#February Sweeps: The Light

[poguehearted77]

Just Another Cliché

Summary: Rafe has been asking to take you out for years and you always shoot him down, after a particularly bad day, you decide things can't get much worse.

<<Here's some fluffy angst for those who need it>>

Shitty was an understatement for the day you had. This day will go down in history as the worst day any soul has ever lived through.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." The murmur is bitter on your tongue as you stuff your hands deeper into your warm pockets. The breath of your words were visible in the crisp winter air as you were about to pass by Rafe Cameron who waited patiently outside of your apartment building with a single rose just like he always did.

Since your senior year of high school, every year on the fourteenth of February, he would wait outside your complex, asking you out, then you say no, then he goes home. That's the tradition.

Well, technically you never said no. You'd always make up some excuse. 'I don't have time for a relationship right now' or 'Now's a bad time' are just a few of the examples you've used over the last five years.

It's not that there was anything wrong with him. You actually did find him attractive. Aside from the sketchy reputation he had going for him back in high school, he was still a relatively nice guy.

You just didn't have the time for a relationship, or at least you didn't before.

A small smile forms on his face as he sees you, already knowing what to expect. Another excuse like "Fine," yup, just as he thought- Wait.

"Say that again?" His head shakes in disbelief, blue eyes bulging slightly. Your shoulders shrug under your heavy-duty winter jacket. "My car was towed, then I lost my job, so why not lose my dignity too? Let's go out." You say and his heart begins to bounce off the confines of his ribs.

Not sure if it was the frosty air nipping at his cheeks or his lifetime wish finally unwrapping before his eyes, his cheeks flushed and he blinked a few times. "You won't regret this, I promise." he holds out the rose for you to take, and you finally do. For the first time in five years. You bite back a scoff, not in the mood for empty promises.

"Why haven't you given up yet?" You ask and now he places his hands in his pockets as a chilling breeze sweeps past you. He's rocking back on his heels slightly, "Life's too short to give up." The tiny smile on his face does make you scoff this time but he moves past it, "I'll text you later," is the last thing he says before he walks off.

You look down at the rose, then at his shrinking figure as he heads for the distance. A little pep in his step and you shook your head, immediately regretting your decision.

Great, this is exactly what you needed, another cliché.

-

Just another cliché is exactly what it was. On the lowest day of your life, you finally gave Rafe a chance. Of course, he changes your life in ways you couldn't imagine and leaves you with a dead weight of regret for not giving in sooner.

Your first date wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it was fun. The two of you were inexperienced skaters failing to skate in the middle of the town square during the heart of winter. With festive lights outlining the rink where you laughed every time one of you fell.

There was even a point in time when you'd both embraced the cold connection with the ice floor and had a deep conversation on the sidelines, watching the other skaters circle the rink.

"Why me?" The question slips out before you can catch it and he licks his lips. He anticipated the query would arise eventually. "You remember that party Hailey Vanderbilt threw back in senior year?"

You hum with a nod, that was a party you'll never forget. Pool toys ended up in the trees, broken windows, jello in the hot tub, fights in the front yard and gambling in the back. "You and a few of the girls were playing truth or dare and they had dared you to start a rumour that I'd shaved my head because my family had joined some cult or some shit."

It took you a second, but the memory came back to you. "You don't know this, but I was fucking wasted behind the couch, but I'll never forget the way you stood up for me to them and refused to do it, and I dunno, I jus' think that was really cool of you." His head turns to you, his gaze softening when he looks at you.

At that moment, you felt the butterflies flap around in your stomach for the first time. He clears his throat, expression becoming more sombre as he continues. "My mom," He starts, taking a difficult swallow to get the words out.

"She was really sick. I got caught up with the wrong crowd to deal with it. Doing anything people said would get me distracted, even for a little, but she got worse and me being high every day didn't help so I quit. Her chemo was taking everything from her and eventually, she just shaved it off, she hated looking in the mirror and it killed me."

Your chest tightened at the story, having a sneaking suspicion of where this was going, "So when you shaved your head..." You trail off and Rafe nods along, turning away from you as a stray tear falls. "It was for her. You sticking up for me meant so much more than you know."

So there you both sat, on the ice with your backs against the wall in silence while the faint Christmas music chimed in the background. The date had taken a sad turn but you're glad it did, it sparked the beginning of your forever-evolving bond.

That was only the first date of many. Dozens and dozens of dates had flown past you and with each one you hated yourself a little more for letting him stand outside of your complex for five years rather than invite him inside.

"This is a nice place." He compliments as he takes a look around before settling himself on the couch with you beside him. "Thanks, it used to be a lot nicer when I could afford it. Had to sell some stuff to keep it after I lost my job."

He chuckles, "That explains why we're facing a blank wall and no television." and you pinch him. "Sacrifices had to be made. Who needs a TV anyways when there's so many other things we could do to keep ourselves busy." Your wandering hand gently runs down his firm thigh and you can feel the muscles in his leg tighten.

This was unchartered territory for you. You'd been dating for almost three months now and have never been intimate in that way, but Rafe knew the kind of person you were. A perfectionist, you need to be sure of everything before you try it.

Based on how fervently you were currently kissing along the length of his neck he could assume he had a pretty good idea of where your head was at. "Baby, baby--" He struggles to keep you at bay so he can lock eyes with you. "Are you sure about this? We don't have-" You silence him with the passionate attack of your lips against his.

Nearly tackling him onto his back, your hips straddling his as you demonstrated your certainty to him.

-

The months went on and sleepovers became more frequent. Even when Rafe had that tired look in his eye which was more often these days, you kept him up with your bright eyes and wide smile as you explained to him the newest conspiracy that intrigued you.

He tried his best to listen to what you were saying but he'd often lose himself in the labyrinth of his own mind. You were just so cute when you were talking about what you were passionate about. Especially when you wore the glasses you cursed so much, opting for contacts during the day.

"Why don't you wear your glasses more often?" He asks and you frown, "Rafee, did you hear anything I just said?" He nods, "Of course I did. I heard every last word.... up until about five minutes ago." You whine and he hugs you tight as an apology, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

You couldn't stay mad at him. That was proven time and time again when even your biggest fights would be resolved within 24 hours. Rafe insisted on talking things out, no matter how hurt the both of you may feel. He never wanted to go to sleep without making things right. "Life's too short," He would say.

You both had your shortcomings, but that goes without saying. Rafe was short-tempered and you were stubborn, a bad combination for an opinionated conversation. Things can quickly spiral out of control but when it came to apologies, Rafe outdid you every time. Flowers, or a small gift to show his feelings.

Even now, as Rafe leant against your kitchen island as you transferred the flowers he'd gifted you 'just because'. A weak smile graced his lips as he noted the way you did everything with such intensity, putting your all into everything you did.

Leaning forward onto his crossed forearms he watches you. "You're staring, babe." You say and he can only hum. "Can't help it. I like what I see," His words elicit a soft warmth to radiate in your chest.

"I love you, y'know that?" You're startled as you feel his arms wrapping around your waist from behind. "You tell me only every day, Rafe." He comes down to peck your cheek before you're rotating in his hold to face him. "But I love you too." You're unable to contain your smile as you say it.

It wasn't the first time but every time the words left your mouth, it gave you a little bubbly feeling. Security blossomed within you anytime your eyes grazed over his features.

"Let's go out tonight, yeah? Let's go dancing." Rafe declares without thinking and you laugh, tilting your head to look at the time over the stove. "It's almost midnight, nothing's open at this hour." You reason, but he doesn't back down.

Holding you by the hand, he twirls you. "Not a problem, we'll just do it here." That night your apartment was filled with laughter and soft jazz. Rafe hardly ever had this much energy so late but you loved it.

Two days after that night of dancing, you woke up to an eerie silence that felt too heavy for the morning. You went about your routine, still buoyed by the memory of Rafe's laughter filling your apartment. You checked your phone—just the usual notifications, a missed call from an unknown number, and a message from Sarah that simply said, "Call me."

You barely had time to press dial before she picked up, her voice trembling. She tried to speak, but only the sound of soft, choked sobs came through. Finally, she managed, "I’m so sorry…"

The words hit you, but you didn’t understand them. You wanted her to stop, to say something else—anything else. She kept speaking, her words blurred and distant, as though you were underwater, drowning. Somewhere in her explanation, you heard the words, "peacefully… in his sleep." But it didn’t feel peaceful. Your mind raced, demanding answers. Why hadn’t he told you? How long had he known?

Over the days that followed, Rafe's family gently filled in the pieces: he’d been sick for years, silently enduring, doing everything he could to hide it. Every date, every moment spent laughing with you, was a deliberate choice he made to live his last days fully, in love and joy, with you.

He hadn’t wanted you to know because he couldn't bear to see you suffer for him the same way he was once familiar with in his senior year. Even in the end, he kept the truth locked away, shielding you from the loss he knew was coming.

The weight of his choice tore you apart. You wanted to be angry, to hate him for leaving you out, but in his silence, there was also a strange kind of love. A love that had given you a few precious, unburdened moments together. Still, the pain settled deep within you, refusing to ease.

The anger, hurt, and ache became constant companions in the days that followed. But in his absence, you began to understand just how much he’d given for you.

He'd shared with you how hard it was for him to deal with that eerie state of loss. The stage where the person isn't gone but you know you'll lose them. It alters you in a messed up kind of way and he wanted you as far from that reality as possible. He was protecting you from his own condition till the very end.

Helping his family to clear out his apartment was easily the hardest thing you'd ever done. You couldn't do it without tearing up with every belonging of his you touched.

His favourite hoodie that he never let you wear but loved when you did. The polaroids in his drawer that you took from your first date, taken from the floor of the ice rink.

You noticed he'd scribbled writing on the back of the photo.

She finally said yes.

That was all it took. The last bits of your composure were stolen from you and you wept on his bedroom floor. Everyone always told you it would get easier but it never did. How could things get easier when the other half of your heart was buried six feet below the ground?

You learned to live with the loss, forcing a smile when in the company of others and taking deep breaths every morning when you woke up. Mildly disappointed the realm beyond the living hadn't reaped you during your slumber.

Very slowly, you begin to adjust to this new reality. It’s not the life you imagined, but you learn to live with the loss, carrying him with you in the smallest, most tender ways. His favourite hoodie becomes your comfort on cold nights, wrapping you in his memory and his scent.

Just because he was gone doesn't mean you'd end all of your traditions. Each year on the fourteenth of February, you visit his grave, placing a single red rose on the stone as a quiet tribute.

Though the ache remains, you hold his spirit close, carrying him forward into every milestone and memory yet to come, honouring the love you shared while finding the strength to continue onward.

In some ways, your love story turned out to be just another cliché—until it ripped your heart out from your chest, leaving you with the unbearable ache of everything he left unsaid, every unfulfilled promise, and the haunting silence of a future that will always belong to him.

Somehow, even in the quietest, most heart-wrenching moments, you never gave up on finding the silver lining, because life’s too short.

[gretavangroupie]

Exposure

Word count: 11.3k

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking. Smut: Kissing, Stripping, Photo Exhibitionism, Touching, Oral F!Receiving, Fingering, Oral M!Receiving, Dirty Talk, Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex. Fluff.

A/N: Oh! Didn't see you there! Happy February! Welcome to the very first installment of the four part Valentine's Day Mini Series I've been working on along with my pal, @sacredstarcatcher! We've had so much fun writing these, and we hope that you enjoy this first story in the set of four. We can't wait to share the rest with you! See you real soon!

You pull your jacket snug against your chest, your camera bag hanging heavy on your shoulder as you make the trek up to the front door of the house. You can hear music coming from the basement already, likely the bands warming up before the show starts. You sneak through the front door, breezing through the mostly empty house in search of the basement. Following the noise, you walk down the stairs and into a small swarm of people all bustling and busy trying to get things set up before the show. How you got roped into shooting a basement show on Valentine's day of all days is beyond you, although it’s not like you have anything better to do.

Your eyes search around for any sign of your friends but you know they’re probably either running late, which is not shocking, or busy unloading their gear outside. You typically never shoot events like this- well, this small, but a favor for your best friend was long overdue. You stand at a small table loading the film into your camera, her one begging request of her set being captured on film, about to be fulfilled. You look around for any other photographers but you see no one, and it’s then that you realize just how small of a gig this really is. 

You did your best to blend in tonight, donning the industry standard of black, but realizing now that it almost wouldn’t have mattered what you wore. You kept it simple with a black long sleeve shirt, and a pair of black leather pants, adding a heeled boot to give yourself a little extra height behind the lens. 

You grab an extra roll of film and shove it into your pants pocket before placing your camera bag beneath the stage for safe keeping. People are quickly starting to fill the small basement, and you’re thankful for this weeks’ cold snap, knowing that this basement would be sweltering otherwise. You pull your phone from your pocket checking for any signs of life from your friends, laughing as you see a ‘we’re running late’ text. Shaking your head you put your phone back in your pocket and start to check your settings, adjusting to the lowlight of the room.

The basement is fully packed at this point, the first band stepping on to the stage and starting things off with a blaring guitar intro. The lights dim even further, causing you to adjust your settings again, and you wonder if you need to grab your flash attachment. You feel a tap on your shoulder, a rush of nerves in your chest as you spin around to see who it could be. 

“Are you shooting film?” A pair of dark brown eyes asks, a look of genuine curiosity painted across the irises. 

You smile and hold up your camera, “Yeah, I am! How did you know?” 

A smile sweeps across his face, his long dark hair hanging well past his shoulders, but partially obscured under a red beanie. His cheeks are flushed red, either from the cold outside, the alcohol in his system, or the weight of his cable knit sweater. “I’m a bit of a hobbyist. Specifically film. I recognized your camera.”

“You did? This thing is pretty old.” you say, pulling your hair from beneath your camera strap. 

“Yeah, I have the same one. Mines the silver version though.” he says, leaning in closely so that you can hear him over the loud music. 

You look up at him, and nod, leaning back in towards him as you respond. “Oh really? Does yours have the battery door issue?”

His hand lays softly against your shoulder as he leans in closer, ready to respond but your attention is ripped away as you see your friends in your peripheral. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, my friends just walked in and they are actually supposed to go on next.” you say holding up your camera to show your purpose of being here in the first place. 

“You’re fine, go ahead.” he smiles, pulling away from you and taking a sip from his seltzer. 

You send him a soft smile, taking a final look at him before turning to meet your friends. As you walk up to meet them you can’t help but to look over to where you were just standing, finding the mystery man gone. You scan the room as your friends talk at you, looking for any sight of him, but you’re snapped back to the present as they are called up to the stage. 

With a hug from your best friend and a kiss on the cheek she darts up the small stairs with a smile. “Wish us luck! And make sure you get my good side!”  

You make your way towards the front of the stage, checking your settings one more time as the band starts to play. Admittedly, they sound a lot better than they did the last time you saw them perform, and the crowd behind you really seems to be into them. You even notice a few people wearing their merch and wonder when that happened. Had you really been that absent?

You duck down as you work your way across the front of the stage, snapping photos of your friends as they play their hearts out. You quietly apologize to the people you block with your camera, taking a quick glance behind you with each step you take. About two songs into their set you’ve made your way to the opposite side of the stage, looking behind you only to catch a glance of your mystery guy, standing against the wall with his drink. 

You try to pretend you didn’t see him, but it’s no use as you trip over an electrical cord and make a complete spectacle of yourself in the process. However, when you don't collide with the concrete of the basement floor and instead are met with a pair of warm steady hands, you feel a sigh of relief hoping that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t see you trip after all. Turning to face your hero, you’re met with none other than your hobbyist.

A grin spreads across his face as he helps you to stand, one hand in his, and the other firmly planted on your camera. 

“Falling for me so soon? At least tell me your name first…” he jokes, letting go of you as you steady yourself on your feet. 

“Y/N…And thanks, I– guess they ran out of Gaff tape and I found the only cord not taped down.” you laugh. 

He smiles and shakes his head in faux disgust, “Rule number one, always carry an extra roll in your gig box for the ladies. I’m Sam, by the way.” 

“Well, Sam, thank you for not letting me fall in front of all of these people.” you laugh. 

“Oh, I was actually saving the camera… Precious vintage...” he winks, pursing his lips together. 

“Oh, of course. Yeah.” you stammer, suddenly feeling ridiculous. 

As if he can sense your distress he places a hand on your arm, “Wait no, I was kidding. Of course I was saving you. Let me– Can I get you a drink?” he asks, trying for a peace offering. 

“I think I’m kinda out of hands…” you laugh, snapping a photo as you focus through the viewfinder. 

“I’m not…” he counters, “Whad’ya want? I’ll grab it for you…”

You lick over your lips, deciding maybe a drink assistant wouldn’t be too bad. You turn over your shoulder as he leans close letting you talk into his ear. “A seltzer, I don’t care what flavor, surprise me.”

He gives you an understanding nod and turns on his heels, disappearing into the crowd.

You watch your friends start to close up their set and you compose another set of photos you think will be the shots of the night. 

“A drink for the lady…” he says, as he holds a drink up in front of the lens. You lower your camera and spin around to grab it from him, watching him crack the lid open before he hands it to you. 

“Prickly pear, huh…” you pause, taking a sip of the fizzy drink. “Did you know that was my favorite or just a lucky guess?”

“Well, I figured… you have great taste in cameras…” he trails off, taking the drink back from you so you can continue to shoot. 

You feel him lean into your shoulder, his warm breath on your neck. “The red light really does nothing for photos, does it…” he laughs. 

“No, and I’m half convinced that’s why they do it.” you retort. 

“Oh, it definitely is. Trust me. That and it looks badass.” he laughs, stepping back again. 

As the set ends you watch your friends leave the stage, ready to drink and party with the rest of you. The room quiets to a dull roar as the next band starts to take the stage, ready to set up their equipment. You lower your camera around your neck, letting it hang freely as you turn back to Sam. 

“You get the shot?” he asks, sipping the same Prickly Pear Topo Chico. 

“I think so, looks like I’ve got…” you pause, checking your dial. “Two left on this roll. Should probably change over before the next act. Here, smile.” you say, holding the viewfinder to your eye. 

He blushes a little, holding both of the drinks in his hands and giving you wide open mouth smile. 

You capture those last two images and hear the winder start to spin. “That’ll do it!” you say, dropping your camera around your neck and pulling the extra black film cartridge from your pocket. 

“Oh here, let me help you. You have your drink…” he offers, holding out your can. 

“No! You don’t have to do that, it’s totally fine, I’ve got it. Just need to find a table or something so I can–”

“I know I don’t have to, I just– want to. I wanna help.” he says, his eyes sweet and genuine. 

You think about it for a second, and consider that you really don’t have anything to lose. He wouldn’t be offering if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

“Okay, sure, I’ll hold your drink now.” you smile.  

His eyes are focused as he works to remove the used film, replacing it with the new roll as quickly and efficiently as he can, making sure not to expose the roll. He clips the door shut and makes sure it's secure before placing the camera strap back over your head, pulling your hair out from beneath the straps as gently as possible. 

“There. Perfect.” he says, a warm smile on his lips. 

“Thanks Sam.” you answer, offering his drink back to him. 

“You can call me Sammy. All my friends do.” he says, accepting the wet can. 

“Oh, are we friends now?” you ask playfully, all the while thinking that you might want to be a little more than that. 

“I’d like to think so. Or– I hope so. I think you’re cute, film camera girl.”

“Do you?” you murmur, holding the can to your lips. 

As if feeling a little shy, he ducks his head a little and licks his lips, “I do.”

Before you can reciprocate his sentiment the third band starts, and somehow they are even louder than your friend's band previously. The drums are blaring loud and you can tell they need their mics turned down about three notches. You take a few photos, figuring you can never have too much in your portfolio, but after a few shots and the crowd becoming a little too rowdy, you quickly decide you are done ‘working’ for the night. You lower your camera down and spin to talk to Sam, but you find he’s gone.

Your eyes scan the crowd for him, but again, you see no trace of the cream colored sweater or his red beanie in the sea of people. You do, however, spot your best friend off in the corner of the room being hit on by someone you know to be exactly her type. You lock eyes with her, raising a brow and she just smiles at you as she continues to talk to the tall dark haired man. 

Letting her have her time with him, you make your way back to the stage to grab your camera bag. You head up the stairs, grabbing a new drink from the bar area and again searching for any signs of him. You mingle with a few strangers, making pointless small talk about work and the latest gossip before excusing yourself to the bathroom to pee. As you wash your hands you sigh at the missed connection with such a thoughtful and good looking guy, but chalk it up to being Valentine’s Day and not wanting to fall into that stereotype. 

With your new friend gone, you decide to seek out some of your old ones. With your gear bag slung over your shoulder, you head towards the thick crowd in the main living room. As you make your way through, your neck cranes around the bodies in your way, searching for a familiar face. Looking out the back window, you see your friends near their band’s van. You push open the squeaky screen door and are greeted with a harsh gust of freezing cold wind. You retract, and before you can regain your senses, you hear someone calling your name from a little ways away. 

When you get your eyes open, Sam is standing against the side of the house, exhaling a puff of smoke. He’s giving you a sweet, closed lipped smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. You feel a few butterflies in your stomach as you take in his sweet face, relieved that he’s happy to see you hasn’t disappeared like you thought. You approach him with a sweet smile, holding on to your bag strap with both hands while your main camera hangs around your neck.

“It’s cold as fuck out here.” You say honestly, suppressing a grin. He nods, taking another inhale off the cigarette between his fingers, his smile making it a little difficult. “I thought you left.” you add while he exhales the smoke away from your face.

“What, without you?” He says with a quirked brow and a playful smolder. You laugh, stunned silent by his charisma. He realizes and laughs it off, reaching towards you. “You need a hand taking that stuff to your car?” He asks, dropping his cigarette onto the lawn and stepping on it. He offers you a hand and you willingly offer up your bag, even though you really don’t need to. 

“I didn’t really feel the need to get any more photos of the third band. I didn’t think the headache was worth it.” You say, a little tongue in cheek as you walk. Sam laughs loudly once, like it slipped out, then shakes his head looking at the ground in front of him. 

“I was trying not to be too judgmental but, yeesh. They’re really something, aren’t they?” You laugh and pop open your trunk and he sees inside as he puts your bag in.

“You have a Pentax too?” He asks, seeing the other bag you left in the trunk.

“I do. I have a couple lenses for it, I use it when I shoot… bigger stuff.” You say, not trying to sound braggy. 

“That sucker is heavy though. You must be jacked if you’re holding it up for an entire show.” He jokes, reaching for your bicep and squeezing twice. You flex a little, giving him a wink before you break character and laugh with him. You pull your camera from around your neck and slip it into its case.

“No but, I uh, I have a couple lenses too. I have a pretty big collection… It’s actually getting a bit out of hand at this point. If you ever want to borrow anything...” He mentons, helping you close the trunk. When he reaches up, his sweater rides up a bit and reveals that he’s got a white shoestring laced through the loops of his pants like a belt.

“I’d love to check it out,” you say honestly, rubbing your arms to try and warm up. The wind is brutal but the conversation is worth freezing for.

“This may be a bit forward… but the weather sucks, this music sucks… We could go have a drink at my place and I could show you?” He offers, shrugging a little bit. 

“Well…” you start, looking over at the van on the other side of the yard. Your friend seems to be deep in conversation with the guy who was helping her load up, so you’re sure she won’t miss you if you slip away. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.” 

“Two things, though. One, we have to take your car, since my friend was my ride. Two, I’m driving, because you’ve had a few.” He says, giving you a boyish smile and holding out his hands so you can put the keys in them. You eye him with playful suspicion for a moment, but then figure you’ve got nothing to lose. 

“Fine.” You flick open your car key and offer it to him between two fingers with a grin. 

As he gets in, you can’t help but micromanage his actions with your car as you buckle your seatbelt. “The emergency brake is down by your left foot, and just ignore the light on the dash.” 

“I guess I should have told you that I have, indeed, driven a car before. I’m qualified.” He says, starting it and adjusting the mirrors. He’s a good bit taller than you, so he cranks the rearview upwards quite a bit. You roll your eyes at his comment, letting the radio play quietly rather than anything from your phone for fear of judgment. 

“There aren’t any street lights on these back roads. You should put the high beams on.” You comment, looking over at him for a moment, taking in his side profile. He cracks a wry smirk and flourishes his hand, turning them on.

“You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?” He asks, not looking away from the road. You snicker softly.

“When I want to be.” 

Before he can say anything in response, his phone starts to buzz in the center console. He reaches for it, swiping quickly across the screen to answer the call from a contact named Danny.

“Daniel!” He shouts, putting the phone on speaker. Without hesitation, you take it from him so he can use both of his hands and drive. He doesn’t object as the voice from the other end of the phone pipes up.

“Where’d you get off to?” 

“Uh, I left. Are you good to get home?” Sam answers, flipping the brights off when a car drives by on the opposite side of the road. He puts them back on once the coast is clear.

“I’m fine, yeah, just checking in. Didn’t know you left. You bag that chick you were chatting with?”

You huff a laugh and look over to Sam shaking your head. Is this really how guys talk on the phone?

“Daniel, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell…” he jokes, sending you a wink.

“Right, are you going to that event tomorrow?”

“I had forgotten about it until this very second, but yeah. I said I would. Are you?” Sam says, and you pick up a bit of an accent. There’s a long A in forgotten where the second O should go. You smile softly as you watch the road and listen to them talk. 

“Hell no. Neither is Jake. You’re stuck with Josh and his girl. So, have fun with that.” Daniel says, and you can hear him getting into his car on the other end of the line. 

“Fuck. Alright, get home safe.” Sam says, sighing. They end the call and you’re more than tempted to ask him the meaning of all that, but he’s pulling into his driveway and the nerves start to take over, shutting you up. “Sorry about that,” he says, parking your car in his driveway next to his own. 

“Do you live by yourself?” You ask, getting out of the passenger seat. The wind is still strong and it chills you to the bone. Sam sees and picks up his pace as he leads you to the front door.

“Yeah, it’s just me.” he says, looking over his shoulder as he puts his key in the door. It’s warmly lit inside his house once he steps inside and flips on the lights. There’s an array of musical instruments scattered about as soon as you enter, amps and drums and guitars either hanging on the wall or resting against each other. You raise your brows, looking over at him.

“You’re a musician, too?” You ask as he puts your keys on the cabinet near the front door. There are sliding doors across the front that are opened just slightly to reveal a substantial vinyl collection. 

“I have many hobbies.” 

You smile as you follow him through the house, looking around at the art covering his walls. It smells like incense and it’s warm- a little warmer than you would keep your house, but it’s cozy. 

“I keep everything in here,” he starts, flipping on the lightswitch in one of the bedrooms. It’s furnished with a daybed, like a guest bedroom, but the opposite wall has a desk and shelving full of cameras, cases, lenses, accessories, attachments galore. You raise your brows, surprised, but mostly impressed.

It’s a solid half hour that you spend going item by item, gently looking over everything he’s collected, from vintage to like-new, functioning and under repair. He makes a point to tell you where he got each one, the quirks and intricacies of them all. 

“That one’s really my favorite for portraits,” he says as you look over a lightweight film camera with a noisy lens, clicks filling the room. “She’s got a way about her that makes everyone look good, you know?” You nod, looking it over, peeking through the viewfinder.

“I dunno, I might be a lost cause.” You say, a little self deprecating. He sucks his teeth at you in playful disappointment.

“I just mean that, you know, as photographers, there aren’t many photos of us. I don’t think I’d know how to pose myself for a portrait.” 

“Well, you don’t pose yourself, silly.” He says, looking up at you, not lifting his head and moving only his eyes. There’s a little smirk on his lips. “We should try it.”

You give him a suspicious look, laughing nervously. 

“I look like a mess from the wind and… I’m hardly wearing any makeup..” You say, starting to rattle off excuses as your cheeks heat up.

“So? You look perfect. I don’t want to take… fuckin’ headshots. I want to capture you. This version of you, the pretty photographer that I’ve spent my evening with.” 

The two of you lock eyes for a moment, his honeyed irises so warm and kind and sweet that you probably can’t say no to him if your life depended on it.

“Okay.” 

That’s how you end up in his sunroom, sitting patiently on his couch as he gets set up, sipping a glass of wine. The room is full of plants and you brush your hand against the burnt orange velvet upholstery of his couch underneath you. You watch him move around the room, pushing the ottoman out of the way, adjusting the throw pillows on the opposite end. He reaches behind his head and pulls his thick sweater off, his shirt riding up to show that little shoestring belt and this time, a light dusting of hair above the waistband of his pants. He tosses aside the sweater, leaving him in a white t-shirt. You swallow a gulp of your wine, feeling a little warm.

“I like how you said, ‘as photographers,’ like you looped me in there with you,” he muses. “You’re a professional. I don’t belong in the ranks with you.” He says, grinning as he uses an app on his phone to mess with the lighting from the lamp in the room. It’s a hazy, warm light when he’s done, absolutely flattering to the eye, so you can only imagine how it’s going to look when he captures you.

“If you take pictures, and you enjoy it, you’re a photographer. I don’t think it’s fair to gate keep art of any kind, or… something that brings people joy, you know?” You say, watching as he grabs a cream colored, cable knit throw reminiscent of his sweater and drapes it behind you. 

“That makes sense. Not all photographers are as humble as you, though.” He says, looking down at the camera and making some adjustments. He holds it up and looks at you, then he pulls it away. He looks again, then he hums like he’s thinking about something.

“This black shirt is kind of one-dimensional. I feel like it’s swallowing you up, you know? I feel like there's too much contrast with the colors in the room.” 

You sip your wine and think for a moment, looking around. He’s probably right. 

“What do you think about green?” you ask, leaning forward, placing the wine glass on the table in front of you. 

“Do you have another– oh…” he starts, but is effectively silenced when you start to pull your shirt over your head. Underneath, you’re in a sage green longline bralette, the band of lace under your chest covering a good two inches of your waist. It’s not too revealing and from the shoulders up, it probably looks like a shirt. You shake out your hair and look up at him, tossing your shirt aside.

“Does that look better?” You ask, smirking at his reaction, pretending to be all business. He looks at you through the viewfinder and you hear him clear his throat.

“Much better. Yep. Uh huh.” he says, hiding his face behind the camera, but you know he’s looking at you. “Sit up for me?” 

You adjust the way you’re sitting, sitting up straighter. He lets the camera hang around his neck as he approaches you, reaching out to gently position you. He puts your hand in your lap, then gently pushes some hair behind your shoulder. The other side, he wraps around his finger once, making sure it lays in a flattering way. He looks at you, not scrutinizing you, but deciding what he wants to do with you. His touch makes you feel like you’re on fire, his hands warm and so gentle, his motions purposeful and confident despite the delicate way he handles you.

He crouches down in front of you, holding the camera to his eye, and you feel a wave of panic wash over you. You suddenly feel exposed in front of the lens, and it must be evident on your face as he moves his finger from the shutter release and lowers the camera from his eye. “You feel nervous.” he states with the nod of his head. 

You shrug ever so slightly, finally feeling the nerves your clients tend to feel. You try to shake it off, but Sam, ever perceptive, pulls the camera from around his neck and sits it next to you on the couch. He pulls his own shirt over his head, leaving him in the same state of undress as you are. “There. Even?” he asks with a cheeky smile. 

You smile and nod, doing your best not to stare at the small smattering of a happy trail at the top of his pants. You bite your lips together before looking back into the lens, hearing the shutter click and the film wind. He brings his hand up to your chin, tilting your face to the side with the gentle touch of his index finger. He pulls it back quickly, returning to the shutter button and snapping another photo. He hums from his place behind the lens, standing quickly and scanning the room for something. 

His heavy footfall pads across the room, snatching something from his piano bench before returning to his place on the floor in front of you. In his hands is a multicolored jewel tone pashmina, soft and worn, and clearly a staple in his wardrobe. 

“Can we try this?” he asks, holding it up against your skin. 

“Let me see…” you answer, grabbing it and draping it over your chest. With your torso completely covered you reach beneath it, pulling the green bralette over your head as he watches you with wide eyes. You toss it to the floor next to him, and reposition the fabric to just cover your chest as you lean back into the couch. 

He swallows nervously as he stretches up towards the couch, adjusting the fabric how he sees fit. Your stomach shows beneath the edge of colorful fabric, the curve of your breast just peeking from the top. 

“I– I think this is gonna be a good shot.” he says, looking at you through the lens. “Lean your head back a little more, and turn it to the side, just a touch.” 

You follow his instruction, knowing the angles of this shot have to be incredible from his place on the floor. 

“Perfect, I just…Didn’t want any shadows on your throat…” he whispers from behind the camera. You hear the shutter click, and a murmur of ‘fuck’ leave his lips. 

You stay where you are as he lowers the camera, his breathing picking up a little bit as he tries to remain calm. “Your skin is so…pretty…” he breathes, letting his eyes sweep over you. 

Your eyes connect with his, and in an act of insanity you pull away the pashmina, letting it pool at your side. His eyes can’t help but to flick down to your chest, his jaw dropping slightly before he notices and looks back up at your eyes. 

“We don’t have to–”

“Do you not want to?” you ask, settling back onto the couch. 

“No, I very much do.” he answers a little too quickly. 

“So go ahead. Capture me.”

He takes a deep breath, holding the camera to his eye and lowering it back down. He grabs your hand and places it gingerly over your chest, letting your fingers rest just over your nipple. He brings the camera back to his eye, and takes the photo. “Fuck you’re gorgeous.”

Your cheeks blush and you hear the shutter click again. 

“Sorry, but I think that's the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen.” he says. 

You smile and shake your head, letting your hand trail to the button of your pants. You slide the button through the loop and pull the long zipper, until just the smallest glimpse of your thong is visible. 

You watch him swallow nervously again, focusing the camera on your hand as it lays across your stomach. As he captures the photo, you watch him try to recenter himself, knowing that he is probably just as turned on by this as you are, if not more. 

“Take them off…” you suggest, watching his eyes flick up to yours. 

“You sure?” he asks again, making sure you’re still comfortable. 

“Very. If you are, I mean.” 

“Lay across the couch. On your stomach.” he instructs, moving himself to sit on the edge of the chaise to your left. You position yourself against the plush couch, propping yourself up on your elbows, as you look back at him sitting behind you. 

“Yeah, just like that. Stay there. Look at me, beautiful.” he says, growing more confident. 

He leans forward, swiping your hair over your shoulder, giving him an unobstructed view of the curve of your back. And just as your eyes connect with the lens, he presses the button. 

“Perfect.” he breathes, lowering the camera again. He stands from his place behind you, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of your pants, pulling them gently down your hips until they rest at the apex of your ass. Your thong is fully visible now, only the floral lace resting against your hips. 

He moves back and you feel the couch dip as he kneels behind you, straightening the seam of the pants to rest perfectly in the center, his fingers brushing against your bare skin. You feel the goosebumps rise, and you hear the shutter, smiling as you know he’s caught the moment. 

“Are you always this responsive to touch…” he asks, sliding your pants further down over your ass, pulling each leg free until the leather fabric is in a pile on the floor. 

“No. Only when it’s really good…” you answer. 

“Lift your hips up for me, rest on your knees a little, and arch your back.” he says, kneeling on the edge of the couch. His hand slides down your back to assist you, and slides back up, stopping at the hem of your panties. Two fingers hook into the fabric, pulling it down just slightly as you hear the camera shutter. 

You can feel your arousal between your legs, not too far from where his fingers linger, but he releases your panties, sliding them back into place and letting his hand drift over the curve of your ass. He stands up in front of you, and you drop back down, stretching fully across the couch. You lay your head on your hands as you look up at him, watching him crouch down in front of you. He pulls a few pieces of hair over your shoulder, and moves your arm further up to reveal the swell of your breast as it presses against his couch cushion. 

“Pop your hips up just a touch...” he breathes, holding the camera to his eye. “Look at me, baby.”

You bat your eyes as you look at him, seeing the photo in the reflection of the lens as he takes it. 

His chest is heaving as he pulls the camera away, crawling towards you on his knees as he dusts his fingers over your spine. “You make an incredible muse…”

“A good photographer knows that seeing isn’t enough. You have to feel it.” you answer, melting into the feeling of his skin on yours. 

“I think I feel it too much…”

He slides his hand down your arm, grabbing your hand and pulling you back to a sitting position. He reaches for your wine glass, turning back to you and placing it into your hand. You bring it to your lips, but as you tip the glass a stream of red wine trickles down the stem, dripping rapidly onto your stomach. 

His eyes flick to yours, then down to the small streak of red against your skin, leaning his head forward and letting his warm tongue lap at the spilled alcohol. 

Your eyes close on their own, a breath leaving your lips at the feeling of his lips on your body. He pulls back from you, waiting for your eyes to open, and as they meet you can see he’s asking for permission to continue. 

You open your legs allowing him to move closer, and he takes that as his consent to move between them. He pulls the camera from around his neck, placing it gently on the couch next to you, before grabbing your wine glass and placing it on the coffee table behind him. 

His hands slide up your thighs, his eyes examining every inch of your skin until he meets the edge of your panties. His eyes meet yours and you nod, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on your skin again. 

He hooks his fingers through the fabric and pulls them over your hips, tossing them to the floor with the rest of your clothes. He takes in a deep breath, lowering his face to your heat, but never breaking the eye contact he has with you. You let a hand slide through his silky waves, silently telling him you wanted this, and he obliges, pressing a kiss to your groin. 

You feel his tongue swipe up through your center, long and slow, hot and soft against you. You fist his hair at the contact, a hum leaving his lips as they vibrate against your clit. Your legs open wider, allowing him to hook his arms beneath your legs, pulling you down the couch to meet his mouth. His tongue works at your clit, flicking back and forth as wet sounds fill the air in the room. His cheeks are flushed as his wet lips suction around you, his brown eyes fluttering closed with every pointed lick. 

You can hardly tear your gaze away from him, your chest heaving as he brings you closer and closer to your release. Your hand reaches out to grip into the cushion, instead landing on the body of the camera next to you. It feels cold against your hand, and as you look at him you realize you might feel it a little too much, too. 

Grasping it in your hand you pull the viewfinder to your eye, positioning him in the frame as he continues to work you towards your orgasm. As his eyes flick up to you, he's met with the camera lens, hesitating momentarily before pulling an elastic from his wrist. He doesn’t cease his actions as he pulls his hair into a messy bun, resting low on the back of his neck. He places his soft hands on the insides of your thighs, looking up into the lens with his blissed out eyes, ready for you to capture the scene below you. 

Hearing the shutter, he grips into you harder, sucking your clit into his mouth with more force, desperate to get you there. His fingers brush your entrance, and with a carefully timed swipe of his tongue he presses them forward until his thumb replaces his tongue applying pressure to your clit. His fingers work inside of you until your legs start to shake with desperation. He replaces his thumb with his lips once more, the warm, wet sensation inching you closer and closer. 

You take a few more shots, hoping to capture the way his dark lashes kiss his cheeks, and the way his nose brushes against you so delicately. Knowing the most vulnerable shots are usually the best. 

He ruts his hips into the couch, desperate for some relief and the groan that leaves his chest is all it takes to push you to the edge. You drop the camera to your side, pulling his face to your body as your orgasm rocks through you. A pathetic sounding whine leaves your lips as his mouth slows, he pulls his fingers from you as gently as possible. 

You’re left a panting mess as you ride the waves of your high, but as you open your eyes and see him licking his fingers, you reach for the camera once more, capturing the act forever on film.

He stands, offering you his hand with a smirk. You can’t help but to notice that his fingers are still pruny and soft as you place your hand in his, letting him pull your shaky body from his couch. He bends over and snatches the camera from the couch cushion before pulling you down the hallway towards his bedroom. 

As you step over the threshold into his bedroom, you’re met with the dark walls and rich earth toned bedding. He drops your hand, and checks his film, before setting the camera on the edge of his bed. He grabs your hand again, and pulls you into him, snaking his other hand around your waist and pulling you close to his body. His eyes search yours before his lips crash to yours, a heady mix of cigarettes, red wine, and you. 

Your tongue tangles with his as his hands grip into your hips, his hardness pressing against your bare stomach. You pull away, locking your eyes on his as you fall to your knees in front of him. You slide your hands up his thighs until you reach the thin white shoelace at his waist, pulling the tip until it unknots itself and slides to the floor. You feel him reach for the camera, letting it hang around his neck once more as he watches you.

You unbutton his pants, feeling the brush of his length against your hand. You work quickly to pull the pants and boxers to the floor, letting him step out of them as you take in the sight of him bare in front of you. You lean forward to kiss at the smattering of hair at his happy trail but you’re quickly stopped before your lips ever make it there.

He grabs your chin in his hand, placing his thumb over your swollen pink lips, pulling the plump flesh down to expose your bottom teeth as the camera snaps the image above you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can think of nothing but the feeling of your mouth around him. 

Unable to wait any longer you grab him in your fist, stroking him a few times back and forth as his eyes study your movements. You wet your lips in preparation for him, letting your tongue dart out to lick a hot stripe up the underside of his cock. 

He pulls the camera to his eye again, “Stay like that. Just like that baby. Look up at me.”

He rests the tip of his cock in your open mouth, snapping a few shots as he leaks onto your tongue, before tossing the camera to the bed. “Fuck, are you sure you’ve never done this before? You look so fucking gorgeous.”

You smile around him, closing your lips and humming in response. You let your tongue slide up his length, taking him as far back as you can the first few times before working into a steady rhythm. Your eyes are locked on his, a look of awe and desperation written into his features. 

His hand finds grip in your hair, moving with you as you work him, gentle whines falling from his lips as you swirl over his tip with each upward stroke. 

Swallowing around him he sucks in a harsh breath, letting you slide back up before repeating the action. You tense around him as you gag, your eyes blinking away tears wanting to continue. Your eyes roll back as you taste the saltiness on your tongue knowing he is nearing his release.

He pulls away from you, cupping your face in his big warm hands, his thumbs swiping away errant tears.  

“I– You’re– Get on the bed for me, sweetness. Wanna ruin that pretty cunt before I cum.”

You look up at him, swallowing thickly, a little shocked by the side of himself he just showed you. You take his hand with a grin as he offers it to you, standing and hopping up onto his bed, laying yourself back on his pillows. He follows you, leaning over to reach for the camera on the nightstand before doing so. He leaves it on the pillow next to your head, focusing all of his attention on you for the time being. 

He’s tender for a moment, leaning down to kiss you briefly before he situates himself between your thighs. He kneels above you, looking down at the sight before him. He traces a gentle line down your sternum, then back up, dragging lightly against the expanse of your clavicle, then back down once more. His eyes seem to roam over every inch of you while you wait patiently for things to advance.

“You…” he starts, a breathy laugh leaving his throat, like he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “So gorgeous.” 

“You’re sweet.” you respond, parting your thighs a bit more for him. He hasn’t stopped his feather light touches just yet though.

“Is that how you like it?” he asks, catching you a little off guard. Your eyes flick up to his and you can’t help the way you squirm a little at his directness.

“I…” you start, but he promptly silences you with a pinch to your nipple, pulling a wanton moan from the depths of your chest.

“Ahh. There she is.” He says, smiling. He lets go and leans down to give it a kiss. “Just trying to get a read on you.”

He palms your breast as he pushes back up, unable to take his eyes off of you. You watch the wheels turning in his head as he squeezes firmly, his eyes cutting to the camera next to your head. 

He picks it back up, adjusting it with lightning speed. He looks through the viewfinder once before reaching for your tit again, your nipple slipping between his long fingers. He snaps a photo, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth in concentration while the aperture adjusts, the settings on auto now to save time. 

“That artistic part of your brain just doesn’t turn off, huh?” you ask, reaching up to run a hand down his stomach, your patience running out.

“Blessing and a curse.” he mumbles, reaching forward into his nightstand. As he’s leaning over you, you can’t help but take a moment to place a few wet, searing kisses to his jaw and throat. You know they’re appreciated when he bucks his hips against you, his dick dragging against the inside of your thigh.

He sits back up, tearing the foil of the condom with little difficulty and flipping it over once or twice to check which way is right. He eventually distinguishes top from bottom and starts to slide it on, looking down in concentration. 

After he’s done, he leans down towards you, placing hungry, wet kisses wherever he can find purchase. He reaches between your bodies, taking himself in his palm and brushing the head of his cock through your folds. 

“Wait…” you say, and he rests his head on your chest for a moment, looking up at you with patient eyes. 

“Yes, sweetness?” he says, pulling back, unsure if you’re about to call the whole thing off. You take a deep breath, reaching down to touch him gently. 

“Can we take this off?” You murmur, your hand waiting to pull it off the moment he gives you the green light. 

“God, yeah,” he says enthusiastically, a little chuckle leaving him as you haphazardly pull the condom off of him and toss it by the wayside. “Absolutely. Fuck. I want to…” He trails off, like he’s about to say something else, but once you slip the tip of him inside of you, he can’t get a word out. 

He pushes in about halfway, stopping to settle and watch your reaction. You gaze up at him, reaching up to play with one of your nipples. He takes in a sharp breath at the sight before pulling out a little before he pushes all the way in, slowly. 

“Oh… oh my god,” you manage to get out, unable to help the way the words scratch their way out of your throat. Sam’s eyes are glued to your center, watching himself enter you. 

“Everything about you…” he says, taking a trembling breath, “...is fucking picture perfect.” 

You smile at the compliment and watch his face for a moment, the way his dark lashes move quickly with his blinking eyes trying to process everything at once. He starts to move slowly, the drag of him making your breath hitch. 

He fucks into you slowly, deeply, your head swimming at the sensation. It’s good, but it’s not quite enough, and you can’t help but speak up. 

“Sammy…” you begin, calling him by his nickname, like he asked, affectionately. “Harder. Please.”

He snaps his hips into you in response, giving you a dirty smirk from above.

“You’re a backseat driver in the sack, too?” he quips, moving back on his heels a little to change the angle and give himself more range of motion.

“Shut up and fuck me. How’s that?” you bite, grinning up at him. Before you can even prepare yourself, he snatches your wrists, pinning them above your head in just one of his big hands, your slender wrists slotted between his lengthy fingers.

He looks like he’s about to snap back at you, but then his eyes narrow a little. He reaches for the camera again, holding it against the side of his body to flip the switch and open the aperture. He lifts it to his eye and snaps a picture of his hand pinning your wrists together, the strap of the camera falling a little bit into the frame.

Once he’s done, he drops the camera again and braces himself with his free hand, picking up an almost brutal pace. You can’t complain, because it’s what you asked for, and god did he deliver. The sound of skin on skin, his body meeting yours, rhythmically bounces off the walls of his bedroom. You cry out at the feeling of him, reeling at the sensation of him so deep inside you. Warmth starts to build in your stomach, your head getting dizzy.

“Are you getting close?” he asks in your ear, slightly breathless. You whine in the affirmative, spreading your legs further as if you need him even deeper. He lets go of your hands, sitting up a little straighter but still thrusting into you hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. Your eyes start to flutter closed, your back arching, and you feel his hips stutter slightly as he moves a bit on top of you. 

There’s some clicking and you know what he’s about to do, but you can’t be bothered to change a single thing about what you’re doing. You reach for your chest, holding your tits steady as he pushes you towards the edge, waiting for the moment. 

“Gonna cum…” you warn, your brows knitting together. 

“Come on, beautiful. I’m ready.” he coos as it hits you, your lips parting, your head tilting back as you gasp for breath. You don’t register when the shutter sounds, but you feel the camera hit the pillow again and Sam’s got both of his hands on your waist, so you know he must have gotten the shot. 

He slows his pace, allowing you to catch your breath and come back down to earth. His hand slides up to your throat, running his thumb over your lips in the same manner he did earlier, but this time instead of letting him tug at your lip you suck his thumb into your mouth.  

“Fuck…” he curses under his breath, pulling his hand back and slowly pulling out of you. “Turn over for me.” 

You blink up at him, a little bashful, your eyes darting to the camera, then back to his. You try to suppress a grin and give him a little shake of your head.

“Do you trust me?” 

Feeling a little giddy, you roll over, pulling your hair over your shoulder before propping yourself up on your knees. You keep your face in his pillow, your eyes watching the camera laying near you as he presses inside you, the position allowing him somehow deeper.

His hands find your hips and as he starts to move, the grip tightens, pulling little hiss from between your teeth. You’re glad he doesn’t hear because you’d hate it if he stopped. 

“Gotta be careful…” he mumbles, his voice strained. “Feels a little too good.” 

You hum, a little laugh leaving you. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met, and definitely different from anyone you’ve ever slept with. His playfulness mixed with the dominance that peeks out on occasion is a potent combination you can’t seem to get enough of.

He uses his grip on your hips to pull you back into him, his pace slower, but the feeling of him nudging at your cervix with every stroke makes up for the change in speed. He rubs a hand over the curve of your ass as he slows down and releases his grip.

“Goddamn, that’s beautiful.” 

The camera disappears and you push up on your forearms, suddenly shy and nervous and feeling like a shot of that isn’t quite as artistic as the rest of your photos. You look at him over your shoulder, a little suspicious.

“No, no no. Your back, your hair on the pillow,” he reassures you, a warm hand on your back. You giggle a little, laying back down. He splays your hair across the pillow, then taps your arm. “Move this up under you.” You do as he says, one arm and hand under you, the other hand above you, fisted in the sheets. His hand drags slowly up your back before he speaks again. “Arch a little more. Like you were before. Yeah, perfect.” 

Click.

It lands on the bed, then he starts to move again. He groans, a bit louder than he has been, and you know he’s hanging on by a thread.

“Are you… Are you on birth control?” He asks, his voice slightly boyish in this moment. You can’t help but laugh softly.

“What, you don’t want to knock me up on Valentine’s day?” you joke, and he freezes. You wonder if you said the wrong thing for a moment, but then he speaks softly.

“I’m confident you won’t like my answer, sweetness.” 

It takes you a moment to understand what he means, and when you do, you can’t stop the words that fall from your lips. 

“Try me.” 

He pushes himself deeper into you, so much so he leans over and braces himself on his palm next to your face. He’s closer now when he speaks, his breath hot on your shoulder. 

“I’d love nothing more than to knock you up on Valentine’s day.” 

Holy shit.

“So no plans in November, then?” you quip, grinning as the weight of him pushes you into his pillow. 

“Mm, nothing too big, just a world tour.” he responds, thrusting a few more times. “Super flexible.” he grits out. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, feeling him start to twitch inside you.

“The answer is yes, by the way. About the birth control.” 

“....It’d be cooler if you weren’t, but alright.” he jokes, his voice straining as his hips start to falter. You can hear him breathing through clenched teeth as his grip on you tightens. You tighten around him, arching your back just a touch more and as you drop your head between your arms, you see his hand frantically reaching for the camera one last time. 

You can feel the tension in your stomach tightening, his hand sliding up to your shoulder to pull you back to meet him. “There you go, baby. Keep squeezing just like that. I’m right there.” he says, and you can tell by the lilt in his voice he is waiting for you. 

You rock back, your bodies slamming together with a lewd smack, the sound itself just enough to tip you over the edge. You feel the rush wash over you as he pulls you in, wrapping his arm around your waist as his hips continue to move. He lets out a small grunt with each forceful spurt inside you, and you feel a wave of euphoria sweep over you as you realize he wasn’t joking after all. 

“Fuck…” he whines, pulling out of you. You can hear him adjusting the lens of the camera and you’re so caught up in your own bliss you couldn’t care less that he is documenting his work. You feel him rest his hand on your ass, palming your cheek to the side for a better view as he leaks down the inside of your thigh. 

The camera clicks, and just as you start to lower yourself down, you feel his fingers swipe up through the warmth dripping down your leg, stopping you in your tracks. You turn over your shoulder to look at him, his eyes completely fixed on you as he slides his cum covered fingers inside of you. 

“Just for good measure, huh beautiful?”

You hear the shutter click a few times, a few indiscernible mumbles of praise from his lips, and finally the thud of the camera as it lands next to you on the sheets. He pulls his fingers from you, tapping your ass softly as an indication that you’re good to relax.

The mattress shifts as Sam gets out of bed, his footsteps heading towards the bathroom. The light shines for a moment accompanied by the sound of running water as you wait patiently. He’s back soon after with a warm, wet washcloth, and he gently parts your thighs to start cleaning the mess he made.

It’s quiet as he tends to you, his breathing slowing down as he does. Once he’s done, he slips into bed behind you, pulling your back to his chest.

“So… what are you gonna do with those pictures?” you ask, the smile on your face audible as you speak. 

“Well, get them developed, I guess. But aside from myself and the poor person at the film lab, nobody will ever see them. Cross my heart.” 

“And me,” you remind him.

“Yes, yes. And you, sweetness.” Silence hangs over the two of you for a moment before he speaks again. 

“Will you stay?” he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. You wrap your arms overtop of his where he’s holding you tight, nodding.

“I don’t think you could force me out of this bed.” 

–

You’re woken by the warmth of sunshine on your face. Blinking and trying to remember where you are, you refamiliarize yourself with Sam’s bedroom in the daylight. Your eyes clear and focus on the camera sitting on the nightstand. 

Sam is in a deep sleep, snoring softly with his mouth open, a few strands of his hair stuck to his face. You can’t help but smile at the sight before slipping out of bed and quietly sneaking through his house to collect your clothes strewn about.

You peek into his bedroom once you’ve gathered all of your belongings and he’s still out cold, only his feet poking out from beneath the sheets. Your eyes are pulled to the camera again, and then an idea forms. You tiptoe inside and carefully grab it, doing your best to remain quiet. 

Needing darkness, you head for the bathroom and wind the film. You duck into his other bedroom on the way and grab an empty film canister. Hoping it’s quiet enough to not wake him, you close the bathroom door behind you and wait a moment before taking the roll out and putting it in the black container. 

Once you’re done, you retrieve your keys from the cabinet by the door and grab an old receipt he must have just pulled out of his pockets when he was putting his keys in their usual spot. There’s a pencil on the music stand of the nearby piano, so you snatch it and leave him a little note. You write out your phone number, draw a little heart, and put the camera over the corner so you know he’ll find it. You silently sneak out the door and lock it from the inside behind you.

The drive back to your home proved to be shorter than anticipated, the light of day giving you a better sense of your location. You glanced over to the rolls of film laying in your passenger seat, taking mental stock on how many bottles of developer and Blix you had sitting on your shelf. It was times like these you were grateful for your little makeshift film lab, knowing that Sam said he would probably send these rolls off somewhere, and that some poor guy would have to see every lewd act appear right before his eyes. 

You snatched the rolls from your seat and grabbed your camera bags from your trunk before making your way inside to your warm house. Feeling grimey, you ran yourself through a quick shower, eager to see what was waiting for you on these rolls of film. 

Stepping into your lab you place the film rolls on the table, grabbing your Patterson canister, your chemicals, and your scissors to start the process. You trim the leads on the film rolls, smiling as you see your roll next to Sam’s. With the leads trimmed, you flip the light switch in your completely blacked out guest room, leaving you in total darkness as you pry the bottoms off of the rolls of film. 

You load the long slippery strips of film into the plastic spools, screwing the lid back onto your canister before flipping your lights back on. You grab your chemicals and make your way to the kitchen, running the faucet to heat the water bath. It’s been a while since you’d done this yourself, but the process was ingrained into your memory, and you were careful to not miss a single step. You drop your bottles of Developer and Blix into the water bath, grabbing your thermometer from your junk drawer. 

Your phone buzzes on the counter as you wait for the temperature to rise, your heart pounding as you see a new number flash across the screen. You make your way back to your lab, grabbing the canister off the table as your chemicals reach temperature. You carefully pour the developer into the canister, agitating it every few seconds while you read the message on your phone.

Unknown:

9:12am: Off so soon? And with my film? Should have known I’d never see those beauties. 😏

Your timer goes off letting you know it’s time to move on to the next step, so you set your phone down, ready to pour the developer out of the canister. Satisfied with yourself for not making a mess, you pour in the Blix, leaning away from the fumes as they waft through the air. You do your duty, agitating the chemical as directed, waiting the allotted time until it's ready to pour out. 

You debate answering him right away, trying to leave just a touch of mystery in the air. You decide that you’ll wait until the film is done, teasing him with a photo for his eyes only. 

You rinse your film with water to rid it of the chemicals, knowing there’s only a few more steps until you can see just how talented of a photographer Sam really is. You pour in your stabilizer, letting it sit for a minute, biting your lips together as you suppress the urge to text him back immediately. 

With a deep breath you pour out the stabilizer, and unscrew the lid, ready to see if the evidence of your night came out in the wash. With shaky hands you pull the film strips from the spools, seeing 36 clear images appearing on the transparent roll of sepia film. A huff of laughter leaves your chest, seeing the negative image of your body in the tiny rectangles. 

You suck your teeth as you hang the rolls of film to dry, knowing that in about an hour or so they will be ready to scan into your computer. 

—

It seems like it’s taking longer than usual for the film to dry, at least it feels that way as you check for the hundredth time. An hour and some change later you’re dashing back to your computer with the film, scanning it into Lightroom to start inverting the images. 

Your breath is stolen straight from your lungs as you see the first image. Your cheeks flame red at the sight of yourself, spread below Sam. You continue to click through the negatives, completely shocked at how good his composition is. You knew he was a hobbyist, but you start to wonder if maybe he missed his calling. You swallow harshly as you continue to look through them, but then you realize just how beautiful the photos actually are. You almost feel bad that you stole them away from him. 

You work through each image, inverting the colors until they appear as they really are. You note the vintage look on the film and check the empty roll for the date. You smile as you read ‘86, knowing he shelled out a good amount of cash for that roll, and he decided to use it on you. The film comes out warm and grainy from the low light, but you feel that it adds to the photos, and you can’t think of a better turnout. 

Your eyes catch on one photo, and after inverting the colors your suspicion is answered. The long finger shaped outlines on your hips were forever cemented in time. The memory of his grip burned into your mind. His body is connected to yours, and you can almost remember the feeling of him inside you as you look at the photo. You feel a rush wash over you, and you grab your phone tapping a few buttons on the screen until the camera opens. You bring it to the screen and snap the photo before attaching it to a text.

You

10:47am: *Attachment*

10:47am: I had something… pressing…to tend to. 😉

You snicker at your comment, hoping he will get the joke as you add his contact to your phone. You bite your bottom lip in concentration as you continue to work on the images, fixing the coloring and resizing them to the appropriate proportions. 

As you reach the beginning of his roll, you start to see images of daily life, with people you don’t know, but are clearly happy to be having their photo taken by Sam. Bright smiles and warm moments captured by his keen eye. 

Sammy

10:53am: Wow, um…

You

10:54am: I think they turned out pretty good, what do you think?

10:54am: *Attachment*

You attach another image of yourself draped across his couch, his pashmina spread across your body, the light hitting your throat exactly how he planned. 

Sammy

10:55am: You’re so gorgeous, I don’t even know what else to say if I’m honest. I have to see the rest.

10:56am: Do you…Need help? I normally send my film off to be developed but it would be cool to watch. 

As you click to the next image you sit in shock, trying to place the face next to Sam’s on his couch. You drop your phone to the table in front of you, trying to focus. You’re going positively crazy running through faces in your mind until it hits you. You take in the features and realize the man sitting next to Sam is the guy your friend was flirting with all night. Your heart starts to race as you make the connection. Is that the friend he left last night? Did she go home with him?

You blow out a deep breath and finish up the last photo of Sam and another long haired man, drinking foamy beers in what looks to be a foreign country. You smile at the bubbly mustaches on their lips and grab your phone to reply to his message. 

You

11:02am: You’re a really great photographer, Sam. These shots are really, really good. All of them. 

11:03am: If you really want to see the process you’re more than welcome to, kind of makes you feel like a mad scientist haha. I don’t have much going on at the moment, probably going to work on this next roll if you want to join. 

Sammy

11:05am: What are you up to tonight? I have a work event I have to go to, but I’ll probably dip out early, especially if I have a good reason. 😉

You

11:06am: I have to shoot a show tonight, but I’m free after that…

Sammy

11:06am: So…

You

11:07am: Bring your film and a bottle of red. I just might have a few rolls we can use while we wait. 😏

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[ahmed-yousef27]

⚠️⚠️Ahmed and Aya wedding will not take place due to the war 😔💔💍

I am Ahmed, 27 years old, an architect from Gaza, and this is my story:

I finished my university studies in 2018, and then moved between several engineering offices, working on a "job for experience" system, meaning without a salary. Unemployment was sweeping the Gaza Strip at that moment, and I lost hope of working in my field, so I went to work as a salesman in a grocery store. I continued working like this for several years, and I was saving money so that I could get married and build a family full of love and happiness.

In august 2023, after I had chosen my life partner, Aya❤️, we got engaged. We pledged on the Qur'an of the heart to nurture the flower of love between us, so we drew suns and moons for our days, and we promised to stay together until death.

This picture is from the day of my engagement to Aya 😔

I gathered dollar upon dollar😔😔, I stuck stones next to stones, and raised the thresholds, keys of music that exuded melody, I extended water to it from the springs of the heart, and I extended the connections of electricity and light, I furnished it until the house that would contain us with its roses and immerse us in its warmth began to come together, the house that would be the safety of our family in the future grows from the depths of the impossible and emerges from the carvings of suffering and the rock of misery…

And here is the ship of life settling and docking on what we loved and hoped for. I love, study, and work. We choose the paint colors and sofa fabrics. We set our wedding day as February 4, 2024, which is my birthday. We choose our wedding hall, and our days pass in peace and tranquility.

We did not know that fate was hiding its resurrection behind our doors and under our pillows, and that between the blink of an eye and the closing of it, the disaster would occur, the world would be turned upside down, and destruction would cover the face of the universe. We had left our home on the first day of the war and departed without knowing that it was the last time we would see our home before it turned to dust.

Now, I displaced in Deir al-Balah. I live in a tent (Me and my family, 8 people. Its area is 6 x 4 meters) inside an UNRWA school located on the beach of Deir al-Balah.

created this campaign in February 2024 to collect some money so that I can provide detergents,  water and food for my family, and I can mebuild my life, marry Aya, build a new home with a happy couple, and hold a wedding party other than the one we cancelled.

Please donate if you can! Support, participate strongly🙏🙏🙏Please help me by publishing my story 🥹🙏🏻 @bixlasagna

NOTICE 📢:My first account has been verified by @90-ghost here

I achieved 20% thanks to you and I hope you continue your support

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[judeswhore]

one love token; spencer reid

summary: spencer is more than happy about his not so innocent valentine’s day gift

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

requested: no but it’s vday :)

warnings: smallest hint at smut

notes: you can find my masterlist here

spencer was confused.

the pink envelope half hidden beneath his keyboard had drawn his attention the second he'd sat down, his hands pushing paperwork out of the way to set his fresh cup of coffee on the desk. when he tugged it free his eyes caught his own name, written in neat block letters with a tiny red heart acting as a full stop. the bullpen was quiet and almost empty, no sign of his usual co workers or his girlfriend, the only person he could think of that would leave him a valentine's day card. only, the two of you had already swapped cards and gifts that morning, still tangled beneath his warm sheets, the small strip of light peaking through the gap in his curtains the only thing allowing him to see the inscription you'd made on the first page of the new book you'd gotten him.

thumbing at the corner of the envelope, spencer wondered briefly if it was a prank, another one of morgan's terrible jokes that would have the scoreboard evening out. but when he flipped the paper over to see the back he was hit with the faintest smell of flowers, a scent he was extra familiar with and knew one hundred percent didn't belong to morgan. it was the soft floral scent that clung to all your clothes, that stuck to his bedsheets and his shirts long after you'd gone, a scent that spencer had decided was most definitely his favourite in the world. the groove of confusion between his eyebrows got deeper because why would you leave a second card at his desk?

he shook his head and peeled the envelope open, leaning back in his chair to pull the card free, a huff slipping past his lips when a smaller piece of paper fluttered to the floor by his feet. he didn't even look at the card at first, just set it in his lap so he could reach for the bit of paper, gripping it with two fingers before bringing it up to read. just like the envelope it was pink, clearly torn from one of your notepads and obviously hand written in your neatest print.

you'd drawn a heart in the middle, red like the one on the front, and had written the words 'ONE LOVE TOKEN' in bold inside the empty space, in smaller letters beneath 'valid until february 15th'. spencer's mouth tipped into a confused smile, and he flipped the paper to see if there was anything on the back. when he realised that side was blank he turned his attention down to the card in his lap, a surprised snort of laughter getting caught at the back of his throat.

he could feel the tips of his ears burning, his hands shifting so he could cover the design on the front of the card, more than aware of the fact morgan was lurking somewhere in the office and if he caught sight of the image spencer was sure to never hear the end of it. he tried not to look too flustered, brushed his fingers through his hair in an attempt to stop the curls sticking to his forehead. this card was considerably more inappropriate than the one you’d gifted him that morning, far too dirty to be on display at his desk and for a second he worried about what was inside.

the front of the card contained a single glazed donut sporting a smiley face and printed above in large unmistakable letters were words that spencer never thought he’d see. they were also words he never thought would cause a stir deep inside of him. ‘i want you to glaze my hole’ was the exact phrase and despite the laughter bubbling in his throat, he couldn’t stop the film reel that had started in his head, image after image of you flickering each time he blinked. clearing his throat he tugged a little at the knot of his tie, shifted in his seat and once again let his gaze do a sweep of the bullpen, eager to find you and discuss why you were trying to kill him.

it was as if you’d appeared out of nowhere, he was certain you hadn’t been standing in the kitchenette a few moments earlier, back pressed to the counter, a mug of what he knew was hot chocolate nursed between your hands. jj was at your side, talking excitedly, swiping through her phone but you weren’t paying attention. no. your whole focus was on spencer and he watched your lips form a teasing smile, your eyes darting between his and the card in his hand.

“open it.” you mouthed the words, nodded your head at the card and lowered your mouth to the rim of your mug to hide the ever growing smile and he narrowed his eyes. he knew the inside of the card was bound to be just as dirty as the outside and he hated that you were so eager to see him flustered and fumble in the middle of the office. he glanced around, noted that penelope was inside hotch’s office, case file in hand and knew it was only moments before his boss was gathering everyone up.

spencer looked back at you and rolled his eyes at your impatient shooing motion, your eyebrows rising as though to tell him to get a move on. he set it down on his desk, at an angle that made sure no one could really see and flipped it open, eyes immediately tracking the bright red lipstick mark beside his name. it was your lipstick of course, the shade he’d told you so many times was his favourite, the shade that was always guaranteed to leave stains on his neck, around his thumb, the base of his cock. the exact shade you just so happened to be wearing today.

he squirmed again in his seat at the flood of memories, tried to will his cheeks to stop burning, a familiar ache settling inside of him. fingers tugged his tie even looser, his mind uncaring at that moment that he was going to look more than a little disheveled when he got to the conference room. the lipstick wasn’t the only message on the inside, you’d written another little note highlighted by tiny hearts.

ONE LOVE TOKEN FOR THE BEST BLOWJOB OF YOUR LIFE, ANYTIME, ANYWHERE

so that was what the tiny slip of paper was for. at this point his entire neck and face had turned pink, hot to touch and his heart jumped when he lifted his gaze back to yours and you sent him that knee weakening innocent smile. your eye dropped in a wink and he let out a laugh, a breathless sort of sound that had you grinning ear to ear. closing the card he pushed it back beneath his keyboard, not exactly eager for someone to see, and tucked the handmade token into the pocket of his suit jacket before pushing out of his chair. he was headed towards you, a string of reprimands sitting on the tip of his tongue, followed by a couple of commands that he hoped would have you following him to an unused storage closet.

but cupid wasn’t on his side apparently. he was halfway across the floor when hotch’s appeared at the stairs. “we’ve got a case,” a pause. “florida.” spencer’s face twisted into a grimace that matched yours, turned and headed towards the round table, more than aware of the flush still on his skin and your eyes on his back, the token burning hot in his pocket.

he took his usual seat, watched rossi fall into the chair to his left and waited until you settled to his right, your foot knocking playfully into his ankle as a silent hello. your relationship was no secret to the rest of the team, it had been humiliating having to announce it to hotch, having to somewhat ask for permission to be together and even more humiliating to have the team find out because you’d been caught kissing in the car park. everything had worked out and as long as you remained professional, there were no issues but sometimes spencer found it difficult sitting beside you, your perfume making his chest fuzzy, and not being able to touch you, even in the smallest of ways. he settled for nudging you back with the toe of his shoe.

“you like your card?” you didn’t even look at him, kept your gaze on the case file, fingers flipping through the papers but he caught the small quirk of your mouth. your tongue swiped over your bottom lip and brought his attention down, his pulse spiking just slightly and his gaze narrowed. 

reaching into his pocket he pulled his token out, slid it across the table and placed it right in your line of sight before leaning across to you. his lips brushed the shell of your ear, innocent to everyone else but intimate enough to you to draw a shiver up your spine. 

he tapped once on the slip of paper and his next words left no room for argument. “i wanna cash in on this before we leave. bathroom as soon as we’re finished here.”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

A Nazi rally held in Madison Square Garden, February 20th 1939

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 21, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Oct 22, 2024

On Saturday, September 7, Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump predicted that his plan to deport 15 to 20 million people currently living in the United States would be “bloody.” He also promised to prosecute his political opponents, including, he wrote, lawyers, political operatives, donors, illegal voters, and election officials. Retired chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Mark Milley told journalist Bob Woodward that Trump is “a fascist to the core…the most dangerous person to this country.” 

On October 14, Trump told Fox News Channel host Maria Bartiromo that he thought enemies within the United States were more dangerous than foreign adversaries and that he thought the military should stop those “radical left lunatics” on Election Day. Since then, he has been talking a lot about “the enemy from within,” specifically naming Representative Adam Schiff and former House speaker Nancy Pelosi, both Democrats from California, as “bad people.” Schiff was the chair of the House Intelligence Committee that broke the 2019 story of Trump’s attempt to extort Volodymyr Zelensky that led to Trump’s first impeachment. 

Trump’s references to the “enemy from within” have become so frequent that former White House press secretary turned political analyst Jen Psaki has called them his closing argument for the 2024 election, and she warned that his construction of those who oppose him as “enemies” might sweep in virtually anyone he feels is a threat.

In a searing article today, political scientist Rachel Bitecofer of The Cycle explored exactly what that means in a piece titled “What (Really) Happens If Trump Wins?” Bitecofer outlined Adolf Hitler’s January 30, 1933, oath of office, in which he promised Germans he would uphold the constitution, and the three months he took to dismantle that constitution.

By March, she notes,  the concentration camp Dachau was open. Its first prisoners were not Jews, but rather Hitler’s prominent political opponents. By April, Jews had been purged from the civil service, and opposition political parties were illegal. By May, labor unions were banned and students were burning banned books. Within the year, public criticism of Hitler and the Nazis was illegal, and denouncing violators paid well for those who did it.

Bitecofer writes that Trump has promised mass deportations “that he cannot deliver unless he violates both the Constitution and federal law.” To enable that policy, Trump will need to dismantle the merit-based civil service and put into office those loyal to him rather than the Constitution. And then he will purge his political opponents, for once those who would stand against him are purged, Trump can act as he wishes against immigrants, for example, and others.

Ninety years ago, as American reporter Dorothy Thompson ate breakfast at her hotel in Berlin on August 25, 1934, a young man from Hitler’s secret police, the Gestapo, “politely handed me a letter and requested a signed receipt.” She thought nothing of it, she said, “But what a surprise was in store for me!” The letter informed her that, “in light of your numerous anti-German publications,” she was being expelled from Germany.

She was the first American journalist expelled from Nazi Germany, and that expulsion was no small thing. Thompson had moved to London in 1920 to become a foreign correspondent and began to spend time in Berlin. In 1924 she moved to the city to head the Central European Bureau for the New York Evening Post and the Philadelphia Public Ledger. From there, she reported on the rise of Adolf Hitler. She left her Berlin post in 1928 to marry novelist Sinclair Lewis, and the two settled in Vermont.

When the couple traveled to Sweden in 1930 for Lewis to accept the Nobel Prize in Literature, Thompson visited Germany, where she saw the growing strength of the fascists and the apparent inability of the Nazi’s opponents to come together to stand against them. She continued to visit the country in the following years, reporting on the rise of fascism there, and elsewhere. 

In 1931, Thompson interviewed Hitler and declared that, rather than “the future dictator of Germany” she had expected to meet, he was a man of “startling insignificance.” She asked him if he would “abolish the constitution of the German Republic.” He answered: “I will get into power legally” and, once in power, abolish the parliament and the constitution and “found an authority-state, from the lowest cell to the highest instance; everywhere there will be responsibility and authority above, discipline and obedience below.” She did not believe he could succeed: “Imagine a would-be dictator setting out to persuade a sovereign people to vote away their rights,” she wrote in apparent astonishment.

Thompson was back in Berlin in summer 1934 as a representative of the Saturday Evening Post when she received the news that she had 24 hours to leave the country. The other foreign correspondents in Berlin saw her off at the railway station with “great sheaves of American Beauty roses.” 

Safely in Paris, Thompson mused that in her first years in Germany she had gotten to know many of the officials of the German republic, and that when she had left to marry Lewis, they offered “many expressions of friendship and gratitude.” But times had changed. “I thought of them sadly as my train pulled out,” she said, “carrying me away from Berlin. Some of those officials still are in the service of the German Government, some of them are émigrés and some of them are dead.” 

Thompson came home to a nation where many of the same dark impulses were simmering, her fame after her expulsion from Germany following her. She lectured against fascism across the country in 1935, then began a radio program that reached tens of millions of listeners. Hired in 1936 to write a regular column three days a week for the New York Herald Tribune, she became a leading voice in print, too, warning that what was happening in Germany could also happen in America. 

In an echo of Lewis’s bestselling 1935 novel It Can’t Happen Here, she wrote in a 1937 column: “No people ever recognize their dictator in advance…. He always represents himself as the instrument for expressing the Incorporated National Will. When Americans think of dictators they always think of some foreign model. If anyone turned up here in a fur hat, boots and a grim look he would be recognized and shunned…. But when our dictator turns up, you can depend on it that he will be one of the boys, and he will stand for everything traditionally American.” 

In less than two years, the circulation of her column had grown to reach between seven and eight million people. In 1939 a reporter wrote: “She is read, believed and quoted by millions of women who used to get their political opinions from their husbands, who got them from [political commentator] Walter Lippmann.” The reporter likened Thompson to First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, saying they were the two “most influential women in the U.S.”

When 22,000 American Nazis held a rally at New York City’s Madison Square Garden in honor of President George Washington’s birthday on February 20, 1939, Thompson sat in the front row of the press box, where she laughed loudly during the speeches and yelled “Bunk!” at the stage, illustrating that she would not be muzzled by Nazis. After being escorted out, she returned to her seat, where stormtroopers surrounded her. She later told a reporter: “I was amazed to see a duplicate of what I saw seven years ago in Germany. Tonight I listened to words taken out of the mouth of Adolf Hitler.” 

Two years later, In 1941, Thompson returned to the issue she had raised when she mused about those government officials who had gone from thanking her to expelling her. In a piece for Harper’s Magazine titled “Who Goes Nazi?” she wrote: “It is an interesting and somewhat macabre parlor game to play at a large gathering of one’s acquaintances: to speculate who in a showdown would go Nazi,” she wrote. “By now, I think I know. I have gone through the experience many times—in Germany, in Austria, and in France. I have come to know the types: the born Nazis, the Nazis whom democracy itself has created, the certain-to-be fellow-travelers. And I also know those who never, under any conceivable circumstances, would become Nazis.”

Examining a number of types of Americans, she wrote that the line between democracy and fascism was not wealth, or education, or race, or age, or nationality. “Kind, good, happy, gentlemanly, secure people never go Nazi,” she wrote. They were secure enough to be good natured and open to new ideas, and they believed so completely in the promise of American democracy that they would defend it with their lives, even if they seemed too easygoing to join a struggle. “But the frustrated and humiliated intellectual, the rich and scared speculator, the spoiled son, the labor tyrant, the fellow who has achieved success by smelling out the wind of success—they would all go Nazi in a crisis,” she wrote. “Those who haven’t anything in them to tell them what they like and what they don’t—whether it is breeding, or happiness, or wisdom, or a code, however old-fashioned or however modern, go Nazi.”

In Paris following her expulsion from Berlin, Thompson told a reporter for the Associated Press that the reason she had been attacked was the same reason that Hitler’s power was growing. “Chancellor Hitler is no longer a man, he is a religion,” she said.

Suggesting her expulsion was because of her old article disparaging Hitler, in her own article about her expulsion she noted: “My offense was to think that Hitler is just an ordinary man, after all. That is a crime against the reigning cult in Germany, which says Mr. Hitler is a Messiah sent by God to save the German people…. To question this mystic mission is so heinous that, if you are a German, you can be sent to jail. I, fortunately, am an American, so I merely was sent to Paris. Worse things can happen….” 

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[skitskatdacat63]

2009 Reference Guide to Seb's Hair(Long post w lots of pics):

I would rate these but I love every version of him too much so I cannot pick 🤭, I'll add some commentary though. This took a horrible amount of time but it was also a great excuse to download and show off a truly terrible amnt of Seb pics(I was in tears half the time bcs of cuteness agression)

0. Testing(Jerez)(February 10th-12th):

Honestly such perfect Seb hair, I find this soooo cute!!! His hair is honestly always so perfect at Jerez testing every season. I love the length and style, he looks so incredibly pretty &lt;3

1. Australia(March 26th-29th):

And now he is...bald. I actually kinda love this hair, he's my little kiwi fruit!! But I also can't help but mourn the Jerez hair. I'm just like: why did you feel the need to go bald, Seb??? It makes him look so young!

2. Malaysia(April 2nd-5th):

3. China(April 16th-19th):

I think the highlight of his bald era is how much he embodies the nickname "sunshine." Like the way his hair and eylashes glow in the sun??? Literally sunshine. Also it's cute to see his hair grow more fluffy

4. Bahrain(April 23rd-26th):

The texture differences are so interesting, I think this length looks its best when it's more fluffy like in the top right pic.

5. Spain(May 7th-10th):

It's funny how his hairline does that point in the middle, again: looks better when he looks unkempt

6. Monaco(May 21st-24th):

Weirdly shocked at how much his hair grew in-between Spain and Monaco??? Also I forgot that those fashion pics were from this weekend, and I was jumpscared by his mohawk look. I think he should keep away from hair product hahaha

7. Turkey(June 4th-7th):

Lego hair looking ass. Kidding kidding, just think his hair looks best all natural

8. Silverstone(June 18th-21st):

Lowkey kinda baffling to me how different his hair looks at different stages of the weekend. The podium hair especially is just soooo different, its very cute but yeah idk

9. Germany(July 9th-12th):

I did not realize he cut his hair again during this season?? Seeing these was very surprising to me, I had thought he grew it out for the entire season but I guess not! But I guess if he hadn't gotten a haircut the entire season, he'd probably have his angelic curls of 2010 by the end

10. Hungary(July 23rd-26th):

Kinda love the looks he was serving this weekend, it's just very spikey and cute(also the cunty sunglasses!!

11. Valencia(August 20th-23rd):

12. Belgium(August 27th-30th):

That garage lighting makes his hair look soooo much more yellow rather than his fair blond in the sunlight

13. Italy(September 10th-13th):

This transitional growing period is not my fav, just the way his hair sweeps in is funny

14. Singapore(September 24th-27th):

Looking particularly blond this weekend!! His hair is just very light and pretty

15. Japan(October 1st-4th):

I think most of these are from post-quali and for good reason; I love the way it looks like he has highlights in all the bottom pics

16. Brazil(October 15th-18th):

I love his scruffiness from this weekend!!! The scruffy stubble is sooooooo!!!

17. Abu Dhabi(October 29th-November 1st):

Pretty cute I think but yeah like nothing can really compete with his hair length in 2010 for me so I look at these and I'm like, ooooo growing longer!!

Conclusion: I think it's fun to get to see the process of someone's hair growing out. I've noticed that a lot of men with short hair get very consistent haircuts to keep their hair generally the same length, and I think that's so boring!! I think it's great to grow out your hair for a few months time because you get to see yourself at all the different stages and experiment with all kinds of different looks! So yeah, props to Seb for serving all kinds of looks this season!!

Also it's always interesting to me how much hair length/style and facial hair can change a person's look, but particularly how old/young they look. Like when he shaved his his head, it made him look so young. But in Brazil for example, with the longer hair and scruffy facial hair, he def looks older!

And of course, let me know which you like the best :D My favorite is Jerez <3

[apod]

2024 February 23

The Pencil Nebula Supernova Shock Wave Image Credit & Copyright: Helge Buesing

Explanation: This supernova shock wave plows through interstellar space at over 500,000 kilometers per hour. Centered and moving upward in the sharply detailed color composite its thin, bright, braided filaments are actually long ripples in a cosmic sheet of glowing gas seen almost edge-on. Discovered in the 1840s by Sir John Herschel, the narrow-looking nebula is sometimes known as Herschel's Ray. Cataloged as NGC 2736, its pointed appearance suggests its modern popular name, the Pencil Nebula. The Pencil Nebula is about 800 light-years away. Nearly 5 light-years long it represents only a small part of the Vela supernova remnant though. The enormous Vela remnant itself is around 100 light-years in diameter, the expanding debris cloud of a star that was seen to explode about 11,000 years ago. Initially, the section of the shock wave seen as the Pencil nebula was moving at millions of kilometers per hour but has slowed considerably, sweeping up surrounding interstellar material.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap240223.html

[enchantedwitchling]

Embracing the First Signs of Spring: A Witch's Guide to Imbolc.

🌸🔥🕯️

As the chill of winter begins to recede and the first signs of spring emerge, we celebrate Imbolc, also known as Brigid’s Day. This sacred festival marks the midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, symbolizing hope, renewal, and the stirring of new life. Let’s explore the essence of Imbolc, how witches honor this festival, and discover rituals, spells, and traditions to celebrate the awakening of the Earth.

What is Imbolc?

Imbolc, celebrated on February 1st or 2nd, is a time of purification, light, and rebirth. It honors the goddess Brigid, who is associated with fire, healing, poetry, and fertility. Imbolc signifies the first stirrings of spring, as the Earth begins to awaken from its winter slumber.

How Do Witches Celebrate Imbolc?

Witches celebrate Imbolc by lighting candles, performing purification rituals, and welcoming the returning light. It’s a time to set intentions, cleanse the home, and prepare for the new growth of spring.

Rituals and Spells for Imbolc:

🕯️ Candle Lighting Ceremony: Light candles throughout your home to honour the returning light. As you light each candle, set intentions for the coming months.

🌿 Brigid’s Cross: Craft a Brigid’s Cross from reeds, wheat, or straw. Hang it in your home for protection and blessings throughout the year.

🔥 Fire Rituals: Perform fire rituals to invoke the energy of Brigid. Safely light a fire in your hearth or a fireproof bowl, focusing on purification and renewal.

💧 Cleansing Bath: Take a ritual bath with herbs like rosemary, lavender, and thyme to cleanse your body and spirit. Visualize releasing old energies and welcoming new beginnings.

🌱 Planting Seeds: Plant seeds indoors to symbolize new growth. As you plant, focus on the intentions you wish to cultivate in the coming months.

Imbolc and Sacred Symbols

🔥 Fire and Light: Central symbols of Imbolc, representing purification, inspiration, and the returning light. Incorporate candles, lanterns, and fires into your celebrations.

🌸 Snowdrops and Early Blooms: Symbolizing hope and the first signs of spring. Use these flowers to decorate your altar or home.

🕯️ Brigid’s Cross: A powerful symbol of protection and blessings. Craft one to honor the goddess and invite her blessings into your home.

🌿 Milk and Dairy: Traditionally associated with Imbolc, representing nourishment and fertility. Include dairy products in your Imbolc feast or offerings.

Other Imbolc Traditions

🧹 Spring Cleaning: Cleanse your home of stagnant winter energy. Open windows, sweep out old dust, and cleanse your space with smoke or essential oils.

🎨 Creative Expression: Honor Brigid, the goddess of creativity, by engaging in artistic activities like writing, painting, or crafting.

🥣 Feasting: Share a meal with loved ones, featuring dairy products, seeds, and early spring greens. Celebrate the abundance and nourishment of the Earth.

Imbolc is a time to honor the stirring of life within the Earth and within ourselves. It’s a celebration of light, hope, and new beginnings. Whether through rituals, spells, or simply appreciating the subtle signs of spring, Imbolc offers a moment to connect deeply with the cycles of nature and the promise of renewal. As we celebrate Imbolc, may the light of Brigid guide you, may your intentions flourish, and may the awakening Earth inspire your spirit.

🌸🔥🕯️

[noisyquokka]

Piece of You

PAIRING - Jeongin x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - You can't imagine your life without him, and you wouldn't want to. He's a part of you now, a piece of your identity as much as you are a part of his.

WORDCOUNT - 870 (ignore the last piece I posted where I said I couldn't write anything under 1k words lmao)

WARNINGS - Fluff, Established Friendship, two (2) besties getting philosophical under the stars, typical Innieisms

A/N - It's Innie Day! Enjoy a cute little bestie blurb, Darlings! (I love him sm, how have I never written a proper fic for him yet?!)

“You ever wonder what our lives could be?”

Jeongin’s head rests in your lap, his eyes focused on the clear sky above. Your fingers card lazily through his hair, brushing the dark tresses from his field of view. The question hangs in the air like a cloud, a whisper in the twilight that leaves you wondering if he had even heard you. 

“What it could be?” Jeongin repeats, confusion etched in the crease of his brow. You hum an affirmative, eyelids sliding open and sweeping down to catch his gaze. He shrugs, ghosting his fingers over the palm of your hand.

“The thought never crosses my mind,” he says. 

You hum again, eyes spanning skyward. 

Whatever warmth the sun offered during the day had been snuffed out by the February frost. Twilight pervades the sky like sheer curtains over a bedroom window, gradually depleting with the help of Earth’s orbit. The city’s skyline glows from miles away, its lights shimmering like the coming stars. The air was crisp now, comfortable enough for you and Jeongin to sneak onto your roof and watch the sunset.

“Things could be so different, you know…” 

Jeongin sits up from his spot beside you, eyes locking with yours. The concern is evident. It isn’t like you to be this vague. Normally Jeongin was more than capable of picking up what you were putting down, but not tonight. You’d confused the poor man. Even worse, you’ve worried him. Your nose scrunches in regret, and you offer him a soft smile.

“Nevermind. It’s dumb, I’m just… thinking out loud.” you mutter, turning your attention back to the navy blue sky. You can feel his eyes on you, can guess that those brows are creased on his forehead. His hand finds yours instinctively. 

“Hey, it’s not dumb.” His fingers lace with yours, thumb ghosting over the back of your hand. You smile to yourself, the familiar feeling washing over you like sunshine on epidermis. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

“I just…” You sigh heavily, trying to figure out exactly what it is you’re trying to get across. The feeling of Jeongin’s fingers running over your palm is a welcomed comfort. “There’s some alternate timeline out there that has you and I written down as strangers. We probably lived on opposite sides of the world, or maybe we lived down the street from each other and never caught each other’s eye.” You keep your gaze on the toes of your sneakers, tapping them lightly against the shingles. Jeongin keeps silent, nothing more than an inhalation of breath leaving his lungs. 

His expression softens, your words finally hitting him.

It’s more than normal for you guys to sit up here on any given night and get philosophical under the stars, talking until the birds wake with their chorus of dawn twitterings. While those talks have gotten pretty deep, it was this one that shattered the ceiling. You've been best friends forever, always found time for one another on the busiest of days. More so on the bad days. Jeongin's certain you're the only person he could call on a whim and you'd drop everything if needed. 

Your words are powerful, and they hold a certain weight to them. They make him question his life and his choices throughout. Who would you be if not for him? What kind of person would you be without his influence? Where would he be without yours? Who would he be? His heart sinks like an anchor in his stomach.

You feel the lightest sensation of Jeongin’s fingers over your palm — a reminder that he’s there, listening with keen ears. Then the surefire heat of his body sliding closer, one arm circling your back. You spare him a glance only to find his eyes focused on the stars above. The dim lighting from your window glosses over his profile, and you watch the stars trapped in his pupils.

“I like to think that the universe couldn’t find a better person to pair me with,” He blinks, laced fingers squeezing yours. He drops his eyes to you, his gaze warm and gentle. “so it gave me you.”

You are struck by the unexpected tenderness of his words. The universe brought you together for a reason. You can't imagine your life without him. The thought of being strangers in a different life is unthinkable.

You lean back against him with a soft smile etching your lips. 

"I think that's the perfect way to describe us, two people who were meant to be paired together.” 

“Well, I was going for more of a ‘there’s no one else who can handle this amazing, loveable guy’ trope.”

“Oh come on, Innie!” You laugh at his comment, shoving your shoulder back into his chest. “is it too much to ask for you to be sentimental on occasion?”

“Sentimental Innie costs 40000.”

“You’re insane.”

He cracks a grin and shoots you a cheeky wink.

“I’m simply putting my skills to good use.”

“And why don’t I get a discount?”

“I’m too talented to put myself out there for free.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back into him. You feel his heartbeat pounding softly against your back as two pairs of eyes settle skyward.

Nothing more needs to be said. 

You both know this is enough.

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[aria-ashryver]

Woven Threads and Winding Roads (Pt 1&2)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Raine) Words: 2.2K Ratings/Warnings: General; mention of (Nesper) pregnancy

Summary: Five times Tyril attempts to braid Raine’s hair; and one time those threads begin to come together again as they should.

A/N: Written as a gift for @thosehallowedhalls as a part of the Choices Secret Admirer event! It was such a delight to write for BOLAS again. Also participating in Choices February 2024 with the prompts Eros, Philia, and Pragma. Thank you Caro for letting me borrow your lovely Raine! 🌷🎀

Raine bit down on a laugh as Tyril strode into their bedroom, a scowl biting deep into the angular lines of his face. She rose to meet him, settling a hand against his cheek.

‘There’s the frown I fell in love with,’ she teased, laughter bubbling out of her as his brow furrowed further at her words. ‘We’ve had so little to trouble us these past few weeks — I was beginning to worry you’d forgotten how to brood.’

‘I am not brooding,’ Tyril brooded. 

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist, closing his eyes and leaning into the kiss she pressed to his jaw.

‘Thank the stars Adrina has the stomach for these tiresome nobles and their courtly swill. The entire Venesterium seems determined to vex me. The sooner we escape this evening’s ball, the better.’

Raine grinned. ‘Mal and Imtura have been rubbing off on you.’

Tyril’s eyes snapped open. ‘How dare you.’

‘They have!’

‘I… forgive me.’ Tyril paused, stepping back to take in the sweep of silver-blue silk swathing Raine from head to toe. His face softened. ‘Here I am complaining about the nobility, when I should be telling you how utterly radiant you look. You are dazzling spring water beneath the noonday sun, a pure vision of Bakshi come to life. You are the very stars themselves, beloved.’

Raine’s chest glowed. She tangled her fingers with his, swishing her shoulders back and forth.

‘Look,’ she said proudly. ‘My dress has a cape!’

Tyril chuckled.

They were still getting used to life in Undermount. To peace. 

To not being woken by Imtura’s snores, or the quiet cadence of Nia’s morning prayers; to the soft bed linens they’d traded up from hard-packed earth; to days that held no more danger than social faux pas and politics, instead of threats to their lives, to their friends, to the realm itself.

Well. Realms, plural, Raine thought. 

All that time running back and forth across not one but two different planes hadn’t exactly left much time for updating her wardrobe — that, at least, was one aspect of their new life together that Raine had quickly adapted to. Every last seamstress and tailor in Undermount was vying for House Starfury’s patronage. Raine had wasted no time taking advantage. 

‘You’re looking rather handsome yourself,’ she told Tyril, running her fingers over the ornate metalwork embellishing his robes. ‘What’s all this?’

Tyril’s face flattened into a frown again. 

‘Adrina’s doing,’ he groused. ‘House Starfury has been steadily regaining our former standing. Our coffers are stable, our contracts are shoring up, Father has been able to rehire the staff he let go with considerable bonuses. My dear sister, in all her brilliance, has decided that means I needed to look suitably ludicrous for our re-entry into elven courtly society.’

‘I think you look lovely.’

Tyril’s face pinched in distaste. ‘Have you seen the size of this ring? It’s a House Starfury heirloom.’

Tyril flapped his hand before Raine’s face — rather unnecessarily, in all honesty; there was little chance she’d have missed seeing the ring, given that it was the size of a small continent. There, on his left pointer finger, was a sparkling affair of curlicued silver and diamond, set with a sapphire so immense, its sale could have supported the entire population of Riverbend for a solid year or more.

‘Can you imagine what our roguish friend would say if he took one look at me in this get—up?’

‘Mal would call you a prissy elf boy and probably wet himself from laughter, yes.’ Raine pursed her lips, trying not to grin. ‘I take it Undermount’s finery and flattery isn’t to your liking any more, then?’

‘The flattery never was,’ Tyril said, his eyes trained on Raine as she slipped into a seat at the vanity and finished applying a kohl liner to her eyes. ‘The fineries?’ He hummed thoughtfully. ‘I’ll admit, the novelty of clean sheets and dry boots is wearing off faster than I’d expected.’

He stepped up behind her to run a brush through the silken gold of her hair.

Raine closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, remembering for a moment the mornings Nia had done the same. She had no problem braiding her own hair, of course, but sometimes she and Nia had helped each other tease away the tangles and road-dirt, fixing one another’s hair in readiness for travel and combat. 

It had grounded them both. Anchored them in the present, in the living pulse of their Light. Soothed them on the days when the darkness was too heavy to speak through.

Raine met Tyril’s piercing, blue gaze in the mirror over her shoulder. He raised a brow in silent question.

‘Would… would you braid my hair for me?’

A soft smile lit his face. 

‘Whatever you would have of me, I would give to you.’

The minutes passed in silence as Raine gave herself over to the gentle touch of her lover’s hands. He’d almost finished a passable —if slightly uneven— braid, when his ring snagged on her hair, pulling a section loose at the front. 

‘Drat! Apologies, this ring is impossible. I’ve never seen a piece of jewellery so cumbersome — Gods forbid it’s wearer deign to lift a finger to do anything for themselves. Though, I suppose that’s rather the point, isn’t it?’ Tyril clicked his tongue. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea how I am supposed to hold a sword with this monstrosity on my finger.’

‘Tyril…’ Raine caught his hand, holding his gaze for a long moment. ‘You don’t need to anymore.’

‘Oh.’ His eyes grew round, unguarded. ‘I suppose you are right. Yes, I don’t… right.’

Standing, Raine fixed the end of the braid with a simple leather band.

‘You’ve no wish to fix the snag?’

‘No, it’s fine. I rather like it.’ Raine glanced at the fall of hair that had tugged loose. ‘We don’t want to be too put together for the smarmy nobles, do we?’

‘We do not.’ Tyril cupped Raine’s face, his thumb sweeping over her cheekbone, sighing fondly. ‘You are exquisite, Raine. Do you know that? You are perfect. Celestial. I almost want to keep you all for myself. You know… we could just stay here, tonight.’

Laughing, Raine swatted at Tyril as his gaze grew hooded.

‘Tyril!’

She was rewarded with the sight of one of his rare and dazzling smiles. A secret sight, just for the two of them. It still caught her stomach up in swooping knots every time Tyril smiled.

‘Fine,’ he said, warmly, ‘let us away. But we are leaving as soon as the dessert courses are over.’

Raine’s hand found his.

‘Deal.’

‘Why do you get a cool half-cape?’ Raine grumbled, as they wound their way through the cool expanse of the public gardens. ‘I want a cool half-cape. Instead I get idiotic, too-long sleeves.’

Tyril’s face remained impassive as he nodded at a passing head of house; the gardens were bustling this morning, the lush greenery offering a cool respite from the late-spring sun. Raine greeted the elf in kind with a cordial wave —or, she tried to— the gesture botched by the yards of gauzy fabric tangling about her hands.

‘I hate everything!’ she shrieked under her breath. ‘I am this close’ —Raine raised a hand, snarled when her sleeves got in the way again, flailed her arms about until her hands were free, and pinched her thumb and forefinger before Tyril’s nose— ‘to ripping these awful sleeves off and shoving them into that fountain.’

Tyril smiled, tucking his hand against the small of her back and steering her neatly away from the aforementioned fountain. They walked instead toward a cluster of chatting nobles whom Tyril would rather have avoided, but knew he ought to greet.

‘Adrina is close to closing a significant contract with House Moonchaser,’ Tyril said quietly as they neared. ‘It would be a shame to offend their head of house by destroying the gift she bestowed upon you. Damaging such a gift would be perceived as a deliberate snub.’

‘Godsdamn it all to the blackest reaches of the Three Hel— ah, that is— hello, Lord Frostcrow! Yes, the gardens are looking splendid this morning, you are quite right.’

Their welcome ball had been pleasant enough. Raine had bewitched the gathered masses with her effortless radiance —not that Tyril was surprised; his lover stole his breath with every passing heartbeat— though none had been more taken with her beauty than the Lady of House Moonchaser. The elven matriarch had insisted on gifting Raine a custom-made dress from her personal seamstress as a show of welcome from their House.

It had been delivered late that morning — a heavy concoction of lurid pink velvet and silver embellishments, complete with decorative pearls, ribbons, and something Raine had described as “a headache masquerading as fashion” to be woven into her hair to match.

Raine had thought the whole thing garish… but, it would do well to be seen wearing the garment publicly at least once, so here they were.

Tyril had tried his hand at braiding her hair again that morning. Raine had humoured his attempts —there was something intimate and tender in their stolen moments of quiet together as he worked the ribbons through her hair— and for a time, he’d been rather proud of his efforts.

At least, until they’d made the journey from their small manor in the hills and into Undermount proper, and the whole thing had begun to unravel under all the weight. The imperfection irked him. Damn it all, he wouldn’t stop until he was the single most talented personal hair stylist in all of Undermount!

‘Stupid elven politics,’ Raine muttered, blowing a strand of hair from her face as they continued on with their stroll. ‘I look ridiculous. I’ve slept in war tents with less fabric than this dress. How am I supposed to defend myself in a swordfight with these sleeves?’

‘Were you not the one reprimanding me for my obstinate refusal to relax?’ Smiling, Tyril dropped a gentle kiss to the top of Raine’s head. The braid sagged a little further. ‘Perhaps you might take your own advice. We are safe, beloved. There aren’t any agents from the Ash Empire hiding under the magnolias, waiting to ambush us the moment we—’

‘A MISSIVE! A MISSIVE FOR YOU, LORD STARFURY!’

Heart in his throat, Tyril spun on instinct to find the point of his dagger hovering mere inches from the face of a wide-eyed courier. Beside him, Light crackled in Raine’s palms, her stance poised to strike, her expression nothing short of thunderous.

‘Apologies!’ The courier squeaked. He pinched an envelope between his trembling fingers, prodding it meekly toward them as the colour drained from his face.

Sighing, Tyril flicked his wrist in a practised motion; the dagger slid smoothly from his palm to tuck itself inconspicuously in his shirtsleeve. 

He really ought to thank Mal for showing him that particular trick, Tyril thought. He wouldn’t, of course, on account of that would mean actually thanking Mal for something, but the gratitude was there all the same.

He tugged the letter from the courier’s hand. The shiny, wax seal bore a small paw-print in the centre.

‘An urgent missive from the most humble Threep Percivacurus Pompedorfin and the magnanimous Loola Coriandropolis Dupopodolis, dispatched via high-speed drake-courier service out of Whitetower,’ the courier recited breathlessly. He swayed on his feet.

‘I think you should go and sit down for a minute or two, buddy,’ Raine told him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. ‘Drink some water, catch your breath. Maybe have a think about whether or not it’s a good idea to sneak up behind people who were recently involved in the harrowing trauma of saving the entire Godsdamned realm from certain doom and yelling at them, you know. Turn that one over in your head a couple times.’

‘That— I— yes. Sound advice, my lady.’ 

Bowing stiffly, the courier departed, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away.

‘By the Light,’ Raine muttered. She sounded as tired as Tyril felt.

‘Every day I think to myself, “the general populace couldn’t possibly grow any more dense”,’ Tyril murmured, watching the terrified courier wobble away, ‘and every day, they find new and fascinating ways to prove me wrong.’ 

‘Um… Tyril?’

Caught by the horror in her tone, Tyril turned to see a sheepish Raine inspecting her hands. Two smoking, fist-sized holes burned clean through the trailing sleeves of her dress.

She winced. ‘Just how important was that contract with House Moonchaser, again?’

Feeling a headache coming on, Tyril scanned Threep’s letter. His mouth dropped open.

‘Oh! Never mind that — Raine! Threep and Loola are expecting!’

Raine clutched at his hands, giddiness sparkling in her eyes. She squealed.

‘You’re joking. Baby nespers?! How adorable!’ Her eyes bugged in her head. ‘Oh, Gods, wait. An army of Threeps…’

The budding warmth in Tyril’s chest flipped to alarm. ‘Oh no… Oh, we need to start stocking the larder, yesterday.’

Stricken, Raine nodded. ‘I’ll place an order for a few bushels of dried anchovies.’

‘Whatever number you are thinking,’ Tyril said, ‘double it.’

Click here for: [Next - Pt. 3&4]

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesfebruary2024 @choicesfandomappreciation @thosehallowedhalls @lilyoffandoms @stars-are-within-me @jerzwriter

[dujour13]

A little romance to kick off February ❤️

(instead of not-a-date it’s wait-is-this-a-date)

---

“May I take your cloak, sir?”

Woljif dodged the man reaching for his shoulders until he noticed from the corner of his eye that Siavash didn’t seem bothered.

“It’s new, don’t mess it up.” Following the chief’s lead he allowed himself to be decloaked, clamping his arms protectively over his pockets while the waiter whisked off his cloak and hung it to steam dry next to Siavash’s by the fireplace.

Nervously Woljif took in the room, his instinct taking mental note of valuables and escape routes: wood-paneled walls, blazing hearth, the kind of fancy paintings that only looked like something if you squinted, a dozen candlelit tables in crisp white linen, gleaming crystal wineglasses and silverware he reckoned he could easily get seven and a half per set for. Beyond the kitchen, the back doors were flung wide to let out fragrant steam, and a whole contingent of cooks and wait staff stood there smiling like rubes and bobbing their heads to the Knight-Commander.

As they were escorted to a table in the front nook, he caught Siavash’s flushed, bright-eyed gaze and began to feel something was expected of him.

“Swanky place, chief. I thought we were headed to the Half Measure.” He yanked his chair out of the waiter’s hands and scooted it in himself.

“This place just opened. They have Andoren specialties.”

Seemed harmless enough, but Siavash still looked like he was waiting for something.

“Uh. Andoren, huh? Like what?”

As Siavash explained, using a lot of words like “braised” and “flambé,” Woljif fidgeted. All this talk was making him hungrier.

“Woljif, you’ll be needing that dessert spoon.”

He took it out of his pocket and put it back on the table.

Through the windows angled around their table, they could see figures hurrying past on the darkened street, cloaks pulled tight against slanting wind and rain. Within, candles shed a cheerful pool of bronze light that glinted from polished dinnerware. It didn’t fail to cross Woljif’s mind that he had always been on the other side of that glass, dreaming of what it would be like to be sitting here. His stomach responded audibly to the memory.

“I guess you’re hungry.”

“We missed the mess bell by an hour, chief. I’m ready to eat my boots. Flambé.”

For some reason Siavash seemed to find this really funny. At last he brushed a tear from the corner of his eye and leaned back comfortably in his chair, which brought his legs forward so that one ankle rested against Woljif’s, and gave him that expectant look again.

Woljif glanced about, searching for clues. The waiter served Siavash wine and Woljif a glass of flavored water with a slice of some kind of fruit wedged on the lip. Other patrons seemed to be avoiding looking their way too often, respectful of the Knight-Commander’s privacy. A halfling couple at a low table across from them were engrossed in conversation and he watched as one of them took the other’s hand across the table, their fingers twining together.

Oh.

“So um. What’s the occasion?” Woljif asked as lightly as he could with volcanic heat surging to his face.

Siavash beamed. “No occasion. I just thought I’d take you out.”

“Like on a—on a date?”

In response Siavash reached across the table with his palm open, and when Woljif placed his nervous and slightly chilly hand in his, grasped it gently. “Yeah. A date. You all right?”

Only then did Woljif become aware that the whooshing sounds behind him were not the wind or someone sweeping, but his own tail stripping the restaurant’s decorative fern of its leaves. He wound it around his chair.

“Sure. I just didn’t expect…”

“I should have warned you. I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

“It is!” Woljif almost shouted. “I mean, yeah. Just not used to bein’ what’s it called.”

“Courted.”

“Right. That’s not to say I never had a date before. I’ve had a few, you know. Pretty busy guy, not much time for that stuff.”

“Thanks for taking the time for me,” said Siavash in a low voice, and Woljif felt suddenly like he’d evaporated, like his body had no mass and he might float to the ceiling. Under the table he felt their ankles slide together and had the urge to grip his chair with his free hand to stay grounded.

This was what the Count meant and what those novels were on about, but it turned out the reality was so much nicer. All the times he’d pressed his nose to the windowpane and gazed longingly at the warmth and food beyond his reach he’d never imagined himself having them in such good company.

“I guess I can spare an hour or two for the Knight-Commander,” he joked, his voice a little thick.

The candlelight made Siavash even more handsome, glowing in his burnished gold hair and dancing in his laughing hazel eyes. Slightly dizzy, Woljif sniffed his drink suspiciously.

“It’s not alcoholic,” Siavash reassured him.

When the amuse-bouche arrived, a tiny bowl of fish soup hardly bigger than a walnut complete with tiny croutons and a doll-sized spoon, Woljif again had to take a cue from Siavash not to call the waiter back and give her a piece of his mind. It turned out pretty good, and there was a lot more on the way: sautéed mushrooms in little copper pots, beef simmered slowly in red wine until it melted in your mouth, roasted potatoes in rosemary and sea salt, vegetables with fancy names glazed with butter and honey, fresh flaky bread still warm from the oven.

Woljif had always reckoned that food was food. He had his favorites like cherry rolls and spicy pastries, but when the Count got to waxing poetic about fine cuisine he was skeptical.

This though—

“Aright, I gotta give it to ‘em,” he said through a mouthful, hunched over his plate with both elbows on the table, mopping up wine sauce with a crust of bread, “this ain’t half bad.”

Siavash seemed to be enjoying every bite Woljif took just as much as he did. He paused in his story just to grin.

Woljif ordered more bread by waving the basket at the waiter. “Wait, so you took a Korvosan Arbiter to a brothel?”

“No, not really,” Siavash laughed. “I just knew the suggestion would get him out of there. One more word and he was going to start a war. Fortunately he was too drunk to walk down to the port so we steered him to his chambers instead and left him with his head in a bucket.”

“He’s lucky he didn’t wake up naked in a ditch in Nidal.”

“Oh, I think the Duchess had much worse than that planned for him by the time we got him out of the banquet. Imagine being devoured slowly by a teacup dinosaur.”

When at last the bill came Woljif had completely forgotten about his nerves and was leaning back complacently in his chair with both hands folded over his replete stomach. The warmth where his shin rested against Siavash’s seemed to have radiated to the rest of his body.

“This was nice, chief. Thanks.”

“It was. I hope it compares well with all those other dates you’ve been on.”

Woljif made a face. “Sure does.”

“So what would be your dream date? For future reference.”

“This but not in the fucking Worldwound.”

They had another good laugh but one look at the bill had Woljif back on his guard in an instant. He glanced meaningfully towards the door.

“Something tells me we wouldn’t get away with it. You’re almost as famous as I am around here these days.”

“Yeah, has its disadvantages,” Woljif sighed. With tremendous reluctance he fished in his pocket but Siavash insisted on taking care of it and couldn’t even be talked into writing it off as a Crusade expense.

Back out on the street they walked close to keep out the chill. As soon as they rounded a bend into an unlit street Woljif seized Siavash’s hand, a little roughly as if swiping something from a store shelf, but with sincerity.

“What about your dream date, chief?”

“This was it,” smiled Siavash, breathing in the night air. “Danger on all sides, the bold heroes finding comfort in camaraderie and a rare moment of respite. Good food. And you.”

“Hells, you are such a sweet talker.”

[gretavangroupie]

Enrapture

Word count: 13.2k

Pairing: Daniel Wagner x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking. Smut: Kissing, Touching, Oral M!Receiving, Fingering, Oral F!Receiving, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Biting, Spanking, Blood, Blood Play, Cum Play, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex. Fluff.

A/N: Hey! Welcome back for the second installment of the four part Valentine's Day Mini Series I've been working on along with my best pal, @sacredstarcatcher! We've had so much fun writing these, and we hope that you enjoy Daniel's story! There's only two left now, and we can't wait to share them with you! See you real soon!

You’ve been waiting for this night for weeks, marking off the days on your calendar with a pink highlighter since the end of December. You got the call and immediately said yes, not even taking into consideration the day. It wasn’t hard to get the rest of your band mates to agree to it, only one of them even in a relationship. February 14th was really just another day, and tonight your band was set to play. 

It took some careful convincing but everyone knew that opening for The Foxies would be, to date, your biggest opportunity yet. You put the finishing touches on your outfit, waiting for the rest of the band to pick you up in the van. You zipped your black chelsea boots, and straightened your black lace corset top against your jeans as you fluffed your fingers through your freshly blown out hair. You gave yourself a look in the mirror one last time, the shine of your lip gloss catching in the bathroom light. 

The time on the clock is quickly ticking by, and you’re starting to get nervous that it's well past your pick up time. Thankful that they already have your guitar in the van, you know that as soon as they pull up you will be jumping inside as the van continues to roll. 

About fifteen minutes and a few anxious walks around your living room later, you hear the horn honking outside. You grab your coat and your keys and dash out the door, sending a quick text to your friend letting her know you’re running late. 

“Late to our biggest gig yet?! This looks bad, guys.” you screech, slamming the door shut behind you. 

“Chill, we'll make it. Van wouldn’t start, but she's runnin’ now.” Carter barks from the front seat, patting his hand on the dashboard. You roll your eyes and buckle your seat belt, listening to them chatter as you anxiously await your arrival. 

—

Rushing down the basement steps with your gear, you wade through the decently sized crowd making your way to the side of the stage. You can tell the opening band is almost finished and you rip your guitar case open to check the tuning. 

From the corner of your eye you see your best friend sauntering up to you, camera in hand just like she promised. You try to give her the quick rundown of the set so she can plan her shots but you can tell her head is elsewhere as she peers over her shoulder scanning the crowd. You wonder if it has anything to do with the boy she was talking to as you walked in. 

“Foxtrot, you’re up!” you hear the coordinator shout, and you know it’s time to take the stage. You throw your arms around your friend's neck, kissing her cheek and taking your leave for the stage. “Wish us luck! Make sure you get my good side!” 

With your guitar slung around your shoulder, you wait for Carter to cue you in on the drums, ready to play to this rowdy crowd in front of you. Your eyes scan the audience as Steff starts to sing, spotting a few familiar t-shirts with your band logo on them. A smile crosses your face as you enter in on the next song, seeing your friend down below you as she works her away across the stage snapping photos you hope to use for the band's socials. Your fingers are dancing along the frets, keeping perfect time with the drums and bass as you look out into the crowd again.

When your eyes sweep the room you notice a guy leaning against the brick wall, drinking from a beer can as he nods his head along in time with the music. His eyes are on you, dark and piercing. His dark curly hair frames his face beneath his hat, turned backwards of course in the darkness of the room. You see a smirk pull across his lips as you make eye contact, and you feel yourself blushing so you look away. 

You wish that you hadn’t abandoned his gaze when you look away and spot your ex on the other side of the room, about four rows back, with his eyes on you. You knew there was a chance he would be here. You’d been dodging his calls for weeks, and rightfully so. He betrayed your trust and that was that. You didn’t have time for the back and forth, and to be honest, he wasn’t what he portrayed himself to be anyways. You cut your losses and you have been significantly happier since. As he stands here in front of you, you feel a sense of dread wash over you, knowing this is an issue you’ll have to deal with after the set, on Valentine’s day no less. 

Your attention is snapped away from him, watching as your friend and her camera go flying over a rogue cord on the ground. With her eye to the lens she missed it, tumbling into the hands of a familiar stranger. You laugh under your breath, working your way into the next song, and letting your eyes flick back to your curly haired admirer. 

You’re pretty sure you know who he is, his appearance definitely fits the description, though you didn’t realize how cute he would be in person. He was known to pop up at these shows, always looking for the next great thing, adding names to his ever expanding catalog of local bands. You hadn’t come across him at any of your gigs yet, but it looked like tonight was your lucky night. 

—

After the show you find yourself accepting compliment after compliment, hugs and encouraging words coming from almost every familiar face in the crowd. Between conversations, you try to make your way to the kitchen for at least some water, but for a solid 10 minutes, you’re stuck hosting a receiving line.

As anticipated, your ex makes his way towards you. He’s got a look on his face that tells you he’s had a few drinks and that doesn’t bode well for you.

“Look at you,” he coos, physically pulling you in for a hug with a hand around your upper back. You grimace, politely accepting the inappropriate greeting. “Gotta admit, it’s pretty cool to see my girl up there knowing she’s–”

“Not your girl.” you say, immediately cutting him off. “Thanks for coming.” You try to get away but he grabs your forearm and makes it difficult.

“Hey hey hey, what’s the ruuush?” he slurs, stepping into your line of sight again. “You can’t still be mad.”

“I’m not mad, I just don’t want anything to do with you.” You try to pull yourself out of his predatory grasp but he’s effectively cornering you. 

“I miss you, baby. Look at me and tell me you don’t think about me. Something deep down in there still wants me.” he says, poking you gently in the chest. 

“Fuck off, Brent.” You snap, shooting him a look that could kill. Right as the tension bubbles over, you feel a warm hand on the back of your neck. 

“Hey, got you that drink you wanted.” Turning to look over your shoulder, you’re met with the same pair of striking, dark eyes that were watching you from the back during your performance. 

Brent immediately looks disgruntled, sizing up the tall stranger who is placing his arm around you. 

“Do I know you?” Brent asks.

“Oh, hey, names Danny. Nice to meet you.” He lifts his arm back over your head, then offers his hand to Brent for a sarcastic handshake. You watch the two interact with wide eyes and realize that this Danny character noticed you were in distress and decided to step in. 

“Didn’t think I needed to introduce myself, sorry about that. Most people here have at least some idea who I am.” You turn to look up at him, a little dumbfounded at the way he’s radiating smug confidence strong enough to disarm your asshole ex. 

Brent gives a few slow nods as his eyes move between the two of you. He seems to put the pieces together, deciding to take his leave.

“I’ll see you around,” Brent says to you with a terse smile, pushing his way through the crowd and out of sight. Once he’s gone, you turn to fully face your savior, giving him a relieved smile. 

You had heard about Danny Wagner. Drummer, Nashville local, party boy, general good time. He’s a little too famous to be at a show like this, so you can’t help but ask him why.

“Thanks for stepping in. I could have handled it, but… you really expedited it. So thanks.” You say, a little guarded, but appreciative nonetheless. 

“He seemed like a real prick, and I had been waiting to come over and introduce myself anyway.” Danny says, his smile sweet and disarming, but you’re not going to let yourself fall into the trap you know many women have fallen into before.

“I thought you didn’t need to?” you quip boldly, opening the beer he handed you. 

“Well, do I?” he responds quickly, laughing softly.

“It’s only polite…” you muse.

“Daniel Wagner. I really liked your set.” he says, tipping the bottle of beer back and licking his lips clean after he takes a sip. 

“That’s very kind.” you say, polite, but a little cold. Your eyes scan the room quickly, a little concerned about what others may think looking at this conversation from the outside. Danny’s reputation is less than great, and you wouldn’t want anyone attributing the slight amount of success you would say tonight was to him. 

“Can I ask what you’re doing at a basement show, though?” you prod, giving him a bit of a suspicious look. He takes it in stride, his confidence never faltering. 

“I was supposed to be on my way to New York, but due to some…unforeseen circumstances, I found myself at home on Valentine’s day. Seeing as most restaurants are booked, bars are full of schmucks on dates, and all that… I figured I would drop in. Stay up to date on the local music scene. You know.”

You raise your brows at him. You actually don’t know, so you crack a smile. 

“I see. How kind of you to grace us with your presence.” you snark, trying to suppress a grin.

Danny lets out a big laugh at that, almost choking on his beer. You laugh along, glad he’s not too offended. There’s no way he hadn’t heard the murmurings about him, so it’s nice to see he’s a good sport. 

“I’m gonna–” You start to tell him you have to go load up your equipment when you’re interrupted by a random voice.

“Hey! Can we get a picture?” 

That’s your cue. You sneak away towards the stage, starting to pack up alongside your bandmates. Every few minutes, you glance back towards Danny, caught up with some excited fans. It’s not that you’re avoiding him, because if you’re being honest, there’s something about him that’s drawing you in. It’s the gnawing worry at the back of your mind that’s telling you to tread lightly.

Crouching down, you peel up the tape from the makeshift stage. As you stand and follow the trail, pulling it from the floor, you’re brought to a pair of bright white Adidas stepping on it, keeping you from going any further. Straightening up to stand at your full height, you realize it’s Danny.

“Need a hand?”

“Oh, no, you’re fine. It’s a little complicated, so…” You try to brush him off.

“I’m sure I can figure it out.” he says, a little snarky. “The faster you’re done the faster you can have fun, right?” He’s proving to be a persistent guy who definitely likes a challenge. Something about that brings some color to your cheeks, but you try to keep a level head.

“If you really insist…” you tell him with a smirk, stepping aside so he can unplug the cord you just freed from the stage. 

The room is still fairly loud so as Danny helps you get packed up there aren’t too many words exchanged. You feel his eyes on you though. It’s difficult not to steal a few glances his way too, watching as he bends at the knee, his broad shoulders flexing while he maneuvers around equipment. 

Carter pushes away with the last road case and then there’s little to nothing left to do. 

“Thanks for your help. You seriously didn’t have to do that.” 

“It’s all good. I honestly miss doing some of the more hands-on stuff. It felt like riding a bike.” He gives you a genuine smile, his comment making you reconsider your preconceived notions of him. He seems to be a sweet guy despite his sizable ego and cocky presence. You brush your hands off on your thighs and offer Danny a grateful smile. As you do so, you feel the key to the van in your front pocket.

“Oh, shit. They’re probably out there waiting for me.” You jump into motion, heading for the door you came in through. Danny follows your quick footsteps with relaxed, large ones of his own, shifting to squeeze through the crowd with you. You’re surprised to find him behind you when you get out into the cold, but decide not to question it this time. You just smile and jog down the stairs. 

He proves to be incredibly helpful, lifting and stowing the heaviest items without more than the occasional grunt. Your eyes are constantly darting between your task at hand and his arms- the fabric of the athletic quarter zip he’s wearing is stretching around his biceps and it’s enough to make your heart pound. 

“You really didn’t have to do all that.” you murmur with a warm smile as Danny shuts the door. He lets out a big breath, his shoulders relaxing a little.

“It’s really nothing. I’m happy to help.” He goes on speaking but you’re distracted as you look over his shoulder, seeing your best friend and photographer over at her car, talking to a guy who’s within awfully close proximity. You can’t see his face, but he’s in a red beanie and a sweater. You have a feeling your plans to hang out after the show tonight are about to go to the wayside as you watch them talk and bump elbows. 

“It’s freezing out here. I’m gonna… head inside?” you say, a questioning lilt to your voice. You don’t directly ask him to come with you, but you assume he’s going to. 

“Yeah, let’s get you another drink. I lost track of it when you put it down on one of the amps.” he says, leading you back inside with a hand on the small of your back. 

You immediately feel nervous as you walk back through the door and a few pairs of eyes find you with Danny trailing almost too close behind. You worry they’ll think the worst, which you can’t imagine would be good for your possibly blossoming career, but he’s been charming and helpful thus far and it wouldn’t be fair to write him off. 

“I’m gonna find the bathroom. Don’t go anywhere, alright?” he says, leaning in close to say the words in your ear, making sure they’re heard despite the next band starting to warm up. You nod and he walks off while you search the kitchen for something to drink.

You crack open a can of beer and sip the foam that starts to bubble up. As you’re doing so, a petite dark haired girl approaches you. She seems young, her skin a striking olive shade. You swallow the foam in your mouth and lift your head.

“Hey...” she says, looking over her shoulder, then back at you.

“Hi!” you return, wiping your mouth. You go to speak again, intending to ask if she liked the show, but she cuts you off. She steps a little closer, since it’s incredibly loud.

“I just wanted to give you a heads up. About Danny?”

You retract a little, surprised that she thinks you need a warning. Had the two of you come across as having that much chemistry? You nod and lean forward again for her to continue.

“I’d just be careful with him if I were you. He really doesn’t have the best reputation, or a shred of respect for women. Don’t let him fool you.”

You scoff a laugh, a little annoyed and insulted that this girl thinks you don’t have good judgment or can’t fend for yourself. 

“Oh, great! Thanks for the tip!” you quip, watching her eyes cut just a touch, as you feel a hand brush across your lower back. 

“Tori…” his voice is smooth, as he takes his place next to you. “Can’t say I didn’t expect to see you here.” he pauses, dropping his hand from your back to step a little closer.  “You’re always just kind of… here, aren’t you?” He sips from his fresh drink as he waits for her response.

“Actually, Daniel, I was just leaving.” she replies, tossing her hair over her shoulder pretending to be unaffected. 

“Ouch, the government name…” he feigns hurt, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Well, thanks for coming out!” you say, an air of faux enthusiasm in your voice. She rolls her eyes subtly as she walks away, and you smile turning to face Danny who is wearing his own cheeky grin. 

“So, what were you two talking about?” he asks, peering over the edge of his beer can.

“Oh, she was just… complimenting the set, nothing really.” you lie, biting your lips together.

“Who, Tori? She probably hasn’t even stepped foot into the basement! She’s here for one thing and one thing only and it’s not the music, I can assure you.” he says with a huff of annoyance.

“Oh, can you? Assure me?” you smirk playfully. 

“No! Well, I mean, god. Okay yes, I can. But also, that’s not why I’m here, and it wasn’t that night either. Okay?” he stammers over his words, you’ve caught him in the act and you can tell this doesn't happen often. 

“I’m just messing with you.” you say, watching a blonde girl pat him on his back as she walks behind him. “Hi Danny…” her syrupy sweet voice says. 

 He turns to her to say hello before quickly turning back to you. “Sorry bout that.” he says, refocusing on your conversation, stepping a bit closer. 

Just as you go to speak, you hear someone call his name from across the room, grabbing his attention yet again. He lifts a hand and waves two fingers back at the girl, before lowering it back down and into his pocket.

You raise your eyebrows in question, and he lets his face grow a little softer. 

“I can let you get back to the party, I don’t want to keep you–”

“No, listen, you wanna…You wanna go somewhere else? Not here? A bar or something?” he asks, sincerity lining his voice. 

“I thought they were full of schmucks…” you quip. 

“They are…Never said I wasn’t one…” he smiles back with the raise of his brow.

“What’s wrong? You worried the ghosts of girlfriends’ past are gonna ruin your chances, here?” you quip, offering him a tiny wink.

“So you’re saying I do have a chance…” his eyes are shining in the dim house lights, a few stray curls falling from beneath his baby blue trucker hat. He bites his lip nervously waiting for your response and you can feel the butterflies swirling in your stomach from just his gaze alone.

“Mmm, I haven’t decided yet.” you answer, taking a pull from your beer.

“So let me take you for a drink, then. You can decide after if I’m really as bad as they say.” 

“Aren’t you even a little bit concerned about people talking? People have seen us together all night, and I’m sure half of Tori’s social circle knows at this point, and have found me on Instagram already.” you smirk. 

“No, fuck all those rumors. They are completely out of hand. People get mad when you cut them off. If they can’t talk to you, they’re gonna talk about you. It’s all they have. I don’t let it get to me, I know it’s not true.” he answers, and you feel a little surprised to hear something so noble come from him. 

You tap your finger to your chin pretending to decide, but you already know you’re going. You just don’t want him to know that yet.

“Where?” you question. 

“Somewhere in East? I know a few quieter places.” he answers, really trying his best, you can tell.

“Hmm… You’ll drive me home after?” you ask. 

“Of course. Just say yes, just one drink.” he pauses. “I’ll be on my best behavior.” he says, patting his hand over his heart.

You suck your teeth and pivot on the heel of your boot. “Alright, one…” 

He smiles, and you're positive that had he shown that perfect smile from the get go, you’d have been a goner from the jump. 

“Only because I live over there…” you smile. 

“Oh, no other reason?” he grins, sending you a wink. 

He places his hand on your back again, causing a shiver to run up your spine. You feel good walking out with him, despite the glares you can feel from across the room. He leads you through the crowd, heading towards the door but before you can reach it, a girl jumps out in front of you commanding your attention. You can tell she is drunk by the haziness of her eyes and the blush of her cheeks. Well, that and the drink sloshing out of her red solo cup. 

“I'm sooooo sorry t’bother you…” her words are slurring together and you know this is probably not the first time Danny has had to deal with this. 

“No no, no bother, what’s up? How are you?” he asks, his demeanor suddenly shifting. 

“I just– I have to tell you how much I love your music, it like literally changed my life…I’m like your biggest fan ever.” she slurs, falling over onto her starstruck friend. 

“That’s awesome, thank you so much for listening, we really appreciate you guys.” he answers. 

“Can we take a picture with you?” she asks, pulling her phone from her back pocket. You can tell he doesn’t want to, but he would never tell them that.

“Yeah, yeah no problem, hold on let me just–”

Before he can step closer to her, she is holding the phone up as she moves back, crashing into him and sending her drink flying. Danny is doused in the sticky liquid, what you think is probably vodka and Coke.

His pullover is soaked through, and you watch his jaw clench with anger. He stays calm, however, consoling the very embarrassed fan as if nothing ever happened. “It’s all good, no worries at all. Happens all the time. But hey, we were heading out, great to meet you.”

He quickly ushers you through the crowd, letting out a few mumbles of anger as you walk towards his car. 

“That really happen all the time?” you smirk, watching him smile as he shakes his head. 

“It’s usually not that messy. Literally and figuratively.” He says, clearly in a bit of a huff. He pulls out his keys and unlocks the Jeep that you know is his once the lights flash. You head to the passenger side and hop in, happy to be safe from the wind. You see him standing outside the door for a second, tapping his phone screen before holding it up to his ear. 

“Where’d you get off to?” He asks, his voice muffled. He opens the door, sliding into the driver’s seat as he listens to whoever is on the other line.

“I’m fine, yeah, just checking in. Didn’t know you left. You bag that chick you were chatting with?” He starts the car quickly once he realizes you’re cold, his hands messing with the dials and turning on the heat for you. You give him a little smirk at the locker room talk you’re sitting in on right now and hope he doesn’t say a word about you. He smirks as he goes to speak once more.

“Hell no. Neither is Jake. You’re stuck with Josh and his girl. So, have fun with that.” Danny says, getting adjusted and buckling his seatbelt. He laughs at whoever is on the other end of the phone and the sound of his laugh brings a little warmth to your otherwise freezing body. 

“Yeah, yeah. You too. See ya.” He hangs up and tosses his phone into the center console. When he’s done, he lifts his hand to push some hair behind his ear and there’s audible proof of how sticky it is. 

“Hang on,” he starts, shifting sideways to look at you as you buckle your seatbelt. “Can we actually stop at my place and have a drink first? I just… I need to change and maybe rinse this shit out of the ends of my hair.” He seems pretty annoyed and you feel for him, so you can’t help but nod. 

“Totally fine.” You smile in an attempt to quell a little bit of his anger bubbling up under the surface. 

He aggressively shifts into drive and all but peels out of the spot he’s parked in, probably leaving tracks in the grass of whoever’s house this is without a care. You smirk as he leans forward to look around the bend of the road before he pulls out and picks up a significant amount of speed. 

The song playing picks up where it must have left off when he arrived, and you think you recognize the familiar sound of the Foo Fighters. He turns it up a little as he starts to sing along, softly and maybe even subconsciously as he concentrates on the road. He’s a bit of a reckless driver, and you find your hand reaching for the handle on the door subtly. 

The chorus comes in and he drums along on the steering wheel as you approach some main roads, slowing down just a little. 

“Give me some rope, I'm coming loose, I’m pulling for you now…”

You smile as he seems to let go of whatever anger was brimming and his charming smile comes back as his enthusiasm grows. Eventually, after a particularly loud, “YEOW!” towards the end of the song, you have to let out a laugh. He glances over at you once he hears it, his eyes flickering between you and the road for a moment before he bites his tongue between his teeth in a playful way that makes your stomach flip. The song ends and another one starts, this one softer, a sweet melodic undercurrent as he drives. Danny taps his fingers softly against the wheel along with the melody like he’s listened to it a few times. 

You know the distance never made a difference to me…

It’s getting brighter as he drives, heading past the restaurants and bars lining the streets of Nashville, crowds and lines and not a single parking spot to be found. 

I swam a lake of fire, I’d have walked across the floor of any sea… 

You listen, not feeling the need to make any conversation, taking these little insights into his taste in music and running with them, putting the pieces together. You find these tidbits more valuable than if he were to outright start talking about himself directly to you. 

As you steal glances at him, you look around his car too. There are a few rubber ducks on the dashboard. One is a leprechaun, another is solid blue. There’s a bigger one that’s white with cherries. There’s one you think is Frankenstein, but you can’t quite tell. 

He has some chapstick in the center console under his phone, a stick of Palmer’s cocoa butter lip balm. He has a friendship bracelet tied to the wrist closest to you, and the opposite has a thin gold bracelet and a smart watch of some sort. His jeans have a little faded indent that shows where he usually keeps his phone.

He flips on his blinker and pulls onto a side street, driving slower now through the suburban streets. As he pulls into his driveway, he turns the music down a little, looking at you while he shifts into park. 

He reaches for his phone, then the chapstick. He puts some on quickly and then offers it to you, holding on to the cap. You accept, swiping on a little before wordlessly handing it back. He secures the cap and then speaks. 

“Shall we?” 

You open the car door and jump out, fixing your clothes briefly before closing it behind you. He wraps a warm arm around you as he leads the way down the pathway to the front door of his house. 

“God, it’s fucking freezing.” He says, eventually taking his arm back so he can use both hands to put the key in and turn the knob.

As you wait for him to unlock his front door you can smell the sticky sweetness radiating from his clothes, mixing with the masculine scent of his cologne. He smells warm and clean and you want to bury your face into him to escape the cold. The wind is whipping your hair around, and cutting through the fabric of your corset top, sending shivers through your body. He pushes the door open and you’re instantly met with the heat of his home, bathed in warm amber lighting. 

He flips a few light switches and plugs his keys into a Marshall key rack, before kicking his shoes off and locking the door. He takes off his hat, and peels off his liquor covered pull over, giving you the smallest glimpse of the dark hair peeking from the top of his jeans. He tosses it onto his kitchen counter and it's then you see the thick black bands inked across his bicep. His t-shirt is tight across his chest, adorned with birds and a sunset motif, as he reaches for his hat, placing it back on top of his dark curls letting out a sigh of relief before looking at you. 

“So, drinks. What do you um– What would you like? I think I can make most anything.” he says, walking over to a small wooden bar cart against the wall. You unzip your boots and leave them at his front door, happy to finally have them off after all this time.

“Anything?” you ask, leaning your hip into his kitchen counter. “How confident are you in your mixology skills?”

He gives you a smug grin, “I’d say I’m pretty confident. I’ve been known to pour up a drink or two. No complaints so far.”

“Can you make a Martini? A good one?” you ask, pushing off the counter and walking over towards him. 

“Vodka or Gin?” he asks, sliding both of the bottles from their respective places. “Wait, are you a dirty girl?”

You send him a self righteous smile and lean against the cabinet next to him. “What do you think?”

“Okay. So, Gin it is.” he says, twisting the lid from the bottle. 

“Lucky guess.” you answer, watching him walk to the fridge to retrieve a jar of olives. He grabs a cocktail shaker and a few ice cubes on his way back to the bar cart, setting the items down to begin the process. You watch intently as he adds the Gin and Vermouth to the shaker, adding a healthy splash of olive brine to the silver cup. He places the lid on top of the shaker and starts to shake the mixture together over the ice. His arms flex as he does so, and you can’t seem to take your eyes off of him and his perfectly tanned complexion. 

After a few seconds he stops, pulling the frosty lid off and straining the mixture into two waiting martini glasses. He works precariously to skewer a few olives through toothpicks, dropping them into the glasses and extending the first one out to you. 

You take a sip from the cold glass, tasting the saltiness on your tongue. 

“Well, dirty enough for you?” he asks, sipping from his own.

“Mmhm. Just right.” you murmur. 

He leads you over to his couch, a firm black leather number with a few throw pillows and a blanket or two strewn about. You both sit, sipping at your drinks as he reaches over to grab a remote, turning on a stereo system that's clearly wired through the whole house. 

“Any preference?” he asks, pulling out his phone.

“Surprise me.” 

Music starts to play through the house, something much softer than you expected based on what he’d played in the car. You definitely didn’t take him for a folk rock kind of guy, but the more you think about it, he’s been full of surprises all night. 

You can feel your chest growing warm as the gin works its way into your bloodstream. His cheeks are a little more pink than they were, and since the removal of his jacket you notice his arms are a little flushed too. 

You look around his living room, noticing pictures on the wall of what you can only assume are his bandmates and he in various cities and countries. A few framed albums hang on the wall along with some artwork for color. However, the entire back wall of his living room is lined with guitars. 

“You play guitar…” the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. 

“Yeah, yeah. I do. Was my first instrument, though now I’m a drummer. Guitar was really my first love. What about you? How long you been playing?” he asks. 

“Oh, since I was eleven. Got one for Christmas and my parents got me some lessons. Just kinda clicked you know?” you answer, “Which uh– which one is your favorite?” you ask, gesturing your glass towards the guitars hanging. 

“Oooh, probably– Um, probably the yellow one, far left. I find myself reaching for it the most. Good little thing, lots of power if you know how to wield it.” he answers, sipping from his glass. 

You nod and look back at him, “So you love guitar but you’re the drummer?” you ask. 

“Yeah, I know, sounds backwards but, my brother, Jake, he’s…He’s way better than I’ll ever be. I fit on drums, you know? It works for us. Obviously.” he laughs, a dimple peeking out on his cheek. 

“Yeah, yeah I understand I almost played bass in my band.” you quip, tossing back the rest of your drink. You pull the toothpick of olives from the glass and pop one into your mouth.

“Are these blue cheese olives?” you ask. 

“They are, yeah. I like them in a Martini.” he answers confidently. 

“They’re really good. I love olives.” you reply, setting your glass on the coffee table. 

“So, you had your one drink. It’s the moment of truth…”

“Hmm… Might need another to make a really good solid decision, you know?” you say playfully, resting your head on the couch cushion and letting your eyes flick up to meet his. 

“I think I could do that…” he says, snatching your glass from the table and returning to the bar cart. 

“You know, you guys sounded really good up there. I was into it. I’m glad we got there when we did.” he says, shaking the silver shaker. 

“We?” you ask, wondering who he left at the show.

“Oh, yeah. I came with my buddy Sam. The one on the phone earlier. He’s the bass player in our band.” he says, pouring up the drinks. 

“I see, so you left him there...” you joke. 

“You heard for yourself he seemed preoccupied…” he laughs, and he’s right, he definitely sounded busy. 

“So you two are like, best friends outside of the band?” you ask, accepting the glass from his hand as he rejoins you on the couch, a little closer this time. He grabs a thick blue blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it to you with a gentle smile as he answers your question. 

“Yeah, I mean we were best friends before the band ever really existed. Just kind of solidified our friendship. Been quite a few years of craziness together.”

“And the others…They’re all brothers, right? Or is that just a rumor?” you ask.

“Yeah, all brothers, twins and then Sam who is a couple years younger. My age.” he says, sipping from his glass with a loud exhale. 

“Is that…weird?” you ask, a little hesitantly. 

“Not at all. I’m practically their brother too. Known ‘em my whole life. Wouldn’t be able to do this crazy on the go life with anyone but them, I think.” he says, letting his walls down just enough to let you peek in. 

“How many months out of the year do you guys tour?”

“Shit, a lot. We’re gone more than we’re home these days. Probably eight or nine I’d say. Either in the US, Europe, Mexico… Fuckin’ everywhere now. It’s crazy.” he says, staring off into the distance, his eyes locked on the small flame flickering in his electric fireplace.

“So you guys are pretty famous then...Touring that long… Even have random girls spilling their drinks on you at parties just for a single photo…” you wink. 

“Oh, do I detect a hint of jealousy from Miss Y/N?” he asks. 

“No, I’m not jealous… I mean, I’m the one sitting on your couch drinking Martini’s aren’t I?”

He laughs and shakes his head, tipping his drink to his lips. “I had to work for it, but… you sure are, sweetheart.”

“Did you think I wasn’t gonna say yes to drinks?” you ask, your eyes locking in on him as the alcohol swirls through your system. You can tell he’s feeling it too, letting himself become a little more flirty. 

“Wasn’t sure, was kinda touch and go there for a minute. I hoped you would agree. Could hardly take my eyes off of you all night. Saw you and… Yeah, I just had to talk to you.”

“You use that line on all the girls?” you ask, sipping the last of the frosty drink. 

“No, guys too, I don’t play favorites.” he smirks, biting the olive off of his toothpick with a wink. 

Fuck…

You smile and nod, biting your lip between your teeth as you feel color rush to your cheeks. 

“How does it feel?” he asks, his eyes trained on your lips, watching as you release it. 

“What?” you breathe.

He swallows harshly, “Nothin’...Nevermind.” he says, shaking the thoughts from his mind. “Well, drink two…Have you made up your mind yet? Am I as bad as they say? Are you dying to get out of here?” he asks, running his tongue over his bottom lip. He’s inched a little closer to you and you can feel the warmth radiating off of his body. 

“What if I say yes?” you ask, leaning forward just a touch.

He repositions himself, taking your glass and placing it with his on the table. He moves a little closer, mirroring your body as he rests his head on his hand on the back of the couch. 

“Well, then I’ll get us some water, get my head on straight, and take you home. Is that what you want?” he asks, his dark eyes boring into yours as he tilts his chin down.

“And if I say no?” you answer. 

“If you say no, then I…Make us another drink and we can keep talking and…see what happens…” he says, his voice trailing off, hoping you will take that option, and there’s no doubt in your mind which option you’re going to pick.

“What were you thinking about a minute ago? …Tell me.” you say, pulling your legs up and tucking them under you. 

He rubs his hand over his chin, nodding his head in agreement. “Your lips.”

“What about them?” you ask, feeling your heart start to pound.

“I don’t know, they’re just pretty. Wanted to know how it felt… watching you bite them.” he admits. He grins, unabashed. “Your turn…What’re you thinking about?” he asks. 

“I’m thinking…another drink.” He grins when he realizes you’ve made your decision. 

“I’ll make you another drink… But only if you tell me what you and Tori were actually talking about.” he counters as he stands, grabbing both of your glasses. As he walks away, you snicker softly. 

“Why do I feel like you already know?” you ask, standing to follow him to the kitchen island. He shrugs, his broad shoulders flexing a little in a way that catches your eye. You walk by him, exploring his kitchen. 

“I’m certain I was the subject, but something tells me her interpretation of what happened between her and I has become a bold departure from the truth…” he muses in a smooth voice as he pours. 

“It was a warning really…” you begin, standing in front of his refrigerator. There’s one pizza menu, a mostly unused magnetic notepad, and some photos. “She was letting me know that you’re very charming and convincing, but underneath it all, you apparently have zero respect for women.” 

He chuckles as he gently places the olive skewers in your drinks, unbothered by the retelling of Tori’s dramatic warning. You look at the photos on his fridge, realizing that most of them are of his family. They look pretty wholesome. 

“Tori and I ended badly because I felt that she was a bit too… immature, emotionally. She puts a lot of stock into social media and status and things like that, which just isn’t how I am. My life is on display enough already.” He says truthfully, pushing your drink towards you. 

“You have a sister?” You ask, looking over your shoulder, then back to their Old Navy catalog-esque family photos. 

“I do, yeah. She's my best friend… much to Sam’s dismay.” He says, sipping from his own glass and retreating to the couch. 

“That’s sweet…You two seem really close.” you say as you turn to grab your drink, following him as he takes a seat. 

“I’m not all bad.” 

He looks up at you, a devilish smirk on his lips. He tugs the brim of his hat a little, as if he wants to see you better. Taking a big gulp of your drink, you remove the olives and hold the toothpick between two fingers. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, shifting his hips a little so his thighs are spread wide on the couch and patting his thigh. You flush from the combination of his eyes on you and the alcohol hitting your system. You put your glass down, figuring you’ve had enough, and delicately straddle him where he sits. Watching as he takes a sip of his own drink, you let out a little huff.

“Oh, I didn’t get to eat my olives.” you say, a little disappointed, turning to reach for your drink. 

“Here.” Danny’s voice is suddenly delicate as he speaks. You look back into his eyes and he’s got his own toothpick between his fingers. “Open.”

You open your mouth tentatively, then bite down on the bottom olive once it’s in far enough. He pulls the toothpick away and you chew gingerly, your smile a little coy. 

“S’good?” He asks, his voice still soft. You nod your head. “I feel like olives are hit or miss for a lot of people.”

“I love a good salty treat…” you say with a shrug, which earns you a boisterous chuckle from him. 

“You were a tough nut to crack but… you’re pretty fun.” He says, watching as you take a sip of his drink to wash the olive down since you can’t reach your own. You smile, your eyes slightly narrowed, wordlessly confirming that yeah, you’re fun when you want to be. 

As if he sees you’ve gotten a little bit of a big head over it, he decides to trip you up. He leans back and puts his drink on the end table before he speaks. 

“Why don’t you come a little closer and give me a kiss? I know you’ve been thinking about it.”

You lick your lips, a little nervous. He’s telling you to make the first move.

“Let me just get my pen…” you say, looking around. 

“What?” He looks genuinely confused. 

“Oh, for the NDA. Right?” 

As soon as you deliver the punchline, he’s pulling you in for a hungry kiss so fast you barely get a laugh out. His massive hand is on the back of your neck to keep you in place while the other has a grip on your forearm, again, keeping you in place. You moan softly in surprise but let yourself lean into him, steadying yourself on his chest with your free hand. You feel how damp his shirt still is from the drink he had poured on him. 

His lips are perfectly soft, reminding you of the chapstick he so graciously shared with you in the car. You tug softly on the grip he has in your forearm and he releases it, allowing you to push up for a breath of air. 

He, however, doesn’t seem to need any. He quickly buries his face in your neck, his mouth latching onto your throat, his tongue pulling the delicate skin between his teeth before he bites down with a bit of force. You can’t help the way your hips roll forward, your mouth releasing a sound you don’t even recognize. 

“Yeah?” He says, his smirk audible. 

“…Yeah.” 

He does it again and again, moving down your neck towards your clavicle, then the fullest part of each of your tits, leaving red bites and splotches as he goes. You’re breathless by the time he looks back up at you, his lips swollen and his eyes a little wild. He grins, his perfect, sharp teeth flashing in the dim light of his living room. 

You capture him in another kiss, this time lacing your fingers in his hair, carefully making sure not to pull at any of his perfect curls. You feel a little bit of the stickiness from the spill earlier and pull your hand away gently as hair gets stuck to your fingers. He breaks the kiss, taking a few shallow breaths as you watch the way his chest rises and falls. 

“…I’m a fuckin’ mess. What do you say to helping me wash this out of my hair?” He mumbles, his eyes looking over you in a way that implies he knows you’re going to say yes. 

“Oh, yeah. It looks like a two person job. I’m happy to help.”  You giggle softly before he pecks you on the lips. You lift from his lap, feeling your balance waver slightly as you get your footing. He’s on his feet quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind to steady you. 

“Think you’ll make it up the stairs?” He jokes, his voice soft, his lips against the shell of your ear. You laugh as he squeezes tight around you, leaning your head against his.

“You do make a strong drink… but I’ll be okay.” 

He kisses your cheek, sending you forward with a quick smack on your ass. 

You ascend the stairs, Danny following close behind. You can feel his eyes on you as you reach the top, and turning over your shoulder only confirms it. He looks up and meets your eyes, giving you a guilty smile.

He puts a gentle, possessive hand on the back of your neck as he guides you into his bedroom. It’s dark until he flips on the lights, the switch controlling two lamps on either side of his bed. He doesn’t stop there, though, continuing to guide you towards the bathroom.

Once inside, you’re met with a sparkling clean bathroom, an impressive shower that’s about as big as your bedroom, and a dual basin sink. He turns you around for another kiss, this time sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth biting softly into the skin. When he hears the whimper it conjures from deep in your chest, he does it again with more enthusiasm before breaking the kiss and leaving you wanting more. 

He steps into the large open concept shower, flicking the handle to start the water. There's chill bumps spreading across his skin from the coldness of the water and the tile beneath his feet. He walks back out as you lean against the bathroom wall, watching him as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a fairly chiseled physique. His skin is pretty tan for February but you chalk it up to traveling and don’t think much of it. 

He presses the button on a portable speaker hanging from a towel hook behind you, powering it on. He slides his phone from his pants pocket and turns on the same music that was playing downstairs, before tossing his phone onto the counter and stepping over to a closet to grab another towel. He hangs it on the hook next to his and you wish that the sight didn’t make your cheeks grow warm. 

Steam starts to rise from the streams of water in the shower, and as you remember just how cold it is outside, you shiver wanting nothing more than to be standing under the scalding hot water. He breaks your trance by stepping in front of you, sliding his hand around your neck and pulling you in for a kiss. He pulls your bottom lip away from your teeth as he pulls away from you, releasing it with a grin. He runs his warm hands over your arms, feeling the chill bumps that have taken up residency. 

“You cold, sweetheart? You wanna get warmed up?” he asks, sliding them back up to your shoulders. His fingers hook into the the straps of your top, pulling them down over your shoulders to rest gently on your arms. 

“Yeah, got any ideas?” you answer playfully, toying with the button on his jeans. You free the button from the hole, and slide his zipper down before pulling them away. 

“A few right off the top of my head. Why don’t you take this off for me…” he says, sliding his finger down the center of your top. You reach for the zipper on the side, slowly pulling it down until the fabric breaks free. You let it fall to the tile floor, leaving you in just your black jeans. His eyes dart down to your chest and he sucks in a deep breath before letting his eyes meet yours. They are darker, deeper, and completely blown out with lust. 

He lets his knuckles just barely graze over your skin as they travel up your stomach and over your sternum, sliding across your collarbone and down around the fullness of your tits. His thumb just lightly grazes over your nipple, feeling the pebbled flesh beneath his finger tip.  

Your eyes flick to his lips, full and pouty as his fingers trace over your skin. You let your hands wrap around his torso as you press your lips to his, feeling his hands grip into your chest, with a firm squeeze. A whimper leaves your mouth and you can feel the smile on his lips. 

“These too?” he says, sliding his hand to the button on your jeans. 

“Mmhm…” you hum, letting him pop the button. You shimmy out of the tight black pants, just your thong between you and his hands now. 

“Red…How festive.” he snarks, sucking hard into your neck again. You roll your eyes but he can’t see, still it makes you feel better.

You slide your fingers into the front of his open jeans, silently asking him to join you. He pulls his pink lips away from your skin and kicks his jeans off, pausing and looking at you for a moment before sliding his dark colored boxers over his hips and down to the floor. Your eyes don’t leave his, but from your peripheral you can see that he is fully hard, and hanging heavily between the two of you. 

You swallow thickly, and he seems to notice, letting a smug grin spread across his face as he licks his lips. 

“Still a bit uneven, hm?” he says, hooking his fingers into the sides of your thong, and sinking to his knees before sliding them over your hips. When they hit the floor you step out of them, kicking them to the side. You feel his hands slide up the front of your legs, circling around to rest at the back of your thighs as a deep hum leaves his chest. 

His lips connect with your hip bone, kissing and sucking at the skin until a deep purple mark is left behind. You can feel yourself practically dripping with want for him, and you know if you two don’t get into the shower quickly, he will be your undoing without even properly touching you. 

He stands, grabbing your hand and pulling you into his large stone tiled shower, a freestanding tub just to the side. The second the water hits your skin you let out an audible groan, the goosebumps quickly disappearing. 

“Yeah? Not too hot?” he asks, pulling you under the spray. 

“Not hot enough…” you quip, raising an eyebrow. 

“Any hotter and we’ll descend into hell, babe.” he laughs, twisting the handle a bit further. 

As he steps under the spray to wet his hair you take the time to look at him. The subtle contours of his body, the way his muscles ripple as he moves, the stretch of his tattoo as he rakes his hands through his curls. Your eyes flick to his groin, taking in the sheer size of him, and of course you’re caught in the act. 

“S’not polite to stare…” he smirks. “You wanna hand me that body wash right there?” he asks, nodding his head to a shelf of products. You grab the amber colored bottle, ready to hand it to him but instead squirting the masculine smelling shower gel into your own palm. 

You rub it between both of your hands before pressing them both to his abs, starting to slide the soapy bubbles across his skin. “This okay?” you ask, locking eyes with him. 

“Fuck yeah, baby.” 

You continue sliding your hands around his body, traveling up and around his broad shoulders before sliding back down his slender frame. He presses his tongue into his cheek every time your hands slide a little further down, and after a few teasing attempts you let your hand circle around his fully hardened cock. 

He swallows heavily as you slide your soapy fist up and down his shaft, your eyes never leaving his. 

“Yeah baby, just like that, feels so good. C’mere…” he pleads, pulling your face to his and pressing his lips to yours. His tongue swipes against your lips before pressing into your mouth, your tongues playing a game of cat and mouse as your hand continues to work him. He groans as he pulls away from you, letting the water wash over him and rinse away the suds. You press a kiss to his chest, sucking the skin into your teeth to leave a mark of your own, but he stops you, pulling you away with a smirk. 

“No, no, no…Can’t this time, gotta wear a sheer shirt in three days. Gonna have to mark somewhere you can’t see.”  he says, tilting your chin up with his thumb. 

You purse your lips together before raising a brow. You sink down to your knees, feeling him brush your wet hair away from your face. You grip his cock in your fist once again as he leans against the cold tile behind him, his hand coming to rest in your hair. 

You lean forward, pressing a wet kiss to the tip of his dick, locking eyes with him before letting him slide past your lips and into your mouth. His jaw clenches as you stroke him, letting your tongue slide up and down the underside of his cock as the water pours down around the two of you. You slide your hand up his thigh, cupping his balls in your free hand as you take him as far down as you can. You swallow around him, and his hips jerk forward, a groan leaving his chest. 

You blink up at him, and seeing that he’s enjoying this is making you all the more aroused. His eyes flutter closed and you whine around him, causing his eyes to fly back open. 

“Oh, you want me to watch you, baby?” he asks, his hand gripping into your wet hair. You blink at him as the wet sounds of your mouth echo in the large shower. 

He clicks his tongue, “Of course you want me to watch you. I saw you on the stage tonight…Everyone fawning over you. Feels good doesn’t it, sweetheart? Having everyone’s eyes on you? It’s addicting huh, baby?” he pauses, jerking his hips forward, earning him a gag from your throat. “Fuck… It gets better you know… Bigger crowds, more people, more pressure. People fucking dying to meet you everywhere you go. My eyes are on you now baby. You’ve got my full attention.”

He fucks into your mouth again, a grunt leaving his chest as his words falter. Water is dripping from the ends of his hair down onto your face as his eyes stay locked on yours. “You looked so fuckin’ hot on the stage tonight, but you’re so goddamn pretty right here just for me.”

He slides his hand from your hair and cups your jaw, letting his thumb and fingers press into the hollows of your cheeks. You’re positive he can feel his cock sliding against his fingers as he moves in your mouth, and you feel like you might cum from this alone. 

“Fuck…” he groans, pulling himself from your mouth and quickly grabbing your hand to pull you up from your sore knees. 

“But I wanted–”

“Don’t worry baby, you’re gonna get exactly what you want…” he says, pulling you under the spray to warm you body for just seconds before spinning you around to face away from him. He pulls you tightly to his chest, his hard cock resting just beneath your ass. His right hand slides around to your front, his fingers sliding between your folds, feeling the wetness collected there. 

“You sweet little thing, you like sucking my cock?” he asks, swirling two fingers over your clit. “Answer me.” he says, before sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You jump at the contact and you feel a rush of wetness sweep over you. 

“Yes…” you breathe, unable to form a coherent sentence. You want him to do it again. You want it harder. 

“You did so good, might let you do it again…” he says, sliding his middle finger inside of you. 

“Oh goddamn, you’re so tight…” he groans, adding another finger as his palm works over top of your clit. 

“Danny…” you breathe, feeling your nerves come alive. 

“Yeah? You want more?” he asks, your heavy breathing echoing in the shower. 

“Bite me… Again…” you beg, “Please…”

“Oh, so sweet with your tight pussy and your manners.” he taunts.

His lips brush against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pressing a hot, open mouthed kiss to the skin, letting his tongue swipe over it before sinking his teeth into you again. 

“Oh, fuck…” you cry out, clenching around his fingers as his tongue laps against the fresh bite mark. 

“Yeah? You like that? Want me to mark you all up, claim you as mine?” he asks, “Your pussy says yes, but what does that sweet mouth say?”

“Again…” you beg.

A hum leaves his chest, “Step forward, put your hands on the edge of the tub for me, gorgeous.” he says, pulling his fingers from you, and smacking your ass with his wet hand. 

You grip your hands into the white porcelain, feeling him step up behind you, admiring the red handprint he left behind seconds ago. You feel his hands grip into your ass, rubbing over the round flesh before sinking to his knees behind you. You feel his breath hot against your core, a shiver of anticipation settling deep within your bones. 

His hands grip into the meat of your thighs before his mouth connects with your core, his hot tongue lapping at your entrance. The sounds echoing off the walls are lewd, but the euphoria washing over your body is all consuming. His tongue flicks over your clit and you find yourself arching your back to grant him easier access. His hand travels up the inside of your thigh, his thumb finding your clit and flicking across it as his tongue toys with your opening. You groan into the empty tub below you, your knees growing weaker with every movement of his tongue. 

“Danny…” you plead, knowing your orgasm is approaching. 

The wet sounds of his tongue on your pussy are growing louder, and with a particularly loud suck you find yourself screaming his name. He hums against you as your legs start to shake, feeling his lips pull away from you and move to the inside of your thigh, he presses a kiss to the sensitive skin, before again sinking his teeth into you. 

Lighting strikes through your body, and you know your release is within reach. He runs his tongue up the inside of your thigh, pressing a kiss to the tender bite before returning his mouth to your core. 

“Danny…Danny please… please…” you beg.

You feel him smile against you, “You sound like my fans, baby…You don’t have to beg…” he pauses, sucking your clit into his mouth.

He brings both of his hands to your ass, squeezing the skin as he lets his teeth gently graze your clit, sending you straight over the edge. A string of indiscernible curses leave your mouth, strung together beautifully with his name woven inbetween. 

He holds you against the tub, not letting your body crash to the ground as it so badly wants to do. He works you through your release, his tongue slowing as he feels you start to come down. 

“Guess I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of a rockstar cumming on your face…” he jokes, running his nose up your spine as he stands behind you. 

You huff out a laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “Yeah?” you pause, “And which end do you prefer…”

“This one.” he says, delivering a harsh smack to your ass cheek. You yelp in surprise, and feel another rush of wetness to your core. 

He kisses your shoulder again, breathing in deeply as he fists his cock behind you. “Wanna fuck you, baby…”

“Last chance for that NDA…” you joke, quickly feeling him press you back down onto the ledge of the bathtub, the head of his cock brushing at your entrance. He presses into you, sliding in quickly from the wetness accumulated. 

Your once playful demeanor has rapidly changed gears at the fullness you feel inside you. You tighten around him as you feel his groin pressed to your ass, the coarse pubic hair at his base brushing against your opening. 

His hand rests on your shoulder as you feel him start to pull out just long enough to slam back into you. 

“Oh, fuck…” he breathes, the tightness of your pussy suddenly a little too much for him. He slides his hand down your back, both hands now gripping into your hips as he moves in and out of you, setting a fairly quick pace. 

Your tits bounce against your chest as your hands grip into the tub, whines floating from your lips as his cock crashes into your cervix. You gasp each time, and you think that's what's spurring him on, but by this point he knows that you may possess a few masochistic tendencies.

“Goddamn you’re so gorgeous, perfect fuckin’ body, perfect tight pussy…” he grunts, the hot water still streaming down over the two of you. 

“Tell me what you want.” he demands, “Want you to cum on my cock.”

“Harder. More…” you plead, the sound of your wet bodies slapping together, inching you both closer. 

He leans over you, his hands sliding up your back to rest on your arms. You feel his lips trail up your spine, kissing into the soft skin at the juncture of your neck. “Yeah, you want more?” he growls against you, biting into your skin harder than he has. 

You feel his perfect teeth sink into you, the harsh sting sizzling through you like fire. He groans into your neck with his lips still attached to you and you feel a rush of warmth trickle down your skin. A drop of crimson red blood drips onto the tile below you, quickly washing down the drain.  

A whine leaves your chest, the pressure in your groin building as his tongue laps over the broken skin, hot and wet. His hips snap into you a little harder and a little tighter, and it’s evident to you that maybe he has a few kinks of his own. 

You feel a rivulet of blood trickling down your back, his hand coming up to spread it across your wet skin for only him to see, that is until his hand grips into the white porcelain next to yours. His hand is tinted red, and as he pulls it away to grip back into your hips, it’s a smear of bloody fingerprints that's left behind.

“Fuck…I’m– Hold on to the tub, don’t let go.” he says, spreading his stance a little wider behind you, but bringing one foot up to the edge of the tub for leverage. He drives his hips into you harder, a groan leaving his chest with each pointed thrust. “Baby…” you whine, only thoughts of him floating through your mind. 

“Yeah…Come on…” he grunts, his hair dripping onto your back. 

“I’m–”

“Yeah, give it to me. Cum for me so fuckin’ sweet and pretty, god I love it…” he says through gritted teeth. 

“Danny–” you warn, fluttering against him. 

“Yeah right, there, oh fuck…” he whines, as you clench around him.

A loud cry leaves your mouth, his cock still working against your g-spot as you fall apart around him. You feel like you're floating around the room in a thousand pieces, falling back down perfectly into place as he moves inside of you. 

“Danny…” you breathe. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful, gonna cum, baby… You want that? You want my cum?” he asks, his hips starting to stutter.

“Please, yes… My mouth… In my mouth, I want you…” you plead. 

“In your mouth…Fuck…” he says, still pumping into you. “I want your pussy so fucking bad baby, but god you’re so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” he pauses, “Fuck it, get on your knees.” he says, pulling out of you, and continuing to rapidly stroke his glistening, wet cock. 

You drop to your knees again, ready to take what you were promised earlier. You pull him into your mouth, your eyes rolling back in your head as you fill your throat full of him. 

“Mother fucker…” he groans, snapping his hips into you. His hand reaches down palming at your tits, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You whine against his cock, and that pushes him to his finish. He swiftly pulls himself from your mouth, pumping his fist over his cock as you peer up at him with your mouth open, and your tongue presented to him. 

“You want my cum, fuck… Take it… Fuckin’ take it.” he grunts, his hot release shooting into your mouth, landing on your tongue. It drips from your lips, rolling down your chin in bitter salty streams, and as he stares at you with a heaving chest you know that both of you need more of each other. Your mouth is full, his hot cum dripping down your chest as he releases his cock from his hand. 

He cups your chin, rubbing his thumb over your cheek with a smirk, before letting it drift into your open mouth, nodding at you to close your lips around it. You close your swollen lips and swallow down his cum with a flutter of your eye lids. It's warm as it slides down your throat, the taste of him unique, causing you to hum. Your tongue toys with his thumb and he pulls it from your lips with a pop. 

He drags his thumb up your throat and over your chin, collecting the drip that had fallen, before returning his thumb to your lips, and smearing it across the puffy pink skin. You lick your lips in response, and you watch as he crouches down in front of you, meeting you at eye level. 

He presses his lips to yours, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, tasting the remnant of himself on your skin. His hand settles on the side of your neck, pulling you in a little closer and deepening the kiss before pulling away. 

He stares at you with a satisfied smile, and you’re sure you’re looking just as blissed out as he is. 

“Stay here, tonight.” he breathes, rubbing his thumb over your throat. 

“You sure?” you ask, placing your hand on his wrist. 

“I’ll wash your hair and we can order a pizza?” he smiles, trying to sweeten the deal, as if you’ll say no. 

“With pineapple? Or is that a deal breaker…” you counter. 

He smiles his perfect smile and kisses your forehead, helping you stand and escorting you back to the streaming hot water. 

—

After an ironic heart shaped pizza, with pineapple, a glass of red wine and a few laughs, you find yourself being ushered back upstairs with the swat of his hand. He leads you into his bedroom before disappearing back into his bathroom, his queen size bed perfectly made with fluffy beige sheets and feather pillows, and you want nothing more than to melt into them. He was kind enough to lend you a t-shirt and a pair of sweats after your shower, but as you make your way towards the bed you find yourself wanting to slip out of the clothes all together. You kick off the sweats and are left in just his t-shirt and a pair of his boxers.

He emerges from the bathroom, his curls disheveled around his face without any product to keep them together. “I uh, I don’t know if you want this… I dug around in my cabinet and found this from the last time I went to the dentist, but it’s new, and I am honestly shocked I found it, but it’s all yours if you want it.” he stammers, offering you a toothbrush. 

You take it from his hands, pulling it from the cardboard packaging as you follow him into the bathroom. He places himself in front of the sink, grabbing his black electric toothbrush, and the tube of toothpaste. He wets his toothbrush, and unscrews the lid, ready to squirt the paste onto his brush, but stopping and turning to you first. You hold out the toothbrush and let him squeeze a line of toothpaste onto the bristles, giving him a smile before he turns back to his own. 

You stare at yourself in the mirror as you brush your teeth, reading the letters ‘CME’ on the gray t-shirt, and smiling because you’ve always wanted to go there. You catch his eyes in the mirror, watching him brush his own teeth, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he stands in just his black sweatpants. Your eyes flick down to the V of his waist and you find yourself brushing a little harder as you recall the events of the evening. 

He smiles around his foamy toothbrush, likely having the same thoughts, before turning the water on to spit into the sink. You do the same, rinsing your mouth with water and placing the brush on the counter.

“Do you want me to toss this in the morning or…” you ask. 

“Oh, no, you can uh… You can just use it next time I guess. I can keep it here or something.”

“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” you snark, raising your eyebrows in challenge. Your eyes suddenly catch sight of the bloody handprint left on his pristine white tub, and your breath catches in your throat. 

“Should I call my lawyer back? I already had him working on that NDA.” he says through a laugh, turning off the bathroom light and smacking your ass as you cross the threshold into his bedroom. 

He pulls down the comforter, letting you slide into the ice cold sheets before sliding in after you. You shiver a little, but not for long. He snakes his arm beneath you, wrapping it around your shoulder, and pulling you to lay half way on top of him. He twists his legs with yours, and you can feel his semi hard dick hiding just beneath his sweats. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he laughs. 

“I’m not sorry, who knew you would be so fucking cute brushing your teeth in my t-shirt?” You roll your eyes and lay your head down, the amber glow of his lamp illuminating the room.

“I mean it, though. I’d like to do this again.” His voice is almost boyish as he looks over at you from his side of the bed. You grin, nodding in agreement as your heavy eyelids make your blinks long and slow.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand, and turns down the brightness. As he unlocks his phone you see the background is a photo of his mom, his sister, and himself, on a beach somewhere. 

“They don’t live here…” you ask, but it’s not a question. You already know the answer.

“No.” he answers, his voice solemn. “They’re in Michigan.”

“You miss them.”

“Yeah, but I’ll see them soon. I think they’re gonna come down for a show. Just been too long this time. Gonna take my dad golfing, I think.” he says, opening his texts, and though you're trying not to look, you can’t help but notice that his inbox that you assumed would be full of unsaved numbers and girls names, isn’t. In fact there’s hardly any. 

He clicks on an unread message, laughing as he reads it. 

Jake

7:05pm: You still coming over later?

Jake

8:11pm: You prick how the fuck do you have plans, we aren’t even supposed to be here

Jake

9:17pm: Nevermind 😎

“How many friends did you ditch tonight?” you laugh. 

“Ehhhh, listen… Jake– He– I would have been stuck there until 3 in the morning if I went, I much prefer how my night turned out.” he giggles, sending back a skull emoji.

He opens the next thread and sighs, clearing his throat and rubbing his fist into his eye as he responds. 

Sista ✨

9:34pm: Happy Valentine’s Day, miss you! Love you & see you soon!

Danny

1:04am: Happy Valentine’s day, love you 💐

You feel your heart warm a little at the message, and you realize that maybe these girls that warned you, really didn’t know him like they thought they did. Sure he has a bit of an ego, maybe he’s a little cocky, but you kinda like it. He gives you a run for your money, and apart from the insanely hot sex earlier, he’s been a perfect gentleman. Kinda the best of both worlds if you think about it.

He locks his phone and tosses it on his nightstand, rolling over to his side and pulling you into his chest. You can smell the body wash you washed him with earlier still lingering on his skin, and as you breathe in the smell of him, and feel the warmth of his body against yours, he wraps his arms around you kissing your shoulder atop the deep red mark that his perfect teeth left. 

—

When the morning comes, you’re woken up by the natural light in Danny’s bedroom and a dull throbbing in your head. He’s rolled over, facing away from you as he sleeps peacefully on his clean, white sheets. 

Reaching for your phone, you suppress a groan at the soreness that radiates through your body. It's late morning and you have a few texts waiting for you already. The first is from your best friend, who you’re assuming went home with the guy she met. There’s an attachment and from the preview you see it’s a film strip, so you assume it’s a sneak preview of the photos she took of you at the show.

When you open the picture, you quickly realize you’re wrong. There are a few strips laid on the table, the first of which are a few provocative photos of her in a bralette and then wrapped in a scarf of some sort. The strip underneath has pictures of people you don’t recognize at first, but as you zoom in on the third frame, you see… Danny? Then, a text comes through asking if he was the guy you were hanging around with the night before.

Danny starts to stir in bed next to you, stretching and rolling over. He seems relieved when he lays eyes on you and sees you’re still there. You roll a little closer to him on your side, holding up the zoomed-in photo.

“Is this you?”

He lifts his head a little, craning his neck and squinting his eyes to get a better look. 

“Uh, yeah. Where’d you get that?” His voice is hoarse and sleepy, and you wonder if he’s feeling as rough as you are after the night you shared. You can’t help but smile as you look harder at the photo.

“I think my best friend spent the night with yours?” you say, pinching the screen and zooming out. There isn’t anything too lewd on the photos she sent you, but when he sees them, he puts the pieces together too.

“Oh, shit. How’d that happen?” He asks, putting his arm behind his head and laying back. You see the underside of his tattoo that wraps all the way around his bicep, your eyes drawn to the muscles you can see shifting under his skin.

“She was the photographer last night. In more ways than one, I guess.” you snicker, looking at the frames again. 

“If I would have known it was like that, I’d have taken some photos of my own…” he says, his morning voice making your stomach flip. He sees the way color rushes to your cheeks and he grins, rolling on top of you and sliding his hands up under the t-shirt you’re borrowing. You hum as he peppers your face with kisses, pulling the duvet over the two of you, in no rush to get your day started. 

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[daphyswitchylibrary]

Imbolc

Imbolc (also sometimes named "Candlemas") happens between the 1st and 2nd of February every year. It marks the midway point between Yule and Ostara, also known as the winter solstice and the spring equinox It celebrates winter coming to an end, to leave space for longer days ahead, and for new things to happen (since nature has been ''dead'' for the last few months, it is now time for it to "rebirth"!) What to do for Imbolc? Cleansing, planning new things and starting new projects is a great idea! Colors for Imbolc are: white, pale yellow, light green, brown, lavender, pink. Wear them, paint them on your nails, put some on your altar! Crystals for Imbolc are: amethyst, selenite, turquoise, ruby, garnet, bloodstone and onyx, peridot, clear quartz, moonstone. Take one with you if you can! Make plans for the upcoming spring! Be it planning your garden or activities/travels you want to do, make a bucket list, anything that has to do with planning something

Bake some bread, or make some soup! Leeks, onions and potatoes are really good during this time. You can even try this potato leek soup for this sabbat!

Have a cleansing bath/shower

Start a gratitude/mood journal! Try to keep it up for the whole year so when Yule comes around again, you can look back on it and reflect on your year. Collect snow for snow water! We won't have snow around for long now at this time of year so take advantage of it!

Start spring cleaning! Start sweeping out the old energies to welcome in the new ones

Divination! Although I always mention it in every post about sabbats, what is special about Imbolc is that some say it's a great sabbat to try new divination methods, or just not use the one you always use. For example, I mostly use tarot cards, but I have Witches Runes that I might prioritize for Imbolc.

Sources: thewitchoftheforest, witchytips and wiccantips on Instagram

[multiwreckedmess]

February Filth Fest - Day 12

Pairing: Mingi x gn!Reader Prompt: Nipple Play WC: 1k Summary: Mingi loves being your boyfriend, except when the latest expansion releases for your favorite game. All he wants is some attention and maybe for you to come to bed. TW/CW: Implied consent, dom(ish) Mingi, Mingi is a brat, denied orgasm (reader), nipple play (reader receiving), no sex defining genitalia mentioned

Mingi sat on the couch, legs stretched long, propped against the armrest with his eyes scanning a manga. He was comfy. Ostensibly, it was a perfect night in for him. Except for you. You sat in your gaming chair at your desk, totally absorbed in the gaming you’d been playing for the past week.  Normally, he loved your hobby, it was nice having a nerd for a partner. There’s a lot of things about being a nerd that you just don’t have to explain if your partner is also a nerd. Tonight though, he was lonely. Mingi wouldn’t have minded it as much if you’d even been coming to bed at a normal hour with him for your nightly cuddle session. But you hadn’t. You’d stayed awake until the wee hours of the morning, leaving a cold space next to him. “Are you going to come to bed with me tonight?” Mingi pokes his head up over the black and white pages of his book, asking with a hopeful lilt. “Uh, yeah. I will,” you answer, eyes glazed over, reflection of your character prominent in your bluelight glasses. He knows the answer is automatic, on autopilot, in one ear out of the other. It annoys him. “So if I say i’m going to be now-” he says slowly, skeptically, “-you’d come too?” “Yeah. Sure.” Again you answer without tearing your eyes from your precious monitor. “Okay well I’m going to bed then, are you coming?” “Sorry I just have to get back to the hub city, then I can.” It’s a lie he’s heard every night. An easy small lie. But he’s just so tired of hearing it. Circling your chair he hovers. He knows you hate hovering but he does it anyway. The pressure of his presence makes the back of your neck tense. “How close are you to stopping?” He places his hands on your shoulders, squeezing slightly. “I don’t know Mingi.” He leans on the top of your chair, rocking it upright. “Do you mind if I just…watch you?” You sigh heavily. “Okay but only if you massage my neck.” “Deal.”

Starting at the base of your head where your skull and spine meet he drags his thumbs down, warming up your stiff muscles. In long light strokes his hands glide over your shoulders, layers of tension falling off with each sweep. Slowly Mingi notices your character bumping into corners of scenery briefly, your head nodding forward with even the slightest pressure. You moan as he presses just a bit harder on a difficult knot in the side of your neck, tendon twanging as he rubs circles into it. “Feels so good,” you sound drunk, slurring your words together dreamily. You whole torso sways with his motions, eyes closing.

“Come to bed,” Mingi whispers in your ear, pausing briefly. “No, I just have one more- one more thing i gotta do.” You sit back upright in your chair, reapplying your concentration to the task at hand. With a sigh Mingi starts to withdraw from your side, “I guess I’ll go first-” “Wait! Can you continue?” You look at him, pleading. “To make sure I actually go to bed, please?” Mingi sighs and nods, returning behind you, hands resting with his fingertips just barely  brushing your collar bone. This time he lets his hands wander more to the side and front of your neck. To give a balanced massage of course. Gently pinching the upper trapezius, he watches your posture soften once more. You lean with each push and pull up and down the column of your neck, letting out small airy whines of appreciation. 

He knows it’s a devious plan but Mingi want attention. And what Mingi wants, Mingi will find a way to get. Unfortunately for you, he knows your weakness because he shares it. Your chest. Slowly his fingertips circle their way down to your upper chest muscles. Pressing all four fingers of each hand on either side and rubbing in large languid circles you moan and melt. “Mingi, don’t stop, that feels so good,” your eyes closed, you lean back into your chair, chin tilted up towards him. “Does it?” He coos. “Does it feel good?” Hands sliding a little lower, to brush over your sternum, you sigh. “Yeah. So good.” “How about this?” Palms on your chest his fingers brush over your nipples, barely concealed by your shirt. The small gesture tingles, curling your toes, your breath catching briefly. He teases with butterfly touches flitting over your chest, tickling and sparking your nerve endings. Back arching into his touch you’re still desperate to complete your objective, wrenching your eyelids open and eyes to focus by sheer force of will. Your breaths become louder, lips pressing thinner. Mingi smiles, it’s his revenge.

Cupping your chest his thumbs trace the outside of your pebbling nipples, imprint growing quickly obvious in your comfy clothing. He delights in the fraught expression that crosses your face, the moan barely muffled by your pinched mouth. Grabbing handfuls of your flesh he kneads your chest, gasping with you as your body moves with him. “Mingi!” “What?” He asks, tone flirtatious. Barely faking that he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. The pads of his thumbs flick up and down, your thighs pressing together as the fire in your core builds from a flicker to flame almost too large to ignore. “I have to. I have to finish,” you breathlessly insist, eyelids fluttering, fingers clenching your mouse. “Of course, of course you have to.” He coos, pulling your shirt up and tucking it under your arms.  “Don’t mind me at all.” Crouching down next to you he cups your chest with one hand, flicking his tongue quickly over your pebbled nipple, testing your resolve. Huffing the flame turns to a full blaze, unable to relieve the pressure mounting in your core. “Mingi, please,” you beg quietly. “Finish your ‘one last thing’, I can wait.” That’s how you know you’ve fucked up. Mingis lips wrap around your pert nipple, sucking harshly, releasing with a pop. White knuckling your keyboard and mouth he lashes an all out attack on your chest. Lashing his tongue over one nipple as his hand pinches and twists the other. You writhe in your chair unable to find solace for your aching core, chest practically pinned back in your seat. “Mingi, I can’t, I can’t, please, I can’t,” you tremble and twist. “I can’t finish-I can’t finish like this.” He smiles. “Then come to bed.”

It’s a short one! Sorry. This one's for all the gamers out there.

[rowdenwriting]

A little wip/sneak peek of the new chapter of break it to me softly - prommy I’m working on it!

He’s still lying on the sofa when Charlie gets home. Nick rolls over when he hears the key in the lock and listens to Charlie’s light footsteps in the hall, smiling when his boyfriend’s mop of brown curls pops round the door.

“Thought I’d find you in here. How was work, babe?”

Nick smiles wider as Charlie steps into the room. He’s wearing one of Nick’s favourite jumpers—fuzzy and pastel and stripey, years and years old at this point. Honestly, Nick’s surprised they’ve both managed to avoid shrinking it in the wash. It always reminds Nick of when they first started dating. It’s nice that Charlie’s still got it—still wears it regularly, even though it’s bobbly and misshapen, these days. It’s comfy though. Nick likes using Charlie as a pillow when he’s wearing it.

“I survived. I misspelt February when I was writing the date on the board, and a seven-year-old made fun of me for it, though.”

Charlie bites down on his smile. “Savage behaviour.”

“I do think it’s the hardest month to spell, to be fair.”

“Oh, no, absolutely, I agree,” he replies, mock-serious, stepping closer to the sofa. He runs his hands through Nick’s hair, sweeping his fringe out of his face.

[sophisticatedgia]

I wrote in my journal. It's an old leather journal of my boyfriends. Sorry I know that's not vegan but it is recycling of a sort. I forget to mention my favorite color is also deep forest pine tree green. My favorite pens are precise point pens and I have the green one currently. I wrote about stressors with my boyfriend. Then I read him what I wrote. I wrote about how I feel he isn't considerate of my mental illness disability, when it comes to him wanting to progress and travel in life. I have my support system here, family, gym, behavioral mental health services. I don't want to travel. Progressing, he wants to get a shop or build a home and have an online shop and travel. I said I can't perform normal job duties due to my psychological inability. But I can love him at home, make food, wash dishes, sweep the floor, organize clothes, take out trash, do laundry, and be his gal. He said he'd sacrifice anything for me. Even his dreams of traveling. He told me, "id sacrifice anything for you. That's what true love is."

Omg I was so not expecting that response from him. I am so... relieved and released from my burden of self shame.

I admit when I was very mentally ill I worked at mcdonalds. They did not have me work with the customers and there was another disabled employee working there in the back too. I was able to prep the apple pies, strawberry and cream pies, prep the parfaits (often added extra berries for the customers) and mop and sweep and do dishes. It was hard work truly lol. it was taxing on me psychologically, spiritually, and physically. I was terrified of the fire extinguisher for some reason. Thought it might explode or signified my head exploding like an atom bomb somehow. At the time I was not on anti psychotics. I often talked to myself out loud there too~while working, I feel like I was a little weird kid inside an adult woman's body. Calling myself "doody" and just making stuff up in my head all the time. I thought people were constantly signaling to me in some energetic or real way, and I had to obey them. How strange am I. I thought I was humanity's dog. I thought I was Harley Quinn. I'm not. I felt deep love for everyone there and thought we were family. I even sent them flowers when I had to quit.

I am happy that I am on abilify now, an anti psychotic. And luvox which helps with depression and OCD intrusive thoughts.

My hands are slowly healing , can you believe it?

do you think I'm autistic?

When I sat at a fancy family dinner for moms birthday last February, I could barely make eye contact or chat with anyone. My hands were trembling and legs constantly shaking. It was my extended sophisticated &educated family and my boyfriend and parents. I am not socialized at all.

I used to be highly sensitive to light and sound. I would wear earplugs constantly at work or while walking to gym or the therapist. I felt the beep of machines or noises from TV or radio go straight to my heart in a harsh manner. Also not to mention people's voices and the click clack of any machine.

That has all dimmed down since being with my boyfriend. I amazingly don't even wear ear plugs to sleep anymore. I've become a better sleeper and accustomed to constant noise in the background. It doesn't bother me, barely at all. Though I do love/adore silence.

My boyfriend is like my mother. She needs background noise to sleep. She sleeps with TV on. I used to think my mom was communicating with heavenly light angels in that way. electricity is intense.

I believe we are each a soul and every soul is in need of healing. I believe manmade electricity helps us communicate...but , it doesnt quite emit the same frequency as our bodies and souls do and our holy innate ability to communicate with all creation.

I believe in light pollution. It's not good for us. We are each light beings and infused with divinity. But there are so many bright flashy lights that overstimulate and overwhelm our souls. Manmade electricity is desensitizing to our sacred wholesomeness. Of course we need to see in the dark though. But wouldn't it be cool if humans could evolve to see better in the dark through our own innate spiritual and scientific ability eventually?

Also before I end this tumblr entry. I wanna say I love pastel colors. All pastel colors. My boyfriend says my aura is seafoam green. I ordered, instead of pale pink, a minty light heathery green cardigan. I feel like it's more mature and suits me more.

Also I love the colors green, pink, and orange together. Something so fitting and summery, almost tropical about it.

I'm really excited my sacred friend on Tumblr may be crocheting me a colorful blanket. That makes me feel so precious and valued and calm. I just want her to know any colors she chooses is a blessing and I am immensely grateful.

Also another mutual of mine said she'd send me something. Her art is so beautiful I am absolutely amazed she is cool with me. I ordered something off her Etsy today. Her art is so gentle and cutesy and she's a bright light in my Tumblr life.

And of course so are you.