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gurugirl · 1 year ago

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Daddy's Pretty Girl | dom!daddy!h

Summary: Harry just wants to make his princess happy OR The story of you and Harry, how you met, and all the rest.

A/n: Requested! This was previously posted on Patreon!

Word Count: 4,385

Warning: Smut, cock warming, exhibition kink (public), daddy kink, DDlg (consented and role play understood), dom/sub dynamic

🌸 🌸 🌸

“Princess? What are you doing?” Harry spoke calmly as he placed his hands on your hips while you balanced yourself on the counter to reach the tallest cupboard.

“I can’t reach this high so I had to climb up here to get something.”

“And why didn’t you ask me for help? Hmm?” He gripped you in his hands and pulled you down to the floor safely.

You’d been caught red-handed. Well, sort of. You hadn’t quite found what you were looking for before Harry noticed you climbing on the counter. It was the package of butter shortbread cookies with the strawberry jam and cream in the center that you were trying to find. Harry hid them from you because every time he brought home your little treats you’d ruin your appetite for dinner and so it was just easier for him to put them somewhere you couldn’t find them.

Pouting you kicked your bare foot against your shin, “Just didn’t want to bother you.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his bottom into the counter as he smirked at you, “Oh is that so? And what were you looking for then?”

You shrugged and looked up at him with your sweetest softest eyes as you bit your lip. He knew what you were looking for. He didn’t even need to ask.

Harry sighed and walked past you to the pantry and reached to the tall shelf pulling down your treats. You smiled widely and clasped your hands together, waiting patiently for him to dole out a few of them to you.

“You don’t have to sneak around, Princess. If you want a little treat I’ll give you a little treat. Just ask. But tell Daddy why he hides these from you. Want to make sure you remember.”

Nodding you responded, “Cause I’ll eat the whole box. Then I won’t eat my dinner. And my tummy always hurts after.”

“That’s right. Because you’re like a little puppy with no off switch when it comes to your treats. You’d inhale the whole package if given the chance.”

“But I just wanted one this time. Promise.”

“You never just want one, Y/n,” he took your chin in his hand, “How many do you want?”

“Can I have three?”

Harry smiled and let go of your chin as he reached into the package and pulled out four of your cookies, handing them to you. He always gave you an extra.

“Thank you, Daddy!” You bit into the first one, the buttery crust of the cookie crumbling into the tart strawberry jam with the cream coating your tongue. “Mmmm…”

“You’re welcome, Princess,” he leaned down to kiss your forehead, “Don’t climb up on the counters like that anymore. Okay? Can’t have you getting hurt over a $5 box of biscuits.”

You sighed and nodded as you chewed your next bite and then followed Harry up to his office where he was finishing work. When he sat down in his chair you sat in his lap and popped the next cookie into your mouth. Harry was used to you interrupting his work and sitting in his lap. He didn’t mind it. In fact, he preferred having you in his lap as often as possible.

“Don’t forget we’re going out tonight. I want you to wear that yellow dress I laid out for you on the bed. Okay?”

You crunched your bite and nodded as you leaned back into Harry’s chest and watched his computer screen as he did whatever it was. You didn’t really even know exactly what he did for work. Something about trading money and buying and selling things or funds or… he tried explaining it to you a few times but it went over your head. All you knew was that he got to work from home and he made a lot of money.

Life was good with Harry. You never imagined you’d have it so good. You didn’t have it easy when you were growing up. When you graduated high school you worked full-time so you could pay rent and buy food. You moved away from your dad the moment you had the chance. He was abusive and mean and he scared you.

So you didn’t go to college because your priority was to get away from your dad which meant you’d need to pay rent for a place to live. But you struggled for a long time. You only made minimum wage and you had no friends or any other family to ask for help. Your dad saw to it that any friends you made didn’t stick around.

And back then, even as hard as it had been working menial jobs and living in a rundown apartment barely scraping by, you were free from your dad. Sure things were expensive and you couldn’t always buy groceries, but you could sleep at night knowing you were safe.

But everything changed for you when you got a job as a waitress at a swanky little downtown joint. High rollers wearing expensive watches and Italian shoes would come in with large wads of cash. And the best part was that the tips they left were very very generous.

In a way, it was your lucky break. You started making a living wage when tips were included in your check and you bought yourself a used car with cash. You were able to afford health insurance, a few nice outfits, and could finally have a refrigerator full of food.

It felt like you were living in the lap of luxury. You weren’t, but you’d never felt such freedom in your life. Waitressing was a good gig for you. You were bubbly and nice and often remembered the names of your usuals. They loved it when you remembered their names.

One night, it was an extra busy shift and you’d been struggling to keep up a bit since two people had called in and you were running around every which way trying to make sure all your tables were well taken care of.

A group of four men were seated in your section and you greeted them but one of them could tell you were flustered. Taking their drink orders you scribbled on your notepad what they wanted when one of the men reached out to pull at your apron, “Take a breath, Y/n.”

You squinted your eyes at him when he said your name. You had a nametag of course, so it wasn’t like some crazy thing that he’d know your name, but your guests didn’t normally say your name to you unless they were regulars. And this man was not a regular.

“I’m serious. Take a deep breath, with me,” he kept his dazzling green eyes pinned to yours as he inhaled and you followed his lead, inhaling and then he exhaled, his breath falling from his pink lips. “See? That wasn’t bad, was it? Now, remember to keep breathing. Inhale, exhale.”

You smiled at the handsome man, “Thank you.”

“My name’s Harry.”

You giggled pointed at your name tag, “Y/n. As you know.”

“Beautiful name.”

Somehow Harry had made your busy and hectic night one of the best nights you’d ever had at the restaurant. He was so thoughtful and gentle with you. And he was handsome as hell. Tall and well built, nice hair, big hands…

So when he showed up a week later you were out of your mind giddy because he was in your section. And his genuine warmth had you flushing hot and made you all exasperated and blubbering your words.

Only that second night, instead of just paying the tab and leaving with a wave goodbye he walked up to you and handed you his card as he softly dragged his fingers over your wrist, “When’s your next day off?”

“Tomorrow,” you inhaled as you looked up at him.

“Call me tomorrow.”

So you did, obviously. And really the rest is history. Harry swept you off your feet and took such good care of you that now here you were two years later and still just as smitten with him as the day you met him.

. . .

You loved getting dressed up and going out with Harry, your big strong man who treated you like a princess. You were spoiled and doted on by him and when he took you out he was always so protective of you. Keeping your hand in his or his arm over your shoulder to hold you close.

He normally helped you pick your outfits too. You usually went with whatever he chose to make him happy. He liked having access to your skin so he could squeeze you and touch you which meant he liked you in short dresses and skirts the most. And anything that kept your shoulders bare so he could kiss them.

And depending on what kind of outing it was, he’d let you know if you were allowed to wear your panties or not. That was one decision you were not allowed to make.

Harry pulled out a pair of cotton panties with little hearts all over. Something that covered your bum in case the flimsy material of your short dress rose up.

“Gotta keep your tush covered tonight, Princess,” he said as he pointed at the bed, gesturing for you to sit down so he could help you put your panties on.

“Okay, Daddy,” you bit your lip as Harry knelt down on the floor in front of you and lifted up one of your bare feet, sliding the opening upward and then repeating on your other leg.

He liked to make a show of how he did it. Slow and teasing. He brought the fabric up to just below your knees and ran his hands up your thighs as he kept his eyes on yours, “Doesn’t mean Daddy won’t want to play with you, though. Pussy’s so good for me s’hard to resist. Maybe we’ll have you in my lap again. Let you sit on my cock right in front of all your friends. And you’ll be a good girl just like last time and keep quiet and not shift all around. How’s that sound? Wanna warm Daddy’s cock tonight when the time is right?”

You nodded and grinned, “Oh my god… I loved it when we did that so much. Love that no one knew except you, Daddy.”

By the time Harry had helped you into your panties, you were already slick from the dirty things he was saying to you and the way he was running his thumbs so close to your pussylips but just missing where you wanted to be touched.

You were meeting friends out for trivia night at the little pub that served the best pizza in town. Harry had his hand wrapped around yours as you both greeted everyone and sat at the booth with them all.

You weren’t sure how it would be possible to cock warm Harry given how many people were smushed into the booth with you both but when he pulled you into his lap, grunting, “S’not enough room, get up in m’lap,” you understood he wasn’t going to let you worry about all that. Harry was in charge. He would figure out how it would work. All you had to do was sit there, perched on his lap looking pretty.

He didn’t make a move to undo his pants or adjust you at all, first just feeling everyone out as you sat with your plush bottom over his thighs and ordered your vodka lemonade.

When the cards were all passed out and the trivia questions began to pop up on the screen everyone had their teams ready. All your friends knew better than to ask which team you wanted to be on because they already knew your answer would be that you were on whatever team Harry was on.

Maybe it was a little pathetic but you honestly didn’t care. He was the love of your life and your best friend. He loved you so much and treated you like you were the best thing that’d ever happened to him and so of course you were going to choose to be with Harry. Even if it was just for a trivia game at a bar.

His big palm splayed across your bare thigh as he whispered into your ear, “I love you.” You wiggled into him and turned to whisper back, “Love you, Daddy.”

It was sickening to everyone around you but also kind of cute in a way. You two were that couple. PDA was part of the package deal if they wanted to hang out with you. The first six months everyone kind of laughed it off. They said you two would chill out once the honeymoon phase was over. But here you were nearly 2 years later and if anything you two were even more touchy-feely.

Trivia nights were once a month. Harry liked to make sure you were spending time with other people and not just him. He wanted you to have friends and get out as much as you could.

When the game started and the pizza was plated you felt Harry’s arm slide around the front of your waist as you wrote down the answer that was discussed between your team. You were always the one in charge of writing down the answers.

“Take it easy on that vodka lemonade, Princess. Need you to have your wits about you when we get home. Okay?”

You nodded and turned to whisper in his ear, cupping around the back of it so no one could read your lips, “When are you gonna stuff me with your big cock, Daddy? Want you inside of me.”

Harry grunted and pinched your thigh shushing at you before he gulped down the last of his water. Harry didn’t drink when you two went out if he was driving. He let you drink but he didn’t like to have any alcohol in his system if he was going to be behind the wheel.

When the game was nearly coming to an end and your team was winning the final round the final category was music, as usual. 30 seconds of a song you had to guess was played for 10 songs. You could double your points if you knew both the name of the artist and the name of the song.

This was the part of the night when the people were boozed up and laughing.

Mel, who was sitting to Harry’s left tapped his arm, “Gotta go take a leak, mind if I scooch out?”

You and Harry had to move to let Mel out but when you both got back into the booth you scooted further in and realized Harry’s cock was solid under your bum. You leaned forward, putting your elbows onto the table, and felt Harry spread your skirt over his lap before he lifted his hips and the next song to guess came over the speakers.

You were distracted by Harry’s movements so you weren’t taking note of the song at all until Gessie poked your wrist with her finger, “So I think that was Bruce Springsteen. But what’s the song?” She snapped her fingers and looked at the other person who was on your team. As the pair were discussing which song it could be you felt the warm, stiff flesh of Harry’s dick under your thigh and you lifted just a bit to blurt out the name of a song you thought of off the top of your head, “Glory Days?”

Your panties were pulled to the side before you felt Harry’s fingers slip through your puffy, wet folds and then he pulled at your hips to draw you back toward him, only this time instead of sitting on his lap, you slowly, slowly slid over his cock. Your skirt was covering him and everything happening underneath.

You sighed when you had him stuffed inside of you and he panted softly into your ear, “Don’t wiggle around too much. Just sit still like a good girl.”

See, wiggling too much might have Harry coming. It’d happened before. The first time you cock warmed him in public (yes, there were multiple occurrences) you were so turned on and flustered that you kept swaying back and forth and squeezing around him. And he tried holding you in place but the whole experience of doing something like that in public was new for both of you. You were both excited and it didn’t help that you were pulsing around him and softly moaning.

When he came he had to act like you’d elbowed him in the gut when someone asked if he was okay. His pained expression and groan were easily played off as something rather innocent.

But Harry preferred coming inside of you only when it was an appropriate time. Usually in private but sometimes in the sex club you both frequented. You did have an exhibitionism kink so fucking at the sex club while others watched was welcome. But not at a local bar during trivia night.

When Mel returned you and Harry didn’t need to move as he sat at the end. You struggled to write down the last few answers as you began to pant softly and felt the liquid from your pussy dribble down.

“I’m gonna get your pants all messy, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

Harry rocked his hips up and you gasped as he adjusted your seating and pulled you closer, “It’s fine baby. You’re doing so good for me.”

And as much as you loved the thrill of secretly cock warming Harry like you were, there was always the issue of parting. If anyone was sat too close they’d see Harry’s cock in all its glory once you removed yourself from him. So you had to be careful about how it was done. Normally you’d order one last drink just as everyone else was paying their bill and getting ready to leave, that way when you two were the last to leave no one really wondered why since you still had a full drink to get through.

And that’s what you did this time as well. Mel hung around for a bit and you just hoped he couldn’t tell you were practically trembling from the way Harry’s cock was splitting you in half right in front of the guy as he yammered on about his job with Harry.

Your skin was hot and you were nearly drooling into your vodka lemonade at the way it felt.

You could tell Harry was at his wits end as well. You’d feel him throb every now and then. The small grunts he’d let out were also a good signal that he was struggling just as much as you were.

The moment Mel slid out of the booth and waved goodbye Harry’s hand was up, motioning to the waiter to ask for the bill for you two. He held your hips and rocked upward a couple of times before he began to pull out of you, “Nice and easy. Oop, stop right there,” he tightened a hand on your hip to keep you steady as he slid his pants up and kept your skirt covering the action.

You were a wobbly, sighing mess of a girl as he got you into his car and took you home.

“Daddy’s gonna take care of you baby. Gonna take away that achiness inside, yeah?” He spoke to you as you were pulled into the house before he lifted you up and carried you to the bed.

You were in a hurry. You needed him right then as you whined and began to pull at your panties but Harry swatted at your thigh, “Let Daddy do it. You just lie there and look pretty for me. My little Princess doesn’t need to lift a finger.”

That was the norm. He preferred you to lay comfortably all spread out underneath him while he did all the work.

He loved the sight of you. Your skin was hot and your limbs were already shaking with need by the time he finally began to lick your pussy. Soft strokes with his tongue only got you even more worked up and had you whimpering and fussing about, “P… please! Daddy!!”

Harry grinned into your pussy, pushing his briefs down his muscled thighs, lips wrapped around your clit as you bucked up into him and pulled at his hair. You were a mess. You needed one thing and one thing only.

“Daddy I need your cock, now!! I’m gonna die if I don’t get it! Oh my god, you’re so mean!”

You felt puffs of air against your wet slit as he laughed and looked up at you, “You’re going to die are you? Wow. That sounds like it’s bad, baby. Tell Daddy what he did that was mean,” he leaned over you, his strong arm reaching over your body to knead at your tits.

You pouted and lifted your head to look at him. You hadn’t even realized he’d already removed his briefs so he was fully naked, cock thick and hard between his thighs, “You… you’re not giving me your dick. And I need it.”

Another breathy laugh fell from his lips, “But I was licking your pussy. Making sure you were ready for me, Princess. Can’t just fuck my pretty girl without her little pussy hole being ready first now can I?”

You sniffled and kept the sad pout on your face so he knew you meant business.

Harry moved his hand up to your chin and squeezed your cheeks, “Don’t pout. Daddy always gives his pretty girl exactly what she wants. Doesn’t he?”

You nodded with a whine.

“That’s right. So don’t be a dramatic bellyaching brat with me. I’m just loving on you, Princess. Trying to take care of you the best I can. You’re hard to please sometimes.”

“Am not!” You countered, your words smushed together as you said them.

Harry let go of your cheeks and you felt him knee up between your legs, his thick masculine thighs pushed against the insides of your thighs as he smoothed his thumb over your mound and down to your clit, “You are. But that’s okay. Because you’re my little princess, aren’t you? She needs her Daddy to take good care of her.”

You began to take shallow breaths into your lungs as you watched him wrap his big hand around his cock and look into your eyes as he reared back, “And Daddy always gives his pretty girl what she wants. Do you know why, baby?”

You sighed as you felt the tip of him press against your empty hole. You wanted it so bad you could taste it, “Because I’m a good girl. Cause you love me, Daddy.”

“Fucking right, Princess. Daddy loves you,” he pressed into you, the girth of him opening your channel in one satisfyingly agonizing plunge. He didn’t snap his hips, but he drove into you until he was finally surrounded, encased fully in your pussy. And as he pulled you close to his chest he continued rocking into you with slow, languid strokes. Full length. He’d pull out to his tip and fuck back into you without pause until he met your cervix and he’d do it again. Nothing hard or fast. Just strong, deep, and teasingly slow.

His breath was on your face as he looked down into your eyes, “God… how’d I get so lucky, huh? Someone who needs me just as much as I need her.” He rolled into you slowly, the sopping mess between your legs just proving his point.

He fucked you dumb most nights. But some nights he was tender and warm. Sometimes he liked to take it slow and gaze into your eyes as he slid himself in and out of you, calling you his princess, his pretty girl, baby…

“Mm… me too!” You breathed out, “So lucky, Daddy. I love you…”

He dropped his lips to your neck as he continued fucking into you at the same pace he had been. Dripping wet, sticky, deep thrusts as you both panted.

You began to buck your hips upward to meet each of his thrusts. You couldn’t help the motion your hips were making as you moaned when Harry took your breast into his mouth.

He sucked on your nipple and felt your cunt squeezing him tight. You were so close already, like he knew you would be. You’d gotten all worked up cock warming him earlier and now you were gagging for it.

“You’re like a little slip-and-slide, pretty girl. Pussy all slippery and soaking wet just for my cock.”

“Uhnnnghh…” you groaned as you felt your insides begin to tingle and sparkle.

“You can come, Princess. Come on Daddy’s cock. I know you want to,” he panted, his own orgasm about to burst, “Easy there…”

You began to shake, your tummy tensed and your pussy clamped down as you sputtered out your words, “Coming! C… ffffuuu… Daaaaady!”

The beautiful spiral of your orgasm wiped you out as Harry continued fucking into you, his cock spreading your walls apart as you spasmed over him, “Pretty girl… so fucking good for Daddy…”

But he could only last so long himself until he was pinning you to the bed with his hips, cock buried deep as he dumped his fertile come into your pulsing hole, “Fuck! Fuck… oh shit…” his face twisted up in bliss.

It had been a bit of a quickie. But who could blame you? After suffering through what you had to during trivia, you both needed relief.

You ran your fingers into his hair and he nuzzled into your neck with a sigh. You both needed a minute to gather your bearings.

When you felt Harry shifting and pulling back so he could look down at you he slid a hand around to your bottom, “Let’s go get your cookies, baby,” he squeezed at your bum as you sat up.

“How many can I have?” You bounced on your bottom before you began to scoot to the end of the bed to hop off.

“As many you want, Princess.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! 2nd part is a Patreon exclusive and is already on Patreon now! Consider joining if you'd like to see more!

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1800titz · 9 months ago

Text

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ᴘᴇᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ (ꜱᴏꜰᴛ)

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

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

★₁₈₊

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

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

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

WC: 1.7K

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

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

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

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

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

It’s good. It’s really, really good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Really, it’s all his fault.

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

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

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

(Here’s your treat.)

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

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

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

“Fuck,” Harry drawls. Guttural, heated—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kinktober masterlist here. | general masterlist here. | patreon here.

TAGLIST: @aprlmuse @babegoals @cinnamonone @lolalovespeaches @flubblubbb

@ivegotthecinema @bxtchboy69 @iloveharrystyles04 @littlenatilda @witch-rry

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@madstyles3204 @fruity-harry

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diordildo · 2 years ago

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#dom king #ashton summers #i want him to raw my h o l e

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florencebirdsong · 9 months ago

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you can run but you can’t hide

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

summary: you sleep with one witch without killing her and suddenly your girlfriend has the time to hunt you down. Go figure.

Or, Agatha wants Rio’s attention and now she has it. Quick and dirty style.

tags: top!Rio, brief power!bottom Agatha, they are switches after all, fingering (both receiving), knife play, no blood description, biting, thorny vine restraints, possessive Rio, little shit Agatha

Words: 1,576

masterlist | ao3

authors note: this is early-ish in their relationship. Before Nicky but when Agatha is already well into her serial killer phase.

“Oh, Agatha~” Rio sings.

Her voice comes from all directions. Running from the original green witch in a centuries old forest isn’t the best idea but Agatha is quite literally out of options.

A branch rustles but there’s a suspicious shadow in its opposite direction. Agatha aims slightly for the left of the branch and finds herself sliding into a ditch. Her muffling spell deadens the sound of snapping twigs and sliding leaves. She resists the urge to cast an illusion over her little dip in the ground. Not only would it not work on Death but it would be a dead give away to her. There’s leaves sticking to her face, roots poking her ribs and something sharp grazing her ankle but she doesn’t risk moving.

Leaves crunching in a steady pattern give away footsteps.

“Agatha~” Rio sings out again, a dark edge to her voice Agatha hasn’t heard in a long time. A warning that she’s toeing the line, and not one of the fun ones they like to draw for each other.

Two steps closer and Agatha can see the edge of Rio’s silhouette. Her hand twitches but she doesn’t take the bait. They’ve been playing this game long enough for her to know better.

Her restraint doesn’t matter. Rio already knows where she is. Shrubs grab at her and propel her into Death’s waiting arms.

“Got you,” Rio says with a cheeky grin before slamming her against a tree. Agatha tries to grapple with her but her breath has been forced out of her. Rio has her pinned within a second. “Someone’s been naughty,” she says.

“Can a girl not spend a night curing her loneliness?”

“You know the rules. That is not how you get my attention.” Rio’s pulls her knife out and pokes into the soft flesh under Agatha’s chin.

“You’re here now, aren’t you?” Agatha says.

“Don’t tell me you’re being the jealous one, Agatha. You can summon me whenever you like,” Rio says as she trails the knife down Agatha’s throat.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the area’s a little bare of witches at the moment.”

“And yet you still managed to find one to bed,” Rio’s smile edges more towards a snarl.

“A green one too,” Agatha smiles as Rio’s snarl stretches further. “I knew that would get under your skin.”

“Oh, Agatha,” Rio knife digs in, “We both know the only thing under my skin is you.”

“Prove it,” Agatha snarls back. She goes for the knife but Rio digs it in deeper.

“Careful, sweetheart, you know what happens when my claws come out,” she slides her knife lightly along Agatha’s neck. Just enough to make a thin, red cut.

“They’re not out already?” Agatha asks. “Was me fucking another woman not enough?”

Rio growls and throws Agatha to the ground face first. Agatha doesn’t get a chance to push herself back up. Rio jumps on top of her and she narrowly avoids slamming her chin into the ground. She expects at least a few more verbal jabs but Rio’s been pushed past her limit. She forces herself between Agatha’s legs, keeping her down with a hand pressing her head into the dirt, and tears off Agatha’s pants. Half a second later and she’s forcing three fingers into Agatha’s soaked cunt. They moan together.

It only takes three harsh thrusts for Agatha to stop being disappointed that the game is over so quickly. She pushes back onto Rio’s fingers and Rio’s grip tightens in her hair.

“If you’re so desperate then come,” she demands with a snarl.

They’ve only just started yet Rio curls her fingers and Agatha finds herself right on the edge. Rio leans down and sinks her sharp teeth into the vulnerable skin on her neck and Agatha comes with a muffled scream.

Rio removes her teeth and laughs against Agatha’s skin.

“She must’ve been bad if that’s all it took,” she says.

“Who?” Agatha murmurs through her post-orgasm haze. Rio laughs again. She ignores Agatha’s whine as she gently pulls out and turns her over. She settles on Agatha’s hips.

“Who owns you, Agatha?” she murmurs as she runs her wet fingers down Agatha’s throat, enjoying the way Agatha basks in the attention. One corner of Agatha’s mouth twitches up.

“That witch,” she says. Rio’s fingers close around her throat. She doesn’t break eye contact.

“You don’t even remember her name.”

“I never even knew it,” Agatha says with that same teasing smile.

What should cancel out her previous statement makes it burn hotter by the way she says it. Thorny vines shoot out to wrap around her wrists and ankles.

“I could just leave you here,” Rio threatens.

“You won’t,” Agatha says with such certainty it infuriates Rio.

Another vine caresses Agatha’s throat before wrapping around it. She’s right. Rio has gone too long without her to leave her so soon. That doesn’t mean she has to satisfy her.

Rio begins grinding down and Agatha watches her with that same lazy smirk.

“Don’t get too cocky, Agatha. I’m going use you to come and then leave you here wanting.”

“Just like that other green witch did?”

Rio gnashes her teeth together. She resists the urge to sink them into Agatha again. Her anger will create too much force and she’ll break something.

Instead, Rio leans down, never faltering in her rhythm, to breathe the same air as her love. She watches as Agatha drinks in every inch of her expression as she gets closer and closer. That cocky look turns into desire which then turns into pure want as Rio nears the edge. Rio’s eyes flutter close and she leans that little bit closer so her lips brush Agatha’s. Agatha tries to close the gap but the thorns cutting into her skin keep her still. Rio moans into her mouth.

A needy sound leaving her has Agatha squirming but it’s too late. Rio shudders on top of her and comes before Agatha gets a chance to fully enjoy it.

The desperate eyes that greet Rio are almost as sweet as her orgasm. She gently runs her fingers over Agatha’s cheek before gripping her face tightly.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she growls, her eyes creeping towards their other-worldly purple glow.

Or what? Agatha wants to say but Rio’s grip is too tight. The challenge is still clear on her face and Rio’s nails lengthen to dig into her skin.

“You are mine, Agatha Harkness,” Rio hisses. “I can make you wish you were dead as much as I can make you feel alive.”

There’s a much darker note under Rio’s voice than Agatha is used to. Her challenging look turns wary. She doubts this game will ever stop being fun but that doesn’t mean nastier moments can’t sneak through. She doesn’t want Rio to doubt her devotion. That would be more dangerous than anything she’s attempted before.

“I claim you, Rio Vidal, Death, The First Green Witch,” Agatha declares. Rio’s eyes widen a fraction. “You are mine as I am yours, until the end of time.”

The words carry a hint of magic and Rio’s snarl slides off her face.

“I am yours as you are mine,” Rio breathes with the same amount of devotion. A hint of desperation hidden by Rio sealing the vow with a kiss. Soft at first but quickly devolving into their usual hunger.

Rio removes the vine keeping Agatha’s neck pinned, so she doesn’t have to break the kiss as she rises slightly on her knees and slips her fingers back inside of Agatha. Agatha moans into her mouth and Rio swallows it eagerly. She wants to devour her, merge their bodies and bind their souls as one. For now she settles for chasing Agatha across the continent and pulling every lick of pleasure she can from her.

Agatha’s magic snaps the rest of vines holding her down, thorns slicing her as she reaches for Rio. Her hands find the back of Rio’s neck and the bodice of her dress. Rio’s less punishing thrusts allow her room to guide the kiss. Her hand moves from Rio’s bodice to the skirts of her dress and tugs them up until she can get it under. She gives Rio the same treatment she’s receiving and slips three fingers into her heat, quickly matching her rhythm. Fingers curl, thumbs find clits, teeth scrape over skin and tongues dips into mouths. They become one moaning, writhing mess as they both reach their peaks before collapsing into each other.

Panting slightly, Agatha gently moves hair out of Rio’s face. She’s wearing that look that means she wants to consume Agatha but her eyes are flashing violet in the way that means too many bodies are calling. The strain of ignoring it is apparent on her face.

“Go do your job, Death,” Agatha releases her. “But don’t be so long this time, hmm?”

“You won’t leave the next one alive,” Rio says firmly.

“There are other ways to torture you, my love,” Agatha says softly, like it’s a sweet promise. Rio’s eyes flash a deeper purple, no death magic lightening them.

“I shall return soon,” she promises.

Soon to death can be very different to life but Agatha accepts the promise with a kiss.

“Te veo,” Rio whispers against her lips before getting up and fading back into the dark.

Agatha lies there for a along while, getting her breath back.

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suzukiblu · 3 months ago

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on Wednesdays we

chapter six Kon wakes up all wrapped up in another set of clean sheets and a big thick squishy comforter that he doesn’t remember being on the bed before and with a hand petting absently through his hair. He cracks an eye mostly-open, even though he doesn’t need to do that to know it’s Tim. He can feel him, and he can hear his heartbeat. It feels nice. And sounds nice. And . . . it’s nice. Tim’s sitting on the bed next to him, his back against the headboard and a tablet in his lap that he’s doing . . . something on, Kon guesses. Though he’s only doing it one-handed, because the other’s in his hair, doing that absent, reflexive petting. Kon wonders how long he’s been doing that for.

Oh hey look I didn’t accidentally make this chapter twice as long as the last chapter was, go me! 😊

( . . . definitely not just because I split the outlined chapter into two chapters again . . . definitely nooot because of thaaaaat . . .

. . . . . . PUSHING 30K IS A TOTALLY NORMAL CHAPTER LENGTH OKAY DON’T JUDGE ME– )

#timberkon #timkon #konbern #timbern #kon el #conner kent #bernard dowd #tim drake #superboy #dc robin #dom/sub #wip: think pink #rinfic #also I regret absolutely nothing about deliberately timing another think pink update for a wednesday #n o t h i n g 💖

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gettingyourselfwetforme · 3 months ago

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meandom!harry blurb (w/ aftercare)

word count: 650

warnings: degradation, use of ball gag, harry being a little mean

“Stop fucking moving, I told you to stay still. If you keep being a brat, you’re not coming at all tonight.” Harry’s hand was resting on the corded wand sitting between y/n’s legs, applying pressure every time she chose to squirm around. Small moans leave her mouth, but are muffled by the red ball placed between her lips.

“Too bad that pretty little mouth is all gagged up. I’d love to hear what you have to say, but quite frankly I think that sluts like you don’t deserve to talk when they’re misbehaving.” He grins, knowing that y/n always loves to be vocal during sex. This was a new experience for her- being gagged up and unable to talk. Even though her safeword was out of the question, they came up with the solution of tapping the mattress three times for yellow, and multiple times for red.

y/n moans loudly, her hips pushing against the toy as if to provide some consistent relief to her clit, which makes Harry smack her thigh. The pain of the slap shocks through her body, eliciting another moan, but she tries her best to keep herself still.

“You’re making such a mess for me, sweetheart… can see your cunt dripping from here. Do you want to cum? Is that what you want?” He teases, knowing that’s exactly what she wants.

y/n nods her head fervently, trying to speak out but ultimately failing. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, who just laughs and smiles at her dauntingly. “If you want to cum, use your words. If you just tell daddy what you want he will give it to you.” He applies more pressure on the head of the wand, y/n’s hips bucking up into his hand, landing her another smack across the thigh.

She’s so frustrated that tears are coming out of her eyes, ultimately soaking the ball gag and she can taste the saltiness of her tears. She tries to speak through the gag, but it just comes out a muffled, slobbery mess.

“Cum for me y/n, show me how good I make your cunt feel.” He switches the vibrator to a higher speed, which makes her cry out louder than before, and sends a shockwave through her body.

Her body shakes, her orgasm pumping through her body, with her back arched on the bed and eyes rolled back. Her hips grind on the vibrator to help work her through it, something that Harry will allow only this once.

“Such a good fucking slut for me… making a mess of the bed darling…” his words help her through her orgasm.

When she comes down from her high, her thighs are shaking, and her hips are trying to pull away from the vibrator that’s still being held to her clit. He takes this as his sign that her orgasm is over and removes the device from between her thighs. He reaches forward to the back of her head, and undos the buckle of the gag. “Such a good girl for me, you did so good… took it so well.” He brushes away the sweaty strands of hair from her face, pulling her into his own chest. Her face is nuzzled against his skin and her breathing slows down.

“How are you feeling, my love?” Harry asks, using his finger to lift her chin up so they can make eye contact. He hands her a water bottle, cap undone already just how she likes.

Her voice is rather hoarse, her coughing a few times and taking small sips of the water Harry provided. “G-good, I feel good. My throat hurts, but I’m okay.” She smiles, looking at him.

He massages her jaw with his fingers, hopefully providing some relief to the sore muscles caused by the gag.

He grins cheesily at her smile. “Good, now drink your water and we can go hop in the shower.”

#harry styles #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles dom #mean dom h #dom!harrystyles #harry smut #harry styles blurb

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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

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The Favor 9

Hey... Sorry it took me a minute. I've decided this is definitely not the only club scene for them because there's a lot I want t explore with them. Part of me wants to apologize for adding so much in but I hope you guys love them as much as I do!!! They are one of my all time favorite pairings to write.

Also don't worry Im working on getting rid of Danny lol

Series Masterlist

Check out our Patreon for early access to part 10 and 180+ exclusive writings.

WC- 10.2k

Warnings- dom/sub dynamic, BD/SM, Exhibitionism, voyeurism, degrading, choking, sir/daddy kink, pet/puppy nicknames, name calling, slight Mean Dom H mixed with soft Dom tbh, tiny bit of humiliation kink, aftercare is in the next part I promiseeeee

Y/N was buzzing in her own skin.

So much was happening in her brain that it felt borderline overwhelming. She stood in Harry’s bathroom looking into the mirror with her hands on her face, just to confirm that she was, in fact, a real person.

The night prior had been intense. A lot, but in a good way. Something had shifted between them, as she suspected, but neither of them were truly ready to talk about it. Harry was instead, a lot more affectionate which… to be honest, she hadn’t expected. It was a glorious change, feeling his hands or eyes on her whenever she was in a room with him. He’d had her sit on his lap while he proof read something on his laptop, his hand stroking over her stomach and underneath one of his shirts that he’d put on her after their bath the night before. There was no urgency to talk, Y/N leaning her head on his shoulder and relaxing into the warm, fresh smell of the man she was so connected to whilst scrolling on her phone. He’d made them breakfast and ordered them lunch, but she had noticed a distinct lack of kissing.

It made her wonder if she pushed a bit last night, asking for one. Somehow she doubted it considering he had been the one giving her kisses the last few weekends together, but there was a weird seed of dread in her stomach that reminded her that at some point the weekend would be over and the warm place she had in the pool of Harry’s warmth would dry up and she’d need to come back up for air. To go through the week without seeing him, except maybe for a lunch, when she had grown so needy for his mere presence. He was attentive even when they weren’t physically around, more than the man she had called her boyfriend, but it still didn’t feel like enough. As weird and freaky as it sounded, she wanted to crawl under his skin somehow. Get as close as possible.

Tonight they’d be going to the sex club. Something she was both excited and nervous about, the weird feeling in her chest making her wonder which one outweighed the other. Harry had communicated very clearly that this first visit was going to be rather tame- or, as tame as a sex club visit could be. They’d watch a scene he had pre chosen, a voyer couple in a room open to exhibitionists. Before that, they’d mingle and he would introduce her to some of his friends he had there.

One thing she wasn’t too sure about though, was getting too close to anyone he had played with before. Y/N, while not historically jealous, found her skin crawling with ants at the idea of having to be around someone else who knew how he tasted, how he looked when he came. Sure, he wasn’t officially hers, but it felt like it more than she cared to admit. That had added on to her anxiety but it wasn’t something she wanted to openly admit to him yet, so she kept it under wraps for the time being.

He’d done something nice for her and got her a dress. A cute little thing, lacy and white. A sweetheart neckline and strapless, she was hoping the strapless bra was going to do its job- but then again, she kind of hoped maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he had chosen the dress for ease of access. The idea of him slipping down the top and playing with her in front of other people had her wet the moment she thought about it.

Her panties, though, were noticeably missing in the ensemble. When she asked about them, his smirk had rose on his lips. “Who said you were getting any?”

So all in all, she was a complete and utter wreck of hormones and anxiety.

Freshly showered, she had fixed her hair and sat staring at herself with her makeup half done. Another of the dominant’s shirts hung off her shoulders. He had a vanity that was cleared of anything but her stuff, which was nice, but another flare of jealousy had worked its way through her. Who else had used this vanity for this exact thing? Who else had been getting ready for him to take them to the club to play with them in the way that was so uniquely Harry?

It was no right of hers to be jealous or possessive when she was still in a relationship, though it was one she was having her doubts about. Her phone remained empty of any texts from him. The longer he put it off, the less she cared about what he had to say. Anger wasn’t really there considering Harry had been giving her plenty of attention, but still. Her brain was craving the quiet only the Dominant had managed to give her.

“Alright?” His sudden appearance made her squeal, jumping in her chair. Clutching her ever beating heart, she looked at him wide eyed in the reflection. Where the fuck had he come from and how long had he been there?

“Fucks sake, H.” She wheezed. “You need some sort of bell or something. How long have you been standing there?” Where she expected a laugh, she got none. His brows furrowed and his lips pursed, he turned the chair towards him and lifted a hand to tilt her head up. “For a minute or two. I was waiting for you to notice but…” Eyes scrutinized her face. “You’re nervous.”

There wasn’t much she could hide from him. To be fair, she hadn’t planned on it, but it was still annoying, borderline unsettling on how he could read her like an open book. “A little. It’s not a big deal though.”

“We don’t have to go yet, if you aren’t ready. We don’t have to go at all.” His voice was soft as he kept his face placid, clearly trying not to sway her either way. It was yet another confirmation to her that he actually did give a fuck about her well being.

The idea of not going at all, though, made her shake her head rapidly. Wouldn’t that mean they would cut off their arrangement? As selfish as it was, she couldn’t give him up yet. She couldn’t give up the orgasms and the kisses and the praise, just as much as she didn’t want to give up the daily texts and jokes and pictures of Buttons when she was back at her own place. “No! It’s just, it’s a little intimidating. That’s all.” She sighed, leaning into his hand. That seemed to soften him a bit, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip as he tried to gage her.

“What about it has got you intimidated?”

It felt oddly good having him standing over her, petting at her. His gaze soft, looking down at her as he tried to make her feel comfortable but undeniably in control of the situation. Of her.

“You know people there, mostly. But the whole thing. I know we’ve gone over what we’re doing but it feels bigger the closer we get there. Y’know?” She puckered her lips over the pad of his thumb, watching as his smile tipped the corner of his lips. These tiny acts of intimacy were going to be the ones that ruined her. “I’m very excited. It’s what I’ve wanted, you know? And I kinda think that makes me put more pressure on the expectation.”

Harry hummed in his throat, nodding along to her observations. It made logical sense and she knew it, but seeing him agree made her feel a little better. Maybe she wasn’t overreacting after all.

“It is intimidating. It's taboo, in a way. Something that’s going to shock your system. You don’t go many places with people being so open sexually around you. It isn’t so blatant until the shows start, but even then. It’s the sort of stuff you're used to fantasizing about, and to see it right in front of you can be a lot to take in. Seeing people on leashes, or full body spandex, masks, all of that. It’s new to you, so I expect it to be intimidating to you. But may I offer you a few pieces of advice?”

Y/N would lick his shoes if he asked in the right tone of voice, so she nodded. She wondered if she would get away with it, and his eyes did narrow, but he chose to let it go.

“The only person I’m going to be focusing on when we go is you. I have some friends, yes, and I’d like you to meet them and their submissives, but I’m not expecting you to make best friends at the first meeting.” He started, ever so slowly pushing his thumb into her mouth. Testing the waters. Like second nature, she began to suck lightly on the tip of it as he continued talking, the tip of her tongue brushing the pad of his finger. “But the real advice I have is to let go. Let me control the night. I’ve got you, I’ve got everything you need to do up in my head. All you’ve got to do is follow directions. If I tell you to say hello? Say hello. If I don’t, you don’t. If I tell you to sit on my lap, you sit there. Tell you to get on your knees, you do it. If I tell you to suck my cock, you do it. Because everyone else there is doing the same thing, if not, they’re there to watch it happen. There’s nothing you need to worry that pretty little head about.” His eyes darkened slightly as she took his thumb a little further into her mouth, blinking up at him. “Okay? Daddy’s got you.”

Somehow it worked. Some of that anxiety melted away, realizing he was fully serious. All she needed to do was listen to him. That was the backbone of all of this.

“You’re in control. You’ve got the power to color out, you’ve got the boundaries and I’m just there to make sure you’re tended to properly. Remember what I said, hm? Me being in control is only because you allow me to be.”

That had been something she learned more and more as the time passed by with him. As incredible as it felt to have him be in charge, she had the ultimate say so. She could color out at any moment. There was no reason not to trust him because he had never given her a reason not to.

“Your safe word isn’t just for sex, either. Anything you want to stop tonight, you tell me. I know you’ll be good and remember that, but I just need to remind you before you hand yourself over to me. I will never be disappointed or angry because you need a break, or you don’t want to do something. I care about you a lot more than I care about nutting off or showing off to people.”

In truth, Harry would never forgive himself if something happened and she ever felt unsafe with him. It was a team effort, yeah, but he did think he was good enough at reading her that he would be extremely upset if he didn’t predict something like that. Y/N did run a bit anxious sometimes. He’d been able to get her to a point where she completely let go for him, and he wanted to repeat that pattern over and over until the weight that she felt on her shoulders lessened. As strong as the woman was, he wanted to help take some of it on his own back.

His thumb pulled from her mouth with a soft ‘pop’, the dominant ignoring the whimper and smearing the sweetness of her saliva over her chin. It was the world’s highest honor to see her eyes round out for him, to watch her track his every moment like the eager pet she had proven to be for him. Knowing she wanted to please him made him feel more powerful, more fulfilled, than he had been in a very long time. Showing her off was something he had been more than looking forward to doing, but there wouldn’t have been any use in doing it if she wouldn’t feel equal enjoyment. “Are we okay, Sweets?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, the sigh exhaling against his damp finger. “I gotta finish getting ready though. You have my outfit picked out on the bed?”

“I do.” He nodded, lightly fingering a loose tendril of hair that brushed her cheek. “And you’ll be wearing that black peacoat over it. Should keep you nice and warm.” Tilting her chin up, he placed one of the first kisses of the evening on her pouty lips before smoothing his thumb back over her mouth. “You’ve got time, darling. Don’t worry.”

—--

Y/N felt marginally better as she held on to his hand, clinging for dear life on his wrist with the other as they waited at the front entrance.

There had been quite a lot she expected from a club dedicated to kink. Karma was as sensual and mysterious as ever, but the front of a closed hair salon letting them in had been a shock to the system. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought Harry had lost his mind until he opened the back room door and exposed an entirely different aesthetic. A black and gold elevator, black marble floor and red curtained walls. That had to be a bitch to dust.

With a key card, he placed it on the gold plated button pad and it opened for them to step inside. Now that she was in the elevator she could hear some music, some people, but nothing she could have ever expected from the street view. Privacy was very important to them, as she could tell. “They’re going to put our phones and my keys into the locker and we’ll get them on the way out. It’s for everyone’s privacy, but there are staff in there to ensure you have an out if you need it.” Unwinding their fingers, his grip changed to her jaw to tilt it up to look at him. The casual dominance had her knees weak. How did he manage to do it so seamlessly? “We’re gonna check out coats, and then we’ll go in. You are safe with me, Pet.” His tone was gentle, reminding her again how he had been the best thing to wander into her life. There was no saying shit just to say it. The man wanted to assure her, drill it into her brain, that he was completely here for her and everything they did was because she wanted to do it.

As intimidating as it was, she swallowed the lump around her throat and gave him a nod before allowing him to take her coat off. Standing in front of a hostess and the man who worked the coat check in her little outfit had made her a little stiff at first, but the moment she heard the quiet curse under his breath, their opinions didn’t matter.

He had chosen a maroon babydoll for her to wear tonight. Satin cups clung over her breasts while it transferred to a tight knit mesh-like material that flowed over her body and hit her upper thighs. The panties had been a bit of a different choice, rather simple silk ones with lace trim. She’d expected lace, a g string, something else but they were really nice. It wasn’t overtly sexual, but it made her feel sexy as she had tugged them up her thighs and settled the waistband on her hips. The outfit had surprised her a little considering she had thought maybe he’d want her to wear something completely form fitting or restrictive, like spandex or leather, but instead he’d gone with something more flowy and light. Maybe he was starting them soft for the first time, but it was the sexiest she had felt so far in her life.

“You look incredible.” He mumbled, placing the coat numbers on the counter with their phones and his keys. “Fuck me.” Lithe fingers traced over the straps, the feather light touch stopping at the necklace he’d chosen for her tonight. A simple gold chain with a heart. At first she had thought he would give her one of those collars, but she wasn’t sure how that worked.

“I was going to give you the one with my first initial, but I was saving that.” The admission made her eyebrows raise. Why hadn’t he done that? “I wanted to ease you into it, and for some reason you’ve been turnin’ me into a possessive son of a bitch. Wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep composure if it was on there like that… But I don’t think that matters too much now, anyway.”

Harry had always known he was attracted to Y/N in otherworldly, almost inappropriately intense ways. While he could be a jealous man, he hadn’t felt it to this degree. Irritated that she didn’t have his name on her neck or a traditional sign of ownership. He was a weak man when it came to her, but he didn’t mind when he could see her preen slightly over his words. The one thing that was soothing his inner caveman was the fact that she had marks from him on her body. Love bites blooming from the swell of her left breast and one he’d sucked on the right side of her neck, a few little bruises from his fingers digging into her hips… They were little badges of honor.

He’d caught her this morning, admiring them in the foggy mirror. He’d come to bring a fresh towel before she got into the shower and watched quietly as she ran her fingers over the marked skin, the tiniest little smile on her lips that made his cock twitch. If they hadn’t had plans to come here tonight he would have bent her over the counter and gave her more. That silent appreciation at the tiniest hints of ownership meant more than she would ever know.

“I can wear it next time.” She peeped, meeting his eyes. “I like this one too, but… I like the other idea.”

The silence was loud for a moment as he observed her, the admission making her look a little flustered. Every day it seemed they were slipping into something far more serious than they’d set out to, but the unspoken words lingered under their tongues. It wasn’t the right time to discuss. “Noted.” Thumbing over her chin, he nodded at her before tucking the tickets from the coat check into the pocket of his pants. “Come on then, Pet. Let’s have a look.”

—-

Y/N’s eyes were wide as they took in the vast room around her.

Holy fuck. Harry hadn’t been kidding about it shocking her system.

His hand held the back of her neck as she was guided towards the bar, where she was warned didn’t sell any actual alcohol for safety reasons. It matched and exceeded her expectations upon first glance.

The stage was set up with some sort of bench, but it was obvious they’d come before the show had begun. People milled about, laughing and talking as if nothing abnormal was happening- like the woman in her all spandex dress chatting to the bartender, drink in one hand and chain in the other. Connected to the other end of the chain was a man on his knees for her, leather mask covering everything but his eyes and mouth. Not far from her in a booth across the way, a man had a woman on his lap with his hand down her top, playing with her tits and keeping a conversation.

It wasn’t extreme, no, but it had her a bit spooked. Even more so when she looked to the side and saw a girl on her knees and her face buried under another woman’s dress. So he hadn’t been kidding- it really did happen anywhere.

Heat flushed over her chest as she averted her gaze, blinking rapidly as she tried to calm her heart. It wasn’t a bad thing, she didn’t think, because she could feel herself becoming excited. Just a walk through and she was warm in her tummy, feeling that anticipation climbing all the way up her throat. She had to wonder what Harry was going to surprise her with tonight.

“Alright?” He mumbled, turning to face her as they approached the bar. The promise of a sweet, sugary mocktail had been enticing but now her curiosity was wanting to take over. “It’s not too bad, is it?”

“No, Sir.” She shook her head, meeting his eyes. The hand on the back of her neck gave a subtle squeeze, pulling her a little closer. “It’s… I’m curious to see what else goes on, but I think it’s interesting.”

“A lot of things are happening in the rooms. The main stage show isn’t anything too extreme, but the rooms are different theaters on this level, and playrooms on the top level.” The split level was apparent to her now, reminding her a bit of a hotel lobby she’d stayed at once on holiday. Rooms surrounding the top with a walkway that looked down while the bottom was an open concept until it split into four hallways. The place was truly beautiful, albeit a bit intimidating. “What did you want to drink?”

Y/N looked over the menu with curious eyes, smiling lightly when she saw someone had made a plethora of fruity and sweet concoctions modeled after bubblegum, blue raspberry, cherry, all sorts of stuff. There were more tame things, pina colada and mint julep, but considering she was experimenting tonight she chose something she normally wouldn’t. “Can I have the cotton candy one, Sir?”

“You may, yes.” The subtle correction had her face flushing for a moment, but she could see he was teasing a little from the dimple threatening to break on his face. God, he was so gorgeous.

It was always apparent that Harry was handsome, but seeing him like this was a whole different experience. His shoulders were bigger, back straighter, a more controlled and poised version of him was at the helm. Was this his best self? Being a dominant, taking and guiding her? He’d said multiple times he liked taking care of people, liked being in charge, so it must feel really good to have her eyes on him at all times.

When she’d brought up that she’d read a lot about people in her books had dominants that preferred them to avert their eyes, but he’d scoffed at it. In opposition, he’d told her to keep her eyes on him at most times. Joked about it soothing a bit of his ego, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was really a joke at this point. Either way, there would be no complaints about that when the man looked as good as him. Sharp jaw and nose, dark lips, eyelashes that pissed her off because they were so pretty… The man had a way about him that reminded her of classical art.

When the bartender came over he was greeted with a smile, which he reciprocated with a small one of his own before ordering her the drink she wanted and himself some sort of iced tea thing. She had no clue, considering she was a little busy zoning out. His hand had started to subtly massage the back of her neck and her eyes had glazed over a bit, being pressed into his side making the scent of him increasingly soothing. Perhaps he was doing it for that exact reason, but that was why he was in charge. He knew what to do to calm her nerves.

As soon as the bartender walked away, he turned back towards her. “And how are you feeling?” Eyes dipping over her body, Y/N swallowed as she knew exactly what he was talking about- and why he looked so damn smug.

He’d helped her put a plug in before they left. The smallest one, but it had still worked her up a significant amount. There had been something weirdly erotic knowing that he would know why she was shifting around. Trying anal for the first time the night prior had been a mind meltingly good experience, making her even more eager to try new things. It had always been a fantasy of hers, but she hadn’t realized just how good it would feel. How full and connected she would be with it- but again, that was possibly just a Harry thing. He had made the simplest thing far more pleasurable.

“Good.” She nodded, watching his eyes linger on her breasts. He’d spent time after their sex last night kissing on them in appreciation, letting his lips hover over the marks before he lotioned over her body. Physical touch had to be his top love language, she had deduced. “I, um… It feels weird when I walk. But not bad, Sir.”

“Mmm, I know. You’re walking a bit differently, but you’ll grow used to it. Even more so, I think you’re going to learn to love it.” Adjusting the strap that seemed to be slipping down her shoulder continuously, he let his touch linger. “You’re going to be my good girl and let everyone see how perfect you are, aren’t you?” The tone of his voice dropped into a deeper one, her body reacting to it as she leaned into his touch. “I can’t decide if I want you perched on my lap all night, or if I want you on your knees in front of me.” Clicking his tongue, he shook his head. “Decisions, decisions.”

“Whatever you’d like me to do, Sir.” She replied, though there was no true preference. Y/N was aiming to please tonight, subconsciously feeling the pressure to prove she could be a good submissive for him.

“Oh, I know, pet. You don’t have a choice in that.” He laughed under his breath. “Precious girl. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll tell you to sit and speak like my good Pup, alright? You just stick to me.”

Y/N a few months ago would probably try to fight his words and the condescending tone because that was what was expected of her. Y/N a few months ago would ignore her body when it reacted to those words. Y/N now, though, let her eyes widen and simply agreed, because deep down that’s what she’s been wanting to do.

When the drinks arrived, her eyes widened at how pretty it was. A soft pink with some sort of glittery shimmer in the drink, the movement of the liquid catching the light. It was by far the most beautiful drink she’d ever seen in her life, and she didn’t want to waste a drop. Holding it in her hand, she let Harry wrap up with the bartender before turning back to her with a new look on his face. “C’mon, it’s time t’say hi to some people. Best behavior.” With a slight pinch to her chin, he led her off.

Harry’s familiarity was evident in how easily he navigated the club. Winding through people with polite nods and greetings, he radiated the now familiar air of power. It was a little different here, though. While he always held the power in the bedroom, there was something that had snapped on his face when they walked in the room that had her ever curious about his past experiences here. Experiences she wouldn’t ask about for her own sake of delicate feelings, but things that he must have done, said, experienced in this secret cove of underground pleasures.

Yes, it was a bit whips and chains-y, but there was a classy layer to it that she liked here. The weird feeling of belonging settled in her gut as his hand squeezed the back of her neck, keeping her close as they approached a slightly elevated section. Her mind was going a million miles a minute, taking in every bare tit, every collar, every hand wrapped in hair and laugh in the room as he led her up towards their destination that she had almost missed it completely.

Thankfully she caught herself as Harry gently urged them to a stop right in front of a booth full of people. Semi circular, the tabletop was a bit far from the booth itself- but it was clear why as she looked down at the people.

There were two people on their knees of their perspective dominants. A brunette with her cheek resting on a blonde woman’s knee, fingers brushing through her dark hair and sparkling nails catching the light as she did so had particularly caught her eye. Instead of a tight outfit like the domme at the bar, she had on a powersuit. Her eyes didn’t look down towards her submissive though giving her physical attention, sharp hazel eyes looking over Y/N like a examination.

“Isn’t she delicious, Styles?” She purred, cat like grin painting her red lips. “Who is she? I know you’ve been gone for a bit… is she why?” The woman seemed pleased at the prospect of Harry having a new submissive, even if she looked at her like she could eat her for lunch. Her face felt hot as she looked up at Harry, the ghost of a smirk on his face.

“She is.” The confirmation had the people at the table grinning which caught her a bit off guard. They didn’t know she was temporary and he seemed in no rush to tell them- and neither was she. Maybe they could play pretend here, like she was really his and he wanted to keep her for good. The first of many times they’d come together for as long as they felt so inclined. “This is Y/N. She’s been a wonderful little pet for me. My favorite.” A hand fondly ran over her hair, a little smile on his lips now as he was happy to show her off. “She’s a little new to this, but very eager to learn. So tread lightly, yeah?”

For some reason the information being told didn’t offend her. Maybe if someone else here seemed like it was funny to them, if they’d scoffed, did anything but look understanding she would feel that shame, but they didn’t. They simply nodded, letting Harry slip into the end of the booth. “On my lap for now, Pet.” He patted his thigh, holding his ringed hand out for her to take.

Y/N could feel eyes on her as she nodded, a quiet ‘yes sir’ leaving her lips as she was adjusted over his lap, legs over his thighs as he wound his arm around her waist to keep her body steady. “Say hello.” The words weren’t disguised as a request. It was clearly an order. Why did she find it so hot?

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you all.” She peeped, leaning into Harry’s touch as he gave her a squeeze of reassurance. It was pretty clear on who was a dominant at the table, versus the submissive. Two were on their knees, two sitting under their dominant’s arms, and one in a similar position to Y/N.

“Is it your first time here?” A man asked this time. His voice was softer spoken but there was an edge to him that screamed that he was in charge. It was a little similar to Harry in which he looked kind, but anyone with sense would know not to question their particular brand of authority.

“It is, yes. H-Sir was helping me adjust before I came here. He is the best teacher.” Throwing in a bit of praise for the dominant had the desired affect, lips brushing her cheek in a chaste kiss.

“What are your thoughts? It’s intimidating, isn’t it?” The woman from before asked curiously, though the hungry spark didn’t leave her eye until Harry spoke to her.

“I’m not sharing her, Cara.” He said lowly, his hold tightening on her. “She’s not on the menu. Look but don’t touch.” There was a slight edge to his voice though it wasn’t hostile quite yet. Secretly, Y/N let herself preen over the possessive nature being shone through. Knowing he had no desire to let anyone else have a taste of her was beyond comforting- which, she knew was entirely ironic considering the context in which they met.

“Oh, boo.” She sighed. “You’re very beautiful. Harry’s not fond of sharing his chips either so I should have known, but there’s no harm in trying.” The demeanor shifted slightly to something lighter. “My girl likes to have playmates sometimes, but we’re a little picky.”

Y/N could only imagine. If Harry expressed desire to add someone in for a scene she wouldn’t be too fond of letting just anyone in… but then again, she didn’t want to share in at all in the first place. It wasn’t a closed minded thing, more so the idea of someone else taking his attention away from her making her stomach ache.

“It’s good to be picky.” Harry nodded. “But my girl isn’t up for shared scenes. I don’t think I’ll ever want to share her.” Fingers brushed over her cheek, still cool from his drink. “I don’t think anyone can blame me for being selfish with a beauty like this.”

Heat flooded her body, a shy smile on her lips as she looked at him and watched his eyes darken. His pupils dilate. There was no question in her mind that there was truth to his words in this way she had just witnessed them, but it still felt unreal. “You wouldn’t want to share me either, would you?” The words had been softened just for her consumption, the moment being looked over by the others who began talking amongst themselves. For them, though, they were in their own little bubble.

“No, sir.” The whisper matched his own volume, but the answer made him pleased. She could tell by the look on his face, lightening her own mood just by that alone. Y/N never knew how much she would truly enjoy this sort of thing, never understood how much Harry would change her life, but she was here now and it felt far more intense than one could imagine.

“Then we’re settled, yeah? They can watch us, but m’not gonna let them touch you. Nor me.” The addition made her giggle, though it was cut off when he caught her lips in a soft kiss. Gentle pressings over her mouth, she counted three before he pulled back and rubbed over her chin. A wistful look followed, his eyes full of contemplation as he looked her over. Back and forth, his thumb swiped the remnants of the kiss before he let himself out of the mindset, leaning back into the booth. “Since you’ve had your greetings, I want you on your knees for me.” Reaching behind him he got a little cushion, dropping it on the floor. Spreading his legs out, he motioned for her to get between them. At least he was thoughtful with her poor knees.

Y/N was weirdly excited for it. Slowly sinking down and settling with her heels touching her bum, she looked up at him expectantly as he watched her get settled in her new position. It felt… right, being here. Like this. Looking up at him as he spread his legs and looked down at her with a practiced patience on his face. “Sit quietly like a good girl. We’re going to go watch that show in a room in 20 minutes. If you can behave here, I’ll make sure you cum tonight.”

Y/N knew what he meant. Not to provoke him and get him hard. As much as she wanted to do that, wanted to mouth at his cock and be a brat so he’d force it in her mouth,’or her over his lap to redden her ass, she wasn’t quite that brave yet. Tonight was to prove she could be a good girl for him, the best she could be. Maybe if she was good enough, he’d tell her that he was keeping her.

Listening to his order, she rested her cheek on his thigh and closed her eyes as she found herself in the situation the other woman had been when they’d arrived at the table. His fingers sprawled through her hair as he talked quietly amongst friends, twirling tendrils between his digits as he got to the ends of it. Every so often the submissive could feel his eyes look down at her, which had her opening her eyes and smiling up at him. The pleased expression he had each and every time had her wondering if he knew what went through her mind.

If he told her to break up with Danny? She probably would. If he confessed that he had feelings for her, that he wanted her as his real partner, submissive or not, she would release herself from the other relationship she was having major doubts about anyways and go to him. Belong to him seriously.

Even being on her goddamn knees in front of him at a kink club, she felt more appreciated than she ever had. Even when he called her a dirty bitch, a nasty whore, a cockslut, she felt more worshiped and heard and ultimately cared for than she ever had. Harry listened to her. There was never a singular time since they’d started this arrangement that he hadn’t thought about her wants or safety in great detail. He hand fed her fruit he sliced by hand after scenes, brought up juice to her mouth and whispered to her to have sips after he was finished ruining her body. He broke her apart, yeah, but he built her back up again. Even better than he had first found her, if she was being honest.

Never in her life has she felt as heard, scene, and adored as she did when Harry gave her aftercare. When he texted her through the week to make sure she had a good day. When he asked her her favorite color the first day they met and made sure she had light pink straws in her drinks each and every time. Harry paid attention to her. Not just in scenes, where he seemed to pick apart her every reaction and know just how much she could handle, but last night too. He could feel her upset, did what he could to fix it. Proved yet again that he was the better option of the two.

What was stopping her?

Fear. Not of Harry, not of Danny, but fear of losing this feeling. She’d end up alone again, wistful for this exact scenario where she knew she couldn’t get it again. No one else would be able to make her feel the way Harry felt in her body and her mind and that was fucking terrifying. Admitting that only to potentially be rejected was worse than staying in a bad relationship. Maybe she was a coward- she knew she was- but she needed his promise. His words. Too many times in her life she had been let down, let her heart hurt and chip and bruise. A rejection from him would shatter her heart and all the work she had put into mending it and the wall she had tried to build up to make her softness toughen up a bit would be inconceivably damaged.

Times like tonight, meeting his eye and watching him tuck her hair behind her ear as she rubbed her face against his knee, she swore she could see the golden flecks of longing in his eyes too. When they were in bed after their scenes and his arms wrapped around her so he could haul her back into his body, she could feel inklings of something more under her skin. Even when he’d greeted her last night with a kiss in his driveway, a kiss she knew would lead to nothing sexual and just a genuine token of affection, she had felt that something was more with him. And yet she was frozen with fear every time she went to ask him how he felt about her. Terrified that he would reject her and their entire dynamic would be screwed.

Little did she know, he had the same dilemma.

Watching her nuzzled into him, sitting so fucking perfect and pretty and meeting his eye with those gorgeous fucking smiles, she looked so content with him. Like she was made to be in this exact scenario. He’d never felt more proud of having someone on his arm, and yet she wasn’t actually his. He just wasn’t sure how much longer he could last without spilling those feelings towards her.

His holdback was the fact that she was the one in a relationship. She’d tried to mend things with Danny, but part of his confusion was knowing if she did it because she wanted to or if he had stupidly pushed that by trying to do the right thing about it when she expressed her resentment towards him. All he wanted to do was make the girl happy. It was only a few months of knowing her. He shouldn’t feel this much, so soon.

Realistically he knew that it was likely because they shared such intimate parts of themselves with one another. This dynamic, lived in even if only on the weekends, was intense and serious and Y/N leaned into every bit of it with an eagerness only matching her nicknames sake. A puppy. So fucking sweet, she’d roll over and show belly if he asked her to right now, but instead she was content with her face on his leg and his hand in her hair.

His mind wandered to what it could be like if she left the other man. If she walked away and went into his arms, let him show her how he could treat her so much better. What she didn’t know as well was he was still holding back a bit. Emotionally, more so.

His heart felt like it was in his throat when he grazed his fingers past her cheek, watching her lashes lift off her cheek so she could give him her eyes. “You’re bein’ perfect for me, Pet.” He murmured, watching as she preened. His words always seemed to have a significant effect on her but the girl was slipping into a more submissive state with him here. It was his job to take care of her, to show her the things she’d been missing out on and desperate to experience. “Are you ready to go and watch?”

“Yes, Sir.” She lifted her cheek from his knee and angled her head back, allowing him to tap his fingers over her chin and get a smile from her. Everything felt more loaded than they could talk about right now, but she was doing exactly what she needed to do. Falling into line so perfectly that Harry really didn’t have much he needed to correct. Pride filled his chest as he let himself smile back at her, nudging her to stand up.

“Lets go then. Stay with me.”

—-

Y/N wasn’t sure what she expected in this scenario, but she knew there was nothing that would be realistic in her mind that could have prepared her for this night. Walking into the room where the scene had already begun, Harry held the back of her neck and led her towards a loveseat in the back. The throple on stage weren't paying anyone much mind, the room half full as the sounds of a masculine groan filled the air. The stage was lit with two doms and a sub, all beautiful in their own right.

She stayed quiet as she waited for directions from Harry, eyes on him as he settled himself on the seat. He didn’t speak, instead grabbing her waist and turning her around to sit on his lap. Back against his chest, he spread his legs and hooked one each of her thighs over his own to sprawl her out. The position left her rather exposed too, but the thrill of it caught in her chest as she felt the thick of his cock against her ass and his arm wrapping around her waist.

“Look at them.” He mumbled, keeping his tone quiet. “Watch.” With his chin against her shoulder, he slid his fingers over her thighs. Up and down, the touch slightly distracted her from the performance going on up the stage. It was becoming very apparent that her devotion to the Dominant was deeper rooted than she’d thought. All this time she’d been anticipating this, but all she could do was think about him and his hands on her.

“How does it make you feel?” His lips grazed the shell of her ear as he looked towards the show himself. “They make a nice little show, don’t they? Is that something you’ve thought of?” In front of the girl on her knees stood the Domme and other Dominant. The Domme’s hands held a leather leash connected to the collar of the girl, wrapped around her fist as the other hand gripped the submissive’s ponytail to bob her head on the man’s cock. Y/N did her best to pay attention to the performance in front of her, the wet heat between her thighs getting more intense as his fingertips brushed up and down the exposed, vulnerable flesh of her inner thigh. Images of it being them flooded her brain, the barriers breaking as his lips nestled right underneath her ear, puckering just so.

In her vision, there would be no Domme. The scene would include just him and her, his hand wrapped around the leash tight as a show of ownership. Her collar would be prettier, something more suited to her personally. Maybe a pink leather or more of a chain with a heart charm like she’d seen on one of the other subs at the table, but it would be one he picked out special for her. His fist would have her locks wrapped around it like a secondary leash, using her mouth and showing off just how much she could take. Ideally, it would be after she trained a bit more to take him deeper. She loved the idea of people being able to watch her, to see her take him down her throat. Being able to see how well Harry handled her, how she listened to him, the dynamic between them. Maybe at some point she’d be able to be a bit more bratty and get punished for it- having him fuck her throat as a punishment, or use his hand against her ass.

“Hm? I asked you a question. Answer me.” He muttered, nipping the delicate skin of her neck. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head. Can almost hear it from here.”

Y/N swallowed, leaning further back into him as she tried to unfurl her tongue to tell him. “I-I like it. I’m thinking about us up there, Sir.” Keeping her voice quiet to be respectful to the throuple, she tried to be loud enough for him to hear. It was hard with how shaky her voice felt, his fingers trailing over the edge of her humid panties. It was hard to think straight with him touching her, his scent all over and his mouth on her neck and the sound of the praises from the Domme, the submissive choking slightly on the Dominant’s cock.

“You are?” He sounded intrigued. “Hm. I think you’d look pretty up there. What part of it is making your poor cunt wet like this?” Fingers tapped against the damp gusset of her panties, teasing with the light touch. It wasn’t enough to make her feel much relief, but the knowledge his hand was there was enough to make her swallow back a whimper. “I know you love my attention, but I’m starting to think you’re a bit more of an attention whore than I thought.”

The light degrading made her dizzy, the arm around her waist lifting to grip her throat lightly. “Keep talking, Puppy. Quietly.”

It was hard to keep talking but she tried her best. It was a little unnerving to realize just how much mental power he had over her, but she knew she was safe. Maybe she felt a little pathetic that such light touches had her in a tizzy, but this whole night had been edging, hadn’t it? This was the main event, watching people indulge in the taboo pleasures like it was a theater show while her own Dominant teased her over her panties. “I-I like that she has the collar n’stuff, and people are watching her choke on it.” She whispered out, breathing getting a little harder as he nudged her clit lightly with his thumb. Rhythmic back and forth, just a tiny hint of his touch but it was enough to make her want to buck into it. Harry was making her feel insane, but the entire thing was playing into it.

Watching them on the stage, knowing other people were around that could see her being spread open and touched like this, the way Harry was hard under her ass, it all had her tummy hot and head fuzzy. “And I like that they’re bein’ a little mean to her. Makin’ fun of her, Sir.” Her tongue felt a bit too big for her mouth as she admitted to those things. The condescending teasing of the Domme to the Submissive each time she failed to take the full length down her throat had sent a zing to her cunt, imagining Harry calling her those names and giving the mean encouragement to get her to do her very best in front of all the other people.

“Christ, you’re a whore.” Harry laughed incredulously into her neck. “You want to be degraded like that in front of other people? Because… I know for a fact you can’t take all of my dick into that throat. S’a bit too big and as cockhungry as you are, I think you’d be a little embarrassed about not being able to do what you should be able to.” The twinge of shame melted into arousal, his thumb nudging her clit a little harder. Was it a reward? She didn’t know, but she didn’t want it to stop.“As for the collar…” Fingers uncurled from her waist , moving up to collar her throat. “I think a better one would be better suited for such a slutty puppy. Jus’ didn’t realize you needed to be leashed too.”

His smallest finger went underneath the necklace that served as a collar for the night, tugging lightly at it. “You’d need to belong t’me properly for that. I don’t collar up just anyone, baby. Is that something you really want?” It was probably not the correct time to dip his toes into the question of a more serious arrangement, but he wanted to hear her answer.

“Uh-huh. I want it so bad, Daddy. I can be so good for it, I’d love it.” Her whine was a little too loud, a coo leaving his lips as he lightly applied pressure at the sides of her throat to shut her up. The answer, the fucking eagerness of it had his cock twitching against her ass and his heart pumping a bit harder. Maybe it was just a heat of the moment thing, but the vulnerability of the moment had him doubting it was some sort of illusion.

“Mm. We can discuss that when you’re not so worked up and soaking the pretty panties I got you. You need to keep your voice down, be respectful.” The warning was twofold. He had to table that conversion or he’d get his hopes up far too soon. The slip up of honorifics, though, had been intriguing. “I’m Daddy right now, hm?”

“Mhm.” She attempted to nod as his fingers lightened their pressure. “Touch me, please. I’m achy.” Squirming slightly in his arms, another squeeze to her throat had her freezing in place before his other hand decided to ease down the waistband of her panties.

“I don’t know how I feel about you making demands, Pet, but you’re making quite a fucking mess.” His voice dropped, feeling her pulse in his fingertips. “God, you’re gonna cum so fuckin’ quickly. I can feel it.” Y/N was drenched, his thumb finding her slippery clit to rub in light circles. “It’s a little too much for your filthy whore mind, isn’t it? Sitting at my knees, acting like the perfect little submissive for me… Seeing all those pretty people playing, dressed up so nice. And now Daddy’s brought you to a nice little show. You paying attention?” He urged her attention towards the show. “He’s gonna cum on her face, just like I’ve been dying t’do. Or are you more aroused at the knowledge that anyone can look over and see your pussy being pet like a desperate slut?”

Yes, yes, yes. All of the above, check all the boxes. Y/N would beg more if she could find it in her brain to talk, but it felt so good. The light grip at her throat making it slightly harder to breathe, how he was talking hushed into her ear and the vibrations made her feel even more squirmy, his fingers on her cunt, she just felt like she was dreaming. Like this was some sort of high before the ultimate one, looking to the side and catching a few eyes on her. She’d made a tiny bit of noise before, surely making people aware that she wasn’t behaving, but it felt all too real now.

“And now you’ve gone dumb for me. I need an answer from you, Angel. Need a color before I make you cum.” He nudged her face to the side, lips resting against the corner of her own. “Color?”

“Green. I’m so good, I-I…” She panted, eyes glazed but looking into his own. They were hooded, dark, and it was obvious in all ways that he was aroused too. He showed more restraint than she did, but he wasn’t unaffected by it all. “Sir…” With little thought to consequences, her own hand came up to the back of his head and pulled him closer so she could press his lips against his.

Harry didn’t usually kiss in the club. He didn’t like them being seen in that way most of the time, feeling that those were supposed to be shared for more private and intimate moments- but Y/N had a way of making him throw a lot of his prior rules and regulations out the window. Didn’t she? He groaned quietly, licking into her mouth, trying to ignore the hot spark of arousal in his cock her hands tugging his hair closer to her had given him. For a moment, he gave in and enjoyed the taste of her tongue and the uncoordinated mess that was their kiss. He took the moment to slip two fingers into her cunt, curling them into her slick hole to get her to gasp. Hot and tight, he held back another moan at the feeling of her cunt fluttering around the intrusion. It was one of his favorite feelings, her breathing picking up against his mouth.

The broad hand around her throat tightened again, making her eyes peel open again. Wet mouth illuminated by the red lights around the room, he panted against her open lips. “Remember your fucking place. You want a kiss? You ask. You aren’t in charge. I am.” He growled, trying to keep his voice down as he fucked his fingers into her. “I’m the one in charge. Not you. I choose if you cum or not, I choose if you get kissed or fuck. Your body is mine to play with. You’d do well to remember that, or you’ll be the next one on that stage.” He grinned maliciously. “And I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I won’t be as nice as I’ve been before.”

Letting up on the grip, he swallowed her gasp with another kiss.

It was moments like this that Y/N could see it. She could see this being her life, this being her night out with him. Instead of dingy bars with sports games she didn’t give a singular fuck about, she could be here watching shows and learning, she could have Harry’s fingers deep inside of her, his cock inside of her, whatever he chose, giving her pleasure that was immeasurable to what she’d ever known before. A literal wet dream came true.

Y/N couldn’t respond, nodding lazily as the slick sound of her cunt being fucked with his fingers slicked up by her arousal became slightly audible. The throuple on stage was the loudest sound in the room, but underneath it all she could hear exactly what he was doing to her. It was humiliating to be this wet, to be this close to orgasm from a few minutes of his fingers thrusting in and out of her, a bit of choking, his whispers against her ear, a few people peering over at them and she loved it. His hand around her throat, keeping her tight to his body, and she felt the most free she’d ever been.

There was an attempt to warn him, his fingers prodding right at her spot and her legs beginning to tremble as she squirmed slightly on his lap, but he could tell she wouldn’t be able to be quiet. He’d have to force her to be. “Let go. Make a mess on my fingers and be fucking quiet.” The dominant let her take another deep inhale before he returned his fingers to the sides of her neck, applying pressure exactly where she needed it to steal the rest of her breath.

Y/N could see spots in her vision as she came. If he wasn’t stopping it, she probably would have sobbed out as she shook in his arms. Cumming hard and fast, hips bucking into his hand, his words cooed softly against her ear and brought up chills against her skin as the vibrations added to the sensations that tossed her over the edge.

“There you go, stay nice and quiet. Cum all over my fingers, you perfect fuckin’ girl.” He coaxed, pressing them against that spot over and over again whilst his thumb rubbed her throbbing clit. She could feel the contractions of her walls around him, a deep breath being taken as he eased up on her throat to make sure she recovered, but he didn’t stop his prodding. “Work through it. People just saw that, yeah? Saw how good you are, amazing and how quiet you can be. Saw how beautiful you are when you cum for me. Such a precious angel.” Little kisses were pressed to her sticky skin, her mind pleasantly fuzzy and a little empty as his words soothed the orgasm that rocked through her body. “There we go, sweet girl. Y’did perfectly. Took your reward so well, yeah? You were made for this.” His praise added another layer of warm, fluffy comfort to the pleasant feeling that coated her body, the words echoing in her brain. All she could think about was how good she had been, how good it had felt. Good, good, good. She was a good girl and Harry was proud of her. “Gonna take you home in a few, baby. Just let you get a good cuddle in first, clean you up and sneak out of here. We’ll come back and you can see our new friends again.”

This whole thing had pleasured her. Not just the orgasm, but the entire place. Her head had felt calm since she’d settled at Harry’s feet, quickly getting over nerves and settling into that feeling of correctness. Ease. It felt like she belonged here, even with the underlying anxiety. With anyone else but Harry she wasn’t sure if she would have felt that, but it had just been another experience he had made positive for her. Of course he did. He was perfect.

He’d walked her through it, held her hand, helped her know what to expect but- She’d known she would like this sort of thing. Y/n had always thought about it, but actually experiencing it was a whole other beast. One she wanted to experience again, and again, and again- If Harry would let her.

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golden-reverie · 5 months ago

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Dewey Decimated

Chapter One

Author’s note: I genuinely don’t even know what to say, except thank you all so much!! I was expecting maximum like 10 likes on my last blurb, so the fact that 500+ people liked/reblogged it?? I'm forever indebted to you all. You make this so much more fun for a tentative writer like me!

Anyway, I’m finally sharing the first couple of installments of my very first series! Just a heads-up—it’s a slow burn, and, unfortunately, I’ve written it at an equally slow pace, so thank you in advance for your patience. At this point, it's a lot of just setting the scene, but it will get better (and spicier)—I promise! 💕

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

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Nothing quite yet, hints of past dom/sub relationships if you squint, brief mentions of complicated family dynamics (alcoholism and abandonment), toxic work environment-ish, and hints of a future dom/sub realtionship (if you really truly squint)

The library was Mabel’s refuge—a place where the world exhaled, its chaos dimmed to a distant murmur beneath the soft rustle of pages and the faint squeak of rolling carts. The air smelled of aged paper, leather bindings, and a hint of dust, settling over her like a familiar, worn blanket.

She just started her shift and was in the middle of shelving a stack of biographies, her fingers trailing the spines as if drawing reassurance from their steadfast order. The quiet, the predictability—it was the only part of her life that made sense.

She stretched her arms above her head, feeling the pull of exhaustion etched deep into her muscles. Northwind Publishing, her so-called “real” job, had wrung her dry per usual—early mornings, endless demands, her boss barking orders like she was his assistant and his punching bag. The paycheck wasn’t glamorous, but it kept her modest apartment and, more importantly, covered the twins’ tuition.

Her brothers, Charlie and Peter—now sophomores in college—were the reason she did everything. She’d promised herself long ago that they’d never be crushed by the weight of their father’s abrupt departure or their mother’s slow, suffocating unraveling afterward—a promise paid in the form of a miserable boss, double shifts at the library, and exhaustion woven into her bones.

Unlike their father, their mother didn’t leave them—not physically, at least. Shortly after “the departure,”—or “D-Day” as Charlie mordantly coined it—she’d lost her corporate job and found solace in the bottom of a bottle, leaving Mabel to shoulder the role of caretaker by the time she was a freshman in high school. Cooking meals, checking homework, wiping tears—she’d done it all. Maternal love had been transactional in that house, given only when it served a purpose. Now, Mabel’s love manifested itself in tuition payments and relentless sacrifice—but she was okay with that—as long as her brothers never felt that same hollow emptiness she did.

She sighed, casting a glance at the clock. One more hour, then she could shuffle home, microwave leftovers, and collapse into bed—only to rise at dawn and do it all again. The routine numbed her, but at least it was consistent. Consistency kept her grounded.

That is, until he walked in.

Harry.

She didn’t need to look to know it was him. He had a presence—one of those rare people who could command a room without saying a word. Even in the hushed sanctum of the library, he somehow made space bend around him.

There was a rhythm to his visits now—same time, same sections. He’d skim the Career & Business shelves before moving on to something more eclectic. Last week it had been Leaders Eat Last by Simon Sinek and Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore. She’d checked them out for him, her fingers brushing his as he handed over his library card.

It wasn’t like she went out of her way to notice him, exactly. But he was… hard to miss.

Tall and sharp-jawed, he was always dressed like he’d just stepped out of a boardroom, his suits tailored to perfection, hugging his frame like they’d been stitched directly onto his skin. His curly brown hair was just messy enough to look intentional, like he’d run his hands through it moments before stepping inside. And his eyes—a sharp, calculating green—seemed to take in more than he let on. There was a confidence in the way he moved, a slight edge that bordered on cocky but never tipped into arrogance. Mabel told herself it was just observation—nothing more. She wasn’t naive enough to think a man like him could be interested, and even if he was, she didn’t have the luxury of entertaining the idea.

It had been two years since her last attempt at anything resembling a relationship, and the memory still stung like a fresh bruise. His name was Matt, a classmate from her Literary Theory class. He’d asked her out right after graduation, claiming he’d been crushing on her all year but was too intimidated to say anything sooner. When he’d say things like that, she believed him—for a while, at least. He told her he admired her drive and independence. When she started working full-time, juggling two jobs to support her brothers, he told her he respected her dedication. He knew about her family situation, knew the weight she carried, and said he admired it.

But admiration has a short shelf life when convenience runs out.

He didn’t care that she took a humiliating scolding from her boss after leaving the office early one night to make it in time for their dinner plans, only for him to cancel last minute because he wanted to “hang with the boys.” He didn’t flinch when she cut her hours at the library—the one job she actually enjoyed, the job that paid for her groceries—just so she could attend his intramural baseball games on Thursdays, only for him to barely acknowledge her presence anyway.

For a time, he gave her what she craved in the bedroom: the release of control, the ability to let someone else take the reins for once. He claimed he was the dominant type—but like every man before him who’d promised her the same, it was just a façade. Dominance, for them, was an excuse to be selfish and get away with it. It meant using her vulnerability as a weapon. They ignored her boundaries, bulldozed through her limits under the guise of “knowing what she really wanted.” They treated her trust like a disposable commodity—something to be used up and discarded when it no longer served them. What should have been a partnership rooted in mutual respect became a one-sided performance, with her needs left forgotten in the aftermath.

After Matt, Mabel decided she didn’t have the patience for men who saw her strength as a challenge to conquer, who twisted the control she trusted them with into something ugly. She had no time for people who mistook her independence for an inconvenience, or who recoiled at the reality of her responsibilities. Love—or whatever shadow of it they offered—came with too high a cost.

And Harry? He was just another polished surface, all gleaming edges and smooth charm. She wasn’t about to get lost in reflections again.

That’s why she paid no mind to the way he lingered a little too long at the service desk. She brushed it off as coincidence when he always, without fail, ended up in her line, even when another was open. She refused to acknowledge the flutter in her chest when their fingers brushed, or the way her stomach twisted when she caught him glancing her way. No, she didn’t have time for distractions—especially not the kind wrapped in bespoke suits and quiet confidence.

As if on cue, Harry glanced up from a book he was inspecting, his gaze flicking over the room before landing squarely on her. Mabel quickly turned back to her cart, pretending to fuss with a stack of already-perfectly-aligned books. She could feel her heart thudding loudly in her chest, but she ignored it.

“Mabel, darling,” Mrs. Whitmore’s familiar voice broke through her thoughts, warm and grounding. “Do you mind covering the front desk for the rest of your shift? Daniel’s feeling under the weather, so I sent him home early.”

Mabel turned to her manager with a nod. Ever since she’d started at the library, Mrs. Whitmore had filled a mother-shaped void in her life. She offered everything Mabel had been deprived of as a child—kindness, encouragement, gentle words, and a listening ear. She had become the safe harbor where Mabel docked after the stress of long days in the office.

“Of course,” Mabel said, forcing a small smile.

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Whitmore patted her arm affectionately. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Mabel gathered her things and made her way to the front desk, her sneakers squeaking softly against the polished floor. She thought she felt a particular set of green eyes tracking her movements—but she dismissed the thought as nonsense.

Get a grip, Mabel, she chastised herself. He’s just another library patron. Nothing more.

The library was quieter than usual for a Tuesday afternoon. A few patrons were scattered throughout, lost in their own worlds. Perfect. It meant she could lose herself in hers. She pulled her current read from under the desk—The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers. It was the perfect escape, pulling her into a world far from her own, where travelers forged bonds stronger than blood and navigated life’s complexities among the stars. She relished the sense of adventure, the camaraderie, the idea that even in the vastness of space, people could find home in each other. The words wrapped around her like a cocoon, the rest of the library fading into the background. She barely noticed when Harry approached.

“Interesting choice,” he said, his voice smooth, laced with the faintest hint of amusement.

Mabel looked up, startled. He was standing there, one brow slightly raised, that same quiet confidence radiating off him like heat from the sun.

“Uh—yeah,” she stammered, quickly snapping the book shut. “It’s… thought-provoking.”

“I’ll bet.” His gaze flicked to the cover, then back to her. “Think it’s worth a read?”

Her stomach tightened, but she kept her face neutral. “I think you might find it interesting.” A beat passed, and then she rambled, “I mean, not that I know what you’d like… I mean, you seem more into practical stuff… not that there’s anything wrong with that…”

Oh my God, shut up.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face—the kind that suggested he was used to getting under people’s skin.

“I’ll have to check it out, then,” he said, sliding his books across the counter.

She reached for them, fingers brushing his—barely, but enough. Enough for a flicker of something unreadable to cross his face. Enough for her breath to catch, despite herself.

She swallowed. Be normal, Mabel.

She scanned the books, handed them back, and gave him the same polite smile she offered every patron.

“Have a good evening,” she said, her voice almost steady.

“You too, Mabel.”

His voice was lower this time. Intentional.

And then he was gone.

***

Harry wasn’t the type to frequent libraries. His world thrived on boardrooms, deadlines, and the relentless pursuit of success—not the hushed whispers and faint scent of old paper that clung to places like this. But there was something about this particular library—and the woman behind the counter—that kept pulling him back.

It had started innocently enough. A random detour on a quiet evening when the hum of his office felt too suffocating and his penthouse felt too empty. He’d needed something to distract him, something to tether his thoughts before they unraveled into restless discontent.

What he hadn’t expected was her.

Mabel.

He’d caught her name from the delicate pin on her blouse the first time she checked out his books. It suited her—pretty, unassuming, but with an old-world charm that felt rare in a city like Seattle. At first, she hadn’t even looked up, too focused on scanning his selections. But when she did…

Those eyes.

They weren’t the kind that sparkled with flirtation or invited small talk. No, hers were guarded—the kind of eyes that had seen too much and trusted too little. But they intrigued him in a way he couldn’t quite shake. There was a quiet strength there, something unyielding beneath the exhaustion lining her features.

Harry prided himself on control—in business, in life... in the bedroom. He made decisions in seconds, calculated risks with precision, and surrounded himself with things that screamed efficiency, power, and control—innate parts of who he was.

But with Mabel, that all felt like it was slipping, one fleeting glance at a time. He knew better than to get involved. His rules were simple: no attachments, no complications.

Relationships—if you could call them that—were meant to be temporary. A mutual understanding of needs met and lines not crossed.

And yet, he kept going back. Initially, it was for her—a magnetic pull that, if he were honest, still lingered. With each visit, however, his fondness for the quaint little library grew. Accustomed to pursuing the pinnacle of excellence, he knew this place was far from grand. Its shelves were outdated, its walls wore the quiet patina of time, and it offered nothing lavish or modern. Yet, in a life fixated on sterile perfection, it radiated a raw, unpolished charm that he welcomed.

He browsed the shelves, picked up his usual selections, and—as if drawn by instinct—found himself in her line again. Their fingers brushed when she handed him his books. He let the touch linger just a fraction longer than necessary. A flicker of surprise crossed her features, subtle but unmistakable. And it gave him more satisfaction that it should have.

He hadn’t meant to say her name like that—low, deliberate, as if testing the feel of it on his tongue. But the way her breath caught, just slightly, didn’t go unnoticed.

By the time he stepped into the cool night air, he knew two things for certain.

One: Mabel was different.

And two: He was already breaking his own rules.

Back in his penthouse, Harry tossed his keys onto the sleek marble counter and loosened his tie, the city stretching before him in a sea of lights. But instead of the usual satisfaction that came with closing another deal, an unfamiliar restlessness hummed beneath his skin.

He poured himself a glass of scotch, letting the burn settle in his throat, trying to ignore the fact that his mind kept drifting back to her. The curve of her lips when she fought back a nervous smile. The way color rose in her cheeks when their eyes met. The quiet defiance in the way she carried herself, as if daring the world to expect less of her.

He shouldn’t care.

But he wanted to see her again.

Not just as the reserved librarian behind the counter. He wanted to know what lay beneath that carefully composed exterior.

What made her sigh. What made her moan. What made her finally let go of that rigid control she clung to so tightly.

Even before he reached into his briefcase, he was certain: those books would be returned far sooner than he could ever hope to finish reading them.

***

Read chapter two here.

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toshinorisbaby · 2 months ago

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#oh #daddy I’ve been a bad girl #Jesus h Christ #he looks exactly like my real life dom except with fire #I’d let him burn me 100%#enji todoroki #endeavor #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia

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enalovesharry · 2 years ago

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Out of a dream

summary : you and THE harry styles had a one night stand.. the night was a blur so the morning you wake up you’re quite surprised.

warnings : mentions of sex, swearing, fluff?? pls let me know if there was anything else!!

*HEY GUYS!!! first of all I want to thank you for everything on my first ever writing post, i know it’s not the best thing you’ve ever read, it’s definitely not the best thing I’ve written but I didn’t expect that much love. I’m so sorry for just disappearing, life has been very busy but I will get back to things soon! p.s this is how y/n will be in most of my writings, not shy, very outgoing and sarcastic!!!*

Last night was very much a blur.

The only thing you remember was drinking at a random club in the Hollywood Hills, then stumbling into a SUV before everything else was just a blackout.

Waking up to the sun beaming onto your face, your eyes flutter open, hand coming up to block the bright light from your eyes. Although everything seems quite normal, you feel a heavy thing over your torso and a soft aroma of a Tom Ford cologne, pushing yourself up quickly you scan the room, confused on how you might of ended up here.

Well, you already know because the most logical reason would be that you wanted to get someone’s dick wet. You look down to see if the man you pleasured was good looking at-least and-

“Holy fuck.” Your eyes widen, your heart beating out of your chest as you freeze. Harry fucking Styles is sleeping right beside you, curls sticking up left and right, you realise his face was buried into your stomach because of the red mark on it.

You also realise you both were naked, quickly scrambling out of the bed- or wait, his bed. You grab your panties from the floor pulling them up, panic mode absolutely activated.

You hear him moving on the bed, sheets rustling as he sits up, glancing to him he’s stretching his arms above his head, turning his head to you and you notice the panic now evident on his face.

“Hey.. uhh, are you okay? Did I scare you or something, I promise I didn’t kidnap you.” He watches you as you put on your bra, grabbing your shirt and jeans to put on.

“I didn’t realise I literally just fucked Harry Styles, sorry.” Looking into the full-size mirror he has next to the bed you fix your hair up, not noticing how he’s got out of his bed and put his boxers back on, you also didn’t notice how he winced from what you said, he didn’t like when he was labeled as just a famous celebrity a random girl had fucked after having the best sex he’s ever had.

“Hey, chill out. Calm down I’m not gonna like bite you or anything. Unless..” he walks up behind you, looking at you through the mirror.

“Harry, this isn’t funny. 15 year old me would be absolute screaming right now that I actually finally fucked Harry Styles.” Your face blooms in redness at the confession, you see him raise his eyebrows in the mirror, smiling.

“‘S really cute y’know, your dream coming true. You don’t have to go right now.” His hands find their way to your hips, pulling you back into his chest as you keep your eyes on yourself in the mirror, clipping your earrings back into your ears.

You practically lose your breath as his hands caress your hips, all you want to do is pounce onto him and fuck him yet again. But you can’t, you always tended to have attachment issues and having them with Harry Styles was not the way to go.

You had to continue on with life and hide the fact that you hooked up with Harry in the back of your head.

“I have to go, Harry. I have a home and a life, maybe we can hook up some other time in like 3005 or something!” You muster up a smile for him, turning to look up at him, his eyes shine a beautiful emerald green, a dimple pokes out of his cheek, his lips a beautiful shade of pink.

Oh you wanted him so bad again, you knew Harry, from his music of course but you didn’t know or let’s say like him enough to be a fan, that’s for sure. He tugs on your hips again, your hands coming to his waist to brace yourself.

You did wonder if this is what the routine was with all his hookups, fuck them till he was satisfied? Part of you also didn’t think so as he was such a gentleman.

“Come on, darling. Jus’ a little bit longer? I promise, this is not what happens wit’ all the girls I have seen.” The pet name makes you all giddy, your hand coming up to comb through his chocolate curls.

“Are you just trying to make me feel bad for you so then I can follow your music and promote it and whatever?” You ask, eyebrow raising. You see he’s taken aback by that, his eyebrows creasing.

“No, no! Y/N im so sorry if it looks that way, oh my god. I promise that’s not- that’s definitely not what I’m trying to do.” You giggle at his panic, a little surprised that he remembered your name.

“I’m just kidding.” You smile as he pushes his bottom lip out in a soft pout, without thinking you push up onto your tippy toes, pressing your lips against his soft ones, he kisses you back almost instantly, innocently pecking your lips a few times before he slips his tongue into your mouth.

Harry then lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he moves back to the bed, mumbling something softly against your lips.

“Maybe you could give me your number or something if I prove to you that the night was really worth it.” He pulls away, a smirk on his lips, you laugh, biting your bottom lip softly.

“Yeah, yeah. Dream on Watermelon Sugar singer.”

You see a spark in his eyes and as he leans back in to kiss you again your vision goes black.

You feel heat on your body and your eyes snap open, the sun beaming on you, yet again. You look around the room, sitting up, you’re in your own room. You look beside you, a messy empty spot beside you.

Your head then whips to someone walking into the bedroom, it was your fiancée, a bright smile planted on his face seeing you’re finally awake.

“You were having a good dream so I didn’t want to wake you, sounded like you were having fun.” He wiggles his eyebrows, coming to move onto the bed, pulling you into his chest.

“Yeah, it was about the first time i met you.” You plant a kiss onto his bare chest, arms wrapping around his waist.

“Ohh, s’right when I was Watermelon Sugar boy.” He smiles, kissing the top of your head. “Lucky you finally gave into giving me your number and accepted me into your life, hey? Now m’getting married to my one night stand in two weeks.”

“You’re still a loser, Harry. And no I’m still not following your Spotify even when we’re married.” You mumble against him.

“Dang it.”

hehe lol this has no plot xx

dividers by @firefly-graphics 🤍

#harry styles #mean dom h #soft harry #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles x yn #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x fem!reader #soft harry styles #writings #harry styles writing

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1800titz · 9 months ago

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ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ & ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ

KNEELING LAMIA | Witch hunter!Harry x Witch!reader

There's too much tension in this cat-and-mouse. Inevitably, it stretches too taut and snaps.

★18+

This is ᴋɴᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ʟᴀᴍɪᴀ for the KINKTOBER projects. Witch x Witch hunter au.

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

CONTENT/WARNINGS: enemies. p-in-v. degradation. praise. pussy slapping (light). dom/sub undertones. rough sex. bro is simply kind of an asshole, but it's in an attractive way imo.

WC: 3.7K

You hate him.

You hate him, you hate the grease in his derisory, lopsided smile, the one, two-tick at the corners of his mouth, like an omen on the hollow barrel of a cocked gun. The stupid white straightness of them, slick with spit and glimmering off the glowing oil lantern.

The soft humanness in his unchiseled eyes. When they’re narrowed into slits, the color is so soft, so delicate, that they don’t feel nearly as sharp as he intends. The preternatural juxtaposition of a human having eyes that are so mesmerizing is absurd— the pink-rimmed oil painting of his irises, mounted in white, under the tarp of his lashes (they’re long, dark, and cast shadows across the green sfumato). You can nearly find sunstones flecking like gold flakes wading the surface of a pool, if you look close enough.

But the bands are eroded now. Lacking. You always thought his eyes were like the moss speckling the grove in your back garden. Now, the vibrancy of it, crawling up the trunks, feels like a distant memory.

Smeared, pupils bleeding wide like spilled ink.

(You loathe the way his green reminds you of the malachite scattered across your window sill.)

You hate his hands, too. His fingers. The way they notch on reins, and the steel hilt of a gun. The way his pointer stretches across the metal trigger— click— and the way the aim is off. Misses. A trunk eats the bullet, and you think, after so many tries, he has to not miss.

He has to not miss.

But he misses, and misses, and misses— the cat and mouse is an old, familiar game, but a fractured part of you thinks he misses on purpose. And you wonder who’s really the cat; when he’ll finally admit you’ve been filling his shoes out in the hunt, long before his time.

But you hate his hands most because of the way they touch you. The way they feel good. Pinching your bones in place, thumbprints carving into your skin.

Pressure points— he’s no good with a gun, but he’s good at finding pressure points, scoping them with his fingertips. Squeezing in.

You hate his teeth, because you hate him, and he hates you, and you want to sweep them off the floor when you fracture every little bone in the composite of his skull with your palms and shatter them out with your fingers. The way they chew into your nipples and stab a crushed squeak out of you.

(It’s the nature of the game— a double helix. Taijitu. Water and oil. You’re meant to despise each other, because dark has to exist to balance light. There has to be a villain in every story, otherwise the narrative collapses—)

You can’t stand the way his stupidly fat cock splits you on him, around him. The way when he groans, the way it starts as a hum between his ribs, and metastasizes into that yawning pry of his mouth, his soft lips.

(Conflict. Resolution. Recycle.)

His hand pawing at a handful of your breast, like kneading dough. Testing the heft when it shakes under the pressure of his hips slamming in wet squelches, sack slapping to your sticky cunt. The blunt of his nails scraping down your sides, prying in where your waist tapers, and wrapping the barbs of his fingers around, where the rungs sit at your back, to lug you against him in filthy, wet smacks. Again— again.

(Fuck, fuck, fuck—)

“—Fuck,” you mewl, scratching out at his temple, fingertips curling into the burnt umber tufts they can reach, pulling, tangling. Scraping. Your thumb grazes his cheekbone. He bites down on your nipple, instead, where he’s been rolling it between his teeth with his tongue, and grunts. It makes you squirm on the table and arch.

When he unlatches and lurches up to loom over you, he looks wild. Like an untamed beast— reminds you of the wolf that lingers by your doorstep— that you’ve lugged along into your kitchen. Let him splay you across the big, oak table that squeals and rattles under the punishing pace he’s set with his hips.

“Fuck— no,” Harry grunts, and slams your wrist down onto the table, beside your head, your stuttering pulse. Cuffed in his grip. Your fingers twitch. His throat bobs when he swallows.

The tip of his tongue flicks out, drags across his lips, and you think of a scenting serpent. He huffs.

“Ought to declaw you,” he muses, hunching over you, narrowed eyes oscillating from your nails to your face. Voice a husk that oozes condescension. As if you’re an animal— a feral cat that needs its talons extracted.

“Fuck you,” you spit, and the words— the petulant tone, the way your chest rattles when his cock throbs inside of you— are enough to crook the corners of his pink mouth. Wry. Acid across his lips, in the ridges between his teeth.

He sticks his thumb in your mouth, but not really; presses in against the flat of your front tooth when you bare your canines, squeezing at your cheeks. Pressure points— under the side of your mandible, beneath your cheekbone.

“Better watch that mouth,” he taunts. When his eyebrows climb, three ruckles seep across his forehead. Maybe evidence of how he means it, how firm his resolve is, but the way he tips his head down at you, it's goading—

Your chest rolls. “Fuck— you.”

And you get it. You do. Coexisting is an absurd, incompatible fantasy. Deluded, when you cup your teeth around the world and still feel hungry. It only stretches so wide before he’s under your teeth, too, and nobody wants to live in a hungry, sharp mouth. It’s a means of resource. Sanctum; I want sanctum, and you my friend, are preventing that like gum jammed into a lock on a gate.

This slow dance is called perfect, incongruous symbiosis, like a winter coat and the hot sun. You don’t fit together. You’ll never work— not in tandem.

It’s just that he doesn’t get that it’s the circle of life.

A snake and a mouse. That works. It’s unpleasant, but it doesn’t have to be watched.

But it’s ugly. You get the angry men with the pitchforks. You get him— vigilante, here to stab the head off the python with a wooden stick and wring his hands out after, like the hero he’ll be if he manages to tame the beast (glorified pest control— snub the snake in the backyard). You accepted a long time ago that all the little people would get mad that you were eating their little people.

Nasty, vicious thing in the back garden— get rid of it.

But hey— that’s life. The ugly, vicious wasp nest dangling off a poplar tree deserves to exist, too, because that’s the anomalous, hideous shape mother nature’s hand squeezed it into. And that’s, you think, the disconnect. The electrical cord spitting white-hot, fizzing sparks from where it’s been gnawed down the middle.

You swallow. His eyes are blade-sharp. Contemplating, calculating.

You get all that. What you can’t wrap your mind around is the untethered snap between you, like a bungee cord lugging you into a collision. It makes you feel feverish. The fracture in the foundation below you, every atom bred from this, predestined narrative. The sizzle beneath your skin— a charred brand in the shape of his kiss under the layers of your skin— (a lowly mimicry of what lovemaking is, all teeth). It’s brutal. Sharp. A skirt of canines across your collarbone. A notch across the bone. A means to satiate, a compound of loathing, and pining, and the cozening haze of desire. The yearning curdled in the spiral of the communal pool of your animosity.

Because he smells like the rain rapping across your roof when you stand out with the door propped, sticking to the fireweed in rivulets under your porch steps. Like suede. Musk. The wilting coriander sprig on your altar. Your resolve is wicker snapping under his thumb. A melting glacier under the heavy heat dripping from his eyes. You don’t like it. You can’t get enough.

You tip your chin up and his thumb snags on the blunt edges, smushes into your lower lip. When his heavy cock slips out of you and slaps up against his belly, a whine prickles at the back of your mouth. You encase it with your throat like a dirty secret left to write on paper. You won’t whine for him. But he’s thick. His cock is stupidly fat, and it throbs like he can feel the encroaching emptiness between your legs for himself.

You won’t whine, but you feel hollow, and it makes your hips cant up involuntarily. Forward. To him— you hate that— but the stamp of his palm to your cunt makes your thought process crumble apart like notes plummeting off their bars on a sheet of music. A smack of skin on skin is the aria of your twisted affection stretching and collapsing.

It doesn’t hurt. Not really. There’s a dull pang that blooms there, under his touch, but it feels smothered under the white-hot lightning streak of shock that jolts your shoulders and sculpts your face. The mortified, blistering heat that spumes your cheeks when the whites of your eyes pool a little wider. You flounder up at him wordlessly.

Harry hums. It’s haughty, and mocking, and it makes something ripple in your underbelly. “Say that again, little girl?”

You swallow. Squirm. The pseudonym has something bristling in your chest. You’re not a little girl. This thicket has belonged to you for hundreds of years.

But the warm prickle between your thighs is an ugly, ugly paradox.

And you hate the way his hand is this humongous thing between your thighs, across your sex, swallowing your smarting cunt in the cup of his palm. The way he leaves it where it landed. His thumb stretched out and lingering in the crease between your mons and your tucked up thigh. You hate the way you drool slick against his fingers, the way your clit pulses under the heel of his hand. Your chest rolls.

His amusement is acidic. Patronization sloshes off his eyes and burns a hole right through the layer of your mettle when he cocks his head down at you, the way your hips hitch. His lips twist. “Oh you liked that, did you?”

Your face pinches. The corners of your lips curl down despite the way your empty pussy flutters under his skin.

“No."

He makes a sound. A hum that granulates into a rich chuckle, and his eyes flicker off your face, to his hand, and back, and back. Something brews in the depths under his lashes, you think— a sinkhole cratering into the ground beneath the canopy of the woods, driving the forest ground out into a void— watching the breadth of his hand envelop between your thighs. Maybe at the molten heat, or the way he can undeniably feel you clenching up. Throbbing. Against him. For him.

“Is that right? Look at that, mm— drippy, little pussy,” Harry tells you, voice hardly over a whisper. The words are a livewire zigzagging up your spine, riding the arches of the knobs, spilling something noxious and cloudy along your cerebrospinal fluid.

It goes straight to your head.

“Needy, little cunt. Bet you could cum just from me slapping it.”

His middle finger grazes your asshole. Your toes curl, you can’t even argue, despite the vitriol puddling on the back of your tongue like stagnant water. He tips his head. Smiles. The flash of teeth carves an ache into you that makes your bones ring.

“Aren’t you… just the sweetest thing when you’re put in your place,” Harry murmurs down at you, eyebrows climbing, and he’s— unctuous. A headache. The kind that clusters around the arch of your skull and squeezes taut like a bundle of rubber bands. Talking down to you like you’re a wily thing for him to put into a corner, once and for all. Like your demesne isn’t stamped in his soggy footprints, layer after layer, year after year.

You bare your teeth and jut your chin defiantly, but then he drags his thumb down along your pebbled clit, and it makes your shoulders wobble.

You used to cut hunters down like the loggers muscling in on your timber. Hatred was a pearl folded into your heart. A bead tucked into the soft, fleshy tissue between the little pockets of your ventricles, and it stung like a splinter in your gums.

You wear it in your chest like his name shaved into a rib. The perfect harmony of dysfunction. You don’t know why being under him kindles a flame. Just that it does. He’s live coal, and you crackle over what he gives you.

The moment of silence between you has that shattering weight of your little truce, and you’re reminded of the plunge from the hillscape of your dignity.

Maybe it’s worse that you don’t mind.

His shoulders swell. You like the spit-slick rim of his mouth, the way the color is an insignia of your teeth making landfall.

“Are you gonna be a good girl?”

When he plants his hand beside your ear and stretches forward a little more, his cockhead slips across your clit. Hot, like a firebrand coated in sateen. You curl your fingers and realize your wrist is still pinned down. His eyes sway to it like he knows what you’re thinking, and his mouth twitches.

“Gonna keep your hands to yourself?” Harry purrs, grunting when you roll your chin away in scorn.

“Because—“ His finger prods onto your cheek. Then, two. Under your jaw, enough pressure to turn your head. “You know I love that wild shit. But, can’t have you fucking up my pretty face—“

The humor coagulating his tone tastes bitter when you breathe it from the air. Swallowing it down into your lungs where it ghosts with the subatomic heaviness of want. Your eyes flit. You hate him— you hate—

He grins down at you. Not quite. Close-lipped, eyes vats that shelter his dogma. The intensity of his seriousness. “Can’t do that,” he muses, but his tone is softer than his countenance.

You look away. And you don’t watch it, but he huffs, like he’s losing patience for your still-not-quite-subservience and lack of zeal. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. Hums.

“Mm. Come on, doll. You know I don’t want you if you don’t want me,” he tells you, but his mouth crooks because he knows— he knows.

You blink up at him. His eyes burn down at you from the bridge of his nose, and it feels like you’ve been swaddled into a sudden, wet heatwave. The words would nearly be considerate if it wasn’t for the condescending undertow that spills under the vowels like an oil slick.

His pointer traces the corner of your mouth, brows furrowing as he tails the motion with his gaze. “Just you say the word.”

And despite the way you blister, something itching under your skin, you won’t. Your teeth are clenched, but you couldn’t pry them apart with pliers to turn him down, not with the fever spilling its way across you. You settle for contempt— let it set your face like a cast congealing, but he doesn’t chase the tail of your indignation with anything beyond mockery.

He stares back at you. Doesn’t let it wither, drowns in the deluge of your inkpools, mouth curling but-not-quite.

“No,” he sighs, after a beat of your lull— bereft of your protest— drawing his forefinger away and slinking it down the naked space of your sternum, then around your swollen nipple. You gnaw into your cheek. “You know what I think?”

“—I don’t care,” you pick your head up to hiss.

You expect to face something crumbling at the retort. Discipline. Retribution— to watch something clot inside of him the way it wads in your chest, caking gravity across his features because— need to be taught a lesson in respect. What did I say about watching that mouth?

But it flickers over him without a hitch. Slides off.

Instead, he doubles down, hunching back over you. “I think you love this cock too much. Don’t you? Got you wrapped around it, by now.”

The flame from your core licks up to flare at the apples of your cheeks. He breathes when he straightens out. Deep. Like the prelude to a sigh, and you wonder if the same burning kisses along the nooks of his lungs. You don’t say anything, and he pulls his hand back.

“That’s right,” Harry coos, cocking his head down at you, “Just a sweet, cockdrunk, little whore, by now.”

Your eyes narrow into thin slits. Dagger splits. The wobble in your voice is a swordblade. “Shut— up.”

He laughs. Laughs. This muted, soundless thing that manifests more in his shoulders, the jolt across their breadth. The crater beside a smile line. He shakes his head, and cups the root of his cock with his fist. Your eyes follow it. You swallow.

“Mm, no,” he muses, gaze pooling where the mushroomed ridges of his tip slide along your sopping rim, your puffy lips, your clit, “I think you like it. Gushing all over the table.”

Embarrassment ties its tendrils along the base of your throat. Cogon grass germinating and feathering out across your esophagus, until you’re choking on your spit. You grit your teeth. Your hips nudge up. Forward. He underscores the presumption by pulling the head of his cock back, and sundering the string of tacky slick that’d stretched between him and your seam.

“Makin’ a fucking mess with your messy, desperate pussy,” Harry tells you, pressing his index to his thumb and prying them apart for emphasis. Your slick shimmers in the light. “Look at you. There’s a fuckin’ puddle.”

Your face creases. Cheeks buzzing, white-hot. You feel yourself leaking down along the cleft of your ass, and your fingers itch. A thunderbolt streaks across when you recognize that your hand is still flat against the table. Just where he left it.

He aims his cock back against you, so thick in his palm, and murmurs, “You want it?”

You don’t know how you ended up here.

You do, but the motions between point A and B feel like a nebulous smear. Hands in motion. Fabric tangling across the floor. Teeth, and tongues, and bones, and claws.

(“Always liked an older woman,” you remember he told you, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. The hubris of a boy sewn into the shoulders of a man. The irony of your preternatural youth folded into his proposition as his eyes roamed across your face.)

(“So let’s put …this,” a motion between with a jutted finger, a murmur drizzled in allure, tucked like a secret into the shape of the night, “aside for a time-out, you and me.”)

You don’t know why you said yes. How. Why your body reacts like he’s a breath you need, whispering along your lungs. Why you let him unspool you over his fingers, his tongue, fucking into you like he was starving.

But you nod.

You nod, and he presses his weepy tip against your cunt, and it only takes a nudge for him to pry you open around him again. Enveloping him. Sloppy, little pussy pulsing over the tip like a frenetic heartbeat.

You turn your chin and bite into your own shoulder to stifle the mewl spiraling between your tonsils, and he groans. The sting is better the second-go, but the pressure of having your rim stretched taut anew doesn’t lose its edge. The ache settles in your underbelly. Flourishes in the molten geyser of your arousal.

“Oh, shit,” Harry hums, pasting his palm flat to your tummy, right over your navel. Like this, you can feel his fingertips under your heartbeat. Across it. Thrumming. His eyes glued to where you swallow up his cock.

He feeds his cock into you slow, but it feels incongruous. The pastiche of what you’re feeling is already enough to cloud your head into delirium— you want teeth. Tongues, bones, claws.

“Harder,” you grit, catching his eye when he stalls, hand braced across your waist. You resolve paints your words firm, “I can take it.”

For a moment, Harry stares down at you. The whiplash of pause morphing to taunt, like a seamless rebound, has your rim fluttering over his girth. “My, my. Aren’t we eager.”

“Just—“

Your cosm ripples around you when he drives his hips forward, and lugs you back, hips colliding with your skin in a smack. A horrible, wet sound when he crams his way in, wedging your fuss back into the depth of your stomach. It flings you off your rationale.

He shivers. “God, you’re slutty. Slutty pussy on a slutty witch.”

The pace he sets is brutal. Merciless. It caters to your complaint, and squashes it out under his thumb. Under the kiss of his tip to your womb. Deliriously, you think he’s going to spill his hot, thick load inside of you, and then what? Then, what?

It feels like he’s wringing you out between his hands, until all that’s left is a pool of want.

You hate the way he’s chiseled in a place for himself. A tern across your branches, nested in twine and spare filaments of organs that belong to you. A little sinew peeled off of your liver. A sliver off your lung. Maybe that’s why—

You suck in a tight breath and let it rattle the nest he’s built, when he hits something unfathomably deep inside of you. Plugged on his cock, there’s no way for you to smother your moans out. He batters in to the hilt, cupping you by the waist, and rocking you back onto him, over, and over, and over.

“I want this sweet pussy to cum around my cock,” he pants over you. A curl has flopped across his eye, and your ire is eclipsed by your yearning. The ball inside of you unspooling as if he’s peeling the layers of muscle on your heart back like an onion to temporarily pluck out the undiluted loathing. “Do you hear me?”

It’s a mindless motion— your fingers creeping to land over where you connect, where he’s splitting your gummy walls to what feels like their ceiling. But he bats your hands away, and rams into you until your mons is kissing the wiry bed of hair that’s smattered over his shaft.

“It’s gonna cum around my cock,” he grunts, “or it’s not gonna cum at all.”

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