#dom harry styles x sub reader

[cherry-titz]

Hi friends! @1800titz here. This is my contribution to the collaboration, and I’d like to start off by saying that I am so, so, so beyond excited to work with the immensely talented @cherryjuiceblues!! Thank you for working with me Soph :’)

We have loads of goodies planned, and we’d like to kick things off with Mr. Hitchhikerry. (Sidenote: he’s a little late to the party, this WAS supposed to be a spooky piece for Halloween but SHDJDJCJDJD don’t worry about it. Life got in the way a bit, but he’s finally HERE so WOOOO). A little idea based on this reddit post. This one has great big warnings. DARK HARRY. VERY DARK HARRY. With a piece like this, I want to really emphasize: this is purely for entertainment purposes, and there is 0 correlation intended to the real Harry Styles <3 just a spooky faceclaim.

With that disclaimer out of the way, here’s some content warnings: dom/sub themes, choking, (light) spanking, degradation (and praise!) ((some good ol’ LET’S PLAY SIMON SAYS)). THE WOOF WOOF is for humiliation purposes only <3 GREAT BIG WARNING FOR A DISTURBING CONFESSION OF INTENT TO HARM.

Also, I writhe in my seat as I write, wanting to put in lengthy context of prediscussion and safewords and aftercare and everything important I always talk about, BUT. You’ll see. He’s an …interesting character and I tried to keep hitchhikerry true to himself.

PLEASE DON’T HOOK UP WITH STRANGE MEN YOU PICK UP ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. PLEASE DON’T PICK UP STRANGE MEN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. Enjoy ٩(◕‿◕)۶ (WC is 11K)

She doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

Not figuratively, not literally. 

Y/N was raised outside of the scope of the seventies, post-Bundy and his hitchhiking antics, and since the evolution of serial-killer lore, she’s never been fond of a stranger hopping into her passenger seat and then cutting her up into itsy-bitsy parts to hang around his back garden like string-lights, or something. An ear there, a palm with crooked fingers there. Morbid stuff. 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, but she doesn’t think about that, hurtling down some back-country road, a poorly lit vale through a field of tall, boundless grass. It’s not the first thought budding behind her skull when she sees his silhouette through the shone of her pearly brights — a blip by the line of tall shrubbery — even a good distance away. And from her distance, he’s just a little blip in a cream, hoodless sweatshirt, feet planted into a bed of patchy grass. Her first sane thought, as she squints through her windshield, has to do with why someone would be out on this road, at this time of night, with no feasible form of transportation, and how. As her Honda nears and passes some fork off, a dirt bend of clearing into the winding field of nature, the man’s hitchhiking, signature thumb morphs into a wave of his arms, and his foot steps out, toying at the edge of the road. It doesn’t quite breach the threshold, but her speedometer decreases enough for her to catch baggy denim, distressed at the knees, and a slow wave of his arms, raised. He doesn’t launch at her car, forlorn, as she passes — thank Christ. But even then, his frame swishes by, out of sight, coated by darkness. She casts her gaze to the rear-view, and the image of him scrubbing over his face with an exasperated palm shrinks in size the further she gets. 

The young woman gets about a hundred feet before she nudges the break with her foot to a halt, sighing as the car settles with a subtle lurch. She makes another glance to the rear-view. Now, she can’t see him, not in the shroud of night, but she squeezes her eyes shut for a second, and then twists the wheel until the car curves. A tire slips off onto gravel and grass with the U-turn, but she steers herself back onto the road and drives into the same direction she’s just come from. 

He looks surprised to see her reverse, form pivoted toward the same headlights that’d just passed him with a crease over his brow bone. Y/N slows and breaks as she nears, absent-mindedly pressing a fingertip over the lock button on her door. TV Girl is still playing quietly from her car speakers when she cracks the window, stopped beside him across the road, and beckons with her chin raised just enough for her cadence to seep through the opening, “Do you need help?” 

“Yes, yeah, I—“ the man makes a quick glance towards the side of the road where vehicles would be incoming, a sharp turn of his chin, and then a step towards her parted window as Y/N twists over the volume toggle. “I just— my car broke down,” he raises an arm and points towards the dirt clearing that slips into the field, “I was coming this way, and my phone’s died—“ 

He pauses, shaking his head down at his converse, his voice a baritone croon with charming, foreign dialect, “I know this is so odd, and you probably don’t want a stranger in your car. But f’you could just order an uber or something, I could give you the cash for it?” the girl watches his ring-clad palm disappear into the front pocket of his denim hastily, only to retrieve a wallet, “—If that’s alright?” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

And still, her pupils rove over the charming stranger, trailing from his soft dark curls, swiping over his lashes as his head ducks, down the slope of his nose, to the cushiony pink of his lips. Irises graze down his neck and catch a white tee under the collar of his cream pull-over, and they brush down his denim, to his battered, white converse. The young woman watches his hand stretch out, cautiously, a wad of neatly folded cash cupped by pads of fingers with short, yellow-lacquered nails. 

“No, don’t— …I can give you a ride,” Y/N tells him, her tone soft as her gaze wanders over his frame. 

A downward shift plucks at the corner of his plush mouth and his jaw flexes, a hesitant look shaping over his features, “It’s— I couldn’t— s’like a thirty minute drive, and I don’t wanna take you out of the way…”  

His large hand is still stretched out toward her, and she admires the cross inked over the back of his hand, on the fleshy area between his thumb and forefinger. Her brows pinch together, and the window whirs as the glass partition sinks. The girl raises her hand and points back with her thumb. 

“Are you going in that direction?” 

Wordlessly, the attractive stranger nods — a single dip of his chin. 

“I’m going that way, too. I can give you a lift.” 

Another look of hesitancy flits over the curly-haired stranger’s face, a soft, dubious touch to his facial features. He purses his strawberry mouth. 

“If you’re sure.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

And still, she slips her hand over the unlock button, and the doors click to signal unshuttering as the man culls his wallet and stuffs the cash back in, sticking that back into his jeans. She watches him wind around her car, his gait trailing behind, and her eyes follow his side profile, bathed in the red of the brake lights, through the rear-view. The passenger door slips open. She rolls her window the rest of the way up. 

“Thank you,” the man tells her in his low baritone, raking fingers through his curls as he slides into the seat beside her and shuts the door. 

He smells heady and fresh — expensive. But it’s not overpowering, by any means. A blend of tantalizing notes; cologne blotted in increments that mesh well with his natural musk. The pleasant scent is the first thing she notices when he climbs into her vehicle. The second is the sculpt of his side profile — lengthy lashes over the crest of his cheekbones, his nose, a plush, pink mouth, a stray curl splayed over his forehead. He’s a little older than her, at least by a handful of years; there’s this innate, aged quality to him, and she can witness it in the shape of his features, in the soft dusting of stubble over his jawline. Y/N catches glimpses of his side profile discretely as the music track shifts, eyeing the bob of his Adam's apple as he cranes his neck back against the headrest. The screen over the center console reads 1:02 AM. 

“Long night?” 

It’s a shit attempt at small talk, but the young woman turns the wheel in her palms, hopeful that the man is interested in something more than an awkward silence, sparsely filled with the mellow keys of electronic-indie leaking from the speakers. She heard him expel a breath more than she sees it in her peripherals, and as the car embarks on another U-turn, he tells her, with laughter suffusing his cadence, “Yeah. Yeah, s’been a long night.”

She does make out that he pivots a bit towards her, and his tone is earnest when he says, “But it’d be a little longer without you, I think. Thank you, again. Feels like I can’t say it enough.” 

Her mouth quirks softly. The young woman keeps a haphazard left hand on the wheel, vision bouncing from the poorly illuminated road ahead and the phone in the cupholder. The LED display lights alive as she swipes her thumb over the lockscreen and toggles onto the maps app, cueing him by nudging the electronic in his direction. 

“Um. If you could just type in the directions— I’m sort of shit in these parts, to be honest.” 

She casts a brief gaze toward him and sees a soft divot pinch into his cheek as the corners of his mouth crook up. His fingertips, warm and rough — calloused — brush over the back of her hand with the handoff, and then his thumbs are working over the screen before an address and a winding blue line of directions with an eta of thirty-four minutes teems the screen. 

“Hi, by the way,” the man says in his honey-smooth cadence, “My name’s Harry.” 

“Hi,” Y/N grins, shooting a bashful glance into the attractive stranger — Harry’s — direction, before fixing her irises up ahead. “I’m Y/N.” 

“Y/N,” the man parrots — God. She could listen to him drone on about the most monotonous topics in that voice. He doesn’t. Instead, he uses that same timbre again to say, “S’a pretty name.” And she has to ignore the flurry of butterflies that swarm her innards at the entirely innocuous compliment and the heat that suffuses her cheeks. “Are you from around here?” 

“Ish. Sort of,” she slows at a curve through the field. Her brows pinch, “I mean, I’ve lived here for a bit now, but I moved from Oregon.” 

“Oregon? That’s sick. Any particular motive?” 

Y/N lifts a subtle shoulder, because there isn’t. She pauses before she answers. “Dunno. Just needed a change of scenery.” 

Harry twists the ring over his pinky and nods down at the motion, lips pursed with intrigue, “Adventurous.”

The young woman’s mouth crooks, because he’s, evidently, from the opposite hemisphere.  

“That’s admirable,” the man motions with his chin. 

Her mouth is still smiley when she rounds another curve, in the opposite direction, and mirrors his dialogue, “What about you? Any motive?” 

“My motive?” his inflection is cheeky and playful, “You don’t think I’m a native?” 

The girl makes a wry sound of amusement; an obvious inclination of disagreement. The handsome man grins, all raspberry-tinted lips and friendly teeth. “Just …visited, and never wanted to leave,” he declares with little expansion on the topic. Simple, short, sufficing. 

There’s a little moment of lull between them when she straightens the car out and the track slips into the chorus. 

Harry shifts in the passenger seat and asks, in that same deep timbre she could sink into and drown in, “Where are you headed from?” 

Where is she headed from? Y/N blinks at the road ahead, digits flexing over the steering wheel. Truth be told, it’s a late hour to be out and about, especially in this deserted neck of the woods. Every cozy little farmhouse in these plains, distant beyond the fields of grass, has lights off. No other car passes. 

“I was on a …date,” the young woman tells him. 

Harry nods and swivels in his seat to face her a bit. “Good date?” 

Y/N pauses, the fragments of the story rolling around behind her skull. And truth be told, …it wasn’t a very good date. But it wasn’t a date to begin with. In all honesty, she’s not about to tell this attractive stranger that she’d driven forty minutes for a routine hook-up with an old tinder match, only to be stood up outside his door. 

He was a character whose path happened to cross with hers for purely carnal purposes, and their flings were like rolls through seasons, rendezvous blotted into her timeline where either had a smidge to make room. She’s not going to talk about that. It’s piteous, basically. The young woman doesn’t risk side-eyeing him. This man seems like he’s well off in that department, and she doesn’t want to discuss her shit intimate life and the way that Cody decided, last minute, that he was more interested in going out for miller lites with his buddies than entertaining the idea of sleeping with her. 

He didn’t even have that impressive of dick game anyways — that’s the brutal candor. It wasn’t that he had this particular lack of satisfaction guarantee, but the sex was okay. It didn’t tick all the boxes or leave her fulfilled, not in the real sense, but it was sex, and it was decent. Maybe the most brutal part is the way she’d driven all the way to see him, even knowing that the sex wasn’t going to be top notch. 

Apparently, her silence stretches too long, and the pause gives away the answer she mulls tactics over hiding. 

“Bad date,” the girl hears from beside her — it’s in this thoughtful sort of way, like Harry’s slotting puzzle pieces together in the lull.   

Y/N shifts her fingers over the wheel, the sound of skin sliding over leather meshing with the starting notes of a Cage the Elephant track. Her thumb toggles over a button on the wheel. She skips it. 

“No,” the girl responds, eventually, but she doesn’t even sound fully convincing to her own ears. There’s this high note to her cadence, and she hears it in her own waver of honesty. She wants to cringe up, a little, at the sound. “Not …bad. Just. Well, you know. What about you?” 

For the first time since she’d gotten back onto the road, Y/N casts her gaze to him. A glimpse, a twist of her chin, enough to take in his side-profile for a smidge of a second, more in a way to incite switching the topic and pivoting the point of conversation than the inconspicuous stare she’d made appreciating his features. The corner of his plush mouth curves up, and he makes a little sound; a puff of air through his nostrils like he’s bridling mirth. 

“Was my date bad?” Harry says, in this playful sort of way. Like he’s teasing her. 

“No— your— whatever you—” 

Y/N huffs. She rolls her shoulders back against the seat, a heat teeming over her cheeks. Why was she so nervous? Why did he make her so nervous? Harry makes another sound of amusement, the cushion of his lips unsealing to display straight white teeth. 

“I was at a friend’s,” Harry expands, opting to stop drawing out the teasing, enough for Y/N’s shoulders (that’d grown rigid) to relax a little against the seat. “Was actually having a good night, believe it or not. And then, you know.” 

Unfortunately, she does know. He’s sitting in her car, after all. 

“Do you know what went wrong with it?” she ponders. 

“Well,” Harry the pads of his fingers over the door, and it takes every fiber in her not to sneak a glance at the motion, not to admire the yellow polish, washed with darkness, dim in the car, “the check engine light was on for a bit, to be honest. But— no,” the man pauses with a little simper, shooting her a glance, “Cars aren’t my specialty.” 

They talk about loads of things — she learns all about his friends and the sort of outing they’d had (game night it’d been, Uno, and he’d beckoned her opinion on a debate that’d arisen — whether a draw four could be stacked onto a draw two). That had spawned another conversation on card games —

(“Is it like Go Fish, then?” 

“No,” she snorts, “not at all.” 

“Not at all?” 

“There’s a board and it’s— more complicated.” 

“There’s a board,” Harry parrots, shifting with his elbow brace on the center console like an armrest, “And it’s just, like. Cards, like, in a deck of cards?” 

“You’ve never played cribbage?” Y/N repeats in disbelief.)

She learns about his job, and his cat, and his collection of vintage vinyls. He’s amiable, and he answers every question she directs his way with this smooth sort of charm. He’s easy to talk to, and the span of the drive cuts shorter and shorter through intriguing conversation. But she leads the way for the majority of the inquiries. 

It’s not until they’re at the halfway mark before he asks his own, rather than redirecting one of hers. 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry drums his fingertips over the plush of his mouth, and Y/N struggles to fix her eyes back onto the road once she’s spared him a glance. 

It takes her a second to hum out an agreement, too. 

“It was a bad date, wasn’t it?” 

The girl expels a breath and drums her fingers over the wheel, casting her gaze onto the screen of directions. 

“It wasn’t even a date,” she confesses, “he was like—“ she blinks, lashes fluttering as exasperation at the reminder leaks through, “A tinder hook up, and we didn’t even end up hooking up.” 

Before he can interject, Y/N tacks on, begrudged, “He wanted to hit the bars with his posse of Mag-con wannabes, instead.”

And then there’s this sort of pause that has Y/N thinking that maybe she’s overshared. The man with the sun-polished nails isn’t an old friend she’s having a gab with, catching up on the phone — he’s a stray man she’s plucked up off some deserted road, and if he judged her for her choices, it’d kind of be justified. Namely, the one where she’d driven out in the middle of the night for impromptu cock. 

And anyways, this all feels a bit surreal — the beginnings of a therapy session with a stranger who’d hopped into her sedan for a lift, filling the void of a psychologist in a great, big leather armchair.  

Except Harry sounds earnestly disbelieving when he says, “You’re kidding.” 

She purses her mouth and readjusts her fingers over the steering wheel. “He sort of …canceled when I was already at his door? Forgot to text me that the plans changed. That’s what he said.” 

“What a dickhead.” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums. 

“He’s a moron for passing up the opportunity,” Harry tells her. It’s not in an awkward way, or anything creepy, either. He’s got this air to him, she finds — an ability to make a comment like with effortless delivery of charm. He’s not even looking at her when he says it, only risking her a brief glance that she catches in her peripherals. She still side-eyes him from her seat in surprise, the edges of her mouth curling up bashfully. 

“M’serious,” Harry says, dimples pinching into place beside the upturned-curl of his plush mouth. 

And the thing is, Harry is so friendly. He’s kind, and interesting, and despite the way Y/N had assumed allowing for his presence in her car would be the world’s greatest chore, she’s pleased to be in his company. 

That’s why she lifts a wry shoulder and tells him, “The sex was bad anyways.” 

The man’s face pivots to face her, then. “Yeah?” he coaxes for expansion in his molasses-slow croon of a timbre. 

“It was just a little boring.”

“Boring?” 

“Not— maybe not boring. Just, you know. There was nothing…” Y/N drums digits over the steering wheel, “I don’t know.”

The man beside her clears his throat. 

“Was he a missionary in the dark type of bloke, then?” 

“Yes,” she responds, almost instantly. Because missionary in the dark is, perhaps, the best way to describe Cody’s sexual nature. Down to the T, practically. She can’t fathom how many times she’d lay there, hoping he’d switch up into something different, something where his hands weren’t resting shallowly on the bed sheets beside her shoulders, something where his face wasn’t tucked into the crook of her neck, his mouth biting back everything but soft hisses of air as his hips rocked at an mediocrely slow pace. 

Harry’s mouth quirks. 

“But not even that, it’s like. He wasn’t bad at foreplay, or anything. It wasn’t the best. But, you know. It was all sort of… plain.” 

The young woman pauses before she continues with an apathetic, one-shouldered shrug, “And there’s nothing wrong with plain. It gets the job done, and, you know. That’s what some people like.” 

There’s a shift in energy, from there. It’s subtle, but Y/N can feel it, and she wonders whether the morph is a one-sided experience. It happens with the honesty of the context, with the way she swears jade winds over her figure from beside, with the rasp of his voice beckoning something playful. 

“But that’s not what you like.” 

Y/N takes a second to answer. “No.” 

“What do you like?” 

Maybe that phrase is where it hits her. Where she recognizes that the subtle shift in energy is not one-sided. Not by any means.

Y/N risks a haphazard glance into his direction. 

“Not …that,” the girl laughs. It’s a nervous, giggly kind of sound, but it’s not because of him.  

It’s different now, she thinks. He’d been so timid at first — all bashful gazes through lashes glimmering under the beam of headlights, hesitancy shaping his features. Friendly dialogue — alluring, but curt in anything beyond friendly. This is different. This is blunt and forward. This is his eyes raking over her, this is his tongue swiping out over the plush of his pink mouth, this is his dimples peeking as the corners edge up.

“What do you like?” Harry asks again, a note of flirty, lighthearted amusement to his smooth cadence.  

Y/N sighs, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “I don’t know. Oh my God. Why are you interrogating me?”

Harry laughs. His brows rise, and he tips his chin down so the green sparkles at her. “You don’t know what you like?” 

“I don’t know,” she huffs, good natured. And then she gives. “Something… rough. Something exciting. I don’t know, pull my hair, make it hurt a little. Don’t… lay there in the dark and…” her speech morphs into giggles, “Groan into my ear about how tight I am while I’m laying there like a dead fish.”

Y/N doesn’t know how she ends up pulled over in some deserted parking lot. She doesn’t know how her headlights end up off, how the stranger’s hands sew into her hair, how his lips mesh softly with hers, hungrily. Well. She does know, but she doesn’t care about the details in between. Because he’s hot, and he tastes of mint, and the tips of his fingers press into her scalp and tug a little when they brush through, when he slips a palm over the nape of her neck through the work of his cushiony mouth. It’s thrilling, and it’s sexy, and it’s dangerous, she thinks, but that thought becomes clouded and pushed back to the dells of her mind. 

“Such a pretty little thing,” Harry murmurs when they disconnect, fingers splaying over her cheeks. Her heart hammers in her chest, and his irises trail after the motion of his thumb, bumpily dragging over the side of her lips, all the way to her cupid's bow. That same pad of his thumb pauses and tugs, drawing her bottom lip down to show the slightly parted seal of her teeth. 

And then he’s taking his thumb away and nudging the tips of his index and middle finger, coaxing, “Open your mouth, open your mouth.” 

The pads of his digits meet the tip of her tongue and prod in, brushing over her taste buds, until he’s tapping onto the center of the muscle and crooning, “Stick it out. Tongue out for me.” 

A little hum escapes her, plucking at her vocal chords when she complies, only for him to trace further with his fingertips and nudge until he strokes the back. He holds them there and makes a little motion with his chin and a soft tut when her irises stay pinned on him, glazing with a sheen of watery protest at the depth of the intrusion. 

“Ah— don’t you gag,” he tells her softly, every syllable of every word coated with these notes of dominance that almost seem …innate — like the headspace is a pair of shoes for him to slip into with ease. 

It’s filthy, it’s so filthy — this stranger’s fingers in her mouth, this man she’s never seen a day in her life, a complete, nameless stranger, not even an hour prior, prodding into the warm wetness behind her lips. And her, following his aimless direction, just to please him. She doesn’t gag through the way his fingers crook, her tongue twitching and her throat bobbing, her sight growing blurry with the coating of sheen. It’s worth it, immensely, when Harry hisses out a soft curse and groans softly, his brows pinched. 

It’s worth it when he takes his fingers away, and Y/N’s jaw is coated with her drool, when her tongue is still out, when Harry says, in this soft, strained voice, like it’s praise, “Christ, you’re a filthy thing.” 

She finds that this impromptu rendezvous sort of gives her whiplash. She’s parked in some empty parking lot with her lights off, and an alluring stranger’s just untucked his fingers from her mouth. Maybe someone would deem this a new low — having a shag with some hitchhiker she’s scooped off the side of a back-country road. But he’s eyeing her like she’s prey, and he rolls from one action like pages flitting and flipping in a book, and every detail keeps her on her toes. She can’t keep up. Y/N pants wetly, like she’s not sure whether to slip her tongue back into her strawberry mouth, because she’s not. 

Not until he swipes another thumb over the tip of the lax, twitching muscle and beckons, like he’s a little amused, “Aren’t you?” 

Slowly, her tongue retreats, and that’s when his hand slips and cups over her throat, and that’s—

Her pulse thunders like it’s straining to beat out from below her skin, and Harry adjusts his grip, that same, wet thumb drawing short, slow lines over the point like he wants to test the race of her heart, like he wants to know that the pattern has skyrocketed since his palm has made homage over her windpipe. The man hums, pupils trailing and lingering slowly. 

“Tell me—“ Y/N shifts in her seat, spine straightening out against the cushion, and something wracks down every individual knob when his blown gaze pins her the same way his palm pins over her neck, “Tell me you’re my filthy plaything.” 

The press of his hand isn’t harsh by any extent, not until she parts her lips to answer — that’s when he nudges a little firmer. A little harder. He cocks his head at her in this condescending way — like her stifled sound of surprise entertains him, like the subtle, almost unnoticeable jolt of her eyelids, widening, pleases him. Judging by the slight quirk at the edges of Harry’s plush mouth, it does. 

Her tummy coils with unanticipated desire. This feels almost scary. This feels like traipsing over a rope, like teetering over dangerous territory, and the sudden spike of adrenaline only has her thighs clenching together harder. Because this is sweet Harry, the friendly hitchhiker, in his cream sweater with his nice smile, and his charming dimples, and his loose, clean curls, with his warm palm cupped over her throat and the pad of his thumb digging into her pulse. He looks fucking hungry. 

“I’m—“ her statement’s muzzled by the press of his hand, an increase in only a slight increment. It’s enough to wrest a garbled sound from the back of her throat. He tips his head. 

“What’s that?” 

“I’m your…” she pauses when he presses harder, again, and this time’s enough to have her feeling lightheaded, her bleary eyes wandering over his face and every muscle of her face battling the light flutter of her lashes. She thinks a dimple peeks from his cheek. Harry lets up.

Y/N siphons breaths like her lungs have been deprived for ages, and not just partly for the timespan of a short fifteen seconds. Still, his palm is glued over the front of her neck — just there. His thumb strokes over her pulse gently. 

“I’m your …filthy plaything,” the young woman confesses in this pathetic little voice that’d have her ashamed in every other setting. But in this one, it doesn’t. 

Arousal creeps through every fiber of being, instead, crawling through her arteries and settling into her veins like a twisted, dark goo. It thrums through her and sinks through to the trench of her tummy, frothing as chills teem down her back. He’s got this glint in his eye, like a dance around a bonfire in the deep of the night — but it’s just a stray street light that casts its shone as a spotlight when he ducks forward a tad, just enough for it to. When he tips forward, his gaze growing half-lidded, lower and lower the closer he gets, it feels like he starts to siphon every breath from her own mouth as his cushiony lips ghost over her cupid’s bow. Even for the smidge of the second it takes for their mouths to mesh again, it feels like the movement is in ultra slow motion. 

The mold of their mouths together, this time, feels a lot less like she’s got her hands on the wheel — the first time had been almost testing, sweet — something soft that’d shifted into something headier, something firmer. This feels like something he guides, something he takes the clear lead in, from the pace of his hungry lips to the exploratory nudge of his tongue against the seam of her own mouth. Her fingers flex over the center console aimlessly, palm straying, and fingertips catching on a part of his cotton sweatshirt. They twist into the fabric softly when Harry’s tongue strokes over her own. A hand settles onto her thigh. It’s not her own.

“Get in the backseat,” he hums into her open mouth, squeezing over her flesh when she doesn’t immediately comply. He’s got this way of dulling her reflexes, crumbling the semblance of her mind to mush, and Y/N is convinced it has more to do with his touch than it has with the time of night, despite the way exhaustion wears at her tired muscles. “Get in the fuckin’ backseat.” 

When her arms strays and she reaches for the door handle, though, he squeezes at her thigh again, and hums out a displeased note of disagreement. “Not like that.” 

Bemused, Y/N shifts in her seat. A glint of something playful glows in the jade when Harry tells her, “You can find another way, can’t you, pet? Go on.” 

Y/N sits in confused silence for all of three seconds before the man sits back a tad and cocks his head, irises flashing towards the backseat with a playful, little grin quirking at his lips. Like he’s suggesting. 

It takes her longer than three seconds to clamber into the back from the driver’s seat, through the slot over the center console, but it satisfies Harry, evidently, judging by the way he palms over the globes of her backside through her stretchy mini-skirt. It’s not very graceful, and if she was less aroused she’d probably find it in her somewhere to be a bit embarrassed, but. She doesn’t. She wriggles over the cushion, instead, settling back. 

Harry has smarter ideas. He toggles the gear on the side of the passenger seat and sets the whole top of it back, like a makeshift day-bed, and scoots into the back of the sedan through the opening. And there’s not much leg room — not for the two of them, not with the whole back of the seat splayed — and there’s not much room for their heads, either, but they manage to squeeze back, and he’s gripping onto her shoulders and twisting her on his own whim before the young woman has a chance to shift around, herself. 

“Get—“ the way Harry manhandles her with a grip on her hips, (once he’s got her slumped, at least somewhat) — with ease, like he’s flipping a page in a book rather than rearranging her whole position in the cramped space of a sedan backseat — that lights something fiery in the pit of her belly. “Hands and knees, baby,” Harry tells her, grunting softly while her limbs scrabble over the pleather. He pulls her back into him, by the hips as she’s physically molded into it, parroting, quieter, “hands and knees.” 

“Itsy bitsy skirt… so easy to just—” Harry hums, this sort of mischief to his cadence — and it becomes blatantly obvious, the reason for it, when his digits creep under, from behind, and his colossal palms hitch it up, “Oops.” 

She’s wearing tights under it. They’re not the fleece-lined kind, despite the bite of chill in the air outside, but they are there, and Harry spans the pads of his fingers over the barrier like he doesn’t have plans to discard them the practical way. 

He doesn’t. The man stripes a fingertip down her core, from behind, over the fabric and the faint hue of cheeky purple that peeks through, and makes this devious sound of mirth when her whole body twitches. And then he draws the same fingertip back up, in the same line, and nudges a bit. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” Harry coos. The third, slow drag has her arching her hips back. “Hm? What am I gonna do?” He takes almost a thoughtful second, tongue peeking out to swipe out over the cushion of his pink bottom lip, before Harry splays his palms over her bum, “Pretty girl… pretty arse…”

And it’s so calm — he’s so calm, so casual, so nonchalant — Y/N doesn’t even sense it coming until he sighs, and then he’s digging the tips of his digits into the nylon, stretching it from her core, and just tearing. Casually. Nonchalantly. The sound of fabric ripping apart coaxes her jaw to slip open, and her pupils stick to the inside of the door, unblinking, as he just tears, and tears, and tears. 

And she’s not even upset, is the thing. She’s not irritated that this stranger’s just torn the crotch of her tights apart — she can’t be, not when he hums devilishly and strokes over her core, a layer closer. Maybe that’s pitiful. Maybe that’s sad, that she’s so fucking horny that she doesn’t care that her tights have been split open with no prior discourse on the topic, but this direction of impulse — the way she’s not even able to try and guess his next move, it kindles something hot and hungry. 

And if she ever has Cody to thank for anything, Y/N thinks maybe it’d be that he’d inspired her to shave and slip on a pair of decently attractive underthings. 

“These are pretty, too,” Harry tells her, thumbing at the crotch of the thong, just over one side. The young woman gives this dreamy little sigh and arches back up into him further. “What d’you want, sweetheart? Want me to give some attention …here—“

Her spine jolts when he nudges the pad of his index right up against her clit, lightly, over the purple fabric, “Maybe? Is that it? Eager girl.”

He draws a featherlight circle over it, and then another, and another until her thighs are trembling. The tip of his digit taps. She nudges back, and he takes it away altogether. An amused sound slips from his mouth.  

“Say please,” Harry demands. 

Y/N jumps as his fingertips trail to her inner thigh, crooking and tickling in the line they draw. 

“Please.” 

Again, he makes a disapproving tut, and Y/N rolls her cheek onto on a forearm, tucked over the seat. 

His eyebrows climb up his forehead, and his fingertips drift up and down the back of her thigh, drawing closer and closer where she needs him most with every lap. Each word is covered with notes of firm dominance. “Not like that. Like you mean it — like you’re pleading.”

Y/N mulls over the words, her heart thundering. 

“How d’you beg?” 

It takes a second for his words to sink in, but then when they do, she croons out, softer, more desperate, “Please.” 

There’s a soft sound of a breath being expelled, the seat crinkling quietly as, she assumes, Harry sits back on his haunches, head ducked. Like it’s not good enough. Her tongue traces out over her lips and she beckons, “Please, please,” each plea prompting a spiral of unfamiliar humiliation — glazed with arousal — to unfurl. 

“Please, please, please—“ each word emphasized with a rock back of her hips. And finally, he touches her. 

His palm cradles a cheek, and he doesn’t sound even slightly impressed. Instead, his voice comes out exasperated when he tells her, “That’s not convincing. You’re desperate. You want something — you need it, you’re pleading.”

“Please— please—“

“Louder,” he scoffs, “Beg. Beg.” 

“Please,” she tries, desperation creasing her voice strained on the syllable, and Harry drags fingertips, airy, across her inner thigh, from bottom to top. “Please, please, please—“

And finally, something clicks. Something slots together, at some point, when she ditches the inhibitions and her cadence starts to border on a delirious sort of desperation. Finally, something works. 

“That’s better,” Harry says softly, swiping his thumb over her clit, “Much better.” 

She doesn’t pick up on that, though, and she’s still begging, pleading, quietly. Quieter, quieter, quieter — the words growing more sparse the longer he spends time honing on her clit, the firmer his touch becomes. 

“Good girl,” Harry coos, his fingertips latching up under the hem at the crotch of her panties, before he tugs, “Good girl. You ask nicely, and I’ll give it to you. S’that easy.”  

He slips a thumb against her gushing entrance and drags it down, tracing careful shapes over the bud of nerves, before he tugs down on the hood and emphasizes on the new exposure by reigniting the touch with the thumb on his opposite hand. Two hand task — very dedicated. 

“S’this all for me?” the man teases, pinching her clit, lightly, between the pad of his thumb and the side of his index. He sounds a little self-satisfied when he declares, quietly, “I’m flattered.” 

Her lips part as a silent, breathy moan wrests from the back of her throat. It happens when the pad of his long middle digit prods at her entrance and nudges in. The thumb on his other hand sweeps, side to side, over where she’d most sensitive, and he stuffs into her further. And they are lengthy — his fingers. She’d seen them drumming over the center console, and smush over the raspberry tint of his lips, felt them coat her tongue, and felt them press against her throat. They can reach further than her own, crooking against her spongy walls, curling when he adds a second before straightening out and scissoring for the stretch. 

“Christ, you’re gushing,” Harry says, and as if on cue, the pornographic squelch of his fingers working crowds the cramped space, “Jesus— d’you hear that?” 

Y/N buries her face in her arms to muzzle the little sounds of bliss that he pries from her mouth. It’s not until he’s proper fucking into her with his digits, the pad of his thumb dragging tight, little circles over her clit, that those sounds escape her. And when they start, they pour in a flood. Because he works so expertly, so deftly — from the pace, to the angle, to the way he hones on her clit with his other hand, and the filthy dialogue he spews in his honey-smooth baritone. It’s everything, everything, and it prompts the coil in her belly to circle and squeeze, tighter, tighter — a telltale prior to its inevitable snap. She clenches over his fingers helplessly.

But then he just— stops. 

The nudge of his digits skirts to a stand-still within her, and his thumb stops drawing circles, and Y/N just squeezes over him like a silent plea. He makes this sound — this mirthy, deviously pleased hum, like her displeasure at his pause amuses him. It’s pure sadism. 

It’s not until she rocks her hips a bit, a shallow, desperate kind of back and forth, that the amusement seems to slip from his tone. 

“Don’t—“ Harry tuts sharply, taking his thumb off her clit altogether to grip at her hip harshly, “Stay still. Naughty, little minx.”

And she does. She stays still when his voice gets hard like that. There’s a bit of quiet between his snap and the subtle freeze-up of her rocking. Soft breaths sew through the lull, but then he talks again, his tone a little nicer. 

“We’re gonna play a little game, yeah?” 

That’s …intriguing. Y/N shifts over the cushion. His grasp over her hip has softened considerably, but there’s still this humiliating heat that swarms her face at the fact that the crotch of her panties is still tucked against her skin, that everything’s out in the open, that Harry’s practically ogling in lieu of touching her. 

“It’s a bit like Simon Says. Except, when you play Simon Says, you hesitate a little, right?”

The man’s thumb presses back to her clit, and she buries her face in her folded arms. 

“And I don’t want you to hesitate. I’ll tell you something to do, and—“ 

His fingers sink into her, and her shoulders grow tense from the bliss. Y/N muzzles her groan. 

“You’ll do it. Sounds easy enough?” 

It does. It’s easy enough instructions, and when Harry pats at the same hip he’d been clutching over and beckons, “Hands back here,” Y/N obliges easily enough. 

Her cheek presses to the cushion, cool against the warmth teeming beneath her skin, and she lets him manhandle and move her splayed fingers to his liking, arms stretched behind. 

“That’s good,” Harry croons in his low timbre, the warm, lewd praise of it drawing chills up the nape of her neck, “Now spread a bit for me.” 

Y/N does that, too. Her finger pads nudge and press into her flesh, coated with the tights, and her digits crook as the tips dig in to splay — to follow his direction, to please him. And it’s shameful, a pinch in her shoulders as her arms reach back, fingers twitchy, imprinting into her own backside with little divots as she opens herself up for him to do nothing. But his satisfied little hum sends an unfamiliar sense of accomplishment spiraling through her veins. The way his warm palm rests on and pets over the back of her thigh along with it feeds something new and starving. 

“Good girl. There you go. See? S’easy.” 

Y/N makes a little sound into the seat, and her fingers flex as Harry pumps his own digits, a steady rhythm of in and out, paired with a hum from him that sounds absolutely pornographic. 

“Such a good girl,” the man tells her, fingers crooking, but the praise isn’t enough to muffle the bemusement that wracks her when he says in this devious hush, “Let’s try another. Bark.” 

Bark. 

It takes a second for the command to register past the immediate threshold of the pleasure curling in her belly as he strokes at her spongy walls. And when it does click together, his word settling past the membrane of bliss, her initial thought is that she’s definitely misheard him. Because that’s …sort of a ludicrous request. The young woman sounds strewn between groggy and muzzled when she cranes her neck a bit over the cushion and beckons with a confused hum. 

“Bark,” Harry repeats, “like a dog.” Simple and nonchalant. 

Bark like a dog. She’s midway through creased brows, a strained raise of her head, and a baffled what, before the man stills his fingers and takes a grip over her wrist, sliding her hand away. 

And then he smacks her, hard, with his palm on one side, in the same place where her digits had dug in to spread herself open. 

It’s loud, and it stings, and it sends a shockwave through her nervous system, strong enough to have everything buzzing on alert as her forehead pastes to the seat and the parted gap of her mouth struggles to mute a gasp. Maybe the most surprising part is that the hurt feels good, that the sting morphs into something else as it fizzles and ebs, that the hammer of her heart spikes this famished, unfamiliar arousal coursing through her when he doesn’t even bother stroking over the bruised skin. It’s definitely hard enough to leave a ruddy mark under the tights, and Y/N blinks down at the faux leather, wordless and a little gobsmacked. 

And then Harry sighs in this way that’s so …disappointed. And the calmness of his inflection, grouped with the irony of the harsh hit… that has a chill climbing up her spine. 

“That’s not how you play the game, pet.”

He says it in this eerily nonchalant note of disdain, like he’s not just casually tattooed the shape of his hand onto her backside with a blow. Like he expected better. Like it’s a little mishap they’ll gloss over. She doesn’t even realize she’s still got a vice clamped over his fingers until he shifts the digits in her, coaxing her core to flutter around him. Harry sighs again. 

“Did you forget the rules, baby?” he asks, cadence soft and basked in condescension. The man strokes over the heated skin, the same spot where Y/N is sure a subtle welt has peaked to the surface below the thin veil of the sheer tights, “I tell you to do something and you do it, right?” 

Her knees are starting to ache a little, a soreness settling into the joints, but she doesn’t even mind it when his fingers pump again, slowly. 

“That’s how the game goes. Right? I need an answer.” 

She makes a soft sound. A little sound that’s not protest. A little sound that’s not outright agreement. It’s a whimper into a void, but everything about him and his touch lights something alive in her. And she wants more. She’s dizzy off of it when she manages out a breathless, “Yes.” It’s a short word that comes out in a breath, like she’d been holding the air in her lungs. 

Maybe that’s why she’s dizzy. 

“Are we on the same page? Let’s try again, then. Bark.” 

Y/N shifts over the seat. The hand he’d moved has splayed helplessly to her side, and the fingers curl and uncurl as the weight of the suggestion hits her. Because that’s— it’s humiliating. It’s demeaning, and it’s strange, and the fact that he demands it has the tips of a fire licking up at her insides. The young woman makes an uncharacteristically pathetic noise. 

Harry sighs. 

The split second of hesitation is enough, apparently, for another slap, just as hard, in the same spot. It has her rocking forward and clenching over his digits again. Harry’s quick to correct her posture with a hand on her hip, guiding her back in a way that lacks gentleness. 

“I said, bark.” 

This time his voice is harder. Meaner. Y/N gives. 

She gives because the tips of his fingers prod at this heavenly spot inside her, because her skin smarts in a way that has her practically drooling, because she’s dizzy, and hungry, and desperate. Her thighs are quivering when she gets out a half-hearted woof, her lips shaping over the word like the task is a chore to get out. 

“Better—“ another slap, aimed lower onto the back of her thigh, has her hips jutting and the straight line of her spine twisting up, “—but not what I’m looking for. Try again.” 

She doesn’t even aim to please, is the thing, when her yelp overlaps with another smack. But it morphs into something surprised and deliciously pained, and evidently, it’s enough, judging by the way his touch smooths over the stinging skin.

“Oh, baby,” Harry tells her, his fingers stroking like he’s smudging the pink-tinge of bruising, “That’s pathetic.” 

And it dawns on her then, that there’s no winning with this game. When he tuts and tells her, absolutely patronizingly, “So desperate for it, she’s barking like a stray.” 

It dawns on her that she doesn’t want to win. She doesn’t care, because his filthy dialogue, as demeaning as it is, just draws her wetter and closer. As if to highlight on it, Harry crooks his fingers and tacks on, “You’re leaking all over the seats, pet.” 

And she is, she’s sure. It’s a dirty game he plays, and she loves every part of it and more. It has her writhing when he draws circles over her clit, it has her aching for more when he guides her hand back to her backside with a squeeze and a wordless coax to keep spreading. 

“Gonna let me fuck you?” Harry pulls the digits out, dirtying what’s left of her tights and smearing sticky wetness over the back of her thigh, “Hm? Gonna let me—“ his belt clinks as he unbuckles it, and then comes the soft sound of a zipper, its teeth unlatching, “—fill you up?” 

“Glovebox,” Y/N mumbles, hips shifting back when he pets at her thigh. 

His pupils flit, sticking to the back of her head, before they jump back down to his handiwork. Harry’s tone sounds absent-minded and mirthy when he asks, “What’s that?” 

“There’s condoms in the glovebox,” she expands, a little louder than her prior murmur, bracing on her forearms to cast her gaze back at him over her shoulder. 

And he looks rugged in this boyish, youthful way, then, is the thing. The corner of his mouth jolts, lopsided, and a stray tendril has flopped over his forehead. His hands are on the undone buckle of his belt, and his fly’s down, and he sounds absolutely amused when he says, “Are there?” 

There are. 

“You’ve prepared for this, then, have you?” Harry sets a palm onto her hip, squeezing as a dimple pinches into his cheek, “Condoms in your glovebox …like a proper dirty whore?” 

Coyly, she blinks, cheek nuzzled to the seat, and she watches him stretch his arm out for the glovebox as he knees away. 

“I’m always prepared,” Y/N settles on, softly.

The glovebox slips open. There’s rummaging — his torso turns to face it entirely, and then he gleans a shining, golden little packet, tucked between the pads of his digits. The young woman wriggles her hips. There’s this glint of fiery …something. Something playful, something lewd, something hungry in the jade, when he clambers back over, steadying himself with a palm on her tailbone. It coaxes her spine into a pretty, sharper arch.

“You do this a lot, do you?” Harry teases, “Pick up strange men, let them fuck you?” 

She hums in agreement as the man takes the little gold square, snug between his teeth, fingers working quickly, pushing buttons through slots and tugging his cock out. 

“Maybe I do.” 

He tears at the wrapper with his teeth. She knows, because his next words come out a little muffled. 

“Is that right?” 

It’s not. It’s so out of the norm, so far from the usual, but Y/N would be a masochist to string out the arousal that’d built between her thighs in lieu of letting Harry span his palms over the globes of her ass in the backseat. Harry, with his cheeky smile and his sunshine, short-trimmed nails. Harry, with his denim-tethered bulge dragging over the back of her thigh and his filthy tongue shaping crude dialogue.  

She doesn’t see him as he tuts from behind, but she can picture it; his palm cupped over the base of his shaft as he rolls the condom over and then presses the tip against her teasingly. 

“Wanted to be fucked like a dirty whore, is that it?”

Her “yes” stretches and ebs and splinters into a whispery hiss when Harry nudges forward and stretches her out. And then he’s beckoning for her hands, one hand splayed over her hip and the opposite coaxing at her shoulder, tugging and jolting in gentle nudges, mouth shaping over firm, “Hands, hands, give me your hands — behind your back— that’s— just like that.” 

Barred from scratching at the seats with his firm, warm grip binding the joints hostage, Y/N presses her cheek to the cushion. She slumps into his willpower, gives into him, the smush of her face sweaty on the cushion, jolting with every rock forward. The young woman clenches over him helplessly. Soft sounds slip past her lips, pried out by the nudges of his hips, over and over, again and again. Her fingers stiffen and flex, and the arch in her spine shifts when the head of his cock bumps that delicious ridge so deep in her — and it’s like Harry senses it, the way her entire body grows taut like a string. He goes at that too, prodding, again and again, until a whine plucks at her vocal chords. Every shallow jolt of his hips sends waves of paralyzing bliss licking over her insides. Every nudge forward has her slumping more. And when he talks, Y/N barely registers it over the rush of blood in her own head. 

There’s been little things that fall from his mouth — soft curses and hisses as he slides in, hums and groans when he bottoms out, readjusting his grasp over her wrists. Words, though — now he’s saying words. They’re still in that gentle baritone, this sort of luring croon. 

“Come on, baby. Come on — got a stranger’s cock in your pretty, little pussy—“ Harry’s voice catches on a strained note as he pulls out—

…A sigh as he rocks back in, “—and …you’re not gonna struggle?” 

A warmth stems from his grasp, behind her back, and as if on reflex, her digits crook and flex. The danger of the words don’t even register. Because, yeah, he’s right. She’s got a stranger holding her restrained, rocking up against her, and all that peaks in her at the filthy dialogue is a bud of deranged arousal. She doesn’t shoulder forward though, doesn’t try to pull her hands apart, doesn’t sag forward, not even a little, too concerned that even a minute shift will alter the delicious intensity of the angle. 

“Not even a little bit?” Harry tuts, grinding forward, one more time, slow, and then he squeezes over her wrists hard and picks up in pace. Just until he settles into a hard tempo of short, deep thrusts, and her shoulders are aching from the way he pulls her arms back. 

His words blanket her with this patronizing sort of humiliation — the kind that has her spongy walls pulsing over his length and chills erupting from the nape of her neck to the creases between her shoulder blades. “You make it so easy.”

So easy for a stranger to fuck her — so easy, pulling over in some desolate parking lot. So easy, letting him wrap a palm over her throat and stick his fingers past her lips. So easy, following his every command for the reward of his hips pummeling against her own. 

And it’s easy to get close with the way he works into her, tip bumping into a spot that sends waves of pleasure coursing through every millimeter of her nervous system. The kind that has every muscle stiffening to stone until the wave ebs. It’s so easy to lurch higher and higher, closer and closer, when his touch digs into her joints, rendering her helpless to his crude affections. When strained grunts and sordid words fall from his mouth, when his other hand slips from her hip and knots into the hair, at the roots, on the back of her scalp, only smushing her cheek into the seat with more pressure. 

“Fuck,” Harry groans, the pace of his thrusts stuttering as he picks up the tempo into something merciless, his digits flexing into her hair and his body weight sagging onto her frame. 

Every time his balls slap against her clit, teasing where she wants that attention the most, she feels the spring draw tighter, lips smushed to and gaping against the seat. And then he readjusts his grip, lets one of her hands free while he keeps the other pinned, and he coaxes, “Touch your pretty clit, baby. Make yourself cum all over my cock.” 

Y/N makes it to the crest before he does. It’s her fingertips sloppily winding loose shapes over the bud of nerves, it’s his cock hammering down into her, it’s the pinch in her shoulder, and the way Harry’s grip grows harsher over the hand he still has pinned, the closer he gets himself. The way his digits are still flexed at the roots of her scalp, the way his moans and curses are garbled with pleasure with each pump. The way her helpless fluttering, when she tips over the peak, draws this long, sordid groan from him as he cranes his neck back. And then he slows, ducking his chin to watch below through slow thrusts. 

“Dirty girl, cumming all over a stranger’s cock,” Harry swipes with a thumb where the mesh, toying at the seam of her hole when he goes deeper, again, slow. 

And then his grip on her wrist gets hard again as his fingers flex, and he holds onto her hip and guides her in a steady-paced, back and forth bounce over cock. He chases his own releases, every motion rough, and full of control, and so brimmed with this unfamiliar hunger. She’s mush by the time his head tips back, and he gushes ribbon after ribbon into the condom. She’s mush when his grasp over her wrist grows lax, when he knees back clumsily on his knees, when he discards the condom, wrapping it into the confines of its wrapper, when he fixes her purple panties back over her crotch and strokes over the back of her thigh with an amused huff. 

“Alright?” Y/N vaguely hears Harry say from behind when she doesn’t instantly sit up, his voice bordering on amused. 

That’s. Yeah, Y/N thinks. She’s great. There’s still this rush of blood in her ears, and an ache in her joints that interweaves with the soreness of her muscles, but it’s all in such a good way. She makes a barely coherent hum of agreement and rolls her shoulder forward, planting her palms onto the seat to sit up and glance at the time over the display in the front of the car. It’s nearly three in the morning now, and it hits her then, that she’s so tired. She’s so tired, she feels like every piece of her energy had been strewn up and pulled tight on a rope, and now it’s all wasted away. 

Harry gets it. Or he seems to, at least. Sleep beckons her with a whispery croon and a soft touch. The corners of his mouth crook up, and he pats at her hip. 

“Hop up, pet. D’you want me to drive the rest of the way? S’just a little bit, now.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. She doesn’t let strangers into her car in the middle of the night from some empty road, she doesn’t fuck them in the backseat, and she certainly doesn’t let strange men drive her car to some unfamiliar location, only lacking being undisclosed from its visible street name on the GPS. Y/N doesn’t do any of that. But she nods weakly and lets their roles flip. She’s mid-raising the back of the passenger seat by the time Harry jogs around to the driver’s seat and slips in. 

In the rear-view, her reflection greets with her unshed tears and bloodshot eyes, mascara smudged below. He turns to face her and strokes a hand down her thigh. He picks the same hand up and sets it onto the gear-shift. Switches to reverse. 

The first thing he says from the front of the car, strawberry mouth quirking as his eyes direct to the back-up camera, is, “I’m sorry about your tights. I hope that was alright.” 

When they pull up to the motel, Y/N doesn’t ask questions. There’s only been a span of, maybe, ten minutes passed between the parking lot and their final stop of the night before Harry pulls into a parking spot and shuts the car off. 

He tells her, “This is my stop.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, and exhaustion wracks at every sinew of muscle in her body. She half-expects him to wordlessly hop out of the car. He doesn’t. The man fixes her with a smile, and says, “Could I get your number, maybe?” 

It’s not an odd request by any means, but if she weren’t so tired, maybe she’d ask more questions. Her pupils would wend over the shoddy motel sign, and the shit cars parked beside them, and she’d wonder what the hell they were doing parked in front of some abandoned-looking motel. She’d ask why this was his stop, and not a home. Instead, she pulls a napkin from her glovebox and digs for a pen. She scribbles her digits and hands them off. In the brush of the cool air, from the night, when she clambers out to swap spots with him, she wraps her arms about herself. When she takes a seat into the driver’s side, she expects him to walk away. He doesn’t do that either. Instead, she rolls her window down when he beckons, and Harry leans onto the car and tells her, “Get home alright, yeah?” 

It’s a miracle when she hobbles up the steps of her apartment complex, when she pries open the front door and crashes into her sheets. The blankets envelop her like a warm hug, and she doesn’t even bother pulling off her tights. 

It’s a week before she gets a phone call. There’s no texts, and the morning after, when she’s greeted with radio-silence, she thinks that maybe she’d dreamt the whole thing. 

Her tights, ripped at the crotch, prove otherwise. 

She’s in bed, days later, when her screen lights up with a call. It’s an unfamiliar number, and curiosity peaks before she swipes over the answer toggle. 

“Hello?” 

A gap of silence, a breath, and a familiar, smooth baritone on the other end of the line. 

“Y/N.” 

There’s a little sound of the bedsheets stirring as she freezes up. He’s caught her off guard. A little laugh plucks at his vocal chords, tinny on the other end of the line, like he’s amused by the stretch of lull. Her lips part, the corners of her mouth inching up as she hears a sigh from him that seeps in all the way to her eardrum. But she doesn’t have time to contemplate what to say or how to say it, because he doesn’t let her get a word in before he’s talking again. 

And his next words are not a playful jest at her lack of response, or anything friendly, really. In fact, the confession, said so nonchalantly, causes chills to erupt down her arms. 

“I was going to kill you that night.” 

The chills aren’t the initial reaction. The initial reflex is the crook of her mouth to morph bemused, the pinch between her eyebrows, and this sullen feeling of dread that twists up in her stomach. A laugh bubbles in her chest, because, what the fuck? 

But then he keeps talking. 

“Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down,” the voice on the other end sighs, and it’s got this sort of …reminiscent quality to it. Like he’s tracing the steps of the night back to its starting point. Reliving it when he tells her, “It’s such a thrill, you know. Taking that from someone. So intimate.” 

The young woman doesn’t make any sounds, kind of appalled by the sick joke. Because it is sick, it’s disturbing, and it’s a twisted way, at the least, to strike up a conversation if he’s …looking to do what they did again. This isn’t the Harry she’d met on that night. This isn’t the same one who’d worn the cream sweatshirt, and talked all friendly with this smooth, wholesome charm — this wasn’t the man she’d let into her car, this wasn’t the man she’d let do all those filthy things to her, in the backseat of her sedan. This doesn’t feel like the same man at all, and she wishes she’d been aware of the sick sense of humor to his character before she’d let him …violate her. Y/N’s just about to budge in with a disgusted comment, tell him off for calling her so late at night to mess with her, but he beats her to the edge of the gap, yet again. 

Except this time, he sounds sort of frustrated, and the phrase comes out like a scolding, the tone of his cadence firm and irate. “Didn’t your mum ever tell you not to talk to strangers? …Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to trust strange men on the side of the road? S’just …bloody stupid.” 

He laughs. It’s this soft sort of chortle she’d been so charmed by that night — it’s identical, except then, it was this sweet sound full of wholesome mirth. Now, it feels cold. Odd and detached. Surreal.

“But you… you made it so easy,” Y/N listens to every word that comes through the line, hanging onto every syllable of the empty threat as dread churns her stomach. His words from that night crowd behind her skull. You make it so easy. “So friendly, so sweet. Just wanted to chat on and on. I was going to kill you, and you wanted to have a shag—” 

Harry tuts. Her heart hammers behind her ribcage, and she only realizes that her breathing has slowed and that her grip on the smartphone’s grown white-knuckled when it shakes against her cheek. She’d let him drive her car. She’d let him get into her car, she’d let him lure her into pit-stopping in a deserted parking lot, she’d locked the doors, and dimmed the lights, and let him open her up with his fingers and his cock. And then she’d let him drive her car, and take down her number. There’s a moment of mortifying silence.

Harry sounds deadly serious when he tells her, “Don’t you ever pick up another hitchhiker.”

The line goes dead. 

Y/N calls back. The number she reaches belongs to a payphone, unanswered.

[1800titz]

The one where Y/N and Harry are neighbors in an apartment complex, he's got a bunny called Snuggles, he makes softcore porn spanking people (it's a REALLY LOUD HOBBY), and Y/N has definitely called the police for a domestic disturbance next door.

HI FRIENDS. The council has spoken, so here is the first part of the lovingly-dubbed spanko fic. This series will be early access, so— parts go up on patreon first, then they come to tumblr 3-ish weeks later (but if you wanna get ahead, the second part is already up on patreon). Reader insert, emotionally a slowburn, and basically a garbage fire I'm pouring my deepest, darkest desire into as a coping mechanism :p If you liked TDIAG, you'll probably rock with this one. As always, feedback/reblogs massively appreciated <3 WEEEEEEEE okay bye

ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ : ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

CONTENT/WARNINGS: miss girl misconstruing consensual kink for domestic violence (oops)

WC: 7.8K

Harry’s face is the reason average men have developed a phenomenon called personality. 

Historically, it was faces like his, at the very least, that ignited adaptation— this wasn’t an overnight implementation, after all. Men don’t move that fast. There’s a long-lasting, brutally destructive record there, and a tale as old as time itself. Before charisma had to be manufactured in the absence of a devastating jawline, there was the high-cheekbone aristocracy, and its counterpart, what’s known today as the “he’s actually really nice” faction. The beauty privilege inventors; the bedroom-eye monarchy; the symmetrical syndicate of a resting smolder— 

And the rest of everyone else. 

Rumor has it that the first comedian was a man who watched another guy, who had eyes like wet chrysocolla and really broad shoulders, turn a casual glance into an entire bloodline’s origin story. Maybe the first poet sat next to a man wearing the skin of divine nepotism— and the only defense strategy was to pick up a hobby that spoke less in pretty, heart-shaped lips and more in words like love’s trembling hand doth trace its name upon thy skin. New seduction ritual: implemented.

Basically, the survival mechanism goes like this: if you’re competing with bone structure sculpted by an empyrean chisel, a mouth worthy of oil paintings and crumpled love letters, and the kinds of dimples that were engineered for the sole purpose of emotional damage (Cupid’s attempt; two, little exit wounds, the perfect pair of injustices parenthesizing his smile)…

And you’re lingering in the shadow of those attributes? Operating on a deficit? Well, then. There’s a little more work left to be put in. 

If you’re lucky, you’re tall, or you’re well endowed in the basement, or both. If you’re none of those things, you’re banking on a gift with a musical instrument, or you’re coping with the weight of your wallet. You’re getting into niche, esoteric interests you will impress upon every woman that steps foot into your orbit to stand out, or you’re polishing up your comedic abilities. The thing is, society has evolved to the point where this compensation is the foundation to procreation. The foundation to function. And the kind of men with faces like Harry, who got in line not once, but twice when God was handing out genetic privilege (the overachieved extra credit projects), just get to sit back and let the world unravel at their feet.

Men like Harry don’t need personalities because they already look interesting enough. When you’re the kind of pretty that inspires love songs and ill-advised tattoos, you don’t need wit, or pockets lined with green. It opens doors (and legs) with such minimal effort that it may as well be as simple as breathing. The quiet space in a room bends around you when you become the focal point by existing, incidentally magnetic. 

It’s pretty unfair, to say the very least.

Y/N only really registers it passing— in fleeting, peripheral moments when the space bends around him and her eyes glue, almost like an accident. A brief sighting here and there, like a rare animal caught between the trees—seen but not acknowledged, because staring starts to feel like stepping into something too raw, too deliberate.

He’s always moving. In motion, slipping past. Glimpses of wide shoulders cutting through the communal pool, water slicking over musculature in a smooth tide and then rivulets, droplets sticking against sun-warmed skin. A silhouette in the elevator at the end of the hall, head bowed. Sorting through crinkled envelopes between his massive hands with a ruckle between his brows.

He’s got the kind of face that suggests he should be gently perched on the edge of a marble fountain, carved in alabaster. A cherubic thing. Rosy-mouthed, haloed by damp curls that tuck around his ears in perfect, artistic disarray. The kind of beauty that feels vaguely mythological, like he should either be blessing crops or luring unbeknownst sailors to their deaths. A visage that belongs on domed Renaissance ceilings.

Y/N breathes. Her pulse feels like it’s rattling a little. It makes her head feel a little gooey when he’s stood in front of her. 

And here he is, holding a package in one hand, water still beading at his collarbone from a morning shower, damp curls dripping onto the fabric of a lived-in, vintage T-shirt. The tragic failure of modern existence is that a man like this— who should, by all logic, be strumming a lyre on the edge of a celestial fountain— has instead been doomed to wander the mundanities of the human condition. To swipe through his mail. To stand in front of her door and say things like “Think they swapped our mail again” in that perfectly unassuming, relaxed tone, like his very existence isn’t actively offensive to the concept of mediocrity.

His singular flaw? That one, teeny thing?

He’s a horrific neighbor. 

Abysmally inconsiderate, in fact. Maybe, one of the worst people Y/N has ever had the pleasure of sharing a paper-thin wall with.

The thing is, under all normal circumstances, eye candy is a desirable next door tenant, to catch those scarce glimpses of and swoon over. But Harry? He’s dangerous. An illusion gilded in beauty that sits in this achingly so, lazy way. It’s an excellent cover for someone who— based on volume alone— should be legally required to sublet a soundproof chamber instead of an apartment. Beauty privilege, remember?

Instead of spending his days spreading divine harmony and whispering sweet nothings into the ears of poets, her tragically beautiful neighbor has chosen a different calling. One that involves subjecting Y/N to an auditory experience that can only be described as an unholy, unprovoked act of sonic terrorism against anyone who possesses functioning ears.

While he may look like the patron saint of soft lighting and tasteful nudity, he lives like a man who has never once considered the presence of neighbors. Evidently, the universe operates on imbalance. 

It’s not surprising that he fucks. Nor is the frequency, given— everything. It would be more surprising if he didn’t, which, statistically, seems impossible. It is the sheer volume at which he fucks and the blatant disregard for customary noise ordinances.

Y/N has had the great misfortune of gaining intimate knowledge of Harry’s extracurricular activities through nothing but flagrantly inconspicuous, unsolicited proximity. She is now, against her will, deeply familiar with the sound of his bed frame against the wall. With the low, gravel-thick groan that spills out of him before everything goes quiet, the sharp gasp from whoever is tangled up in the sheets beneath him. The pornographic chainlink of yes, yes, yes, as if to lyricize the tempo of a wrought iron headboard ramming against hollow drywall. She’s a victim to secondhand moaning; a hostage to the unchecked libido of a man she’s not even screwing.

The young woman isn’t sure who he’s sleeping with, but based on the sounds, they either really, really like whatever feat of Olympian-endurance he’s performing on the other side of the wall, or they’re being held at gunpoint and doing an exceptional job of faking it. It’s loud. A predictable regularity. Enough to make her consider downloading white noise apps and investing in a stronger liquor cabinet.

And every morning, after nights filled with thumping and gypsum-dulled dirty talk— horny monologue hour, hardly softened by an overworked, underpaid layer of rental-grade plaster— and the occasional bass-heavy indie rock soundtrack, he leaves his apartment looking criminally rested. Peaceful. Unbothered by the absolute railing he has just put someone (and the walls) through.

For all his divine aesthetics, Harry fucks like he’s trying to earn a standing ovation. With the kind of dedication to performance that suggests he thinks there’s an awards committee waiting outside in the hallway to hand him a trophy when he’s done.

Y/N doesn’t know what’s worse—the rhythmic, wall-shaking thump of his bed frame, the low, muzzled stream of just incomprehensible enough to stay offensive murmurs, or the fact that he has the audacity to look well-rested when she sees him the next morning, while she lurches past him like a woman who’s been spiritually waterboarded by the full-scale resonance of his sex life.

Y/N has tried— earnestly tried— to ignore it. To mentally downgrade him from disruptively attractive to something more manageable, like guy-next-door cute. But Harry is simply too loud to be ignored.

And not just in volume— though, yes, he operates at a decibel that insinuates he believes “inside voice” is an urban legend. It's everything. The way he takes up space. The way he stretches his arms over his head and his shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of toned stomach like some kind of aesthetic oversight. The way his lips pull into a smirk when he's amused, a single dimple pressing into the smooth skin of his cheek.

The worst part? He doesn’t weaponize it. Just… exists, as if he entirely lacks self-awareness for the unrelenting power he yields with pure aesthetics. 

Perhaps the only thing more dangerous than his unregulated evolutionary favoritism is the lack of object permanence it causes. Inspires. Because at the end of the day, despite how polite, how deeply-gnarled in neighborly niceties, The Incident from last month still exists, but miraculously manages to melt into her every time she’s face to face with him. Like a static buzz settling into the way her composure thaws away.

His most notable sound pollution, to date, spilled in the form of audible rejection on a rain-drenched afternoon, dripping through the drywall in a dissent-rusted chain. Stop. No. Please. It was a voice she didn’t recognize. A voice trying to be firm but not entirely expecting to be listened to. It sounded so defeated, like a cry and then a high, sharp whine in response to whatever distinctly lower-pitched murmurs the insulation muzzled. All velvet-dipped tones swallowed by the structural integrity of a shoebox apartment.

Y/N is the last person to dig into others’ preferential depravities, nor does she have the mental bandwidth to file through the archives of a borderline stranger’s hedonisms, but her stomach had twisted up like one of those coiled, abstract sculptures that fits on a bookshelf, and she ended up on the couch with her cellphone tucked to her ear. 

Because it wasn’t just the kind of sound that prickled at her nape, but curdled deep in the belly of her, heavy and rotting. 

(“Um, hi, I think my neighbor is— hurting someone.”)

But the thing is, standing with her door cracked now, Y/N thinks there needs to be at least one, obnoxiously visible character flaw to remind her and offset the audacity of his aesthetics, because up close, it’s so much worse. 

Anything— an overinflated ego, a questionable tattoo, a personality cultivated exclusively from Joe Rogan podcasts. But no. Harry is polite— painfully so, armed with the clean-shaven jawline of a man who has never known an awkward phase and the kind of infuriatingly natural charm that makes all rationale and reason puddle off into awed oblivion. 

“Hey,” he says, cradling the package in one palm, curls wet, one rogue lock clinging to the crest of his cheekbone in a way that would look deeply artificial on anyone else. “Think they swapped our mail again.”

The level of allurement at which he functions should come with a warning label, so it’s a little tough to keep The Incident afloat when he just… waterlogs it with simple, blissfully unaware presence. In these types of situations, all that buoys is the vague, internal monologue reminding her that she’s been gawking wordlessly too long to be considered socially acceptable. 

Her taller neighbor (significantly taller; really, Y/N thinks— it’s as if he collected hallmarks like they were on conveniently timed clearance) blinks. He’s still holding the package out. Y/N blinks back. Batting her lashes shakes something, as if warding off gnats off in a plume of smoke. Slowly, she accepts the misdelivered offering, and unease creeps into the soft spot between her rib bones and her organs. 

Despite the way the man has embedded his existence so deeply into her thoughts— honestly, so much so that he may as well be paying rent (she should be getting compensated for the unpaid mental labor)— Y/N doesn’t actually know Harry.

She knows his name is Harry. H-A-R-R-y, always inscribed in all capitals, besides the cacographic tail end of the lowercase, curving Y. She’s given up on trying to understand why whoever the post office sends insists on treating their mailboxes like interchangeable suggestions rather than fixed addresses. She knows that their mail, through some act of bureaucratic sabotage, somehow manages to interchange between 9B and 9C with unsettling regularity.

She knows he fucks. A lot. So regularly that at this point, it’s practically a statistical impossibility that his celibacy record stands longer than a sparse handful of days. She knows that he wears the face of a misplaced effigy, with a halo’s worth of plausible deniability— the kind that should be mounted to an Italian plaza centerpiece, or live frescoed, immortalized on a high ceiling between Corinthian columns. She knows she called the police on him last month, so she needs to ball her resolve in her arms when it spills apart like unrolled toilet paper—

There is one truth Y/N must latch on and cling to in these tragically catastrophic stand-offs (probably… entirely one-sided, given that the opponent to her poor mettle and overactive nervous system is just… standing there, breathing, entirely oblivious of his innate talent to dilate pupils and cause momentary amnesia), and that truth is this: no superficially aesthetic veneer of deception can shell-up reality. 

And the reality is that Y/N does not know this man, and so no cherubic façade, neighborly niceties, or feigned self-unawareness can suppress that he may as well be an entirely different person behind closed doors. 

It’s months down the line that the irony will hit her— that yes, undeniably, Harry is almost a direct, walking contradiction behind the assumed sanctity of a closed door— that no pleasantries or seraphic, unassuming dimples can soften the obscenity of his pastimes. Hobbies include: vinyl collecting, long walks, and ensuring that an attitude adjustment sticks. But that’s months down the line, and right now?

Right now he’s just her obnoxiously loud neighbor that, according to probable cause (and the recording of the phone call she made to the emergency hotline, stored somewhere in the 911 archives), may or may not take no for an answer. Which is the biggest tragedy of all, in her opinion.

“Thanks.” There’s a little bite there to the word, there. Enough for him to clock it— for something to flicker along that lazily charming smile, like a gossamer-thin, bewildered film over the surface of his expression. 

Harry pauses, almost like he wants to say something (probably to acknowledge the awkwardly apparent dissonance going on), but then he just… doesn’t.

“Okay,” as the man breathes, the breadth of his shoulders swells up, thick muscle rising up under the cotton fabric (not quite pulled taut— not anywhere besides the span of his shoulders— but enough for the shape of his pebbled nipples to poke through the material). Y/N chews into the gummy-smooth skin along the inside of her cheek. Honestly, it’s unfairly disarming; his low voice, his stupid face, his hard nipples prodding through the tee. With his dewy meadow eyes glued onto her, her resolve wobbles like a flimsy stilt house on the coast in a hurricane. “Have a good one.”

He ducks his chin (a subtle period on the uncomfortable pause, a formal seal on his exit) at the young woman, still holding the parchment-wrapped package she’s been awarded as if solidified into a stone-encasement of the position. Y/N blinks. Harry turns. 

With a final glance toward his retreating back, the girl closes the door. As her fingers tighten around the package, her knuckles bleach from the strain. It’s either that or punch drywall, and quite frankly, she’s been paying too much in rent to consider remodeling and too many fees in the form of involuntary eavesdropping to afford a fracture in the (poorly constructed) noise barrier. She tucks the chainlink back onto its track as the door clicks shut and resigns herself to another unfortunate truth: Harry is so dangerously attractive that not only is she almost certainly going to think about this moment later, but she will be reminded, every time she’s shepherded into close proximity with him, that when God packages something up in 6 feet of limited-edition facial topography and artfully tousled curls, no amount of unsought aural pornography and creeping suspicion can stop a cosmic nepotism baby from dismantling her concentration. 

The last thing Harry expects from a disgruntled herd of bleary-eyed, sock-shuffling renters— a crowd caught somewhere between sleep-deprived and half-dead— is small talk. 

Half these people have a look that suggests they contemplated burning alive before choosing to evacuate, and the other half probably wish they decided to wear real pants to bed. Tonight, Harry falls into both categories. With the fire alarm still shrieking from the guts of the complex and the blinking glow of blue and red in the corner of a tar-black night, the briefs hitching high on his meaty thighs is almost… poetic. Cinematic, at the very least. Like a scene from an experimental indie film focused on the gradual dissolution of dignity.

The downy rabbit nestled in his arms, coiled more like a floccose ball than a living animal, is the sartorial maraschino cherry— it pulls the look together. Emergency Evacuation chic. He looks about as disheveled as the rest of the congregation; bedhead, sleep still dusting at his half-mast gaze, keyring slipped over his middle finger and his phone cradled in the same hand (though, Harry thinks wryly, no building-wide emergency couture quite tops the tighty-whitey socks-and-sandals combo that the guy up ahead of him is rocking). There’s sparse chatter going on all around him, a kind of background drone that fades into the wail, but he doesn’t have any intention to engage. Despite the unplanned slumber party and the potential opportunity to trauma-bond, he can’t really find it in him to start ice-breaking and sharing life stories. There’s a time and place to build community with your neighbors— half-dressed in a parking lot at three AM isn’t one of them. 

Instead, he stands in the midst of the mass, dead-silent as if still calibrating. It takes him a while to notice the young woman a few feet ahead of him— long enough that the cool air has settled over him in a coat. Her bathrobe wraps tight around her, cinched pink terry-cloth. He doesn’t recognize that she’s a familiar face until she turns enough for him to see her side profile, her phone screen casting light and painting shadows in the crease of her furrowed brow as she sniffs. Thumbing over the device, Y/N turns back over her shoulder. 

The longer he stands there, creaking into a more-awake rendition of himself as the faint chill cuts through the grogginess in his skull, the more the silence marinates into impatient restlessness. Stretching like old gum. She lingers in his periphery, shifting from foot to foot as if nursing the same restive itch. Once again, his neighbor twists to the side, rocking onto the balls of her feet and then back down onto her heels. A huff spills from her lips as she turns her phone off and tucks it up under her upper arm, crossing them. It’s not cold enough for the air to bloom with her breath, but the exasperation in it is audible. Maybe because he’s managed to seep closer. 

“—Wonder if someone just pulled it.”

At first, Y/N doesn’t acknowledge the statement, as if she doesn’t recognize the remark is directed at her. And then, the presence behind her— not pressing uncomfortably close, just distant enough to notice— has Y/N turning her head over her shoulder. She double-takes.

Harry’s in a new light. Still abysmal to her train of thought, already weak on its tracks given that the drowsiness from being rudely awoken in the middle of the night still has her lingering in a dull, cotton-wrapped awareness. But now, he’s a fraying shape; sleepy and half-nakedly soft. Hair a masterpiece of sleep deprivation— the typically styled ringlets on his head sit mussed; whatever shape (she assumes the usual— somewhere between windswept and enticingly intentional) existed yesterday has gone rogue, erased by his pillow. What’s left is a tousled disarray. He’s in another tee, once again pulled snugly over his shoulders, and he’s cradling what could be a live, fuzzy animal, but more resembles a balled fur stole, its potential face tucked into the nook between his muscly upper arm and his chest. Despite the ridiculous assortment of this particular wardrobe showcase, that’s not what catches her eye most. Y/N sucks in a breath. 

Considering a fair share of the evacuees around them teeter on the brink of public-indecency, it shouldn’t throw her guard off as much as it does, but all she can manage in such close proximity with Harry’s thighs is to blink wordlessly. It’s not necessarily his thighs so much as the way they’re denuded— not the way his trousers sit on them so much as their entire lack thereof. It’s the way his lower region is only covered up by a pair of jet-black briefs, clinging like a second skin, riding ridiculously high and ridiculously low. High enough that the only place her eyes can focus is the (chewy) musculature, slightly sun-bathed from all those hours spent in the residential pool, dusted with hair. Low enough that a sliver of skin peeks from between the waistband and hem of his shirt, hitched up just a touch on one side. Enough to hint at a sharp dip of a mostly concealed V, where muscle sinks in a hard line along bone. A tease of whatever workout routine he’s committed to. Beside the rigid line chiseled in there, an inked, leafy stem climbs (a set of mirrored layers that she’d observed on him, supine on a pool chaise). 

Basically, it’s the type of thing that should legally classify him as a walking thirst trap.

With the crowd sporting bedtime fashion, some covered only in the most legally vague sense of the word, it leaves Y/N wondering: if most of the people decided to haphazardly vacate their apartments by only tossing on the most minimal attire— if opting to add to their garb in any way— what did Harry add? Did he wear the cream-toned tee to bed? Just the Calvins? Both? Or was he entirely bare, only sloppily throwing on whatever was left discarded by the side of the bed? Does he sleep naked? 

With all these sordid thoughts clouding up the forefront of her mind like a thick plume of fog, she can’t find words through alphabet soup and the vague mental images of Harry’s bare skin tangled by sheets. To make it better, he’s just staring at her, like he’s expectantly waiting for her to respond. What was the question?

Y/N blinks again. “What?”

“The—“ Harry bobs his head towards the cluster of emergency vehicles, olive eyes oscillating to the apartment complex and back onto her, “fire alarm. I wonder if someone just pulled it.” 

If ever the universe was to humble Harry from a breathing renaissance painting, half-clothed and half-asleep would be the time. He could be knocked down to whatever status a man up front is bearing, clad in a questionably classy fusion of tragic, high-cut cotton underwear, socks, and suede, open-toed sandals. Somehow, though, it’s worse that his bedhead, for the most part, still leaves the tendrils curling in lazy, untamed waves. That his nakedly-beguiling thighs, strong and sculpted with muscle, look like they’re meant to pry knees wide. It’s mortifying—

“Then, they’d be an asshole,” she murmurs, her own gaze raking out and lingering on the building. The words come out clipped with exhaustion, and then that pause lingers again. 

Harry hums. She chances another glance at the furball curled to his chest. 

“Snuggles,” Harry supplies, raising one arm a tad from where it’s caged to support the animal. The motion is enough to jostle the thing, and it tucks its face out, twitching its nose. With careful precision, the man moves one hand out from the cradle— the one not clutching his keys and his phone (by the way, casually dwarfed by the sheer size of his palm and cupped, lengthy fingers) to skim his pointer along the Holland lop’s dangling ear. “He’s a bit delicate and has some strong opinions on sudden, loud noises. Not a fan of fire alarms, as it turns out.”

The young woman hums noncommittally, eyes snaking back off to the polychrome strobe. 

The last thing Harry expects from his neighbors during a mandatory, middle-of-the-night evacuation order are pleasantries. Between the slouched postures, the collective, dead-eyed aura of suffering, the general degree of resentment perfuming the air, and the visible internal debates over whether a hypothetical fire is worth enduring the cold, it’s safe to assume morale is at an all time low. Which brings him to his next point— there is, Harry suspects, something about him that fundamentally offends his neighbor.

Not inherently because she’s not talking to him. Naturally, the theory has no relevance to her lack of enthusiasm at the moment. 

There’s a clause to life that he learned as a little kid, an absolute truth that the motto “water off your back” was created around, and this clause is that not everyone will like you. There’s really no gentle way to chew on that one, but it’s a fact Harry has long come to terms with. Jealousy, misery, even a simple case of personalities repelling like mismatched magnets— all things that can cause someone to decide you’re just not their cup of tea. Incompatibility could very easily leave your existence grating someone down to the molecular level. And you can never please everyone— that’s another piece of that truth he had to gnaw on before he decided that he was going to spend the rest of his life marching to the beat of his own drum. 

Apparently, something about this tempo scrapes at some highly-sensitive nerve of hers like a dull knife on a chalkboard. 

It’s an intuition thing, really. There hasn’t so much been a sharp, substantial instance so much as there’s been instances. Little, creeping things; the way her eyes ward when he’s close, despite the way they hover; the tone she seems to reserve for him, not outwardly rude, but suspiciously close to some awkward admixture between tolerating jury duty and being held at gunpoint. There’s more, among those, too— the suspiciously long pauses that sit like preludes to every response she gives him. The way her gaze flickers off avoidantly. 

And those last two aren’t flustered mechanisms. 

Harry knows he is, according to conventional, societal standards, attractive. He’s no stranger to reflective surfaces, nor is he unaware of the way actual strangers look at him. Ogle. Gawk. 

It was a burgeoning metamorphosis he became acutely aware of between awkward kidhood and the place he’s at now. First, all lanky angles of uncertainty, only half-grown into his features, when his bones had made up their mind but the muscle and skin over them hadn’t quite decided what they wanted to be yet. Then, it was almost overnight. Everything began stretching into place and ubiquitously working in his favor. Eyes lingered, heads turned…

It’s safe to say he knows nervous girls. Boys. The lack of eye contact, or on the polar opposite hand, the blanking, empty stares and the silent beat as their response time glitches and their mouth tries (and fails) to keep up with a short-circuiting nervous system. Not everybody is able to stay the most suave version of themselves interacting with someone they find sexually attractive— his firsthand experience involves not only being on the receiving end, but on the giving end, as well. Granted, the aesthetics boost had given him a sense of confidence that buried his inhibitions down, so it’s been a long while since the last time he tripped over himself in front of someone that made his dick sit up and pay attention, but—

The thing is, Y/N doesn’t glance away like staring at him rapidly dissolves her thoughts in a static haze. She doesn’t take long pauses because she’s floundering over the next word. She doesn’t even look at him in a way that insinuates she’s worried he’ll nip her or something, she’s just so utterly…

Closed off. Disinterested. Like his presence is a jury duty evaluation and she’s wriggling in her seat, waiting to talk about her views on jury nullification. 

In fairness, it could very well be a me-not-you thing— the awkward shuffle through their interactions, the severe deficit of enthusiasm. Those communication patterns could very well be sound across the board… in another universe. There are footprints that lead him to the massive elephant in the room, and those footprints spell the vague shape of it didn’t used to be this way. 

Sure, Harry contemplates, if she was a miserably unpleasant person that holed up in her apartment with no interest in corresponding with another human being, he’d get it. If she’d given him the idea that something about him rattled her down to atoms the first time he ever said hello to her, he’d get it. But she used to smile. Coyly, almost, he’d go as far to say— one finger away from twirling a lock of hair around her pointer as she talked to him. The kind of simper that accompanies a giggle from a barista handing his drink over across the counter, eyes honed. She used to lean onto her door frame when he handed off a stack of envelopes that got misplaced into his mailbox, or hung back with her eyes wet and lively as she stood at his doorway and handed off a package. 

What’s more is that his history is marked by drawing more people in after he opens his mouth, than turning them away. He’s arguably likeable— not in an arrogantly self-absorbed way, but strictly based on track record. He’s befriended too many older ladies (who sparked up chatter with him in grocery stores unprompted, mostly), and gotten slipped too many drinks (on the house) from bartenders to believe otherwise. Generally, his existence tends to fall into the category of charming rather than grating.

When he considers all of this, his analysis only leads him to one conclusion— there is something about him that suddenly, fundamentally offends his neighbor. 

And it’s with this hypothesis that Harry clears his throat, hesitates, and prods, with just a moment of lull after she’s turned back away from him, “If I’m misreading this, feel free to tell me to piss off, but— did I do something?”

The young woman pivots back over her shoulder, blinking, almost as if she’d forgotten he was behind her at all. 

“…What?”

Harry shrugs. The motion coaxes Snuggles to lift his head again. “I don't expect us to be friends, but I also don't want to be the person you actively avoid in the hallway. If I've done something to make things weird, l'd rather fix it than pretend I don't notice." 

For a long second, Y/N doesn’t say anything. Just batting her lashes up at him, features lax, like she’s processing the earnest directness behind his words and letting them settle. And then her face twists. 

Ooh— okay. Ruckling brow bone, lips tugging down, the nearly incredulous burst of air she expels as she turns her prickling face away—

She scoffs, muttering something strangely close to, “can’t be serious,” under her breath, and Harry’s eyes pensively narrow just a smidge. Enough to be entirely imperceptible as he drinks in her body language. That’s an indicator, if Harry’s ever seen one. 

“You know what, Harry,” she says after a moment (now her arms are caging defensively, that’s an interesting touch), “…I just don’t really …appreciate how you treat women, to be honest.”

Of all the responses Harry had been anticipating, curiously honed on every word, that was— not the one. His dark canopy of lashes sweeps over his eyes as the admission lands and… knocks him off kilter, just a bit. His brows relax, then furrow up as he mulls the statement over, buffering. 

He sounds a little bewildered when he says, voice much more soft-spoken, “…Sorry?”

“You should be,” his neighbor tells him pointedly, her arms still crossed like a defensive barrier across her chest, “Hitting women is wrong. Very illegal for a reason, actually.”

At the mention, his head bobbles back a bit like he’s dodging a smack between the brows with the context-lacking declaration. He’s not quite sure he’s heard her right, eyebrows climbing and eyes widening almost comically. Right, okay. This is… a gross misunderstanding, he decides. When the realization hits him, truly hits him, his knee-jerk response is an incredulous laugh, which he muscles down. Instead, his appalled amusement trickles out like a little huff, corners of his strawberry mouth tugging up. Unfortunately, the reaction only seems to irritate her further, and her forehead crinkles up as her own eyebrows ascend in stunned disbelief. 

“You think there’s something funny about hitting a woman?” Y/N presses, eyes steeling into slits, her priorly indoor-voice rising a decibel. 

The volume of her statement (and the misleading content) has his otherwise mirthy expression falling into something far more serious. Full of comically flat, grievous denial, like a kid being scolded for spray-painting a concrete wall after being caught with the can in its hand.

“—No,” Harry shakes his head slowly, side to side, “Not at all.”

Cautiously, his gaze slips off to the corner, where a few tenants have turned over their shoulder to gauge the commotion. As the young woman’s head swivels to tail where his eye contact has meandered, Harry realizes that backpedaling is only going to become a feat of incredible verbal athleticism from here. Upon catching the other glimpses from the crowd, slowly turning back to their own conversations, Y/N makes a deadpan sound of amusement before she turns back to face him.

“Oh, what? You’re ashamed now that you’re being called out for it? Good,” she bites, shoulders teetering as she leans toward him and unfolds her arms, pointing her index finger into his direction scathingly, “You should be ashamed. It’s absolutely disgusting to put your hands on a woman.”

This is tragically weighed against Harry’s favor. Here he was, just a half-asleep evacuee, holding his rabbit, clad in only a pair of hardly decent briefs, contemplating whether he should Uber Eats tacos as soon as the emergency exit fiasco were to clear up (might as well, since he’s already awake). Somehow, he’s managed to morph from an unassuming extra to the perceived antagonist. 

No, Harry thinks— this wouldn’t be a disaster film; it’s a full blown, poorly-contrived drama with a plot twist even the supposed villain is caught off guard by. The curly-headed brunette chances another glance to the other side now, where more people have not only glimpsed over in brief acknowledgement, but have fully twisted their shoulders to observe the apparent scandal. As much as Harry wholeheartedly marches to the beat of his own drum, at this moment in time, his reputation is shaking in its boots and he’s reached a mental checkpoint called time for damage control.

Weaving sincerity into his tone and shaking his head placatingly as he steps forward— a subconscious attempt to coax her into lowering her volume— Harry tells her, “I don’t put my hands on anybody that doesn’t consent to it first.”

Her face scrunches up.

“I think,” his pink tongue slinks out to wet his lips, “maybe, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“No, I really, really do,” Harry counters, ducking his chin into a nod. 

Instead of hearing him out, however, his neighbor, as if fueled by the internal calling to manually dismantle misogyny, one assumed violent criminal at a time, only raises her volume a little more. Exceeding the normal range, definitely steeping in public-humiliation-ritual territory. 

“I’m not misunderstanding,” Y/N bites, brows pinched like he’s personally offended her by even insinuating as much, “I have ears, just so you know, and I’ve heard a woman saying no, and please, and stop. So you can drop your good boy act, okay—“

Harry blinks. If not for the character defamation going on and the way Socks-and-Sandals raises his phone out of seemingly nowhere, pointing it into their direction as if there isn’t a potential fire to be filmed instead of all things, Harry would laugh. But there is, and the flash is on, weak along his peripheral edge—

“I know guys like you, I know your type,” Y/N declares, jabbing her finger against him again, this time so close to grazing the area along his chest, right between the tops of his pectorals, just over Snuggles, “and it’s gross that you think because you’re attractive you can walk all over everyone and do things like that to people, and you know what, next time maybe the cops won’t be so nice—”

Ah, nice. Another mystery resolved; one which involved a pair of men with guns in their holsters at his door performing a wellness check and an excruciatingly awkward clarification on impact play, consensual sadomasochism, and safewords. For weeks Harry wondered what had inspired a legal inquiry into his pastimes. Now, staring at the culprit— case dismissed— he can only blink before his brows wrinkle up. 

“You’re the one who called the police?” Harry murmurs, a note of soft incredulity soaking the phrase.  

“Any sane woman would call the police when she heard another woman being abused—“

“Abused?”

“Yes! Abused! And— and— honestly—“

Before Y/N can launch into another ruthlessly-curated, virtue-plated diatribe, Harry resituates the animal in his grip, unlocking his phone to the homescreen. Then, Safari. He thumbs over it with a careful determination seeding along his downturned, sculpted expression.

“I don’t know what form of assault would be worse,” Y/N chimes, hands climbing up in an exaggerated, universal symbol of exasperation before they fall back to her sides (as if she hadn’t even noticed his attention has been redirected to his phone), “but when someone says no, it means no.”

It only takes a second for her to register that his focus has been rerouted elsewhere, though. Her tone dips indignantly.

“Excuse me. I’m talking to you. And also, while we’re at it, you’re unbearably loud and an unmannerly neighbor—“

Harry turns his phone around. His expression is impressively flat, all things considered. Y/N pauses. 

“Typically,” Harry states as her eyes rake over the glowing screen, “I like to be wined and dined before I give a crash course on my preferences, but.”

The image stretched across the illuminated LED sits over her tired gaze as she absorbs it, pupils jittering as she reads, but through the lens of his own profile mirrored back, he can see the moment her righteously fueled demeanor chips. 

“I do, like, a… softcore porn type thing,” he admits. 

Still, her brows are kinked. Only now, in stupefied doubt. “I— what?”

It’s with a rotting sense of dread curdling in the pit of her tummy that it suddenly dawns on Y/N— the mortified realization that she has succumbed to a horrible misunderstanding. 

The website the tab is set on almost looks archaic, like a kitsch relic— repository archives of a porn blog from the early 2000s. Spankinggram. The page is set onto a profile, something called Rings&Paddles, and the squared image of an avatar slices through the garishly orange palette of the site’s logo. Her gaze sweeps over the vista; a man sitting down on an armless chair, thighs splayed, palm curled over a …hairbrush. 

The profile picture sunders off at the neck. It’s a faceless silhouette, but the miscellany of sketches cascading across a forearm and the distinctly chunky medley of rings are… enough—

“Consensually,” Harry— Rings&Paddles, Y/N recognizes, molten heat dripping along the crests of her cheekbones— adds, “No one is being abused.”

In retrospect, the only feasible option to survive this, Y/N decides, is to change her name and move to another state. 

Probably something short and vaguely melancholic, one of those names that would look intriguing in all lowercase. A quiet town. Somewhere coastal, maybe. West. No— north. As far north as geographically possible. Perhaps she could get a dog. An older, ratty boy from a shelter. Drive an old car that’s too big with a busted radio. She’ll pretend it’s a benefit, rather than an inconvenience, because she’ll be the fabricated kind of mystique that insufferably enjoys the quiet calm (and rainstorms). A rebranded, movie-clichè hipster, but not unbearable in real life—

“But I understand the concern,” her neighbor says, cutting through the haze as she contemplates what brand of cigarettes she’ll be taking up as a trait of her pseudo-identity. Against all odds, his tone is calm in an all-too-merciful kind of way, “You can look into… domestic discipline, if you’d like. If you wanted to understand a bit better. There’s loads of really good information on the internet.”

For a moment, Y/N deliberates burning alive. If there isn’t a fire licking up her department store drapes, she’s going to set one to avoid bearing the weight of this shame for the rest of her life. Granted, the heat sizzling at her face feels like a flame, enough, both at the way she’s just publicly kinkshamed an innocent man and at the mention of …domestic discipline.

She’s going to cry. 

They would be Virginia Slims.

“You— …what?”

The garbled confusion drenching her tone is almost laughable. She sounds it, too; voice pinched and deceptively close to trembling off into a sob. Y/N stares straight ahead, body locked in a fugue state of humiliation as the realization calcifies in real-time. Her shoulders have gone stiff and her spine rigid, posture squeezed somewhere between standing and catatonic. The scale of her miscalculation worms into her skull like a parasite that’ll chew her awake in the middle of the night, years down the line.

For the last month, Y/N has spent every interaction with Harry evasively toeing over eggshells. Floundering over the way his face was sculpted, rather than compromising the integral structure of their acquaintanceship. Somehow, a sleep cycle cut short and the ambiguous suggestion that he had picked up on her avoidant habits was all it had taken to not only slander his (apparently not safe for work) extracurriculars, but probably assure her foreseeable Amazon packages suddenly start going missing.

Now, with a semi-public declaration of his profile pressed out to her face and his name no longer being audibly smeared with accusations, Harry can appreciate the quiet sense of revelation. 

His neighbor, on the other hand, looks visibly wrecked. Her entire stance is pulled in tight, like she’s actively trying to make herself smaller, but it’s her face that really gives her away— the way it twists, fluctuating between wide-eyed horror and the dawning realization that she’s just detonated a social landmine at point-blank range. All heat-tinged and shame-doused, the young woman blinks up at him, doe-eyes rounded in apologetic appall and lips parted slightly like she’s still buffering. The combination of words that just left his mouth— softcore porn, domestic discipline, consensual— seem to be wrestling in her brain like tangled Christmas lights, none of them quite fitting together in a way that makes sense and glinters.

“I am sorry about the noise,” he tells her, shutting the phone off and nestling his arm back up under his pet, “I’ll make sure to keep it to a minimum from now on.”

Y/N wilts. With the phone no longer held out into her direction, the way she stays glued to the same spot on the cement— as if mortified into a motionless piece of stone— is ridiculous enough for him to gnaw into his cheek to chew back a bark of laughter. Despite all trials and tribulations, his coping mechanisms never fail. 

“You— oh my God,” Y/N whispers. She makes a sound that could be a vaguely pained noise or the byproduct of her soul seeping out of her body. “Oh my God.”

Harry blinks. 

“I called the police on you,” she tells him, utter dismay lacing the words together. 

“You did, yeah.”

Harry still remembers the blank expression varnished along the officer’s face— the kind of emotionally vacant stare reserved for department store mannequins. The echo of the distant, metaphysical NOPE that definitely rode along his brainstem the moment the curly-haired brunette mentioned “it’s a kink thing,” and the way his partner, hands allocated to his holster belt, started very obviously examining his own shoes. 

“I thought—“ Y/N stutters, her wobbling voice sounding squeezed from her trachea, “I thought—“

“You thought you were living next door to a criminal,” Harry supplies. When he tilts his head, a rogue curl flops over his forehead.  

Finally, the young woman moves, burying her face in her hands. This will haunt her, she thinks. Forever. 

From the corner of his eye, the man can tell that most of the tenants have gone back to their regularly scheduled repertoires of stalled misery. And despite the absolute PR mess her blunder has induced— his eyes wander over her, the way she’s cupping her face like she wants to melt into her own hands and seep off into the pavement— he feels oddly… bad. Not secondhand embarrassed (firsthand, definitely firsthand), but Y/N looks like she’s going to combust. It’s tragic, really. The kind of pitiful that makes him purse his mouth and stare down at her in contemplation.

“Honestly,” his voice cuts through the haze in her throbbing, hot skull, all even-toned sincerity (which is worse, so much worse), “if I was in your position, yeah? I’d do the same thing.”

The admission coaxes her into a horrified peer through the wedges between her fingers. The warmth pressed to her palms feels borderline pyrexic. 

“And if that were the case, you’d be the neighborhood hero. So.” He raises a shoulder nonchalantly.

Y/N doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, she soaks in the crime scene, doused in the blinking blue and red. 

“I’m not sure neighborhood hero is how I’ll be remembered,” the young woman finally answers, groaning through her hands, and then pressing her fingertips into her temples. 

Harry hums. Then, he sighs. “No, you’re right. I’d say misguided vigilante. I reckon it’s a bit better than violent felon, though.”

Y/N makes another sound. This one sounds a little more wounded.

Read the next part early here

[golden-reverie]

Burnt Out

Author’s note: Hello to anyone who sees this! I’m Elodie, 24, from the Midwest. I love to experiment with writing, and my guilty pleasure is anything to do with Harry Styles. I’ve been so inspired by all the amazing writers on here, so I finally decided to take a stab at something of my own. I hope you enjoy :)

Summary: You’ve been running yourself ragged over a work project, and Harry isn’t having it.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: MDNI, spanking, punishment, fingering, pre-established dom/sub relationship, stern dom!harry, sub!reader, fem!reader, aftercare, all actions and dynamics are consensual

The soft glow of the laptop screen flickered against the walls, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit house. Y/N’s fingers danced over the keyboard, her eyes locked onto the cascading lines of code. Stray wisps of amber hair had escaped the messy bun atop her head, and she absently chewed on the end of a pen—an old habit from her college days. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of keys and the quiet hum of the laptop’s fan.

Harry lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of concern and quiet frustration. The faint aroma of the dinner he’d prepared still clung to the air, a cruel reminder that she had once again skipped a meal in favor of work. Outside, the streetlights cast a soft, silver glow through the thin curtains, tracing ghostly patterns on the floor. Y/N remained wrapped in the world of her screen, completely oblivious to his presence.

He cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the hush like a blade. “Y/N, it’s late. You need to come to bed.”

She didn’t look up. “Just a few more minutes, Harry. I need to finish this.”

Harry sighed, raking a hand through his unruly curls. “You’ve been saying that for the last three hours. You need a break.”

This time, she did glance up—just long enough for him to catch the flicker of exhaustion in her gaze before she turned back to her work. “I can’t. This project is a big one. I have to get it done.”

Harry pushed off the door frame and strode toward her, his presence heavy, unyielding. A warm hand landed on her shoulder, grounding her. “You’ve been at this nonstop for weeks. You need to take care of yourself.”

She shrugged off his touch. “I will. Just not tonight.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not how this works, Y/N. You know the rules. You agreed to them.” His voice remained level, but there was an edge to it now, a quiet authority that she could no longer ignore. “Your body needs food, rest… You’ll burn out if you keep this up.”

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for the first time in hours, she hesitated. She exhaled slowly, her voice softer, but still laced with defiance.

“I just… need to finish this. Can’t you see that?”

Harry’s expression didn’t waver. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You can finish it tomorrow. During normal hours. Right now, you need sleep. I already let you skip dinner, and we both know that wasn’t the first meal you’ve ignored lately.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I’ve run out of patience, love.”

Y/N stilled. She understood the implication behind his words. Her breath hitched, cheeks heating.

“Harry, I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone was gentle, yet immovable. “And you will.” With deliberate ease, he reached out and closed her laptop, the sudden silence deafening.

She finally looked at him, her eyes flashing with something between defiance and reluctant surrender. “You’re being over the top,” she muttered.

Harry smirked, tilting her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Maybe I am. But someone has to be.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, slow and deliberate. “You’re not taking care of yourself. And that’s not acceptable to me.” His voice was softer now, but it carried an unmistakable weight.

The air thickened, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable.

He took a step back, nodding toward the staircase. “C’mon. Up you get.”

Y/N hesitated for half a second before pushing up from her chair, her body drawn to his like a tide to the shore. As much as she wanted to argue, she knew he was right. This project had pushed her past her limits—late nights, skipped meals, unanswered texts and calls—Harry had let a lot slide. But tonight, that grace had run out. And now that she had been pulled from the blue-light-induced trance she had been under, she found herself grateful for his insistence.

As they ascended the stairs, a different kind of tension coiled low in her stomach. She knew exactly where this was going, and she could already feel the electricity crackling in the space between them.

Harry sat on the edge of their bed, his eyes steady as she hovered in the doorway. He extended a hand, beckoning her forward.

“C’mere,” he commanded.

She found her place in between his legs. His hands fell to her hips and slinked around to the soft flesh under her ass, holding her in place. She looked down at him, anticipating his next move.

“I think you have a pretty good idea of where this is headed, yeah?” His eyes held a quiet patience that stood in sharp contrast to the inevitable sentence looming over her head.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

Harry hummed in approval. “I’ve let a lot slide these past couple of weeks,” he said, tilting his head forward in search of her eyes. “I know big projects come up and that they sometimes get the better of our judgment. That’s just life. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by skipping meals and running on two hours of sleep each day… I know you know that.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. A nervous habit.

He blows out a soft sigh, brushing his fingers against her skin, “I gave you plenty of chances to course-correct, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting perfection, but you’ve been running yourself into the ground, and that’s not something I can just overlook.”

She chewed her lip, her gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” A frustrated breath escaped her lips, “It’s just… this project is important to me, and you know how cutthroat my coworkers can be. I can’t afford to fall behind.”

“I understand,” he says, lightly squeezing her flesh beneath his hands. “And I love how hard you work, but regardless, you know you can’t be on your A-game if you’re not taking care of yourself… That’s why we put these rules in place, remember? He moves his right hand up to her jaw in a silent command to meet his stare, “Because I love you and I care about you.” His voice was steady, eyes unwavering. “And sometimes you need a reminder to care about yourself, too. Yeah?”

She maintained eye contact this time, the guilt she had been trying to push aside settled heavily in her chest. “I love you too.” she mumbles, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t just an apology—it was an admission. She had ignored the rules, brushed aside her own well-being for weeks, and now the weight of it all felt like it was seeping out of her pores, pooling at his feet.

Harry lets his hand drop from her chin, his expression firm but not unkind. “And I appreciate that,” he says, his tone shifting, sharpening. “But you know the deal.”

It wasn’t necessarily a question, but she answered him, nonetheless.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, over my knee,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He patted his thigh—a silent summons, firm and absolute.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. Not out of reluctance, but out of the sheer pleasure of the moment—this dance between them—the thrill of defiance followed by sweet surrender. She always wanted this, always needed this, and until right now; she hadn’t realized how much she’d been craving it.

He didn’t rush her. He never did. He simply waited, watching her with steady, knowing eyes. The weight of his gaze alone sent a shiver through her, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin. Taking a slow, measured breath, she finally relented, placing her hands on the mattress for balance as she draped herself over his lap.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him—the gentle arch of her back, the delicate vibration in her limbs, betraying her excitement. His hands smoothed over her spine, warm and comforting, a soothing contrast to the tension coiling inside her.

He could feel her trembling almost imperceptibly as she laid there—a quiet, unspoken longing bubbling up from her core. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, peeling them down her legs with deliberate ease before tossing them aside.

His palms roamed over the swell of her ass, his touch featherlight, teasing. Y/N bit her lip, resisting the instinct to press her thighs together as he traced the lace trim of her panties, feeling her heat radiating through the delicate fabric. That alone nearly unraveled him. His cock strained painfully against his sweatpants, but he forced himself to linger in this moment—the exquisite torture of making her wait, of drawing it out until she was teetering on the edge.

His hands traveled upward, finding the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin beneath. He heard the small hitch in her breath, watched as goosebumps bloomed across her flesh. Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted the fabric, removing it from her body, letting the cool air kiss her bare back as she shivered in his grasp.

He towered over her, his presence commanding every ounce of her attention. His voice, low and unwavering, wrapped around her like a steel chain. “Is your work more important than your own health?”

Y/N inhaled sharply, steadying herself before she answered. “No, Sir.”

“And who decides when you’ve had enough?” His head tilted slightly, waiting—expecting.

His voice rumbled through her, a dark, velvety vibration that settled deep in her bones. Her breath hitched. “You do, Sir.”

A flicker of approval danced in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His palm ghosted over the curves of her ass, tracing gentle circles that did little to soothe the anticipation humming in her nerves. “I want you to count for me.”

She barely had a moment to brace herself before his hand left her skin—only to return with a sharp, resounding crack.

“One!” she gasped. But before she could stop herself, her right hand shot back instinctively, trying to shield herself from the sting.

Harry was faster. He caught her wrist effortlessly, pinning it against the small of her back. His fingers wove through hers, the delicate touch at odds with the firmness of his next words.

“You know better than that.” His voice carried a quiet, heavy disapproval that made her stomach flip. “We’re starting over. Every time you squirm, we’ll go back to one again. Understood?”

Y/N swallowed hard, resisting the urge to whimper. He meant business tonight. “Yes, Sir.”

The next blow landed just as hard.

“One, Sir.” This time, she tagged on the honorific—not required, but a subtle touch she knew he'd appreciate. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

Then came the next. And the next.

“Two, Sir… Three, Sir!” The quick succession stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her voice edged with both pain and something deeper, something needier.

He could feel it—the way her body responded, her skin flushing beneath his touch, heat rolling off her in waves. His palm burned against her flesh, but he reveled in it. He lived for this part: the slow, deliberate breaking down of everything but sensation.

By number twelve, the sharp slap landed against the tender flesh of her lower thighs, and she wailed, the sound raw and unfiltered. Tears pricked at the edges of her vision, but still, she forced the number past her lips.

Harry knew her body better than she did. He knew exactly how to unravel her, how to make her cry out first from frustration—then from sheer, unadulterated pleasure. He wanted her mind empty, consumed only by this, by him.

The next set of strikes sent waves of something heady through her, an intoxicating blend of pain and euphoria. Her breath stuttered. She barely managed to grunt out the numbers between each punishing impact, her body trembling, craving.

By the time he reached twenty-eight, her head had fallen slack against the bed, silent tears soaking into the duvet. This was the most Y/N had ever taken. Normally, he didn’t have to go past twenty before she surrendered completely, but tonight—tonight she had been stubborn. Each slap chipped away at the stress, the tension, the weight she had been carrying for weeks.

He felt the moment her body gave in. The way her fingers went limp in his grasp, her voice raw, spent. She wasn’t resisting anymore—just accepting.

“Thirty, Sir,” she sobbed, the words almost lost in the haze of exhaustion and relief. Then, softer still, “I’m sorry.”

Harry let his hand relax, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over the heated expanse of her skin. Her body was still shaking, but not from pain. Not anymore. He knew she had slipped, drifting into that quiet, blissful space where nothing existed beyond the warmth of his touch and the safety of his presence.

And he wasn’t about to pull her out. Not yet.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of his palm smoothing over her, and the lingering, uneven sniffles escaping her lips. He let her breathe, let her be.

After a couple minutes, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “You did so good baby. I’m proud of you.”

He pressed a few final, featherlight kisses along the curve of her lower back, his breath warm against her skin as he murmured, “Are you ready for me to check on you?”

He already knew the answer. Knew what he would find when his fingers slipped between her thighs. The anticipation sent a thrill down his spine as he let his hand drift lower, tracing the seam of her slick folds, drinking in the heat that seeped into his skin.

She was dripping.

Harry was hard beneath her, the evidence pressing insistently against her stomach, and he knew she could feel it too. But tonight wasn’t about him. Yes, she had broken the rules—deserved the punishment she had just endured—but more importantly, he wanted to strip away the weight she had been carrying. He wanted to unmake the stress that had hardened her and replace it with something softer.

His thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her squirm, a broken whimper muffled against the duvet.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he praised, his voice a low hum of satisfaction.

“Just gonna make you feel good now, yeah?”

He slid a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, while his free hand threaded into her hair, stroking, grounding her.

Her nod was small, but he felt the way her body melted, giving in to his touch. Wetness seeped onto his thigh, further proof of how much she needed this—needed him.

He pushed a second finger inside, reveling in the way her walls clenched around him, her body trembling from the overwhelming sensations. With every stroke, he could feel her tension unraveling, her muscles slackening, the last remnants of restraint slipping away.

The world around him dissolved as his fingers curled inside her, seeking out the spot he knew would make her crumble. “You’ve been so good for me,” he whispered, his lips grazing the damp skin of her shoulder. “Took your punishment like a champ. Now, I want you to come for me. Just like this.”

Her skin tasted of sweat and salt, the scent of her arousal thick in the air.

Y/N was a paradox—a perfect blend of submission and defiance. As obedient as she was, that stubborn streak of hers ran just as deep, a constant challenge that kept him on his toes. But nights like this? When she surrendered completely, yielding every inch of herself to him without hesitation?

He savored it. Relished it. Worshipped it.

Because having all of her—mind, body, and soul—was a privilege he would never take for granted.

He studied her like an artist captivated by the final stroke of their masterpiece, burning the view into his memory—the flutter of her lashes as her eyes turned glassy, the flush that crept down her neck, the way her cunt clenched so tightly around his fingers as if trying to keep him there forever. He wanted to teach her to let go. To release all the anxiety, frustration, and exhaustion that had been suffocating her for far too long.

But he needed it to come from her—wanted her to own her pleasure as much as he did—to know that she was worthy, desired, loved.

Harry’s fingers slid deeper, moving with deliberate slowness as they arched just right, pressing against the spot that had her moaning, her body instinctively grinding against his palm. Her face was buried in the duvet, eyes squeezed shut as she gasped, overwhelmed by the rush of sensations flooding through her.

“Come on, Y/N. Let go for me,” he coaxed, his voice dripping with filthy promise.

Her body tensed, and he knew he had her. She trembled on the precipice before the dam broke. A shattered moan tore from her lips as pleasure ripped through her, muscles spasming in tight, rhythmic waves. The heat of her release coated his figures, and he didn’t stop—not yet.

He worked her through it, his thumb never relenting from the steady, precise strokes against her clit. He wanted everything. Wanted to hear her cry out for him, to watch the pleasure drag her under until she had nothing left to give.

And under she went.

Her cries turned breathless as the last tremors wracked her body, her limbs going boneless beneath his touch. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, smirking at the needy little whimper she made at the loss. He soothed the ache with soft strokes along her trembling thighs, grounding her as she came back down.

“Atta girl, sweetheart,” he cooed, voice laced with satisfaction. “That feel good?”

A slow, exhausted nod was all she could manage. As the haze of pleasure lifted, she became aware of everything at once—the damp strands of hair sticking to her nape, the tingling in her limbs, the lingering warmth radiating from her backside.

But nothing could pull her back to reality quite like his voice.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?”

***

Water cascaded from the shower head in silken ribbons, a warm, soothing contrast against the cool tile. Steam curled in the air, thick and languid, blurring the edges of the room until it felt like they existed in their own private universe. The scent of eucalyptus clung to the mist, wrapping around them like an embrace.

Harry held Y/N close, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, the quiet strength of him anchoring her. Her head rested against his collarbone, the sound of his heartbeat a calming metronome against the storm that had been raging inside her for weeks.

His hands moved slowly over her damp skin, drawing soothing circles along her spine, his thumbs tracing the delicate ridges of her back. She shivered—not from the cold, but from the contrast of sensations: the warmth of the water, the cool air beyond it, the roughness of his calloused fingers against the softness of her flesh.

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze through the water’s shimmering veil. Her lips were parted, her lashes heavy, surrender written in every line of her expression. Harry felt something deep and primal stir in his chest.

With a lingering kiss, he turned her around, his fingers threading through her hair as he worked the shampoo into a gentle lather. His touch was reverent, a contradiction of tenderness and strength, his large hands cradling her head with the kind of care that made her stomach flutter. She sighed softly, melting into the sensation as she rested against his muscled body, her small noises of contentment filling the air like music.

When the last suds had been rinsed away, Harry reached past her to shut off the water, the sudden absence of sound leaving them in an intimate hush. Without hesitation, he grabbed the towels he had set out earlier, wrapping her in one before she could feel the bite of the air. He took his time drying her off, the plush fabric gliding over her sensitive skin like a gentle breeze, coaxing a soft sigh from her lips. Then, with the same quiet devotion, he slipped one of his t-shirts over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her smaller frame.

As Y/N moved through the final steps of her skincare routine, Harry retrieved a bottle of lotion from the cupboard across the room. He approached her with the grace of a shadow, gently tapping her on the bum.

“When you’re done, I want you to lay on the bed on your tummy. Ok?” His voice a smooth, honeyed command.

She finished up and did as she was told, sinking into the mattress, her head resting on her folded arms. Her damp hair spread across the silk pillow like a river of dark water, cool and smooth against the fabric.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and she heard the soft sound of lotion being smoothed between his hands. A moment later, the hem of her shirt lifted, and his warm palms met the tender skin of her backside. Y/N sighed deeply, the coolness of the lotion a welcome relief to the heat lingering from earlier. His hands moved with slow, deliberate strokes, massaging away the sting, his fingers tracing the curves of her body with intimate familiarity.

The room was quiet, save for the rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Y/N felt herself unraveling beneath his touch, sinking into the present moment, leaving behind the weight of the stress that had knotted itself into her muscles. He always knew how to bring her back—how to pull her from the depths of her mind and remind her that she didn't have to handle everything on her own.

When he was finished, he leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the delicate skin there.

“How do you feel?” His voice was a low murmur against her ear, thick with warmth and something deeper—something unspoken but understood.

Y/N swallowed, taking a moment to gather her words. “I—I feel good, Sir,” she admitted, her voice still laced with the remnants of pleasure and submission. “Still a little out of it… but good.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “I’m glad for the punishment. I really needed that.”

She shifted to sit up, and he caught her chin between his fingers, maneuvering her head to face him.

Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring patterns along her cheek. “You did well tonight. You know that, right? M’proud of you.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a blanket—warm, protective, unwavering. She smiled softly into his touch.

A beat of silence stretched between them before he spoke again. “When you feel like things are spiraling, I need you to know you can come to me.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he leaned in and kissed her. It was slow and deliberate, filled with everything he didn’t need to say—everything he had already proven.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was softer, more certain. “I do know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. It’s… a habit, shutting people out when I’m stressed. But regardless, you didn’t deserve that.”

Harry exhaled a quiet laugh, “Yes, I’m well aware of that habit of yours, which we’ll crack one day. But in the meantime, you can push all you want, sweetheart. Unfortunately for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She giggled, letting him pull her into his chest. “On the contrary. Very fortunate for me,” she corrected, her voice tinged with affection.

He grinned, maneuvering the covers so she could slide beneath them. Reaching over, he switched off the lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a velvety darkness.

As Y/N melted into him, the last of her tension slipping away, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered against his skin, finally surrendering to the quiet lull of sleep’s embrace.

...

Ahhh! Kind of out there for my first post but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Hope you enjoyed!

[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! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin

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[narrycherries]

✰ baby honey ✰ #8 (part 1)

(dom!harry)

Harry let’s you come to the office with him..

masterlist

word count: 6.4k

warnings/tags: harry x reader, dom!harry, daddy k!nk, praise k!nk, smut, oral m receiving

There was a bit of excitement brewing as you squeezed Harry’s hand in the elevator. He was checking the time on his watch, somewhat ignoring your happy mood and bright grin. He decided the night before that he would allow you to accompany him to his office. You had an appointment you needed to be taken to later on in the day, so he figured it would be more convenient to have you with him. You were definitely thrilled to be getting out of the house. It had been a while since you last came to the company’s building. Usually Harry was extremely busy and he couldn’t tend to you, so you prefer to just stay at home and be comfortable.

When the elevator door opened, your eyes lit up as you saw the familiar floor. You saw his assistant sitting at his desk, jotting down something as he spoke on the phone. You saw another person you recognized and gave them a gentle wave. Harry didn’t pay anyone any attention as he gripped your hand and guided you towards his office door.

You caught his glance as he opened the door for you and gestured you in. A whimper left your mouth as he released your hand. You twirled around to face him, reaching for his waist. He let you grab him, but he easily gave you a stern lift of his brows.

“Baby love, remember what we talked about? You have to behave today.”

You pouted your lips out. “I will, I promise.”

“That includes not being a distraction, doll.” He gently took hold of your wrists and pulled your hands off. “I’ll tend to you during lunch, okay?”

“Lunch?” You frowned. “That’s in four hours.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Don’t start complaining, baby.”

“M’not complaining.”

Harry wasn’t in a very good mood, so he didn’t want to deal with your attitude. You rolled your eyes as he walked past you, not bothering to entertain your nonsense this morning. You watched as he sat down at his desk and immediately occupied himself with the computer. Despite being joyful about being out of the house, you knew there wasn’t much you could do here.

So, as usual, you found a spot on the leather couch placed against the wall and crossed your arms and legs. There was a throw blanket specifically there for you, but you didn’t grab it. Instead, you huffed and opted to fixate your stare on him. Harry was very serious about his work and he did not like to be interrupted or bothered while he was doing important business. You knew that all too well, yet you’ve tested your luck with him way more than just once.

His hair was perfectly sculpted and neat on his head. You chewed on your cheek as you thought about the quick orgasm you received before you got out of bed. Harry wanted to give you something to hold you over for the day. He was well aware that you got extra clingy and needy while you were with him in his office. It felt like he was teasing you by just sitting there and ignoring you - so close to you, but refusing to entertain your desires. That was a big reason why he preferred to not have you in the office. Not only was it torture for you, but he hated knowing you felt that way. It was easier to send you a text or a quick call to calm your nerves while he was working than it was to meet every one of your needs while together.

Even though you were gifted a treat this morning, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. His mouth sucking on your pussy, his tongue slurping around and poking into you, his cheeks hollowing around your clit. He gave you an incredible orgasm that made your entire body tingle. You didn’t notice your hand had fallen between your legs until there was a sudden blaring of the office phone ringing. You jerked your hand up and swallowed as you watched him talk on the phone. The words he was speaking didn’t make any sense to you. Your mind was so focused on his mouth that you couldn’t make out any sounds. His lips were moving, his tongue being exposed as he spoke, and his eyes had shifted up to meet yours.

After a few moments, he sat the phone down and licked his lips. “There’s donuts and stuff in the kitchen. Go get something to eat, love.”

“Okay.” You were a tad nervous, fearing you had been caught in your trance despite him not saying anything. He didn’t even notice. “Do you want something?”

“No, thanks.”

Your stomach did a flip as you realized he wasn’t standing up to join you. “You’re not coming with me?”

He smirked slightly and lifted a brow. “You know where to go.”

“Yeah, but..” Your voice trailed off while your eyes dropped to your feet.

“You’ll be alright, sugarplum. Go get something to eat, alright?”

It was disheartening to see his eyes move back to the computer monitor. You sucked on your cheek as you mustered up the courage to walk to the kitchen area by yourself. You knew the layout of this floor very well. There were the bathrooms, the storage rooms, the meeting rooms, Harry’s office, the kitchen style break room, and a few offices that belonged to Harry’s more important employees. You shook off the worry and made your way to the room. There were voices coming from the open door, and that made you somewhat nervous. The attempt to ignore those feelings was weak.

“Boss man is wanting this meeting to last a while.” One of the men said.

You slipped into the room and went to the counter. There was a spread of donuts, muffins, and fruit that were provided for breakfast. You gulped quietly as you grabbed a plate and began to scan over what you wanted to eat. You couldn’t help but to hear the conversation between the two men sitting at the small table drinking coffee. You recognized one of them as the chief marketing officer for Harry’s company, the other you weren’t sure of.

“He’s got plans for an expansion.”

The man you knew sighed. “He’s got big ambitions but he knows what’s right.”

“Oh, it’ll be worth it for sure, just a shit ton of work and headaches to get there.”

You chose to ignore the men as they began talking about business. Instead, your attention returned to the selection of donuts. You saw regular glazed, chocolate icing, some with sprinkles, and what appeared to be caramel coated. You smiled to yourself as you picked out a glazed and a chocolate one for yourself, then grabbed a caramel for Harry. Despite him saying he didn’t want anything, you wanted him to eat breakfast.

Harry’s eyes flicked to the door as you returned, the plate of donuts balancing on your palm. Your gaze locked on his while you crossed the room. He gently tilted his head back as you stopped in front of his desk. You sat the plate down and carefully laid out the single napkin you brought. He was intrigued by your quiet movements, not quite sure what you were up, to if anything.

When you placed the caramel donut on the napkin, you moved your eyes back to his and gave him a cute smile.

“I got this for you.”

“Thank you, sweetness. But I already ate.” A smirk toyed on his pink lips.

Blush rose to your cheeks as you playfully rolled your eyes. Just minutes ago you were replaying that event in your head.

“You need actual food.”

“Hmm.” His response was light.

It was difficult to think about anything other than him right now, but you were trying to keep your thoughts under control. Your goal today was to behave and not receive any sort of punishment. Harry watched as your eyes trailed down to the desk, you seemed out of it. He thought maybe you were just tired. A sigh pushed past his lips and he slid his chair backwards. You looked up and caught his eyes instantly.

“C’mere.” He motioned for you with a pat to his thigh.

A flutter erupted in your stomach as you sat down on his legs, his strong arm wrapping around you. There was a rule that was very clear and simple - don’t bother him while he’s working. He would give you attention when he had the time. Perhaps this was his way of easing the tension. It was clear that you were distracted by your mind, and he assumed he was the reason.

“I want you to be on your best behavior today, alright?” He said as he moved his palm up to cover your jaw.

You coiled your fingers around his wrist and nodded. “I know. I will.”

“Do good for me and I’ll make sure you get all the attention you want when we get home, baby.”

“Promise I’ll be good.”

He smirked, his lips placing a kiss to yours. “M’sure you will be, kitten.”

You almost weren’t fully aware of what was going on. Your eyes fell to his neck and you bit down on your bottom lip. Harry’s thumb rubbed over your skin, but you weren’t focusing on that.

“What’s the matter, baby doll?” His warm voice was deep and slow.

When you shook your head, he didn’t accept that as an answer. He squeezed your hip and moved his hand to the side of your neck. Your skin was hot and flushed, he noticed easily.

“Baby love, answer me.”

Your eyes darted to his as those specific words left his mouth. He knew that would get your attention. You shrugged while your fingers fell down his forearm, rubbing over his elbow before you let him go.

“It’s.. almost nine.. you have to start working.”

Harry was aware of the time. “I know.”

You pouted your lips out. “Just.. just don’t want to.. get in trouble.. by distracting you.”

“I asked you to come sit, didn’t I?”

For a second, you thought there was a trace of annoyance in his voice - but you were incorrect and simply just nervous. He licked his lips and let his hand glide up your waist.

“Yes.”

He gave you a smile. “Then you aren’t going to be in trouble, darling.”

“I.. I should leave you.. alone.”

Harry grunted when you moved to get up, he stopped you. “Baby, you’re fine. Nothing’s wrong, okay?”

You shook your head. “I.. I don’t want to get-“

He guided your head forward so that his lips could gently kiss the corner of your mouth, bringing you to silence. A whimper came from your mouth as he pecked your lips a couple of times, trying his best to make you calm down.

Before you could process it, his lips were moving in sync with yours and his tongue was flicking around in your mouth. You started to feel extremely greedy, but not for anything more intimate than this. You wanted to make sure he knew he was yours, you never wanted to let him go.

One set of your nails sunk into his nape while the other scratched through his scalp. The kiss became sloppy as it normally did, with spit slipping out of your mouths and smearing on your skin. You couldn’t focus on his crotch, you were too deep in your thoughts and this kiss. He was growing underneath you, but he knew he needed to refrain himself.

The phone began to ring yet again, breaking up the moment. Harry groaned and pulled his mouth from yours. You frowned, but knew you had no choice. He slid the chair up and leaned forward to grab the phone, all while his arm kept a tight grip on your body.

“Hello?”

You could hear a muffled voice but had no desire to know what was being said. If it was the office phone, that meant it was work related. Instead, you furrowed your brows to yourself as you attempted to piece his hair back together. You didn’t destroy it completely, but there were noticeable differences. His eyes were on you as you did so, wishing he could return to your lips but knowing he won’t be able to.

“Yeah, nine fifteen works. I’ll send the file in a minute.”

The mention of the time made your heart sink. If he was scheduling a time that meant he most likely had a meeting. Your hand dropped down his chest, slowing pressing against the soft fabric of his shirt. He kept talking, which allotted you time to just look over the details.

His collar wasn’t buttoned at the very top. He hated wearing ties and opted for this look. His long sleeves were neatly folded up to his elbows, it was too warm to be wearing them how they are meant to be worn. You admired the way the light blue pigment of the shirt looked against his tan skin. You wish you could see his arms fully, have them wrapped around you as he pounded you. You squeezed your eyes shut and pushed out the thought. You didn’t need to let yourself fall into a pit you wouldn’t be able to escape.

“Alright, thank you.” Harry said and sighed as he put the phone down.

“Guess I.. have to find something to do.” You mumbled quietly, toying with one the buttons on his shirt.

“Be a good girl for me, alright? I have a meeting soon.”

Your frown dropped lower. “Didn’t know you had one this early.”

You could feel his stare on you, watching you closely, but you never moved your eyes back up. He patted his hand gently on your hip, wanting to get your attention but it failed.

“I had a reschedule. I’ll give you some time when it’s over, alright?”

“Time?”

He smiled even though you weren’t looking. “We’ll see what I can do, alright? Might not be much.. but enough to hold you over.”

You nodded lightly and sighed, knowing this time with him was about to end. “Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” The words easily fell from your lips. You shifted your head and finally met his intense gaze. “I’ll be good.”

He chuckled. “I hope so, kitten.”

While Harry was attending his meeting, you occupied yourself with the few games on your phone. You weren’t thrilled to be in his office alone, but you had no option. You could explore the building if you wanted to, but Harry knew you would be too nervous to be alone. So you stayed put on the couch and tried to pass the time. If he were in the room, you could just stare at him and let that be your distraction.

You weren’t sure of how long you had been sitting there when the door opened. You almost jumped up to greet him, but thankfully didn’t as you saw two men following behind him. He was talking to them, but he paid you a quick glance. You considered asking if you needed to step out, but you knew he wouldn’t make you.

The men sat down in the two chairs placed in front of the big desk. You frowned as you realized they would be staying in the room. All you could think about was the “time” Harry promised you. These men were ruining that. As much as he wanted to tell you he’d tend to you soon, he couldn’t right now.

You waited patiently for an additional thirty minutes. Harry was talking back and forth with the men, carrying their meeting topic into the office. You glued your eyes to the screen of your phone and tried to stay focused on the game. It was hard to be fully detached when you could hear his voice. Most of the time, he’s not talking unless he’s on the phone so you can easily distract yourself.

Eventually, the two men stood up and headed towards the door. Harry didn’t follow them, his eyes were on the computer as he typed an email. You smiled to yourself as the door shut and you were finally alone. Harry’s brows were set low as he typed. You stayed still and waited for him. To your dismay, he grabbed a stack of papers off his desk and went towards the door. His eyes never looked your way. Your smile dropped to a frown as he left the office.

Although you were on his mind, he was extremely busy. The promise of giving you some time had slipped his mind and unfortunately for you, it wouldn’t return any time soon. He was carrying the stack of papers to someone because he was too impatient to wait on them to get them from his office. This work had to get done this week so he wasn’t wasting any time. He stopped by the coffee maker to fix him a cup, forgetting to do so before he came back from the meeting earlier.

You were becoming agitated while waiting in his office. You were lying on your side now, facing the room with the blanket draped over your body. You weren’t cold, but you craved his warmth and that was the best you could do. He was gone for nearly ten minutes, and you thought it would never end. The door opened and you swallowed gently, not sure what to expect. Would he ignore you again or would he spare you a few moments? Sadly, he didn’t even turn his head in your direction. He sat down at the desk and immediately started typing on the keyboard.

A frustrated sigh left your mouth, but Harry was so focused that he didn’t even notice. You closed your eyes and tried your best to fall asleep. You weren’t tired but you figured the boredom would make you sleep.

Luckily for you, it did. It was nearing lunch when Harry shut his office door yet again. The loud noise made you flinch in your sleep, a moment later your eyelids peeled back. It was almost a jumpscare to see him walking towards you, a smile placed on his pink lips.

“Hey, baby.” He said as he gestured for you to sit up.

The blanket fell from your body as you moved. “Hi.”

He chuckled at your cute voice and messy hair. He knew you had been asleep the whole time and when you would toss onto your other side, he’d glance your way to check on you.

“Is it time to go?” You asked, sort of confused on the time.

You reached for his hand and he gladly let you take it. He smiled and gave you a gentle shake of his head. He squatted down in front of you, his other hand grabbing your thigh.

“It’s almost time for lunch, darling. What would you like, hm?”

You shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

He lifted his brows and squeezed your fingers. “Decide, alright? I’ll order it after I handle this email.”

“Wait!” You chirped as he stood up, trying to slip his hand from yours.

“What is it?”

“Don’t.. don’t go.” You muttered quietly, your eyes dropping down to stare at your joined hands.

Harry lightly sighed and reached for your jaw. He angled your head back, his eyes meeting yours. You pouted your lips out in attempt to get what you wanted, but he didn’t fall for it.

“Babe, I have to do this real quick. I’ll come sit with you in a few minutes, okay?”

You were going to protest again, but a thought shot to the top of your mind. “What.. what about giving me some time? Will you ever?”

He smirked, amused by the obvious irritation you were trying to hide. “I will after we order lunch, alright?”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“You’ve been super busy all day.” You reminded him.

Harry licked his lips and smiled. “I’m at work, love. That’s how it is.”

Since you didn’t respond to him, you let him slip away to his desk. He told you to figure out what you wanted so he could order it. After a few minutes of thinking, you decided on what you felt like eating and told him what you wanted. He did the whole ordering process and scheduled it for delivery. You were glad he didn’t want to go out to get lunch like he did most of the time when you were at the office.

“Well, that’ll be here in forty five minutes.” Harry sighed out as he stood from his desk and started the journey to you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you watched him undo two more of his buttons. His eyes were on his shirt as he walked towards you. When he lifted his gaze, he laughed as he saw you practically bouncing on the cushion.

“What’s up with you, missy?” He said through his smirk as he extended his hand to you.

You gave it a hard tug, trying to pull him down. He was too strong to move though. He didn’t make you wait any longer. You squealed as he sat down next to you, his big hands grabbing onto your body. You giggled as he wrestled with you, dragging your body on his lap.

“You made me wait long enough.” You smiled as you grabbed either side of his face and pulled his lips to yours.

He let out a moan as you settled over his crotch and swiped your tongue through his mouth. It was obvious that you were eager and ready for whatever he was going to do. He kissed you for a minute, just soaking in the taste of your mouth and the smearing of your tongue against his. Work was entirely too stressful for him today and he needed this. He needed you just as much as you needed him.

You groaned when he pulled away from your lips. “No, more.” A soft whine fell from your mouth.

He chuckled and lifted a hand to run through your hair, pushing it back from your face. “What do you want to do, hm? I’m letting you decide.”

Your lips puckered as you thought about the different things you could do in the short time. As much as you wanted to do absolutely everything with him, you knew it was unrealistic. You were working with borrowed time, so you had to make your decision quickly.

“Want to use my mouth on you.” You said sweetly, a smile shaping to your lips.

He grinned back, somewhat surprised by your request. He figured you’d want him to focus entirely on your pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, wishing there were no barriers blocking him from your skin.

“That’s all, baby? Don’t want me to eat you out or use my fingers, hm?” He asked with a lift of his brow.

You shook your head, fingers playing at the back of his head. “You gave me something this morning.. I want you this time.”

He lifted his arm so he could check the time on his watch. “A forty minute blow job, darling? Is that all you want?”

“No. That’s just the first thing.” You smirked back as you slid off his lap and dropped to your knees on the floor. You were grateful for the thick rug that laid in front of the couch. As much as you loved doing this to him, it was rough on your knees at times. “Want you to fuck me after.”

Your casual words made him laugh and shake his head in disbelief. He gave you a smile as a response, you already knew he wouldn’t deny you of what you asked for so there was no point in having to verbally tell you. He licked his lips and grunted as you tore his belt from its buckle and undone his pants. You wished you could see him completely bare, but he wasn’t going to do that in the office. He never had and today wouldn’t be any different.

Harry kept his stare fixated on you while you reached into his briefs and pulled his length out. You were pleased to see that it was already rock hard for you. He let out a light moan as you gripped the base, but you stopped before you did anything. You shifted your eyes to his and frowned slightly. He lifted his hips off the couch and tugged his pants down to his knees. It was much easier for you to access what you wanted, and much more comfortable for you both. You smiled when he relaxed back against the plush leather and gave you a nod, instructing you to carry on.

“So pretty when you got y’hands on my cock, baby girl.” He said through a sigh as you started to pump him.

His words made butterflies pop up in your stomach. You used your hand for a little bit before becoming impatient with yourself. You leaned up, one hand bracing on his thigh while the other squeezed the base of his cock. His head fell back as a string of spit spilled through your lips and landed on the head of his cock. Harry returned his eyes to you quickly, he didn’t want to risk missing the perfect scene.

A knot formed in his stomach as you closed your lips around him and started to suck. The sound of you hollowing your cheeks and stuffing your mouth full filled the room. Your head bobbed up and down as you took in a few inches, then pulled back before going even further. Harry was enjoying the vicious cycle you were performing. Your hand switched from squeezing his base to massaging his balls, both of which were just fuel to the fire.

Even though he fucked you last night after you both swapped foreplay routines, he felt as though it had been ages since he felt the warmth of your mouth engulf him. You hummed around his cock as his fingers raked through your scalp, his attempt at trying to keep your hair out of the way was sweet and meaningful to you. He liked to watch and have a clear view, but he also didn’t want you to be uncomfortable or bothered by any obstacles.

“There you go, fuck.” He groaned out in a thick, heavy tone as you took him down your throat, holding yourself still for a few seconds before gasping for air.

A trail of spit connected your lips to the end of his cock as you leaned back, your lungs struggling to keep up. Harry moaned at the glorious sight, it was always one of his favorite things to see - your lips swollen from sucking his cock, spit covering your skin and tears in your eyes from straining yourself. He was in awe at your beauty.

“Fuck, baby doll.. do you want my cum in your mouth?” He took the chance to ask you while your mouth wasn’t full.

You hadn’t realized you were staring at his cock until you shifted your eyes to his. You shook your head and felt a warmth come to your cheeks. “No, in my pussy, please.”

The corner of his mouth lifted as lust filled his eyes. “Alright, whatever you want, baby.”

You fell forward, your tongue running all over his skin. You swiped up from the bottom, already to the slit in his tip. You sent time poking and slurping it, knowing that he loved that. He was falling apart above you, moaning and grunting and cursing in whispers.

“So good f’me, kitten.” The words came in a low rumble, making your heart flutter.

There was nothing you loved more than praise. It made you feel the best kind of pleasure, made your heart skip beats and your stomach drop, it made your brain dizzy and stars fill your eyes.. It was perfect, especially when Harry gave it to you.

You swallowed him whole again, keeping him stuck in your mouth for a few long moments. Harry tapped your jaw, shaking his head at you. You pulled him out, a loud gasp filling the air.

“Baby, don’t hurt yourself.” He sternly said. “Y’know I don’t like it when you hurt yourself.”

“M’not.. I can handle it.” You whined back, sometimes you got annoyed by his over protectiveness. You wanted to shove him as far in as you could, whether it was in your mouth or your pussy.

“Behave, kitten.”

That worked almost too well on you. You nodded and decided it would be best to just listen to him. When your lips returned to his tip, he sucked in a breath and held it, a sign that he was close. You kept going, sucking on the top inches of his cock, making sure to squeeze the lower half as hard as you could. He felt a familiar feeling growing in his stomach. He wanted you to keep going, but he knew he was dangerously close to busting in your mouth. As much as he loved seeing you swallow his cum, you wanted it elsewhere and he was going to honor that request.

The sound of you slurping on his cock was sending him over the edge. He dug his fingertips into his own thigh as he watched your head bob on his cock. There was a string of spit dripping down his length, sliding over his balls, that was driving him mad. He wanted to explode all over your pretty face and watch you wipe it up with your fingers and suck it off, but he couldn’t.

He grunted, sitting up to grab your jaw. “Gotta stop, baby, or m’gonna cum.”

You whimpered as he pushed you backwards. You kept hold of him though and gave him a squeeze. He swatted your hand back and gave you a stern look. He pushed his pants down to his ankles and gestured for you to stand up. A grin swept over your lips as he reached for your body and easily yanked you forward. You squealed as he slid his hands under your shirt to grab the waistband of your leggings. He pulled them down, along with your panties, and tossed them on the couch beside him.

“Mm, look at that pretty pussy.” His eyes were just as hungry as his cock was for you.

“All for you.” You muttered back with a sultry tone, making him smirk and pull you down on his lap.

He spit on his fingers and gently stuck them in your entrance. You gasped at the sudden feeling, but instantly felt a fire spark to life in your gut. You needed him more than you thought.

“Take your time, okay?” He said while looking up at you. His hand was wrapped around his cock, preparing to line it up and guide it into your body.

You gave him a nod and started to sink down on his length. He moved his hand back once he knew he was in place, and quickly grabbed either side of your waist. A soft whine fell from your lips as he stretched you out. Being on top wasn’t necessarily your favorite position, only because you felt like he had less control and couldn’t dominate you as much, but you knew he liked doing it this way so you never complained. Besides, he quickly reminds you that he dominates over you in any position..

“Oh.” You chirped as you went to grasp your own breast but realized it was covered.

His lips curled up as he watched you tug your shirt over your head and discard it on the floor. Instantly, your hand cupped your boob and gave it a tight squeeze. Harry grunted at the sight and leaned forward to take care of the other one. He sucked hard on your nipple, knocking your hand away so he could squeeze the other one. You let him do whatever he wanted, it felt good to you either way.

Your head fell back and you let out a heavy moan. His length was completely lost in you, filling you to the brim with his pulsing cock. You wanted more.

You grabbed his face and pulled him away from your chest, tilting his head back so you could see him. “Please, please, I need you.”

He returned his hands to your hips and immediately started to assist you in lifting and slamming your body on to his cock. With each hard impact, you gasped and moaned to him. He kept the pace steady since he knew you struggled to stay strong during this. You weren’t weak but it was definitely tiring for you. Just as you grabbed onto his shoulder, he shook his head.

“Nuh uh, baby, you can’t wrinkle my shirt.”

“But.. but that means I.. can’t touch you.” You frowned back.

He sighed, this was a conversation you always had to have while doing this in his office. He wished you’d remember. “No, it means don’t grab onto my shirt.. you can hold on to me but don’t ball up my shirt, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll try my best.”

Despite your promise, you were already struggling with the reality of not being able to touch him. It was like torture for you. He’s so close to you, you’re literally on top of him and you can’t touch him. It felt completely unfair, his hands were gripping your body and fingertips glided over your skin. This couldn’t possibly be fair..

Harry watched closely as you kept hesitating to touch his body. It was almost painful to not feel him or hold on to him in some way. You went to grab his shoulder out of instinct as his cock buried deep in you, but you drew your hand back and let out a frustrated huff.

“Get up.” He said almost instantly, making your brows drop in confusion.

“What? What did I do? M’sorry.” You quickly began to apologize, fearing that something you were unaware of happened. Maybe you did something that made him irritated?

“Don’t apologize, darling, you didn’t do anything.” He said with a smile as you stumbled to your feet. You pressed a hand to your stomach, feeling oddly queasy. “M’not gonna watch you suffer ‘cause you can’t touch me.. Go over the couch for me, okay?”

“Oh, okay.” Your frown morphed to a grin and you hurried to the arm of the couch.

Harry laughed to himself as you quickly fell over the arm, your ass perched in the air as your arms folded beneath your head. You both knew that this was a good position. He was able to go deep and you were able to simply relax and lay there looking pretty for him. You obviously couldn’t touch him this way either, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t have to suffer with being so close to him and having access to his body. This way, thrown over the couch with his cock pounding into you, you didn’t even have to worry about touching him.

He smacked his hand against your ass a few times, making you whine and beg for a few more. You were always his dirty girl, even underneath all the cuteness and the perfectionism - you loved a good spanking.

“More, please.” You said again, looking over your shoulder at him.

He squeezed both sides of your ass, pushing your cheeks upward as his cock disappeared into your pussy. He grinned at you, biting down on his lip as his palm landed hard against your skin. You whimpered and gave him a smile.

“Thank you.”

“My kitten loves getting her ass spanked, doesn’t she, baby?” He said, his tone lowered and his eyes dark with lust and sex and euphoria.

“Yes, Daddy. I love it so much.”

There it was. That one simple word, that second name you’ve given him - it drove him over the edge every time. He closed his eyes and just fucked you for a solid minute straight. Your moans circled through the office before floating to the high ceilings, echoes of your squeals and hauntings of your gasps followed. Harry was mesmerized by the sweet sounds you let out. His mind was drifting into the bliss as he was balls deep in your cunt. There was nothing he wanted more right now than you - your body, your heart, your soul, everything. He craved you.

“Fuck, kitten. Such a tight pussy, yeah? And, fuck, so wet f’me.”

Your eyes bolted shut as he splayed his hands on your ass and fucked himself as hard and deep in you as he could. You felt your toes curl and your stomach bubble with excitement. It was becoming overwhelming very quickly, and you knew you were about to let loose. A small gasp slipped out of your mouth as he pounded into you, not wasting a single second.

“M’gonna.. c-cum.” You managed to squeak out a few words.

He heard you, thankfully, and ran his hand down to the small of your back. “Cum for me, baby. Cum on my cock. You’re such a good girl.”

His words pushed you over the edge. Your eyes rolled back and your lips fell apart as your body trembled, your legs shook a little as the orgasm rushed through your body. Your pussy was throbbing, your clit hadn’t even been touched by him, yet it was sensitive as it rutted against the arm of the couch. You fell apart on the leather, your feet went numb as you waited for the blissful high to fade in your head.

As you pulsed around him, your soft skin hot and tight around his cock, he felt his own orgasm approaching. He could tell you were fucked out, but he was so close he just kept going. Within a few seconds, he was spurting ropes of cum deep inside of your pussy, filling with his warm release. You moaned sweetly as it burned through you. Harry let out a heavy groan as he slowly pulled out of you. His cum began to drip out of your hole. He watched as it slowly seeped out. As much as you wanted to taste it, you were too tired to even move.

[a/n: I decided to split this into two parts bc it was super long.. sorry for the long wait for this series update! hope u enjoy]

taglist: @cherrymelonx-blog @novasblogofstuff @rideeonstyles @esnyhoney @fuzzymelanie @hesvoid3434 @smutmecca @anxieteeeaa @luvonstyles @danaehldy @artist59 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl @lomllover @haniaaa04 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @sassamanda77 @lizsogolden

[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.

[paulyenvol6]

Unsatisfied

Harry Styles one shot that is basically just smut without plot. Enjoy :)

Contains: adult content (only read if you're 18+), smut, fingering, oral (f & m) receiving, p in v, unprotected sex, soft and mean dom Harry, submissive reader, A LOT OF edging, aftercare, fluff

Wordcount: ~2.00k

Masterlist

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, y/n standing in front of him. „Take your shirt and pants off, love, and then come here.“ She pulled her shirt over her head and then placed it on the dresser, knowing that Harry didn’t like it when she just threw the clothes on the floor.

Then she took off her pants. Harry unshamingly regarded her exposed chest and the rest of her body, that was only covered by a thin pair of panties. „Good girl.“, he whispered and y/n felt herself getting wetter every second.

She approached him and Harry tapped on his thigh. „Sit.“, he spoke and y/n sat on his lap, his right thigh between her legs. He petted the hair out of her face and stroke her cheek. „You haven’t been very good lately, have you?“, he whispered. „I haven’t.“ „I haven’t what?“ „I haven’t, sir.“, she quickly corrected and looked at him with her sweetest expression.

Harry lazily ran his finger over her covered cunt and pressed his digit directly against her clit. Y/n shrieked and grabbed his shoulders. He rolled his eyes in response and grabbed her chin. „It almost becomes boring, sweetheart. Do you want me to fucking punish you? You’re always so needy for me and want me to make you feel good but you can’t behave.“

„M’sorry.“, she whispered and looked down. „I know you are. You’re gonna prove it.“ He pushed her down on her knees in front of him and grabbed her chin once again. „You’re gonna be my good girl?“ Y/n quickly nodded. „I will, please let me make you feel good.“ „Hands behind your back. M’gonna fuck your mouth. And I don’t want any complains or tears. Y’know your safe word and gesture?“ „Yes, Harry. Red and tapping your thigh three times.“ „Good. You’re gonna use it if you need, you promise? Don’t wanna hurt you.“, he asked with a serious look on his face. „Yes. I promise.“

Harry nodded and then ran his thumb over her buttom lip. He was so hard and needed a release so badly. He opened the zipper of his pants and got his cock out. Y/n bit her lip but didn’t dare reach out to touch him so she just watched him, shivering from excitement.

Harry ran the tip of his cock over her lips and then pushed inside of her mouth. He sighed at the feeling of her warm mouth around his cock and started to thrust in and out. He hit the back of her throat which made the girl gag and Harry soothingly touched her hair. „Good girl. Doin‘ very well f’me.“ His other hand held her hair and made her keep still so he could fuck her mouth.

It didn’t take him long until he felt the warm feeling building up in his stomach. He pulled y/n off his cock and stroke his cock, keeping him on the edge. „Where am I gonna put my cum, mhm? Think you deserve to swallow it?“ She looked up to him submissively. „It’s up to you, sir.“ He chuckled and made his decision. „Open.“, he growled and kept going up and down his shaft with his hand while his tip was inside her mouth.

He came and y/n felt his cum shooting down her throat. She choked but Harry kept her still with the hand that was inside her hair. „Fuck. Fuck, baby.“, he moaned and closed his eyes in pleasure.

When he had released every drop he felt his breath slowing down again and he pulled y/n, who had been licking him to clean him off his cock. Her lips were covered with cum. Harry ran his thumb over her cheeks and then leaned down to kiss her. „You were very good, love.“ „Thank you, sir.“

He smiled and then sat up again. „On the bed.“ She quickly obeyed and laid down on her back, excitedly waiting for what was going to happen now. She pressed her legs together to get rid of the pulsing heat between her legs that had gotten worse while she had sucked him off. Harry noticed it and chuckled. „So fucking desperate. Open your legs f’me.“

It was uncomfortable but she did as she was told and Harry crawled between her legs and spread her wider with his underarms. He could clearly see the dark patch on her panties and he once again pressed his finger against her clit. Y/n whimpered and tried to close her legs around him, but Harry forced her open again. „Stay open, m’not gonna say it again.“

He played with her clit for some time and then pulled down her panties. As he regarded her bare pussy he licked his lips. „So fucking pretty.“ „Please Harry.“, y/n whined and shifted on the bed. Harry smirked. „God, I love when you beg me.“ „Please, I need you.“, she whimpered.

„What do you need, honey? Use this pretty mouth and tell me.“ „Need t’feel your mouth.“, she whispered and Harry stroke her cheek. „There you go. Not that hard, is it?“

She shook her head and Harry slowly leaned down to kiss her right above her pussy. He kissed his way down until he softly pressed his lips on her clit and then licked from her hole up to her clit. His eyes rolled back at the taste of her and he softly sighed. „Could stay here forever.“, he mumbled and greedily licked into her while his finger played with her clit.

„Harry, fuck. So good.“, she whined. He switched to licking her clit with his tongue in small circles and the girl arched on the bed. „Harry.“, she cried out and dug her nails in the sheets. „I know baby. S’alright I got you.“, he whispered. When he saw that she was about to come, as her walls tightened and her panting got heavier he suddenly stopped his movements and raised his head from her pussy. Y/n immediately looked up with a suprised look on her face. „What are you doing?“, she asked with teary eyes.

„Spread your legs.“, Harry ordered and took a condom from the nightstand. „Why wouldn’t you let me come?“, she asked, her legs pressed together. Harry looked at her and stroke her cheek. „Cause I didn’t feel like letting you come.“ Y/n pouted and her lower lip slightly trembled. „Quit the whining, y/n. Maybe I’m gonna let you come later. Now spread your legs.“

She did as she was told, still pissed but Harry knew it would stop soon. He stroke his cock a few times and then ran the tip through her folds, stopping at her clit. Y/n whimpered and Harry could sense that she was already so messy and her mind was far away from the edging. He aligned his cock with her entrance and slowly slid in. She was so wet that there were no problems but he still gave her some time to adjust.

Then he started thrusting into her. His hand immediately wandered to her clit, as she couldn’t come from vaginal sex alone. He rubbed her in small circles and y/n fell apart under his touch. „Harry.“, she moaned and grabbed his shirt. „Yes Baby, I know.“ „M’gonna cum.“, she whined and Harry’s hand immediately left her clit. Tears welled up in her eyes and she desperately clung to his shirt.

„No, please keep touching me.“, she cried and took his wrist. In response he flipped her over so she was on her stomach and he started fucking her from behind. After a few minutes his hand went between her legs again to rub her clit, a touch that y/n welcomed even though she was scared that he’d stop again before she’d come. And he did, when he could sense that she was close he stopped his movement again and y/n turned around to look at him. „Harry, please let me come, I need it so bad.“ „No, but keep begging, I like that a lot.“, he answered and gave a soft slap to her ass.

„Please. Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?“ „If you were good you’d shut up now.“ She closed her eyes and looked to the wall again. Harry then stopped his movement inside of her and pulled out. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but suddenly she felt his tongue on her pussy again. He kitten – licked her clit and she felt like she was in heaven on one side but on the other side she found him incredibly mean. He licked her cunt as if it was his last meal but then once again stopped before she could come.

This time he didn’t immediately do anything after he was done so y/n turned around to see what he was doing. He stood next to the bed and opened his shirt. When he saw the tears on her face, he came up to her and cleaned her face with his thumb. „Sweetheart. It’s alright.“, he spoke while soothing her hair. „No, s’not. You came but I didn’t.“, she whispered. „But m’not done with you yet.“ „You’re mean.“, she pouted and Harry grabbed her chin. „Watch your mouth, baby. M’still the one in control here.“ „Yeah you are, that’s why you don’t let me come.“ „If I were you I’d be good now, so the chances that I’m gonna let you come are higher. Understand?“ Y/n nodded and Harry ran his thumb over her lips.

„Turn around.“ She layed on her stomach again and Harry lifted her hips so she was forced to be on her hands and knees. He didn’t waste any time and pushed into her again. He fucked her at a quite fast pace now and his touch on her clit met his thrusts. „M’gonna cum, Harry, please let me.“, she panted after a while and he soothed her ass. „Hold it, darling.“ „I can’t please.“ His hand traveled to her boobs and he played with her nipples. „You’ll have to.“

Her whole body was shaking and she grabbed the bedsheets. „But it’s so hard, please, I – “ Harry quickly pulled out of her and stopped his movement before she could come and she cried out. „Harry, I - “ „Give me your hand.“, he ordered and when she didn’t move he reached out and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her hand to her back and moved it to his cock. He made her form a fist and started fucking her hand and y/n was too fucked out and powerless to complain about the edging.

„Fucking hell.“, Harry growled and released. Most of the cum painted her back and some landed on her hand as well. He threw his head back and felt his quick breathing. „God, baby.“ It took him some time to recover from his orgasm and then he grabbed her hips and carefully laid her on her back.

Now it was time to take care of her, he really had been mean to her. He removed the tears on her cheeks and kissed her gently on her lips. „Such a good girl. M’gonna make you feel good now, I swear. M’gonna make you come, okay?“ She weakly nodded and Harry kissed his way down to between her legs. He didn’t waste any time now, he just wanted to make her come. His lips wrapped around her clit and he softly sucked on it while his tongue flicked it. After a few minutes her legs started to tremble. „M’gonna come.“, she whimpered. „Yes, come f’me, sweetheart. Come in my mouth.“

Her orgasm was overwhelming and she cried out his name. Her hands grabbed his locks and she pressed her legs together around his head. Harry licked her through her orgasm and then when he had gotten every moan and sigh out of her he laid down next to y/n, pulled her to him and caressed her hair. Then he got up to clean her. Y/n was half asleep and looked at him through half closed eyes. "It's alright, love. I'll be done soon and then you can sleep."

After Harry had cleaned her pussy, he brought away the washcloth and laid down next to her. She was asleep already and Harry soothingly ran his hand over her back until he was in the lands of dreams as well.

[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 lay with your hot and wonderful professor, but it was only sweeter that you now knew that his lay with you too.

“Did I make it better? Your day?” You asked and he nodded.

“Yeah, baby. Definitely.”

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[watermelonlovershigh]

Aftercare {part. 15} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

Long Awaited Punishment {part. 14} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

AN: disclaimer- i've never been in subspace so i have no real experience with what it's truly like. in this chapter i'm writing how i've seen others write about it and based off some things i've read. so it may not be 100% accurate but that's okay because this story is made up anyways. i hope you enjoy and don't forget to leave your feedback. xoxo

This story contains: aftercare, talks of anal sex (pegging), subspace, male sub/female dom, crying, peeing (in a toilet, of course), comfort

{ housemate!harry - boyfriendrry - softrry - au!harry - subrry - dom!reader }

word count- 2,664

After a night of dominated Harry, you give him great aftercare with a relaxing bath and your nurturing demeanor.

Previously-

You slowly remove the strap-on from his body, which causes him to cry out more intensely for a moment, and then you carefully pull your end out as well. Despite feeling just as drained as you believe Harry is, you understand that the dominant role comes with responsibilities. The key responsibility is aftercare, and you conclude that the first step in providing aftercare tonight is to help Harry calm down.

-Continuing

You adjust your position on the bed, moving so you're no longer behind Harry, allowing him to see you and recognize your presence. His eyes remain closed, tears streaming down his face and soaking the pillow beneath him. You lean closer, softly caressing his wet cheek with your gentle hands. "Shh, it's okay. You did such a good job, baby. It's okay. I'm gonna take care of you now."

Your words have not yet registered in Harry's mind, but the gentle sound of your voice causes his eyes to open slightly. He stares at you, and it's evident that he's not entirely present; he seems to be in a state of subspace. His gaze appears to look past you rather than directly at you. While you may not have extensive knowledge of subspace, you're committed to helping Harry return to the moment. You want to provide him with lots of cuddles and let him know how safe he is with you.

The first step into helping him come back down to earth is a nice bath, you think. It'll also be beneficial because you both are actually sweaty and need to wash off the smell of sex from your bodies. As you go to climb out of bed, Harry mutters his first words since entering an alternate state of mind. "No, don't leave me."

You turn to face him as he clutches your wrist, and the look on Harry's face is nearly one of alarm. "Hey, hey," you reassure him, "I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m just going to run a bath for us, alright? I’ll return shortly." Harry hesitantly releases your wrist, his gaze following you as you step out of your bedroom, heading off to an unknown location. Even though you had just informed him of your plans, he struggled to hear you clearly, as the intensity of his orgasm still reverberates in his ears.

In a brisk manner, you enter the only bathroom in the house and turn on the bathtub. You hastily hang up two towels on the rack beside the bathtub and set the soaps you'll need on the edge of the tub. Once the water is running, you return to your room where you find Harry crying on your bed, lying on his back, unclothed and exposed.

He had finally stopped crying before you left to get the bath ready, so him crying once again has you worrying. Stepping to the side of the bed, you ask slowly, "Harry, why the tears? Everything's okay."

With his hearing slowly coming back, he's able to understand your words enough to answer, "You......you left me." Another sob leaves his throat and it brings tears to your own eyes. You know he's only acting this way because of how intense everything just was but it still saddens you to see him so upset.

You climb back onto the bed and straddle Harry. You then lean down to wrap him in a tight embrace. Initially, his arms lie loosely at his sides on the mattress, but he eventually raises them to encircle your back. He truly needed this moment of comfort. The weight of your body helps to anchor him in reality, and the sensation of your naked skin against his intensifies his feelings of vulnerability.

"Shhh, I'm right here. I have the bath running for us. Would you like to join me and relax?" Harry gives a timid nod in response. You carefully detach yourself from atop his body, which he seems to dislike, and take hold of his large hands, aiding him in rising from the bed. He's initially a bit unsteady, his mind still disoriented, but with your help he soon finds his balance and walks toward the bathroom with you.

As you start to lead him towards the now filled tub and turn the tap off, Harry stops you and quietly inquires, "Um, can I have a wee first? Gotta wee."

You smile up at your boyfriend with affection and answer, "Yeah, of course. I'll step out to give....."

Before you could finish, he blurts, "No, don't leave. S'...... turn away, I guess." The last thing Harry wants is for you to leave him again. He doesn't care that he has to pee, in his current state of mind, there's no embarrassment in his body.

Turning around, you find yourself staring at the floral wallpaper while unintentionally hearing the sound of Harry pissing in the toilet. After what seems like an excessively long time, Harry finishes and flushes before you turn back to help him step into the tub. You enter first, allowing Harry to follow, which allows his body to lean against yours. While the tub is not particularly large, it offers just enough room for both of you to relax and move around without discomfort.

As the warm water envelops you both, Harry lets out a sigh, surrendering to the comfort that surrounds him. The warmth of the bath water, your body resting against his back, and the gentle scratching of your fingers on his scalp create a peaceful setting. He's nearly asleep when you speak softly, "Hey, don’t fall asleep on me. I need you to come back to me, alright Harry?"

Although Harry continues to experience a slight mental haze, he predominantly feels as though he's returned to reality. His thoughts are becoming clearer, and he's beginning to recall the majority of the events from this evening. However, the manner in which you're currently treating him makes him want remain in a submissive mindset for a bit longer. But, he understands that he should let you know he's back, present mentally, to avoid causing you any more concern. You've never observed anyone in a state of subspace before.

"M' back, baby. Just really like it when you talk to me all soft and baby me. Feels nice."

You sigh in relief. "Thank God, you worried me there for a second. With all your crying."

"I cried?" Harry turns his head from where it rests on your chest and questions.

"You don't remember, Harry? What do you remember?"

Turning back around to face forward, he pauses to gather his thoughts before replying, "I remember you teasin' me. Then you briefly sat on my face. After that, you fucked me so hard I came from both my cock and my prostate. Then my memory jumps to havin' a wee and gettin' in the tub where we are now." It appears Harry blacked out following his orgasm, which is quite fascinating. You wonder if there will ever come a time when you can enter subspace with him, if you're even able to. You know not everyone can get into a subspace.

"You had a prostate orgasm? Didn't know that was possible."

"Hh-mh, some men can, others can't. Though technically all men can achieve one, it's a matter of stimulatin' it just right and allowin' your body to embrace the stimulation. Why do you think I like anal sex so much? Yeah I enjoyed havin' sex with men and the presence of a male figure because m' attracted to them, but really anyone can fuck me and if done right, it feels so - fuckin' - good, man or women. Even fucked myself in the past. Doesn't feel as good but it's good enough."

While you recline against the tub, Harry positioned in front of you, you quietly take in his words. The exploration of anal sex for men is a captivating topic in your opinion. In your past relationships and hookups, the men you were with typically shunned any contact with their bums, associating it with being gay. Most men are determined to avoid any accusations of being seen as gay. Because of their stubborn ways of viewing things, they remain unaware that if they were to try anal sex, they might find it quite enjoyable, especially if it's as pleasurable as Harry says it can be.

In all honesty, you probably wouldn't have had any desire to participate in giving anal to your previous partners. The only reason you were open in doing so with Harry is that you feel at ease around him and are confident in his hygiene practices. Otherwise, you would have kept your distance from that aspect of Harry as well.

------------------------------

After a few minutes of silence, you become aware that the water is cooling down and decide it's time to actually wash up before settling into bed. You sit up from your position against the back of the tub to retrieve the soap, which causes Harry to also sit up. In doing so, he lets out a sharp hiss, prompting you to worry. "Are you okay, H? Are you hurting anywhere?" Given the intensity of your actions tonight, it wouldn't be unexpected for him to experience some soreness in his joints and, other areas.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Harry admits, "M' bums a bit sore, s'all. But it's not your fault. It typically happens when I get fucked or pegged as well as havin' gotten spanked. It'll go away in a day or two."

Despite the lingering worry within you, you accept his reassuring words and start applying soap to the washcloth. Once the cloth is well-lathered, you begin gliding it over his body, though there's certain areas he has to wash on his own due to your position behind him. After making sure his body is clean, you take the old cup located by the tub and drizzle water over Harry's head to wet his hair. You're uncertain why you opted to cleanse his body first, but it doesn't matter at this point.

Ensuring his hair is nicely wet, you take a generous amount of shampoo and apply it to your hands before working it into his brown locks. In your effort to pamper him, you massage your soapy fingers into his scalp, prompting Harry to moan softly. When you feel you've given his scalp enough attention, you lift the cup again and instruct Harry to lean his head back to keep the soap out of his eyes. He follows your directions, just as he did in the bedroom earlier, leaning back as you carefully rinse the shampoo from his hair.

Once you've finish bathing him, you swiftly wash your own body before pulling the drain plug and aiding each other in standing up in the tub. You're the first to step out, taking your towel off the hook to dry yourself off before wrapping it around your naked body. You then take Harry's towel and move towards the shivering, tattooed man. Assisting him onto the bath mat, you ask, "Are you cold, baby?"

Nodding as his teeth chatter, he stands there while you dry his wet body off. "Ye...yeah."

When Harry's body is completely dry and his hair is only damp, you ask another question. "Do you wanna wear a pair of briefs or sleep naked?"

"Naked, please." Of course he'd choose sleeping naked.

With your towel still secured around your body and Harry's towel held tightly in your hands, you open the bathroom door to discover an adorable sight at your feet. Harry's cat Pixie is comfortably sprawled out on the floor just outside the bathroom door. It seems she's been patiently waiting for you to emerge so that she could receive some affection. Upon noticing his cat, Harry lets out a soft coo, bending down to pick her up.

"Pixie, sweetheart, were you waitin' for us? Have we failed to give you the attention you deserve this evenin'? M' sorry. Mummy gave me all the attention tonight and she's so sorry too." Your eyes nearly pop in disbelief when you hear Harry refer to you as the mother of his cat. You don't dislike being called Pixie's mum. In fact, your affection for Pixie has grown immensely since you've been living in Harry's home. However, the reference makes you envision a time when that cat is a human baby, and he calls you mummy because you truly are a mother to a child you've brought into existence.

Snapping out of those thoughts, you smile up at Harry as he gently holds Pixie in his arms and proceeds to follow you to his room. The decision to sleep in his bedroom for the night is probably influenced by the state of your bed, which is soaked with bodily fluids, and your current fatigue giving you no energy to deal with that situation tonight. Thus, you'll be sleeping in Harry's room. Which is fine because you often flip back and forth between sleeping in your room or his.

While he walks around the bed completely naked, his cat still in his embrace, the slight limp in his walk is hard to miss, presumably due to his sore bum. You can't help it when you let out a laugh, prompting Harry to look at you from where he stands on the right side of his bed. "What? What's s' funny?"

"It's just..... your walk. Looks like you've......"

Harry interrupts you, completing your sentence with a sleepy grin. "Looks like v' what? Been fucked in the ass? Because I did get fucked in the ass, by my hot, sexy, confident, girlfriend." He sets Pixie down softly at the foot of the bed, where she curls into a tight ball. You let your towel fall away as both of you slip beneath the duvet, naked and vulnerable only to each other. A worry crosses your mind that Pixie may get scarred seeing so much nakedness, but Harry assures you that she's seen far worse things than just naked people and that's something you'd rather not think about.

As you reach to turn off the lamp that sits on the nightstand beside the bed, you're taken aback when Harry shifts over and lays half his body on top of you. Although you don't mind the closeness, a little warning would have been appreciated. His head rests on your right collarbone, with a significant portion of his body draped over you, his right leg positioned between your legs. He casually throws his right arm over your left shoulder, gently tracing the soft, bare skin in a calming manner.

Before Harry drifts off to sleep, you whisper in the dark room, "I love you. Hope you enjoyed tonight and I hope I took care of you enough after, when you were in, um, subspace."

With his eyes shut, Harry murmurs in response, "You were incredible, m'love. The sex, the aftercare, everythin' was perfect. You attended to my needs so well while you were in control and even afterwards in the bathtub. But, just wait; my turn is comin' up. I plan to have you wear those vibratin' panties you purchased throughout the day, teasin' and edgin' you, before I completely rock your world in the bedroom."

You smile at his sweet words but then lose the smile after hearing his promise to you. "Not in the ass though, right?"

"Hm? Me fuckin' you in the ass?" You hum a yes and Harry continues, "Well, not unless you want me to. I can, but I honestly wasn't even thinkin' of that when I said I was gonna rock your world. We'd only do what you're comfortable with."

"Yeah, I'd need some time to think about letting you try anal on me first. Maybe one day, but no promises. Otherwise, I can't wait."

You both end up drifting off to sleep, pressed together, naked, and dreaming of what's to come next in your growing relationship.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! )

tag list: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg // @harryscherrysugar

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

A Trip to the ER {part. 16}

[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

[cherry-titz]

a @1800titz & @cherryjuiceblues collab

TWO PARTERS

HITCHHIKERRY Part 1 — @1800titz

The one in which there’s an unsuspecting driver, a long, lewd drive, and a friendly hitchhiker with sunshine yellow nails and wicked intentions

HITCHHIKERRY Part 2 — @cherryjuiceblues

The one in which there’s an alleyway, trailing fingertips and lingering questions, and the same sunshine yellow nails digging in

[1800titz]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ᴘᴇᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ (ꜱᴏꜰᴛ)

ROLL OVER | boyfriend!Harry (couples costumes gone wild)

The dalmatian/fire fighter duo runs a little deeper in the bedroom after the party.

★₁₈₊

ROLL OVER as the final installment to the KINKTOBER projects. Based on this ask.

If you enjoy this, consider checking out my patreon masterlist, constantly being updated, with loads of exclusive content. If you would like to see the other KINKTOBER projects, do so here.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: couple's costume gone wild. pet play (soft). soft dom. praise. leashing. collars. use of "puppy" as a pet name (pun unintended). oral (f to m). dumbification. dom/sub undertones.

WC: 1.7K

“Yeah,” Harry breathes and shifts his hips with a subtle flex that nudges a little more of him past your lips, cradling you close by the shape of your jaw and petting his palm across your heated cheek. 

You swallow, nostrils flaring, and you let the congealed dust— of this particular disposition— across your lashes lure you under a little harder. Let it crush you under the soporific wave of its gravity. 

But you don’t miss the way he swallows, tugs a little harder on the polypropylene end of the dog leash wrapped taut around the knobs of his naked knuckles, and purrs, “Such a good girl, puppy.”

You blink up at him. At the unstilted paradigm of your insatiable hunger (eating, eating, still so hungry for him); bare stomach flexing, shoulders swelling, jawbone tucked and face ducked to watch you swallow around him. Watch and feel you work your little tongue in crescent shapes against the underside of his cockhead. 

You’re drooling. Slobbering, like a needy, little puppy, and your spit dribbles across between the wedges of your knuckles, where you cup him around the base and squeeze every time he throbs. 

It’s good. It’s really, really good.

He sprawls back against the chair but keeps his chin tipped. Staring down at you— the way your lips suction around him and the way your eyes pool under your fluttery lashes with a dew. Inkpools unwavering. Unrelenting. 

His shirt is discarded, so all his ink is on show. The way it breathes alive under the tension of his musculature, his rippling abdomen when you dip the tip of your tongue into the slit on his head; moving, dancing over his skin. 

It feels dirty. Borderline gaudily pornographic; you, on your knees in that careful nook between his split thighs, with his suspenders dangling across his lap. The big, utility boots on his feet, either side of your haunches. The pried zipper on a set of work trousers, slouching low on his hips, multi-faceted into a costume. 

He’s heavy on your tongue. Takes up too much room in your mouth. Leaking and throbbing when you duck your head to take him just a little deeper, a little more.

“Christ,” Harry murmurs. It sounds a little dark. Hardly over a whisper— you make a wet, ugly sound around him and blink back up. 

From your angle, there’s this pastiche of sovereignty to him. Like blue-collar regalia; half-shed firefighter’s rig, shape of his face chiseled in self-possessed stolidity—

Save for his eyes, the little cinch in his jawbone. The glint in the charcoal vats, the sharp carve your lips make, the way it wobbles when his teeth grind together a little harder. Your tongue seeps out over your lower lip when you take a deep breath through your nose, open wide, and take him nearly to the root. 

The sound that crawls out of Harry is so battered that all you can do is claw into the fabric on the apex of his thighs and let your eyes screw. 

His cockhead bludgeons at the gummy lining on the back of your throat, and you’re sure the phlegm is collapsing in little broken pieces like a mirror shattering under the weight of a hammer. Spuming out over his face in creases and rapture. But you can’t look. 

All you can do is try to swallow around him when the hand that was on the side of your face glues to the back of your crown, his fingers tangling into your hair. His knuckles bleach a little whiter with the strain of the leash, the way he holds you in place. 

(When his palm moves, it smudges one of the little tar-black spots you painted on with a brush, across your temple.)

You can hear that he’s groaning, pressing himself into you and folding praise in with the shape of his fingers scratching at the back of your skull. Things like, “Yeah— fuck— just like that, sweet girl,” in rich husks that simmer across your porous bones and trickle when your shoulders shake. When your toes curl under you. But he holds the leash a little tighter for the angle, and the makeshift collar around your throat gets a little more taut—

Really, it’s all his fault. 

Taunting, Can’t be my proper puppy without— the lead he delicately clipped onto the cheap, old hot topic choker you dug out of the closet to use as a collar. The way that he kept his knuckles wrapped over the handle and his knuckles in his pocket at the party. Toting you around like a pet, keeping you rooted to his side when he settled. Tucked to the swell of his massive shoulder. 

The way he told you to stay like a dog when he went off to refill your drinks, the way he patted your head upon return to find your soles glued to the same spot. Scratching behind your ear derisively, fingertips riling a shudder across your shoulders. 

Such a good girl, you are, saturated in artificial, satirical delight. Corners of his mouth curling, the jeer dripping off the corners of his eyes. 

(Here’s your treat.)

It started as a joke. Mocking for the sake of watching the heat froth under your skin, across your cheekbones, the ruckled bridge of your nose. Faux praises and the condescending gravity of the lead across the base of your neck. The subtle tug into an isolated pigeonhole of a docility that soaked across the crown of your head. 

The mushroomed ridges of his tip bludgeon a splutter out from between your sopping lips, and more saliva oozes out and trickles across your tacky, wet fingers. 

You need to hear it again, need to hear him say it, that itch festering in the noxious tangle of your arousal when you rise on your haunches a touch to duck your chin and press your nose to the wiry smattering of hair bedding around the root of his cock—

“Fuck,” Harry drawls. Guttural, heated—

Varicolored phosphenes fleck behind your lids like constellations in the yawn of a mesmeric, caliginous sky. 

“You’re so good, sweetheart,” he grunts, hums, hips tensing and canting up into the wet heat of your mouth like it’s an undiluted reflex to an itch, feeding his cock deeper— “Gonna cum down this pretty, little throat f’you keep sucking my cock like that.”

You rest both palms on his thighs. Twist your fingers into the fabric until it’s soggy with spit. Gag around the swell of him until he wrenches you back with his fingers under the collar, at your nape, and leaves you sputtering for air with your neck craned. When you blink your lashes apart, your eyes are wet. Bleary. Burning like the back of your tongue, the soft lining at the back of your mouth, where the only place left to cram further is down into your esophagus. 

He looks like a hedonistic cover page for a pornographic issue. 

The coarse strip of dark hair from his navel pools in the bed of curls nesting the hilt of his cock, and his thighs are split in this kingly way that makes you dizzy. It’s vertiginous, staring up at him from your knees. Meaty shoulders, one burnt umber curl hanging to eclipse an eyebrow, and his cock is so spit-slick. Wet, and shimmery, and stupidly thick, sealed in his fist. Throbbing. Your spit puddles off onto his heavy sack, the sodden fabric wrenched apart by the zipper, and you watch a little, pearlescent bead drool off the tip when he squeezes and twists his palm up. 

“Want it in your mouth?” Harry muses. It’s a subconscious maneuver; canting forward on the hinges of your joints with your swollen lips parted as he drags the pad of his thumb across the blurting pre-cum and smears it over his frenulum. “Want it bad, don’t you?”

The way he pulls on the end of the lead isn’t sharp. It’s subtle, but it corners you into nestling your mouth against his cock. Against the swollen shaft, cockhead pulsing and leaking out over the sloping bridge of your nose. 

“Beg,” he tells you. It’s soft. The wisp of a breath; a sigh when you smush your cherry mouth to the little vein that rides up the underside and turns baby blue beneath the crown. 

But it’s chock-full of the command given to an animal— beg, and I’ll give you a treat. It makes you sizzle down to your marrow. His lips curl loosely into a lazy grin. So debauched, around the shape of his cock, coated in your own saliva, pressed to your face. 

“Go on,” he smiles, “Let me hear you whine for it. Show me what a needy, little puppy you are.”

The words sink into your underbelly and leave your hands cresting for surface-purchase under the spindrift. They slip to his knees, and tangle into the fabric there as your lashes flutter. 

“Please,” you breathe, mouthing the word along the shape of his cock. Your lashes are still fluttering. Batting. You scootch forward a little, scratching into the firm muscle under the nomex, and let him smear his shaft across the tip of your nose, tarnishing the borders of the snout you painted on.

He hums. His thumb catches on the corner of your mouth, just as you start to paste an open-mouthed, suckling kiss onto the underside of the root. Your tongue smudges out against his sack. 

He’s unconvinced— you watch it in the way his brows notch, hear it in the rumble that stems from his chest when he grips his cock by the hilt and taps it against you. “Come on, baby. I know you can do a little better than that. Really work for it, hm?”

“Please,” you say, rocking your hips. “Want it bad. Wanna keep sucking you. Please, please.”

A hand tucks into your hair. The fingertips there scratch into the spot behind the shell of your ear softly, and the sensation draws a shudder over your shoulders. You feel on fire. Molten, under the weight of his gaze, the unresistant pressure on the lead, the patronization that trickles off his tone.

“Go on, then, puppy,” Harry murmurs, finally, and loosens the white-knuckled, taut grip on the leash enough for you to clamber back, “Take me back into your mouth.”

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[golden-reverie]

Dewey Decimated

Chapter Two

Author’s note: Chapter two of my first series. You can read chapter one here. Still in the midst of setting the scene, but the next chapters will have more substance so stay tuned! And again, thank you all for the support!!

Summary: Mabel, a part-time librarian, finds solace in her carefully constructed routine—that is until Harry, an atypical library patron, unsettles the order she’s worked hard to maintain.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: Still nothing quite yet, toxic boss, hints of past dom/sub relationships if you squint, brief mentions of complicated family dynamics (alcoholism and abandonment), and hints at a future dom/sub realtionship (if you really truly squint)

By 10:07 AM, Mabel had already swallowed her frustration twice, forced a polite smile four times, and reminded herself at least a dozen that storming out in a blaze of righteous fury was not, unfortunately, a financially responsible decision.

Rick Alderman, her boss, thrived on power for power’s sake. As a senior executive at Northwind Publishing, he projected an image of authority, but in reality, he was little more than a glorified bottleneck—too obsessed with control to delegate effectively, yet too lazy to do the work himself. His office was a shrine to his own ego, cluttered with awards from decades past and framed photos of handshakes with people who had likely forgotten his name the second they walked away.

For the past week, Mabel had been waiting for a response from him. She’d sent an email requesting a meeting to discuss her future at the company. No response. Three follow-up emails. Nothing. Two polite in-person reminders. More silence.

It wasn’t surprising. Disappointing, yes. Infuriating, absolutely. But surprising? Not even a little.

In the two years she had slogged under Rick’s reign, he had never given her a straight answer about anything that didn’t serve his own interests. Every discussion about her career aspirations vanished into thin air, yet somehow, he always found the time to ask her to book his personal appointments or send her cryptic, one-line emails titled “Fix this”—never accompanied by context, or God forbid, an explanation.

She knew she was wasting away in this role, like a plant starved of sunlight, but quitting wasn’t an option. Not yet. The paycheck was just good enough to keep her tethered—to keep her brothers in school, to keep the rent paid, to make the soul-sucking monotony just bearable.

“Mabel, a word.”

Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice.

She looked up to see Rick standing in his doorway, summoning her inside. She followed, forcing herself into the kind of neutral professionalism she had nearly perfected. He shut the door behind her and leaned against his desk, arms crossed.

“How long have you worked here?”

Her pulse kicked up a notch.

Was this it? Was it finally happening? Was he actually going to acknowledge her work? To offer her the promotion she deserved? The faintest ember of hope flickered in her chest despite her better judgment.

She straightened her posture. “About two years now, Mr. Alderman.”

She was ready. She had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in her head, ready to enumerate her achievements, her innovative ideas, and the ways she could help propel the company forward. She would make a case so strong he couldn’t possibly—

“I see.” He nodded, then sighed. “Two years, and you still can’t remember that I prefer my documents single-sided, not double.”

It was like the air had been sucked from the room.

Of course. How could she have been so stupid as to think, even for a second, that this was going to be different? That he would ever change?

Mabel swallowed down the sting of disappointment and forced a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll make a note of that.”

Rick gave her a menacing smile, as if he relished the power he wielded over her. “That’ll be all,” he said.

She turned to leave, jaw clenched, but before she reached the door, his voice cut through the silence again. “Oh and while you reprint these, you can entertain yourself by thinking of a spot to pick up my lunch. I’m in the mood for French.”

She clenched her fists and forced a fake smile. “Will do, Mr. Alderman.”

***

That evening, the familiar hush of the library was a balm to her frayed nerves. Mabel exhaled slowly, willing herself to forget about eco-unfriendly documents, insufferable bosses, and overpriced French cuisine. But as she approached the front desk, something caught her eye.

Her book—the one she had been reading the night before—sat exactly where she had left it. But something was off.

The spine was slightly shifted, the pages bent in a way they hadn’t been when she last held it.

She frowned, picking it up, flipping through until—

A small slip of paper fluttered onto the desk.

Mabel stared at it for a moment before unfolding it, her pulse quickening.

Not practical enough for me, huh? Figured I’d see for myself. Can we discuss over coffee tomorrow? —H

She swallowed.

The elegant script taunted her with its casual confidence. The way he signed it “H,” as if he knew he didn’t need to clarify.

Her fingers traced the edge of the note, her emotions a tangled mix of curiosity and caution.

It was just coffee, she told herself. A simple, harmless meeting over caffeine. Nothing more.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that agreeing to this might unravel the tightly woven threads of her life. Coffee could lead to conversation. Conversation could lead to…

She shook her head, willing herself to focus on the present.

Slipping the note back into the book, she returned to her tasks. But throughout the evening, her thoughts kept drifting back to the note, the words circling in her mind like a melody she couldn’t shake.

As closing time approached, Mabel found herself drawn back to the front desk, the book now a silent testament to her inner turmoil. She traced the spine with her fingers, contemplating.

Her sensible side screamed for her to retreat, clinging to the safety of routine. Yet a quieter, more daring inner voice urged her to seize the chance—a chance to see the man behind the enigmatic “H,” to let the idealized image she’d built up crumble, and then she could go back to enjoying her library shifts in peace.

With a resolute breath, Mabel made her decision. She reached for the stamp on the desk—the one reserved for marking returns—and, with a small, defiant smile, stamped “APPROVED” in bold green letters across the note.

Then, with quick, decisive strokes, she scribbled a reply beneath it, proposing a time and place.

Her heart thudded as she slid the note back into the book and tucked it onto the hold shelf under his name.

As she tidied up the desk, Mabel couldn't help but wonder what she'd just set in motion. She hoped she wasn't making a mistake, but as she locked up for the night, she couldn't rid herself of the feeling that something had shifted—like the first ripple on an otherwise still surface.

***

The next day, as she went about her routine at Northwind, Mabel found herself glancing at the clock more often than usual, her focus slipping despite her best efforts. The hours crawled at a torturous pace, each tick of the second hand stretching longer than it should. She had promised herself she wouldn’t overthink it—it’s just coffee, a casual meeting—but the thought clung stubbornly to her mind.

Rick, as predictable as ever, was too absorbed in his self-importance to notice her distracted state. He spent most of the afternoon micromanaging a project he had only half-understood, making sweeping declarations and then leaving her and the rest of the team to clean up the inconsistencies. It was just another day trapped in corporate purgatory, though today her impatience to escape was palpable.

As the workday waned, she practically counted down the minutes, willing the hands of the clock to move faster. But, in true Rick fashion, just as she was slipping her coat over her shoulders, he called out from his office.

“Mabel, hold on a second.”

She froze, mentally cursing every higher power in existence. With measured calm, she turned back, schooling her expression into polite indifference. “Yes, Mr. Alderman?”

Without lifting his gaze from the screen, he intoned, “I need you to fix the formatting on the Johnson proposal. The alignment is off.”

She blinked, incredulous. “The one I sent this morning? I followed the—”

“I need 1.27 margins,” he interjected with a dismissive wave, “not whatever this is.”

It had 2.54 margins, the company standard—a detail Rick always managed to forget, despite endless reminders from compliance that his revisions were “not in brand.” Mabel had explained it to him more times than she cared to count, but today she lacked the energy for another lesson. Instead, she bit her cheek to stifle a retort and nodded stiffly. “Of course.”

By the time she reworked the document, painstakingly scrutinizing every possible nitpick and resending it, she was already fifteen minutes behind schedule. A hasty email later, she shut down her computer, and practically sprinted out of the office, weaving through the rush-hour crowd like a fugitive on the run.

***

She reached the café breathless, running a hand through her hair in a futile attempt to compose herself before stepping inside. The scent of roasted espresso and warm vanilla curled around her as she scanned the room.

Almost instantly, her eyes fell on him.

In the far corner, Harry sat with one leg casually crossed over the other, his fingers loosely curled around a coffee cup. There was no sign of impatience—no furtive glances at his watch, no restless shifting in his seat. Instead, he seemed content to wait, his calm focus unbroken as he typed away on his phone. Then, as if in response to her presence, he looked up. His gaze wandered over the room for a heartbeat before settling on her.

Mabel’s heart quickened as she forced herself forward.

“Sorry I’m late,” she murmured with a tentative smile, drawing closer. “Work… my boss… well, he’s—”

“A prick?” Harry finished smoothly, a flicker of amusement passing through his green eyes.

A startled laugh bubbled up before she could stop it. “That’s putting it mildly.”

For a brief second, something unreadable passed over his face—something that almost looked like protectiveness, but before she could overanalyze it, he gestured toward the seat across from him.

“Sit,” he said, his voice low, effortless. “I ordered for you. Hope I guessed right.”

Mabel hesitated briefly before easing into the chair, her eyes drawn to the cup that awaited her. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” she said as she took a cautious sip, warmth settling over her tongue.

A vanilla cappuccino. How did he—

“I’ve seen it written on your cup at the library,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “And don’t worry about it—I’m well acquainted with difficult bosses.”

She set the cup down, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Is that because you have one or because you are one?”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She instantly regretted it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Probably because I am one,” he said, cutting off her backtrack with a smirk that made something flicker low in her stomach. “What gave me away?”

Mabel exhaled, forcing herself to relax, to match his ease.

“Well,” she said, leaning back slightly, “the suits for one. Successful businessmen aren’t exactly the library’s core demographic—more of an order-it-off-Amazon crowd.”

She let the words hang for a beat before tilting her head. “That, and your reading material. Pretty sure you’re single-handedly keeping our Business & Economics section in circulation.”

Harry smirked, raising his cup in a half-toast. “Knowledge is power.”

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “Spoken like a true man in charge.”

His gaze flickered over hers—sharp, assessing, intrigued. Something heavy settled in the air between them, like he had caught onto something she hadn’t meant to reveal. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

He cleared his throat. “And what about you?” He asked, breaking the moment just before it lingered too long. “What do you do when you’re not critiquing your library patrons’ choice of books?”

Mabel let out a quiet laugh. “Plot their literary redemption arcs.”

Harry chuckled. “That sounds serious.”

“Oh, it is,” she said, lifting her cup to her lips. “One tragic book choice at a time.” She set it down. “And I work in publishing. Northwind Publishing.”

He let out a low hum. “Publishing. That tracks.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Tracks how?”

“You have the precision of someone who deals with words all day,” he responded casually. “The way you correct yourself, structure your thoughts before you speak.”

Mabel frowned, “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or concerned by how much you notice.”

Harry chuckled, his green eyes glinting. “I’m just observant.”

She didn’t quite believe that was all it was, but she let it go.

“And you?” she asked. “What kind of boss are you?”

His lips twitched. “I run a firm. Investments, acquisitions—things most people find dull.”

She let out a small laugh. “So you’re admitting you have a boring job?”

“I’m admitting most people think it’s boring,” he corrected. “I happen to enjoy it.”

There was something in the way he spoke—an assured, measured cadence—that made her want to trust every word he said.

Before she could press, he leaned back and fixed her with a thoughtful look. “So, what did the prick do this time?”

Mabel blinked. She hadn’t expected that.

In her experience, most men loved to talk about themselves. She had been on enough coffee dates where she barely had to speak, yet somehow still endured the inevitable, clueless "This was fun, we should do it again sometime."

Even with Matt—the only one who had lasted long enough to earn the title of boyfriend—conversations about work had always been unwelcome. He’d roll his eyes whenever she vented, chastising her for complaining about a paying job, as if having an income absolved her of any legitimate frustration.

But Harry wasn’t waiting for his turn to dominate the conversation. He’d deftly steered it back to her, expecting an answer.

Mabel hesitated, her grip tightening around her cup before she exhaled. “Oh, the usual. Death by a thousand pointless tasks. My boss has this uncanny ability to make a simple request sound like the fate of the company depends on it.”

Harry tilted his head, watching her. “And yet, you’re still there.” His tone wasn’t judgmental—just curious.

She shrugged, lifting her cup again and muttering the only response she had been conditioned to believe was acceptable. “It pays the bills.”

“That’s not an answer,” he replied, his tone smooth and insistent.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the ceramic, her instinct telling her to deflect. Change the subject. Redirect the focus back onto him like she always did.

But for some reason, she didn’t. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way Harry was looking at her—really looking at her—like he saw more than she was saying. Like he wasn’t just filling space with conversation, but memorizing every syllable.

She lowered her cup, and along with it, the defenses she’d so carefully constructed—just slightly. “I have two younger brothers in college,” she said finally. “Charlie and Peter. They’re twins. I help cover their tuition. It’s not exactly my dream to work as an executive assistant, but… it’s necessary for now.”

Harry didn’t look surprised. If anything, something in his expression shifted—something quiet and contemplative.

“That’s a lot to carry,” he said after a beat, his voice steady.

Mabel shrugged, “I have strong shoulders.”

His gaze didn’t waver, sharp yet unreadable, like he was cataloging her words and filing them away. She opened her mouth to redirect the conversation—turn it back to him, to his work, to anything that didn’t feel quite so exposed—but he was quicker.

“So, you have Charlie and Peter. What about the rest of your family? Did you grow up in Seattle?”

She hesitated for half a second.

Mabel hadn’t been asked about her childhood in a long time. Not by someone who actually seemed to care about the answer. The words tasted unfamiliar, rusty from disuse—“I grew up in Lake Stevens. About 35 miles north of here. But we moved to Ellensburg when I was in middle school.”

She left it at that, deliberately sidestepping the real question, hoping he wouldn’t press.

Her hopes were short-lived.

A thoughtful hum escaped him as he trailed a thumb along the rim of his cup. “Why did you move?”

Judging by his accent, she had assumed he had little knowledge of Washington’s geography—certainly not enough to question why a family would leave safe, suburban Lake Stevens for somewhere like Ellensburg. But something about the way he asked made her think otherwise.

Well, here goes nothing.

“Cliché story, really,” she said, trying to shrug the weight of it off. “My father left when I was fourteen. My mother lost her job shortly after. We couldn’t afford to stay in Lake Stevens, so we moved somewhere more… manageable.”

She kept her tone even, casual. Like it was just another fact about her life, no different from saying she worked at a library or that vanilla cappuccinos were her drink of choice.

But Harry wasn’t fooled.

His expression didn’t change, but his posture did—just a fraction, like he was absorbing the weight of her words. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, softer.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mabel.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like at that age. Not young enough to be oblivious, but old enough to shoulder more than you should’ve had to.”

She saw genuine empathy in his gaze.

This was a first.

Most people either pitied her or tried to reframe it into some kind of inspiring resilience story. Poor girl. You’re so strong. Everything happens for a reason. But Harry… he simply acknowledged it.

She hadn’t realized how much she needed that. How much she had needed someone to recognize that there was no silver lining, no moral takeaway. That some things just… were.

Harry watched her patiently, like he could sense her thoughts tumbling over one another and was giving her space to process.

She gave him a small smile. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It definitely wasn’t easy. My mother, she’s...” pausing, she let her words drop off. “Well, I did what I could to to make a future for myself. For my brothers.”

Granting her some reprieve, Harry didn’t pry any further. But she could tell— by the way his gaze sharpened—that his interest was genuine.

He exhaled slowly, then leaned forward, resting his forearms against the table. His voice was more deliberate now, like he was at the helm of some metaphorical ship, steering their conversation into uncharted waters.

“So, you’re putting your brothers through college, you’re at the beck and call of the prick Monday through Friday...” His gaze flickered over her, like he was fitting puzzle pieces together. “And I’m guessing there’s more to the story with your mother, which we’ll get to eventually.”

The certainty in his voice caught her off guard. Like he knew she wouldn’t tell him everything tonight, but he was willing to wait.

Then, he leaned in slightly, his voice low.

“Is there anyone who takes care of you, Mabel?”

The words hit like her like a thunderclap, low and resounding.

Mabel’s expression faltered. It was a simple question.

Everyone had someone who took care of them—a parent, a partner, a person who made life feel a little lighter. Didn’t they?

She had her brothers, and in some ways, they took care of her. They gave her purpose, made her laugh when she needed it most. She had Mrs. Whitmore to offer her reassuring words every now and then. But she knew that wasn’t what Harry meant.

She let out a small, slow breath. “I—” She stopped, realizing she didn’t actually know what to say.

Her first instinct was to brush it off with some quip about being perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but if there’s one thing she’s learned, it’s that capability and need were two different things—and something told her Harry knew that too. All her usual excuses suddenly felt thin under the weight of his gaze.

She managed a wry smile, “I guess I haven’t really thought about it.”

Harry’s lips pressed together slightly. “That’s not a yes,” he noted.

Her throat tightened. “It’s not a no, either.”

His fingers tapped against the table, slow and deliberate. The space between them felt charged, both physically small and emotionally expansive.

“No one should have to deal with that all alone,” he said gently.

She let out a shaky laugh, half-mocking, half-sincere. “That’s what people say right before they remind you that, at the end of the day, you do, actually.”

As the words left her mouth, she suddenly felt like crying, but she held it in.

For an instant, his expression shifted—a fleeting tightening around his eyes betrayed his concern at her reaction.

For a moment, the cafe seemed to hold its breath.

“Maybe most people,” he allowed. “That doesn’t mean everyone.”

That quiet confidence again. Like a promise, one she wasn’t sure what to do with.

Mabel felt her pulse quicken, but she wasn’t sure if it was from his words or the way he looked at her when he said them. Like he wasn’t just making an observation, but an offer.

No no no. This is exactly the territory she didn’t want to breach. She needed to break the moment before she slipped too far into it.

“Well,” she said lightly, “I’ll be sure to let you know if I ever need a businessman-slash-library-patron to step in.”

Sensing her walls starting to climb around her again, Harry didn’t press the issue further. Instead, he offered her a knowing expression and nodded.

“Please do.”

Mabel let the words settle between them, rolling them over in her mind as she studied the man across from her. When she agreed to coffee, she had framed it in her mind as a professional courtesy—her civic duty as a librarian, a steward of knowledge, a public servant of sorts. She was simply being accessible to discuss literature, facilitating intellectual curiosity like any librarian should.

That had been the plan, at least.

And yet, here she was—sitting across from Harry, a man she had known for barely more than a handful of library visits—letting him see the parts of her she usually kept tucked away, behind polished smiles and convenient deflections.

In an attempt to hold onto some semblance of her original intentions—she nodded towards the copy of The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet laying on the table between them.

“So, what did you think?” She asked.

Harry’s lips twitched, as if he knew exactly what she was doing but was willing to play along. “Certainly not a business book,” he said through an exhale.

“Very astute observation,” she replied with a playful glint in her eye.

“But I can see why you like it,” he added softly.

“Oh? And why’s that?” she queried, curiosity mingling with caution.

“It’s a character study—about relationships, about finding where you belong. About knowing when to lead, when to follow... when to let people in,” he said, his voice a hushed murmur that made her heart flutter.

She drew a breath, swallowing the sudden dryness in her throat. “That’s a very emotionally insightful response for someone who checked out a book on strategic acquisitions last week.”

Harry’s eyes gleamed with mirth. “I contain multitudes.”

Mabel let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “That might be the first time I’ve heard a finance guy quote Walt Whitman.”

“I doubt it’ll be the last,” he murmured, and there it was again—the expectation that this wouldn’t be the last time they sat across from each other like this.

Mabel was dumbfounded as to how something could feel so safe and so dangerous at the same time.

But here that something was—sitting across from her, making her stomach tighten in ways she wasn’t sure she wanted to analyze.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself stay in it, let the conversation stretch and unfold in a way that felt natural—like slipping into a current instead of fighting against it. They drifted back to books—her recommending novels with actual plots, him trying to argue that business books had their own kind of narrative. He told her about his mother and sister, who still lived back in England. She learned that he studied finance at Imperial College in London, an education that set him up to launch his own firm in America by the age of twenty-six.

“Did you always know you wanted to do that?” she asked, grasping her drink, long forgotten.

“I knew I wanted control over my own success,” he answered, voice calm, resolute. “I don’t do well with other people dictating my decisions.”

A faint blush warmed her cheeks—a reaction he noted with a small, amused smile. “Yeah,” she cleared her throat, “I can see how that might be the case.”

Their conversation flowed on—shifting from hobbies they enjoyed to anecdotes from their college days to their favorite foods and go-to spots in Seattle. They debated the merits of slow-burn character dramas versus high-stakes action films. Mabel learned he had a fondness for old thrillers, and Harry learned she had a deep love for Pride and Prejudice adaptations—especially the Colin Firth version.

It was... comfortable. Terrifying, yes, but easy in a way she couldn’t explain.

Eventually, the evening wound down. Harry pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “If I’m going to be expanding my literary horizons, I’ll need a direct source for recommendations.”

Mabel smirked, picking it up, she entered her number and texted herself an “H.”

When they stepped outside, the air was cool and crisp against her skin.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said, easy, assured—like it wasn’t a question.

Harry had a way of doing that—saying things that made them feel like natural conclusions rather than mere suggestions. If it were anyone else, Mabel probably would have rolled her eyes. Yet, there was something about Harry's approach that she found settling and... safe.

Still, she shook her head gently. “Thank you, but I have my car.”

Harry nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Text me when you get home then, yeah?”

It wasn’t a request.

Mabel huffed out a quiet laugh and conceded, “Okay.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, Mabel.”

She turned, walking toward her car, feeling his eyes on her until she was out of sight.

By the time she stepped into her apartment, she was exhausted. She shut the door behind her and reached for her phone.

Made it home. Thanks again for the coffee. -Mabel

She barely had time to set her bag down before her screen lit up.

Good. I had a wonderful time with you, Mabel.

And then another.

Get some sleep. H.

Mabel stared at the messages for a moment longer than necessary, her fingers hovering over the keyboard before she finally locked her phone and set it aside.

She got ready for bed—washing her face, changing into an oversized T-shirt, brushing her hair into a loose knot—but her mind was still at that coffee shop, replaying the evening in fragments.

His voice. His eyes. The way he listened.

The way he spoke.

There was quiet dominance woven into every part of him—his presence filled the space without ever suffocating it. His words didn’t demand but still expected. Sitting across from him, she felt both exposed yet safe, like he was peeling back her layers with gentle precision.

Men who carried themselves the way Harry did—men with power, with control—they were usually the ones who took. Who assumed. Who wore authority and entitlement like a badge—one they never actually earned.

But Harry was different.

Yes, he had an undeniable presence—the kind that made people instinctively take him seriously. But it was also the kind that didn’t require raised voices or unnecessary force to yield.

And he listened. Really listened. He had taken in her words and held them like they mattered. Like she mattered.

She never talked about her past—not with people she knew and certainly not with people she barely knew.

And the worst part? She felt something when those parts of him surfaced—when he told her to text him, when he told her to get some sleep, when he ordered water for them both without asking, as if it was all second nature to him. To anyone else, they might have seemed like nothing, just small inconsequential gestures.

But each time she replayed them in her mind, something stirred deep in her core—a pull, a recognition of a need she had had told herself she had long since buried.

She exhaled, flopping onto her bed, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

Enough, Mabel. She pleaded with herself. You don’t even know what this is.

And yet—

Lying there in the dim glow of her bedroom, staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they both knew exactly what it was—an unspoken understanding woven into every glance, every carefully placed word.

And that they were both standing at the edge of it.

Something that, once crossed, would never be undone.

***

More to come very soon! Thank you for reading :)

Read chapter one here.

[gurugirl]

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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[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!

[paulyenvol6]

Toxic

Smutty OS Harry Styles x reader

Contains: adult content, smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), overstimulating, p in v, unprotected sex, dom and mean Harry, degrading, gagging, basically smut without plot

Wordcount: ~3.05k

Masterlist

Harry and Y/n had a difficult relationship. The easiest way to describe it is probably to say that they were in a toxic relationship. They fought, called each other ugly things but they always came back.

One of the main reason was the physical attractiveness they felt about each other. They couldn’t take their hands off each other so it wasn’t a rare thing for them to have angry sex after a fight.

„I hate you.“, y/n said, tears in her eyes. Harry just grinned and slighly chuckled. „Fuck you, Harry.“, she then said, having problems holding back her tears. „Mhm, no, I don’t think so. I rather fuck you than myself.“, Harry said. Now tears fell down her cheeks and she softly whimpered.

„Seriously?“, Harry asked raising his eyebrows. „You think crying will make me apologize? Well m’not.“ She couldn’t answer and Harry said: „Get fucking over it, Baby. Then we can talk like normal human beings again and I’ll consider fucking you or going down on you. But for that you need to stop crying, don’t want you to ruin my shirt with your snot.“

That made y/n only cry more and she whimpered. „I hate you so much.“ Harry laughed. „Mhm, yesterday that sounded very differently. If I recall it correctly I had you whining on the bed and begging for me to touch you. You were a fucking mess.“ Y/n looked away from him and she tried to hold back the sounds of her crying. „So? Will you get over it so we can do what I originally planned for us or will you keep making a scene?“ She didn’t answer and Harry sighed. „God, can’t you just answer me? If you wanna keep sulking m’gonna leave.“

„Okay.“, y/n said, her voice so quiet that Harry almost didn’t hear it. „Okay what?“, Harry asked while rolling his eyes. „We can do what you originally planned for us.“, she whispered and Harry smiled. „There we go. There’s my sweet girl.“ He straightened himself and made his way to the girl. He then pulled a tissue out of his pocket and gave it to her. „Dry your tears and fucking stop crying.“ She nodded and tried to make the tears stop.                                                                                                                                When Harry saw that it had stopped he caressed her cheek. „Good girl. Now why don’t you help me a bit, huh? I think I need some release, so why don’t you go on your pretty knees f’me?“ She immediately did as he had asked. Harry, sitting on the edge of the bed, spread his legs so that y/n could kneel between them.

She opened his belt and Harry lifted himself off the bed so he could pull his trousers and underpants down. His thick cock was already hardened and y/n wrapped her hand around it. Harry hissed and looked down to the girl in front of him. „Yeah, that’s it. Keep going.“ She moved her hand up and down his shaft. „Now take me in your mouth.“

She obeyed him and slowly took him in her mouth. He was very big so she couldn’t take all of him but wrapped her hand around what she couldn't take. Harry groaned. „Fuck, yes. That’s what you’re good for, right? Being on your knees and sucking my dick instead of talking. Better keep this mouth stuffed.“ She moaned and Harry grabbed her hair to guide her the way that he wanted.

He began to take control and fuck her mouth. When she stimulated his tip with her tongue Harry moaned. „Ah fuck, yeah. That’s right, you know exactly how I like it you fucking whore.“ He went deeper with every thrust until y/n gagged around him. It didn’t make Harry stop. He fucked deep inside her throat and y/n grabbed his thighs for stability.

He threw his head back in ectasy. „Oh shit, yes. Such a good mouth f’me t’use, dirty little thing.“ It didn’t take long for him to come. He shot his load right in her throat which made y/n gag and her reflex was to get away from his cock. But Harry needed her to stay like this so he held her hair tight. When he had finished, he slowly took her off his cock and watched her. Her lips were swollen, she had tears in her eyes and the area around her mouth was covered with saliva, precum and cum. She looked delightful.

Harry grinned and caressed her hair behind her ears. „Good girl, y/n. Such a good fucking girl. Think you should be rewarded, right?“ She didn’t answer but just looked up to him with her doll eyes. „Answer me.“, Harry said and grabbed her chin tightly. „I don’t know, Harry. Whatever you wanna do.“ He chuckled and caressed her jawline.

Then he suddenly got up and walked away. „Get on the bed.“, he said and while y/n made herself comfortable on the bed Harry walked to the nightstand to get a sip of water. Y/n pressed her legs together to get some relief. She had become so horny while getting mouth-fucked by Harry and had felt herself getting incredibly wet. She had wanted to rub her clit so bad but she hadn’t dared to do so without Harry’s permission (and it had been a bit difficult to ask for it with his cock in her mouth).

Y/n crossed her legs for some friction. He noticed it and chuckled. „Fucking pathetic.“ He then hovered over her and roughly opened her legs. She whimpered at the uncomfortable feeling of her pulsating and needy pussy that couldn’t get any relief as her legs were being spread. „Poor Baby. Couldn’t get any relief, huh? Probably wanted to rub your clit so bad while sucking me off.“ Y/n fastly nodded and lifted her hips to get closer to him.

Harry pressed her down and slapped the side of her ass. „Stay down.“ Y/n looked up to him under her lashes. She wanted a kiss from him so badly, but she didn’t dare initiate it.

Harry meanwhile pulled up her top and y/n raised her arms so he could take it off her body. He then also took off her shorts so the only piece of clothing left on her body was her slip. Harry shamelessly regarded her body and his eyes traveled down on her. Y/n felt slightly embarressed and vulnerable under his gaze and moved her hands over her belly.

He immediately grabbed her wrists and put her hands next to her body on the mattress. „Don’t you dare hide from me, Baby. You know I’ve already seen all of this.“ „I’m sorry.“, she said. Harry leaned down and y/n thought he was about to kiss her but he pressed kisses on her neck while his hands caressed her belly.

He then wrapped his lips around her left nipple while his hands played with the other breast. Y/n moaned and wanted to grab his hair so badly. Harry twirled his tongue around her nipple. „Such a pretty girl. Perfect fucking tits, a nice ass and a sweet pussy.“ After a while he stopped his movements and raised his head from her chest.

His hand traveled down her body until he reached her slip. Harry watched her face while he slightly, very softly went over the slip where her clit was. She twitched underneathe him and Harry grinned. His finger then explored the area around her pussy, the inside of her thighs and her lower belly. It got y/n so worked up she was a whining mess under him.

„Harry please.“, she whimpered. „What do you want Baby, huh?“ „I want your finger on my clit, Harry please I need it so bad.“ Harry chuckled. „Well too bad you’re not the one in charge here. So quit the whining now.“ He kept his finger on the area around the spot that y/n needed him on the most until he finally gently moved his finger on her clit through he fabric of her slip.

Harry went in circles and then when he had enough of the slip he just ripped it and left her cunt bare. Y/n cried out at the sudden movement and twitched. „Shh.“, Harry made. He went back to circling his thumb around her clit and y/n closed her eyes in pleasure.

„Keep your fucking eyes on me, baby.“  She opened her eyes again and dug her nails into the bed sheets. „Feels so good Harry, fuck.“ „S’not a nice word t’use for such a lovely lady.“, Harry said and gently flicked her clit. She whimpered and her eyes rolled back when he increased the pace of rubbing her clit. „I said eyes. On. Me.“, Harry growled and gently slapped her pussy. „M’sorry, m’sorry. It’s hard.“ „I don’t care. Do it or m’gonna stop.“

Y/n tried to concentrate on looking in his eyes while she shifted on the bed. He was just so good at it. Making her pussy throb and touching her exactly the way she needed it. After a few more minutes she could feel her orgasm approaching. „M’gonna cum Harry, can I please?“ „You can, Baby. But you’re gonna have to beg for it.“ He slowed down his movements and y/n cried. „No, Harry please don’t stop. Please I wanna come so badly.“

Harry grinned and slowly circled her clit with the tip of his finger. „Please, I was so good f’you. Please Harry.“ „Mhm, was that enough?“, Harry asked and pretended to be thinking. She looked up to him with her doll eyes and Harry chuckled. „Dirty thing. You wanna cum so badly? My poor baby. Got you so worked up, everything.“ She fastly nodded and when Harry started to rub her faster again she sighed and bit her lip.

„Yes, so good Harry.“ After less than a minute she reached her orgasm and cried out his name over and over again. Harry gently slapped the side of her ass. „There you go, darling. My good fucking girl.“ She couldn’t help but grab his arms and arch her back at the amazing feeling.

When she came down from her high his touch on her clit that hadn’t stop when she reached her orgasm became uncomfortable to her. She closed her legs around his hand and tried to push him away. „Harry please don’t, it hurts.“ „Oh honey, that was only the beginning and you should know that.“ Y/n looked at him but didn’t know what to answer. But then he suddenly took his hand off her clit and brought his finger to his mouth.

„You know, usually I’d stick my finger into your mouth, make you lick it clean as if it was my cock and make you gag around it but god you taste too good to do that.“ He licked his finger clean and sighed. „Fucking hell. Never tasted someone that sweet and salty before. Perfect mixture.“ She was speechless at this picture, she had never seen something so hot before.

When his finger was clean he went over her buttom lip with it. „Open“, he ordered and y/n opened her mouth. He grabbed her chin and then spit right onto her tongue. She kept it there and waited for his next words. „Now swallow.“ She swallowed everything and kept eye contact with him the whole time. „Such a dirty slut. My dirty slut, I’m the only one who can do such dirty things with you and use you like that.“ She quickly nodded. „Yes. You’re the only one.“                                                                                                                               Harry then changed his position and moved down so he kneeled between her legs. He roughly spreaded her legs and groaned at the sight of her bare pussy. „Fuck. M’gonna fucking ruin your pussy, baby.“ He slapped the outside of her thigh at his words and then lowered his head and suddenly licked her pussy from her hole up to her clit. „Ah shit.“, y/n cried out.

She was overstimulated but it felt so good at the same time. He teased her hole with his tongue, slid his tongue into it, teased her entrance and circled her clit with his thumb at the same time. It felt so good to y/n that all she could say was a babbling mess. Harry stopped his tongue movements and looked up to the girl.

„Taste so fucking good. Crazy to me that such a dirty, dumb, little thing can taste like that.“, he said and slapped her pussy, which made y/n whimper. He then went back to teasing her entrance and after some time switched his tongue and finger movements, so his tongue took care of her clit while he teased her entrance and the rest of her pussy with his finger.

Her whole body was shaking when he used his left hand to get the hood, that covered her clit out of the way so he could tease it directly with his tonuge. She jumped and couldn’t help but grab his hair. Harry slapped her ass but didn’t stop. He spread her legs wider with his underarms and seemed to press himself closer and closer to her pussy. He then looked up to her to watch the reactions of her body and face. The way that she bit her lip, how she dug her nails into the sheets, how her hair fell into her face… 

„Can I come Harry?“, she then cried out. „Yeah you can, love. Come on, drown me with your juices.“ Y/n came with a shriek and her legs began to shake even more. Harry watched her orgasm with delight and then, without really giving her the time to relax after her high, he grabbed a condom from the nightstand, pulled it over his hard cock and aligned himself with her entrance.

Y/n shivered in excitement and looked up to him with her glassy eyes. „Please I wanna be full.“, she whispered while he teased her overstimulated clit with the tip of his cock. „You want me to stretch your little hole out? Want me to fuck your pussy nice n’deep?“ „Yes please, I want it so bad.“, she whined and shifted restlessly under him. „Then stay fucking still.“

He then slid into her in one movement and y/n shrieked at the feeling. Harry growled and grabbed her hip tightly. Her soft and warm walls felt so tight around him and they stimulated his cock perfectly. His thrusts were deep and intense but he started off with a rather slow pace.

His hand traveled to her clit and he started rubbing her. He knew that she couldn’t come only from vaginal sex, so he wanted her to get pleasure from his movement on her clit. She liked it though when he fucked her and she got turned on by it but she just couldn’t reach her orgasm alone by it. He was now so deep in her that his balls slapped her pussy. Harry suddenly grabbed her legs and bent her knees so they could be on his shoulders.

Y/n cried out at the new angle and her eyes rolled back. Harry gently stroke her hair which was a very unexpected gesture for y/n considering that he was so rough with her at the moment. „Harry.“, she whimpered. „What Baby?“ „Feels s’good. Please.“ She didn’t even know what she wanted but she just felt so whiny for him at the moment. „Feel so full.“ Harry slightly increased the pace and then his hand wandered to her throat. 

He didn’t put a lot of pressure on it but softly chocked her. This image of her, her noises and the way that she felt around his cock drove him closer to his orgasm. „My dirty girl feels s’good. M’gonna paint your walls with my cum and stiff you full with it. Gonna make it leak out of your hole.“ „Mhm, yes.“ „You’re gonna come too? M’not gonna wait f’you so you better bring yourself to it now.“

Her fingers worked on her nipple while Harry kept rubbing her clit. „Yeah, m’gonna come too. Just a little longer, please.“ He stimulated her clit faster and put slight pressure on her throat. She whimpered and grabbed his bicep to hold on to something. „Harry. Harry, please.“, she whined and uncontrollably moved her hips.

And then she came and Harry could feel her clench around him which drove him over the edge and y/n could feel him fill her up. „Holy shit, Baby.“, he growled and threw his head back. „Fuck, fuck.“ He came down from his high and then gently slapped the side of her ass. „That felt good.“, he smirked and y/n tiredly smiled at him.

Harry came closer and kissed her on the nose. „Aww, my poor Baby’s gotten all sleepy.“ „Shut up.“, she giggled and pretended to punch him. „Have to clean you up first anyway.“, he said and then left the room.

Y/n watched him with some sadness. He was so sweet to her now. It was always like that. After they had sex he was always so lovely and caring but the next day it was gonna be bad again. They were probably going to fight and call each other bad things. She couldn’t say why it was like that but after they had sex they were always getting along so well and felt a strong bond and love for each other.

Harry entered the room again and had a washcloth in his hand. He smiled at her and y/n opened her legs. She twitched when he touched her sensitive and overstimulated pussy and her soothed her thigh by running his hand over it. After he had cleaned her, he gave a little kiss to her clit and then brought the washcloth away.

One minute later he returned and jumped into the bed next to her. „Thank you, Harry.“, y/n whispered and turned to look at him. „No problem.“, he smiled. Y/n, knowing that the little spoon was his favourite cuddle position came closer to him. „Turn around.“, she said and he did as she told him. She wrapped his arms around his upper body and pressed her face in his neck. „Feels good.“, Harry hummed and caressed her arm. „Yes, it does.“

Part 2