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youresog0lden · 6 months

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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.

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youresog0lden · 1 year

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Winner of the Fic-Tastic Fic Award for best Y/N Harry!

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which Harry is a poetic frat boy who just so happens to be the TA for your new English class.

Playlist

Harry Moodboard

Read on Wattpad here

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V*

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX*

Part X

3 A.M (One Shot)

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙁𝙀𝙎𝙎𝙊𝙍 𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙍𝙔 𝙎𝙏𝙔𝙇𝙀𝙎 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

in which the one man you want more than anything is the only one you can’t have - your english professor.

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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Gettin’ In the Way of Soulmates

prompt: Harry has always admired how fierce, independent, and self-reliant his girlfriend is. But what happens when it leads her to not letting Harry take care of her in the way he wants?

word count: 7k

warnings: angst, smut

inspiration from this ask!

if you enjoyed this fic - PLEASE reblog, rec, like, and come chat with me about the fic!

if you like my work and can donate as i do this for free - please consider donating to my ko-fi.

enjoy.

——

Harry always worried that he was never going to find happiness with someone.

That the relationship would collapse like a dying star because of money.

In a world where people were so money-driven, hungry for it even when it wasn’t theirs, and ready to leech off of anyone who had a fat wallet.

There haD been countless amounts of dates where he had dropped the woman off, knowing he’d never call them again or ask for a second one.

They wanted to talk about how much his car cost, how much the rolex on his wrist cost, or did he see himself settling down with a wife soon?

He never thought he would find himself in the predicament he was in right now.

A fight about money in a relationship but it wasn’t about how much he had, well…it sort of was.

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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Beauty and the Beast

Harry is a moody, withdrawn but successful creature who needs a companion who can tend to his… needs.

Everything is not as it seems. Nothing ever is. Happiness grows like vines around him when she’s around but he worries they will smother her light.

Is it better to have loved and lost or never have loved at all? He used to be sure of his answer, but as soon as his own human ray of sunlight flounced into his life? He wasn’t sure of anything at all.

Welcome to our vamprry. He is a bit of a character but we hope you will gain a rather soft spot for him!

Warnings before reading- this story will contain a fantasy world mixed with our modern one. It should be fairly easy to understand but if you have questions we will be happy to answer them. This is a vampire story, and will contain blood. Blood drinking, blood play, everything to do with blood. If this is a trigger for you, please be advised! It is mentioned in every chapter. There will be violence, plot twists, trigger topics such as death, abuse, manipulation, torture, talk of murder and weapons including knives, swords, and guns. There will be kinky sex with taboo topics such as period sex, blood play, primal play, hair pulling, spanking, choking, degradation, dom/sub dynamic, bondage, etc. we will warn before each chapter but we make sure to warn even beforehand.

Check out our Patreon for early access and exclusive writing.

Take a flower, come inside. 🥀

1. Amaranthus

2. Verbena*

3. Dahlia

4. Lycoris*

Watch it bloom, watch it wilt, watch it water.

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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Do you know any fics where h takes care of a sick reader

@meet-me-in-the-kitchen- this request

@harrysteelsbabe- sick days

@twohearts-hs- sick

@harry-writings- youre sick

@idkthisisjustforfanfic- harry takes care of his sick girlfriend

@smugzayn- youre poorly, harrys persistent

@naturalbornsnickerdoodle- saturday night fever

@autumn-sunflowers- in sickness and health

@cocochannel00- ive got you

@imagines--harrystyles- he takes care of you when youre sick

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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Harry takes Y/N to a cozy cottage for a little getaway.

hi hello happy valentine’s day my beauty queens i hope you all enjoy this blurb i strung together today as a v-day gift and yeah have a good day muah kisses besitos <3

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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Sinners Place

Anna is a twenty-one year old english teacher from Spain whose grown up catholic her entire life. Her mother and Father breathed and lived for one thing only: God. She’s always felt so suffocated when it came to church and had no room to discover anything other than. When surrounded by religious people your entire life, what kind of toll does it take on her mental health when she discovers it was being used as a manipulation tactic? She seeks help in the empty wooden booth of the confessional to wash away all of her sins, but she had no idea what was waiting for her when Father Harry overheard her confess to the one thing she regrets the most in her life.

Chapters List.

- Chapter One

- Chapter Two

- Chapter Three

- Chapter Four

- Chapter Five

- Chapter Six

- Chapter Seven

- Chapter Eight

- Chapter Nine

- Chapter Ten

- Chapter Eleven

- Chapter Twelve

- Chapter Thirteen

- Chapter Fourteen

- Chapter Fifteen

- Chapter Sixteen

- Chapter Seventeen

- Chapter Eighteen

- Chapter Nineteen

- Chapter Twenty

- Chapter Twenty-One

- Chapter Twenty-Two

- Chapter Twenty-Three

- Chapter Twenty-Four

- Chapter Twenty-Five

- Chapter Twenty-Six

- Chapter Twenty-Seven

- Chapter Twenty-Eight

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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The True Encounter Masterlist

Summary: Y/n accidentally cries wolf in the middle of the woods and Harry shows up, claiming to be her mate. Now she has to choose between her life with humans or a life with wolves.

Warnings: Smut, little bit of angst, cursing

Updated: 7/27/21

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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Just Us

prompt: It’s never been just them. Sometimes it felt like it would never be. Especially when Harry is going out to these events with a woman he can barely stand to look at.

word count: 6.2k+

warnings: smut, cheating, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of child abuse, this could just be overall triggering if you have experienced trauma or family struggles.

i write for FREE - I am also trying to steer away from paetron so everyone can have access my stories - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here.

if you liked please reblog, recommended, like, and come talk to me about it! (this is what motivates me to continue writing)!

an: enjoy bubs. i know most of you missed these couple. im excited for you to read because this is how i imagine this moment in my head for months. please let me know your thoughts, i worked very hard on this x

–

Harry was being dragged all over London today, he wouldn’t have complained one bit if it would have been with YN but no, it was Anna.

It was a full day of late lunch with her family, then shopping the local boutiques and antique stores before going to her friend’s art gallery exhibit.

When he had gotten ready this morning, YN was still bundled up in his bed with the smoothie he had made her and a pout of her lips.

He would rub his thumb over said puffy lips before kissing them, murmuring, “Be a good pup f’me. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’m going to miss you,” YN mumbles with a frown as her hand traces his jaw and drags him in for one more kiss.

“You know you can stop this, right? Just tell me, puppy,” Harry reminds her, a bit confused when she doesn’t tense up or freeze - just gives him a smile like he’s not in on the secret.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” YN replies instead, dodging the implications and weight of his words, “You look handsome.”

It would start out super sweet though, right?

With a sad little text when he arrives at the restaurant.

yn: miss you already

Harry would grit his teeth as Anna links their arms together as they walk into the building, with his free hand he responds.

h: I miss you more, be good for me. I’ll be home soon.

He is miserable as he sits at an overrated dinner with cheap wine and poorly cooked steak as her parents drill him about his job and personal life - like they do every time they’ve met with him.

“Are you looking to settle down soon?” Anna’s mother pries with a sickly sweet smile and a bat of her lashes.

Harry wants to chuckle but instead, he just gives her a tight-lipped smile, “I haven’t thought about it, to be honest.”

Hasn’t needed to because he’s going to marry the fuck out of the girl who’s currently lounging at his home.

He ignores the way Anna and her mother’s face drop at his blunt words, his girlfriend elbows him harshly, and hisses, “Harry.”

All he does is shrug with a blank look on his face and say, “What? Don’t ask questions that you don’t want the answer to.”

“Anyways,” Anna clears her throat, quick to change the subject, “How was Sweden, mum? I haven’t seen those pictures yet”

Harry’s phone buzzes about an hour and a half into lunch which he was glad for a bit of relief from the most talkative family on earth with nothing interesting to actually say.

It was YN but Harry quickly swipes, saying, “Sorry, it’s one of my employees. Might be an emergency.”

Anna is glaring dagger at the side of his face.

“One of you employees?” YN murmurs on the other end of the line with a giggle, “Hope I more than that, baby.”

Baby.

Fucking hell.

“What can I assist you with, Ryan?” Harry clears his throat, he can feel his heartbeat pick up when he hears a telltale faint buzzing in the background.

“I just need help getting off,” YN lets out another breathy, sexy giggle as he’s now fully aware she’s getting herself off.

Harry has so much love and pride in his girl. It’s quite sickening. He’s impressed but getting much too horny for this setting.

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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Helping Hand

Helloooooo.

Part two of walking in on bff!H has finally arrived for the masses. I hope you enjoy!

Check out our Patreon for early access and exclusive writing :)

——

Ever since she had walked in on Harry getting off, things had been different.

Not in a bad way. No, not at all. If anything, it seemed to open them both up a bit. After the fact, They’d laughed, Harry grabbing baby wipes to clean them up and they both took a nap in his bed as they did many times before. It hadn’t been awkward or anything at all. They were just that close that she felt nothing could really make them shake.

Except… there was a tiny buzz of tension. When her hand would rest on his arm. Her mind would find ways back to thinking about how he had moaned, how he had felt against her hand. Heavy and hot, the throb of his length inside of her fist and the hot cum that had covered her hand. He would adjust himself ever so often, like boys tended to do, and she would remember how pretty his cock truly was.

It made her mouth water a little. She couldn’t lie.

Or when they nap and his voice would be slightly groggy, a tiny bit slurred before waking up fully. Remembering how she had heard him slurring out how good it felt, calling her petal, telling her that he was going to cum. It was the hottest thing she had ever heard.

Originally, she had known she had boundary issues, but they never manifested in this way. She had walked inside the room and had a few choices. She could walk out and say ‘my bad!’ And live with Harry’s embarrassment. Or she could give into the filthy temptation that crossed her mind at times.

Harry was hot. Incredibly so. He was tall and broad and had tattoos, he had beautiful eyes and a pink mouth that did some crazy things- so she’s heard. Unknown jealousy sparked in her tummy, thinking about other women who had gotten his lips on them. Especially between their legs.

God, Harry hadn’t been shy in the past joking about how he wasn’t one to skimp in that department. Usually, she would roll her eyes and push him away- along with the twinge of arousal- but she kept thinking about it. Harry was incredibly attractive, she knew what he looked like, what he sounded like when he orgasmed… and it was haunting her.

Next to him during their weekly movie night, she was a tiny bit squirmy. His hand was resting on her leg, close to the popcorn in case he wanted a bit. The heat of it, the weight, it had her feeling flushed. Antsy. Horny.

“What’s wrong?” He murmured in the middle of their movie. “D’you not feeling good? Youre far more squirmy than normal.” He had noticed it early on, very keen on her movements. He was usually but especially since their little encounter, Harry had been quick to notice more things about her.

It wasn’t as if it hadn’t crossed his mind before. Despite her being his best friend, Harry was attracted to her. It was squished down because he wasn’t about to ruin his best friendship due to his cock and some repressed feelings. It was just far more difficult now to ignore. Since cumming in her hand, watching her spit on his damn cock… he was wanting to get that experience again.

Return the favor.

He wasn’t a selfish lover, he preferred giving. Knowing that she had given him a favor and had gone to sleep in their nap with wet panties didn’t sit right with him, but he was the more reserved one usually. She was the blunt one. So her answer really shouldn’t have surprised him.

“Yeah, M’fine. Horny.” She sighed, squeezing her legs together a bit and making him blink a few times.

Oh.

“Horny?” He questioned, unsure as to why. The movie was a comedy, and he hadn’t been doing anything. She wasn’t on her phone so she wasn’t sexting anyone.

“Your hand.” She placed her hand on top of it. “On my thigh. And to be honest, I think about the time I walked in on you. It was hot.” Though she did flush a bit, honesty was the best policy. Wasn’t it?

Harry let out a choked laugh, squeezing her leg. “You’ve really no filter, do you?” He looked at her fondly. His cock did wake up at that, though. A heat rising in his belly, the first time hearing her bring it up. Theyd let it go, or at least pretended to. Still, Harry was thankful she was as honest as she was. And now…. He had an opportunity to return the favor.

He took the bucket of popcorn from her, placing it on the coffee table. Moving the blanket slightly, he adjusted his leg and patted his thigh.

“Alright. Hop on.”

For a moment she stared. Not really comprehending what was going on, her heart beating a bit faster as she questioned him. “What?” There was an idea there, but Harry was sometimes a bit unpredictable. The lighting was low so she couldn’t see if his eyes were truly dark, but his facial expression didn’t seem to be one of jokes.

“You helped me out when I was horny. S’my turn. You’re gonna use my thigh to get off.” Simply spoken, as if it was a casual thing to do. Well… maybe it was for them, considering how casual she had been about jerking him off. Still, she felt her heart beat in her throat as she blinked a few times, looking to his thigh that was now bare. His athletic shorts pushed up so she could have room.

“I didn’t do it to get it in return, H… Are you sure?” She felt her mouth dry as he laughed, nodding as his hands reached for her waist to pull her over. Harry wasn’t kidding. At all. He wanted her to ride his thigh and make herself cum.

“Know you didn’t do it for something in return, you’re too sweet for that. You did it to be nice. And because, I think you’re a bit dirty.” He chuckled as he kept his thighs spread letting her settle herself down on the meaty part of his thigh. His cock was definitely interested, feeling the heat through her thin shorts. He could almost bank on there being no panties on under those.

“Never done this before.” She admitted, much closer to him than she was used to being when she was horny. Y/N kept to her vibrator and her fingers these days. They’ve been getting a lot more use since the incident, but she had never ridden someone’s thigh.

“Not hard at all. Just rock on me. Like this.” He placed his hands on her hips, guiding her to hump over it. “Don’t be shy with me either. You heard me being horny, so I expect the same.” He smirked up at her, the expression sending shocks of pleasure into her bloodstream. His hands were hot over her tank top, having ridden up a bit so she was feeling the heat of them.

Harry watched with interest as he guided her, listening to when she got the hang of it. The little breath hitch, and he knew she felt it. Their movie ignored in the background as he simply watched her. “That’s it. I can see now… feels good, hm?” He questioned, wanting to know. He’d always been vocal during sex, in any capacity.

“Mhm…” she hummed as her hands clenched on his shoulders. It felt more than good. After spreading her legs a bit more and having the friction of the seam of her shorts and his leg… it felt like heaven. His scent swallowing her, his hands on her, and then his voice… she wouldn’t last long if he kept talking.

“Good. You were so nice t’me last time. I don’t like that I left you without letting you cum. Was so mean of me.” He sighed, squeezing her hip. Feeling her cunt on his leg was something he hadn’t put into his yearly bucket list, but here they were. He didn’t regret a damn thing.

From this angle, he has a good look at her tits. This tank top was one of his favorites simply for the view. She may be his best friend but he wasn’t blind, and he had his favorite things about it. This one was form fitting and dipped low so he could see the swells of her breasts, her necklace falling between them. It was even more erotic knowing she was breathing heavier now because of him.

“Got worked up over my hands, petal?” He murmured, lifting one hand from her hips to tuck some hair behind her ear. Every moment possible, he wanted to see her pretty face. Pleasured because of him.

“Mhm.” Again, another hummed answer. It made him chuckle lightly, pressing her down harder against his leg. New territory for them, but the gasped whimper that left her bitten lip made it worth it to him.

“Tell me. What were you thinking about, sweetheart?” He coaxed, letting the hand that was on her hips drift back and rest on her ass. It only seemed to spur her on, her hips moving a bit faster on her own accord. “Hm? Don’t be shy now, sweetness. Now when you’re riding my thigh like that.”

His tease made her cheeks heat further, the tone of his voice sending bubbles to her belly. This was what he was like during sex? Or was it just with her? Why was it so hot?

“Thought about, um… your hand around yourself… and when you… god… sorry.” She choked, leaning further into him as she got the good angle. Her nails bit into him slightly through the shirt, making him moan lowly.

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart. Feels too good to talk, I see.” He grinned wickedly, letting his hand join the other on her ass. Her body was his personal wonderland at the moment, but her ass in his hands and tits in his face? That was something he had been jerking off to for years. Even if she didn’t know. “You liked watching me get off… but you’re greedy. Took over at the end. Made me cum all over that warm, soft hand. Never came so hard in my life. Not with the taste of your pretty pussy all over my tongue.” He dropped his voice deeper again, watching as her eyes hooded slightly, nails digging deeper.

“Loved watching. Really… did. M’sorry for being greedy.” She played into it, panting slightly as the slickness of her cunt was dampening her shorts, knowing he could feel it on his leg. “I tasted good?” She whispered hopefully. Pride ran through her at his proclamation, making her cunt clench around nothing.

“Fuck, it tasted so good, petal. Sweetest little cunt I’ve ever sampled. And m’a bit of a whore.” He smirked at her, meaning every word of it. “Took everything in me to not flip you over and bury my face between your legs. I know that you’d be a good girl and drip all over my face for me. Suck on that precious little clit and make you cum just from my mouth.” He pulled her closer to him, her body hugging his as she worked her hips in a needy manner.

“Can feel you on my leg. God, it feels so good, doesn’t it? Being a needy little thing, grinding on my thigh because my hand gets you too horny to sit still. Knew you were a dirty thing but… wow.” He taunted, the wet heat making him go a bit crazy. His cock ached, but this was about her. Knowing he was making her feel this good was something that got him off.

“So, so good, H. S’so good. Thank you.” Her thanks made him coo, feeling her fall into him as her face buried in his neck. She was chasing that orgasm, whimpering into his neck as her hips moved on their own accord. Searching for her pleasure.

“Youre so welcome, pretty girl. Can smell how turned on you are… I can’t get enough. Been hiding that and how good you taste from me. A bit cruel, isn’t it?” He scolded lightly again. “You’re so close. I can feel you, you’re making a nice mess on my thigh. I know it feels so good on your clit. S’going to be so puffy and sensitive after, hm?” He stroked her back lightly, dipping one of his hands under the shorts to feel her bare ass. The moan and the way she pressed into him letting him know that it was very okay to do.

He squeezed it and she could feel each finger biting into her. Her moan was muffled against his neck, the fuzzy bits of her upcoming orgasm starting in her tummy. His hands were on her, he liked how she smelled and tasted, and he wanted her to cum.

“Uh huh…. Feels amazing. Love your body, H. M’so… feel like M’gonna cum.” She admitted, her fingers training too grab some of the hair at the back of his neck. Y/N was fully leaning on him now, using her hips to messily chase her orgasm on his leg. Lips puckered against his warm skin, making him groan.

“Christ, you really are something. Get so wet riding your best friend’s thigh, you can’t get enough of it. Pretty, dirty girl. You deserve this. Deserve to cum, deserve all my attention. Such a perfect girl.” He smothered her in praise, feeling her hips pick up as she chased it. He lifted his leg slightly for her to use, letting his other hand dip into the shorts as well to hold her bare ass.

“Fuck, fuck… H. Can I?” She wanted his approval. Something that zinged right into his balls, making him hiss. Where the fuck had this side of her been hiding? Panting against his neck and whimpering, moaning pathetically as she clings to him. Desperate for an orgasm.

“You can, pretty girl. Cum for me. I know you want to.” He coaxed, feeling her bury her face in deeper in his neck. “Cum all over me, petal. You can do it.” He purred, turning his face and kissing the side of her head. “Let me see what noises you make. Give me it.”

His approval had her snapping. The rubber band keeping her together stretching to its limit as she came. A pathetic sob leaving her mouth as she bit down on the sensitive skin of his neck, hips jerking as she rubbed herself through her orgasm. His hot hands, calloused and big holding her ass in the palms of them. Whimpering as she overstimulated herself, soaking his leg without a care. She didn’t want it to be over. The sparkles behind her eyes as he cooed praises and dirty words to her about how good and dirty she was, how he loved her neediness.

He slid his hands out of her shorts and ran them up her back, kissing her head repeatedly as her whole body fell lax into him. Deep breaths shakily taken against him, an apology brewing about biting him. It would leave a mark.

“M’sor-“

“If an apology is going to leave your mouth, save it. I’ll spank you.” He warned lowly. “I wanted to do that. Return the favor and… honestly, I just wanted to make you cum.” His chuckle made her scoff, but her smile was hidden against his shoulder. Sure, he could feel it, but he wouldn’t get to see it.

“Dirty bastard.” She scolded, though no weight to it. Her whole body was fuzzy and warm and he held her to his body, stroking her back and playing with the ends of her hair. He merely hummed at her words, knowing it was very true.

“That I am. But let’s clean up a bit, hm? Got to make you more comfortable. Got a pair of panties you’ve left here, and one of my shirts. And I’ve got to change my shorts.” He smirked. “You got those wet too.”

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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WILDEST FANTASIES (part 13)

⚫️A/N: okay OMG this!!! this is the part i've been waiting for to come since i started the story, the twist that started the whole thing and i really think this is the best thing i've ever come up with! okay, i might be hyping it up a bit too much but im so excited to see your reactions after all the conspiracies you had!! so im wrapping my rambling up here, can't wait for you guys to read it!!

⚫️PAIRING: Professor!Harry X Reader

⚫️WORD COUNT: 5k

SERIES MASTERPOST | SUPPORT ME!

THREE YEARS LATER

Niall’s spacious living room is now littered with cardboard boxes and suitcases, the stylish furniture he carefully chose out upon moving into his new home now almost get lost between the mountains of his best friend’s belongings.

“Dude, I know you’re like an academic and intellectual person, but do you really need to own a whole ass library?” Niall sighs, as the two of them walk into the apartment with two more boxes filled with Harry’s books.

“Shut up, it’s not even that much,” Harry rolls his eyes, dropping the box he’s been carrying on top of one that’s labeled to contain shoes.

“Man, this feels like first day of college all over again!” Niall enthuses, quickly dropping his interest in Harry’s book collection. “Only this time we’re not sharing a tiny dorm room but my fucking cool New York City apartment!”

“Thanks for letting me crash here while I find a place for myself, I really appreciate the help,” Harry sighs, taking a look around all of his stuff he is moving in with to his best friend’s home.

“Anytime. You’ve helped me so many times before, it’s the least I can do. You’ve been through a lot. How are you holding up?”

How is he holding up?

He wants to answer that truthfully and tell Niall that he is the lowest he has been probably in all his life. Having to move in with his best friend after his fiancé broke up with him after moving across the country just to start a life together. Harry sold his house and moved in with the woman he thought he would spend the rest of his life with, but turns out the feeling wasn’t mutual, because out of the blue, he found himself single and without a place he could call his home.

At least he has a job. It would definitely be his last straw if he was sent away from the publishing company he started working at after deciding to give up his career path of being a college professor. It was a hard but necessary choice, especially after everything that happened on campus. There was no way he could keep working there.

Moving to New York he dived right into finding a new but still fitting job for himself and he ended up being an editor at a decent size publishing company, so he now spends his days buried in manuscripts and possible best-selling novels.

With all the changes he went through the past years, his new job is the only thing that has truly brought him happiness and a sense of safety. Everything else crumbled around him, it seems.

“Um, I’m doing okay. Just taking it one day at a time,” he sighs, hoping to sound convincing. Niall has been such a big help to him, his biggest support system.

A year ago, Niall has decided to take over the States, leave his home country behind and bring his talent overseas. He already had several clients and projects going on with American artists and now that his base is permanently in the Big Apple, he is off the charts, doing better than ever in his career, working with the biggest names in the industry.

Being physically closer, Niall stood by Harry’s side in these trying times and now they are even sharing a home. He is determined to do everything he can to get his friend back on the tracks.

“Great. Let me know if I could do anything for you. I’m always here for you, you know that right?”

“Of course,” Harry nods with an appreciating smile. “Thank you.”

“Alright, are there any more boxes in the car?” Niall claps his hands together.

“No, these were the last ones. Thanks for the help, I’ll just start to unpack.”

“Cool. I’ll head out then, I have a few things to take care of. Make yourself home and I’ll see you later.”

As the front door closes behind his friend, Harry takes a moment to take in his new home for the upcoming weeks. It’s a pleasant place Niall has got for himself, definitely a bachelor’s home with the darker tones and stylish furniture. It’s not necessarily Harry’s taste, he always tried to make his place homey and welcoming, a warm hideaway from the outside world.

But for now, he’ll have to compromise until he gains control back over his life.

It wasn’t easy on Harry. The way he had to end things with you. It was never how he planned and he has been doubting himself ever since. The look on your face, the way you screamed at him and told him that once he was out the door he was dead to you…

It broke him. More than he ever imagined it could.

But he didn’t have a choice and he couldn’t let you give your future up for him, he would have never been able to live with himself knowing he was the reason you couldn’t finish your degree or had to push it longer than you originally planned and Nina made it clear that she would do anything in her power to set you back.

Harry thought about not doing what she asked and played with the thought that what if she can’t hurt you the way she wanted to, but he had to come to the realization that she had every power to go through with her plan. She was great friends with the biggest names not just in the department but in the school as a whole and he knew she had connections at different universities too, she could have easily kept her word.

So Harry had to do what she asked and make sure you were safe. But it was hard not telling you the truth. He knew you’d put up a fight and try to fight back, making sacrifices, so he decided to keep you in the dark, but it was almost even more painful this way.

His heart shattered when you questioned whether he loved you or if it was just all a lie. He couldn’t get himself to even answer, but his silence was enough of an answer for you. It hurt him to think about what he did to you, made you believe you were unlovable when in reality, he was doing all of it because he loved you more than anything and wanted the best for you.

Even though many would disagree that he did the right thing.

Niall couldn’t believe him when he filled him in on what happened, even though part of him knew Harry would do something stupid like this.

“You fucked up, Harry. I’m not gonna lie. You should have told her the truth,” he said on the phone when Harry called him a few days after the breakup. “I knew you’d fuck it up, man.”

“This does not help, thank you very much,” Harry growled under his nose.

Moving on wasn’t easy and Harry feels like he still hasn’t left you entirely in the past, but at least he has learned to live with the ghost of you that will always linger in the back of his mind and heart. There was a time he believed he would never recover, that he dig himself so deep that he would never be able to make it out.

But somehow he did, even though there are still nights when he dreams of you and wakes up with his chest tight and heaving, tears flooding his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling, still seeing your face so vividly.

He watched you graduate and get the degree Nina threatened to put into risk. You didn’t see him, but he was there, in the very back, clapping with teary eyes when they called your name and you shook hands with the dean. You looked as gorgeous as ever, your hair pinned up, a black dress hugging your body and that proud smile when you finally held your degree in your hands… He needed everything in him to walk away without trying to talk to you.

That was the last time he saw you.

By the time Niall gets back home most of Harry’s stuff is moved out of the living room and at least settled in Harry’s bedroom, part of it packed away. He has some light 80s music flowing from his laptop that’s set up on the desk in the corner of his room as he is trying to decide which books to put on the shelves. He won’t be able to fit all of them, he is planning to actually sell some, mostly things he only used while he was teaching, and the rest will be taken into his office.

“Hey man, how is it going?” Niall asks, standing at the door as he looks around the guest bedroom he let Harry take for the time being.

“’M doing fine. I definitely have more shit than what I need,” he sighs, scratching the back of his neck.

“We all have, believe me,” Niall chuckles. “Do you want to grab a drink? I’m meeting with a few friends, gonna be back early. You should get out of here too.”

“Uh, I’m not really in the mood.”

“You haven’t been in the mood since I fucking moved here! Come on, just a beer! It’s gonna be fun! You need the change.”

“I just moved into a new place, that’s quite the change,” Harry points out, but it earns him an eye-roll from Niall.

“Just shut up, take a shower and be ready in thirty,” he simply says before disappearing. Dropping the book in his hands Harry sinks down to the edge of his bed.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath and then starts to look for a towel and a clean pair of boxer briefs.

An hour later Harry is sitting at some bar with Niall and his friends, they are all nice and Harry would definitely enjoy his time socializing, but it hasn’t really been his thing lately. He can’t even tell when the last time was when he truly enjoyed an evening out.

Before his breakup with Jo, his ex-fiancé, they had been struggling for a few months already, all normal conversations turned into a screaming match and arguing became their normal. Before that, Harry was busy transitioning from being a college professor in a relatively small town to moving to one of the biggest cities in the world and working at a publishing company. He was putting in extra hours to secure his spot and thinking back at it, the amount of time he spent with working was one of the reasons things went downhill with Jo. All the nights he got home barely before she went to bed, leaving them no time to be together definitely distanced them from each other and lead to their parting.

“I promise, it’s not as bad as in the movies! Harry, maybe next time you should come too!” Hayden, one of the guys from the label Niall works with says and Harry realizes he has no idea what he is talking about, he completely zoned out of the conversation.

“Huh? Where?”

“These speed dating things! I’ve done a few lately and it’s actually fun.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s for me,” Harry chuckles shaking his head and gulping from his beer that he’s been nursing for the past hour. It has gone warm for sure, but he doesn’t want to have another one.

“That’s what I thought too, but it’s not that bad. If you click with the other person, you exchange numbers. If not, you can just simply move on when the time is up,” Hayden explains.

“Maybe we should both go,” Niall offers and Harry holds back a loud laugh, because that is for sure not Niall’s scene. He doesn’t need speed dating to get himself a woman.

“Oh, yeah! So you can steal all the women!” Ben roars with laughter next to Hayden.

“Can’t blame me for being a ladies’ favorite!” Niall grins satisfied. “But for real, we should put ourselves out there sometime. Honestly, I think I should look for something serious.”

“You? Serious? Great joke,” Harry huffs.

“What? I’m thirty-six, it might be time to settle down,” he shrugs and though he is talking lightly, Harry can notice that glint of sincerity behind his words.

Niall has always been the womanizer, hooked up with different girls every weekend in college and though he chooses more carefully now that he is older, Harry has been noticing the slight change in him. Not long after he moved to New York, he actually dated a girl for two months, that was the longest he was anchored down with the same person ever, so it’s not a surprise he is now open to more than just games and fun.

“We could be each other’s wingmen!” Niall continues, wrapping an arm around his best friend’s shoulders.

“I’m not sure if that’s what I need,” Harry frowns, but Niall just chuckles patting his chest.

“It’s alright, I know what you need.”

As the evening carries on Harry finally gives in to have another beer instead of keeping the last drops of his first one forever. The conversation flows smoothly and he is actually kind of glad he left the house tonight. That is until a woman walks into the bar.

Harry catches her walk up to the bar with two other women and he can only see her from the back, but he gets an eerie feeling that it’s you. Same height, same curves, same hair color, only it’s shorter than the last time he saw you, but it’s been long.

He freezes right away, his stomach and heart dropping in an instant as he stares at the woman who still hasn’t turned around. What if it’s really you? What are you doing in New York? Are you living here now too? Do you still look the same as he remembers? And what if you see him?

Part of him wants to find out what you’d do if you ran into him. If you’d simply ignore him, or cuss him out or maybe get a friendly little chat with him. He doubts the latter, but he likes to play with the thought that you don’t actually hate him that badly after all this time.

He sees the woman slip her coat off of her shoulders and Harry is watching her holding his breath, waiting for her to turn around so he can see if it’s really you. The rest of the bar has blurred, his tunnel vision is fixated on the woman as she looks for something in her purse, her hair falling forward, once again covering her face and Harry is on the edge, desperate to see her at this point.

And then she looks over her shoulder when someone enters the bar.

It’s not you.

She is pretty, looks a bit younger than Harry is, but she is definitely not you.

Harry’s cheeks heat up at the realization and he feels so stupid how worked up he got over a stranger just because she resembled you the slightest.

His upbeat mood vanishes instantly and for the rest of the evening he just sits in silence, finishing up the rest of his beer, thinking about you.

It’s not even midnight by the time he and Niall arrive back to his apartment. Niall has noticed the sudden change in him and he is not letting him lock himself up in his bedroom without talking.

“Hey, everything alright? You got so quiet all of a sudden halfway into the evening.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry mumbles as he grabs a bottle of water for himself from the fridge Niall always keeps stocked.

“I’m not your mother, Harry. I’m not buying this shit.”

“What makes you think my mother buys it?” he huffs.

“You’re right, not even sweet Anne would believe you’re fine. So, what happened?”

Harry sighs as he leans onto the kitchen island, Niall standing on the other side his hands in his pockets as he stares at his friend patiently. Harry hesitates whether he should share what he saw or thought he saw today.

“There was a woman in the bar tonight.”

“There were several women,” Niall comments and Harry shoots him a look that shuts him up.

“She… She looked like… I thought she was Y/N.” Niall breathes out at Harry’s confession, he wasn’t expecting this, but he is not surprised either.

“I thought you were over her.”

Harry doesn’t answer him, but Niall understands the message loud and clear: he’ll never be over you.

“Is there any chance your feelings had something to do with your breakup with Jo?”

“She thought I’m still in love with her,” Harry admits truthfully.

“Wow,” Niall breathes out.

“She said that she can’t live with a man who is in love with another woman. I never talked about Y/N, but… I guess she could feel it.”

“So you still love her? Y/N?” Harry hesitates before answering.

“The Y/N I knew? Yes. I don’t know her now. But… Fuck, I can’t escape the thought of her, not even years later! I thought that if I get myself out there and start again with someone else I’ll grow out of the place where I was with her, but I can’t! I keep comparing everyone to her, it’s so fucking annoying. Joanna and I dated her for two fucking years and I still… I kept telling myself it could work and that it’s enough but it wasn’t.”

Niall listens to Harry’s sudden rant patiently, allowing him to let it all out. He has a feeling it’s been bottling up for a while inside him and though Harry has opened up to him a few times before about the pain he had to deal with, Niall always suspected he didn’t let him in on everything.

“I was waiting and waiting that one day I would finally wake up and feel okay, but it never came. I still think about her, Niall. A lot. There were times when I was lying on the couch with Jo, I held her in my arms and I still found myself thinking about Y/N. I know it’s messed up and I shouldn’t have gotten into a relationship with her knowing I was still stuck on Y/N, but… Fuck, I feel so dumb and… I fucking hate it.”

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Niall sighs softly, bummed to see his friend this hurt.

“Why? I’m an idiot. I proposed to a woman when I was still in love with my ex. Joanna did nothing wrong and I still hurt her, I’m such a mess,” he sighs shaking his head.

“At least you admit to the mistakes you made. It’s better than denying it. I think Jo would be even more hurt if you tried to feed her lies.”

“Oh yeah, but she is so thankful that when she asked if I was still in love with Y/N I couldn’t even answer her or look her in the eyes. Must have been so much nicer for her.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t mess up, I don’t even know why you proposed to her when you were still thinking about Y/N.”

“Because I’m fucking stupid!” Harry groans, pushing himself away from the counter. “Because I thought that if I go through all these things I would eventually forget about her and love Jo the way she deserved to be loved. But it never happened and I just messed her up like I messed myself and Y/N up. I fucking ruin everything!”

“That’s not true. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“When was the last time you messed up this bad, Niall? Because I assume never,” Harry huffs, holding his arms on his chest.

“I have issues too! I’m fucking terrified of commitment! I’m so damn scared of being left and hurt that I just go ahead of it all and never give anyone the chance to do it! I broke up with Jamie because I was falling for her and I didn’t want to give her a chance to hurt me. I know it’s messed up, but it’s the way I am.”

“You never told me that,” Harry tells him softly. He feels bad, he’s been so wrapped up in his own life that he never really got around to get involved enough in Niall’s.

“It’s not a big deal. I’m working on it and my therapist says I’m not a lost cause,” he chuckles, bringing some humor into the conversation.

“Maybe I should go to therapy too, I’m clearly messed up,” Harry sighs.

“I can ask mine to recommend someone for you. It really helps.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Niall nods and licking his lips he opts to just say whatever is on his mind.

“Look. You have to decide where you stand with Y/N. If you want to reach out to her, do that. Have a chat with her, maybe moving on would be easier if you made up and apologized… told the truth. Or if you don’t want to do that, find a way to forget about her for once and for all.”

“Reaching out to her is not really an option. She made it clear when we broke up that she didn’t want to see me ever again.”

“She was angry and hurt, we all say shit we don’t mean. It’s been three years, maybe she sees the situation completely differently now.”

“I doubt that,” Harry mumbles under his breath.

“It’s gonna be fine, man. Just be patient with yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m heading to bed, I have a meeting in the morning. See you!” Niall nods at him before disappearing down the hallway.

Harry takes Niall’s advice and a week later he has his first ever therapy session with a doctor Niall’s therapist recommended. The one hour long session proves him that talking to a professional is actually useful in his state of mind. It feels nice to talk to someone who is not biased and takes no side in his life. He opens up to his issues about letting you go and he agrees with Dr. Jackson that it’s gonna be their main aim during their sessions in the future.

Arriving home he finds Niall in the kitchen, making a sandwich, his hair is damp and Harry can smell his shower gel right away as he walks in so he must be fresh out of the shower.

“Hey man, how was it?” he asks, cutting some pickles to add to his masterpiece.

“Actually, it was pretty nice.” Harry climbs onto one of the stools at the kitchen island and watches his friend pretending to be a chef. “I talked about myself and then we cleared up what exactly I want to work on.”

“Sounds good. How is the doc? I’m sorry you can’t go to mine but… you know, it’s not a good idea to share a therapist,” he chuckles softly, spreading some mayonnaise across the bread.

“Yeah, I know, don’t worry about it. She is great, very nice, I feel fine talking to her.”

“That’s great. So you told her about Y/N?”

“Yeah, filled her in on the story,” Harry sighs. “I was afraid she would be all judgy and stuff, but she either didn’t think it was weird at all or she just hid her thoughts well.”

“Why would it be weird?”

“Because aside from the whole story, she was still my student.”

“And you thought she would judge you because of that?” Niall laughs, finishing up his sandwich. “Please, these therapists have seen the worst of mankind. Your issue is definitely not the worst she has dealt with, you can bet on that.”

“I’m glad I’m not the worst then,” Harry chuckles. “I have some work to finish, I’ll see you later,” he nods at him before heading to his room. For the first time, he feels like he is on the right path.

“Good morning Harry!” Denise greets Harry as he walks out of the elevator, quickly matching her steps with his as they walk to his office. “I have forwarded a few emails to you from Brian. The manuscripts you asked me on Monday are on their way.”

“Amazing, thank you.”

“I’ll work on the chapters you gave me earlier, do you need help with anything today?”

Denise has been the biggest help for Harry, starting at the publisher a while ago. She was just starting out as a full time assistant after being a trainee. She works so fast on the editing tasks Harry hands her, it amuses him, but she always tells him it’s because reading was her only hobby growing up. Harry has been enjoying Denise’s company a lot, not just at work. Whenever he needs a break from Niall’s pestering he knows he can turn to the girl and he has even met her girlfriend of three years.

“Nothing that I know of, thank you,” he smiles at her shortly just as he walks into his little, but homey office. He drops his briefcase to his chair as he gets rid of his coat, mentally noting everything he needs to get done today but he forgets everything when he sees a package on his desk.

It’s definitely a book, he knows that just from the shape of it, it’s wrapped in simple, brown paper, his name written on it with a black sharpie.

“Denise? What’s this?” he calls out and the girl appears at the door a moment later as Harry holds up the package.

“Oh! A woman dropped it off this morning not long before you arrived. Maybe a gift?” she shrugs, holding a folder to her chest as she watches him inspect the package again before starting to unwrap it. “Wait, is it your birthday? Did I forget about it?” she asks with wide eyes.

“No, no it’s not,” he chuckles softly.

The paper comes undone under his fingers and it finally reveals the book inside. The cover is simple, it’s a painting of a pair of glasses on a desk filled with papers and books, looks awfully familiar, but he can’t really decide why. His eyes run up to the title in bold black letters at the top.

Our wildest fantasies.

And just above that, he sees the name of the author and he instantly drops the book.

Y/N Y/L/N.

“Harry? Everything alright?” Denise asks as the book lands on his desk with a loud thud. His eyes snap up and the panic must be obvious in them.

“Huh! Oh, yeah. Everything… Everything is fine, I just… I need to check something. Could you please close the door?”

“Sure,” she nods slowly, but suspiciously before walking out of the office and closing the door.

Harry sits down grabbing the book again, taking another look at the cover to make sure he didn’t just imagine it. But he sees the same thing as the first time.

Your name.

He runs his fingers over the letters as if he was caressing your skin. Millions of thoughts are running through his mind but at the same time it’s completely empty.

Our wildest fantasies. What an odd title, but it definitely tickles his curiosity. He opens the hard cover and flips to the title page and he is surprised to see there’s a handwritten message there. Not even a message, rather just a date scribbled there.

Friday, 5 pm.

“What the fuck?” Harry mumbles under his breath as he flips to the end of the book and see your portrait with a short introduction of yourself and his breath hitches in his throat.

You look so pretty. A wide smile adorning your perfect lips, a gentle breeze is blowing at your hair and you barely wear any makeup. It seems like it was a candid photo of you somewhere out in a natural setting and he is so grateful that you didn’t go with a forced picture taken in some studio. This is so much more you and it feels like a piece of you was brought back to Harry seeing your smile.

He flips the pages back to the beginning of it and he doesn’t hesitate before starting to read it, feasting on the pages faster than ever, ignoring every work he was planning to get done today.

One chapter after the other, he gets lost in your words and at first he is oblivious to what the story will be about, but maybe his mind is just trying to block the truth out, because it’s so absurd and unbelievable.

But as he slowly moves over the first three, four, five chapters, it finally clicks.

This is the story of the two of you. The story of you and Harry.

As soon as he realizes, he drops the book again and turns to his computer, typing your name into Google Search, adding the date that was scribbled into the book. And just like that, the first find is exactly what he is looking for.

“Young, promising romance novel author Y/N Y/L/N holds her first book signing this Friday and talks about her first story, ‘Our wildest fantasies’.”

Harry reads the headline out loud and then there’s the same picture of you in the article like in the book and it talks about how your book is already on its way on toplists and it’s selling out everywhere.

He goes back to read the date and then checks the writing in the book again. He has no idea if it’s your handwriting, but it sure seems like it’s a female’s. Could you be the person who sent him this? But if it was you, how did you find him? If it wasn’t you, then who the hell? Especially a woman just starting from the handwriting. And what is that supposed to mean? Is that an invitation? Why didn’t they write anything else?

There are so many questions racing in his mind, he is still in shock and has no idea what this is all about, but there’s one thing he knows for sure.

You wrote a book about him and you and published it. Without him knowing it.

And he knows exactly where and when he can find you on Friday.

Thank you for reading! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed!

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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NHL’s Fanfiction Recommendations

Please be aware that these fanfictions may include smut and other potentially triggering content. Please, read at your own discretion.

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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Mute

- Where Harry doesn’t talk and falls in love with Y/n.

Masterlist linked in bio

It’s Monday, which means that Harry has to start his week with Physics class.

Harry doesn’t mind the subject itself, he actually has come to the conclusion that it’s the class he’s most interested in—it’s more so the three-hour lab that couldn’t seem to end soon enough. Physics lab means three hours of group research, which requires an abundance of group participation and discussion—all of which makes Harry want to crawl out of his own skin.

And despite Physics holding Harry’s highest grade in university, everyone in that class only hopes to not be paired with him.

Not one student has heard him utter a single word, which ultimately led them to believe that his lack of participation will jeopardize their already mediocre grades. But Harry always finds himself writing all the data information to make up for his lack of discussion, even if he hated it.

So inevitably, Harry lets out an inaudible sigh when he settles into his chair, hair a bit disheveled and eyes still watering from the early hour. And he mentally curses himself for sleeping in a couple extra minutes because now he hasn’t gotten a single ounce of caffeine to help him feel more prepared for the next three hours.

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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Level Up II

A/N: Here is our part 2 of nerdy!harry and things are getting even more steamy hehe

send requests and feedback here

If you like this, check out our Patreon!

masterlist

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warnings: smut. filth even, oral sex (giving and receiving), daddy kink, hints of angst?, fluff too

word count: 15k

Harry woke up and was positive he dreamt it all, but he already had a good morning text from Y/N and it was proven that it wasn’t fake. They’d both been filthy and sexual and she was coming over tonight and possibly will fall asleep in his bed? What the fuck? Extra effort was put into smelling good and stuff, so that she would be impressed if she saw him. He had sent back a good morning text as well before he left for school. Backpack lazily on his back, thankfully Niall was there to walk in with him. People tended to leave him alone more when other people were around. Talking about the overwatch game he played the night before, Harry listened half heartedly as he fixed up his books and took out what he needed for his first classes. That was until he heard a soft voice call his name, causing butterflies to flood his stomach! He hadn’t told Niall or anyone for that matter that they were hanging out. It didn’t mean something in a way a friend would care until yesterday, and he wouldn’t violate her trust when it came to that.

Y/N separated from her friends when she saw Harry in the hallway, making her way over so that she could get that hug she had spent all night thinking about.

“Harry!” She called, smiling widely once she had reached him. “Hi Niall.” She waved to him as well before going in to give Harry that hug. “You smell good.” She mumbled, nuzzling against him a bit. Y/N noticed that he was also wearing a plain shirt today, a pair of jeans. Simple. It worked. He looked great, wondered if he put in an effort just for her. It made her smile.

He hadn’t expected a hug in the middle of a busy hallway, with everyone looking, but he wasn’t going to reject a hug. Y/N was bold in not caring about what her friends thought. And of course, Niall was not at all expecting that.

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youresog0lden · 2 years

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WILDEST FANTASIES (part 6)

⚫️A/N: so i am actually the biggest idiot to ever exist and managed to do the shit i swore i would never do again but here i go... i fucking deleted the original post to part 6 that i posted 2 days ago so... i am actually crying right now, like for real bc it was almost at 500 notes and now its all gone along with the feedbacks so... yeah. i will not expect to reach that number again but if you see this post and like the series pls just at least give this post a like😥

⚫️PAIRING: Professor!Harry X Reader

⚫️WARNING: sexual content

⚫️WORD COUNT: 5.3k

SERIES MASTERPOST

The end of the semester is always the busiest period for both teachers and students. All the promises to start studying in time catch up, libraries and coffee shops get filled and crowded, all assignments seem to be due the same week and the exams are warningly close. Everyone is desperate to get the best grades they can, earn some extra points and credits, fighting hard to end the semester on the best possible note.

Harry doesn’t necessarily like Starbucks, but that’s what’s closest to the building where his office is at and he had only ten minutes to get something extra strong to keep him going for the rest of the day. The place is packed, every table is taken and most of them have students with the laptops open in front of them sitting around them, books and papers piling as they work through months’ worth of materials.

“Double espresso for Harry?” the barista calls out and Harry snaps out of his thoughts, stepping closer to the counter.

“Thank you,” he hums, taking the paper cup from the guy. He doesn’t add any sugar or cream, he is in desperate need to taste the bitterness hoping it would shake him up even more than the caffeine.

He slaloms past the waiting people and finally makes it outside, heading back to his office. He has had students coming in and out, begging for extra tasks to save their asses after doing absolutely nothing all semester. In addition, he’s been having endless consultations with his PhD students and seniors writing their thesis as they are nearing their deadlines as well. It’s been a busy few days.

So busy that he hasn’t been able to see you since the gala, only in class.

He spent most of those ninety minutes sitting at his desk, because you had the nerve to wear the shortest skirt to ever exist with thigh-high boots that definitely gave him a few new fantasies. One of them was fucking you in nothing but the boots. When you uncrossed your legs underneath the desk and he caught sight of your red underwear, he was just about to spank you right in front of the whole class. He knows you noticed how riled up he got and you enjoyed every bit of it as your underwear got wetter by the minute as well.

He wanted to at least have a word with you after class, but three students were at his desk the moment he dismissed everyone and you had to run as well. It’s been pure torture, especially after the kiss you shared at the gala.

He’s been jerking off daily to your writings. Not his proudest achievement for sure, but he simply can’t contain himself and you’re on his mind all the time. Now that Niall has gone back to Ireland, the house is fully his and he doesn’t have to worry about moaning your name in the shower when he is wanking off to the thought of you.

His new favorite thing? Texting you every time he thought of you when he touched himself and you’ve been loving it probably way too much you should. Knowing that you’re all he can think about, it’s the biggest boost to your ego.

By the time Harry gets back to his office, students are already waiting for him, giving him no time to have just a breather. For the next couple of hours, he is too busy to even reply to your latest text, buried under assignments waiting to be graded, begging students keeping him up all the time, his colleagues dropping by with questions as well.

Day turns into night and he only realizes how late it has gotten when his stomach growls from hunger. That sandwich he ate six hours ago is long gone, he is famished. His phone starts ringing right when he is about to start packing up and a smile spreads across his face upon seeing the caller ID.

“Hey, are you still in your office?” you murmur softly from the other end of the call.

“Was just about to leave, why?”

“I just finished at the library, I have a little bit of time before I plan to get back to studying. Maybe I could drop by?” you suggest shyly, hoping you’re not crossing any boundaries. “I’m in front of the building.”

“Alright, my door is open,” he smiles softly.

About five minutes later, there’s a soft knock on his door, he calls out and looks up just when you walk into the office. You’re wearing a pair of black jeans and a light blue, knitted sweater, you look a little tired, but he still thinks you’re stunning.

“I brought food. Are you hungry?” you smile, holding up a bag of Chinese food and Harry could drop to his knees at the sight of it.

“Yes! Come on, sit down,” he gestures for you to sit on the sofa while he pulls a chair closer, he sits on that so you can pack the food out next to you.

Normally, he would already be kissing the life out of you at this point. Seeing you alone, not in a crowded class room, he’s been aching for this moment for days, and now that it’s here, he feels so tired and hungry, so fed up with work in the past days that he would rather just sit with you, even if it’s in complete silence. There’s something in your presence that calms him, takes his mind off of work.

“This is fucking lifesaving,” he groans when he finally digs into the food.

“Actually, I saw that the lights were still on when I finished at the library, went to grab the food and came back. I figured that you haven’t had much time to leave this room today,” you admit with a smirk.

“So you were stalking me?” he teases you, but you just roll your eyes at him. You remain silent for a while before you speak up again.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure if… you felt the same way.”

“About what?”

“Me.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours and he notices how you’re anxiously fidgeting with your chopsticks, the version of you that oozes confidence now hidden somewhere deep inside you. Placing his food to the side he slips off of the chair until he is kneeling in front of you. He grabs your knees and pushes them apart so he can push himself between your legs. Taking your food box he puts it aside as well, his hands cupping your face. He runs his thumb across your lower lip and can’t help but smirk when you inhale shakily at his touch.

“I still can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. And I think you know how badly I want you just from the texts I’ve been sending you whenever I can’t control my want for you.”

“I love those texts,” you whisper, licking your lips and your tongue touches his thumb in the motion.

“Yeah?” he chuckles softly.

“I love knowing that you think about me, because I do the same.”

“You think about me when you touch yourself?”

“Always,” you gasp as he leans closer and presses a kiss to your cheek first, then moving down your jawline and neck. His lips finally move to yours, kissing you fiercely, but it doesn’t last as long as you’d want. Pulling back your eyes meet his dark stare as he stands up and strides over to the door. He locks it before turning around and walking over to you, standing tall next to his chair.

“Show me,” he tells you and your breath hitches in your throat.

“What?”

“I want to see you touch yourself. Show me how you do it when you’re thinking about me.”

All blood rushes into your head and you can feel your cheeks heating. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do, no one has asked such thing from you and you have no idea how to do it without making yourself look like a fool.

Harry senses your hesitance, reaching out he cups your jaw in a hand and leaning down he kisses you hard, his tongue clashing with yours in an instant.

“I won’t ask again, Y/N. Do it,” he growls against your lips, before standing up straight again, staring down at you.

“Don’t you want to do more than just watching?” you ask out of breath.

“Everything in its own time.”

So he wants to take his time with you. You could have guessed that he won’t just have a quickie with you and that just makes you want him even more.

Leaning back on the sofa, you take your sweater off, wearing only a white tank top underneath, before your hands move to unbutton your pants. Originally, you were planning to just reach into your pants and underwear, but Harry has other plans.

“Take your pants off,” he tells you and you shiver at how demanding he sounds, taking full control over the situation.

Obeying you tug your pants down your legs and off of yourself, leaving you in only your white underwear that’s already soaking wet just from the way he is staring down at you. Keeping eye-contact, you move your hand over to your clothes cunt as you start running two fingers over yourself, teasing and working yourself up for more. Harry’s eyes are glued to your hand between your legs and when you peek down at his pants, you see that he is hard, like at the gala.

“Spread your legs more,” he tells you, and you do it without a second thought, exposing yourself even more to his greedy eyes.

When you’ve made sure your underwear is drenched, you move your hand underneath the fabric, finally touching your wet skin, moving your fingers between your folds before you start rubbing on your clit.

“How does it feel?” he asks in a low, raspy tone.

“Feels good, but it would be better if you did it,” you moan, desperate to feel his touch. Though it’s extremely hot how he is watching you pleasing yourself, it would be better if he was joining in on the fun.

“Patience. Now dip those pretty fingers into yourself for me.”

Sucking in your breath you push two fingers inside of yourself, curling them before pulling them out and then pushing back in, picking a nice rhythm to do it over and over again. One of Harry’s hands moves to his crotch and you can’t help but moan when he palms himself, still staring at you.

“You look so beautiful, Y/N. All spread out in front of me, pleasing yourself. I could watch you all day long.” He squeezes himself over his pants again and you’re just about to whine and beg for him to touch you when he drops to his knees and grabbing your wrist he pulls your hand away from you, only to tug your underwear off of you with a swift movement, baring you completely in front of his greedy eyes.

“I need to taste you,” he breathes out, his fingers digging into your inner thighs as he keeps the spread wide.

First, he kisses your left thigh, very close to your cunt, then he kisses the same spot on your right thigh and as he locks his eyes with you, he dives right in. With open mouthed kisses and relentless sucking, he is quick to absolutely light you on fire. Your hands grab onto his curls and you can’t stop yourself from grinding against his face as he eats you out as if you were his last meal.

He could do this for a living, that’s how good he is. The way he uses his tongue and lips, how he knows just the right rhythm for you to get closer and closer to your orgasm faster than ever. He was born to eat pussy. Your pussy.

“Fuck! I’m gonna come!” you gasp, your back arching from the sensation. One of his hands moves from your thigh up your abdomen underneath your tank top, the touch of his hand on your naked feels intoxicating and when he gropes your breast, you wish all your clothes were gone and you could feel him all over you.

“Go on, want to taste it. Come on my face, Y/N,” he tells you and you’re basically seeing stars at this point.

He could have made you come just by his mouth, but suddenly, he pushes two fingers inside you, stretching you out, feeling you up before he starts pumping, his mouth still on your clit.

It takes only a few minutes for you to come, whimpering and moaning in pleasure, your orgasm washing over your body in tidal waves and you’re drowning in it. Drowning in him.

His actions soften and his hands move to your thighs, gently massaging them as you try to regulate your breathing again, coming off your high. Pressing a few soft kisses to your sensitive clit he sits back to his heels, a smug grin spread across his face as he gently rubs your thighs. You’re still completely exposed in front of him, but you couldn’t care less, you want this man’s face between your legs every waking moment for the rest of your life.

“This was better than the Chinese,” he jokes and you let out an airy chuckle. Then you see how hard he still is and you push yourself forward with the intention of returning the mind-blowing favor, but he grabs your wrist and pushes your hands away from him. “Not now. I want you to eat, you said you didn’t have much time.”

“But I have enough time to suck you off, I can eat on my way too.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You’ll have the chance to do that another time, I’m perfectly fine with what I got now.” Leaning closer he kisses you before grabbing your underwear and pants from the floor beside him.

A little disappointed, but you get dressed and you both return to eating. Harry asks you about your upcoming exams and papers, he seems mesmerized by what people in other majors do.

“I’m as far from math as possible,” he chuckles, digging into his food, this time sitting next to you on the small sofa, his body pressed up against yours and he has pulled your legs across his lap.

“I can tutor you,” you chuckle.

“Yeah? Reversed roles? Sounds interesting,” he grins and leaning closer he kisses your shoulder before you both keep eating.

Your time together flies by way too fast and you have to be on your way too soon. You know you have to leave, you promised Kostas you’d help him study for his statistics exam, but you’d rather stay with Harry. Unfortunately, he has loads of work to do as well.

“Thanks for dropping by,” Harry hums as you’re about to leave.

“I just wish we had more time,” you smile at him coyly and stepping closer you wrap your arms around his neck, his hands finding your waist in an instant.

“How about the weekend?” he suggests. “You could spend it at mine if you want.”

“That sounds great,” you grin and if you’re being honest, you were hoping he would offer it. You didn’t want to be too pushy and bring it up yourself. “I can pack a bag and stay for the night.”

“Don’t bring too many clothes, you won’t be wearing them,” he smirks before kissing you.

When you’re out the door, Harry gathers his stuff as well and grabs all the empty food boxes after your feast and finally heads out as well. Just as he is locking the office up, Professor Alvarez appears at the end of the hallway, seemingly on her way home as well.

“Harry! Hi! Doing some extra hours?” she asks, absolutely no clue about what just went down in his office not long ago.

“Uhh, yeah! Same goes for you?” he asks politely as they start walking down the hallway towards the stairs.

“Yeah, my students like to take advantage of my kindness and turn in everything after the last minute,” she chuckles. “Wow, that’s a lot of food, did you eat all of that on your own?” she asks, pointing at the trash Harry is carrying.

“Oh, I… I did. But not at once,” he adds clearing his throat. “I’ve been hoarding it up and now I’m getting rid of it.”

“Ah, I see,” she smiles. “Hey, I wanted to ask what you’re doing this weekend. One of my friends is having a get together and I think you’d enjoy it, they told me to bring someone and I thought you could be my plus one, I guess.”

It’s more than just a friendly invitation. Nina Alvarez has been into Harry for a while not, but the man is either extremely oblivious to her attempts at seducing him, or he is just great at ignoring it. Either way, one thing is for sure: Harry is not interested in Nina as more than just friends, while the freshly divorced woman is determined to get closer to the school’s hottest professor.

“That sounds great, but… I already have plans with a friend,” he mumbles apologetically.

“Oh, no worries,” she smiles, but he notices the blush on her cheeks.

They chit-chat about mostly work until they reach the parking lot and part ways, both of them heading to their own car.

Arriving home that day you find Kostas sitting at the kitchen island with his books and notebooks spread out in front of him, the screen of his laptop illuminating his strong features. The stubble he has grown these past days makes him look older and much manlier, he should keep it longer, you think.

“Hey! Sorry I’m a bit late, just give me a minute to change and we can start,” you huff, kicking your boots off.

“Sure, I’ll be here,” he sighs, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Ramona?” you ask, seeing that her bedroom door is closed, she only has it closed when Dean is over but she didn’t mention that he was coming over.

“Oh, she’s been on the phone with Dean, but… I think they are having a fight,” he whispers in case she can hear him.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, she hasn’t said a thing and I think they are still talking.”

“I hope everything is okay. Dean has been away often lately, right?”

“I heard her talking about his dad the other day,” Kostas says. “I think he’s been going home to help his parents out, but I have no idea what’s really behind it.”

You don’t know much about Dean, you only hang out with him when Ramona brings him along, but that’s perfectly fine with you. As far as you know, his parents are a bit older, already in their sixties. Dean was a late surprise child, he has two sisters that are twelve and fifteen years older than him. If what Kostas said is true, you’re hoping his parents are doing well and it has nothing to do with their age or health.

“She’ll tell us if she is ready,” you sigh, not wanting to get your nose into something that’s none of your business. “Okay, so, let’s see that task sheet!” you clap your hands, joining him at the kitchen island.

It’s past midnight when you go to bed. You practiced with Kostas for hours and then worked on one of your own assignments as well, time flew by faster than you could realize. After a hot shower, you make yourself comfortable in bed, scrolling a bit on your phone when a notification of a message pops up on the screen.

HARRY: Thinking about you.

You sigh happily as you reread those three words over and over again before typing in your response.

Y/N: I knew I should have returned the favor!

His reply comes only moments later.

HARRY: I’m not touching myself, just thinking about you.

“Fuck, you are venturing to dangerous territories, professor,” you sigh, as you answer his text.

Y/N: You’re gonna make me swoon, professor.

HARRY: Good. That was my intention. Now go to sleep, you’ve had a tiring day.

Y/N: Good night, dream of me Xx

HARRY: Always.

Grinning like an idiot, you plug your phone to the charger and drop it to your nightstand and staring up at the ceiling as you replay what happened in his office today over and over again, how his hands felt on your skin, his lips on your throbbing clit, the way his fingers fit inside you so perfectly… you can’t wait to feel his hard cock in your pussy already and hopefully, it’s gonna happen this weekend.

Your phone lights up with another text and grabbing it you see it’s from Harry again.

HARRY: Alright, I’m touching myself too.

Y/N: Can’t wait to do it for you Xx

You place your phone back to the nightstand with the screen facing down and force yourself to sleep, even though all you can think about his Harry with his hand wrapped around his hard cock as he lies in his bed right now, thinking about you.

Packing for the weekend at Harry’s you feel like a little kid going to camp. You dig through your whole closet to find the best pieces even though you have a feeling he didn’t joke about not bringing too many clothes. You even stuff your matching lingerie set you haven’t had the chance to wear since buying, knowing that he will definitely appreciate the red lacy set.

Ramona is spending the weekend at Dean’s and Kostas is planning to spend most of Saturday and Sunday at the library, he barely notices anything when he gets home after a full day of studying. You agreed with Harry that you’d head over on Saturday afternoon since you still have some studying to do and Harry has work, it’s the best you can do. But you’ll have the rest of Saturday and the whole of Sunday together to do… whatever you want.

You can barely hold your excited smile back as you finally leave and head to Harry’s place. Last time you were there you left your new little writing on his car hoping to convince him to give it a chance and now here you are, spending the night at his, most likely getting railed like never before.

It worked out at the end.

You keep fantasizing about everything you want to do with Harry, or more like what you want him to do to you, and by the time you’re walking up the stairs to his front door, you’re ready to jump out of your skin and get down to business straight away. You ring the doorbell and when he opens the door you take a deep breath seeing him in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black shirt, he has shaved since the last time you saw him and the grin on his face is as wide as yours.

Without saying a word you step closer to him and kiss him as a greeting, wrapping your arms around his neck while he circles his around your waist lifting you up from the ground as he kisses you back.

“Hey,” you finally say, smiling against his lips.

“Hi, happy to see me?”

“Would be happier if you were naked already, but I guess, yeah?”

He chuckles, putting you back to your feet as he loosens his hold around you, taking your bag you dropped to jump into his arms.

“So eager, huh?” He smirks, ushering you inside and closing the door behind you.

“Can you blame me? I feel like we’ve been foreplaying for weeks, I’m losing patience,” you admit laughing. Leaning closer he kisses you shortly, walking you further inside. He drops your bag into the bedroom before you both walk into the kitchen and you notice the bottle of wine on the counter with two glasses, along with quite a few ingredients lined up, like he was about to start cooking.

“I hope you can wait just a bit more, because I’m making dinner first.”

“Why don’t we do it after?” you suggest, but he just shakes his head chuckling.

“I want you fed and full of energy for everything I have planned for tonight,” he murmurs as he leans closer and kisses the corner of your mouth. He is such a gentleman, so mature and caring, nothing like guys your age. None of your previous hookups cared about whether you’ve eaten or not, this is something new and definitely an upgrade.

“Alright, what can I help with?” you smile, assessing everything laid out on the counter.

“Why don’t you start with pouring some wine?” he smiles and you’re more than happy to put yourself into use.

As much as you wanted to jump his bones the minute you walked into the house, it’s so nice to spend time with him with your clothes still on. You’ve had an image of him in your head based on what you’ve seen from him in school, but that’s just a fracture of what he is.

You watch him move around the kitchen, he even put an apron on and if it’s possible, he just looks even better like this. You try to help him, but he just keeps telling you to drink your wine and keep him company.

“Are you going home for Christmas?” you ask, refilling his glass. He is stirring the sauce in the pan, keeps tasting it to know what else he needs to add. Chef Harry is fucking hot.

“Yeah, I don’t get to go home often, so I like to spend the holidays with my family. My mom is always so happy to have everyone together. I usually come back on January 2nd.”

“I bet it’s really nice,” you smile, but there’s bitterness behind your words and slight jealousy.

“Are you going home?”

“Um… not sure yet,” you purse your lips. Ever since your grandmother’s passing, you haven’t found your place during the holidays. The first year, you spent it with your mom and her boyfriend at that time, but it was catastrophic. Next year your grandma’s sister invited to spend it with her and her family and though you don’t have bad blood with that part of your family, you haven’t had the tightest relationship with them either, so it felt like you were an intruder. That year all you got from your mom was a text. Not even a call.

Last year Kostas wanted you to go home to Greece with him to his family, and though it was an incredibly nice gesture, you didn’t want to bother his time with his family, so you ended up staying back here. You have a feeling the same thing will happen this year as well.

“What do you mean? You’re not sure if your family comes here or you’re going home?”

“No, I’m… not sure if I’ll go anywhere.”

Harry looks at you still confused.

“You don’t want to see your family?”

“I don’t really have family. I’m not on the best terms with my mom, never knew my dad. I was closest to my grandma but she passed away a few years ago.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up the painful stuff.”

“It’s alright,” you smile at him reassuring him that he didn’t do anything wrong.

“So… you just stay here alone?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” you chuckle awkwardly, though you know it sounds pathetic, spending the holidays alone.

He doesn’t answer, but something is definitely on his mind, keeping it to himself. You move to lighter topics as he puts on some water to boil for the pasta and finish up the sauce, while you keep eyeing him up and down, moving around in the kitchen like a pro.

“Alright, now we just have to wait for the pasta and we can eat,” he smiles, turning the stove off under the sauce.

Taking another sip from your drink you place it to the counter before walking over to him, hooking your thumbs into the string of his apron that runs around his waist.

“I have a few ideas what we can do while we wait for that,” you suggest, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Mm, really? Tell me about them,” he smirks.

“I would rather show you.”

Kissing him deeper, you palm him through his pants and he groans against your lips, already hardening under your touch.

“It’s gonna take just ten minutes for it to be done,” he reminds you and you take it as a challenge.

“Then I better be fast.”

Dropping to your knees you’re quick to tug his pants and boxer briefs, freeing his half-hard cock, seeing it for the first time ever uncovered. His size, even though you’ve seen it through his clothes, is impressive and for a moment you doubt if it’s gonna fit inside you, but you can only hope for the best. For now, you only have to take in your mouth as much as you can.

Wrapping your hands around him, you give it a few pumps as you look up so your eyes meet and you see that he is staring down at you with so much lust and want. You lick up his length before wrapping your lips around the head, pumping him a few more times to get him nice and hard and ready for you.

Taking a deep breath you start moving your head, taking in as much of him as possible, the head touching the back of your throat before pulling back. You start bobbing your head and pumping the base you can’t take into your mouth, focusing to keep a steady rhythm in your motions.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his hands gathering your hair and then keeping it in one, tugging in it lightly and it gives your scalp a tingle.

The water on the stove is bubbling and it pairs with Harry’s heavy breathing as you keep moving relentlessly, your mouth completely full of him every time you take him in. Your eyes start watering when you try to take more and more of his cock, your jaw is hurting, but nothing can stop you.

“You look so beautiful with your mouth full of my cock, fuck,” he groans and starts buckling his hips to meet your movements. You’re almost taking his full length now, gagging when the head pushes down your throat, but the sight of him enjoying himself is worth everything. You move a hand to his balls and start massaging them, earning a long moan from him as he holds onto your hair even tighter.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” he warns you, gasping for air, so you just suck it up and deep throat him several times in a row, your hands working on his balls.

He whimpers your name and you suck on him harder when you pull back and take him in again, a moment later his cock jerks in your mouth, his hot cum shooting to the back of your throat. You milk him well, taking every drop of his cum and swallowing without hesitation.

Harry helps you up to your feet and cradles your face in his hands, kissing you hard and passionate, not even caring that you had his dick in your mouth just a moment ago.

“That was…” he breathes out, leaning his forehead against yours.

“That was my appetizer,” you joke, making him laugh before he kisses you again and pulls his pants and underwear up, tugging his softening dick away before turning to check the food.

“Pasta is ready,” he smirks.

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