#dark Harry styles

[jarofstyles]

Lush

Hello my ducklings! Since we have been getting a lot of questions about our Patreon and what is included, we decided to give you guys peeks into the series we have exclusively on there. This is Lush, escort y/n x dark businessman H. There will be some twists and turns in this one, hot smut, a fake relationship and a possessive and slightly obsessive dark H- our favorite. This series will only be on Patreon but this is the first part to give you a taste!

Check out our Patreon for access to Lush and our other exclusive series + 100+ exclusive writings.

Warnings- escorting, mention of homelessness and money struggles, daddy kink etc

WC- 2.9k

-----

Y/N knew her job, and she did it well.

Sit still, look pretty. Perched on her favorite client’s lap, his strong thigh covered in a trouser that matched the blazer that probably cost more than she’d made in the last 3 months, she sipped her champagne quietly and ‘let the men talk.’

Harry Styles was an enigma. He had popped up a few weeks ago, bringing her to a dinner after a debriefing in a lux hotel in one of the bigger hotels on the Vegas strip. The window had overlooked it all, a penthouse that seemed to be used quite frequently considering the fridge had been stocked and he had socks stuffed in a drawer that she’d used later that night.

“I need you to sit on my lap, keep me company.” He had said plainly. The man was intimidating. Broad and tall, soft brown hair swept back and off his forehead. Stubble shadowing his face and over his lip, his features were sharp and his eyes a little harsh, but she could whole heartedly admit that he was the most attractive client she’d ever had. Being a year in after escaping a situation that was still haunting her nightmares, she had been eager to accept the higher paying and well vetted job she had, thank god, stumbled into. It wasn’t conventional, no, but nothing really was in Vegas.

“I can do that.” She replied, hands folded in her lap. He stood before her as she had sat on the couch, looking up at him as he spoke. “Is that all we’re doing in our time together?” To put it in a nicer way of asking. She could have bluntly asked if he was going to want sex, but she did try to at least have a little decorum- until the situation granted the freedom of it. It wasn’t uncommon for her and she was safe, tested, and generally did enjoy sex- but it was a job. This time, however, would probably be enjoyed more than she had in the past. A real attraction to the man would be helpful in many parts of making this more enjoyable.

“Who said that?” He rose a brow, looking down at her. It was a smoldering look but she couldn’t find it in herself to look away as he got closer and tilted her chin up. “I intend to take everything you’ll offer. I’d suggest canceling your plans for tomorrow.” She didn’t have to ask why. It was clear this man intended to fuck her, and fuck her well.

Spoiler- he did.  Harry had, for all intents and purposes, rocked her shit. So when she found his name on her books twice the next week, she hadn’t complained. She’d been excited, actually, considering she’d been able to feel the sting of her ass when she’d sat in the Lyft the next morning to take her to her apartment. Another good thing about him, she found as she looked in her purse, was that he tipped extremely well. More than was deserved, if she was being honest, but the one time the girl brought it up he had shoved another hundred dollar bill into the waistband of her sleep shorts and sent her on her way.

It had become known to her that he specifically requested her. If she wasn’t available, he’d offer more money than the other client was paying- and her Madam had no problem with that, considering it upped her cut. She found herself with him 3 times this week, frequenting clubs and drowning out business talk as his large hand splayed across her waist and the other hand held a sweaty amber colored liquor on the rocks. Much to many of her friends and client’s surprise, Y/N didn’t drink much. She stuck to lighter things, champagne and rosé, and kept to a one to two drink maximum. She preferred keeping a clear head when on the job and honestly? Drinking wasn’t her thing. A buzz was nice, but anything past that meant a headache in the morning. She wasn’t a morning person to begin with.

This meeting was going past its normal time, making her wonder what was being said. If she was being frank- Y/N didn’t do much listening in his meetings. It felt like they were talking in code, another language, and she couldn’t be assed to listen about imports and exports and blah, blah, blah. Her brain was happy to sit and be warm on a handsome man’s lap, observing the dance floor. Dancing used to be so fun, something she’d always loved to do as a child. Now she didn’t get to do as much, even though she’d wished she could. Club dancing was far different than her normal type but if she was on the balcony of the most VIP of the VIP sections, she was going to take her people watching to the next level.

“Y’alright?” His raspy voice breathed over her ear, not taking his eyes off the men who were talking amongst themselves. “I know it’s late. We can go back soon.” While Harry wasn’t the most warm and fuzzy person, he did respect her time. He was a little scary, truthfully, and she didn’t want to upset him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was respectful and kind to her, he spoiled her with tips and orgasms, and she had no complaints. If staying out a bit later than he had said was the least of her worries besides his scowling, she was golden.

“I’m okay.” She smiled. “People watching. Sorry, I’m not paying attention. Dunno what half of the stuff you’re talking about means.”

Y/N had no reality of what he did. No clue. She was too afraid to google him. To ruin the illusion she had of him in her head. He passed the background test and signed the heavy contract that came with hiring her, so he wasn’t about to harm her or anything- and from what she’s learned in Vegas, sometimes you’re better off not knowing. There was a lot of shady business practices that went on. It was legitimately upset her if he was a bad person outside of the law, so she decided not to go searching for answers she possibly didn’t want to find.

“That’s good.” He murmured, pressing a private kiss underneath her ear. “Don’t worry about it. S’nothing interesting anyways. Got t’keep up appearances.” His voice dropped. “Would much rather be between your thighs. Missed this body while I was away.”

And, Oh. It made her hot, a nervous giggle leaving her throat as the words tickled against her ear. Harry had gone away on a business trip, he’d prefaced it because he had been gone 4 day. He’d prescheduled to meet her on the day he came back. Her stomach did a swoop in her body as the cool hand that held his glass deposited it on the table, finding her thigh and squeezing over it. “You did?”

She had to wonder if he was buttering her up, but the thought was dispelled because Harry didn’t need to do that. He had always been a bit blunt and she liked that about him. Less sweet talk that he didn’t mean. What he said made sense- complimenting her body and her mouth and appearance, what she did for him, but he never went too far and said things he didn’t mean. So she believed him when he nodded, slipping his hand further up her dress and making her swallow thickly. He’d given her pretty lingerie he’d bought from wherever he went, the buttery silk laying against her body under the dress that hugged her figure. Red, he said, because she was a little devil between the sheets. “I did. Got t’bring you with me next time.”

Some girls did that. Y/N wasn’t even sure what the rate would be for a trip, but the idea appealed to her. “You sure you can afford it?” She whispered back, a playful tilt to her lips. Obviously he could. He was by far the wealthiest man she had in her books, evident by the liquor he ordered, the watches he wore and the cars the drove in. It was arousing to her, if she was being honest. When she settled down one day, the one thing she really wanted was financial stability. Maybe that sounded shallow, but with her history with no money and being a little jaded, it made sense to her.

“Can afford that, and a shopping spree for you while I do business.” He brushed his cool fingertips against her slightly damp panties. Harry didn’t smile often, but when he did? It was a smirk. A hot, arrogant little smirk that she should probably be annoyed by, but wasn’t. “Need to get you out of here, though. Have something I want to talk to you about before I sink you down on my cock.” His fingers retreated after a gentle brush to find them wet, moving to her leg as he began to wrap up the meeting. People would listen, even if they weren’t finished- he just had that way about him.

—--

Y/N had no clue what, exactly, he wanted to talk to her about. They’d had some nice conversations so far about a plethora of things. Movies, books, restaurants, some morals. But it wasn’t too deep. Both of them had seen it for what it was, even if they had impeccable sexual chemistry. She didn’t know the man all that well, only what was told to her and what he had divulged- and knowing the man had a sweet tooth didn’t account for much. So it was slightly intimidating when he asked her to meet him in the living room of the suite as he put away his watch and jacket.

What could he possibly have to talk to her about? Her brain was coming up with nothing.

“C’mere.” He sat himself down on the couch, offering his lap back up to her. It wasn’t something she did in private unless his hands were down her panties or she was riding him, but she decided to go for it. Her heels kicked off to the side, she sat herself back in the familiar way. It had taken her off guard, but his hand took her own and she watched as he flipped it over, thumbing over her ring finger. “I need to ask you a favor. A proposition.” He murmured, calculating eyes going back to her face. “And you can say no, if you want. I’ll understand.” Of course, this made her alarm bells ring but there was little time to panic. Considering he was a very get to the point man, he did exactly that. “I’d like for you to quit your current job and pretend to be my fiance.”

The bomb was dropped. Why, exactly, a man of his caliber needed a fake fiance? She had not a fucking clue. Harry continued, her face slack in shock. He took that into account, it seemed. “I like you. You’re polite, know how to behave in public. Gorgeous little thing. You’re intelligent, you’re quick, and you understand how to keep to yourself. That’s a very valuable thing to me.” His thumb resumed rubbing her ring finger. “We have incredible sex. You fulfill and exceed my needs, and I’m satisfied with sex for once in my life.” Y/N let him do whatever he wanted and thoroughly enjoyed it. There was no faking it with them. Their chemistry crackled in the air when it shifted. There was no doubting that. “My family has been pressuring me to settle down. I have no time to properly date, nor the desire to.” He sure as fuck wasn’t the type to go on dating apps, and the dating pool he was around was a lot of vapid people with money hungry libidos. At least he would know Y/N was there for money and there would be no confusion between them. “I enjoy your company. It isn’t traditional nor conventional, but I’d provide for you. I will deposit your average monthly income in your own bank account and give you a card to my own. I’d pay for your rent while you stay with me, and you’d have free time to do as you please. Whatever hobbies you’d like. Horse riding, art, reading, I don’t care what it is if you like it.”

Her head was swimming. What the fuck? She’d heard of men falling in love with escorts, sure, but this seemed… More transactional. For some reason, it made her feel a little more comfortable. He wasn’t proclaiming love after barely knowing her. He knew how it went and that she needed to be provided for. “Like a sugar baby?” She blurted out.

“Not particularly. My fiance in title. You’ve been introduced as my girl to everyone already, so it isn’t a difficult sell to anyone but my family. We’d announce our engagement, I’ll bring you to London to meet them, let it run it’s course.” His eyes bore into hers. “I don’t want you with anyone else while you’re mine. I’ll be the only one you sleep with, and vice versa. I don’t want you to split your time between me and anyone else. I’m asking for devotion, which is a lot. But I’d like it to be you.”

“Why?” Y/N knew he had explained it but it was still confusing. “I know what you’ve said but… surely theres other people that you’d want to ask? I’m just an escort you’ve been seeing for a little while. I mean.. The sex is great, don’t get me wrong.” And she was extremely attracted to him and his energy, but… “I’m not in my escort mode all the time. I don’t want to be working 24/7. I’m not as docile while off the clock.” She wasn’t about to get put into 24/7 smile and nod territory. It was fine when it was an outing, or even a night, but she did have a personality she quite liked outside of it.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be agreeable all the time. In fact, I’d like to see you fight me a little.” Harry’s smirk returned. “Makes the sex hotter. But…” he returned to his business face. “I chose you because we get along. I don’t like a lot of people. I may pretend I do, but it’s difficult for me to find people who don’t make me irritated. You’re… interesting to me.” It wasn’t the answer she expected, no, but still. She had more questions.

“So what about after it’s all done and over with? I’ll end up on the streets, homeless again because I know Madam isn’t going to just let me back on her lists.” She crossed her arms, not realizing what she’d said. Harry caught it, pocketing it for later. It didn’t sit right that she had been on the streets at all, but that wasn’t a topic he could broach right now. He didn’t have the right to ask yet.

“I will make sure you’re set after this is done.” He promised. “I will have all of your expenses covered while you’re with me. Nails, hair, food, clothing, hobbies. You’ll be making your pay and then some every week and not touching it. And if it ends early, I will payout an extra mil. Does that sound reasonable?” He rose an eyebrow. “I’ve got the paperwork with me, but you can sit on it if you want.”

“How long can I sit on it for?” It took everything in her to not bite at her nails. The one thing the acrylics were good for was curbing that habit. “It’s not a no, but I’d like to look at the contract and have a lawyer look over it before I agree to anything.” As young as she may seem, she wasn’t stupid. This would be a perfect way to take advantage of her. While she didn't have that feeling from him, she’d be dumb not to protect herself.

She didn’t expect the smile from him, but it made her heart beat a bit faster as he brought her hand up to kiss it. “Smart fuckin’ girl you are.” He laughed. “Good. That works with me. I hope you do sign it, though.” His eyes darkened a bit. Harry wasn’t good at sharing and the idea of this pretty thing belonging to him, in essence, made his dick twitch. “I’d love to take you with me to Italy and see you on my yacht. Maybe fuck you on it. Think you’d really love that.”

Y/N had a feeling she would, too. The idea of being with one man, a man she so far enjoyed despite a bit of arrogance and intimidation, was appealing after a year here. But she needed to cover her own ass before sinking into something too good to be true. “I would.” Her nails moved from his hand to card through his soft hair. “I’d love that. But I think you should focus on tonight, hm?” Her legs opened a little, and she guided his hand back to where it had been previously. “Take a look at the pretty things you’ve already got, Daddy.”

[smuttyaf]

Tag, You’re It

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲

wc: 4.3k

dom/sub, slapping, exhibitionism & very rough sex

The houses that you grew up around stand tall and sturdy after many years on the residential street. Trees still holding their colourful leaves while some skid amongst the ground when the wind picks up. Your free hand was buried into your pocket, feeling over the sherpa lining while the other tore the cigarette from your lips and flicked it to the ground.

Heels click against the asphalt, your ears drawing in the sound of music playing from your phone. The sun was already setting on the horizon as you made your way home; school had just finished an hour ago yet it was as if it was nearly the evening, however you were happy.

It was finally Friday and you were delighted to lay in your bed, order in food, and watch whatever movie seemed interesting on Netflix. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip when you felt the gush of wind blow through you, hand now going into your other pocket and welcoming the warmth.

The familiar sound of Harry’s Mustang caught your attention as it peels down the road, the engine could be heard over the music in your headphones. The smell of burning gas fills your nostrils as the presence of it next to you quirks your interest.

Black tires are nearly on the curb as the vibrating hum from inside of the vehicle pours out. Your eyes flick between the side view mirror to the tinted window rolling down, leather seats in your vision. The song in your earbuds comes to an end revealing the loud whistle floating in the space, it makes you roll your eyes and settle your movements.

“Hey baby,” The words were muffled causing you to tug one bud out and turn towards the black coupe.

“Hi,” You say while giving a faint smile, body turning and leaning into the vehicle. The smell of mint and weed was welcomed with the gas in the air, only making your nose wrinkle and eyes look towards green ones.

His hair was messy today, as if he woke up and simply just ran his hands through it and thought it would suffice. His leather jacket was around his shoulders with his usual black attire, fingers dressed with thick sliver rings as they tap against the wheel of the car. A beaming smile was set along his lips which only meant trouble in your eyes.

Harry Styles, the local bad boy who always found himself in mischief. Whether it was for skipping class or dealing weed behind the local corner store, he had a lengthy record already that only grew every other month. Despite everything, it didn’t help that he was a delinquent who was handsome as well; brown curls, heavily tattooed, and face crafted by cherubs, he was hot but not someone you would want to be caught with.

“You go to St. Martins, right?” Harry continues, eyes peering over his black shades and into yours. You couldn’t help the tingle in your spine, it’s happening.

“Uh yeah…” You answer, eyebrows knotting in confusion. Hmm… What exactly did Harry want? Why all of a sudden was he talking to you.

“I go to the public school across from it,” He reveals, only making you let out a laugh.

“I know… I hear,” You say, eyes flickering between his car and him. The whole town knows what Harry’s car sounds like, you could tell he was coming from miles away.

“Is it really that loud?” He says sarcastically, eyebrows pushing together with a bright smile. You roll your eyes in response, your body relaxing a bit while your hands shift around in your pocket.

“You’re a senior too?” He ask, one hand leaving the wheel and landing on the middle console, making him lean in closer.

“Yeah,” You simply respond, looking at the way his hair falls over his forehead.

“What a coincidence…” Harry remarks, smirk now stretching across his lips as he leans his head to the side. “You know I always see you walking when I’m driving home… I can always drop you off?” He suggests. You feel your heart drop in your chest and stomach twist.

As much as you want to get into this dangerously handsome man’s car, you know you shouldn’t. Yes, you both grew up in the same town together and are around the same age but, you don’t know Harry. You bite down on your bottom lip, fingers twisting in your jacket as you pull away from the door and stand straight.

“I appreciate it but I’m good,” You say, another faint smile spreading on your lips as you watch Harry’s head now lean back, charcoal frames covering his eyes completely.

“Oh come on… It’s cold and my ride is nice and warm,” Harry remarks, lips curling and foot leaning off the brakes as the car begins to peel away slowly. You shake your head and begin your previous movements towards your house. Yes, it was cold outside but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, you didn’t need a ride from him.

“I can cut your walk down by three minutes,” He continues, the heels of your boots echoing against the concrete.

“I’m good!” You call back, hand slipping out of your jacket and taking your headphone to put back in your ear.

“Let me drop you home,” Harry responds, only making you roll your eyes again, chewing down on your bottom lip.

His calls proceed ranging from “I can bring you home,” to drawn out “Hello’s,” but to each one you ignored. Your feet continue to carry you but at a much faster pace than before. The only thing you can think in this moment is where the hell is anyone to witness this.

Soon, you are near the local hiker trail of your town, your head still tucked down at your feet as you peel away from the side walk and cut towards the path. Now you were stepping on dry leaves with your heart pounding through your ears, you let your head twist around swiftly to where you see Harry’s coupe.

Windows up and blowing smoke in the air as it was parked against the curb. At that point you begin to jog lightly through the forest; boots breaking sticks and hands swishing by your side as you tried to navigate where you go from there. It wasn’t normal for you to take this path home, you always stick to your usual route but now there was an obstacle in your way.

Chest heaving and heart beating uncontrollably, you kept turning your head around to see if he was still even following you. Maybe you were actually going crazy thinking that the Harry Styles would be following you just because you declined a ride home from him but, just as you twist your head around to look in front of you, you immediately bump into a warm chest, eyes peering up and locking with his.

“Did you really think you could get away from me?” He questions, voice slow as he steps closer to you, making you take one back. A smirk rests on Harry’s lips, arms linking together with the smell of his scent filling your nose.

The only thing you could do was stare, you were not expecting Harry to be standing in front of you right now. Where did he even come from and how could you not have heard him. Now your chest was pinching with pains as your nerves were driving you up the wall.

“I asked you a question.” Harry states. Lips in a line as he took another step towards you.

“I—I don’t need a ride home,” You mutter, fingers going to the ends of your black skirt as you feel over the pantyhose there.

“That wasn’t the question.” He says, hand now tearing away from him and gripping your elbow. That only makes a gasp slip from your lips and eyes bulge.

“Let go of me,” You mutter, trying to break free from his hold but that only makes him apply more pressure.

“Answer my question,” Harry insists, the strength he has on your arm pulling you closer into his chest.

You swallow once again, the wetness between your legs already beginning to flood your panties as you try to not break character. You bite down on your bottom lip, eyes flickering between the sliver zippers on his jacket to his olive globes.

“Yes.” You say calmly, the trees rustling as the sky begins to fade to grey.

The heat of Harry’s palm is welcomed across your cheek, his hand tearing away from your elbow and gripping your hair as he tugs your head back to look at you with a grin on his face. You bit down harder on your bottom lip to try and suppress yourself. Your hands move away from your skirt and hold onto Harry’s biceps, your eyes peering up at him through your mascara coated lashes as you gently try to push him off you.

“Let go,” You cry, only making the grip he has in your hair tighten as he tugs your head down. A hiss leaving your lips making your eyes flutter.

“What are you gonna do about it? Huh?” Harry smirks, pulling your hair again and that makes your eyes close and a painful moan escape. The feeling of your head throbbing as his fingers toy with the hairs, it had your thighs pressing together and teeth going back to dig in the flesh.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” He mutters, eyes searching for any hesitation. Fuck you were so turned on, the way he can be aggressive with you one second to loving the next.

One night after Harry snuck through your window, with shared spliff between the both of you following a heated make out session, he somehow manage to get you to confess to one of your most intimate desires. He agreed to do it however, only on his terms; which only made you grow with excitement because you never knew when he would play along to your fantasy. So, when you opted to act clueless to him and he encouraged the idea that you both don’t know each other you knew what was about to happen, and that made your heat throb between your legs.

“Yes,” You whimper, lips immediately welcomed with Harry’s, the taste of mint burning on yours. You moan immediately, hands relaxing against Harry’s arms as you let yourself get wrapped up in him.

One of his hands fall from your hair to roam down your back and cup your ass, pushing him deeper into you and welcoming you into his warmth. His other hand ran down the nape of your neck to hug the skin there, tongues twisting around each other as you submit yourself fully to him. Harry’s scent fills your nose, just the smell of his cologne alone had your knees bending in weakness. You couldn’t help how aroused you are, the feeling of his growing member pressing against you only reassures you that he wants this too.

“On your knees.” He commands, tearing away from your lips. Fingers now lace in your hair as you let your legs squat down and look up at him, your hands falling to his hips and running over his thick bulge.

Black nails fumble over each other as you undo his belt and relieve him, tongue running over your bottom lip looking at hard he is; angry veins running along the base to tip varying in size, you take one of your hands off your hip and let it dip between your thighs, the way his cock looks in front of you made you want to come from the sight.

“Hmph,” You hum, when you feel Harry’s hand tug your hair back to make you peer up at him, his face cold with lips glistening with the mixture of you both.

“Did I say you can touch yourself?” He asks, only making you shake your head slightly. This causes him to yank your head again. “I asked a question.” He stated, voice strong and raw. God, you wanted him to fuck you right there.

“No,” You say, hand tearing away from your thighs and going to fall to his pelvic bone, your other messaging his thigh.

“Good girl,” Harry hums, his fingers relaxing and massaging your scalp as you lean forward. Hands going to the base of his shaft as your tongue dips out of your mouth and runs over the slit of his head, licking over the dip before letting your lips suckle his crown.

Saliva coats your lips, sinking deeper and deeper until you find a good rhythm, head slightly bobbing while feeling him stretch your throat with each flex. Harry’s left hand welcomes itself on your cheek, letting himself have a grip over your mouth and making his hips rock into you. You halt your movements, eyes fluttering up to look up at him as he delve into your throat, lips spreading around his thick member letting him thrust into you.

“Gonna be a good girl for me,” Harry says, eyes hooded and fingers tensing against your jaw, making you moan as you tear away from him.

“Yes,” You breathe out looking up at him, hands going to the base of his shaft and running over the coated member. He looks so sexy staring down at you; hair framing his face, teeth tucked on top the skin of his lips while he focuses on tearing your throat apart just the way you want.

Your response causes him use to use the grip he has on your jaw to make you lean forward and welcome him into your mouth once again, hand now massaging whatever you can’t fit while the other ran up and down his clothed thigh.

The sound of Harry’s dick rocking into your throat fills your ears as tears begin to swell your waterline, the thickness of him down your throat only making it ache as he halts his hips, fingers holding you still as he shoves himself down, his waist halting as you take him all the way.

You watch his head knock back and the fingers in your hair relax, a sigh of relief escapes him. He holds you like that for what felt like two minutes until he pulls his hips back, a deep breath drawing from you before he’s rocking into you like that four more times and you feel your throat burn from the stretch.

A pleasant hum leaves your ruined throat as Harry pulls himself away from you, letting a trail of saliva link between your lips and his cock. “Look so perfect like this,” Harry sighs, hand slipping from your hair and wiping the string of spit.

You blink up at him, holding back tears as you feel your throat burn in pleasure. You were afraid if you spoke it would come out as a squeal, so instead you bite down on your swollen lip at the piece of thickness in front of you, glistening in your fluid.

Harry watches your gaze go to his cock, a smirk now adoring his features. His grip on your jaw releases and goes to your shoulders, bringing you back to stand up, his hands now falling to your hips and turning you around to shove you against the dried out stream that had trees framing it with others further back. It makes more privacy for the area because of the hanging branches.

Your feet stumble over the loose rocks, while your chest presses against the old tree. Harry’s hands feel your backside in his grip before taking your skirt in hand and peeling it over the flesh. His fingers immediately going to your stockings, ripping the material causing you to let out a small gasp when you feel the cool air hit your bottom.

“Fuck… Look at you,” He whispers, his hands going to your lace panties and pressing his fingers against your heat, the cold metal from his rings erupts a broken moan to escape your lips. Three fingers rub against you, playing with your clit, making the wet spot you were squatting in spread against your folds.

“Baby,” You cry, voice raw and raspy, it basically pained you to talk. Your nails dig into the dry lumber as you push your hips back.

That lands a hard smack to your cheeks, a whimper now leaving you and eyes fluttering shut. All you want was Harry to fuck you till you see stars; you want him to fill you up so bad you will be walking funny tomorrow.

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl,” Harry hums, the feeling of his hand spreads against your red cheeks were he places three more strikes on your flesh, heavy and painful due to the added feeling of the rings on his fingers. His chest against your back, member aligned with your heat and rubbing against you, making your head knock against the tree.

“Baby,” You moan, voice small as you feel his breath against your ear. Your eyes open as you prop your foot against the stump. Your backside sinking back and nearly making the head of his dick enter you.

“Want me so bad, don’t you?” Harry questions. Running himself between your dripping folds which only has you arching your back into him. You nod your head silently, eyes turning to see the position you’re in. Harry was completely towering over you, hips parallel with yours as his lips were warm against the skin behind your ear.

“Talk to me love,” He breathes into you, making you whimper and push yourself down onto him more. The head of his dick rubbing against your clit and sending pleasure up your legs. “Beg for me.” He continues into your ear, making your heart pound in your chest. You were so turned on, you want nothing more than for him to fill your walls.

“Please, H. Please let me feel you,” You mumble, left hand tearing away from the wood and skimming against his neck to run into his hair. “Please baby… Been so good to you.” Mutter dazedly, hips gently rocking against his movements.

That makes Harry hum, the noise vibrating against the skin of your neck as you feel him draw away from you and let his head breach your hole. Your tongue escaping your mouth to wet your lips as you feel him push into you, spreading your pussy blissfully as he sinks into your dripping heat.

“Mhm my good little girl.” Harry mumbles into your ear, hips meeting your backside only to draw back to dive into you again.

A raspy cry escapes you, the euphoric feeling of him filling you up just where you loved him the most. Your walls welcome him home as he picks up his motions, his lips burning into your skin as he buries himself in you with each thrust. The sound of your whimpers and torn moans was met with the wetness between your legs.

Your pussy throbs with the feeling of him diving into you, the fluid running down your inner thighs making you feel as if you were underwater. Harry’s dick continues thrusting into you so forcibly that it had you curling your fingers into his hair and into the flaking cracks of the tree.

“You love the way I fuck you.” Harry urges, his hand leaving your hip and wrapping around your throat, the feeling of his rings digging into the skin as he squeezed. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

“Yes,” You mutter, your legs slightly quivering from your pussy going sore due to how hard Harry is pounding into you.

“Wanted to be fuck like this all along, huh,” He eggs on, voice so deep in your ear it was if he was your conscience. That had you biting down on your bottom lip, your eyes barely peel open to look at the broken twigs in your vision bouncing from Harry’s movements behind you. The feeling of your oxygen being slowly cut off from the stern hold he has on your neck.

“Dirty girl,” He teases, the hand on your hip shoving your back down on him with each thrust. “Wanted to be my slut for tonight,” The name he gives making you moan, and causing your legs to shiver once again.

“Yes, all yours,” You moan breathlessly, your pussy throbbing with the bubbling feeling in your stomach as your back dips down even more to accept the feeling of Harry spreading you apart.

“My good little slut.” Harry hums. You whine as his pace continues, eyes begin to flutter from the lack of air and your climax climbing up your spine.

The intense burning sensation in your stomach causes your hands to grow with sweat as he never slows down his movements, the way he was in you and whispering how dirty you are for getting off to this has your mind in a warp. It felt so good to get the fantasy that you always held in the back of your mind to finally come undone before you.

The fact he pretended to know who you were, yet continued to bother you until he had you vulnerable, you were so turned on playing back the moment of him slapping you and tugging on your hair for playing dumb to him. Just those thoughts had you expelling more wetness out of you and tug Harry’s head deeper into your skin.

He’s thrusting into you roughly as the sunsets along you both with the trees covering your sweaty clothed bodies. “So sexy,” Harry breathes into your skin, his nose brushing up against the back of your neck as the grip on your throat never loosens.

“Fuck,” You choke, vision going blurry as you felt the spit in your throat go down achingly slow.

The pulsing feeling in your clit draws up your spine and makes your toes curl in your boots, knees going weak but Harry didn’t stop his restless movements. Your lungs hammer in your chest, begging for an inch of oxygen as your pussy is drips with your sweet mixture. Your high taking over your nerves and releasing yourself all over him.

The hold Harry has on your neck relieves its grip while the one that forces your hips down was now wrap around you; lifting you into his chest as he keeps on going. Lips still pressing against your hot skin, breath blowing the tiny hairs there while the hand you have in his curls in lets go and falls into the wood.

“God you feel so good,” He rasps in your ear, the foot you had on the stump slipping and making your chest completely lean into the tree now, back meeting his thrusts even more.

The feeling overcoming your climax had you in a complete frenzy, your legs quivering as whimpers and the sound of the wetness emerging from your pussy fills your ears, your eyes begging to close but with each lunge of Harry hips they were jerking back open. Your sight being met with the darkness of the sky and the bunched up leaves by your feet.

“Love fucking your pussy,” Harry grunts, his hand leaving your throat to grip your hair in his hands and tug your head back. A whine tears through your throat, head now looking up at the natural cravings into the tree as the feeling of his hips begin to slow down.

Wet kisses press down your neck as the feeling of him draws out of you before seeping back in, the grasp he has on your hair relaxing as he begins to massage your scalp, his movements of his rolling hips slow until his seed is sinking into you.

It makes Harry groan, his hand turning your head and locking your lips together, the taste of him on your tongue as you drink him in. His hips meeting yours sluggishly until he pulls out of you, his member leaving your sore pussy and letting the fluid of you both spill out. You sigh out from the feeling of his thickness leaving and the mixture running down your ripped up stockings.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Harry breathes against your lips. The hand he has on your hip slips between your folds and catches the fluid between his two fingers, bringing them to your face.

Your focus goes to them and licks the substance off, tongue twisting between each digit to get every drop.

“My dirty girl,” Harry rasps, his lips sinking back onto yours to taste you both.

The pounding in your chest subsides, your fingers releasing the strong hold they had against the wood as you lean into his touch. The once muffled noise in your ears welcomes the sound of Harry’s jacket jingling.

The bubbling feeling of excitement from your accomplishment tingles your ears and lets a smirk tear and break the kiss. It makes faint one run along his, two fingers that are clean from your tongue holding your jaw with the same grip he had when he was ruining your throat.

“What?”

“If you can do this, I’m sure you’re up for the other fantasies I have…”

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Kinkmas 🎄 № 1: Cockwarming

summary: you kinda (not really) bet harry to ‘no nut november’ and its finally december 1st. 

word count: 2.8k

reading time: 11 min

content warnings: 18+,cockwarming (obviously), teasing, grinding, brief fingering, fluff, clingy reader (and harry tbh), desperate, passionate p in v sex, pet names (baby, lovie). 

a/n: Welcome to Kinkmas!

_____________________________

You had told Harry it was a childish idea. But one thing about Harry, he was stubborn and hard-headed, and if you'd told him not to do something he was going to do anyway….well, he'd just commit to it ten times harder. And that's precisely what he did with No Nut November. 

He'd brought up the idea of participating directly after the two of you had some particularly mindblowing Halloween sex. You were giggling, wrapped up in one another, Halloween costume in pieces, still basking in your orgasm glow when you'd off-handedly joked how you couldn't believe you'd gone so long without sex like you'd grown accustomed to with Harry. He'd agreed, joking that he'd 'implode' without having you at least four times a week. Which led to you challenging him, lovingly calling him pussy whipped, and saying he couldn't last two days without you before he came begging for it. You know, because you've seen it before.  His record was actually three days. 

But still, if you think about it too hard, you'd realize that this, No Nut November, not having had sex with your boyfriend in a month, nonsense is all your own fault. You challenged him, and he swore to No Nut November because he's….Harry, meaning he also committed you to it as well, and now here you are. In bed, counting down the hours until December 1st. Literally. Minute by minute. And hour by hour. You've been trying to distract yourself with a book for the last hour, but you've not retained any of the words your eyes have been scanning despite flipping the pages. All you can think about is how Harry's barely touched you outside of light caresses and feather-light pecks to your lips. For. The. Last. Month. The material you were reading is by no means helping. All the talk of groaping, nipping, and ravishing. They seemed to be the only words you could pay any attention to. 

While you have made your disdain for Harry's unnecessary commitment known, Harry has seemed to be unphased by it all. It was your favorite thing about him and your biggest pet peeve. He was always so nonchalant. About everything, except you! Usually, at least, but much to your surprise, he's been able to contain himself and even turned down your many attempts to break his silly vow early this month. You were disappointed, and it may have led to an even deeper conversation that the two of you needed to have when it came to your relationship with sex and your sex life. And while you were grateful that this silly bet could be a vehicle for you to have that conversation, you were ready for it to all be done. You looked over at the clock on Harry's bedside table. 

One more hour. Forty-five minutes, to be exact.  

Harry was still in the bathroom, going through his nightly routine and trying to get a grip himself. Harry had been strong for 29 days, nearly 30 days. He could make it one more night. But, as Harry wraps the floss around his fingers, he tries to remember why he agreed to do this in the first place. To prove a point, he's sure. What point? He couldn't think of anything else but you to think of a decent answer. But he's noticed. How you've been huffing around the house all month, but especially today, hoping he'd break on the last day and give you what you've been desperate for. How you've been glancing at the clock every forty-five minutes since the sunset. How - 

"Harry, come to bed, will you?" your voice carries into the en suite from the bedroom. He can't help but smirk. You've been slightly whiny all day, all week, really, and he found it so fucking endearing. Knowing that you were just as desperate for him as he was for you. You'd deny it, but this arrangement the past month has been a fun challenge for you. He knows how much you enjoy being teased, and this month has been nothing if not one giant tease.  

So, not wanting to drag out your misery any longer, Harry rushes through the rest of his routine and comes to the doorway, leaning against it, smiling at you and your book, cuddled under the covers. 

"How's the book?" He asks. He always asks. 

"Meh. It's okay, not as good as the first one." You rush out, place your bookmark, and close the pages. You put it on your bedside table, turning off your light, leaving only the lamp on Harry's bedside table to illuminate the room. You pat his spot next to him, a slight pout on your lips when he doesn't budge from his spot leaning against the doorframe. "Harry….come on, bedtime. I'm exhausted." 

"Alright," he chuckles, pushing off the doorframe, "you just remember that." He says, peeping the cute set you'd decided to go to sleep in tonight. It was a silk baby blue, matching set that you'd just bought on a Cyber Monday sale. You figured it'd be the perfect thing to wear to break your temporary celibacy. 

"Remember what?" you question oh too innocently, through a yawn, your eyes already closed. 

"It's bedtime. Emphasis on bed." He flicks off the lamp on his bedside table and slides into bed in his spot behind you. You notice it after a few moments once he's comfortably tucked behind you, an arm around your waist. And you can't help the proud smirk that creeps onto your face. 

Your plan worked! 

You knew that the new set you'd put on, plus a few pouts, would get him hard…..he was almost too easy. So you allow yourself to wiggle around, to 'get more comfortable,' and be positive that you'd feel a grip around your hip, telling you to "be still, and go to sleep." It had happened so many nights this month, but not tonight. His tight grip is there tonight, but it's encouraging your movements. You let out a short gasp, biting your lower lip when you feel Harry's lips on the back of your neck. 

"I thought it was bedtime." you tease.

"It is. I just…..I was thinking…" he mumbles between kisses to your neck and shoulder and nibbles your earlobe.

"...yes.."

"What if I just slip inside. That's not cheating, is it?" 

"It's the last day." you giggle, wanting so badly to give him a taste of his own medicine but quickly losing any remnants of self-control with his lips doing wonders on your neck.

"Exactly, it would suck to come all this way to lose on a technicality, wouldn't it? So what do you think, Lovie? Did we still finish the challenge if I just - put it inside ya? Just missed you wrapped around me, baby." Now it's Harry who's whining, hand tight on your hip, grinding your ass down into his hardening cock. 

You have half a mind to turn him down. After all the struggle you've been through this month, just for him to want to give in on the last day? But he feels so good pressed against you, and his lips are so soft pressed against that spot on your neck that gets you every time. His voice grounds you back down to earth before you can get too lost in the feeling. 

"Baby…" 

"This was your idea," you say earnestly.

"You dared me." 

"I did no such -" Just then, he nipped at your neck before sucking on the sensitive skin under your ear, "No, I didn't. You're just a brat." you giggle, throwing the nickname right back at him…for once. 

He pinches your side with a groan. "Don't be mean. I'm in need here, baby. Come on." He continues his work on your neck, shoulder, anywhere he can reach. After a few moments, though, he's had enough and taps at your hip, signaling you to turn over. You allow him to flip you on your other side, facing him, his lips instantly catching yours. He slots his throat between your thighs, bringing your hips to grind down onto the flexed muscle of his thigh. You can't help but let out a moan of relief that slips from your lips into Harry's mouth, which he swallows for you happily. 

You allow your hands to twist into his curls at the nape of his neck, racking your nails down his scalp, pulling him closer. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you press yourself even further into him, your hips moving on their own accord now. 

"You sure you want to - wanna give up." you taunt, nipping at his bottom lip. 

"I. don't care. Need you. Please." 

In that moment, you realize that all he needed to do was beg. All he ever needs to do is beg, and you are absolute putty in his hands. 

You pull back from his lips just a few centimeters, leaning your forehead on his. But Harry was starved, chasing after your lips with his, nipping at your lips. 

"Please, baby." 

It was unnecessary, now. Harry's begging. You were already going to give him what he wanted, but the prayer rolling off his lips still makes your stomach flip. 

"S'not cheating." you rush out before crashing your lips to his once again, eating his moans. 

Suddenly, the two of you are a mess of limbs, trying to rid each other of your clothes. Granted, it was just your silk sleep set and his boxers, but the two of you refusing to separate lips made things much more difficult. Once you were both rid of the barriers, Harry rolled on top of you, burying himself in your shoulder, running his nose up your neck, nipping his way up, and moving his hips into yours. He lets out a hiss as his tip nudges at your clit, wet with your arousal from grinding down on his thigh.

"Fuck, baby." he takes his hand from your hip, snaking it between you two, "Gotta get you ready for me, okay?" He moans, leaning his forehead on hears, with a sweet peck to the pout that's made its way to your lips when you realize what he is doing. 

"Harry - just -" 

"It's been a month. You're not changing my mind, hey. Look at me." He says, nudging his nose to yours, "I'm right here. You just relax and take what I give you. Got it?" when you nod, without a word, he slips one of his thick fingers inside. "Got it?" 

"Mhm. yeah. Sorry." you moan, curling yourself into Harry's neck. 

"It's okay. Just relax; gotta fit me in there, yeah?" Harry coos at you, skillfully working his finger in and out of you. "Talk to me, baby. Missed you too much." 

"Missed you too, Harry -" You force yourself away from him enough to turn your head towards him to capture his lips in a searing kiss. "Missed you so much, you have no idea." you plead, "Please, more." You whimper, rolling your hips into his hand, and he obliges, slowly pushing in a second digit. 

"What do we say?" 

"Thank you," you whine out, rolling your head back on your pillow, allowing Harry the room to mark up your neck like he's been waiting for all month. 

"And, Lovie?" 

"Hmm." you hum, blinking up at Harry. 

"No coming," he smirked down at you, one hand between your legs and his other arm propping himself up on his elbow. You huff at him but nod your understanding, turning yourself into his neck for comfort while his fingers work you open. "There, you go, baby." He coos as he feels you relax on his fingers, making him want to add a third just for…safety. And he does, enjoying the cute noises bubbling up your throat with each drag of his fingers. "You're doing so good, baby. You think you're ready for me?" 

You nod frantically, rolling your hips up into his hand to convince him. "Yes, always ready. Please." 

He plants a deep kiss on your lips, pulling his fingers out of you, swallowing your moan in protest. He pulls away, licking his fingers clean, before maneuvering himself back, hovering over you. Harry grabs ahold of himself at the base, allowing you to roll your hips up, your clit rubbing up and down the tip of his cock.  

"Shhh, baby. I'm gonna give it to you but remember, I'm just - fuck - just filling you up, okay. Gotta stay still, I'm okay?" He huffs, nipping at your jaw, placing kisses anywhere he can reach. 

"Yes. Please, Harry, just -" 

"Stay still, baby," he smirked, holding your hip into the mattress. When he's satisfied with your limited wiggling, he slowly runs his tip up and down your folds a few times, lining himself up before slowly pushing inside, inch by inch. "Oh, Lovie." he groans into your mouth, "Missed you so much." he licks at your bottom lip, begging for entrance, wanting to be wholly consumed with you, and you allow him to be. When he's fully seated inside, you tighten your legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of being so full. The heaviness of him, how deep he was. It was heavenly. You enjoy his lips, kissing, and his teeth nibbling, his voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Enjoying the feeling of Harry. And with his lips working magic all over? You weren't sure how much longer you could just allow him to be in you without him being in you.  

"Harry," you whine, "Please move." 

"I can't." 

"Yes, you can," you grumble, shifting your hips up to meet his, just for him to hold you back down. 

"Stay still," he begs, now because he's losing his resolve and his slow ability not to finish inside you, with the way you're wrapped around him, rolling your hips and squeezing - but he's made it far. He can't give up now, not when he's so close - god, is he already tight? Just from being buried in you for a couple of minutes? You are quite literally fluttering around him, but still, he shouldn't - 

"No. Harry, look. You can move - look." you insist, turning your attention to the alarm clock on his bedside table. 

12:02 AM

In blinking red numbers. 

"This stupid bet is over, please, Harry - oh." 

He only hesitated a split second, trying to wrap his mind around what his eyes were seeing. But once it clicked. It clicked. And his hips seemed to be on autopilot, the way they slowly and sloppily rolled against yours, quickly coming up with a pace that worked magic for you both as he ground his pelvis into your clit. 

"Fuck, baby - you feel so fucking good." He moans, leaning his forehead against yours, your head cradled between his forearms. "I missed you so much." 

"I missed - I missed you too." you barely get the words out before you feel it creeping up on you, the tightening in your belling and tingling at the base of your spine. "I'm -" 

"I know, baby, me too. Shit." He hisses, kissing down your neck, speeding up his hips. You wrap your fingers in his hair, giving it an encouraging tug that you know he always appreciates. To which he groans in your neck, and you revel in it. You're so close that your skin starts to prick with heat, and all you can sense is Harry. "Come with me. Please, Lovie." Harry begs, so you do. 

You come with a bright white light flash behind your lids, your eyes snap shut, and you hold onto Harry as he holds onto you, groaning into the juncture between your shoulder and neck, biting his own lip. 

A few moments later, you're still on cloud nine. You're floating, weightless, as Harry cleans up the mess between your legs, not before admiring at first, though. 

"You are such a freak." you giggle, swatting Harry away and closing your knees together. "Clean me up or let me do it, but please don't -." 

"Don't, what? I like seeing the mess I've made." He smirks. You roll your eyes as he opens your legs and begins work cleaning you up. 

"Thank you," you murmur through a yawn. Already drawing the covers over you. Harry cleans himself off, tossing the rag on the floor to the foot of the bed, promising to put it away in the morning. 

"Sorry, by the way. Didn't mean to make the first time we had sex in a month a quicky." he chuckles, climbing into bed with your wrapping himself around your naked form. "I don't know what I expected to happen, though. Don't let me do that again." He sighs, planting a kiss on your cheek. 

"Never." 

🎄🎄🎄🎄

kinkmas 2023 masterlist

vote on day 2′s prompt here

🎄🎄🎄🎄

[cherry-titz]

HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!

some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!

content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!

word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D

This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.

A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.

Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.

Y/N doesn’t drink alone.

But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.

In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.

She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.

And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—

The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.

She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said. 

So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.

The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.

It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.

She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”

And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.

Or so she found out.

And he looks… the same. Of course he does.

Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.

All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight. 

And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.

Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.

She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.

The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?

“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.

She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.

His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.

The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?

…Did it matter?

It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.

And then, when Harry’s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.

The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—

“Sneaky little thing.”

Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.

“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.

When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”

Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.

Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.

It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.

Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”

And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”

It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”

Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones. 

Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.

So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?

Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”

She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.

Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.

But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.

“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.

Yes. She did.

But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.” 

It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest. 

He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.

He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.

“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.

“Shut up—”

“When you were cumming inside me—?” 

“—Shut the fuck up.”

Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.

“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”

He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.

It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”

“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”

Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).

“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”

“—It wasn’t a date—”

“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”

Something real? Something real?

“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry’s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.

She’s granted no such thing.

“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.

Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)

It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.

“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.

Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”

“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”

And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.

He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.

But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”

The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”

Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.

Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.

They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.

Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck. 

He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.

“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”

A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.

“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”

“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”

“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”

Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.

But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.

“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”

“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.

“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.

Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”

A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile. 

The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”

She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.

“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”

“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.

It’s not.

“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.

“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.

“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.

So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”

Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear. 

The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.

They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.

“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”

And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus’ you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.

She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.” 

Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.

“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”

“—Mhm—”

He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.

“Ye-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.

He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”

Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.

“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.

Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.

His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.

“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”

She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.

Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”

“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.

A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”

It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.

“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.

He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form. 

One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.

“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”

A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming. 

“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.

He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”

“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”

“You’ll what, pet?”

“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.

“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”

“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all. 

“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”

No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.

“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”

A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.

“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”

She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.

The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.

He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.

He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath—followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”

Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.

He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to—the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.

But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them. 

Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.

“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.

His hips snap back into her.

“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat. 

It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.

“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.

“Don’t you?”

“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them. 

He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure. 

Her noises topple out.

Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”

The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.

He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”

And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way. 

Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.

This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all. 

Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers. 

And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.

But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.

“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.

“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.

He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.

“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.

She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.

“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”

Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.

And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.

It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.

“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.

Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.

“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.

She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.

“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.

Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.

“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.” 

He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.” 

Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.

Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”

It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.

It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.

He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone. 

Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.

“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.

“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.

He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.

“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?—if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.

But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.

Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat. 

He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.

“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”

Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”

Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.

She waits. 

The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.

He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better. 

Y/N never sees him again.

[missmielyhoran]

Prince Charming

in which cooking for your date is always a nice gesture...

A/N- Enjoyyy!

Masterlist

*****

You nervously walked up the stairs leading to the door of your date's home. This was your second unofficial date and first official date with the guy you met at your friend Delilah's halloween party.

He was sweet, funny, and overall a gentleman just like his halloween costume he was your prince charming, which coincidentally matched with yours as you were Cinderella twinning with Delilah who was Snow White.

You wiped your hands down the sides of your dress and took a deep breath in, "Everything's fine" you said to yourself and tried to calm your anxiety.

You were about to knock on the door when the door flew open, and there stood the man of your dream in all his beautiful glory. His hair was perfectly styled like always, and his thin blue shirt left open showed the wife beater he was wearing inside. The tattoos on his collarbones peeked out like they were painted on.

Overall, that man was a devilish temptation.

"Hi" He said with his charming boyish smile. Your heart started beating miles per second, and you somehow managed to breathe out a small 'hi'. God, you looked pathetic.

He let you inside his house, and immediately, you smelled the delicious food he was cooking. He took off your coat and put it over the hanger.

"You look absolutely marvelous, darling," He said, making you blush. His deep voice paired with that british accent was everything you could've imagined.

"Thank you" you said, smiling shyly. He chuckled and kissed your cheek and interlocked his fingers with your own and pulled you inside the house.

His house was beautiful, just like him. Pictures scattered all around the different people you assumed were his family and friends. But before you could look at them closely, he walked up to you with a glass of wine.

"I can't tell you how much I have waited for this day," He said, passing you the glass of wine.

"Me too" you said shyly. You didn't know what it was about him that made you so shy around him that you lost your ability to speak, but you absolutely hated and loved it.

"I'm making you my special dish" He said, walking back towards the kitchen. The house was open plan giving you a clear view of the kitchen from the living room. You turned your whole body towards him and saw him move around the kitchen flawlessly.

"Normal, it would've cost you pretty penny, but since you're pretty, I'm giving you a discount." He said, winking at you.

"Yeah? What do I have to pay with?" You asked in a flirtatious tone.

He walked closer to you, and so did you. His arms circled around your waist, and he pulled you into himself. His breath fanned on your face, almost taking yours with himself. If you thought he was pretty before god did, he looked like a demi god up-close.

His intense green eyes stared back at you as he leaned in more close, his eyes flicked down to your lips then back to your eyes, "Nothing much just don't leave me" he said making you a bit neverous but due to heat of moment you didn't think anything of it.

You leaned in closer, and your lips were about to touch when the oven started beeping, startling you.

He chuckled at your reaction and pulled away from you, making you feel cold in the very cozy warm house. You forwned and walked toward him in the kitchen in search of warmth.

"Wait, what do you actually do?" You ask as he takes out perfectly cooked food from the oven.

"I'm a chef silly," He said, flicking your nose playfully. You hummed deep in thought cause you swear you remember him telling you he was in finance.

You shook your head, thinking you might remember it wrong since you were pretty drunk the first time you met him.

"So, who are these people up on your wall?" You ask as you pick up your phone and frown when you see the endless unanswered texts from Delilah. She hasn't been answering your texts since the halloween, which was more than two weeks ago.

You put your phone down and focused on him explaining about his family. From what you heard, he has one older sister, mom, stepdad, dad, and three cats. You look at the pictures once again when you notice a girl looking a bit too much similar to you only difference being her missing right leg.

You laugh at his childhood stories, and suddenly, you two are sitting on the dining table eating the delicious food he made.

"Oh my god, this is incredible! What is it?" You ask humming at every bite you take.

"Thank you darling, I would tell you, but it's a secret so, I have to kill you after that." He says with a serious expression, making you laugh.

"Sure, Jack," you say, laughing, making him laugh too. You two quickly finish the food and with heavy stomach you make home on the couch and turn on the television while he brings more wine.

The news flashed across the screen about the murder that took place a few days ago, the pictures of body flashes on the screen and you have to stop yourself from throwing up when you see the strangled chopped up chunk of body thrown in the middle of forest.

You see what looked like a short yellow dress with red detailing. What freaks out more is that the crime scene was not that far from the place you currently where at.

You stand up at your shaky legs and walk towards the bathroom, and after searching for it for 5 minutes, you find it. You lock the door behind you and grip the sink tightly so you won't fall down. You look up at yourself in the mirror and see the layer of sweat covering your body.

You were about to splash water on your face when you heard knocking on the bathroom door, "Hey are you okay, darling? Do you need anything?" Jack asked.

"No, I'm fine. I just had a bit too much wine, I think. Be out in a sec, " you answered back. He was about to say something when the doorbell rang, cutting him in between the sentences.

You splashed cold water on your face and wiped it with the hand towel, it didn't do much but it definitely helped with the sweating and blurry vision.

You were about to leave when you stumbled on you foot and fell down, cramping your ankle in process. You winced in pain and tried to stand up when something caught your eye. A red bow peeking out of the under the sink. You took it out and examined, your curiousity turned into horror when you saw the stain of blood on it.

You quickly fisted it into your pocket and stood up wincing. You walked out of the bathroom and were making plans to sneak out quietly when you heard voices coming from the hallway of the main entrance.

"Thank you so much for your cooperation, Mr. Styles" The other man you assumed was a police officer said, but that wasn't your main issue. It was that you were in a man's house who told you his name was Jack Chambers and the officer just called him Mr. Styles.

What the fuck was happening?

You walked back into the bathroom and locked it. Your breathing was growing heavy, and you were on a verge of panic attack.

You had to find something, anything something that could answer your questions, so you did what any person would do, search all the drawers.

Toliteries, shaving kit and towels was the only thing you found when a blub lit in your head and you crouched down and searched near where you found the bow and bingo you found the loose tile in the far corner.

You sobbed as you flicked through all the stuff you made out to be of his previous victims and then you saw the picture of Delilah in the same snow White costume she wore at the Halloween party and the one they found near the body in forest.

Then you saw something you wished were a nightmare, IDs, and series of IDs with the same picture, Jack, Alex, Tom, Marcel, and at last Harry Styles, which you assumed was his real name.

You were in the middle of going through the IDs when you saw the polariods of him and the same amputee girl you saw at the wall. There were so many polariods of them kissing, laughing, cuddling but in all of them he looked happy while she looked sad, the sadness of eyes only you could see somehow, like she was putting on a show.

You were putting the box back at its place when there was knocking on the bathroom door again, and your heart almost stopped.

"Darling? Are you okay in there?" He asked, and you almost cried out loud in furstation and fear.

"Yeah, can-can you bring me some change of clothes?" You asked in a wobbly voice for whatever you could think of at that moment you just needed him gone somewhere but near you so you could run out.

"Ofcourse baby" He said in the same voice you loved a few minutes ago. Now, it sent chills down your spine.

You heard his footsteps walking up the stairs, and you quickly threw the bathroom door open and made a beeline for the main door. You forgot all about your cramped up ankle or that it's freezing out in the middle of November.

As soon as you ran outside, the cold air sent chills down your spine, but at least you were out in free. You ran wherever you could, your vision still blurry, and your head hurt.

You could've ran for what was ten minutes when you heard his voice calling out for you, and it was nearer than it should be.

"Darling, don't run, please." He screamed into the abyss, "You will hurt yourself"

You decided to ignore him and keep walking, your vision growing blurrier and blurrier. You stopped and heaved with the support of the trunk.

Sob whacked through your body when you thought about what you were doing just a few hours ago and what you're doing on.

How did life change so fast?

"Darling" He called out again and you hid behind the thick trunk to catch your breathe, your ankel hurting like a bitch.

"You know you can't hide from me," He said sadistically, "God, I hate this part so much"

"At this point, I think I have a thing for runners," He said, tsking at himself, and it baffled you how he could make jokes at this time. But I guess he could since it was your life at stake and not his.

You had to think fast, or you would be another tally in his notebook. That's when you remembered the police, the forest is not far from there and since there is an open investigation police will be there for sure.

You stand up wincing and walk quietly towards the forest you could see in your bad vision.

"Darling, oh darling," He called out again, and you choked on your sob with terror.

You had to get out of here alive.

You ran like your life depended on it cause it did. You smiled in victory when you saw the flashing blue and red lights and when one of the officers turned and looked at you.

The victory turned into terror again when two strong hands grabbed you harshly in the middle of step and jabbed a syringe into your neck, last thing you saw before passing out was the officer and him exchanging head nods.

******

"Rise and shine darling." You heard a voice sing song.

You opened your eyes slowly, feeling your whole body aching and your head hurt like you drank your body weight. You whined and heard him chuckle at your antics.

"You're so cute," He said as he pushed a bottle of water near your mouth. You tried to refuse, but he was much stronger. You drank the whole bottle of water, feeling like a dry well.

"Look at you being a good girl and listening to me," He said as he kissed your head, making you cry.

"Don't cry darling there is nothing to cry about. Now you and me will be together forever" He said, peppering kisses all over your face.

You looked at him with teary eyes and he gave you a soft smile, a smile which in other circumstances would have melted your insides but right now it made you want to cry more so, you did.

"Oh darling don't cry" He said sadly, "I did all this for you, for us. You and I are meant to be together forever." He said with wobbly voice. "Remember how I thought you would be like all those dumb girls but you were different I knew that the moment you liked my dish or when you listened to me rather than fighting" He brought his forehead to yours and put it over yours.

"I thought I lost you forever, but I didn't. When I saw you at that coffee shop I knew you came back, my darling will always come back to me." He said with happiness dripping from his voice.

"And now I'm never letting you leave ever again" He said with a certain darkness in his voice that sent chills down your spine and when you looked down and saw your right leg gone you knew he meant it.

You're not leaving your prince charming.

*****

A bit shitty cause my writing is a bit rusty but I hope you liked it. Will start posting again slowly.

Love you guys a lot<3

Please Like, Comment and Reblog

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @lomlhstyles @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515 @yeehawbrothers @sleutherclaw @ikea2-0 @thechaoticjoy @astridcommings @grapejuicebluesrry @gxbiqs

Please tell me your feedbacks if you liked it anything here♡ I love talking to you guys

[shroombloomm]

18+ - read at your own discretion.

wattpad books:

• sinners place, (ongoing; harry styles is a priest & anna camino is a church girl. dark harry fic.)

• starboy, (ongoing, harry styles is a star-being desperate to save his planet & aurora is a college student, infatuated with astronomy.)

• singularity, (a book of MC one shots, all of them smutty.)

• sacré bleu, (ongoing, harry is a painter who wants to change the way people see women, and margot is a model who struggles with her own body image.) — | tumblr version

~~

tumblr works:

• tanktoprry.*

• plug + bhhrry.*

~~

fantasy/dark harry:

• the dark king*, (harry styles is a dark peter pan.)

[harrycanyonmoonn]

Dark Harry

A/N: wasn't expecting a 2nd post right?????

tanktop harry masterlist  ( @shroombloomm )

Mint Chocolate Chip* ( @gurugirl

Mint Chocolate Chip Part 2

The Doctor and the Psychopath* ( @gurugirl )

defenseless  ( @harryspet )

Forgive Me, Father - Priest!Harry Styles ( @little-diable )

Fine Line ( @cherienymphe )

Orgasm Abuse  ( @0nlythrowharrybeaux )

depraved smut where harry is either ( @harrysbussyy )

 Forbidden ( @irresistible-writing )

Devil Highway ( @littlebitofharry )

Who’s that shadow? ( @chaptersleftunwritten )

[victoria-styles]

Can you share some really dark Harry fics? Or ones you’ve not mentioned yet?

I’ll post ALL the dark smut fics I have.

Mint Chocolate Chip

How to Get Out of a Ticket

The Forbidden

The Doctor and the Psychopath

Forgive Me, Father

Right Under Your Nose

The Kidnapper

Lights Out

Forbidden

Fine Line

Young

The Devil’s Highway

Getaway Car (3 Chapters)

Don’t be shy to ask me for fic recommendations! I’ve got over 300 Harry Styles smut fics bookmarked.

[gurugirl]

Halloween One Shot SNEAK PEEK🖤

This one shot will be a bit scary and have some very dark themes. All warnings will be listed when the one shot gets posted. Don’t get your hopes up to read the story if you’re not a fan of horror. xoxo

Coming October 24

Tags: @victoria-styles @michellekstyles @ssaama @angelqueen99 @sombrioinvernoemveneza @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @yousunshineyoutempter @the-gardener-31 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @dancinsunflowerkiwi @tiaamberxx @harrys-foxy @anothermannharry

[harrysxcarolina]

Revenge - 01

Welcome to the beginning of Revenge. In this story you will be shown into the very dark and twisted lives of Raeelynn, Harry, and friends. This story is not for the weak. It will mention some very dark topics and triggering actions. Please use this as a warning, read at your own risk. This story is completely made up by me, and none of the events mentioned in this story is real nor has any of them happened to any of the characters, people that are mentioned, and/or portrayed in this story. This is the second warning that has been made in regards to this story, please be advise to refer back to the Revenge introduction for the full breakdown of what this story will contain. Now without further a do sit back, relax, and enjoy the roller coaster of emotions of Revenge.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: swearing, blood, angst, murder, death.

-

You used to tell me that I could be anything that I wanted to be when I was younger. You would wrap your arms around me and softly kiss my hair before whispering, "Raee promise me that you will always fight for your dreams. No dream is too big or too stupid. So promise me."

The naïve little girl underneath you would smile fully up at you before holding out her pinky and whispering, "I promise. Just for you."

I trusted you completely. I trusted that you would keep me safe. I believed you so easily back then. I was so blinded by you that I had no choice but to let your storytelling distract me from what you were really planning.

It used to be so simple back then. Life used to feel so magical as a kid. Telling yourself that everything is reachable and that one day I could be everything I ever dreamed of. When you get older you realize nothing will ever be that simple again. Well, now all I wanted to be was free. Free of the misery I feel. Free of the pain. Free of my haunted nightmares. Free of the constant reminder that I am not good enough. That I will never be good enough.

I just want to be free. To not feel like this anymore. I hate you. I hate you for making me believe that I could be anything. That I could go out and obtain anything my mind and heart ever wanted because all you did was set me up for failure. You didn't prepare me for the real world. You just kept encouraging me to live in a fantasy that will only turn into a nightmare.

And where are you now? Nowhere to be found. You left me in the moments I needed you the most. You left me all alone to deal with him. To deal with the aftermath of something I never created. You abandoned me and forced me to become someone I never wanted to be.

I used to miss you, and now all I do is hate you.

I hate how I was left with nothing but misery when you escaped and forgot to take me with you.

You don't know what he does to me. You don't know what he allows to happen to me. I want to believe that you didn't know what your actions would cause when you left. I used to tell myself that you didn't because if you did you wouldn't have left me behind. You would have come back and rescued me by now, but I've learned the hard way. You aren't coming. You did know, and you just didn't care. Nobody cares.

Nobody ever car-

"Okay everybody that wraps up today's class. For those of you still working on your thoughts, please finish up your free writing and if you'd like to leave your notepad on my desk, please do so. I will make sure to get them back to you at the start of next week. Don't forget that you have your written essay due on Monday. I expect everyone to have it completed and peer-reviewed by three peers along with your final draft when you turn it in. No exceptions. Have a great weekend!" Professor Tilly states as she stands from her desk, drawing me out of my daze. Glancing around the room watching others pack up their belongings and making their way out of the lecture hall, I begin to grab my things. Slowly marking my journal I close it and slide it deep into my bag.

"Ms. Scott, a word before you leave?" Professor Tilly speaks up as she makes eye contact with me. Her lips smack as her tongue slowly traces the outline of her mouth. Panic sets in. I glance down at my watch. 3:45 pm. I can't be late.

"Yeah sure." I manage to say as I quickly stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder and make my way to her desk. My body goes rigid as I feel myself begin to spiral in panic.

My fingernails slightly dig into my palm as I clench my hands. I can feel the heat radiating off my back as I try to come up with a good enough excuse to use in case she tries to keep me. I can't be late. I can't be late.

"How is the semester treating you?" She asks as she moves back behind her desk and sits on the edge. Her tight skirt slowly slides up her thighs as her hands catch my attention. She’s adjusting the pens in the pen holder that sits on the left corner of the wooden desk.

My chest constricts. My breathing hitches deep in my lungs. They feel like they are about to explode. Not only from the lack of oxygen, but from the pressure of trying to remain calm so she doesn’t catch on. I know where she is going with this. My hand gripping the bag slightly tighter than before.

"It’s uh- it’s going good. I'm enjoying it, Professor." I whisper as I slightly wince at the feeling of my nails digging a little deeper into my palm. Relax. I need to take a deep breath and relax. I can't be late. My eyes divert back down to the black notebooks on her desk.

"You have yet to leave your notes for review," she states. My heartbeat picks up. I fidget with the strap on my bag trying to avoid her eye contact.

"Uh yes, I know. I thought it wasn't a requirement that it gets reviewed by you. I thought-" I started off but was quickly interrupted.

"No, no of course not. I meant it when I said at the beginning of the term. These notepads are for your own personal progress through this class. Almost all of your peers have turned theirs in at least once to get guidance on their progress, and you have yet to do so once. I just wanted to check in and make sure that you have no questions in regards to it." She says as she catches my eye.

Shaking my head as my lip finds its way in between my teeth.

"I’m fine, thank you. I just like to keep my thoughts private," I explain as I sway back and forth slightly. My thoughts are more dark and twisted. They are far too gone to share with anyone except myself, but she doesn’t need to know that. She nods her head in agreement, not knowing the full depth of my darkness.

"Most writers do that. Some prefer the guidance of a village while writing and others are a bit more private when it comes to their thoughts and writing progress. I understand completely. Well, in that case, please have a wonderful weekend, and I look forward to reading your essay on Monday," she states as a chuckle leaves her lips. Giving a small wave, I make my way towards the door quickly glancing down at my watch. 3:58 pm. Shit, I'm going to be late.

Picking up my pace, I quickly make my way out of the lecture hall and across the campus to my car.

***

"Casey it's not that simple," I say with a chuckle as I grab ahold of the stepping ladder and slowly climb up to put the last few books back on the shelf.

"I don't see how it's not Raeelynn. Clearly, he likes you as he keeps coming into the store at the same time every day just to get a small glance at you. Don't be naïve and say that you don't see the way that he smirks at you," my best friend, Casey says with a laugh as she walks behind the ladder and holds up a few more books for me to grab and put away.

Shaking my head, I take one book at a time and gently place them on the shelf.

"All I'm saying is it won't hurt that tomorrow when he walks in you simply just say hi. He's been coming in for a few weeks now and you've yet to even speak to him. The poor mate keeps trying to bait me for information on you. I give him credit though he hasn't given up," Casey says as she slightly taps my arse making us both slightly lose balance, me more so than her.

"I've told you time and time again that I am in no place to date or even entertain the idea of dating someone right now. I have too much on my plate. Therefore, I have no reason to talk to him," I state as I slowly make my way down the stepping ladder and make my way to the back of the store to throw the empty box away. Casey huffs in annoyance but follows me.

"Look, you've said that for the past two years. Don't you think it's time to get back on the horse and try again? I know Logan really messed with your head, but babe you've come a long way. Maybe it's time to start letting someone in to help you take some of your stress away." She gently laces her arm with mine and pulls me to a stop. Taking a deep breath we both glance at each other.

"You know that it has nothing to do with Logan, and no one will ever be able to help take my stress away. Plus I’m not going to rely on someone else to help me with any of my stress. All I have is myself. I’ve definitely learned that the hard way."

"Why do you think that way? Why do you think that you are unsavable? Raeelynn, you are amazing, and anyone would be lucky enough to have you. Fight for you." Her eyes get softer and she gives me a gentle squeeze. If only she knew the truth.

Sighing, I pull her in for a hug, "thanks, Cas. I appreciate you. I just can't do it right now. There are things that can't and will not change, so there is no point in trying. At least right now.” She holds me back and I gently lay my head against her shoulder, wishing things could be different. But I know that they will never be any different than they are right now. I wish I could tell you everything, friend. I really do, but it will only ruin you too and I can't drag you down into hell with me. You're too good for it. Forcing a smile onto my face, I pull away but keep her at arm's distance.

“All right let's get the rest of these books stocked or Gloria will have our arses." I say, causing us both to laugh as we make our way into the back room.

***

"Okay, so your total comes out to be $46.53. Would you like me to bag up these items for you in paper or plastic?" I ask as I gather up the books that were just purchased. Taking a deep breath and glancing at the clock, I try to hold back my nerves as the time is getting closer to closing. Today went by too fast.

"Um, plastic will be fine, thank you." The customer states as she continues to rummage through her purse trying to find the exact amount of change for her bill. I quickly bag up the items and print off her receipt, wishing her a good night. Picking up a few misplaced things, I take my time putting them back in their rightful homes as I avoid looking at the clock.

"Alright dear, that does it for me. I'm going to head out for the night. Are you sure you'll be okay to stay by yourself? I know I sent Casey home earlier, but if you need me to stay with you, I don't mind. It's pretty dark out and I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, dear." A soft and gentle voice whispers behind me. I couldn't help but smile as a warm feeling of comfort spread through my body. She was always so worried about me closing up the shop all by myself, but I know how to handle my own. I definitely made sure of it too. More like forced to.

"Yes, of course. You go ahead and head out. I'm sure I can handle it. It won't take me too long, so you have nothing to worry about." We both make our way to the front of the store and begin to close the blinds on the windows. Smiling back at me, she gently pulls me in for a tight squeeze.

"Okay, well, you have my home phone if anything were to go wrong. There are a few boxes in the back that I didn't get to do today. If you wouldn't mind putting out the new merchandise to help stock up for the big sale tomorrow?" She asked as I followed her out to the curb and watched her as she gathered up her keys.

"Yes, of course. I will have everything all set up for you, and I will make sure to call if I need you. Now go on and get home before I have Richard blowing up the store phone asking me why you are late for your Friday dinner!" I chuckle as I shoo her towards her car. She laughs a contagious laugh as she gets in and pulls away.

Shaking my head as I make my way back into the store, making sure to lock the door behind me. I get to work on unboxing the new shipment of books. After what felt like forever, I finally finished going through all the clearance books. I replace them with the new, upcoming author and make sure to place the proper coupons out on the display.

After breaking down all the boxes and placing them in the back room, I go through the store and turn off all the lamps and lights and take one last glance around to make sure I didn't miss anything. I finished cashing out the registers, stocking the shelves, and getting the displays set up for tomorrow. Taking a deep breath I, unfortunately, cannot stall anymore. Gathering up my belongings, I make my way to the back door and lock up.

Heading down through the alleyway behind the bookstore, I dig in my purse for my keys. I source through each and every pocket and I can’t seem to find them. I make a mental note to switch out bags once I get back to the apartment because I can't handle the stress of losing my keys. It's not helping that this alleyway is poorly lit and I have to stop to use my phone flashlight. Finally, after taking every single item out of my purse I found the bloody bastards at the bottom of the bag. Recollecting myself, I begin to walk again only to stop dead in my tracks only after a few steps. There are a few loud bangs and thuds echoing around me causing me to slowly look around.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary. There’s the usual dumpster, a very skinny, homeless cat that looks like it has to have at least 3 diseases, and darkness. Rounding the corner, just a few yards away from where I was standing, there was a really nice black Mercedes. That wasn't there a moment ago. I slowly start to walk again. A cold chill worked its way down my spine causing me to shiver and pull my jacket closer to my body. The crisp air is getting the best of me once again.

"Johnson, this is your last chance. Where the hell is my shit?" A deep, raspy voice shouts, clearly pissed.

"Lo-look I just need a little bit more time to... to get the rest of it. That's all." A shaky and very whiny voice responds.

I slowly and very quietly take a few steps forward, trying to get a better view of where the voices are coming from. I peek up over the dumpster, finally able to see who the voices belong to. Two guys are standing at the back end of the Mercedes, one taller than the other. The taller one is slender, but with a muscular body. His hair is untamed as his dark unruly curls go in every direction. The smaller one is scruffy, very skinny, and looks like he hasn't bathed in weeks. His hair is all chopped up and greasy. The taller one is holding the shorter one by the collar of his shirt. I try to squint my eyes, hoping to get a better look at the two, unable to make out their faces from how dark the alleyway is.

"I have already given you two weeks. Two weeks over your deadline. Johnson, you fucked me over and I never give second chances." He says through clenched teeth as he pulls Johnson up off the ground and in the air.

"No... no, I didn't fuck you over, Styles, I swear! I just had something come up and I had to use the money, but I swear, I'll get it back to you. Just give me one more day, please!" Johnson begs as his legs involuntarily swing back and forth. Styles lets go of him, dropping him on his arse. Styles looks down at him without saying a thing for a moment or two.

"You are a piece of scum. You weasel your way through life thinking that you can get away with every bloody thing," Styles spits as he kneels down so he is face to face with him. The smaller guy tries to scoot away but doesn't get far, as he is met with the dead end of the brick wall behind him.

"Please. I swear I can get every penny. If Robin was here, he would understand. I just need more time." There was a pause. What the hell am I doing? I’m standing here like an idiot watching this shit. I must be losing my mind. I begin to back away but, I’m once again, drawn back in. A deep chuckle flows through the air and I see Styles throw his head back in laughter.

"Bloody hell. You must be really fucking stupid. Did you really just say that to me? Compare me to Robin? Well, guess what? Robin isn't here. What makes you think that I would actually care what he would have done? Let me tell you why I don't care. Low lives like you are what is causing the destruction. I'm here to clean up the mess Robin made," Styles sneers as he stands back up and quickly runs his hand through his curls. He slowly turns around and faces my direction causing me to quickly duck behind the dumpster. Licking his lips, he turns back on his heel.

"Get out of my face. This is your last warning. If you don't have my money by tomorrow, you'll have a bullet with your name on it. Trust me. I never miss what I aim at," Styles says through clenched teeth. Johnson gets up and starts to speed walk in the opposite direction, but before he can make it far there's a loud bang. His body slowly falls to the wet ground as the blood seeps through his dirty clothes. I gasp and drop to my knees.

My eyes grow big. My stomach drops. I feel sick to my stomach at what's in front of me. His body lying lifeless in front of me. I hear footsteps getting closer to me and the body. I freeze not knowing whether to move or not. Styles pushes the body over with ease by the tip of his shoe. The body flips so he's now laying on his back. He leans down and quickly pulls a phone out of his pocket.

"It's Styles. I need a cleanup on the corner of Blackburn and Lisbon. Be discreet and hurry. We don't need this getting out. Tell Robin the job is done. I'll be there in fifteen." With that, he ends the call. Standing up from his crouching position he continues to stare down at the scrawny, blood-soaked body.

"Scum like you is what makes this job fun." He unlocks the black Mercedes before reaching in the dead guy's pockets pulling something out and twiddling it between his fingertips. I can't tell what it is, but seeing by the look on his face, it’s clearly something important. I gasp with horror as the warm crimson blood slowly makes its way closer to the tip of my shoes. I quickly cover my mouth, my gaze shoots up in hopes he didn’t hear my stupid mistake. My eyes widen and my stomach begins to twist into knots as the man I just witnessed murder another person looks me dead in the eyes. I feel the color drain out of my face. His stare doesn’t leave mine as they dilate and become coal black. Well fuck. Do I run? Do I scream? Both? Oh hell, what if he murders me next.

My body goes completely numb as he begins to take steps toward me. I have to run or I'm going to end up just like that man lifeless on the ground. I quickly turn and run the opposite way. I don't even look back to see if he is behind me. I just keep running. Getting closer to the street lights. My legs are getting tired, but I keep pumping them. My adrenaline is sky-high as I feel my heart pounding in my chest. Heavy footsteps are behind me.

I’m gasping for air, and my legs are getting tired but I must keep running. Internally cruising myself for always skipping gym days. My chest feels like it is getting tighter and tighter by the second. My lungs feel like they are about to catch fire at any second. Flashes of the dead man and all his blood keep replaying in my head as it gets harder for me to breathe. There’s a corner coming up, and I see the Chinese Takeout sign from the place I always order food from. I'm on fifty-second street!! Oh sweet Jesus there's a police station just a block away!

I press my legs harder and faster giving it the last of my energy. I need to stay alive. I need to get to the station. His footsteps are getting closer and closer to me. I'm trying to run faster but my tired legs won't let me. My breathing has gotten worse. Deeper. Harsher. My body is tired but I'm almost there. I see the street light getting brighter and brighter the closer I get.

Finally, I reach the corner, quickly turning and pressing my legs even harder. I keep replaying that dead man's picture in my mind. That's going to be you Raeelynn if you don't run faster.

Maybe I should stop. Maybe he'll listen when I tell him that I won't tell the cops. That I'll act as if I didn't see anything. That I was never even in the alleyway, to begin with. I know I am being delusional. There is no way in hell that he is going to just let me walk away from this alive. Especially because that’s what everyone says in this situation and they always go to the damn cops. He won’t believe me. Shit, I wouldn’t even believe myself.

Keep running. You don't want to die! You have your whole life ahead of you! Not like my life is something I want to keep living, but I guess anything is better than dying. I try to pump my legs harder, faster even, but it seems like no matter how hard I try they won't go any faster. I feel like I am moving in slow motion at this point. I see the station just ahead of me but no matter how hard I push my tired legs it never gets closer. Just as I am about to reach the front steps, I'm roughly grabbed and yanked to a stop.

"If you even make the slightest bloody peep I will kill you. Do you understand?" His rugged voice said close to my ear. I felt his harsh breathing down my neck as his grip on my elbow grew tighter. I slowly nodded my head as I tried to regain my breathing. I force myself to remember all the great times I've had in the short 22 years of my life. There weren't many, but there were some.

I don’t dare say a word as tears slide down my cheeks. He remains quiet as he drags me back down the road, cautiously looking in every direction. We reach the dark alley and he pulls me past the body, towards his car. It takes everything in me not to vomit all over my shoes as my eyes can’t seem to leave his lifeless body as I pass.

I can't believe he killed him. That's going to be me soon. What the bloody hell did I just get myself into? As if my life isn’t already complete shit.

[jarofstyles]

Illicit 9

Hello my loves... we are nearing the end of the main Illicit story, but we will have tons of extra one shots for them. Flashbacks, memories, looks into the future etc. We have one more part left for the main series, but here is an intense part... :-)

WC- 4.8k

Check out our Patreon for early access and 150+ exclusive writings

Illicit Masterlist

Warnings- home break in, weapons, guns, knives, injuries, stabbing, mean harry, crazy Katherine, hospital/medical scene and mention of treatment, stitches, talk of concussions and wounds...

————-

It was too quiet. 

Harry arrived home, paper bag in hand but the entire way up there had been unease in his stomach.  Something wasn’t right and he had felt it in his gut. 

He’d gotten word that Katherine had been spotted a few streets over just a few days prior and he knew he’d been on edge when the cops had said they’d tried to follow but she’d gone to the wind again. It unsettled him to know she was seen outside the coffee shop Y/N frequented, more than anything. He’d upped security again, but when he entered the penthouse he couldn’t see the guard supposedly meant to be in the foyer. His stomach dropped, hand dropping to his waistband to feel for the gun he had stuffed in there since she had gotten back. 

It was insane to him. How a deal had been so dumb, but made into such a big deal that he had to worry about the safety of his home and his lover. That a wannabe socialite had managed to fuck with him just because he didn’t want her. He’d never led her on, making sure to be as brutally honest as possible, but it seemed like that didn’t matter when she was disturbed. 

It was stiffly quiet in the house but when he stood still and listened he could hear the classical music drifting from up the stairs. The unusual chill settled down his spine as he tiptoed across the foyer- only to be stopped in his tracks. 

The guard was knocked clean out on the floor. Eyes closed, gun across the room and blood trickling from the side of his head. A cleaning cart was parked by the edge of the stairs, making his hackles rise and stomach sink. He knew exactly how she had gotten into the place, and she was a lot crazier than he expected. Of course she would pull this sort of desperate thing, he’d half expected it, but he’d been so hopeful that it would happen at his job. Somewhere his love wasn’t around to bear witness to. She’d been so stressed, and he had failed to keep her safe.  Y/N was home. He knew she was, he’d texted her not even an hour and half prior to confirm he’d bring home the bagels she wanted. The paper bag he had carefully set down, weapon drawn as he crouched down to take the pulse of the guard. 

It was there. He was alive, just unconscious- thank god. Harry didn’t want anyone to die on his dime. He didn't have time to waste, taking his phone out and hurriedly typing the SOS signal into the message system to the other guards along with telling them to be as quiet as humanly possible coming inside. 

He tried to be silent as he scaled the steps, holding his weapon out in front of him. If this was indeed Katherine or someone who had sent her? Who knew what they had on them. What state they’d be in. He could only pray that Y/N was unscathed, that she’d target him and him alone. It was his fault, after all. 

This was what he had been afraid of since Katherine had disappeared. Obviously in order to break and enter along with taking intimate photos of people in their own home, there had to be something wrong with her- but he had hoped that maybe Y/N’s shiny optimism had been correct, that she’d gone away to lick her wounds and would restart somewhere else. He should have known she wouldn’t go down that easy. The woman had gone through so much effort in order to really sell the idea that she was in a relationship with Harry despite his uninterested gaze, barely looking at her- let alone touch. She had seen him as her ticket up in the society she was desperate to be the queen bee of and Harry had been the perfect goal she had thought she acquired. 

Of course when it came tumbling down she would lose it. The difference between Harry and his lover is that he didn’t have any empathy for her. While Y/N may frown and empathize with the fact she had been stripped of everything, Harry was pleased. She’d been a thorn in his side for ages, always clingy and managed to be a true annoyance for him. She was entitled, bratty, vapid, loud, desperate for approval and obsessed with validation. Everything he disliked rolled into one. She had fucked around with his business and wasted his time, not to mention the fact that Harry had resentment over her being unwilling to cut the deal so he could be with Y/N in an easier way. He’d brave any storm for her, of course he would, but  he’d prefer smooth roads rather than bumpy ones. 

His heart pounded in his chest so hard it hurt, mouth dry and rage boiling in his stomach as he got up to the second floor where the music got louder. Of course, the one room with the door open a smidge was his office. He couldn’t see or hear Y/N, but he couldn’t chance opening another door when he was a shadow pass under the open door. The closer he got, though, he could hear mumbling under the music. 

“You really didn’t need to tie me up.” Y/N. He could hear her now, the tiniest wave of relief washing over him knowing the was awake, talking. 

“I really did.” The sneer belonged to her. To Katherine. His spine stiffened as he tried to be as silent as possible, keeping his breathing as even as he could as he slowly approached his office. “You’re a snake. Taking people’s boyfriends from under their noses. Homewrecker.” The woman hissed like a snake, Harry’s stomach rolling as he heard the sharp sound of a slap. There was nothing else said for a moment, making Katherine growl in rage. 

“God, you disgust me. I can’t believe you were the one to steal him away from me. You're no one.” Her voice sounded a bit more unhinged as he listened to it, hearing pacing in the room. He braved a glance in, the crazy woman’s back to him as she paced in front of Y/N. His heart hurt as he saw blood smeared on her cheek and her hair was messy, falling mostly out of the messy bun she had styled. “You don’t have any reason to date a man like him. What can you offer him? Hm? You’ve got no assets besides your family’s money, and that’s pathetic in comparison to both his and mine. You don’t have any appeal to pop culture. You just… what? Make your stupid, ugly art? How do you think you’re going to keep him?” 

“I love him.” Y/N said softly, trying not to lose her cool. “I’d love him if he was bankrupt tomorrow. I’d love him if he was a mechanic, a farmer, a pop star, if he was a stripper. I don’t care too much about his money. He’s got plenty because he’s a good worker but, when he comes home…” She frowned. “When he comes home, he likes tea because he drinks coffee all day at work. He likes his house shoes and would wear them all the time if it was fashionable. He takes cold plunges often, he likes broccoli but not cauliflower. He has a tense neck and pretends its fine but falls asleep when I massage it. I offer him stability, Katherine.” Y/N wasn’t being rude, but talking to her with an even tone. “You have to understand that my money, my social power means nothing to me. Harry has someone who he can rely on to take care of him when he’s sick, to be honest and vulnerable with. Not someone who calls paparazzi for a surprise ambush. If you paid a lick of attention to him, you’d know he hates cameras. Despises having his photo taken most of the time. He wasn’t the man for you, but there are a lot of men who would love to be with you.”

“Stop fucking pandering to me.” Katherine hissed again, striking Y/N again on her cheek. It was too much for him, watching her head snap to the side and the ring on Katherine’s hand tear at the skin near her lip. “You don’t know anything! You stole him from me. He was going to give in! He was going to love me!”

“No I wasn’t.” Harry held his gun out in front of him, kicking the door open as he looked at them with eyes darker than either woman had ever seen them. He was seething, rage visible on his form. There was no doubt about it. “I was never going to love you. I was never going to give in, you are just fucking insane.” His disdain was visible on his face but he could see that Y/N was tied up, blood on her face making his stomach hurt. She was going to have a swollen eye from the hit on her right cheek, the hit having cut her right underneath it. 

Harry had never felt more livid in his life. 

The relief on her face was the only thing that settled him slightly, glad that she still trusted him despite the fact he was the reason she was in the situation to begin with. 

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” Katherine was quick to show the knife she had, approaching Y/N until he aimed the weapon a few inches from her feet and let off a warning shot. It punctured a splintered hole on the bottom of his desk but it made the both of them scream, Katherine scrambling away but still holding the knife up- as if it was going to intimidate him. 

“Because you’re psychotic, because you’ve tied my woman up, you’ve broken into my house a number of times and you just don’t seem to be getting the fucking hint. Pick a number.” He grunted. The smell of the residue the shot had left making his throat tight, but he didn’t care. The approach was slow, the whole idea to get her away from Y/N. “I’m the one you’re mad at. Why the fuck are you here, hurting her? Think she stole you away from you when I’ve never belonged to you in the first place. I’ve always been hers.” He sneered, moving his body in front of Y/N’s. At least there was a barrier now. 

“No!” The growl that left her was a bit chilling. She sounded possessed, huffing and puffing as she pointed the knife at him. “You were mine! You signed the contract and you had to take me on dates. You had to have liked me. We had sex!” The crazed tone to her voice returned with a fierceness, making him wonder just how far she was willing to take this. “We were the power couple, you were falling in love with me and she ruined it!” There was pure hatred in her crazed eyes as she tried to catch a glance at his girlfriend. 

“No. Look at me, not at her.” He barked. “I’m telling you now, I didn’t want to date you. I’ve told you this countless times. I have never wanted you, the only reason people called us an it couple is because you were pathetic and lied about me buying you gifts and sending you flowers that you bought yourself and hung all over me like a desperate bitch when I was forced to be out in public with you. The sex was subpar at best, you sounded like a dying fucking cat and there’s a reason I didn’t want to look at you during.” Yeah, he was being a dick, but he didn’t care. She needed to get it through her thick skull. “Y/N is and always has been the love of my life since I met her. If I knew her before being offered the contract you’d never have gotten a breath of my air. But that was because of me and me alone. I never wanted you, and I’m the one you should be angry at.” No matter how desperately he wanted to turn around and check on Y/N when he heard her sniffling behind him, no matter how panicked he felt internally and how bad his heart hurt, he kept his eye on the danger. 

“You’re lying!” She screeched, trying to lunge at him but he aimed to the side and shot again- this time into the wall. As much as he wanted her to suffer, Harry didn’t like the idea of Y/N being here and witnessing something extremely violent. He wanted Katherine to rot in jail, wanted her to go insane all alone. He didn’t feel like hiring someone to scrub the floors and his carpet either. “What the fuck! Are you trying to kill me?” Her face had paled as she turned to look at the bullet lodged into the wall. 

“I should, but I won’t. You invaded my home multiple times, put hands on my woman, caused emotional and physical distress. Tried to fucking hide from police and your father alike because you knew I was going to destroy you. I don’t know how you’ve turned it into some delusion, thinking that if you hurt Y/N that I’d somehow want you but I never have. I never will. I want to see you rot behind bars, miserable. A bullet in you would be an easy way out.” Maybe Harry was…. Slightly crazy as well. But he didn’t run around kidnapping people, breaking in places, and he sure as hell didn’t waste his time trying to humiliate himself over someone who clearly didn’t want him and never had. “For every fucking scratch, bruise, and tear that comes from her, I’m going to pour more and more money onto the lawyers that will get you the longest possible sentence. I know you’ll do terribly there, and that’s what I’m looking forward to.” His own evil smirk rose to his lips as he heard the guards enter the room, more footsteps following up and the police announcing their presence. “You are nothing to me, you never have been. Now I’m going to make sure you pay for the shit you did. I know she’s nicer than I am, but I disagree.” He hissed. “Hope you find a lover in prison, because that’s the only hope you have now.” 

Harry sort of expected it, but he hadn’t expected the quickness. Katherine screamed in rage, lunging at him and slicing the side of his arm and shirt with the blade. He barely recognized the pain, more focused on yanking her knife out of her hand to throw to the side before handling arms and forcing her to the floor. Her body thrashed, screeching out insults as the guards came in quickly, taking over and keeping her restrained as they clipped handcuffs on her. She spit and kicked, looking like a rabid animal as she somehow called out for Harry to help her as they lifted her up to carry her out of the room. 

“Harr-Harry!” Y/N’s voice sobbed as he turned to her again, finding one of the other guards cutting the rope off of her. Her teary eyes looked towards his now blood soaked shirt and jacket, shaky hands gently grabbing it and pulling the latter off of his form. “Oh my god, are you okay? She stabbed you!” Her breathing was frantic and he could feel her trembling as she grabbed the other side of the jacket and applied pressure to the wound. He didn’t feel the pain quite yet, adrenaline still going strong. All he could focus on was her own injuries. “Can someone call an ambulance? Please?” She choked on her sob. “For him and f-for.. She knocked him out downstairs, I heard it. I hope he’s okay, we… Please?” She pleaded to the guard who nodded with his phone to his ear already.

“Hey… I’m okay.” He whispered to her, his uninjured hand reaching up to hold her chin. “I’m okay, love. S’a scrape. Promise. I’m completely fine. I’m worried about you.” His face was full of that concern, scanning over her injuries. Seeing them up closer made his stomach turn, almost like he was about to be sick all over himself. “M’sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.” His eyes burned. “I promised she wouldn’t hurt you. And now you’re all bloody.” There were a few marks and he wondered how many times she had slapped Y/N around. One scrape on her forehead that was bleeding a lot more than the face ones, bruising already forming around her eye. “Where else are you hurt? What happened?” He pulled her into his form, ignoring any warning about being careful with his arm as she still tried to apply the pressure. 

“I’m fine. She- she hit me with a book, back of the head to stun me. My vision went wonky and I blacked out a little, came to all tied up. I heard her coming upstairs after the stuff downstairs but I wasn’t quick enough to lock the door.” She sniffled, feeling his lips press against the top of her head. His shirt was ruined, bloodied and torn at the arm but he didn’t give a shit about the clothing. He wanted her as close as possible. 

“Fuck.” Voice wrecked, he held her tight. “Okay. We need to get you checked out first, please. You probably have a concussion or worse. I need to… I’m not letting you out of my sight.” This was going to be an issue later on down the line, but he didn’t care. He was going to exercise every bit of his money privilege to make sure Y/N got the best care possible and every single thing was taken care of. He failed her once, and he wasn’t going to do it again. 

—----

Harry had fought to ride in the same ambulance as her. He’d fought hard, cussing and snarling but ultimately was forced to be calmed by her gentle words and the contact they had at the hospital insuring that they’d be in the same ER room together. The man was terrified to leave her side and Y/N could see it. Despite his cold and hard look, his anger coating his words, the venom in his tone, it was all out of fear. It’s how his anxiety manifested when it came to her and she knew all too well. 

So he’d given in and gave her a slow kiss, promising that he wasn’t going to let anything else happen to her- all before threatening the poor EMS pair in charge of Y/N with their jobs if something happened to her. She had to make sure they knew they would be fine as soon as the door closed and Harry was wrangled onto his own ride, which she could hear grumbling and complaining as he did so. Y/N loved her grumpy man so much. 

He arrived first to the hospital which meant he had demanded to wait for her to be wheeled in, making sure she went first. There was triage, which meant a knife wound would be looked at first, but he barely flinched as they sat in their room with the door closed, two separate teams looking over their injuries. A set of the guards were outside said doors, taking updates about the one who had been injured on the job and ensuring no one else got in or out other than approved medical staff. Harry wasn’t stupid and he knew the media would catch wind as soon as it leaked. It couldn’t be too long now considering he knew Katherine must have continued her tantrum all the way down to the police cruiser. 

“Is she okay? What’s going on?” He asked across the room, trying to look over shoulders to see the doctor looking over her injuries. The frantic beat of his heart had been a slight cause of concern when they took his vitals but then again, who would be calm after a situation like that? 

“Mr. Styles, please stay still so we can properly stitch.” The poor woman working on him most definitely had her work cut out for her and he felt bad only slightly considering he liked to be a good patient, but Y/N was more important to him than the stupid fucking stitches. Luckily it really had only been a cut. There wasn’t a lot of muscle damage, and it was even on his arm without tattoos. If he was going to be in a knife fight this was the luckiest outcome someone could hope for. 

“Harry, please.” Y/N shot him a tired look. “I’m okay. I promise. Let them stitch you up so you have the best chance at healing. It would make me happy.” 

“My goal is to always make you happy, my love, but I know it’s serious when you black out.” He stressed. For his own good, he should have been calming down but it was hard to when they hadn’t told him much yet.

“Can I disclose to Mr. Styles of your condition, Miss?” The doctor asked, which normally would have made him happy to know he respected her privacy- but his blood pressure was rising by the second with the lack of information. 

“Of course.” She murmured, giving him a softer look as one of the nurses began to clean the cuts on her face. Even still, she was his beautiful girl. He was going to push for the most harsh charges he could for that evil bitch. Y/N didn’t deserve that. He definitely did. 

“Well, the cuts are going to heal just fine. They don’t need stitching as they aren’t too deep, a few are just scrapes. The one on her head was a bit deeper but headwounds tend to bleed more, so it looked worse than met the eye. Shouldn’t scar badly, if at all.” He explained, making a bit of relief flood his body. “However, I do believe she has a concussion. We were discussing sending her for a CAT scan to ensure there was no further damage, but I don’t think there will be. She’s a lucky girl.” 

Harry bristled, lip curling in a snarl. “Lucky? Having your home invaded and being tied up and abused is lucky to you? Who the fuck are you to say-” His defense was calmed by a call of his name, a frown on his love’s face as she shook her head. 

“H, you know he didn’t mean it that way.” She looked towards the paling doctor. Harry’s bark was very mean, and his bite was meaner. The fear was understood but she would make sure her lover relaxed. “He means that for what could have happened, it’s good. Just like how you could have been stabbed in a worse place. He isn’t minimizing what happened to me.” It was difficult because she couldn’t physically touch him with them being in separate hospital beds across the private room, but the words had the desired effect. 

His eyes narrowed at the doctor as he set his jaw, deciding to leave it for her sake. “Get her in there immediately. I want every person qualified to look at the results to ensure there's nothing missed.” Harry didn’t swing his name and money around in this sort of setting too often, but it seemed necessary. “Or I’ll make sure my father pulls funding for those very nice golf retreats for the staff.” There was a Styles wing here, after all. There had been for years. 

“Y-Yes, I’m going to call over to them now. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Make it fast.” He snipped, eyes only softening when he left the room and he locked gazes with Y/N. The man had no clue how he was going to possibly make it up to her. It was extremely rare that he ever felt genuine, punch in the gut guilt, but seeing her smile at him only made it worse. How was she not angry at him right now? He had gotten a human angel, that’s for sure. 

How would he make her feel safe in their penthouse again? He knew it wasn’t a forever home but it was the first place they’d cemented themselves as a couple. He was going to do anything he could to ensure she felt safe again, though he knew it was probably going to be a while after Katherine was locked up. He’d be looking at a new building regardless after finding out that she had been cleared by the building security to go in the back entrance. She’d apparently been deranged enough to find out the shit changes and hopped into what had to be the only unmonitored elevator ride that day. She had a valid key card to get into their place and had snuck up on the in house guard, making her efforts very apparent. Katherine been plotting for a while.

As soon as his stitches were finished and they gave him some pain relief, he walked over to her bed and sat himself down in it. There was no semblance of personal space, frown on his face as his fingers traced over the gauze on her forehead cut. She looked sleepy, his poor girl, but they’d still have to wait for the tests on her and they wanted to monitor his heart rate for a bit. Their stay wasn’t over quite yet. 

“M’gonna get us out of here for a bit, as soon as you’re okay to travel.” He whispered, closing them into their own private little bubble. They finally had a minute alone. “Wherever you want to go. Think on it.” He tipped her chin up to place a few kisses to her lips, needing the comfort for his own sake. A shaky exhale made him pull back, eyes burning as she lifted her hand to cup his cheek, thumb brushing the hot skin. 

“Anywhere with you.” Y/N smiled, her own pain meds kicking in. “Probably can’t go on a plane with a concussion for a bit. I dunno, m’not the doctor. But… maybe we can go to the lake house for a bit?” Laying on her side, she scooted over so Harry could properly be comfortable on the small hospital bed. It wasn’t built for two but they made it work. “It’ll be a bit of a drive but I think it would be nice to get out of the city for a little bit. Just spend time with you alone.” 

In all honesty, Harry knew he’d sort of dropped the ball with Y/N. He hadn’t given her every single thing she deserved and he’d been limited by the stupid deal. Now that it was over, though? He wasn’t going to pull back any of the things he wanted to do. She deserved a vacation, his uninterrupted attention and a true break from work. As much of a workaholic as he was, the only thing he loved more was the girl in his arm. If he didn’t think they’d scold him for popping stitches he would use both of them to tug her on top of him. 

“I think that’s a lovely idea, my love.” He approved, the softest smile he could mange painting his lips. “I know things are going to be a bit hectic for a while but m’gonna take care of you. S’all I want to do. You’re my favorite person and… I know I haven’t been the easiest person to be with. Know I failed at keeping you safe, but m’a bit too selfish to let you go.” His eyes shined, trying not to let too much emotion out in here. “I’m going to spend every day for the rest of my life taking care of you and making sure every bit of your body is safe. You’re the most important thing in the world to me. My heart.” The soft croon was rewarded with her shy smile, a little peck placed to his lips as a secondary bonus. Butterflies were the last sensation the grump of a man ever expected to feel in his life, but Y/N had lit up his life. “It’s a forever thing, you and me. Just have to wait and see.”

[cherryflavoredbyme]

Black and white

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Kinkmas 🎄 № 2: Voyeurism

summary: harry takes you to amsterdam. 

word count: 4.2k

reading time: 18 min.

content warnings: 18+, sex toys, public sex, sex work(ers), teasing, oral (f reciving), manhandling (if you squint), d/s undertones (harry is just a little bossy is all), pet names (baby, lovie, good girl, pretty girl) implied bi/pan!reader, fxf scene, f solo scene, fxm scenes are also described as well. very obvious ignorance to sex work/sex clubs. 

a/n: now i wanna go to Amsterdam. brb booking my flight! 

________________

Harry prided himself on his ability to plan a trip for the two of you. From beginning to end, you never had a care in the world on these trips other than what dress you would wear to dinner. Even then, Harry often made his preference very clear by digging into your bag while you showered and laying out his pick for the night (accessories included, of course). You didn't mind being his little doll; you liked it when he picked out something for you. It made you feel special; you'd yet to figure out why, but you didn't question it too much. Not when every part of your trip was planned, from the moment you woke up to breakfast in bed to some activity fit for each day to dinner reservations each night. Harry had it all covered. 

You found yourselves on this trip in Amsterdam. 'Just because,' he said. And that was a good enough reason for you to get another stamp on your passport. You've done all the tourist spots thus far. All but one. Until tonight. 

Tonight, you were headed to a show. A show in the redlight district. 

So, what you cheated this time. You saw the confirmation email on Harry's phone from the theater earlier, did a quick Google search, and now your stomach is in knots. In a good way, nervous anticipation more than anything. But still, you had to remain calm. Tonight was a surprise, so you needed to be surprised. 

Harry was sure you were going to be. Regardless of how horrible your acting had been, trying to pretend like you didn't know where you were headed, he knew you too well. He knew you saw the confirmation and damn near planned it for you to see. Harry knew your curiosity would eat at you, and you'd inevitably do your own research. But he also knew that you'd only go searching so far. He hopes he's staying within your boundaries with this one. That this all wasn't too much. But by the way, you're fumbling at the vanity, trying to do the finishing touches to your make-up and hair, telling him you are more than ready for tonight. 

You fumble through your make-up bag in search of a specific brush when Harry comes up behind you, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

"Almost done, baby. I know we are on a timer." you rush out, eyes meeting him in the mirror briefly, not noticing that only one hand is on your waist. The other is behind his back, holding something. 

"Don't rush; we're more than okay on time." he smiles, pressing a hiss to the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that wakes you up. "Can I ask you to hold onto something for me?" 

You don't look up from what you're doing in front of the mirror; you don't even see what he's holding up. "You have a million pockets, bab-" your eyes widen when they meet his in the mirror after locking eyes with what's in his hand. "You brought that on the plane!" you whisper, through a smile, turning towards him, heat rising to your cheeks at the thought. In his hand was what was slowly becoming your favorite toy that you and Harry had added to your 'playtime.' It was your remote control butterfly-esque toy. It was meant to fill you up just enough while the buzzing base hit right up against your clit just right. You've discussed wearing it in public before but never thought he would commit to the idea. You can't believe he'd brought it. Happy, excited, even, but nervous. 

"I did. Specifically for tonight. Thought it would be appropriate for where we're going?" 

"Where could we possibly be going where that's appropriate?" you smirk, playfully batting at his chest. 

"You'll see," he smirked, taking a moment to read your face. "Look, I know we've only ever used this guy in the bedroom, but I thought it would be fun tonight. If you are uncomfortable, we can scratch -" 

"No!" you rush out, reaching for it in his hand. "I just mean - what were you thinking?"

"Well, I don't want to give away the whole surprise, but it starts with this," He emphasizes by bringing your attention to the toy, "Going inside of my pretty girl." he smirks, looking between your legs, "after I have a taste of course," he adds. 

"Oh, well, of course," you giggle, rolling your eyes playfully. 

"Right. So once I've had my fill of my peach, then this will go nice and snug inside your pussy," Harry says with a smile before he brings his hand up from your hip to your jaw, bringing your eyes to his, his eyes blown out in lust. "And you're going to hold it in there for me. All night until we get back here. Hopefully, if you are up for it, I'll be spending the rest of our last night between your legs. Letting you see Amsterdam from your favorite angle, baby." He rasps, dipping his down and crashing his lips to yours. 

On your back. 

You giggle into the kiss. It was a silly thing you'd said when you were in Paris. You had the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower. You are unsure how he did it; regardless, it was an ideal view. And yet you spent most of the trip, seeing it upside down, while on your back, head dangling off the side of the bed as Harry had worked, orgasm after orgasm from you. You'd then joked that you'd want to see every city with him on your back. Seeing the Eiffel Tower upside down was your favorite way to see it. So it's kind of become a tradition of sorts to have mind-blowing sex in each city you visit together, at least once.  

Harry has taken it to be a challenge to get you that high off him, to say something just as goofy in every city, and if that meant you were on your back, well….it was tradition. He leans in, deepening the kiss, "How's that sound?" He pulls away and chuckles at your eyes, still fluttering open. 

"Good. yeah." 

"Yeah? This is okay?" he asks, seriously, his tone sweet as pie. 

"Yeah. It…could be fun. Just try not to embarrass me too with it too bad," you joke with a sigh, and Harry shakes his head insistently. 

"Never. I'd never embarrass you with this. This is for us, for you. S' not to make a spectacle of you. I'd never." 

"I know," You giggle into a kiss, trying to shake some of your nerves. 

"I just want you to know. Now," He smirks devilishly down at you, lust clouding over his eyes, "Can I?" 

You cross your arms across your chest, "I don't know, can you?" you mock, finally getting to pull his favorite word 'gotcha' on him. And he groans, gripping your jaw again, playfully growling at you. 

"You brat." he sighs at you. He leans down, kissing you deep, before pulling away just enough. "May I?" he asks, eyes never leaving yours. "Please." 

"You may." you breathe out.

You barely have time to register his movements. He's on his knees before you, hiking your dress up your thighs in seconds. He looks up at you with a devilish grin as he shimmies your panties down your thighs. You kick them to the side, and Harry grabs hold of one of your thighs, hooking it over his shoulder, "Lean back, baby. Hold onto the sink." He smirks before planting sloppy kisses up each of your thighs. Slow and intimate.  

Harry wasn't a fan of quickies. Sure, you'd had a few here and there, but they were never Harry's style. He never rushed, not with you. And especially not when he was given the privilege of going down on you. No, he was going to savor every moment he got to spend between your thighs. Knowing that he was the only one to see you from this angle. 

When his lips finally did land where you'd been wanting them, it was just a light peck to your folds. Followed by a long bold lick from your entrance to your clit. 

"Harry, we don't have time." You whine, wanting him to devour you like you both know he wanted to. 

"Shhh, don't you worry about that," he coos, placing another kiss on your thigh, "just relax." He returned his lips to your folds and did what Harry does best. Take you to heaven. He went slow at first, alternating between licking up and down your folds and sucking on your clit. His hands roamed and groped, pulling you down further onto his tongue. He licked and sucked, twirled his tongue. God, was he amazing with his mouth. And never was he stingy in blessing you with his oral talents. He was so lost in you, drunk on the taste of you on his tongue, Harry nearly forgot about his original plan. It wasn't until he felt your fingers twist into his hair, tugging ever so slightly with a whine, that he was brought back down to earth. 

"Can I ask you for one more thing, baby?" He asks against your pussy. You look down at him, eyes blown out in lust, nodding vigorously. You were so close. 

"Mmhmm, anything." You keen, tugging at his hair some more. 

"I need you to come for me. Can you do that?" He asks, looking up at you, slowly inserting his middle finger inside. 

Your mouth falls open, eyes still locked on Harry on his knees for you. "Mmmhmm." You nod. 

"Good girl," He coos, and your stomach flips at the praise, "You come for me, and then I'll give you the toy, and you keep it for the rest of the night, okay?" Again, all you had the brain power to do was nod at him, tugging his hair, pulling him closer. 

You could feel the spring in the pit of your stomach; you were right there. "Harry-"you keen, 

"That's it, baby, come on." He encourages, curling his fingers up, dragging them in and out of you at a pace that has you spinning. "Come on my fingers, baby." 

It's all you need. Harry's permission before you come undone on one of his hands while the other arms hold you up. He works you through your first orgasm of the night, pulling it from you with every drag of his fingers. You barely have time to fully come down before you feel him removing his fingers and inserting the toy. It's slightly thicker than Harry's fingers, so the fit is somewhat snug, but the feeling is phenomenal. 

Harry straightens up once the toy is in place and you've caught your breath. He shimmies your panties back up your legs and straightens your dress out for you. You wrap your areas around his shoulders, bringing him close to you, and he places a sweet peck on your forehead and nose before kissing your lips, just enough for you to taste yourself. "You okay?" He smiles. 

"Yeah. Thank you." You breathe out, your head still a little fuzzy from your orgasm, your legs still a little weak. 

"You don't have to thank me every time I make you come, baby." He chuckles. 

"I know. But still." You shrug, leaning your forehead against his for just a moment. You two stood momentarily while you came down, holding each other against the sink. 

"Can you finish getting ready for me?" He asks, bringing you back to the present. 

"Yeah - just a few minutes." you smile. He looked down at you with a proud grin on his face.

"I'll be out there," he looks down at his watch and chuckles. "Okay, maybe now we are on a bit of a time crunch, but still - baby, don't rush." He places a quick kiss on your temple. "I will be by the door when you're ready." 

'I'll be by the door' was Harry Speak for 'I love you, but you have ten minutes.' You shake your head and opt for a quick brown contour on your eyes to give you some life rather than your planned smoky eye. You topped off the look with some mascara and gloss. It's a nice no-make-up look. 

Perfect for a sex show - Buzzzz. You jolted forward. 'He's a mind reader, isn't he?' You think. How else could he have perfectly cued the vibrating egg to go off at the mere thought of tonight's plans?  

"Lovie - come on," Harry calls from the front of the hotel with a smirk ever so present in his voice. 

Bastard. You curse him in your head, trying to keep your moans at bay. Just when you think you feel like you feel the beginnings of that tingly feeling that starts at the base of your spine once more, it stops. And Harry comes around the corner, no indication on his face that he's the reason you've been hunched over in here rather than out there with him. "You ready?" 

Shit. You hated this game. You were terrible at it. But it was Harry's favorite. 

The game? Harry worked you up, with you doing the same, while you both played coy and ignored the other's attempts until someone broke. That someone was nearly always you. 

"Yes." You squeak out, straightening your dress out. "Fuck." you say out loud. How would you keep this thing in you with a dress if he plans on doing that all night? 

"Everything okay?" he asks condescendingly. 

"Fine." you breathe out. You were not going to let Harry win at this that easy. "I'm fine, let's go. I'm ready." He smiles at you, proud of your attempt to keep the game going. Tonight was going to be so fun for you both. 

⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙

Harry kept you huddled into his side as you moved through the brisk December streets of Amsterdam. Your coat was more style than function, and Harry, ever the gentleman, sacrificed his own for you to stay warm. 

"We're just about - Oh. Here it is." he slows down, pulling you behind him to a door along a strip of stores that looked abandoned. He feels the weight of you stopped behind him. "I promise this is the place." Still, you don't budge, "I have it on good authority that this is the place," he smirks. 

"Who's authority, Harry?" You whisper for some reason, but this feels like the part of town where you whisper. Without answering, he turns his back to you, looking down at his phone again before knocking on the door several times and pocketing it. And it opens. Harry gives a vague riddle, and the next thing you know, you are being pulled behind a doorway in the Red Light District of Amsterdam. 

⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙⁙

It's a theater. A rather large one, with three stages, or one big stage with two diving walls. Each location was wide enough to have stairs leading from the vast audience to each stage. In the back was a bar, lit dimly with a few scattered patrons. But in the center of the room, the audience seating was…different. 

For one, the place was packed with patrons. For seating, there were booths and small tables, but closer to the stage were cabana-type seating, with some sort of private walls made of flowy dark satin curtains. The whole space was draped in dark purple, black, and gold. The lights were low, completely dim, if not for the stage light and the small lamps scattered about on some tables. The music was quiet yet thumping. You could feel the bass in your chest, and the vibrations did nothing to help the ache between your thighs. 

But, the stages. 

That's where the center of all attention in the large room was and where your eyes were glued the entire time Harry pulled you through the theater to your reserved booth. 

"Sit, baby." Harry smiles, tugging your hand for you to follow him into the rounded booth. You look down at him, then behind you, realizing you are blocking people's view. "You like it?" Harry asks, draping an arm around your shoulder as you shrug off his jacket, draping it across your lap. Covering what your dress doesn't. 

My clever girl, Harry thinks. 

"Is this -" 

"This is the show," he whispers down into your ear. "See, each one is a different stage of arousal. See?" he explains, looking out onto the stages. You get a perfect view of all three stages from where you two are seated. You notice a few smaller platforms scattered throughout the room and at either side of the stage, to the right and left. On each platform stood a woman, fully exposed, moving to the music and flowing with the lights that danced across her skin. It was art. 

On the stage closest to you and Harry was a couple, a man and a woman. He was much larger than her, similar to you and Harry's size difference. He towered over her as he caressed her cheek. Their movements were slow and sensual but deliberate as they stood center stage, with nothing but a chair on stage beside them. You were so focused on them and the music and the lights you didn't notice Harry reaching into his pocket, retrieving the remote for the toy. Only when it was too late did you realize. As you feel the toy's vibrations, you reach over, gripping Harry's knee underneath the tiny cocktail table. A small squeak escaped your lips. 

"Shhh…baby, be good. Be quiet for me, okay?" 

"Yeah." you quip out, digging your nails into his thigh, causing him to hiss. 

"Use me how you need, baby," he whispers tightly into your ear, and you have to bite your lower lip to keep from moaning out in this theater. Not that anyone would hear the music and the noises coming from the women on the stage; there must have been microphones on stage with how clear their moans rang through the room.  

Another woman was on the stage to the far right of where you were. She was alone, besides the assortment of toys next to her, but by the looks and sounds of it, she didn't need any of it. No, she was doing just fine the old-fashioned way.  

Then you take in the stage to the left of you. You have to turn your head a little to get a full view of it all, and once you do, the grip on Harry's knee tightens. It was two women in the throws of passion, in a position you've only ever dreamed of. They lay on each of their sides, facing opposite directions, faces buried in each other's thighs. 

"I picked this show for them. Especially. I know you'd love them." He turns the vibrator up, but only a nudge, still a low hum, and nothing to write home about. But with the images and sounds surrounding you, it was enough to drive you mad. His lips linger at your year a second too long, his breath sending those pleasant tingles all over your body. "And Him," he says, drawing your attention back to the stage closest to you. 

The couple is half dressed now, her breasts exposed, and he - well, you know why Harry said what he did. The man was a sight to behold. He couldn't hold a candle to Harry size-wise, but he was impressive and above average. And he didn't even appear to be fully erect. The woman was working on changing that, it seemed. You watched as she took his impressive length into her much smaller hand and pumped him slow, up and down. You looked over at Harry, who couldn't keep his eyes off you. 

"You're missing the show," you whisper as he licked his bottom lip before tugging it between his teeth. You mirrored his action. 

"No, I'm not." He smirked, "Eyes, forward." he demanded softly. He turns up the vibe once again as you watch the woman drop to her knees in front of the man, who's opted to sit in the provided chair. From the way he is sitting in the chair to the side, you have a perfect view of the woman wrapping her lips around him with a pornographic moan. You couldn't help but suck in a breath. Suddenly, you were longing for the weight of Harry to be on your tongue. To feel him fill your mouth, your throat, to hear him groan as you reached up to play with his balls. You craved it. 

 For a split second, you looked around the crowded room. You are taking in the sights and sounds. There were a couple of groups, some people kissing and some whispering to one another, but every eye was locked on that stage. All except Harry, that is. You turn your attention back on the two girls, and they're both cuddled up to each other on a makeshift bed of sheets and pillows on stage, basking in an assumed post-orgasm glow. Harry catches the pout on your lips immediately. 

"I missed it." 

"You better pay attention then," He chuckles, "with all your sense. Not just sight. Listen, smell…feel." 

Feel. 

Oh, this damn egg! The hum of the vibrator is ever-present between your thighs now. Though it's not enough vibration to relieve the ache that's developed, it is starting to get you to that place that makes you warm and fuzzy rather quickly. And you want more, need more. So you turn to face him, landing a sweet peck on his lips. Then, leaning your forehead to his for a moment and leaning into his ear, whispering, "Harry, can I get more, please." You beg, sweetly. He pulls you away from him by the chin, kissing your nose. 

"No. Watch the show." He says and smiles when you huff at him, wiggling in the booth for some much-needed relief, your attention back to center stage. He pinches your arm lightly, "Don't do that, either. You know the rules. Take what I give you." he recites. You nod in understanding and try to focus on the show center stage. 

The woman has the man's cock fully down her throat now, and she sucked him with such enthusiasm, and his head was thrown back in such ecstasy it nearly gave you cock envy. When she finally came up for air with an animated throw of her head, she stood up from her spot between his legs before sitting on his lap, wrapping his arms around his shoulder. She leans in, kissing him slowly as his hands roamed all over her body. Groping, and kneading…spanking. That's when you feel his lips on your neck. And you are going to lose your mind. Was this hot? Absolutely. But you needed Harry like you've never before, and being unable to do anything about it was killing you. 

"Harry, I don't know how much longer I can-"You were close. Embarrassingly close. 

"Okay." He hums, and the next thing you know, the vibrations between your legs stopped. You let out a deep sigh, something mixed with frustration and relief. "There, now….you can focus. Watch them." Harry instructs. 

So you do. You watch. You watch as she slowly takes his length into her hand, pumping him a few moments before sinking down onto him. You hear her moans as she gets fully seated on him, setting a pace. Harry couldn't help but watch and hear your breath hitch as hers did. Knowing what you were thinking, knowing that you were thinking about him. How he feels inside you, stretching you out, making you feel full. He knew because he couldn't help but think about the same. 

As the woman on stage picked up her pace, bouncing on the man's cock up and down, swiveling her hips, you felt it again. The buzzing of the toy between your thighs. 

"Harry," you whisper, gripping onto his thigh again. 

"Shhh, you're okay," he assures but places a quick peck on your shoulder, momentarily drawing your attention to him. "Do you want it off?" He asks, checking in. 

"No!" you rush out, and he smiles at Cheshire's grin before turning it up two more notches. Your grip on his thigh tightens as you bite your lip, turning back to the stage. 

She is close now, you can tell. Her pace is quicker more frantic, and the noises. God, the noises she was making were heavenly, mixed with his groans as you watched him lunge forward, attaching his lips to her chest. 

Harry takes his other hand that wasn't wrapped around you, tangling his fingers with yours, giving them a comforting squeeze. 

"Harry, please." 

"No, baby." He says sternly. He knew what you were asking for, and as much as he hated saying no to you, he wouldn't let you come in public. Even if you were hidden by the walls of the tall booth, even if no one was watching, he would never allow it. When it came to you, Harry was selfish, and when it came to your pleasure and who got to see you in your most intimate moments, he was downright protective. 

Just as the woman on stage reached her peach, you were about to tell Harry that you couldn't hold it. That you couldn't take anymore without coming, the vibrator stops. You lean over, resting your head on Harry's shoulder. 

"I was so close." you pout.

"I know. But I'll take care of you when we get back. I promise."

🎄🎄🎄🎄

kinkmas 2023 masterlist 

🎄🎄🎄🎄

[cherry-titz]

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

Not figuratively, not literally. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

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

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

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

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

“Are you going in that direction?” 

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

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

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

“If you’re sure.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

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

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

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

“Long night?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No— your— whatever you—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Is it like Go Fish, then?” 

“No,” she snorts, “not at all.” 

“Not at all?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was a bad date, wasn’t it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What a dickhead.” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums. 

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

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

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

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

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

“It was just a little boring.”

“Boring?” 

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

The man beside her clears his throat. 

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

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

Harry’s mouth quirks. 

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

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

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

“But that’s not what you like.” 

Y/N takes a second to answer. “No.” 

“What do you like?” 

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

Y/N risks a haphazard glance into his direction. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say please,” Harry demands. 

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

“Please.” 

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

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

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

“How d’you beg?” 

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

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

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

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

“Please— please—“

“Louder,” he scoffs, “Beg. Beg.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then he just— stops. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll do it. Sounds easy enough?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bark. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe that’s why she’s dizzy. 

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

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

Harry sighs. 

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

“I said, bark.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There are. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I do.” 

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

“Is that right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tells her, “This is my stop.” 

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

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

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

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

Her tights, ripped at the crotch, prove otherwise. 

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

“Hello?” 

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

“Y/N.” 

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

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

“I was going to kill you that night.” 

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

But then he keeps talking. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The line goes dead. 

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

[hrryvamps]

[dark-hs-redux]

☆ Introduction: Please Read! ☆

☆ My name is Reggie, I'm 24, and I've been reading/writing fanfic for over a decade now. This blog is exclusively for my "Dark" (Harry Styles AU fanfic redux) story.

☆ You can read my story here on this blog If it's posted anywhere else, please let me know! Those are the only two places I've posted it myself.

☆ You can read the original "Dark"/"Knockout" story over here on Wattpad. The story was originally written by @han-rawr/@waaterbaby/@dark128 here on Tumblr.

☆ The ask box on this blog doesn't ever close, and I love hearing feedback about my story.

☆ Please take a minute to review the disclaimers I've written under the cut!

As evidenced by the information provided, this series/collection of works - including all subsequent additions to the story - are what I would consider a 2023 "redux" of the original works "Dark" and "Knockout", posted by @han-rawr/@waaterbaby/@dark128 on Tumblr. Both of which have been re-posted and are still available on Wattpad - I've linked them above. (If you're reading this fic and haven't read those yet, stop what you're doing and go read them - they're FANTASTIC! The dark128 blog that used to be an official archive of the story doesn't have the entire thing anymore either, so if you like Dark/Knockout, please download it while you can and send all your feedback to the original author - she's active on her waaterbaby blog and answers asks!)

Technically defined, a "redux" in writing is "brought back — used postpositively," meaning that I am in no way trying to degrade, mock, or otherwise harm the original work/idea by the original author. Her works inspired me to write another version of that story. I waited until after she was done writing the books to begin mine, and I'm giving full credit to her for the original idea of a "dark AU" Harry Styles in the respect of his profession as a boxing instructor turned underground bare-knuckle fighter. Because this is a different take on that story I have changed some aspects - character names, character traits, parts of the plot, etc.

I'd also like to point out the obvious: The male lead - Harry - bears no likeness to the living Harry Styles aside from his physical appearance. The living Harry Styles is in no way condoning the actions of this character.

If you're under, or over, the age of 17 and still choose to read this - especially if anything listed above is a trigger for your own trauma - then I will not be held accountable for any emotional/mental damage sustained as a result of my writing. If for any reason the content in this story might mentally or emotionally harm you, please don't read it.

Next, it's important that everyone reading this knows that this content is NOT SUITABLE for anyone under the age of 17. I would consider it to be R-rated/TV-MA rated.

Consider this a blanket CONTENT WARNING for the ENTIRE story!

(1) There will be depictions of sexual intercourse (between consenting adults - drunk AND sober);

(2) There will be mentions of sexual assault - nothing ever too graphic/detailed;

(3) There will be mentions of domestic violence (emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, etc.);

(4) There will be mentions AND depictions of drug and alcohol abuse;

(5) There will be depictions of graphic violence (active and passive);

and

(6) There will be depictions of unhealthy, abusive, and toxic relationships between adults.

Finally, I'd like to say that I am writing this ENTIRELY for entertainment purposes. I, in no way, condone or encourage the actions of these characters, the relationship styles written here or the mental, emotional, verbal, or borderline physical abuse of anyone to their partner or other people.

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence - in ANY form - please get immediate help. In the United States, the National Domestic Violence Hotline can be reached via their website https://www.thehotline.org/ or by phone at 1-800-799-7233.

On a lighter note, I'm going to list what songs inspired which parts of the story. I have a public Spotify playlist here.

Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy my story!

Reggie