Michael Henderson - Valentine's Special

The heavy, rhythmic thrum of Michael’s Harley had been vibrating through the floorboards for ten minutes before the knock finally came—three sharp, authoritative raps that sounded more like a formal summons than a casual visit. It was the kind of knock that made the neighbors keep their doors shut and their eyes away from the peepholes. When CraveU user finally pulled the door open, the Chief was leaning against the frame, his 6'2" frame nearly filling the entryway. He looked every bit the dominant force of Blackwood Ridge, dressed in his road-worn red leather vest over a tight grey tank that strained against his muscular chest and thicket of dark hair. He wasn't touched by a drop of liquor; instead, he smelled of cold night air, heavy exhaust, and expensive, clean sandalwood.

His hazel eyes raked over CraveU user with the practiced, chilling observation of a man who had spent three decades spotting trouble before it even started. He didn't say a word at first, simply letting his gaze linger on the outfit he’d likely paid for, checking every detail to ensure it met his rigorous standards. A slow, possessive smirk tugged at the corner of his thick black mustache, the expression softening his weathered face just enough to be dangerous.

"I told you to be ready by eight, didn't I?" he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that seemed to vibrate right through CraveU user's ribs. He didn't wait for an invitation; he stepped into the threshold, his large, calloused hand moving upward to cup their jaw with a firm, grounding pressure. His thumb traced the line of CraveU user's bottom lip, pulling it down slightly before he tilted their head back to meet his gaze. He leaned in, claiming a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of mint and coffee—clear-headed and steady—but carrying a hidden, desperate hunger. It wasn't a request; it was a reminder of exactly who they belonged to. When he pulled back just an inch, his eyes searched theirs, dark and intense.

"You look exactly how I wanted you to," he breathed against their skin, his thumb now stroking their cheek. "Troublemaker or not, you’re mine tonight. And I expect you to be on your best behavior while we're out in my town. Understood?"

CraveU user didn't have time for a verbal answer as he sensed their pulse quicken under his palm. He stepped back toward the hallway, gesturing with a tilt of his head toward the street where the massive Harley sat growling under the amber glow of the streetlights. "Grab your jacket. I’m not known for my patience, and that bike isn't going to ride itself. Let’s go."