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His hair :’)

@potter-solomons

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One year ago 🤍

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Let me finish??? Anything for you, sir 🫣 your works are always so comforting and hot in the details, I’ll never get tired of reading you 🫶

Aftercare with Harry

Harry Da Souza x gf reader

Harry Da Souza Masterlist

Summary: After marking you up, Harry eases your discomfort in a warm bath.

A/N: Special thanks to the lovely anon who requested a bath with Harry and to @potter-solomons for always providing killer inspo!

Warnings: 🔞, mention of oral sex, biting, hickeys, mention of pregnancy

Lowering yourself into the cloud of soapy bubbles, you hissed as your legs sunk into the steaming water below. Fingertips ghosting over the blossoming bruises on your inner thighs, you troubled your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought of the man who had marked you so thoroughly as his.

The day began innocently enough, with Harry asking for a kiss. Nodding in sleepy reply, you missed the way his pupils darkened before ducking his head to meet your waiting lips. However, the light brush of his plump lower lip over yours followed by a constellation of soft pecks along your jawbone belied the hunger raging beneath the surface.

As he came to the junction of your neck and shoulder, his resolve broke with a low growl. Your pliant submission made his pulse quicken, seizing the opportunity to latch onto your neck and suck a deep bruise just above your collarbone as his hands gripped your waist with dominant force.

As you whimpered beneath him, your hands flew to the back of his head, nails scraping against his scalp as his teeth mimicked the action along your jugular vein. Watching your neck throb under the bright red swell of his mark caused the feral need within him to grow, blood rushing to his cock until he was twitching against your thigh.

He paid little attention to his building need for release as he navigated a path between the valley of your breasts, intent on ruining you. Nuzzling his nose against the pillowed warmth of your tits, he made a brief stop to flick your nipple appreciatively with his tongue. Your eyes fluttered closed as his teeth grazed the tender bud, leaving you panting for more and he obliged with a gentle bite.

You winced at the slight sting, the surprise causing you to tug harshly at the roots of his hair. But Harry enjoyed the pain, groaning at the sensation as well as your hepless little pants. Though he didn't want to frighten you, he enjoyed the ruse.

As if to be sure that's all it was, his eyes flicked to yours for a moment of connection before his stubble grazed the soft skin of your tummy. Tapping your hip with two fingers he instructed, "Be a good girl and lift up." You immediately obliged, wanting nothing more than to be free of the lace panties standing in his way.

Unfortunately for you, he wasn't thinking of rewarding you in the usual way, which made your brow crease in an adorable pout. Harry chuckled, hot breath ghosting over you in tantalizing waves as he settled himself between your legs. He remained close to your dripping core, but cruelly ignored your obvious need in favor of his own agenda.

First, he wanted to explore your ticklish hipbones and silky inner thighs, stopping when he found a spot he especially liked. Teasing you with a delicate swirl of his tongue, he used his large hands to hold you in place as his deep voice rumbled, "Hold still, let me finish."

When he was finally satisfied with the array of hickeys and bite marks decorating your inner thighs, Harry placed a chaste kiss to your pussy whispering, "So good for me. My perfect angel." His praise caused your empty cunt to clench around nothing and Harry watched your clit throb with need. He couldn't wait any longer to place kisses where you needed them most, starting by lapping up the copious mess you were making.

Hours later and boneless from overstimulation, you were hardly aware of the water running in the bath. However, you were grateful as Harry carried you from the bedroom into the candlelit sanctuary, insisting you take a long soak to ease any lingering soreness.

You protested when he attempted to leave, making him stay to keep watch over you. He readily complied, taking a seat at the opposite end of the tub until you asked him to join you.

Stripping off his shorts, he sank behind you with a long sigh of contentment. He cradled your small body into his hulking frame with the utmost care, sliding a hand over your belly as you hummed with satisfaction.

"You couldn't have let the bump speak for itself?," you joked, resting your cheek against his muscular chest as you played with his thick fingers hidden beneath the suds.

"You're barely showing," he pointed out, using his opposite hand to trace a lazy pattern against the spot where his child was growing inside you.

"Oh, my love," you whispered, suddenly understanding why he had such a desperate need to claim you. "I'm already yours even if I don't have your last name," you stated, gliding your leg alongside his reassuringly.

He tilted your chin up toward his adoring gaze, before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss filled with unexpressed emotion. "Then take it," he uttered with a quiet sincerity that nearly broke your heart.

It wasn't the proposal you were expecting, but it stole your breath nonetheless. "Mrs. Da Souza," you answered, trying it on for size.

"Yeah," he confirmed, massaging your shoulders in deep, even strokes that had your upper body melting into his within seconds.

"Keep doing that and I'll agree to marry you tomorrow," you babbled, chin dropping to your chest as you entered a blissful state of relaxation.

"Going to hold you to that," Harry warned, a proud grin tugging at his lips.

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Tag List:

@18lkpeters

@cinnxmxngxrl

@moonbeamott

@mapping-out-skies

@booksandlatenights

@mani-pedro

@liliac-dreamer

@potter-solomons

@the-makingsofgreatness

@demi321win-chester

@tickettride

@jvalentinesworld-cokes-hyna

@mollybegger-blog

@wonderlanddreamer

@saraliss

@lovebydaylite

@intoawonderlandd

@blondie324

@alfiestreacle

@feveredvisions

@cherrysheart

@jelly-rei

@followsfrankiep

@ughdontbeboring

@hoodeddreams13

@jujuthepooh15

@pacifymebby

@radioactiveradarzoneuvb-76

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I fell in love a year ago 🫢

one year ago today we were introduced to this man:

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starting a new collection ♡

I’m collecting them one by one 🥸👆

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" One hundred percent of your business... goes to me... [tap tap]. "

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐘 as Alfie Solomons .  ➨ PEAKY BLINDERS .

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*falls and trips head first on your balls like they were anime tits* oh OH MY GODDDDD im sorry

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I’ll make him wear that gray shirt every single day

tommy gets a drink for the road looking like a snacc

tommy gets his car serviced looking like a fluffy bun.

tommy exists and his nipples persist.

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fuckin' wop.

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okay me next, MOVE!!

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Happy father's day to the best tv father I've seen in a while, Bill furlong. When a man STEPS UP for daughters and women!

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"Which by the way is a proper compliment, ‘cause I know I’ve done good when you look like you’ve been fightin’ angels"

GOSH I NEED HIM 😩❤️‍🩹

BIBLICAL

request - none really i think??

pairing - Alfie Solomons x fem!reader

summary - Alfie comes home his wife after a long day at the bakery something he gets easily distracted is by the way you dress, today is no different.

warnings - smut, fingering, piv, no seatbelt, breeding (slight), cheesy/creative Alfie (if you look at it a certain way), Alfie admiring his wife, Alfie talking mainly, established relationship (married), whipped Alfie (I love whipped men)

word count - 1k+

masterlist peaky blinders masterlist

Alfie had returned home earlier than usual today, and you had just finished preparing lunch, leaving a plate for him. Where you stood waiting, Cyril came up to you sniffing and licking your hand most likely from the food you had cooked prior. You'd smile and bent down to greet him, scratching behind his ear and feeling his soft fur.

“You had fun today didn't you Cyril?” Alfie had walked in while the interaction was at play, you had got up before he could’ve said anything raising your brow at him, why was he home so early today and why did he look so good, before you can get lost in your head you speak up. 

“Your home early today?” In a questioning tone you walk over slowly before smiling at him, you love to tease Alfie you got a laugh out of it, or more like a kick out of it, it was lighthearted and he was quite the jokester himself so that made it even better. “And you're walking funny, did you drink too much today, is that why?” You tilt your head ever so slightly.

“I can’t see my wife now, is that what is abou’ love?” Alfie had scratched his beard squinting slightly, primarily focusing his attention on the dress you were wearing and completely ignoring what you had said prior, “nah, you're doing this on purpose coz I haven't been here to see you innit?” Alfie motions to your dress. “Right. Okay. What’s all this then? Eh? You.. you standin’ there lookin’ like that… in that dress and you think I’m just gonna walk past ya like you're not tryin’ to commit actual murder on me heart, is that it?” Squinting he steps closer like he’s inspecting a dangerous weapon.

You smile, but before you can mutter a word he speaks up Alfie sure is a talker and you know that. “You’re tryna kill me, is that what it is? You wear this expecting me to have a rational conversation, sit down eat dinner like nothings fucking happenin’? Nah nah nah – ‘cause now, darlin’ i got priorities, yeah?” He steps closer lowering his voice, you had smirked like a minx eyeing him, (it's not like you don’t know what's coming next).

You were sitting on the counter of the kitchen, food long forgotten as Alfie and you were in the middle of a heated makeout session, wrapping your legs around his waist. You deepen the kiss, it’s tempting, so so tempting. He had barely settled in and you two are already getting on Alfie was filthy, disgusting actually moments like these he’d tell you how he’d fuck you on the kitchen counter, on the couch, on the staircase, anywhere for all he cared its not like you cared you’d only say that because it was true.

“You’re practically dripping for me love, been wanting to get a proper fuck for a while, haven’t been here to give you one yeah.” Alfie had his hands under your dress and rested on your inner thigh as he teasingly rubbed your leg still making an effort to kiss you. His other hand resting on your chest.

“Alfie-” Your breath had shortened with his constant touch that made you jolt like it was electric, his eyes filled with desire as he saw the effect he’s causing you to have. He leans in closer his hand lingering on the strap of your underwear.

“Alfie please.” You managed to muster lulling your head back, it came out more of a quiet whisper, the pounding in your chest seemed to be more audible.

Alfie had a way of teasing you when that meant circling your clit slowly making sure you felt evry bit of his way of tease and torture. “Please what love?” His actions continued paying you no mind.

Alfie paused all his movement for a moment, his eyes locked onto yours. “You want this, don’t you love?” His voice is low and gruff. Without waiting for response he greedily pushed his pants and boxers down revealing his growing desire for you. His eyes roamed across your body, taking in every inch of you while you pulled your dress above your thighs discarding your underwear.

“Driving me crazy all the time,” he says, positioning himself up to you. “Can’t get you outta my head, I think about you at work, your cunt, your like Jezebel only holier, but that ain't right the way your actin’ right now nah.” He’d finally gave up on the pint of need and torture and sliding into you with ease. “Fuck me.” Alfie was concentrated burying himself deep inside of you as you arched your back giving in immediately, each thrust felt like heaven he hit that one spot inside of you that made you lose all sense and just give in. 

He had grabbed both your thighs as he did so, your sweaty bodies taking over his pace relentless now as he’d plow into you fucking you like you two were rabbits, pure concentration, no talking of any sorts just heavy breathing and the sound of skin slapping.

“Alfie–” You had spoken out breathlessly, finally mustering words as you pressed on his lower abdomen trying to push him off, but he had been much stronger in the moment. He still couldn’t muster a word the way you had been around him made him stop thinking for a moment it was his turn to breath hard opening his mouth agape.

“Fuck.” He had finally mustered. “Want me to come inside you love, give you a fuckin’ baby, how does that sound?” You had hummed, resting your head on his shoulder tiredly letting him do all the work while you just sat back in pleasure. Your stomach felt like you had tied it in a knot as you came undone, he soon followed after keeping himself buried inside you.

“Look at you, yeah?” All glistenin’ like some bloody goddess outta a storybook they’d never let me read in the synagogue.”  He leans in, lowering his voice slightly.

“You gotta look in your eyes now–like you saw God, or a really good rug dealer, can’t quite tell the difference, love. S’all heavy and dreamy.’ ain’t it? Which by the way is a proper compliment, ‘cause I know I’ve done good when you look like you’ve been fightin’ angels.” He chuckles roughly still managing to crack jokes like he’s the funniest man alive, softening the mood. The air smelt like sex and your eyes were heavily lidded as you smiled slightly still recovering from everything.

“Can’t have you meltin’ away now, c’mere. I ain’t finished admirin’ my aftermath love,” you look not uttering a word and just admiring Alfie as he’d still crack jokes, “now see, that sweat on your eyebrows? The truth is right there. Honest work. Passionate effort. Like a sermon without the preachin’. Should be proud, that face is like art.” He squints again, more theoretically.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that– all eyelids and mystery – I'm liable to forget I’ve got joints that don't bend like they used to.” You had chuckled softly, you were starting to feel sleepiness, you had murmured something even you couldn’t understand, he leaned in. 

“Nah, don’t drift off yet love, yeah? Give me a minute to admire those eyes before they close up shop. Bloody dangerous ones, them eyes. Like looking down the barrel of somethin’ I can’t fight – believe me love I’ve fought everything.” The short pause is almost reverent. “You look peaceful. And that’s sayin’ somethin’ comin’ from me, a man who’s seen more chaos than quiet.”  He then laid a hand on your hip, slowly rubbing circles, grounding you both.

“Your chest rising like a slow hymn, I’ll never get over it. I could use it a bit. Not the mad part, but the aftermath. The warmth, this is the best part love,” “I’ll never deny I ever said that if you tell anyone, gotta keep up my appearances don’t I, enough of that your fuckin’ fallin asleep let’s get you to bed right love?” And just like that the rest of the day had gone by, you and Alfie were tangled in one another as you had drifted of a while ago, and he had done the same.

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I’m a sucker for domestic Johnny 🥲 thank you so so much @followsfrankiep 🤍

Mr. Davis

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

pairing is johnny davis x f!reader

in which you struggle to wrap up your article about the Vandals, but a sweet night in with Johnny might just be what you needed.

word count: 2,2K

warnings: slight food play, nudity, references to sex, mostly fluff

This was never supposed to happen. Born a city girl, you’d always envisioned your future in a relatively big flat in Chicago, where you’d grown up, trusted, loved, and hurt. Writing this article about a growing motorcycle club that was on everyone’s lips at the end of 1967 was just supposed to be another step in your career, something to please your boss. Danny captured every moment with images, and you did so with words.

“You a poet or somethin’?” the head of the club had asked you upon first meeting, which had you frowning stupidly.

“Only a journalist.”

You hadn’t said it. Not then, at least.

Reality decided to light your plans on fire when you fell in love with him. You’d had to admit, eventually, that you’d never meant to appear like a lunatic that first day, but he’d laughed like you were just that: his lunatic, the funniest person he knew. None of that was mocking, no. Johnny loved you like he’d never anyone else.

Like a poet, you sat at the desk he’d set up for you in his room, facing the window, and wrote anxiously, rattling, rewriting. Your typewriter was still in Chicago, but you managed to recall every moment and every quote to jot down in your little notebook. The title of the article only said The Vandals. Almost every character was covered, except for Johnny. None of the words and lines you had in mind were suitable for a public magazine, and you didn’t want it to sound too snobbish either.

In your little room facing the summer’s sunset, a stain of ink covering the side of your hand, you thought of how far you’d come to end up in a city you’d sworn never to live in. Peace settled in your bones like the honey you’d spilled on the strawberries earlier–slow, overwhelming. Everything had changed, but everything was perfect.

Mr. Davis is often late, you almost wrote. But then, as if hearing your thoughts, the door shut quietly downstairs. You hadn’t even heard him coming home like you usually did. His footsteps were regular and heavy as he dragged himself to his room–your room–and blinked at the sight of you over the desk, the silk of your robe lighting up your skin. He wore a gray shirt that accentuated his thick arms and his usual black jeans.

A warm feeling spread through your veins at the sight of him.

“Still writin’?”

“Haven’t stopped.”

Johnny approached cautiously, the dark circles under your eyes just enough for him to quirk his eyebrows inwards in concern.

“You gotta rest, too,” he said, hoarse and tired like you, leaning down to kiss you for the third time that day. His lips tasted and smelled of tobacco.

“Hi.” You kissed him back quickly, watching him as he sat on the bed, the edge dipping under his weight. “I’m okay. Just trying to make the most of the free time I’ve got.”

He took off his shoes there, his leather jacket already hung by the front door. Your arm draped over the back of the chair, you scrutinized every little movement. He was certainly hungry, but too tired for sex. He’d tell you about his day for a bit, before sleep dragged him from you at a swift pace.

The robe hung open, revealing you weren’t wearing anything underneath. With a quick look upwards, Johnny noticed it and something flickered in his eyes. Desire. Contentment. Pride, maybe. You’d have strolled naked through the house after your bath if it weren’t for the impromptu visits from club members at random times of the day, whenever they thought Johnny might be around. He’d have walked in, pretended to be bothered by your looks for a minute, and then devoured you in the kitchen with absolutely no shame. The robe guaranteed at least a bit of coverage.

“I picked some strawberries in the garden this morning.”

Glancing away from your breasts, he mumbled a distracted, “Yeah? Thought you didn’t care much about gardenin’.”

“I care about having a little treat when you’re gone.”

The smile that lit his face matched yours, unwavering. “Got any left?”

“Yeah.” You stood, exposing your whole body to him. “Made you a bowl.”

“Nah, keep them.” His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, working off muscle memory. “Just wanna get to bed.”

His shirt slung onto a chair, his belt unbuckled with a metallic snap, and he shoved his jeans down with a tired kind of urgency, kicking them off in a graceless thud. He didn’t bother picking it up.

You watched him in his boxers, walking out to the bathroom. “You didn’t eat dinner.”

Johnny grumbled something under his breath, already out of your sight.

Stubborn as you were, you shut the notebook—frustrated you couldn’t seem to finish the article anyway—and left the door open on your way to the kitchen, where the sunlight had already given way to a weak moonlight. The bowl of honeyed strawberries sat in the fridge, arranged like something out of a cheap restaurant. Sticky, shiny, but made with love.

The curtains were drawn, and the lamp on the nightstand cast a warm glow in that small room. You let your robe slip to a puddle at your feet just as Johnny walked back in. He pressed a kiss to your temple on his way past, then slid under the covers, his large body taking up most of the space. The bed was too small, but it had never been a problem.

“Sit up,” you said, grabbing the notebook with your free hand. “Won’t have you sleep on an empty stomach.”

Johnny grunted and flopped back against the pillows, rubbing a hand over his face.

You weren’t annoying—just caring. You knew he’d been driving all day and had probably only gotten around to one of Kathy’s sandwiches for lunch. He'd refuse to eat more now anyway.

Perching beside him on the bed, you reached for the pen that had slipped from the notebook and tucked your legs beneath you, entirely unconcerned about your bare skin. Johnny set the bowl on his lap, taking a slow bite as his eyes scanned what you’d written.

None of it was as good as you wished, but you figured you’d have a day or two to sharpen it before heading back up to Chicago. Temporarily, this time.

“They good?” you asked him, sliding your thumb down the page to accompany your eyes.

Johnny hummed deeply, licking his thumb. “Mmh. You put honey on ’em?”

“I did. Left the house just for that.”

“Figures,” he said, glancing down into the bowl. “Tastes like you.”

You gave him a sideways look, unimpressed, but a ghost of a smile tugged at your mouth anyway. “Eat.”

You didn’t flinch when he pressed a half-bitten strawberry to your shoulder, leaving a red trail that he kissed off with his sweet lips.

“What you writin’ about?”

“I’m trying to explain where y’all gather, and why. Whose role matters. Who’s admired.”

“Who’s admired.”

You smiled, feeling his lips graze your shoulder again.

“The head of the club’s rather liked.”

“Mmh?”

“They all look up to you like you’re some kind of guiding spirit.”

“It’s gettin’ tirin’.”

You shot him a look, forgetting about your notes like he’d forgotten about the strawberries. “I know.”

It was quiet then, except for the faint hum of a motorcycle somewhere in the distance. He’d often get vulnerable in moments when it was just the two of you, you who understood him so well.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nah.” Johnny dismissed the sad thought he’d so openly shared by setting the bowl aside. “Just don’t make me sound too good. Don’t want people gettin’ the wrong idea.”

You huffed a laugh, glancing down at his chest hair. “Don’t worry. Got plenty of material to ruin your reputation.”

Johnny laughed, tired and warm. “That so?”

He watched you for a long time, keeping to himself the words of awe that didn’t quite belong in a biker’s mouth.

“Lie down with me. You’ll finish writin’ tomorrow.”

“I can’t.” You felt his hand on your thigh, kneading. “Been told I’ve been too slow since arriving here.”

His hand paused for a beat. “Who told you that?”

“My boss,” you said lightly, trying not to make it a thing. “Gotta speed up if I want it done by Friday.”

“You’re workin’ hard,” he said eventually, quiet and even. “Real hard.”

“He said that’s not enough.”

You studied him in the low lamplight, the way his mouth had set a little tighter, the stillness in his shoulders, the quiet that had turned a little heavier. There was no doubt he'd have gone to the city himself to hear your boss apologize properly.

Finally, he said, “I ain’t gonna tell you what to do.”

“But?”

“But if he starts thinkin’ he can talk to you like that and get away with it–”

“I’ll tell him off.”

“Yeah. You do that.”

You nodded, glancing at the strawberries. “Pass me the bowl?”

Johnny did that, focused on the way your lips wrapped around the red fruit, how your tongue licked a drop of juice from the corner of your mouth before you clicked the pen and jotted something down again. His finger went on tracing shapes over your thigh.

Mr. Davis's care comes from something deeper, not just habit or loyalty, but real love. A quiet kind that feels almost taboo in the club.

“Findin’ the words?” he asked, breaking the quiet.

“Getting there.”

You looked down at what you’d just written, more inspired than before. That’s what you had to talk about. Not the inner organization or the damn motor brands. Who cared? Everyone wanted to peek behind the curtain to see what really went on. They wanted to know the bloody details, what the fuss was all about.

Beside you, Johnny hummed, satisfied, sinking deeper into the pillows. He watched you with lazy eyes as you tossed the notebook aside and climbed over his hips, knees on either side of him, a wave of energy surging through you. Something about his silent ways made you want to smother him with an overwhelming kind of love. Especially when he lay there like that, making sure you weren't overwhelming yourself with your writings.

“You see, I think I gotta depict you for who you really are. Not what my boss wants me to write.”

A faint crease formed between his brows, which you kissed deliberately. His hands instinctively found your thighs, resting there like it was the most natural thing in the world. His eye twitched when you pulled away to look at him, really look at him, all too aware of your breasts so close to his lips.

His mouth was next to be kissed.

“People wanna be surprised. Not read what they already think they know.”

His fingers flexed slightly against your legs, listening intently.

“How much you care about each other. The stuff that hurts. The stuff no one wants to talk about.”

You plucked a strawberry from the bowl balanced dangerously on the mattress and bit into it, its juice dripping slightly down your wrist. Then, you held out the rest between your fingers. Johnny leaned up without a word and took it into his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.

“My smart girl.”

Heat crept up your neck as you ducked your head, grinning, almost bashful. Hearing that after struggling so hard at school for years had your heart thumping a little faster, knowing you’d made the right choice by staying here and not in Chicago, where you weren’t enough.

You took his head and kissed him, halting any other compliment he might have said. Sliding your tongue against his, your mouth was wetter at the taste of honey mixed with strawberries. You’d never thought something so sweet could fit him so much.

You gazed back at his half-closed eyelids when you drew back, breathing heavily.

“They gotta know you're not the same tough guy when you're in bed with a naked woman.”

His hand moved to knead your breasts as if to prove your point, but you halted it, kissing and licking the honey off his fingers.

“Sleep.”

"That supposed to help me sleep?"

"You're already halfway there."

Johnny gave a lazy huff of laughter, looking up at you. Even though he was a grown man, you knew he’d fold to your every command. His breath evened out when you eased off him, sitting beside him again.

Then his hand found the blanket and pulled it over you, his fingers brushing your thigh before tucking the edge around your waist.

“There,” he said softly, used to your bare skin at night.

You only had to grab the notebook again to let the words flow.

The head of the club, Mr. Davis (whom I’ve had the pleasure of meeting five times) is a bulky man whose sensibility could be shared through the paper, a kind of quiet confidence our country sorely lacks. Just the kind of solid you expect from someone who leads men like it’s only his duty. In those meetings, he made me (us) feel comfortable enough to trade stories like old friends. Chicago: a city he only visited once, that he admitted he never quite understood. In return, he traded me his own stories like a long-lost friend. Stories that made me feel, strangely, like I wasn’t the one doing the interview anymore. Each meeting followed a ritual. He’d ask if I was thirsty. If I got there okay. If I was doing alright.

His head was burrowed into the pillow, already long gone. The hard lines of his face were smoothed by sleep, which you couldn’t help but trace softly with your fingertips.

The article didn’t need to know how deep you were in it with Mr. Davis.

Mr. Davis, who asked me to call him by his name on the second day, is not who I expected to meet. Born and bred in Chicago, it’s no secret that I’ve carried certain ideas about the kind of men who ride out into the country, launching loud jokes into the air. I’ve only been proven wrong since the first day, and I do feel like apologizing for that. To myself. To the members. Mr. Davis drives people home, even when it’s out of the way; he drove me back to the motel himself on the first night, as my photo companion had followed the other half of the group. He notices if someone hasn’t eaten, if someone is limping a little from a crash they brushed off. He stares hard and long, like he knows everything. He might. Although it always starts with the roar of an engine and the desire to be someone else for a while, the Vandals stay for different reasons. The kind you don’t admit to right away. I’ve come to learn that they stay because, in the blur of everything else (failed jobs, failed marriages, long winters) this is the one place that doesn’t demand an apology for who they are.

You shut the notebook with a soft thud and set it aside, pulling the covers gently over your shoulder. Whether he was asleep or not, Mr. Davis' hand found your back, pulling you closer to him, to the place where you belonged. The way it was supposed to be.