plaything || harry styles au

chapter 7

"Harry, Kiwi."

Every night in the red room since the collar was introduced has been rough . More plugs, more restraints, more edging, harder choking.

Tonight isn't any different. It's worse, in fact. Harry always keeps an equal balance of caring and degrading with his kinks. Something inside of him tipped the scale and his caring is now down to bare minimum. He doesn't hurt you, he's just lost his passion. The same eyes that used to watch you lovingly are now dark and full of lust. Bright happy shades of green summer grass have been replaced by dark poison ivy.

Tonight in the red room, Harry wants to try out a new kink: whipping. He had you stand facing against the restraint wall, both of your wrists tied, legs parted, leaning on the wall.

A rough cluster of leather straps bunch into a handle in Harry's hand. They tickle your thigh as Harry teasingly brushes you with the whip.

One light slap from the whip pulls a moan from you. Another slap, harder and more painful. It's a good sting though. The sixth slap is your breaking point. The pleasure doesn't come with the pain anymore. Tears are pouring down your cheeks. It's finally the third time to tap out.

"Harry, please, Kiwi. I can't take it, please" you cry loudly. His hand is already coming down when you say it, punctuating your plea with one final smack. His chest is puffing out as he tries catching his breath. The look on his face is terrifying. Pupils blown out, blending into the dark forest green of his irises. Sweat dripping from his brow. His hair's a complete mess full of knots and frizz. His jaw bone is practically cutting through his cheek from him clenching it so hard. This is the first time you've been genuinely scared of him.

Your body jumps when Harry throws the whip against the wall in a fit of frustration. His breathing picks up again. You flinch when he takes one huge step directly against your body to untie your hands. As soon as you're free, Harry's halfway across the room again.

"Fuck!" He curses and drops to sit on the floor. You're speechless. Not necessarily from a lack of response, but more from being terrified to speak. You cower into yourself and lean against the restraint wall.

"Fuck's sake. Kitten, I'm so sorry. Fuck! Just, fuck, just go to your room." He doesn't miss a beat as he rushes out of the room. You're sinking. The floor below you is quicksand, your legs refuse to move. It takes fifteen minutes for your legs to gain control again. A week passes before Harry speaks to you again.

"Hi, baby. I have a show in Milan and I'll be gone for a week." You frown, he's never been gone for a week before. Never for a show.

"A week? Why is it that-"

"I'll bring you back something nice, I promise. I gotta jet. Be back soon." With a quick kiss to your forehead, he's rushing out the door. The love is gone. Any passion he had before has disappeared. How can you miss something that probably wasn't truly there?

You get about three hours of sleep each night for the seven days Harry is gone. How could you sleep? Your mind raced every day, made you sick to your stomach. Two hours in the bath, two hours with your head in the toilet, and three hours of tossing and turning takes up quite a bit of time. You worried yourself sick every single night. Worrying aimlessly about your contract.

"You can back out at any time."

Should you back out now before your feelings become too much? Another year of pining after him just to be a toy to him would tear you apart. Maybe you made a mistake coming here in the first place.

You love Harry. You realized it the third night he was gone and cried for four hours. Your focus should've stayed on the red room. You shouldn't have focused on the way Harry scrunches his nose like a bunny when he laughs really hard. You shouldn't have focused on Harry's little snores when he would accidentally nod off in the media room in the middle of a movie. You shouldn't have bought him that book for Christmas.