hailtheaeon

[hailtheaeon]

This was so beautiful and heart wrenching yet so fluffy at the end and I loved it. I love you work, and I love YOU. please read this!!!

SERVITUDE

One-shot ~ Sam Kiszka x reader

Summary: Driven by the values of misguided past relationships, Sam realises he needs to teach you that when you say no, it means no.

Word Count: 3.2k +

Content Warnings: Past trauma/ implied manipulation, feelings of owing someone sexually, guilt, flirting, kissing, talks of blow jobs and sex, lots of talks of consent. This one was hard to describe, so if I missed any please lmk!

♡

The kitchen smelled like butter and garlic, warm and rich, clinging to the air. Sam stood at the stove, stirring something in a pan with one hand and nursing a glass of red wine with the other. The low hum of a record player filled the space— Fleetwood Mac, some deep cut he swore was better than their hits. You leaned against the counter, wine in hand, watching him with an easy smile.

“Y’know,” he mused, glancing at you through the strands of dark hair that had fallen into his face, “I think I’d make a damn good house husband.”

You snorted. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, turning off the burner and setting the pan aside before sauntering over to you. “I’d cook you dinner every night, rub your feet after a long day…” He rested a hand on the counter beside you, caging you in just slightly. “Tuck you into bed nice and tight.” His voice dropped, something low and honeyed curling in the space between you.

You laughed, tipping your head back just slightly. “Tuck me into bed? Sounds very wholesome.”

“Oh, I can be wholesome,” he said, his other hand finding your waist, warm through the fabric of your sweater. “I can also be…” His fingers flexed, pressing a little firmer against your side. “Not wholesome.”

“You’re so stupid,” you giggled, playfully pushing him off you. Your stomach fluttered at the playful suggestiveness in his tone. Sam was like this sometimes— charming, affectionate, full of easy, physical warmth. It was part of why you liked being around him. He was a person who touched without hesitation, a hand at the small of your back, a squeeze to your knee, a nudge of his shoulder against yours. Tonight, though, like many others, there was something extra in the way he looked at you, in the way he was touching you.

“Are you gonna help me set the table, or are you too busy being a menace?” you teased.

He grinned, all dimples and mischief. “Fine, fine. But only because I want to feed you before I—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” you warned, and he only laughed, stepping away but dragging his fingers down your side as he went.

After he practically melted into you in the kitchen, he followed you everywhere—brushing up against you while you did the dishes, slipping his arms around your waist when you were at the sink, pressing slow, lazy kisses to your neck every chance he got. He was touchy, needy, but not in a demanding way—just in that warm, familiar way that made it hard to say no to him.

Dinner was amazing. Sam kept the wine coming, kept the conversation light, but his hands never strayed far. A palm to your knee, his fingers tracing slow circles on your bare skin. A touch at your wrist when he refilled your glass. His foot nudging yours under the table. You laughed when he twirled his fork dramatically before taking a bite, and he grinned when you licked sauce from your thumb. It was nice, this kind of attention— being wanted, being adored.

And yet, the warmth of it never quite settled deep in your stomach the way it should. His touches were good, wanted, but they didn’t light anything up anything other than love in you. Not in the way they should have. Not lust. 

By the time you were curled up on the couch, he was all over you again, draped across your lap with his fingers idly tracing your skin. He tilted his head back to look at you, grinning like a man with a plan.

“You are so, so beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with affection, fingers trailing along the hem of your shirt.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re laying it on really thick tonight.”

He smirked, his hand slipping under your shirt to rest warm against your waist. “Can’t help it.” He leaned up, pressing a slow kiss to your lips, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. It was soft at first, then deeper, more insistent, his thumb brushing along your jaw as he kissed you again and again, like he couldn’t get enough.

You kissed him back, letting yourself sink into it, because denying Sam when he was like this felt impossible.

So when he leaned in, you let him kiss you.

It started sweet, playful, just like everything else with him. His lips moved against yours with an unhurried confidence, the kind that made you smile against his mouth. He took that as encouragement, hands finding your waist, drawing you in closer. You let yourself melt into it, let yourself enjoy the way he felt against you, the way he sighed into your mouth like he was savoring the taste of you.

And you did want this. You wanted him. You wanted to be close, wanted the heat of his hands, wanted the affectionate press of his lips against your skin.

But there was no pull. No low ache, no heat curling in your stomach, no real desire beyond the sweetness of the moment. The kisses felt good, the way he touched you felt good, but that was all it was— just good.

He didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in you, in the way you let him kiss you back. His hands wandered, slow and deliberate, over your back, your sides, tracing the curve of your hip. He murmured something against your mouth— your name, maybe, or something soft and needy— and you felt the shift in him. The way he was pressing closer now, the way his fingers gripped you with something more than just affection.

His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, your neck, open-mouthed and wanting. You let out a breathy laugh, threading your fingers through his hair, enjoying the moment for what it was. You weren’t in the mood, but it didn’t mean you didn’t love the way he loved on you– and it especially didn't mean that Sam wasn't too. 

But then his fingers brushed the hem of your shirt, his hands starting to wander lower, and you knew exactly where this was heading.

Gently, you caught his wrists, pulling back just slightly. “Sam.”

He stilled immediately, lifting his head to look at you. His lips were kiss-swollen, eyes dark, but the moment he saw your face, some of the heat flickered away.

“I’m… sorry, I don’t really feel like that tonight. I’m not really in the mood,” you said softly.

Sam didn’t speak right away, just blinked, like he needed a second to process your words. The moment stretched, just long enough for doubt to creep in.

“Oh, I’m sorry baby, I didn’t realise. Got a little carried away,” he smiled, kissing your cheek tenderly as he pulled back just slightly– enough to show that there was no expectation, but still close enough to show you he was there. 

A little pang of guilt, curled low in your stomach.  You weren’t uncomfortable, you weren’t scared, you just… weren’t feeling it. Did it really matter?

It wasn’t like it would hurt you to just go with it. Sam was turned on, and you had been the one kissing him, inviting this, letting him touch you like this. You’d let things get to this point. And wasn’t that kind of unfair? To start something and then pull away?

That’s just how relationships worked. You took care of each other.

You’d learned that early on—how to be good for someone, how to make sure they never had a reason to be disappointed in you. It wasn’t always about wanting to. Sometimes, it was just about showing up, about proving that you cared, about making sure they never had to go without. Because when you love someone, their pleasure should be enough.

And Sam wasn’t asking you to do anything. He never would. But he didn’t have to. You knew what he wanted, and you could give it to him– despite whether you wanted it too or not. That was what you were supposed to do.

So before he could say anything, before he could even fully register your words, you shook your head a little, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” you said, voice softer now, like you were soothing over something.

And then, before you could think better of it, you reached up, pulling the hair tie from your wrist, gathering your hair into a loose ponytail. 

Sam pulled back slightly, brow furrowing. “What are you—”

You shifted, sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach. When your fingers brushed the waistband of his jeans, he tensed.

“Wait, hold on.” His hands wrapped around your wrists before you could go any further. “What are you doing?”

You blinked up at him. “I mean… you’re still turned on.”

“So?”

“So, I can give you—”

“No, no, no.” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “Babe, what?”

You stared at him, a little confused by his reaction. “I just figured—”

“That if you’re not into it, you should just do it anyway?” His voice was still soft, but there was an edge of disbelief to it now.

You hesitated. “I thought— it’s just… what you do.”

His brows furrowed deeper. “No, it’s not.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, not really sure what to say to that. Because it was. It always had been.

Sam sighed, squeezing your wrists gently before lowering your hands away from his jeans. But instead of letting you go, he just held them, rubbing slow circles into your skin with his thumbs.

“I want you,” he said simply. “Not just… something from you.”

Your chest went tight at that, something akin to understanding clawing its way to the surface. I want you. The words settled heavily in your mind, twisting into something you weren’t sure you understood.

Not just something from you.

You swallowed. So he doesn’t want a blowjob. He wants sex.

Heat prickled at your skin, a mix of confusion and embarrassment rising in your chest. You felt stupid for misreading it, for assuming he’d be fine with just that. Maybe he was fine with it, but he wanted more, and now you’d put this weird pause in the middle of everything. You hadn’t meant to kill the mood.

And if that’s what he needed— if he was really that worked up, if he needed more from you— then you could do it. It wasn’t like you didn’t love him. And wasn’t that what you were supposed to do? Relationships were about giving. About showing up for your partner. About making sure they felt wanted, even when you weren’t really feeling it yourself.

So you swallowed down the lump in your throat, shifted slightly, and forced a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, voice softer now, smoothing over the moment like you were the one comforting him. “I can do that too.”

Sam’s frown deepened. “Do what?”

You hesitated. “Have sex.”

“What?” His voice was quieter now, still surprised but gentler, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile.

Your stomach dropped, again. You hadn’t meant to say the wrong thing. You hadn’t meant to get it wrong. But from the look on his face, you had.

“I mean, if that’s what you want—”

“Hold on, hold on.” He dropped your wrists like they burned him, running a hand through his hair and pulled away as much as he could on the small couch, looking at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You think I meant—? No baby, what the fuck?”

Your stomach tightened. “I just meant—”

“No,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “What do you mean, ‘it’s okay, I can do that too’? What— like you’d just let me fuck you even though you don’t want to?” His voice wasn’t angry, exactly, but there was something sharp in it, something full of disbelief.

You shifted uncomfortably. “I… I don't know”

His face twisted again, and he let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Jesus Christ.”

You frowned. You didn’t get it. Embarrassment clawed at your chest and you looked at your lap. 

“You just told me you’re not in the mood, and now you’re saying you’ll just push through for my sake?” He gestured vaguely between you. “You think I only care about getting off?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. Because you didn’t think that, not really. Not about Sam. But it was what you were used to, what you’d learned from past relationships. If your partner wanted something and you didn’t, you did it anyway. Because that’s what you were supposed to do. Right?

Sam seemed to see the hesitance in your face, because something in his expression softened, just slightly. But it didn’t stop the frustration in his voice when he said, “Baby, no. That’s not how this works. That’s not how we work.”

You sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I just don’t want to let you down.”

That stopped him cold. His brows pulled together, something almost pained flashing in his eyes. “Let me down?”

You looked away, shrugging. “I dunno. It’s just… I don’t know.”

Sam let out a breath, running a hand over his face before leaning closer again, lowering his voice like he was trying to get you to really hear him. “Listen to me. I don’t ever want you to do something just because you think you have to. Especially not with me.”

You didn’t say anything, chewing your lip.

He sighed again, reaching out to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “When I said I wanted you, I meant you. Not just your body. Not sex, not a blow job— you.” He shook his head. “And if you don’t want it, then I really don’t want it.”

Something cracked in your chest at that, raw and unfamiliar.

Sam studied your face for a long moment, then exhaled, like he was finally letting go of whatever frustration had built up. His hand slipped down from your jaw, tracing lightly over your arm before he laced his fingers through yours. He gave your hand a squeeze, grounding, reassuring.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, softer now. “Okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding.

“Say it,” he pressed gently. “I need to hear you say it.”

You hesitated, cheeks flushing, then, quieter, “I don’t owe you anything.”

A slow, lopsided smile pulled at his lips. “That’s my girl.” He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before tugging you toward the couch. “Now, c’mon. You’re curling up with me, and we’re watching a stupid movie.”

You let out a small laugh, the knot in your chest loosening just a little. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” He grinned, flopping onto the couch and opening his arms to you. “Now get over here.”

You smiled bashfully before you settled into his arms, your head against his chest, but your mind still whirred, turning over the past few minutes like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. You felt… off. Not bad, not ashamed, but something else— something like confusion, like uncertainty, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Your fingers curled slightly in the fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry,” you murmured.

Sam sighed, shifting so he could look down at you. “What are you sorry for?”

You shrugged against him. “I don’t know. I still just… feel like I did something wrong.”

His brows pulled together, and his grip on you tightened— gentle, not suffocating, like he was holding you steady. 

You let out a breath, still unsure. “I feel like I messed something up.”

He exhaled slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before trailing his fingers down your arm, touch light and soothing. “Babe, listen. The only thing that wasn’t okay was you thinking you had to push through something you didn’t want.” His voice was soft but firm. “That’s what’s not okay. Not saying no.”

You sighed against his chest. 

“But you don't need to be sorry. You were confused. We just need to make sure nothing like that happens again. Be straight with me,” he explained, lips brushing the top of your head, and flat palm stroking over your back comfortingly. 

You chewed your lip, staring at where your hands rested against his chest. “…It just felt like I was supposed to.”

His grip on you tightened just slightly. “You weren’t.”

You nodded, but you weren’t sure it had fully sunk in yet.

Sam seemed to sense that because he took a breath, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his gaze. His eyes were warm, steady, filled with something so patient it made your throat tight.

“I need you to tell me when you don’t want something,” he said, each word deliberate. “Even if you think it’s dumb, even if you think it doesn’t matter. It matters to me. A lot.”

You swallowed, trying to process the sincerity in his voice.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch almost reverent. “I want to make love with you,” he murmured. “Not at you.”

Something in your chest ached in a slow, gentle unraveling.

“I don’t just want you to be there,” he continued. “I want you here, with me. That’s the whole point.” He shook his head slightly. “And if you’re not, if you don’t want it, then neither do I. Because it’s not just about getting off. It’s us. And if we're not both having a good time, then what’s the point?”

Your fingers tightened in his shirt. It made sense. Too much sense. 

Sam sighed, pressing a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a long moment. Then, in a softer voice, “I just want you. Even if it’s just like this. Actually, especially if it's just like this.”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight in your chest easing just slightly. “Okay.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, eyes searching. “You get it now, beautiful?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he pulled you closer, tucking you against his chest like he was trying to shield you from whatever old ghosts had wormed their way into your head.

For a long while, neither of you said anything.

Then, quietly, you murmured, “Thanks for being nice to me.”

Sam huffed out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Bare minimum, sweetheart.”

You smiled a little against his chest, your body finally starting to relax, your brain rewiring itself one gentle touch at a time.

“I just want you with me,” Sam murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. “No pretending. Just you. Always.”

Something deep inside you softened, like an old bruise finally healing. And though you didn't know how to say it out loud, you felt the weight of his words settle around you. They didn’t need to be said again.

You squeezed him a little tighter, your body fitting perfectly against his. "I'm lucky to have you," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could even stop them.

Sam didn’t respond right away, but when he did, he squeezed you back, nuzzling his face into your hair. “I’m the lucky one, baby. I’m the lucky one.”

♡

Tag List: @frogkiszka @hailtheaeon @allof--mylove @scarabsinthestardust @musicislove3389

[hailtheaeon]

☆ HAILTHEAEON’S MASTERLIST☆

REQUESTS OPEN!!

TAGLIST

☆-smut

❀-fluff

☾-angst

ANYTHING WITH A ☆ IS 18+

remember, you control your internet experience

JOSH KISZKA

ONESHOTS:

WAH WAH ☾ ☆

HOWLIN’ FOR YOU ☆

JAKE KISZKA

ONESHOTS:

SPELL ON YOU ☆

SAM KISZKA

DANNY WAGNER

[hailtheaeon]

i love your work 🌝

are you working on anything or like have a tag list or something cause i’m checking your page daily to see if there’s a fic

I am working on a series and I have a fic I’m posting today that I’ve forgotten to post! Your words are so sweet! I’m working on a master list lol!

And my tag list is here

If you have any fic requests feel free to send them to my messages or asks!

[hailtheaeon]

She’s not a writer guys it’s all chatgpt (this is propaganda I’m a LIAR) (I’m legally required to reblog please help me she keeps me chained outside)

CURLS

Two-Shot Part 2 ~ Danny Wagner x Female Reader ༘ Link to Part 1

Summary: When Danny is overworked, exhausted, and a little run down, you help him do his curl routine, along with some much needed TLC, when he doesn't have the energy to do it himself. A/N: This was requested and I absolutely loved the idea! Also decided to just make it a part 2 to my other curls fic, hope you like!

Word Count: 5.2k+

Content Warnings: flirting, kissing, caretaking, mentions of potential sickness, overworked, weakness and vulnerability, apprehension to sex, reassurance, so so much fluff.

༘

The day had started fine— normal, even. But as the hours passed, Danny seemed to weaken. The sluggishness in his limbs, the dull ache behind his eyes, the way his attention couldn't focus for the life of him on anything anyone was saying. He ignored it at first, brushing it off as exhaustion from travel, a late night, or just the usual pre-show jitters. But by soundcheck, the weight in his body had settled deep, a fatigue that made every movement feel just a little heavier than it should.

You noticed. Of course, you did.

“You feeling okay, baby?” you murmured, pressing close to him backstage, your fingers skimming over his arms. His skin was warm—a little too warm— but he just shook his head, offering you a lopsided grin.

“’M fine,” he muttered, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Just tired. I’ll power through.”

You frowned, not entirely convinced. “Danny—”

He cut you off with another kiss, this time to your lips, lingering just enough to make you sigh. “I got this,” he promised, voice quiet but firm.

And he did. Mostly.

On stage, the adrenaline helped at first. His arms moved through the motions, muscle memory carrying him through the set. But the burn set in faster than usual, his limbs dragging, his body protesting with every crash of the cymbals. Sweat dripped down his back, soaking into his shirt, and every inhale felt heavier than the last. He made a few mistakes— nothing major, nothing that anyone but the band would notice—but each one gnawed at him, frustration curling in his chest.

Still, he pushed through. He always did.

But by the time the last song ended and the stage lights dimmed, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay upright.

As the final notes of the set rang out, Danny barely had the strength to lift his sticks for a last hit. His arms burned, his whole body heavy with exhaustion, but he powered through, giving the crowd that final moment. The roar of their cheers was deafening, but it felt distant, muffled beneath the thick fog of fatigue settling over him.

Backstage, he barely made it two steps before you were in front of him, concern already written across your face. The second he reached you, he all but collapsed into your arms, wrapping himself around you like he was trying to absorb your warmth. His skin was hot, sweat-damp, and his forehead dropped onto your shoulder with a low, exhausted grumble.

“Oh, baby…” You ran a hand through his damp curls, fingers tangling in them as you held him close. “You did amazing.”

Danny hummed, barely acknowledging your words, but you felt the way he melted into your touch. His hands gripped your waist, grounding himself, and you could feel his chest rising and falling with deep, slow breaths.

Josh clapped a hand on Danny’s back, grinning. “Post-show drinks?”

Before Danny could answer, you spoke for him. “Nope. We’re going back to the hotel.”

Danny let out a quiet huff against your skin, but he didn’t fight it. Sam smirked, and Jake gave a knowing nod.

“Fair enough,” Jake mused, eyes flicking to Danny, who still hadn’t moved from where he was clinging to you. You kissed the side of Danny’s head.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, Danny curled up against you in the car, his head resting on your shoulder, the soft rise and fall of his breathing telling you he was on the edge of sleep. You rubbed slow circles into his back, feeling the way his muscles tensed and relaxed under your touch.

When you finally got him into the room, you tried to guide him toward the bed, already reaching for the hem of his damp shirt. “Come on, baby, let’s get you into bed.”

But Danny shook his head, barely lifting it. “I need a shower,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and thick with exhaustion. “Feel gross.”

You pressed your lips together, studying him. He did look miserable, his skin still glistening with sweat, the damp curls at his temples sticking to his forehead. Even his shirt clung to him, soaked through.

You sighed, cupping his face gently. “Are you sure? You’re exhausted.”

He gave you a sleepy, lopsided smile. “I won’t sleep like this.”

You huffed. “Fine,” you relented, rolling your eyes with affection. “But I’m helping.”

Danny let you pull him toward the bathroom sluggishly. He braced himself against the counter, head hanging low. His shoulders rose and fell with deep, steadying breaths, exhaustion written into every inch of his body. You moved in behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his slick, overheated back

“I’m sorry you feel this way, Honey,” you mumbled against him. 

“‘S okay. Not your fault,” he assured. You slid your hand beneath his shirt and stroked your palm against his waist comfortingly. He sighed, head tilting slightly toward your shoulder, but he didn’t resist when you reached for the hem of his damp shirt. You peeled it away slowly, the fabric clinging to his overheated skin, revealing his torso in the mirror and the long stretch of his back to you, muscles tense beneath the sheen of sweat. You pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, feeling the way he exhaled, his body relaxing just a little.

Your fingers traced over his ribs, feeling the heat radiating from him before you moved to the waistband of his jeans. You worked the button free, dragging the zipper down, your knuckles brushing against his stomach. His breath hitched, and you pushed them and his boxers over his hips, letting them pool at his feet.

He stepped out of them sluggishly, exhaustion making his movements heavy, almost clumsy. When you knelt to tug off his socks, he swayed slightly, bracing a hand against the counter. You steadied him with a hand on his thigh, fingers squeezing gently before trailing down to his calf.

When you stood again, his tired eyes met yours in the mirror, dark and hazy with something softer than exhaustion. Love.

“You too,” he murmured, voice thick with something warm and deep. His hands found the hem of your shirt, and though his fingers were sluggish, uncoordinated, he helped drag it over your head. His hands smoothed down your sides, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing the feel of you.

You helped him unclip your bra, and when it slipped from your shoulders, he let out the faintest sigh, his fingertips tracing down your arms. His hands found your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft curves as he dipped down, kissing the side of your neck.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against your skin. Warmth rushed through you, making you shiver. 

You turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature before stepping in with him, not before throwing up your hair into a bun, not wanting to get it wet. The second the water hit his skin, he exhaled deeply, tilting his head back, letting the stream fall directly over his face and drip down his exhausted body. His whole body relaxed, shoulders dropping, muscles unwinding under the steady pressure.

You reached for the shampoo, stepping behind him. “Let me.”

Danny obeyed without question, leaning into your touch as your fingers worked through his curls. His head dropped backward slightly, eyes slipping shut as you massaged his scalp, lathering the shampoo with slow, careful movements.

He stopped you for a moment so that he could turn around. His hands found your waist, gripping softly, grounding himself. “Feels good,” he mumbled.

You smiled, dragging your nails lightly over his scalp. “Yeah?”

His only response was a quiet groan, his fingers squeezing at your hips before sliding lower, resting against the small of your back. He was practically melting under your hands, his whole body pliant and warm, completely giving himself over to you

“Jesus,” he murmured, voice raspy. “You always know how to take care of me.”

Your chest ached at the softness in his tone. “Someone has to,” you teased gently, fingers pressing into his scalp.

Danny let out a deep, contented groan, swaying slightly. You steadied him with a hand on his waist, pressing your body against his back to keep him upright.

“I don’t think I’m sick,” he mumbled after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I think I’m just… run down. All the traveling, the shows.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I just need sleep.”

You rinsed the shampoo from his hair, careful not to let any get in his eyes. “That makes sense,” you murmured. “And I’m gonna make sure you get it— right after this.”

Danny let out a tired groan. “Got an interview tomorrow morning… I need to do my hair tonight.”

You hummed, squeezing more of his curl shampoo into your palms before working it into his damp strands. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I know your routine— I’ll do it for you.”

His groans shifted into something softer, almost a moan, as your nails gently scratched at his scalp. “You’re a godsend,” he mumbled, completely melting under your touch.

His tired eyes found yours then, and for a moment, he just looked at you, quiet and unguarded. Then he lifted a hand, dragging his fingers over your cheek, down to your jaw.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice so soft it almost didn’t reach you over the sound of the water. “You know that, right?”

Your breath caught, warmth rising to your cheeks. “Danny—”

“No, I mean it.” His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his eyes full of something deep and consuming. “You take care of me, you love me, you’re always here… I don’t deserve you.”

You cupped his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Don’t ever say that.” Your voice was firm, unwavering. “You deserve everything, Danny.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes flickering with something unspoken. Then, without another word, he kissed you.

It was short but soft, and weak, and when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm and steady against your lips. “I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too.”

You spun him around so that his back was facing you again and tilted his head back slightly, running your fingers through his curls as you rinsed out the shampoo, making sure no suds trickled down into his eyes. Water streamed down his back, catching on the curve of his shoulders, and you took a moment just to look at him— really look at him. His body was still heavy with exhaustion, his limbs loose, his posture relaxed but somehow still carrying traces of tension.

As you smoothed a hand over his neck, you hummed, more thinking out loud than anything. “You always hold so much tension right here.” Your fingers traced over the firm muscle at the base of his neck. “Do you notice? Or are you just used to it?”

Danny made a small sound, something between a grunt and a chuckle. “Dunno. Probably the second one.”

You sighed, shaking your head fondly as your thumbs pressed into the tight muscles there, working them loose with slow, deliberate motions. “You need to let me do this for you more often,” you murmured. “You walk around like you’ve got the weight of the world on your back.”

“Maybe I do,” he said, voice low, a little teasing.

You scoffed, letting your fingers skim down his spine. “Well, if that’s the case, you should at least stretch more. Maybe get into yoga or something, before the world falls off.”

Danny let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it tapered off into a deep, satisfied sigh as you kneaded your thumbs between his shoulder blades. His head tipped forward slightly, his damp curls falling into his face.

You smiled, reaching for the conditioner. As you rubbed it between your palms, you let your gaze wander over him again, catching on little details that felt so familiar— his freckled shoulders, the slope of his spine, the way his ribs expanded with each deep breath.

“I love your back,” you said absently, threading your fingers through his curls, coating them with the thick cream. “Have I ever told you that?”

Danny made a soft sound of acknowledgment, tipping his head back slightly as you worked.

“I just think it’s nice. Strong, but soft in places. And I love the way it moves when you play,” you added with a small laugh.

He hummed, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the tiled wall. “M’glad you like it,” he mumbled, voice loose and warm.

You smiled, combing the conditioner through his curls, making sure every strand was coated. “I should start charging for this,” you mused, half-joking. “You’re getting the full salon treatment.”

Danny let out a low, contented groan as your fingers scratched lightly over his scalp. “If this is a salon, I’m never leaving.”

You grinned, letting your touch linger for a moment before smoothing your hands down his back again. “Let that sit for a minute,” you murmured, leaving his conditioner hair to sit against his skin.

Instead of just waiting, you pressed your thumbs into the muscles at the base of his spine, working them loose with slow, careful motions. Danny exhaled sharply, his body sagging forward slightly.

His head dropped forward, his shoulders rising with the force of his sigh, and for a moment, you thought maybe he’d fallen asleep standing. But then another soft groan slipped from his lips— so raw, so unguarded— that you knew he was still with you.

“Jesus, baby,” he rasped. “That feels unreal.”

You smiled, pressing another gentle kiss between his shoulder blades. “I love you,” you murmured against his skin. “And I love this— being able to take care of you.” Your hands moved lower, working into the tight muscles at the base of his spine. “I love that you let me.”

His body sagged into your touch, completely pliant under your hands, and it was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him. Not in the way exhaustion had made him weak, but in the way he allowed himself to be cared for, to be loved so deeply without resistance.

You continued massaging him, your fingers tracing the lines of his back, smoothing over each knot of tension with patience, with love. And when the last bit of tightness melted away beneath your touch, you reached for the water, rinsing the conditioner from his curls, careful and thorough until his hair was soft and clean beneath your touch. As the last of the conditioner spiraled down the drain, you smoothed your hands over his shoulders, feeling the lingering warmth of his skin beneath the water.

“You still with me?” you murmured, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

Danny hummed, tilting his head slightly toward you. “Mhm. Barely.”

You smiled, reaching for the body wash. “Alright, baby. Just a little longer.”

You lathered the soap between your hands before smoothing it over his skin, your hands gliding over his shoulders, down his chest, working the soap into his flushed skin. 

You lathered the soap between your hands before smoothing it over his skin, your hands gliding over his shoulders, down his chest, working the soap into his flushed skin.

Gently, you pressed your palms against his ribs, coaxing him to turn. “C’mon, let me get the front,” you murmured.

Danny moved slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion, but he let you guide him, shifting to face you fully. The water cascaded down his chest, rivulets streaming over the defined muscles of his torso. You smoothed your hands over his collarbones first, then down the broad plane of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

His skin was damp and pliant, his muscles subtly flexing beneath your touch as you worked the soap over him. Your thumbs traced along the curve of his pecs, then down the center of his stomach, following the dips and ridges. “You’re so warm,” you mused softly, letting your hands wander with careful, deliberate strokes. “I swear, you run hotter than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Danny let out a small breath of laughter, his eyes flickering open to meet yours. “Built-in heater, baby,” he murmured, voice heavy with sleep.

“Yeah, or you’re sick,” you said absentmindedly, your fingers pressing lightly into his stomach.

Danny frowned immediately, his brows knitting together. “I’m not sick,” he muttered, his voice a little defensive. “Just run down. Overworked.”

You ran your hands over his abdomen again, your touch gentler this time. “Either way, you just need to rest, baby,” you murmured, smoothing the soap over his skin. “That’s all.”

You kept your hands moving, working the soap over his skin in slow, steady strokes. His arms, his sides—everywhere you could reach. You ran your palms down his biceps, smoothing over the taut muscles, then trailed lower, rubbing gentle circles into his hips where they ached from exhaustion.

Tilting your head, you reached for his wrist, lifting his arm just enough to glide the soap along the length of it, then down to his hand, threading your fingers briefly through his before letting go. Danny barely reacted, his body loose and pliant beneath your touch, only murmuring a quiet hum of contentment when you reached his stomach again, your touch soft and deliberate.

Your hands drifted lower, smoothing over the curve of his hip before gliding across the swell of his ass, the firm muscle yielding slightly beneath your touch. You let your fingers trail over the subtle ridges of his skin, the way the water beaded and slipped down his back. Moving with care, you traced over the two dimples at the small of his back, following the natural dip of his spine before sweeping forward, your palms skimming along his lower abdomen.

The coarse hair over his pubic bone met your touch, damp and soft beneath your fingers as you lathered the soap, washing with slow, deliberate movements. You felt him exhale, his stomach tensing briefly before relaxing again. He let you guide him, trusting, open, his exhaustion evident in the way he leaned into your touch rather than shying away.

You moved lower, hands smoothing over his thighs, feeling the firm muscle beneath his damp skin, now weakened with exhaustion. The soapy water traced its path down his legs as you worked, your thumbs pressing lightly over the tension lingering there. He let out a slow breath, a quiet hum of gratitude vibrating in his chest.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, then he cleared it, his voice rough when he murmured, “Baby, I—” He hesitated, exhaling heavily. “I don’t think I can offer you anything tonight. I’m too tired to— I don’t think I could get it up.” There was guilt in his tone, and he lifted his heavy-lidded eyes to yours. “I mean, I could do something for you, if you—”

Your heart clenched, and you immediately shook your head, cupping his jaw. “Danny.” Your voice was soft, earnest. “I’m just cleaning you, baby. No expectations, just relax.”

His brows furrowed slightly, like he was processing your words, and then his whole body seemed to sag with relief. His hands, which had been gripping your hips, flexed as if holding onto you tighter.

“I love you,” he mumbled, eyes drifting shut.

You smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to his chest. “I know. Now let me finish taking care of you.”

You worked the soap over his thighs, his legs trembling slightly with exhaustion, before finally rinsing him clean. The whole time, his hands never left your body— holding you, grounding himself in your presence.

By the time you led him out of the shower and wrapped him in a towel, he was barely staying upright, his exhaustion catching up with him in full force.

Danny moved sluggishly, taking a clean pair of boxers and dragging them up his hips with slow, clumsy hands. The second they were in place, he all but collapsed onto the bed, landing face-first with a deep, guttural groan. His arms stretched out, fingers curling lazily into the sheets, and his long legs sprawled out, taking up nearly half the mattress. You stood at the edge, tugging on your underwear and one of his t-shirts, watching the sheer mass of him sink into the bed.

He was always big— broad, sturdy, solid— but seeing him like this, all limp and spent, made you realize just how much energy it must take to keep that body moving all day. Every muscle, every limb, every inch of him usually worked in harmony to put on a show, to keep the rhythm, to hold everything together. But now he was heavy with exhaustion, his face buried in the pillows as if even keeping his head up was too much effort.

“Jesus, baby,” you murmured, crawling onto the bed beside him, brushing a damp curl away from his forehead. “You really are wiped, huh?”

He grunted, barely lifting his head. “Feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” he mumbled, voice muffled against the pillow.

You hummed, running your fingers over the tense muscles of his back, feeling the warmth of his damp skin. “Maybe you should just sleep, then.”

Danny groaned again, shifting just enough to peek at you with one tired, red-rimmed eye. “Can’t,” he rasped. “Interview tomorrow. Hair.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Baby, you can barely move.”

“Exactly why I can’t wash it in the morning,” he huffed, dropping his face back into the pillow. “Wanna sleep in. And I don’t wanna go with my hair wet.”

You sighed fondly, reaching out to smooth a damp curl off his forehead. “Alright, baby,” you said softly. 

His back rose and fell with deep, steady breaths as he laid there, completely pliant, half-asleep already. You brushed your fingers gently over his broad shoulders, feeling the way his body relaxed further under your touch.

“You just lay there,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “I’ll do it for you.”

You rose from the bed, casting one last glance at Danny as he lay sprawled out, utterly still, his exhaustion weighing him down like an anchor. His eyes were barely open, heavy-lidded and glassy, fighting a losing battle with sleep. You knew the routine— he’d taught you himself, showing you how to care for curls like his, the same ones that now framed your own face as you bent down to rummage through his suitcase. You pulled out the curl creams, oils, and leave-in conditioner, mentally running through the steps as you made your way back to him. Even now, messy and damp from the shower, his hair looked impossibly soft, and you loved that you knew exactly how to treat it.

Kneeling beside him on the bed, you reached out, gently brushing a damp curl from his cheek. “Baby, can you lift your head for a second?” you asked softly.

Danny barely stirred, releasing a groggy little sigh before tilting his head up just enough for you to slip a pillow underneath. The second his face hit the cool fabric, his body melted around it, strong arms tucking it close as he nuzzled in deeper. The sight made your heart clench— this massive, powerful man reduced to something small, something soft, utterly trusting in your care.

“Beautiful boy,” you murmured, your fingertips grazing his cheekbone, feeling the warmth of his skin. His lashes fluttered briefly, but he didn’t open his eyes, just let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment.

You worked slowly, gently massaging the oils into his scalp, watching the way his muscles eased beneath your touch. He let out a low, appreciative grumble, his body shifting just slightly as if to press closer. You smoothed the leave-in conditioner through his curls, coating them evenly before scrunching the strands between your fingers, shaping each perfect ringlet. His hair felt like silk against your hands, thick and damp and soft, and you took your time, making sure each step was just right— exactly the way he liked it.

Before long, you were finished. His curls had begun to air dry in the cool air of the hotel room, and you sat back, admiring your work.

“Danny,” you whispered. “I’m done.”

Silence.

Not that you were surprised— his breathing had turned deep and even, his broad chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. You leaned in, listening closer, and sure enough, soft little snores slipped past his plush lips. Smiling, you reached out, tucking a stray curl behind his ear before pressing a feather-light kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“Goodnight, my love,” you murmured, brushing your lips over his cheek.

Danny stirred just slightly, shifting with a sleepy grunt, but didn’t wake. With a quiet chuckle, you reached to turn off the bedside light and tugged the blankets from beneath him, draping them over his bare skin. Once settled, you slid in beside him, wrapping yourself around him, pressing into his warmth. Even in his sleep, he reacted to you, brow twitching slightly before his body instinctively curled into yours.

You ran your fingers through his damp curls, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple. “Sleep, baby,” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”

A deep, contented sigh left him, and he melted into you completely, letting go.

༘

The next morning, Danny awoke first, but he didn’t get up right away. Instead, he lay there for a while, his body warm and heavy with sleep, his arms loosely draped around you. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You were still deep in sleep, your breathing slow and steady, your body curled into his.

He watched you for a moment, taking in the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, the way your face looked so soft, so serene. A deep warmth settled in his chest. You had taken such good care of him last night— without hesitation, without expectation. Just pure, unconditional love.

Slowly, his hand moved, fingers brushing lightly over your arm, then up to your shoulder, tracing delicate patterns along your skin. His touch was gentle, reverent, as if he was trying to return even a fraction of the tenderness you had given him. He smoothed a hand over your back, up through your hair, his fingers absentmindedly twirling a few strands between them.

He wanted to take care of you too, even if it was just this— just holding you, touching you, loving you in the quiet of the morning.

Eventually, you began to stir, a soft hum escaping your lips as you stretched slightly against him. His hand stilled for a moment before continuing its slow, soothing strokes.

“Mornin’, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

You blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the light as you nuzzled further into him. “Mm… morning.”

For a little while, you just stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, warm and content. The weight of Danny’s arm draped over your waist, his slow, steady breathing against your hair— it was all so easy, so familiar.

After a few minutes, you shifted slightly, tilting your head to look up at him. “How do you feel?”

Danny hummed, rubbing a slow hand over his face. “Better,” he murmured. “Not sick. Just needed the sleep.” He exhaled, stretching his legs out beneath the blankets. “Still wiped, though. Gonna need another early night.”

You let out a quiet breath of relief. Just from the way he spoke, the way he moved, you could tell he felt a little more like himself. “Good,” you said softly. “I was worried.”

Danny’s lips pressed together, his thumb tracing slow circles against your back. “I know, baby. But I’m okay.” You made a small noise, not entirely convinced. He huffed a little, tightening his arm around you. “You don’t need to worry about me, you know? I’m a big boy.”

You snorted, reaching for his arm and giving his bicep a squeeze. “Mmm, well… even big, strong men need to be babied once in a while.” You leaned in, pressing a teasing kiss to the tip of his nose before giving it a boop with your pointer finger.

Danny groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically “Yeah, yeah. Maybe once we get back to the hotel after my interview I can show you what a ‘big strong man’ I am.”

You raised a brow, amused. “Oh? Is that so?”

Danny smirked, though his eyes were still heavy with sleep. “Mhm.”

You hummed thoughtfully, tracing absentminded circles on his bare shoulder. “Well, you’ll have to prove it to me because… you did kind of turn into a human puddle last night.”

His smirk faltered. “Hey.”

You grinned. “I mean, all it took was a little hair washing and some back rubs… maybe some kisses… and suddenly, big strong Danny was making the sweetest little sounds—”

He pushed your face away gently, a small smile peeking at the corner of his mouth. “Alright that's enough. Need I remind you of the time you nearly cried over your ice cream being too frozen for you to scoop right out of the tub? And when I had to hold you until it melted lest you break down into tears? ”

You gasped, shoving at his chest. “I was on my period.”

Danny shook his head, pressing a lazy kiss to your hair. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you murmured, nuzzling closer.

“Here I am,” he agreed, his voice warm with quiet affection, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

For a little while, you just stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, warm and content. Then, with a groggy sigh, Danny finally stretched, rolling onto his back before rubbing his face. He let out a slow breath before pushing himself up, running a hand through his hair as he made his way to the bathroom. But as soon as he caught his reflection in the mirror, he froze.

“Baby?”

You sat up properly now, watching him from the bed. “Mmh?”

Danny was staring at himself in the mirror, his brows furrowed as he reached up, running his fingers through his curls. His expression was unreadable, and a tiny pit of anxiety formed in your stomach.

“What did you do to my hair last night?” he asked, still inspecting it with quiet confusion.

Your heart dropped. You shifted onto your elbow. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

He turned, shaking his head. “No, no— nothing’s wrong. It’s just…” He looked back at his reflection, fingers tugging lightly at a curl. “It looks really fucking good.”

You let out a breath, sinking back onto the pillows. “Jesus, Danny. Don’t scare me like that.”

“I’m serious,” he continued, tilting his head as he studied his reflection. “It looks better than when I do it. How did you—?” He trailed off, still messing with his curls, looking genuinely perplexed.

A small, smug smile tugged at your lips as you stretched out lazily. “Maybe I’m just better at it than you.”

Danny turned, giving you a mock-offended look. “Excuse me?”

You shrugged, playful. “I did have the best teacher.”

He huffed, stepping out of the bathroom and flopping onto the bed beside you, still shirtless and warm from sleep. “I don’t know how to feel about this.”

You laughed, reaching up to twirl a curl around your finger. “Just accept that I’m a natural and move on.”

He hummed, considering. Then, without warning, he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Thank you,” he murmured against your mouth.

“For what?” you whispered, still smiling as he kissed you again, slow and lazy.

“For taking care of me.” His hand slid up to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “For always knowing what I need. For loving me.”

Your chest swelled with warmth, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close. “Always, Danny,” you murmured. “Always.”

He sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d have frizzy hair, for one,” you teased, making him laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, nudging his nose against yours.

༘

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This felt horifically made for me… my nickname is Judas. This is so weird.

i love the nightlife pairing: hozier x transmasc!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: First Meetings, Hook-Ups, Blow Jobs, Fingering words: 6.8k note: there is no language regarding AFAB anatomy in this fic. cocks and holes abound.

[Read it on AO3]

title from I Love the Nightlife by Alicia Bridges divider by: sylusz

Clubs have never really been your thing. 

Getting drunk in a loud, dark, moderately humid building packed with people isn’t exactly your idea of a good time. You much prefer a glass of whiskey in the comfort of your favorite spot on your couch, usually coupled with a book or another re-watch of The Sopranos. You like boring. You thrive in the safe and mundane.

Yet, here you are, braced against the bar top at a local gay club that advertises $5 well drinks on Thursday nights. You shout your drink order to a handsome gentleman with an enviable mustache and the tightest black tank top you’ve ever seen. He hands you a slightly overpoured whiskey with a wink and a purposeful brush against your hand. 

As your face burns in embarrassment, you decide that maybe now is the time to head outside and get some air. You’ve already lost your roommate, Mason, who fucked off to chat up a silver fox of a bear with a leather vest and a pelt of chest hair unlike anything you’ve ever seen. You’re impressed and also a little envious that your own chest hair isn’t quite as robust. 

With Mason otherwise occupied (despite the fact that he pleaded with you to come out tonight), you wander out to the patio where the music doesn’t reverberate through your chest. It’s a lovely, mild spring evening, a fresh breeze lapping at your overheated skin and cooling the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

You beeline for the empty table located in a far corner, collapsing into the chair and sinking into it as you let out a long sigh. A glance at your phone tells you that it’s only 11 PM, and the party inside hasn’t even truly started yet. It’s an easy choice to stay out here and eavesdrop on the conversations of strangers rather than go back inside and be wildly overstimulated. 

Worst case scenario, you’re taking a taxi back to your flat without your roommate in tow. You have his location on your phone, and you figure that he’s a big boy who can make his own choices, no matter how dumb and misguided. 

“Are you hiding out, as well?” 

The voice startles you, and you whip around to meet hazel eyes through thick-rimmed glasses, and a soft, pretty smile. This man looks like he’s been ripped straight from your fantasies—tall and lanky with dark curls that frame his face. His denim jacket is decorated with pins of different musicians and pop culture references, only some of which you understand. His denim jeans are a near perfect match in color to the jacket, and his tucked in t-shirt reveals a black belt with a silver buckle. 

For the last 20 minutes or so, you’ve noticed this gentleman hovering in your periphery. With every glance, you’d catch his gaze for only a moment before he quickly turned to look away. Slightly unnerving given his unknown intentions, but this man looks at you almost reverently now as he grabs your attention. 

You let out a little laugh and nod. “Yeah, my roommate…he dragged me out here just to abandon me after ten minutes.”

The man hums in amusement. “Ah, that sounds familiar. It’s my friend’s birthday, yet I seem to have lost her somewhere. Have you seen a short, blonde lass with a…” he gestures vaguely at his head. “You know, a birthday headband thing.”

You shake your head. “Sorry, can’t say I have.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I figured not. I’ve no clue where she’s run off to now, though it may be better not to know, honestly.”

“She's a slippery one, then?” 

The man laughs, revealing rows of pearly white teeth. “Slippery as a fuckin’ eel. I’m not too worried, though. Worst she’ll do is overindulge on Hurricanes.” He pulls a disgusted face and shakes his head. 

He introduces himself as Andrew before offering you a cigarette from a softened pack he pulls from his pocket. Drunk you is far less discerning about such vices, so you accept and allow him to light it for you with the flick of a Zippo as you take a drag. 

After a brief pause, he tilts his head and asks, “You didn’t happen to attend Trinity, did you?” 

You shake your head. “Nah, sorry. I didn’t.”

Andrew nods. “Right, sorry. Thought you looked familiar, is all.” He falters as he tucks his hair behind his ear.

There’s something about him that’s familiar to you, as well, but you can’t remember ever meeting him previously. You’re sure you’d remember a face and a dazzling smile like that.

Though you can’t be entirely sure, there’s a non-zero chance that this man is flirting with you. You’re not surprised so much as you’re caught off-guard. Mason is normally the one to get hit on, especially by tall, dark, handsome men like this. Except, Mason isn’t here, is instead chasing a man more in line with his own personal interests (namely, an abundance of graying hair and shoulders the width of a linebacker’s), and Andrew’s attention is focused squarely on you. 

You wonder if perhaps he’s a straight man out of his element. A rogue birthday girl is about, after all. Maybe he got roped into attending the club at her request. It’s not uncommon, and you’ve had a few swings and misses in the past from similar situations. No harm, no foul. Rejection hurts far less when you never had a shot to begin with.

“So…what do you do, then? Work, or school, or…?” 

You blink at him, confused. “Oh, uh, work. My dad’s a mechanic. I work at his shop in Bray.”

Andrew nods, averting his gaze to the whiskey in his hand as he gently swirls the glass. Awkward silence falls between you as you fidget with your own drink. You’re terrible at this, unsure of how to navigate the conversation when you’re not entirely sure what his angle is. You suppose you could just ask, but the words die in your throat as you meet his eyes.

“In Bray? North or South?” 

With a frown, you respond,  “Just south of the County Wicklow line.”

“Ah…I, ehm...don’t know much about cars. I suppose that’s why mechanics exist to begin with, huh? Anyway, you provide an invaluable service to…y’know…the community…”

His face scrunches as he cringes outwardly.

“Okay, that was not…Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry if I’ve bothered you, just ignore me,” he says, and you can make out the flush on his cheeks against his pale skin as he lets out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t mean to…I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you were looking for some peace, and here I am just chatting away.” 

Guilt grips your chest as you shake your head quickly. “Oh, no! I’m not bothered! Just…bad at small talk, is all.”

He seems to relax a touch as he runs a hand through his frizzy curls. “God, yeah. Me, too. As I’m sure you can tell.” 

“Well, to be fair, I haven’t given you much to work with, have I?”

Just as he opens his mouth to reply, a high-pitched voice calls out, “Andrew!” 

The two of you turn at the shouting of his name. A lively blonde with a Birthday Girl headband and a sunset orange drink bounds up to you with the type of drunk grin that comes from one too many cocktails.

“Karen, Jesus fucking Christ! Where did you run off to? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

The woman—Karen—merely shrugs, scrunching her vaguely bloodshot eyes. 

“Caoimhe and I were dancing upstairs. Have you been upstairs, Andy? It’s so cool, and the bartenders are quite heavy-handed up there.” Faltering, Karen turns to you looking perplexed. “Oh, hello there!”

“Hi,” you say with a short wave of your hand, then gesture towards her birthday headband. “Happy birthday.”

“Aw, thank you so much!” Karen turns back to Andrew and says, “Yeah, seems like you were looking for me real hard, Andy, and not at all flirting with anyone.” She turns to give you an exaggerated wink as Andrew claps his hands together with a grimace. 

“All right! Karen! Thank you so much for that. Maybe you should go find Caoimhe again, yeah? Or, Saoirse. Or, Max. Or, literally anyone else.”

“Right, right, I’ll be gone in a moment.” Karen waves a dismissive hand before addressing you directly. “Watch out for this one, yeah? Mr. Hozier here has rockstar sensibilities, so don’t fall for his meek and mild act. He’s more of the mischievous and misbehaving type, especially when he’s trying to bed some—”

“Okay!” Andrew interrupts loudly as he digs into his pocket while gently pushing Karen back towards the building. “Karen, love? Here. Go get some water, and maybe some pretzels?” 

She takes the crumpled €20 note from his hand. “Wow, bribery. That’s new.” She looks back at you and says brightly, “He must really be interested in you if he’s—” 

“Karen, for the love of God, please.”

“Right, fine! I’m going, I’m going! But, this note is going towards another Hurricane, Andrew!” 

Karen scuttles away with another wink and a wave thrown over her shoulder before she disappears into the crowd, only visible by the glittering of her headband until the crowd swallows her whole. You blink after her, equal parts amused and befuddled. What a fascinating woman.

Andrew presses his palm to his forehead. “I am…so sorry about her. Love her to death, I do, but she’s a bit of a loud mouth.”

Despite the amusing display, you’re caught up on one small detail—Andrew is, in fact, Hozier. You’ve only ever listened to his songs as part of a playlist rotation, never actually looking into the man himself. Everything you’ve ever heard about him (which is to say, not a whole lot) has only ever been positive, yet you’re still surprised by his lack of…well, ego. The man is a bonafide hometown hero, and you’re honestly shocked he hasn’t received more attention from patrons this evening. 

“Seems she spilled your secret, aye?” 

Andrew laughs awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “I suppose it’s not much of a secret. I just wasn’t sure if you…I mean, you didn’t say anything, and it felt weird to…”

“No, I get it. I thought you looked familiar, but I couldn’t place you. But, yeah, I’m sure it feels weird to introduce yourself as a rockstar.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, rockstar might be a stretch. I’m just a guy with a guitar, really.”

“Right. Simply a man with a guitar and a voice and thousands upon thousands of fans,” you say with a nod before downing the rest of your drink. It settles warmly in your stomach as you wince at the bite of it on your tongue. “So, Mr. Humble, do you make a habit of flirting with random men on your nights out, or…?”

Anxiety gnaws at you as a blush heats your face. He hasn’t contested anything Karen said so far. If Andrew is interested in anything more than a bit of friendly chit-chat, you’re certainly not going to deny him the opportunity. 

“Not all the time,” he shrugs, then laughs to himself as he stares at his own nearly empty glass. “I apologize if I’m being too…forward, I suppose. Two of these, and suddenly I’m the most talkative person in the room. It also makes flirting with attractive men a lot easier.”

You can’t bite back your bashful laugh as you turn to hide your grin.

“Don’t worry, my roommate is much the same. Get a few drinks into him, and he won’t shut the fuck up about Thin Lizzy for hours. Thank God he hasn’t come out here, otherwise I’m sure he’d be teasing me about chatting you up.”

He raises a curious eyebrow. “Are you? Chatting me up, I mean?” 

You raise an eyebrow in return. “Well, it’s not as fun if I just tell you outright.”

Andrew is all smiles as he nods in agreement. “Right, of course. You’ve got to keep the mystery and suspense going, surely.” 

After a beat, your own smile falters. If you’re going to go any farther trying to woo this man who is seemingly interested, you figure it’s best to be upfront with him. Separate the wheat from the chaff and all that.

“Right,” you echo. “Listen, before anything happens, it’s probably best to let you know that I’m trans. I like to get that out of the way up top, that way nobody wastes any time.”

Andrew blinks. “Oh! That’s—that’s wonderful! I mean, not wonderful, like—it’s great that you’re—fuck me, I’m really not good at this, am I?” He laughs to himself as he drags a hand down his face. “Sorry, it’s been a minute since I’ve flirted with anyone, so, please bear with me.” 

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve absolutely no issue, if you’re worried. I appreciate you letting me know, and I don’t want you to feel…well, I hope I don’t come off as the type to be put off by that.”

Butterflies in your stomach force a startled laugh out of you. “There’s hardly a type. It’s more a case-by-case situation. Though, you’ve had the most amusing response so far, I must say.”

Andrew tilts his head. “Does that mean I have competition, then?” 

The forthrightness of the question stuns you, but you shake it off and shrug casually.  “Perhaps.” 

It’s a baldfaced lie. Any suitors you’ve had in the past have been swiftly ghosted or blocked depending on the circumstance. A fair few of them were chasers who only viewed you as a fetishistic fantasy, while others were simply too clingy or wanted to move far too quickly for your taste. The good faith folks you’ve dated haven’t been a great fit either, typically falling into the categories of too boring or too adventurous or too fuckboy for your liking.

Andrew seems different. His awkwardness is endearing, his reaction to your divulsion relatively mild compared to others. He doesn’t seem put off at all, yet he’s not suddenly chomping at the bit to rush you home the way others have previously. He just seems…well, interested. In you. 

What a novelty to intrigue someone who is lauded as Ireland’s answer to Bruce Springsteen.

“I suppose I’ll have to find a way to stand out from the crowd, then.” He shrugs before finishing off what remains in his glass, eyeing you in amusement as you try to find a response that isn’t just spluttered sounds.

He looks back towards the outdoor bar, then meets your eyes with a hesitant question on his lips. “What’re you drinking?” 

“Jameson,” you reply, shrugging when Andrew gives you a look as though the answer offends him. 

“I’ll be right back.” You try to ignore the gooseflesh that breaks out along your arms as his hand gently brushes your shoulder before he’s wandering away towards the bar. You decide to sit on one of the empty couches that’s slightly tucked away from prying eyes. You figure that perhaps some semblance of privacy might make whatever this is more comfortable for both of you.

True to his word, Andrew comes back promptly with two glasses. He hands you a lowball glass full of amber liquid before plopping down next to you, your thighs nearly touching. He seems more at ease now, turning his body to face you. His elbow rests on the back of the couch, his head propped in his hand as he practically beams at you.

“Thank you…” you say warily. “What is it?” 

“Try it.” When you frown in response, he huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “It’s whiskey. Better than Jameson, I promise.”

Upon taking a sip, your eyes go wide, and you turn your surprised expression to him. It’s probably one of the best whiskeys you’ve ever tried—dark but sweet, smoky yet smooth, with the faintest hint of ginger and orange underneath. 

“Right?” Andrew asks excitedly. “It’s Redbreast, a single pot whiskey. This one apparently has an 18-year aging process. It’s one of my favorites.”

“So, this whiskey is old enough to drink whiskey. Thank you again, by the way. This is fucking fantastic.” 

He shrugs. “Well, I can’t leave you drinking well spirits all night, can I?” 

Conversation flows easily after that. Andrew asks you broad questions about your work and laughs as he apologizes for not having more background knowledge. You tell him about growing up watching your dad work, finally getting to assist in his repairs and vintage builds as a teen, and your subsequent attendance to a trade school to follow in his footsteps. 

“He was so excited about it,” you laugh. “Even changed the name of the business from McKenna’s Mechanics to McKenna & Sons.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” he sighs.

Andrew regails you with tales of his music journey. He explains his short stint at Trinity where he met the resident birthday girl, as well as a handful of other musically-inclined folks. After making the difficult decision to drop out fairly young, his big break came from a right place, right time situation. Two albums later, and he’s finally home after a US tour that nearly killed him by the end. 

“You don’t realize how massive that country is until you’re on a bus for 12 hours just to get to the next state over.” 

He starts to get a little more bold in his flirtation as his third drink sets in, and your second drink has you feeling giddy, warm, and unsure of how to reciprocate when he rests an hand on your arm while talking about his best friend and musical partner, Alex. 

The conversation hits a bump when you work up the nerve to ask another question that’s buzzed around in your mind the entire evening. 

“May I ask a personal question?” you ask tentatively. 

Andrew blinks, then nods. “Of course.” 

“Forgive me, I’m generally out of touch with anything related to the internet these days. But…I hadn’t heard that you, um…? I mean, all of your songs are—they’re about women, yeah? I don’t know, maybe my finger just isn’t on the queer news pulse like it used to be, but that feels like something I’d have heard about.”

You can tell that the question catches him off guard as he looks away to study the twinkling fairy lights strung along the bordering fence.

“Ah, right. That.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to!” you add hastily. “I was just curious, but it’s definitely none of my business.” 

“No, no, you’re okay. It’s…complicated. Mostly because it’s more of a…new development. I mean, not—it was always there, but I never…I don’t know, I just never put any stock into it, I suppose.” 

“Were you one of those, ‘Yeah, I’d kiss a lad just for kicks, but I’m not gay,’ types?”

With a reddened face and a little laugh, he nods. “Unfortunately, yeah. I thought everyone felt that way, y’know? About finding everyone attractive. I just assumed my own heterosexuality despite the fact that a fair amount of my childhood crushes were boys. And, it’s not like my family is homophobic in any capacity, so you’d think I would have put it together sooner.”

“Hindsight is a funny thing, isn’t it? Looking back on things and realizing how obvious some of those signs were. Like, for me—and, this is going to sound absolutely demented—but I used to fantasize about getting breast cancer when I was a teen.” 

Andrew splutters on his drink. “I’m sorry, what?” 

You shrug easily. “Dysphoria is a tricky bitch. It makes you think things like that are just standard. Oh, every teenage girl feels that way about their chest. Except, they don’t. Like, at all. In fact, most people react the same way you did when I say that.” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to—” 

“No, no worries, you’re fine. What I mean is, it was jarring to learn that most women don’t think that way. Which eventually led me to understand that I am certainly not a woman. It just took the better part of 23 years to put it all together. Which seems mad, right? But, like I said: hindsight.” 

Andrew smiles as he lifts his glass to you. “To late bloomers, then.” 

You clink your glass to his and nod. “To late bloomers.” 

***

When Andrew tentatively asks if you want to dance, you turn to look at the dance floor inside with a grimace. Steam floats out of the open doors, a testament to the sheer amount of bodies mingling together in such a small space. The thought makes you shiver. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not much into dancing. Is that okay?” 

Thankfully, Andrew looks relieved. “Oh, that’s perfectly okay. I’m not much of a dancer either, but I figured I’d ask in case you were interested.” 

Your body is flushed and warm from too much booze, and you can feel sweat begin to break out along your hairline. Andrew looks much the same, grinning as he sways and flips his hair from one side to the other. And, oh, his hand is on your thigh, when did that happen? 

Quietly, he asks, “Is this okay?” 

You have to look away and clear your throat in an attempt to collect yourself. “Yeah, yes, that’s…perfectly fine.” 

He grins brightly, earnestly. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.” 

Once again, his forthrightness has you stumbling. “And you are an adorable and very flirty drunk.

Andrew gives you a lopsided grin as he shrugs one shoulder. “What was it Karen said? Mischievous and misbehaving?”

“So there’s merit to that, then?” 

“Well, it’s not as fun if I just tell you outright, is it?” 

Ah, so he’s going to play this game, throwing your own words back at you in an attempt to fluster you further. To be fair, his plan is working as your face burns all the way to the tips of your ears. But, you can’t let him know that he’s winning. This is an unspoken competition now, the defiance and playfulness in his expression urging you to make your next move.

So, you do. He’s stunned when you reach out to cup his chin in one hand. The touch is light, gentle, but it’s enough to stop him in his tracks and stare at you incredulously. 

“Well, I think you’re a lot of talk and no action.” When he doesn’t respond, you smirk. “Is this all it takes to shut you up?” 

After a beat, he finally opens his mouth, still staring at you with glazed eyes. “I can think of more lucrative ways to do so.”

You can’t help the cackle that escapes you. “Lucrative for who, exactly?”

He shrugs again. “Both of us, I’d guess. I’d hope.” A pause. “You know…we’re staying at the Grafton tonight. Figured it was better to play it safe with Miss ‘Doesn’t Know When to Quit’ over there.” 

When you turn back, you spot Karen standing on the bar just inside, waving her arms around excitedly as a bartender tries to coax her down. “I see what you mean.”

“I’ve got my own room,” he continues casually, as though your heart isn’t about to beat through your fucking chest. “If you’d like to see it. Lovely hotel, and the room has an even lovelier view. Though, I can’t imagine anything quite as lovely as you.”

The laugh that escapes you makes him laugh in return, covering his face and shaking his head as he cries, “That was terrible, I’m so sorry. It came out, and I instantly regretted it. So fucking corny. Jesus Christ.” 

Some of the tension dissipates as you smile fondly while he tries to recover from his horrible flirting. 

“You really are terrible at this,” you jest. “However…I can’t deny that I’m a little curious about this room with a view. But, won’t Karen be upset if you leave her birthday bash?”

Andrew chuckles. “I doubt she’ll even remember at this point.” 

After a quick text to his mates and a message to Mason, you find yourself walking the few blocks it takes to get to the Grafton Hotel. You’re surprised when Andrew takes your hand into his despite the fact that he’d mentioned not being the biggest fan of public affection. 

There’s some plausible deniability as you use the opportunity to ensure you’re both drunkenly stumbling on the pavement instead of the road, tugging on his hand to keep him close until he wraps his arm around your shoulders entirely. In return, you slip your arm around his waist and try to stay in stride with him while the hotel glitters like a beacon in the night. 

After a piss-poor attempt at acting “natural” while shuffling through the opulent lobby, you stumble into an empty elevator. As soon as the doors close, he’s on you, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you fervently—a testament to his restraint on the walk over here, surely. 

Then, he pulls away just as suddenly, eyes wide as an apology spills out. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—I mean, I should have asked first before—” 

You hold a hand up to shush him. “I’m a relative stranger you picked up from a club following you up to your hotel room. While I appreciate the thought, kissing is definitely not an issue.” 

The room itself is quite nice, and he wasn’t joking about the view. The city twinkles warmly far below, bustling with a lot more traffic than one might expect for a Thursday night. If you were so inclined, you might suggest sitting out on the balcony for a while just to enjoy the breeze. An idea for another time, perhaps, should Andrew ever want to do this again. (You cringe inwardly at the spark of hope within you that maybe he will.) 

When you look back at him, Andrew is watching you carefully, wringing his hands and shifting his weight. 

“Are you okay?” 

He laughs awkwardly. “Yeah! I just…I don’t normally do this, y’know? Hooking up isn’t really…”

“Oh.” You frown. “We don’t have to—” 

“No, no, I want to, I’m just…at a loss of where to start. Also…” A pause. “If there’s anything you don’t want me doing in particular, please let me know.”

You can read between the lines. It’s his way of asking you to guide him through this for the sake of your comfort. It’s sweet, more thoughtful than some of your previous trysts, though you hope he doesn’t treat you so preciously the entire night. 

After a beat, you reach out to lightly grasp his wrist, smiling softly when he meets your eyes. 

“Why don’t you start by kissing me again, yeah?” 

At this, he can’t help his bright, flustered smile as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s softer and sweeter this time as he holds your face, thumbs brushing through prickly stubble from a haphazard attempt at shaving earlier in the day. 

The taste of whiskey and ash is on his tongue, the smell of smoke sticking to his hair. You can almost feel his hesitance melt away as your fingers curl into his hair, as he leans into the kiss with a small whimper. A chill runs down your spine when he kisses along your neck, nipping lightly but not enough to leave any lasting mark. A honeyed laugh in your ear makes your face go hot, the sound sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your cock.

Impatient hands shove at his jean jacket until he’s struggling out of it and throwing it to the floor, revealing thin, pale arms with delicate wrists and prominent veins. You marvel at every sharp angle that’s juxtaposed by the softness of his chest, his stomach as you assist in pulling his t-shirt off. 

The only coherent thought in your mind isn’t a thought at all, but the primal urge to bite and mark and claim. 

Suddenly, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” and he halts his movements to look at you with wide eyes. 

“Fuck, I don’t. I didn’t exactly think I was going to hook up with anyone tonight.”

“Damn, neither do I,” you laugh, earning a cheesy, embarrassed smile from him as he shrugs. “No matter. There’s plenty of other things we can do.”

It’s easy enough to get his jeans off once he’s on his back in bed. It seems he’s beginning to understand that he is not the one in charge now, seems to even be delighting in his lack of control. He stares as you slowly undo his belt buckle, hands curled into the sheets beneath him as if it’s the only way he can stop himself from trying to reach out and touch you. With a few giggles and awkward kicks on his part, you finally toss his jeans to the floor. 

The outline of his swollen cock is obvious, tenting his black boxers and twitching slightly as you run your hands along his thighs. 

You startle when he asks, “Can I see you? You’re wearing far too much.”

And, well…how can you say no when he asked so politely? 

As soon as your shirt comes off, his eyes go wide and he blurts out, “Wow. That’s absolutely stunning. The Creation of Adam, yeah?” 

He studies your tattoo in fascination as you reply, “Yeah. It’s…a little on the nose, probably. Not the most original scar cover-up ever, but I’m happy with it.”

Andrew huffs a quiet laugh. “I can see how that might be on the nose, yeah. But, I really like it. For whatever that’s worth, I suppose.” 

He watches as you pull your jeans off and shuck them aside with the growing pile of clothing on the floor, leaving you in your own boxer briefs that make Andrew chuckle.

“Are those Halloween-themed? Mate…are you aware that it’s May?”

You roll your eyes as you finally crawl into bed, throwing a leg over him and settling on his hips. 

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t expect to hook up with anyone tonight either. Second, are you always this antagonistic towards your dates?”

Andrew grins. “Is this a date now?”

You bite out a laugh. “Christ, you are a sassy one.”

“Unfortunately, it’s part of the package deal. No returns or refunds.”

“What about an exchange?” 

“Mmm, no, sorry. I can offer you store credit?”

You tilt your head. “That implies that I’d be a returning customer.”

He blinks, swallows, his eyes flitting away nervously before looking back at you. “Well, you know, I’m big on…customer loyalty…and what have you…”

“Andrew,” you say with a smile and a shake of your head. “Do you want to keep bantering, or do you want me to blow you?”

He nods quickly. “Yeah, yes, that. Let’s do your idea.”

Kisses along his body make him squirm as he stares up at the ceiling in embarrassment. A hand pressed to the bulge in his pants pulls the prettiest sounds from him; the heat of your mouth against cotton, against his swollen length forces him to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle his groans. You’re pleased by his reactions—you’ve always loved the vocal ones, and it makes sense that this one would be the most vocal of all. 

The trail of hair that disappears beneath his waistband is slowly revealed to you as you peel back the fabric, pressing open-mouthed kisses along that line until his cock is exposed. It’s pretty—long, though not dauntingly thick, the tip already red and leaking despite the fact that you’ve done little to elicit this kind of response.

Eager, you think to yourself with a smirk. 

The first press of your tongue along the vein that protrudes just on the underside of his cock makes him gasp. He props himself up on his elbows to watch, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as you take the head into your mouth and suck gently.

He hisses as a hand curls into your hair, as you attempt to take the rest of him without choking or gagging. Your eyes water as you suck in a deep breath through your nose, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by his scent, dizzied by musk, and sweat, and arousal as you swallow him down.

It’s sloppy, messy as you put on a bit of a show in the hopes of impressing him. It seems that your plan is working out quite well as you meet his heavy-lidded gaze from beneath your lashes, and he groans before letting his head tilt back to reveal the expanse of his throat. 

“Feels so fucking good…” It comes out as a cracked whisper that breaks into a breathy moan as his fingers tighten their grip on your hair. 

You pull off of him with a lewd pop and stroke him as you catch your breath. When he looks back at you, his pupils are blown out, nearly eclipsing his irises. He already looks so wrecked, and you wonder just how quickly you can make this man completely fall apart. 

“Good?” you ask with a grin. 

“Yes, fuck, please don’t stop,” he whines. 

With a wink, you pause the movement of your hand long enough to spit onto his cock before stroking him again, faster this time as his hips buck into your hand. Andrew’s lets out a short, feverish laugh before whispering, “Fucking filthy.” It alights something in your brain—something warm and excited as his head falls back against the pillow again, seemingly no longer concerned with holding back as he thrusts into the warmth of your mouth when you take him again. 

Any semblance of composure is lost when you gently cup his balls, and he bites out a warning of his impending climax between heaving breaths. Determined, you allow him to nearly fuck your throat until he’s whimpering beneath you, hips snapping up until he he muffles a cry. The warmth of his release fills your mouth, slides down your throat, eyes watering as you continue your assault on him while he rides out every wave of pleasure that rolls through him. 

He looks wonderfully sated when he opens his eyes again, smiling when you sit up on your knees between his legs. 

“Wow,” he laughs as he rubs his eyes. “How am I supposed to follow that up? Jesus.”

You grin as you lean over him, your arms caging his head as you murmur, “With a smile and a thank you for the privilege.”

His mouth drops open for only a moment before he snaps it shut again. Then, a smirk as he asks, “Would you be amenable to doing it like this, then? I’m pretty sure all of my bones have turned to gelatin.”

You blink in surprise. “You…want me to sit on your face?”

Andrew shrugs. “Only if you want to. I’d say it’s a throne fit for a king, but that just seems egotistical, I think.” 

With a barked laugh, you reply, “Yeah, a bit, maybe. But, I love the enthusiasm.” 

You sit back up long enough to twist around and discard your own boxers. There’s a brief hesitance as you hype yourself up, that inkling of self-consciousness creeping in the way it always does before being on the receiving end of sex acts. It’s not dysphoria so much as it is the general nervousness of performance and expectation—the same feelings you’ve experienced far before beginning your transition journey. 

Andrew must notice this hesitation as he says, “Hey, we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want that.” 

“No, I want to, I’m just…are you sure?” It’s an out that you extend almost automatically, a way to protect yourself from rejection and hurt by providing an excuse for him to bail. You’re sure it says something about your own control issues, but you push the thought away to be dealt with later. 

With a soft sigh, he pats his chest and beckons you closer, saying, “C’mere so I can suck you off already.”

A warmth blooms in your chest as you cover your giddy embarrassment with a laugh. Shuffling on your knees, you move closer, pause, then straddle his face carefully, hovering just above him until his arms are locked around your thighs. 

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” 

Before you can reply, you feel his tongue on your cock, and you fall forward to brace against the headboard. 

“Oh,” is the only thing you manage to squeak out as he takes it into his mouth and begins sucking gently. Tears form in your eyes as pleasure shoots up your spine, teetering on the edge of too much as he works. You find yourself absentmindedly thrusting into the feeling, unable to hold back the moans and whines that bubble up. 

If he’s never done this before, then his mouth is truly gifted. His tongue teases just below the head, pressing gently as you whimper above him. Arousal slicks his mouth as he feasts on you like a starving man, and you curl a hand into his hair to encourage him further. A slight tug pulls a strangled moan from him, his grip tightening on your thighs as though he’s worried you might try to get away. 

He pulls away briefly to catch his breath, licking his shining lips as he asks, “Are you okay with—? Do you like being touched?”

You understand his meaning almost immediately. “Yes, please, fuck.”

One hand releases your thigh, and suddenly two fingers slip into you with ease. You choke on a moan as you push back against them. Your brain and body struggle then, trying to decide between pushing into that pressure as he fills you or grinding against his face. Heat begins to build in your abdomen. Every thrust of his fingers and swipe of his tongue brings you closer and closer to that edge. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” you pant out. 

All it takes is an errant thumb against your ass, and you’re suddenly falling over the edge, shaky thighs attempting to snap shut as you gasp and cry out. Andrew keeps you in place, doesn’t allow you to move as continues sucking your cock while you clench around him. Expletives fall from your lips mixed with his name, and you nearly choke on a sob as you smack at the top of his head with a breathy, “Stopstopstop, fuck, too much, too much.” 

Andrew stops immediately and withdraws his fingers with a chuckled apology. Once he’s released his grip on you, you gently fall onto your back next to him. 

“Wow,” you breathe, looking over to grin at him. 

“Decent?” he asks. His smug look tells you he knows exactly how well he did. 

You roll your eyes and give him a gentle shove to his shoulder. “I’m afraid if I answer that honestly, you won’t be able to fit your giant ego through the door.” 

There’s a part of you that expects him to rush you out, but Andrew doesn’t really seem inclined to do so. Instead, he invites you to scoot beneath the duvet with him, lying on your side to face him as he mirrors your position. 

Then, he’s asking questions, probing into your likes and dislikes, your favorite music, favorite films, favorite books. Andrew nods along as you speak, eyes wide in an expression you’d liken to veneration. You return his questions in kind, delighted by the way he seems to light up when discussing his musical interests throughout his childhood and adolescence, and his proxy interest in film thanks to his brother. 

A chime on your phone breaks the warm bubble of your conversation, and you groan as you reach back to grab it from the bedside table. 

Mason

HEY DICKHEAD

DID YOU FUCKIN IRISH GOODBYE ME

IN IRELAND

AS AN IRISH MAN

You

Sure did mate.

Mason

JUDAS

Can’t believe this

I HOPE THE DICK WAS WORTH IT

I want details tomorrow you fuckin scut

“Something wrong?” Andrew asks hesitantly. 

You look up at him and shake your head with a little laugh. “Nah, just my roommate being…my roommate. Took him this long to figure out that I’d even left.”

“Oh…do you have to go, then?” There’s something so sweet about the sullenness in his voice, evoking an image of Eeyore in your mind. 

“I don’t.” You shake your head. “I can stay as long as you’ll allow it.” 

“Careful now,” he says easily as he reaches out to run the back of his fingers against your cheek. “Otherwise you may never be rid of me.” 

[hailtheaeon]

[hailtheaeon]

Danny eating cauliflower is perhaps the only ick I can find about him. I'm cauliflower's #1 anti.

[hailtheaeon]

@hailthegodsong ….i wanna lick him

November 28, 2024

[hailtheaeon]

which gvf member is most likely to go to jail

is this even a question

[hailtheaeon]

I love dinner and diatribes. I DONT CARE if it doesn’t have some deeper meaning behind the narrator wanting to be absolutely railed, in fact, I think that’s what makes the song so good. Bro is so down BAD

[hailtheaeon]

HOWLIN’ FOR YOU

“Baby, I’m howlin’ for you.” - Howlin’ For You, The Black Keys

WARNINGS: whiskey dick, drunken sex, sloppy sex, giggly sex, oral (both ways), sexual embarrassment

Hand in hand, giggling down the strip, tripping and stumbling, you’d never felt more elated. Well, with Josh you always did. He was a ball of sunshine in every sense of the word and life of the party, but your favorite part was after the party. Both of your tipsy or way more than tipsy selves would stumble back to the hotel while giggling, shit eating grins on your faces, knowing how the night would end. It was usually sloppy, uncoordinated, and fun. But that’s how you liked it after a good night out. You just wanted him to touch you, to kiss you, to nibble on your skin, to drunkenly stumble out of his boxers and almost hit his head on the nightstand. He’d laugh it off, crawling up onto the bed with the pillowy duvet that felt so soft like clouds, hands groping you shamelessly while he would grind himself against your thigh. Half the time you’d almost choke on his tongue, tasting like his favorite cocktail: salty dogs, and either fireball or straight tequila shots.

Tonight would be no different, but, Josh was a little more drunk than usual. Not that you didn’t participate, of course you did. Throwing back a couple shots, sipping on fruity cocktails while he ran up when it was his turn for karaoke. He usually drunkenly sang ‘Uptown Girl’ by Billy Joel or ‘Brandy’ when he was extra drunk. Tonight, he chose ‘Super Trooper’ by ABBA. An odd one, but of course everyone loved it, cheering him on and singing along while laughing as he forgot words or didn’t start quick enough.

You met him offstage, immediately linking elbows with him. “You’re getting sloppy, babe.” you joke, and he presses a slobbery kiss to your cheek akin to a dog licking you. You’re too lazy to wipe it off, pecking his cheek in return.

“I’m havin’ fun!” Josh rolls his eyes with absolutely no annoyance or bitter tone, his big brown eyes practically sparkling.

“I know, I know, you love to party hardy.” you unlink elbows and snake your hand around his waist, patting his hip. He snorts, but leans into your touch.

“Ready to go?” you ask him, whispering in his ear before taking his gold hoop between your teeth to tug at it, trying to make your intent known.

“Mmm…” he hums, pretending to think on it while his eyes dart to the ceiling. His eyes drop back to you, a Cheshire grin forming on his lips. “Maybe one more shot.” His fingers drum over your side.

“We are not doing one more shot, one more shot my ass.” you laugh and manage to drag him out of the bar, his sweaty hand laced with yours, clasping it in a tight grip while he stumbles back through the damp city streets. It was misty, and perfect for a walk back. You were eternally grateful it wasn’t too cold.

Grabbing the key and pushing it up to the entrance door, you fumbled until you heard a beep and shoved you and Josh in as quickly as possibly, quickly opting for the elevator.

He shamelessly groped your ass in the elevator, eyes darting to yours before looking at the floor numbers rise on the tiny screen above the elevator buttons. His foot tapped impatiently, cheeks flushed in the overly fluorescent white light.

Josh immediately grabbed you and grinned when the elevator dinged at your floor, pulling the keycard out of his pocket. He ended up bumping his hip on the wall a few times at his very poor attempt at walking in a straight line.

You didn’t exactly know how but you had ended up inside the hotel room and had even managed to lock the door. Josh pawed at you, groping every inch of skin he could while simultaneously trying to pull off your shirt. It was sloppy and uncoordinated but you couldn’t help but love it, he was so gone for you, so unbelievably needy that he didn’t know what he wanted first. So, you pushed him off you slightly and pulled off your shirt, leaving your bare chest on display for him. He grabbed at your hips, then your sides, then your chest, his mouth reaching over to lick and suck at your neck and collarbones.

His mouth reached up to yours and your teeth clashed, both of you letting out the stupidest giggles into each other’s mouths. “Kiss much?” you tease with a peck to his lip.

“Mmm…” he pecks your lips back, and you can feel his mustache brush against your top lip, making you shudder. “Sometimes.” he grins into his next kiss, hand splayed against the small of your back while he tried his best not to wobble.

You both break apart and manage to stumble into the beautiful king sized hotel bed, laying back on the duvet that felt so soft against the bare skin of your back. You reach your hands up after he pulls his shirt off and immediately go to grab his pecs. “Damn, baby.” you giggle with a grin. “You’ve got some titties.”

“Shut the fuck up!” he laughs, trying to seat your hands away but it’s not out of malice. He sloppily kisses your neck, goosebumps forming over your skin as his saliva cools.

“C’mon.” you flip him over and straddle his stomach, clumsily inching yourself down to his thighs. But, there’s something odd, he isn’t hard.

“Josh..” you frown, slightly confused. You look back down at his crotch which doesn’t have the usual bulge. “Do you not want anything tonight?”

“No!” he immediately defends himself. “I do, I do.” he rapidly shakes his head, hands going to your sides to rub them.

“But you’re not… hard.” you try your best to say without being too brash.

“Maybe just- maybe just play with it a little, get the blood pumping?” he suggests with a tilt of his head, tan cheeks flushed a strawberry pink.

You nod your head, immediately undoing those horrid khakis you hate that he wears out constantly, that and his stupid white sweatshirt that you’ve tried to hide in the back of the closet. Pulling them off with his boxers, you immediately skip just touching him and opt to go a different route, wrapping your mouth around him. The size difference is comparable, and you can easily get most of his length in your mouth. He jolts, shocked. “Jesus fuck, babe!” he can’t help but laugh out, his breath sucked out of his flushed and sweaty chest.

Your other hand goes to play with his balls, you push your head down and take all of him but not even a twitch, he wasn’t even close to half hard. His dick was still limp in your mouth, a very odd feeling.

After a few minutes of this, you pull him out of your mouth with a slightly disappointed look on your face. “I’m sorry, it’s- it’s not happening. I’m hard in my mind but my dick won’t compute.”

You chuckle at his words, getting ready to just cuddle with him and fall asleep but as you grab your shirt he stops you with a sharp: “No!”

“No?” you tilt your head at him, eyebrow raised.

“Just cause I can’t get it up doesn’t mean I don’t wanna fuck you.” Josh tries to drunkenly explain.

“You can’t fuck me, Josh.” you remind him with a roll of your eyes. Was he just trying to tease you and failing?

“I have fingers.” he wiggles them with a stupid grin. “And my tongue-“

Before he can demonstrate you cover his mouth with your hand, yelping when he bites them. “Okay, okay, I get it.” you shake your head.

“Hop up, pretty.” he pats his cheeks with that stupid kiszka wink. “C’mon.”

“Joshua-“ you protest.

“Nope! Don’t full name me, hop up.” he shakes his head, reaching for your hips.

“But-“

“Up!” he tugs at your hips, pulling you where his shoulders meet his collarbones.

“Mkay.” you can’t help but roll your eyes at him, chuckling at his need to please. If josh was anything, he was a stubborn piece of shit. When he was adamant, there would be no changing his mind.

You quickly lift your hips and pull your underwear down, sliding off of him to kick them off before sitting back onto his chest. “I love dessert.” he giggles before grabbing your hips and immediately shoving you down onto his face.

“Joshua!” you yelp, but before you can get a snide comment in his tongue immediately laps at you.

“Fuck!” your fingers reach up to grip the headboard, he shakes his head so his nose repeatedly brushes against your clit, giving you the best jolts of stimulation.

The sound is downright secular, sinful in nature. But, it felt oh so delicious, way better than anything that money could buy. He lifts your hips up for a moment. “Fuck, baby,” he looks up with glossy eyes. You can’t tell if it’s due to lust or the many drinks he’s had, probably both. “God, you’re so yummy.”

“Yummy?” you snort at his choice of words.

“Yummy, delicious, delectable, tasty, mouthwatering, succulent, exquisite, heavenly, divine-“ he rambles on, listening every possible synonym he knows.

“I get it!” you giggle, stretching your back. Your neck looks back and you can see his dick twitch, looking a little bit harder than before.

“Hold on.” you tell him, flipping yourself around so that you were facing his crotch.

“Is this a better angle for you? You should’ve told me-“ he whines out, and you can almost see his pout.

Your hands splay at his stomach, and you trace your fingers down to his pubic bone. Another twitch. Your eyes light up.

You arch your back, pressing a sloppy kiss to his pubic bone and his hips immediately jolt, a bigger twitch. You lick your lips, lulling your tongue out. The tip of your tongue touches just below his belly button, the start of his happy trail. And you sloppily lap down his happy trail like a thirsty dog. You can hear him groan, sending beautiful vibrations straight to your clit. You moan in response, pressing sloppy kisses to his pubic bone, his happy trail and trimmed pubes glistening with saliva.

In return, Josh happily shoves his tongue inside of you, curling it perfectly to make you squirm and shake in delight. You grabbed his mostly soft dick and pressed kisses to the tip of him, giving him little kitten licks. This just makes him curl his tongue with greater enthusiasm.

“Mhmmmm.” he groans into your pussy, pulling his tongue out of you to suck onto your clit. His tongue flicks at it at a sloppy rhythm, and you’re lucky you’re so horny because regularly this would not be enough to make you cum. But, right now, it feels downright euphoric.

You take him into your mouth, slowly sucking on his tip before moving down an inch, then another. His flicks to your clit become even more sloppy, and he knows that, so, he just suckles the best he can. You groan onto him, his hips buck, sending another inch into your mouth. Thankfully, you don’t choke. Your thumbs rub circles into his hips, fingers scratching the skin above his ass to let him know you were there. But, josh is still mostly soft, and you’re not sure if he’d even be able to cum tonight. Still, you enjoy the closeness of him in your mouth, it feels like you’re intertwined, souls meshing for at least just a moment.

Josh grips your hips tighter, rocking you against his mouth to give you as much stimulation as he can, and you shamelessly rock your hips against his tongue.

“C’mon, baby.” you can hear him mumble from underneath you. His fingers side down and squeeze both of your asscheeks, pulling them apart slightly to have better access between your folds.

After a good minute, you can feel your muscles tighten and your thighs shake. Josh immediately locks his hands on your hips to prevent you from pulling away. You can’t help but shut your eyes, feeling the height of the orgasm crash over you like heavy waves. Your toes curl and you shake, Josh continuing to swirl his tongue.

And then… you relax, pulling him out of your mouth as the serotonin rushes to your brain. You wipe your mouth with the back of your palm and he finally stops. Flopping over, you giggle and look at him with dreamy eyes, still seeing stars.

“Still got it,” he says proudly with a wink.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please, you could barely get close to being half hard.”

He gasps dramatically, hand on his chest. “I’m wounded, truly wounded. I thought you loved me, it’s supposed to be in sickness and in health, you know?”

“I don’t think whiskey dick counts as in sickness, probably in drunkenness. And we aren’t even married so you can’t pull that.” you tease, poking his cheek.

He laughs and pecks your lips. He stretches out, sighing before getting himself up. “‘M gonna brush my teeth. All I can taste is pussy.”

You grab a decorative pillow and throw it at him, hitting him in the back. He yelps playfully and grabs his toothbrush.

[hailtheaeon]

they’re twins I fear. ( @hailthegodsong and I’s deepdive)

[hailtheaeon]

Thank YOU for the tag gorgeous! The song I’ve been obsessed with today is:

The guitar parts are so sexy and I love 80s horny rock.

Tags: @holdingup-fallingsky @dannywagnerenthusiast @kiska-enthusiast @kissingkiszka @ofthecaravel

@writingcold late evening music share? We’ve got to get back to these! They always seemed to bring inspiration… I’ve got one of the discovery stations on Spotify going, and so far it’s all been songs I know 😂 but I am thinking this one might be beneficial for not too far in the future use….

Anyone else want to share what they are listening to? No pressure at all! @takenbythemadness @seenoversundown @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @sanguinebats @hailthegodsong

[hailtheaeon]

This is sooooooooooo ugh the fluff and smut and everything is so good im creaming my jorts

CURLS

One-Shot ~ Danny Wagner x Female Reader

Summary: Danny teaches you that your hair isn’t just chronically frizzy, it’s curly, and he wants to prove it to you by pampering you with his curly routine. Plus some bonus hot needy sex at the end cause I couldn’t help myself.

Word Count: + 7.8k

Content Warnings: flirting, teasing, kissing, just fluff for the whole first half, swearing, not-so-innocent touches eg butt slaps and grabs, SMUT 18+ INCLUDING: dirty talk, grinding, riding, hair pulling, unprotected p in v, brief nipple stuff.

༘

You gripped your brush like it was a weapon in a long-fought battle. The bristles dragged through your wavy hair, making it puffier, frizzier, more stubborn than before. With an exasperated sigh, you dropped the brush onto the counter and pressed your hands over the unruly strands, trying to flatten them. Of course, it didn’t work. It never did.

A huff escaped your lips, frustration buzzing at your skin. Why couldn’t it just behave?

Danny’s presence was like a whisper before he even touched you— a shift in the air, a warmth at your back. Then, his arms snaked around your waist, his body molding against yours as he pressed a lazy, affectionate kiss to the crown of your head.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice thick with that soft, effortless warmth he always carried. But he noticed your frown in the mirror. His brows pinched slightly, concern flickering in his deep brown eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed, meeting his gaze in the reflection. “My hair won’t cooperate,” you muttered, running your hands through the waves again, trying to smooth them down. “It just keeps frizzing up, no matter what I do.”

Danny hummed, resting his chin on the top of your head as his hands slid up to cradle your waist. Then, he reached up, fingers gliding gently over the waves you were so desperately trying to tame.

“I think your hair is beautiful,” he said softly, his tone so earnest it almost made you want to believe him. Almost.

But you shook your head, lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re just saying that.”

His gaze softened even more, and you felt him watching you, taking in the way your shoulders slumped, the way your lips curved down in frustration. He hated seeing you like this— hated knowing that something as simple as your hair was making you feel this way.

“How come you dont ever just embrace your curls?” he asked gently. He ran his fingers through a lock of your hair, twisting it slightly between his thumb and forefinger. “You know, mine used to be fluffy too when I brushed them out like you do.”

That made you pause. You glanced at his reflection— at his tight, perfect curls that you had always loved so much. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. If I dragged a brush through it dry, it’d be a frizzed-out mess.” He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his own hair like he was remembering. “Our curls would probably be pretty similar if you let yours be.”

You shook your head, still staring at your reflection, still pressing your hands down over your hair as if sheer force of will could make it lie flat. “No, I’ve never had curly hair. It’s just wavy. And fluffy.”

Danny tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Yes you do,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

“I never have, Danny,” you assured. 

 “Really?” There was something teasing in his voice, but it was undercut with curiosity, like he was genuinely surprised. “Cause I could’ve sworn I’ve seen your hair hold a ringlet after a day at the beach.”

You frowned slightly, thinking back, but before you could argue, he was already on a mission. His fingers combed gently through your hair, gathering a section from underneath, where it was even more unruly than the rest. You didn’t fight him, just watched in the mirror as he examined it with a quiet sort of fascination.

“This part’s extra frizzy,” he mused, almost to himself. Then, with practiced ease, he twirled the strands around his fingers, gathering a weak and frizzy but undeniable ringlet. His eyes flicked back to yours in the reflection, and he grinned. “See?”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second, you were at a loss. That… that was unexpected. You glanced down at the little curl, barely clinging to its shape before it fell apart again.

“I thought you knew you had curly hair,” Danny continued, still holding the section, amused but not mocking. “Just figured you didn’t like it or something.”

You hesitated, a little uncertain, a little thrown. “I still don’t know if I do,” you admitted. “It’s just wavy. And fluffy,” you repeated.

Danny hummed thoughtfully, running his fingers through another section of your hair, twisting it again like he was testing a theory. Then, his expression shifted into something almost mischievous, his hands sliding to your shoulders.

“What if I do my curl routine on you?”

You blinked. “Your curl routine?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, already excited about the idea. “The whole thing. Washing, conditioning, products, scrunching, the works. Just once. See what happens.”

You hesitated again, eyeing him in the mirror. His curls always looked so perfect— soft, defined, not a single one out of place. If anyone knew what they were doing, it was him.

“…And if it turns out bad?” you asked cautiously.

Danny just smirked. “Then I’ll personally brush it out for you and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.” He squeezed your shoulders, rocking you gently. “C’mon. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You hesitated, watching him in the mirror as he patiently waited for your answer, his hands still resting on your shoulders. The warmth of his touch was grounding, but your doubt lingered. You reached back, fingers threading through his curls, the ones you had always admired— tight, perfect, springy. Nothing like yours.

“But my hair is nowhere near as curly as yours,” you murmured, twisting a lock of his hair gently between your fingers. “What if you’re wrong? What if it doesn’t work and I’d gotten my hopes up for nothing? I’ll just be… fatefully fluffy forever.”

Danny chuckled, dipping his head to press a soft kiss against your temple. “Fatefully fluffy, huh?” His voice was teasing, but his hands slid down your arms, reassuring, as if he could sense how much this actually mattered to you. “Baby, I’m not wrong.”

You sighed, your fingers still lazily toying with his curls. “But what if you are?”

His grip on you tightened just a little, like he was making sure you were listening. “Then we’ll laugh about it, and I’ll still think you’re gorgeous. But I really dont think I'm wrong. I mean, when am I ever?” He joked, nosing into your hair, pressing another slow, lingering kiss into it. “I think you’ve just never seen what your hair can actually do.”

You closed your eyes briefly, leaning into him without meaning to. His hands, warm and steady, skimmed down your waist before settling at your hips, pulling you a little closer against him.

“You trust me?” he murmured.

You huffed, but it was softer this time. “Of course.”

“Then let me prove to you how beautiful your hair is.” Another kiss, this time just behind your ear, and you felt yourself melting a little more. You turned in his arms, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, searching his face. Danny grinned, his nose brushing against yours playfully. “And if you hate it,  I’ll brush it out for you myself. And I’ll kiss your pouty little frown away.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips anyway. His own smile softened at that, like he had already won.

“Okay,” you exhaled. “Do your worst.”

His hands squeezed your waist as his grin turned triumphant. Danny led you to the bathroom, his fingers laced casually with yours, the warmth of his palm familiar and comforting. He was still grinning, clearly pleased with himself for convincing you to go along with this.

“You’re way too excited about this,” you teased as he flipped the bathroom light on.

“Of course I am,” he said, nudging the door closed behind you. “I finally get to see your curls sit freely.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as he reached into the shower, turning the water on and letting it heat up. He tested the temperature with his hand, adjusting the knobs with the ease of someone who had done this a million times. Then he turned back to you, his expression softening as he watched you.

There was something so warm about the way he looked at you— like he was savoring the moment, like he just enjoyed having you here in this tiny, mundane part of his life. He stepped forward, reaching for the hem of your shirt and tugging it up gently.

“C’mon, clothes off,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “This is a full-service treatment.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest playfully, but you complied, pulling off your shirt while he did the same. It wasn’t weird— there was nothing inherently sexual about it. You had seen each other like this plenty of times, and tonight, it was just comfortable. Intimate, but not in that way.

Once you were both undressed, he guided you into the shower first, following close behind as the warm water cascaded over your shoulders. You sighed at the sensation, tilting your head back slightly.

“Temperature okay?” he asked, pressing a hand to your back as he stepped under the spray with you.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Perfect.”

Danny hummed, reaching for one of the bottles lined up along the shower shelf. “Okay, so first step— shampoo. But not just any shampoo. This one’s sulfate-free, super moisturizing, good for keeping curls from drying out.” He wiggled the bottle in front of you before popping the cap and squirting some into his palm. “You ready?”

You arched a brow. “Ready for what?”

He smirked. “To be pampered.”

You snorted, but before you could respond, his hands were in your hair, and— oh.

His fingers worked the shampoo into your scalp, massaging in slow, deliberate circles. It was firm but gentle, and your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation.

“Mm,” you hummed without meaning to. “That feels… really nice.”

Danny chuckled, his voice lower, closer to your ear. “Told you.”

He kept going, making sure to cover every inch of your scalp, his thumbs pressing into the spots behind your ears, his fingers threading through your hair like he was mapping it out, learning the way it moved. It wasn’t just washing— it was care.

“Do you do the whole routine every time you wash your hair?” you asked after a moment, your voice a little hazy.

“Yeah,” he said, still focused on his task. “Gotta take care of the curls, y’know?”

You hummed again in response, too relaxed to say much more. Danny chuckled, rinsing his hands briefly before tilting your head back under the water, his fingers still sifting through your hair to help rinse the shampoo out.

As the suds washed away, he grabbed his own bottle of shampoo and lathered up his own curls quickly. You watched as he scrubbed at his scalp, eyes lit with eagerness.

You shook your head, smiling. “You really love this stuff.

“Of course,” he said, grinning as he rinsed his own hair. 

After rinsing the soap out, he turned back to you, tilting his head slightly. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”

Your stomach did a little flip at the way he said it— so effortlessly, like it was a fact, like there was no room for argument. He reached out, brushing a damp strand away from your face before cupping your cheek. “Even when you doubt it,” he murmured, “I see it.”

Your heart squeezed, and you leaned into his palm, letting your eyes slip shut for a second. When you opened them, Danny was watching you in awe. His hand slipped from your face to your neck, cradling the side of it tenderly. 

You leaned in, tilting your head upward to meet him in a quick, gentle kiss. When your lips met though, he didn't let you retreat right away, deepening the kiss for just a moment. 

Then, because it was Danny, and because he could never resist being a little shit, his hand moved— quick, playful, and entirely too smug as he gave your ass a firm slap.

You yelped, jolting upright, and he chuckled cheekily, wrapping an arm around your waist before you could swat at him. “Danny!”

“What?” he grinned, eyes dancing with mischief. “It was right there.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“Mm, yours is better,” he quipped, squeezing your waist before kissing your temple again, like that somehow canceled out his antics.

Danny grinned, reaching for the shampoo bottle again. “Round two.”

You blinked at him. “Wait, what? We just did this.”

“Yeah, but you gotta shampoo twice,” he explained, squirting more into his palm. “First wash gets rid of all the product and buildup. Second one actually cleans your hair.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “That feels like a scam.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Trust me, baby, it’s not.” Before you could argue, his hands were in your hair again, massaging the lather into your scalp with the same gentle but firm touch.

And, okay— maybe it did feel even better the second time. His fingers worked through your roots, and you found yourself leaning into the motion, eyes fluttering shut again. Damn if he had a way with his hands. 

“You like it,” Danny teased, voice low and amused.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, and he just laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple before tilting your head back to rinse your hair out again.

Once the last of the suds swirled down the drain, he grabbed the conditioner bottle, squeezing a generous amount into his palm. “Alright, now conditioner,” he said, running his hands through your hair, starting from the middle and working his way down.

“I thought conditioner goes everywhere,” you said, watching him in the dim light of the shower.

“Nah, you don’t wanna put it on your roots,” he explained. “It can weigh your hair down. Focus on the mids and ends— where it actually needs moisture.” His fingers glided through your strands, carefully distributing the product. “Your hair is so smooth,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Way nicer than mine.”

You snorted. “Liar.”

Danny shook his head. “Nope. Yours is softer. I mean, I love my curls, but your hair feels different. Silky.” He smoothed his hands down the length of your hair again, like he was appreciating the texture. “I love it. I’ve always loved it”

You bit the inside of your cheek, warmth blooming in your chest at the way he said it. His voice was so genuine, so full of admiration, like he actually meant it. Like he wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better— he truly, wholeheartedly loved your hair just as it was.

He stepped back under the water to rinse his own hair, and you both fell into easy conversation as you waited for the conditioner to sit.

“How’d you even learn all this?”

Danny grinned. “Trial and error. And a lot of bad hair days.”

You laughed. “What was the worst?”

“Oh, easy. High school. I used to just wash my hair with whatever my mom had in the shower. No conditioner, no curl cream, nothing. It was… tragic.”

You giggled, imagining a teenage Danny with a frizzy, undefined mess of curls. “I need to see pictures.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, grinning as he shook his head. “Those are locked away forever.”

Eventually, he reached for the detachable shower head and began rinsing the conditioner out of your hair, making sure to be thorough. “Alright, we’re almost done,” he said. “Just gotta wash up and we’re good.”

You both grabbed your body wash and soaped up, exchanging lazy conversation as you cleaned yourselves off. There was no rush, no awkwardness— just a quiet sort of intimacy, like this was something you did all the time.

Once you were both rinsed and the water was turned off, Danny stepped out first, grabbing a towel. He opened it up, holding it out for you with a little grin. “C’mere.”

You stepped into it, and he wrapped you up snugly, his arms staying around you for a second longer than necessary. He pressed another lingering kiss to your temple, murmuring, “All warm?”

You nodded against him. “Mhm.”

Danny grabbed his own towel, and you reached for another that was hung up, instinctively going to wrap it around your head to dry your hair. But before you could twist it up, his hands gently stopped you.

“Ah, aht,” he tutted, shaking his head. “No towel turban.”

You frowned. “Why not?”

He smirked. “Because it’s bad for your curls. Too much friction. We’re doing this the right way, remember?”

You sighed, but his smug little grin was too cute to argue with. “Fine,” you mumbled. “What’s the right way, then?”

His eyes glinted with excitement, disappearing into the bedroom for a moment and returning with a soft cotton T-shirt. He held it up like it was some sacred relic. “This,” he said dramatically, “Is what you use to dry your hair. Not a towel. A T-shirt is way gentler, keeps the frizz down.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re making this up.”

“I would never,” he said, placing a hand over his chest like he was swearing an oath. 

And, speaking of his chest— yeah. You’d been actively trying not to stare, but it was hard when he was standing there, damp and shirtless, his curls dripping slightly as they started to air-dry. His skin was still flushed from the heat of the shower, golden and smooth, and you wanted, so badly, to reach out and—

You did.

Your hand landed on his chest, fingers splaying over his warm skin before you could even think about it. His muscles twitched under your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he smirked, raising a single eyebrow.

“Let’s not get off track,” he murmured, voice amused but thick with something else.

You huffed, reluctantly dragging your hand away. “You’re distracting,” you muttered, eyes raking down his naked body.

Danny chuckled, shaking his head as he gently lifted the T-shirt to your head, patting your hair dry with a careful touch. “I think that’s my line.”

“What? So I’m not allowed to find you irresistibly sexy?” you teased, sneaking your hand around his waist and grabbing a handful of his bare ass. 

He jumped with a yelp at the contact, quickly pulling himself away from your rogue hand. “Alright you little minx, that's enough of that,” he grabbed you by the shoulders and turned you in the direction of the bathroom door. “Off we go to the living room now, before you decide to jump my bones.” 

You giggled, and Danny threw his towel around his waist loosely, shaking his head. He led you into the living room, his hand warm against your back. The apartment felt extra cozy after the heat of the shower, the air slightly cool against your damp skin. You padded across the room, and when you moved to sit on the couch, Danny tugged your wrist.

“Uh-uh,” he said, grinning as he sat down on the couch first. “You sit in front of me.” He grabbed a pillow and threw it into the floor between his open legs.

You sighed dramatically but settled onto the floor, dropping onto the cushion and leaning back against the couch. His thighs bracketed your shoulders, warm and solid, and it was honestly kind of perfect— his presence behind you, the promise of his gentle hands in your hair.

“Alright, baby,” he said, running a towel-dried hand over your damp strands, spreading them out across your back. “Now, listen carefully, because this is the good stuff.”

He reached for the first product— a leave-in conditioner in a sleek bottle. “This is a must,” he said, squirting a generous amount into his palm before rubbing it between his hands. “Adds moisture, keeps your hair soft, and makes sure the curls don’t get all frizzy and dry.”

His fingers glided through your hair, starting from the ends and working up. He was careful, working through any tangles with infinite patience.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he scrunched sections of your hair gently, encouraging the curls to form. You could feel him target small, specific strands, and you stifled a giggle at his dedication. “You’re really taking this seriously,” you murmured, smiling.

“Of course. Gotta make sure you get the full experience.”

He reached for the next bottle— a curl cream, thick and buttery. “This,” he explained, rubbing it between his fingers before raking it through your hair, “Is what really defines the curls. Gives them shape, keeps them soft but structured.”

His fingers were so deliberate, so careful, working the product through each strand like he was sculpting something precious. He gathered small sections, twisting them gently, coaxing each curl into formation.

Music played softly in the background— one of your shared playlists, something mellow and warm. You grabbed a snack from the coffee table, popping it into your mouth before reaching back blindly, pressing another one against Danny’s lips.

He paused for half a second, then grinned against your fingers before taking the bite. “Thanks, angel.”

You hummed contentedly, letting your head tip forward slightly as he continued working. He was so focused, so devoted to making sure each curl was perfect.

“I really hope you like your hair curly,” he murmured after a moment, his hands still moving through your strands.

You blinked, tilting your head slightly. “Why’s that?”

Danny exhaled softly, fingers grazing the nape of your neck. “I always used to wish you’d embrace them,” he admitted, voice warm, careful. “But I didn’t wanna say anything. If I’d known you didn’t even know you had curls, I would’ve mentioned it sooner.”

Your stomach did a little flip at the thought of him caring this much— of him wanting this for you, wanting you to be happy, but never pushing, never making you feel like you had to change anything about yourself.

“Danny,” you said softly, reaching back to squeeze his knee. “That’s really sweet.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a second. “I just want you to love every part of yourself the way I do.”

You swallowed down the warmth blooming in your chest, feeling impossibly fond of him. “I love you, Danny. You’re too good to me.”

Danny chuckled. “I try, baby. And I love you too, beautiful.”

He finished defining your curls with ridiculous precision, then quickly worked the same products into his own hair, scrunching and shaping his tight ringlets with practiced ease.

When he was done, he leaned back against the couch with a satisfied sigh, hands resting on your shoulders. “Alright, now we let it air dry,” he announced. “No touching, no messing with it.”

You glanced up at him, playfully skeptical. “Can I go look in the mirror? Is it curly yet?”

“No, not yet. Wait till it's dry before you look at them. The grand reveal,” he dramatised. 

You rolled your eyes, “Ugh, you’re too into this.”

Danny grinned, squeezing your shoulders. “Damn right I am. And you’re gonna thank me when you see how gorgeous your curls look.”

You smiled, feeling impossibly warm— wrapped in the safety of his words, the quiet affection in his voice, and the knowledge that he loved every part of you, even the parts you were still learning to love yourself.

Danny stretched, then tugged you up by the hands, pulling you to your feet effortlessly. “Alright, angel, let’s make some dinner.”

You groaned playfully, leaning into him. “Do we have to? Can’t we just stay here and let the food magically appear?”

He grinned, wrapping his arms around you in a lazy hug. “If only. But, if it helps, I promise to be a very hands-on cooking partner.” His voice dropped slightly, teasing. “Lots of assistance. Lots of… encouragement.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were already smiling. “Fine, but only because I love you.”

He smirked. “Damn right you do.”

Together, you shuffled into the bedroom and threw on some comfortable clothes, before making your way to the kitchen, somehow still wrapped up in each other. Danny took the lead, rifling through the fridge as he hummed under his breath, while you leaned against the counter, watching him with open fondness.

Eventually, you settled on something simple— pasta with a quick homemade sauce. He stood behind you as you chopped ingredients, hands skimming your waist, lips brushing your shoulder. “You’re so good at this,” he murmured, voice warm.

You scoffed, though your cheeks warmed at the attention. “I’m literally just cutting a tomato.”

“Mmm.” His hands squeezed your hips gently. “Still, you make it look cute… sexy.”

“That's the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you joked, rolling your eyes, but leaning into his touch nonetheless. 

He kept his promise of being a “hands-on” cooking partner, taking every opportunity to touch you— his fingers brushing over yours when he passed you the salt, his palm splayed against your back when he reached for something overhead, a lingering kiss pressed behind your ear as he stirred the pasta.

“You’re not actually helping,” you teased, swatting at him when he leaned into you again.

He grinned. “Moral support.”

Dinner was effortless, easy, warm— just like everything with him. By the time you were plating the food, you felt light, happy, fully in your skin. Danny stole one last kiss, then brushed a curl from your forehead, his touch lingering. His eyes softened as he looked at you.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I think your hair’s dry. Go have a look.”

Your stomach flipped. You’d almost forgotten about it entirely, too caught up in the comfort of him. You hesitated for half a second before stepping away, not before Danny landed a firm pat to your behind, earning him a disapproving look from you. You found the living room mirror, exhaling slowly before stepping in front of it.

Your breath caught.

It was… curly. Like, actually curly. Soft, bouncy, defined spirals that framed your face and cascaded over your shoulders. The frizz was gone, replaced with a shape and structure you’d never seen in your own reflection before.

A moment later, Danny appeared behind you, hands settling on your waist as he leaned in. “What do you think?” His voice was gentle, coaxing. “I, for one, think you look–” he lifted his hands to hover around your hair, shaking them for emphasis, “– fucking beautiful.”

You swallowed, warmth pooling in your chest. It was rare— feeling this way, feeling good in your skin without picking apart something in the mirror. But now, standing there, with his hands warm around you, with your hair looking the way it was always meant to… you actually felt beautiful.

Danny snaked his hands around your waist, pulling you close as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another against your jaw. His eyes met yours in the mirror, dark and full of something unshakable. “You’re radiant,” he murmured, one hand reaching up to touch the curls reverently, like he was admiring them just as much as you were.

You hesitated, still a little shy, but finally admitted, “I… I like it.”

His grin was immediate, bright and smug and utterly delighted. “Yeah?”

You nodded, cheeks warm. “Yeah.”

Danny squeezed your waist, lips brushing your ear. “C’mon, don’t be shy,” he murmured, voice dipping lower. “You look fucking stunning.” Danny grinned, clearly not finished yet. “Okay, one last thing,” he announced, reaching for your hair again.

You blinked. “I thought we were done?”

He gave you a look. “Baby, volume is key.”

He started gently shaking out some of the curls at the roots, fluffing them up slightly. Then, he separated a few clumps with his fingers, letting them bounce into their natural shape.

When he stepped back and turned you toward the mirror again, the difference was immediate. Your curls weren’t just defined— they were full, voluminous, effortlessly perfect.

“Woah,” you admitted. 

Danny whistled lowly, tilting his head as he examined his work. “Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his own hair. “I think your curls turned out better than mine.”

You snorted. “Are you jealous?”

He huffed dramatically. “A little. I spend years perfecting my curl routine, and you just show up, looking like—” He gestured vaguely at you, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip. “Like that.”

You smirked. “Like what?”

His eyes dragged over you slowly, like he was trying to decide how much trouble he wanted to cause. Then, with zero shame, he tugged on one of your curls and let it bounce back.

“Like someone I should be getting on my knees for,” he said simply, voice dipping lower, teasing, dangerous.

Your stomach flipped. “Danny—”

“What?” He twirled his fingers around another curl, this time watching your face instead of the hair. “Just saying, if you’d figured this out sooner, I’d have spent a lot more time tugging on these in bed.” 

Your breath caught, and you swatted at his chest. “Danny!”

He grinned, completely unrepentant. “What? Don’t act like you don’t like the visual.” His hands slid down to your hips, squeezing just enough to make you inhale sharply. “I mean, fisted in these perfect curls, pulling just enough to make you—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Oh my God!”

Danny laughed against your palm, eyes full of mischief. He licked your hand just to be annoying, and you yelped, pulling it away.

“You’re disgusting.”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Mmm, disgusting or devoted?” His hands slid a little lower, fingers brushing the curve of your ass as he leaned in, lips hovering near your ear. “Because, baby, if you had any idea what was running through my head right now, you’d—”

You interrupted him before he could finish that sentence, biting back a smile. “You are the worst.” Danny’s fingers continued to brush over your ass, and you fought the urge to clench your thighs.

He smirked, entirely too satisfied with himself. “Yeah? And yet, here you are letting me touch you, looking all soft and perfect and—” His hands slid around to grab your ass fully, giving it a firm squeeze. You gasped, swatting at him again, but he ignored it. “—mine.”

Your face burned, with either embarrassment or pure list, you didn’t know, but you were grinning despite yourself. “You are so lucky I love you.” You tried to ignore the way your heart thumped in your chest at his teasing.

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, his hands still shamelessly holding you in place. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Damn right I am.”

Before he could open his mouth— before he could land another cocky, teasing remark that would only make things worse— you grabbed his wrist and pulled.

Danny barely had time to react before you dragged him through the bedroom into the living room. You shoved him down onto the couch, his back hitting the cushions with a soft oof. His eyes widened, just for a second, before amusement flickered through them.

“Oh,” he said, grinning up at you. “Ohhh.”

You straddled him without hesitation, settling on his lap, your knees pressing into the cushions on either side of him. His hands found your thighs immediately, fingers spreading over your skin like they belonged there.

For once, Danny didn’t have anything smart to say. He just looked at you— really looked at you. The rise and fall of your chest, the way your curls tumbled over your shoulders, spilling around him like a halo. His eyes flickered with something darker, something hungry, and his grip on your thighs tightened just slightly.

And then, you kissed him.

Danny exhaled sharply against your lips, but he didn’t hesitate, didn’t waste a second before kissing you back. His hands roamed up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel him smiling into the kiss, so unbearably pleased with himself.

When you finally pulled back, his lips were pink, his pupils blown, and his gaze flicked up to where your curls framed his face, some of them tickling his cheek. He smirked, dragging his hands down your back, settling them at your hips as he tilted his head up at you.

“Damn,” he murmured, his voice low, warm, wrecked. “Was it the hair that gave you the sudden boost of confidence?”

“Shut up,” you complained. Your lips crashed against his again, all hesitation gone. Danny groaned softly into your mouth, his hands tightening around your hips as he pulled you even closer, pressing you flush against him. The heat of him, the solid weight of his body beneath you— it was dizzying, intoxicating.

His hands continued to roam freely, sliding up your back, over your waist, down to your thighs, touching everywhere he could reach. You rolled your hips experimentally, barely a shift, just enough to feel him beneath you, and the sound Danny made— half sigh, half growl— sent a bolt of heat straight through you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his lips dragging along your jaw, down your neck. He kissed you there, slow and deep, before nipping at the skin just hard enough to make you gasp. “You feel so fucking good.”

Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging just enough to make him shudder this time. His breath hitched against your throat, and then his mouth was back on you— open, hungry, dragging down the curve of your neck. His teeth scraped your pulse point before he soothed it with his tongue, making your breath stutter.

“Danny,” you gasped, grinding down again, this time without thinking.

His hands tightened at your hips, helping you move against him. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as he groaned, the sound he made so needy in a way that made you burn.

“Jesus,” he breathed, his fingers digging into your skin. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You smirked, tilting his chin up so you could kiss him again, deep and slow, swallowing the little sounds he made as your hips kept moving. The friction, the heat— every little shift sent sparks through you, left you aching, wanting.

Danny gasped into your mouth as you rolled your hips harder, feeling how thick and hard he was beneath you, pressed right against where you needed him most. You moaned at the sensation, and Danny lost it.

“Baby,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked, his hands gripping your waist like he was barely holding himself back. “Fuck, you feel that?”

You did. Oh, you did.

Your response was another slow, deliberate roll of your hips, dragging your core against the hard length of him, and Danny swore under his breath, his head falling back against the couch.

“Shit,” he groaned, his voice strained. His hands dragged up your back, one slipping into your hair, pulling just enough to make you whimper. Every slow grind against him sent another wave of slick heat pooling between your thighs, making you desperate for more, more, more.

Danny’s breath stuttered. His grip on you turned almost desperate, like he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t have enough.

His lips found your throat again, this time kissing and sucking like he was trying to mark you. His hips shifted beneath you, pressing up to meet your movements, and the added friction made you whimper.

And then he kissed you— hard, deep, hungry— his hips rolling up into yours as his hands slid beneath your shirt, fingers trailing fire over your bare skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your skin, his voice practically shaking. “You keep moving like that, and–”

“Yeah baby? You like how it feels?” You whispered, tugging his curls, making him look at you. Heaven knows where your confidence had come from. You’d never taken this dominant of a role with Danny before. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

Your hands barely had time to steady yourself on his shoulders before Danny’s grip turned desperate. His fingers fumbled at the waistband of your pants, tugging at them with an urgency that sent another wave of heat through you.

“Off,” he muttered against your lips, already yanking at the fabric. “Need these off.”

You laughed breathlessly, lifting your hips just enough to help him. He practically tore them down your legs, his hands skimming over your thighs, your ass, anywhere he could touch before shoving your underwear down just as quickly.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands sliding up your bare thighs, squeezing, spreading you wider over him. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”

Your breath caught, and then you were reaching for his pants, tugging impatiently. Danny groaned as you palmed him through the fabric, already so thick and hard, and the sound he made nearly undid you.

“Jesus, baby—” His hands flexed against your skin, his head dropping back against the couch for just a second before he was helping you, shoving his own pants down, lifting his hips to kick them off.

And fuck.

Your stomach flipped at the sight of him— his cock, flushed and leaking, thick and heavy against his stomach. Your thighs clenched at the sheer size of him, and Danny smirked when he caught you staring.

“Like what you see?” he teased, breathless.

You swallowed hard, heat rushing through you. “Shut up.”

“Yeah?” He exhaled sharply, gripping himself at the base, giving himself a slow, lazy stroke. Your mouth watered. “You don’t really want that though do you baby?”

Your face burned. His teasing was endless, and yet all it did was make you want him more.

Quickly, you stripped your shirt over your shoulders and threw it sidewards, your breasts falling free before his face. Before he could touch, you desperately stripped him of his own shirt, exposing his chest in all its glory, flushed, tan and heaving. 

You settled back over him, and his hands immediately found your hips, holding you there, dragging you down just enough that his cock slid through your slick folds, the tip nudging right against your clit.

Your whole body jolted.

Danny groaned, his grip tightening. “Fuck, I can feel you throbbing.” His voice was strained, breathless. “You’re fucking dripping for me.”

You gasped as he rocked his hips up, teasing himself through your wetness, slicking himself up in the process. The way the head of his cock dragged over your clit, over and over, had you whimpering, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself.

“Danny—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he rasped, one hand sliding up your back, the other guiding himself to your entrance. “I got you. Just—”

He lifted your hips only just, before he pushed in, slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open, and fuck.

Your mouth fell open on a gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you, your body clenching around him, taking all of him.

Danny groaned, his head tipping back, eyes squeezed shut. “Fucking hell, baby,” he choked out. “Feel so good.”

You whimpered, adjusting to the fullness, the stretch. “You’re huge.”

Danny let out a breathless laugh, his hands gripping your hips like a vice. “You take me so well, Baby.”

You exhaled shakily, rolling your hips just enough to make him gasp.

His fingers flexed, his jaw clenching. “Jesus Christ.”

Then, his hands tightened, and he snapped his hips up into you.

You cried out, back arching, and Danny groaned at the sight, his grip firm as he guided you, urging you to move.

His hands slid up your sides, tracing your curves, smoothing over your stomach, then up to cup your breasts, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

“You have no idea,” he groaned, thumbs brushing over your nipples, watching as they pebbled under his touch, “how fucking beautiful you are.”

A heat bloomed in your chest, something heady and intoxicating, and when he rolled his hips up to meet yours, forcing him deeper, you whined. You couldn't help but clench around him, his cock throbbing in response. 

Danny grinned, though his own breath was uneven, his fingers tracing down your body again, memorizing you. “Yeah?” he murmured, voice dipping lower, teasing. “You like when I tell you how fucking perfect you are?”

You bit your lip, nodding, and Danny groaned, his hands gripping your waist as he thrust up into you, hard and deliberate.

“Good,” he rasped, his lips brushing your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “Because I could do this all day.”

He leaned in, kissing along your throat, slow and possessive, his hips rolling in perfect rhythm beneath you. His hands slid back to your ass, squeezing before guiding your movements, encouraging you to move faster.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “Use me. Fucking take what you need.”

The words sent a fresh surge of heat through you, making you desperate, making you grind down on him harder, faster, your hips lifting just enough to give him the friction he needed against your walls. You felt him, too— felt the way his cock throbbed inside you, the way his breathing grew ragged, needy.

One of his hands fisted in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat to him. His tongue darted out, tasting the sweat on your skin before he bit down, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

You moaned, your hands steading yourself on his shoulders as you arched into him, head dropped back by his tight hold on your hair.

His free hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit as it ground against the coarse hair over his pubic bone, rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your thighs shake. 

You moaned breathlessly. “Fuck, Danny.”

“You’re so fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Jesus, I could stay buried in you forever.” Hand still lost in your locks, Danny pulled your head back towards him, pushing your face into his shoulder. Your cheek pressed up against the damp skin as you panted and moaned shamelessly against him, hips still rising and falling on his cock. 

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body tightening around him, sending him reeling.

Danny whined pathetically, thrusting up harder, chasing both of your highs now. “God, yes, baby,” he groaned, his cheek pressing to your head, sweat-slick and desperate. “Come on. Give it to me.”

Your body bounced atop him with every thrust upward, meeting him in a hard descent down, the tip of his cock nudging against your walls with each jolt. 

His fingers worked you faster, his movements turning almost frantic as he felt you tightening around him. His grip on your hair tightened too, keeping you right where he wanted you, pressed flush against his hot skin—

Then it snapped.

You cried out, your body clenching down around him as pleasure crashed over you, leaving you trembling. Danny cursed, his grip bruising as he fucked you through it, watching you unravel with something wrecked in his expression.

Then, with a strangled groan, he followed— his hips stuttering, his breath hitching as he buried himself as deep as he could, coming hard, his cock twitching inside you as he filled you with everything he had to give you.

You continued to pant against him, body slumped in a sweaty, tired heap on his lap, his chest rising and falling restlessly against your face, which had slid down his shoulder to his pec. For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies pressed together, skin damp, hearts hammering in sync.

Danny let out a breathless laugh, chest still rising and falling beneath you, both of you slick with sweat, tangled together in a mess of limbs and heat. His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles on your lower back, grounding you even as your body still buzzed with aftershocks.

“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice rough, wrecked.

You hummed, pressing your forehead into his chest, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, the solid weight of his arms still wrapped around you.

Then, because he was Danny and he could never help himself, you could practically hear his smirk as he murmured, “So, is this just a side effect of the new curls, or have you been hiding that kind of confidence from me all this time?”

You scoffed, swatting weakly at his arm. “Shut up.”

He grinned, entirely too satisfied with himself, fingers finding a loose curl and giving it a teasing tug. “I mean, really. If I’d known this was the key to getting you to jump my bones like that, I’d have been curling your hair ages ago.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “I hate you.”

Danny only laughed, shifting beneath you so you were tucked against his chest, his arms looping around you with an ease that made your heart ache. “No, you don’t,” he murmured, voice dipping softer now, more serious. His lips brushed your temple, his fingers tracing a slow path up and down your spine. “You love me.”

And God, you did.

You sighed into him, melting into the warmth of his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek. “Yeah,” you admitted, voice small. “I do.”

Danny let out a contented hum, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m so fucking in love with you, it’s actually pathetic.”

You huffed a laugh, tilting your head to look up at him. The dim light of the living room cast soft shadows across his face, catching on the sharp cut of his jaw, the messy curls sticking to his forehead. His lips were still kiss-swollen, his cheeks still flushed, and God, he was beautiful.

But it wasn’t just his looks— it was him. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world, the way he touched you like he was memorising you, like you were something precious.

His fingers brushed along your cheek now, his thumb tracing just beneath your bottom lip, his gaze unreadable. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick. “You know that, right?”

You wanted to roll your eyes, like you usually would, but after the way you’d been treated today, it wasn't so hard to believe this time. “Do you really mean that?”

He grinned, but his eyes stayed soft, sincere. “I really mean that,” he said, fingers tangling in your hair again, this time smoothing over the skin of your scalp where he had tugged only moments before. “Beautiful,” he punctuated the compliment with a kiss to your head, “and pretty,” another kiss, “and gorgeous,” kiss, “and stunning,” kiss, “and ethereal,” kiss, “and so, so sexy,” he dropped his hands to your bare ass and gave you a gentle squeeze. “But most of all, I love you, so, so much,” he tucked a curl behind your ear as it hung over your eye, “And, I really, really like your hair curly.” 

You giggled, hoping your blush wasn’t too evident as you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Good. ‘Cause I like it too.”

༘

Tag list ~ @allof--mylove @hailthegodsong @scarabsinthestardust @dannysrosetattoo @musicislove3389

[hailtheaeon]

sneak peak 💗

[hailtheaeon]

Happy Valentine’s Day to the person I’d make out with if I wasn’t across the world from them @hailthegodsong