#sub!harry styles x reader

[freedomfireflies]

Punished*

Summary: The one where you've been a brat to your dominant, Harry, and he's finally had enough.

Word Count: 5k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, degradation, spanking, voyerism, daddy kink, sir kink, age gap (6 years but not explicitly mentioned), exhibitionsim if you squint

Right about now, somewhere across town, Professor Styles is pulling your panties out of his pocket.

If you’re correct, he’ll be standing in the lecture hall, giving his opening remarks for his Applied Mathematics class, and reaching for his favorite pen. He’ll dip into his pocket, feel the silky fabric against his fingertips, and he’ll know.

And you will be royally and magnificently fucked.

Because around the time he realizes just what it is that you’ve snuck into his jacket, he’ll also realize that it means you are somewhere across town not wearing any underwear at all.

And he’ll be fucking furious.

But that’s why you did it. It’s what he deserved. After spending all evening torturing you, teasing you, edging you, and taunting you…he left you. Gave you exactly 0 orgasms by the time you went to bed, claiming you didn’t deserve any after being such a brat all day.

In your defense, you weren’t a brat. No, you didn’t exactly do the few things he’d asked of you. And no, you didn’t communicate with him that you were struggling with your essay and feeling stressed and overwhelmed. But you figured an orgasm would help fix a lot of that. Instead, he left you with none.

You felt rather proud of yourself as you subtly and effortlessly dropped your panties into the pocket while you kissed him goodbye. Knowing he’d be pissed and that he’d punish you for it. You secretly hoped he’d pull them out in front of the whole class. Or in front of the other faculty.

Either way, you knew the text was coming. And when your phone pings as you’re leaving your own class, you can’t help but smile. 

You’re in big fucking trouble, little one.

You bite your lip with glee as you head across campus. You don’t answer his message and you certainly don’t apologize. After all, the day is far from through. 

Around four, you return to his apartment. His office hours aren’t over until five and then he has a faculty meeting which will keep him out until seven. It’s hard some days to be away from him for so long. You miss him. It’s even worse that he doesn’t work at the same university you attend, so there’s not even the slightest chance that you’ll catch a glimpse of him during the day. 

It bothers you more than you’d like to admit. And maybe that’s why you like to challenge him. Because at least if he’s upset and punishing you, he’s paying attention. You don’t want to settle into a routine where he comes home, gives you a quick fuck and a kiss, and falls asleep. 

Or even worse…ends the agreement altogether.

You want to know you’re interesting enough to keep around. That you make this relationship worth it for him. He wants to be dominant. And you want to be his submissive. And even if that means getting spanked and edged from time to time…that’s okay.

So, once you get back to his place, you make a plan. He isn’t too upset yet. He needs a push. A gentle nudge.

And you know exactly how to nudge him.

You find his portable security camera, the one he only sets up when he’s out of town and away from the apartment. You bring it into the bedroom and then you turn it on. You know it’ll send him a notification that it’s active and that it’s sensed movement. From there, he’ll be able to open the app on his phone and see everything the camera does.

Which will be you.

On the bed.

Naked.

And touching yourself.

Breaking his favorite rule.

He won’t be able to do anything about it, either. Between office hours and faculty meetings, he won’t have time to send you a chastising text. He won’t have time to warn you or threaten you. 

But he will be able to watch. You know he will. Even if he has to pull it up behind a notebook, his eyes will be glued to the screen and the thought alone makes you giddy.

You set the camera on the dresser, giving him the perfect view of where you plan to sit against the headboard. You strip off your shirt and skirt, but there’s no need to discard of your underwear—he already knows where it is. 

You crawl onto the mattress, and you settle yourself into the collection of pillows. You find your favorite dildo and you spread your legs and you look directly into the lens. 

Then, you smile.

You start slow, first by rubbing your clit, and settling into the sensation. Praying that Harry is somewhere watching right now. Then you start to tease yourself. One finger…then two. Slowly thrusting them into your cunt until you can add a third. The sounds are wet and delicious, and you moan his name even though he can’t hear you.

When you finally work yourself up to the dildo, you’re shaking. It doesn’t take long for you to cum—twice. Making a mess on his bed and on your thighs that you don’t exactly plan to clean up just yet. And after a quick break…you go back for round three before finally tapping out.

And once you’re through and feeling rather victorious, you wait.

However, waiting proves rather difficult once eight o’clock hits and he’s still not home. Then eight becomes nine and you don’t even have so much as a text. 

And you realize not much later that he’s turned the tables.

Not only does he have the upper hand, but he’s using that hand to squeeze you out. To make you sit and sweat and bite the ends of your fingernails. He wants you to realize that he’s won. Even after everything you did today, he’s still won and he’s going to continue winning and you are undoubtedly fucked.

So, when the door finally opens about fifteen minutes later, your heart drops to your ass.

He strides in rather calmly. He tosses his keys into the bowl by the hallway. He slips off his large coat. He loosens his tie. And then he heads to the bar for a bottle of scotch.

He pours himself a drink and he doesn’t look at you as you sit on the sofa and wait anxiously for his reaction. He doesn’t offer you a hello. He doesn’t glare or even smirk. He keeps his back to you, and he takes two very deliberate sips.

Finally…he turns around.

He leans against the counter and begins to roll his sleeves up to his arms. Then, he crosses them over his chest, and in a gentle murmur says, “Hi.”

Desperate to please and to move the scene along, you scoot to the edge of the couch and place your hands in your lap. “Hi, Sir.”

He hums. Soft. Amused. “Sir, hm?”

You nod. “Yes. You are Sir, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he echoes. “But you certainly didn’t treat me like one today, did you?”

You resist the urge to smile. “What do you mean, Sir?”

He pushes off the bar and takes one step closer. Then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls your panties free, dangling them from his finger. “Why were these left in my coat today, little one?”

“Oh…were they?” You bat your lashes. “Oops. I guess I forgot where I put them.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He takes another step. “And does that mean you were in class all day without any?”

You shyly glance toward your lap. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“…yes, Sir.”

“I see.” He puts them back in his pocket. “So, like a little fucking whore, you paraded around campus in nothing but a short skirt with no goddamn panties just to piss me off?"

"...yes, Sir."

"Did you touch yourself during class?"

You blink up at him. "I thought about it. But I waited until I was in my car during lunch."

His expression grows harder. "So you touched yourself twice today. Without asking my permission for either one."

"That's right, Sir."

"And you wanted me to find your panties while I was teaching, then, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“To mock me.”

“No, Sir.”

“No?”

You shift and offer him your best pout. “I only wanted your attention, Daddy.”

“You have it.” He nods his chin at you. “But that’s not all you wanted, is it?”

You clear your throat. “What do you mean, Professor?”

He reaches now into his other pocket, pulling out his phone and hitting a few buttons before flipping the screen toward you.

And there you are. On the bed. Writhing, moaning. Coming.

Harry looks at you. “You went through quite a bit of trouble to make sure I’d see this, didn’t you?”

You bite your lip.

“In fact, not only did you want me to see you disobeying my rule, you wanted to rub it in my face. Wanted me to get caught watching you in front of all my colleagues and students.” He clicks the phone off. “Isn’t that right?”

He wants your honesty and even though you’re tempted not to give it to him…you need to see him upset.

You straighten up and look him dead in the eye. “That’s right, Sir.”

He leans back and studies you. He’s fighting a smirk now, but that mischievous green gives everything away. “Because you wanted my attention.”

“Yes.”

“And this is how you thought you’d get it.”

“Yes.”

“And how is that working for you so far, little one?”

“Pretty well, actually. You’re here, and you’re pissed, so…”

He leans closer. So suddenly, in fact, that it makes a breath catch in your throat and your eyes pop open.

He rests his hands on his knees and stares right through you. “Fine,” he agrees in an almost devious purr. “If you want me to punish you, darling, I will. In fact, I’d like nothing more than to bend you over my knee right now and feel your skin grow hot from my hand.”

You swallow.

“And then, once you’re fucking soaking my trousers, I’ll sit you down and return your generous favor.” He smiles. “And you…will thank me for every single spank and every single orgasm. The only words I will hear out of this mouth are, ‘Yes, Sir,’ ‘No, Sir,’ and ‘Thank you, Sir.’ Is that understood?”

You nod sheepishly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He straightens up. “You know what to say if you want to stop, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me.”

“Yellow or red.”

“Good. And what’s our safe word if you’d like to pause the dominant, submissive relationship and just be us?”

“Sunflower.”

“Good girl.” He reaches for your chin, pinching your cheeks tight between his fingers before forcing your head up. “What’s your color right now?”

“Green, Sir.”

“And you understand that my punishment is not a reward for this behavior?” He grips you a touch harder. “Just because I’m giving you what you want doesn’t mean I approve of the means in which you got it?”

Your lashes flutter as you nod in his hold. “I understand…Sir.”

“But you’re not the least bit sorry…are you?”

Slowly, you shake your head.

He smiles to himself before dipping down once again until his lips are only inches from yours. “I plan to change that.”

Your stomach flips.

With that, he releases you, and nods toward the bedroom. “Go. Wait on the bed. I’ll be in when I feel like it.”

You don’t waste another second. You run toward the bed and you sit on the edge and you wait like a good girl. You obey him because you know how badly you want what comes next.

He takes his time. He has another drink. Slips off his shoes. Maybe even answers a few texts. Then, after he’s finished teasing you, he strolls into the bedroom.

He says nothing as he takes a seat beside you on the mattress. He hardly even looks at you. His expression is stoic—unrelenting. The way it always is when he’s slipping further into the punishing dominant role. 

“Come,” he says, and pats his thigh. 

You do. You crawl over his lap and lay your stomach over his knees, bare ass eager and waiting. 

He squeezes your hip. “Are you ready, little one?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He smooths his palm over the curve of your left cheek before there’s a sharp smack to the right. 

You jolt, sucking in a quiet gasp. “Thank you, Sir.”

You hear him hum appreciatively. He does it again to the other side this time. Hard. Firm. 

“Thank you, Sir.”

Again and again. Sometimes on the same side, sometimes in a specific pattern. He goes until you’re nearly numb and tears are pooling in your eyes. The same way arousal is pooling between your legs. Exactly the way he wanted.

Because it’s not the pain that does it for you. It’s his pain. It’s the knowledge that he trusts you enough to do this. And you trust him enough to let him.

He wants to take the time to punish you and make you a better submissive. And even though you annoy him and challenge him, he wants to keep you around. He isn’t going to lose interest.

But most importantly, he enjoys it just as much as you do.

By the fifteenth spank—with a few moments of rest in-between—you’re raw and undoubtedly very warm. Despite his slight anger, he makes sure to caress your skin and show it a bit of care along with the abuse. He listens closely for your safe word, and he only continues once you’ve thanked him. A sign that you’re coherent and still present in the scene.

After a couple more, he stops. “Tell me again why I’m doing this. Let me know that you understand.”

Through a few sniffles, you manage to answer, “Because…I disobeyed your rule.”

“And?”

“…and I disobeyed you.”

“And?”

“I went to class without any panties.”

“Mm.” He seems to huff to himself. “What else?”

“I could have embarrassed you in front of your students and colleagues.”

“And?”

“…and I’m not sorry about any of it.” You glance over your shoulder. “I’m a bad submissive.”

“You are,” he agrees. “Quite possibly the worst. My sweet angel became my little devil overnight all because she’s an attention whore who needs Daddy to constantly put her in her place.”

He reaches for your jaw again and forces your attention on him.

“Is that what you are, darling? A greedy little slut who throws a tantrum anytime her dominant stays out late? You have to disrupt my life, my work, and my students because you’re so cock-dumb and desperate?”

Your heart is racing. The degrading comments make your insides wrench in the best way as you squeeze your thighs together. “…yes, Sir.”

“I provide for you,” he continues, pinching your cheeks with a rather unrelenting grip. “I care for you. I work hard to make money just so I can spend it on you. And what do I get in return? A disobedient little fuck-toy that can’t follow a single goddamn rule. All because she couldn’t tell me she missed me.”

He pulls you up until you’re sitting and your ass begins to throb in pain as you’re forced over the rough fabric of his trousers.

“Tell me you missed me,” he demands sharply. “Be a good girl for once and tell me what you really need.”

“You,” you breathe. “I need you, Professor. I missed you. I wanted you around.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that sooner, huh?” He wraps his fingers around the back of your neck. “Why did you play games with me?”

You pout. “Because I like playing with you.”

He scoffs. “You’re a brat. You’re a fucking brat and you need to be broken.”

With that, you’re nearly shoved off his lap as he moves to one of the dressers to search for something.

Handcuffs.

You already know what comes next and even though you know you won’t like it…you can’t help but feel just a little excited.

“Move to the headboard,” he says. “Hands on the bars.”

You scoot into position, wrists firm against the poles as he tightens the cuffs and makes sure they’re nice and snug. 

In this position, he can do anything he wants. He can fuck you, he can taste you, he can have both holes at once. And you can’t do anything but let him. 

Once you’re where he wants you, he gets off of the bed, and begins to unbutton his fancy shirt.

You enjoy the show. In fact, you practically drool as you watch those long, nimble fingers pop each button on the way down. The way the fabric slides against his tan, tattooed skin before dropping down his arms and onto the floor. The way he tugs on his belt before undoing his pants and letting those go as well.

And there he is. Clad in nothing more than his briefs, that beautiful, gorgeous body on display. He puts in quite a bit of time to keep up his appearance and stamina. If he’s not teaching and he’s not with you, he’s at the gym. He runs, he does yoga, he plays basketball. He’s a very fit man and you honestly can’t believe how lucky you are to reap the rewards of his hard work.

Your lips part, ready to call for him. Your eyes feel heavy with lust and your legs are practically trembling. You part them in anticipation as he drops his briefs and puts a firm hand around his cock.

He strokes himself a few times before he grabs his phone. You stare like you’re in heat and maybe you are because fuck, the way his tip is so red and swollen and absolutely delicious. And his hand, his glorious hand. Nothing has ever looked so good. The way he squeezes and pumps. The way his thighs flex as he walks back toward the lounge chair in the corner of the room to sit. The way the tattoos move with every thrust.

You blink. “Wait…what are you doing?”

His eyes snap to yours. “Did I say you could speak?”

“…no, but—”

“Excuse me?”

You exhale sharply. “No, Sir.”

“No.” He leans back, one hand still around his cock while the other rotates his phone until he can watch the screen clearly. “What I am doing is returning your favor.”

Your brows furrow.

“See…you wanted to touch yourself. Without me,” he explains almost smugly. “You wanted to torture me. When I couldn’t do anything about it. When I couldn’t touch you or feel you or taste you. So, I’m following your lead. I’m letting you watch. I’m letting you see everything that you’re missing.”

And you realize then. You understand. You understand and you fucking hate it because this is so much worse than what you were imagining.

“Harry…Harry, wait—”

He clicks his tongue and shoots you a startling look of waning. “What did I say?”

You whimper. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I made a mistake. I was just…I missed you and I—”

“I don’t care,” he says before he hits a button on his phone and the speakers come alive with the sound of your voice. “You get to watch me while I get to watch you. And it’s a shame. Because now I have to waste it on myself instead of filling that sweet pussy the way you love.”

You whine again but it’s lost beneath the sounds of your pants coming from his phone. He doesn’t look at the real you. He looks at the disobedient version on the screen. The one with spread legs and a rather pornographic moan that almost embarrasses you.

He fists himself in the kind of way that makes every glorious muscle in his arm flex and tighten. It’s cruel how he makes you wait here, calling his name. Unable to do for him what he’s doing for himself.

“Look at you,” he exhales, lashes fluttering as he stares at your performance. “Stretching your little cunt with your fingers. Bet it felt good, didn’t it?”

“Yes…yes, Sir—”

“Did you think of me, little devil? Did you think of my fingers when you were fucking your little pussy. Did you pretend they were mine?”

You nod so fast, your head aches. “Yes, Sir.”

“I bet.” He squeezes the tip and hisses before moving back down. His chest is heaving, skin practically glowing beneath the lamp beside him. He’s beautiful like this. Jaw clenched and thighs spread. “I imagined your voice when I was in my meeting, watching. Didn’t have the sound on…but I knew. I know your sounds. Play them in my head on a loop.”

You yank on the cuffs and you don’t care that they’re cutting into your wrists. What he’s doing hurts so much more.

“And that fucking dildo,” he continues. He groans softly and his hips lift. “Yet another toy you aren’t meant to use without me. But there you are. Taking it so well. All the way, hm? Like it’s nothing.”

You need him to look at you. He’s so close and you just…you need him to put his eyes on your body and see the way you’re dying without him. It’s warm in his light and you think you might disappear if he doesn’t look at you just once before he finishes. 

“It’s such a shame,” he murmurs. “Such a shame that you’d rather have silicone than my cock.”

You sniffle. “Daddy, no—”

“And if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. For the next week, if I decide you get to cum, I’ll use the toy. And then I’ll let you watch as I finish myself off alone.” Finally, he looks up, and you want to wilt. “Or maybe I’ll use a toy, too. Maybe the fleshlight we got.”

Tears dance down your cheeks. You wish he was inside of you right now. Fucking you, stretching you. Pressing down on the bulge in your belly so you can really feel him. His hand is nothing compared to your pussy and you both know it.

“Professor, please—”

“Uh-uh,” he tuts. “No. You don’t get to cry. You don’t get to beg or feel sorry. You asked for this. You wanted to hurt me. To be punished and be noticed. So, I’m noticing you, darling. And what I’ve noticed is that I’ve been far too lenient with you.”

You squeeze your thighs in an attempt for relief, but it does nothing and he knows it.

“See, I thought you were good.” He rests his head back against the chair, overcome with pleasure, and you know he’s trying hard to hold out. “I thought…that when I asked you to do something, you did it. That if you needed me…if you needed to cum…you talked to me. You followed our rule and you obeyed. But clearly I don’t punish you enough if you think slipping your panties into my coat is a fun little game.”

“Sir…Sir, I don’t, I’m—”

“Or maybe they’re just the wrong sort of punishments,” he barrels on. “What you really wanted was to be spanked and tied up. Maybe even wanted me to use my belt, hm? Be rough with you? Make you cry? And I gave it to you. Because I’m a good dominant. But I need to be a better one. And a better dominant makes sure his submissive learns her lessons.”

You try to sit up. Catch his eye again. Plead with him. Because you don’t like where this is going.

“Starting now, your punishment will hurt. It will teach. If you so much as roll your eyes when I speak to you, I’ll have you sleeping in the guest room until you can fix your attitude.” He glances over his phone screen and hums when he sees you finish. “And if you try to pull another stunt like you did today, you won’t get to cum at all, and I might even send you back to your apartment.”

The tears feel hot as they drip down your chin. “Daddy…”

“Tell me you understand,” he demands of you now. “Tell me that you hear my rules. That you plan to obey them and respect them the way you need to obey and respect me.”

You’re tempted to throw a tantrum. To thrash and cry and beg, but you know it’ll only make things worse. So, you make a quick motion with your head, and whimper, “Yes, Sir.”

And your submissive reply is what tips him over the edge. He cums—hard—and with a rather lewd moan before spilling all over his hand, stomach, and thighs. 

You hate it. He was right, it is wasted. Staining his skin instead of yours. To be washed off and disposed of instead of slipping down your throat or filling your cunt. A cruel, sadistic punishment that he seems to enjoy.

And he still doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t acknowledge your pain. Pretends you’re not even in the room. Instead, he grabs a washcloth from one of the drawers and cleans himself up before coming over to you. So there’s no chance you’ll get even a single drop.

He sits on the bed beside you and looks down. He pinches your chin—softer this time—and makes your tear-filled eyes look at him.

“I expect you to follow these rules, little one,” he repeats gently. “And I expect you to understand why you’re being punished. I don’t do it to hurt you. In fact, it hurts me more than it hurts you. Having to send you away or use a toy instead of giving you my cock? That’s not what I want. But it’s what you deserve. And I have to be a good dominant and make sure you learn your lesson.”

You try to nuzzle yourself closer to his hand and he smiles. “I do understand, Daddy, and I’m sorry. Just…just missed you.”

His expression softens now and he seems gutted. “So you said. And I’d like to know what I’ve been doing to make you feel so neglected so that it doesn’t happen again.”

You shake your head quickly. “Nothing, Sir. Just…your hours have been later. And sometimes I have a lot to study. And by the time we’re both finally home, we have to sleep. And then I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

He coos and reaches down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Oh, darling. I know life is a bit hectic right now. And I haven’t called to check-in as much as I should, have I?”

You sniffle. “You have. But a check-in doesn’t replace the real thing.”

“I know.” He leaves a kiss to your cheek now. “I’m so sorry, my love. With the end of the semester, I’ve got so much grading to do, and so many final projects to oversee. There’s a lot of discussion happening in our department, and I’ve been pulled in a lot of different directions. I’ve been absent and neglecting one of my favorite priorities. And for that, I’m so sorry. And I will try to do better. Can you forgive me?”

You smile and nod as quickly as you can. “Always, Daddy.”

He chuckles. “My good girl. But you know that just because I haven’t been as present doesn’t give you a right to act out, yes?”

“…yes, Sir.”

“And I expect you to talk to me in the future if you’re feeling like this?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Do you have any questions for me?”

You nod again. “Can you please hold me?”

His smile feels like a breath of spring. “Of course.”

He undoes the cuffs and takes careful hold of your wrists. He grabs some calming salve from the nightstand beside him and applies it to the slight marks on your skin, just to make sure you’ll be all right and won’t feel any more pain. And once it’s on, he pulls the covers back, and tucks you both in.

You feel good in his arms, your cheek against his heart. There’s still a very prominent ache between your thighs but you know better than to ask him to relieve it. This is part of your lesson. He’ll make it up to you later—even if he only uses a toy to do so. But it won’t even matter because it’s him. And you’ll take anything he gives you.

The slight scruff on his face scratches your forehead as he rubs it against you to make you squeal. And you feel so happy now that he’s your Harry again. The man you feel safest with. 

“Harry?” you whisper after the room has gone quiet.

“Hm?”

“I really am sorry about the panties. I didn’t want you to get caught.”

He laughs softly and kisses your temple. “I think if anything, it would have given me points.”

You grin. “The girls would have been so jealous.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“I do. You’re hot, Professor. I don’t have to be your student to know all of your students want to fuck you.”

He glances down with a smirk. “All of them, hm?”

“Every single one. Have you seen yourself? Have you seen what you wear? And your hair and that beard and those eyes—”

“Okay,” he murmurs, and cups your cheek. “You’re very sweet, darling. And maybe you should give me your panties more often so I can remind everyone who I belong to.”

Your heart skips. The word belong means something more to the two of you than it might to anyone else. As his submissive, you do belong to him.

But he belongs to you, too. You belong to each other. This is a partnership—a relationship, no matter the dynamic. And the idea of him flaunting your claim on him makes you giddy.

“Daddy?” you whimper.

“Yes, little one?”

 “Can we please change the subject before this gets any worse for me?”

His brows furrow. “Worse?”

You shift your legs between his and his eyes widen when he feels the smearing of arousal against his thigh. 

“Ah,” he breathes before smiling. “M’sorry, honey. Know it must really ache, hm?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And after all this edging, it’d probably feel so good to cum, wouldn’t it?”

Another nod. “Yes, Professor.”

“Mmm.” He kisses you. “Too bad. Maybe next time, yeah?”

You groan but you do kiss him back. Because you know that next time…

He’ll make it worth it.

Hehe this was fun and I am so down to explore them more later if we ever want!!! THANK YOU FOR READING 😭💞

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

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[heartateasee]

“Reconciliation”

ex-dom!Harry x you

Word count: 8.5k

Warnings: dom/sub relationship, spanking, daddy kink, slight praise kink, size kink, quick breeding kink and unprotected sex

Plot: You and Harry used to be in a dom/sub relationship and you’re seeing him for the first time in six weeks since you ran out on him after something startled you.

⌑⌑⌑⌑

You felt his stare on you from across the room as you indulged in a conversation with your friend, Cassidy. You had tried your best to avoid him and his piercing eyes all evening, but now you knew he was trying his hardest to get you to look over at him - to acknowledge him. You didn’t want to speak to him, or even look at him for that matter.

It got weird, and that caused the need for things to end.

It had been six weeks since you last saw him, and the image of him standing in your doorway, begging to speak to you was etched permanently in your mind. You didn’t let him in, and you told him to go home. It was the right thing to do. It was what you both needed - whether or not he’s come to realize it.

If it wasn’t for the fact that it was your friend Joseph's birthday tonight, you’d be at home on your couch. However, Joseph had been your friend since you moved into the city, and there was no way you’d miss it.

“You look so good,” Cassidy spoke as she took your hand, making you twirl in front of her. It caused you to smile sheepishly as you didn’t like attention to be on you too much these days.

“Thanks, Cas,” you bit down on your bottom lip as you looked down and saw that your glass of red wine was nearly empty. “I’m just going to grab a refill.”

You moved away from Cassidy, and you felt your shoulders slouch as you did so. It had been exhausting keeping your image up all night. The image that you were happy, and that everything was just peachy. It was far from it, but you didn’t want him to know just how much things were impacting you.

Making your way into the large kitchen of your friend's house, the music from the living room drowned out a bit as you eyed the bottles of red wine on the counter. Cassidy had grabbed the first glass of wine for you, so you weren’t sure exactly which one you had been drinking.

“Y/N.”

You heard the raspy accent behind you - causing you to suck in a deep breath. There was no way you could handle an encounter with him tonight. This wasn’t the time, or place.

“We’re not doing this,” you told him softly as you walked towards the sink.

You washed your glass out lazily, just enough to get the remnants of the first wine out in case you don’t end up picking the same one again.

“Doing what?” He was behind you now, and you looked up to the window in front of the sink that had a view of the backyard - seeing the reflection of the both of you in it. “You’ve been avoiding me all night. I was just coming to greet you.”

“Harry, you and I both know you’re not over here just to greet me,” you sighed, and you turned around to place your hand on his chest to move him out of your way. You kept your eyes on the ground as you did so, moving around him so that you could dry your glass.

You still felt him behind you as you made your way over to the wine on the counter, and you were doing your best to ignore him, but it was hard when he made it to where was so close now.

“So that’s it? You won’t even look at me now?” 

Sucking in a deep breath, you turned back around. You slowly trailed your eyes up his body, seeing that he was dressed in a pair of black dress pants with a sheer black short sleeved button up on top - his tattoos just barely shining through. Once you reached his face, you could see the sadness behind his emerald eyes, and that had you wanting to divert your gaze immediately.

“There - I looked at you. Are you happy?”

The corner of Harry’s lips curled down into a frown at your words, and you watched as he anxiously tucked his hands into his pockets. “No, I’m not. I haven’t been happy since you walked out on me.”

“Harry,” you shook your head. “I didn’t walk out on you. Our relationship wasn’t like that, and you know that.”

“And you know that from what I confessed to you that it was like that for me. You know it was like that for you too. You just won’t admit,” he scoffed, his eyes now trailing over you. “Seeing you tonight, looking so beautiful and talking to our friends like nothing has changed, it’s been killing me. Because it has changed, Y/N. Everything has changed.”

You felt a clenching in your chest at his words. You knew they were the truth. You had felt something more than what you had agreed upon, just like he did for you, but it scared you. Your relationship was based purely off of pleasure and dynamic. It was never meant to lead to anything further. It was only supposed to last until the two of you felt that it was time to move on. You had convinced yourself that’s what happened for you after that night, but you knew that was a lie. 

“That’s it, darling,” Harry hovered over you, looking down at your tear-filled eyes as he circled your sensitive clit with the pads of his index and middle fingers. “You’re ‘s pretty for me. You know that?”

You whimpered as you nodded, feeling him plunging in and out of your drenched cunt. “Always wanna be pretty for you, daddy.”

“Oh, honey,” he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “You don’t even have to try. You’re always pretty. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You loved when he showered you with compliments. It was one of your favorite things, and you knew he loved complimenting you too.

“Gonna come again,” you whined, snaking your hips underneath him. “Can I, please?”

“You can come. Let it go,” he coaxed you through it, applying a bit more pressure to your clit as he felt you clenching down around him - gushing past his cock as your third orgasm of the night plowed through you. 

You gripped to him once the height of it hit you, and you let out a small sob of pleasure as the feeling encompassed you from head to toe. You were brought back down as you heard Harry’s grunts of ecstasy as he continued to thrust - hips clashing against yours.

“Daddy,” his eyes snapped up at the sound of your voice - looking up from where you both connected so that he was now looking into your eyes. “Want to feel it inside, please.”

You both had established always talking about where he was going to come. Initially at the beginning of this session, you had agreed upon him finishing on your stomach, but now that you had already come three times, you were desperate to feel his come inside of you.

“Yeah?” Harry picked up the pace of his movements, and you knew it was because he was close. “Want me to come inside your tight, and perfect cunt?”

“Please, I want it so bad.”

Harry’s jaw went slack as you felt the warmth of his orgasm filling you - his chest collapsing against yours as he fucked it into your swollen pussy. You hummed at the sensation, and you soon felt his lips against the side of your neck as he began to still.

“I love you.”

Your eyes shot open when the three words left his mouth, and you swallowed harshly as you registered that he had actually said them. You pushed it away though as you lifted a hand to run your fingers through the back of his curls as he panted against your skin. 

You knew this could happen to people sometimes in the height of the moment, and you knew that it probably just slipped out without him even realizing. You knew he didn’t mean it.

After cleaning you up, he proceeded to clean himself up as well before he tucked the two of you into his bed. You were giggling and cuddling as his fingertips trailed over your back, both of you returning to the bed completely naked - something you did quite often.

His eyes wandered over your face as he lifted his other hand to push your hair behind your ear, and then he dragged his hand down to cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb brushed along your lower lip as he now stared into your eyes.

“I meant what I said earlier, Y/N. I love you.”

You thought that maybe he had slipped into a subspace without you realizing, even though he was the dominant, and that he still hadn’t pulled himself out of it. 

Your eyebrows narrowed as you held his face into both of your hands. “Harry,” you said his name instead of his title, hoping that would cause a crack in his wall - that it would get him to come back to you properly.

He lifted his hands to wrap around your wrists, and he gave them each a squeeze. “I know that’s not what this was when we started it, and that you might not feel the same way, but I couldn’t resist not saying it anymore. These past six months with you have been so wonderful, and I want to still continue on with what we’ve been doing, but maybe we could change the dynamic a little bit. Maybe keep this reserved for only sometimes, and then we can try out-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” you dropped your hands from him as you sat up in the bed, pulling the sheet against your chest to cover yourself. “Hold on, please.”

You closed your eyes tight as you tried to control your breathing. This felt so overwhelming.

He was right, the past six months had been amazing, but it was amazing because it was the dynamic you had agreed upon when this all began. Not because of what he was trying to turn it into.

It was silent between the two of you for what felt like hours, but you knew it had only been a couple of minutes. You looked over your shoulder at Harry as he stayed in his position laying down on the bed, now on his back so he could look at your properly.

“You can’t mean any of that,” you whispered, and you watched as sadness filled his eyes. “That’s not what this is.”

“I know, I know,” he said, shaking his head. “But I do mean it. I’ve fallen in love with you.”

“Harry, you can’t,” you told him, and as he sat up, you moved away from him. “Please - don’t.”

You quickly got out of bed, and you walked over to the bag you had packed for the weekend that was in the chair in the corner of his room. You pulled on a pair of sweats and a jumper, tugging on some socks as well before zipping it up - pulling the strap over your shoulder.

“Y/N, please don’t leave,” Harry hopped out of the bed as you left his room - holding the bedsheet around his waist. “Can we talk about this before you just up and go? It’s almost three in the morning. Please just stay.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you slipped your feet into your shoes that were by the door, and you grabbed your purse from the hook on the wall. “We both made an agreement when we started this, that if we ended up wanting different things, then we would end it. It’s clear now that we want that - we want different things. So, I’m ending it.”

“You can’t be serious,” you heard the tears filling his voice, but you couldn’t look at him again.

“I have to go.”

You walked out as you heard him calling your name again.

He showed up the next morning at your door, clutching to the doorway once you opened it to reveal him. His eyes were swollen, and his cheeks tearstained as he begged for you to please listen to him. You denied him. You shut the door in his face after telling him that it had to be over.

“I wish you would stop acting like you know the way I feel - the way I felt,” you corrected yourself, and you heard Harry let out a small laugh.

“I don’t know why you’re running from this.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but you were interrupted by Joseph coming into the kitchen. He stopped as he laid eyes on you and Harry, looking between the two of you.

“Everything okay?” Joseph asked, and you sent him a tight smile.

“Everything’s fine! Just catching up with Harry while grabbing a refill,” you told him before turning around to grab a bottle of wine.

You and Harry agreed at the beginning of everything that you wouldn’t tell your friends about your relationship. None of them knew that either of you participated in that type of lifestyle, and you both wanted to avoid having to explain it.

After pouring yourself a glass, you turned around to see Harry still standing there as Joseph fixed himself another cocktail.

“It was nice talking to you again, Harry,” you slipped past him, and you felt him brush the tips of his fingers along the inside of your wrist as you did so.

It angered you how the smallest touch from him still had goosebumps coating your skin.

⌑⌑⌑⌑

It had been a week since Joseph’s party, and like always, you hadn’t left Harry’s mind. It wasn’t that he had stopped thinking about you since everything happened, but seeing you again made his mind wander to you more than usual. It was back to how often he thought of you when things first ended.

He had to stop himself from showing up at your apartment again - begging for you to please sit down and talk to him. He just wanted you to let him explain completely, so that you could see he really meant that he loved you.

But it was obvious that’s not what you wanted.

He just didn’t know how he had read the signs so wrong. There were instances throughout your time together where he thought he could see a gleam in your eyes that was showing him that you were feeling the same.

Harry didn’t mean to fall in love with you, but it was about four months in when he found it inevitable. He became completely captivated by you.

This was only supposed to be him showing you how a proper relationship between a dominant and a submissive was supposed to be. The both of you obviously let it go on for longer than just that because you worked well together. 

You were the most perfect submissive for him.

He remembered the night when he found out you were open to that kind of relationship. The circumstances surrounding it were rather unfortunate. You didn’t want anyone in your friend group knowing what you did on your personal time, but Harry ultimately found out, and the way he did was beyond your control.

You both were out with your friends for the night. Harry hadn’t seen you out in a while, and you weren’t close enough at the time for him to really ask why. Tonight however, you were letting loose, and he was enjoying watching you.

The two of you had held a few conversations here and there since being introduced to each other, but you were never really ones to go out of your way to do so. They just happened on their own. You were quiet most of the time, and Harry was too.

Him keeping his eyes on you all night worked out in your favor, however. He noticed that you were no longer on the dance floor with Cassidy, and his eyes began to look among the crowd of the club you were in - to see if he could spot you.

Eventually he located you by the back hallway, and he saw you speaking with a gentleman. He looked like he was in his late thirties, and Harry was sure he had never seen him before.

With the way the gentleman was talking with his hands, Harry could tell that he was clearly angry about something, and you looked equally upset. It wasn’t until Harry saw him grab your elbow, leading you out the back exit, that he went into action.

He followed you both, but you had been pulled around the corner of the building.

“Do you think this is cute behavior, Y/N?” The man was berating you, and it made his blood boil. “What did you think? That this was going to earn you some fun punishment? I don’t even want to punish you. I can’t stand the fucking sight of you.”

Harry’s mouth gaped at the words being thrown your way, but still, he didn’t wish to intervene. He wouldn’t until he knew the situation he was dealing with.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” he heard you sniff. “I hadn’t been out with my friends in so long, and I didn’t think you would care. I haven’t heard from you all week.”

“I told you I needed space until the weekend, and this is what you up and do when you knew that I could call you up and ask you to come over. And let me guess, you’re using my card for your tab?”

“No, no, I’m not!” The pleading in your voice crushed Harry’s heart, and he knew he couldn’t listen to this much longer. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave with you right now. I’ll go in, and I’ll pay, and then we can-”

“You’re not leaving here with me, Y/N. This is over. Give me my card.”

Harry came around the corner as he heard you sob, and he watched as you handed the man a credit card. 

The moment the man spit at your feet, Harry sprung into action.

“Hey, who the fuck do you think you are?” He yelled, pushing the man’s shoulders to get him to step away from you. “Spitting at a woman? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

“She’s not a woman, she’s a fucking child,” the man bit. “She’s made that clear these last couple of weeks with her choices, and now the consequences are staring her right in the face.”

“Sir, please,” you went to reach forward for the man, but Harry was the one to stop you. He took your small hands and stood in front of you - blocking the other man from your view as he placed your hands against his chest.

“Y/N, darling, look at me,” Harry said softly, and you let your eyes flicker to meet his. “You’re going to let him leave, you understand? He’s a piece of shit, and he’s not treating you well. You’re going to let him leave.”

“She’s the piece of shit,” Harry quickly snapped his head to look over his shoulder at the man again out of the corner of his eye.

“I suggest you leave right now if you like your teeth remaining in your skull. I’m about two seconds from knocking over half of them out onto this sidewalk.”

You had never heard Harry’s voice have such anger, but you were grateful for it when you heard retreating footsteps - leaving just the two of you outside now.

Harry had been looking at you again this whole time, and you felt him lift a hand to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers. “You’re alright now. He’s gone.”

Without even thinking, you nuzzled your face against his fingers as your eyes slipped shut for a moment. You felt so calm around him already even though you had just been so worked up.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and if I’m overstepping, please let me know, but was that man your dominant, Y/N?”

Blinking your eyes open, you struggled with how to respond. Was he asking because he knew of that lifestyle himself, or was he asking to judge you?

“Yes,” you whispered, giving him a small nod. “For the past few months.”

“How many have you had, darling?”

“He was my third,” you were being honest. You hadn’t engaged in this lifestyle for too long. 

“And did they all speak to you like that? In that manner?”

Looking down to your feet, you nodded again - suddenly feeling so small, and almost embarrassed that you were revealing this part of yourself to Harry when the two of you really didn’t know each other all that well.

“Y/N, look at me, please.”

You shook your head, your bottom lip wobbling.

“Y/N,” he repeated himself, and he hooked his finger underneath your chin - forcing you to look up at him. Once you held his eyes again, he continued to speak. “That is not the way they should be speaking to you, ever. There’s a difference between punishment, and someone just being inappropriate and nasty when speaking to you. Do you understand?”

With your big doe eyes and your plump lips, Harry felt something new wash over him when it came to you. He had always seen you, sure, but tonight he was seeing you. This pretty, precious woman in front of him. You were being vulnerable, and he just wanted to hide you away from the evil that had presented itself to you already.

You shook your head as you took in his words. “I…I don’t know any different.”

Harry was doing his best to stay calm in front of you, but inside, he was actually fuming. These men had taken advantage of you, and disrespected you by disguising it as a normal part of that kind of relationship.

“How far do you live from here, love? How about I go inside and settle our tabs, and then I’ll take you home. We can talk more there.”

You agreed without hesitation, and the next thing you knew you were climbing out of a taxi with Harry - leading him into your apartment.

“Sit,” he instructed, and you obeyed him by taking a seat on your couch.

You could hear him moving around your kitchen, and he eventually returned with a glass of water - extending it to you.

“Drink this.”

You took the glass of water from him, drinking half of it before lowering it down into your lap - holding it with both of your hands. Harry reached out to glide his thumb under your bottom lip to collect the excess water that had started to drip.

“Good girl,” he praised you, and it caused a fluttering in your lower stomach. “Now, I have a proposition for you, Y/N.”

“I’m listening,” you responded, lifting the glass to your lips again to have a couple more sips. 

“How would you feel about me showing you what a proper dominant is supposed to look like?”

Your eyes widened, and you gave yourself time to properly swallow your water before responding. “You…you would do that with me?”

“Why are you saying it like that, darling?” Harry chuckled, tilting his head to the side.

“I guess I’m just a little shocked that you’d want something like that with someone like me, that’s all,” you shrugged, beginning to nibble on your bottom lip.

“Someone like you? You mean polite, sweet, well-spoken and beautiful? Why wouldn’t I want to do something like that with someone like you?”

You were blown away by his compliments. You didn’t think Harry had seen you in that way at all. His offer intrigued you, but you couldn’t help but be a little hesitant.

“I don’t know, Harry,” you sighed, tapping the tips of your fingers against your glass. “You don’t think that could end up being weird?”

“What do you mean? I don’t tell my friends about partaking in this lifestyle, if that’s what you mean. They wouldn’t have to know we’re involved in anything further than what they see when we’re all together.”

When he explained it in that way, it did feel like some of the pressure had been taken off.

“Okay, then yes.”

Harry smiled as he reached out, taking the glass of water from you to set it on your coffee table. “Perfect,” he whispered as he now cupped your face in his palm. “Can I kiss you, love?”

You nodded, and his lips were on yours quicker than you thought they would be. After a few seconds of processing that this was actually happening, you hummed at the way his lips molded against yours - reaching out to grasp onto the sides of his jacket.

His tongue snuck out to glide along your lower lip, and you parted your mouth to allow it to roll inside. Your tongues tangled together, and you heard a groan rattle in his throat just before he pulled away.

“You have such a sweet mouth, Y/N,” he placed another quick peck to your lips before pulling away further. “I’m interested to see what other talents it may possess.”

You giggled, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip - having it be just slightly swollen from kissing. “I can’t wait to show you. I hope they meet your expectations.”

“Oh, I’m sure they will,” Harry winked as he stood from your couch. “I have your number from when we planned Katherine’s surprise party over the summer. I’ll text you, and we’ll plan a day for me to come over. We’ll finalize all the details, and then we’ll get started. How does that sound?”

You pressed your thighs together when you realized the next time you saw him, that more than likely meant that you’d be sleeping together, and you honestly couldn’t wait.

You had always found Harry to be attractive, who wouldn’t, but you hadn’t thought of him in that way until tonight. 

And now you couldn’t stop.

Harry was currently sitting at the desk in his office at his house, staring at his computer screen as he opened the locked folder he had of your videos together, as well as pictures you had sent him throughout the last few months during your time as his submissive.

He double clicked on the video that was the longest, knowing this was the one he couldn’t get off his mind.

Taking in a deep breath, he pressed play, but he skipped until there was only about fifteen minutes left of the video - willing away the blood that wanted to rush to his cock at some of the images that flashed across the screen as he went. It didn’t feel right viewing that when you were no longer together, but the part of the video he wished to see was something he needed.

You both had forgotten about the camera being set up as you laid back down in your bed after cleaning up. This was only a couple months into your relationship, and you hadn’t started to sleep naked with each other yet. He knew the sleep set you had on in this video was one of your favorites, and it was one you had told him that you bought specifically for him.

A little pink camisole and shorts set - silky and frilled at the hems.

On the screen, you were smiling up at Harry as he crawled into bed beside you, and you were instantly curling into his side. He cuddled you, and praised you - telling you how good you had just been during your time in bed together only minutes before. His large hands massaged and caressed your body while he pressed his kisses to your forehead.

That was all it usually took for you to fall asleep, your giggles dying off as he continued to watch, and he eventually saw your body slouch against his. It was then that his eyes connected with the camera, and he realized he had left it on this entire time.

The video ended with Harry carefully getting out of bed, making sure not to disturb you, before he approached the camera - stopping the recording.

Tears burned in his eyes as he rewound the video to show you looking up at him and smiling again. He paused it to hold that particular frame, and he blinked - the tears streaming down his cheeks now.

He grabbed his phone, not being able to stop himself, and scrolled through until he got to your contact. He pressed the call button before holding the device up to his ear.

“Hello?”

He was honestly shocked that you answered, but he was grateful nonetheless.

“Y/N,” he choked out, trying to keep it together, but just saying your name made him even more emotional. “Please let me see you. Can we please talk this out? I can’t…I can’t keep doing this.”

It was silent for a few moments, and he waited - pulling the phone away from his ear to check the screen as he was sure you had hung up. When he saw the time on the call still going, he let out a shaky breath before putting the phone back to its previous position.

“Okay,” you whispered, and Harry felt his heart palpitate.

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay.”

⌑⌑⌑⌑

As you sat and waited for Harry on your couch, a cup of hot tea in your hands, you stared at the wall. You too had been reminiscing on your relationship almost all night, and you couldn’t get him out of your head no matter how hard you tried.

You were stuck on the beginnings of your relationship as well. Your mind dwelling on the first night you slept together.

You had never been taken care of in the way he took care of that night. No one has ever taken the time to give you proper aftercare, and it was shocking for you to see that he enjoyed doing it for you. 

He had run you a hot bath, and he coaxed you into it - making sure you were situated before going back into your bedroom to change your sheets, and grab you a pair of pajamas. When he returned, he slipped into the bath behind you, and you were able to relax as he did all the work when it came to getting you clean.

Throughout the course of your relationship, you couldn’t help but wonder when his facade was going to diminish. Eventually he would speak to you the way your previous dominants had, you were sure of it.

But it never happened.

Harry was the perfect dominant. He punished you appropriately when you had a certain tone when speaking with him, or when you did something he asked you not to do. He knew most of the time you acted out because you wanted him to punish you, and he enjoyed doing it. 

He enjoyed it because you enjoyed it, and you knew that.

In your past relationships, you dominants always went by ‘sir’, and you had tried that a few times with Harry, but it didn’t feel right. He told you that you both would figure it out in time, and you remember the first time you called him ‘daddy’ vividly. 

Your hips were pinned down to the bed in one of Harry’s large hands while the other pressed a bullet vibrator to your clit. He was overstimulating you, putting you on the verge of your fifth orgasm, and you felt yourself slipping. When your fifth, and final orgasm hit you, the title, 'daddy', left you without even thinking about it.

Harry had every intention of still fucking you that night, but when he heard what you said with such a whiny tone, he ended up coming all over your stomach - unable to stop himself. From that night forward, the title of ‘daddy’ just stuck.

There were times when you felt yourself falling for him, but you pushed it away. It was too scary to think of your relationship turning into that because it wasn’t what you agreed upon. 

So you had swallowed your feelings down, forgetting about your want for more until Harry spoke those three words almost two months ago now. 

Now - you were angry at yourself for fleeing the way that you did, but you couldn’t help it. Hearing him say what you had felt in your heart for a while was too much. 

The list of possibilities you had on how your relationship could change were endless. And the worst outcome of them all was Harry realizing he made a mistake by changing your dynamic, that he didn’t actually love you, and then the whole thing would end in a mess.

You felt it was easier just for you to end it when the dynamic was still the same to make it less to clean up. 

A knock on the door drew you out of your thoughts, and you took another quick sip of your tea before setting it down. Licking over your bottom lip, you tugged your sleep shorts down as you walked over to the door - undoing the locks before opening it.

Your breath was stolen from you as you saw Harry standing there with a bouquet of pink tulips in his hand, and you could see the nervousness practically radiating off of him.

“I got these for you. I know you said tulips were your favorite,” he stated, extending them out to you.

You took them from him with a small ‘thank you’ before expecting them closer. “I mentioned liking tulips like…once,” you laughed softly as you met his eyes again.

“I know,” he nodded, and you swallowed harshly when you realized he probably remembered a lot of things about you that you wouldn’t expect him to.

You both stood there for a few more seconds before it registered that you were just letting him stand out in the hallway. “Oh my god, I’m sorry,” you shook your head as you moved out of the doorway. “Please come in.”

Harry stepped inside as you made your way into the kitchen to find a vase, and you peeked at him over your shoulder. “I had just made myself a cup of hot tea before you came. Did you want me to put the kettle back on and make you one as well?”

“No, I’m okay, Y/N, thank you though,” Harry said as he shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your armchair before plopping down in it.

You located a vase and filled it with water before placing the tulips in it. Once you had them situated the way you liked, you walked the vase over to your shorter bookshelf in the living room - placing them on top.

Making your way back over towards Harry, you sat down on the couch again, and pulled a blanket over your lap as you reached back out to grab your cup of tea.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Harry spoke after a moment, and you watched his chest swell as he took in a deep breath. “Tonight, I watched a video of us and-”

“Harry,” you grimaced slightly, thinking that he meant he watched the sexual acts that those videos consisted of.

“No, no, no,” he rushed out, shaking his head frantically. “I skipped through it. This one particular video…we had forgotten to turn the camera off. And it showed us settling into bed, and you falling asleep against me.

“I know that I’ve been missing you terribly, and I’m sure that was obvious at the party the other night, but watching that video again stirred something up in me. I’m devastated without you, darling. I don’t want to have to handle you not being by my side anymore.”

You contemplated your next words carefully. You knew he was upset, and you didn’t want to cause that to grow.

“I haven’t been handling things well either - even though I’ve tried to make you think differently,” you confessed, your cup beginning to shake due to your trembling hands. “I’ve missed you as well. I tried to forget about it. I tried to forget about you, and about everything, but of course, that’s impossible.”

Taking a minute, you attempted to lift your cup to your mouth to take a sip, and Harry quickly caught on to just how bad you were shaking. He was up before you could fully comprehend his movements, and you felt him take the cup from you as he sat down.

“Open.”

You parted your lips as he brought the tea up to your mouth, and he tilted the cup just enough to give you a proper sip before he was setting it back down onto the coffee table. 

“Thank you,” you spoke softly after you swallowed the warm liquid.

Harry’s hand came up, and you could tell he was reluctant at first, but eventually he cupped the side of your neck - running his thumb up and down the column of your throat. “I’ve missed touching you.”

You slowly moved the blanket off your body, and you shuffled yourself closer to him. You delicately placed your hands on his chest - instantly feeling the hammering of his heart.

“I missed touching you too,” you whispered as you ran the tip of your nose along his jawline. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I was just scared.”

“I know, honey. I know,” he reassured you as he wrapped his other arm around your waist to pull you even further into him. “Please just tell me that you invited me here so we could work this out. That we don’t have to fight this any longer.”

“I asked you over here so I could tell you,” you started before resting your cheek against his so that your lips met his ear. “That I love you too.”

Harry pulled his face away from yours, looking down into your eyes. You could see the emotion swirling behind them as his fingers tightened into the back of the shirt you had on. “Don’t play with me, Y/N.”

“I’m not playing, Harry,” you shuffled around again to sit up on your knees, taking his face in both of your hands - tilting his head back to look up at you since you were towering over him slightly now. “I love you.”

Leaning down, you pressed your lips against Harry’s molding them together slowly, and you heard him inhale sharply through his nose. You had only initiated kisses a few times within your time together, and most of the time it was when you were both teetering on the line of your dynamic. 

Harry’s hand was still loosely against your back from before, but now he moved his hand down and underneath your shirt so that his palm was flush with your skin. His other hand slipped into your shorts, and he pulled away quickly when he was met with your bare ass cheek against his hand - not the cloth of your underwear.

“Are you not wearing underwear?” Harry questioned, staring at you with furrowed brows.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you shook your head, biting down on your bottom lip. “I took them off before you came over.”

You watched as Harry’s pupils dilated, and soon both hands were grasping to your thighs as he maneuvered the two of you around the couch. You straddled his waist only for a moment before he was standing off the couch, cradling the globes of your ass in his hands as he started towards your bedroom.

“What did I tell you about not wearing underwear when I’m not around?” He breathed into your ear - teeth tugging at the lobe. 

You yelped as Harry sat down at the end of your bed, and you were soon thrown over the tops of his thighs, your cheek resting against your comforter as you stared at the wall. You knew that he was looking for an answer from you, that the question wasn’t rhetorical, but you were feeling a bit disobedient.

“Y/N,” Harry’s tone caused a clenching in your abdomen, and squirmed in his lap as you rubbed your thighs together. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth as you felt his hand push between your thighs - separating them. “You’re being extremely naughty this evening. Don’t worry, honey. I’ll spank it out of you.” 

Gasping, your body jolted as Harry tugged your shorts down and off of your body. You hummed, slipping your eyes shut when you felt his large hand caressing over one of your ass cheeks.

“But I know that won’t be enough, hm?” Harry nipped at your jawline. “I’ll make sure I fuck it out of you too.”

The sound of Harry’s hand coming down against one of the rounds of your ass echoed off the walls, and you moaned - nuzzling your face into the mattress.

“Count, Y/N.”

“One,” you whimpered as you lifted your head enough to speak.

“Good girl,” Harry smoothed his hand over the area he had just spanked before alternating to your other cheek. “You’re getting ten.”

Harry’s hand came down again, and you swallowed down the lewd moan that wanted to escape you. “Two.”

He continued, and by the last one, you were dripping. 

“Ten,” you gasped, and you then felt both of Harry’s hands on your cheeks - massaging them gently. You bit down on your lip in sensitivity, whining softly.

“Color?” Harry whispered in your ear as he pressed a kiss right underneath it.

“Green,” you breathed, closing your eyes for a moment to gather yourself.

It had been so long since the two of you had been like this, and your body wasn’t quite used to it again yet, but it still felt good - that part you couldn’t deny.

Harry quickly flipped you over, and soon your shirt was removed from your body as well. Your back was slightly arched due to the angle, and the fact that you were still over thighs. Biting down on his bottom lip, he ghosted his fingertips over your pert nipples. You couldn’t help but wiggle in his lap again - craving his touch deeply.

“Daddy,” you looked up at him with slightly wide eyes. “Please.”

He shushed you gently as he kept a hand cupping one of your breasts while the other dipped between your legs. You squirmed as he smeared your arousal over your needy clit, and he began to rub tantalizing circles against it.

“Don’t you want daddy to take his time with you? It’s been so long, darling.”

“Maybe later,” you tangled your fingers into the sides of your hair, lifting your hips to meet Harry’s fingers more. “I need you now, please.”

Harry hummed softly, and you were flipped onto all fours before you knew it. “You know what to do,” he told you as you heard the buckle of his belt being undone.

Much like earlier when you were over his lap, you lowered your torso so your cheek was to the mattress, and you wrapped your hands around each of your ankles. It was only a few minutes later that you felt Harry kneeling on the bed behind you, and your waist soon became supported in his hands.

“I promise that I’m only asking this to make sure that we’re both safe, but have you been with anyone since the last time we were together?” Harry asked, and you felt him beginning to slide his cock through your glistening folds.

“No, daddy, nobody since you last had me,” you told him honestly. “I promise.”

“And I haven’t had anyone but you, honey,” he leaned down - pressing a tender kiss to the middle of your spine. “You sure you want me?”

You knew that he was teasing now, and you wiggled your hips back against him. It caused his tip to nudge against your clit, and you both moaned out at the sensation.

“Use your words, Y/N,” Harry gripped to your hip slightly. “Tell me.”

“Yes, I want you. I want you so bad, daddy. I missed you so much,” you were begging now, but you knew that he liked it when you did.

The next thing you felt was Harry’s head nudged at your entrance, and he only gave you a minute to comprehend it before he was dipping himself inside of you. You tightened your hold on your ankles as you squeezed your eyes shut tight - feeling the familiar burn of him entering you completely.

“Can’t believe I even fit. ‘Y so tight,” Harry muttered behind you, and you soon felt the tip of his index finger grazing around where his length filled you. You felt pressure as he pushed his finger between your cunt and his shaft - having his knuckle slide against one of your walls.

The whine you were letting go caught in your throat, and your body shuddered as you felt his finger enter you completely to the point where the tip of it grazed your g-spot. “Fuck, and you can fit my finger too, darling? You’ll just stretch out for whatever I give you, yeah?”

You audibly exhaled as Harry’s fingers left you, and he soon began to rock his hips back and forth to get you even more wet, as well as to make sure he was properly slicked up for you. Your nails began to dig into your skin as Harry quickened his pace - the sound of your skin slapping together being the only thing either of you could hear except for your small whimpers.

“Such a good girl,” Harry’s chest met your back, and you felt his fingers playing with your clit again. “Is this what you wanted?”

Nodding, you opened your mouth to answer him, but he was giving it to you so hard that your brain couldn’t even figure out how to piece the words together.

Harry’s hand slapped down against one of your ass cheeks, causing you to lose the grip on your ankles as you lurched forward. You were now flat against the bed with Harry still inside you as you wiggled your legs underneath him. Panting, you felt Harry kissing over the back of your neck as he reached forward to grab one of your hands -  lacing your fingers together. His other hand was propped up beside your head to make sure he wasn’t putting his weight on you.

“Talk to me, “ he said softly as he continued to place delicate kisses across your neck. “Are you okay, love? Do we need to stop?”

You shook your head as you gave his hand a squeeze. “No, daddy. Can I turn over though? I want to see you.”

“Of course, baby,” Harry cooed, and without him slipping out of you, he carefully turned you over onto your back.

The sight of you had his heart swooning. Your face was flushed, and your eyes were slightly teary from your spankings - as well as him overstimulating you a bit. You were so beautiful to him. You were everything he ever wanted, and he didn’t know how fate had the two of you cross paths the way you did, but he wouldn’t change it for anything.

“I love you,” you whispered, lifting your hands to run them over his shoulders, and then down his chest. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Y/N. I’m sorry for keeping it from you like I did, and I was being a little selfish by having what we agreed upon mean a little more to me, but I need you to know-”

You lifted your finger to place it against his lips, and you shook your head. “Let’s not talk about that, okay? We’re here, and we’re with each other. And now, I’m going to ask you to please make love to me, Harry.”

A fire ignited in Harry’s chest at your words, and he grabbed both of your legs to have you wrapping your legs around his waist. His hands cupped your rib cage, right underneath your breasts as he began to start up his thrusts again.

Leaning down, he pressed his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss, and you moved your hands to cradle the sides of his neck. He sucked your tongue into his mouth, earning a whine from you, and he began to give it to you even harder.

You were in absolute bliss. This was the first time where you were having sex with that wall down - outside of your dynamic. This was you and Harry having sex, not a dominant and a submissive.

From the angle he had you at, his shaft rubbed along your clit with every movement, and your toes began to curl as you were already on the brink of your orgasm. “I-I’m gonna come,” you pulled away from Harry’s mouth as you arched further into him - head back with your breast pressed against his chest.

“Already, love?” Harry said as he kissed over your jawline. You began to clench down around him, and you felt as Harry’s hips stuttered at the feeling. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come so quick if you do that again.”

His words were lost as you felt your orgasm taking over, and the noise of pleasure that left you had Harry’s prick twitching inside of you. Once you came back down, you heard Harry’s shallow breaths above you, and you fluttered your eyes open to see him still staring down at you.

With his jaw slightly slack, and his chain with the cross pendant dangling over your chest, you weren’t sure if you had ever seen something so captivating in your life. He was so gorgeous, and he was yours.

He wanted you.

“Come for me, Harry,” you took his face into your hands, tapping the tip of your nose against his. “I need you to fill me up.”

“Is that what you want?” Harry grunted as he picked up his pace. “Want me to fill you all up with my come? Have you home my babies inside your round tummy? Is that what you want, mama?”

You couldn’t help but feel your walls flutter around him again when he spoke those words. “Yes, yes, please. Fuck it up into me, Harry. Make it stick.”

You had never introduced the breeding kink before, but god did it make you both so feral.

Sliding your hands down his torso and around to his back, you unhooked your ankles from where they rested against his lower spine so that you could venture your hands down to cup his ass. Kneading the tissue in your hands, you began to pull him further into you, and you let out a loud ‘uh’ as you felt him brushing against your cervix.

“Fuck, Y/N. ‘M coming,” Harry moaned as he dropped his forehead against yours.

You continued to rock him through his sloppy thrusts until he was spent, and he collapsed on top of you. Your sweaty bodies stuck together, but neither of you cared. This was all either of you wanted after weeks of being apart, and you were so happy that you decided to answer his call tonight.

“Please, never leave me again,” Harry whispered as he pressed kisses on the swells of each of your breasts before connecting your lips in a delicate kiss. “I can’t be without you, darling.”

“I won’t, Harry, I promise. I couldn’t ever be without you either.”

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[1800titz]

HI. This is the pornstar!AU (Tiger Harry). Enjoy :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: face-fucking, anal play-ish, Sir kink, general manhandling, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 8.6K

“Are you open to raw anal?” is probably not a statement Y/N had …entirely expected to hear when she’d agreed to discourse over pastries and dirty chai lattes. 

It’s a pretty good one, all things considered, and asked with complete professionalism, according to their careers and the open, apathetically businesslike expression shaping the features of her counterpart. Y/N takes a sip of her latte. It is quite a good latte. He wasn’t wrong there. 

Harry blinks. 

It’s very on brand, despite the way she’s sure one of the baristas has definitely twisted around from the dishpit, side eye discreet …but there. And in the barista’s defense, she couldn’t even blame her for eavesdropping on the sordid contents of their public discourse. Y/N isn’t going to turn around and look. 

In Harry’s, he didn’t exactly shout. 

The man across from her takes a slow sip from his latte. Good latte, very good latte. 

She can’t help but admire his varying assortment of rings as he cradles the cup, irises winding from the blocky, golden S to its chunky counterpart, the H. So many times she’d admired those hands, those ring-clad fingers traipsing over bare skin, just the tips meddling over abdomens and winding circles around navels. Those digits sunk into the hair of his partner, tangled into the roots as he manually bobs her head over his cock. Those fingers twisting over the pink tip of his shaft, lining it up before his hips pump. Those long fingers splaying over cunts, swiping a thumb to ogle in front of the camera. 

There've been so many instances where Y/N had wondered the significance of that H and that S. And it’s been really quite simple all along.

Should I call you Tiger in person, then? she’d tapped out over the LED keyboard, days prior when they’d only been discussing the prospect of a meet up. Days prior, before she’d flown out for an on-camera collaboration, to bask in the sunlight of California, to enjoy overpriced dirty chai lattes and oddly promiscuous dialogue in the corner of a cafe. 

I think I’ll just take Harry when the cameras aren’t rolling x, RideTheTiger had messaged back. 

Anyways, it’d probably be a sleazy, poorly-executed one liner (and consequently, a horrifically red flag) in possibly every other circumstance, but this isn’t a first date and RideTheTiger has, thus far, been the furthest thing from sleazy. Even paid for her dirty chai latte, practically shouldering her out of the slot at the register. Pulled her chair out for her, asked about her traveling fares prior to delving into said anal topic. It’s all been fairly gentlemanly. Very business-partner-coffee-meeting. 

“No condom,” Harry tacks on, like it’s clarification for the raw segment of raw anal, as if it actually needed some sort of clarification. 

Y/N takes another sip. Damn good latte. 

“I like it,” the young woman tells him, clearing her throat on this edge that implies she’s mindful of her volume. Somehow, even as a freelance pornstar, she still hasn’t quite managed to get over the awkward degree of shame that a public setting incites. “I like the...” 

That barista is definitely fucking peering over.

“…The mess,” she settles on, because anal creampie doesn’t feel like a term to be said with her whole chest over a guava pastelito. 

For a short moment, Harry just watches her, jade roaming and the corners of his mouth slowing seeping into a simper, like he knows brazenly discussing anal creampies in the middle of a cafe — not quite packed, but still a cafe — has her kind of squirming in her seat. He takes another drink. 

“She’s got airpods in,” the man tells her eventually, forest-y irises jolting to something behind her head — the barista that’s clattering about behind the counter. And if she’s listening in, she’s probably going to go home and find one of them online, or ultimately both, and probably subscribe. 

The tension in her shoulders melts away the longer he grins at her over the lip of his lid, dimples indented in the flesh beside the upturned edges of his mouth. It’s just what they do for a living. It’s just sex. It’s just talking about the sex they’re going to have on camera. 

There’s bells and whistles to it, too, but it beats sitting at home and answering phone calls where angry customers screech all tinny through the headset and don’t comprehend the words, “Sir, if you can’t use your inside voice and talk to me like a civilized human being, I’m not going to be able to resolve your issue.” For Y/N it is. At least she gets a couple of orgasms out of this. 

“Sorry,” she tells him, shoulders slumping, “I think I’m still not— I get …weird talking about it in public settings.”

Tiger gives her this careful look over, eyes amused. 

“S’okay, I understand. If you’d rather get into the details back at mine, I’m okay with that.” 

“No, no,” Y/N protests, motioning out with her free hand, almost like her frigidly humiliated disposition will turn him off from collaboration, “No. It’s just, like. Sex work— it’s— it’s 2024. Nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Harry blinks. He gives her another one of those slow, knowing grins with his strawberry mouth. 

“No, seriously. We can get into the …rough drafting in a more private setting.” And then he takes another casual, horribly nonchalant sip, “I get it.” 

The man splays back against the chair, the hand not clutching at his beverage laid against smooth bamboo varnish, the nails there neatly manicured and painted with a soft shade of green lacquer. Y/N wonders what that particular color would look like with a glimmering top coat after he’s sunk the digits in between her thighs. She casts her gaze back up to his face. 

“I just figured I’d ask because we exchanged tests last week.” 

Clean as a whistle, RideTheTiger, (appropriately renamed in her contacts as Harry Tiger OF collab), had messaged on a Tuesday afternoon. That text was tailed with an HDR attachment of paperwork detailing his clean-as-a-whistle results, for proof. And the polish on his nails, fingertips gripped over the edge of the sheet, had been a pretty sky blue in the picture. 

She’d wondered the same thing, then; what OPI’s Rich Girls & Po-boys would look like glazed with a sheen of her slick arousal. 

He’s just a fuckable man, Y/N thinks, sat back in his chair like discussing sex work scene scripting is a normal mid-day affair, soft dusting of stubble coating his jaw, curls swept up off his forehead. His white tee shrouds the swallows and the inky butterfly she’s seen flexing over his tummy, the laurels that seep into the deep cut of his v-line, but it does very, very little to hide the artistry that litters his arm. 

That same arm she’d seen in videos, wrapped in pumped muscle as his fingers had worked his partner to the brink of bliss at a merciless pace, plush mouth shaping over some sort of filthy croon, dimples indented. Those same hands cradling over his counterpart’s throat with a gentle squeeze, that same thumb swiping messily over his partner’s bottom lip. Those same eyebrows with a crease carved between their furrow, those same curls in sweaty, disheveled disarray from the incessant rake through of his hands as his cock got swallowed up by a pretty, swarthy-skinned brunette, or maybe a blonde. A curl that’d flopped over his forehead in those videos, hardly hiding a rivulet of sweat that’d dripped from his hairline, is neatly tucked back under designer shades, now. 

Designer shades he’s bought with his dirty porn money, because despite his spiffy, clean boy, seemingly innocuous demeanor, RideTheTiger is dirty, dirty, dirty. 

Because under his warm smiles and his twinkling jade, there’s an alter ego that lives on the internet. One she’s all too familiar with. 

It makes her chest sort of flush under her sweater. This is happening. This is going to happen. 

The chair creaks a little when he sits up, clearing his throat, “I didn’t want to assume, but. I mean— I’m sure you’ve seen, like, my tips. Is it …odd to say I’m a fan of your content?” his gaze slowly settles from his drink to her face, smooth baritone almost …bashful as plush pink splits into a beam and his words catch on a laugh, “Is that …weird?”

Y/N knows exactly what he’s referring to. They’d been two mutuals subscribed to one another, chunks of profit migrating from inbox to inbox. It’d been like a volley, electric currency bouncing through the expanse of the internet, racket to racket, account back to account, pinging notifications striking on uploads behind paywalls. Only then, Tiger was just a man behind a screen. Tiger wasn’t sitting at a table in front of her, and they weren’t discussing the crude elements of the video they were going to shoot together. 

“Not at all,” Y/N clears her throat and pairs it with a side-to-side shake of her head. 

She’ll never admit that she’d touched herself to the solo session that’d popped up in her DM’s behind a paywall only last week, an automated promotion sent out to all subscribers. The one where he’d been sat in one of those lush, swivel-y chairs in front of his computer, firm thighs splayed and ringed hand tugging over his leaky cock. The camera angle was broad enough to capture his eye contact with the lens, the way his front teeth would nip at his bottom lip, the way the column of his straining throat would go on show as he’d tipped his head back with a groan. 

She blinks, staring ahead as she remembers the way cum had painted all the way up over the panting butterfly. Harry grins from across the table. She half-expects him to brazenly admit he’s done the same to her content. So far, she’s concluded that he’s quite unashamed. 

“Makes it easier to fuck, right?” Y/N says, beating him to the punchline. 

He makes this face then, tipping his head, eyes widening and blinking playfully, mouth curling like he’s appalled by her brazen admission in said public setting. Before the young woman can get flustered by his teasing, he sits back and lets his features relax into something soft.

“Yeah. It does.” 

Harry doesn’t tell Y/N she should wear a plug on the day that they calendar in for shooting. Not while they’re in the cafe. In fact, he waits three whole hours until the very precise moment where she’s using her apple pay at a drive through for the notification banner to swipe down. 

When Y/N steps into his entryway, there’s a wilting cactus stemming from a ceramic basin next to a bowl of keys and varying knick knacks. There’s a pair of dice in there, too. 

“This is Tim,” Harry introduces, unprompted, motioning to the withering plant in passing. 

Y/N nudges with her chin like a sort of acknowledgement, tailing him through the hallway, where a neat array of three framed, abstractly artistic renditions of Kama Sutra positions line the segue. She’s half convinced that the doggy one follows her movement like one of those oddly unsettling renaissance portraits. 

“Very nice.”

It’s a Thursday, and they’ve determined today to be the day that they collaborate. She’s wearing the plug, and she tries to ignore the anticipation curdling in the pits of her tummy as she tails him to the lounge. 

“I think I overwatered him, honestly,” Harry tells her, aimed over his shoulder, “but I can’t bear to part with him.” 

He’s wearing gray sweats, and he’s definitely opted to go commando, if the imprint of his dick when he pivots to face her is anything to go off of (though, whether he’s ditched underwear for the sake of the shoot or solely for comfort, Y/N isn’t sure). All she’s really, actually sure of is that she urgently needs to unglue her eyes from the outline of his cock. 

“D’you want a drink or anything? I mean, I don’t like to do any alcohol before shoots, but if you want, I have seltzers in my fridge.” 

He’s all soft attire — the sweats and bare feet padding over tile, curls a little mussed and swept back. A white tee coats his torso with a cartoonish bee in the center. The words ENJOY HEALTH, EAT YOUR HONEY circle the little piece of outlined artwork in blue. His nails are still green. 

Y/N clears her throat. “Do you have water?” 

“F’course.” 

The kitchen is beside the lounge, and he tells her, as he makes his way over and opens a cabinet to cull a glass, “You can have a seat if you’d like. Figured we’d get the details down before we start filming.” 

His couch is an onyx leather, its form like one of those fancy ones from a 1970s inspired catalog. Y/N sinks into the cushion. She crosses her legs. Uncrosses them. Behind her, the fridge whirs in the kitchen as the water pours into the glass. She’s admiring his fireplace when he stretches the beverage out to her.

“What are we feeling today?” the man winds around to the bend of the sectional, flopping back against the cushions with a sigh as his cotton-clad thighs splay, “…Slow and romantic? Something a little more rough?” 

“Used and abused,” Y/N responds, surprised she manages to keep her cadence as even and nonchalant as she does. The second the statement escapes her, though, she takes a long sip from her glass and hides her simper behind it. 

“Used and abused,” Harry parrots, sitting up a tad as his hands seek new homage from their priorly relaxed splay over the back of the couch. His palms smooth down the fronts of his thighs, instead, and he gives her this little grin; something mischievous that lets his dimples wink alive. “I think I can work with that.”

Yes. She’s certain he can, based on his track record of deviously, deliciously rough content. Three weeks ago she watched a video where his partner was laid out on a table, duck-taped limb to limb, and Y/N had watched his hand — rings removed — roam her body with such delicacy as he drove forward into her. It was all up until the point where the same hand had snaked up around her throat, and then he’d brought it back and smacked her right across the side of her unsuspecting face. It’d sent his partner’s head snapping to the side, and a wave of heat riding through Y/N, coursing through her blood as she’d flipped the vibrator between her thighs to a higher setting. 

Yeah. He can work with that. 

“Since we’re going with that route,” Y/N blinks out from the fog of memoirs circling back to Tiger’s hands exploring and pinching and delivering blows. 

Tiger is much more subdued in this setting. 

“Let’s talk things you’re into, things you’re not so into.” 

The young woman gnaws into her cheek to bridle her grin. “Um. Anal’s a go. Obviously.”

Harry nods, mouth friendly, “Okay.” 

Y/N deliberates. She takes another sip. Harry waits patiently. His green bores into her, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, pupils climbing up to the ceiling as she contemplates. She cocks her head.  

“…Face-fucking. That’s nice. I like dirty talk. I like getting my hair pulled. I like a little bit of pain. You know, like. Spanking. Face slapping, but not, like,” the edges of her mouth cave up, “MMA level—“

The joke culls a huff of soft laughter from him. He nods. 

“Just. General manhandling is good with me,” Y/N tells him. 

Harry nods, his fingers interlocked over his spread knees, and then he sits up a tad. 

“Alright. If we’re going with face fucking, I’m a fan of the trusty tap-tap-tap,” he tells her, motioning with his left palm and patting over his thigh in a series of three as he speaks, “If it ever gets to be too much and you can’t say it, just tap three times, yeah? Just like this.”

Y/N nods. She takes another sip. For a moment, Tiger still has his forearms braced over his lap, but then he sits up a little more. 

“And then when you can say, if anything’s uncomfortable, if you want me to do anything different, just let me know. Doesn’t matter if the camera’s on.” 

Y/N crosses her ankles. She uncrosses them.

“S’all about authenticity. Y’know,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over the plush of his bottom lip, “I don’t wanna be throwing you against the wall or choking you if it doesn’t feel good, even if it looks good on camera. If you’re a clit girl, we’ll play with your clit—“

Her thighs press together.

“If you’re a g-spot girl, we’ll focus on the g-spot.”

She swallows. 

“The throwing against the wall and the choking,” Y/N doesn’t bother hiding her simper as it grows, “Those are good with me, too. And— clit stuff. Yeah.” 

Tiger is hot. Fire hot, like lava coursing and bubbling over rigid stone, even in his soft attire with his soft curls and his soft smiles. He’s got these eyes that feel like they bore through her clothes, but it’s not in an uncomfortably hungry way. 

“What do you… what should I call you during the shoot?” 

His strawberry mouth curls a little. 

“I hear Tiger a lot. M’fine with whatever besides Harry on camera. …If you wanna get a little more into roles we can do Sir. But s’all up to you.” 

It feels like he’s just got this effect — this intense gaze that makes her tummy swirl. It’s not innately an odd shift, going from this entirely professional discourse to soft touches roaming up her sides once they’re in the bedroom. 

It’s the setting for their shoot, and she finds that he’s already got a camera set up on his dresser. One of those that opens up and has a little screen piece that swivels to show what’s currently recording. Harry trails over to it, toggles with the little screen, and, she assumes, begins recording. 

There’s a shag rug by the bed in cream. Y/N eyes it as Harry tugs his shirt over his head, as he makes his way over. Tiger is fire hot, but his touch skims her arm like testing the waters at first. His palms cups her face, the pads of his fingers grazing the sides of her neck, close to her nape, and then his cushiony mouth finds her own. That’s testing at first, too. It’s not a chaste, innocent first kiss by any means, but his mouth is gentle, at first. His hands aren’t hard, and his mouth slots against her own with a kind of tenderness. When her fingers tease up at his waistband, fingering at a warm line of skin between his sweats and his t-shirt, his mouth morphs hungrier. 

“Just—“ Y/N manages between searing kisses as his fingers work the seams of her shirt apart through button-work, “—-jumping right into it, huh?” It’s probably not the sexiest thing to say from the get go of the camera rolling, but she’s honestly still got bits of nerves coiling up in her. This is RideTheTiger. This is happening. She’s going to fuck RideTheTiger. 

Another short kiss, this one she can feel the cushiony pink of his mouth curving up into. 

“Sorry,” Harry amends against her mouth, lips ghosting wetly against her cupid's bow, and the word sounds sort of amused.

And then he’s manually spinning her and marching her over to the dresser, where the camera is set up, her stumbling, rushed gait steadied by the firm press of his thighs from behind as he walks her, colossal hands cupped over her arms. 

“This—” he starts, an introduction blatantly made for the lens, and her pulse stutters when his palm slides up and across and cups over her throat warmly — not quite squeezing, but just there. His other hand explores the expanse of her silhouette from the waist down, pads of his fingers roaming over her tummy, “—is the infamously naughty Birdie.” 

Her veins thrum with something, something hot when the ringed digits traipse to the button of her jeans, just looming over. 

“Can I take these off?” Harry murmurs against the shell of her ear. The tips of his curls tickle at her temple, and she knows he asks it low enough that it’s meant for her. She knows the camera will pick up on it anyways, too. 

“Yeah,” the agreement falls out meshed with an exhale, and her head tips back against his shoulder as his fingers do deft, impressively one-handed work at quick discarding. 

The other hand fondles at one of her tits, only covered with fabric for so long before he takes advantage of the opening he’d made along the line of buttons, pulling at one side for the pink polka-dotted cup of her bra to come out on display. This is all very pro-level disrobing. Y/N decides that when Harry multi-tasks, popping the button of her denim through, pinching at the zipper and tugging down, all still with his other hand caressing over padded flesh at her chest. Ultimately, though, both hands make their way to her hips, and his digits wriggle under either side of her waist band to strip her jeans off, until they rest at about an immobilizing mid-thigh, with an unceremonious yank. 

“I’m Tiger,” Harry talks again, finally, after what’d been a silent moment of apparent concentration, his chin ducked into the nook where her shoulder and her neck meet. 

The man’s fingers toy up under the hem of Y/N’s shirt, wandering over a bare sliver of skin between the top and the line of her panties before they climb the buttoned suture and make work there. 

A chill rolls down her spinal cord, stemming all the way from the nape of her neck, the back and underside of her skull, when Harry declares, almost like she’s not even there, his voice a low and heady baritone, “But, she’s going to call me Sir, and we’re gonna play a little rough with her today, because that’s what she asked for.” 

He’s mid her panting ribcage when the tone in his dialogue switches. It melts from sultry and low to something mirthy when the man sighs and huffs against her neck, like the rounded latches are a long-time nemesis, “Buttons, buttons, so many buttons.” 

Y/N can’t curb the surprised laugh that bubbles from her in response. Her hands rise from her sides (where they’d prior been pretty glued, mostly out of awe and the raw sort of submission manhandling incites), and her forearms brush against his own warm skin as the pads of her fingers shakily work over the stitch he’s on. Harry makes an amused sound into her skin as the corners of her mouth curl up. 

This is real. These are the real moments, the ones that she’s ogled so many times from the other side of the screen, caught on camera mid an otherwise entrancing, perfectly choreographed session of picture-perfect fucking. Like the one where he’d spit and it hadn’t landed where he’d wanted it to, or the one where his partner had spent so long in an angle with her hair over her face and his palm cupped over her mouth, that by the time he’d let up she was spitting out stray hair that’d sunk in past her lips, like a cat with a hairball. Soft laughter had bloomed from the both of them when recognition had dawned, and he’d fingered over her tongue to help her as they’d switched positions. It makes sense why Harry never seems to edit those moments out. 

Authenticity. 

Y/N hopes he doesn’t cut this fragment of the video out. 

“Sorry,” the young woman tells him, her voice garbled with giggles. 

His hands snake up from under her own and they’re the one to pop the final button through. A chilly ring brushes the inside of her wrist. The top separates. 

“There we go,” Harry says, tone colored with enthusiasm, and the way his fingers grip up under the cups of her bra, four for each, and tug abruptly, letting them rest under her freshly-bared tits, kind of, sort of gives her whiplash. 

“Teamwork,” his thumbs slip under either side of her underwear and slink those down until just enough is showing for the eye of the lens. 

Her gaze flits to the viewfinder, and the little icon of her denuded silhouette, pressed up against his chest, one swarthy, inked arm tucked over her ribcage and the sight of his other, ringed digits skimming lower, down her tummy, has her squirming in his grasp. Harry sponges kisses to the side of her neck, and then those ring-clad fingers slide between her legs. Every melty muscle in his arms grows wide awake and tensed like fucking stone. It’s only for a second, before he draws his index and his middle digit, splayed into a blissful V, across either side of her clit. That’s when she liquefies like putty in his hands again, humming softly. 

“…And we’re gonna play with her arse,” Harry tacks on for the camera, almost like it’s an offhand afterthought and not the entire basis of the scene they’ve etched out. 

Y/N laughs, but it melts off into something soft and whimpery when the V lingers and drags. 

“Would you like that?” Harry murmurs, nose tucked into her hair — another comment where the volume implies that it’s obviously meant to be shared between just the two of them — his mouth ghosting over her earlobe and his hand climbing up the ridges of her ribcage like a ladder, “Hm? You want me to play with you there?” 

When his palm expands to rest over the gap between the caging of bone, the space extends out on a breath and she rocks in his touch, hips rolling back subtly. “Mhm.” 

It’s not something he fails to pick up on. The pads of his fingertips expertly toggle at the clasp of her bra — honestly, she’s ludicrously impressed, not only by his keen recognition of the frontal clasp, but this seemingly innate, deft ability to discard clothing pieces with one hand. The straps relax and slip down her shoulders the second the cups fall free and apart. 

“Mhm?” Harry mimics; a low, teasing hum. Y/N thinks then, that this little, patronizing repetition thing he’s got going on could be categorized as a kink in and of itself. 

The palm that’d settled over her diaphragm slinks up to grope at one of her tits. 

It’s kind of game over from there. 

There’s something hard and solid digging into the small of her back, and the longer he spends fondling between her thighs, the longer he spends swiping his thumb over her nipple, the more heat teems to her core, like a glowing warmth that seeps and pulses. The more sure Y/N becomes that his fingertips are definitely culling that top coat she’d pictured all along, enhancing the color there with glinting excitement. 

“There’s a good girl,” Harry purrs when her legs spread a smidge more in response, despite the way they’re nearly glued together with the immobilizing squeeze of her waistband resting mid-thigh. 

The tip of his nose burrows into her hair and grazes at the skin on the side of her neck when his head ducks, fingers sneaking further until the pads press to explore where she’s gushing. His index and his thumb work in tandem to pinch at a nipple and tug. 

And then his tongue licks a practically searing stripe right beside her jugular, and his words send air over wet skin to soothe the flame, “…Getting my fingers all wet, aren’t you?” 

Gameovergameovergameovergameover.

Shelosesshelosesshelosessheloses.

Another burst of air over the wet skin, the soft creak of a chuckle — that’s what reminds her that she’s definitely not breathing. 

Fuck. Y/N sucks in air with a chest tensed like metal armor. His teeth nip over her earlobe. 

And then RideTheTiger slides his slick fingers out from between her legs, coaxing (when she sags in his grip like a marionette that’s had its strings snipped), “Why don’t you give them a little spin and show them the pretty plug you’ve been wearing for me, pet.”

Touch, touch, touch. When Y/N pivots for him, turning her backside to the camera, his mouth brushes the crest of her cheekbone. His warm pecs go flush with her own chest, his palms settle on her love handles and the insides of his rings stipple chills to combat the heat of flesh on flesh. He sponges a kiss to her throat when the young woman throws a glance back to the little screen and shakily presses her palms to the globes of her backside, pulling the flesh there apart to show off the pretty end, silicone petals cradling the shape of a rose. 

That’s when he kneels, cheek pressed to the side of her thigh, when he casts his gaze to the plug with that telltale furrow to his brow bone that she’s seen caught on camera so many times. That’s when his teeth burrow into the pillow of his bottom lip, when he brushes a nearly tentative touch over the plug with the tips of his fingers. That’s when Harry nudges at it and jade bounces from the pallid pink plastic to the shape of her jawline tensing above in response, mouth growing mirthy. 

Nothing prepares her for the way he praises, almost like he’s in awe (and nearly too low for the camera to catch), “So pretty.”

A crease works in between her own eyebrows when his index and his thumb pinch over the plug and twist. And then he lays his thumb over the base and pushes, lightly, as if it can go any further. He draws the pad of his index over the hilt of the plug almost thoughtfully, and then tap-taps in a pair of two that makes her roll her lips into her mouth

“Don’t move,” Harry instructs, after a moment, sneaky, devious fingertips withdrawing altogether. She’s holding her breath again. Y/N readjusts her grip. 

“Just like that,” comes his croon from below, undeniably heady and entirely responsible for the warmth churning between her thighs, “…Just like that, little bird. Show it off, baby.” 

Little bird hits her like a fucking freight train. 

It’s just a play on words, a moniker he’s melded from her stage name, her online personality. It’s been all of, maybe, six minutes — a generous consideration for the timeframe — and he’s already managed to morph her porno pseudonym into a pet name with his soft murmur. 

She’s so focused on the ironic way that such a delicate thing off his tongue makes something so violently carnal stir within her that the young woman doesn’t even notice that he’s been sat near her thighs for a solid second, unspeaking and untouching, besides the paste of his warm cheek beside the press of her hands. 

It’s a suspiciously mischievous sort of silence, but Tiger is no secret-keeper, not when he pats over the back of her leg, a one-tap gesture, and rises to announce, one third amused and two-thirds smug, “Thumbnail.”

The admission is so crude and unexpected that it draws a peal of sputtering laughter from her, feigned indignation meshing with mirth as he rises from the floor, all cocky with an unfairly alluring curl that’s strayed from the rest and flopped to lay over his forehead. 

“You want to use my ass as your thumbnail?” 

Muted raspberry breaks its relaxed line to curve up, obviously self-satisfied and obviously unashamed. Y/N doesn’t think she’ll ever quite keep up with the casual nature of Harry’s mannerisms, not when he hums and his grin splits further, twisting around her to daub her jaw with a kiss.

“…And not my pretty face?” Y/N blinks.

“Last I checked—'' Harry tells her, fingers raking through her roots and palm cradling at her scalp in a way that coaxes chills to bud and roam down the nape of her neck. The digits twist her hair into a bun until his palm is squeezing at her hair all bunched like a flower blooming in reverse, “—You were here to be used and abused, per your request. Not to ask questions.” 

Despite the way he cranes her neck back with the motion, the way it has her jaw unlatching and a surprised exhale full of want escaping, despite the way he drags his teeth down her neck in a line, nipping, Y/N manages to keep her voice impressively even. 

“You don’t want my pretty face painted with your cum as the thumbnail?” she baits, throat bobbing on a swallow. 

He bites. 

At first, his lashline narrows a smidge in obvious inkling that the brazen words have affected him, but then he tips his head and his smug beam morphs more sluggish, more pleased than amused. 

“You want my cum painting your pretty face?” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums in agreement when he turns her head to paste a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

“Yeah? That’s what you want?” 

His tone is suggestive as he manhandles her over onto the fuzzy rug she’d admired before things got all murky with arousal and …cinematic. Y/N twists in his grasp until he’s nudging her onto her knees with his hands. 

And his voice is low, easy like a sigh, each note interlaced with nonchalance and seemingly effortless power, “Let’s see how good you suck cock.”

Before Harry shoves his waistband down, though, he stuffs a hand into his pocket and culls his phone. He gives her this look down from behind it, thumb tucked behind gray elastic.  It’s this wordless, expressionless sort of seeking; all good? Y/N nudges with her chin, lashes fluttering. Tiger toggles over the screen one-handed, and her eyes flit to the uneven pull at his sweats — if only for a second — that showcases bare skin and the cut of a V-line on one side. As he nudges the sweats off to rest under his balls, the phone pings. It’s the sound of a notification — he’s recording. 

His dick is pretty. Pretty in pink with a prominent vein on the underside and a soft dusting of neatly trimmed, dark pubic hair over his pelvic bone that his happy trail had foreshadowed, and his tip is a ruddy shade that matches the tint of his mouth. She’s seen his cock before, obviously, but ogling it in person rather than as a conglomeration of pixels is a different sort of experience. He’s always looked big on screen, the sheer size of him with a fist over his shaft always implying it. But he’s big. Big enough for two of her hands to cradle over his cock comfortably with the head peeking out from her grip, digits never quite meeting in the middle. Y/N spits into a palm before wrapping it over his shaft, eyes flickering up front under her lashes to meet the lens of the camera. 

“You’re so big,” the young woman admits after a moment, irises bouncing from her grip to the phone looming over, and she drags her tongue over her other palm to cup over him with two like it’s proof. 

And Harry strokes over the side of her scalp, almost like he’s wordlessly scratching a dog’s ears in praise, a soft, pleased huff escaping through his nostrils and his lips shaping over a smug sort of beam that never really unseals. 

Almost tentatively, with her eyes still bouncing from the lens to his cock and back, Y/N leans forward and drags his tip over her tongue. Harry sighs in response, fingertips still hovering at her roots. She purses her lips and lets saliva dribble from her mouth onto his head messily, swiping over the wetness with her thumb, and then she strokes down his shaft with two hands as she wraps her lips over him and draws a circle with her tongue. The subtle, although sharp, inhale she earns in response to the motion has her batting her lashes up at the camera.  

“You’re not shy at all, are you? Not in front of the camera,” Harry says after a moment. 

He’s so obviously bridling a hiss when she drags her tongue up under his leaky tip, his front teeth lodging into the pillow of his bottom lip and brows furrowing. Despite the phone cradled over her face, the young woman still has enough room to observe his. Y/N bats her lashes coyly, pupils flitting back to the camera as her mouth opens to showcase the view of her hands working in gentle twists while she drags his cockhead over her tastebuds. 

“…No, you’re not that shy, little girl that you were in the cafe at all.”

She seals her lips over his tip, hollows her cheeks, and hums. 

“…All prim and proper,” the fingertips that’d scraped over the side of her scalp trail to the back of her head, “…Didn’t even wanna say you liked cum dripping out of you. Didn’t wanna let everyone know that you’re a little anal whore.” 

The words coax her to clench over the plug. 

“…S’okay, baby,” Harry tells her after a moment, “I like that you’re a whore on camera for me,”and then the hand that’d cradled over the back of her skull encourages her own palm to slowly unwrap and fall away as he curls it over his shaft to guide it’s aim. 

Y/N pulls off, and Tiger smears the tip over her spit-slicked, swollen mouth. It parts, and Harry traces over the open seam of her lips like he’s applying lip gloss. 

“Please,” the young woman says, mouthing over his tip, almost inaudible. 

“Hm?” 

“Please,” Y/N repeats, and the drag of his tip slides over her bottom lip on the s. 

Harry inhales from above. He doesn’t immediately give her what she wants, instead opting to draw over her cupid’s bow as he tips his head, voice quiet and still somehow full of a dominant edge. “So polite. You wanna taste more of my cock?” 

The young woman nods, eyes tipped up, and he smears his cockhead over her mouth again. Harry’s teeth nudge into the plush of his bottom lip before he directs, “Stick your tongue out for me. I’ll give you a little taste.” 

And he does. He grazes her tongue with it the moment it’s on show, basking in her soft breaths puffing out against him and the sweet sight of her gaze, unwavering. 

“S’that good?” Harry asks, mouth curling at the (currently) brazenly lewd young woman at his feet, “What you wanted?” 

And she just nods up at him. Despite the way she wants more, the way she wants to close her lips around him and keep twisting her grasp to watch his seams split in ecstacy, Y/N motions lightly with her head. A little sound escapes the back of her throat when he drags the tip of his cock back over her top lip and sighs. 

“You really are such a little whore, aren’t you?” Harry says, tracing along the open seam of her lips with the tip and dragging it over her tongue again, “Give me a pretty smile. Show me just how much you like it.“ 

His words melt off into a rumbly hum when, as he draws over the border of her bottom lip and takes his cock off her tongue, her pretty teeth slowly seep shut and the corners of her mouth form something absolutely overjoyed. Her head cocks, and she grins up at him. All innocuous too, if it weren’t for the head of a cock smearing over the edges of her smile. His thumb slinks out from the hold he’s got over his dick to graze with the pad at the shiny white of her top teeth. 

“Good girl.”

Somewhere around there is when her teeth part and his thumb mingles onto her tongue. Then, the young woman wraps her lips over the digit and sucks. The tension of her cheeks hollowing over his finger in the silence is cut short with a ping — Harry turns the camera off and flings the phone somewhere in the direction of the bed. There’s no definitive thump behind her, so Y/N assumes the man makes it. She hums and pulls off of the digit with a pop and a giggle. 

Dimples pluck alive beside his smile. “Something funny?” 

“No,” the young woman clears her throat, the apples of her cheeks still emphasized and round with her apparent amusement, “Nothing. It’s just.” She blinks up at him, “…Surreal, sort of. Your dick’s just as pretty in person as it is on camera.”

Tiger cocks his head and swipes over her bottom lip with the tip of said dick. She’s quite good at stroking his ego. 

“Thanks. That’s sweet, darling.”  

A furrow works between his brows as her tongue peeks out to daub at the lingering head. “You watch a lot of my videos?” 

And the admission comes almost hungry, with no remorse, “Mm. Touch myself to them.” 

That’s when his brows crease more, when heat swells down through the trench of his tummy and teems up the underside of his balls, where they drive taut at the words. 

“Christ.”

Blown jade bouncing from her lips to the contact of her own eyes and back. Eventually, he swallows and directs, “Tongue out.” 

When she displays it for him, jaw wide, those shambles splinters of composure seemingly fuse. The Harry that emerges nearly gives her whiplash. 

“You touch yourself to my videos?” Harry coos, and the words are coated with so much condescension that Y/N is sure she’d be humiliated in any other circumstance. 

Her tongue twitches under his cockhead. The man looming over swipes that same, leaky tip over her taste buds, and his grin broadens into something like a borderline sadistic Cheshire cat. And then he’s leaning over a smidge, cock still angled over her outstretched tongue, opposite hand fondling under that, at her jaw, and squeezing at her cheeks. 

“That is so—“ emphasizing the words with the slap of his tip against her tongue, Harry grits out, “—fucking—“ another tap that has her uselessly lolled tongue jolting and a garbled little sound wresting from the back of her throat, “—cute.”

Y/N blinks up at him, one hand uncurling slowly and falling away as he nudges the back of her head to swallow more of him in past her lips. 

“Why don’t you use that hand and play with your little clit for me? The way you do when you’re watching me.” 

She makes a muffled noise around him as he sinks in further, and her hand traipses between her poorly, poorly splayed thighs. 

“That’s it,” Harry murmurs, though whether the praise is directed at the way the tips of her fingers pry between her legs or the way she blinks wetly over his cock as she takes more of him into her mouth, Y/N is unsure. “There’s a good girl. Look at me— yeah. Fuck.” 

He holds onto either side of her head, long fingers splaying over her skull, and the young woman splutters when his tip prods at the back of her throat and teases at her gag reflex. The tip of her nose grazes his happy trail, so all in all, it’s a solid effort in one go. Harry holds her there for a moment, relishing in the squeeze of her throat over him as she fights sputtering more, and a throaty groan rips from his vocal chords before his fingers tangle into her hair. That’s when he yanks her off. 

Her chest is already rolling in pants, and the way his palm collides with the fleshy area of her cheek nearly launches her lightheaded headspace into overload. The blow isn’t loud, and it doesn’t really hurt, but he does it a second time, palm grazing over the same fragment of skin. It’s the hand that doesn’t have any rings, and Y/N’s mouth curls up in borderline delirious bliss, teeth unsealed and lips swollen and saliva-daubed. Tiger coaxes a moan when he goes for it a third time. But this time, his hand snakes to palm over the column of her throat and squeeze.

“Fuck, you’re filthy,” Harry tells her, thumb cruising over an inch of skin, “Such a slut for it.”

Her pulse thunders under his grasp. It’s almost like his touch pries the nearly animalistic giggle off her lips. She’s still beaming open-mouthed, and her voice is raw when she beckons, “Yeah—“

And then there’s a ragged gasp and subdued sort of gag, coated with surprise, when Tiger nudges her face forward and unceremoniously shoves his dick back down her throat, his brows pinched.  

“Get that mouth back on my cock.” 

Her hands find his thighs, just wavering over them, curling and unflexing as her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Don’t close your eyes. Look up at me. Look up at me— there you go,” Harry cooes when, despite every instinct that coaxes every muscle in her face to clench and tense, Y/N follows his directions and blinks up at him through a watery sheen. “Shit.”

And then he’s hauling her off and she’s gasping for breath, only for a short moment before he slides back past her jaw until her chin is flush with his sac and he’s pulsing in the warm confines of her mouth. Her lashes flutter. A devious kind of laugh bubbles from him, breathy, and low, and short when the heels of her palms press into the sturdy muscle beneath his laurels. Except this time he doesn’t yank her all the way off for a third time. He holds her there for a second, swearing softly at the view, and then tugs her off until his tip’s on her tongue and pumps back in. It’s a subtle motion — testing, like he’s observing her reaction, really assessing her comfort levels with this. He does it a few more times, as gentle of a motion as it really can be until she squints her eyes shut and muzzles a cough, blinking up at him rapidly through the blur. 

Harry swipes a thumb under her eye, where a rivulet leaks, praising almost in a whisper as she practically vibrates at his feet, “That’s it.” 

Another second to gasp in air, and then he’s fucking her mouth, brushing her gag reflex with every drive forward and every pump out. Y/N sort of loses herself in it — in the fingertips burrowing into her roots, in the huffs and groans that escape him, in the warm muscle beneath her touch, in the way his dick slides down her throat. It’s quite nice. RideTheTiger is fucking her mouth, and it’s nice.

“Look at you,” Harry hums after a while, the hold on the back of her head firm, and she blinks at him all teary-eyed, gagging around him as her chin presses flush with his balls. “So sloppy. Made my nice joggers all wet.” 

Drool pools down her chin, and strings of it dangle from his balls and sully the fabric further. She bats her lashes up at him, and tears slink off from her waterline. Her fingers flex and relax over his thigh, never quite loosening the tension there fully. The man swipes the thumb on his free hand under her eye, where inky black has smudged off from her lashes, and the lewd, left corner of his mouth tips up lopsidedly. 

“You’re such a pretty girl when you’re making a mess,” and then, to nail the demeaning compliment home with the most heady, joyfully smug tone, “Yes you are, little bird.”

His sluggish grin morphs into a borderline pornographic lip-bite then, and he cranes his neck back with a throaty hum, fingers tensing and relaxing, before his digits ultimately tighten in her hair and coax the young woman off. She coughs like she hasn’t breathed in ages, 

Y/N doesn’t know how she gets up to her feet. It’s a lightheaded clamber, coaxed by Harry’s fingers tugging at her hair, his hand on her arm, his definitive, “Get up.” Somehow, though, she manages, despite the fact that her jeans are still half-on, and Harry steadies her and makes her dizzy all at once when his mouth presses hungrily to hers. One hand cradles the side of her neck and the other braces her at the hip. It’s a heated kiss, like Tiger doesn’t mind that her chin is coated with spit, or that the same spit smears over his own jaw as their mouths connect. Y/N nearly trips over her own feet as he walks her, backwards, into the general direction of the bed. The mattress meets the backs of her knees and his hand (which has, since settling on her hip, mingled up her side and cupped over one of her tits) sends her toppling back against the sheets. Harry nearly snickers at her look of indignation. Instead though, he tucks his fingers up under her half-down denim and tugs until her pants are off and she finally, finally has the ability to spread her legs. He tosses those onto the rug, and Y/N watches Harry finish disrobing, kicking the gray sweats into a rumpled pile beside her jeans. 

The camera is still rolling on the dresser, and it’ll keep rolling. It’ll keep rolling when he sinks his face between her thighs, it’ll keep rolling when he pulls the plug out and nudges his fingers in, when he slips his cock into her cunt and then, eventually, switches to her other hole. Or maybe it’ll go in an all different order. Tiger cradles her by the hips and repositions her roughly. The lens doesn’t catch the way she’s all shimmery between her legs with want from its angle, but Harry does, eyes glued there as his fingertips trail featherlight up her thigh and back down. 

A crease works in between his brows like he’s contemplating something, and then he pats the same fragment of flesh he’d been caressing and instructs, “Flip over.” 

Y/N tips over to her side and then rolls onto her tummy, but when she clambers onto her hands and knees Harry beckons, “Where are you going, little bird?” He sighs, warm palm grasping over her ankle and yanking her back towards the edge of the bed, just until Y/N is splayed and forced to shimmy her way back into a pretty arch. “Hm?” 

His hand is still gripped over the joint when the other climbs up the back of her naked thigh, skin on skin petting softly there. “Where are you going, little girl?”  

She’s going to implode. She nearly does when his colossal palms cup either cheek of her backside and spread. He hums like he’s pleased. 

“Which hole should I fuck first…” Harry ponders aloud from behind, but it all feels sort of rhetorical when he nudges over her tightest, little hole, pressing like he’s teasing a breach with the tip of his digit. 

She thinks he must be using his other hand, too, because the pad of his thumb drives a circle over her puffy, spit-slicked clit. The ring of muscle flutters. 

“…Hm?”

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the fleshlight blurb | subrry

Based on this request!

Summary: Harry has to go on a business trip without Y/n so she gets him a special toy to use while he's away and she tells him to send her a video of him using it.

Word Count: 1,536

Warning: smut (masturbation), sub/dom dynamics, descriptions of Harry's sperm making a bit of a mess

. . .

"So what do you think?" She bit her lip as Harry looked down at the custom fleshlight, made to look like her own pussy. The outside was a replica of her vulva.

"I love it," he looked up at her with a sweet grin. "So you're asking me to bring this with me on my two-week business trip? To like? Use as a replacement for you?"

Y/n laughed and shook her head, "I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. Since I can't be there, I don't want you to just be stuck with your hand or those poor hotel pillows. I want you to feel like I'm there with you."

Harry was obviously over the moon about the gift. He'd never had a fleshlight before but he'd definitely be missing Y/n while he was away. She was his safe haven. His respite from his demanding job and title. Harry was a CEO at a banking company and he called the shots all day. He was the boss. But when he got home to his Y/n, he would let her take care of him and take over so he could finally relax.

. . .

"I want you to use the toy I got you tonight after your meetings. I know you probably need a release so bad don't you baby?" Y/n spoke to Harry through the receiver of his phone on the third morning of his business trip.

"Yes. I didn't touch myself at all just like you told me. Can't wait to use it and pretend you're here with me." He smiled as he spoke. He missed her so much.

"So good for me, Harry. You can pretend you're fucking me tonight. But I want you to make a video so I can see how it looks on you. Want to watch how you use it and watch you come."

Harry was good at following Y/n's instructions. He always only wanted to please her. And all day as he was meeting with other CEOs, eating lunch, and listening to presentations he couldn't stop thinking about finally getting to come while using his new fleshlight. He was so pent up and stressed out and he missed her just like he always did when she couldn't go with him on business trips and help him unwind.

He ate dinner in a rush, excusing himself from the group of men lingering over cocktails and personal stories Harry had no interest in hearing. His excuse was that he wasn't feeling very well and needed to lie down and relax. Which wasn't a complete lie. He really did wish to relax after an orgasm which would make him feel better.

Back in my room now. Wish you were here with me to help me unwind. Can you please send me something to look at while I use the toy you bought me?

Y/n grinned upon seeing the text and took a few pictures of her tits with her thumbs over her nipples. He loved her tits. Loved sucking on them and nuzzling into them. He often fell asleep with his head lying over her chest as he was kissing them softly.

He groaned when he saw the pictures she sent as he kneed up onto his hotel bed with his cock in his hand. He set up his personal laptop to begin the video of himself and angled it so it showed everything. He could even watch himself this way which made it hotter.

Using the lube he brought with him from home, he smoothed it over his tip and down his shaft as he began to grow harder and harder and he looked into the camera and let out a heavy breath as he situated himself and knelt on his bed, facing the headboard. Letting go of his heavy, thickened cock he picked up the fleshlight and moaned as he kissed around the polymer mold and propped up the picture of Y/n, wishing it was her that his lips were pressed against, "Wish I was tasting your pussy. Wish you were grinding on my face and getting yourself off on my nose and my tongue, Y/n..." he whined. That was his favorite. Loved it when she pushed him down and sat on his mouth and made herself come. Harry would die a happy man with her smothering him like that.

But he was so horny and so impatient he didn't take too long to lap at the mineral-based sleeve as he drizzled a healthy amount of lube inside before pressing his fingers through the interior to spread the slick along the plushy toy and hearing a nice wet squelch. It wasn't the same, but it felt nice.

Placing a hotel towel over a pillow, Harry propped that between his knees before he looked from the picture of her tits to the camera as he placed one palm on the big wooden headboard to keep himself stabilized on his knees and then cupped the toy with his other fist before he pressed inside.

The toy had a similar appearance to her labia he noted as he pushed inside. It wasn’t nice and warm like Y/n was, but it felt good to have his cock touched nonetheless. Even if it was just a fleshlight.

"Oh fuck..." he slowly began to thrust himself in and out, holding it steady with his hand as he rocked into the toy. His muscles were straining, thighs flexing with every thrust.

His heart rate began to rise with every slick push and pull of his shaft, the end of the toy was open (for practical purposes as Harry's cock was quite lengthy) so his pink tip punched through every time he pressed himself in all the way. He knew that if he were inside of Y/n that would be the spot where her cervix was.

"Ohhh... I need you..." he whimpered as his lips parted and he began to fuck into the polymer material with more force.

The sound of fucking a fleshlight was different than the sound of fucking wet pussy. It sounded synthetic but still slippery and wet. But fuck if it didn't feel amazing wrapped around his thick girth and cupping his tip on each plunge. Plus the view of it… It really did look like he was fucking into Y/n’s cunt, pussy lips wrapped around him as he drove in.

“Fuck me…” he groaned as his hips began to stutter. He kept himself held on his knees up with his palm against the headboard, hips rutting and cock twitching as he bucked himself in and in and in… He gripped around the plastic outer part of the toy and watched himself as he masturbated with the toy and felt his thighs begin to tremble.

“Mmm… Y/n… can I come, please? I need it?” He was mumbling and shaking as he looked at her picture and into the camera. He felt himself throbbing as precome began to drip from his tip and down onto the towel he’d placed over the pillow.

His desperate moans grew louder and he grabbed the pillow with the towel and lowered his hips down, humping his cock through the fleshlight and down into the pillow as his face screwed up in pleasure, the intense wave of relief that he felt as he began to pump come onto the terry fabric had him gasping, a soft moan of Y/n’s name falling from his lips.

It was intense. He hadn’t come in days, at Y/n’s directions, so he soaked through the towel and was sure the pillow underneath would be wet.

“Oooohhh…” he rocked his hips down gently into the pillow, stilling himself as every drop of his come was drained from his balls.

When he finally lifted up, he was in a puddle of his come as he slid the toy from his shaft and hissed at how sensitive his tip was. With his fist around his softening cock he looked into the camera, chest still heaving and flushed red, “I came too fast, Y/n. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. M’cock was so achy… made a big mess.”

Y/n was too excited to get the video of Harry. She was not disappointed as she watched the video twice. It was short but it did the trick. Because she missed him just the same.

Harry had just finished cleaning himself up when he heard his phone ringing.

“Baby, I’m so sorry it was short–“

“That’s okay, gorgeous boy. I know you were pent-up. You get a pass today. Tomorrow night we’ll have you do it again but I’m going to be with you on the phone watching the whole time and telling you exactly what I want to see so you’re not finishing so fast. Yeah?”

“Yes. I want that. I miss you.”

“I know you do, baby. Felt good to use that, though?”

Harry grinned and balled up the dirty towel, tossing it to the floor, “It felt nice. Never as good as you, though. Your pussy has a choke hold on me.”

Y/n smiled, “That’s right. Nothing better than this pussy for you, baby. It’ll be that much better when you get back from your trip.”

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#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #firstpost #ceo!harry #subrry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry edward styles #harry styles x yn #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fiction #harrystyles #sub!harry #sub!harry x dom!yn #sub!harry x dom!reader #harry #harry x reader #harry x yn #harry smut

[whitemancumslut]

Look What You Made Me Do (H.S) Pt.1

SUMMARY: A guy flirts with you, and as a result, Harry kills him.

CONTENT WARNING: dark!harry, manipulation, sex, manhandling, sub/dom dynamic, hints of m*rder, mentions of wounds/blood, daddy kink

AUTHORS NOTE: Someone requested a dark!harry who gaslights, kills, and manipulates so i scrambled this up. I will def be writing him more seriously after this one 😂

WORD COUNT: 1-2k

It all started when she pleaded with her big doe eyes pearling up at him, her small voice filled with desperation and smallness. The vastness of the huge empty house seemed to swallow her up in his absence, leaving her feeling like a tiny speck in a sea of silence.

"Daddy, can I go with you? Please," she implored, her eyes wide with hope. She craved to be in his presence, for the reassurance of his company in the cold, echoing rooms of their home.

But his response was harsh and dismissive, his words cutting through her like a knife. "No," he said brusquely, his tone leaving no room for argument. The frown that creased her brow deepened.

She continued. “Please, I'll be good. I promise," she pleaded, watching him pack the duffel bags, not worrying about all the things he’s shoving inside as she was once told that it was none of her business.

His job was a mystery to her, shrouded in secrecy and danger. Every night, Harry would return home with evidence of a violent encounter - bruises on his knuckles, blood splattered on his clothes, and his hair in disarray.

Despite her growing fear and concern, she was forbidden from asking questions. Harry insisted that his actions were for her protection, and that she was not meant to witness the darker side of his work. The unspoken understanding between them only added to the air of mystery and tension that surrounded Harry's enigmatic profession.

Harry sighed, dropping what was in his hands to turn to his girl. "Baby," He said softly, grabbing her face in his hands, his eyes filled with concern. "Is there a reason you don't want to stay here? You're always happy to wait for me when I get back." His words were laced with genuine curiosity as he searched her eyes for any hint of what might be bothering her. Harry couldn't bear to see her unhappy and he would go to hell and back to put that smile on her face.

Her eyes began to get glossy as she looked up at him, her bottom lip quivering. "I-I just want to be with you. It's so boring here. Please daddy. Just once, can I go?," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be good.”

Harry looks down at her as he towered over her in their height difference. “Daddy has very important business, you know that.” He said. “Don’t you, princess?” His hand coming in contact with her head. Rubbing over her hair and then rubbing over her cheek.

She nodded, “Yes, sir.” Her voice sounded smaller than before and very much defeated as she looked down at her freshly done nails Harry paid for.

Harry sighed, knowing he couldn't resist her sad, pleading eyes. Placing a small kiss to her upper lip. "Get dressed," he finally relented, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Her face lit up with joy as she jumped up from her seat, a sense of excitement coursing through her veins. "Yes!" she wrapped her arms around his neck, placing a wet glossy kiss on his cheek.

His hands moved stealthily down to her backside, fingers gripping her butt with a firm squeeze. His voice remained stern as he instructed her to get dressed quickly. "I'm leaving in ten minutes," he stated firmly. Despite his serious tone, she couldn't help but smile at him.

"Okay Daddy," she giggled.

She started to make her way towards their bedroom upstairs, but before she could take another step, Harry grabbed her by the forearm, pulling her back with a roughness that sent a shiver down her spine.

"But you listen to me," he said sternly, his grip tightening on her arm. She looked up at him, the smile is no longer on her face as she locks intimidating eye contact with him. "I want you on your best behavior tonight. I need you to stay by my side at all times. Do you understand?" He searches for some sort of understanding and submissive in her eyes and as always, he does.

She nodded, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. But Harry wasn't satisfied with just a nod. He cupped her jaw in his hand, his fingers pressing against her skin with a force that made her gasp.

"Words," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. "Use them."

"Y-yes, daddy," she stammered, her words barely audible as she struggled to meet his intense gaze. The power he held over her was intoxicating, and she knew that tonight would be a night she would never forget.

He let go of her face and she made her way up to the bedroom they shared. Harry shook his head as he finished closing his duffel bag and swinging it over his torso.

The only thing she knew about Harry's job was that it always led them to a club. As soon as she walked in she was met with loud music and people grinding against one another. As they walked through the entrance, she could feel his grip on her hand tighten, causing a slight discomfort that only grew as they made their way through the crowded dance floor.

As she walked, she just remembered the two rules Harry gave her:

1. Stay by Harry’s side.

2. Don’t speak to anybody.

But Harry didn’t stay by her side. He was pulled away from her when one of his men came and pulled him for a conversation. The area was so congested, he lost track of her.

As his men spoke to him, a man approached his girl. It was another man who worked for him, she recognized him but couldn’t put a name to his face. Harry tended to tell this man off a lot. He would always cut him off and treat him as if his words and suggestions to their work didn’t matter.

“Hello, sweetheart.” The two words caused her to spin and see a man who’s awfully taller than her. “I’m Jared. I work for Styles. I believe we’ve met before,” He held out his hand, awaiting hers.

Afraid to be rude, she took his hand and shook it, praying it’ll be over soon. "Hi," she said softly, voice sweet as honey. The instructions in the car were clear - she wasn't supposed to speak to anyone and was supposed to stick to Harry’s side. However, the absence of Harry, who was meant to be by her side at all times, made her question the rules she was meant to follow.

She removed his hand from his grip and smiled kindly. He assumed that her being alone was a perfect opportunity to get her away from him. “Where’s Styles? Rarely get you alone…” His lips curled up as his eyes scanned her skin that was out leaving little to the imagination. Before she could answer—

“This is very pretty,” He said, his voice is as if he’s trying to lure her. His rough calloused hands came up and touched the strap of her dress.

“Thank you!” She said smiling. In a way, Harry always made it seem as if the men who worked for him were evil and cruel and not at all kind. But a compliment like this made her feel the opposite. “I just got it this weekend!”

And that’s when Harry flicked his head in her direction to see the interaction. It was like a light switch in his head. Eyes squinting to make sure he saw what he saw correctly.

“How did Styles’ get so lucky?” his hand came to her bare shoulder and before he could move closer—

"Hey, what's going on?" Harry interrupted before she could even begin to explain the situation. His tone was sharp, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Is there a reason you're here and not over there?" With a sudden burst of aggression, Harry shoved him forcefully, causing him to stumble and collide with the barstools lined up behind him.

The sound of the impact caused a loud screeching sound, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. It was clear that Harry's actions were motivated by more than just curiosity - there was a sense of menace in his demeanor that sent a chill down everyone's spine.

Jared’s tough guy act tried to go strong but anyone could understand looking at the glint in Harry’s eyes it was no use.

Harry grabbed him by the collar as she tried to get his attention. “We were just talking—“

“You fucking touch her? Hmm?” Harry’s fist came in contact with the guys face once again causing the girl behind him to drop the grip on his arm. Harry stood over the man that worked for him and kicked him as he grew satisfied with the blood pouring from his face. “He’s going to den.” He ordered the two men who he was previously speaking to.

He doesn’t look at the men, instead he grabs his girls hand with the opposite hand that wasn’t bruised. He pulled her along with him, ignoring anything she was saying.

The girl behind him shook her head as her hands shook. “Daddy—.” She continued to look back at the man being taken away. “No. Why’d you do that?”

Her voice was like a cry and he ignored every word until they got into the car. The car ride was silent as all she can think about was what Harry did.

When they arrived to the house, Harry walked to the front door and let her walk in. He didn’t even step foot in the door.

“You stay here,” He said. Before she could argue— he was out the door with a slam.

But nothing could have prepared her for when he got back.

When he returned, he called out her name. “Baby?” Harry called out. She sat on the edge of the bed, and her feet dangled as she’s been home alone for a hour. When she heard his footsteps come closer and closer, she lifted her head up awaiting his enterance.

“Hey, baby.” He greeted her softly and came into the room and the first thing she realized was his shirt.

The silence was loud and the stains on his shirt were screaming at her. He comes closer and places a kiss on her forehead as if she’s a clueless dog.

She watched as he walked across their bedroom and through his coat to the floor, sighing heavily.

The silence killed her.

“Daddy?”

He hummed, “Hmm?”

“What did you do to Jared?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where did you have the guys take him?”

“Somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” She questioned, standing up. “Just somewhere? Did you hurt him? He was just being nice—!”

“No!” Harry's voice boomed with anger, his eyes flashing with intensity, causing her to jump. The way his head flicked towards her startled her more. "Jared was a bad guy, baby. Far from nice. And if you couldn't see it from talking to him face to face, then that's a problem.” He scolded walking towards her with each step causing her to back up one, “I could tell from across the room that he was trying to get you. So, I had to take care of him. Look at this," he gestured to the bloodstains on his shirt, "that's Jared's blood. He wanted to get you all to himself." She flinched as he barked his words out at her. Harry's words were harsh and filled with a protective rage as he explained the violent altercation that had just taken place.

“So you know what I did?” He said, voice deep and cruel. Eyes peering deep into hers. His tone was chilling, a coldness that sent shivers down her spine as he spoke. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to bore into her soul as he revealed his dark secret.

Tears welled up in her eyes, a mix of fear and sorrow clouding her vision. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, couldn't fathom the depths of his cruelty.

And then he said it, those three words that echoed in the silence of the room. "I killed him." The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous, as the weight of his confession settled between them. Harry's nonchalant demeanor only added to the horror of his admission, as if taking a life was nothing more than a casual event in his twisted world.

The truth of his actions hit her like a freight train, a realization that shook her to the core. Harry killed a man for flirting with her. She had known there was darkness within him, but this revelation was beyond anything she could have imagined. Her mind raced with questions, with the need to understand how he could have done such a thing.

As she looked into his eyes, she saw no remorse, no guilt. Only a cold emptiness that chilled her to the bone. And in that moment, she knew that she was in the presence of a monster.

“I know the man Jared is,” He said. “He preys on younger drunk girls and shoves them in his car and takes them to his place. You know how many times we’ve caught him for that? Going after you was him trying to get back at me for lashing at him in the poker room.”

As she slowly backed away from him, her heart pounding in her chest, she couldn't find the words to express the shock and disbelief that filled her. "Why—Why would—Why would you kill him?" she finally managed to whisper, her voice barely above a breath. The room felt heavy with the weight of his confession, as if there were another presence in the house, one that she couldn't see but could feel with every fiber of her being.

His eyes bore into hers, filled with a mix of determination and desperation. "I did it for you. I did it because of you," he explained, his voice low and raw with emotion. He took a step closer, his breath warm against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. "I couldn't stand to see him lay a finger on you. It drove me crazy. The mere thought of another man touching you, it makes me fucking sick. Do you understand that?," he confessed, his words heavy with the weight of his love and possessiveness.

With those words, a sense of understanding came over her but it still flooded her brain of the thought of Harry killing a man. She couldn't imagine herself with anyone else, couldn't fathom another man treating her the way Harry did. Touching her the way Harry did. No one else could make her feel the way he did, with his fierce protectiveness and unwavering devotion.

In her eyes, she saw a love so deep and consuming that it both terrified and exhilarated her. Everything he did excited her but he was always such a mysterious man with a mysterious life behind the big doors of their home.

His thumb brushed the falling tear off her cheek. “The lengths I would go to protect you know no bounds, baby. Don't mistake my actions for those of a dangerous man; I am just protecting you. You have to understand, I am not the villain. Jared is, not me." With a sense of urgency and desperation, he gently shook her cheeks as he spoke, trying to make her see the truth in his words.

He let go of her head, and his hands fell to his sides. Her eyes following his—still trying to find exactly what emotions are filled in his.

“I did it for you. I killed a man that worked for me because he fucking laid a finger on you. Do you know how crazy you make me, darling? The things I’d do for you? Oh, baby I’d stop the Earth from spinning.” He grabbed her face again, but this time she didn’t back away— she melted into his touch. Looking into his eyes she saw something. It was a look of reassurance and once again she saw the man she loved. “I did it because I love you, baby, okay?”

Tears continued to fall down her face but she nodded as he spoke. “Do you understand that?” He shakes her head in his hands, wiping the tears as they fell.

She nods again, “I— I understand sir.”

“I will always protect to you. You understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Harry’s lips pressed to her as he wrapped his arms around her body.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I should have never lashed out on you like that and I should have never left you alone. I just really hate when any other guys staring at what’s mine.” He spoke to her softly as she shakes her head. “I promise I will never let another man get that close to you again.”

“Any man who lays a finger on you will be damned when I get my hands on them”

a/n i wrote this on the train because when i saw the request i ran to it😀 here’s a quick run thru of what i want this series to be. this is so fucking insane oh my gosh and unserious. i want more of dark!possessive harry who can’t take a man saying a word to you.

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #dom!harry #dom harry styles #dom!harry x sub!reader #harry styles imagines #domrry #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

Make it Better **

Ummm...I got a 🤏🏻wee bit 🤏🏻 horny and this happened...it's just filth.

WARNINGS: inappropriate relationship, slight dom/sub dynamic, bondage (collar and leash), subby male, oral sex (fem receiving), performative cunnilingus, prostate play, p in v, very light cbt: overstim, multiple forced orgasms, squeezing), degradation and praise kink, anal play, anal sex w/strap on, cum play.

WC: 5.9K

One thing you loved about Harry was his complexity. He was such an interesting and wonderfully multifaceted person, it was wonderful to see and to experience. Even now, as he reprimanded your class for all failing his last exam, you couldn’t help but smile down to your lap as you imagined how different his mood would be when you met up later.

“Is there something amusing about this, Y/N?” He questioned, but your head was in the clouds.

“Y/N.” Your friend Allen whispered and elbowed you lightly and you glanced up at him, he glanced over to the front of the lecture hall. You glanced over and saw Harry staring at you expectantly.

“I’m sorry, what was that, professor?” You asked as you uncrossed your legs rather sloppily as you sat up to ensure he saw your underwear from down at the front of the room.

“I asked if there was something amusing about you all failing the exam on the  diagnoses chapter? You’re sitting there smirking as if something about this isn’t serious.” He called you out.

“I’m sorry, professor.” You mumbled.

“What was that?” He asked, cocking his head to the side as if trying to hear you better.

“I’m sorry, professor.” You repeated more loudly and he hummed and went back to chewing you all out. Truth was that psychopharmacology was a bitch and everyone in your class was resigned to fail this collectively since Harry dropped your lowest score from the final grade. Therefore, you guys didn’t try and it showed and now Harry was pissed because you had all taken advantage of his policy.

He spouted off on everyone’s lack of integrity a few more moments before he took a deep breath and then said, “Anyway…” before he started to lecture. You smiled every time you glanced up from your notebook, he looked so fucking hot today. He was wearing his glasses today, and his scruff was outgrown how you liked it, and he had a vintage looking vest on that really showed off how big his chest was. You squirmed a bit at the thought of his stubble tickling your sensitive pussy as he got in there and ate you out. You couldn’t wait to see him later.

************

You said goodbye to your roommate and headed down the stairs and out of your apartment complex near campus. You walked to the first intersection and turned left towards the park and there was his range rover near the bus stop. You hurried over and he unlocked the door and you slipped into the passenger seat.

“Hi, baby.” You hummed and he smiled and leaned over the console as you shut the door, lips puckered out and waiting for you to kiss him. Finally your lips met quickly as your thumb brushed up his jaw.

“Hi.” He said when he pulled away, “Buckle up.”

“Oh yeah.” You said and strapped in before he took off. “What’re you in the mood for tonight?” You asked him.

“Need you first. Then we can order in, yeah?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” You hummed and reached your hand over to his thigh and gave him a squeeze. He placed his hand over yours and slid it up a bit, “Don’t rush me.” You said and he smiled.

“Sorry, I had a day.” He hummed.

“Yeah, even got a little snippy with me there.” You said with a smirk.

“I know…sorry about that.” He apologized.

“S’alright, baby.” You smiled

“I liked your panties, do you still have them on?”

“Of course I do.” You assured him.

“Good.”

You got to his house quickly and soon he was parking inside the garage. You unbuckled as the heave metal door closed and he hurried around to help you out of the car. 

“A kiss, please.” He said as he loomed over you and you smiled and puckered your lips for him to kiss you quickly.

“C’mon, lets get  inside.” You insisted and he grabbed your hand and guided you into his house. “Wanna get straight to it?” You asked him and he nodded.

“Please.” Harry mumbled as he locked up the garage exit. 

You started off to his bedroom and he soon caught up with you. He draped himself over your body and walk over with you. You leaned into his hold as he cuddled up closer to you.

“Need you so bad, babe.” He hummed lowly.

“I know, we’ll make it better soon.” You assured him as he kissed your shoulder. As soon as you made it to his room you unwrapped him from you and set your overnight bag down on the chair by the door and he came around to the front of you. His lips latched to your neck and started sucking gently, gradually getting harder and harder to leave a mark. You moaned as you tossed your head back, “Harder. Mark me.” You requested and he did just that, leaving an achey little blossom right at the base of your jaw. “Mmmm, now get naked for me.” You instructed. 

Harry immediately started undressing and you did too as you walked over to his bed. Once you were naked you sat down and smiled, just as he was taking off his socks. “God, you’re so hot. And you know it. Don’t you, baby?” You asked and he smirked and shrugged modestly as he strutted over, his hardening cock swung a bit with his movements, “You know, I thought it was cute. How you got all stern with us in class today.” You reminded with a casual smile, “I love how much you care that we’re learning from you.” 

“Of course I care, baby. Always wanna be good for you.” He said as he stopped before you and you smiled up at him. Your eyes raked back down to his cock, it was almost completely hard, it was erect but still hanging a bit. You wanted his big, fat cock standing straight up for you It always amazed you when it did, it was just so heavy, it always surprised you and made your mouth water. You wanted him so hard that you could see him throbbing and twitching aggressively at random.

“And you are. You’re so good for me, professor.” You purred up him, “Already getting hard for me.” You smiled and he nodded when you peered up at him. “Because you were so cute today you can pick three toys but for you only.” You said and he smirked and then hummed pensively as he walked over to his closet where he stored all your toys and accessories. In the meantime you went over to your bag and opened it up. You reached inside for the black velvet drawstring bag and then opened it up. You reached inside and pulled out your strap-on. You smiled as you smoothed over the indigo blue silicone six inch piece. You then reached in and grabbed the remote for the vibrating parts and the lube before going back to the bed. Moments later Harry was returning with a few things. “What’d you bring?”

“A fleshlight, a prostate wand, and a leash and collar set.” He said with a grin.

“You’re such a whore.” You smirked and he chuckled timidly, “Look at me.” You said and he glanced into your eyes, “Get on your knees.” You ordered and he set the things on the bed beside you and then knelt down. You spread your legs and he licked over his lips at your perfect little pussy. He could see your little cunt throbbing, begging for him to do something to it. “Please, lick my wet, little pussy, professor.” You pleaded and he groaned and delved right in. His hands went to your thighs and held you open and you thrust yourself forward as much as possible so that you could feel more of his mouth on you. His fast and agile flicks over your clit had you giggling and whimpered in minutes, “Oh fuck you’re so good at this, professor. Fuck you’re going to make me come…” you groaned and tossed your head back as your fingers gripped his duvet tight.

He started slurping you up and sucking as he prodded his fingers into you, hardly meeting any resistance from how fucking soaked you were for him. He loved the warm and sticky feel of your arousal coating his fingers and dribbling out of your tight little fuck hole. He wanted to ram his thick cock into you and add to your mess.

“Yes! Yes, I’m coming, professor! Oh yeah, baby that’s so fucking good.” You slurred quietly and he hummed happily as he eased up on your clit as soon as he felt your legs twitch, “Oh fuck professor, you’re so good. You eat my pussy so good…” you panted out. He continued kissing and licking at you as you pet at the high point of his cheek bone, “So good for me. Clean your fingers and help me get the strap in.” You said and his eyes fluttered up at you and he smiled as he pressed a gentle kiss to your puffy little clit.

“For a kiss.”

“Right.” You smiled and pulled him up to kiss his lips deeply. “Love to taste you like this.” You hummed and sucked on his lip and inhaled the scent of your arousal and cum around his mouth and on his nose. “It tastes good, huh?”

“So fucking good, baby. Would lick you raw if you’d let me.” He muttered against your lips. You smiled and kissed him again and it deepened. He got up and straddled your body as he reached for the strap beside you. It had a hook shaped insert for you that sat right against your g-spot and then a textured pad for your clit and then at the next end the slender and slightly curved six inch cock with a warming and vibrating tip. “Fuck you’re so wet.” He chuckled as the tip slipped past your entrance. He was gentle as he slid it upwards and when he felt it dip he pressed in and felt the tip sink past your entrance. You moaned softly as he added more force and sunk it deeper, sliding it along your inner wall. It tickled your entire body as it smoothed over the ridges inside of you, and then finally he bent his wrist forward and the rounded tip sank right against your g-spot. Your eyes closed and you shivered as you moaned lewdly.

“Oh fuck, professor!” You explained.

“It’s good right there?” He asked and you nodded profusely.

“Yeah, baby. So good, you hooked into my pussy so good…” you keened and then laughed as he swirled it into spot making you gasped. He smiled down at you and you tutted, “Alright baby that’s enough. Lets get you into that collar.” You suggested.

“Mmmm, lets.” He hummed happily and grabbed it for you as you sat up. You hesitated for a moment as the hook of the strap dug further into you.

“Shit, okay give it to me.” You said and he handed it over. You quickly unbuckled it and he knelt down so that you could fasten it back on him. “Is that alright?” You asked, giving a sudden experimental tug by the d-ring at the front. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect.” He hummed. 

“Good. Let’s get you laid.” You said patting the bed and he got up and went over to the top of the bed and laid in the middle as you wiggled on up on your knees with the toys in hand.

You giggled at the tickle of the rubber pad of the strap over your clit and he smiled at you. You grabbed the lube and the wand and got that set up on the slimmer side. You hovered over him and ran the cool metal wand down his tummy. He twitched and then relaxed again under you. He hissed when you set it down right over his pelvis before running your lubed up finger over his little ribbed entrance. He immediately relaxed and you smiled. 

“Good boy.” You praised, “You’re such a good boy for me, professor.” And he moaned as you reached for the lube bottle again. You squeezed some onto you finger and then smeared it against him before leaning back over him and kissing him as you pressed in, waiting for the tight muscle to give way, “C’mon baby, let me in. S’gonna feel so good.” You encouraged him and with a bit more pressure you sunk in and pushed deeper until you felt that little raised area for the umpteenth time in your life and then you smoothed over his prostate as he moaned loudly and his cock twitched wildly as the pleasure zapped through his body.

“Oh fuck yeah, baby. Fuck yeah…” he sighed in relief. You did it again until he was squirming and thrusting up into the air. 

“Oh professor, love to see your heavy cock swinging around like that. You want something tight and warm to put it in, yeah?”

“Yes, baby. Yes, please give me something to sink my cock into.”

With this you reached over to the fleshlight and brought it up to your mouth, he looked at you with a pained expression as your tongue ran from the bottom to the top. You nipped at the clit with your lips and then tongued a bit at the hole. When your eyes blinked open you chuckled at him and reached for the lube.

“What was that?!” He asked in shock, “Where did that come from?” He questioned.

“I don’t know…I just saw it and it looked so pretty and pink. Supple and smooth like a peach.”

“Interesting…” He posed and you chuckled. You’d never even kissed a girl before so you had no idea where this had come from. But he made you do crazy things when you were in charge.

“Yeah, huh…now I wanna see it stretching around your cock. Wanna see that fat cock spreading that tight, little cunt apart.” He groaned and you squirted some lube into it and then held up his cock. You pressed his cock at the opening of the toy and the excessive amount of lube you’d spurted in started to drip down the length of his cock.

“Please.” He breathed out and you bit your lip as you pushed it down enough to swallow up his swollen and ruddy tip. “Shit…want you back inside. Put your finger back inside.” He mumbled and with a look you communicated that he grab the flashlight for you and he did right away. Once your hands were available again you pushed your index finger back into him, helping him open up just a bit more before you stimulated his prostate with the metal wand resting over his lower tummy. You couldn’t wait to fuck him…

“Go on, get yourself off then.” You instructed and he looked relieved when he thrust his hips up to sink the rest of his cock into the the flashlight. You heard the squelch as he bottomed out and it made you smile at him. “Feels good?”

“Yes, baby. Feels so good…” he groaned as he watched his girth stretching the little silicone hole open wide around his erection. The sight was mesmerizing for you as well, you grew even wetter at the thought of your tight little hole stretched wide and slightly puckering around his thick length the way this toy was. 

“Gonna get the wand in now, OK?”

“Please.” He agreed as he nodded and you soon had the bulbous head rubbing against him before applying pressure and sinking it with the intent to get it deep to where your finger had been. It was tapered, the deeper it went, the more girth it had and this would also help to open him up for you a bit more. Finally, when the rounded tip prodded against his prostate he groaned, “Oh fuck yeah….”

“Right there?”

“Yes, baby. Yes, right there…” he confirmed happily as you started to swirl the metal toy  so that the tip could rub and prod at his prostate. 

You loved watching him like this, balls heavy and tightening every time he buried his cock to the hilt because you then prodded at his prostate a bit faster. His chest was glistening in the dim light of his bedroom and his abs clenched as he tried his hardest to stave off his orgasm. He had such a long and annoying day, he wanted this to last as long as possible. You could see him struggling, his brows knitting in concentration as he tried to will away the feeling of his orgasm.

“You don’t have to ask when you want to come tonight.” You said to him and his gaze found yours.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, professor.” you smiled, “Just want you to feel good.” You hummed and he sighed in relief.

“I do…fuck baby, you make me feel so good. Best girl I’ve ever had.” He panted and you loved when he told you this. It made your brain grow fuzzy and your heart to race with pride.

You knew he had fucked three other students before you came along. Well, the first two were just isolated incidents after those people graduated. The third one happened when he had decided to just risk it with one of the students from one of the upper division elective courses he taught, so that they would be on the older side but not majoring in his department. He’d have them all semester and then it’d be over. He chose someone who really cared about school, wanted them to be so eager to please him and when that went well he found it hard to let go, so he stopped for a couple years. And then your junior year you had him for the first time in his Learning and Behavior class. He recalls how you had come nearly 15 minutes late on the first day, he found it quite annoying actually until you stayed after class to explain yourself.

He just remembers the warm and sweet scent wafting around you as you told him that you had just transferred and had accidentally walked in the wrong direction from the parking structure. You asked for his syllabus and if you had missed anything at the start, he assured you that you only missed a little introduction on himself to which you responded with “Well that’s a real pity…” with a regretful smile and after that he was enraptured. It was ironic that you would be studying reinforcement and punishment methods and theories all semester. Without realizing it you were conditioning him to crave you. You felt that he was conditioning you too, every time he spoke of a reward he’d somehow make eye contact with you. 

You were bright and you worked so hard, all of the faculty you had spoke highly of you and so you were invited to join their Psi Chi chapter - basically an honor society type of organization for psychology students. This small group of students always got to have an exclusive holiday party at the department chair’s house with all of the faculty. You guys were privy to the future pans of the department, you got to know your professors better, and even form surface level friendships with them. After all, you’d be colleagues in the field a few years from now. You had Uber-ed to the party since your car was in the shop, so after it was over you stalled until mostly everyone left before you walked to to nearest bus stop and waited around for someone to pick up your ride request. It was Saturday night before dead week, people were raging before they’d have to be in study mode so it was hard to get a driver leave the downtown area where all the people were. Harry happened to see you and offered you a ride home and well, you actually kissed him and you ended up parked down a dark little street while you tugged on his cock until his cum was dripping down your fist. 

Over time though, things started shifting when Harry realized how safe he felt with you. You guys had been talking about things you wanted to try and you causally mentioned pegging because you felt like it must feel really powerful to do the fucking. He said he’d let you peg him and you even laughed because clearly in this relationship the one with all the power was him. He was your professor and you were just a 21 year old student…having power over him felt strange almost, but he insisted that you try it with him a couple times until you finally did and boy, you loved it. You didn’t know you had this whole other side of you until your strap was balls deep in him as his sperm squirted out of his tip all on its own. After witnessing that there was no going back, you guys did anything and everything you could together and now here you were a year later…still making each other feel good.

“You’re doing so good for me, professor. I like to make you feel good.” You hummed and he sighed as he ground into the fleshlight. The slick sounds of it all had your ears ringing. You reached for the remote of the strap and switched it on to the lowest setting and the vibrations made you freeze for a second, “Oh shit…” you whispered as you got used to the feeling of the vibrations deep in you and over your clit. Your eyes went down to his cock again, watching the little, silicone pussy puckering around him, “Fuck baby, need to get inside you.”  You muttered and he nodded furiously.

“Please, please fuck me, baby.” He panted and you pulled the wand out of him and set it down before gabbing the remote again. You switched on the warming setting for the cock part of it and then lubed it up generously. Harry looked feral and impatient as you did the prep work, he was itching to feel you fucking him the way you did. It was always so good with you. 

“Ready for me?” You asked and he nodded. “Wanna hear it.”

“Yeah, baby. I’m ready. Get inside me, please.” He mumbled and you were gentle as you pushed in. He moaned in satisfaction, thanking you for how good it felt. You smirked when you noticed he was copying your actions on the fleshlight, teasing himself the way you were teasing him. After allowing him to get a little more used to the new girth you picked up your pace and he fucked at the fleshlight this way as well, deep and slow, getting all the way in until his eyes pinched shut and he winced. 

“Too deep, professor?” You asked him and with his expression still tense he shook his head and hummed.

“Mmm-mmm…s’fucking perfect…fuck baby, you fuck me so good.” He praised, “Take such good care of me, baby. Always wanna do your best for me, don’t you?”

“Yes, professor.” You nodded, “That’s why I need you to come for me.” You said and he groaned as you picked up the pace a bit more. He started moving the fleshlight faster over himself until his head was falling back into his pillows as he groaned. 

“Oh shit, I’m coming, baby! I’m coming!” He warned as he thrusted up hard as he could and spilled into the toy. 

“Good boy. You’re so good for me, professor.” You praised him as you caressed over his tummy as he twitched a bit. This next one was the one where he got real subby for you. He was too sensitive so he stopped stroking his cock but if he was going to come again for you then he needed to keep going. You reached for the leash and gave it a tug. “Did I say you could stop, professor?”

“I’m just so sensitive-”

“I don’t care.” You cut him off, “You’re gonna give me another one so we can come together.” You said and he moaned and started to pull the fleshlight up and down ever so slowly, “There you go, work up to it. In and out…just like that, professor.” You smiled. This time you were copying him, being gentle and working back up to a pace that would make you both come.

When he was in moods like this he wanted to feel at your mercy, he liked when you’d get a little mean with him. So you started to thrust faster and harder, the more force you used to fuck him the deeper the the g-spot stimulator on the strap rubbed into you and made you tremble. You grabbed the remote and turned up your vibrations a few notches and then turned his on. He immediately shot up and moaned loudly as his prostate buzzed with the toy kissing right up against it.

“Harder?” You asked and he shook his head and swallowed thickly, “Too bad.” You smiled and turned up his vibrations to the next setting and he grunted lowly as he started to writhe. You reached for the leash and tugged him up a bit, his abs were burning, you could see them clenching hard, “Come for me, professor. Come for me.” You demanded and his eyes rolled back before shutting as he shot another load into the silicone pussy wrapped around his cock. The sounds of him sliding in and out of it were so sinful, you moaned as you saw his cum started to leak out of the bottom. He always shot such big cum loads, it made you crazy and seeing it starting to drip down his full, swollen balls got you closer to your high. The leash was pulled taught as he fell back into the pillows panting and whimpering.

“That’s so good…fuck that’s so good!” He moaned as he shivered. You smiled as he shook with the pleasure, goosebumps rippled over his skin as he relished in the relief you were giving him, “More, baby. Fuck me better, please. Fuck it all better.” He pleaded and you did just that. You went a little bit faster and moaned as your clit rubbed into the textured vibrating pad every time that you bottomed out and ground into his prostate.

“Like that, professor?”

“Yes baby, fuck I love it…” he groaned lowly his eyes meeting yours. 

“Fuck, look at you.” You smiled, “Such a big, smart, handsome man getting fucked like a helpless little whore. Mmm, such a good boy.” You hummed and he moaned. “Tell me professor, what are you?”

“I’m your good boy.” He panted and you smiled.

“Yes you are, baby. Taking it all so well. S’hard being in charge all the time, isn’t it?” You asked and he nodded and winced when you sunk in hard and started to grind, “How would you know? You’re not in charge. Not at all. I’m in charge, aren’t I?” You smirked and he nodded, “Do you think they know?” You asked and he groaned, “Do you think they know Professor Styles isn’t actually in charge? Do you think they know that you drop your pants for me and beg me to stuff your little hole?” You asked him and he moaned loudly. You bit your lip as you watched his balls start to throb. “Wait for me, I’m so close.” You moaned and he groaned and tossed his head back. You yanked at his leash and he grunted.

“Baby, I-I can’t hold it…” he warned and you bit your lip and focused on the feelings deep inside of you, the pleasure from the vibrations deep in your core radiated throughout your body in a delicious wave, “Shit…shit! You’re making me come! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck me, baby!” He mewled as he started to stroke himself even faster and he groaned as he sunk the fleshlight down over his cock until his cum started to seep out of the top end of it.

You moaned at the sight of his thick, creamy cum oozing out of the too hole of the fleshlight, it was stuffed full with three loads of his sperm, it had to come out from somewhere. And you thrust faster until you were shivering as you started to come as well. Your eyes were squeezed shut and your breathing hitched for a few moments as the euphoric wave rolled through you beautifully. Your soft moans were like music to his ears, he loved that degrading him a bit got you off as much as it did him. After allowing yourselves a few seconds to come down from the peak of it all you let go of his leash and reached down to his balls. You squeezed at them gently and he groaned, his eyes were lidded and he looked completely fucked out.

“Think we got it all of out of you?” You asked and and he nodded frantically as he whimpered and bit his lip when you squeezed a bit harder, you loved how soft his skin was there, could play and suck at them all day if he’d let you, “Mmmm, I don’t know…they still seem quite big and full to me.” You said and he gasped as you tightened your grip around the base and gave them a few taps with your other hand. You saw his thighs tremble and you laughed a bit.

“Don’t make fun.” He whined and you rolled your eyes.

“You love it.” You said with amusement as you let go of his balls. They really were looking quite swollen today, but considering how sensitive he was, you didn’t want to make him too uncomfortable, just a little bit. “Let’s see how much you came for me, I’ll decide if you need one more.” You said and he hissed as you gently pulled the fleshlight off of his cock and inevitably, his sperm started dripping down his thick shaft and ended up puddling at his lower tummy. His cock was at half mast and it fell against his tummy with its weight. You watched with an amused smile as his cock twitched, almost as if it were fighting for its life. “That’s respectable.” You commented cooly and he huffed out a laugh. He knew you were still in the role, but he kind of wanted you to acknowledge that it was a lot, even for him. He wanted you to tell him that he did so well for you because he truly had. He had even spilled out of the top of the fucking thing. “What?” You asked him.

“Respectable?” He asked and you smiled.

“Yeah. What else do you want me to say?” You asked him with a hint of indifference. He needed, no, required, your praise. All day long he’d been waiting to hear you tell him that he played so well and that he made so much cum for you, and now you weren’t giving it. It was the itch he needed scratching to forget about the shit show of a day he had.

“Baby…” he whined softly and you smiled and leaned down to peck his lips.

“What is it?” You asked softly. Your lips tickling his own with your words.

“Say it.” He mumbled and you smirked, “Please, I need you t’say it.”

“To say?” You asked and he pouted.

“I came so much for you. S’more than respectable.” He said and you hummed. “Please, tell me I did good for you. I only wanna do good for you, baby.” He hummed desperate and you smiled and kissed him deeply, your tongues tangled for a moment before you pulled away with a smile.

“Seems like I don’t even need to say it, you know it don’t you, baby? Know that you played so fucking well today.” You said and he nodded, “And you did come loads, never seen it gush out of the other end of the fleshlight, like that.” You chuckled breathily and he hummed as he smiled into your kiss.

“Right!” He said and you nodded, “Are you proud of me?” He asked and you nodded.

“Course I am, baby. Only pity is that all that cum went to waste.” You said as you swirled your index finger through it a bit before bringing it up to your lips and cleaning it off. “We’re waiting a full week for next time-”

“Baby-” he started to whine.

“I want you to fill me up with your cum, professor. Lots of it.”

“I like the sound of that.” He smiled and kissed him again and laid over him for a bit before you pulled out and started to help clean him up. 

Understandably, he wanted to have another body shower to run his skin of that sticky feeling, as did you. When you finished up he ordered in your food while you cleaned the toys thoroughly before putting them aside to drip dry for a bit. When you wandered back into his bedroom he had laid out a t-shirt and some of his briefs for you even though you had brought your own clothes to sleep in. You watched his back muscles ripple until he finished pulled his shirt of himself and then you went over by him to get dressed. You got the briefs on first only to see him holding the shirt for you.

“Arms up.” He instructed and you did just that as he slipped the thin, cool shirt of your body. He then hugged you tight and pulled you down into the bed with him. He kissed the top of your head a few times and you hummed happily, “Thank you. I needed that.” He said quietly.

“Of course, baby.” You hummed and then sat up, straddling his hips as you looked down at him with a smile.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?” You asked sweetly as you ran your fingers into his curls.

“I ummm, I think er, I’m uh…I’m in love with you.” He confessed and you paused. He was so scared of just having said that, but it had been weighing on him since the winter break when he wanted nothing more than to be beside you for those three weeks.

“Um, I-”

“You don’t have to say anything i-if you don’t fe-”

“I love you too, Harry.” You whispered and he pulled you down and kissed you with so much joy.

“Best thing I’ve heard you say yet.” He mumbled against your lips and you giggled and hugged him again, “I’m so relieved to hear you say it.” He sighed into the room and you felt him relax beneath you. 

You were beyond relieved too. Yes, this was all very unconventional, but in getting to know Harry the way you had, had made it nearly impossible for you to not have any feelings for him. He was kind and considerate and caring and smart. He looked out for you and challenged you in ways you’d always wanted. He helped you grow, he treated you like an equal, he made you better. For a few months now you’d been tiptoeing around the feelings. You’d fallen for him and you loved it so much that you couldn’t even feel stupid or embarrassed for it. Your heart lied with your hot and wonderful professor, but it was only sweeter that you now knew that his lied with you too.

“Did I make it better? Your day?” You asked and he nodded.

“Yeah, baby. Definitely.”

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[tsumtsumrry]

Film Bro

WC: 3.6k

warning(s): afab descriptions and she/her pronouns, language, sexual content (dry humping, somno (so dubcon just to be safe; please only read what you're comfortable with!!)

“And that’s why I fully believe that movies are better than books.” Harry finishes his lengthy tangent with a deep breath. He looks over at your bored face and a beat passes before you both burst into laughter at how he’s managed to turn such a frivolous topic into such a serious and longwinded rant. 

“You’re ridiculous and wrong.” You shoot back, offering him a close-lipped grin to soften the blow. 

You and Harry have always had differing opinions, but somehow, you’ve still managed to become really close friends. You’re always bickering and getting into little spats over stupid things, but you still love him. He makes you laugh and he makes you feel loved and warm, everything you’d want in a friend. And you know what they say, opposites do attract. 

His arm is slung around you, and both of you are sat down on his cozy couch as he tries to offer up a rebuttal to your rebuttal and all you do is roll your eyes and pretend to tune him out. 

“You’ve got to understand, love. With books, you read it, yeah? And if you’ve got no imagination, what does that do for you? With movies, you can see, feel, hear everything. It’s so much more immersive and touching when you can see everything happening right in front of you.” His arms leave your shoulder so he can use his hands to talk, animatedly explaining to you why he believes you’re so wrong. He looks at your face for a second, when your features start to soften he smirks and points at you excitedly, “See I’m converting you! And you know I’m right.” He leans back with a smug grin. 

You just shrug, “You can think whatever you want, film bro. But I know that books are the most immersive experience on earth. There is nothing like reading words on a page and feeling them hit you with every letter. The good part about books is that even if that author doesn’t completely spell it out for you, you can create a piece of that world yourself, something that’ll always be yours to have and to cherish. Nobody else’s.” 

He looks up to the ceiling in thought, twisting his lips like he’s considering it. You think you’ve got him until he suddenly perks up and opens his mouth to speak, “Ah, but like I said, the imagination thing. Can’t do any of that if I’ve got a shit imagination.” That smug smirk is back on his face and you roll your eyes. Guess he can win this round. You’re so incredibly tired from work anyway and you just shrug which causes him to let out a small sound of victory. 

“And I am right again…as always.” He flashes you his signature smirk and you grab a pillow from behind you and smack him hard with it. 

“Dickwad.” you murmur. 

“Hey!” he chokes out a laugh, grabbing the pillow from your hands and placing it behind him instead, “You’ve lost your privileges, sweet girl.” He chuckles softly because he knows you hate when he calls you that. 

He brings his hand out to motion to the TV in front of you and then swings his arm right back around your shoulder, “see. Look at this.” He instructs. You’ve almost forgotten a movie was playing with how into the debate you’ve gotten with him. The scene on the TV flashes in your eyes, a couple making out hungrily and desperately. 

The male actor is pawing at every piece of his co-star’s skin that he can find, and with every touch, her breath hitches and her leg hikes higher up on his waist. They kiss like this is the last time they’ll be able to. The soft moans and grunts coming from the scene make your pupils blow out and your chest tighten. Your thighs push together softly and you curse your body’s inability to stay in control. 

Harry raises his eyebrows and gives you a slow once over with an amused smirk on his lips, “a book ever make you feel like that? This fast?” You know he’s only teasing you, but you’re so immersed in the scene that you can’t even find it in you to care when you shake your head. 

“This is exactly what I mean. A book might describe a touch, but actually seeing it, seeing him touch her like that, seeing how she’s enjoying it, how she reacts to it, that’s just cinema. Can’t find that feeling anywhere else.”

His voice has lowered in volume and timbre to match the intimacy of the scene you’re both watching, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he’s gotten to you and how ridiculously loud those moans are. And if you weren’t a little turned on and a lot confused, you would laugh at it. 

You become even more hyper-aware of his fingers on your shoulder, caressing softly, the slightest touch, and you have no idea why it’s making you feel hot. His calloused fingers somehow feel light and gentle as a feather when he traces his index finger on your shoulder. And he just keeps going. As if it’s nothing. As if it’s not driving you crazy. 

You wonder if he knows what he’s doing. You’ve always known Harry to be touchy, but right now? It feels different, or maybe you’re feeling different. You don’t know, but it’s currently driving you a little crazy. That imagination you were so keen on before is really coming back to bite you in the ass when you start imagining the female lead to be you and the male lead to be…Harry.  

And what even brought this on? He’s always been attractive, yes, but these thoughts racing through your head, that’s more than an acknowledgment of attractiveness. 

He says your name softly, looking down at you curiously. You look up at him and latch on to the concerned look in his eyes, “you’re so quiet. What’s the matter? Mad I won again?” You can’t even fight the smile that graces your face and he mirrors you with a smile of his own. 

“Haha.” you deadpan. “You literally wish.” A soft chuckle leaves him followed by a sigh. He knows you like the back of his hand. And he knows that you’re both kind of turned on and very exhausted, so he expertly takes control of the situation and pats your shoulder softly, “you sleeping over tonight?” 

You nod softly, and he grunts as he tries to maneuver you up off of the couch, “come on. That’s it.” You really play into the damsel in distress bit (like you always do when he offers to take you to bed) and you let him lead your tired body to his bedroom. 

He sets you down on his bed and snorts when you let your body flop onto the mattress. “I’m gonna have a shower. I know you’re gonna be passed out by the time I get back, so goodnight. Dream of really nice sex scenes. Like the one that’s got you so turned on right now—” He can barely finish his sentence before another pillow is being hurled at him. 

“Okay! Okay, I’m sorry, Jesus. Gotta tie your hands together or something.” he speaks through a laugh. You just shoot him a bored look and he rolls his eyes and leans down to press a delicate kiss to your forehead. 

“Night, sweet girl.” 

You don’t even remember falling asleep, but you remember Harry getting into bed. The world-class cuddler’s arms were immediately wrapped around you after he got comfortable. 

You figure it’s been about two hours when you start to stir. That’s always been a thing with you, waking up in the middle of the night and falling right back asleep. Harry usually lulls you back to sleep with a gentle forehead kiss and a tighter cuddle. You sleep much better when you stay over at his place. All feels right in the world when you’re in Harry’s arms. Something about him makes anyone he touches immediately feel at home. You cuddle up closer to him innocently, and he mumbles out your name. 

You figure he must just be trying to coax you back to sleep, so you nod, barely awake, and drift back off into the comfortable safe haven that is sleeping next to a human angel. 

Harry, on the other hand, is also in heaven. Just a different kind. 

He’s fully immersed in a dream where you’re the object of all his desires, standing in front of him in a get-up that’s so sinful and alluring it’s got him begging for you to let him touch the masterpiece that is your body. 

You tease him and torture him until he can’t take it anymore, trailing your hands across his soft skin, kissing his neck and his jaw, leaving marks that he knows will give him flashbacks of how you ruined him when he sees them tomorrow. 

“God, please, sweet girl. Let me have you.” he’s begging. And Harry is definitely not one to beg, you’ve reduced him to a puddle of need, grasping at any part of you that he can get. 

“Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if I did though, right?” You pout at him with faux sympathy dripping from your voice and expression like venom. He groans deeply again when you palm his clothed bulge, rubbing the slightest bit to where he gets stimulation, but not what he needs. 

His breath hitches as you press harder for a moment before letting off, and then bringing your hand back to his bulge. He chokes out a soft groan, willing himself to endure your cruel punishment so he can have what he craves so badly.

“I’ve been s’good for you, baby. Don’t fuckin’ deserve this,” he whines out his words, desperate to the point that he has no shame in losing himself for you, in you. “I’ll do anything for you, sweet girl. Please.” His heart pounds, his eyes frantically searching yours for any sign of mercy. 

His hips start to thrust up in tandem with your soft rubbing, frankly unable to control himself with how absolutely ruined you’ve got him. His voice starts to shatter when he speaks and his eyes squeeze shut when you swing your legs around his hips and sit comfortably on his lap. 

He looks up at you with that fucked out, ruined expression and you pout at him again, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging just the way that he likes. Your hips move slowly against him like you’re testing the waters, and he immediately copies your movements, taking anything he can get from you, whining deeply in the back of his throat. He knows he’s leaking in his boxers and it would take nothing for him to explode right now. 

You’re just so fucking sexy. Everything about you is like a tease to him. Your voice, your soft touch, that expression you make when you beat him in a debate, the expression you’re making right now as you take what’s rightfully yours. His cheeks flame a rosy pink as he looks up at you, his pupils blown and his cock throbbing with need.

His head rolls back as your hips start to meet faster, eyes heavy-lidded. He looks back up at you with a plead swimming in his irises, his hands balled into fists to avoid doing something he knows he shouldn’t. Your hips move faster and faster and faster….

He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, his hips rutting needily, but slowly against your ass. His arms are still wrapped around you as he pulls you closer into him, his abs flexing as he uses your body to relieve the deep pressure in his gut. 

Small moans and whimpers leave his lips, occasionally your name. Both of you are still fast asleep as he works himself into an absolute frenzy, his face is buried in your neck, shaky puffs of breath hitting your skin. Images of him worshipping your body and the feeling of that delicious friction on his throbbing cock are all that his brain can register right now. 

The feeling of your soft cotton shorts and your supple ass consumes him as he trembles gently with every thrust, his cock sensitive from the slow teasing game his body is inflicting on him. What was once soft sighs, turn to slightly louder, more needy sounds. He mumbles and slurs out incoherent words through his bliss, probably some variation of what he’s saying to you in his dream.

It’s not even the movement that wakes you, it’s those sounds, those unabashed needy little noises that he’s making. Your eyes fly open and a small gasp rips through your throat and you register three things at once. 

Harry’s the one making those sounds. 

Harry’s arms are wrapped tightly around you as he rubs himself against your ass. 

And your thighs are sticky and warm with your arousal. 

Your first instinct is to freak out a little, considering you’ve just woken up to one of your closest friends getting themselves off on you. But then you turn your head around the slightest bit and you realize, he’s still asleep. 

The poor baby’s worked himself up somehow and doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, doesn’t realize how needy he is. His face wears a tortured expression, his eyebrows arched and pushed tightly together. The desperate soft sounds continue to leave his slightly parted lips and all you can think about in this moment is how much you want to kiss his lips, soft and bitten. 

Honestly, you’re at a loss of what to do in this situation. Do you wake him? Do you let him keep going until he ruins his pants? Do you just will yourself to go back to sleep and pretend this never happened? You know that last one’s definitely not going to work considering how ridiculously turned on you are. With every thrust against your ass, an onslaught of butterflies assault your stomach and you feel the pool in your underwear only getting wetter. 

You don’t want to stop him. 

“S..sweet girl.” He’s dreaming about you. Your entire body melts into a puddle when he mumbles out that petname that you pretend to hate.

Being the good friend you are, you figure you could at least help him along. 

Your arm manages to break free from his hold and you use it as leverage to get your body to turn around to face him, once he loses his friction, a deep sound of disappointed leaves him and his brows fall, a pout gracing his face. His hips move in frustration as he tries to gain back the friction and you can’t help but feel bad for him. 

“Harry.” you take ahold of his shoulder and shake him gently, “Harry.” 

His body twitches a little in response to you rousing him and you smile gently, “Harry.” 

His eyes flutter open and when he’s met with your eyes staring into his, for a moment he only looks disoriented, a little confused and grumpy that he’s being woken up. But then his eyes widen and you swear if it wasn’t so dark in his room you’d see every bit of pigment drain from his face. 

“Shit. Oh my god.” It doesn’t take him long to figure out why you’ve woken him up. He’s so hard, sensitive, and it feels like he could come at any moment. And you’re looking at him like that. 

“I’m so sorry. Holy shit I’m really really—I didn’t know what I was—” you don’t let him slur out anything else before you pull his lips into yours, kissing him with the same desperation that you can feel radiating off of his body. 

You pull away from his lips with a soft click and his expression when you’re eye to eye again is one you know you’re going to commit to memory. He’s looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. You can still see that subtle frustration in his eyes though, you know he’s fighting to keep his hips under control. You hike your leg up so it rests over his hip and inhale deeply once your crotches are pressed together, “keep going. It’s okay.” You reassure him. 

He stares at you for a moment as if he’s unsure, and you nod, scooting closer to him and encouraging him to put his hands back on you, “it’s okay, baby.” 

Your soothing, yet sensual whisper of that name is what breaks him. His hips roll one slow thrust against your core and his jaw falls open in a deep groan. Your breath hitches at the feeling, you didn’t realize how sensitive you were until you felt him move against you, and fuck, you’re really sensitive. 

His breathing gets heavier as he continues to fuck himself against your cunt, maintaining eye contact with you as he loses himself in the white hot pleasure that’s tormenting every part of his body. It feels so much deeper than normal, it feels like you’re everywhere all at once, and he’s not even inside you. You guys are merely dry humping on his bed but it somehow feels like the most intense thing that he’s ever experienced. 

He says your name and you hum to let him know you’re listening, “you feel so fucking good. How do you feel this good?” he sounds out of his mind with pleasure. You can’t even find the words to respond to him so you just nod quickly and lean into to capture his lips with yours again. He moans into the kiss and his hands shoot to your hips to urge you faster against him and pull you closer.  

It feels like he can’t get enough of you, like he can’t get close enough. His hands reach for every sliver of skin he can find, his lips attack your jaw and neck, leaving marks on you just like you did to him in his dream. Every kiss he leaves is frantic, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Continuous praises leave his lips, like he has to show you how grateful he is. 

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Feel so soft.”

“So much fucking better than my dreams.”

“Fucking perfect.” 

“Can’t believe you’re this wet from me using you like that. Filthy fucking thing.” he’s losing his restraint and you can absolutely tell, the way he’s talking to you, looking at you, thrusting against you, he’s letting go in the best way. He’s just doing what he knows will feel best for the both of you. 

“Such a good girl. Taking me like this, fuck.” 

You whimper softly as the tip of his cock bumps against your sensitive mound through the confines of your clothes. Originally you just wanted to get him off, but you find yourself chasing that release to, and it’s building faster than you thought. He feels amazing. With every deep grind against your cunt he drives you further and further into a pleasure induced oblivion. You should be embarrassed at the sounds leaving you and how you’re already so close, but it just feels too damn good to care. 

“Harry…fuck.” you grip tightly onto his pajama shirt, grasping at whatever you can to ground yourself with the way you feel like you’re floating off the ground right now. 

“Love the way you say my fucking name.” the words fall out of his mouth in a desperate whine, his hips move faster and needier and he buries his face in your neck to cope with all the sensations. He lifts his head up the slightest bit so his mouth is positioned right next to your ear and a full body shiver wracks through your body when he speaks, “need you to come for me, sweet girl. Can you do that for me? Know you’re close.” 

“So close, baby please.” you babble out, your hips moving together in a frantic rhythm to reach your climax. He encourages you with desperate words that sound more like whimpers and uses his firm grip on your hips to drive you harder against him. 

It builds and builds until everything in you draws up taut like a bow, you shudder through the release and Harry can’t keep his eyes off of your expression as he gently pushes you through it. 

“Gonna make me make a mess in my fuckin’ pants, fuck.” You fight through the painful pleasure of overstimulation as he chases his release, focusing in on the way he almost looks pained as he works himself against you so desperately.

A rushed whisper of, “m’coming” leaves him before his thrusts grow sloppier and rougher. His mouth falls open as needy, filthy noises leave his lips. He practically sings your praises as he makes a mess on the both of you, leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck to ground himself as he works through a powerful release. 

“Sweet girl.” he whispers after a moment of silence, bringing his face out of your neck to look at you. His hands come up to caress your cheek, blowing out a breath from his mouth like he’s in awe of you. 

“Hi.” you whisper back, “that was….” 

“Yeah.” he finishes. A small chuckle leaving his lips at how awkward you two are making this. 

You’re unsure what to say for a moment and you look away, but his fingers grab your chin, “don’t do that. I like looking at you.” 

You look away again in pure shyness and he laughs and forces your eye contact again, “don’t!” he speaks through his laugh. 

He leans down to kiss you and a pleased hum leaves both of your lips, he barely disconnects from you before he starts to speak, “you believe me now, right?” 

“What do you mean?” you whisper. 

“Movies are better than books.”

#harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry smut #harry styles #subrry #kind of switch harry #sub!harry #switch!harry

[0oolookitsme]

Buckle up besties because I'm taking y'all on a wild ride! I'm hosting 'Kinktober', which means that kinky-smutty fics will be on your dash for the whole of October! We'll be celebrating for 7 days -- the fics will be spread out throughout the month. The titles and descriptions will be added along with the fics, and the schedule will be like this:

2 OCT, Mon: (DWD!Harry x DWD!Y/n) Guided Masturbation, Phone Sex

Been Thinking - Harry calls Y/n to tell her that he would be staying in the office for the night, but Y/n'd been thinking about him all day and just wanted him so bad. (WC - 1.6k)

...

7 OCT, Sat: (Artist!Harry x Housewife!Y/n) Praise kink, Face Sitting

Better than the Dream - In which Y/n woke up on rubbing against Harry's thigh in her sleep and when Harry offers to take care of her, she can't help but let her insecurities creep-up on her. But, Harry still ends up persuading her into enjoying her time while their toddler's gone. (WC - 1.7k)

...

9 OCT, Mon: (Model!Harry x Fashion Designer!Y/n) Mommy kink, Dry Humping, Mirror Sex, Over Stimulation

Another One? - Y/n told Harry that if he's good for her throughout their time at the small get-together, she would reward him at the end of the night. But, Harry ends up getting a bit overwhelmed, and then rebellious -- causing Y/n to, instead, punish him. (WC - 4k)

...

14 OCT, SAT: (Baker!Harry x Florist!Y/n) Thigh Riding, Teasing

The Thigh Tattoo - In which Y/n finally accepts that Harry's tiger tattoo is her favourite, and finally shows it some 'interest'. (WC - 2.1k)

...

16 OCT, Mon: (Footballer!Harry x Art Director!Y/n) Daddy Kink, Face Fucking, Breeding Kink, Praise Kink

Daddy of Three - Harry is such a good father that Y/n can't help but want another baby, and who is Harry to deny her what she wants? And, while he is going to be a daddy for two -- he can't help but point out that Y/n needs one at all times, as well. (WC - 2.2k)

...

21 OCT, Sat: (Singer!Harry x CEO!Y/n) Sir Kink, Degradation Kink, Choking, Begging, Spanking

So Despicable - In which once Y/n is home, she can't help but feel as if something is off with Harry. She only comes to know the cause once he's got her laid across his lap and is telling her just how despicable she is. (WC - 2.1k)

...

23 OCT, Mon: (Devil!Harry x Assassin!Y/n) Knife Play, Biting, Marking

Feel Special Now? - Y/n pulls Harry's leg by asking him why she can't mess with the devil. How else were she to feel special? Thereupon, Harry makes sure she knows just how many merits she has for being dear to him. (WC - 1.5k)

...

MASTERLIST

Please come into my inbox and tell me your thoughts, feelings, and favourite moments. Feel free to send in requests, and ask if you want to be added in the taglist for this! Thank you <3

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles ff #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #dom!harry #mean dom!harry #soft dom!harry #sub!harry #domrry #subrry #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles au #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic recommendation #harry styles fic rec #harry styles mature #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styes blurbs #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #kinktober

[harrysonlylover]

Could you do something with sub!harry sucking on y/n’s nipples and rutting into her so she pulls down his boxers and fingers him making him even more crazy

Needy Boy*

In which your boyfriend is feeling needy.

Trope: Any boyfriendrry AU

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: fingering (m receiving) , titty worship basically

Main Masterlist

Saturdays are reserved for lounging in bed and cuddling with your lover.

To be precise, all of your days consist of cuddling and melting in each other’s touch at any given moment, whether it be in the morning as the coffee aroma from the shop down the street sneaks its way inside your window with Harry’s legs intertwined with yours. Or in the afternoon when he presses himself against your back as you cook a meal for both of you.

But you must admit that your favourite ever is walking around in your shared bedroom doing mundane routines, then cuddling in bed and whispering sweet nothings along with small stories you share with each other.

You had already brushed your teeth earlier and washed your face, you’re just resting in bed and stretching your limbs as you wait for Harry who offered to wash the dishes on behalf of you despite it being your turn.

You were rummaging through the novel Harry bought you when he twisted the doorknob and quietly shuffled his feet inside. He tipped you his baby smile that you never get tired off as you opened your arms for him to nestle in.

“I’m checking out this book you got me” He hummed as you took note of his startled expression when he set eyes on your laying body.

With the ongoing heatwaves it was impossible for you to wear something that is long or thick. Besides your breasts have been feeling sore for the past two days which required wearing your comfort flimsy cotton shirt paired with one of Harry’s new unworn Calvin Klein boxers.

He was never one to shy or hide his obvious staring, he proved to you on many occasions how obsessed he is with your body, let alone finding you laying like that half naked in your shared bed.

You made some room for him, and he didn’t waste time in resting his head right above your sore breasts causing a hiss to come out from your mouth. He is aware of your mild pain and immediately pressed a soft kiss to your nipple above your shirt muttering a low ‘sorry’.

You swiped your hand through his curls and began scratching his head, you could’ve sworn he was purring like a cat but again that’s your Harry who would sell his soul for some scratches. His soft chocolate curls covered your fingers as you gave him a relaxing head massage working through his scalp.

Your other hand held the book as you read the lines of the first chapter. Harry’s leg was draped above yours and his crotch was pressed into your hip. He was humming in approval and rubbing the side of your waist with his thumb.

Just as you got to the third page you felt him shifting and pressing himself further into you as if he’s able to morph your bodies into one. His hand sneakily found its way under your shirt while his fingers slowly danced along your bare soft skin.

You didn’t comment on his actions knowing damn well that he has this tendency to touch you 24/7. He has an urge to always have his hand on you or kiss places you can’t even reach.

But most importantly he did express his utmost devotion to your breasts. He was a boob guy and you can’t really tear him away if he decides to have some fun.

Your mind was busy with thoughts about him that you didn’t notice how your shirt is now raised above your breasts exposing your chest as Harry stared with eager puppy eyes at your sore swollen tits.

“I was... th-thinking maybe I could help with the soreness.” He couldn’t hide his eagerness no matter how much he tried. His suggestion is like a kid attempting to strike a deal with his parents for candy.

How could you look at his baby face and refuse?

You smirked and took off your shirt, throwing it to the side with the new book as you shifted your body and guided your nipple to Harry’s mouth watching him immediately latch on it.

His face of content was to die for. He started sucking on your perky nipple and wrapped his arm around your waist bringing you closer to him.

Despite feeling a bit sore, you always got better when Harry sucked on your tits. The graze of his teeth and the warmth of your tongue mixed with your pain kink can make you go brain dead.

He eagerly drooled as he moaned and switched from one nipple to another while you tugged at his hair letting out shallow breaths. His grip on your waist got firmer as his chest heaved with need for keeping his mouth close to your bud.

“M-more… more.” He whined wrapping his mouth your extremely swollen and red nipple before sucking harshly making you let out screams of pain and pleasure.

You laid there on the bed as your head turned from one side to another with your legs spread as an instinct, while Harry licked at your wet nipples like a hungry primal man. He shifted his body and was now rutting into your clothed pussy making you feel his extremely hard cock.

He kneaded one breast while sucking on the other like his life depended on it. He barely stopped to catch his breath resulting in loud panting mixed with whining and moaning.

If you pulled his head right this instant you’d be met with his puppy eyes, swollen raspberry lips, wet chin and whiny sounds for daring to separate him from your bud.

He continued grinding on your pussy and biting at your erect nipple. The feeling alone made you arch your back and join his whimpers. As painful as it may sound there was nothing more erotic than your boyfriend being obsessed and drunk on your boobs.

“Wanna suck.” He frantically kept switching from one bud to another afraid that he’ll miss out. He’d also massage one breast and pinch the nipple while he sucked on the other like newborn babies do.

“Oh baby you’re so hard. Want me to play with your bum?” You felt his cock twitch at your question as he nodded feverishly afraid to detach from your nipple.

Your chest was rising up and down due to his neediness and his lips’ attachment to your breasts. You shakily took off his sweats and boxers with one pull as your heels dug into the mattress from the pleasure he’s giving you.

You managed to snatch the lube bottle that is luckily near you on the dresser and squirted a good amount on your fingers, before asking him to spread his legs more so you could have better access to his hole.

He complied immediately and you’re genuinely not sure how you were able to move or speak as the biting and sucking on your puffy nipples made you whiny. You’re pretty sure he’ll be leaving red marks for you to see tomorrow.

Although you’ve pegged him countless times and played with his bum, even watched him get fucked in threesomes. You always wanted to make sure he’s prepped hence the lube.

You slowly pushed a digit inside his tight hole feeling him immediately clench around you and pull your finger in.

“Fuck babyboy.” Besides being infatuated with boobs, he was a whore for getting fucked in the ass. You only have one finger in and he’s already pushing his ass against it while latching on your bud.

You pushed another finger in that slid easily as you began fucking him slowly hearing the wet sound of the lube and his loud moans.

“Getting fingerfucked and sucking on my tits even if they hurt me. You just need someone to play with your cock and you’d be over the moon.” He pushed his face even deeper into your chest as he tried to hide the blush creeping up on his cheeks but not forgetting to fuck his ass against your fingers.

You curled your fingers inside his hole making him arch his back and bite roughly at your nipple as he whimpered and began to sweat.

“I feel full.. w-wanna cum.” His bare cock was twitching and leaking on your thigh as you moved your fingers in and out of his rim making him drool over your tits then lick it all up with his mouth connected to your bud as you swiped your hand through his hair and fucked him with the other.

“Cmon baby just lay there and suck.” You pushed his head into your chest and picked up the speed of your thrusts feeling him whither beneath you and beg you to continue as you reached his spot.

“Yes there- fuck me” You reached your other hand to stroke his rock hard cock as his eyes rolled to the back of his head eliciting high pitched moans from his throat.

Although you were extremely wet, you knew that you won’t need any rubbing or fingering to cum. Just having your boobs sucked on and played with, along with Harry rutting into your crotch and fingering him was enough to make you cum without any contact. It was a “gift” you had considering some can’t cum even after being touched.

You and Harry’s brain went numb in the next few seconds. It was truly an erotic scene from a third point of view. Your body completely covered by your boyfriend whose lips refuse to detach from your swollen tits as your fingers fucked his hole mercilessly with your other hand stroking his thick hard cock.

Harry’s whines were needy and pathetic as he let out incoherent words about cumming making you grind harder and him and deepen your fingers inside his ass. It was no surprise that you came from doing that alone besides having your tits sucked on.

Harry probably made it known to the entire building that he came with his loud moans and whimpers as he ejaculated on your thighs and leaked on the sheets but continued to slowly push his ass against your fingers.

You gently removed your fingers and laid in bed as you and Harry tried to catch your breaths with his mouth still so close to your breast.

“This reminded me of the fun we used to have with others.” His ears perked up at your words which wasn’t a surprise knowing how much he loves submitting his body to you and other people.

“We could do it soon.” You removed some of the curls that fell on his forehead and pressed a long kiss to his forehead.

“Of course baby but for now, let’s clean up.” You suggested to urge him to get up as he gets sleepy after cumming.

“Can I stay latched to your nipple as we sleep? Please?” He asked with a low eager voice and hidden puppy eyes.

“Hmm you’re so needy.”

Taglist: @prettythingsworld @slut4marvelmenn @fullofstyles @cherrycokeslay@wandas-lawyer @tbsloneely @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @missmielyhoran @harryssideboob @harrysficreblog @itslottiehere @hsonlyangelxo @gem1712 @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @grapejuicebluesrry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @harrystylessslut@keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @swiftmendeshoran @matildasatellite @a-strange-familiar @strwbrrydaydreams @greivingfortheliving @babyyangel111 @soblavk @straightnogayhs @awesomenavy @infinatetatie

Divider from @firefly-graphics

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles story #harry styles blurb #harry x reader #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fanfic #subrry #sub!harry #harry fanfiction #harry fanfic #harry styles masterlist #harry styles series #harry styles boyfriend #boyfriendrry

[x0xomady]

sex, drugs, etc.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

summary: it’s 1980 and harry styles is the biggest rockstar around. life is full of drugs, music, and girls. that is until he meets his flower.

warnings: drugs abuse, smut, cursing, pet names, degradation, alcohol. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

show today. show tomorrow. shows everyday.

that’s all life is. one big fucking show.

sure this is the life i wanted. i have all the drugs i could need, sex every night, and better yet i’m making music i love.

it’s just all so damn tiring.

i haven’t been able to sleep for more than 4 hours in months. there’s always another girl and another line i’m chasing.

here we go…

i grab my red electric guitar and walk out on stage. immediately the stadium erupts in chants and cheers. but i don’t care.

there’s girls flashing me, people jumping around, my band mates playing loudly. everything is overwhelming as hell.

the show goes by quickly. i zone in and before i know it we’re walking off stage.

i probably have dissociation problems or something but… it’s like when i’m on stage… i’m not even there mentally.

i’m not anywhere mentally. i’m always in my head

when the band started a few years ago it was so different. everything was so exciting and new. i was so into it at every who no matter what. now i’m lucky if im not absolutely wasted on stage.

i walk down the halls of the backstage completely out of it. there’s people slapping me on the back, handing me shit, and girls asking for a hookup.

i should probably say yes to one of them.

my thoughts are starting to get out of hand when i feel another, smaller, body run into mine.

“oh! i’m so so so sorry!” the small girl stumbles back and blushes brightly at me.

i’m about to cuss her out and glare, when i notice how cute she is. this girl couldn’t be taller than 5’6, she was wearing a little pink frilly skirt and a white tank top.

however, i’ve seen this before. slutty girls going around dressing all innocent and sweet so that guys will be into them. i have experienced my fair share of fake innocent girls.

“where you heading flower?” i smirk down at the girl. she was looking up at me nervously. a faint blush was painting her cheeks and neck. cute.

“o-oh! you’re harry from the band?” she asked with a worried look on her face. i watched her manicured fingers clutch the little notebook she was holding tightly.

“that’s me. who might you be?”

“i’m y/n! i was hired to interview you- and uh-” she stuttered as i leaned down a little to hear her better. “i would really like the chance to talk to you… if right now doesn’t work- i can find another time!”

fucking media girl. should’ve known. i would usually flip them off and walk away, but i’ve never met one this attractive. i couldn’t help the way my eyes wandered from her fluttery doe eyes down to her lips. she was wearing sparkly lipgloss and i just wanted to have a taste.

“now is fine.” i nod at her and smirk while watching her eyes widen and a small smile spread across her lips.

“oh that’s great thank you!” she had a sweet little smile on her lips that was tempting me.

i nod and start walking to my dressing room. i can hear her little kitten heels tapping lightly behind me.

we walk into my dressing room. there is a black couch in the middle and a rack of clothes on the side. i have a bottle of whiskey on the table and some pill bottles that my band mates must have left there.

i turn back towards y/n and see her nervous little eyes search around the room. she follows me so obediently it’s adorable.

“sit flower” i nod and her to sit on the couch. hesitantly she sits down on the black leather couch. she clutches her notebook closely and looks up at me nervously with those big doe eyes.

“s-so… harry… um can i start by asking you a few questions?” y/n asks. poor thing. she was so nervous. i can see the little pink splotches across her smooth skin.

“ask away pretty girl”

she clears her throat and sits up looking at me. “so… what’s your favorite song of the album, and why is it your favorite?”

“i like ‘kiwi’ a lot” i shrug and allow my eyes to wander her delicate little body.

“kiwi? i love that song!” she smiles sweetly and writes down in her little pink notebook.

i smirk and nod. “thanks flower. i’m glad someone so sweet looking like you likes such a dirty song.”

y/n instantly blushes but tries to brush it off as if it was nothing. she sits up a little more and looks back up at me. “o-okay. and what is you play guitar correct?”

“right. i play guitar, piano, and bass.” i nod at her and lean back against the couch.

“wow three? that’s so impressive.” she smiles sweetly at me. fuck. “and what’s your favorite of those three?”

“electric guitar probably.” i shrug and take a swig out of my whiskey bottle. she writes down in her little notebook and continues asking questions.

for the next 10 minutes y/n asks me about my music interests, inspirations, and other typical interviewer questions.

if i’m being completely honest my answers were total bullshit. i was so caught up in staring at her that i was just kind of saying whatever came to mind.

y/n has the most gorgeous little face i’ve ever seen. her lips looked fucking delicious. i just wanted to-

“harry? are you alright?” i snap out of my daydream when i hear her sweet little voice asking me a question.

no. i want to fuck you.

“yeah i’m fine. what was the question?” i ask looking back up at her fluttery eyelashes and big eyes.

“oh i was just asking how your dating life is on tour. it must be hard to connect with someone if you are constantly traveling to different cities.”

“my dating life hm? it’s just fine.” i shrug and lean forward resting on my arms on my knees.

“so do you have a girlfriend at the moment?” aww she is so naive. her little purple pen writing down every word i say as she looks at me with interest.

“i don’t no. but i do have a pretty little interviewer sitting in front of me” i smirk and lean forward towards her.

y/n’s eyes instantly widen and her face turns a light pink. she looks absolutely speechless at my comment.

“o-oh. uh” she stutters and looks at me nervously.

“hm? you like it when i compliment you flower?” i smile and look at her in the eyes.

“harry- ”

“yes pretty girl?”

“what are you- ”

“i’m just trying to talk to you. is that okay?” i smile innocently.

“yeah…” i see a small smile tug on the corners of her glossy lips.

“good come here.” i sigh and lean back against the couch. my hand makes a motion telling her to walk over to me.

y/n looks hesitant at first but she nervously walks over to me and stands a few feet in front of me.

i reach my hands up and grab her hips gently. she blushes wildly and stands there unsure.

“what in the world is a delicate little thing like you doing at a place like this?” i say while my eyes drag down her body. that white tank top was doing nothing to hide her body from me.

“i- im just here for an interview- ” she stutters out and gasps quietly when i pull her so she’s standing in between my legs.

“that’s it? just an interview? you don’t want anything else flower?” i smirk.

she nods hesitantly and stands there as i squeeze her hips gently.

“mm but i could give you so much more. don’t ya want something?” i say looking up at her.

“j-just an interview” she nods and looks at me nervously.

i nod and trail my hands from her hips to her slender waist. “so can i have something from you?”

“what do you want from me?” she asks unsure.

“i want a kiss”

y/ns face drops slightly and her eyes widen. “y-you want a kiss from me?!”

“course i do.” i shrug and continue leaning back while admiring her. “come on flower… just give me one kiss.”

y/n takes a deep breath before leaning forward and giving me a cute little peck. she pulls away quickly blushing brightly and looking flustered as ever.

i smile and put a hand on her head bringing her back to kiss me again. i deepen the kiss, wrapping y/n closer to me and slowly pulling her onto my lap.

y/n let’s out a little gasp of shock when i pull her so she’s straddling my lap. her hands grip my shoulder for support as i wrap an arm around her waist.

“such soft pretty lips.” i mumble and push my thumb against her lips softly. “can i do something for you flower?”

y/n nods quietly and watches me carefully as i grab her hips again.

as soon as i get the confirmation i pick her up and lay her on her back against the couch. y/n lets an adorable little sigh leave her lips as i kneel in between her legs.

i lean forward so i’m hovering over her. y/n puts her hands in my hair and pulls my head down to kiss her again. i moan against her lips and adjust my arm so im holding her hip and jaw tightly.

y/n moans softly as i kiss down her jaw and along her neck. “h-harry”

“yeah?” i smirk and kiss her collar bone softly. goosebumps fill her skin as my kisses make their way from her jaw to collarbones.

“i-i need you to” she hesitates and looks at me nervously.

“hm? what is it you need pretty girl?” i smile knowing damn well what she wants from me. “i can’t read your mind y/n… gonna need you to tell me what you want.”

she breathes a little heavier and blushes from the eye contact i make with her while kissing her chest and collarbone. “i want you…”

that’s it

“yeah? need me? well if you want me that bad then who am i to deny such a gorgeous girl.”

i waste no time in reconnecting our lips while pushing my hand down to her little skirt. y/n moans softly against my lips as i rub her waist gently and kiss her one last time.

“gonna let me take this cute little skirt off?” i smirk and kiss her neck again.

“yes… please harry…” she whines softly as i suck a little mark on her neck.

“oh if you insist flower.” i say grinning against her neck. my hands desperately tug down her flouncy skirt. i shove it down her legs and throw it to the side. underneath is a cute little pair of pink panties. my mouth instantly waters at the sight.

y/n blushes wildly and closes her legs nervously.

“oh nuh uh. none of that.” i tut and grab both of her knees pulling her legs apart. i can see the sweet little outline of her lips underneath that pink lace and it makes my knees weeek.

y/n laid there nervously as the intimidating rockstar stared at her most delicate parts with a hungry gaze.

“fucking need you flower…” i moan and lean my head against her knee. “gonna let me?”

y/n hesitated for a moment but then nodded eagerly as i leaned against her thigh.

i smirk and kiss her thigh. the kisses lean from her knee down to that sweet little pink lace. continuing to keep eye contact with the media girl underneath me, i pressed a gentle kiss to her clit. the lacy material did nothing to shield the feeling on her little button throbbing for me.

immediately i kiss her in that spot again but a little harder. y/n tries to close her legs again out of sensitivity but my hands hold her thighs apart.

after a few more kisses to that dainty little fabric, i hook my fingers in the waist band and tug the pink lace down to her ankles.

i look to y/n for consent once more i wait until she nods. as soon as i see that nod im on her. my fingers spread her apart as i press kisses along her slit and puffy little clit.

y/n gasps and moans softly as her legs squeeze my head tightly.

my fingers run along her slit as i wrap my lips around her throbbing button. i wait until she’s dripping before i nudge my first finger into her hole.

“damn it flower. you’re so fucking tight how is this possible?” i groan and pump my middle finger in and out of her pussy slowly.

“please harry- need more!” y/n moans desperately and tightens her legs around harry’s curly head.

as soon as i hear those pretty whines leave her mouth i add my second finger to her wet cunt.

y/n’s orgasm doesn’t take long to arrive. after a few minutes of sucking against her clit and pumping her full of my fingers she starts clenching hard.

“how’s it this tight? fucking he’ll flower” i groan against her and continue sucking harshly.

with the stimulations from my mouth and hand i feel her clench tightly and cum around my head.

i smirk up at her and get up from my spot between her legs.

y/n whines from the loss of stimulation between her legs which just makes my grin grow even more.

“aww poor baby. want me to fuck you?” she nods and wraps her legs around my hips. “and her i thought you were an innocent little flower. guess i was wrong”

she moans softly as i grab my cock and press the head against her clit. i look up at her as i run the head from the tip to the bottom of her weepy hole.

“harry please” she whines and pushes her hips against mine.

without warning i start easing the head past her entrance. “fucking hell- tightest pussy i’ve ever felt.” i moan and push my hips to the hilt. the feeling of her squeezing me is euphoric as i reconnect our lips.

“move please harry- please move” y/n moans and presses her hips up to mine.

i grab her hips and start moving in and out of her hard. my hand down snakes down her soft skin until i reach her little button.

“cmon flower i want you to give me another one.” i moan into her neck as i thrust up into her cunt quickly.

y/n moans desperately and fucks her hips up against mine as i thrust quickly.

i grab her hips roughly and flip her onto her stomach. y/n pushes her hips up to mine. “yes! please harry more!” she moans pathetically as i slam my way back into her tight cunt.

“so fucking dirty.” i groan as i snap my hips into hers. “here i thought you were some innocent little media girl.” i smirk and thrust against her hard.

“g-gonna cum!” she moans into the couch pillow as i rub her clit quickly.

“yeah? good girl. cum for me.” i thrust into her one more time before she tightens like a vice around me.

“fucking milking me aren’t you? fuck.” i groan and pull out. my hand wraps around my cock and i tug it quickly using her juices. my release hits me quickly as my cum paints her soft thighs.

the two of us sit there panting for a minute before i wipe my forehead and look back up at her.

“still got that little journal of yours?”

“yeah.” she nods and hands me the pink note book and purple pen.

i smirk and write my phone number on the first page.

“Call me flower”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

love my rockstar bf

-xoxo ⋆⭒˚.⋆

#harry styles smut #harry styles #one direction #harry edward styles #dom harry styles #x0xomady #wattpad #fanfiction #sub!harry #fluffy #harry styles x reader

[cherry-titz]

HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!

some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!

content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!

word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D

This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.

A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.

Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.

Y/N doesn’t drink alone.

But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.

In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.

She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.

And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—

The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.

She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said. 

So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.

The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.

It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.

She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”

And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.

Or so she found out.

And he looks… the same. Of course he does.

Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.

All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight. 

And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.

Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.

She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.

The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?

“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.

She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.

His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.

The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?

…Did it matter?

It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.

And then, when Harry’s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.

The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—

“Sneaky little thing.”

Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.

“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.

When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”

Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.

Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.

It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.

Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”

And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”

It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”

Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones. 

Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.

So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?

Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”

She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.

Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.

But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.

“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.

Yes. She did.

But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.” 

It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest. 

He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.

He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.

“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.

“Shut up—”

“When you were cumming inside me—?” 

“—Shut the fuck up.”

Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.

“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”

He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.

It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”

“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”

Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).

“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”

“—It wasn’t a date—”

“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”

Something real? Something real?

“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry’s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.

She’s granted no such thing.

“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.

Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)

It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.

“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.

Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”

“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”

And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.

He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.

But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”

The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”

Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.

Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.

They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.

Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck. 

He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.

“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”

A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.

“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”

“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”

“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”

Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.

But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.

“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”

“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.

“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.

Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”

A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile. 

The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”

She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.

“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”

“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.

It’s not.

“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.

“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.

“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.

So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”

Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear. 

The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.

They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.

“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”

And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus’ you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.

She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.” 

Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.

“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”

“—Mhm—”

He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.

“Ye-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.

He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”

Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.

“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.

Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.

His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.

“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”

She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.

Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”

“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.

A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”

It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.

“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.

He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form. 

One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.

“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”

A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming. 

“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.

He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”

“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”

“You’ll what, pet?”

“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.

“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”

“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all. 

“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”

No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.

“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”

A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.

“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”

She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.

The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.

He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.

He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath—followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”

Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.

He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to—the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.

But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them. 

Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.

“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.

His hips snap back into her.

“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat. 

It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.

“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.

“Don’t you?”

“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them. 

He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure. 

Her noises topple out.

Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”

The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.

He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”

And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way. 

Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.

This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all. 

Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers. 

And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.

But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.

“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.

“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.

He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.

“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.

She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.

“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”

Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.

And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.

It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.

“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.

Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.

“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.

She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.

“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.

Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.

“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.” 

He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.” 

Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.

Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”

It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.

It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.

He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone. 

Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.

“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.

“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.

He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.

“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?��if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.

But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.

Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat. 

He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.

“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”

Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”

Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.

She waits. 

The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.

He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better. 

Y/N never sees him again.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfiction #dark harry styles #dom!harry #dom!harry styles x sub!reader #dark harry #harry styles writing #harry styles imagines

[freedomfireflies]

Break Me*

Summary: An extra for Teach Me*

The one where Harry edges you into your subspace for the very first time.

Inspired by this request!!

Word Count: 2.5k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Again.”

You whine as Harry’s hand travels down the length of your stomach, his nails curling into your warm, sweaty flesh. “Har—”

“Again, Bee,” he murmurs from his place between your thighs, tongue darting out to drag through your pussy. The low and gentle vibrations of his deep voice send waves of pleasure directly to your cunt, reverberating through your clit until you nearly begin to cry. “Thought you promised to be my good girl, hm?”

You arch from the bed, arms straining against the rope that keep your wrists taut to the headboard. Keeping you from him. “I…I—”

He looks up. Soft green eyes now piercing right through you until your breath hitches, and you feel your chest just about cave in.

You know he’s right. Know you promised him. Swore on every star to behave. But that was before. Before he’d decided almost two and a half hours ago to edge you right to the brink of orgasm just to abandon you on that endless edge with no hope of getting down.

Or getting off.

“Come on,” he urges, pressing your thigh deep into the mattress to keep you spread and pliable. “Know you can do it, baby girl. Know you can. Been so good for me already. Come on.”

You peer down at him through damp lashes, the tears on your cheeks warm and glistening beneath the soft light of the lamp in the corner of the room. “H…”

His expression softens but the kisses to your cunt never cease, proving that this act of sympathy is all for show. “Say it, sweetie,” he whispers, lips trailing toward the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “What are you, hm?”

You inhale a greedy gasp for air, lashes fluttering shut as if to hide from him while you finally answer, “I’m…I’m yours. Only yours. Your fucktoy. Just…just a hole for you.”

The grin that splits his face is large and pleased, and you feel oddly relieved to have made him so proud. 

“That’s right,” he agrees, squeezing the flesh of your waist in his hand. “My sweet little slut. Just a hole. Just a thing for me to use, yeah?”

You nod quickly, face turning toward your arm as though to hide from his amused gaze.

But he doesn’t like this, instead sitting up to take hold of your jaw and tug your attention back. “Uh-uh, Bee. None of that. Want you to be proud. Want you to be proud of the way you submit to me. Proud of your place beneath me."

You stumble over a soft sob, finally peering up at him with awe and admiration as the edge of his mouth quirks upward.

“You’re okay,” he says gently, thumbing at your tears before giving your throat a quick squeeze. “You’re okay, and you’re gonna behave for me like you promised. Isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod wordlessly. Watching with slight terror as he crawls back down your body and returns his focus to your cunt.

He loves to look at you. Loves to watch the way your body twitches or squirms. The way your clit becomes swollen and puffy, the way your pussy turns red and raw from his ministrations. The way you plead with him for release even though you know he’ll never offer it to you.

He reaches for the bullet vibrator that sits on the bed in wait, bringing it back into play as you whimper and attempt to close your legs in retaliation.

But his large body keeps them open, as does the pointed glare of warning that he shoots you before flicking the toy on.

Just the sound of the vibrations makes you whine, a chill traveling straight to your core as you begin to breathe a little quicker. Eyes locked on the weapon in his grasp.

You know what comes next. Know the pain and the pleasure that’ll be forced on you as you fight against your orgasm. Harry can be cruel, but you don’t imagine he’s ever been as cruel as he is today. With his unbreakable desire to ruin you.

The moment the tip of the vibrator comes in contact with your clit, you begin to cry, already too sensitive from the last round. Even without release, your body feels spent. Tortured and overstimulated. You don’t think you can take much more. Don’t think you have the strength to hold off the way he’s demanding you do.

“Shh,” he coos from below, attention zeroed in on the movement of the toy. The way it circles the aching nerves, the way it presses against them, deep into the bone. “You can take it, you’re okay.”

You want to believe him, but after everything else…you aren’t quite sure.

Depraved and desolate sounds fall from your mouth without pause. There’s no room for air in your lungs with the way you sough and sigh from the unforgiving touch of the machine. 

He’s focused and unrelenting. Digging the tip deep into your flesh before dragging it through your pussy, using it to spread you open. It gets lost in your arousal, the silicone coated with your wetness as he circles your fluttering hole with glee.

“You’re so close, aren’t you, sweetie?” he purrs, shifting a bit closer to press a kiss to your clit.

You buck up and gasp his name, and that’s answer enough.

“Yeah?” He does it again before just barely slipping the vibrator inside. “No. Hold it.”

It’s the meanest thing he’s ever said to you, and the tears fall a little faster with every push of the toy into your cunt.

The feeling is indescribable. The way the pulsations echo throughout your entire nervous system, dragging you quicker toward the end than almost anything else has so far. You clench and unclench around the vibrator over and over and over. The low hum nearly driving you mad.

And it makes Harry so goddamn proud.

He chuckles rather sadistically, in the kind of entertained tone that forces a new wave of arousal to pool between your thighs while he fucks the toy into you. 

“There you go,” he hums, rubbing circles into your thigh with his other hand. Perhaps in an attempt to soothe you, but all it does is remind you of what you can’t have. Him. “Bet it feels so good. Doesn’t it, baby girl? Feels so good to be used.”

“Harry,” you whine, wrists burning from the harsh friction of the rope against your skin. “Please…please—”

“Look at you,” he continues, ignoring your pleas. “So pretty, baby. All fucked out and ready. You like being easy, don’t you? Like being my easy little whore.”

“H—”

“Know you do. This pretty little pussy just begs for me, doesn’t she? Yeah? All I have to do is look at you and you’ll drip down to your ass for me.”

“God, please…please—”

“Look at me, baby girl. Want you to look at me. Want you to watch. Don’t be shy, lovie, come on. Know you fucking love it—”

“Harry, please—"

“No,” he says softly. Quietly. Refusing your attempt before you can even offer it. “No, sweetie. Gonna hold it. Gonna do what I asked.”

“I…I can’t,” you gasp, already feeling the seams unravel. “I can’t, H, please…please—”

“No,” he repeats, a touch more stern, shooting you a look of warning. “You promised, Bee. Promised to be my good girl.”

“Trying—” You manage through a strangled sob. “M’trying…can’t…can’t—”

"Yes, you can. Hold it, love. You fucking hold it. Do not cum."

"I'm...I...Daddy—"

He seems to understand before you do, hand tightening around your thigh as though to punish you before he’s tugging the toy from your spasming pussy.

But it’s too late. It hits you like a fucking freight train until your vision goes fuzzy and your heart nearly pummels out of your chest.

You don’t know how many times he’s edged you. You’ve lost count, but it catches up to you now as the release nearly blinds you, practically sending you into a second before the first is even finished.

Harry’s hand smacks down on your clit, the wet sound of skin on skin making you cry that much harder until your body nearly recoils away from him.

Your muscles ache from the way you’re straining, arms sore in every possible place as the rope keeps you stuck beneath him. 

And it feels so good, but you can’t seem to stop the heaving of your lungs. Can’t seem to subdue the tears falling from your eye or the soft sounds of remorse that slip between your lips.

You’ve done the one thing he asked you not to do, and you tried so hard. You really did and you can’t understand why you came anyway. You shouldn’t have cum – he asked you not to cum, but you did. And you’d been doing so well. You’d been his good girl. And if you’d just held on a little longer…maybe he would have been good to you.

Now? Now he’s never going to touch you again. He’s going to send you to the guest room or make you sleep on the floor. He won’t cuddle you or kiss you or even look at you.

You can already see his disappointment, can already feel him taking himself away, and you begin to shake your head furiously.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you blubber, voice breaking on every syllable. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry. I tried, I really tried, I promise I tried. I don’t…don’t know what happened, don’t…couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t, I tried. I tried, I’m sorry—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, expression twisting into something that makes your gut wrench. “Baby girl…breathe. Breathe for me, okay? You’re okay—”

“No,” you wail, tucking your face behind your arm in an attempt to hide from him. “No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

“Baby,” he exhales, and you feel his large palm slip around your jaw to force you back out, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “Hey, look at me. What happened, what’s going on?”

You stumble over a hiccup and peer up at him through wet lashes. “M’so sorry, Daddy. I tried, I promise. Please don’t be mad. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t—”

“Shh,” he murmurs quietly, dipping down to nudge his nose against yours. Taking a beat until he feels you suck in a wounded inhale. “I know, sweetie. I know. I pushed you really hard. I know you tried. Did so good for me.”

However, his sympathetic encouragement merely brings the tears back tenfold, and you begin to shake beneath him as you desperately search for more. More of his voice, more of his touch, more of his praise. It’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, stomach rising and falling with each quick breath. “I’m sorry, Daddy—”

He frowns but it’s gentle. “I know, baby girl,” he says, thumb stroking the stained skin of your cheek. “I know, I’m not mad. Could never be mad at you. Ever. I’m proud of you. Did so well, sweetie. Did so fucking good for me.”

You nuzzle into his hand, lips pushed into a desolate pout as you try to kiss any part of him you can reach.

You hear him sigh, although you don’t look. You simply allow your eyes to fall shut as you bask in his glow.

“Bee,” he murmurs, using his other hand to squeeze your hip while his body comes to rest above yours. “Sweetie…did I break you? Did you slip? Did you slip away from Daddy?”

Truthfully, you aren’t sure what you’ve done or why you feel the way you do. But the sound of his question – even though quite odd – makes you feel sparkly. The deep cadence of his voice as soothing as the fingers dancing circles against your side. 

You crack an eye open and find him. Taking note of the curiosity on his face and the slight upset attempting to weave into the furrowed skin of his forehead.

“I’m right here,” you say softly, desperately wanting to assure him that you haven’t left him. 

He’s unconvinced. “You’re here,” he agrees, squeezing your leg with a nod before he moves his thumb to your temple, and taps it twice. “But are you here?”

You begin to frown, a little unsure what he might mean. “I’m here,” you repeat, a bit more pointedly. “With you.”

For a moment, he merely stares. The corner of his mouth dancing up into a delicate smile as he sighs and leans down to kiss you.

“With me,” he echoes, nipping at your bottom lip until you giggle. “Always with me.”

Feeling rather soothed, you settle beneath him, and allow him to map the expanse of your body with his mouth. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your throat. The space below your ear, the curve of your shoulder, the valley between your breasts.

Then, he moves up. Trailing those kisses up your lifted arms, one after the other until he reaches your wrists.

He begins to untie them, flicking the knot undone until your hands fall to the pillow, and you release a grateful whimper.

You move to reach for him – desperate to feel his warm skin or the soft curls atop his head – but he’s already a step ahead. 

He brings your fingers to his mouth and presses his lips to each knuckle. Over and over as you grin and watch with doe-eyed wonder.

He moves to your wrists. Gently trailing his ginger touch across the tender, red flesh that’s been rubbed raw. He’s so very good. Beautiful and sweet in the kind of way that makes your heart ache.

He runs his hand up and down your side, making sure to remind you that he’s close. He moves onto the mattress just beside you and curls his body toward yours.

In turn, you do the same. Snuggling into his chest, legs tangled with his, and face nuzzled against the butterfly on his stomach.

You hear him breathe out an amused laugh before he’s pressing his palm to your spine to keep you close. “Bee?”

You smile. “Yes, Daddy?”

His heart races against your lips. “Are you okay? Do you feel safe right now? You feel…you feel good?”

You glance up, lashes fluttering with surprise at the hesitant tone of voice. “Of course. I’m always safe with you.”

The relief in his expression nearly explodes across his face as he chews on the inside of his lip. “Yeah?”

You nod quickly. “Mhm. I’m so very happy.”

“Good,” he murmurs, seeming to fight against another grin. “That’s good, baby girl. I always wanna make you happy.”

You giggle again, grateful for his attention now more than ever. “I wanna make you happy, too. Don’t wanna make you mad by being a bad girl.”

You hear him chuckle before he reaches down to lift your head up. “I thought you liked being my bad girl?”

Your brows furrow. “…only when you say it’s okay.”

He smirks a little wider at this, and you wonder what he finds so funny. You’re telling the truth. You just want to do what he says. Just want to behave and make him proud.

“My silly girl,” he hums, landing a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re always good. Even when you’re bad. Daddy likes you any way you are.”

And it feels as though your heart is going to burst out of your chest. This reassurance that you will always have his affection and care making your insides sparkle. “Promise?”

He nuzzles his nose against your temple. 

“Promise, Bee.”

Previous Part:

~ Take Me*

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist

Amazing credit for the beautiful dividers to @firefly-graphics 💞

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @onlystylesss28 @winterrays @jessitpwk @aslugforharry @allthelovehes @straightnogayhs @adoringhrry @harrysxcarolina @lillefroe @avasversion @littlelunamoon @harrysgf01 @lexiecamposv @spinningoutwaiting4ya @hs-tpwkrry @vyctorya @b-reads-things @thiyaabs @buckybarnessimpp @whoreforjamesbuckybarnes @cherryluvhobi @mybabyh @xellybellyx @reneemunson @juliatpwk @wolfmoonmusic @buckyssbestgirl @wandasbae616 @imavirginhoe @nuggetdean @chubby-cheek-calum @itsmytimetoodream

#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fan #harry edward styles #smut #harry styles fluff #best friend!harry #harry styles concept #softdom!harry #switch!harry #sub!harry #fluff #teach me #harry and bee #softdomrry #best friendrry #subrry

[goldengalore]

Neglected

A househusband!Harry fic.

Summary: Harry has been feeling neglected and unappreciated by Y/N, and she doesn’t realize it.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: angst, smut (sub!harry, soft dom!reader)

A/N: I woke up at 4am one morning with the urge to write this. Also listened to Tolerate It by Taylor Swift for more inspo!

***

In all the years that Harry has been married to Y/N, he has never felt neglected by her. Sure, there have been instances where her schedule became too hectic for them to spend much time together, but even then, her love and appreciation for him could be felt through her actions.

Lately though, that hasn’t been the case.

Work has been stressing her out, he can discern that much. And while she has never been one to let work stress affect her personal relationships, this past week has brought out a different side to her. A side that makes him feel small and invisible.

When she comes home, it’s like she wants nothing to do with him. She heads straight upstairs, telling him she’ll be down for dinner later. During dinner, she’ll ask their daughter, Savannah, about her day but won’t ask him. After dinner, she’ll go back upstairs without acknowledging whether the food was good or not, even when he cooks her favourite dishes. He’ll wash up in the kitchen and go up to their bedroom to find her already asleep on her side of the bed—or pretending to be asleep, it seems at times. If he tries to cuddle up to her, she’ll shrug him off and shift further towards the edge of the bed with her back to him.

He’s beginning to wonder if he unwittingly did something to upset her. Or maybe it’s all in his head. Maybe he should just suck it up. Surely, this won’t last forever and she’ll be back to her normal self soon enough…

It’s Friday now. He hopes that with the weekend on the horizon, Y/N will be in a much better mood when she gets home.

“Hi, lovie,” he greets her when she walks in through the door. “How was your day?”

She releases a heavy sigh as she slips off her heels. “Shitty, but at least it’s over, right?”

“Sorry to hear that.” He attempts to give her a hug, but it doesn’t last longer than a second before she pulls away with a tight smile.

She heads to the kitchen, dropping her bag and keys by the stairs along the way. He follows her like a lost puppy. Grabbing herself a glass of water, she collapses onto one of the dining chairs and chugs it down.

At least she didn’t go straight upstairs today, he thinks to himself, grasping for a silver lining.

She rolls her neck from side to side and rubs the back of her shoulder, wincing a bit. Harry moves to stand behind her. Shifting her hair over to one side, he starts massaging her neck and shoulders. He holds his breath, expecting her to brush him off, but instead, she reclines in her seat while he carefully presses his thumbs into the nape of her neck.

“Work has been such a pain lately,” she admits.

“I know. Could tell you’ve been stressed out.”

“It’s this new boss. She’s impossible to work with. She puts unreasonable deadlines on everything, expecting us to finish these huge, complicated tasks within days. Then, when people like me try to speak up about it, she’ll publicly shame us in front of the whole office and pile on even more work so that— Ow! Okay, H, you’re pressing too hard.” She reaches behind her to push his hands away.

“Oops. Sorry, love.” Fuck. She was finally opening up to him about why she’s been acting so cold, finally giving him more than just one-word responses or vague explanations, and he ruined it.

“It’s fine. I’m going to go take a shower.” She stands up.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing her hand.

She turns to him with a look of mild annoyance.

“Um, wh—why don’t I run you a hot bath?”

“Sure. Not too hot though, okay? I’d like to not burn my skin off.”

He chuckles at the comment, pretending that it didn’t sting a little. “Yeah, of course.”

He runs the bath and checks the temperature of the water multiple times while Y/N undresses in their bedroom. He’s about to check for a fourth time when she enters the bathroom in her white robe, which she hangs up on the wall hook. She settles into the tub and closes her eyes. Meanwhile, Harry watches from the doorway, wishing he could get in there with her and be close to her.

“Do you want me to stay?” he offers tentatively. “We can talk more about the stuff you’ve been dealing with at work.”

“Ugh, no, I don’t even want to think about work.”

“Oh. Well, we can chat about something else to get your mind off—”

“I’m not really in the mood to talk.” She opens her eyes briefly to look at him. “I’ll be down for dinner later, okay?”

Translation: Don’t bother me until dinner.

With a hollowness in his chest, he shuts the bathroom door and returns downstairs to the kitchen.

***

“Daaaaad?” Savannah calls to her father from the dining table, where she has decided to do her homework tonight.

“Yeeeees?”

“Can you help me with my homework?”

“Be right there.” He turns down the heat on the stove before walking over to his daughter, leaning over her to take a look at what she’s working on. Math. His worst enemy.

“I don’t understand this question,” she says, pointing to a lengthy word problem on the page with several multiple choice options.

He reads and rereads it a few times before attempting to solve it in his head. It seems easy enough… Until he realizes that the answer he came up with isn’t even one of the options. He asks Savannah how her teacher taught her to approach questions like this, and her explanation only confuses him even more. Math was tough when he was in school, but the way they teach it nowadays boggles his mind.

“I’ll go see if your mum can help.”

He heads upstairs to check if Y/N is done with her bath and finds her sitting at the foot of their bed in her robe, brushing her hair. The sun is setting outside. Its warm, amber glow spills through the curtains and falls across one side of Y/N’s face, casting a shadow on the other. She looks ethereal in this light, like a goddess, and he feels unworthy of her presence.

“Babe? Savannah needs help with her maths homework,” he tells her.

“Can’t you handle it?”

“I mean, I’m trying, but we both know how useless I am at maths,” he answers with a smirk, but she doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Harry, it’s grade school math, not rocket science.”

His face drops. “Well, yeah, but I— Never mind. I’ll figure it out.” He turns to leave but pauses in the doorway, turning back around to face her. “Y/N, are you… Are you upset with me? Have I done something wrong?”

He instantly regrets asking. Y/N closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“No, H, I just need some time alone,” she states slowly. “Like, is that too much to ask? I can’t even have a second alone without you getting clingy and thinking I’m mad at you? It’s exhausting.”

His heart cracks for what feels like the millionth time that night. Clingy. His wife thinks he’s clingy. It’s not the first time he has been called that word. But it is the first time he has been called that word by her. And God, does it hurt like a dagger slicing through his chest.

“Sorry,” he mumbles before leaving.

He tries his best to help Savannah with the question, ultimately resorting to Google where he finds the solution posted on some forum a few years ago.

“Daddy, are you okay?” asks Savannah once her homework has been sorted.

He raises a brow at the odd, adult-like concern in his daughter’s voice. “Yes. Why?”

“You look sad.”

He forces a smile. “I’m not sad. There’s nothing wrong with being sad, of course. But I’m fine.”

She squints her big eyes at him suspiciously, drawing a genuine laugh out of him.

Kissing the top of her head, he says, “I’m going to finish making dinner, but let me know if you need anything else.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

That little token of appreciation means so much to him, he gives her another kiss on the head.

“You’re very welcome.”

***

Harry feels numb at dinner. His appetite is nonexistent. The food that he himself cooked with love and care tastes bland and flavourless to him. He has long zoned out on the conversation between Y/N and Savannah, which is completely unlike him, as someone who prides himself on being a good listener.

“H, you okay? You’ve barely touched your food,” comments Y/N. It shocks him that she even noticed.

“Daddy’s sad,” Savannah blurts out.

Y/N frowns, studying him from across the table. “Sad about what?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” He stares down at his plate and changes the subject. “Does anyone else feel like the pasta sauce is missing something? I followed the recipe to a tee and still messed it up somehow.” He shakes his head, frustrated with his inability to get anything right today.

“No, it’s perfect,” says Y/N. “As always.”

She’s praising him. So why does he feel like crying?

“Where are you going?” she asks as he pushes his chair back and rises to his feet.

“I have a headache. Going to lie down for a bit. Just leave the dishes in the sink. I’ll take care of it later.” He places his unfinished plate on the kitchen counter and leaves.

Tears are flooding his eyes before he has even reached the top of the stairs. By the time he gets to the bedroom, they’re spilling onto his cheeks. He doesn’t bother wiping them away. Instead, he just climbs under the covers on his side of the bed and lets his pillow soak them up.

It’s hard to tell how much time has passed before he hears Savannah’s voice down the hall, telling her mother goodnight, and then moments later, the light creak of the bedroom door opening, followed by Y/N’s footsteps approaching the bed. The mattress dips behind him.

“H?” she says softly.

“Hmm?”

“You still awake?”

He clears his throat and tries to keep a steady voice as he replies, “Yeah. You need anything?”

“No, just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Just a headache.”

“Do you need anything from me? Painkillers? A cup of tea?”

How about kisses? Or cuddles? Or any kind of attention that doesn’t involve you glaring at me like I’m a waste of space? he answers in his head, but out loud he says, “I’m fine. Thank you, love.”

“You know, you keep saying you’re fine and I don’t know if I believe you.”

He doesn’t respond.

She places a hand on his arm over the covers. “Look at me.”

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he emphasizes stubbornly.

“Can you please look at me?”

He sighs. A part of him is tempted to snap at her and tell her to leave him alone, to hurt her the way she hurt him, but he doesn’t have it in him to do that. In fact, the last thing he wants right now is to be left alone. What he really wants is to be held by her, to be told that he is loved and appreciated and wanted.

When she gently tugs on his arm to make him turn around, he doesn’t resist. Her eyes scan his face, taking in the tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, honey.” She brings a hand to his cheek. He’s been so deprived of her touch that he leans into it immediately. “Did I do this?” she asks with guilt-ridden eyes which suggest she already knows the answer to that.

“I feel like I can’t do anything right by you lately,” he says. “I just want to spend some time with you when you get home, but you never talk to me and you shoo me away any time I try to come near you. I don’t know what I did, but lately, I feel more like an annoying pest that you have to tolerate than your husband. And maybe that makes me clingy or whatever—”

“That does not make you clingy,” she interjects, shaking her head adamantly. “I’m sorry I called you that, and I’m sorry I made you feel this way. I’ve just been under so much pressure at work. That’s no excuse for how I’ve been treating you, but I need you to know that it has nothing to do with you, okay? You haven’t done a single thing wrong.”

He sniffles. “Really?”

“Yes, baby. The only reason I’ve been pushing you away is because I come home with all this pent-up frustration and I don’t want to take it out on you by accident… But it looks like I’ve been doing that anyway.” She wipes a tear from the corner of his eye and kisses him tenderly. “I’m sorry, honey.”

She gets under the covers with him and guides his head to her chest, tangling her fingers into his hair. He nuzzles his face close to her breasts. She apologizes again and reassures him that he’s the best husband she could have ever asked for, that she still looks forward to coming home to him at the end of each day, that she loves him more than words can ever explain.

Her delicate touches mixed with her comforting voice telling him everything he needed to hear soothes his aching heart. They cuddle in silence for a while, their legs intertwined with each other. Y/N shifts around a bit while keeping him close to her. When her thigh brushes up against his crotch, she freezes.

“Are you hard right now?”

“Fuck, um… yeah?” he mumbles into her chest nervously, his face growing hot.

She giggles. “Well, let’s take care of it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, you deserve it.”

She sits up on the bed beside him, while he lays on his back, gazing up at her, melting when she gives him a warm smile. Her hand disappears under the covers, making its slow descent into the waistband of his shorts. He gasps when she gropes him through his briefs.

“I don’t think I’ll last very long,” he admits.

“That’s okay. Been a while since we’ve done this, huh?”

He nods, gulping as her fingers trace his bulge. Although he sometimes touches himself when he’s home alone during the day or in the shower, it’s never the same as when she does it. The orgasms lack the intensity he craves.

“My poor baby,” she coos, using her other hand to scratch the top of his head. “I haven’t been taking proper care of you. We’re going to fix that this weekend.”

She suddenly removes her hand from his shorts and takes off her shirt, revealing her braless torso. The sight of her gorgeous, round breasts makes his mouth water before she even invites him to suck on them. Moving his head into her lap, he wraps his lips around one nipple and swirls his tongue around the taut flesh.

Her hand ventures back into his shorts, this time slipping into his underwear. Instead of wrapping her whole hand around him, she uses only two fingers and her thumb, running them along his length in slow, gentle strokes that make his body shudder with pleasure.

“I’m so lucky to have you, you know that? Nothing you do for me goes unnoticed, I promise you,” she says.

The reassurance brings tears to his eyes again but happy ones this time. She wraps the rest of her hand around his cock, picking up the pace and pressure of her strokes. He thrusts his hips into her hand desperately as his orgasm builds. She tells him he can come whenever he’s ready, but he tries to delay it for as long as possible until he can’t any longer. Then he lets himself go, his moans and grunts muffled by her breast.

“There you go. Good boy.” She coaxes the last few drops of come out of him.

He rests his head in her lap afterwards, dazed and breathless, hoping that she’ll let him lay there a little while longer. Luckily, that’s exactly what she does, only moving to rest her back against the headboard to make herself comfortable while keeping his head in her lap, her fingers in his hair. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

***

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[1800titz]

HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.

CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse

WC: 7.5K (whoops)

There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip. 

In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying. 

There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar. 

There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss. 

There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away. 

There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock. 

This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows. 

Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way. 

There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental. 

They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that... 

That’s sexy, the young woman thinks. 

They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck. 

She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does. 

Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter. 

By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.

She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi. 

Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her. 

A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.” 

The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her. 

“Easy.” 

She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.

Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?” 

He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders. 

When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement. 

“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet. 

And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again. 

“Hey, you.” 

Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?” 

When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly. 

“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over. 

His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair. 

“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry. 

Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?” 

Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug. 

That’s dangerous. 

She’s glad he isn’t. 

The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…

“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.” 

Her breath stutters. 

“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”

Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”

Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?” 

Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear. 

“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.” 

He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.” 

Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work. 

“Would you like that?” 

And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently. 

“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.

She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.” 

But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs. 

“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch. 

“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased. 

“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest. 

Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?” 

The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.” 

The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth. 

Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.  

Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon. 

Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more. 

“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled. 

And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down. 

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”

The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…” 

His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?” 

Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.

Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign. 

It’s not. 

It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp.  

It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters. 

“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks. 

Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though. 

He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress. 

Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.

“Gonna suck my cock, baby.” 

It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head. 

Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists. 

“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?” 

Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.

“Good girl.” 

The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.

“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.” 

And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.

“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.” 

The pointed little end grazes over his balls. 

“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.” 

It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.  

And Christ, does it feel good when she does that. 

Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her. 

“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“

And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.

And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first. 

“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.” 

Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek. 

“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”

Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth. 

Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?” 

The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth. 

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.” 

He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene. 

“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.

A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face. 

A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.” 

Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds. 

The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans. 

There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there. 

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” 

The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly. 

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.” 

Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.

Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.” 

And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together. 

“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”  

Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.  

Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.” 

In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach. 

“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway. 

It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.

“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.” 

Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that? 

There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile. 

He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?” 

Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back. 

“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.” 

Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter. 

Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock. 

“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.

“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?” 

She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat. 

“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?” 

Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back. 

“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull. 

“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”

He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath. 

The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts. 

“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”

Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence. 

“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”

Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.

“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.” 

He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.

He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before. 

But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.

Tomorrow they’ll still be friends. 

Just friends that fuck.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #dom!harry x sub!reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #fwb!harry #fwb au #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles one shots #dom!harry

[whitemancumslut]

Save A Heart or Two…

Summary: Y/n is the newest doctor at Los Angeles Medical, where she recently received a job offer. Prior to starting her new job, she had a spent the night with Harry Styles, after a late night at a bar. That morning, she left him and never spoke to him again. 2 weeks later, her first day of work, she is surprised to discover that Harry is a doctor at her hospital. This unexpected twist adds an interesting dynamic to their professional relationship. Y/n must navigate working alongside someone with whom she shares a complicated history.

Content Warning: This story contains sexual and dark themes. Minors DNI. (18+) Co-Workers relationship, mentions cheating, drug use, alcohol consumption, intercourse, f/m masturbation, mentions of blood, wounds, medical terms used to best of knowledge!

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #dom!harry #dom harry styles #dom!harry x sub!reader #harry styles imagines #domrry #doctor!harry #doctor!harry x doctor!reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shots #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic rec #fan fiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x sub!reader #harry styles fic rec #harry styles imagine #sub!harry

[daaydreamy]

wake me up

summary: harry gets too needy.

warnings: coarse language, smut, unprotected sex, somnophilia (all consensual!)

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

•••

Harry couldn’t help himself.

As soon as he woke up from that sinful dream about Y/N, he looked over to his side, where she was asleep. Her back was turned and facing him, chest rising and falling gently as she breathed in and out. One of her hands was tucked under her pillow and the duvet only went up to her stomach. She looked so peaceful, so soft, and the fact that parts of Harry’s dream were still replaying in his head wasn’t helping.

A long time ago they talked about all the things they were and weren’t okay with in bed. They each made lists, reading them out to each other and giggling along the way. Harry thought about fucking her awake and asked (quite shyly) her if she would be okay with it, also gently telling her that he didn’t want her to push herself to something she wouldn’t like, because he would’ve been completely fine with that. But she said she’d be okay with it, kissing him with a smile after answering him and whispering a few dirty things in his ear about it.

So he knew he had her consent to do that, but never did it.

But his need now felt insatiable and he couldn’t even handle himself at that point. It was still quite early but the sun was definitely out.

He moved slowly and gently, sliding his hand down between her thighs and pushing her panties to the side since that and a comfortable shirt were the only things she was wearing. He pressed his forehead against the back of her shoulder as he spit into the palm of his hand, wincing a little when he finally got a hand on himself. He stroked himself a few times, shuddering and breathing shakily out of his nose. He looked down under the duvet and saw precum starting to bead at his tip and decided to just do it.

He moved his hips gently, slowly pushing into her and groaning softly against her. He was panting already, moving her thigh gently to move a little easier. He eventually started fucking into her with slow and shallow thrusts, muffling his moans against the fabric of her T-shirt. Ever so often she would let out a soft sound, moving a little, and Harry wished each time that she would wake up already to feel him fucking her through her groggy sleep state.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” He said against her shirt, fucking her with a little more urgency, and she finally started to stir awake.

Of course, she woke up confused, gripping the duvet softly when pleasure immediately registered into her brain. She groaned softly, parting her lips to moan softly.

“G-God, H.” She gasped out, “Couldn’t even wait for me to wake up? Always so,” She got cut off when Harry bit down on her shoulder, causing her to gasp once more, “So needy all the time. All you do is think with that stupid cock of yours.”

a/n: idk i just thought of this it’s like 12 in the morning 😭 hope it was okay!!! might turn this into a oneshot . . .

🏷: @crow-i-guess, @alag-aasmaan, @planetflos, @harrycanyonmoonn, @bxtchboy69, @sweet-as-lilacs, @lyricalniall, @venusincleo (couldn’t tag you!), @bxbun111, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @emispleased, @goldenhrry, @cinnamongirlrry, @manifestrry, @niallhoranshotgf, @sad1esgf, @taylorsreputationsversion, @violetsandfluff, @purplefishingline, @a-strange-familiar, @moonlightbea-33 (couldn’t tag you!), @famedrs-blog, @coochiesteak, @blahblahblah-888 (couldn’t tag you!), @milesisntdonewritingyet, @cherrycoucou18 (couldn’t tag you!), @alexxavicry, @harrysgoth

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