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  1. Public Bookmark 14


    THIS STORY IS THE PREQUEL TO THE LOVE BY ANY OTHER NAME SERIES!! It contains an original character named Ito Haruki, so please be aware of that. We've been asked so many times how this story started that we decided to write it for you guys. Here is the story of how Asami and Akihito met Haru, a grad student in Architecture at Tokyo University. He witnesses a dirty little interchange between Asami and Akihito and can't look away, but he's seen. Then to his chagrin, he has to deliver some papers to Asami's office and face the men he was spying on. Asami, of course, can't resist the opportunity to needle the young man about it. Then things get interesting!


    19 Jan 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    He pulls back after Haruki is breathless and writhing against his body, and the roll of his hips against the boy’s eager grinding presses the thick ridge of his erection between raw, bruised cheeks.

    “Now,” he purrs, “right here, right now, in this moment…you belong to me. You’ve taken your punishment like a good boy….a VERY good boy…and I want you to come for me.”

    He takes Haruki’s hand and slowly moves it to his erection, now jutting out hungrily in front of him, aching to be touched. He opens the boy’s hand, splays his fingers out flat, then guides him to close them around his cock, his own hand closing around Haruki’s, enveloping it. He hums softly with pleasure when the boy shudders and groans softly.

    “Show me,” he breathes. “Show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone and no one can see. I want to watch. I want you to come for me.”

    It’s obvious to Akihito, watching them, breathless and so aroused himself he can hardly stand it, that this is nearly too much for Haruki. He breathes dark, brutal descriptions at the trembling young man, of how he’d love to bend him over right now and take him. Ravage his body, ram himself into the boy while he screamed. As he talks, the hand wrapped around the boy’s fist slowly urges his to move. Between whispered encouragements and filth, he grazes the side of Haruki’s neck with lips and teeth. Tells him how he’d enjoy fucking him, prying open his tight little hole and filling it up with his great big cock while the boy yelped and squealed and cried for him to stop, just a little. And that he wouldn’t.

    “I want you to come for me, you dirty little boy. Can you do that for me?”

    Could he stop it if he wanted is a better question. But why would he want to with Asami’s wicked words sending shivers down his spine and shots of pure lust coiling in his belly and shooting straight down to his cock?

    It throbs in his grip with those strong fingers wrapped around his, encouraging his tentative strokes that slowly become more daring. His head falls back against Asami’s shoulder as he works his hand a little faster. He slides his thumb up to rub at the sensitive little spot at the base of the head, and his hips jerk in response.

    He hears Asami’s soft chuckle and gasps and squirms when Asami bites down on the tender curve of his throat, and he moans outright this time, squeezing and stroking the hard flesh of his cock, trying to do it just how he does when he’s all alone, just like Asami wants.

    But this is a thousand times better than that. There’s no comparison. Asami’s scent surrounds him. His sore ass rubs against the expensive fabric of Asami’s suit and the rock hard proof of Asami’s own arousal. A fierce pride sweeps through him that he could cause such a reaction in a man who seems so untouchable.

    Asami said he belongs to him, even for just this moment, and those words are so sweet and heady in his ears, and combined with the dirty, filthy things Asami describes, his arousal reaches a fever pitch. He imagines himself bent over, open and exposed to take Asami’s hard, pounding cock again and again. Asami doesn’t relent no matter how much he cries and whimpers. His punished, upthrust little bottom stings as Asami’s hips slam against him, and his tight little hole burns.

    The material of Asami’s suit is soft and fine, but when he begins to twist and writhe as his hand strokes faster and harder, it still inflames the raw skin of his poor, abused cheeks. It’s brilliant. Perfect. The fantasy merges with reality. His body curves like a bow, taut and singing, and he cries out his release. His cock spasms in his tight grip, Asami’s hand still wrapped around his own.


    Asami growls softly with pleasure. He loves this. Loves watching this sweet young thing squirming in his lap, loves the heat of his punished ass that he can feel through the fabric of his pants, loves the gasps and soft moans. It is heady, to turn a stubborn, defensive young man into a helpless, wanton, needy little boy. He loves everything about it, the heat, the tears, the lust, the POWER. This one is a treasure. So responsive. Stiff with pride at first, oh yes, but now…he lets it go without a thought, obeying immediately and beautifully. How gorgeous he is to Asami now, writhing as arousal sets its claws in his lithe body. He ignores the insistent throb in his own cock as the sweet little treat in his lap nears completion, sets his teeth to the tendon in the boy’s neck and bites down as he cries out helplessly, hard cock jerking in their clasped hands. Most of the time lately, Asami really loves his life.

    “Such a good boy.”

  2. Public Bookmark *


    Akihito searched the internet for answers about himself and stumbled across the BDSM master of all his wildest fantasies on his website, Lair of the Golden Eyed Dragon. Having determined that he would be the perfect master, Akihito contacts the dragon himself in hopes of finally getting exactly what he needs.


    19 Jan 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    That was what Akihito wanted. He wanted the pain, the pleasure. He wanted to be torn to pieces and put back together again but he wasn't a slut or a whore. No, he was a good boy.


    “Liking such things doesn't have to define you. For most people, even those heavily involved in the scene, it's just a facet of who they are. Many little things make up a person so much so that one single part doesn't define you. Of course, if you want it to, that's fine as well. The BDSM scene is more about acceptance than anything else. You can be anyone you want, just because you want to or perhaps because it's something you need. Don't stress about what others think.”


    “Hey, Aki.” He turned to look at Takato as he sat down on a chair to the side of the couch. “You’d talk to us if you needed to, right?”

    “Of course,” he replied immediately, puzzled over his friend’s suddenly serious expressions.

    “You said a while back that you were seeing someone and you seemed really happy.”

    “Yeah, and really confident too,” Kou chimed in.

    “But… He’s not… Hurting you, is he?”

    “What?” Akihito gaped at his friends.

    His friends traded hard looks before turning back to him. They seemed to be struggling with their words but there was a grim determination to each of their countenances.

    “It’s just that you cancel on us sometimes but you don’t seem to have any plans, you just say you aren’t feeling well. But it’s so often. And then sometimes you seem like you are in pain when you sit down.”

    “Yeah, and I’ve seen marks on your arms a few times, you seemed like you were hiding them. They looked like they were fading but still… You know we’ll support you no matter what, right? Even if you need to get away?”

    “You think he’s abusing me,” Akihito breathed out in alarm. They both nodded.

    He was lost for words. It never occurred to him it might look that way. He didn’t want to go out to the onsen when he had whip marks on his back because he didn’t want to face the questions but it had never occurred to him that by hiding it, his friends would think he was being abused.

    How did he even begin to explain that this wasn’t what they thought? It’s not like he could say that Ryuu didn’t hurt him, because he did. It’s just that it wasn’t the kind of pain that his friends were thinking of. Ryuu hit him because he asked him to, because he enjoyed it and because he knew that he would care for him afterwards and respect his limits.

    Akihito groaned and buried his bright red face in his hands. He didn’t really want to admit to something so embarrassing to his friends. Would they even understand? They were his best friends though, if he could tell anyone anything, it would be these two. They had supported him without question when he admitted he might be gay. But BDSM?

    That was a whole different ball game.

    What he did in the bedroom with his partner was his business, as long as it was all consensual, but he didn’t think his friends would let him off the hook unless they knew the truth. He was so not prepared for this conversation.

    “It’s okay guys, he’s not abusing me,” he said after a moment, picking his words carefully.

    “But he’s hurting you,” Takato pressed.

    “Not the way you think,” Akihito replied, embarrassed. Oh, if he could just sink through the floor right now, that would be great.

    “What do you mean?” Both of his friends looked bewildered and he knew he was just going to have to suck it up and tell them properly. At least he had good friends, he supposed.

    “He only hit me because I asked him to. We err… we have an agreement and we’ve talked it through and it’s fine. We are both into that kind of thing and I promise it’s all safe and consensual and-” Akihito snapped his mouth shut after he realised he was rambling.

    “Oh my god,” Kou said as he started to laugh, relief evident on his face. “You’re kinky.”

    Akihito flushed even redder than before and buried his hands back into his face. He nodded even as Kou starting laughing hysterically.

    “Are you sure it’s safe, Aki?” Takato questioned, even as he seemed to relax. “We just want you to be okay.”

    “We talk everything through first and have safe words and stuff… It’s fine. Promise.”

    “I can’t believe it! We were so worried and we were even talking about supporting you and getting you out of your apartment sneakily if need be.” Kou let out a loud sigh of relief as he stopped laughing and wiped at his eyes. “But no, you’re just kinky. I can understand kinky.”

    “I don’t really get it,” Takato admitted then shrugged, “But if you’re happy and safe, then it’s fine.”

    “What? You don’t have a set of fuzzy handcuffs in your draws?” Kou teased.

    This “No?”

    “Aw, I’m disappointed in you, man.”

  3. Public Bookmark *


    Voldemort uses a ritual to summon his horcruxes to him after realizing that their safety has been compromised, only for one Harry Potter, stark naked and desperately aroused, to drop into his lap.


    18 Jan 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    The next four trinkets, a dozing snake, and a very naked fifteen-year-old boy rested on the frigid stone floor.

    ‘A very naked Boy-Who-Lived,’ Voldemort revised, ‘in a very compromising position.’

    “Please,” whimpered Harry Potter, chest heaving, grinding desperately, deliriouslyback onto what appeared to be a dildo, of all things. “Merlin, God please.”

    ‘Well,’ thought Voldemort, watching the boy’s hips buck, his clenching hole reluctantly releasing the flesh toned toy, only to eagerly suck it back in like it was made to, ‘Who am I to refute such lovely pleads?’

    The boy stilled, face flushed, mouth open and panting, and slowly, apprehensively, peeled his lids open, revealing lust blown eyes, black with only the thinnest swell of green.

    A sudden awareness of his displacement in space had Harry twisting around, whimpering as the movement caused the toy to shift in him, brushing against his prostate and sending sparks of heat down to his toes.

    His gaze was drawn immediately to heated red orbs, their owner crouched before him regally. Thin, translucent skin, a noseless face, and a bald, veined head. The pounding in his head was triggered solely by his overwhelming state of arousal; Harry’s scar remained blissfully silent, even as a frigid hand clasped his straining cock.

    “V-Voldemort?” he gasped, disoriented as his back arched, his body pushing into the Dark Lord’s grasp even as his mind raced to process the situation. The Lord in question swung a leg over Harry’s hip, straddling his thighs, so very in-control with the wrecked Boy Who Lived squirming beneath him.

    “What’re you -?” but it was abundantly clear what Voldemort was doing as his hand rose up and down, slowly jerking Harry towards completion. “Don’t, I--you--mmn, s-stop, Gods, ple-ease!”

    Legs tightened painfully, and as amethyst magic pressed Harry ruthlessly into submission the pleasure abruptly intensified - Potter’s eyes glazed, hips snapping towards Voldemort.

    “‘s good,” he gasped, torn between arching into the palm or the dildo halfway up his arse. “Why does it… a-ah! Fuck, stop it, Riddle, I’m going to bloody-!”

    “What will you do, Harry?” Voldemort purred, hot breath flooding his ear. He slowly pulled back enough to see the flushed, twisted face and then, mockingly, “Are you close?”

    Desperate green eyes snapped open, burning furiously into his own. “I’ll fucking skin you, you snake-bastard, I said stop!”

    Magic lashed with Harry’s tumultuous emotions, viciously ejecting the Dark Lord across the hall, pressing until he hit the far wall with a sharp crack.

    Surprised by his magics ready response but satisfied, Harry pressed himself up, quickly willing a robe into being to conceal himself. Charcoal fabric wove into existence, falling to cover Harry, who whined lowly, biting his lip as he slowly extracted the dildo from his clenching entrance and banished it with a wave of his hand.


    “What do you want?” Harry demanded, receiving a salacious smirk as hellfire eyes suggestively perusing the length of his covered body. His cock twitched, but the boy himself merely scowled, shifting uncomfortably. “Why am I here?”

    “You are here, Harry Potter, because you belong to me.” Voldemort stated, with such conviction that Harry felt it to his bones.

    “I belong to no one,” he rebuked, expertly concealing his desperation and confusion. There was no need for Voldemort to relish this more than he clearly already was, and after being stripped bare of any and all dignity, Harry’s pride would allow little else. “Least of all you.”


    It was as though he had teleported in the blink of an eye, the stone cold floor replacing his thin cot and vaguely cooler temperature the only warning that he was writhing before the Dark Lord.

    Heedless of the defiance Voldemort continued his assessment, now with a cruel curl playing about his lips. Dark, sensuous strands of magic flowed over Harry’s skin like the finest of silks and green eyes clamped shut, scar singing even as a chill shot up his spine and teeth dug into bitten red lips to withhold yet another embarrassing slip. Harry’s cock ached and throbbed, his entrance clenching on thin air. Most alarmingly, perhaps, was the way his own magic, and not just that of the scar, rose against Voldemort’s, but not… not combatively.

    Teasingly, flirtatiously, it mingled, preening under the attention. So distracted by this reaction Harry almost fell deaf to Voldemort’s next words, and so they were all the more jarring upon pressing from ears to his vacant brain moments later.

    “Ah, but how can you not be when you contain my soul?”

  4. Public Bookmark 3


    “Uncle Sev!” their boy chirps as if to emphasize his mother’s point.

    “No,” James says, horrified. His Lily laughs, whatever fugue meeting Snivellus created has lifted itself from her in front of Harry’s bubbling laughter and James’ aghast face.


    (snapshots from a world where everything good that could have happen, happened)


    18 Jan 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    He ignores said look in favor of blowing a raspberry at their son.

    “So, I’ve decided I’ll try to mend whatever I can of our friendship—”

    James makes a rather rude questioning and disagreeing sound to this plan of hers but his wife plows on.

    “If not for the past’s sake then at least for Harry,” Lils continues, smiling cheerfully in a way that made James instantly suspicious, “Harry likes Uncle Severus, right my little stag?”

    “Uncle Sev!” their boy chirps as if to emphasize his mother’s point.

    “No,” James says, horrified. His Lily laughs, whatever fugue meeting Snivellus created has lifted itself from her in front of Harry’s bubbling laughter and James’ aghast face.

    “He sat obediently at Severus’ lap the whole time we were talking, fascinated. I think Sev actually smiled at him. You want to see Uncle Sev again, don’t you, darling?”

    “Uncle Sev! Uncle Sev!” Harry repeats to drive the point home.

    James gives his son a betrayed look, “you little traitor.”

    Harry giggles harder.

    He clutches his son to his chest and runs towards the bathroom. Harry shrieks when he sees the familiar door, trying to scramble out of James’ arms. “Oh no, you don’t, young man,” he says to his prongslet, laughing, “little traitors are to be given baths until Snivellus’ greasy smell comes off them!”

    To his wife, he shouts, “I’ll tell this to Padfoot! No son of mine shall call Snivellus ‘Uncle’! No! I refuse! It shan’t happen!”

    James may have grown an adult enough to admit (reluctantly) that bullying Snape in school had been petty and ultimately wrong but it doesn’t mean he actually likes the man now. Nope, not even a mile near to that.

    “Pafoo?” Harry asks, looking around James’ shoulder as if expecting his godfather to be standing there. Sirius has never ever given him a bath and in fact supports Harry in little his war against bath times by never ever giving him a bath when it’s his turn to babysit (which is why he has been recently banned). Sadly, James is expected to side with Lily on this war, meaning there shall be no cancellations on any scheduled bath so he shoots a swift accio for Harry’s sleepwear and opens their bathroom door.

    “Yes, Harry, Padfoot!” James exclaims loudly, kissing the sweaty forehead of his son, “I’ll call Padfoot! And Moony! And Wormtail! They’ll all be appalled, Lily! Appalled! Merlin’s beard, Harry calling Greasy Snivellus uncle—”

    “Uncle Sev!” Harry vehemently protests as James slowly lowers him into the tub full of water summoned by a silent aguamenti and instantaneously warmed by wandless heating charms. Harry splashes James with his summoned warm water.

    “Moony!” James remembers. He yells at the general direction of his wife, “He’ll be substituting for Professor Riddle’s Defense this year! I’ll have him has cast an anti-Snivellus ward against Harry, Lily! Don’t think I won’t! That slimy snake-bat won’t be getting near my little prongslet—!”

    “Moony!” Harry shrills as he ducks away from James’ scrubbing hands, “Uncle Sev!” The bath water ripples in angry indignation and the yellow rubber ducky on their topmost shelf quacks aggressively at James.

    Somewhere behind them, his Tigerlily laughs, a sound as warm as their hearth and as sweet as brooking water.

  5. Public Bookmark 87


    It starts with a quiet longing in his soul, a desperate plea for something he can’t name. Then, his chest aches, and the slow pump of his heart is plagued by sharp stings. His vision soon gets shaky. It teeters on a seeing sea saw, going from perfect clarity to an abstract painting.

    It’s not too long before he looses himself to sleep.

    Oh? Voldemort? He’s just had an epiphany. It’s nothing new.


    18 Jan 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Harry didn’t know what his soul yearned for. The only thing that mattered was the emptiness, and Harry would rather like to feel whole again.

    For a soon to be regretted second, he even thought that he would do anything to keep the pain away. To not be empty.

    How wrong he was.


    Each resounding thump of the necklace erased some amount of the disorienting pain he had grown so used to, and Harry couldn’t care about the origins of such soothing relief.

    He clutched it closer, eager to find respite in his own hellish reality. A groan of joy left his mouth, and he opened his eyes to thank the object that had brought him such happiness.


    Lord Voldemort sat across from him in a chair that might as well have been a throne.

    As if searching for something familiar in the world of new things, Harry’s right hand again gripped the necklace. The added contact evaporated away all pain, and he couldn’t help the dopey smile that spread across his face. Voldemort gave a satisfied smirk in response.

    “Yes, just like that, dear,” he said, causing Harry to turn his grin into a menacing scowl.

    “Stop calling me that! I’m not dear, and I’m definitely not yours,” Harry spluttered out a slew of indignant demands.

    Voldemort was pleased to note that, despite his disgust, Harry had not taken off his precious treasure. Two of his pretty things in the same room, protected by countless enchantments, exactly the way it should be. If only...


    “You’re wrong in most of your assumptions. You are dear, now, and you are most certainly mine, so I do suggest compliance with both declarations,” neatly folded hands and an unwavering tone complimented the authority of Lord Voldemort’s speech.

    “As for the necklace… I shall try to restrain myself from making further comment on its alluring… aspects,” Voldemort said, sly. Despite the absolutely inopportune moment, Harry blushed, and Voldemort couldn’t help his muttered:


    Harry loathingly wondered what he had ever done to deserve such disturbing dreams.

    “God. Just tell me where my shirt is, please,” such a good boy, using his manners.

    “You asked so nicely, but I’m afraid a layer of fabric between you and our darling locket will only cause pain. And the last thing I want for my dear is pain,” Voldemort said, eyes darkening as he remembered the scars that adorned his horcrux’s body.

    Restrain yourself! The chase is best part. He’ll be here soon. Actually here, not in a frivolous dream. Nagini will wrap around his chest, another chair will be set by the fireplace, and the world will think him dead.


    He gave an involuntary wince, a quick moment of weakness. Voldemort could barely stop himself from cooing; his dear was so pretty.


    Voldemort has a goddamn sense of humor! I mean, it’s terrible, and it’s his own joke, but it’s not murder. Wow. Dream Voldemort is really out of character.


    My little kitten thinks he’s a tiger.


    Teasing its master, tearing him apart, chipping away at the already shattered sanity. Locket, that sly devil, was a force to be reckoned with.

    Perfect for you, my dear Harry. Just look at you both, two delusional kittens, viciously swiping with blunt claws.


    My darling is delusional. To think that a dear little body like his is to go to war? It’s preposterous.


    Honestly, it was a miracle that Voldemort didn’t put his horcrux under the crucio in that moment. He would never allow such tongue and cheek with his Death Eaters.

    “Fuck it. This is a dream,” Voldemort smirked at Harry’s willful ignorance, “Dolores Umbridge.” Harry was too busy glaring to notice the Dark Lord’s satisfied smirk.

    “I’ll make sure she regrets her decision, dear. No need to worry,” he speaks to his horcrux like one would speak to a toddler.

    “I’m sure you’ll make such a difference, subconscious Voldemort,” the sarcasm in his tone was blatant. Voldemort took slight offence to his lack of faith.

    “You doubt Lord Voldemort?” he started, only to be interrupted.

    “Wow look it’s that sign of insanity again.”

    “You doubt Lord Voldemort?” it was phrased more forcefully, punctuated with a glare, “Let’s make a bet. If that ‘bitch,’” the slur felt weird and abrasive in his mouth, and Harry had to keep himself from giggling, “isn’t dead tomorrow, then I’ll tell you how to get the locket,” Voldemort doesn’t even worry about keeping his end of the bargain, “If she is, then you tell me everything you know about Cho Chang,” Harry looked at him like he had just sprouted a third ear.

    The Dark Lord was aware of how possessive and greedy his offer was; he just didn’t care.

    “What do you think, dear?” he already knew Harry’s answer.

    “You’ve got yourself a deal, weird, creepy, dream Voldemort,” Harry said, completely unaware that he was making a deal with the devil.