this movie. What's next, are they going to make him sing to his horse?

Inspired by the cut nude bath scene and the notes in Donna Lewis' diary that there were originally sex scenes scripted in Charro!

A response to the writing prompt: "Cowboy Elvis"

Warnings: References to past sexual harassment, minor drug use implied and kissing.

WC: 13.4K

Thanks to my lovely writing support group @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @lookingforrainbows @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @shakerattlescroll @peskybedtime and to @whositmcwhatsit for alpha-ing most of this. It is been a crazy two months, I won't go into it, but if you are still reading my stuff let me know it.

July 29, 1968

Apacheland Arizona

Ina leaned against the back side of the sound stage listening to the cactus wren sing their sunrise melody for the desert. Off in the brush she saw a lizard scurry away. It was early, but the air was already beginning to heat up and hung there thick with promise. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the light, sweet taste, her heart full of hopeful anticipation for the sweet day ahead. 

She ran her fingers down over her blouse, enjoying the smooth empty feeling underneath where round flesh had been a month ago. 

This picture had been the answer to her prayers, a sign that she could still land a part as the love interest role. It was a role she knew well, one she had been playing for ten years in vehicles designed to showcase male stars: John Wayne, Paul Newman, Jerry Lewis, and now Elvis. Ina rarely got a leading role in a picture focused on a couple or a strong female character, but she accepted it was still a good salary and it kept her busy on and off between modeling gigs.

Lately, however, the on and off had been more off, and her agent, Mickey, had started talking about auditioning for roles as older sisters, aunts, and even, gasp, mothers.

But then she got this and bam! She had knocked over her phone with excitement as Mickey  described this project as a “modern, gritty western.”  She’d even agreed to the nudity, accepting her agent’s advice that this was going to open up even more doors now that the production code was gone and the film industry had a new rating system that allowed for mature content.

The first American western with a sex scene. That’s how Chuck, this director, had pitched his script in their first meeting, while also assuring her it would be tasteful and artistic and mainly shot using her facial expressions. She hadn’t cared, signing anywhere they wanted if it meant staving off cinematic spinsterhood for as long as possible.

And then, after carefully examining every dimple in her bottom that night, Ina had launched into a month-long disciplined regimen of ballet classes, black beauties and one meal a day. Ina took a deep breath and inhaled the earthy, floral aroma of the Arizona desert, letting it fill her with confidence. Her tummy was svelte, her skin glowed with a healthy bronze tan, and she was ready to conquer the shoot ahead. She had a feeling about this picture. A good one. 

Hollywood was buzzing about the TV special Elvis had just finished shooting. Apparently it was raw and gritty and unvarnished, just like the script for this film. And Chuck, her director, was the king of the westerns, who had been promoting Charro! in the trade press as Peckinpah meets Leone with more sex appeal and heart. 

Ina looked out at the orange glow of the desert sky at sunrise one last time as she stomped out her cigarette butt and murmured to herself with hushed excitement.

“What a glorious start to a glorious day.”

She headed back inside and made her way around the back of the set where she bumped into Elvis’ stunt double and friend, Jerry. Ina grinned, she couldn’t help it, Jerry’s serious eyes and rugged shoulders made her heart skip a beat. 

“That was some party last night, huh?” 

Jerry looked down, his low chuckle heavy with the weight of words unspoken as they both reflected on the prior evening. Ina was sure she saw an echo of her own desire in the warmth dancing behind Jerry’s blue eyes.

“You should talk, Sandy Koufax. Charlie’s grateful he can still see.”

Ina gulped, covering her mouth.. “ Oh no! Is he really hurt? I felt so bad, I was aiming for his stomach.” Ina said, twirling her hair. “Although I didn’t feel nearly as bad after watching Elvis go after Alan with the whole bucket, intentionally, over and over. He really took it to the next level.”

“Oh, that’s just how the bossman lets off steam.”

“That’s one way to put it. Say, where is the old steam engine, anyway?”

“He just went out front to get some dirt on his clothes.”

Ina raised her eyebrow. 

“He wants to make sure he has that real cowboy look.”

“Huh, Elvis Strasberg. Who knew?” 

Ina thought of Elvis out rolling around in the dirt and tried not to giggle. This got harder and harder as she looked into Jerry’s eyes, which were also twinkling with amusement.

In a moment of vulnerability Ina decided to let down her guard and step closer, trailing her fingers over Jerry’s upper arm. His muscle flinched slightly under her hand and it made her feel a little flight of butterflies in her tummy. 

“Too bad,” she murmured in what she hoped was a sexy, flirtatious voice.  “I was beginning to hope maybe you’d have to step in for him today.”

Jerry’s eyes widened for a split second, as he ran his hand through his hair. “Uh, well, as far as I know his scenes today aren’t dangerous at all.”

“That’s what you think.” Ina smiled, walking backwards for a few steps to enjoy the slight blush coloring Jerry’s scruffy cheeks.

She couldn’t be sure, but she felt there was a spark between them, and it made her feel young and giddy. Fifteen years of having her body and self worth surveyed and scrutinized and picked apart had left Ina unsure of her seduction abilities. First it had been photographers and advertising executives, then producers and directors had joined the throng out to shatter her confidence. For some women, the brutality of the business helped them create a calloused, impenetrable outer shell and distorted sense of self worth. For Ina, it had done the opposite, and she frowned as she felt the familiar knot of insecurity tighten in her stomach and vowed not let her self doubt stop her from having fun this time. No, before the end of this shoot she’d get Jerry alone and find out if he was as quiet and soft spoken in bed as he was on set.

Twenty minutes later, Ina was still smiling to herself when she slunk into a chair in make-up and pulled her thick, terry cotton robe tighter around her body. 

“Look at you,” Bertie gushed as she toyed with Ina’s long, brown hair. “Excited for the scenes today?”

Ina paused and looked at herself in the mirror, letting out a nervous sigh. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

She awkwardly smiled up at Bertie, and told herself to relax even as her shoulders inadvertently rolled upward and she tugged at the hem of her robe.

“You know five, even three years ago, you would kiss, passionately, then the camera would pan to the bedside table and come back into focus with you smoking. But now, Blow Up, Bonnie & Clyde, the new rating system. It’s a whole new ball game out there. I’m not sure - “

“Oh, you’re gonna be fine.”

Ina looked down and studied the top of her cleavage, she felt strangely ambivalent about the nudity and the sex scenes they were shooting. She was proud that they wanted her to do them, it bolstered her self esteem and made her feel longed for and desired, special. But she couldn’t shake that nagging feeling deep down that she would get on set, bare it all and then have the director and DP exchange hushed whispers before pulling her off and recasting her role. She met her own gaze again in the mirror and tried to squelch her self doubt.

“I know, I know, and it’s all very tasteful. I trust Chuck. Still, I’m the one wearing a see-through robe. All Elvis has to do is take off his cowboy hat before he carries me to the bed. He might be shirtless in the second scene, but for the most part all we’ll see is a little bit of his ear.”

Bertie nodded into big rounds of hair she was smoothing over with oil and pinning into place with bobby pins lodged at the side of her mouth.

“Yeah, well, with most guys I’d be fine just seeing the ear, cuz women’s bodies are just more beautiful. But with Elvis, I kinda wished they’d have him nude too, you know?” She clicked her tongue and winked at Ina in the mirror,

“You should get Betty Friedan on that, it would really be a movement for sex equality. Though I bet he’d give you a private show if you asked him, Bertie. He’s making his way through the crew, two at a time I hear.”

Bertie wiggled her eyebrows into the mirror.

“Yeah, I heard about that, two of the pretty Mexican extras, right? They can have him, I just want to look at him. I don’t think I’d survive if he touched me.” She flipped her long red hair over her shoulder and bit her lip. “I don’t know how you are going to make love to him all day.”

“Oh, well, when it’s work, you sort of detach yourself. I mean, yes, Elvis is very handsome, but he doesn’t really send me, you know? You should have seen him last night with his guys. Like a pack of wild animals.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I think Jerry is the only one who has ever opened a book, or doesn’t eat with his hands.”

Ina tried not to move as she watched Bertha pin another round hair piece in place. 

“The stunt double? He sure has that silent type thing going for him.” Bertie squinted her eyes at Ina as she stuck a few more pins in. “Ahhhh, let me guess, that’s the type you go for. Over Elvis. Are you telling me that you wouldn’t, you know, play patty cake with Elvis if he made the move? I thought he always dated his leading lady, maybe those extras are just the appetizer before the main dish..”

Ina sat up, admiring the tower of rolled hair Bertie had constructed on top of her head. Satisfied, she leveled Bertie with a friendly but stern look.

“Things can get sticky when you bed your co-star. And giving in just encourages them. You shoulda seen Jerry Lewis trailing me around off set like a creep. like I owed it to him.” 

Ina grimaced, remembering Lewis’ sweaty brow as he had pushed her against the wall of her dressing room and promised that she’d like it, that she didn’t know what she was missing. She shuddered, thinking of him and all the others: the photographers who’d grinded into her as they straddled over her during a photo shoot. The producers who had invited her to an audition and then cornered her alone. She felt sick to her stomach and reached out for the random half drunk bottle of Coke on the vanity in front of her to wash away the bad taste in her mouth.

“You ok, Miss Balin?”

“Please Bertie, call me Ina. After that party last night I think we’re all on a first name basis.”

“Ha, yeah, I guess.” She turned Ina around to finish her make up. “You know, I think you might be the only woman here who doesn’t want to sleep with Elvis.”

“Thank god Elvis seems to be somewhat of a gentleman, because I’m not looking to be another notch on his belt, I’ve worked too hard to stay in this business without a casting couch reputation, and I plan to keep it that way. Plus, with all the bed hopping that happens on location, and then having to run scenes together if things get, you know, weird. Better to keep things professional between us.”

“On the other hand, a lonely stunt man...”

Ina winked, she could feel the giddy excitement bubble up just thinking of Jerry. She tried to stifle it and stay aloof as she spoke.

“A month is a long time, even a lonely stuntman deserves some company.”

A cough interrupted their giggles and the women turned to see Elvis leaning against the doorway, one hand on his belt. He squinted his eyes, looking at them with exaggerated suspicion as he wiped his hand over his forehead leaving a dark streak of dirt above his brow.

“Uh huh, and just what’d I stumble into here, huh? You two look like you are up ta no good, boy, I tell ya what.”

Perfectly lined smoky eyes sat below Elvis’ dirty forehead and more dirt billowed off his trousers as he strode toward the two women, his hands hanging off the top of his corduroy trousers. Bertie shot Ina a cautious glance in the mirror that warned her not to laugh, even as  the sides of her lips seemed to hold back a chuckle.

“I’ve seen that look before Iny Niny.” Elvis said. “Right about the moment ya took aim and fired at poor Charlie Hodge, square the eyes.”

“I really didn’t mean to hurt him! Really.” Something about Elvis’ easy charm made it impossible not to smile broadly. “I - we - we’re not up to anything, you. Just chit chat. I was saying how I almost didn’t recognize you when I got here yesterday. On account of that beard you got, Presley.”

“I almost don’t recognize myself, honey.” He paused and looked in the mirror, taking a step closer as he rubbed the dirt into his forehead more. “That’s probably a good thing, maybe this picture actually has a chance to be something.”

Ina sat up as Bertie dusted her with a last round of hair spray and swiveled her chair around to face him. 

“Oh, now don’t say that, there’s a reason you’re the star here. I love your movies.”

Ina may not have actually seen them all, but she knew of Elvis’ desire to be in more serious dramas. It was a common topic of conversation in Hollywood when his name came up. Ok, well, one of the common topics. Maybe not as common as his reputation for fucking his costars, she mused to herself, but still, as someone who had even less clout to be picky about projects, she sympathized with that ever present double bind of needing the money, not wanting to be seen as difficult, and yet, also yearning for more creative fulfillment.

Their eyes met and he nodded to himself, pursing his lips, as if he were reading her mind,

“Huh, so you're the one.” He grinned and took his cowboy hat off, running his hand through his hair as he tried to fill the awkward silence. “Well, sorry but I can’t issue you a refund, Iner Niner. All I can promise is that this ‘un will be better than some of the stinkers, I reckon.”

Ina smiled big, thinking of the desert sunrise this morning, all the good omens. “I don’t know if I would ever describe an Elvis film as a stinker. But I do have a good feeling about this film.” 

Elvis scratched his beard, a naughty blush lighting up his cheeks as he took in the very sheer negligee peeking out from under her white terry cloth robe. 

“Huh, feeling better and better the more I look- I mean listen to you, INy”

Ina felt a chill up her spine as she looked into Elvis’ dancing eyes, lingering on his face with newfound appreciation. There was something about the way the stubbly beard he had grown out for this role accentuated his jawline and made him seem more rugged, more handsome than he had looked when he played the polished romantic lead in his previous films. She felt a flutter of something unfamiliar stir in her belly; she had never been gaga over Elvis before. 

And you are not now, she told herself, it’s just the characters and the scenes you know you are shooting today. Besides, he flirts with everyone, why he’d been flirting with you and every woman in the bar last night even when he had one or two extras on his lap. 

Elvis arched his eyebrow, and Ina pulled her robe closer with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, I think you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of me today.” She chuckled. “I was just telling Bertie I remembered when all I had to do to film a sex scene was lead a cowboy into my wigwam, and let the camera cut to smoke coming out of the top. We left the rest to the audience’s imagination.”

“Yeah, I think I remember that one.” Elvis whistled as he plopped into the make-up chair next to her.  “Well, don’t worry, we’re only gotta pretend to make love with an audience of a hundred or so crew members watching, so no pressure.”

They laughed nervously, and then one of the production assistants peered around the door and called to Ina that the DP was ready to work out the lighting for her fully nude bath scene. She stood and gave Elvis a friendly pat, smiling inwardly as she looked over her shoulder to see Bertie trying to wipe the dirt off his forehead. 

“See you out there in the ring, Presley.”

“Ok,” he smiled.

Ina studied him for another beat, wondering if the way his beard framed his lips made them look even bigger and more luscious, but she couldn’t be sure.

Striding from the building with wardrobe and dressings back to the soundstage, Ina considered how Elvis had managed to meet and completely defy her expectations. She had never seen him at awards shows, premieres or parties, nor ran into him around town or at the studio canteens. Indeed,he had a reputation for keeping to himself in Hollywood. All she knew was the second hand information she got from people who had worked with him and the Hollywood rumor mill. There were so many contradictory descriptions of him that no, she had not known what to expect when she arrived in Arizona and discovered an Elvis she barely recognized under the scruffy beard he’d grown.

When Chuck, the director, had brought her over to introduce them, he had been shy and sweet, sheepishly sticking out his hand with an affected deep “Hullo, I’m Elvis Presley.” But then by the end of the rehearsals yesterday they had become more comfortable with each other. Something about kissing Elvis inbetween jokes she knew he was making to make her feel at ease had broken the ice between them. And he had started in with the nicknames almost immediately, helping to bring her into the camaraderie that had been established with the crew before her arrival. 

The run through yesterday had gone well, all jokes aside, and he had shown himself to be respectful and kind, never pushing or trying anything when they were in each other's arms. It’s probably good that he’s sleeping with some of the extras, Ina thought to herself. That way there would be no pent up sexual expectations and she could just focus on being a professional and perhaps even friends with Elvis. 

Yes, she could be friends with him. Ina had only been in Apacheland for a little over 24 hours, but she could tell from Elvis’ warmth that they had established a solid rapport and chemistry for their roles. She felt as safe as she could with him as she readied herself for her first nude role on film.

“Today is going to be a good day,” Ina repeated to herself as she opened the door and entered the sound stage.

Ina was walking along the corridor behind the set when she heard Jerry’s voice on the other side of the plywood and hurried to catch him and flirt a little more. But then he said her name and she stopped, listening, as she realized he was speaking with one of Elvis’ other friends. It sounded like Charlie.

“I saw y’all. Why, she had her hands all over you, ya big stud. You really ain’t gonna try to bury the hatchet in that briar patch?”

“Oh, you know how Crazy can be. All I did was apologize to Alma and Flor for blocking the doorway last night and he ‘bout split in two. I ain’t about to try no funny business with his leading lady.”

“But you heard him call her Groucho, said he could barely stand to kiss her with that mustache above her lip. Said she was so manly, you could almost mistake her for one a the cowboy extras in drag. Like a goddamn drag queen who forgot to shave, is what he said.”

Ina felt the blood drain from her face and she began to tremble, tracing her fingers above her smooth upper lip, the one she diligently waxed every two weeks. They might as well have punched her in the gut with a steel two by four. She could almost taste something metallic at the back of her throat, where a lump formed.Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and it took all her willpower to push them back as she stood there paralyzed while Jerry and Charlie chatted away.

“Aw, well he was off his rocker, she isn’t nearly as bad as that dog from continuity he had in his room at NBC, you know, with the big knockers?”

“Nah, I think In-ahhs pretty cute myself. If she’d been pawing my chest I’d be on that like white on rice, man.”

“Heard you like drag queens, Hodges.”

“Aw naw man, see, now that ain’t fair. Sides, that’s Lamar.”

The busy sound of the crew talking and moving around the sound stage echoed up into the lights with Charlie and Jerry’s laughter, but Ina could hardly hear anything except the pounding of her heart through her whole body. Air. She needed air. Ina hurried out a side door, her mind was racing and there was no way she could stomach the idea of filming a sex scene with Elvis now. Jerry and Charlie’s words had fractured the fragile veneer of confidence she had spent the last month building up. Dieting, ballet classes, early nights, slathering her face in cold cream and plunging it in ice first thing in the morning, staying away from alcohol and ice cream. She had worked so hard to get to a place where she had been able to look in the mirror and tell herself she could do this. Now all her self doubt had returned tenfold. 

Facing the desert, she lit a cigarette and muttered under her breath, her voice cracking as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Oh god oh god, why did I take this role? Why do I embarrass myself again and again?”

Ina pressed her hand to her throat as she sucked in deeply, willing the nicotine to steady her shaking body. She longed to run off, get in her car, and maybe drive to that bar down the road Bertie had told her about, the one where all the baseball players went. 

The very idea of male attention was like a salve, and it helped her slow her breath as she slumped against the warm, concrete wall of the sound stage and looked out at the desert, focusing on the hills in the distance.

It was like looking out at a completely different view than she had faced that morning. The land was now  desolate and unforgiving in the July heat, and the jagged peaks of Superstition mountain loomed like a giant, dark fiery sentinel in the sky. Her chest rose and fell with each inhale and exhale of smoke, her fingers trembled as she tried to quell the turmoil churning inside her. 

Just when she was sure she couldn’t walk back inside, she smelled a hint of sage in the dust, it filled her nostrils with renewed energy. The wind whispered in her ear that she was stronger than she knew, she had trudged harder paths than this.  She could put one foot in front of the other.

The door next to her exploded open and there was the fresh face of the young, blonde PA who had called to her in wardrobe.

“Oh, there you are Miss Balin, we’re ready for you.”

Ina sucked in another drag of her cigarette and took a deep breath. She could do this. Elvis and his entourage were a bunch of childish idiots. Fuck them. 

True to his promise, the director, Chuck, kept the set closed for the nude bath scene Ina was shooting first. It was just him, the cinematographer, his assistant, the boom operator, and three female PAs. One to hold the clap board and two to help Ina in and out of the tub. The scene was blocked so the camera only captured her naked from behind with the side of her breast visible as she donned a sheer blue robe lined with black lace. They would run it from the top, then Chuck would run over and tell her how stunning she was and ask for another take as she shivered. It took eleven takes in all before he and the DP were content they had the footage they needed.  

Ina reclined in her chair, trying to warm up during the short break before the next scene. She was rehearsing the dialogue as people trickled in to shoot her first love scene with Elvis, and she suddenly became paranoid that other crew members had heard Jerry and Charlie’s story about Elvis’ calling her a drag queen. She sat up and looked around. Suddenly every hushed whisper was about her, every glance her way was filled with pity. She gripped the side of her chair and told herself to get it to-fucking-gether. 

The next scene was meant to occur directly after the bath, when her character, Tracy, discovers Elvis’ character, Jess, rummaging around in her bedroom looking for his gun. They would argue, then kiss, then argue more before he carried her to the bed. After that, he would remove her robe and begin to kiss her neck, stop and then put his hat on the bedpost, before the camera moved in for an extreme close up of her face as they made love.

Then they would break the set and set up for the second sex scene that was meant to take place at the end of the film when Jess has been victorious against the band of outlaws and takes her to Mexico with him to start a new life across the border. 

Ina squeezed her hand, using her thumb as a metronome as she said her lines. “I must look new to you - toooo you  - I MUST look NEW to YOU now.” She had these little games she had learned in acting class to vary the rhythm and emphasis over and over until she was comfortable in the dialogue, in the character, and it rolled off her tongue naturally, without having to think about it.

Elvis' voice rang out high above the buzz of the crew and all the words she had ever known fell out of her head. She felt her sphincter clench up tightly instinctively as if on cue at the sound of his chuckle, and a frown formed on her lips. The air was suddenly ripe with the smell of sweaty bodies and stale coffee and cigarette smoke.

Looking over her shoulder, just the sight of him surrounded by his flunkies made Ina’s stomach sour. A spark of defiance bloomed in her belly at his smug face and she longed now to walk up to Elvis and slap him sharply across the face before telling him off for being such a rotten two-faced charming bastard. But instead she popped another black beauty to fight off the hunger she had sensed growing in her belly and steeled herself to give the performance of a lifetime.

Elvis passed by her chair as she stood, a crooked grin pushing the apples of his cheeks up above his beard. 

“Well, might as well get it over with.”

His despondency made Ina bristle. She was completely incapable of stopping the prickly voice that sprang out from her throat.

“We don’t have to shoot these love scenes.”

Elvis paused in his stride toward the set and looked back at Ina, his brow furrowed for a moment before he grinned again, bigger and wider.

“Huh? Course I want to shoot ‘em, love scenes are my specialty.”

Ina narrowed her eyes at his stupid, smirking expression as he glanced around at his friends as they whistled and chimed in with a chorus of stupid affirmations. 

“Uh huh.”

“That’s right.“

“On and off the set” 

“Well, you seem anxious to, what was it, get this over with?” She said cooly, leveling him with a glare. “So then it must be me. Maybe we could just cut them from the film altogether. CHUUCK?”

Elvis’ face began to scrunch up in a frown as Ina’s voice rang out like a knife, cutting through the chaos of a live shoot. The sound stage had been buzzing with activity as the crew readied the set, but now everyone had stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the two leads.

Elvis’ eyes zoned in on Ina and his face clouded with concern as his hands tightened against his body in clenched fists.

“Now see here - “ then he paused and took a deep breath, smiling big. 

That broad, smooth, movie star beam. 

“Aw, now I think we got are wires crossed someplace.That’s jus my ole stage fright talkin’, honey. Gets me ev’ry time like a sonabitch. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Iny Tiny, come get over here. I feel very honored to work with you. I been sayin’ all week, haven’t I, Chuck? That I couldn’t wait for Ina to get here, class up this joint’?”

Ina looked at where Chuck stood, hands at his hips as he nodded, a terrified grin plastered on his face.

“That’s right, that’s right. Why, that's what we’ve all been saying, Ina, we couldn’t wait for our Tracy to get here.”

Chuck dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it over his big, balding head as he spoke slowly, as if talking to a spooked horse. Ina

“I think I know what’s going on, my dear.”

Chuck looked over at Elvis and then put his arm around Ina, guiding her toward her mark. 

“You’re nervous. We’ve just spent two hours during the bath scene. And this sort of  - um - delicate, shall we say, yes, delicate feminine performance is new to you, isn't it?”

“Well, yes, I suppose, but I - “ 

Chuck put his finger to Ina’s mouth

“Say no more, my dear. It’s natural to feel vulnerable in this situation. But let me assure you, everything is being shot in the most artistic technique possible. And you, well, just look at you, huh?” He spun her around in the center of the set. 

“Ina, you are a dream. My living, breathing Renoir painting. And I want you to know, that was my inspiration for your room here. The colors, the outfits, a Parisian chorus line meets the Old West. The colors, the costumes, they are meant to evoke the Belle Epoch, you know? You are wearing the same outfits Degas’ dancers wore, did you know that?”

“Uh huh, you mean if they wore anything?” Ina added in a clipped tone.

“See, and that’s exactly it! The original work of art is, of course, the beauty of the female form.”

“Cain’t argue with that.” Elvis smirked, but Ina shot him a withering look which threw him off again and once more he was frowning and searching her face.

Chuck noticed none of this and kept talking. 

“And you are an exemplary example of the female form, a perfect specimen of a woman.”

“Well, I assure you I am no drag queen.”

Elvis coughed nervously, his hands clenched in fists at his side. The quick, sharp look he shot Joe did not escape Ina’s notice and she knew then that he had said the things Jerry and Charlie had been laughing about. She narrowed her glare at him, telegraphing her contempt as he stuttered and tried to regain control of the conversation.

“No - ah-uh -er -  siree, honey, you’re the real deal, got more class than the rest of this outfit combined. Why, I reckon I’m more nervous ‘bout this scene than you are.”

Chuck nodded vigorously.

“Yes, we are all nervous shooting something that is, as I said, delicate like this. And your character is unsure in this scene, she loves Jess, but is torn, because she’s worried he is still the bandit she sent away.  Channel your feelings into the scene and let’s make beautiful artwork here today.”

Ina rolled her eyes. “Ok, ok, I’m ok. Like he said, let’s just get it over with already.” 

Elvis grinned as he walked around the set door to his mark. 

“That’s the spirit, Iny Beany.”

Chuck yelled action, directing them through the scene as the cameras rolled.

“You see him rooting through your stuff, and you think of how long it's been, how he left you without a word. You hate him because you love him, but you wish you didn’t and you are trying to keep it all bottled up. Beautiful. Indifferent. That’s it Ina, that cool, icy glare, it’s perfect.”

It was not hard for Ina to muster a cool, icy glare for Elvis as he looked down at her. Every time they started, one of the PAs would come over and spray her body and chest with water for continuity with the bath scene that was just supposed to have occurred in the storyline.

In the third run through, she couldn’t help herself when Elvis’ foot knocked into hers. She thought of that guilty grimace she saw move across his face at the words “drag queen” and she stepped on his foot. Hard. 

“Perfect! Perfect Ina, you’re nailing it!” Chuck called out from where he was watching the monitor.

“Nailing me is more like it,” Elvis said, jumping back, a hurt pout on his face. Then he reached out and stroked the side of her shoulder. 

“Say, you sure you ok? You’re not sore at me for something, are you? It’d be better if we just clear the air. If I said something this morning, or did something in passing, honey, I’m sorry. But you gotta tell me.”

Ina looked in his big blue eyes, searching hers, seeking a connection. She glanced off behind him, at the brocade pink wall paper. The air smelled of bath water, sweat and cheap aftershave. Chuck was right, she thought, this could be a cheap Parisian brothel.

“I assure you, I am fine.” Ina forced her mouth into a tight smile. “Just watch where you’re going and we’ll be fine.”

He squinted his eyes at her, but seemed to decide against whatever it was he originally wanted to say, and stepped back with his arms up in surrender. “Okay. Alright. Whatever you say, Iny,  my mistake. Let’s try again, I bet we’ll get it right somehow.”

They went through the whole scene three times, up until the part where Jess lifts Tracy up and carries her to the bed. Elvis’ eyes narrowed as he stepped toward her, uttering his lines in a stern, serious voice. But when he picked her up and hoisted her in the air, she heard Charlie’s obnoxious laughter in the background and their words from earlier began to play through her head again on a loop.

The shrill sound of his laugh sent a sharp bolt of pain down the center of her head and suddenly she felt as if ginger ale was bubbling up on to the top of her brain. She wasn’t sure if she could hold it together anymore. 

There was the taste of bile again at the back of her throat. She swallowed, running through all of the tools she had learned in the Actor’s Studio such as telling herself she was Tracy and trying to channel her anger into the tension between Tracy and Jess. She was, after all, supposed to be fighting Jess’ advances at first and pushing him off before giving in. But she could barely look at Elvis and instinctively jerked back when he placed her on the bed and began to move his fingers over her sternum. 

Her head throbbed and she could feel more tears welling up. She had to get out of there and take a little break, so she cried out, “CUT!”

Elvis jumped back, a panicked look on his face.

“Did I hurt you, Iny Beany? Wanna do it again, just to practice, from the mark by the bed?”

“No.,” she hissed under her breath, pushing him away. Maybe she didn’t need a break, maybe they could just skip this scene altogether.

“No, no no. I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. Chuck, do we really need a full love scene? We’re not making Belle du Jour here.”

Elvis had his hands on his hips, a stricken look on his face while Ina stood, straightening what was left of her dignity and snapping her fingers for the PAs to bring her thicker robe. 

“Ina, darling, we just went through this.” Chuck’s  transatlantic accent was getting thicker and higher-pitched the more he spoke. “And I hate to bring this up, you know I do, my dear, but it's in your contract.”

“Contract or not, I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“My dear, what can I do to make you comfortable?” Chuck pleaded.

“Nothing. I would rather make love to a rattlesnake than to that man.”

Elvis stood taller, his fingers balled up into fists as his leveled, polished voice began to transform into a Southern snarl. 

“Yeah, uh huh, well I had about enough of this bull shit. Rattlesnake, huh? That can be arranged, honey, why, I’ll get it myself.”

“Well, I bet it will be small and limp, just like you.”

He staggered back when she hurled those words at him, flustered and mumbling as he looked around the set to see who had been in earshot and heard her yell out the words ‘small and limp’ at him. The answer, of course, was everybody. Because everybody in the crew was watching.

They had, of course, originally gathered around because Charro! was making film history with today’s shoot. 

All the popular European films being released had sex scenes, James Bond was having sex. Several recent westerns had initially included nude scenes, but studios had cut them at the last minute. 

But 1968 marked the dawning of a new era. The MPAA had a new rating system. Bonnie & Clyde had proven last year that audiences not only had a stomach for violence, but wanted sex. And like Bonnie, they wanted it much more than they got it. And so this picture, and about a dozen others in production, were all racing to give it to them.

Even if the plan was to pan to a hat and then just Ina’s face, Charro! was going to make history. 

Or rather, it would have made history. Instead, the entire crew watched in horror as Ina threw up her hands and stomped off in protest while Elvis coughed loudly, took a deep breath, and then announced to the crowd

“Don’t worry, folks, we’re gonna get Arthur Rankin in here and he’s gonna recreate these scenes with claymation. Make a little Elvis the Rednosed Cowboy.” His voice rang out with forced cheerfulness, followed by a ripple of nervous laughter that spread through the soundstage. 

“Boy, I tell ya what, now that would be a historical milestone, huh Chuck? Bet audiences would pay double ta see a stop motion love scene.”

The director nodded as Elvis patted him on the shoulder with a forced, playful candor and then strode out of the studio followed by his entourage.

Elvis’ motel room was dark, save for the television, an ever present companion, and the table lamp that cast shadows against the wall outlining Alma’s silhouette. The light captured every curve of her body as it lay sideways across the bed next to him. His fingers tapped absentmindedly over her bronze thigh, but his mind was otherwise occupied and failed to register the coquettish look she was giving him as she pouted and ran her hand over his arm.

He was thinking of his first film and the time had asked his co-star, Richard Egan, the secret to good acting.

“You. You already got it kid, in spades. Why do you think they renamed this picture after your song? Just be you, unaffected, unadulterated. You’re a natural.”

But what good had natural ability been without opportunity? He’d had such high hopes back then, hopes to be in real movies about real people, stories with an edge that packed a punch. And for a time, it seemed like he was. Dramas in which the singing was a plausible part of the premise.

But somewhere along the way the edge had been sanded off and his plans had all gone wrong. He’d gotten himself typecast as the type of character he hated, a romantic lead who broke into song during an appointment with the IRS. Those roles were fine for Rock Hudson, but not for him. He knew he could do better. Better than dumb musicals, better than all this. 

He had those same high hopes for this picture when he first read the script.

“Guess I should be happy this western’s actually being filmed in the goddamn desert and not in some California shrub valley,” he mumbled, balling his hands into fists as he spoke.

“What was that, baby?”

Elvis looked up at the woman lying next to him, he had forgotten she was even there. Her warm body next to him had become just another amenity of the room, like the mini fridge or the Gideons Bible. The puzzled look on her young, naive face reminded him how truly alone he was. 

Oblivious to Elvis' existential crisis, Alma decided maybe he needed some prompting after their kisses had dissolved into still silence. She moved her hand to Elvis’ thigh, stopping when he flinched and jumped up almost as if he were trying to escape her touch. She frowned, then flipped her hair as she adjusted and lay prone over the polyester orange bedspread, fashioning a come hither look on her face. She could tell he was rattled by the onset fight and was trying everything in her bag of tricks to laugh it off and redirect him to something better. Her. 

“Ha, small and limp. That bitch has no idea what she’s missing. It took all my self control not to cry out in front of everyone that you have an anaconda in your pants, Elvis.”

A grimace passed over his face, and Elvis started to button up his shirt and mumble to the floor.

“Don’t, baby - just-” He softened his voice at the rejection he saw in her eyes. “Honey, I can’t stand it when women do that.”

“What, what am I doing wrong?” Alma sat, her face falling as she scooted back against the pillows.

Elvis pulled on the red bandana around his neck and paced the other way, looking back at her as he tucked his shirt back into his clean, brown corduroy pants. His shoulders stiffened.

“Insincerity. I can’t, I jus hate it when women go overboard trying to puff up my ego. I’ve had my share of lovers, no one ever complained. That’s not the point.”

“It isn’t?”

“Nah, honey. What that bitch is really saying is she don’t take me serious, I’m not man enough for this fucking role, for her New York high society standards. Fat lot of good any a that did her, thinks I don’t know she’s been in what, five pictures? Jerry Lewis? Try twenty five, sister. Give me a goddamn break. She’s wound so tight, she could start a fight in an empty house, I tell ya what, boy, and that’s the god honest truth.”

He began to pace the room, wringing his hands over as he walked.

“This un’ is gonna be different, Chuck said, more raw, Chuck said, more real.” His voice trilled between a high falsetto and a deep growl. “Then first they cut the violence, and now this bullshit. What’s next? Bet they gonna try and have me sing to my fuckin horse!” 

He punched the wall. “Fucking cowboys don’t fucking sing!” He screamed to the ceiling, then began to pace again, his hands now balled up in fists.

He turned and looked at Alma. “You ever see John Wayne sing? Gary Cooper? ‘Fore they walked over to the OK corral to shoot the bad guy?”

He punched the wall again and then turned and tried to compose himself when he saw Alma flinch.

“Ok ok ok ok.” He took a deep breath. “I  - uh - this picture’s got me all keyed up.”

“Want some grass? Flor has some killer grass, make you forget today even happened.”

“Nah, honey -  now, good lil girls like you should know better than to mess with that stuff.”

Alma pulled her hand through her hair and struck what she thought was a glamorous, come hither pose.

“Want me to give you a blow job? Help you relax?”

Elvis frowned. “Man, like a goddamn cat in heat and twice as willing. Don’t you think of nothing else?” 

Alma sat up and started to put her clothes on, her voice as low as her hopes for the evening.

“You’re the one who invited me up here and had me undress while you watched. I’m just trying to do what I thought you wanted.”

“Well stop tryin’ to think, you’ll wear yourself out.” 

Alma grabbed her shoes and opened the door, finding Joe on the other side with one hand about to knock and another holding up a tray of food in his hands.

“Oh, hey -”

“Hey yourself.” Alma said with a huff and a very aggressive hair flip, her long brown tresses smacking Joe’s cheek.

Elvis shrugged as Joe looked after Alma, whistling to himself. 

“Man o man, EP, you got the prettiest girl here. What’s up her butt?”

“I don’t know - Something up with the chicks on this picture, man, stuck up and crazier than a sack full a possums.”

Elvis looked at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall across from the bed as Joe mumbled about how many crazy women they had met on their journeys, half-listening as he stroked his beard and reassured himself that he looked just as fit as Clint Eastwood. And more handsome. He winked at himself and straightened his belt buckle, then looked over at Joe.

“Now hold on a second, son, jus’ what in high heaven is that?”

Elvis lifted his hands from his left hip and pointed at the cheeseburgers and fries Joe had laid out on the table, fixing him with a dark glare.

“You said dinner, EP, brought you dinner.”

“Tryin’ to get me back in the 200 club like you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you been auditioning for the part of lardass of the group.”

“But last night - I thought you - 

“I thought, I  thought - you ain’t thought shit, and that’s the problem. I’m supposed to be shirtless on film tomorrow and you fixin’ to get me fat as a boarding house cat.”

Joe frowned, furrowing his brow for the split second it took him to plaster a smile back on and nod. Now he understood what was up Alma’s ass, and what was about to be up his too if he didn’t turn this around.

“Right, boss, my mistake, tell me what you want and I’ll go get it.”

“What I want, what I want. Ain’t nobody cares what I want, and that’s the goddamn problem. Save a whole lotta time and money if you just thought to ask first.” 

Elvis put his hands on his waist and cried out an inaudible growl to the ceiling. 

“Jus… just bring me a caesar salad. A big one.”

Joe hurried out and Elvis went over to cover up the burgers, but the smell was too tempting, so instead he sat down and began to devour them one after another, mumbling to himself in between bites.

“Goddamit, if I look fat tomorrow it’ll be Joe’s goddamn fuckin’ fault.”

There was a knock at the door, and he yelled for whoever it was to come in as he went to wash up.

“Joe told me to come get rid of the - uh - food tray.”

Charlie’s voice trailed off as Elvis emerged from the bathroom and followed Charlie’s eyes to the table and the plates that were empty, save for a handful of cold fries.

“Well, have at it - wait.”

Elvis stepped back and looked around, grabbing one of the guns from the night stand and put it in his belt. He had all this nervous energy running up and down his body, he needed to just get out of this room, out of this motel, get as far as possible to just breathe some fresh air and think. He snapped his fingers at Charlie.

“Grab Gee Gee, we’re going for a drive.”

Charlie’s face softened into a big goofy, excited grin. “Okee dokee artichokee, where we heading?”

“Anywhere that ain’t this goddamn motel, numb nuts.” Elvis started to head down the exterior stairs, running his hand over the warm, wrought iron bannister. He looked back over his shoulder and clapped.

“Bring the cigars, too, then meet me at the car. Chop chop.” 

A renewed sense of purpose guided his steps as Elvis walked down the corridor of motel rooms that lined the pool,and he ran his hands up and down the front of his shirt. He mulled over what he wanted to do that didn’t involve eating more hamburgers. Or eating anything. 

When he looked up, he realized he had stopped outside Ina’s room. There, through the curtain, he could see the back of her through the curtain where she sat on her bed, talking to someone on the phone. 

“No no no, Mickey, of course I understand. Yes, well, I don’t know, I think you have to have been on top to get back on top, but your meaning is not lost on me. I get it. Yes. Opportunity of a lifetime. I know. Elvis Elvis.  Don’t worry. I’m gonna go make it right, right now.”

She looked up at the ceiling and wiped the sides of her eyes, summoning a mask of quiet cheer Elvis recognized well as she clutched the phone tight. 

“Yes, no  - I’ll be a good girl, Mickey. I promise. I know, I know, no bread.”

He was transfixed, enjoying the power he felt watching her unaware, and pressed closer to the glass, careful not to draw attention to himself. A small front section of her long, flowing hair fell out from behind her ears and she absentmindedly began to twist it nervously. She looked like a fragile little girl, like a beautiful flower someone had stepped on. The sight of her anxiously talking away pulled on his heart strings.

He shook his head. What the fuck had happened? Why was she so angry at him?  He'd played the part of the funny, affable host from the minute they met, introducing her to the crew and having Gee Gee get her screwdrivers as they all yukked it up in the bar. He'd about busted his gut when she lobbed a handful of ice at Charlie and knocked him over the back of the couch. 

He stood there watching as her big brown eyes lit up while she told her agent how nice the desert was. He almost believed her. Goddamit, why couldn’t she just be a good girl and get along? She’d been sweet and flirty in make-up and then what, an hour or two later, her claws were out and she’d aimed them at him. 

He whistled and thought about the fickleness of women as he turned to walk the long way around the pool. 

Thirty seconds later he heard the thud of a door opening followed by Ina’s voice calling out for him.

Elvis stopped, his hands moved out as if to balance himself as he swiveled around, slowly, to face her. A sense of dread settling in his stomach. Up above him, he saw Charlie and Gee Gee making their way down the staircase, while to his left a group of crew members were heading for the pool. The smell of chlorine wafted through the open air hallway.

He cautiously trudged back toward the doorway to where Ina stood, each footfall a slow thump of his cowboy boot against the hard concrete sidewalk. 

“Oh good, I’m glad I caught you, Elvis.” She swallowed, there it was again, that cheerful mask settling over her face as she exhaled a nervous laugh. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Elvis straightened up, looking around again before pulling on the red bandana at his throat. He definitely didn’t want to be alone with Ina. She was unpredictable and he couldn’t stand the awkward energy that flickered between them. However, he also didn’t want another public scene and he could already hear their names being whispered by some of the crew at the pool.

So he did what he always did with an audience, he mustered a wide, beaming smile and spoke in a nonchalant, cool voice:

“Hey honey, you ain’t gotta worry bout me, I’m all good. You get your beauty sleep and I’ll see you tamarra onset an - “

Ina’s lip trembled, she looked like she might fall apart at any moment.

Shit he thought, unable to stop himself from walking over to her and stroking her shoulder.

“There there, been a rough day. This desert heat, I tell ya what, baby, does things to ya head. Now go ahead and listen to ol’ Elvis -”

Ina put her hand over his where it squeezed her shoulder.

“Could we just talk - just for a moment?” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Alone. I -  I won’t take much time, I just - I’d like to apologize and clear the air if you’ll let me. Otherwise, otherwise I won’t be able to sleep and then you’ll be making love to a haggard old zombie first thing in the morning.”

Elvis' eyes softened and he looked around once more before nodding. “Ok.” 

As soon as the door closed he was an obedient puppy letting her lead him by the hand to sit on the bed, where he took off his cowboy hat and toyed with it in his lap. 

Ina stepped away, backing toward the dresser where she lifted herself to sit next to the TV, but then changed her mind. She felt like a ship adrift, unmoored and out of her comfort zone. Sitting and swinging her legs about was too casual, she decided, so she stood back up and swept the hair that had fallen out of her high ponytail behind her ears.

Just make it short, sweet, earnest, she reminded herself, you’re no stranger to eating humble pie. Indeed, Ina reflected on the number of times she had apologized unnecessarily just to smooth things over with her mother or sister, a producer, an ad executive. This was one of the first times she felt she actually had behaved badly and now she was lost for words.  If only there was a script for life. 

“I - um - thanks for seeing me - I - I - I.”

All the words left her head when she found Elvis’ dark blue eyes studying her beneath his long lashes. He was rotating his cowboy hat in his lap. The smell of the heavy floral cleaning products the maids had used lingered in the air, stronger now that the air conditioner cycled on with a heaving, mechanic whomp. She swallowed again, and counted to ten, trying to ignore the way the back of her neck seemed to prickle as a chill went down her spine. She steadied herself, forcing her eyes to connect with his. 

“Elvis, I am so very sorry. I mean it. I -  I - I - ’ve never lost it before onset, it is so unprofessional I can barely stand to look at myself.” 

She felt a release of tension as she watched his hands relax. He took a deep breath and stroked his beard.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Ina,  I been making two to three pictures a year since 1933. I can roll with the punches, ain’t nothing I can’t handle. ThoughI gotta admit you threw me off back there.” 

The register of his voice changed from rougher to softer as he looked down at the floor and then back up at Ina’s face. 

“Be honest, did I do anything to offend you or make you mad at me?”

His softer side was almost harder to withstand and his eyes seemed to penetrate her very being, seeking out the secrets she kept hidden in her heart. She shook it off with another nervous chuckle,

“No, no, this was 100% me. I’ve been so nervous about these love making shoots. Chuck’s is telling everyone back in Hollywood this is the first the first film with a sex scene - “

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, I mean, since the production code, maybe, but they’ve shot plenty of them. It’s just that the studio always pulls out at that last minute -”

Ina covered her mouth and gasped when she watched Elvis’ lip curl up at her words but said nothing. He didn’t need to. The glint in his eye said it all and when he waggled his eyebrows up and down Ina laughed out. She was grateful for the levity, it seemed to crack through Elvis’ cool bravada and made this conversation easier.

“Stop, you know what I mean.” 

She blushed, and looked out her window, watching as the silhouettes of two people walked by. It was getting dark, she needed to wrap it up. 

“But yes, today I was nervous, I haven’t been eating or sleeping much, but I promise you - “ 

Her voice wavered as she turned back to find his steady gaze. 

“ - um - no more fights, no more difficult behavior. I am so grateful for this opportunity to work with you and I just hope you can forgive me for my lapse of judgment.”

Elvis stood up, his fingers were once more busy fiddling with his cowboy hat and he spoke in a low whisper.

“Ok. I forgive you. So long as you really ain’t mad at me.”

The breath hitched in Ina’s throat when Elvis looked up at her, biting his lip in a way that made the top jut out a bit as he searched her face once more, as if she were a puzzle he needed to solve.

She gulped. “I - uh - I - no, I just need some sleep - I “

“Honey I can’t help feeling like you’re holding something back here, and if we’re gonna get along, I need you to be completely honest with me.”

Ina looked away. Damn him, he was like one of those fortune tellers back on Coney Island who she had believed as a kid. As a teenager she had learned the truth: they had no supernatural talents, they were just extremely gifted at reading their marks. Like Elvis was reading her right now.

“Oh, I may have been upset about something but it doesn’t matter, it was silly and stupid, like me. I - I was wrong, and I apologize. I’ll happily apologize to you in front of the whole crew tomorrow if you want. Really. If that is what it will take to make amends with you Mr. Presley.”

Elvis clenched his fists. 

“I don’t give a damn about a public apology or the crew or any of that. But I can’t bear it when a woman is sore at me and won’t say why. Ticks me off to no end.”

Tension hung in the air, and Ina sighed. Recounting the whole ordeal made it seem so juvenile now, though it still stung.

“I - I am, I heard some of your friends talking. They -”

“Which friends?”

“Jerry, Jerry and Charlie. I told you, it’s like high school and I can’t believe I let them upset me.”

“Well now you started, better lay it all out for me. Go on.”

“I - I well, I heard them laughing about how you had said I looked like - like drag queen that needed a shave. And they were calling me Groucho and saying I had big feet.”

Ina let her shoulders drop and forced a smile, but she couldn’t stop her hand from pulling on the necklace at her chest.

“Ha, actually now that I say it is kind of funny, you see I - um - I usually have a great sense of humor. Any of my friends would tell you. Some of them are drag queens, actually. They’d probably feel more slighted being compared to me. Your boys just, they  - they just caught me right before I was filming my first nude scene and well - “ 

Ina’s voice trailed off as she watched Elvis get up and pace towards the bathroom growling. 

“Those fucking nitwits, pulling a stunt like that and gummin up tha works -” he turned and his face fell at the pained look on Ina’s face. “You know I never said nothin’ like that.” 

Ina quickly shook her head, summoning the calm veneer that usually came so easy to her. She immediately regretted telling Elvis, now she felt as raw as she did after she had a full waxing appointment at the salon.

In her heart she knew he was lying, she knew from the way he had grimaced, albeit it briefly, on set when she’d said she wasn’t a drag queen. 

Yet there was something earnest and pleading in his eyes that made her question her own grip on reality. This got worse when he bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling, all vulnerable and apologetic, as if searching for the right thing to say. It made her stomach flip up into her throat. Then looked at her, his eyes wide with a newfound warmth as he sought a connection from across the room, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Ina knew right then that she needed to get him out before anything changed.

“Oh, yeah, sure, I know. And, well  it doesn’t matter anyway, right? I mean it’s none of my business what you think of me - like I said, I knew some knockout drag queens, so it’s a compliment really. Ha so - “

Elvis stode over as she spoke and grabbed her hands, his thumb delicately soothing the top of her knuckles. The spicy smell of his aftershave entered her nostrils as he spoke in a low, soft voice.

“Here’s the thing now, Iny Beany, I just need you to know though that I didn’t say none a that. Ya right, them boys still in high school, and they been playing pranks like we’re still in high school. I guar-an-TEE you they knew the assistant had just called for you, and they set that whole thing up to ruin my first sex scene shoot. Have half a mind to fire 'em. They need to learn some goddamn respect."

Ina found herself transfixed, unable to step away or pull her hands from his. She looked him over. He somehow looked like a cowboy who had let a bunch of drag queens dress him. 

He wore a fresh pair of dark green slacks, a thick leather belt and a long sleeve white linen shirt. Over his hands sat several jewel-encrusted rings matched by the two necklaces that lay underneath his red bandana, tied much like a silk ascot through a cravat. His foundation make-up was impeccable, and his hair was styled in a high quiff perfectly slicked back above his forehead. It made him look cavalier and polished at the same time. 

Then there was the way his smokey eye makeup was now smudged around his waterline made him look even more ruggedly attractive. Sweat glistened underneath his beard, almost like glitter.  There, in the dim light of her motel room he looked like the prettiest cowboy she had ever seen.

“Know what I mean?”

Ina shook her head, realizing she’d gotten caught up staring at his scruffy chin and lost track of what he was saying.

“Um, I’m sorry, what did you say?”

A sly grin tweaked up the corners of his lips.

“I said, you cain’t listen to a word outta those boys' moufs, ‘specially Charlie. His elevator don’t go all the way up, if you take my meaning.” 

Elvis stepped in closer to her, cautiously, waiting to see if she stepped away or flinched.  But it was all Ina could do to just keep breathing, each stroke of Elvis' thumb over her hand now sent a bolt of electricity down her chest.

“How I could I say something like that about you, Iny? Ya so beautiful, I could barely look at you too long before turning into mush.”

Ina rolled her eyes, but she could feel her own resolve waver as his hand moved to her hips and a blush crept over her face.

“Stop, you don’t have to lie to me.”

He shook his head, his nose tickling over hers.

“How can you say that Iny Meany? You have no idea, no idea what you do to me.”

Ina’s heart skipped a beat when she felt his thumb at the indent of her girdle. The air between their bodies seemed to crackle now with heat, and he pulled her closer, nuzzling his nose over hers. A tear rolled down her face and he lifted his finger to catch it.

“Ssshhhh, s’ok baby, s’ok. I got you. And I promise ain’t no one gonna talk like that about you again.”

He pressed his cheek against hers and she pushed back,willfully embracing the harsh scruff of his beard. She could feel herself teetering on the precipice of something dangerous. If she crossed this line with Elvis it would change the dynamic of their work together, it would change her reputation. She had vowed to herself she wouldn’t be susceptible to his charms, him, of all people. He was so obvious, so cliche. And yet here she was, nuzzling her nose back along his.

Emboldened, Elvis gently pressed his lips to her skin, peppering her jaw with light kisses. Ina eagerly moved to give him access to her neck and he instantly took the hint and suckled at her nape, pausing to grin as she moaned out a high, breathy unladylike moan.

Her chest heaved as their lips met and the faint aroma of mustard filled Ina’s nostrils.

“Oh my god, you taste like hamburger.”

Elvis chuckled, unsure of himself for a moment. Ina enjoyed watching him become self conscious.

"I’m sorry baby, you want me to go brush my teeth?”

She shook her head, pulling him closer and speaking between kisses.

 “No - mmmm - it’s amazing — mmm - haven’t had a mmamburger in months.”

Elvis let out a nervous laugh. 

“Ok, ya kook, I’ll be sure and eat hamburger every day.” 

"Ha! I'm gonna hold you to that, Presley."

His fingers brushed over her thighs as he lifted her onto the dresser and Ina trembled.

“You ok? Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

She shook her head, stopping was the last thing on her mind. Though she suddenly thought of crew members at the pool who’d seen her call Elvis into her room to apologize.

“I wonder what everyone outside thinks we’re doing in here.”

“Hmmm, whatever they’re thinking, I guarantee it's not nearly as good as what I’m thinking.”

“Elvis - I - I don’t want to have sex.”

He arched his eyebrow.

“Whoo now, who said anything about sex?”

“I mean, of course I want to have sex with you.”

He stoked her thighs, a faint smile on his face.

"Relax Iny, we’re just having some fun. Don’t overthink it. We ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t wanna do.”

Ina released a nervous giggle. “OK, you see, I um, well, actually the thing is that I sometimes break out when I - I do it.”

“Really? You know that Max Factor stuff will cover anything.”

“Ha! I know - I just think tonight, no matter what I say later, we should just keep it simple.”

“I gotcha Iny girl. Sweet. Simple.”

Ina’s pulse quickened at the way he leaned into her chest, his hands worked up from her thighs. She felt like a giddy teenager as she smiled gleefully into his face, her right hand fiddling with his ear.

“You have a great earlobe, you know that? I can see why you’re a movie star.”

“Huh. That right? Cuz of my earlobe?”

He leaned in and kissed the top of her nose.

“Oh yeah, it's very photogenic. I see why this is the only part of you in frame during the sex scene. I mean the rest could as ugly as Boris Karloff -” Ina waved her other hand in front of Elvis face. “But this lobe, right here, it’s a million dollar lobe.” 

Elvis chuckled. “That right?”

“Uh huh. I hope you have it insured - oh god.” 

Elvis' right hand moved over her breast, flicking her nipple. 

“Hmm, well, maybe I should stop whateva this is and go call the colonel, get him right on that, uh huh.”

He moved as if to leave, smirking at how quickly Ina pulled him back into her arms.

“Don’t go.” 

She squeaked out, voice cracking.

“You sure? You don want me to fetch a rattlesnake to kiss instead? See if you like making love to his earlobe?”

“Stop.” 

Ina swatted him, straightening the line of his bandana. 

“Please don’t repeat what I said earlier, I was tired and nervous and upset and I hate myself for that whole scene. I really am sorry, Presley.”

“I know, baby, I know. I'm just teasing.”

He pressed his lip son hers once more and Ina rocked forward into him, following the slow, tender rhythm of Elvis’ body. She felt like a buoy, still unmoored and adrift in the ocean, but now she didn’t want to come into shore. She wanted to stay like this, swaying back and forth to the ebb of Elvis’ tide,  delighting in the wet smack of Elvis’ lips every time they smashed into hers. Again and again.

Her whole body buzzed when his fingers trailed down to her hem and absentmindedly began to work their way under her dress. He had notched himself between her legs, fitting snugly against her knee caps. She made a small squeak of surrender as she opened her hips to bring him in closer. The taste of onions and pepsi and meat filled her mouth as he took her with the tip of his tongue, slowly owning and consuming her completely. 

Elvis moaned into her and deepened their kiss.

Ina lost herself in the sweet supple cushion of his lips. His hands moved over her bosom,  fanning the spark in her belly into a flame. Then his fingers moved under her skirt and feathered over the warmth of her panties. Ina felt the bulge begin to swell at her thigh and then Elvis jerked back.

Every cell in her body cried out to pull him back into her embrace and then until he was inside her and they were melting into each other. Vows and boundaries be damned. Thank god he had some sense of self control.

“Whooa, whoa whoa.” He muttered slowly, almost painfully.

Ina nodded, licking her lips as she met his eyes.

“You ok?’

“Yeah, you?”

Elvis took a deep breath. “Course, honey, I - I - I just think we better put the breaks on for tonight.”

“Yeah, sure, no. Totally. This was exactly what I wanted.”

He wiped his mouth, shooting her an impish smile, like he knew exactly what she wanted.

“Guess I should clear out, huh?”

“You don’t have to leave, I mean, I enjoy your company. Is what I mean. But if you are looking to get lucky, then yes, I suppose you should find one of those extras you've been playing patty cake with.”

“Huh, okay, well I'll be on my way then. Catch ya later.” 

But he didn't move, just stayed there hovering above her. His forehead leaning into her as he pushed in even closer, pressing the air out of her lungs.

“You do have a reputation to keep up. I understand.”

"Mhmmmm."

Elvis shook his head and went to sit on her bed, up against the head board.

“Look, I'm willing to put my reputation aside, jus for one night. I promise, no funny business. Clothes stay on.” 

He smirked.

“Unless you’d feel more comfortable without your dress on.”

Ina hesitantly moved to perch next to him. She could still taste the mix of Elvis’ salty sweat on her tongue as she wiped her raw lips.

“That’s awfully accommodating of you, Presley.”

“What can I say, Iny Beany, I’m an open minded guy. Always say, if a girl wants to take her own dress off, who am I to say she can’t?’

“Well, if it’s all the same to you I think I’ll keep mine on. For now. There’s still time for you to make an exit.”

“Aw, now shut up with that exit junk already and get in here.”

Elvis pulled Ina down into the curve of his arm, and she sighed, embracing the cozy warmth of his body and rubbing her hand over the trim stretch of his stomach as he spoke to her in a soft, friendly voice.

"Alright now, I want you to tell me everything there is to know about you. How did  the hell you end up in a god forsaken Elvis Presley picture, huh?”

“Hmmm, poor life choices? But Elvis, I thought you liked this film? I thought you were the one who made it happen.”

“Aw, well, sure, the first script was pret-tee fantastic. It was gritty and had guts, ya know, but then these damn producers been wittlin' it away to nothing, man. Chuck cornered me this afternoon once you'd left and started in on nagging me to sing the title song.”

“You don’t want to sing? Just the title? it would be so good.”

“So you like the way I sing, Iny?” 

Elvis’ eyes danced but then he remembered what they were talking about and was solemn once more. 

“Yeah, naw man, that would set it up as another Presley musical, the next they’ll be trying to get me to sing to my horse. No self respecting cowboy sings, you ever heard of a singing cowboy? Never seen John Wayne sing.”

“OK, sure, but what about Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Hank Williams was the Driftless Cowboy, right?” Elvis leveled her with his blue eyes and pinched her side. 

“Hmmm - guess you got me there. But it’s 1968, I’d like to see Gene Autry sell a movie in today’s economy. My boy my boy. Today it ain't no joke. Can you see him in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly?”

Ina tilted her head in agreement back onto Elvis' shoulder, she felt the same way she did sinking into a pair of comfy, worn-in slippers, and founding his chest as relaxed and welcoming,

“Trust me, I get it, I’m just grateful I don’t have to do a rape scene in this film.”

He squeezed Ina tighter, kissing her cheek.

“Yeah, me too, honey, real grateful. Boy. Don’t know why anyone want ta see that.”

 “The old west ain’t what it used to be.”

“You can say that again.”

Elvis' arms closed around Ina tighter as they murmured the hours away, comparing diet pills, LA taco huts and favorite movies while their limbs easily intertwined into one another. The closest he got to undressing her was the moment around midnight when he stealthily undid her pony tail and played with her hair while she pretended to be miffed. Then he kissed her forehead and told her he had done her a favor, because it looked better this way, and she should just be a good girl and do as he said. Which got him a light slap and a big “HA!”

They spent the next hour enjoying a playful, cozy respite together in the dim orange glow of Ina’s hotel room. It was well past one in the morning when he gave her a parting kiss that turned into a series of parting kisses before he snuck back up to his suite. 

Shooting began the next day at 7 a.m., and you could have knocked the director, Chuck, over with a long, pink gaudy boa feather as he found Elvis and Ina in good spirits ready to work. They exchanged playful barbs and their onscreen chemistry sizzled when they went through each sequence, pausing between takes for Ina’s chest to be spritzed while another batch of assistants dabbed Elvis’ forehead with dry unused coffee filters. The industry’s secret weapon against perspiration.

Elvis found Ina in her dressing room during a break and their lips met with stifled giggles as they kissed now with away from the ever present surveillance of the crew, laughing and talked into each other’s mouths.

“Oh my god, now you taste like bacon. I swear Elvis, you’re gonna have me off my diet and then I’ll swell up like a balloon and then Charro! will be a very different film about a cowboy and his pregnant saloon madam.”

“Baby, you gotta let yourself have one hamburger now and then, trust me now, I been doing this longer than you. It will help the cravings.”

Ina kept her mouth shut as she calculated that she had been in this business just as long as he had, since she began modelling at 15 in 1955.

“Ok. I give in. I have no willpower around you. I will have one hamburger this week.”

“Tonight, honey. Imma have you for dinner.” He winked. “Over for dinner, I mean.  I’ll have one a my guys come get you and bring you up to my room later. ”

“Ok. Dinner. Tonight. Your room.” She grinned as she chased the taste of bacon on his tongue and the salty scent of his body as it enveloped her until a knock on the door brought them back into their roles on set as Jess and Tracy.

That night Elvis went through his usual routine after a shoot, which began with a shower to wash off the desert and the dust and the sweat of the set off his body. He took extra care in how he dressed, selecting a light blue dress shirt and a white suit, capping off his outfit with a small black porkpie hat. He doused himself in aftershave and the smell of Old Spice smacked Joe in the face when he came in to set up Elvis’ calls to Memphis and LA.

Once Elvis hung up his phone he leaned over and banged on the wall for Joe to come back in.

“You want me to get that sweet little Mexican gal boss? Alma?”

“Did I tell you to do that? That gal ain’t nothing but a big phony, naw man. Wait for me to tell you what to do, son."

Elvis stood up and went to slather more after shave on, exchanging one ring for another at his toiletry bag.

"Go down stairs and invite Ina up to join me for dinner.”

Joe let out a loud cackle. “What, Groucho?”

Elvis paused, taking in the look of disbelief on Joe’s face. His heart sank and he rubbed his hands over one another as he remembered how they all were howling at his jokes about her a few nights ago. 

He hadn’t even really meant it. He’d just said those things after watching Alma and Flor look at Ina with envy during rehearsals. All he had wanted was to put them at ease, make them understand he was attracted to them. Saying what he thought they wanted to hear. But then the boys had chimed in and now they all thought she was a dog. 

Elvis forced a low chuckle and ran his hand through his hair.

“Nah, man, not Ina - I meant Flor. Goddamn it,  this picture messin’ with my head.”  

He swallowed hard, thinking of the way Ina's beautiful big brown eyes looking up at him. They their legs had seemed to fit together, the way conversation had seemed to flow effortlessly. He smiled to himself thinking of the way she had blushed when he snuck into her dressing room. How her breasts had felt beneath as they ran their love scenes. He pushed away the pang of guilt for now and tamped down his desire to hold her once more. Maybe he'd sneak down to her room later if he could get away. But for now he had an image uphold. These guys looked up to him, and his control over them as their boss rested on the how cool they thought he was.

He snapped his finger at Joe. 

“But I don’t wanna hear y’all calling her that no more. Tell the others. Like I said this morning, y’all shitwads talking like that is what got me in trouble in the first place.”

And with that, Elvis spent another night surrounded by people and utterly alone.

I don't really think I did Ina justice here, look at how great they looked together. We were robbed of their sex scenes.....

taglist:

@i-r-i-n-a-a @ab4eva @eliseinmemphis @richardslady121 @artlover8992 @ashtag6887 @karolshungary @j-v-9-2 @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme @notstefaniepresley @dollette02 @dkayfixates @everythingelvispresley @velvetelvis @moonchild-daniella @lialocklear @obsessionisthecure @louisejoy86 @arrolyn1114 @literally-just-elvis-fics

i don't really have a taglist for one-shots and I apologize if you don't want to be tagged, just let me know and I'll take you off.

[dantakeyoman]

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 | 𝐩. 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬

♡ 𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

♡ * 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒑 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒐, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒚-𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒚. *

♡ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠, 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐚𝐟, 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

Graves loved the rodeo, much like the many other country men.

Mainly, he loved the show of it.

The display.

Competitions to show off which cowboy was the manliest?

That was right up his alley.

But there was one other large reason why he loved the rodeo...

The women.

Dimes from all over would come to watch and fawn and drool at the men competing.

And he's had his fair share of each.

But every single one of those girls were blown completely out of the water by you.

The woman he had caught sight of during the bull ride.

And you had caught sight of him, too.

Your eyes locked with the handsome man riding the bull, and you smiled, giving him a nod of approval.

He was remarkably good at it.

But what was even more remarkable, was the minute his ride was finished, he started walking over to you.

He winked, blowing out his bottom lip with the smallest smirk as he approached.

He tipped his hat as he got closer.

"You a rodeo fan, there, missy?"

You smirked, leaning up against the fence.

"I come and I go."

Graves chuckled as he placed his hands on his hips.

"Well, darlin'. I reckon we both got a little something out of this rodeo then," he tilted his hat up just slightly to reveal his bright, blue eyes.

"I'd be doin' myself a disservice if I didn't ask for your name."

You tutted, a sly smirk growing on your lips.

"Don't think you've earned my name yet, cowboy. You're gonna have to do more than that."

Graves winked, his smile growing into a sly one as he took a step towards you.

He placed one hand on the fence, leaning over slightly, so that he was closer to you.

Face-to-face.

"You like the sound of sugar?" He whispered.

He knew that this would either work or wouldn't.

If it didn't?

He had other ways to make you talk.

He had the kinda of confidence that would make him believe any other tactic would work.

"It'll do," you smiled up at him, your eyes dark and inviting.

He moved his hand on the fence over to your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone ever so slightly.

His head was tilted down, giving himself a better view of you, as well as a chance to get his face closer to yours.

"What's a pretty lady like you doin' all 'lone in the bleachers?" He asked cockily, "Where's your cowboy?"

"Don't got one," you nodded, "Flyin' solo today."

Your smirk grew.

"How 'bout you? You got a cowgirl waitin' for you at home?"

You eyed the hand on your cheek, before leading your gaze back to his.

"If I'm goin' off where your hand is, my guess would be no."

Graves chuckled, his eyes staying trained on yours.

"You'd be right, sugar. No girl at home waitin'. Don't even got a girl at the rodeo waitin'."

He raised a brow, his thumb still caressing your cheek.

"You lookin' to change that?"

He leaned even closer, waiting for you to make the next move.

"Butterin' me up s'not gonna get you nowhere..." You tried to fight off a smile.

But you couldn't help it.

This man was doing something to you.

Graves smirked, noticing the way he was making you feel.

He moved his hand from your cheek, resting it on yours.

He looked as if he was going to lean in for a kiss, but instead, he breathed in close to your ear.

"I like a woman who can handle herself."

His voice was gravelly and smooth at the same time, sending a shiver down your spine.

He slowly pulled away, allowing a few inches between you two again.

"And I think I might just have me one of those..."

You carefully took his hand from yours, turning it to lay flat across his chest.

"You sure 'bout that? As far as you're concerned, I could be an ax murderer," you asked teasingly, "You really know me?"

Graves chuckled, your fingers running across his chest, making him grin even wider.

"It ain't about the knowledge I have, darlin'. S'bout the chemistry between us right now. And besides..."

He smiled.

Your fingers were still caressing his chest.

"I know your type. And you ain't an ax murderer."

"Oh, really?" You cocked a brow, "Then what am I, cowboy?"

Graves didn't hesitate with his answer.

"The type that has a hard time admitting she's got a soft spot for the Southern boy-next-door type."

He smirked, knowing full well the type he just described was you to a T.

"So maybe you're not all brawn..." You teased with a smile, giving his chest a little flick before starting off towards where the rest of the crowd was headed.

The after party was happening at Davies, a popular local bar joint.

And you sure as shootin' weren't gonna miss it.

"You comin' or what, cowboy?"

The flick had sent chills up the man's spine, and your smirk made him grin even more.

"Yeah, I'm comin'," he said with his own smirk before moving to follow you.

"You just lead the way, gorgeous."

[drefear]

They Know (Drabble)

I got this from a post by @miggyyyyohara

TW: violence, a little bit of smut, nothing else really. (Second hand embarrassment?)

It wasn’t an easy mission.

Usually, Miguel and Jess could handle things just the two of them, and the other teams could handle the smaller anomalies. Gwen, Hobie, and Pav were a team, Ben, Lego Peter, and cowboy Spider worked together sometimes, and the list went on. Today, a Lizard got through to Earth -1563 and Miguel called for backup, which was something he genuinely hated doing. When he didn’t see any portals opening after a few minutes, he made a second call.

Swiftly, Ben, Gwen, and Hobie popped through.

“Where’s Jess?” He yelled, anger bubbling at having to deal with the others- mainly Hobie.

“Jess is having bad morning sickness!” Gwen called out, swinging to land a blow to the Lizards abdomen, until its claws dug into her suit and threw her into the concert wall.

“It’s 4pm!”

“Innit funny how it can come at any time but it’s called mornin’ sickness?” Hobie smashed his guitar over the Lizards head, but it barely flinched and he moved backward to save Gwen. The portal opened again and Miles and Pav ran in, glancing around at the bloodied Gwen and exhausted others.

“Take Gwen somewhere safe, Pav.” Miguel instructed and Pav nodded, then pulled Gwen into his arms and ran back into the portal. Miguel glared at the green being, whose strength seemed to be a bit much to handle for the group.

“Hobie, Miles, use the electricity powers to stop that thing, Ben and I will keep it busy until you do and when you can, trap it.” He instructed and Miles nodded, as Hobie sighed.

“I’m only listenin’ cause that’s what I was thinkin’ a doin’.” Hobie then went with Miles to start shooting webs, making a decent trap for the large anomaly.

Meanwhile, Miguel and Ben fought against the large reptile villain. Ben flipping and narrating everything made Miguel practically seethe with irritation. He would remind the Spider-Man to stop doing that.

“Now!” The two boys shouted and Miguel flipped out of the way. He caught sight of Ben, who obviously didn’t hear the signal, and continued to fight the Lizard.

Miguel jumped and soared to Ben, pushing him out of the way, but he was a bit late.

The electric currents from the two younger spider-boys shot through their webbing and into Miguel, as well as the Lizard.

While the beast was indeed captured, Miguel caught a breeze against his skin as he felt his suit malfunction. Glaring at the ground, he stood with his backside to the group as they stared at him. He huffed and spoke.

“Lyla, use my emergency application suit.”

“Nice buns-“

“Lyla!” He growled and she immediately covered his body with a new suit, rolling his shoulders in the holographic fabric. It was a bit tighter than the newer one, now having his new measurements, but still working to keep him modest.

Later once he was back on his platform, he ran diagnostics on his suit, fixing the technology and trying to find a way to not let Miles and Hobies powers affect it so much to where he’s completely naked every time. Hearing footsteps, he turned and hit a button to lower the platform.

“So I heard the mission was a success.” Peter spoke, lightly teasing the bigger of the two as he hopped onto the platform. A few others were behind the father and Miguel heard a few stifled laughs.

“It was. Now spit it out.” He glowered, waiting for the punchline to whatever ridiculous joke the group was trying to make. Turning around, he saw Gwen, Pav, Miles, Hobie, Jess, and Peter. Miguel folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at them all.

“We got a good look at ya backside.” Hobie stated and the others looked at Miguel with smiles.

“It’s the same as anyone else’s, don’t be immature.”

“It definitely was not the same as everyone else’s.” Miles mumbled, making Miguel’s eyes snap to his with a lingering question in them.

“I mean, sometimes my back looks a bit like that, depends when my girl is ova or not.” Hobie smirks, winking at Pav as he lets out a laugh.

“What?” Miguel asks, still confused.

“Miguel- can you take the back of your suit down? Just your back, not your butt?” Jess asks, making the large man think for a second. Without another thought, he lets the back of his suit dissolve and Gwen gasps. Jess and peter stand, eyes wide, and finally Peter clears his throat.

“I think the kids have some sort of paperwork to do.” Peter moves to rush them all out, Hobie shaking his head.

“Finished it all, so who’s the lucky lady?” He dodged Peter’s grasp before he can push him out of the room, making everyone stop.

Miguel furrows his brows. “I don’t understand, is there something-“

And then you walk in.

A bouncy little pep in your step, making him want to pepper kisses all over your face, and his face relaxes a bit. You’re in mostly casual clothing, shorts and a t-shirt with those cute little boots he loves so much. You two had been dating secretly, not wanting the spider society to make a big deal of it.

“Who’s got a lucky lady?” You inquire and Hobie nods to Miguel.

“Big boss man’s got some serious evidence of a good night all ova ‘is back. We’re just asking who could he be smashin’.”

Silence covers the room as Miguel finally understands.

He immediately covers his back.

He was with you last night.

You, with your legs around his waist as he sunk into you over and over, causing you both to practically break the sound barrier with your moans. You with your nails dragging all across his back, your mouth leaving hickeys all over his skin, and Miguel returning the favor. Him, leaving hand shaped bruises on your thighs.

Ones that were very visible right now in those little shorts.

Your eyes swelled as you somewhat understood what you just waltzed in on.

“W-wow, maybe I shouldn’t be here right now-“

“And what are those?” Hobie bends down to your thighs, making you freeze as you and Miguel refuse to break eye contact.

“You have a secret partner too?” Pav asks, shock filling his voice. Gwen and Hobie look at each other as it sinks in and Miles takes a step back to the door.

“I-I got those on a mission.” You sputter, trying to save some face.

“The hickeys and fang-marks too?” Jess crossed her arms, not believing you as you just shrugged, face red as a beet.

“Everyone get out!” Miguel roared, embarrassed by the obvious being revealed.

“Fine, but try not to get distracted, yeah?” Hobie says, strolling out with his hands in his pockets. Gwen follows him out with a hand covering her face while Miles drags out Pav, who just keeps trying to ask questions. Jess and Peter glance back to you and Miguel, before Peter mumbles a happy little ‘good for them,’ and Jess pulls him away.

You two stare at each other before he sighs as you ask,

“You think they know?”

“They know.”

[chaotic-starlight24]

Darry and Two-Bit

I have begun to write the requests! Thanks so much for this one :)

Almost every single request has involved Darry, glad he's getting love. I couldn't find any photos of these two together though :(

Darry and Two-Bit Friendship Headcanons

When they were kids, Mrs. Curtis was besties with Ms. Mathews so Darry and Two kinda grew up together.

They were constantly together since Ms. Mathews was working at the same diner and everything with Mrs. Curtis.

And they didn’t get tired of eachother either. They were pretty similar age and everything so they were just playing their regular childhood games. They’d find other east side or middle class kids to play tag or cowboys with. Your normal stuff.

As they got older, Darry also became best friends with Paul. So they became a trio of sorts. But Paul’s parents DEFINITELY did not want him near them. Mainly Two-Bit because he was more of a typical greaser. Darry they could see being a soc. Two-Bit was a bad influence on their “perfect child”.

The only time Darry acts like a middle-aged dad is around Two-Bit. And as a joke. It started off with one time Darry said a very dad-like thing and Two-Bit just groaned and told him “You sound just like my mom!” and Darry made it his goal to annoy two-bit by doing that at least once a day. Whether it’s stealing a snack from him and overdramatically saying “Dad Tax” or sitting down next to him with an overly serious tone and telling him “Sonny boy, we need to have a talk.” Two-Bit hates it so much and Darry finds it hilarious. 

Two-Bit is the one Darry acts his age around though. Mostly because Two encourages him to do so. Whether it's trying to get him to go to a party or just take a drive around. 

When they were younger, Darry wanted to buy birthday gifts for Soda and Pony. So he tested out babysitting and made plenty of cash. Two-Bit joined him as well because he wanted some extra money. They became quite the powerful duo. Though some parents would request that just Darry show up.

When Darry was still a more reckless teenager of sorts, they would both give each other so many weird dares. Like the time Two-Bit walked into the diner in a dress and really badly done make-up (Done by Darry ofc) and had to order a cheeseburger without the bun. Or the time Darry had to call Mr. Curtis because he was now hanging upside down from a tree with a jump rope tied to him. Where was Two-Bit you ask? He was too busy untying the lawn flamingo from the other side of the jump rope.

 Darry can help Two-Bit out of a funk and vice versa. Sometimes Two will have times where he takes things seriously. Like he says something about him being fat and laughs though Darry can tell he’s hurting. When Darry has those times where he feels like a terrible person and bad brother Two-bit is right there reassuring him.

Two-Bit is one of the few Darry actually has his complete trust in when it comes to Ponyboy. Most people don’t think Two is responsible, but he actually is. Especially when it comes to kids. So if Pony needs someone to be with him whether it’s walking around town or just sitting at home and Darry feels he’s unsafe, Two is the first person he calls.

Darry has always been a sweetheart, innocent not so much, but respectful at least. But on some of Two-Bit and him’s drives Two would catcall just about any girl who walked by. Making Darry duck and hide in the car. Sometimes Two would drag him out and call out something like “I ain’t too pretty, but my buddy here is on the football team!” which would always make Darry turn bright red. A couple times the girl has approached the car and gotten his number though Darry is a stuttering mess. He isn’t that bad at flirting but when put on the spot he is terrible at just about everything.

Sometimes Two-Bit will just stare at Darry with an unreadable gaze. A look of sadness almost. It’s really just him looking at this tired, sore, and hardened young guy who looks like he has decades of working weighing him down. Wondering where that fun and reckless teenager with that charming smile that made girls swoon, where he possibly could’ve gone. His best friend, reduced to scraping the bottom to survive.

Darry was making chocolate cake one time and Two-Bit wanted to try and make one too. But he substituted several ingredients in the cake for alcohol. Usually it starts to evaporate since most people don’t use that much of it in foods, but Two-Bit poured an entire bottle or 3. It was more of a soup than a cake. Darry turned around to put his cake in the oven and just looked at Two like ??!?!?

Darry loves Two-bit’s little sister, he sees her as his own sibling. Him and Two used to play with her quite often. Sometimes they would put on little plays or try to teach her to play cards.

[f1loveisland]

The only person // Mick Schumacher

A/n- BACK FROM MY HIATUS!!! it's unfinished and will stay that way. Take as you will...

Warnings: childhood friends to lovers, smut, mentions of cheating, cowboy!Mick, oral sex

You and Mick met through Karting all those years ago, surprisingly you never fell apart. Mick's eyes where set in F1 while you where mainly there for the fun of it. It never stopped the fire between you both. Through out your teenage years you where on and off dating, not the best thing. It was hard with you focusing on your studies and Mick here there and everywhere. So you ended the whole dating thing for good. Now you where a F1 journalist for sky sports and got to see Mick almost 24/7. You wish you two had kept you teen romance alive because deep down you still believed Mick was the man for you, Mick on the other hand had a girlfriend. You had never actually seen Mick's girlfriend with him. It was quite sad honestly. Knowing how often you two where together and she had never been around. The year and a half they had been dating she didn't even come to support him at a race.

To make travelling easier you usually travelled with Mick and even shared a hotel room with him. So when he came back to the hotel room by slamming his keys on the kitchen island it easily got your attention. "What's up, Mick?" You ask, a hum for a response was not the one you anticipated. He walked off towards his bedroom. You decided to let Mick calm down as he seemed to be a bit fed up with something.

About 40 minutes had past and you had assumed Mick had just woken up from a nap by the state of his hair, "y/n," he sighed sitting next to you on the cold leather couch, "Mick," you reply, "my girlfriend cheated again..." He said in a monotone voice. You turn to Mick and look him in the eyes, "are you fucking serious? She does this almost every race weekend youre gone!" You say raising you voice, Mick looks down in disappointment, "I swear to god, how did you find out this time?" You ask Mick, "the hookup sent me a DM. He said showing you the message on his phone, 'thanks for letting me have your girl ;)' you read, "ew that's gross," you said, "have you messaged her?" "No," Mick said back, "ugh I'll do it, " you demand, "no!" Mick said pulling his phone away, "why? She keeps doing this Mick, how long are you going to keep playing her game for?" Mick nodded his head and handed you his phone...

Let's say by the end of the night Mick was again a single man. Though it wasn't sure how long it would last, he was again alone.

Weeks went by and you and Mick had became 'just talking' or so they thought. It was another day and you had found yourself at Mick's house. An average afternoon with both of you in your talks, "y/n have I ever told you this?" Mick asked with a giggle, "umm what?" "You caused my first orgasm..." You sat there shook, a million thoughts ran through your head, "when what's this? How do you remember?" You ask trying not to laugh. A part of you was proud. "Umm year 9..." Mick blurted, "and how?" You ask, "I got a picture of you and had a wank..." Mick said partly ashamed, you and Mick had only ever had sex together once and it was a drunken mistake at your 19th birthday party, to hear this from Mick you only had one more question, "where we dating when you did it?" He shook his head. You honestly weren't to surprised, untill Mick unexpectedly whispered into your ear, "and I expect you to give me my next orgasm," you turn to face him and you see him wink and walk towards his bedroom, you followed your instincts and went with him.

He let you in through the door, "smart choice," he stated looking at you with lust, you grabbed his shoulder and pulled yourself towards Mick, looking up at him and staring at this plump lips. "I can see you staring.." he said before connecting his lips with yours. Making out, Mick had taken over dominance and the room was full of loud breathing and small moans. Mick pulled away and walked over to his closet where he pulled out his cowboy hat, "remember at my 19th where we were all at the ranch? Well, you stole my hat and never returned the favour," He said, "wear the hat ride the cowboy, missy," Mick said then signalling with his finger for you to get in your knees. Mick walked back over to you and put the hat on your head.

You lent the hat back so you could see Mick better. You watch Mick pull his hoodie over his head, you start to caress his hard abs. Before you pull his sweatpants down. Leaving Mick in his boxers you palm him through them.

Quick enough you where both fully undressed, you started to stroke Mick's hard length before putting him in your mouth. You started moving your mouth over is length, quickly fastening the pace. Bobbing you head up and down, Mick's cock started to twitch in your mouth. The grip you had on the back of his thighs tightened as Mick took control thrusting his cock down your throat. "Fuck," Mick moaned just before his cum exploded in your mouth and down your throat. Swallowing his liquids Mick pulled you up off your knees, "on the bed, cowboy," you said with a giggle. Mick layed on his bed and you slowly crawled ontop of him.

You grabbed his cock and lined it up with you hole as you slowly lowered yourself onto Mick.

[sequenceshift-blog]

SequenceShift Starlo

It's been a while since I've put out anything for SequenceShift. So, I decided to start rambling about my depictions of Undertale Yellow characters in my AU. I decided to go with Starlo, mainly due to @profounddefendorcrusade-blog and their posts about him.

So, what's the deal with Starlo in SequenceShift?

Sorry for a lack of pictures btw.

Well, like UTY Starlo, he was childhood friends with Ceroba and the Sheriff of the Wild East. For a time, he was pretty much almost entirely identical to how he is in vanilla UTY.

Until the massacre of the Wild East.

Basically, a Renegade human (NOT one of the six souls) made their way underground, falling into the Barrens, and started laying waste to the Wild East. Almost half of its inhabitants were killed and Starlo was just barely able to take down the invader.

This basically mentally broke him. He had believed in Western culture without any of its actual drawbacks, only to have to come to terms with the harsh realities of lawbringing. Now many of his friends were gone and the community he worked so hard to build was shattered. However, he eventually started to take this as a learning experience into becoming an actually responsible and competent lawbringer. He swore himself into Ceroba's service, trained to become a deadly combatant, and was eventually made Chief of the newly formed Royal Rangers. Rather than just pretending to be badass, he genuinely became badass with the goal of making sure nothing like the Wild East Massacre happens ever again.

Unfortunately, this came with its own flaws.

He and the Feisty Four started to grow distant from one another, despite them being core members of the Rangers. This was a mix of trauma and their new jobs. Eventually they started seeing each other less as friends and more as coworkers, with only Moray and Mooch truly sticking together. This didn't really help Starlo, who devoted himself even more to Ceroba.

At his core, he's still the same kind-hearted, dorky farmboy who's looking out for his friends and community, which ties into his main motivation. He wants to make Ceroba, his best friend, happy again. However, he is willing to go to drastic measures to accomplish that, even if he knows it's wrong.

On a Pacifist/Light Neutral run, he still shows off that cowboy persona of his. He still wears his poncho and sheriff's badge over his Ranger uniform and holds a lot of the same demeanor, even if it's not as prominent. It's used as a coping mechanism (with him still yearning for that escapist Western fantasy he was living out) and to help cheer up those around him. He keeps up this persona, hoping to be able to willingly bring Clover to Ceroba. He only drops it at the end of the Barrens, where he (reluctantly) attacks Clover after they show that they aren't going to just go with him.

However, cracks start to show in his persona the more monsters Clover kills. He starts simply being passive aggressive, but the more ruthless a neutral run is, the more hostile he becomes, showing more of that darker anti-hero side. Should go without saying, but it becomes especially apparent if Clover kills any of the Feisty Four. This reaches its lowest point in the Vengeance/No Mercy route, where straight up ditches the poncho and badge, instead wearing his Ranger uniform on full display, showing that he's fully embraced his role as a ruthless lawbringer.

However, on a Pacifist run, he can be convinced to see the error of his ways. His version of Undyne's Friendship interactions has Clover and Dina bringing the Feisty Five back together, which definitely improves Starlo's morale and mental state. This eventually leads him to take a stand against Ceroba, not because he's disillusioned with her. Rather it's because he still cares for her as a friend (no matter how much wrong she's done) and knows that by continuing to collect human souls for Project Integrity, she's only digging herself into a bigger hole.

Tl;dr: Starlo in SequenceShift has the same cowboy persona, but hides a more ruthless antihero side beneath that. However, even that's a mask for the same kind-hearted, dorky farmer who just wants to make his best friend happy.

Thanks for indulging in my ramblings. It's good to be talking about my AU again. If you wanna hear more about any of the other characters (or if I missed something about Starlo), feel free to hit me up!