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My cartoon for this week’s Guardian Books.

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From Vanity Fair’s Dictionary for the Motion Pictures, March 1922

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Happy 100th birthday, Ray Bradbury (b. 22 August 1920) 

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If there was a way to run SUPER MEGA AD BLOCKER on this website I fucking would

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• An Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the television, getting drunk, and smoking cigars.

• A dangling participle walks into a bar. Enjoying a cocktail and chatting with the bartender, the evening passes pleasantly.

• A bar was walked into by the passive voice.

• An oxymoron walked into a bar, and the silence was deafening.

• Two quotation marks walk into a “bar.”

• A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite.

• Hyperbole totally rips into this insane bar and absolutely destroys everything.

• A question mark walks into a bar?

• A non sequitur walks into a bar. In a strong wind, even turkeys can fly.

• Papyrus and Comic Sans walk into a bar. The bartender says, "Get out -- we don't serve your type."

• A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping to nip it in the bud.

• A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.

• Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They converse. They depart.

• A synonym strolls into a tavern.

• At the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar -- fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, and sharp as a tack.

• A run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute little sentence fragment.

• Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapses to the bar floor.

• A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered.

• An allusion walks into a bar, despite the fact that alcohol is its Achilles heel.

• The subjunctive would have walked into a bar, had it only known.

• A misplaced modifier walks into a bar owned by a man with a glass eye named Ralph.

• The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense.

• A dyslexic walks into a bra.

• A verb walks into a bar, sees a beautiful noun, and suggests they conjugate. The noun declines.

• A simile walks into a bar, as parched as a desert.

• A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.

• A hyphenated word and a non-hyphenated word walk into a bar and the bartender nearly chokes on the irony

- Jill Thomas Doyle

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Love’s An Ache In The Jaw (II)*

helloooo, here’s the final part to this fic about two TAs who hate each other more than anything. this has a LOT of smut, so be careful reading. 15.7k words. it is my longest fic, standing at 33k words altogether. i don’t know how to explain that.

donate to my ko-fi here. thank you, happy reading! as always, reblog work that you like! i appreciate it loads <3

Keep reading

[sunflowerryvol6]

Love’s An Ache In The Jaw (I)*

hiii here’s a fic about TA!Harry and TA!Yasmine who hate each other <3 this is part one. it’s 17.5k and has smut so just be careful. 

here is my ko-fi which i’m basically begging you to donate to IF YOU ALREADY HAVEN’T. that means y’all who have already given me money are not allowed to again. 

okay, happy reading, as usual. please reblog and send me feedback!

***

Keep reading

[sunflowerryvol6]

Love’s An Ache In The Jaw (I)*

hiii here’s a fic about TA!Harry and TA!Yasmine who hate each other <3 this is part one. it’s 17.5k and has smut so just be careful. 

here is my ko-fi which i’m basically begging you to donate to IF YOU ALREADY HAVEN’T. that means y’all who have already given me money are not allowed to again. 

okay, happy reading, as usual. please reblog and send me feedback!

***

Keep reading

[sunflowerryvol6]

under the same roof | the masterlist

a harry styles rpf co-written by aj (formerly harryonstage/mermaidbush) and annie (marlahey) *originally posted: fall 2018 | *edited/rewritten: summer 2020 rating/warnings: explicit/mature for les sexytimes and adult language, contains stalking behaviours by a peripheral character and poor child development research notes: …surprise! aj and I reconnected recently after losing touch ages ago. we found ourselves feeling very nostalgic for the time we spent with this fic and vaguely alarmed at how objectively terrible it is in places when aj dug up the old files; a joke about some harsh edits suddenly became a wildly entertaining writing exercise since we’re both arguably slightly better at this by now. it’s been a long, crazy year for everyone and we hoped that reviving this fic would offer a little joy.  You’ve developed a routine with the single father named Harry who lives in your building as the two of you ride the lift together nearly every morning. It’s simple, pleasant, and contained entirely in a seven by seven foot box. Until one day, it’s not.

|| part one: a stickler for the rules  || part two: an old friend || part three: all the time you need || part four: please say it   || part five: just couldn’t wait  || part six: ready our other writing: my full fic page | my ao3 | my ffnet | aj’s wattpad

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what i’m reading now & have read this year

favorites in bold italics.

currently reading:

Lady Chatterley’s Lover

Normal People

The People of Paper

Anna Karenina

—

FICTION:

- The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

- The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

- Crush by Richard Siken

- The Hours by Michael Cunningham

- The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah

- Perfume by Patrick Süskind

- Beautiful World, Where Are You

- Speak by Laurie Hansen

- The Time Traveler’s Wife

- Looking for Alaska by John Green

- The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

- The Importance of Being Ernest by Oscar Wilde

- The Land of Stories: The Wishing Spell by Chris Colfer

- The Yellow Wallpaper

- My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Otessa

- The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

- The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Breakfast at Tiffany’s

- The Judgment by FK

- A Country Doctor by FK

- A Hunger Artist by Franz Kafka

- Angry Management by Chris Kutcher

- The History of Love by Nicole Krauss

- Angry Management by Chris Crutcher

- The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde

- Lolita by Vladimir Nabokev

- The Secret History by Donna Tartt

- Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes

- Coraline by Neil Gaiman

- To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

- Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

- Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

- Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

- The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams

- The Circle

- A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

- The Iliad by Homer

- Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella

- Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger

- Swann’s Way: In Search of Lost Time by Marcel Proust

- The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

- A Witch in Winter by Ruth Warburton

- A Witch in Love by Ruth Warburton

- Call Me By Your Name by Andre Aciman

- The Harry Potter Series by J.K. Rowling

- Siddhartha by Hermann Herat

- West Side Story

- The Brother Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky

- Circe by Madeline Miller

- A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khalid Hosseini

- The Kite Runner by Khalid Hosseini

- Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

- Macbeth by William Shakespeare

- Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

- The Book Thief by Markus Zuzak

- To Catch An Heiress by Julia Quinn

- Finding Audrey by Sophie Kinsella

- Metamorphosis by Kafka

- Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

- Heidi by Johanna Spyri

- Thus Spake Zarathustra by Nietzsche

- Bridget Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding

- The Hating Game by Sally Thorne

- Heartless by Marissa Meyer

- Washington Square by Henry James

- Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronté

- The Hatchet by Gary Paulsen

—

NON-FICTION:

- When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi

- On Writing by Stephen King

- Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali

- Our Band Could Be Your Life

- Letters to Milena by Franz Kafka

- Provocations by Camille Paglia

- Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari

- The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

- 21 Lessons for the 21st Century by Yuval Noah Harari

- Becoming by Michelle Obama

- Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes

- Mastery by Robert Greene

- Principles by Ray Dalio

- Furious Love by Sam Kashner & Nancy Schoenberger

- The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli

- Quiet by Susan Cain

- Know This edited by John Brockman

- The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin

- Thinking Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman

- Shoe Dog by Phil Knight (The creator of Nike)

- Atomic Habits by James Clear

- The Art of War by Sun Tzu

- Girl, Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis

- Rich Dad, Poor Dad by Robert T. Kiyosaki

- Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon

-The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck by Mark Manson

- Everything is Fucked: A Book About Hope by Mark Manson

- 50 Essays

- SHE SAID: Breaking the Harvey Weinstein Sexual Assault Case by Jodi Kantor & Meghan Twohey

- Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill

- Women in Science by Rachel Ignotofsky

- Make Your Bed by William H. McRavin

—

BOOKS I WANT TO READ:

- Hamlet

—

WHERE TO BUY 📚

it’s a truth universally acknowledged that collecting books is an expensive task, no matter how worthy of the expenditure. sites to browse would include:

better world books

EVERYONE NEEDS TO CHECK THIS SITE OUT. the books are in good condition, even if they’re used. it’s sustainable, affordable (prices as low as $3), & for every book you buy, a book gets donated to illiterate children in the pursuit of ensuring literacy. there’s free shipping for many countries, all of the time.

thriftbooks

this one i’d recommend solely for Americans, because shipping is extremely expensive otherwise.

amazon

after searching for your book title, scroll down and there’s a section filled with other sellers selling the same book for a lower price, but still having to go through amazon/provide fast shipping. i use this a lot

pdf drive is also an option for classics and most nonfiction (free of expense, but the writer doesn’t get money, sooo)

-

songs to listen to while reading:

- the spotify reading soundtrack is great, but i also regular these

— NOTE —

enjoy, and stop by my ask box to talk about books or ask for recs//places you can buy/get them.

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“Rhubarb?” Her face is twisted up, “What? What makes you think I’m going to eat my cat –” 

“I heard you and that rotten man say it.” 

It hits her, then, the conversation she and Niall had, had earlier when they were collecting the moss. When there was a splash in the water and the piece of driftwood came shortly after, “Were you listening to us?” She inquired, stuck in her spot, afraid to move – afraid to breathe, really, but what was she going to do, sit there and stare dumbly at it? She at least needed an answer or two. The creature, that was looking more like a regular man as the seconds passed, gave a curt nod as his response, “So you – you’re the one who sent those pretty shells?” 

“Pretty?” He all but turned his nose up to her, “Those were a threat.” 

or

Y/N didn’t know mermaids existed and Harry cannot stand humans 

Keep reading

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“Okay,” she agreed, “Yeah, we can – if that’s what you want to do, we can go to the amusement park.” 

“Do you want to though?” He inquired, “We always do what I want to do. Sometimes I feel like you’re just agreeing with me ‘cos I’m whiny.” 

“If you want to, then I want to,” she answers without much thought, because…well, she guesses that’s true isn’t it? Because if she sees Harry smile, she wants to do it, even if it means something dreadful. Even if it means sweating through her shirt, and feeling sticky. 

Maybe she’d get to see him smile like she did on the Ferris Wheel? That’d be nice. 

or 

Firemen have a lot of feelings and it turns out bakers do too

part 1

part 2

part 3

(20k+ words)

Keep reading

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“I wanted to see.”

Y/N’s eyes flit towards where he’s cradling her jaw with startlingly demure intentions, her breath catching in her throat at the sudden change in atmosphere. “See what?”

“See you, obviously.” He squeezes her cheek playfully, rolling his eyes with mirth. “Wanted to see what you looked like in my glasses, acting like a fucking moron with my dress shirt falling off your shoulders and my teeth marked all over your neck.”

Y/N swallows thickly at his tender remark, and the feathery sensation of his fingers dusting across her flesh sends pulses of heat racing throughout her entire body. Her voice comes out as a strained whisper, so quiet that it’s almost inaudible. “Well?”

Harry uses his thumb to tap over the center of her parted lips thoughtfully, quirking his eyebrows in the same manner she had. “Well what?”

Y/N comes to the sudden epiphany that he looks so much younger without his glasses. His features aren’t as chiseled and stoic as usual, almost as if the harsh charcoal lines have been smudged with a kneaded eraser, leaving behind a shaded sketch instead of stony geometric edges. This version of his physique is colored in by someone who appreciates kindness, laughter, and the individualism that comes with drawing outside the typical boundaries, rather than the typical artist, who conforms to calculation, poise, and cool indifference instead. It gives his appearance a more juvenile and approachable hue, meaning he actually looks his age for once, rather than seeming older, colder, and borderline apathetic. Less regal and intimating, more mischievous and personable. Sweeter, even. He’s attractive either way, of course, but he just looks so much more attainable when he’s not using his glasses as a scare tactic to hide away how affectionate he truly is.

Y/N clears her throat lightly, her words made of vulnerable glass and brittle mirrors, capable of shattering into a million pieces if handled incorrectly. “Do you like what you see?”

The corners of Harry’s mouth tilt even higher, and she can spot the buckling indents that suggest his dimples are bound to pop into place any minute now. He leans forward until their Cupid’s bows ghost over each other in suspense, and she suddenly detects the shifting of plastic in front of her eyes, which results in her lashes fluttering out of unsuspecting instinct. She realizes the action is courtesy of Harry’s forefinger, as it has reached up to shift the frames of the accessory, and she watches in a dopey, cross-eyed haze as he uses the pad of the digit to push his glasses further up the bridge of her nose, arranging them into a more secure position. The motion is identical to the one he often performs on himself out of habit, and for some inexplicable reason, that comparison sends a tidal wave of emotions raging through her stuttering chest.

Harry appraises her over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, his gaze made of honey and emeralds as he contemplates the strangely intimate question she’d posed. Do you like what you see?

His tone emerges just as fragile and timid as her own, though its crystalline syllables carry the weight of many unspoken sentiments he may never be able to fully express. “I adore it.”

read more anthropology/philosophy student!harry here

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harry styles as movie/tv show covers.

-please reblog to help reach more audience.

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Harry sighs like he’s relieved the car is nearly empty, while he pulls out of the parking lot of Adam’s flat building, “Did you know that everything you’re feeling is written on your face?” Is what he opened up the conversation with, “You might as well wear a sign that says, ‘I want someone to fuck me’, the others probably could have guessed it right away.”

She didn’t bother disagreeing with him because he was probably right, but her arms do curl around her chest as she retorts, “It’s your fault,” she muttered, “If you would just let me cum, then it wouldn’t be on my mind 24/7! I agreed to be your fuck buddy, not for you to be so –” 

“ – mean? Yeah, I know, I think you may have mentioned that before,” she could hear the grin in his voice, “You’re so irritable when you want to be fucked. Why don’t I take care of that tonight?” 

or

Maybe Harry isn’t as grumpy as Y/N thought but she still can’t stop talking

part 1 

Keep reading

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Kiss Me More

Warnings: Smut. Pornstar AU. Pornography and some cutesy shit.

Kinktober: Day 14 Prompts: Bunny Mask and Tails + Pronstar AU + Harry Styles

'Meeting tomorrow 10 am at my office. Be on time.'

It worked.

You gazed at Jeffery's text for a few minutes, contemplating on whether or not you should shoot Harry a message. He and Jeffery were supposed to be the best of friends, and the only way your boss had agreed to schedule a meeting and a possible shoot was because Harry had spoken to him.

You exit the messaging app, opening your instagram. A host of dm's awaited you, ones which you did not bother checking, quickly scrolling down to the last conversation with Harry.

"You up?"

He wasn't online, and you did not expect him to be. Despite having one of the strongest following among all the actors you knew, Harry wasn't one for too much of social media. He used to be, back in the days of college when you didn't have much idea about him other than the fact that he was this chocolatey male model who slept around a lot, the typical fuckboy.

Stupid stereotypes.

Now here you were, freshly out of college with a degree in music theory, the lack of jobs and opportunities in the field only striking you when you had graduated and found yourself struggling for bills.

Filming porn was easier.

No. It wasn't. Not at all.

A lot of connections, calling up old friends, a lot of unwavering resolve and you had gotten a few producers who were ready to cast you in their projects. It was hard work, but you were climbing up, getting around to a decent following. The amount you made was more than enough, and you had made a few good friends too.

You had reconnected with a few old ones too. Like Harry.

Okay.

He wasn't your friend. He was a guy you gazed at from the distance, eying him up and down and checking him out in your own discreet fashion. You never approached him, your six-two hunk of a boyfriend with a bucket full of insecurity and arrogance being one of the prime reasons. You wished you had, you really did, especially when your boyfriend of six years, your best friend from your highschool days, dumped you over a text.

You had one clip of yours on pornhub and a half-shot film in your hypothetical bag when Jeffery had invited you to one of his parties. You had strung along, pleasantly surprised to find a familiar tuft of curls and the sharpest jawline you had even seen.

Harry had cut his hair short.

Last time you had seen him he had beautiful locks, strands tumbling way past his shoulder, sometimes held together by a clip, sometimes collected in an easy bun.

His charisma remained.

He hadn't even looked at you and you were smoothening the ends of your dress, carding your fingers through your hair and puckering up your lips, trying to pretend like you weren't as disheveled as you felt, a burst of butterflies exploding in your chest.

Wow. Is that what they call 'The Harry effect?'

The Harry effect worked wonders. You had a short conversation with him that night, pleasantly surprised to find out he remembered you, even more surprised that he was such a gentleman. Throughout the conversation, he carried himself gracefully, a warmth in his eyes which made you feel all tingly on the insides, happy vibes flowing from his dimples and settling on your skin.

His voice, you realized, was something which could persuade you to do anything. Shave your eyebrows off, slam your boss's face into a cow's behind. The list could go on and on.

His voice could make you cum right on the spot.

You had heard it from your device before, in the dead hours of the night when you would be touching yourself to sleep, rubbing circles to your clit in the same rhythm with which Harry pounded into someone on the screen, your cunt throbbing as you imagined him behind you, his juicy thighs flexing and veiny hands wrapping around your throat as he took what he wanted, wrecking your insides and making you feel good about it.

Having that syrupy baritone directed at you, even though it was what is called a civilized conversation between long lost acquaintances, you could not stop the filthy images from raking in your mind. Almost on autopilot, you started taking in his fingers, huge rings fit snugly around perfectly sculpted fingers, the veins a dewy blue and in perfect alignment. His hands were perfect.

You could use some perfection wrapped around your neck.

The five minute conversation made you feel hot, beads of sweat dripping down from the turtleneck of your little bodycon dress, beads of perspiration matting your hair at the nape. Don't they say a man is at his sexiest when he pays attention?

Harry made you feel craved. Valid. Wanted.

It was too much. When he clasped your hand, another circling around your waist and pulling you into a light hug, you were sure you would explode. You would do something stupid, like take in an embaressing waft of his cologne, or moan out or have your juices leak down your thighs.

You weren't even wearing panties the first time you had met him.

"And babydoll," he interrupted you, surprising you by calling you by the first bit of your snap username, the name you were commonly referred to by your fans. You gasped as you sized him up, leaning back a little as he twisted his rings around his fingers, the teeming lights of the party fading to a distant bokeh as his handsome face occupied your vision. He leant in, a hand placed around your waist to keep you steady, his nose dipping downwards. He dusted his lips over your brow, fireworks exploding all over your lips, expecting him to kiss you.

He didn't.

He dragged a knuckle down the apple of your cheek, whispering, "you look very pretty tonight." Before he let you go, reminding you to enjoy the party and to stay in touch.

Fucker.

<You should kiss me more>

That little bit of contact had you hot, your cheeks burning and legs quivering as you retreated to the washrooms, entering one of the stalls and slamming the door shut, leaning against the wall. Without even knowing it, you were lifting up the hem of your dress, your fingers seeking the wetness between your legs, your lips caught in between your teeth as a weak attempt to muffle your moans, the embarrassment of needing to get off because Harry Styles spoke to you and touched you driving you closer to your brink.

When you went back home that evening and checked your instagram, you found he had followed you.

Two days later, you saw the fucking green circle next to his icon, a video of him careless lying on a beach with some friends, Jeff and Mitch included.

Wow. Harry was insanely attractive, and you had always associated him to some sex-god and an all around casanova. Seeing him do mundane things, simple everyday activities, all of it just accentuated his charm.

Your crush on him was skyrocking, and you had no grievances.

"Hi."

Your device pinged, the text you had been waiting for flashing across your homescreen. You jumped across the bed, scooping up your phone and nestling your neck against the pillows, a bug smile popping on your face.

"Jeff called for a meeting."

"Really? He asked me too, can you believe it?"

"I can."

You giggled as you replied, picturing him shaking his head and carding his fingers through his locks.

Just like that, some odd fifteen minutes later, you were stretching, applying a face pack and doing all the 'self-care' things, all while shooting back and forth texts to Harry. He had confirmed that Jeff wanted you both to film together, and the meeting to be held the next day was about dishing out the details and getting to know each other better before you get to doing it.

All of this is absolutely crazy. A part of you was fangirling, and on the edge of a freak out. This was a guy you had a crush on back in your college days. More importantly, he was a celebrity. His videos were a big part of your regular nighttime activities, and for a while Harry had been hinting that he had watched your porn too.

You remembered the day you had dm'ed him for the first time, conscious and nervous. Sure, he had sent the follow just that evening, a few hours after running into you at the party, but you were nervous. You were just as nervous when he had facetimed you from one of his hikes, and you were a literal puddle when you had geared up the courage to suggest that you two could film together.

Turned out he had been wanting that too. The quick succession of rescheduling emailed to you by your manager, followed by your boss asking you for an in-person meeting and not some flimsy text was enough proof for that.

Yet, all you could think about was his rings. Those rings were a huge part of his pornography, and his fans loved it. You would happily get in that line.

The next day you ran into Harry on the streets, right outside Jeff's building. He was on the side of the crosswalk, a can of diet coke in his hand.

He drinks diet coke? Like a schoolgirl who has been noticed by a senior, you giggled, slapping your hand over your mouth to stop that excited squeal.

Girl, calm down.

"Guess this is where we say," he smiled widely, dimples popping into his cheeks, a carefree smile on his gorgeous face and just like that, you were a puddle. "Hi, didn't see you there!"

Loud and little whiney, you scoffed at his extravagant tone, letting yourself get swept into his arms for a quick yet flattering hug, joking a little on something which didn't make sense before you were making way to Jeff's office.

Harry was one to knock at doors. Considering the close friendship between him and Jeff, you would have considered he would barge in without a thought, but the thoughtfulness was nice. He even held the door open for you.

This little schoolgirl crush isn't helping. Stay professional.

Jeff had this weird habit of gazing off into space while talking. It was a little nerve-wracking, especially when he would stop mid sentence and take a moment to collect himself, or maybe that was the time he was hit with some groundbreaking production idea which would lead to him shooting out of his seat or flipping his phone and calling the creatives. Whatever it was, it made you want to laugh out loud. Straight at his face. You gave Harry the side eye, amused to find his hand casually slung over his mouth, shoulders thrown back and eyes curved in happy crescents, expression mirroring yours.

Why does he have to be so goddamn cute?

"So, as I was saying…" Jeff started, ribbing the groove of his eyebrows and focussing back on you, a determined glint in his eye as he took you both in. "You'd make a good pair. Harry has got a huge following already, and the internet adores you." He flicked his eyes at you, giving you an appreciative nod. "A fresh face and a fan-favourite one would mean a lot of views. That would mean more engagement and because you guys get along we could have some instagram livestreams and this project-"

"Mate, can you sound any more mercenary?" Harry huffed, the beginnings of Jeff's next words stuck in his throat and then he was staring off in the distance again.

Here we go.

You snorted. Harry sighed. You looked at him. He looked back at you. Jeff gazed off in the distance. You sighed. Harry snorted.

"Y/n," he started. "I know you marked anal play as a soft limit in your contract, but would you willing to give it a go?"

Your lips pursed. From the corners of your eyes, you saw a jump in Harry's neck vein, a blue track delicious popping out as his fingers twitched.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Bunny mask. A tail. A nice collar, a good lingerie set."

Holy shit.

"Seriously Jeff if you turn this into your fetishes and make Y/n uncomfortable-"

"It's not going to be something she doesn't wan-" Jeff jolted up and at the same time you went-

"-I don't mind."

Both the men stared at you.

It was a little shocking. You had kept your pornography determinedly vanilla, the most risque of your filming being when you were getting railed against a window.

Harry's genre was slow and sensual, but filthy. From what you had observed in your late night rendezvous involving your spread legs and a phone screen, Harry loved bringing elements into the equation. It could be the filthiest of dirty talk, the one which could make you cum from words alone, or toys. Or ropes. He often worked with shibari, and you had heard from one of the girls who filmed with him that he managed to stay hard all through the rope work procedure, which made your pussy flutter hard. Not to mention the addition of his rings and the unique print he created each time with the metal bands.

You would like to have a piece of that.

"That's settled then? I'll email you the schedules. Have a good day guys."

Jeff went back to doing the staring-aimlessly-in-the-distance thing.

That is how you found yourself. The set was a bedroom, the script being to keep the setting as traditional as possible. White curtains, pink sheets and a hoard of pillows. In the middle of it you sat, a bunny mask on, hair falling delicately to the sides because they wanted Harry to be able to grab your hair anytime he wanted to. You had six inch heels on, a crotchless bodysuit tied around your body, your breasts hanging loose from the too wide straps. Lips painted a seductive red, faint traces of body glitter and a plethora of lights projected on your face.

A bottle of lube had been poured over your ass, one of the girls helping insert the pink - tailed buttplug. It hurt a little initially, but then it felt good. Especially as you bounced around, shaking your ass at the camera and making kissy and licky faces at the screen.

Another bottle of lube was at the side, some of it already poured over your pussy so there wouldn't be any problem. You sat in the bed on your knees, all prepped up and desperately waiting for them to finish with whatever arrangements were required. You needed to be fucked already.

The setting was hot enough to make you feel horny. Jeff stood there at the side, yelling on his phone. Three cameramen hovered around you, fixing their lenses and lights to capture every light movement that you made, every expression perfected. The room you were filming in was soundproof, so the only sounds which could be heard would be your moans and the sounds which you made when Harry fucked you.

You were nervous.

A delicate fire burned in the pits of your stomach, a slight anxiety fueling into a delicate simmer bubbling over to your skin in the form of drops of sweat. Somebody was kind enough to hand you some tissues, and the people were all busy perfecting what was supposed to break the internet upon release.

You so wished it would.

It would lead to you seeing Harry even more, so sure. You were just praying you wouldn't fuck this up.

Somewhere between your internal monologue, Harry had swept into the room, engaging in an easy conversation with one of the photographers.

However many times you did this, the anticipation of having sex in such a public environment, the excitement of having so many people look at you as somebody just wreaked your insides would never fade away. The gentle burn at getting filmed while you were being filled up, having people watch and get horny and touch themselves to the thought of you, everything just made your head spin and your lips hang open, a streak of drool dripping down.

It just made you insatiable. The idea of doing something like this- the idea of getting fucked in public- even if it was a professional setting for your job, was enough to make your cunt ache. You couldn't explain how much you got off on it, and you didn't even want to, keeping it inside your heart like a twisted fantasy only for you to explore.

"Nice outfit, babydoll." Harry winked at you, touching your cheek lightly as a greeting. A girl behind you was fixing your hair, your stockings perfectly lining against the sides of your thighs and you found him checking you out. Without any discretion.

When were you known to be subtle? You left all of that in college, happily.

You leant backwards, doing a big show of looking him up and down. A translucent black shirt which gave away everything, outlines of his tattoos which you had seemed to memorize in the dead hours of the night seemed to wink at you under the excessive lighting. His pants were high waisted and you wondered why, but considering how Harry has whispered into your ears that he loved to tease, he was going to utilize all fourteen minutes of screentime in completely dismantling you.

You did not have a problem with that.

"Two takes." Somebody yelled. Somebody screamed at Harry to get his hair gelled back, somebody scrambled to fix the ties of your bodysuit.

They started filming with a closeup of your face, your tongue poking out deliciously to slide over your lips, your eyes connected to Harry's who stood behind the camera, twisting the rings around his fingers.

"Did you get all dressed up for me babydoll?" He asked and you nodded eagerly, spreading your thighs and running a hand all over your front, moaning out a "yes."

"So my babydoll is my little bunny today." He hummed, voice clear and raspy, the vibrations brandishing themselves on your skin. You whimpered, flicking your fingers over your nipples in light, teasing motions, hopping about a little.

The mask was a perfect addition. It made you feel so sexy you couldn't help but slide a hand down to your pussy, taking a fleeting look at all the faces gathered around you before you were prying apart your pussy lips, head thrown back in a moan.

A strong hand wrapped itself over your wrist. Harry had undone the button of his pants, the chain slid down and his dick pretty much spilling out, the girth of which got you squirming again.

"Now that's not how it's supposed to be done, right, babydoll?" He cooed, twisting your hand away from your core, kneading your breast and looking you in the eye. "You got dressed up for me. You're my little bunny. So only I get to touch you, right?"

His hand leisurely travelled over your folds, digits lathering your slick all over as you mewled and squirmed, his hold over your boobs keeping you in place. He dipped a finger into you, cursing out at home easily, your cunt clenched around him. "So desperate you are, aren't you."

A guy with the camera moved closer, zooming the lens to capture each expression of your face, sometimes lowering the screens down to how your cunt had swallowed three of his fingers at the moment, his long digits sliding in and out in a rhythm which had you panting and whimpering.

There were people around you. Some of whom you called your friends. Some you hung out with, some who paid you. All of them watching as you were dressed in a bunny's outfit, slutty and seductive, half of your face covered by a black mask, the other half washed in ecstasy. Harry Styles, your college crush and the guy who felt like forbidden treasure, finger-fucking you to the point of delirium, your moans and reactions out for an audience to see.

You could see Harry got off on the exhibitionsim too.

All of this was too hot. You couldn't wait till you would get the chance to jiggle your ass and show your little tail again.

Harry's long digits thrust against your core, a heat burning with each shove as he massaged your walls, your thighs clenching and elbows barely holding you up as you shuddered, your orgasm closer and quicker than you had anticipated. Harry felt it too, and so did so many people around you, because he was slowing down, leaving you clawing and aching for that release, tears pricking your eyes as the high descended, the sharp chime of 'cut' ringing through the air.

You almost fell back in a heap as Harry pulled out of you, your arms giving up but he was holding you up, carefully cradling your face and dusting a kiss against your forehead.

"You okay?" He asked, brushing a teardrop which had managed to crink its way past your eyelids, a heavy sigh and a shaken nod from your end indicating you're fine. You trembled all through the touchups, shivering when the assistant pulled at your hair to fix it. The bottle of lube was squirted over your pussy and spread around, Harry's pants lowering down and his dick out on full display.

<fuck me.>

Filming resumed, this time with Harry fucking you doggy style. It took a few stretches and trial takes, but in the end you both got to a rhythm that suited you well. Made you see the stars, more like.

He grabbed a fistfull of your hair, one of your thighs thrown over the headboard as he slammed into you, a heavily ringed hand kneading your ass. You moaned as the painful sting of the ring bands cut against your skin, the pain so fucking pleasureable you could drown in it.

Harry was groaning. Loud and dripping with pleasure, the sounds of skin slapping as he drilled his cock into you, thighs flexed and crowding yours as you rattled under him, crying from the intensity of his thrusts. He was going hard at it, yet you could feel the burn of passion beyond the stagedness of this act. It was filthy. It was desperate, the touch of his hands skimming the curves of your ass combined with the curses he was unleashing with gritted teeth driving you feral.

You'd be having fun watching the recording of this.

"You enjoying this, little bunny?" He asked, slamming inside you and pausing for a beat before picking pace again. "You enjoy being a little slut for me. Letting daddy use your pretty little pussy to get off."

You moaned. You cried out too when his hips snapped against yours, sliding ahead in the mattress only to be pulled back.

By the tail.

Holy shit. In your sex-induced euphoria, you had forgotten your other hole was stretched too, the sharp burn on Harry's manhandling driving straight to your core, an intense tremor tearing a shriek out of you.

Harry didn't even have to put much force to toss you around. He was strong, his hands easily lifting you up and changing the positions of your legs, maneuvering you so he could get the best angle, all the while your open mouthed moans and cries filled the room, your body growing tense with each buck of his hips.

"You're gonna cum?"

Your face was spilled with tears by now, limbs sore and mind hazy as the camera zoomed around in your peripheral vision, your mind occupied by how good Harry was fucking you and how good he was making you feel.

"I'm going to cum," you cried out, thighs clenching and the knot in your stomach growing as he increased his pace, desperately working for his release and yours.

"Cum for me, bunny." Harry groaned, your legs collapsing at the command as your orgasm shuddered through your spine, white light momentarily blinding you in pleasure. His release spread over the back of your things right after, your body still spasming with the aftershocks of an orgams that had your mind short cirquiting.

"Cut."

The next fifteen minutes went in cleaning up. Lots of tissues, lots of sanitary wipes. The scene was cleared, Jeff all too happy and two assistant sporting proud boners.

"Harry. Y/n. I'm thinking lunch today at that new restaurant? You guys did great."

"As soon as we can feel our legs." Harry groaned, running a hand through his damp curls.

"And take a shower and pee." You added.

"Do it. You did great."

You were near the stalls, a light tee shirt covering your body as you collected a set of towels and soap for yourself. You stepped inside one of the stalls, turning around to lock it when you felt something push the door back, a pink faced Harry Styles entering inside.

"The other shower isn't working," was the only explanation he offered before peeling off that translucent shirt which was fucking with your head right from the start.

"So you're saving time and water?" You asked, pulling away your tee and joining him under the stream of water."

Harry winked at you, flexing the muscles of his taut arms, his wet, tattooed chest leaving sinful ideas in your head.

"Damn right, babydoll."

Maybe this would be the time for him to kiss you. More.

[sunflowerryvol6]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god