#harry styles safeword | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherry-titz · 1 year ago

Text

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.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles halloween #dom harry styles x sub reader #harry styles one shot #dark harry styles #harry styles one shots #harry styles writing

787 notes · View notes

1dcommunityficrecs · 3 months ago

Text

Rec List: Short Fics!

This month, I asked you for your favourite fics under 5,000 words -- and y'all showed up! We have eighteen amazing quick reads for your perusing pleasure, including four rarepairs and one girl direction. We've got hot smut, we've got aliens, we've got two different soulmate goose fics? I didn't know those were a trope but I love it already.

Please join me in reading, kudosing, commenting, reblogging, and celebrating all these lovely authors capturing so much emotion and story and description in just a few entrancing pages.

Talk Body All Night by Anonymous (3005, Explicit, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik/Liam Payne/Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: Use of safeword to stop a scene

Hot OT5 smut with Niall as pov. Niall is new to BDSM and he ends up tapping out. He feels frustrated with himself, but his boyfriends are all 110% supportive of his needs and desires.

Reccer says: Excellent handling of D/S dynamics, it deals really well with someone overwhelmed with multiple partners

Louis and the no good, very bad day by haztobegood (4537, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Louis collapses back into the bed with a groan. Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse, there’s a fucking goose stuck on his balcony.

Reccer says: Absolutely love the soulmate goose concept! This fic was so silly and so much fun to read!

That’s the way love goes by bella28 (4202, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

In a world, where soulmate geese are sent to the people who can’t figure out who their soulmate is, Harry finds himself stuck with a goose when he is attending a concert of his favourite artist Louis Tomlinson.

Reccer says: This is the first soulmate goose fic in our fandom! And it was an utter delight to read! Thankful to this writer for bringing the concept to us!

Hot to Go! by allwaswell16 (2353, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

When Harry does something weird at the barricade, he leaves Louis’ show devastated and hoping he can somehow make things right.

Reccer says: Absolutely hilarious and charming!

Stray by haztobegood (1713, Explicit, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles) – fic post

Zayn and Harry hook up at a club before Zayn returns him to Louis.

Reccer says: So so hot and dreamy and kinky

Soup, Sex, and Sun Salutations by littleroverlouis (2315, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Louis is bribed with the promise of brownies to spend the summer solstice with Harry in his backyard. Between the special ingredient taking effect and Harry dancing in the sunshine, Louis is overwhelmed in the best way.

Reccer says: This fic somehow makes you feel high without taking any substances. Warm and wonderful.

someday, girl, we’re gonna get to that place by yeah_alright (2912, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Harry's been drawn to pantyhose since he was a kid. If only he could stop taking every snag and run personally.

Reccer says: It's so soft and comforting!

a night like this by momentofclarity (3915, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Meeting Louis made Harry sure she likes girls. Harry's nervous to see her again.

Reccer says: I don't remember the specifics unfortunately I just remember loving it so much!

see or touch or use by jishler (3733, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

He gathered Harry’s hands in his own. “Good boy,” said Louis. He kissed a knuckle and looked up at Harry, who seemed to be drifting somewhere between a haze of tenderness and the kind of arousal that made him shudder, gag, beg for more. Exactly where Louis liked to keep him. He gave Harry’s hands back to him, placing them at his sides.

Reccer says: tender and gentle and HOOOO so hot!

Like You Did Before, Sing a New Song by larenthood (4700, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Louis motorboats Harry on a drunken dare. Harry really wants to do it again.

Reccer says: Intimate and loving!

Feel Your Way by kingsofeverything (3445, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Louis Tomlinson tries to meet some colleagues for drinks and winds up meeting Harry Styles instead. Harry Styles: famous singer, songwriter, and actor, as well as the source material for the folder of wanking fodder entitled “hiddies” that Louis keeps hidden on his laptop.

Reccer says: Great mix of flirting and hotness and humor and surprise

Let's get physical by Kerasines (3500, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Alien!Harry tries to adapt to the strange aspects of the human form.

Reccer says: wonderful exploration of desire

Thesis Management by LadyLondonderry (2600, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry's got an assignment due and it's the full moon.

Reccer says: Funny and charming!

Use You As A Warning Sign by jiksa (2200, Mature, Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Nick and Louis get trapped in a closet for seven minutes in heaven/hell.

Reccer says: Such great tension and dynamics!

Take Care by everysingleday (4900, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry’s exhausted and needy and Louis loves him entirely too much to ever say no.

Reccer says: Tender kink!

Us, Me, We by homosociallyyours (2300, Explicit, Harry Styles/Harry Styles) – fic post

High on shrooms, Harry has an encounter with someone who looks a lot like him, and it opens him up a lot of new perspectives. They're very pretty.

Reccer says: It's a beautiful, sensual self exploration!

Watermelon Sugar High by rosemarianthyme (2200, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Resting right between his legs, the long slice open and juicy and red and his fingers pressed just so, it looked to his wine-hazy brain like a cunt. Like it could be /his/ cunt. (In which Harry Styles fingers a watermelon.)

Reccer says: So visceral and unbelievably hot

To Be Real by Throwthemflowers (3900, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Inspired by The Velveteen Rabbit

Reccer says: Incredibly moving. So much beauty and hurt and tenderness packed in.

46 notes · View notes

mlm-writer · 3 months ago

Text

Dirty Sex (Wade Wilson x The Dirtman)

Pairing: Wade Wilson aka Deadpool x The Dirtman Rating: Explicit Words: 1137 POV: Third Summary: Wade 'forgot' to put a little dirt under his pillow for the Dirtman, so he is taken down to the Dirtman's lair deep under the mountains, where the Dirtman keeps his dirt. Note: We're just guys... You may wonder what I snorted to write this and the answer is... dirt? Anyway shout out to my friend for helping me with this fic (they did a soil science course and I have convinced them to use their knowledge for evil). Tags: the dirtman by carter vail, anal, ass eating, dirt eating?, identifying soil, puns and soil science references, 4th wall breaking ofc, rock hard dick, blowjob, cum(?) shower and uhhh consensual monsterfucking / cryptidfucking

All guys do it. Keep a little dirt under their pillow for the Dirtman, in case he comes to town. Wade knows about the Dirtman. Wade wants to go to town with the Dirtman.

He was awaiting him, on his bed, lying on his side, one leg stretched out and the other propped up. One arm supported his grinning head. The door creaked open and there he stood in all his dirty glory. “Oh hello, dirtman,” Wade cooed at the brown silhouette made of dirt. Yellow eyes glowed at the top of the soil cryptid. Wade lifted his pillow up, revealing nothing. “Uh oh, I seem to have forgotten something.” He lifted his free hand, seductively biting on his index finger.

“Oh that’s all right. I will see you next season,” the Dirtman replied in his gravelly voice. The creature turned around and seemed to be ready to leave. Wade watched him take one step outside of his bedroom and shot up from where he lied.

“Hey hey! Ho there you sexy pile of rocks and sand! Aren’t you supposed to take me down to your lair? Where you keep your dirt?” The Dirtman didn’t stop his trek to the window Wade had left open. The mutant rushed around the cryptid to block the way, standing his ground in front of the Dirtman. “Excuse me, the readers came for some absolute crack-dosed filthy, nasty and, dare I say, dirty fucking. So where do you think you’re going without me?”

The Dirtman stared at him for a moment. “I am not mad that you forgot your dirt. My sister doesn’t get mad when children throw away their teeth either. So why should I?”

“Are you telling me your sister is the tooth fairy?”

“Yes.”

“Where does she keep all those teeth?”

“She eats them like popcorn when we watch a movie.”

“Huh.”

Wade and the Dirtman stared at one another. One wondering when they were going to absolutely go to town on each other. The other wondering who the parents are of the Dirtman and his sister the tooth fairy. “You should know,” the Dirtman eventually said, “my dick is made of rock. It won’t be comfortable.” Wade gave a thumbs up. “Good, then I would like to cordially invite you to my lair.”

Wade jumped into the Dirtman’s arms. “I accept! Let’s go! Time skip so we can get to the dirty stuff.”

——————————————————

Deep under the mountains, torches illuminated the deep cavern, where Wade was kneeling on a huge pile of dirt. The soil came in all colours and textures, but Wade could not care less for the brown, red and beige rainbow flag under him. He had much more interesting things to focus on, such as the rock hard schlong of the Dirtman. The phallic rock revealed itself from under the mud that shaped the Dirtman. Wade dusted the soil-lid dick off with his hands. “My safeword is edaphology, which is the study of how soils interact with living things.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he looked right into those amber orbs. Literal orbs. Not 2013 Harry Styles’ green orbs. These eyes looked like two perfectly round pieces of crystal, polished to perfection.

“Isn’t that a bit too long?” For a creature without a face, he seemed rather concerned.

“Isn’t that my line,” Wade grinned as he kissed the tip of the slate cock. “But fine, let’s go one syllable less. Pedology, which is the study of formation, chemistry, morphology, and classification of soil. Now are you gonna let me rip my oesophagus sucking your cock or does the author need to start reading past the second paragraph of the soil science Wikipedia page for a safeword? He already lazily copied the explanation of the last one. At some point there will be copyright issues. He could’ve at least changed the order of the words like you do when you’re in hi–”

The Dirtman had enough of Wade’s rambling. He pushed the merc’s mouth down on his length. The saliva mixed with the silt, creating a dirty brown slobber all over the tip of the Dirtman’s dick. Wade could actually determine what types of soil the Dirtman was made of, but since he cannot speak with his mouth full of stone-dick, he cannot tell you. Too bad. Bet you are wondering huh?

Well, Wade was not getting much in actually. The rigidity was unforgiving on his throat and the Dirtman seemed to notice. Those muddy arms took a hold of Wade’s scarred body and flipped him like he was turning over soil for deep ploughing. Wade was face first into the pile now, his mouth filling with the grinding and yet slippery soil. It was loamy clay.

The Dirtman’s mouth opened wide for the first time and latched onto Wade’s cavernous hole. Wade could feel the seep lube up his silty walls, irrigating his ass for the Dirtman’s soil auger. He moaned, identifying more soil with each mouthful of dirt. His tongue felt like sandpaper by the time he felt the Dirtman’s sceptre quartz poke at his puffy asshole. “Hell yeah, drill me with that stalagmite, dirt daddy.”

His dirty words were reprimanded with a hard slap on his dunes. Wade turned his head until just his cheek rested on the sand. To his disappointment, the Dirtman was awfully gentle with him, his huge slate rod carefully stretching out Wade’s insides. The slow drag was very unsexy, but felt so good. “You’re so warm inside. You must be quite fertile,” the Dirtman whispered into Wade’s ear.

The human whimpered, when his monstrous lover bottomed out. Wade needed to take a deep breath, before he could talk again. “You know that line only makes sense if you know that wildfires leave extremely fertile soil, right? And it doesn’t make sense for me to know so much about soil science, but it is really the only way the author can ensure that the readers realise how awful this fic is. Do the readers even appreciate all the references?”

That was apparently the Dirtman’s cue that Wade could handle more. He went to town on Wade’s tunnel, rabidly fucking into the merc’s soft human body with his monstrous cryptid cock. Finally, not a word left Wade, only a string of moans, whines and whimpers. The large figure didn’t stop until Wade soiled the land with his seed. He pulled out and rolled Wade onto his back. With a few more strokes, buckets of sludge unloaded from his big peat, giving the human a mud bath that would do wonders for his skin if it weren’t for those mutations.

And that’s the story of the Dirtman who came into town and onto Wade Wilson aka Deadpool. I am experiencing psychic damage. This is worse than the Shrek x Deadpool fic.

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure!A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

#deadpool #wade wilson #marvel #dirtman #dirt man #carter vail #viral #crack fic #mlm #monsterfucking #monsterfucker #cryptid #cryptid fucking #monsterlover #deadpool & wolverine #deadpool 3 #mcu #gay

32 notes · View notes

blouisparadise · 2 years ago

Photo

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of April. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Waking Up In The Morning, Thinking About So Many Things | Mature | 1434 words

PWP featuring cat hybrid Louis in heat.

2) If You Like Makin' Love At Midnight | Explicit | 2107 words

If you like piña coladas and gettin' caught in the rain. if you're not into yoga. If you have half a brain. If you like makin' love at midnight, in the dunes on the cape. Then I'm the love that you've looked for, write to me and escape.

3) Feeling, Fucking, and Falling in Love | Not Rated | 2113 words

Louis is tired after a party and his valet, Harry, helps him feel better.

4) First Time Dom | Explicit | 2888 words

While Louis has a lot of experience with BDSM and being a sub, Harry is new to the scene and taking on a dominant role in the bedroom for the first time. He’s done his research, they’ve discussed all their kinks and agreed on the safewords and signals. But Harry’s still incredibly nervous. What if he isn’t enough to satisfy the beautiful blue-eyed man who looks so pretty on his knees?

5) Stay With Me | Mature | 4364 words

Louis finds his wife cheating on him and he goes to a club where he meets a long-haired, green-eyed man. Harry ends up fucking Louis and Louis doesn't want to leave him, he wants Harry to hold him aftward. Will Harry hold him, or will he kick the blue-eyed man out of his house?

6) Change (Night After The AFHF) | Explicit | 6448 words

Louis comes home after his first own festival, proud but tired. Instead of sleeping though he does something else when he gets surprised by his favourite person who already waits for him.

7) Fuck Around, Find Out | Explicit | 6815 words

Harry is a renowned chef convinced he’ll be the one to make Louis like avocado. It doesn’t end well.

8) Heat | Mature | 8628 words

Harry is an Alpha, and Louis is an Omega. They're best friends who decide to take a road trip together. Louis thought he would be fine since he wasn't supposed to go into heat for another two weeks. But since Louis was around the alpha that he has fallen for, his body had other plans. And what happens when Louis triggers Harry's rut?

9) The Devil's Backbone | Mature | 9735 words

1925. Louis has escaped an abusive relationship and seeks to lay low in Montana. When a hit is put out on him by his ex lover, he makes an unlikely alliance and finds more than he ever dared hope for.

10) Your Delicate Point Of View | Mature | 12700 words

Prince of Avalon has the prettiest eyes.

Prince of Avalon has the voice of a nightingale.

Prince of Avalon doesn't have freedom.

It's the year of AIs, and Harry Styles aka Prince of Avalon is still feeling trapped in the past. Even if he has everything, he doesn't have freedom. Freedom of voicing his opinions or favorites. He thinks his Alexa has more freedom than him.

That is until his paths cross with the loud, charming gardener with piercing blue eyes.

11) My Waves Meet Your Shore | Mature | 23873 words

When Louis gets an email from his ex - Harry - it shouldn't surprise him as much as it does; they're parents now and it isn't rare to communicate with each other. But this? He wasn't expecting it at all.

12) Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) | Explicit | 28000 words

Louis hasn't thought about Harry since half an hour after the shift started, when Krystle told him that she was binging Gogglebox last night and therefore didn't get enough sleep - a sure reminder of Harry’s temporary Gogglebox obsession. Five hours isn't much without thinking about someone, but that's as long as it gets. Louis came to terms with that two years ago. When Harry walked out the door with his stupid New Balance trainers and never looked back.

13) Welcome Home | Explicit | 49418 words

Louis Tomlinson had to put a stop to his football career for a couple of months and he decided to go back home to rest his mind for a little bit only to find out a really weird coffee shop owner started to visit his mother on a regular basis with just as peculiar but lovely kid named Maxine.

14) Darkest Before The Dawn | Explicit | 50565 words

Note: There are BH mentions in this fic.

Harry Styles has standards. His coffee must be a cold brew with one pump of vanilla and a splash of cold cream. His computer must be catty-cornered on his left. His sketchbook must be directly in the center of his desk. He must have a cork board on his right to pin fabrics, sketches, and other inspirations he finds.

But most importantly, his space,—work or living,—must be organized. He doesn’t understand how people live otherwise. Everything has a place and it must be in its place in order for him to get anything done. Which is why he grits his teeth every time when he walks into the fashion workroom and sees Louis Tomlinson’s workspace.

It’s chaos. He’s chaos personified. He’s annoying, loud, and well… not as creative as Harry is. His designs are unimaginative and plain. Harry doesn’t understand how Louis managed to be accepted into the fashion program, but he supposes some people have to slip through the system.

15) And What If I Were You | Explicit | 109959 words

For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him?

For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart?

And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

A story of love. A story of loss. A story of fighting for each other, no matter the odds.

16) Our Endless Numbered Days | Explicit | 120815 words

“Harry?” whispered Louis, his mouth dry, his nose pressing against the other’s warm skin.

“Mh?” Harry’s humming was gentle, his fingers lightly caressing the younger boy’s arm, his chest steadily rising and falling beneath Louis’ cheek.

A couple of seconds passed, and Louis looked up at him in the darkness of the cave, barely able to make out the expression on his face. When he tried to inhale deeply, his breath hitched. He struggled to find the words to tell Harry what he was thinking about.

Another couple of seconds passed, and Louis listened to the reassuring beating of the prince’s heart beneath his cheek.

He couldn’t.

“Nothing,” he whispered, his voice weak. I think you’re half of my soul.

17) A Violent Noise | Explicit | 354196 words

After living in Los Angeles for a few months and aspiring to become a fashion designer, Louis William Tomlinson, a fashionista with impeccable style, adheres to a life of leisure and luxury. With the use of a well thought-out and planned scheme, he has the ability to do whatever and go wherever he wants just as long as his plan stays on course. Upon carrying out his plan, one night he meets a stranger, Harry Edward Styles, who turns his life from simple, carefree, and lush to a life of not only love and confusion, but also of wondrous amenities.

The pair blossom into a beautiful friendship that has every potential to culminate into a relationship, but there’s one thing in the way: Harry’s already married.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#fic recs #bottom louis #top harry #larry #blp #monthly fic recs #blp fic recs

130 notes · View notes

littleohs · 2 months ago

Text

ridyu: deprived of senses

“let me see your eyes, baby.” harry blinked slowly, his brow still furrowed as he tried to adjust his senses. his wet eyelashes opened just enough to reveal his reddened eyes, full of bewilderment. louis watched him carefully, tilting his head to search for an answer in the green eyes that were always bright and expressive, but which at that moment only seemed dull, as if the energy had been drained from his body. or, day seven of kinktober: sensory deprivation

main pairing: harry styles/louis tomlinson

rating: mature

status: complete

word count: drabble — 1k

main tags: omega harry, alpha louis, bdsm dynamics, sensory deprivation, safeword use, kinktober day seven

The gag in his mouth wasn't much help, his moans came out in big high-pitched noises that he couldn't control and his eyes dripped tears. The deprivation of his senses, the cold running down his bare skin from the air conditioning and the lack of physical contact from Louis were pushing him to a limit he could barely stand. Louis always held him when they played, pressed him against his chest and always told him how good an omega he was; he was too cold and missed the gentle touch of his alpha on his body. It was as if he was absent, that wasn't the alpha he knew who comforted him when he felt about to collapse. The button in his hand beeped, though he couldn't hear it.

part of my kinktober this year!

read here

#omegaverse #harry styles #louis tomlinson #alpha louis #fic #omega harry #1dficlibrary #1d fanfiction #larry fanfiction #kinktober #hlficlibrary #hlcreators

3 notes · View notes

jeiceys-dead-poets-hcs · 1 year ago

Text

Songs That I Think Sound Like the Poets if You Squint

probs will get updated the more i remember to <3

some characters have more than others but i’m working on it i swear

Todd Anderson:

Something In The Orange - Zach Bryan

cry with me over it

Where Is My Mind? - The Pixies

Mind Over Matter - Young the Giant

I Hear a Symphony - Cody Fry

Looking Out for You - Joy Again

Sunrise - Kenny Elrod

Nunemaker’s Parable - Everybody’s Worried About Owen

stream his new ep nunemaker’s swingset ^^^ it’s SO GOOD

The One I Love - R.E.M.

Chamber of Reflection (Live Cover) - Your Anxiety Buddy

Fly Out West - Yot Club

Mystery - Matt Maltese

star tripping - Kevin Atwater

Neil Perry:

Safeword - TV Girl

Cigarettes out the Window - TV Girl

listen neil just gives the tv girl vibe i’m sorry for being right

Wicked Game - Chris Isaak

Everybody Loves Somebody - Frank Sinatra

i will die on this hill ^^

The Stable Song - Gregory Alan Isokov

Dance With Me - Topline Addicts

The Stable Song - Gregory Alan Isokov

Matilda - Harry Styles

Young - Vacations

Exit Music (For A Film) - Radiohead

No Surprises - Radiohead

aime-moi. - Axel Enderlin

Heart Like Yours - Williamette Stone

Privately Owned Spiral Galaxy - Lovejoy

Steven Meeks:

Lonely Day - System Of A Down

Baby Bride Rag - Roar

Numbers - TEMPOREX

Tourist - Jon Cozart

Gerard Pitts:

Journey to Wherever We May Go - Grand Commander

The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack - Liars

Love Me, Normally - Will Wood

Richard Cameron:

Here With Me - d4vd

Run Away to Mars - TALK

Charlie Dalton:

Blackbird - The Beatles

Hey Lover! - Wabie

#dead poets society #neil perry #todd anderson #dps hcs #dps headcanons #charlie dalton #dead poets headcanons #gerard pitts #dps fandom #richard cameron #steven meeks #knox overstreet

27 notes · View notes

ao3feed-larry · 2 years ago

Text

Parallels

by SomeDovesFly

AU where OT5 work on a hit TV drama together (Harry, Louis, and Liam as actors. Niall's the director. Zayn is the FX lead who makes the magic happen). This is a story about their journeys through love, (heavy) kink, show business, and eventual polyamory. We'll also follow the story of the show's characters as they film throughout the fic.

Kinky comfort fic with a significant BDSM journey storyline. Porn with plot and lots of love. Like.. a LOT of porn. The scenes escalate (quickly) to some extreme bondage but also very sweet and always safe

Words: 95766, Chapters: 29/29, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik/Liam Payne/Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: Polyamory, BDSM, Extreme Bondage but always consensual, Bondage, Blindfolds, Gags, Rope Bondage, Blood, Its usually fake but not always, Exhibitionism, Gallons of it, Breathplay, also.. a lot of it.., Hurt/Comfort, Switching, Power Play, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Painplay, but almost no impact play, Tattoos, Safe Sane and Consensual, Consensual Kink, Safewords, Knifeplay, but pretty minor, lots of prop knives and guns though, Sensory Deprivation, Shibari, a bit of self harm Im sorry, Happy Ending, mention of needles, but not descriptive, Dom/sub, Anxiety, Hollywood, Sensation Play, Collars, Lace Panties, Violence but its all from the perspective of filming it, its normal to be gay in this au and its lovely, Fluff, Protectiveness

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/qWo5uUI

#author #larry stylinson #larry fic #ao3 feed larry #Parallels #<p>by <a rel= href="/users/SomeDovesFly

11 notes · View notes

harrysgoldenbum · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 4,095 times in 2022

786 posts created (19%)

3,309 posts reblogged (81%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@goldnrry

@harrysgoldenbum

@gucciwins

@fkinavocado

@dontworrysunflower

I tagged 3,180 of my posts in 2022

Only 22% of my posts had no tags

#harry styles - 122 posts

#fic rec - 121 posts

#harry styles fic rec - 107 posts

#harry styles fanfic - 91 posts

#anon - 84 posts

#harry styles fan fic - 84 posts

#harrychella - 80 posts

#harry styles fanfiction - 80 posts

#harry styles fan fiction - 74 posts

#stylessupremacy - 72 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#tickets are tickets babe. and what’s great is that the vibe that harry’s concerts give literally carrie’s throughout the entire arena

My Top Posts in 2022:

💫 ✨ 🕯 l will get tickets for tour 🕯 ✨ 💫

162 notes - Posted May 20, 2022

Kneel

Okay so, this took a while and i am embarrassed lol. I had this fic finished for a while and then tumblr went dumb on me and wouldn’t let me post it. Well, better late than never, right? Happy New Year everyone.

Warning: NSFW, use of sex toy, language, smut, and unedited

I present to you subrry

Word count: 1.8k

The two of you were in your bedroom and you had Harry bound with silk scarves. You had him positioned on his knees facing the headboard. His wrists were bound to his ankles. Every time he would try to move his arms, his feet would follow.

You picked up the bottle of oil from the warmer. Uncapping it, you squeezed some onto the plug. It was medium-sized, a size you and Harry were comfortable with. You particularly liked it because the jewel at the bottom matched your eye color. And you loved watching it twinkle while you worked Harry.

“You ready baby?”

A moan rumbles from his chest, “please.” He whines.

Crawling onto the bed, once you were behind him you took your oily fingers, you lube his hole gently. Just enough to tease him. You take his plug and let it run along his cleft before it catches, then you slowly start to push it in.

A deep moan vibrates from his chest, damping your panties considerably.

“Safeword.” You demand.

“Apricot,” he breathes, arching back to take more of his toy in.

With little force, you give him what he wants. Climbing off the bed, you take a moment to admire the man on display in front of you. His back curved beautifully, his tan skin a sharp contrast to the pearl white sheets under him.

You reach behind your back to unclasp your bra hooks. You let the lace fabric slide down your arms and onto the carpeted floor.

You walk around the bed and come face to face with Harry. His jade green eyes follow you as you climb onto the bed. You kneel in front of him, gently cupping his cheeks. “You going to be a good boy for me?”

He can’t help but whimper. “Yes,” he mumbles. “I’ll be good.”

A satisfied smile graces your face as you move to stand on the mattress. You move that way Harry’s body is between your legs. You thread your fingers through his curly hair and bring his face close to your cunt. “Eat,” you order.

A moan rumbles from him, before he dives right in. His tongue traces your vulva before he dips in. You grind down onto his face and your head is thrown back in pleasure. Harry tips his head further back and wraps his lips around your clit. Your eyes move to the mirror that is attached to your closet door. A moan rips from your throat, the woman in the mirror looks desirable, beautiful, who knows what she wants. And there, between her legs, is a man kneeling between her legs pleasing her the way he wants.

Harry’s lips lock around your clit and suck hard. You can feel the tightness in your lower belly coiling. You watch yourself through the mirror, as you ride Harry’s face. Your fingers start to tug on his long curls, as you push closer to your climax. Your head drops down as you near the edge and look into Harry’s eyes. You could see the lust swimming his eyes. “Oh! Fuck!”

Your eyes roll back as your thighs tighten. Harry’s moans vibrate against your cunt, prolonging your orgasm. When you come down from your high, you take a step back from Harry and drop down onto your knees.

You wrap your hands around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. You groan as you taste yourself on his tongue. You pull on his lower lip with your teeth. “Did so good for me.” You say against his lips. Your hands slowly trail down his chest to his navel. “You ready for me, baby?”

His chest rises and falls as he pants, “God, yes. Please, please!”

With a sly smile, you move your hand and cup his cock. “So nice and hard for me, aren’t you darling.”

Harry’s eyes flutter closed and his glistening mouth hangs open. His hips try to thrust upward. He struggles with his silk binds as you move your second hand to cup his sac. “You get to come when I say so, okay.”

“Y-yes.” Harry shudders.

“Good.” You lean in and press your lips to his neck. You pump his cock in a slow rhythm as you suck on his pulse. A shudder runs up his spine and a deep moan fills the room.

One hand leaves him, to go further down. You feel the jewel of the buttplug against your fingerprint. Wrapping your hand around it, you give it a twist.

Harry’s head drops back and he cries out in pleasure. His muscles bunch up as he tries to thrust up into your fist. You give the toy a tug as you continue to work him. You feel his member pulsing in your hand. Giving the plug one more twist, you pull your hands away from him.

“Oh God, please!” Harry begs.

See the full post

254 notes - Posted January 3, 2022

Don't Blame Me for Falling - pt. 2

sorry for the delay! something came up and I was away from my laptop all day.

Part One

word count: 6.8K

warnings: smut, cursing, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it people), and somewhat exhibitionism

Y/N had texted Annie the moment the cab dropped her off at the main entrance of the hotel. She figured that she would be the soberest out of the group and would be able to meet up with her and get her up to the room. But to her surprise, all four girls came pouring out through the lobby to where she stood by the grove of palm trees.

Jessica eyed her critically, and Y/N struggled to keep a straight face. It only took seconds, before Jessica’s hazel eyes glinted and she grinned.

“Holy Shit, way to go bitch! You already bagged your vay-cay fling!”

“What?” Y/N tried. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jessica elbowed Marie in the ribs. “Look at her face. She can say whatever she wants, but her face doesn’t lie! You look freshly fucked, babe. Spill the details! Did you get your Mile-High card punched?”

“Jesus, Jessica, let her get her stuff into the room,” Ameena interjected. “Then we can get her to spill all her secrets over margaritas.”

It didn't take long for Y/N to drop off her suitcase and bag in their suite, which already looks like a tornado swept through… twice. She ignored the taunts through the bathroom door while she stripped and changed into her bikini. After a half-assed job of slathering herself with sunscreen, she let her friends lead the way to the pool, where they had claimed a cabana earlier in the morning.

“Talk!” Jessica commanded once they ordered their first round of margaritas.

Y/N lowered her sunglasses and rolled her shoulders back as she sank back against the plush chaise lounge. “I didn’t fuck anyone,” she started, raising her hand in protest when Jessica, immediately called bullshit. “But yeah, I might have met a guy on the plane.”

She licked the rim of the glass and took a long sip of her marg, relishing the sting of the tequila as it mingled with the salt on her tongue. Then she continued to describe her entire flight, with Jessica, Ameena, Annie, and Marie hanging onto every word.

“You have to do it Y/N! You have to go to him!” Delly exclaimed as soon as Y/N finished telling about the searing kiss Harry planted on her just outside the gate.

Jessica slurped her margarita noisily. “You’ve been handed a gift on a silver platter!”

Y/N glared at all her friends, “You guys really were serious about that stupid pact?”

The whole idea of their retreat had been born while they were lounging around the living room in their off-campus house on a Tuesday night, drinking and chatting. Marie had been out of sorts, having been dumped by her longtime boyfriend the week earlier, when Jessica had gotten the brilliant idea that they all go to Cancun. And then she raised the stakes by suggesting that, with the exception of Annie, who had gotten engaged over Christmas, she, Marie, Ameena, and Y/N should all have a fling while in Mexico. Marie had eagerly agreed and eventually, with persuasion Ameena and Y/N hadn’t dismissed the possibility. But Y/N hadn’t fully agreed to the idea if she was being honest.

She had never been one for casual sex. She wasn’t one of those girls who needed every sexual experience to be candlelight and soft music and rose petals, but she was fairly picky when it came to whom she went out with. She didn’t feel the need to waste her time; once she realized she wasn’t compatible with a guy, she didn’t need to go out with them again. And up until today, when she met Harry, she had never had such an instant attraction to a man to the point where she would ever consider a one-night stand. She’s only slept with two guys (and fooled around with a couple of others). She had sex a grand total of eleven times, which was less than Jessica’s entire tally of sexual partners.

“Of course we’re serious!” Jessica scoffed. “Marie has been working on the cabana boy since ten this morning.”

Y/N frowned. “I just don’t… I mean… isn’t that kind of using him?”

Annie brought her brows together. “Well… wouldn’t you be using each other? It’s not like he’s asking you to marry you, Y/N. He wants you. He wants to fuck you, and feel good for a few days, to forget about that see-you-next-Tuesday who broke his heart… it’s a fling he wants too!”

Y/N ran her finger along the rim and brought it to her mouth, sucking the salty tip thoughtfully. Annie had a point. A very good point. Harry wasn’t looking for something serious. She was as much a means to an end for him as he was for her. She needed to stop overanalyzing the way that Harry proposed their potential hookup. He was drunk. He said sweet things, that made her feel special, but the bottom line was his motives were just as self-serving as hers.

And that kiss… a man who could stir such desire in her from one - okay two - passionate kisses… God, she couldn’t imagine how the sex might be.

“But I just got here… you guys won’t be mad at me for going off…” Y/N pressed her lips together. She slurped what was left of her marg and glanced around at her friends. “I mean, he said he wanted me to spend the whole time I’m here with him… are you guys okay with that?”

“Go grab your suitcase and get the hell out of here!” Ameena cried.

“Are you sure-?”

“Go!” they all yelled in unison.

Y/N exhaled, said bye to her friends, and headed back up to the room to change. She considered leaving her bikini on for a moment, but she opted for the sexiest underwear she packed and threw a sundress over it. Spying Ameena’s cosmetics bag open on the bathroom counter, she grabbed a tube of Ameena’s expensive lops gloss, smeared it on her fingertip, and applied it to her lips.

See the full post

261 notes - Posted April 17, 2022

See the full post

611 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Sleepy girls

~unedited~

no warnings, just plain and simple fluff, and husbandrry and dadrry

Harry came home after spending the morning at the studio, he had a quick meeting with Jeff in regards to the album he is preparing to release in the next few months.

It was around lunchtime, when he walked into the house. He was expecting to hear his daughter babbling as Jiya preps lunch for the bab. But the house was silent. His daughter, Veera, had just learned how to walk, creating as much havoc as possible. She particularly enjoys making her mum and dad chase after her.

He drops his car keys in the key bowl by the garage door, and slid his shoes off. Calling out his wife's name, Harry went to search for the two girls.

As he turned the corner into the living room, he sees his wife laying on the yoga mat in the sunshine that is streaming from the sliding doors that lead to the backyard. Next to her was a smaller yoga mat laid out. Harry got it for Veera because she would often join him when he would meditate in the morning or join Jiya when she would do her stretches.

Jiya had started yoga when she was pregnant with Veera, to help with the back pain the additional weight caused. Her dark hair is in a messy braid and she is wearing some biker shorts and one of his old shirts. And on her back was his one-year-old daughter. Her chubby cheek was smooshed against her mumma's back. Veera's curly black hair was an unkempt mess. She probably wasn't in the mood to let her mum brush it out this morning. Her fist clenched the shirt and her legs were on the sides of Jiya's body, hugging her ribcage. Jiya's head rests against the back of her hands, and her ankles were crossed. Her black rose and fell deeply, telling Harry that they have been asleep on the floor for some time.

The sight made Harry pause. A wave of contentment washed over him as he observed his girls sleep in the natural warmth the sun provided. Turning on his heel, Harry treks to his office and pulls out his camera. Walking back to the living room, Harry takes the time to take a couple of pictures of his wife and baby.

Leaving them be, Harry moves to the kitchen to start lunch, he knows when his girls wake from their nap, they are going to be hungry.

It was around when he was halfway done with the meal he was preparing, that Harry felt a tiny body collide with his legs. Veera's chunky arms wrapped around his knee, her head tilted up to look at her dadda. "Hi princess. Sleep good?"

Her cheek rubbed against his trousers as she nodded her head. Harry dropped his hand to the top of her head and attempted to push her curls back and out of her face. With a grouchy look, she lifts her hand and rearranges her hair to her liking. With a light laugh, Harry bends down and picks her up. Resting her head on his shoulder, she quietly watches Harry finish making lunch. It's just a few minutes later he hears Jiya walk into the kitchen.

"Smells good, baby." Jiya whispers, as she comes up to him and presses up against his side. Pushing up on her toes, she presses a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Hmm... sleep well?"

"Backs a little sore with Princess here sleeping on it." she admits with a chuckle.

With a hum, Harry looks at his quiet daughter. She's a bit like Jiya when she first wakes up from sleep. Cuddly and quiet. Turning is attention back to his wife, with a suggestive tone, Harry promises, "Give you a nice massage later tonight, how's that?"

~~~~

okay so for a while I've wanted to write a desi character x harry fic, mainly for representation (bc I can't find many) and because I wanted to. anyways this idea randomly struck my mind. I had another concept that I've tried to write but it never worked out the way I wanted it to so maybe this is where i can start it

anyways, please let me know what you think. reblog and like :)

p.s. for those of you interested Veera means 'warrior princess' (which is why Harry calls her 'princess' for short and if I end up continuing this series, I'll touch more on that )

~~~

masterlist // more of harry and jiya

967 notes - Posted April 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

4 notes · View notes

ao3feed-ziall · 11 months ago

Text

five directions

five directions https://ift.tt/hq4wEnj by chlamydia_boy Louis notes three things; Number one, Zayn is a proper sweetheart, and he won't say it outloud but he's determined to really show Niall a good time, he'd probably do anything Niall wants right now. Number two, Harry is focused on making Niall feel good, working on Niall's neck and lips, ignoring the way Niall is rolling his hips on Harry's lap, which usually means Harry wants to sub. Perfect. He can work with this. Number three; well, come and find out :) Words: 4570, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: One Direction (Band) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M, Multi Characters: Niall Horan, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik, Niall Horan/Harry Styles, Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles Additional Tags: can you tell i dont care about Liam, Dom Louis Tomlinson/Sub Harry Styles, Dom Zayn Malik, Sub-ish Niall, im asexual but mostly im a slut, sue me, mentioned orgasm delay, Orgasm Delay, writing about five people is difficult sorry, Spanking, Sweet, like really sweet i promise, Kissing, Banter, The Boys Have Fun, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, they all love each other but also theyre best friends, playful tickling, spanking as punishment, Anal Sex, Bottom Niall Horan, Kinky via AO3 works tagged 'Niall Horan/Zayn Malik' https://ift.tt/dcNF031 January 04, 2024 at 06:02PM

#zayn malik #niall horan #Ziall #Horlik #One Direction #1D #IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic

1 note · View note

ao3feed-zarry · 2 years ago

Text

What He Needs

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/SVNmUlO

by ItIsWhatItIs9194

Cuddled up on the couch with Louis and Zayn, Harry was so thankful to have everything he wanted in his Dominants – two strict but incredibly loving Doms who made sure to give him exactly what he needed.

How older Dominants Louis and Zayn punish and care for their young submissive, Harry.

Words: 4038, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson/Zayn Malik, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: BDSM, D/s, Dom/sub, Dom/sub relationship, bdsm relationship, Dom Louis, Dom Zayn, Sub Harry, Punishment, Discipline, Spanking, Collars, Kneeling, Crying Harry, Shy Harry, Gags, Cockwarming, Aftercare, Older Louis, Older Zayn, Younger Harry, Top Louis, Top Zayn, Bottom Harry, Kissing, Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation, Safeword Use, Safewords, Established Relationship, Strict Louis, strict Zayn - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/SVNmUlO

#zarry #fanfic #one direction

1 note · View note

harryforvogue · 5 years ago

Text

A “This Relationship of Ours” extra in which Mia wants to try something new in the bedroom, but ends up saying her safeword yellow. happy reading :-) 6k.

Harry’s voice is a soft murmur in Mia’s ear, running a hand over her hair as she tucks her face into his neck. “Bet you hate me right about now, hm?”

“Could never hate you,” she mumbles into his shirt. Her fingers tighten around the material, and she forces herself closer. He shifts a bit back on the bed they sits on to let her climb on him properly. “‘S just that it hurt a lot.”

“That was the point, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. But still.”

“What’s your color?”

“It’s green.” She sniffles and runs a hand over her face. “Thank you. I’m okay.”

His hand rubs her back gently, laying his cheek on top of her head. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

Mia says she’s okay, but she’s still trembling and holding onto him tightly. She hardly ever sheds a tear when she’s over his knee, which makes him happy that she’s strong, but he'll always be ready to be there with tissues on the side table and soothing lotion. She’s not crying right now, but she certainly would like more than what Harry’s giving her. His soft hands holding her tight doesn’t seem to be enough, so after a chaste kiss to her forehead, he slowly pulls away, whispering, “Let’s get you in your pajamas, hm?”

She nods, but doesn’t make an effort to let him go. He presses more kisses to her head, dragging them down to her cheeks, where she loves being kissed the most. “Alright, alright,” she complains, a smile on her face as she pulls away from him, holding his face in her gentle palms. She places a kiss on his mouth and then slowly detaches herself from him. “Can you get them for me?”

He tucks her hair behind her ear. “You want my shirt or yours?”

“Think you know the answer to that.” She looks up at him adorably. “I want the one you’re wearing.”

They both look down at his long sleeved black shirt. “Fine,” Harry says, and Mia moves off his lap, eagerly waiting for his shirt to be extended to her. He removes it and hands it off to her. She takes her own shirt off and lets it drop to the floor, happily putting on her dominant’s shirt.

“Ah, ah. Pick up your shirt.”

Mia looks down at it and picks it up. She begins to walk to her suitcase to tuck the shirt into her suitcase, but Harry’s hands quickly latch onto her waist and she stumbles as he brings her back to him. “Can see my hand prints,” he says in awe, tracing his finger over her. “It hurt that bad?”

“Yes. But I liked it, sir. Gonna go admire the marks in the mirror.”

“‘S a punishment. Not supposed to like it.”

“I don’t not like anything you do to me.”

“That’s a relief.” He kisses her tailbone, right above her blue underwear as a silent apology. “Go brush your teeth.”

She checks over her shoulder. “Will you come?”

He sits back up, nodding. “Yes, go on.”

“Okay.”

He watches her leave, still surprised his actual handprint has translated onto her ass. He barely notices the limp she walks with because he’s so endeared by the way she lifts the neck of the shirt up and inhales his scent as if it’s her drug. She drops her shirt onto her suitcase and then wobbles over to the bathroom of their hotel room.

Harry stands up after a while, placing his hands in his grey sweatpants pockets. She’s already brushing her teeth when he walks in and he just stands behind her, watching her. She glances at him with a quirked eyebrow through the mirror, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yes?” she asks.

He only slithers his hands under her shirt and pulls her closer, enjoying the way her warm body feels against his. He kisses her temple and then continues to watch her brush her teeth. Goosebumps form on her skin, exactly where he’s touching her, but she doesn’t mind his eyes or hands on her. She spits out her paste when she’s finished, swirls some water in her mouth, spits once more, and then places her hands on his.

“Yes?” she asks again, leaning into his chest. He holds her weight against him, kissing her cheek over and over as if he can’t get enough. Most days, he’s not this clingy, but she’d taken her punishment so well, he’s just proud of her. His hand is clearly not the easiest thing to take, but here she is, accepting his kisses like she knows she deserves them, and that’s all it takes to make him happy. Happy to have her.

When he pulls away from her cheek, he presses his mouth to her ear instead and murmurs, “Spread your legs.”

Her eyes watch as his hand dips into her panties and with a shaky moan, she spreads her legs, still using him to keep her standing upright. “Good girl,” he praises, biting down on her earlobe. “You’re always so good for me.”

“Thank you sir,” she whimpers, resting her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. He kisses the apple of her cheek.

He parts her legs a bit more and then runs his middle finger over her clit gently, making sure not to startle her. She’s always wet after a spanking, no matter how rough, so it doesn’t surprise him when he finds his finger immediately drenched by her. He waits no time pushing a finger inside of her, causing her to squeak and grab onto his wrist. She accepts him nicely, his lengthy finger stretching her out as he begins to speak in a low voice in her ear, stringing her along. He’s learned that his words have a direct effect on how wet she becomes, especially when she’s in such a vulnerable position. “Does that feel good? Can you hear yourself?” He pushes his finger a little deeper with more force and she lets out a strangled moan when she hears herself. “That’s all you. I’ve only got one finger in and listen to the sounds you’re making.” The combination of her moans and the wetness between her legs is music to his ears. Nothing would disappoint him more than if she kept her sounds to herself. He needs to hear the gasps fall from her pretty lips like fuel.

He picks up his speed. She has to let go of his hand and instead hold his free one, holding it to her chest.

“Never fails to amuse me,” he says, “how quick you cum from my fingers.”

“Finger,” she whispers. “Just one.”

“Would you like another?”

He’s not going to add another. He just wants to hear her say “no” and be satisfied with knowing that if she doesn’t want something, she’ll tell him. He’s only just fucked her an hour ago and the spanking she’d received was from cumming too early without his permission. She’s way too sensitive and sore to be taking more than one finger inside her. “No,” she says quietly, struggling through a moan. “One is good. Thank you, sir.”

“Squeezing me so good.” With his thumb, he grazes over her clit and she groans, picking her head up. “What?” Harry asks innocently with a smirk. “Did that feel good?”

“Yes, sir,” she whines, her legs feeling like jelly. “You always feel good…”

“That’s because I know your body so well, hm? I know that this…” he swipes his thumb over her clit and keeps doing it, “is what will make you see stars when you cum.”

She opens her eyes and gasps as he continues rubbing her clit and fingering her, deep and fast. Rough. “Am I allowed to cum, sir?”

“That’s not how we ask.”

She jolts when he presses his finger inside of her, against the spot she loves. “Fuck. Sir, can I please cum? Fuck. Please? Can I?”

“Do you think you deserve it?”

They both know she deserves it. He just wants to hear her say it. “I do!” she whimpers, looping her arms behind him, digging her nails into his back because she feels as if she’s about to fall. “I-I took my punishment. I think I deserve to cum. Please, sir?”

“Didn’t ask me when I was fucking you. Now you want to be nice to me?”

“Sir please! I can’t...I can’t hold it!”

He kisses her cheek sweetly. “Go ahead.”

Relief floods her. “Oh, thank you. Thank you, fuck! Thank you s-so much, sir.” Her head falls onto his shoulder again and the burning sensation in her lower stomach begins to take over her entire body. Just a little bit more… “Fuck!” she cries as her orgasm hits her, pressing her nails harshly into his skin. “Thank you! Oh, shit! Sir!” He pulls his finger out of her and focuses on her clit, rubbing it harshly over and over to coax as much of those beautiful sounds as he can.

Once she’s finished, she all but collapses into his arms. He kisses her forehead and holds her close, her arms falling away from around his torso. He turns her around and presses his lips to her mouth over and over, kissing away her moans.

“Alright?” he whispers against her lips.

“Yes,” she breathes dizzily. “Thank you for that.”

“Why don’t you go lay down? I’ll be there in a moment.”

She nods, still hazy. “Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

He shuts the door behind her and opens up the faucet, reaching for the soap first to wash his hands.

Mia cuddles up beside Harry when he arrives, flying into his arms without a second thought. This is where she feels the most safe. Nobody can hurt her here. Not when Harry’s with her. His warm skin against her entire body acts as a furnace, keeping her toasty. She pushes her calves between his legs and snuggles closer, rubbing her feet against his.

She stays quiet for a moment, but then reaches for his hand and begins to play with his fingers. It’s always surprising to her how different his fingers look without their jewelry.

“Sir? Can I ask you a question?”

Harry hums back a note.

“Do you like inflicting pain?”

Her dominant shifts under her, checking her face apprehensively. “What? What do you mean?”

“I forgot the word but it came up when I was researching a long, long time ago about BDSM relationships. Are you the person who likes to inflict pain?”

“You’re asking me if I’m a sadist?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I am.” He brushes hair away from her forehead. “Why do you ask this?”

“Was just wondering. When I’m over your lap, I feel like I make sounds of discomfort and you know how to pick out the ones that show that it’s really hurting and you give me a break. It’s very interesting that you know the difference between my sounds.”

“Just doing my job right.” He rests his head down, closing his eyes.

She falls quiet and traces his tattoos. A minute she says, “You’ve never spanked me with anything except your hand.”

“You’re right. I have not.”

“Why?”

“Don’t want to hurt you. I’m not a sadist.”

“What if I asked you to?”

His eyes open. “What would you like to be spanked with?”

She answers so quickly, it’s astonishing. “Your belt.”

He chuckles incredulously. “Really? You’d want that?”

“Yes.” She kisses his mouth gently. “Would I have to misbehave to get the belt?”

“Of course not. You ask and you shall receive.” He stretches his legs. “Not right now though, yeah? I’m tired.”

“Tomorrow then.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Tomorrow. Goodnight sir.”

“Goodnight Amelia.”

Tomorrow morning arrives and Mia sits on the bed, watching Harry rummage through his suitcase. He pulls out a fresh shirt and jeans and then finally, the star of the hour: the belt. He lays it beside his clothes and then pulls out a fresh pair of briefs, laying them neatly on top.

“Wanna shower with me?”

“Dunno how you can shower without breakfast, sir.”

He smirks, grabbing his towel. “Go ahead and order food then.” He disappears into the bathroom.

When he comes back, she’s still sitting on the bed, scratching the nail polish off her nails. He asks what she ordered and she says, “Nothing yet.” Without missing another beat, she says, “Can you use the belt on me before you put it on?”

His brows shoot all the way up. “Amelia,” he says, swallowing down a laugh. “It’s 9 in the morning. It’s way too early to be getting whiny with me. I’m not giving you a sore ass right after the spanking you took last night.”

She pushes her bottom lip out. “I can take it, sir. You know I’m strong.”

“I do know that. But I don’t want to. Belts hurt.”

“Have you ever spanked a girl with a belt before?”

He purses his lips. “Once.”

“Verdict?”

“It hurts. Go get dressed. We’ll go out for breakfast. I really want crepes right now.”

She frowns and crosses her arms over her chest. “Sir.”

He kisses her forehead and pulls her off the bed. “Go. Before you put your jeans on, show me your ass. And grab the soothing cream.”

She huffs. “Could you sound any less sexy?”

“Hurry up. I’m hungry.”

How is she supposed to get it off her mind? He knows exactly what he’s doing! Toying with his belt like that, right in front of her face.

They’ve just come back from dinner at a fancy restaurant, so it was obviously difficult to drag her high heels up his legs under the table without anyone noticing. She’d been a good girl, even eating the side salad he ordered just to make him happy. He knew what she was plotting, and he was more than happy to ignore her just to frustrate her.

She lets her hair down and runs her fingers through it. Harry’s talking about ordering dessert since they didn’t find anything they liked at the restaurant. She turns around when she sits on the edge of the bed, bringing her foot to her lap. Her fingers immediately cease when she notices him undoing his belt. Her jaw is tight as she tries to focus on her buckle, but suddenly, her fingers are slippery, and she can’t get a good grip on the strap.

Harry walks to her and adjusts his pants as he bends down to his knees. He takes her foot and puts it on his knee, easily undoing the buckle.

“Thanks,” Mia mumbles, taking the heel from him. He takes her other foot onto his knee and expertly takes this shoe off too, once more handing it off to her.

Then, he stands up and up against her face, and orders, “Take my belt off.”

She grabs onto the buckle part and slowly removes the belt from her dominant’s belt loops, making sure not to break eye contact with him. He hasn’t asked her to look away yet.

“Trade you?” he says, eyes unmoving. His palm is open and he waits.

Her eyes narrow as she hands off her silver heels, placing his belt beside her on the bed. Right before he turns away, she notices the corner of his mouth twitch into a smirk, knocking the wind out of her because she realizes that while she spent all that time plotting, Harry was doing the same. He drops her heels by her suitcase and then returns back to her.

Her fingers are laced together impatiently. The smirk on Harry’s face is still there, but a bit more diluted. With a sigh, he sits beside her.

“You love teasing me, don’t you?”

She blinks innocently. “How have I teased you today?”

“Don’t think you looked into my eyes once. Always looking at my belt.” She gasps when he buries his fingers into her hair and pulls her head back with a harsh yank, “Not only are you teasing me, but you’re also testing my patience.”

“Your patience, sir?” she whimpers, mouthing a swear word.

“You’re not considering how much a leather belt hurts. And I’ve told you it hurts.”

She takes a shaky breath when Harry presses his lips against her cheek, sweetly kissing her skin. “I just want to try it.”

He releases her hair and cups her jaw, bringing her into him. With a soft growl, he kisses her harshly. It’s messy and slightly painful with the teeth, but he’s asserted his dominance. As if she’d take it from him.

“If you want the belt, you have to promise me something,” he breathes, smacking more kisses onto her mouth. She can’t reply so she just desperately nods. “When you need to stop, you will tell me. You will use your colors. You will use your words.”

She whimpers against him, unable to come up with a good reply, mind hazy and vision dizzy.

“Tell me,” Harry presses, pushing her away.

“I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you when I need to stop, I promise.”

“What will you tell me?”

How many times will we go over this? she wonders. “Yellow means slow down or give me a break. Red is my safeword.”

“Why do you sound annoyed?”

“‘We’ve been over this so many times.”

“I need you to know how important your colors are.”

“I know they’re important, sir.”

He lets go of her jaw. “Stand up.”

She hobbles up onto her feet and faces him with a smile on her face, hands laced in front of her. Harry places his hands on her hips and steadies her, lips pursed. “We’re going to start slow, so it’s best if you leave your jeans on.” He looks away, knowing that she’s going to push a pout onto her face and try to plead with them not to do that because she’s strong, and if he looks away, she’ll feel less inclined to argue with him because that means it’s the end of the discussion. He takes the belt sitting beside him and loops it once. He holds it up. “You won’t be hit with this part,” he points at the buckle, “or this part,” his finger runs along the edge of the belt. “Just the flat part.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “Your comfort is very important to me, Amelia, so when you want to tap out, let me know. I’m not going to negotiate with you on this. It’s great that we’re trying new things, and I’m all for it, but as soon as you hear those alarms in your head, you let me know.”

“How many will you do?” she asks, eyes on the belt.

“We can start with ten.”

“I can take more than ten.”

“One more thing.” Harry ignores her stubbornness because he knows she’s making herself very underwhelmed. “The easiest way for me to do this is if you don’t make any sudden movements. If I’m bringing down the belt… hey, listen to me. Amelia.” He pulls her chin up so she stops staring at the belt and looks into his eyes instead. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, sir,” she insists, taking a step forward.

“If I’m bringing the belt down, I don’t want you turning around quickly before you can feel it. If you’re going to turn around, you have to let me know. I’m serious about that. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mia nods. “Okay got it. No sudden movements. Talk to you. I know my colors and when I hit my limit, I let you know.”

“Good,” he replies, pleased and somewhat surprised she’d actually listened to him. “Grab those two pillow for me.” Harry stands up and moves out of the way for her to shuffle forward and retrieve the pillows from the bed. “Stack them on top of each other.”

There are only two so it’s easy to stack them. “Lay over them.”

“Wait. First, I wanna--” she holds her hands out and places them on his jaw, forcing herself up onto her tiptoes to kiss him quickly. It’s a soft, gentle kiss that conveys that Mia trusts Harry, and she smiles when she pulls back, keeping her lips lingering on his. “Thank you.”

“Mm,” Harry hums against her mouth, kissing her again. “We’ll see if you’re thanking me after this. Go lay down.”

She does, falling onto the pillow dramatically because she’s Mia. She fixes her position though, and Harry helps her out by shoving the pillows so they’re angled under her hips. Her face is against the mattress, and her ankles crossed, feet flat against the floor.

“I’m ready,” she tells him excitedly, wiggling her butt. Harry undoes his cuffs and folds his sleeves up to his elbows. He bends the belt more so it creases properly.

She hears Harry’s chuckle before the silence and then the first strike hits her.

The sound makes her wince and she holds onto the pillow beneath her dearly, but the pain doesn’t come until after he’s hit her. It makes her jolt and she rises to her tiptoes quickly, letting out a soft gasp.

“Talk to me,” he orders, voice hard.

“That was good, sir,” she manages to say, now realizing the pain. It burns. She opens her eyes and relaxes. “I liked it.”

Harry doesn’t say anything from then on, but the hand around his belt tightens until there’s a mark in the middle of his palm. He’s definitely being generous with how hard he’s hitting her, aware of her whines and sighs, picking out which ones are of pain. He barely turns his body when he brings the belt across her ass, not using any rough movements. He’s being as gentle as he can be in a situation like this.

The low moans she lets out cause his pants to tighten considerably until the throbbing is hard to ignore. The third strike hits her hard and her ankles flex, her noises increasing in volume. From where her head is turned, he can see a vein in her neck, straining. He mutters a swear word and drags a palm down to his dick, giving himself a cautious squeeze. Maybe there’s a sadist in him after all…

Her hair rests beautifully across her back, and the sight in front of him is picturesque, but now’s not the right time to bring his phone out and snap a picture.

After the fourth strike, he swings the belt back to his side and steps forward, leaning in. A hand is pressed to her back and he begins to softly rub. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Mia rasps, picking her head up. Her cheeks are pink, eyes full of excitement. “Can I take my pants off?”

“Sure.”

Harry places his belt on the floor and then sinks to his knees, pulling her jeans down the swell of her ass and then down her thighs. She steps out of them easily, and he fixes them, folds them, and then throws them to her suitcase.

He sucks in his lips. “Nice knickers.”

They’ve got blue and purple hearts on them. “Thanks,” she giggles. “Thought it would lighten up the mood a bit.”

“So you knew you’d be in this position.”

Harry stands back up, this time wrapping the belt in his hand. “Of course I did. Whatever I want, I get.” The next strike of his belt comes down harder, and perhaps it’s because she feels it more against her bare skin, she lets out a low groan, her head falling. “Shit.”

He swings his arm again, twice in succession, harder than before. She whines and jolts, her creamy skin turning a light pink. Her toes are curled, calves straining. With a less harsh hit, he brings it down on her upper thigh, and she gasps, knuckles tight as she holds onto the pillow tightly. Receiving no sound of discomfort, he repeats this twice. Each time she whimpers and her legs tremble, but she doesn’t tell him to stop.

After one more strike, her ass is turning red, far more colorful than it was yesterday with his hand. It looks beautiful anyway, and he all but stops himself from reaching out and running a hand over to feel the heat radiating off of her. He can detect her harsh breathing and the way her legs are beginning to burn from the position because her knees have unlocked and now rests against the side of the mattress. It’s truly a breathtaking image that he wants to remember forever. “Amelia, stand properly.” He steps forward and latches his hands to her hips, dragging them up a bit so her feet rest flat against the floor, knees locked again. In this position, she’s distributing her weight properly, but before, she was dragging her body down.

With the brief touch to her skin, he confirms his previous thoughts. She’s as hot as a furnace.

Harry stands back in his original spot and audibly swings the belt in the air, the crack! resonating throughout the room.

He intends to do only two more. That will make it an even ten and no matter how annoying she gets, he will not be doing more. He makes sure that the belt is facing the right way, practicing his motion before finally cracking his belt down on her again. He ends up hitting right where her butt and her thigh meet, and immediately he realizes that this one has hurt a lot because she tenses and sharply inhales.

Something’s wrong.

Her face pinches and her fingers relax against the comforter, shaky and clearly stressed. Harry keeps his hand tight around his belt, but when he hears her sniffle, he falters, loosening his grip. She shakes her head quickly, shuffling closer to the bed so her knees touch the side of the mattress again. “Yellow,” she whispers, turning her head to the side so he can hear her. “Yellow. It’s...it’s yellow, sir.”

Harry drops the belt immediately upon hearing her and quickly steps forward, wrapping his arms around her stomach. A knot forms in his throat as he forcefully pushes her body closer to his. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

“It’s yellow,” she tearfully insists, taking deep breaths. “Sir?”

“I hear you--”

“I don’t want more. It’s yellow!” she repeats a little louder this time, hiding her face in her hands. “You’re right. It hurts. Don’t like it.”

Her choppy sentences make his heart swell with sadness, turning her around with his firm hands. Her dark hair is falling over her eyes and cheeks, and her hands hold the strands against her face. If she’s crying (and he really can’t tell), her face is getting hot and sweaty and it must feel awful. He gently pushes her hair away from her face from under her hands. “I hear you,” he answers in again a soothing murmur. “I’m gonna hug you, okay? Can I do that?”

She sniffles and nods, not removing her hands from her face.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Harry says in a mellow voice. He holds his hand out and grabs onto her arm, tugging her. He’d be the one moving, but he wants her to gain some movement in her legs. “Come here.” His voice is so soft and caring, if Mia were in her right headspace, she’d be ridiculing him for it. Right now, it’s the only thing she can hear beside her thundering heart. Her legs are shaky and he needs to grab his wrist as she walks toward him, crashing into him.

Her head falls against his chest heavily, and his free hand buries itself in her hair, lightly scratching at her scalp to calm her down. To his great sadness, her shoulders begin to tremble and his eyes widen, tightening his arms around her. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m so happy you told me your color. You did so good, love.”

“Didn’t,” she says, somewhat incredulous, clutching the collar of his shirt. “You were right! You’re always right, sir, I’m never right.”

“That’s not true at all!” Harry softly exclaims, the firm severity in his voice. “This was just an experiment, and you did good, alright? Let’s sit down, yeah? I want to see your face. Can you move your legs?”

The small nod he receives is enough for him. Harry leads them over to the bed, pushing the pillows away so there’s more room and messily pushes the comforter away too. Right now, she’s as flexible as she gets, letting him pull her into his lap, holding her in a way that she’s entirely on top of him, making sure she feels him on every part of her body. To his slight relief, she doesn’t whine when he fits her on his thighs.

“Can I see your face?” he repeats.

She pulls her hands away shakily and looks at him, placing her wet hands on his tummy. His eyes soften, brows pulled together, the pain clearly etched onto his face. He’s thought about what kind of aftercare he could provide her in the odd chance that she does say her safeword, but everything melts away. He can’t hold her tightly to him and force her to drink water, or make her eat those fruit gummy snacks and then wrap her up in a towel to carry her over to the shower. He can’t firmly tell her that it’s okay and if she wants to be angry with him, then she absolutely can. All of that is something he wants to do, and what he wishes he could do. He’s fantasized about it so much, but now, looking at her grey watery eyes and her red nose and hearing her sniffle over and over, he thinks he’s the one who needs to apologize, gut filled with anger at himself for letting it get this far, and heart heavy when she begins to shiver.

Tentatively, he places his hands on her back and pushes her closer, leaning in as well. “Mia, are you okay?” He’s running his hand over the small area slowly. “Can you talk?” To me?

Mia looks away, instead choosing to focus on the hem of his shirt. She lifts it and tangles her fingers in it. It takes him a second to realize that she’s wiping her hands, getting rid of the moisture from her sweat and tears. “You were right. I can’t take pain well.” Her voice is hoarse and scratchy.

“Isn’t it good that we have the safeword?”

“Yes.” Mia peeks up at him. “But I didn’t want to use it.”

His shoulders sag, and he can’t help himself from leaning in and kissing her forehead once more. “You shouldn’t be afraid to use your safeword. I ask you to tell me the colors every time because I want to know that you have options when it comes to tapping out. I don’t make you repeat them to me because I want to annoy you. They’re important, and I’d even go so far to say that they’re the most important part of this relationship. Without them…” he sighs, taking her hands from his shirt and holding them to his chest, “I wouldn’t feel comfortable laying a finger on you. So please. Use your safeword when you need to.”

She nods, biting down on her quivering lip. “I’ve just...sir, I’ve never felt a need to use it.”

“Except today.”

“I said yellow.”

“I know you meant red.” She shakes her head, opening her mouth to protest, and he stops her from speaking. “Before you argue with me, tell me what yellow means.”

“It means that I need a break or to slow down.”

He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear lovingly. “Right. Now do you want to get back into position for me to use my belt again? Right now, if I tell you to fix the pillows and lay back over them. Will you?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you want me to go slower and leave time in between hits?”

Her eyes water up again, face pinching when she realizes her mistake. “No, sir,” she whimpers sadly.

His jaw clenches with agony, trying his best not to engulf her in a hug. “So what did you want from me?”

“I wanted you to stop.” It’s bitter, but she admits it, quickly wiping away a tear before Harry’s hand could reach it first. “I’m sorry, sir. I should have said my safeword…” She lunges and crushes him in a tight hug, head falling onto his chest again, body rumbling with cries. “I’m sorry, sir!”

Harry sits up a bit to get more accustomed to her bruising embrace, protective tucking her into him while his arms coil around her. He rubs her back delicately, making sure she can feel with every movement that he’s right there, and he’s not going anywhere. Hard kisses are pressed to the side of her head over and over until her hair is in his mouth, but it doesn’t bother him at all. If it’s another way that they could be entangled, then he’s going to accept it.

“I wouldn’t ever get upset with you for saying your safeword. Wouldn’t be sad, angry, or frustrated with you. You know that, right?”

Her head moves in a direction he can only assume shows she’s nodding. “It’s not you. I just wanted to push myself a bit more.” With a trembling breath, she relaxes into his broad chest. “I just thought I could take more. Everything was so green, until it wasn’t. It was like….like a switch. One second I was good, and then the next I wanted it to be over.”

“Was that when you said yellow?” He holds his breath for the answer.

“Yes. But I think I should have asked you to slow down a bit. Or maybe not hit so hard. So it’s my fault.”

“I’ve been your dominant for so long now, I believe it’s my fault for not realizing you didn’t like it.”

“There’s no way you would have known!” And there’s no way she will let him take the blame.

He pushes her hair to her back and kisses her shoulder. It’s a wispy kiss, barely there. “We’ve both learned something from this.”

Mia doesn’t say anything, but she has stopped crying. While she remains quiet, Harry watches the gears in her head turn. She’s not falling asleep anytime soon, and she’s still upset by the events that have unfolded as she was clearly excited about trying something new, something she’d been thinking about for the longest time. Had it been days or weeks? When she got stuck on something, she became unmovable.

“Sir?” she finally speaks.

“Yes?” Her eyes flutter shut when he kisses her hair.

“Were you scared?”

A smile plays on his mouth when he nods, glancing down at her. “Fuckin’ terrified. Never felt so panicked.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I will use my safeword next time if I need to.”

“Thank you, baby. That makes me happy.”

Harry knows she’s okay when she can’t stay still for even a minute. She picks her head up and kisses his cheek softly, just once to let him know that she’s doing better. He thumbs through her lashes to catch any spare moisture. Before he can speak, she reaches over to the side table to grab his phone and then presents it to him.

With a smile, she asks, “Take a picture and show me how red my butt is?”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry and mia #harry and mia extras #harry styles angst #safeword #harry styles safeword #dom h #dom harry styles

681 notes · View notes