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azrielbrainrot · 4 months

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Whether in the solitude of his room or surrounded by family, all Azriel can think about is you. He would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst, Mourning, mention of suicide

Word Count: 3652

Notes: I don't even know where this came from. I was listening to sweet music by hozier and thought "what if I gave Azriel more trauma". The idea popped into my head and it basically wrote itself. I can't believe I have to say this but with this fandom I'm not risking it: this wasn't written to hate on Elain (or any other character) or incite anyone else to do so. Keep your stupid fights off my post, please and thank you. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2

Another family dinner at the river house meant another night of watching everyone around him happy and in love. Azriel didn't think of himself as egotistical, would never think the love his brothers are experiencing is undeserved either, but it reminds him of a time where he was the only one in the Inner Circle with a partner, of when his brothers were the ones confessing to him how jealous they were of how he had found someone that loved him so much, of a time he never thought would have an end. It reminds him of you.

He looks himself in the mirror as he buttons up the navy shirt, trying to ignore the vacant room behind him. If you were here with him you would have been making jokes about his insistence on keeping the blue theme going in his clothes even though he swears he doesn't think too much about what to wear or his appearance in general.

On a good day, you'd be helping him with the small buttons right now, with shadows swirling around your legs and looking up at him the way you knew would take his breath away every time. On an even better day, he'd have your back pressed against his chest, his fingers inside your familiar heat, the other hand wrapped around your throat so you could watch him play with your body, panting his name and clawing at his arm, pleading with him to keep going, to let you touch him. He'd be late for an entirely different reason, not for getting held up talking to his spies, and then getting lost in his memories.

Sensing his thoughts, his meddling shadows move to his desk, filtering into the drawer they knew held a small velvet box. The dark wisps carefully picked it up and set it on top of the dark wood. Leaving it there and moving back to their original places around the darkened room, letting him decide for himself if he wanted to open it or not.

It had been a while since the last time he touched it, busy as he was these days. There were times he would sit and look at it every day, sometimes without even daring to open it and look inside. But there were also times where even the sight of the navy velvet would suddenly suffocate him with the reminder of your sweet scent, one he would never be able to smell again. It would make him hide the box at the back of his drawer, the back of his mind.

Over the last few years, his reactions to it had gotten milder, an unwilling acceptance of the fact that he would never see you again allowed him to reminisce on the happy memories you had together, even the sad ones, every little fight you had seemed so inconsequential now, he'd give anything to be able to have any moment with you back, to hear you say his name one more time.

He walks to the desk, only hesitating for a beat before grabbing and opening the box. His heart throbs as he stares at the ring sitting inside, thumbing at the empty space left behind by it on his finger instinctively. He had never liked rings, didn't like anything that brought attention to his hands or rubbed against the rough skin but the moment you slid the silver ring into his finger it felt right, he had never wanted to take it off. Azriel would wear a ring on each finger if it showed the world he was yours.

He wore the ring for an entire decade after you died, even after all hope that you could still be alive had left him, he couldn't bring himself to let go of it, to let go of you. His mother had been the one to tell him he needed to stop wearing it, that holding onto it, onto the past would only bring him more heartache. He could still hear her begging him with tears in her eyes, not bearing to see her son in such a state, but he had only actually taken it off when Rhys was taken by Amarantha.

He had thrown the ring into the Sidra that night. He's not sure if it had been anger, frustration or simply hopelessness that drove him to it in that moment. He was tired of not being able to protect anyone, tired of losing his people, the people he never thought he would even find when he was just a boy sitting in a dark humid cell. It must have been that boy's pain, still inside him, that drove him to act like that. If it hadn't been for his shadows immediately flying after it he would have lost it, wouldn't have this reminder of a happy time sitting in front of him right now, it had helped him ground himself more than once during the years following that night. His shadows had saved him from himself once again.

He closes the box gently, rubbing at the smooth texture of the velvet, trying not to let himself get lost in your memory and the bitterness that followed at the injustice of it all. Your marriage had only lasted a little over a decade, he's had to live with your ghost for much longer than that now. Still, he knows he won't forget that time no matter how many more years he lives, and, even if it's another five centuries, he knows he'll still wish he had had the chance to spend them all with you.

Some of the pain has dulled, most days at least, but the guilt still eats at him. He should have known something was going to happen, should have reached you sooner, should have told someone to go with you, should have gone himself, should have been the one to die in your place. The millions of possibilities will likely invade his brain until his last breath, after which he'll finally be able to see you again. That was another thought that had consumed him far too often in the beginning. If it wasn't for his mother, his brothers and Mor, if it weren't for the pain it would cause them, he would have taken Truth Teller to his neck just for the chance to see you one more time.

Azriel? His wings go rigid and he tightens his hold on the box at the sudden intrusion. He tries to push his thoughts as far back into his mind as he can before lowering his mental shields, almost letting out a sigh of relief at finding them in place, hoping his brother couldn't get a glimpse of his thoughts. He hands the box to his shadows so they can safely place it back inside his drawer. Are you still coming, brother?

Yes. He moves back to the mirror and finishes buttoning his shirt while trying to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible. However, the hesitation on the other side tells him Rhys sensed exactly what was holding him up in his room, he knows him better than anyone after all.

Hurry then. We're all waiting for you. Azriel closes his walls as soon as he feels his brother's absence in his mind. He knows they miss you too. They had welcomed you with open arms and considered you part of the family after their marriage. Everyone in the Inner Circle took a big hit when you went missing. He will never forget Cassian's face when he arrived to see Azriel kneeling down in a pool of your blood, with no body to be found. His brother wore his heart on his sleeve and it had shattered that night. There were countless sleepless nights for everyone following that moment.

They all threw themselves at finding you in any way they could. There was enough blood on the floor to tell them you had died but none of them wanted to believe it. Azriel talked to every single one of his spies multiple times, ordering them to track every movement in their respective areas. Rhys sent letters to every ally he had and then joined Cassian and Mor in searching every corner of Prythian personally. Even Amren, ever the logical emotionless one, searched for you with every means she could, contacting friends the spymaster didn't even know existed. But, one by one, they all had to accept the truth, Azriel ending up being the most hesitant to.

He had long since killed the attackers, putting them through as much pain as possible for as long as he could keep them alive, making them regret ever touching you. But that didn't help with the gaping hole in his chest, nothing helped. They didn't know how to find your body either. Rhys looked through every corner of their minds and only found them leaving you behind, bleeding on the cold ground.

Rhys refused to show him the memory, no matter how much he begged him to let him see you one more time. Now he knows his brother was just trying to protect him, not wanting that to be Azriel's last memory of you, with the amount of blood left behind he knew you couldn't have been in good shape, but at the time he lashed out at his brother like he had never done before, probably would have killed him in blind rage if it hadn't been for Cassian trying to hold him back and if Rhys wasn't Rhys. Thinking back he should have thanked him instead, for holding onto such a painful memory and keeping it to himself so no one else had to suffer from it.

Even if he couldn't see you again, he still wishes that he had your body to bury at least. Azriel doesn't know how the Mother could be so cruel as to not only let you die so soon, so painfully without at least letting him find your body so he could put you to rest next to your parents' graves. It would also give him a place to talk to you, to feel as close to you as possible.

The pain almost came back in full when Rhysand first told him about Feyre. Jealousy had reared its ugly head at the fondness in his brother's gaze, the slight tint to his cheeks at just saying her name. He was happy for Rhys, especially after everything he'd been through, but that happiness couldn't hold a candle to the pain he felt. He remembers the night he confided in his brothers about the lovely female he had met, how she had told him she loved him, it had been much like that one.

To make matters worse, the first thing he remembered when Rhys told him about his mate was a stupid bet the two of you had made - you had been adamant that Cassian, as sweet as he is, would be the next to get married, Azriel had voted for Rhys, one of his many conquests were bound to work out one day. He won and yet he didn't feel victorious at all. He couldn't even tell you of your loss, see how pouty you get when it happens, ever the sore loser. Didn't even remember the prize but there was no way for you to give it to him now either way. What hurt the most was that he couldn't even tell you his brother had found his mate. These were the best news in over a century and he just wanted to share them with you, wanted to share everything with you.

He takes another look at the mirror with a small sigh, straightening his wings and making sure his face doesn't give anything away before calling to his shadows. He feels them wrap around him slowly, giving him some comfort before taking him directly to the river house.

“Almost thought you weren't coming.” He was still half covered in shadows when he heard Cassian's voice. Everyone was standing around talking to each other, waiting on him. The guilt was tugging at his heart strings again. Why would he ever feel like he needed more than a family that loved him? Who was he to think this wasn't enough for him? It was something he could only dream of when he was younger.

“He's here now. That's all that matters,” the smile Feyre gave him was warmer than usual and her hand lingered on his shoulder for a second too long. Azriel looks over to Rhys, finding him already looking at him, studying his face. He had told his mate of whatever he sensed in his mind then. He hoped neither of them brought it up at least, now or later. What good would admit he misses his dead wife do? No one can bring you back to him.

“Finally. I'm starving.” Cassian clapped his shoulder as he passed by him on the way to the already set table, sitting down immediately. Everyone followed in his footsteps, greeting Azriel and finding their seats. Seems he really had kept them waiting.

Conversation picked back up naturally and he let himself fall into the usual rhythm of these dinners, letting his body relax around his family, forgetting about his old life for the moment. He walked over to the already set table and took his seat next to Elain, as it usually was these days. The seating arrangements had moved around a bit over the last years to accommodate not only the new additions to their little circle but also the relationships in them. He used to always sit next to Cassian but now had given the seat up to his beautiful mate. It left him next to Elain most times since they were the only single fae at the table.

Elain gave him a soft smile as he sat down and he nodded at her with a smile of his own. They had been getting closer ever since she was turned to fae and started living in Velaris. Her quiet nature quickly drew him to her, feeling at ease almost immediately with the middle Archeron sister. But he had to have been blind not to see the way she looked at him, not to notice the enamored smile she gave him.

Sometimes he let himself wonder if things could work between them. She had a mate but it was clearer with each passing day that she didn't feel anything for the male tied to her. It was also obvious how well Azriel and Elain got along, fitting into each other's lives almost seamlessly. He didn't love her but couldn't say seeing himself fall for the lovely female was such a far-fetched idea. She was a beautiful and kind fae, loving her would probably be as easy as breathing.

When everyone had been made aware of the mating bonds, he had even considered if the Mother had made a mistake. His two brothers had ended up with two of the sisters after all. Now he can see he was just desperate for a bond like theirs. In truth, he wouldn't even know what he would have done if Elain had truly been his mate. Would he finally put you behind him? Would he have thrown the ring away again, for good this time? He knows he couldn't bring himself to even with the power of a mating bond. You were etched deep into his skin just like the bargain marks inked into his shoulders.

As the dinner moved on and they made their way to the sofas in the sitting room, his family was already more than lively. Mor had busted out one of Rhysand's old wine bottles, setting the mood for the rest of the night. Azriel had completely relaxed by then, letting himself enjoy their company, his shadows retreating almost completely around the room. Finally having some reprieve from the particularly insistent thoughts that were plaguing his mind today.

Cassian was telling a story he had heard a thousand times now but he still laughed along with everyone else. Listening to Cass tell the story so many times wouldn't make the fact that he had flown straight into a river any less funny. Azriel even remembered the following part, the one Cass doesn't include in the story which was after they pulled him out and he had gotten sick for a week, making him miss practice and lose every spar with him and Rhys for the next months.

Even old stories had a new life with new people around, it was the first time the sisters heard this one, judging by the slight tint to Nesta's cheeks as she laughed at her mate and how hard Feyre was clutching at Rhys' arm to ground herself. Even Elain was laughing hard enough that her body was shaking. Her laugh was soft and melodic, a lovely sound really, but it suddenly opened a familiar pit in his stomach. It reminded him of you. She wasn't quite as loud and her eyes didn't immediately water like yours but the way she raised her hand to her face was similar. And just like that the illusion of happiness he had created shattered.

She was nothing like you but he still found you in every thing she did, in everything anyone did. He couldn't go to half of the city's bakeries and shops without thinking of you and every moment you spent there. He had even changed rooms in every one of Rhysand's houses, not bearing to sleep in the same bed you had held him in. Everyone in the Inner Circle had learned to avoid certain topics, certain stories in fear they would remind him of you. Even your name was rarely mentioned unless he did so first or strictly necessary. Every thought of getting over you was nothing more than wishful thinking. It was like his entire soul was begging him to go to you, but you weren't anywhere in this world.

This had to be one of the worst parts of his routine lately, having to take extra care to school his features when spending time with his brothers and their mates. If his face showed any sign of how much he missed you, how much he wished he could hug you to him just like they can do with them, they would immediately look at him with pain in their eyes, pain for what he lost and will never get back.

It had taken too long to get used to how differently they treated him after what happened. He had to start a fight to get them to stop treating him like he could break at any second when it was the truth. They knew it as well as he did, but they also knew that they had to let Azriel mourn in his own way, that there was nothing they could do besides stay by his side.

You weren't mates - maybe the pain he feels would never compare to what his brothers would go through if their mates ever met the same fate as you - but that had never mattered to him. His soul sang for you the same way he sang for his shadows, you were written into his very being just like they were. And, most importantly, there wasn't a single fiber in his body that wanted to live without you.

Even a mate could never erase you from his memory, even if you had been alive. He doubts if a mating bond had snapped between you two at the time, you would have gotten any deeper into him than you already were. He can't imagine loving you, wanting you more than he already did was possible.

He felt his shadows move to him, almost sending them away thinking they were coming to comfort him again, hiding him from the world as usual. Their urgency gave them away, and by the way Rhysand's body tensed across from him he also had noticed something amiss.

“What happened?” The High Lord's voice cut through the atmosphere immediately, everyone looked to him for an explanation and got ready for any possibility. His entire body stood still when his shadows told him they felt someone winnowing into the townhouse.

“Someone's in the townhouse,” he stood up as he spoke, sending some of his shadows out to find out as much as they could and the rest around Velaris to check if there were any other disturbances.

“Who could get past the wards?” He felt a shield around them, Rhys had likely set it up around his house. Cassian's siphons were flickering red as they all prepared for what could come next. Velaris was more than well protected, especially after the attacks before the war, but the High Lord's homes were nearly impossible to get into uninvited, Azriel himself had helped make sure of it.

“I don't know,” he held onto Truth Teller as he waited for his shadows or his High Lord and Lady to find something. His shadows were being strangely lax about the whole situation, maybe this was someone who knew of a way to go around his gift, keep them distracted.

It took longer than usual to receive a response from them, making him and everyone around him more concerned by the second. By now everyone was donning a sword or weapon of some sort, only waiting on more information before splitting up to keep Velaris safe and find the intruders.

When his shadows finally appeared they wasted no time rushing to his ear, at last sensing his urgency in the matter. Their answer was one nothing could have prepared him for, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

His shadows came back carrying a once familiar tune. They came back singing your name.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fic #divider by saradika

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cheesecakethots · 8 months

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university playboy childe, who you swear you see more times fighting outside or flirting with anything that has legs than actually in class.

that is, until he’s seated next to you in one of your classes, much to your disappointment. suddenly he wants to learn. his parents pay for his tuition, and are rich enough that whatever he does can be wiped away by the heads of the university. it drives you insane.

he enjoys messing with you, finding the expression on your face utterly delectable whenever he manages to get a rise out of you.

at first, it was only for a dare. you were cute, but extremely nerdy and reserved. him and his friends thought it’d be good for a laugh if he managed to have you opening your legs for him.

he realises he’s in too deep when he starts fantasising about you at night, despite the fact that he hasn’t even seen an inch of your body beneath the clothes you wear. he starts wondering what you’d wear if he took you out on dates, how you’d act, what you’d blush to.

you soon start to become begrudgingly accepting of his presence in your life, and then you actually start to like him, despite the fact that your other friends warn you to steer clear and avoid him.

after enough time, he eventually manages to get you into his bed. you spend a lot of time oooing and aahing at his house before he can get there, but the wait is worth it.

god. he starts to wonder whether he’s in love with you when the deed is done, and you’re lying next to him in bed, fast asleep. he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to sleep with anyone else again, after that. he’s not sure if he wants to let you go so easily.

you’re not next to him when he wakes up in the morning, instead quietly getting changed with the clothes that have been thrown on his floor. he thinks that maybe he should put you in one of his shirts.

his arms wrap around you from behind, and he presses kisses to your neck. you laugh, lazily pushing him off and continuing to put on your clothes.

“why don’t you stay?” he asks, seating himself back on the bed, his head tilting and a lock of messy ginger hair falling over one of his eyes. he grins wolfishly, “i can make it worth your whileeee…”

“you don’t need to do all this.”

his smile falters a little. “hm? do all what, baby?”

you giggle, “and you don’t have to call me that. i know this was only for a dare.”

he stands again, feeling his heart start to pound, “no, no, it’s not, i-“

you raise an eyebrow, “i’m not stupid, ajax.”

he’s lost for words, but you’re not.

“don’t worry, i’m not mad. i mean, i used you so i could stop being a virgin, in all honesty. i didn’t expect anything of it. oh! but if you want to tell your friends that i’m hung up over you, i won’t be mad either. see you around!”

your hand falls on the doorknob, but when you pull it doesn’t open. huh? you glance back at him quizzically. when did he lock it?

“i’m sorry. it was for a dare, but it’s not anymore. i’m in love with you,” he admits, his expression more serious than anything you’ve ever seen of him.

something in his eyes freaks you out, and you laugh awkwardly, “alright, the jokes over, unlock the door, i really have somewhere i need to-“

“no,” he says, moving closer to you, until he’s backed you up against the door, “you’re not leaving.”

your friends were right. you should’ve avoided him, after all.

#tw yandere #tw.yandere #yandere #yanderecore #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere ajax #yandere tartaglia #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact x reader #tw kidnapping #tw implied kidnapping

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satoruxx · 8 months

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pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: best friend!satoru is everything to me, fluff, teeny tiny bit angsty, but only bc of pining (my favorite), here to add to my simp satoru agenda, he’s trying his best but reader is oblivious (same), pls notice him rheya’s note: i cant stop thinking about best friend!satoru so i’m here to share this silly little blurb LMAO that’s it enjoy !! part 2

if satoru had known that being your best friend would be this difficult, he would have turned away from you when you said hi to him on your first day at jujutsu high.

it's not that he doesn't care about you. no, quite the opposite actually. he's always cared about you more than he'd like to admit. he can remember the way he used track the eyes of fellow students trailing you when you walked by. he can remember the sting of his nails as they dug into his clenched palms, and how suguru would pat his shoulder sympathetically when he noticed. he was sixteen at the time.

back then it seemed like he would grow out of his teenage crush, after being dismissed as your good friend for so long. but no, just his luck that these stupid feelings would grow and grow until they were tangled up around his very soul. a vice-like grip.

and now almost seven years later, nothing has changed.

"and he told me that if i wanted to be more interesting i should learn to fence, like he does!" you rant, throwing your hands up as you pace the length of his kitchen. satoru leans against the counter, arms crossed as he watches you vent your anger over yet another failed first date.

"uh huh." he acknowledges, trying to stay focused as you continue your annoyed speech. his fingers flex against his biceps, a thinly veiled attempt at controlling his frustration. whether he's frustrated with you or the man you were with, he has no clue.

"then he asked me where i was from, and then said i didn't look like it!" you rage, face hot as you finally unload the frustration you've been carrying all evening.

satoru huffs in mild irritation, trying hard not to roll his eyes. but you hear it and turn to him, half ticked off and half curious. "what was that?"

he clicks his tongue.

"you do this all the time. you always pick guys who treat you like shit. i'm not even surprised anymore." he snaps, a bit more forceful than he intended to be.

there's a silence that follows, and satoru’s unlucky enough to catch the mildly surprised look on your face. he tongues his cheek, brows pinched as he watches your expression fall. an ugly feeling that reminds him suspiciously of guilt rolls around in his stomach.

"you’re right…" you sigh, shoulders slumping as you cross your arms with a defeated shake of your head. "it's just tiring, you know?"

he turns his back to you, reaching across the counter to start slicing up an apple, trying to keep his hands occupied because they're itching to touch you. but he can't keep the bitterness out of his tone when he answers with a clipped, "yeah i know."

he can practically feel your confused stare on his back. but then you chuckle in amusement, mirth clear in your tone. "what do you mean you know? you literally get attention from random people on the street. you can have anyone you want." you laugh.

"are you serious?" he asks, eyes wide with disbelief as he spins around to face you again. you only blink at him, expression so annoyingly clueless it makes him sigh. he turns away from you once again, going back to cutting the apple.

"what?" you cock your head, not understanding why he's so forlorn about it. "most people would jump at the chance to date you. everyone wants you, you know?"

"not everyone. not the one who matters." he mutters bitterly as he places the apple slices onto a plate. you said all of it so casually, like it's supposed to be obvious, but all satoru feels is an overwhelming wave of disappointment wash over him.

"you…never mind." he relents, biting his tongue. "it's not important."

he hears your sharp intake of breath as you gasp, curiosity no doubt brimming in your barely concealed grin.

"ooh interesting! are you telling me you have a thing for someone, toru?" the teasing in your tone is palpable, and satoru feels his stomach flip pleasantly when you say his name. he turns around to face you, letting his shoulders drop as a helpless smile stretches across his face.

he walks up to you, pushing an apple slice past your lips and chuckling quietly. you're still giving him those curious little eyes as you chew, and he tries to swallow down the overwhelming wave of pure affection that threatens to burst from within. clearly today wasn't the day you were going to realize what kind of feelings he's been keeping a secret for so many years.

that's okay. he'll wait as long as you need him to.

he flicks your forehead gently, before reaching down to tug on your cheek. "don't worry your pretty little head about that, sweet thing. you'll figure it out soon enough."

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allmyn1ghts · 6 months

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Shield's First Lady ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The Shield x Fem!Reader (platonically)

Synopsis: just a little hc about being the first and only lady of shield!!

Warnings: fluff and some angst

a/n: missing my boys and 2013-15 real bad yall!!

you absolutely loved your boys

at first, you were really iffy about the idea Triple H presented

"I want you to be Shield's First Lady! I think you being with the guys would be a perfect fit."

you didn't really want to be in a group or associated with one. But you decided to go ahead with the idea

You barely talked to Roman before but Seth and Dean were foreign to you.

"It's so nice to meet you all, I'm sure this is gonna be super fun for all of us!"

The three men were nothing but sweetheart to you. always polite, making sure you were good

from that moment, you knew you had made the right choice

your role was pretty simple, the fearless badass of the group

you would stand ringside for almost every match whether it be singles, tag, or all three of them. sometimes distract the ref so they can pull an illegal move ;)

every backstage segment had all four of you in it chilling in your custom locker room, getting ready for a match, etc...

promos always had you on the mic

"Shield is taking over the WWE. We have the Tag Team titles, the United States Championship, the Divas championship, My boys and I are unstoppable"

the fans absolutely loved Shield (you were the fan favorite)

yall had become a little family!

the four of you always went out after shows, having a blast

when the boys would get into stupid little arguments, you were the mediator

"C'mon guys enough! We're family. act like it!"

when you got loud, oh they listened for sure. They knew not to piss you off

don't be fooled though, they loved you more

What you did for them ringside, they did for you.

Every time you won, they would slide into the ring and hold you up on their shoulders.

they always made you laugh at their silly side convos

Everything was good

until it wasn't

The day Seth betrayed you all, was the day your heart broke

"Seth what are you doing?! How could you do this to us?! We're family!"

You looked him in his eyes, slapping him across the face. He had nothing to say but a smirk on his face.

Seth not only betrayed you but his brothers too, his family.

Shield was never the same for any of you after that day.

hope yall enjoyed this lil hc! comment and reblog pls and thank u <33

request - masterlist - about me - who I write for

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pupyuj · 24 days

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Dub-con eheh. . . anyway, g!p Yujin who befriends a naive virgin loser just so she can use them as her own personal fuck toy ><

Like imagine having a studying sesh with her and it ends with her just taking your virginity. You're crying and trying so hard to resist, but it's just so hard when she's whispering the most unpure shit in your ear that you can't help but slowly submit.

"you're complaining and trying to resist, yet your moaning like a bitch in heat."

"Shut up and take it like the good girl you are."

"You're not going to tell anyone right? No one is going to believe you, and it's your fault for dressing like a slut and provoking me."

"Gonna mold you into my pretty little pet."

"You love it when I take advantage of your tight little virgin cunt, don't you?."

You're not a slut, right? You're not enjoying this at all

Right?

You can't help but believe every little word she says. Eventually you just give up and take it like the good girl you are, because maybe she is right. Yujin is your friend and friends don't lie to each other, right?

Aaah, manipulative Yujin absolutely has my heart. . . Anyway, can I be 🎀 anon? ^_^

once again i am fashionably late to an ask!! 😭 apologies 🎀 anon, but here you go!!

[cw: dubcon, breeding.]

anything with toxic!yujin in it, i'm on board IDCCCC 🤤🤤 i'd love to think of her as a mean girl in this scenario too! she just wants an innocent little lamb to corrupt and unfortunately you were perfect for it! she's so happy that you were dumb enough to fall for her friendly act, it was too easy! yujinnie totally daydreams about completely destroying your cunt and having you cry out her name for everybody to hear... but she'll start small!

gosh, you were so stupid to not recognize her advances. yujin's touching your ass, practically groping your boobs, and she's always checking you out! but she was surprised at how willing you were to let her do whatever she wanted.. coming up behind you, whispering nasty things to your ear while unbuttoning your shirt.. no resistance at all! yujin always knew there could be this kind of side to you 🫣 you were a virgin in an all-girls university no fucking duh your mind has gone off the edge sometime and looked at some girls a little closer than one should 😙😙

but you see.. you wouldn’t feel too good on the inside about what yujin was doing! :(( every single touch that came from her was out of pure lust, not a single sign of care and intimacy… so you’d try and take her hands off of your tits but she’d only push you down on the bed with your top and bra haphazardly thrown to some corner of the room… yujinnie thinks you look so pretty with your eyes all glossy w tears, she couldn’t help but kiss you! at least she was soft with that! you wouldn’t say the same for the way she treated you after… feeling up your soaked panties from underneath her skirt with her fingers and laughing mockingly… berating you so much bcs here you were, powerless under her, trying to push her away, but you were so wet! and your body completely ignored what you wanted… slightly grinding against yujin’s hand just to feel something more down there.. yujin loved seeing that 😋😋

“this skirt is too cute on you… let’s leave it as it is, hm?” and then she pulls off your panties, not wasting another second before pressing her thumb against your clit just to make you whine loudly for her 🥰 yujinnie’s the one that decides whether you’re ready or not :(( you’re moaning in both pain and pleasure as she inserts two digits inside you so slowly… having to grip her arm bcs you don’t know where to put your hands :(( gosh you were adorable! and ofc yujin fucks you like she fucks any other girl that are stupid enough to get involved with a psychopath like her! rough and so painfully fast! “mm… good girl! you’re getting used to this quickly, huh?” you really weren’t though :((

it was frustrating… bcs it both hurt and felt so good! 😵‍💫 you didn’t know how to feel, let alone think! not a single coherent word left your mouth while yujin busied hers with licking and sucking on your nipples.. your arms wrapped all around her, pushing her closer to you bcs this was the one good thing that she’s done… having to bite onto her shirt just to conceal your noises but she didn’t like that! 🫣 she’d push you back, glaring down at you while she abused your pussy harder than ever if that was even possible! ah, but if you think you were done after cumming on her fingers... well, you were dumber than you actually were 🤭

her being even more unforgiving with her cock :(( just completely disregarding your pained cries and your pleads for her to slow down.. feeling the tip of her cock ram into unknown places inside you, her thickness being such a perfect fit in your tight cunt... yujin was completely addicted! she should've been quicker and fucked you way before if your pussy felt this good around her dick 😳😳 she fucks you with a mocking grin, knowing you were completely powerless to do anything against her.. eventually you just laid there, shaking and moaning her name as she uses you...

"you wanna.. ah, fuck... you wanna know how it feels to be bred full, princess?" oh, come on, this is yujin! ofc she doesn't wait for an answer! you couldn't utter a word that wasn't her name and a bunch of nonsense anyway! laying there as yujin dumped every single drop of her cum inside you.. feeling the warm fluid seep inside your walls while yujin stared at you with only filthy obsession in her eyes... you just looked way too pretty under her, you can't blame her for fucking and breeding you that entire afternoon! 💕

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cherry-titz · 7 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N doesn’t drink alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or so she found out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Did it matter?

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

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

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

“Sneaky little thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. She did.

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up—”

“When you were cumming inside me—?”

“—Shut the fuck up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—It wasn’t a date—”

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

Something real? Something real?

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

She’s granted no such thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—Mhm—”

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

“Ye-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”

“You’ll what, pet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hips snap back into her.

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

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

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

“Don’t you?”

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

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

Her noises topple out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I tell you to stop?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She waits.

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

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

Y/N never sees him again.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfiction #dark harry styles #dom!harry #dom!harry styles x sub!reader #dark harry #harry styles writing #harry styles imagines

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tender-rosiey · 1 year

Text

pay — itoshi sae x gn!reader

a/n: just exploring the blue lock characters; hope you guys like it <33

sae loves shopping with you.

he especially loves when you guys go into clothing stores and you give him a little fashion show. it makes his stoic heart smile as he watches you enjoy trying on all of the outfits.

the only problem with him is that he is of no help in the slightest in these situations.

you see, sae is in love with every single part of you, even if he doesn’t show it off. however, that same love renders him useless when you ask him for his opinion about what to get or what to wear.

“sooo,” you start off with a smile.

“yeah?”

you grin, holding up the two outfits you just tried on, “which one do I get?”

he looks at both of them for a moment and decides, “get both.”

“I can’t!” you pout and he raises an eyebrow.

“why?”

“I just need one, love,” you pout and he rolls his eyes before getting up.

“just get both; the money I have is solely to spoil you, silly.”

you watch him take the outfits from you and place them in the cart. sighing, you wrap your arms around his neck, “that’s not good business, pretty boy.”

his own hands find their place on your waist, “I don’t really care, plus it makes you happy which is enough.”

“people are going to start thinking you’re my sugar daddy or something,” you laugh lightly and a really faint smirk appears on his face.

“don’t consider it!” you yell, smacking his shoulder lightly.

his face is stoic once again like he didn’t even do anything. what a sneaky boy.

he rests his forehead on yours, “you’re the one with the dirty mind; I didn’t even think about it that way.”

ignoring him, you look to the side and catch a few people looking at you both, “sae, I don’t think your manager will like us displaying affection like this.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead that catches you by surprise, “my manager’s lonely and isolated life has nothing to do with us.”

he pulls back and takes your hand into his. you make it to the cashier and sae pays. that is, after he confiscated your purse so you don’t pull a move and pay instead.

“anywhere else you wanna go?” he says while carrying the bags and you shake your head no.

“let’s go home; I am beat!”

“didn’t you say that there was this necklace that you really liked when we first entered?”

you blink, “well yeah, but we don’t have to get it. plus, I already have a similar one!”

sae furrows his eyebrows and looks at you, “but you said you liked it.”

“I know I did! but we don’t have to get it just cause I like it!” you continue, “like, if I like the house over there, that doesn’t mean I need to buy it.”

“I can buy it for you.”

“sae, you’re missing the whole point!” you huff and you don’t know whether to be frustrated or to kiss his stupid face because of how keen he is on making you happy.

he takes a deep breath then looks at you for a moment before he finally decides what to do next, “jewelry shopping it is then.”

“saeeeeee!”

sae watches you pout and drag your feet. he can’t help but roll his eyes fondly.

he really does love shopping with you.

“sae, I wanna go to the toilet.”

except when you do that.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies

do not copy or plagiarize or i will turn your little sight-seeing trip traumatic

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kittenintheden · 7 days

Text

hit the bricks

surprise PWP drop lol. this is sort of a deleted scene from Not Your Sweetheart. this is not a scenario that will end up in the NYS so you get to have it here in bite-size instead. enjoy!

Rating: E Paring: Astarion/Ori (f!Tav) Word Count: 1.6k Content: 18+, established relationship, semi-public sex, quickie, wall sex, Ori being a bit of a power bottom

Link to AO3

This stakeout is horrifically boring and likely entirely pointless.

Astarion leans with his back against one side of a narrow alley, arms folded. Ori faces the opposite wall, peeking her head around the corner every now and again to try and spot their quarry.

He sighs.

She continues to look.

“This stakeout is horrifically boring,” he voices aloud. “And likely entirely pointless.”

From further down the alleyway, Elias chimes in. “We’d feel real stupid if they managed to sneak by us, though, wouldn’t we?”

Astarion rolls his eyes as hard as he possibly can and glares at them. They smirk at him, knowing full well where his annoyance comes from. He’s certain of it. When he’d volunteered to pair with Ori for this reconnaissance mission, he hadn’t expected a third wheel. But Gale had insisted that they keep an open method of communication just in case, and, well. Elias is as convenient as it gets, considering they can move from group to group through the Ethereal Plane in seconds.

Whether or not they prefer to be used as de facto communication is yet to be determined.

It’s a bother. He maintains his irritated expression as he goes back to staring at Ori’s arse as she wriggles it back and forth between glances out of the alley. She might be doing it on purpose. The breeches she’s chosen to wear this evening are quite form-fitting.

His brow smooths and his eyes go lidded as he lets himself fall into fantasy, picturing her just like this, but all soft skin, warm and gray beneath his touch as he runs his fingers down the length of her spine. He hasn’t taken her from behind yet. All in good time.

Astarion slow blinks and flicks his tongue over his bottom lip.

Now could be a good time.

He’s brought abruptly back to reality as arousal rises in him, sending a rush of heat between his legs. He huffs and shifts position, straightening one leg with a grimace. Fantastic. Now he’s grouchy again.

Their corner of the square remains unpopulated. At this time of evening in this part of town, passerby are few and far between. He scans the space sullenly for a moment before his eyes are drawn back to Ori. She stands straight, still facing the wall, and puts her arms over her head in a long, arching stretch.

Astarion tucks his chin. That’s definitely on purpose.

“Elias,” Astarion says. “I think perhaps you should go check in on the other team.”

“What for?” they say distractedly, their eyes currently tracking a stray cat at the far end. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Something’s about to,” he says lowly. Then he pushes off the wall and closes the space between his body and Ori’s, pinning her up against the bricks on the opposite wall. She squeaks in surprise.

“Oh, for fuck’s-” is all they hear before Elias’ voice cuts itself off as they vanish.

Ori’s laughing, now. She turns her head to one side and puts her palms against the wall in front of her, pushing gently back against Astarion. He puts his mouth to the side of her neck, running his tongue over her pulse point and punctuating it with a kiss.

“What was that about?” she teases, even as she shivers and shuts her eyes.

“I needed to ask you something.” He places another kiss to her neck, this time closer to her ear.

“Mm. And what’s that?” She stretches her head to one side to give him more access.

Astarion puts his lips to her ear and whispers, “How wet are you?”

She gives a quiet giggle, her mouth stretching in a playful smile as she cracks her eyes to look at him.

“Wet enough,” she whispers back.

That’s all the go-ahead he needs before his hands are at the front of her trousers, undoing her fastenings quicker than she’d be able to herself. As soon as he’s able, he dips a hand down her front and into her smallclothes.

His fingers find her slick and he huffs out a breath, dropping his open mouth to the spot where her shoulder meets her neck. He slides his fingers against her and she gives a controlled moan when he finds the swell of her.

“You’re always so ready for me,” Astarion groans into her skin. “It drives me mad.”

Ori hiccups and responds, “If you knew how good it is to take your cock, you’d be walking around wet all the time, too. But we’re supposed to be, ah, keeping a lookout. Someone could… mmm… catch us with our literal pants down.”

They’re not exactly in public, but they’re not exactly not in public, either. Being quiet may not be an option. Does he care?

Not at the moment.

Astarion stops teasing her clit long enough to push her clothing down past her hips. As he goes to deal with his own ties, he breathes, “Then they’ll get a show, because you know anyone about to stumble on this would have no choice but to watch.”

She answers with a quiet growl and play-bites at him.

“Ah, ah,” he says as he pulls himself free of his trousers. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Disappointing,” she teases.

He presses his hard cock between her legs, causing her to gasp and arch as he draws himself along her slick cunt and grazes her clit. Her thighs are trapped tight together from her breeches, coating him in her wet as he grinds.

“I said quick,” he says, hiding the shake in his voice with a laugh. “I didn’t say disappointing.”

The head of his cock finds her willing entrance and he pushes inside, the slide smooth, but oh, he didn’t think that through, that’s very-

Ori clocks the way he tries to quiet the moan that spills from him as he enters her. She clocks it even as she leans her head onto his shoulder, arching her back as hard as she can with him pressing her to the wall. The glide and stretch are perfect. She can feel him everywhere.

But he’s not moving.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” she says, voice shivering.

Astarion has been clenching his jaw. She can feel him loosen it as he says, “You are so t-tight like this.”

She grins, holding back her laugh. “Did you…?”

“No,” he huffs, wrapping his hand around hers where it’s pressed against the brick. “Give a professional a little credit, dear. I just, ah, needed a moment.”

“Glad to hear-” she starts.

“Moment’s over,” he interrupts.

His hips begin working with short, shallow thrusts, grinding Ori up against the wall, her front pressed to the masonry, and she pants prettily for him as he ignites the fire between them. He keeps one hand over hers on the wall and the other wrapped around her hip, guiding her in time with his rhythm.

She feels exquisite. He presses his lips to her exposed shoulder and sucks, vaguely aware he’ll leave a mark there, but he doesn’t care, because it feels good this feels good she feels good all around him. Fangs graze skin, tempting. Her arse is so plush pressed close.

He moves the hand on her hip around to her front and between her legs, using his fingers to spread her just a little wider, exposing her to better feel the root of him on her clit every time he thrusts into her. It has the intended effect as she whimpers out his name surrounded on all sides by soft ah ah ahs. Gods, it’s hot.

Taking her here, hidden but not invisible, makes the rush of being discovered hit his blood and urgency pulses through his core. He pulls his mouth from her and pants through his teeth, molten heat coiling around the base of his spine.

“I need you to come for me, darling,” he whispers. “Can you do that? Can you come for me? Don’t let me…” He gasps on the next breath and continues, “... embarrass myself, love.”

“Say please,” she breathes with a surprising amount of control given her current position.

“What?” he blurts, brow furrowed as he continues to rut into her. His body wants to come so badly that it’s making thought beyond gods gods fuck yes gods difficult.

Ori groans this time before she repeats, “Say. Please.”

Astarion presses his mouth to the side of her face and says, “Please, please, come, please come, please, love, love, please, come, come-”

She clenches down hard around him and he whines, barely managing to ride out her climax before he hits his own, the flutters of her peak continuing all around him. Ori bites her own forearm, her cry lost against her skin. Astarion does his best to stifle his inelegant grunts as he spends himself inside her, the relief palpable.

They take a moment before Ori mumbles, “Neither of us really considered how to extricate ourselves from this situation, did we?”

“We did not,” Astarion mumbles back with his mouth against her temple.

There’s another beat of quiet.

From around the corner out of view, they hear Elias say, “The mark is here, you’d better be done, I swear, I’m not coming around there. Let’s go.”

The mad scramble to separate and quickly rearrange clothing goes smoother than expected, all things considered. It isn’t until they pick up their things and make to run for the square that Ori pulls a face.

“All right, love?” Astarion asks, dagger already drawn.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll, erm. Deal with it later.”

She speeds by him and it takes him a full second to catch on before he snorts out a laugh and follows her.

#astarion smut #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #kitten writes #not your sweetheart

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hsjazebel · 2 months

Text

Desperate part 2*

Word count: 2763

A/n: I’m sorry to have made you wait so long for part 2, but here it is! I hope you enjoy💘

main masterlist | desperate masterlist

“I'm gonna fuck you so good you won't be able to look me in the eyes for a week without blushing."

He looks you straight in the eyes and your mind is blank, you just want to be fucked so good and not think about anything.

“Cat got your tongue? I've barely touched you and you're already all stupid! You just want my cock in your little pussy, don't you?”

You nod not having the strength to speak, but this isn't enough for him.

“Words, baby. I need to hear your beautiful voice. Is that what you want?”

"Yes, yes. I want you!"

“Oh is it, pretty girl? You want me? Who expected that the good girl who knows how to cook such good pasta would actually hide a dirty part! But don't worry, now I'm here to scratch your itch, I'll treat your pussy so good I'll ruin you! Are you ready pretty girl? There’s no turning back.”

“Yes, I want it so bad!”

“Good girl!”

And so, he sticks his cock in you and it's like the rest disappears. You lie there with your mouth open making little moans because of the feeling of his big cock opening you up and stretching you out to make his way in your pussy.

“This is all you’re good for, just a hole for me to fuck. Such a nice, wet little pussy for m-“

The sound of your alarm clock wakes you up from your wet dream. You open your eyes trying to adjust to the light coming from the windows. Last night you forgot to lower the shutters and you're mentally cursing yourself for it.

The memories of your dream are still in your mind that you can even feel your panties getting wet.

It's been a week since your first meeting with Harry and it's been a week that you only have him on your mind.

This isn't the first time you've had a dream like this. And you know it won't be the last either.

You desperately want to take care of yourself but you don't have time because you promised your mother to go out and do some shopping together.

You decide to go take a cold shower trying not to think about the all too real feeling of Harry fucking you.

Then you choose an outfit for the day and go down to the living room where you find your mother fully dressed.

“I'm so happy to have a mother-daughter day! It's been a while since we went shopping together. I'm sad your sister isn't here too, it would have been nice to just be girls!” Your mom says as she grabs her purse and keys.

“Yeah, but she’s like Dad, she doesn't like shopping,” you follow her as you leave the house.

“I really don't know how she doesn't feel like going out and buying new clothes!” She laughs.

“I always ask myself that too!” You laugh along with her.

You both head towards the city center and start entering various shops.

After spending an hour trying on clothes, you decide to go into Sephora, a place you can't resist, and while you're debating whether or not to buy the Rare Beauty blush you hear your mother's phone ringing. She spends a few minutes on the phone and when she hangs up the call she looks at you with a sad look.

“They just called me from work. They said they found a motive against the other defendant in the trial. I have to go to the office. I'm so sorry to have to leave now, I even thought about going to brunch together.” You can tell she wasn't happy about leaving, but your mom was an established lawyer in your city, and she was now working on this very important case, she couldn't do anything about it.

“Don't worry Mom, I know how important this case is for you! I think I'll take another look in here and then I'll go get something to eat quickly,” you smile at her trying to cheer her up. “Come on, don't make that face, I'll stay here all summer, we'll find many more days to have another mother-daughter moment.”

"You are right! It seems to me that I don't see you very often and I was so happy to spend this day with you! Please don't spend too much money on makeup, I know you don't have a minimum of self-control when you come in here,” she laughs as she hugs you goodbye. You hug her back and with that you see her leave the shop.

You finish your shopping trip - and you may not have exactly listened to what your mother told you about not buying too much makeup - and decide to go alone to that brunch you were supposed to have with her.

You arrive at a small place near the center called Jerome and already from the outside you could see that the interior was all decorated in pink and this caught your attention.

You had passed by here several times but you had never seen it or heard the name of the place, so you deduce that it is a new opening, and so you decide to go in.

The interior was as you expected, all pink with neon cursive writing. On the left was a wall covered in pink and white roses with large swings as eating stations, which also had a large teddy bear that you found absolutely adorable, and on the left a large glass counter showing that which, in your opinion, was paradise.

A waitress with a welcoming smile comes towards you, inviting you to take a seat in the front room and that someone will come to take your order once you are ready.

You return her smile by thanking her kindly and make your way into the room she indicated.

On the way, you find on the right side a wall covered with pink velvet and a bicycle leaning against it with another big teddy bear on it. You find this corner particularly cute so you take your phone out of your bag to take a photo.

As you open the camera app you hear a familiar voice calling you.

“Hi Y/n!”

You turn in the direction of the voice and find the protagonist of your latest dreams sitting at a table on a pink velvet armchair.

"Oh! Hi Harry!" You return the greeting by smiling at him.

He pulls back a chair as a sign to sit next to him and you gladly accept.

“Shopping day I see,” Harry tells you pointing to the bags you had to bring with you.

"Oh yes!" You laugh. “I was out with Mum but she had to run away to work, so I'm forced to go around with all these bags!”

Harry laughs back. “That's why you're here alone.”

You are about to answer him but are interrupted by a waiter who has come to take your orders.

Once he leaves - not before giving you a sweet smile - you see Harry give the boy a not-so-kind look.

You continue your conversation until within a few minutes your food arrives.

You start eating in silence and you notice that Harry keeps staring at you.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“Mh? What?"

“I see you staring at me, I asked you if I had something on my face.”

“No, no you don't have anything on your face, it's just… I don't know if it's appropriate to ask you something.”

“Ask me what?”

He takes a long sigh. “I was just thinking… if you have a boyfriend”

You stop yourself from laughing at his question. “No, I don't have a boyfriend. Why do you ask?"

“I was just curious to know I guess. It is undeniable that you are a beautiful girl and I also noticed how that boy looked at you before and I was just wondering if you have a boyfriend, that's all."

"Don’t worry. In fact, right now I don't want a boyfriend, I broke up a couple of months ago so I'm thinking more about myself now."

“I'm sorry, I didn't know you broke up recently. Can I ask why if it doesn't bother you?”

“Don't worry, it doesn't bother me. I've been with this Italian guy named Lorenzo for more or less a year and a half, except that in the last period, things between us haven't been going so well. In the last few months, I saw him as more detached, and in the end, I discovered that he had another woman... that’s the reason!" you laugh sarcastically.

“Excuse my language but… he must be a real dickhead to have cheated on you.”

“I'm big now, you can use bad words in my presence, and yes you're right, he's a big dickhead!” You laugh and he follows you.

After finishing your brunch you are the first to get up.

“Thanks for keeping me company, Harry. I really enjoyed talking to you!”

“No, thanks to you Y/n! And I enjoyed talking to you too! It could be done more often!” He tells you smiling, making his dimples appear.

“Yes, I would be more than happy to do it again. Maybe I could mention to Dad to invite you to dinner some evening.”

"I'd really like to."

And so you head towards the exit of the place with him opening the door for you like a true gentleman.

Once outside, however, you remember that you had arrived here in your mother's car and now that she was gone you didn't know how to get home. So your only option - other than walking in the July sun for 40 minutes on foot, which you didn't think was the best option - was to ask Harry for help.

“Um, Harry?” You call him. “Sorry but I just realized that I don't know how to get home since my mother left with the car, and.. uhm I wanted to ask you if by any chance, if it were possible for you, you could take me home.”

You didn't like bothering people about your things, because you always had the impression that you were annoying.

“Of course, I can take you home Y/n! I would never leave you stranded. In fact, I was just asking you if you wanted a ride but you beat me to it."

And with that, you head towards his car. And again, being the gentleman that he is, he opens the door for you to get into the car.

Along the way you are rather silent, in addition to the noise of the radio music in the background, there is every now and then an exchange of words.

Once you arrive at the gate of your house you almost feel sorry to let Harry go, and he seems to think the same as you.

You're about to say bye and thank him when an idea comes to you.

“You know I was thinking about the conversation we had that evening at my house and I just remembered that I have another book that I think you might like… if you want you could come in the house for a moment.”

“Yes, I'd like to come in but I don't want to disturb you."

“Don't worry, there's no one at home. Mom and Dad are at work and my sister is at the beach with some friends.”

“Oh…okay.”

He leaves the car in the driveway and so you go into the house.

As soon as you enter you head towards the bookcase in the living room but looking carefully among the books you don't find what you were looking for.

Going back in your memory you remember leaving it in your room; you had recently finished reading it and you immediately thought Harry might like it.

“Um…I think I left it in my room, if you want you can come with me, I also have other books there and I think you might find something you might like.”

"Yes, of course!"

So you go up the stairs and enter your room, but as soon as you enter you see the chair near your bathroom with your pajamas and underwear on it that you had taken off before entering the shower.

But the thing that immediately catches your eyes are your white lace panties on top of your clothes, and, if you look at them better you can also see a darker part on their crotch which you know well what is due to: the man next to you to you.

While you were both in your room, you felt a strange tension in the air. You look at Harry and notice the way he avoids your gaze as if he's hiding something. You suddenly feel vulnerable, remembering the embarrassing moment when you had accidentally left your panties on the chair. You wonder if he saw it.

“Sorry if the room is a little messy,” you say, trying to break the awkward silence.

He smiled faintly. “Don't worry, you told me that the book you recommended is here somewhere, right?”

Your heart beats faster in your chest as you try to figure out if he's just trying to be nice or if he's trying to avoid the awkward moment.

“Sure, it's right there on the nightstand,” you reply, gesturing to the book with a wave of your hand. “Sorry about the mess.”

He walks over to the nightstand, but in his gaze, he notices your panties casually placed on the chair. He lets out a short sigh, trying not to let his embarrassing discovery show. “Thank you,” he said, taking the book carefully.

The tension in the air seems to increase as they both look into each other's eyes, an energy filled with repressed desire and forbidden curiosity.

You try to ignore the racing of your heart as he walks away from the nightstand with the book in his hands.

“There are some really interesting parts,” you say, trying to keep the conversation light. "I hope you like it."

He nodded with a gentle smile. “I can't wait to read it, thanks for the advice.”

The silence that followed was heavy, full of tension and unspoken meaning. You both knew what was behind that embarrassing moment, but neither seemed ready to face it.

You bit your lower lip, trying to find the courage to say something, anything that would break the overwhelming tension. But the words seemed to get stuck in your throat.

Finally, he turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes you tremble slightly.

“Is there anything else you would like to talk about?” He asks you, his voice barely a whisper.

You swallow, feeling your heart beat so loudly it sounds like a drum in his ears. “Yes,” you admit in a small voice. “There is something we need to address.”

You feel your heart beating furiously in your chest as he gently approaches, creating an atmosphere full of anticipation.

“I know,” he whispers softly, his voice a seductive harmony in the air vibrant with desire.

A shiver of emotion runs through your skin as your gazes meet, communicating desires and secrets hidden deep inside.

You nod slightly, unable to articulate a sound, your breath held in anticipation of what was about to happen.

He gets even closer, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin, but without ever crossing that invisible border that separated reality from enchantment.

An instant of silence full of meaning lasts longer, time seems to have stopped as you let yourself be enveloped by the magic of waiting, aware of how powerful and precious that tension suspended between you can be.

You get dangerously close to the point where you can feel his nose touching yours, the desire between you vibrating in the tense air.

Lips a few millimeters apart, the imminent contact was like a promise of suspended passion, when suddenly the sound of the front door opening resonates in the air, interrupting the intimate moment.

You both tense up instinctively, your heart quickening its pace in your chest as your gazes meet in a mixture of agitation and repressed desire.

“Y/n! I am home!" You hear your father's voice coming from downstairs.

“Fuck,” you say as you pull away from Harry, but the heat of the barely touched contact still burned on his lips, while your body trembled slightly in anticipation of what might happen.

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles blog #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #desperate

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izurou · 1 year

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“i mean i know ‘samu makes rice balls for a living now, but i’m sure he could do a wedding cake.”

rintarou has been in your ear for the past fifteen minutes, mumbling about whether or not osamu could pull off three whole tiers of cake while also making it taste good.

he really thinks it’s a no brainer, as if onigiri and wedding cake go hand in hand—if you know how to make one, surely the other is under your belt as well. he used to help his mom in the kitchen when he was a kid so, obviously he would know.

the only thing is—you’re not engaged, and you don’t plan to be anytime soon.

“rin, seriously?” you scoff, leaning back against the edge of the countertop.

you’re at his mom’s place for a little family dinner—something she loves to do every once in a while to catch up with her son. you’ve just finished your meal, and rintarou being the angel he is, offered to clean up—but not without your company, of course.

“what? it’d save us some money,” he says, diving a hand into the soapy water filling the sink.

“your grandma was just bugging us,” you hum—swirling the dark liquid in your glass around. “she knows we’re not ready for marriage.”

this was your very first time meeting her, and it’s safe to say you weren’t expecting such a loaded question mid meal. so, when are you two getting married? her words had the tips of rintarou’s ears turning pink, and made his sister howl like a dog, because the thought of someone liking her older brother enough to want to marry him was truly hilarious.

he kicked her shins under the table—a glimpse of the petty little boy you had always heard stories about. he did his best to get his grandmother off your backs as well, giving her a cliché answer—something along the lines of we’re both young, and just trying to focus on college right now.

he was in such a damn hurry to drop the subject—and now, he won’t shut up about it.

“okay, but,” he pauses, swiping a hand against the bottom of the sink to check for any stragglers. “he’s young and stupid now, there’s no way he knows how much a wedding cake costs. we can lowball him, get a good deal.”

“you think he’s that stupid?” you snort—having a little more faith in osamu than your boyfriend does.

“hope so,” he mutters, gesturing for you to toss him the hand towel sitting behind you. “he is related to atsumu, after all.”

“wow,” you gawk, “and you call yourself a friend.”

“i’m just looking out for us,” he shrugs, using the fabric to dry his hands. “bet ‘tsumu would do it for free if we asked right now.”

“he’s not going anywhere near our wedding cake,” you say, noting the way rintarou does a thorough wipe down of the counters—hm, so he does know how to clean. “not until it’s served on a plate for him to eat, at least.”

“good point,” he agrees, tossing his cloth over the tap and shuffling over to you. “but you have to admit, the guy’s pretty damn unstoppable when he puts his mind to something.”

“sure,” you hum, looping your arms around his neck and lacing your fingers together. “but you know rin, once you go pro, we won’t even have to worry about the cost of a wedding cake.”

“and if i don’t?” he asks—throwing the possibility out there. it’s something he’s thought about, but never voiced concern over.

“you will, trust me,” you say, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet—a promise of your word. “but if for some reason you don’t, we’ll beg the twins for a family and friends discount.”

“deal,” he laughs, pulling you flush against him for a hug—and you think to yourself, that when you leave tonight, you’ll love him a little more than when you arrived—if it’s even possible.

you enjoy the moment briefly, until you hear a pair of feet padding in the other direction—someone was listening?

“mom! rintarou is talking about getting married!”

#izurou #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #suna rintarou #suna fluff #suna x you #haikyuu x you #i love my baby tattoo it on my forehead

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gatitties · 5 months

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Kid pirates and Whitebeard pirates with a singer!reader who specializes in soft vocalizations? (the best example I can think of is Lana Del Rey's Salvatore) maybe reader sings for the crew during celebrations or sings to them one on one if someone in the crew needs something to help sooth them !

─Kid Pirates & Whitebeard Pirates x singer!reader

─Summary: the discovery of your voice was a ray of tranquility for these crews

─Warnings: none

nah this is so cute 😔🫶🏻

─ It's quite unusual to have a moment of calm in this crew, with such an explosive and impulsive captain and a crew that would follow him to hell, fights and celebrations were almost daily.

─ Of course, you were part of that stupid brutality, however you do not indulge in the frenzy that most people carry here.

─ You like to sing, whether you were born with a good voice or you tried hard enough to get to the right pitch, it was a hobby that required calmness and silence, two things that were quite unusual in this crew.

─ And probably no one noticed if it weren't for Heat overhearing you once by chance, he's one of those who appreciates calm from time to time just like Wire.

─ So at the next party, a drunk Kid approached you, urging you to please them with some song, because someone had told him you had a pretty voice.

─ You didn't feel like it was the right time, when they were making bets, juggling things on fire and absurd challenges, even Killer told you that it wasn't a good time because no one would listen to you.

─ But Kid's insistence made you go up to the improvised stage, that is, two boxes and a couple of barrels, asking for silence didn't help much so you just started with your thing.

─ Ignoring all the background noise you focused on using your vocal cords correctly, as it was quite important to reach the soft tone you liked.

─ Everyone became quieter the louder you sang, until they were completely silent just to hear your voice.

─ For you it was a simple warm-up, but for them it was something they had never heard before.

─ You received a cheer from drunks that made you laugh at how silly they looked, as well as the stupid things they said to you about being related to mermaids or something.

─ From that moment on, they ask you to have your rehearsals, which were previously solitary, in the stern so that everyone can appreciate your singing, it doesn't bother you knowing that they really enjoy it and it provides a little peace within a crew of bloodthirsty people.

─ Killer will ask you to help him in the kitchen from time to time, he likes it when you hum while you prepare everything, it makes the time go by faster.

─ Kid will also ask for it when a project is not going the way he wants and he needs to de-stress, something sweet and soft always manages to calm him down, at least that and a glass of whiskey.

─ Heat and Wire are like your groupies since they appreciate calm the most, that and you were stuck with them on most of the ship's chores, and you inevitably end up humming to kill the boredom or at their request.

─ It's not that loud of a crew, yes, they have a lot of unnecessary parties sometimes, but overall it's pretty quiet, also because most of the crew have other ships besides the Moby Dick.

─ Marco was the one who discovered your love of singing, he listened to you while you were showering one night, and although he didn't pressure you to make it “public” since you hadn't had a chance to give a concert yet, he was like a proud mother ranting about how pretty it was your voice.

─The next few days you have Ace and Thatch begging to hear something because they were bored and Marco couldn't stop commenting on how well you sang, so it was your first private audition.

─ These two slept like babies after you reached the softer tones of the song, no one had ever blessed their ears like that.

─ Absolutely everyone knows that you have the most beautiful voice on the planet (according to Ace) after that, so the people you are closest to who were unaware of this side of you asked you for a demonstration.

─ Of course Whitebeard already knew this before anyone else, only that he wasn't going to force you to do shows for the crew if you didn't want to share your hobby, you only started to bring out this side of yourself when you gained more trust with everyone and felt comfortable.

─ Then you started singing more often with the crew acting as an audience, you always received applause even if you were just warming up your vocal cords.

─ Marco now takes the medications that are harmful to your throat very strictly, he doesn't want your voice to be ruined by being so pretty.

─ Ace and Thatch, your number one fans, probably the founders of your fan group, have a board in the kitchen with photos of you as if you were one of those famous singers that appear in the newspapers.

─ Sometimes you and Izo perform to entertain the crew, he dances and you sing.

─ You usually leave the ship to go work in some bars, since you like it, it doesn't hurt to make money from your passion if you can.

─ When someone spends a lot of time away traveling on missions, you are one of the first people they visit, all the fatigue seems to go away when they hear your voice.

─ Thatch will also ask you to help him clean up the mess in the kitchen because he knows you'll start humming while you two clean, making the task much more enjoyable.

─ You better start to believe you are a superstar because Ace will spread the word so much that he has a friend who sings like angels that your reward poster will be forgotten compared to your rumors.

─ This great family is proud of you and the achievements that you set for yourself, whether as a pirate or as a singer, whatever path you end up choosing, they will be there for you.

#op #one piece #one piece x reader #request #reader insert #kid pirates #kid pirates x reader #whitebeard pirates x reader #whitebeard pirates #sfw #singer reader #reader is not specified so...#fem reader #male reader #gn reader #x reader #one piece x singer reader

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subskz · 6 months

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thoughts on bratty channie? it’s waaaayyyy out of character for him, so i wanna hear your take on it. i just want to degrade him and call him my little slut instead of the usual praise…just curious on how he’d take that…hehe

ohh a very good question…i agree it’s always been difficult for me to envision channie as a brat bc he’s just so prime obedient puppy angel who wants nothing more than to please you! your praise is all he needs to do whatever you ask of him without question, so he’d rarely feel the need to act out when being your good boy comes so naturally to him and is so rewarding for him! i also think he’d prefer to be a soft sub a lot of the time, so seeking punishment isn’t always smth he’d try to do bc he’d rather be taken care of

that being said he does definitely have his moments! he’s very playful and likes to joke around which sometimes results in him saying the most insane, out of pocket things just to get a reaction out of you. but what’s so endearing abt it is that he always backs down immediately after, breaking into cute giggles n waving his hand around saying “i’m joking i’m joking~~!” it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s so giddy and delighted w himself for teasing you, and he mostly just messes with you when he’s feeling clingy, like an overexcited puppy who’ll do anything to get you to focus on him. he also admittedly really likes your attention and gets a lil sulky when he feels like you’re ignoring him on purpose, so that might be one of the few times you see his “bratty” side. he’ll get way too close for comfort esp when you’re preoccupied w smth else, push his face super close to yours and tilt his head playfully from side to side when u try to nudge him away, taunt you w the biggest dimply grin on his face, act oblivious to how he’s riling you up, trap you in tight hugs and refuse to let go, and (this is a big one) mimic your words in the cutest whiny voice

sometimes it’s hard to tell whether he’s really just joking around or trying to get a rise out of you, bc most of what he does is kinda harmless, even at his brattiest 😭 he’s pretty persistent though so it’s only a matter of time until you run out of patience, and when you do he crumbles instantly. it takes just one pointed look to have him switching up and apologizing through nervous giggles. the moment you get your hands on him he just melts, and you know right away that this is exactly what he was hoping for. his eyes go wide as moons and glaze over like he’s ready to do anything to make it up to you, bc it’s not really the fight that he enjoys, it’s your attention and the rough treatment he gets out of it

he instantly reverts back to his good boy demeanor and accepts your punishment all too eagerly. it sends shivers down his spine when you touch him without any of your usual care, bc if he wants to act like a brat then he gets treated like one. he lets you bend him to your will and toss him around like he’s weightless, letting out the sweetest little whines when you start talking down to him. call him a dumb little slut for playing all these games w you instead of just asking for what he wants like a good boy, mock him for how hard it makes him to act like a desperate whore, and he’d let out the filthiest most pathetic moan like he’s trying to prove your point <3 he’d be begging, whining, and apologizing the entire time but he loves every bit of how how grab his face and force him to look up at you, scornfully asking why he’s suddenly not laughing anymore. the humiliation makes his whole body burn in the best way, and he does admittedly start to feel guilty for causing you so much trouble, you can see it all over his face and it’s very endearing 💔

still, he takes whatever you give him without complaint and will even start to whimper out in agreement as you degrade him, babbling abt how he’s just a needy puppy too dumb to use his words and a stupid little slut who needs your attention so bad, he’ll do anything to get it. it almost makes you feel sorry for him hearing how his voice breaks and seeing how his eyes well up w tears, but you can see the way he’s practically throbbing w arousal from your words alone, and you know how much he’s getting off on it. he nods mindlessly to everything you say and sniffles out for you to be mean to him and teach him a lesson. i think the worst punishment for him would be getting tied up w a vibrator inside him/pressed to his cock and a gag in his mouth 🥰 not only does it drive him crazy to be completely helpless like that, unable to touch you or hide his face or cover his body when he’s embarrassed, but it’s also the exact opposite of what he wanted ): poor baby would cry and mewl so pitifully around the gag, drooling and leaking all over himself as he tries to slur out for you to please pay attention to him, he promises to be good for you!! but you just deny him over and over and watch his cute face scrunch up in frustration and pleasure when you tell him this is all a bad boy like him gets. it’s definitely not a dynamic he could handle often, and he’d need lots of praise afterwards, but there’s smth so exhilerating to him abt being treated so coldly from time to time

#ask #💌 channie

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pastelspoon31 · 5 months

Text

Chapter 6: What a nice neighbour! (Older!König x Younger!Reader) - NSFW

tw: age gap (early 20s reader, AT LEAST mid-40s König), manipulation, non-con, somnophilia, drugging, gullible reader :(, a little bit of pseudo-incest, pretty much dead dove, again.. SUPER ICKY

A/N: Starting off with a little insight from König’s perspective before somno-ing our reader again ^_^

Chapter 5.5 | Chapter 6 | Masterlist

König sometimes wonder if you were genuinely that naive, or if it was a façade to get him to continue with his games.

But that was none of his concern, of course.

…Well, sort of.

He enjoyed the current dynamic between the two of you more than he'd like to admit.

Besides, it’s not like it’s his fault that you kept coming back to his place after each encounter, is it? There must be at least one braincell in that pretty little head of yours that was blaring warning signs, and yet here you always find yourself in his place somehow with your innocent, clueless, dumb smile on your face.

…Or were you just acting dumb?

Oh, that would be an entirely different case, wouldn’t it?

But, whatever. He had his fun, and he would continue to have his fun, and it was only a matter of time before he'd have his next encounter with your pretty little cunt, whether you liked it or not.

He could only hope that you'll make the right choice, and keep coming back.

You did enjoy spending time with your father figure afterall, don’t you?

Ah, his little hase.

What a good, stupid, clueless little girl.

———

"Would you... date an older woman?" You laid in König's lap giggling in an almost ditzy manner as you asked.

Spending dinner at his place again, you both somehow ended up on his couch playing a game of truth or dare- but it was mostly truths since the both of you were comfortable enough with each other at this point.

"I have, liebling." He chuckled. "Why, are you jealous?" He teased.

"You have?" You let out a little gasp, purposely ignoring the following question. “How old? I mean you're pretty old yourself so..-"

"Hey!" He playfully smacked your forehead as you giggled.

"Well, if you must know, she was a beautiful woman in her mid forties."

"So you have a type?" You tilted your head.

"Not exactly." He chuckled. "She was just.. someone I relied on for a bit while I was in the process of getting over my late wife," His tone was a bit somber as he talked about it, his hand stroking your hair.

"I see... Sorry, I didn't mean to bring back any memories."

"It's alright, liebling. You're too young to be worried about the past. It's not a burden for me anymore, so don't let it be for you." He continued caressing your hair.

"How about you? Would you.. date older men?" He tried not to smirk at the idea.

"I would," You answered almost immediately, "I mean, if they were attractive, then I wouldn't mind."

"So what you're saying is, if an old geezer asked you out, you'd go for it?" He teased as he looked down at your scrunched up face.

"Geezer? Who taught you that word?!" You chuckled as the wine in your glass sloshed around.

"You're not the only one who can use the internet, hase." He grinned, and you laughed.

"You're right. But, if the man is a geezer, I wouldn't. Maybe a gentleman who's a bit older, but not a geezer."

"Ah, so a gentleman who's a bit older." He hummed, pretending to not know who you were talking about.

"Yeah. Like, someone who knows a lot about the world, and is experienced." You continued, oblivious to the growing smirk on König’s lips.

"Someone like an old war veteran?" He asked, his hand now trailing down your back, rubbing it gently.

So comfy…

"Yes! Like an old war vet- I mean, yes, someone like that. I wouldn't mind. I mean, not really." You babbled, giggling as a strange fluffy feeling starts to cloud your mind.

Someone capable, ready to settle down- Maybe even already financially stable!

You were not against working together with your partner to achieve financial freedom but it's just easier if it's not an issue to think of anymore right?

But of course, that was not your main criteria! You were not a gold digger!

As long as that someone is nice, takes care of you, loves you..

Someone who is reliable, strong, and can teach you the ropes on things you don't learn in school.

Someone like König, perhaps.

...

Someone like König?

"Not you though, you're like.. my father-figure so you don't have to feel weird about asking." You quickly countered after a brief period of awkward silence.

"Oh, is that so, hase?" He smiled, "You're a very honest girl when you're drunk. And what makes you think I would have any interest in you that way?" He chuckled.

...You definitely read him wrong.

Shit.

"I didn't say that! I mean- well, you're my dad. But like, not like a real dad, I mean.." You blushed and turned away, hiding your face in his thigh. "Ugh.. I hate it when you tease me like this.."

"Aww, but hase, it's cute." He chuckled.

"Only you think it's cute.."

"So if I asked you, you'd say no, hm?" He asked, his hand still stroking your hair.

"No to what? I mean- I'm sorry, I'm not making sense, am I?" You laughed.

"Do you want me to be blunt, liebling?"

"You always are.."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He took your glass and set it on the coffee table before pulling you to sit up on his lap. The fuzzy feeling in your skull making your head almost too heavy to hold up by yourself, making you lean onto his shoulder as you looked up at the older man with a dazed expression.

“Hm..?" You blushed as you looked at him. "What do you mean..?"

"Don't play coy with me, liebling." He held you closer. "I'm asking if you'd be okay with being more than a daughter."

Well, that was unexpected.

"I.. I mean, I guess." You frowned lightly. König sure is being a bit weird right now.

Afterall, what does he mean more than a daughter? Like a real daughter? What a silly suggestion! He’s obviously German so there’s no way-

"You guess? Don't tell me you have no feelings for me, hase?" He faked a sad look.

This feels.. strange. He has feelings for you? That can’t be right..

"Of course not! It's not that, König, it's just.." You blushed, "I'm just not sure if I'm.. Ready."

"For what?" He stroked your hair.

"Well, everything.." You sighed, and looked down. "You're like a father to me and you've been helping me a lot and.. and-"

"And? There's more, hase. What's on your mind?" He rubbed your back soothingly, and you felt yourself relaxing under his touch.

"I feel guilty."

"Guilty? What for?" He frowned.

"Because I.. I.." You felt yourself blushing harder.

"I've been feeling weird about you." You admitted, your voice quiet.

"Weird? In a good way, I hope."

"I mean, yeah.. You're a really good guy. You're like, perfect. Too perfect." You sighed and leaned into him closer.

"And... Sometimes.." Your drunken mind struggled with your rational side, wondering if you should reveal something that had been plaguing you for a while.

"Sometimes what, hase?" He hummed.

"I've dreamt.." You contemplated telling him.

He wouldn’t judge you, right? He promised that he never would so technically.. It should be safe to tell him, especially with all the other things you have trusted him with!

"About what, liebling?" He cooed, rubbing his hands down your arms.

"At night.. Well, every night.. I have been dreaming about you.." Your voice was soft and meek as you spoke.

"I see.." König couldn't help the grin that was growing on his face.

"But, it's not.. It's not like a normal dream. Like... More intimate," You hid your blushing face in his shoulder, the alcohol finally loosening you up.

Or rather whatever the hell that König had added to your drink, again.

"More intimate, hm? Like what, hase?" He couldn't stop grinning.

"Like.. Like the dreams where it feels really real and you're touching me and it's.. I wake up and the um.. white sticky fluids I told you about.." You trailed off in embarrassment.

"Ah.. So you've been holding back details the other day when I was checking you.."

"I'm sorry.." The embarrassment and guilt was unmistaken in your tone as you looked away, eyes barely open.

"Oh, hase, don't be. It's only natural." He kissed your forehead, his hands stroking the back of your head.

"I'm sorry.." You apologized again, still trying to look at him in the eyes.

God, your head felt so heavy.

"Don't be.." He continued to hush you, "It's normal. And there's nothing to feel guilty about. It's only natural that you'd have sexual urges." He cooed, trying his best not to sound so excited.

"It's embarrassing, König.. M’not.. Not.. Hmm..” König felt his cock harden as you head tilted to the side, your consciousness slowly slipping away right before his eyes again.

"Oh, but why?" He chuckled, "I'm like your father. Of course, I wouldn't get angry. It's just another thing that happens. You can't control it.." He cooed as he

"Mmm.."

"Now, don't worry about a thing." His eyes glinted with excitement as he saw the crushed pill in your drink take effect once again as your eyes struggled to stay open.

"It's okay. Everything's fine, liebling. Just close your eyes and relax.."

You could barely nod and let your eyes close as König stroked your hair, humming softly.

"Just drift off to sleep, hase.." He continued his hypnotic strokes, his humming sending you to a dreamless state of bliss.

"That's a good girl.."

When he was certain you were out cold, König laid you on the couch and carried you upstairs to his bedroom.

"Let's see how wet that cunny of yours is tonight, hm?" He chuckled as he laid you down and carefully took off your clothes.

"Ah, and look at that.."

You were dripping already.

"How sweet.."

He spread your legs, and began lapping at your folds.

"Oh, sweet liebling.."

His tongue pushed past the barrier of your cunt, lapping at the slick walls, sucking on the soft skin.

"You taste so fucking good as always.." He groaned, his hands holding onto your hips.

"I bet you were thinking about me fucking your little brains out, weren't you? You've been such a needy little girl. Dreaming about your König fucking you all the time." He continued licking and sucking your sweet little cunny, his chin already wet with your slick.

"Such a needy little girl, hase.."

König pulled away from your dripping pussy, a string of saliva and your juices still connecting his mouth to your glistening pussy.

"Look at the mess you've made, liebling." He tutted, and grabbed a cloth.

"Soaking my bed and leaving a mess on the sheets.." He cleaned the slick up, and wiped his chin clean.

"And you didn't even realize it, did you? Dirty girl.."

"I wonder, would you be embarrassed if I showed you a pictures of this, hase? What if I woke you up and showed you how dirty you were, hm?"

"I wonder what you'd do, hase."

"Maybe, I should take a video and show it to you so you can see how much of a mess you've made.." He tapped his cockhead on your swollen clit. “I do have a big collection of just you,”

"It's quite the sight to behold, afterall," The older man chuckled to himself.

"But then again, I can't be too cruel. I don't want you to panic and run away from me." He smirked, his cock throbbing as he rubbed it between your folds.

"After all, I'm not a monster. I just.. get a little bit ahead of myself sometimes.”

He pushed past your tight entrance, feeling your wet walls fluttering around his massive throbbing cock as he bottomed out.

"A-ah, hase.." König let out a low groan as he buried his cock inside of your cunt, your pussy clenching tightly.

"My pretty girl.." He praised, his hands grabbing onto your hips.

"You're a natural born whore for me, aren't you?" He cooed.

"Tight and wet for your König.." He slowly began pulling out.

"A-ah!~" You were unconscious, and yet the sounds you were making were so lewd.

"My sweet, pretty girl.." He thrusted back in, letting out a moan.

"Fuck.. Fuck, hase..!" König groaned and thrusted his cock into your tight hole, feeling the slick walls of your pussy gripping him.

"I'll fill you up nice and full, liebling.." He grunted, his fingers digging into your skin.

"F-fuck.. Hase.. You feel so fucking good..!"

"I can't wait to have you begging for my cock.." He moaned.

Your face was scrunched up as you whined in your sleep.

"You'll be mine, won't you?" He grunted as he thrust harder.

"Won't you, liebling? You'll be my sweet, pretty whore and you'll come to me whenever you need to be fucked, hm?" König smirked as he heard you whine more in your sleep.

"You'd do that for me, hase? Let this old man take care of you? I'd give you everything you ever wanted, liebling.. All the gifts and treats.."

"You just have to be mine." He pulled your legs up and bent them towards your chest, fucking into you harder.

"Ngh, f-fuck.. Liebling..!" He groaned, his fingers digging deeper.

"You feel so good, hase.. I'm close.. You'll take my cum, won't you, hase? My pretty hase.." You let out a soft moan and clenched around him, and König groaned.

"F-fuck..! I'm coming.." He gasped, his cock throbbing.

"Take my cum, hase.. Take it all..!" He spilled inside of you, filling you up with his seed, his cock still pulsing.

"Mm.. Mein liebling.." He gently put your legs back down and pulled out.

"Oh, hase.. Such a sweet girl.." He murmured and rubbed his thumb over your cunt, the swollen lips glistening with slick and his cum.

"So dumb and trusting of your König.. Letting him fuck your brains out without knowing.." You remained unconscious as he pushed the cum back into your abused cunny and put your underwear back on, giving it a couple soft pats right above your abused clit for good measure.

"Don't worry, liebling. You won't remember a thing.." He chuckled as he pulled the rest of your clothes back on.

"And when the time is right, you'll know everything.." He gave you a sweet kiss before pulling you onto his chest, falling asleep himself.

———

"König?" You woke up feeling disoriented and confused, seeing yourself in König's room.

"Liebling." König smiled warmly at you, "I'm glad you're awake. I was a bit worried you'd pass out and miss your classes today," He was getting ready himself, pulling on his t-shirt.

"Uh.. What happened last night? I don't remember anything after dinner.." You tried to sit up but were met with a sharp pain in your lower body.

"Ouch.." You whined softly. König smirked to himself as he heard you complain but played oblivious as he sat down beside you.

"What's wrong, hase?" He feigned concern.

"Ugh.. My stomach hurts.. I think it's the wine.." You rubbed your tummy with a soft pout- A sight that made König’s cock twitch in his pants.

If only you know all the ways you drive him crazy…

"Ah, you must have drank too much. You fell asleep while we were playing, so I brought you up here." He lied smoothly.

"I see.." You winced in pain from the growing headache throbbing in your head.

"Would you like some medicine?" He offered.

"No, no, it's okay." You groaned lightly as you sat up- Immediately felt something gush out of your sore pussy, making you panic.

"Ahh! K-König!-”

"Hase?"

"The.. T-The stuff.. It's there again-" You whimpered, feeling like you wanted to cry.

"The what, liebling?" König looked at you with a calm smile.

"T-The sticky fluid.." You felt embarrassed, but knew that if you didn't tell him, he'd probably scold you.

"Ah, hase.. Did you dream about me again?" He cooed and cupped your cheek, his thumb rubbing against it soothingly.

"Y-yes.."

"Oh, liebling.." He hummed, and pulled you closer, "It's okay. It's normal, ja? There's nothing to be embarrassed about." He smiled.

"But.."

"But, what, liebling?"

"I made a mess.."

"Oh, hase, it's okay. I'll take a closer inspection and we'll get that sorted out, okay?" He smiled sweetly.

"O-okay.."

"Now, spread your legs, hase. Let your König take care of you, ja?”

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