#paddle wine flight

[suitelifeoftravel]

Ohio Winery: Powell Village Craft Winery

Taking a seat at the beautiful rustic bar at Powell Village Craft Winery, I couldn’t help but notice the young lady sitting next to me talking into her phone.   Overhearing her conversation, she was trying to set a date to move to Colorado.  Working out the logistics, she sat in front of her computer enjoying a glass of wine. I ordered a wine flight and soon thereafter, Katie had wrapped up her…

[monoclesnapple]

Can't Stand (in) These Waters!

Bungo Stray Dogs Chuuya Nakahara X Gender Neutral Reader Summary: While on vacation and in a cave exploration, Chuuya isn't able to avoid getting soaked from head to toe in the waters. Word Count: 691 (Fluff/Crack)

After a long time of trying to get a few days off, Chuuya happily came to you one day to tell you that he can have five days off. The two of you had been wanting to go to Mexico to have a relaxing time and enjoy some of the parks at the resort you were staying in. After the tiring process of booking the flights, rooms, getting there, etc, both of you arrived at the resort and were able to relax once your room was ready.

Although the climate was very hot and humid, the water would help to cool you off. In the evening, you two went to a buffet restaurant that was located in some caves, having a nice date. They had some wine, and you had to ensure Chuuya wouldn't cause too much trouble after he had a glass or two.

The next day, you were going to one of the water parks, so you got everything ready and entered the bus. It was nice to see the different environment. It was certainly different than Yokohama. There were random foot pedals on the back of the seat in front of you, which Chuuya noticed.

While you could comfortably lower them and rest your feet on the pedals, Chuuya had to adjust his position just for the tips of his toes to reach the plastic. He was mumbling curses beneath his breath as you tried to contain your chuckles. In the end, he just lifted them back up and let his feet hang a centimeter from the ground.

There were a few activities in the park, but they were very fun and fulfilling. One of the first ones you went to was a walk through some caves and water. As the guide was instructing you about the safety and what to expect, he held a hand around the height of his shoulder and said, “The highest the water will go will be around shoulder height. It’s not too deep, nor is there an excessive amount of deep areas.”

Chuuya’s brows were furrowed and his eyes widened a little. The instructor was fairly tall, probably a few inches before reaching six feet. The only short people were teens, and even they were around his height, maybe taller.

He turned to you and muttered, “I don’t think his shoulder height is the same as my own…” You chuckled and reassured him he’d be okay and that you'd make sure he didn't drown.

Throughout the walk, the lowest the water was for him was around his waist. He was in front of you, a little fast, but you were able to keep up with him. You carefully stepped to keep your footing. Some of the rocks had hit your shin, and it wasn’t delightful. You might have some bruises and some scrapes.

“C’mon, you’re so slow, (Name).” He turned his head to the side so one eye could look at you. As soon as he said that, he immediately fell under the water. He came up, coughing and leaning against you since you sped to him.

“You alright, Chu?” You laughed. “Bet you’re regretting saying that, huh?”

“Fuck,” he coughed, “you. How was I supposed to know there would be a big ass crack?! Now my hair is soaking, I can’t see shit, and my shins and knees are scraped!” He brushed away his bangs to clear his visibility.

“Might as well swim the whole way to avoid that,” you jokingly suggested.

He grumbled to himself as he got into position and started swimming. You didn’t expect him to do so, but decided to not say anything. 

“It’s too small to do actual swimming, damn it. ‘M just doggy paddling at this point.” Indeed he was.

“I guess you can’t exactly do any of the ‘proper’ techniques. Well, whatever floats your boat,” you shrugged.

At the end, Chuuya was soaked from head to toe, whereas you were only wet from around your shoulders and lower. He squeezed the water from his hair as he walked beside you.

“At least I’m not suffering from the heat, I guess,” he commented to himself.

[mammondrivesamazdamiata]

While I'm on vacation in Mexico, I absolutely have to make headcanon about the boys so here goes nothing :)

Obey Me! Characters as tourists in a foreign country

Lucifer

- did probably too much research before arriving

- is somehow already fluent in the language and acts as the main translator for everyone

- An airport expert

- gets everyone to the loading gates on time or probably hours early

- demands to hold everyone's passports

- has to keep track of everybody's luggage

- probably has some kind of complicated itinerary planned out for every minute of the trip

- stressed but desperately trying to enjoy himself

- at some point will turn off his phone and disappear into a spa to get away from his brothers

Mammon

- a total embarrassment

- dresses shamelessly in touristy garb

- sunglasses all day every day

- has pocketknives in his carry-on that he forgot about, holds everyone up in TSA

- makes everyone late going to the bathroom at the last minute

- falls asleep on the plane instantly

- "are we there yet?"

- fights about room assignments

- always takes the biggest, comfiest bed and refuses to share

- completely destroys the hotel room

- sleeps late ; Lucifer has to drag him out of bed by his ankles every morning

- gets lost easily

- probably drunk

Asmodeus

- airport queen

- comes prepared for anything ; neck pillow, sleep mask, portable charger, drinks, snacks, chap stick

- basically runs a drugstore out of his carry-on

- once at the hotel his first goal is breaking in the jacuzzi

- eats his weight in fruit

- wine drunk

- l o u d

- will probably find himself on a nude beach. with onlookers.

- bathes in spf and only lounges under umbrellas

- you will not find him in the ocean. he doesn't like things touching his feet.

- will be joining Lucifer at the spa

Satan

- will not be enjoying this trip

- just wants to stay in and ignore his brothers

- but he does enjoy swimming

- likes to read under Asmo's umbrella

- probably can't sleep for the first few nights

- gets lost among the locals and somehow makes friends

- "this is my friend Enrique he told me to buy this necklace because it matches my eyes"

- only thing he wants to do is history tours. no one cares.

- gets horribly sunburnt

- mammon slapped him on the back and was immediately punted into the pool

-befriends local cats

Levi

- his carry-on is just full of manga

- pitiful foreign language pronunciation. the hotel staff laughs at him while Lucifer facepalms, but he keeps on trying

- is in swimming trunks the whole trip

- Lucifer and Asmo have to wrestle him out of the water to reapply sunscreen

- all he wants to do is snorkel

- has a tanline in his face from his goggles that Mammon repeatedly roasts him for

- tracks sand everywhere

- Lucifer goes to hang up his trunks to dry and they're just full of seashells

- wears a UV shirt

- really likes building sand castles

- wears water shoes

- gets stung by a jellyfish

Beel

- is visibly upset by the airplane snacks

- gets stopped by TSA for having food in his bag

- immediately heads for hotel buffet

- Lucifer has to stop him from ordering room service constantly

- picks up foreign language surprisingly quickly

- really likes water sports

- absolutely annihilates a group of locals in beach volleyball

- comes in second in the wet t-shirt contest

- rents a jet ski and goes completely insane, zooms by his brothers with Belphie holding on for dear life and screaming at 60 mph

- Asmodeus looks up and sees Beel casually parachuting over the ocean

- crashes at 8pm

- Also likes to make sandcastles

Belphegor

- travelling ruins him

- he's so tired despite sleeping the entire flight

- first thing he does at the hotel is take a nap

- is usually on top of Beel playing chicken

- Beel always drags him along for extreme sports

- Is actually very good at paddle boarding

- loves to boogie board and body surf

- curls up under a towel at the beach and falls asleep in the warm sun

- misses his bed

- refuses to try and speak foreign language out of embarrassment

- loves to order room service dessert with Beel

Diavolo (bonus)

- is here for a good time

- constantly tipsy

- suns out guns out

- came in first in the wet t-shirt contest

- tries to get Lucifer to do shots with him. he succeeds

- sunbathes for hours and never seems to burn

- loves tiki bars

- schedules massages for Lucifer and himself

- on the volleyball dream team with the twins

- down for anything

- graciously tips all of the staff. they love him

- likes to pay for things. buys Asmo new sunglasses and a pucca shell necklace. covers Beel's room service after Lucifer cuts him off

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Paradise | kinktober 2024 | “clouds of violet”

or rather, Alex’s birthday gift as a companion collection to the main event 🌹☕️

prompt: roleplay

pairing: alex/one of my many girls

word count: 5060

song: “lazy calm” by cocteau twins

contains: mermaids, cold weather, antarctic ice, booze, very subtle belly kink, and lots and lots of role playing

He lifted his head from the ice bank only to find that his ship had gone back to Ushuaia some time earlier, and he had no clue as to when it would return again to pick him up. He rubbed his brow with his fingers and glanced behind him to the lush ice bank underneath the veil of a purple and pink sky. He had fallen asleep and lost all track of time: all he knew was he had wandered on over to Victoria Land in search of the mosses and the lichens in question to search for the answers to life itself, and he decided to lay down in the snow for a moment. A moment alone had become a couple of hours.

He had had a long flight from the United States to Ushuaia, and then a long boat ride from Ushuaia to the base, after all.

He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and glanced behind him to the bank of glacial ice once again, at the thick icicles that had formed on the side closest to him. He raised himself up onto his hands, only to feel a deep shiver in his arms and chest, and it was right then that he understood why the other sailors told him to not have anything to drink prior to leaving the ship.

That false warmth that came with the mulled wine.

He rolled over onto his back and let his soft, slightly plump belly rise up from under his parka. Though he had eaten some time prior to his nap, he knew he would have to eat again before it grew too dark again. At least he was warm.

He took off his gloves and ran his long and lanky fingers through his long, shoulder length jet black hair, only to be met with the cool breeze emanating off the chilled Antarctic waters. It was summertime at the South Pole, and yet everything still carried with it the cold of the heart of winter.

He did have a motorboat, but it had gone somewhere away from the coast of Victoria Land, perhaps out to the vast expanse of Indian Ocean before him. Everything got lost and disoriented in the Southern Ocean, especially when the compasses continuously pointed away from the South Pole, and especially after a few drinks of delicious and decadent mulled wine to stay warm against the vast ice sheet.

His eyes drooped closed even with the cold underneath his body; the frosty earth cradled him like his mother's arms as a young boy. With the mulled wine came the memory of homemade babka and krantz courtesy of his grandmother. All those times at Hanukkah where he would indulge himself in the soft warm chocolate of babka and he would watch his grandfather and father drink down the spiced mulled wine and apple cider. It was still December, after all. December, and yet, somehow, by some dark magic, he found himself down at the bottom of the world where he was subject to the eternal sunshine of the midnight sun. It was enough to disorient him.

He lifted himself up onto his elbows and let his hair drift down over the lapels of his parka. He stared down at his belly, which poked out before him like a little watermelon, and he thought back to being a young man in all of his sleek slender elegance.

“How did I get so fat,” he asked himself, out loud, and he sighed through his nose. He then lifted his gaze to the stretch of lichen across the barren ground before him. He had laid down in the snow and the ice, and yet there was the one stretch of greenery on the entire continent. “I could've been laying in a meadow of sorts.”

He rubbed his brow with his fingertips. Maybe this wasn't the life he wanted. Maybe there was something else to vouch for, but he had been all but stranded there at the edge of Victoria Land, left up the creek without a paddle.

“I'm thinking of food,” he muttered aloud. “I have to get back to base. I have to get back to the Atlantic side.”

Gingerly and with a bit of a groan of pain, he lifted himself into an upright position. If only there was a way to return to Villa Las Estrellas, and if only there was a way to do it without having to cross over the entire top cap of the Thwaites and Pine Island Glaciers, both of which stood between him and the Antarctic Peninsula. A sailor without a ship. A scientist without a lab nearby to serve him while held to his own personal demon within him. It was hundreds of miles back to base, away from the expanse of lichens and mosses, and yet he had not a boat to be found anywhere. He had to find his way back to the settlement on the other side of the vast, frigid ridges behind him, and he knew that it would be a long walk all the while. This whole entire time he had been told that he was the smart guy, the walking encyclopedia, and yet he had let himself go all for the sake of a few glasses of mulled wine because he was cold and in need of some cozy comfort in the vast nothing.

He gazed up to the sky overhead, to the clouds of violet and rosy pink, to the tapestry of orange and soft pink which then bled into rich royal purple down by the ocean's surface. It all looked like an oil painting, all courtesy of the marriage of the incoming midnight sun and the Indian Ocean.

Another gust of cool breeze welled up before him, and that was his cue to stand up all the way. His knees quivered from the cold, but he managed to maintain his composure.

Surely, his boat couldn't have gone that far away from the shoreline. It was a motorboat and he swore that he had tied it down on the edge of the shore before him. He swore that the roots there at the ground's edge proved to be strong enough, but upon second glimpse there from whereupon he had fallen asleep, he noticed that they weren't. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Though he wasn't hungry yet, he could sense it in the wings.

“What the hell was I thinking,” he muttered to himself. “Coming down here with booze and thinking I could come over here lock, stock, and barrel on my own without anyone else in the boat with me. Such an idiot. I am such a bloody idiot.” He shook his head, and he thought of walking over to the meadow to search for his boat, but then something caught his eye. He turned his attention to the vast expanse of ocean off to his right and the slight glow of blue near the surface off in the distance. There, he noticed the shape of a boat.

His boat.

“Oh, Jesus,” he groaned to himself, but there was something else. The blue glow underneath the water's surface. It seemed to be coming closer to him.

Whatever was there seemed to be nudging the boat closer to him against the waves and at a rather quick pace as well.

“What on Earth?”

The boat moved in closer to the shore's edge, and it was there he noticed the blue glow taking shape. For a brief moment, he believed that a particularly large bloom of luminescent plankton had brought it back to him, but when he put his glasses back on, the cloud thus took shape in the form of a woman's head and shoulders. Once the boat had been brought back to shore, she lifted her head out from the water's surface, and it was there he believed that he had still passed out from the mulled wine because he saw the gills on the sides of her neck, the dorsal fin on her back and the filmy fins on her wrists as well.

Nevertheless, he knelt down to the shoreline just to feel the safety and reassurance of the boat itself. Hundreds of miles away from base and yet he had a little motorboat to carry him back there.

“Oh, my god… thank you… thank you so much.” He extended a hand to the bow of the boat, and he set one foot on the floor, followed by the other and he climbed inside. The trio of bottles of mulled wine were still in place at the bottom of the boat, as well as the packets of dried food. He took his spot on the bench in the middle of the boat, but he never switched the motor back on. Instead, he turned to the mermaid, with her rich blue hair and the way it shimmered in the painterly twilight around them against the water. Her skin was like porcelain from the cold, and she had a line of little blue stars underneath her brown eyes. Her eyes, brown and crisp like the paradise of the smooth soil of Victoria Land; under the wavy surface of the cold waters, he made out the shape of her long shiny blue tail and the filmy blue rudder fin at the back.

“Note to self: don't come to Antarctica with any liquor,” he said aloud, and the mermaid giggled at that. He showed her a little smile. “You will get drunk and you will pass out in the ice. And you'll wake up and find a mermaid next to you in the waters.”

She looked on at him with those rich brown eyes and that soft little smile, his very own personal Mona Lisa.

“It's so nice to be with someone who doesn't understand the horrible blithering nonsense that comes out of my mouth,” he remarked.

“Oh, but I do,” she replied in a voice so soft, he swore that it came in on the breath of the Indian Ocean. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Oh, dear,” he quipped, and he held a hand to his mouth.

“We are quite real, mind you,” she insisted, but the smile never left her face for one second.

“Question,” he began, “seeing as you're…” He then cleared his throat. “…a creature of the aquatic deep, do you mind at all if I hitched up my boat better and stayed here for a little while longer to gather my bearings? Just so I'm on steady land?”

“Of course!” she replied. “I can beach myself for a time, just so you're not by yourself.”

He showed her a little smile again, one that felt so rosy as if leftover from the wine. She raised one hand and nudged the boat closer to the shore, and he picked up the rope to secure the bow to the shore's edge, that time to a thicker root jutting out from the earth.

“This is kind of hard to do when there's no civilization nearby,” he explained to her as she swam up closer to him to ensure the boat was properly tied down. “No piers, and no harbors for hundred of miles around.” He tightened the knot and held back against the ground. He then unzipped his jacket and leaned back against the small bunches of grass and moss behind him, and all the while, he showed off his thick but toned body. The mermaid looked on at him with big eyes, as if she had never seen a man more gorgeous.

“What's with this lore that mermaids are seductive sirens that lure sailors to their untimely demise?” he wondered aloud. “You brought me my boat back. You volunteered to stay with me a while. Now a small part of me wants to share my wine with you.”

“Alcohol dries us out and turns us into mummies,” she explained with a shrug. “That is unbelievably sweet of you, however.”

Without thinking twice about it, he rolled over onto his side and cocked out one hip to show off the shape of his body to her. It was right then he began to feel the hunger within him.

“I need to find something to eat,” he confessed to her, and he rested one hand on his side. Though wrapped up in a parka and thick warm trousers, thick enough to protect him from the immense Antarctic cold even in the beginning of summer, he lay there on his side to show her the shape of his body, the peacock he was.

“Are you really that hungry?” she asked him as the cold water dripped off her long blue hair and the sides of her face.

“Nah, but I will be eventually, though,” he assured her, and he propped up the side of his head in his hand as if he was modeling for her. She squinted her eyes at that, and she paddled up closer to land's edge to be face to face with him. She folded her arms upon the ground and lingered closer to him; he anticipated that she would smell of seaweed and old fish, but she instead carried a soft scent of salt and minerals, as if she had been burrowing down in the sand of the continental shelf down below all this time.

“Let me think of something,” she told him. “Think of something that human men like.”

“We like a wide variety of things,” he replied. “Well, I do, anyways.” And he gently patted his belly.

“When I think of all of the times in which I came across human men, of sailors who traversed their way down from Cape Horn, they came in all manner of shapes and sizes, of varying tastes and things, but there's something about you, though. Something hypnotic and something that pulls me in closer to you. Something that… makes me want to be pressed up close to you.”

“By the way, they come from Cape Horn specifically?” he asked her with a raise of his eyebrows. “And not say… Christchurch or from Cape Town?”

“Sometimes they would,” she clarified with a shrug. “But they usually come from Cape Horn.”

“All the way from Cape Horn.”

“From Cape Horn. Against the storms and the raging waves. The bravest men come from Cape Horn. Not that I'm thinking of... your...” She paused, and he showed her a playful little smirk at that.

“Saying a lot of things, aren't you?” he teased her, and she giggled at that.

“It does get vast and lonesome out here,” she pointed out.

“Indeed, it does,” he agreed with her. “I mean, really, it's not often I meet a mermaid who's more beautiful than most women I've seen on land.”

“And it's not often I come across a man who's more gorgeous than most mermen who live down below the surface with me,” she echoed him. The smirk returned to his face, and it was right then he remembered why he had volunteered to be on this mission to Antarctica for the time being.

“I have, what we would call here on land, a face for radio,” he confessed with a slight bow of his head.

“Nonsense! You are very handsome. Very handsome and lush…” She dropped her gaze to the rest of his body. “…and you look like you eat really well, too.”

“Ooh, you bet I do,” he assured her, and he inched his body closer towards her as if to show off more of his belly to her. “I love to eat.”

“You seem very strong, as well.” She extended one arm out from the waters, and she ran her fingers down his arm towards his wrist and his hand.

“Would you like me to come onto land with you?” she offered him.

“If it makes you comfortable, and the fact that you keep on saying 'come',” he pointed out in a single breath, and he squinted his eyes at her once again. “Are you trying to insinuate something to me?”

“That's just the lonely sailor in you,” she teased him, and he chuckled at that.

“Okay, you got me there,” he quipped with a little roll of his eyes. He then cleared his throat and looked on at her for a good long moment before he spoke up again.

“May I just point out that you have impeccable English,” he remarked. “Like … you speak better English than most human Americans, the place I hail from.”

“When you meet lots of sailors, lots of travelers on their way down here or passing through, you will find a way,” she assured him. She lifted herself out of the waters and flicked her tail back from the land's edge as she lay down next to him: she had a full hourglass shape to her body, much to his pleasure. Blue and gold seashells cupped her breasts like a pair of pasties, and her otherwise slim and toned belly had a slight curve to the lower part. His eyes wandered down to the shape of her hips as well as what would be her legs and feet; her long tail shimmered with that rich royal blue under the pink and purple sky; she still smelled softly of salt and sand.

“I am Vostok,” she introduced herself to him.

“Vostok. As in Vostok Station.”

“The very same,” she replied with a little smile.

“Call me… the fallen sailor,” he told her. “'Cause I came fresh off the boat in a drunken haze and woke up transformed.”

“Transformed and next to beauty and love that you have never experienced before,” she added, and he lifted himself up next to her to look at her straight in the face. “How far is it to your home?”

“You mean, home home or where I'm staying at down here at the bottom of the world?”

“Down here?”

“Hundreds of miles away,” he replied. “I don't know how I can get back there before night falls, to be perfectly frank.”

“Oh, baby, you know it's December,” she assured him. “The sun never sets all the way here this time of year. The only place where it's dark this time of year is... down below.” She flicked her eyebrows at him, and he showed her a little smirk as well.

“I'm not sure how this would work between you and me, though,” he confessed to her in a low voice.

“Oh, it's so easy,” she assured him, and she ran her fingers down his chest onto his soft, silken belly. He shivered from the feeling as well as the wall of ice behind them.

Vostok lifted her tail to make the rudder fin wrap around his legs from the hips downward. She enclosed him and tugged him closer to her; all the while, she ran her hand down his chest onto his soft belly once again, and she lightly patted him there.

“It’s like I’m petting the head of a jellyfish,” she remarked. “Really soft and pillowy, like I could lay my head on you forever.”

“You don’t think I’m too fat?”

“No, no. You’re very soft.” She rested her hands on the sides of his face. “I want you to be soft and healthy forever. I don’t want you to drink that much anymore.” She pressed her lips to his own. “To feel the sun on our faces and the cold as our bed.”

“Give me your poetry and your heart,” he said to her, and his voice sank down into a breathy whisper without his even thinking twice about it.

“Come, you are the love of my life,” she coaxed him, to which he bowed his head at her and showed her a gentle little smile.

“My fallen sailor…” She touched his face with the very tips of her fingers, and she moved her hands down to the collar of his parka. She revealed his button-up sweater underneath. She opened the top three buttons to expose his skin; she leaned in for a kiss on his collar bones and his chest.

“Kiss me more there…” he begged her. “Please.”

Vostok buried her face in his chest, a feeling that he wanted so much and for so long up to that point. Something he wanted but had no idea how to ask for it.

She opened his sweater some more to show off his belly: the cool crisp ocean air kissed his bare skin; when she rested her fingertips on his bare skin, it made him think of little icicles. Touching his skin and yet she gave him the slightest bit of discomfort from the feeling of the cold. The way the cold kissed him and caressed him down. The way it all burned inside of him, burned like the heat of the hole in the ozone layer.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back so he could breathe. She held onto him with nothing more than her tail rudder, such that it made him think as though he was being swallowed whole. Swallowed whole and treated to utmost softness, utmost softness laced with a bit of agony.

“Please… touch me,” he whimpered to her. “Touch me. Kiss me. My precious mermaid…”

He opened his eyes to behold the sight of the sunlight, still very much intact over their heads and bodies as if the nightlight had been left on. It was still so light out and yet he thought about being under a neon sign all the while. A neon sign with a woman from the darkest depths of his mind that he never shared with anyone ever.

Vostok slithered down the front of his body for kisses on his soft bare belly. Though her lips were soft and silken, the swipe of her icy cold skin sent a wave of shivers up and down his spine like the pull of a zipper. It was a feeling that he could never sum up into words, and a feeling that he never knew that he wanted, either. It was something that he could never ask to anyone else.

He rolled over onto his back once again, that time with his clothes wide open so he could feel the Antarctic breeze on his skin. Vostok brought her head onto the middle of his chest, and all the while, she never let go of his legs with the wispy feeling of her rudder fin. Her lips down onto his belly again, and he could feel his trousers tightening up from the feeling.

He could feel his hips shifting about upon the ice. He could feel her hips bucking against him.

“Unzip me,” he begged her. “I need it.”

“And I need it, too,” she said, and she unzipped his pants for the both of them. She opened her mouth and slipped her lips around the full length of his dick, which was almost fully erect. Though her skin and body carried the chill of the Southern Ocean, her mouth and tongue were as warm as he could ever imagine. Her tongue slithered about his tightening skin, and he could feel himself rising and tightening up even more. He closed his eyes from the feeling.

His breath quickened from the sensation, that is until she lay her body on top of him.

He had no clue how it worked with merfolk, but she managed to rub herself against him.

He opened his eyes again, that time from the weirdest euphoria he could ever experience. The only thing that would make it better was if Vostok had a strap-on on her person.

All he could see and hear was her coming first. She helped him so she could reach the peak of her orgasm right then.

She ground down upon him as if she was crawling over him, but it took him a moment to realize what she was doing. The mermaid version of the Amazon. She ground upon him slowly, deeply, and at a firmer pace upon every gyration. 

Vostok gasped and treated him to a soft moan as she came a second time. She was gyrating on him by way of her own clit rather than an actual opening on her tail.

He was rising more and more, and he finally relaxed and let go. He treated her to a gentle moan, followed by a soft whistle, both of which sounded as though they came about on the Antarctic winds and the back of the midnight sun.

He ran his fingers through his hair again, and his hips shifted about upon the soil from the feeling.

“Ooh, that was lovely,” he said, out of breath and with his eyes drooping closed. Vostok lay down next to him and lightly kissed him on the neck and collar bones again. He put his arm around her and rested his hand on the crest of her hip.  “That was everything and more.”

She nuzzled her head underneath his chin and lightly stroked his chest.

“Question,” he began.

“Go ahead.”

“Has a mermaid ever gotten pregnant by a human man before?”

“Not that I know of,” she told him. “It’s kind of hard given how I was grinding up against you like that and rubbing my clit on you. My lips are in a different place than on that of a human woman.” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Let me take you back to your base,” she offered him.

“Can we just lay here for a bit, though?” he asked her, slightly worried. “I want to feel you for a little bit longer, and it’s quite far, too.” He lightly stroked the curvature of her hip. It was so strange to think that her clit was so close to him and so out in the open, but he wouldn’t let anyone else know about it.

No one needed to know about it.

The next thing he knew, he woke up again to some more sunlight, that time spread over the crown of their heads, as well as the feeling of the cold on his bare skin, and to the point that his skin felt like fresh glacial ice. He lifted his own head to find the boat still docked at the land’s edge behind her, which meant they could go back to base in one fell swoop. Vostok awoke with a kiss on his neck again, and that time she slithered back out to the water next to the boat.

He climbed back in once again, and that time with his sweater undone a bit to feel the cool morning air on his skin.

Vostok held onto the back end of the boat with both hands. He held onto the edge of the bench with both hands as she pushed as hard as she could.

He bowed his head to protect his face from the cold winds, but Vostok pushed him along around the Ross Ice Shelf and the rim of Antarctica, back to the peninsula. The next thing he knew, he recognized the base there at the end, through the icy arches and past the free-floating glaciers peppered across the water.

She held back to slow down the boat, and it took them quite a bit to slow down all the way on the water’s surface. He held on for dear life on the bench, and he hoped that he wouldn’t fall headfirst into the water.

They came to a stop and he shook his head about.

Vostok rounded the edge of the boat and looked on up at him with big wide eyes filled with adrenaline.

“Merfolk are quick and have immense strength,” she explained.

“I can see that!” he proclaimed, and he returned his attention to the buildings that comprised the base, about a mile from where they were there in the water. He lay down on his belly to be face to face with her there in the water.

“Thank you so much,” he told her over the lapping waves all around them. “I know where to go now should I ever come back down here on an assignment again.” He extended his hands to her for one last kiss before he fired up the motorboat again and she ducked back down into the water.

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and she lightly touched the side of his face with the very tips of her fingers.

“My soft sweet maiden,” he breathed, “soft and sweet, and yet as firm and strong as iron. I love you. I love you forever.”

Vostok slipped away into the cold waters below him, and the feeling of the cold wind swept over him. He knew it would be time to return to his base soon enough, but he wanted to see her off into the darkness below. He watched the shape of her fins beneath the wavy surface, the rich royal blue color to them, the soft delicate nature of them. She gazed up to him, and he knew in his heart that he would see her again. He would never forget her for a second as he tugged on the cord of the motor, and it roared to life.

He held onto the handle and guided the boat back to shore. Before he reached the shore again, he peered over his shoulder to see if he could find that blue glow again.

To find that aquatic girl again and tell her that he loved her and everything that she did—

“Alex?”

He opened his eyes and lifted his head to find Christine right over him, with her hair hidden back with a bright blue wig, just like Vostok in his fantasy. He showed her a smile and lay his head back down on the pillow.

“God, that was glorious,” he said to her. “I didn’t think I’d like roleplay but that was—” He rolled over onto his back and kept one hand up on his forehead. “—that made me feel so good.”

Christine leaned over and gently patted him on the belly, still soft and like a donut, but not as full and pillowy as in the fantasy. She then leaned into his face for a kiss on the lips.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” she whispered to him. “I’ve been working on that for a while now.”

[loverontheleft]

Strip Poker (revised)

Original request: ooo I have a suggestion. So what if b is hosting like a poker night or some sort of game night with his guy friends and the reader is bored watching so she pulls up a chair beside him and then starts messing with him under the table and gives him a hand job? Haha sorry if that’s stupid - O DAMN BUT WHAT IF poker turns into (totally consensual, all parties very much cool with it) strip poker which just makes b hot because he knows he’s the only one who actually gets to touch you, his friends might get to look at you, might even fantasize about you, but it’s his bed you’re in, and goddamn if he doesn’t wanna flaunt that fact occasionally

Brendon x reader.

Warnings: language, dirty talk, arguably public sex, voyeurism, sex.

Word count: 3.8k➡️8.6k

-||-

You’ve had a very long day shopping with your sister and her children at the mall, and while you love them, they’ve exhausted you. All you want now is to curl up in Brendon’s arms. He’s wonderful at taking your stress away just with his presence, plus you love his hands on your body. The way he strokes your hair, caresses your waist and holds you close, or just spoons you on your couch makes any tension melt away.

You can picture your evening now: the two of you intertwined on the couch, Sinatra playing in the background, a bottle of wine and whatever he’s made for dinner on the coffee table, and the way his kisses turn more urgent and his whispers more suggestive before he takes you to bed. You can practically feel his soft tongue working between your thighs and his hands all over you; Brendon gets you so hot and desperate for him, but he always delivers.

“Brendon, love, you home?” You enter your home from the garage, drop your purse on the kitchen island, and listen, head cocked to the side. Your gaze shifts; through the kitchen window, you can see that his car is in the circular driveway behind the house, along with several cars belonging to his friends. You can hear a low rumble of chatter from downstairs now, and you remember: Brendon’s hosting a game night in the lounge of your newly remodeled basement.

It’s a huge space; what used to be one massive unfinished area has been renovated into multiple rooms. The stairwell opens into the lounge and game room, which in turn connects to the hallway with its multiple doors: there’s the theater with a fully stocked wet bar and walk-in wine fridge, three guest suites, a soundproofed recording studio and office space, and, behind a double-locked door in the studio, is the only room that isn’t quite done yet—what Brendon playfully calls your sex dungeon.

It’s a dark, luxurious space, and while you both agree you didn’t really need a separate area designated for sex—because you regularly fuck all over the house—it’s still nice to have an ultra-private retreat that’s dedicated to each other’s pleasure. With the walk-in closet’s shelves for toys and accessories installed yesterday, you can finally start unpacking the dozens of packages strewn across the floor and actually organize the space. Brendon insisted on stocking the room with duplicates of all your favorite things, mostly because he didn’t want either of you to be searching for something, only to realize it was two floors away in your bedroom. Nothing, he’d said, would kill the mood more than pausing to walk up, and then back down, two flights of stairs.

The only thing that’s left to add is the furniture; the rope rigging is arriving in the next few days, and the bondage-friendly headboard and frame should be here within a week. Meanwhile, the California king mattress and box spring are on the floor, waiting more patiently than you. You’ve told him that he needs to be stretched and hydrated whenever the bed is officially assembled, because you will be dragging him to it and keeping him there for many orgasms. You’ve been fantasizing about being cuffed to the headboard while Brendon works you over with a paddle, and you know he’s game to act out any scenario you suggest once the bed is ready.

“B,” you call as you head down the stairs, beaming when you find your husband, Spencer, Zack, Jake, and Dallon gathered around the card table in the lounge. Brendon has a deck of cards in hand, and there’s several empty beer bottles on the table.

Brendon’s eyes light up when he sees you. “Hi, sweetness! You’re home!” He beckons you over, but quickly abandons the cards to meet you halfway as you cross the room. He scoops you up as you fling your arms around his neck; his hands curve under your thighs, and he kisses you longingly. You cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist and squealing a little when he moves to settle back in his chair with you in his lap.

“I’ve got you, my love. Don’t worry. So happy my sweet girl’s home,” he murmurs against your lips. You love when he holds you and uses his petnames for you around others; it’s just one of the ways he makes you feel special and brings a little intimacy to everything he does.

Once he’s seated comfortably with you straddling him, he kisses you deeply, his hands framing your face and tongue teasing yours, and you both ignore the reactions of his friends. They’re used to how affectionate you two are, and you’re used to their over-the-top responses. They always tease that you two are shameless, while Brendon always retorts that you’ve got no reason to be ashamed.

When he pulls away now, he strokes a thumb over your cheek tenderly while his eyes meet yours. “Damn, you are so beautiful, sweetheart. You had a good day? It’s late—did you all get lunch out? I’ll make dinner later if you’re not too hungry now. Or we can order in. Whatever you’re feeling. How’s your sister? The kids?”

You fill him in on your day, and he leans over to kiss you again, just as intently. “Sorry to pepper you with all the questions. I missed you today, babydoll. Now that this tour has been announced, I feel like I’ve got to take advantage of every moment I’ve got with you. Love you so much.”

You murmur it back to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re all breaking in the game table.” You turn to eye the pile of chips. “Poker?”

“We just now started another game. You want me to deal you in?”

“No, that’s okay; thank you though.” You snuggle in closer. You’d wanted alone time with him, but he’s great at making you feel special even in a crowded room, and you get along well with the guys. It’s a change from your anticipated evening, but not a bad one. And after all, they’ll go home eventually, so you can use this time now to work Brendon into a horny mess—you know he won’t mind. “I’ll just watch for now. You need another beer?” You twist in his lap to glance around the table. “Anyone need one?” The guys look at Brendon, and Brendon shrugs.

“If you’re buying.” He grins and swats your ass when you hop off of his lap, making you shriek with delight as you head for the small kitchen in the corner of the lounge.

“My love, I’ll always ‘buy’ for you.” You crack open the fridge, grab five bottles and return to place them squarely in the center of the table for everyone to grab. “As long as we keep the fridge stocked. But the next round will require a trip to the full bar in the theater, because this fridge is now empty. We should really think about putting a full bar in here too.”

Brendon murmurs that he’ll get the next round and talk to the contractor tomorrow, and then he pulls you down into his lap again, one arm draped over your waist with his other hand holding the cold bottle. You settle back against him happily as he kisses your cheek, but then realize you might be blocking his view. “Will you be able to play with me on top of you? I can pull up a chair,” you offer, and Brendon reluctantly nods.

“That’s probably a good idea,” he sighs. “As much as I love having you on top of me and in my lap, playing will require my full focus. I fear having you on me will draw my attention elsewhere, making me crave a different game—one for just me and my pretty girl.” He nuzzles your neck with this comment while his fingers stroke your waist.

Zack groans under his breath at the innuendo, and you grin, standing to grab another chair and dragging it to Brendon’s side. You might not need to do too much work to get him where you want him; his mind seems to be headed there already. “Oh, we’ll play later, don’t you worry. I’ll try not to be too distracting for now though,” you promise, leaning your head on his shoulder and resting your hand on his thigh.

-||-

“Shit,” Brendon groans, and Spencer chuckles, leaning forward to drag the pile of chips towards him. “I really thought that was a good hand.”

“It was a good hand,” Spencer concedes. “Mine was just better.”

“Fair enough.”

You rub your husband’s upper thigh soothingly. Zack and Dallon both folded in the second round, while Jake and Brendon both pressed onward enthusiastically, only to fall short of Spencer’s straight flush.

“Sweet baby, that feels so good,” Brendon murmurs against your hair as he turns to kiss the top of your head. You smile, slipping your hand up higher, pinky pressing along his zipper. You know he can feel it, because he inhales sharply, coughing to cover it up.

“Just doing my wifely duty to cheer you up,” you reply softly, eyes closed as you move closer and adjust your hand to cup him fully. He knows how much you like to tease, and you know how much he likes you to tease him. “Is it working?”

“Oh baby, you know it is. Alright, Dallon,” he sighs. “Deal.”

-||-

“Read it and weep, boys; read it and weep,” Brendon declares, showing his hand, and the others swear as they realize he’s got a royal flush. “You,” he declares, pulling you in for a long kiss, “are my good luck charm.”

You grin against his mouth. “So now would be a bad time to ask to be dealt in?”

He groans, and you laugh, speaking quickly to reassure him. “I’m just kidding; I’m happy to stay arm candy and your good luck charm.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “You’re so much more than just arm candy or a lucky charm. And you’re more than welcome to play. Double our odds of winning.” You nod, standing to retrieve another round of beers for the table, and you’re considering a glass of wine for yourself.

“Wait,” Brendon protests, standing after you and catching your hand. Your fingers now interlocked, he pulls you close. “I said I’d get the next round.” He seems to read your mind, because he adds, “and I’ll get you a glass of wine, doll. That case of the 2011 Malbec you like so much was delivered earlier. But feel free to walk with me; I love your company, and I’ll need help carrying everything.”

You give him a quizzical look, because you have no idea what wine he’s talking about. Instead of giving any clarification though, Brendon just wraps an arm around your waist as he walks you out of view of the table and down the hall.

In the back of the darkened theater, he grabs you by the hips, lifts you easily up onto the bar counter, presses a quick kiss to your lips, and then whirls around to grab more beer from the fridge. “Don’t move, babydoll. I’ll be right back. Let me just get them their beers first, so they don’t come looking and interrupt us.”

“Interrupt us?”

Instead of replying, Brendon winks at you and disappears back to the lounge where the guys are waiting. When he returns moments later, he moves with purpose towards you and captures your mouth in a deep, heated kiss.

“Thank god this is what you meant,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist and grinding against his growing erection. “Need you, B. Missed you so much today. I fucking need my man. You promise they won’t interrupt?”

His hands are in your hair, his tongue is exploring your mouth, and he groans your name when you scratch at his back longingly, begging for his fingers. “They won’t interrupt if we don’t take too long, so we don’t have much time,” Brendon murmurs, sliding a hand down the front of your leggings. “My best girl, always so damn wet for me.”

“Always,” you whimper, rubbing against his fingers desperately. “God, I’ve needed this so badly. Want to come all over your hand, fuck!”

Brendon nods and curls his fingers, smiling into the kiss when you whine. “That’s it, baby. All over my hand. Grind on your husband’s fingers; let me feel your pussy when you come for me. You gonna come on my fingers, all hot and wet? Wish I could lick and suck your clit, get you coming on my face and tongue, but—shit, you like that? Can feel how wet that made you. Yeah, you love the dirty talk, don’t you? Be my dirty girl and come on my fingers; let me lick them clean. Want to taste my girl.”

He hisses in a blend of pleasure and pain; you’ve dragged your nails down his back and are biting at his lower lip as you come. You’d apologize, but you know he loves the pain. Your thighs are tense around his hand, and you’re trembling from the way Brendon’s got his fingers still curled and flexing. When you finally go limp and are left clinging to him, Brendon slips his hand from your panties and slides two fingers into his mouth. He winks at you playfully as he shows you his tongue twisting around them, and you groan, scratching at his chest.

“That’s not fair,” you whine, making him laugh. “Don’t tease. My underwear is already soaked.”

Brendon raises one eyebrow, but chooses to say nothing as he finishes sucking his fingers clean. Instead, he helps you slide off the bar and holds you close for a long moment. You relish his warmth and the firm pressure of his body against yours; you’re already fantasizing about getting him alone after the guys leave.

He seems to share your thoughts, pressing his lips to your temple and promising you can have him soon. His hips rock forward a little, letting you feel how hard he is for you. “Soon,” he repeats. With that, he adjusts his erection in an attempt to hide it a bit better, ducks into the walk-in wine cellar, grabs a bottle to pour you a large glass of wine, and leads you back to the lounge.

-||-

You eye the pair of cards you’ve been dealt and consider, glancing at the three community cards. “Call,” you finally declare, nodding at Brendon, and he looks at you with interest as your other hand slips over the bulge in his jeans. He pushes more chips into the center for you, and Jake raises his eyebrows.

“Why are you handling all the chips, Brendon? It’s your wife’s bet.”

Brendon grins, saying nothing; his hips rock ever so slightly when you squeeze. “Y’all are probably being gross. We should do a hand check,” Jake muses and calls as well. You wonder if he has any idea of how right he is. They can all almost certainly see your arm disappearing under the table at an angle, clearly reaching toward Brendon’s lap. One thing you don’t miss about touring is the spontaneous ‘hand checks’ the band implements for you two; the ones that inevitably mean Brendon slipping his fingers from you or you releasing his cock during movie nights and any other group activities on the bus where you can get cuddled up together under a blanket. Fortunately, Jake seems to be kidding for now.

Zack calls too before standing to go to the bathroom, and you know now is your chance. Once the toilet flushes, you quickly unzip Brendon’s jeans under cover of the sound. He glances over at you, and you smile innocently, wrapping your hand around his length through his boxers. Brendon’s hips raise ever so slightly; you can tell he’s enjoying your touch.

Spencer deals the final community card, making you laugh merrily. “That’s a little scary,” Dallon comments, and you give him a wide grin. “That’s not helping. Okay; two pairs,” he states, sounding only somewhat confident.

Jake tips his cards. “Three of a kind.”

Zack laughs grimly. “Three of a kind.”

Brendon looks at you, and you look back; your fingers tighten a little, and you raise an eyebrow. He caves. “Flush.”

You smirk, stroking a hand over his cock to ease the blow. “Four of a kind, gentlemen.”

-||-

At Brendon’s nod, Zack has made a trip to the bar and returned with a large bottle of Jack Daniels and a single can of Coke. That round of strong drinks, plus your glass of wine and the men’s multiple beers, means you’re all more than a little tipsy. Brendon is leaning back in his seat; you’ve worked your hand into his boxers and are stroking a little faster. It’s probably the liquor’s influence, but you’re not worried about the rest of them seeing anything. Honestly, they’ve all been on tour with Brendon, which means, even with their hand checks, they’ve seen much dirtier behavior from you two than a handjob under a table.

Jake and Dallon once found the two of you contorted around each other in an empty storage closet, Brendon’s hand down your leggings as he loudly encouraged you to come on his fingers.

You’re positive they also witnessed The Germany Incident, in which Brendon had been laying naked on a green room couch with you, also naked, reclining against his chest in his arms and on his cock. He’d been fucking you with deep, urgent thrusts; you had your head tipped back to rest on his shoulder while he used one hand to tease your breasts and had the other stroking over your clit while he worked his cock into your wet cunt from beneath you.

You can still hear his voice, telling you to use your man, use his cock, come all over it, all over him, just let go, really soak him and the couch. He’d pinched a nipple then with wet fingers, making you squeal and cling to his arms. It only became an ‘Incident’ with a capital ‘I’ because you’d come hard and promptly lost consciousness—you later blamed the intensity of the orgasm, but also sleep deprivation from travel, plus some mild dehydration.

At the time though, Brendon had naturally freaked out when you went limp on top of him after shrieking his name, and—according to Brendon’s recollection of the Incident—Jake and Dallon had been there almost immediately to help get water, ice packs, and whatever else Brendon could think of—before he’d even had a chance to call for help.

When you’d regained consciousness, you were laid out on the couch, still naked but covered in a fleece blanket from the merch table with an ice pack wrapped in a t-shirt on your forehead. Brendon had tugged on sweatpants and was seated on the floor by your head stroking your hair, and Jake and Dallon hovered in the background. For the rest of the tour, neither could look at you without flushing deep red.

In hindsight, Brendon admitted, they’d probably been watching from the cracked doorway that had a direct line of sight to the couch. This had made you laugh; you’d kissed him hard and agreed that seeing you sprawled on top of him, legs spread wide while he fucked you desperately, noisily from underneath almost certainly had something to do with their awkward behavior.

As for Spencer, he'd walked in on Brendon eating you out in a dressing room post-show. You’d dragged your husband back there, begging for his tongue, and he’d dropped to his knees without hesitation. Leaning against the wall and hitching your dress up, you rolled your hips forward; Brendon had taken the invitation readily. The tip of his tongue on your clit with two fingers thrusting and spreading and curling in you had driven you wild.

You hadn’t seen him in six weeks at that point, and you were climbing the walls with desire. He’d been on edge too: you heard the zipper of his pants followed by the urgent sound of his hand stroking over his cock. Your eyes were closed in bliss, one hand cradling his head as he worked his tongue over you, and the other reaching down to spread yourself for him with two fingers.

Your eyes were still squeezed shut as you came with a sharp cry, your hips bucking and back arched off the wall; Brendon, his face still buried in your pussy and tongue moving frantically, let out a desperate groan that told you he’d just come all over his hand. At that exact moment, you heard the door open, followed by a low swear and the door slamming shut again. The only way you and Brendon knew it’d been Spencer was the set of drumsticks on the floor.

You can’t even pick the filthiest moment Zack has witnessed in your relationship. He’s found you both in various and complete states of undress in bus bunks, hotel rooms, showers, dressing rooms, elevators, cars, and, on one memorable occasion, an inflated lifeboat on a friend’s yacht.

Brendon had been on top of you, his swimsuit tugged down in the front just enough to get his cock out, and he’d pulled your bikini bottoms to the side so he could fill you. You can still hear the urgent squeak of the rubber and Brendon panting over you, telling you how badly he needed to feel you come for him. His low groan in your ear after you came and he finally spilled into you is still one of your favorite sounds. You didn’t love hearing Zack swear when he came around the corner and then mutter, “you fucking perverts,” but Brendon laughing in that exhausted, post-orgasm way of his and rolling off of you to bury his face in your neck is always fantastic, no matter the circumstances.

Now though, here in your basement, they all might get a live and up-close viewing of Brendon coming all over your hand. It’s not ideal, but you have no intention of stopping, of leaving your husband throbbing and in need of release. Brendon bites his lip, and you’re not sure if he’s close or if he’s just reacting to the newest community card. His hips are twitching though, and he’s giving you a long look, as if to ask, ‘how?,’ and also, just as important, ‘where?’

These are things you hadn’t considered when you started this little tease. You really can’t make him come like this; he’s wearing a dark shirt, and the way he’s slightly sunken down in his chair means he’d definitely come all over his chest. You’re pretty sure it has to be in your mouth. Not that you mind—you love swallowing for him. It’s just the logistics of your current situation.

You briefly consider dropping your phone and crawling under the table to let him finish in your mouth, but there’s a few problems with that. It would probably take too long, Brendon probably wouldn’t be able to keep silent, he definitely wouldn’t be able to maintain a neutral face, and it would just generally arouse his friends’ suspicions. Although, and you glance around the table, you can get rid of them temporarily by appealing to their stomachs.

“Jake, I got that French onion dip you really liked,” you say, trying to control your voice. “You and Dallon should head upstairs and get it. I’m too tipsy to try the stairs.” They nod and stand, and you smile to yourself.

“Zack,” Brendon mumbles, his eyes locked on yours, “will you show Spencer the list of new tour locations? They’ve added a few since we last talked. The complete schedule is in my office.” Zack gives him a confused look but nods, and he and Spencer head down the hallway to Brendon’s office and studio.

As their footsteps fade, you slip out of your chair and under the table. Brendon shoves his jeans and boxers down his thighs, groaning and coming the moment your mouth closes over him. “Jesus fuck, that’s it; swallow for me, babydoll,” he grunts, both hands in your hair as you suck greedily; your head is bobbing as you take him deeper and swallow happily. “This is exactly what I needed; goddamn, my gorgeous wife sucking my cock—making me come, yes, that’s it, swallow, honey—fuck, you make me come so hard; that’s all for you—my cock is all for you, it’s all fucking yours. God, you’d better believe I’m gonna eat your pussy later til you’re screaming my name; I need to get your sweet cunt all over my face before I fuck you the way you deserve.”

You can feel his hips tense as he finishes—he’s fighting the urge to thrust in between your lips. Normally you’d gladly let him fuck your mouth since that’s a good way for him to get hard again, but you both know you just don’t have the time. The guys could be back any moment.

Instead, Brendon’s petting your hair and breathing hard; you’re still between his legs, tongue softly licking him clean and your hand stroking his length gently when you hear footsteps.

“Shit,” you hiss, pulling off of him. Zack and Spencer come back just as Dallon and Jake come downstairs with bowls of chips and dip. You crawl out from under the table while Brendon tries to catch his breath. His friends stare between you down on your knees and Brendon, with his head tipped back, his eyes closed, face flushed, and his lips slightly parted. In your mind, it’s pretty obvious what’s just happened, but your pride requires an attempt at a coverup. “I dropped my phone,” you offer casually, wiping at your lower lip with your thumb.

“It’s on the table,” Zack points out dryly, and you shrug.

“Whoops. I’m drunker than I thought. Could’ve sworn I dropped it.”

“Where were we?” Brendon asks the question loudly to distract the group, and they settle back in their chairs, picking up their cards. “Spencer, I think it’s your turn to act on this round.”

He folds, and Zack deals the last card. It’s your turn; you fold. Brendon and Jake eye each other. Brendon ultimately folds too, and Jake turns his attention to Zack, who tips his hand. Three of a kind. Jake sighs and shoves the pile of poker chips to Zack before downing the rest of his drink. You stand and grab the bottle of whiskey, refilling the drinks in front of each of you.

-||-

“Dammit,” You swear as Brendon flips the fourth card. “Shouldn’t have folded.”

Brendon grins and eyes you. “You know,” he drawls, “you can get back in. For a price.” You arch an eyebrow, and he laughs. “Piece of clothing…or a truth. No dares when we’re this tipsy.”

Jake leans forward, rubbing his hands. “Strip poker; excellent.”

Zack snorts, while Dallon sits back in his chair and says nothing, but his eyes are bright. Spencer nudges Jake hard and looks between you and Brendon, who shakes his head a little, clearly amused by the silent conversation happening between the guys.

“I’m not opposed,” Spencer finally says. “I just don’t want…anyone to feel uncomfortable.” He’s clearly offering this to you; Dallon and Zack agree. You shrug, telling Brendon he plays dirty while tugging your hair tie out and freeing your ponytail.

He leans over and ruffles your hair affectionately. “You love when we get dirty together, doll. The hair tie will work to get back in for this round, but just know that if you lose…you owe another piece.” He looks at the rest of the group. “Are we doing all losers or just the lowest hand?”

You scoff. “All losers.”

Zack laughs. “You’re feeling confident, aren’t you?” You nod smugly as Brendon flips the fifth card. Spencer doesn’t react, Jake calls, you call, and Dallon and Zack both check. Brendon studies his hand, your face, and the community cards before calling as well.

Dallon and Zack both have two pairs, while Spencer sits comfortably with his three of a kind. Jake reveals his flush and you grin, showing off your full house. Brendon shakes his head with a smile. “Sorry, sweetness.”

He drops his cards to show his four of a kind. “You can take the truth if you want,” he offers casually, and you glance at him.

“Do you want me to take the truth?” You’re pretty sure you know the answer, but Brendon appears to consider the question as he takes a long sip of his drink.

“If you’re comfortable stripping, then I’m comfortable with you stripping.” He looks at you meaningfully as he sets the glass down, and you nod. You knew he’d say that. What’s left unspoken is that he knows his friends won’t be able to keep their eyes off of you; you both know that the possessive part of him loves when others can’t stop staring at you.

You both also know it’s a little backward, but you love knowing that they’ll look at you, think about you, and even want you —yet, ultimately, everyone at this table understands he’s the only one you’ll take to bed; he’s the only one you’ll ever want. You pull your cardigan off, letting it hit the floor.

The other guys are more modest and each sacrifice a sock, and you roll your eyes. “You’re all lame.”

Brendon laughs, leaning back in his seat. “They’re just starting slow because they know it’s gonna get a whole lot worse for them. Like you with that hair tie.” He throws a glance at you. “But someone feels confident—going right for the cardigan, hmmm?”

You nod, accepting the two cards you’re dealt and wait patiently.

-||-

“Take it off, baby!” You giggle, helping Brendon get his shirt off before standing and wriggling out of your tank top to reveal your blue lace push-up bra. If the guys notice Brendon’s jeans are still unzipped and half-open from your interlude under the table, they don’t comment on it.

“I don’t even mind losing, because you’re getting naked with me,” you say, reaching out to stroke his bare chest while he traces a finger over your bra strap.

“Gross,” Zack deadpans, crossing his arms. He’s won this round, while Jake has lost his other sock at this point, Spencer too, and the rest of you are shirtless. Brendon is gazing at you steadily over the edge of his drink, and you wonder what he’s thinking. Fortunately, you don’t have to wait long.

He sets his drink down and turns to Zack. “You’re just jealous,” Brendon tells him with a smile, and Zack grins, shaking his head. “You don’t have to admit it; I already know. Everything my wife brings to the table and she looks like this? Fuck, just look at my girl. We don’t mind you guys looking. How could you resist? She’s fucking gorgeous.”

You stretch and preen under Brendon’s praise, and he watches you hungrily. “Yeah,” you murmur, “you can look all you want—just remember I’m all his.”

Brendon finishes your sentence. “And more importantly, I’m all hers, which makes me the luckiest guy at this table.”

He beckons you into his lap, cupping your face as you straddle him. “I can’t even say I lost this last round when you’re on me like this,” he murmurs while he draws you in for a deep kiss. You return the kiss eagerly, moaning into his mouth when his fingers start caressing your breasts. “Can’t ever lose when I’ve got my girl half-undressed and on top of me, rubbing against my—shit, guys, go get more beer. I need a minute with my wife.”

“Only one minute?” Dallon teases in a slightly strained voice, but Brendon is already kissing you again, one hand working its way into your bra and the other grabbing at your ass to keep you moving on top of him.

“Go away,” you moan, grinding down against Brendon urgently while flinging a hand at Dallon and the rest of them. “Go get beer or something, and then count to three hundred.”

“You heard the lady,” Brendon mumbles, rocking his hips up to press his cock into you. “My wife needs five minutes with me.”

You hear their chairs push back, and you rise up high onto your knees above Brendon’s lap once they’re gone.

“You’ve got me alone for the next five minutes. Now what?”

“Now I make my girl come.”

Brendon slides a hand down the front of your leggings. “Fuck, your panties match this bra, don’t they? Can feel the soft lace; wanna get you out of them with my teeth and then lick your clit until you come on my tongue.”

“We have like four minutes left,” you murmur, rocking back and forth on his hand urgently. “You know I want you to eat me out, but we’re running out of time.”

“Grind on my cock then, babydoll; come on your man, get off from rubbing your wet pussy all over me. God, but what I wouldn’t do to get my cock in your perfect cunt right now and feel you lose control.”

He slips his fingers from you; you’re moaning loudly into the embrace, tugging at his hair, and pressing down onto his cock throbbing under you. It feels so good, but you both know that in order to come the way you both want to come, you need to really ride him. “Need you in me,” you groan, and Brendon nods desperately, telling you to do it, take whatever you need, he’s yours. His jeans are still open from earlier; it’s easy to grasp his cock and pull him free. You consider just shoving your leggings down slightly, but you know you won’t be able to straddle him as long as you’re dressed. Instead, you slide your leggings and underwear off fully.

Finally, you spread your legs over him again and, grabbing his cock to press it against your pussy, you sink down onto him. You gasp, tossing your head back as you take him inside you, whining as you settle in his lap. You can feel every inch of his cock, and it’s creating the perfect amount of pressure. Moving urgently, desperately, you grip his shoulders. “Bren, tell me—”

“Fuck yes; you’re so damn hot. That’s it, ride my cock, you’re my best, dirtiest—”

He’s cut off by Dallon yelling from down the hall that you have two minutes left.

You’re both breathing hard. “Running out of time,” Brendon groans. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.” Order given, Brendon buries his face in your cleavage, licking and suckling at the exposed skin. You know you both need more, so you abandon his shoulders to shove your bra cups down. Your nipples now exposed, you gasp happily when he closes his mouth over one and starts rolling it with his tongue.

“I’m gonna fucking come,” you whine, grinding down against the base of his cock while he thrusts up into you. “Shit I’m close; right there, give it to me just like—give me your cock, yes, Brendon yes! Fuck me, oh shit, oh fuck I’m—Bren, now!”

He sucks hard at your nipple, and you shriek, tugging his hair and riding out your climax.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, still moving on him as you come back to full awareness. “God, you’re so hard—you gonna come in me, B?”

“Could,” Brendon grunts, gripping your ass with both hands. “Just need—fuck, a little bit more t—”

“Time’s up,” Zack yells, and you both groan. Brendon rests his forehead against yours and lifts you off of his cock. You make a small sound of protest, but you know it’s no use. Brendon gives you a longing look, and you know he’s just as disappointed as you are. You love when your husband makes you come, but you’d always rather come together. “Fix your clothes, you freaks,” Zack adds. “We’re coming back.”

Exhausted, you guide your bra back into place, slide out of Brendon’s lap, and tug your underwear and leggings on. Before you can get both up over your hips, Brendon slips a hand down between your thighs and moans low in the back of his throat. He loves feeling you after you’ve come for him, loves getting you sprawled out in bed so he can explore your body and see all the different reactions he can coax from you post-orgasm. You both know Zack means it though, and you don’t have the time.

Brendon pulls his hand back, you get your clothes back on, and you curl into his side, nuzzling his bare shoulder. He drapes an arm around you, kissing the top of your head affectionately. “To be continued, sweet baby,” Brendon promises in a low voice before sucking his fingers clean.

The guys walk back in, and Brendon gives them a not-entirely-playfully dirty look. “You guys are the worst. Not even a little grace period?”

They pile back into their chairs, and Dallon shrugs. “She came, didn’t she? What else was there to do?”

You roll your eyes and lean on Brendon’s shoulder, fingers grazing over his cock slowly. You love the way he throbs at your touch. “She could’ve gotten her husband off too,” you tell Dallon, who mimes gagging. “He was close, and you all cock-blocked him. But I’ll take care of my man later. Now,” and you direct this at Spencer, “it’s your turn to deal.”

-||-

You glance at the two cards on the table and wait. You don’t really want to fold, but you don’t have a good feeling. Sure enough, you end up with one pair; you sigh, going for the waistband of your leggings. Brendon’s eyes flit between your face and the delta of your thighs, and it dawns on you.

You can feel how wet your lace panties are, which means the guys would probably see how wet you are through them. That’s a little more than you want them to get right now. You make the decision. “I think I’ll opt to answer a question. Does Spencer get to ask it because he won this round?”

Spencer glances around the table, unsure of what to ask. “I yield the floor,” he jokes, and Dallon leans forward to claim the question.

“What were you really doing under the table when we came back downstairs with the snacks? We know you didn’t drop your phone.”

You exchange looks with Brendon, who just grins and shrugs a little. You take it as permission. “Sucking my husband’s cock,” you say casually, and Jake chokes on his drink. Brendon starts laughing, and Dallon points out that Brendon didn’t actually need to come during your five-minute interlude earlier, since you’d already gotten him off.

“I knew it,” Zack says triumphantly, prompting questioning looks from both you and Brendon. “I mean, I suspected. I didn’t know for sure, obviously. Although you did crawl out from under the table, wiping your mouth with that smug smile.”

Brendon keeps laughing and pulls you closer. “I need another, stronger drink,” you tell him, and he nods decisively. “Shots. Tequila, probably,” you add, and he grins, gesturing for everyone to follow him to the bar.

Once in the theater, he situates himself behind the bar, grabbing a selection of shot glasses, a bottle of tequila, and pouring across the glasses.

“Come and get ‘em,” he announces, and everyone reaches for one. The tequila leaves a warm trail down your throat, and you each set your glass down in front of Brendon. “Another?”

When you all nod, he fills them and his own again. You reach for yours, and he shakes his head. “No ma’am,” he says with a teasing finger wag. There’s a longing look in his eyes, and you think you know where his head is at. “You have to earn your second one. Hop up.”

You know exactly what he wants, and you love it. Doing body shots off of each other reminds you of being on tour with him in the early days: sneaking around, fucking in dressing rooms, and generally partying without any care for the consequences. Just as in love, just as wild about each other, but even more uninhibited and reckless in the best ways.

You accept his hand and lay yourself flat out on the bar, smiling up at him. His eyes roam over your body. “Jesus,” he sighs, taking you in with hungry eyes. “You’re so damn pretty, doll. I’m so fucking lucky to be yours.” With that, he reaches for your waist, and you know what’s coming next. If he’s okay with it, you are too. You both like showing off.

Brendon guides your leggings down, revealing your very wet underwear. You glance around the room in amusement. It’s just like being on tour: Zack and Spencer are taking another shot and studying the ceiling, clearly trying not to notice the way your leggings hit the floor, while Jake and Dallon are both openly watching Brendon’s fingers tease your skin.

“Don’t move,” Brendon warns you now, moving the waistband of your underwear down just a little to lick the newly exposed skin between your hip bones.

“Fuck, I love your mouth,” you whisper, squirming. Brendon winks, grabs the salt shaker, and sprinkles the coarse salt onto you, nodding decisively when it sticks to the wet path he’s left with his tongue. You reach down to your side for a lime wedge, placing it between your teeth.

“Don’t shiver and make a mess.” He maintains eye contact with you as he pours the shot onto your stomach.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and his tongue scoops up the salt, his lips suck up the tequila, and his teeth snap at the lime, sucking hard to tug it out of your mouth. Lime sucked and discarded, Brendon’s lips are back on yours, and he’s kissing you desperately. The combined taste of residual tequila and Brendon’s mouth has your head spinning.

“You earned your second shot,” he murmurs, but you’re not interested in just taking the shot.

“Let me take it off you,” you beg, sliding your legs to the side and finding your footing. Brendon grins, tucking your full shot glass into the waistband of his jeans while leaning against the bar.

“Should’ve known my baby would’ve wanted to get her mouth on me.”

“Damn right.” You lick greedily at his collarbone, pour the salt, and pop the lime wedge in his mouth. “You ready?” You hope he is, because you’re ready to make a scene. The two of you perfected the upright body shot during his Vices tour, and even though it’s been a few years, you know you’ve still got it. Even Zack and Spencer are watching you closely now.

Brendon nods, and you run your tongue back over his collarbone before moving down his body, lips closing over the shot glass and pulling it out of his pants, knocking your head back sharply to take the shot. You drop to your knees in front of him and, finally using your hands, set the glass aside. For the last step, you grab his waistband to bring him to his knees too, so you can seize the lime from his mouth.

“Well shit,” Jake breathes, and Brendon laughs, tugging you close and kissing you deeply. He rocks back off his knees and sits, his fingers running through your hair, and you need him.

“More,” you insist, crawling into his lap, rubbing against him. His hard cock is pressing into you through his jeans, and grinding on him in just your underwear is creating amazing friction. “Get your pants off entirely, B. Let me ride you again, get you coming in my hot, wet cu—”

“Audience,” Spencer interrupts, and you groan, pulling your mouth back.

Brendon is breathing hard, eyes dark and locked on you. “I’m gonna kick our audience out so I can fuck you,” he tells you, ignoring the fact that your audience is present and listening. “Poker night is over; I’ll see you guys later,” he mumbles in their direction without breaking his gaze with you, and they head for the stairs.

“Make good choices,” Zack calls, and Brendon flips him off without looking as he kisses you again.

“Once they’re out of here, you’re mine,” he tells you, and you rock your hips against his.

“I’m always yours,” you remind him and he nods, grasping your hair and tilting your head back gently so he can kiss your neck. “Bren, your mouth feels so good, need you to bite my neck while you fill my cunt; give me all your cum,” you moan, admittedly louder than you intended, and Dallon yells back that they’re still in the house. “Whoops,” you giggle, and Brendon grabs your ass, nipping at your skin.

“Bad girl,” he teases in a low voice. “Letting our friends hear you.” Your eyes flutter closed as his lips move over your neck and down to the swell of your breasts in the push-up lace. “They were so damn turned on by you,” he whispers, running a hand up your side to pinch one of your nipples lightly. “Blowing me under the table, sending them away so you could get off on my cock, letting me lick you all over in front of them, watching you drop to your knees for me…fuck babydoll, they’ll never admit it, but they are so hot for you. Their wives and girlfriends are in for such a good fuck when they get home.”

“God, Brendon…you like your friends getting all horny from me?” You’re murmuring this in his ear as you snake a hand down the front of his boxers. He groans, and you grasp his cock, jerking him off slowly with one hand while the other shoves at his jeans. “You like that, B?”

“Yeah, fucking love it. Love letting them see how goddamn sexy you are, letting them see exactly why I’m so fucking wild about you. Letting them see how I’m wrapped around your finger, completely yours—you’re the only one who gets me, and I’m the only one who gets you.” He moves to your mouth and lets his tongue explore before pulling back. “I don’t quite remember when, except that you were in the bathroom— but Jake leaned over and asked how good of a girl you really are.”

You arch an eyebrow in question, and Brendon smirks. “I told them you let me fuck you any and every day, in any and every way I want, and you don’t just let me; you positively beg for it. You say my name so sweetly when you come and then you plead with me to come in you.” While the possessive part of him loves others getting turned on by you, the possessive part of you loves when he brags about your sex life.

His fingers slip down between your bodies, and he groans when he feels how wet you still are. “And you get so damn wet for me; you really want me to fuck you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper urgently, bucking against his fingers. “Give it to me, Brendon. Fingers, tongue, cock. Anything, just give it to me.” He brushes a hand over the side of your face.

“And you beg so nicely too,” he comments, rocking up on his knees a little bit to shove his jeans down further, arm tightening around you so you won’t slip backwards. “Slide your panties to the side, honey, and ride my cock, bounce on it like we love.” You obey, body quaking when he’s fully in you. “That’s my best girl,” he groans quietly, unsnapping your bra as you work yourself along his length. “Love watching your tits move while you take my cock.”

“Brendon, you feel so good,” you whimper, and he bites your earlobe. You love being on top, because you can control the exact pace and angle; you can make sure his cock presses right where you want and guarantee you’ll come hard. Plus, the look on his face is always incredible—you love knowing he’s feeling that good just from having you on him. However, sometimes you really want him to take charge and take you.

“Want you to fuck me, B.” He nods, understanding. He curves over you with a hand pressed to the small of your back so you’re lowered gently to the carpet and he’s above you. Your hips are still twitching against his, and he kisses you hard.

“Let me take care of you.” He grabs one of your thighs and lifts it over his hip so he can fill you at a sharper angle. His hair has fallen into his eyes and he flips it out of the way, fucking you quickly with short, rough strokes. “You feel fucking incredible,” Brendon whispers, closing his eyes for a moment, relishing the way you meet his thrusts.

You’re breathing hard, panting, and your fingers are digging into his shoulders. “Incredible,” you echo, desperate for more. “Make me come,” you tell him, eyes wide. “Rub my clit and make me come.”

“Not yet,” he groans, taking both of your hands and pushing them over your head. He’s leaning over you, forehead to forehead, and you arch to kiss him. It’s sloppy and dirty, your tongues teasing and moving together, but neither of you are complaining. “You know,” he pauses to grunt sharply when you contract around him, “fuck, your sweet cunt—you know I like to come together. But I’m so close, babydoll; give me a few more moments, and I’ll come for you.”

“Brendon, I want you to come in me.” The words are plain, and you’ve said them before because you always get the same result. He gasps, his rhythm faltering. “Come in me, just let go and come inside your wife.”

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, thumb rubbing your clit gently until you grab his hand and apply more pressure. “Oh god, baby, I’m gonna—”

“Fuck Brendon, I—”

“Fuck, fuck, fu—gonna take it all?”

“Yes, fuck yeah, I need it, gimme that hot cum, oh my god, oh— fuck!”

“You want me to give your pussy all my cum? You want it filling your cunt, a hot, slick reminder of who fucks you best?”

“Oh fu—you fuck me best; oh shit, only ever you—god, Bren, fuck my pussy, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, yes, give it to me, B, fuck! Right th—oh—!”

“Coming,” Brendon finally gasps in your ear, and you let yourself go with a sharp cry as he comes, fast and hot. The heat spreads through you, and you moan, clutching his back and clenching around him. Your entire body is quivering, and his hips move in little spasms as your pussy milks his climax from him.

“I can’t—Jesus, Brendon. I can’t stop— you’re the only one who—makes me come like—” you kiss him, and he lashes his thumb over your clit. “Again; oh God, oh Brendon, baby, yes, yes, yes!”

“That’s my girl,” he whispers against your lips while you thrash under his touch. “I love watching you come,” he tells you and you tremble, coming down from your high. “You’re so beautiful.”

“The same to you,” you say with a grin, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath while running your hand through his hair. “Love you, Brendon. So much.”

“Love you too, babydoll. So fucking much.” He pulls out of you, groaning your name. “I’m gonna take you upstairs now, and we’re gonna take a hot bath.”

“Mmmmm,” you purr, tracing a finger down his chest. “And then what?”

“Then, tomorrow I’m going to call the contractor to have them add a whirlpool tub to our sex dungeon bathroom so we can clean up and relax there after.”

You raise an eyebrow, and he laughs, gesturing between your bodies. “Want to be able to drag my wife right to the tub after I fill her up with cum and make her soak my cock. Stairs sound miserable.”

“Agreed,” you murmur, clinging to him. “But while you’re on the phone with the—”

“Don’t worry, love,” Brendon whispers against your forehead as he presses a gentle kiss there. “I’ll also mention the full wet bar in the lounge, because that was a great, highly necessary idea. Even if it means we won’t be able to send the guys out of the room or sneak away under the pretense of getting alcohol.”

“No pretense needed. I’ll just tell them I want to ride your dick and I don’t want them to watch, so they need to go amuse themselves in the theatre for ten minutes. As we’ve learned, five isn’t enough.”

Brendon smiles down at you. “My best, dirty girl,” he teases. “So clever. But tonight, after this bath upstairs, I’m going to tease you by licking and sucking every inch of you except your pussy, until you beg for my tongue. And then, I’ll eat you out til you can’t say anything but my name. Once I’ve made you come a few times with my mouth and we’ve made out with the sweet taste of your cunt on my tongue, I’m gonna get you on your hands and knees, so I can give you my cock from behind, just like you like it.”

You whimper, clinging to him and nodding. Brendon strokes a hand over your hair, murmuring, “I know you love feeling me fill you like that, slamming my hips into your ass, working my cock deep into you, rubbing your clit with two fingers and making you lose control.” His soft voice is a contrast to the explicit words, and you love it. “What do you think of my plan, pretty girl?”

“I think you’re the smartest, sexiest, best man I could ever ask for, and I’ll come up with some very explicit ways to thank you for your hard work and generosity.”

“That’s all I ask, babydoll.” Brendon kisses you softly before nuzzling your neck and scooping you up. “Now, let’s head upstairs.”

[slowroadtosantiago]

Day 37 - Fronfria to Samos

It was about a 12 mile day in the end, but carrying our backpacks to see how Jane would get on.

We set off at 7:20 saying cheerio to Dieter who was having breakfast, and to Fraser, an Australian we had met at Casa Susi and have been leapfrogging with. It’s still cold in the mornings so had coats on.

The path went gradually downhill with stunning views of the hills and mist in the valleys.

There was a cafe open in the second village down so we stopped for breakfast. We’re going to miss the toast, freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee. The cafe had some great wood carvings outside, though the Neanderthal man was a bit scary.

We came across a very cute herd of cows and calves and also discovered the Cymru Am Byth vandals have now switched to black spray paint.

At the bottom of the mountain we landed in Triacastela where we took a diversionary path to the left that would take us to Samos.

The path followed the edge of the quiet main road for a while with a large drop at the side down to a river. At one point we came across a memorial stopping point and there was yet another letter to Pilgrims.

We left the road and the path wound its way through some incredibly lush green countryside and through an old village full of locals pottering about. Everything looked a bit well worn and reminded us of some if the little off the beaten track villages in West Wales.

After quite a lot more ups and downs than we expected we eventually arrived in Samos about 1:30. It’s famous for its monastery which looks stunning. You can do guided tours which we thought we’d do at 5:30.

After checking into our hostel (bottom bunks again, yippee!) we set out to find some food. The cafe next door was only doing sandwiches but we managed to find a local restaurant where we got a burger.

Back at the hostel it was time for a shower and a chill. Jane popped out to sit in the sun. I joined her in a while at the local bar talking to Rian from last night and Dieter who had not long arrived.

Rian told us about an old cypress tree we had to visit and hug and you could also paddle in the river there.

We went off to the monastery for 5:30, got our tickets, then just as we were waiting a huge coach load of Spanish tourists turned up! There was another tour at 6:30 so we gave up and went to hug the tree first, then sat in the sunshine eating an ice cream.

The tour at 6:30 was interesting, even if it was in Spanish. The monastery had a fire in 1951 so quite a lot of it had to be rebuilt and there were some interesting modern religious paintings on the walls.

There was to be a mass at 7:30 so when the tour ended in the church we nipped out and had a glass of wine with Rian and Fraser who was also on the tour with us, before booking our flights home. We’ll be back on Friday 26th.

[travelloverr]

Thekkady Rose Park Itinerary: Complete Travel Guide.

Hey there, travel enthusiasts! Are you searching for some stunning and captivating spots in India? Itinerary plans have got you covered! Let's dive into the breathtaking and serene Thekkady Rose Park, nestled in Thekkady, India. Get ready for over 30 thrilling adventure rides to amp up your visit!

Check out their travel plans - super handy for making your trip plans a breeze. They've got all the details you need. Just click "Here" to take a look!

About Rose Park

Spread across 10 acres, Thekkady Rose Park in Kerala, India, is a delightful spot for families and nature enthusiasts. Picture the park as a square with sides of about 209 feet (64 metres), estimating its size to be roughly 418 feet (127 metres) on each side. You'll find charming rose gardens, a spice park displaying the region's spices, and a fun kids' zone with rides and activities. Additionally, the park offers a 20D theatre, zip line, kayaking, and multi-wine tasting for a great time! 🌹🎢🍷

The best time to go to Rose Park Thekkady

The best time to visit Thekkady Rose Park depends on your preferences:

Pleasant weather:

September to March: This is the peak season in Thekkady, offering pleasant weather with temperatures ranging from 17°C (63°F) to 28°C (82°F). While there may be occasional showers, it's generally a comfortable time to explore the park's outdoor attractions.

You can expect to find them at Thekkady Rose Park:

Rose Gardens: As the name suggests, the park boasts a vast collection of roses in various colours and varieties. You can stroll through the gardens and admire the beauty of these fragrant blooms.

Play Area: The park has a dedicated play area for children, equipped with slides, swings, and other fun equipment. This is a great place for kids to let loose and burn off some energy.

Water Paddle Boat: Enjoy a leisurely ride on the paddle boats in the park's artificial lake. This is a relaxing activity for people of all ages.

4D Animation Movie: Experience a unique and immersive movie experience at the park's 4D theatre.

3-Day Thekkady Itinerary with Nearby Attractions:

Day 1:

Morning: Explore the Rose Garden, a haven of over 1200 rose varieties.

Afternoon: Enjoy a Kathakali dance performance, showcasing vibrant costumes and storytelling.

Night: Stay comfortably near the Rose Garden, like in Cardamom County.

How to reach Rose Park, Thekkady:

By Air: The nearest airport to Thekkady is Madurai Airport (IXM), approximately 140 kilometres away.

Flights are readily available from major cities in India to Madurai.

From Madurai, you can hire a taxi or prepaid cab to Thekkady, which will take approximately 3.5 hours and cost around INR 3000-4000.

Feel free to review their itinerary; it may assist you in how to reach Rose Park. They provide comprehensive itinerary plans. Click "Here" to check them out.

What to Bring:

Comfortable walking shoes: The Rose Garden involves walking on paved paths, so comfortable shoes are essential.

Hat and sunglasses: The Kerala sun can be strong, so protect yourself from the sun with a hat and sunglasses.

Sunscreen and insect repellent: Protect yourself from the sun and potential insects with sunscreen and insect repellent.

What to Avoid:

Heavy luggage: The itinerary involves exploring different places, so pack light to avoid carrying heavy luggage.

Sparkly or revealing clothing: Opt for modest clothing that respects local sensibilities.

Disruptive behaviour and loud noises: When visiting the Rose Garden and other attractions, behave quietly and with respect.

Littering: Dispose of waste responsibly in designated bins to help maintain the park's and surrounding areas' cleanliness.

Check out their travel plans - super handy for making your trip plans a breeze. They've got all the details you need. Just click "Here" to take a look!

[visittodetroit]

Best Eight Honeymoon Destinations to visit in Detroit

You plan and prepare for months, but once the big day arrives and you've said your 'I do's,' it's time to relax and spend quality time with your other half. Michigan's sandy beaches, spectacular sunsets, breathtaking waterscapes, and small-town charm make it a great location for a romantic honeymoon. These Michigan honeymoon vacation alternatives are affordable and will not disappoint! Plan a trip to this beautiful city of Detroit so book a cheap flights to Detroit and enjoy your days here!

Mackinac Island

Mackinac Island is unlike any other location. Enjoy a relaxing holiday on the island where everything moves at a slower pace (cars are not permitted!). You'll see gorgeous countryside surrounded by water whether you travel by horse & buggy, bicycle, or foot. Immerse yourself in a charming downtown atmosphere, shopping, and as much fudge as you can handle. Stay at the famed Grand Hotel or one of the many unique bed and breakfasts on the island to finish out your honeymoon retreat.

Traverse City

Traverse City is a four-season tourism destination, with winter and summer sports galore. There are many options for your favorite snow activities throughout the winter. Climb the sand mountains at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in the summer for stunning vistas of the dunes and forest. After all that activity, you deserve to eat something nice. Traverse City dining will be a gourmet adventure, with plenty of eateries to sample delicious food and Michigan craft beer. Finish your trip with some romantic wine sampling on the Leelanau Peninsula and toast to your new life together.

Michigan's Gold Coast

You can't go wrong with 3,000 miles of sandy beachfront stretching from Saugatuck to Holland and Grand Haven to Silver Lake Sand Dunes. Holland is a small mediaeval town that has a lot to offer. Take a walk along the cobblestone sidewalks or a bike ride along the lakeshore. On this old carousel, ride your horse to the finish line. Windmill Island Gardens is a great place to see windmill blades pinwheel through the sky. This is an excellent choice for a low-key honeymoon in which you want to enjoy one another's company. You'll fall in love with Holland and with each other all over again here.

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore is the place to go for an unforgettable experience. This gorgeous location on Lake Superior is up of multi colored sandstone cliffs, beaches, sand dunes, waterfalls, inland lakes, streams, woods, and wildlife. Paddling is one of the greatest methods for the more adventurous couple to experience this lovely beach. To capture the occasion, take a shot together at Lover's Leap. If you have Plan to see Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore visit here, and book Cheap Flights to Detroit.

Michigan Resorts

Nothing sets the tone for a lavish vacation like a Michigan resort. Michigan resorts have it all, from shopping to exquisite restaurants, and magnificent spas to gorgeous mornings along fairways. You can unwind, have fun, and live it up here. A five-star night in one of Michigan's resorts can be a honeymooner's fantasy. Challenge your sweetie to a round of golf on one of the state's many championship golf courses. This sophisticated yet rural hideaway will not disappoint.

Z Lot

The typical first date does not take place in a parking garage, but the Z Lot is not your typical parking garage! With over a thousand parking spots, Z Lot on Library Street is one of Detroit's largest parking garages. Take your date to the top level for one of the greatest (and free!) views in the city. If you're lucky, you'll catch a sunset over the city's skyline. Spend some time appreciating the parking garage itself, which is with over 100 murals created by a diverse group of international street artists.

Anna Scripps Whitcomb Conservatory

A visit to the Anna Scripps Whitcomb Conservatory is a charming and whimsical date idea in Detroit. The conservatory is on Belle Isle and admission is free. The conservatory's outside, with its glass dome, is gorgeous, but it's within that things get spectacular. Spend a day exploring rare flora and animals, including one of the country's largest orchid collections.

John K. King Used and Rare Books

There's something enchanting about bookstores. And if the quantity of books corresponds to the level of romance, you should take your date to John K. King Used and Rare Books as soon as possible. This bookshop is the fourth largest in the country, with over one million books on the premises. It's also a Detroit landmark and the ideal setting to get lost in love.

When you enter the bookstore, you'll be shown a map of the various sections. You can either navigate or leave the map at home and go on your own adventure. In any case, this will be a memorable dating location. Enjoy every bit of everything in Detroit so book Cheap flights to Detroit to enjoy Detroit’s famous cuisine.

[jackscndarby]

Jackson's smile turned a little devilish. "Never really been accused of it, no. But I'm usually better at demonstrations than explanations." He gave a too-innocent shrug, his eyes alight with mischief. "Could be, though. If you asked nicely."

But the flirting gave way to his actual job (the worst) and he had to search his brain for flight that was not related to like... flying. Turning his back on her again, his eyes roved the shelves of wine before settling on the big, wooden thing he'd always thought of as a paddle, with its five circular indentations and inch-thick layer of dust.

Okay, that was a little exaggerated, but still. Like he'd said before, wine wasn't exactly what was bringing the customers in these days.

"I'm gonna be honest with you," he said as he pulled it down and wiped it off. "No one has ever ordered this before, so I'm not even entirely sure how to ring it up. But if it's a tasting you want, it's a tasting you'll get. You like reds or whites better? Or are you a non-discriminate wine drinker?"

"Are you usually?" she asked, still keeping up the façade, but genuinely interested to know the answer. He didn't really have the gentle, schmoopy look. She hoped she wasn't wrong, but time would tell.

And then she could tell, however well he played it off, she'd caught him off guard with her question. Both his pause and the fact he came back with two answers explained why there was even a job opening. The selection wasn't great. Still, she could get what she needed. "Bobal, please. But I might want to try both. Do you have any kind of flight available? It doesn't have to be Spanish wine."

[creativepromptsforwriting]

50 More Date Ideas

taking a cooking class together

baking together their favourite treats

playing mini golf and becoming very competitive

going to a bowling alley and celebrating each strike together

going to an all-you-can-eat-buffet and staying for hours

getting a couple’s massage

having a fancy dinner night where they dress up for each other

recreating their first date

going on a hot air balloon flight over the countryside

working out together

going to a comedy show

going ice skating, holding each other up

relaxing together during a spa date

going to the opera in fancy clothes

going to a classical concert

doing geocaching

playing their favourite board games

going roller skating

doing a paint night

going to a cat café

cooking the dinner for their date together

visiting an animal shelter and playing with the animals

going camping without electronics

picking up trash together around the city

visiting an aquarium

going on a double date

doing a wine tasting

watching a sports game

visiting a planetarium

going to a rooftop bar

getting ice cream and strolling through a park

going shopping together at their favourite stores

exploring a national park

going to a library and quietly reading books next to each other

going to an old movie theatre and watching some classics

showing each other their favourite places in the city

buying drinks and sitting at a lake

going swimming together

exploring some castles together

doing stand-up paddling

upcycling furniture together

going climbing

playing computer games

going to a festival

doing a photo shoot together

walking shelter dogs

going to the park and playing frisbee

painting each other and gifting each other the painting

going clubbing

having a zoom date for long distance

First 50 Cute Date Ideas

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

[faghubby]

A vacation to remember

My name is Oliver, everyone calls me Ollie. I am 50 years old and been married for 25 years. Recently my wife. Margaret, Maggie have become empty nesters. Both of are children are away at school. Because of this we started to ramp up are sex life. Become more free so to say. Maggie was quite vanilla. While I was a bit more out going on the outside. I was a twisted kinky beta on the inside. I discussed my kinky with Maggie when she showed signs of wanting to try new things. At first she was shocked then did some research. And slowly tried a few things.

First was denial, she would deny me an orgasm while I gave her as many as she wanted. This didn't work , I cheated I would just masterbate. After some more discussions she bought a chastity devise and locked me up. She loved it. The Horner I got the more she teased. She bought toys to play with even tied me to the bed. We continued to explore my submissive behaviors. Which led her to play with and even peg my ass. After that dressing me in panties and bras wasn't much of a stretch. It was now 9 months since she had started locking me in chastity. When we planned a vacation. Well she did. The morning we where to leave I was locked but she removed the padlock so not to set off metal detectors.

"We are all packed" Maggie told me handing me the bags. We where headed to a resort in Mexico. Once in the car Maggie filled me in on her plan.

"I want you to explore your submissive nature on this vacation, remember no one we know will be there" She told me.

"I will try" I told her. We checked in all was good till we hit security.

"Open this bag sir" a large black man asked me. I did as he wanted. Inside he found several dildos and bottle of anal lube. Along with handcuffs and a wooden paddle. A dozen people where staring at me.

"This had to be checked" he told me. I was beet red as Maggie was already through waiting for me. The smile on her face I knew she had planned it. She just took my hand and led me towards the gate. Since I checked the bag I had nothing Maggie had my ticket and passport. A three hour flight I didn't even have a book to read. Of course Maggie was prepared. She gave me a book it had a half naked man on the cover.

"You will like it" She told me. She also had a little neck pillow for me. It was bright pink. Maggie was pleased with herself. Especially when the stewardess came buy and asked if I wanted a drink.

"My little husband will have apple juice, I will have a gin and tonic" She told her. Motioning down when she said little. I tried to read the book and just get through the flight already embarrassed in front of all these people. As I started to read it was romance novel woman often read but the main characters where gay.

"Maggie" I wined to her softly. She just smiled. "Read your book sissy, remember I want you to explore your true nature this week" She rubbed my cage thru my jeans. Once we landed and got thru customs. Maggie handed me a pink bag.

"Go to the little boys room and put this on its hot outside. No whinning" She told me I knew she was serious from her. I did as told I went into the first stall. Inside the bag were pink shorts. And a white tee shirt. I took off my jeans as I put on the shorts. At first I thought she would make me wear a dress. I pulled out the shirt and discovered a bra. It was the matching one to the floral thong I had on. I figured what the hell no one knew me here. Then the shirt. The sleeves where very short. And the collar had a lace trim. I tried to put my wallet in my pants and it didn't fit in the pocket. I tried to gather my courage and leave. It took a few minutes. Maggie was waiting.

She took my wallet and passport and put it in her purse.

"See much more comfortable" She said smacking my ass. We made our way to the hotel and checked in. Maggie had booked a suite. A nice young man carried our bags up. Maggie tipped him. She had my wallet. As soon as the door closed.

"Come here and drop your panties" Maggie told me. She sat on the bed. I thought great a little sexy time but she pulled out a lock and locked the cage. Maggie spangled putting on a short sundress. If the wind picked up she would be showing everyone her panties. She took my hand and led me downstairs and on to the beach. She handed me the key.

"The spare is at home, throw it in the ocean" She told me. I looked at her she was serious. I hesitated then threw it. Maggie jumped into my arms.

"We are going to have so much fun" She told me. I had already been locked for 14 days. The longest yet. And now another 7.

Maggie was all over me on the way back to the room. She took her dress off in the elevator and led me in her bra and panties back to the room. She was naked on the bed before the door closed. She spread her legs. Since all I could do was use my tounge that's what I did. Maggie had shaved her usual neat patch of hair completely. I made her cum and she rolled over.

"Why don't we try my ass now" She said. I had never done this, and Maggie had never let me even put a finger in her ass. I buried my face in her big juicy ass. She moaned alittle when I stuck my tounge in her hole.

"That's enough, I want you to unpack and put everything away" She told me. She got up and dressed. "Call me when you are done" She left the room. As I unpacked I realized she had packed only woman's clothes. I unpacked all the toys and put them in the nightstand. When I finished I called her.

"Put in the black plug and meet me at the bar" Maggie told me. I did as she said. Even though I was very nervous walking around without her dressed as I was. I found Maggie at the bar by the pool. She was openly flirting with an older black gentleman. I could not bring myself to approach.

"There he is" I heard her say "Olivia, over here" She wanted me to her.

"Alec, this is my husband Olivia." The tall black man smiled.

"Nice to meet you"

"I told you" Maggie laughed

"Bartender I owe the lady a drink. And a Shirley temple for the little man" he said. Maggie burst out laughing. He handed me my drink. Then ignored me. And went back to flirting with each other. Maggie did not let me slip away instead kept me close her hand slid to my ass and kept pushing on the plug. The conversation changed to me.

"He likes cock in his ass" Maggie said plainly to Alec. I tried to run away but Maggie held me close. "His ass is stuffed right now" She told him.

"And what about you?" He asked his hand slid up her thigh under her short dress. Maggie didn't try and stop him. She just stood their and let him finger her. She grabbed my hand guided it towards his bulge. I pulled away. Maggie looked at me and smiled. She kissed me

"I think it's time I tried one of my fantasies" She told me. She pushed hard on my plug then stood and kissed Marc. Marc signed for the check and led Maggie away. I stood there unable to react.

"You want something stronger" the bartender laughed looking at my wide walking away.

"No" I replied and headed to our room. I kept thinking about Maggie with him. Back in the room I didn't know what to do. So I got changed. I found a sexy white lingerie set with a garter and stockings. I touched up all my shaving showered and put it on. I waited and waited. Eventually I fell asleep. Maggie woke me it was late.

She was already naked. She crawled into bed.

"I sucked his cock baby" She said and kissed me. Then she noticed me all dolled up.

"Baby did you get jealous" She teased rubbing my cage.

"Did he?" I asked. She nodded

"Would you like to taste it?" She asked. We had never discussed a third but it had been part of our playtime teasing. I slid under the covers and ate her used pussy like it was my first meal in a year. When she was satisfied I had gotten it all she had me eat her ass as well for good measure. We drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

Maggie was up early,

"Come on we are going to a quiet beach Marc knows" She told me. She gave me a pink polka dot bikini to wear. She noticed I was dripping from my cage.

"Oh sorry baby, when we get back I will give you a proper fucking with my strapon." She smiled. We met Marc in the lobby he had a rental car. He drove fast down the narrow streets. About 15 minutes later he parked and we hiked over the dunes. To a lovely beach only a few blankets around. As we got closer I noticed it was a nude beach. Maggie took off her beach cover up and she wore nothing under it. Marc quickly dropped his shorts. I stared at his cock. It was almost twice the size of mine soft as mine was hard. 8 inches and thick as well.

"Are you going to join us?" I wasn't sure what was worse being seen in the pink bikini or in the cage. Maggie and Marc went to the water. As I watched they where obviously fucking in the ocean. I decided to go nude. Although still tried to cover myself. Maggie came and sat next to me after they had finished. We chatted honestly about her and Marc.

"Its OK Maggie, I think I like it. Maybe we should find you a boyfriend when we get home" I told her. She kissed me.

"Well we can see about that" and she went to sit next to Marc. Seemed everyone just ignored me. Till one young man walked straight up to me his cock getting a hard he stood over me.

"Suck my cock sissy" he told me. He must of been 25 or so. I was about to tell him to fuck off.

"Go ahead Olivia" Maggie sang out. I hesitated "is because people might see? Then take him somewhere private" She added.

The young man got tired of waiting he gapped my hair and pulled his cock in my mouth. I didn't suck his cock as much as he fucked my mouth. Two woman walking their dog stopped and watched. He didn't ask he just finished in my mouth. The ladies clapped then walked on. I rinsed off in the ocean. But when I wanted to leave Maggie would have none of it. A few hours later a woman approached me.

"Why are do you where that?" She asked. I was to nervous to speak.

"He prefers not to have a penis" Maggie told her. They spoke for a few minutes about it then the woman walked off. Maggie and Marc fucked again on the beach this time they went for a walk. When they returned Maggie had me lick her fingers covered in his cum. Marc dropped us off at the hotel.

"You let a man fuck your face" Maggie cooed excited

"I didn't have much choice" I told her

"Yes you did all you had to do was push him away" She rubbed my ass.

"Now, do you need me to fuck that sweet ass of yours?" I said nothing but Maggie knew I needed relief. As she strapped on the harness I quickly rinsed the beach off in the shower. When I came out she was waiting she bent me over the table in the room. She had opened all the curtains. She squirted lube in my ass.

"You would have loved it I that young punk had fucked your ass like this wouldn't you?" She said as she slid her fake cock inside me.

"I wonder if anyone is watching you take my cock through the window?" She said

I was soon pushing back answering her thrust.

"Yeah, faggot take my cock" She moaned

"Do you wish it was Marc's big black cock in your ass right now?" She teased. A few minutes later I was humping the air as cum dribbled from my cage onto the floor. Maggie pulled her cock out. As I helped her with the straps the cock was right in front of my face.

"Its OK, go ahead baby" Maggie told me holding to my lips. I opened my mouth and let her slide it in.

"Your sucking my ass flavored cock" She teased.

"You are a total bitch" She continued. After a minute or so she pulled away.

"I was going to talk to you about something but I don't think it matters at all anymore. Marc has a brother, and thought I might like to forfil my fantasy of a threesome. I was going to ask you, but now I think it's just my discussion isn't it" She touched my face. She had me put on a pink dress. It barely covered my ass. A a pair of bright red panties. She then plucked my eyebrows and painted my nails to match my panties. A pair of pink sandels and pink lipstick. And she dragged me from the room. I don't know what her plans where but they changed when we passed the hotel salon. She dragged me in. After a brief conversation with one of the ladies I was led to a chair.

Bradley obviously gay, introduced himself and set about chatting as he cut and styled my hair. Never having worn a dress I public before I wasn't aware it had rode up exposing almost all of my panties. Bradley reached down and fixed my dress his hands caressing my thighs as he did. He looked into my eyes as he did. Maggie gave him a huge tip. For my new piece style hair cut. Then she took me to dinner. We spent the next few days alone just site seeing and enjoying the beach. I became more comfortable dressed as a woman. Maggie tried some makeup to high lite my features and I looked like an ugly woman. She teased me nonstop. The last full day of our vacation she left after breakfast to meet Marc. Leaving me on my own. The last thing she said was.

"I am going to let Marc fuck my ass" She had never allowed me to do that then she flashed me her ass. And she had a plug buried inside. She sent me pics of her naked for him. Then one of him fucking her. Then one of her taking two cocks. She went through with it I thought

I just stayed in the room. About noon their was a knock. It was Bradley he quickly stepped inside.

"I am not allowed to do this with guest" he said nervously then he kissed me. I pushed him back.

"Sorry, I just" he turned to leave.

"Can I suck your cock?" I blurted out. "I never done I and this kid at the beach kinda made me" I was babbling Bradley put a finger to my lips and led me to the bed. I kneeled at the foot of the bed and he dropped his pants. He wore no underwear. His cock was soft but soon hardened as I took it in my mouth.

"Relax, just do what you like done" he told me. I thought about what Maggie would do and copied it. Swirling my tounge around his cock. My hands held and fondled his balls. His hands ran through my hair. He wasn't much larger then me about 5 inches I would guess.

"I am going to cum" he told me. I let him cum in my mouth. Although most dripped out. I wanted to let him fuck me. But he wasn't able to get hard again. So he just left. Maggie didn't return until the next morning. She laid in bed next to me telling me every detail. I didn't tell her about Bradley. She fucked me with her strapon on last time before we had to go to the airport. As we walked up to security

"Have fun explaining" She smiled and stepped back as the medal detectors went off. After I tried to quietly explain two policemen led me to a security room as my wife went to get on the plane. While I tried to convince to policemen that the lock and cage where not a bomb.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.  

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting. 

Harry still hates clubs. 

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them. 

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now. 

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M. 

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry. 

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics. 

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement. 

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective. 

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love. 

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp. 

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall? 

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left. 

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.  

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them. 

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations. 

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke. 

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant. 

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought. 

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun. 

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend? 

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen. 

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis. 

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes. 

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air. 

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread. 

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone. 

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds. 

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation. 

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum. 

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since. 

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis. 

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox. 

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights. 

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter. 

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on. 

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday. 

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch. 

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills. 

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it. 

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy. 

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart. 

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back. 

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind. 

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points. 

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends. 

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed. 

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable. 

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.  

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you. 

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all. 

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes? 

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call. 

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget. 

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds. 

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently. 

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…? 

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater. 

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle. 

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand. 

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black. 

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”  

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.” 

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.” 

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.” 

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.” 

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.” 

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all. 

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break. 

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive. 

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”  

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.” 

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.” 

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line. 

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving. 

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!” 

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.” 

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.” 

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.” 

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.” 

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams. 

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit. 

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence. 

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home. 

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on. 

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals. 

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger. 

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school. 

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed. 

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all. 

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy. 

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly. 

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia. 

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him. 

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals. 

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this. 

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat. 

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point. 

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N. 

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge. 

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint. 

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met. 

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.  

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink. 

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly. 

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water. 

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle. 

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly. 

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it. 

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.  

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.” 

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.” 

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.” 

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories. 

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck. 

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?” 

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.” 

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. 

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers. 

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.” 

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch. 

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter. 

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts. 

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage. 

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.” 

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.” 

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle. 

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.” 

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way. 

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.  

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.” 

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.” 

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic. 

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once. 

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!” 

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”  

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement. 

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place. 

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.” 

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk. 

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes. 

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for. 

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.” 

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.” 

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs. 

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick? 

“It felt really nice.” 

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.” 

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later. 

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.” 

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man. 

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it. 

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position. 

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm. 

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.” 

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.” 

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.” 

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue. 

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.” 

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.” 

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last. 

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives. 

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity. 

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.” 

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.” 

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs. 

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest. 

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak. 

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be. 

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days. 

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle? 

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke. 

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request. 

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear. 

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials. 

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.  

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time. 

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather. 

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits. 

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.” 

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal. 

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know. 

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet. 

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”  

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.” 

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around. 

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days. 

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever. 

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.” 

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can. 

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls. 

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.” 

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her. 

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour. 

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion. 

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans. 

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight. 

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.” 

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress. 

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.” 

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber. 

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot. 

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.” 

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?” 

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder. 

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings. 

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.  

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response. 

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn. 

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her. 

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck. 

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex. 

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.” 

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly. 

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?” 

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #1: That Night in Mykonos

[Heatwave // Godless] [Drabble Masterlist]

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: That one not-so-forgotten filthy drunken night in Mykonos that you and Taehyung never speak about again. For good reason.

Genre: drabble, smut

Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t do it), beach sex, oral (m/f), taehyung’s tongue technology, dom!Tae, daddy kink, exhibitionism kink, facial (lol oop), cumplay, spanking, degradation if you count slapping your face with his dick, may make you fall in love with this couple even more soz

Word count: 6k (why am i incapable of making even a drabble short and quick?)

A/N: As per highly requested… :) If you’ve randomly stumbled upon this, definitely read Heatwave first to understand the plot.

.

The gentle washing of the waves sings a lullaby to your ears. You have always loved the sound of the ocean, so serene, yet holding so much power. Wiggling your toes, you watch the minute grains of sand trickle off your feet like a waterfall. Nonchalant, you take a swig of cider, its fruity acidity burning a bittersweet trail down your throat.

‘Man, I fucking love Mykonos.’ Taehyung slurs beside you, tipsy from his fourth bottle of beer he’s clutching like a trophy.

‘Thank you again for bringing me here, Taehyung.’

The two of you are sat on a towel by the beach, watching the moon paint its own reflection in the water. Sky crystal clear, as it is every single night here in Greece, the constellations hanging over your heads set a tranquil tone to the last evening of your trip.

‘Hey, what did I say? Stop thanking me. Now you have to finish your drink.’ Playfully, he flicks the tip of your nose in reprimand.

Grinning, you roll your eyes but follow his stupid rule. Not that you can’t hold your liquor, but this is your seventh drink, and you’re starting to feel it pulsating up to your head.

‘No, but you were right.’ Words tumble out of his pretty lips that you can’t help but admire. ‘It was a good call not to go out tonight. If we actually went hard at VOID, our flight tomorrow would be hell.’ He is referring to the club you have been religiously visiting almost every night this week. ‘This is much better. Nice and chill.’

With a mighty sigh, he falls onto his back, head hitting the edge of the towel, narrowly missing sand invasion in his hair. Rolling your empty bottle away, you join beside him.

‘This has to be the weirdest but also best holiday of my life.’ You ruminate. The stars are shining particularly bright tonight, you wonder if they know it’s your last night here and want to bid farewell.

The chesty chuckle Taehyung lets out reverberates into you. ‘Definitely the weirdest.’ He turns his head to face you. ‘I can’t believe I’m in Mykonos with this random chick I met in the club, who offered to rent me her place, so I guess she’s now my roommate, when this whole trip was planned to be a surprise for my girlfriend who had been cheating on me for months.’

Taehyung is especially chatty and vivacious when drunk, you’ve noticed from the past few days. Normally he’s laid back, spaced out even. But give him some booze, and all his emotions and thoughts cartwheel out of him. Though you’re only beginning to know him, he’s immensely interesting, you can tell he holds so many layers to him that requires inquisition over time.

‘Wow, random chick from the club? Bitch, you ripped out my hair.’ You laugh and smack at his chest, hand lingering for a little too long.

Wait, chest smack? Why are you using your classic move on him?

You’re a flirt, you can’t help it. The cider’s doing its thing, you guess.

‘Man, I’m so sorry about that, you have no idea how awful I felt.’ He inches closer to you until his head is rested upon your shoulder. Right, he’s also especially touchy when drunk. Anyone who walks past right now could mistaken you as close friends, when in reality, you’ve known each other no more than a month.

To be completely fair, you have spent everyday of this said month together since that club night, helping him move in and unpack, and now travelling together. You guess you’re kind of friends now.

‘These past few weeks have been so crazy. I was just trying to have a good night out when a wild Kim Taehyung appeared and somersaulted into my life. And now we’re lying by the Mediterrenean sea together, tanned and drunk.’ His hair is tickling your neck so you push it away. Your fingers brush against his forehead and he hums at the contact.

‘But hey, on a serious note, hand on heart,’ Taehyung gazes up at you, ‘I’m so glad I got to do this with you. You are one of the coolest people I know, and I wouldn’t have wanted to come here with anyone else. Not like I have anyone else right now… My ex can go fuck herself, or fuck Jimin. I have a bigger dick anyway.’

You sit up, choking on your laughter. Out of the blue, he’ll always hit you with these one-liners that are absolutely pure gold. ‘Okay, Mr. I’ve-Fucked-Nine-Girls-This-Week.’

Pride beaming from his smile, he tugs you back down beside him. ‘Hey, I was in a relationship for three years, I need this. Miss I-Had-A-Threesome-With-Two-Guys-On-Our-First-Night.’

The two of you splutter your drunken giggles. The two guys were Italian, come on, how could you have passed up on the opportunity?

Despite the time of evening, the breezes that gust pass are humid. The temperature is perfect, actually, no sun blazing down to melt you into puddles. You’re probably too drunk to appreciate this moment but one day you’ll look back at this night cherishingly, you hope.

‘You’re right. I’m glad I came with you, Taehyung.’ It’s your turn to look at him. ‘I’ll get such an earful from Lotta when I get back but it’s all worth it. I can’t believe we got away with half of the things that we did!’

‘I know right?’ His arm feels particularly warm against you. It may be the alcohol working its magic but his voice sounds so deep and mellow tonight, like dark chocolate dissolving in your mouth. ‘The way they upgraded our room to a premium when we pretended to be a couple on our honeymoon.’

The memory is fuzzy but fond in your inebriated mind. ‘You’re welcome. I’m a master bullshitter.’

‘We even got that couple’s spa treatment and free wine and dine night.’

To be completely honest, it wasn’t difficult pretending to be loved up newly-weds. A lot of that affection you were displaying towards Taehyung wasn’t fake; he’s this perfect specimen of a man, gorgeous face, toned body, captivating personality, quirky humour - anyone’s dream boyfriend, really. You’ve tried to tone your attraction to him down, you can’t be lusting over your new roommate after all. Things would get too messy. But it was just for fun anyway, there’s no harm in a few pretend embraces and neck kisses to get those couple’s perks.

You’re just friends.

Though a part of you envies the nine girls he’s slept with this holiday, because you’ve seen the outline of his bulge in his swim trunks and Holy Shit… But as much as you like to fuck around, there’s a clear line that separates roommates and guys you bang. Those are two mutually exclusive groups of people in your life, the Venn Diagram does not intersect.

‘Hey, you wanna go for one last swim?’ You’re pulled from your thoughts by Taehyung’s suggestion.

It’s a bad idea, swimming this late at night, having downed a few bottles. But when has your inner conscience ever stopped you from doing what you want?

‘’Course.’ He is already removing his shirt as he stands, and you can all but ogle at the muscle of his moonlit back as you reply.

Following his action, you turn away from him and peel off your shorts that have stuck to your skin from sitting for so long. Are you perhaps trying to tempt him with the view of your bent over ass? Hmm, possibly… He does pay an awful lot of attention to your rear every time you wear these shorts... Carelessly flinging your top onto the rest of your things, you spy him staring at you in your periphery, hands stuffed into his shorts pockets. You adjust the pad of your bikini top, perhaps more dramatic than you needed to.

A smirk plays at your mouth. Why are you trying to get his attention?

Feet sinking into the soft sand, you pad after him towards the calm beckoning water. Your head is feeling hazy from the ciders, and when you spot the lazy smile he’s wearing, you know it’s hitting him too. Gazing up at the moon, you realise you feel blue. Not blue in a sad melancholic sense. But blue as in cool, relaxed, heart-at-peace blue; you’re going for one last night swim in the most beautiful country with your handsome new roommate, blue. A hint of romantic lyricism. Maybe.

‘I’m really gonna mis- Taehyung!’ You screech into the quiet night when he all of a sudden picks you up and carries you bridal-style into the sea.

And tosses you into the water.

Arms flailing midair, you’re catapulted into the waves like a pebble. The cold hits your curled spine first, harsh and shocking. Then it detonates within you, a volcano of ice numbing all your senses and aching your bones.

When you find your bearings and gasp up for air, you see him, ocean up to his knees, head whipped back in laughter, clutching his tensing core, eyes pinched into crescents as the most warming sound leaves his mouth.

‘You piece of shit!’ You lunge for him, but your limbs feel heavy in the water, restricting the power of your attack that he dodges so effortlessly.

But you don’t give up so easily. Tide washing you towards him, you launch yourself again, saltine droplets splattering all over his face. Resigning, Taehyung lets you drag him by the hand away from the shore, waddling clumsily against the stubborn current that’s determined to push you back to the beach.

‘Dick and balls, it’s freezing.’ He heaves.

‘Wuss. You’re not the one who got dunked.’ The chill is licking at your skin, seeping into your hair that splays out in floating silk tendrils. You’ve stopped walking on the sand now, instead spreading onto your front and allowing your swimming arms and paddling legs to move you.

Water up to his chest, you see the goosebumps rise on his blue-bronze unsullied skin, star-freckled sea reflecting wavering diamond silhouettes onto his chiseled front. Following the defined protrusion of his salient collarbones, then the sleek inward curve of his neck, your gaze arrives at his face. His strong brow never fails to strike you; tongue loitering out between his folded lips; brown tufts of salt-kissed, breeze-licked hair a mess but a masterpiece still. Eyes painted with a warm summer glimmer, sapphire and still, he observes you from where he stands.

The fluttering in your heart is now indistinguishable from your shivering due to the wet cold.

‘Come on, let’s swim out a bit further.’ He nods to the open ocean, refusing to spare you from his pinning stare.

Body heavy from the alcohol, the cold and simply your lethargism, you dive below the surface. With your water-blurred vision, you swim after his slow walking legs, bubbles you release tickling your face. You grapple onto his ankle, hear his muffled yelp and stifle a mischievous giggle.

Launching off the sand bed, you lurch up to the surface, inhaling sharply at your first breath of air. You push your hair back to see Taehyung regard you with a mystical expression.

‘It’s too deep here,’ you whine, ‘I can’t touch the floor.’ Not particularly athletic, treading water in order to stay afloat is wearing you down.

‘Hold on to me then, midget.’ He chuckles and holds out his hand which you quickly grab onto. With the stability he provides, you pull yourself up his arm like a buoy line and perch your elbow on his shoulder.

Which draws you unexpectedly close to his face. Nose mere inches from his chin. You smell his familiar honey musk.

Unfazed by your proximity, his arm circles behind you before landing one your waist, the warmth of his touch blooming like flowers on your skin. Why does his hand feel so nice on you? Why can’t you stop staring at him?

‘Better?’ Vibrations of his throat hum into your core.

‘Thanks.’ Your poise on his shoulder is sliding so you snake your arm around his neck, hoisting your body up against his. The contact snaps a cord inside you, sensation of him tingling everywhere you touch.

‘You’re such a little princess.’ He rolls his eyes theatrically in feign mockery, but his smirk betrays his mirth.

‘Shut up, you love it.’ This playful banter weighs heavy in your chest, constricting it, winding it. Because if it were anybody else, it would be flirting... Or maybe you are flirting with him right now. You’re not sure anymore.

A droplet of water is trickling along the edge of his jaw, your focus is transfixed at its smooth descent to his chin. Your bodies are bobbing with the calm waves, up, down, up, down. Then your eyes lock and-

Fuck.

You want him.

You really fucking want him.

Right now.

Right here.

Taehyung’s glare sears a mark in you, and it’s burning like the flames of hell all the way down to your sex. With the side of his finger, he doesn’t need to so much as touch you to tip your head up his way because that’s how willing you are. One tilt, that’s all it takes to kiss him right now. His fingers are sinking into your tender waist, and immediately you wonder how they must feel inside you.

‘I do love it.’ He slides his cheek against yours and traces the bridge of your nose with the tip of his.

And then.

You taste the sea on his lips, salt and cold. It feels like diving into the ocean, plunging into the deep blue and simply allowing your body to be swept away. His kiss is greedy, hungry, willing you to submit to him and follow his lead. And in your intoxicated state, you do so.

Legs wrapping around his torso in the water, his hands caress up your thighs to your ass, digging into your plump flesh with an ardour that releases a damp arousal from your slit. Your own fingers grope down his chest and toy with his hair, scratching and tugging. When he nibbles on your bottom lip and you know that you’re done for. You melt like putty in his control, meeting his tongue with a soft obedience you don’t normally exert.

‘Taehyung.’ You gasp into his mouth.

‘I’m all yours tonight, baby.’ is all he says before diving back into you. Those words sends the possessive animal in your mind wild with satisfaction. Because yes, he better fucking be all yours tonight.

Kissing Taehyung feels different. Perhaps it’s because of the build up of tension you have been harbouring these past few days. Or maybe it’s the thrill of knowing that you shouldn’t be doing this, the thrill of doing the forbidden. Or rather, it’s the way he wields his dominance over you so ferally and fervently, like he’s been waiting for as long as you have to do this.

Kissing Taehyung is teeth and tongue.

Kissing Taehyung is salt and the midnight breeze.

Kissing Taehyung is blue. The kind of blue you see only in the hottest of flames.

When you feel his stiff length poke underneath you, your cunt is set ablaze with desire. Desire to sink down onto him this instant and have him pound into you amidst the ocean until you both feel faint. Desire for him to break you in half with all his might, make your eyes water with from the pleasure he stabs into you.

Slowly he begins to walk you back to the shore, gripping your legs around his waist as you lock your arms around his neck. Lips never leaving each other longer than a second to breathe.

His ravenous mouth travels down to your breasts, and he doesn’t hesitate to devour them from your bathing suit, suckling angry red marks down your cleavage and around your nipples. Though clothed, the prominence of his cock burrows between your wide open entrance, rubbing against your bikini-clad clit and making you thrust your hips further into him.

Feverish from his touch, you don’t realise you’re on land until he gently falls onto his knees and carefully places you on the towels below him. Too drunk to even care if anyone else is on the beach, not that there was before you got in the water, you pull him by the neck onto you.

As he kisses a torching trail down your wet body, your mind is somewhere else, in a heaven that worships Taehyung. Hands kneading your exposed breasts, the wisp of his breath tingles down your navel, tying a knot in your core. With his teeth, he obscenely tugs loose the string that ties your bikini bottom together. The fabric falls loose lifelessly, revealing your soaking cunt, shimmering with want for him.

‘So wet.’ He muses as he kisses your pelvic bone, finger stroking up your slick to gather the liquid of your arousal. Then he prods his finger into your mouth, your tongue compliantly lapping up your own taste, salty from the sea. ‘Who made you this wet?’

‘You.’ You’re practically pleading as he sucks viciously at your inner thigh, so close to your weeping pussy.

‘I want you to call me daddy.’

You stiffen under him. Daddy. He wants you to call him daddy. Oh, but of course Taehyung has a daddy kink. It’s so ridiculously characteristic now that he has revealed it, that if you aren’t drunk, you would be rolling your eyes and laughing.

‘Fine, daddy.’ There’s an undertone of travesty to your reply. Whether he notices, he doesn’t show as he kisses closer and closer to your slit.

At the first contact of his lips to your clit, your hips buckle upwards and fingers fly to entangle his hair. Sucking harshly on your sensitive bud, all you’re capable of is squirming and writhing underneath him like a possessed body. The sensation of his mouth sucking on your succulence sends a shot of ecstasy down your quaking legs. Your head feels dizzy.

‘Fuck!’ You whine.

‘You like that, baby?’ When he looks up at you, wet smirk on his lips breathing hot air into your cunt, a coil winds in your stomach.

‘Yes, daddy.’ Your grip on his hair tightens.

Then he’s gorging you like a feast, tongue fluttering on your swollen bundle of nerves, your kryptonite, teeth scraping along your folds seductively. After several licks of your entrance, he pushes not one, but two digits into your cunt. They ease in, lubricated by your moist walls that welcome the pressure of his intrusion into you like the open sea. He draws wide circles inside you, and it feels like your innards are being stirred to perfection by a metal rod. In the meantime, his assault on your clit does not falter, rhythmically hitting his tongue against you, allowing the vibrations of his humming to penetrate your core.

Looking down, this is simply the most beautiful sight you’ve ever witnessed. Taehyung, eyes glimpsing up at you hungrily, face buried nose-deep in your pussy, hands gripping under your thighs that are rested on his shoulders, all the while the moon shines its ethereal glow onto you and the iridescent ocean in the background plays a symphony harmonious to your moans and his filthy slurps.

Suddenly, an explosion of pleasure arrives at your clit. ‘Oh, fuck yes!’ You screech, throat raw from the pure elation that washes over you. The throbbing in your cunt releases at his continuous friction, pulsating so wildly you think you will burst. His fingers pump out your high as he sucks one last time, long and hard, on your beating clit. ‘Ah… Oh my god… Taehyung…’

Finally he emerges from between your legs to breathe. You watch as your fluid dribble down his chin lewdly, your thumb swipes to catch the wetness.

‘How was that?’ Untangling his arms from your legs, he walks up on his elbows to meet your lips in a tender kiss.

‘Mind-blowing.’ You utter against his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head for dramatic effect. ‘Let’s continue back in our room.’ Quickly you do up your bikini, impatient for more.

Without needing another word, Taehyung sweeps you into his arms, gathers all your belongings and hastily carries you back to your hotel located just a minute away from the beach. Although, it takes much longer than a minute for you to arrive seeing as multiple detours are made along the way, fondling behind a tree, kissing in the elevator and missing your floor.

And when you’re finally in the confines of your room, he pins you to the closed door, not even bothering to switch on the lights, lips latched onto your magnetising neck. Your wrists trapped in his grip against the hard wood, you ache to touch him as his teeth find your earlobe. Nipping at your soft round flesh, a pleasant shock is sent down your spine at the twinge of pain.

‘Daddy…’ You sigh.

He pulls away to stare into your beseeching eyes. ‘What do you want daddy to do to you?’ His voice is a low grumble of dominance, digging its talons into your brain.

‘I want… I want you to fuck me until I cry.’ In the dark of the room, your attention flickers to the moonlit terrace outside. ‘Right on that balcony over there.’

Something in his obsidian eyes ignite at your suggestion. Zealous with lust, he brings you through the glass door that opens to the fresh night. ‘You want me to fuck you right here, baby? For everyone to see?’

Danger lurking one kiss away, you sense the precarious position his sanity is at. So you reach down and grab his hard member over his shorts, and tip his mind to a carnal frenzy.

‘Yes please, daddy.’ The name is the last straw for him. His breath hitches as you tug down his pants and allow his enormous cock to spring free.

Spinning you around roughly, he bends you over onto the rail of the balcony and strips off your swimsuit in one deft gesture. From here, you have an unobstructed view of the coast, lined by bustling bars and closing restaurants. The neighbouring terraces are a metre away, if anyone walks out now, they would horrifically witness Taehyung’s gargantuan length about to drill into you from behind.

Your heart is pounding in excitement of the risk as well as the anticipation of his cock. Not being able to see him, he can thrust into you any moment now, he must be revelling in such control he holds.

Then you feel it, his large round tip pressing against your entrance curiously. Your legs shake expectantly while fresh arousal leaks out of you, mixing with his precum he’s pressing into you. ‘Beg one more time for me.’

Taehyung and his motherfucking ego.

‘Please, daddy.’ Allowing the words to drag out on your tongue, you twist your neck to look at him with wide pleading eyes. He looks like a king, towering over you with this much assertion, relishing in the power he holds above you in this very moment.

‘Good girl.’

Hands holding your hips in place, he slams his tremendous member into your gaping cunt in one forceful plunge. You can’t help but cry out at the sheer stretch of your walls he’s spanning. Holy fuck, he’s so big he makes it feels like your first time.

All you feel at first is an incredible cinching of your core, the ache of him impaling his rigid shaft through the resisting pressure of your vagina. God, is he fucking massive. He seems to know it as well because he gives you a second to adjust to his size, palm scaling smoothly up the hill of your back to gather your hair in his hand like a rein. Then he is pummelling into you, hips slapping against your bottom, ringing such vulgar sounds in your ears. His cock, hard as if carved from marble, piercing through the pain and moulding a thing of sweet sweet pleasure inside you. You grip the rail so tight its edge gouges marks into your skin, your head hung low between your tense arms.

‘Fu-u-u-uckk-k-k-’ He fucks those syllables out of you one by one. At this angle, his cock is curving up the wrong way into you, jabbing at pockets that normally aren’t reached.

A part of your soul is no longer with you, propelled elsewhere by his ceaseless merciless attack on your cunt. Then comes the sting of his palm when he spanks a searing hot mark into your ass cheek. The sharp pain is refreshing alongside the dull ache behind the euphoric throb he is penetrating into you.

‘This fucking ass of yours, baby. Been driving me nuts in those shorts all week.’ Another slap echoes in your ears, and you welcome it by curving your back more to tip your tush higher for him.

‘Daddy, you fuck me so good.’ Playing along with this narrative he’s into, you egg him on further, stroking his ego as your walls are stroking his dick. Because, damn, he is fucking you so good. Pounding into you with such vigour and violence that your folds are beginning to sting.

You’ve reached a point now where you’re no longer intoxicated by alcohol, but more the addictive fumes of him.

Moans that fall from his lips tingle at your clit, which you start to play with to add to your stimulation. Another smack on your ass, this time so surprising that you scream out. ‘Yes, be loud for me. Let everyone hear how good I make you feel.’ He coaxes.

Taehyung begins to slow, which you know is a sign that he’s close but doesn’t want to blow his load yet. He bends over you, your hair still tied around his wrist, and nips at the shell of your ear. You’ve never known your ear to be such an erogenous zone, for when his tongue flickers at your inner shell, a shudder convulses through you. Leaving slobbery kisses down the curve of your shoulder, he slowly pulls out of you.

‘Finish on the bed?’ As Taehyung embraces you from behind, his strong arm comes under your cold lonely breasts that perk up at his attention, his dripping wet cock sitting between your red ass cheeks. The hum of his deep rasp on your neck sends your head lolling back onto his sweat-dotted chest.

‘Sure.’ What leaves you is a mere huff, you can’t even conjure your voice.

His lips seal yours as he walks you back into the room, leaving the glass door open for the night breeze to grace you. Amidst the savage sex, you treasure such a soft, delicate moment on your tongue, delighting in the way the tips of his fingers trace up your side. When his hand slithers up to your face, you melt into the warm flesh of his palm, mouth opening up for him to unfurl into.

Then the back of your knees hit the bed, and you know it’s about to begin again. Without breaking the union of your lips, you clamber onto the sheets with his frame hovering over you. Grappling on his neck, you drag Taehyung atop you as your head sinks down onto the plush of the pillow.

He sucks on your plump bottom lip one last time before pulling away. Fluid still profusely oozing out of the slit of his tip, telltale of his concupiscence, he perches between your legs. ‘How do you want it, baby?’ His tone endearing, yet eyes deadly dangerous.

Impatient for him to fill you to the brim again, you lift your both legs up for him to grab and place onto his shoulders. ‘Like this please, daddy.’

That’s all you have to say for him to grunt okay and push deep into you, knees digging into the mattress like lampposts. In this position, his cock reaches your cervix without hindrance, his swollen head slamming into your end every thrust he gives. It’s a different type of ache this time, more acutely targeted at the one sensitive spot inside you. As he continues you thrust into you, bollocks swinging at your ass, a build up of sensitivity gathers at your core.

You feel it approaching, that imminent contortion of your cunt, looming over you, on the brink of toppling your senses.

‘Keep going.’ You whimper, the filthy feeling of his prick hammering so fast into you enough to bring tears to your eyes. You try to keep them open, watch his tongue poke out in concentration as he watches your body quiver under his. But the intensity of his fucking is truly too overwhelming that a single droplet leaks out and flow down your temple.

‘I’m so close.’ Taehyung heaves, pecking the bone of your ankle. Something ruptures within him, his sanity, humanity, and suddenly with an even more arduous determination he drives into your walls like a crazed beast. Sole purpose now to reach the climax awaiting him, he spreads your legs open wide before him and rabidly plunges his twitching prick.

And for the second and third time this night, your orgasm hits you, one immediately followed by the other. ‘Taehyung, I’m-’ You’re a crying thrashing body beneath him, the ecstatic pleasure obliterating your mind into ruins as your cunt erupts. The string of profanities that leave you sound incoherent to your own hearing.

You won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, you’re sure of it.

Taehyung watches you break on his cock, walls tightening impossibly around him, until only a husk of your being remains.

‘Holy shit, I’m gonna come.’ Frantic with excitement, his hips move sloppily. ‘Where should I come?’

‘All over my face? In my mouth?’ Cupping your breast, you gaze up at him with salacious eyes.

‘Oh my fuck- Yes.’

Yanking himself out, a string of your own release threaded at his tip, he slides himself up the bed until his knees are on either side of your head. Pornographically he slaps his hot length on your cheek several times as you roll out your tongue for him. ‘You like that? You like my dick on your face?’

‘Hmmm.’ You engulf his seeping tip in your ready mouth while he jerks himself off with a teenage boy’s zest, his knuckles hitting at the underside of your chin.

Eager to coax his orgasm, you lick fervently at his sensitive head, right on the patch of skin around his slit that drives every man insane.

‘Oh fuck! Baby-’

Abruptly, he withdraws his cock from your mouth. Not after two strokes, he is shooting hot white spurts of his seed onto your face, your eyes shutting just in time to avoid being fired at. Some of his fluid lands in your mouth, brewing bitterly on your awaiting tongue. Eyes squeezed shut, his cock pulses involuntarily in his hand as he lurches his high to an end.

‘You look so fucking good with my cum all over your face.’ Taehyung stares at his piece of work, splattered across your cheeks, on your forehead, and unfortunately for you, in your hair. Feral demeanour dimming, he leans down and gently smears his ejaculation all over your skin before nudging it into your mouth.

Like his good little baby you are, you swallow it like it’s your milk.

‘Mm…’ Throat hoarse from all the moaning, you suck his taste off his thumb.

Exhaustion dawns over the both of you when the adrenaline drains from your blood. Ache straining between your thighs, you waddle over to the bathroom quickly before him cum dries into a crusty nightmare.

Your sex-ridden, hair-dishevelled, hickey-speckled reflection greets you in the mirror. Realisation of your actions sink into your heart along with the sour taste of guilt.

What the fuck have you done?

You just had the wildest sex with Taehyung, your new roommate.

Taehyung, your new roommate.

Taking a deep breath in and out, you try to form back the logic shattered by his brutal fucking. Why do you have to be the way that you are? Just why are you so incapable of controlling your nymphomania?

‘You okay?’ Taehyung’s bass booms from the bedroom, startling you from your turmoil.

You gave into your temptations. You fucked up.

But this isn’t unsalvageable, you two can recover from it. After all, it’s not like you have been lifelong best friends, you’ve only just met each other, still stepping into deeper stages of your friendship day by day. As long as you don’t let this happen again, stop seeing him in a sexual light, you two should be fine.

Yes, you’ll be fine.

Drying your washed face with a towel, your answer is muffled. ‘Yep, all good.’

When you roam back to the room, you see him sprawled out like a Greek God, still shirtless but now wearing sweatpants that outlines his bulge all too well, bed sheets bunched to the side to aerate his sweat-dampened body. His eyes crawl over your naked form with a thirst that has you willing to drop to your knees and suck him off again. Spoilt in the attention he’s doling you, you climb beside him perhaps too seductively than you should.

Stop. You shouldn’t.

Taehyung doesn’t waste a second to pull you into his chest and smother you with slow, passionate kisses. Such contradiction to his rough handling of you sheer minutes ago. His tongue feels heavier, nicer as it rolls along yours, maybe because you’re now sober, senses no longer dulled by alcohol.

It’s a difficulty to retract from his romantic poet of a mouth whose sole purpose is to entice you into its warm embrace. But you do. ‘Hey… We really shouldn’t have…’ You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence because you care too much for his feelings to hurt him.

But then the cool nonchalance in his pupils relieve you of your fear. ‘Yeah… Probably not the smartest move.’

His fingers toy fondly with your hair, twirling it like a velvet ribbon. Eyes wide with his boyish innocence, you wonder if this is the same person who was just slapping his dick on your cheek and made you call him daddy. This trip was meant to allow you to understand him better, yet you remain stuck, perhaps more than before, in his enigma.

And you wonder how his girlfriend could ever have sought after anyone else Taehyung is… Well he has just done that…

‘It doesn’t change anything, right? We’re still friends?’ You want to roll out of his clasp yet his arms feel so soft and smooth and perfect to fall asleep in.

‘Of course, Y/N’ From the earnesty in his tone, you know you can trust his word.

To resume your previous playful dynamic, you pinch his nose between your knuckles. ‘Then let go of me, friends don’t cuddle.’

‘Friends do cuddle.’ He frowns, shocked as if you’ve just slapped him across the face with a whole cabbage of kimchi.

‘Uh… No they don’t.’ Repulsed by such affection, you try to wiggle away but he locks his arms around your torso like a vice.

‘I don’t know what kind of friends you’ve had, but you’re stuck with me now and in Taehyung-land: Friends. Cuddle.’ Blowing raspberries on your ticklish neck, he lets you squirm like a fish in attempt to escape his coddling, chest rumbling into your back with laughter. Your squeals of help turn into giggles. Raspberries turn into kisses.

You freeze. ‘Oi, friends don’t kiss friends’ necks.’

‘Come on, we just had sex, let me just kiss you a bit more.’ Watching him pout so babily, your heart squeezes. Fuck. Why is your heart squeezing?

But you kiss his jutted lips, still. Savouring his taste that you know you won’t have the chance to delight in again. ‘Fine, but if you try to kiss me tomorrow, I’ll kick your nuts.’

Taehyung takes that as a green light to use you as a snuggle toy for the rest of the night, mouth gallivanting the ocean that is your skin.

.

07/09/18

© Copyright 2019

.

@shookpreme @taetaeobsessed @tangledsparkles @nonexistentfucks @evilkookie @nbiased95 @shimtatae @taehyungmakesmeoof @itscalledgayhoney @tahaing @deliciouslydisturbed365  @expensive-bangtan-girl @jwlmnbt @herakimkim @dnyad @kaepjjang365 @angelswrld @expensive-bangtan-girl @icyi-sky @gingerpeachtae @taexxxiiaa @spring2787 @monixreal

[let-me-write-shit]

Somebody To You: 23

Friendly reminder to please Like and/or Reblog. It helps more than you think! :)

Word Count: 2,662

Click Here For Previous Chapter & Other Completed Stories

PLEASE let me know what you think

-----------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Having to stand by and watch as the person Harry cared the most about was going through even more suffering, knowing there was most likely nothing he could do to remedy the problem, was pure hell. He could tell she was trying her best to put on a brave face and hold her head up, but that facade didn’t change the fact that he had to physically hold her up so she wouldn’t collapse while she was on the phone with her ex.

Normally, Harry was the jealous type. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he was working on it, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t care that the person he cared about was flying home to see her ex-boyfriend of several years. Who wouldn’t care? This was different, though. It was hard to put any kind of scrutiny on that when Zoey was so clearly on the verge of a breakdown. He didn’t have time to be jealous, he was too worried about making sure Zoey would be okay.

So, once Katie and Nancy were out of view, he listened. Without interruption he listened to Zoey’s conviction weaken and crumble as she explained Michael’s dad, Paul, and his battle with cancer. He listened as she described her relationship with her ex-boyfriend’s family, especially the man she referred to as ‘Pops’, and how close they had gotten during her time with Michael. He listened as she confessed feeling guilty for her lack of communication with them after her relationship with Michael had ended and how little time she had left with him, especially with her living in LA. 

Harry’s heart shattered, his mind bringing him back to when his own step-father lost his battle with cancer. He’s been there before. He knows how she feels. And having to go through that so soon after losing her best friend, he couldn’t even imagine how she must be feeling right now. And Michael. It was hard to hate him right now, too. Not only did he also lose a friend last year, but he’s also just been given the news that his father had three months to live. He couldn’t fault Michael for wanting Zoey’s company at a time like this given her history with his family. Even with her obvious torment, she still managed to avoid crying. Tears lined her eyes, but shockingly, never fell. She was strong as hell. No one could say otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” Zoey chuckled, sniffling and wiping the tears that threatened to spill, “I think I’m still in shock.”

“It’s okay,” Harry pulled her close to his chest, glancing around to make sure no one was in sight before placing a kiss on the top of her head, “You’ll take it one day at a time. I’m here for you. All of your friends are here for you,” he pulled away looking into her eyes, “We’ve got your back.”

Zoey nodded with a sheepish grin and took a deep breath, “I know. I guess I need to let my parents know that they can expect me.”

“I’ll call the airline and get your flight situated,” Harry offered, “but first, let's go eat our pizza.”

When the two finally joined their friends at the main house, Katie had clearly filled everyone in on what had transpired. The energy in the room was more standoffish, no one quite knowing how to act around Zoey. This was part of the reason why she never liked to open up to anyone about any tribulations because she hated the pity. Harry was one of the few that never treated her like fragile glass or a charity case.

He couldn’t fault her friends for this, though. At least they cared. So, to ease the tension, Zoey was the first to start poking fun at the turnout of their pizza’s. Nancy had somehow managed to make her pizza in the shape of an octopus, which looked quite tragic. The mood lightened and laughter ensued, Zoey, doing her best to push the doom and gloom aside to enjoy her last night in Italy. She could worry about the inevitable grief tomorrow. 

It wasn’t long before everyone was back to their goofy, crazy selves. Zoey, Andy, Rory, and Nancy had gotten tipsy off of the wine and kept feeding more alcohol to Katie, who was a very giggly drunk. Harry had gotten a little buzz going, but wouldn’t have too much to drink as he was their ride home, mostly chatting with the owner of the vineyard.

“I can’t believe I’m going home tomorrow, I don’t want to leave,” Katie settled from her laughing fit, “I wish I could see Gio one more time.”

“Why don’t you invite him over, then?” Andy suggested.

Nancy piped up, “We could all go swimming back at the house.”

Katie’s eyes lit up and she instantly took her phone out, tapping away on the screen. Zoey laughed, shaking her head, the room slowly spinning and a warmth engulfing her body. She wasn’t buzzed anymore, she was drunk. And she knew this was a tell-tale sign for her to stop drinking.

Nancy sat up front with Harry on the way back to the house, controlling the music while Zoey and Katie leaned on each other for support in the back, the glow from Katie’s phone illuminating the car as she texted Giovanni. By the time they had gotten back, Zoey was back to her slight buzz, feeling light and carefree. Everyone had changed into their bathing suits and met outback. She looked over at Harry who was sitting on a lounge chair beside Andy, the two of them talking with a lot of hand gestures. She concentrated on Harry’s fingers, remembering the feeling of them inside of her the night before while her friends were out here talking. She grinned to herself, walking over to the rest of the group who were all in the pool already, floating around.

Zoey sat at the edge of the pool, letting her legs dangle in the water, “Thanks for all of this, guys,” she said to them, smiling, “This had been the best week of my life.”

Nancy swam up, holding onto Zoey’s legs, “You deserve it. You’re a good friend. And roommate. We love you. Besides, you clean up after yourself and aren’t an absolute psychopath, so we appreciate it.”

The girl's laughter caught Harry’s attention and he turned just in time to see Zoey slipping into the pool. He watched, a grin forming, as the girls giggled, splashed, and aggressively hugged each other. Something about the sound of women laughing with genuine cheeriness brought him the greatest joy. It was up there along with a great piano tune, the sound of giggling babies, and the soft chirps of birds in the early morning hours. And to see Zoey immersing herself in the moment instead of wallowing in the house brought forth a pride in her that he hadn’t quite expected. 

Andy cleared his throat, snapping Harry’s attention back to him only to see Andy’s eyes bounce from him to the girls, and back to him with a smirk, “They’re pretty cute, huh? Zoey seems to be having a lot of fun.”

It was just a question, but it sounded more accusatory than anything. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, searching Andy’s face. Did he know? He couldn’t have, right? Zoey wouldn’t have said anything. And he thought they were doing a good job at keeping it discreet. He shook it off and nodded, “Yeah, good. I’m glad.”

“He’s here!” Katie’s shriek echoed as she pulled herself out of the pool, wrapping a towel around herself as she darted towards the door.

  Everyone laughed, amused by her eagerness to see the young Italian boy. His attention lingered on Zoey’s as the caught eyes, hers sparkling from the reflection of the moonlight against the water. She smiled at him, her expression softening and he could swear he felt his body melting into a puddle on the ground. 

Deeper voices were heard behind him and he turned his attention to see Katie prancing back out, accompanied by not only Giovanni but his older brother, Marco. His eyes widened and his stomach twisted in knots at the sight of him, his mind instantly flashing back to the night he and Zoey had gone on a date together, imagining how they ended their night, his lip on hers. He felt the heat rise in him, frustrated and jealous. His attention darted back to Zoey. From the looks of it, she was just as surprised to see Marco as Harry was, which comforted him a bit, but not enough. 

Everyone else seemed to be pleasantly surprised to see him, shouting his name and beckoning the two to join them in the pool. It didn’t take much convincing. Within seconds the brothers had stripped out of their clothes and dove into the pool, splashing around with the girls. Andy, following after. 

Harry was the only one not swimming, and Zoey noticed. She swam to the edge, arms resting on the side as she stared at him. There it was, again. The spark that allowed him to read her mind. He knew what that look meant. She was telling him to stop being a baby and get in the water. 

“Come on,” she mouthed, quietly waving him over. 

He smiled, rolling his eyes before giving in. With a running start, he bound towards the pool, jumping over her head and bringing his legs to his chest, colliding with the water in a cannonball that earned screams and cheers from the group. Harry swam towards Zoey before she got the chance to rejoin everyone, wiping the water from his eyes and shaking his hair. He could barely reach the floor of the pool on his tippy toes, though she had to paddle to keep afloat. 

“I better not see any flirting,” he warned, seductively. His tone was lighthearted, but she could sense the seriousness behind it.

She smirked, raising an eyebrow, “With you, or with Marco?”

Zoey winked, turning to start swimming away, but he grabbed her waist, pulling her back to him and whispering in her ear, “Careful. There’s a minimal amount of fabric between you and that beautiful cunt of yours. Don’t forget, I know where your sweet spot is and how to be discreet.”

He made sure that no one was looking before quickly sucking the nape of her neck with a hard kiss and lightly pushing her forward towards the rest of their friends. Her heart raced, tingling at the pit of her stomach, so turned on that she became flustered when Nancy tried to include him in their conversation. Harry shot her a quick wink at the sight. 

She did her best to make her intentions obvious with Marco, having a friendly conversation, but keeping a certain amount of distance between them so that there was no misunderstanding, and partially because she wanted to show Harry that her feelings lay with him, and no one else. She hoped he understood. But she worried that he didn’t.

She noticed that he would tense up and become nervous whenever she touched him in a way that could be misconstrued. Even though it was something they did before the got entangled in this web of sex and attraction, he would worry that his friends could see right through them and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to have that discussion with his friends right now. He was still coming to terms with the fact that he might lose his best friend if this all ended badly, along with grappling at the fact that the girl he cared for would be going back home tomorrow to spend time with her ex-boyfriend whom she still professed love for. 

He had to admit, though, he appreciated the way she handled the boundaries with Marco, never making Harry feel uncomfortable or uncertain. The night carried on for a while, everyone having dried off and gone inside for a movie which mostly everyone fell asleep during. Including himself. It was unexpected, and a part of him was angry that he didn’t spend the last night at least cuddling with Zoey in the privacy of one of their bedrooms. Instead, Zoey fell asleep, curled into a ball in between Rory and Andy who all shared a blanket. 

The Italian boys had apparently left at some point in the night, and when the phone alarms sounded, the sun wasn’t even up yet. They had barely gotten four hours of sleep, but their flight was super early in the morning and they needed to take showers and do one more once-over of the house to make sure they had everything packed and ready to go.

Even though his flight wasn’t for a few hours after theirs, he still decided to take them to the airport. Zoey had printed off her new boarding passes and, with the help of Harry, they bustled through baggage check-in and security. However, both gates were at different ends of the airport. With the guise that he promised the sisters’ parents that he would make sure they were okay after boarding the plane, he said goodbye to Nancy, Rory, and Andy and led Katie and Zoey towards their gate, waving at fans as he passed them and taking them to the closest VIP lounge to get more privacy. 

There were a few others in the lounge area, including two girls and a boy about his age that he noticed kept occasionally looking over, so Harry made sure to keep a reasonable amount of distance between him and Zoey, listening to the girls talk about how much fun they had this week and their dreams for future vacations, Harry inputting his two cents on the conversation. But the conversation was doing little to distract him as he overheard the broadcast announcing their call for boarding shortly. 

He frowned, seeing the two sisters gather their carry-on items, unable to hide his displeasure. Saying goodbye to Zoey got harder and harder each time they separated. And the not knowing when he would see her again made it even worse. Sure, he had a lot to do, but he wanted nothing more than to spend a few more days with her, afraid that once she got on that plane all of this would be over. Would she want anything to do with him when she got home? And a part of him, a small part, was scared that she’d see her ex and realize she was still in love with him. Trauma tended to bring people closer together, and as selfish as it sounded, he worried.

“Thanks, Harry! You’re the best!” Katie grinned, leaping into his arms and hugging him.

He laughed, squeezing her tighter and rustling her hair. He had really grown to like Katie and thought of her as a little sister, “Glad you could come. Tell your parents I said thank you for trusting me.”

“Will do,” she pulled away.

His attention turned to Zoey and they looked at each other, glumness embedded in their gaze before they both wrapped their arms around each other. He pulled her in close, taking a deep breath of her sweet and warm scent, feeling the warmth of her body on his. He felt an emptiness form in his chest, sadness beginning to take over. He didn’t want to let her go. He had half a mind to go with her, but he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t care who was looking at that point, he kissed her cheek, lingering for longer than what was typical. It could easily have been reasoned as a friendly kiss goodbye. But they both knew it was more. 

“Good luck,” he whispered as he finally pulled away, “Let me know when you land and give my condolences to Michael and Paul.”

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes, “I will.”

KEEP READING

---------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist for Somebody To You:

@thurhomish , @stilljosiegrossie​ , @odetostep , @apples2019 , @stylesmioamore , @inyourhaven​

[ambrosesage]

xalessarowan​:

She heard someone coming even before the door was opened again. Perhaps it was the fact that she was jus now being allowed to hear after Gods know how long, or maybe it was the fight or flight instinct making her hyper aware of her surroundings. Whatever it was, she made sure to stay just as she had been left. It was the third instinct of survival, after all, freezing. When someone did come into the room, though, all the hairs in her body stood in anticipation. She supposed sha had been drugged for the past days, if her foggy mind was anything to go by, but now her body was finally reacting.

When rough fingers made contact with her she couldn’t help but squirm away a little. A surprised yelp made it’s way through the gag in her mouth when the open palm impacted on her ass. It was weird, how the pain felt somehow even good on her already sore muscles, was she in a different situation Alessa might have actually enjoyed it. Still, she bit down on her gag from the pain and squeezed her eyes as she felt a tear prickling to come out. How had she even landed herself in this situation? And, more importantly, how in the element’s sake was she going to get through it?

The fear billowing off of the girl in front of him was palpable, and Ambrose could taste it on his tongue like the finest wine. Sirens were very in tune with others emotions, much like succubus. He could tell that the witch was trying to figure out how to manage herself, how to survive. After his own brainwashing, he was well aware of how this place worked, so he knew what she had been through. She was human, underneath all of that brewing magic. Those categorized as slaves that were anywhere near human had it the worst here, because of how weak their bodies, minds, and spirits were. They weren’t as desensitived to it as supernatural creatures that had to prey on others to survive might be. He could tell she was still in there though, by the sound she made when he smacked her ass. Leaning in close, he licked a line up her spine from the crack of her ass up to her neck where he parted his lips to pepper bites across her neck and shoulder. He bit hard, but not hard enough to break skin. This one tasted innocent, and his body hummed as he took in the combination of fear and innocence, spiced with magic. Seeing the tears glistening at the edges of the woman’s eyes, he leaned in and licked it with a slow grin.

“Little dolly,” he spoke finally, his voice soft, serene, enchanting, calming, and mesmerizing. It was like the heavens opened up and an angel was speaking, in harmony with himself, almost sounding like multiple people. This was a voice that could lure a sailor to crash into cliffs at the edge of sea. As he spoke, he walked towards the wall where an array of toys and instruments were lined up and organized. He picked up a heart-shaped paddle and kissed it, his lips instantly flicking up into a wicked smirk that betrayed his intentions before he brought it firmly down on her ass again. And again. Then a third time, hard enough to leave a lasting mark. “Since you liked it so much.” This was about control though. Anyone could smack someone that was already bound down, he was going to make her wonder if she liked it too. His fingers slid up her thigh on one leg, stopping only once they were resting between her wet lips, fingertips bumping against what had to be an already sensitive and overstimulated clit.

[rtzyy]

Ma Long completed the Grand Slam in 2016 Rio Olympics Men’s Table Tennis Singles as he defeated Zhang Jike (4 - 0)

Ma Long wined the Gold Medal in the Men’s Table Tennis Singles in the 2016 Rio Olympics. 

What is Table Tennis?

Table tennis is also known as ping-pong and whiff-serving. The game is played on a hard table with a net in place. With a few exceptions, the rules being followed are: Players are expected to allow a ball to bounce on their side of the table before they return it, and for it to bounce on the opposite side. Returning the ball outside the rules constitutes a point for the other team. Pl ay is fast, requiring quick reactions By pivoting, the pitcher changes the flight of the ball and limits the opponent's options, giving the batter a tremendous advantage.

Rules After the 2000 Summer Olympic Games in Sydney, the ITTF set some rule changes to increase the popularity of table tennis as a televised event. In the above case, the first generation of 38-millimeter (1.50 inch) balls were officially replaced in October of 2000. this changed the ball's air resistance, making the game play less quick. Television became slow by the time players had upped the thickness of the fast layer on their paddles. to a 16-point structure (and the serve rotation was reduced to two points), effective in September 2001 By raising the speed of the games, this was meant to make them more fun and stimulating. Additionally, in 2002, the ITTF modified the rules to minimize the service's benefit, and raise rallies to standardize service. To have time to react, the ball must be lifted a minimum of 16 centimeters (6.3 inches) above your opponent's head. In compliance with the ITTF rule, all matches after July 2014 are played with a new poly material ball.

Equipment

Ball

As stated in the rules, the ball is spherical with a mass of 2.7 grams (0.09 oz) and a diameter of 40 millimeters (1.57 in). There are rules stating that the ball can rebound with a distance of 10 cm (4 in) when falling from a height of 12 cm (4.8 in) onto a regular steel. In 2016, balls are made of polymers, instead of celluloid, which are finished with a matte finish. The color of the ball is selected according to the surroundings. Similarly, a white objects stand out better on a green or blue surfaces. Manufacturers commonly use a star rating system to describe the consistency of the ball, with one being the highest rating. The only way a ball can be used in competition by the ITF (International Table Tennis Federation) is with ITTF (International Table Tennis)approval (the ITTF approval can be seen printed on the ball). At the conclusion of the 2000 Olympics, the 40 mm ball was adopted as the standard size for Olympic games. Some scandals were spawned by this. But world No. 1 Vladimir Samsonov threatened to withdraw from the World Cup, which was set to use the new regulation ball on October 12th.

Table

The table is 2.74 m long, 1.525 m wide, and 76 cm high with any continuous material; however, if you drop a normal ball from a height of 30 cm, it will bounce around 23% of its full length, 77% of its original width will be left undiminished. There is a border that runs along the length of the table or surface at 15.25cm (6in). Only wood and wood-based tables are permitted for use in tournament play. Foamilies with a steel or stone partitions are often seen in public spaces, such as parks. Racket

When choosing a handle, players are fitted with a racket with a laminated rubber surface on one or two sides. "Racket"Battering" is the preferred name for the ITTF's ball form in Britain, whereas "bat" is more popular in North America and "paddle" in Canada. Most wood rackets have anywhere between one and seven layers of wood, while fiberglass, carbon fiber, and aluminum fiber may be used as well. 85% of the shaft's thickness must be made up of natural wood. Common wood types include balsa, as well as limba and cypress, which is especially popular in Japan. The typical blade size is about 17 centimeters (6.7 inches) long and (5.9 inches) although the rules only concentrate on the flatness and rigidity of the blade, but other acceptable blade measurements include about a length of 15 cm (5.9 inches) and width of about 7 cm (3.75 inches). Different types of table tennis surfaces are permitted on either side of the racket. Different types of surfaces have different degrees of spin, and often nullify it entirely. An example is a racket may have a rubber that produces much spin on one side, while lacking on the other. There are numerous returns which can be generated by flipping the racket in play. For the opposing team strategy to work, one side must be red and the other must be black in order. the competitor has the right to test their racket before the match to see what kind of rubber it is being used. When playing at high pace, a player can easily distinguish the side of the racket was used to strike the ball For the most competitions, current rules say that you can exchange the racket only if it has been damaged during play.