whitemancumslut

[whitemancumslut]

is save a heart or two going to be posted

yes!! soon<3

#whitemancumslut

[whitemancumslut]

Save A Heart or Two…

Summary: Y/n is the newest nurse at Los Angeles Medical, where she recently received a job offer. Prior to starting her new job, she had a spent the night with Harry Styles, after a late night at a bar. That morning, she left him and never spoke to him again. 2 weeks later, her first day of work, she is surprised to discover that Harry is a doctor at her hospital. This unexpected twist adds an interesting dynamic to their professional relationship. Y/n must navigate working alongside someone with whom she shares a complicated history.

Content Warning: This story contains sexual and dark themes. Minors DNI. (18+) Co-Workers relationship, mentions cheating, drug use, alcohol consumption, intercourse, f/m masturbation, mentions of blood, wounds, medical terms used to best of knowledge!

#harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles request #harry styles writing

[whitemancumslut]

Save A Heart or Two…

Summary: Y/n is the newest nurse at Los Angeles Medical, where she recently received a job offer. Prior to starting her new job, she had a spent the night with Harry Styles, after a late night at a bar. That morning, she left him and never spoke to him again. 2 weeks later, her first day of work, she is surprised to discover that Harry is a doctor at her hospital. This unexpected twist adds an interesting dynamic to their professional relationship. Y/n must navigate working alongside someone with whom she shares a complicated history.

Content Warning: This story contains sexual and dark themes. Minors DNI. (18+) Co-Workers relationship, mentions cheating, drug use, alcohol consumption, intercourse, f/m masturbation, mentions of blood, wounds, medical terms used to best of knowledge!

#harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #my account #whitemancumslut

[whitemancumslut]

Save A Heart or Two…

Summary: Y/n is the newest doctor at Los Angeles Medical, where she recently received a job offer. Prior to starting her new job, she had a spent the night with Harry Styles, after a late night at a bar. That morning, she left him and never spoke to him again. 2 weeks later, her first day of work, she is surprised to discover that Harry is a doctor at her hospital. This unexpected twist adds an interesting dynamic to their professional relationship. Y/n must navigate working alongside someone with whom she shares a complicated history.

Content Warning: This story contains sexual and dark themes. Minors DNI. (18+) Co-Workers relationship, mentions cheating, drug use, alcohol consumption, intercourse, f/m masturbation, mentions of blood, wounds, medical terms used to best of knowledge!

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #dom!harry #dom harry styles #dom!harry x sub!reader #harry styles imagines #domrry #doctor!harry #doctor!harry x doctor!reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shots #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic rec #fan fiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x sub!reader #harry styles fic rec #harry styles imagine #sub!harry

[whitemancumslut]

BI BUCK IS CANON OH MY GODDDDD

[whitemancumslut]

haiii gf i got a request🙈

older! eddie catching u make him lunch for work and he ends up railing u against the kitchen counter😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

hiiiii queen 🤭 you always come in with the older!eddie requests bless ur heart.

18+ please! fingering, unprotected piv (he pulls out), use of pet names, food mention obv

Your soft hums from the kitchen are what wake him, the sound floating down the hall and through the cracked-open door.

Eddie stirs, stretching his limbs with a low rumble of a groan, pressing his face into his pillow and inhaling. He can smell the sweetness of your shampoo on the pillow case, and he smiles softly to himself. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting the room in a honeyed glow. He sits up with another groan, scratching at the soft pudge of his stomach absentmindedly before standing.

He can hear the radio now, your hums following the tune of whichever song comes on. He can picture you in his mind; hips swaying softly as you sip your morning coffee, probably your second cup by now, picking at your breakfast. He can picture your bed head, your sleepy eyes, the smile that graces your face when he comes to say good morning.

What he isn’t expecting when he trods down the hall is to see you making a meal, his lunchbox open beside you on the countertop. He watches quietly as you stack different ingredients to make a sandwich, taking care to make it look good. His hungry eyes rake over your figure, trailing up your legs, lingering on the way your tiny little shorts hug the meat of your ass. He was right, your hips are swaying to the music, tempting him to come right up behind you and squeeze a handful of you.

You reach into the cookie jar, picking out a few of your homemade cookies — snickerdoodles, his favorite — before placing them into a plastic baggie and tucking them into the lunchbox. He stays silent as you cut up strawberries, placing them in a container followed by blueberries, raspberries, blackberries. Giving him a well-rounded meal, wanting to keep him energized and cared for.

Something deep within Eddie stirs, and he finds himself simultaneously aroused and awestruck at the sweetness of your gesture. You’d never gone out of your way to make him lunch before, your relationship still in the early stages, and he feels his heart melt in his chest.

“Well don’t you look beautiful this morning,” he speaks finally, your head whipping around to face him.

“Oh! You startled me,” you laugh breathily, body relaxing entirely after realizing it’s only him.

He steps closer to you, stopping once his front is pressed to your back.

“What’re you doing in here, baby?” he asks, morning voice raspy and deep. It sends a shiver down your spine, shooting right to your core.

“Making you lunch, handsome,” you reply, turning your head to give him a kiss.

“Putting in all this work for little old me?” He looks around at the scattered ingredients, realizing you must’ve already gone to the store this morning to buy half of it.

“It’s hardly that much work,” you say simply. “And yes, we have to keep little old you fed.”

He snorts, letting his big arms wrap around your middle. His lips find their way to your neck, your head tilting immediately to allow him easier access. You whine before you can stop yourself, your hands gripping the edge of the countertop.

“You’re taking such good care of me,” Eddie purrs. “Think I need to take care of you.”

“Ed,” you breathe, squirming under his roaming hands. “You have to get ready for work.”

“It can wait,” he replies, lightly kicking your legs apart with his foot.

He lets one hand trail down your stomach, dipping beneath your shorts and your underwear in one swift motion. His calloused fingers tease your clit, the scruff on his face lightly scratching your skin as he continues to kiss your neck. You’re like putty in his hands, feeling your knees go weak the second he starts touching you. Your heart rate increases, breathing turning into pants and sighs as his thumb circles that sensitive bundle of nerves over and over.

The fabric of his pajama pants stiffens, his cock growing harder by the second. You can feel it pressing against your ass, and you wiggle your hips tantalizingly.

“Mmm,” he hums, a sound that reverberates against you. “Don’t tease, honey.”

He stops his steady pace on your clit, drawing his hand back so that he can utilize both of them to pull down your cotton shorts. Your panties fall to the floor with them, and you kick them aside swiftly as you step out of the garments. Eddie’s hand returns to its previous place, this time slipping two fingers carefully into your heat, wetness pooling around them.

“So wet, sweetheart,” he coos, smirking to himself when you let out a high pitched whine.

“Fuck, Ed,” you sigh, tipping your head back to rest against his shoulder. Your eyes close, reveling in his touch.

His free hand tugs at the waistband of his pants, slipping them down far enough to free his aching cock. The tip is red and leaking when he grabs it in his fist, stroking it a few times for good measure. You’re a moaning mess in front of him, gripping hard at the countertop as his fingers curl expertly inside of you.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, nipping at your ear.

“Uh-huh,” you nod, incapable of forming any actual words.

“I’m gonna make you feel even better. That okay with you?” he continues, awaiting your permission.

You can hear his fist running over his cock, along with the groan he tries to stifle but fails. You can feel yourself clench around his fingers in anticipation. “Yes, please,” you choke out, wincing slightly when he removes his fingers.

You steady yourself, body practically vibrating with need as his tip rubs against your folds. Large hands grip your hips as he sinks into you, punching the air from your lungs. He starts with slow, agonizing thrusts. Letting the drag of his cock make you delirious as it slides inch by inch out of you before gliding back in.

He’s well-versed in this, had his years of practice, able to have your legs trembling for him in seconds. You’re finding it harder and harder to keep yourself upright as he picks up his pace, pounding into you from behind relentlessly. Your nails dig into the countertop, back arching as his name tumbles from your lips on a loop.

“Such a good girl, feel so good around me, baby,” Eddie grunts, his fingertips gripping harshly into your skin, keeping you in place as he drives into you even harder.

You’re seeing stars, positive you’ve never felt this good in your life. The radio still croons from the corner of the kitchen, the sound hazy and far-off in your ears. You couldn’t name the song playing if there was a gun to your head, Eddie quickly fucking every thought from your brain until all you can possibly think about is him.

The tension in the pit of your stomach builds and builds, a coil that’s ready to snap, and you’re suddenly certain that if you grasp the counter any harder your fingers will bleed.

His balls slap against your skin, cock gliding easily in and out of your dripping cunt. One hand trails up beneath your shirt, kneading your breasts and pinching the nipples between two fingers. You moan hotly, feeling your legs quiver, turning to jelly in real time.

“Why don’t you cum for me, honey?” he rasps into your ear, and it’s enough to send you entirely over the edge.

He curses as your walls squeeze him, clamping down as if your goal is to keep him inside forever. He manages a few more thrusts before he’s pulling out, cumming all over your ass. You can feel it dripping down, coating your skin in his sticky warmth.

Breathing heavy, you come back to reality slowly, dazed. The lunchbox sits packed in front of you, and you’re reminded that you’re on a time crunch. Eddie’s surely approaching the point of being late for work, and he watches you turn around to look at the clock.

“Let’s get cleaned up before I have to leave,” he says, pulling you against him to kiss you sweetly. “I’ll get the shower going.”

You tug on his arm when he tries to walk away, getting his attention once more.

“Did you really get turned on just because I was making you lunch?” you ask with a smirk.

He laughs. “What can I say? I’m a simple man.”

“Noted.”

[whitemancumslut]

can’t shake the thought of this!!! (18+), dacryphilia

"It's too much."

"You can take it, baby."

"N-no, Daddy! Stop, I can't!"

Her nails dig roughly into the soft fabric of the sheets, her body instinctively trying to escape the overwhelming sensation of pleasure coursing through her. Tears pour from her eyes as she whines and pleads for justice for her cunt.

She moves her body up, attempting to crawl away. Her pussy fluttered around the emptiness and absence of his tongue, his fingers, his cock, everything.

With a forceful grip on her hips, Harry used his hands to pull her back towards him, his frustration evident as she struggled to escape his grasp.

"Daddy I can't", she tried to run again, but it’ll be a lie if Harry said he didn’t love the chase.

"Yes, you can.”

Once again, Harry yanked her back, so her pussy was back against his mouth.

This caused tears to well up in her eyes and release gracefully. As she cried, Harry's mouth returned to her throbbing pussy, still wet with her earlier release and trembling in anticipation of the return of his thick, hard cock. Harry’s tongue lapped at her pussy, tasting every bit of her once again. He moaned at the taste of her ecstasy.

“Can’t get enough of you, sweet thing. You think you can give me one more?”

Harry chuckled, the sound almost sinister in nature, reminiscent of a villain in a movie plotting a terrorizing plan. His eyes sparkled mischievously as he shook his head in response to her clear denial. He watched her shake her head back and forth, no.

Harry kept a tight grip on her body, his touch possessive and commanding.

“You can do it, baby. I know you can. Come on, give me one more.”

With deliberate movements, he straightened his back and aligned his cock with her entrance.

“Oh, Daddy! Fuck,” She moaned. Arching her back deeper, face pressed against the sheets, she was trying her hardest.

Harry grinned, “Too sensitive, Puppy, is that it? Is she sensitive right now?”

“Yes, yes, Daddy.”

“Okay, baby. I got you. Just relax. Daddy’s got you.”

Harry slid into her walls smoothly. With each thrust of his cock entering her already sensitive and used pussy, she can feel the intense pressure building within her. The room is filled with the sounds of their labored breathing, her loud cries and pleads, the creaking of the bed frame, and the wet sounds of their bodies coming together.

As her fourth orgasm of the night creeps up on her, sweat glistens on her skin, mixing with the remnants from earlier, creating a slick sheen that makes every movement slippery and intense. Her mind is a haze of sensation, her thoughts consumed by the overwhelming feeling of being overstimulated. She can't remember the last time she felt this way, this thoroughly fucked and used.

She cries, “Daddy. Please, please, please.” As if she’s praying to him, she’s pleading and pleading as he continues to drive into her with a relentless rhythm, she knows that she's reaching her limit. Her body is aching, her nerves on fire, and she doesn't think she has another orgasm left in her. But still, she pushes through, determined to ride out the waves of pleasure crashing over her until she's completely spent and satisfied.

The room was spinning to her. The walls were closing in and her mind was blown. Her moans were loud and straight out of a pornography. Harry fucked faster and faster as she grew closer to her orgasm. As she claw the sheets she cried and cried and cried begging for Harry to allow her cum.

“I know, baby. I know. I want you to cum around Daddy’s cock, okay?”

i’m losing it.

[whitemancumslut]

can’t shake the thought of this!!! (18+), dacryphilia

"It's too much."

"You can take it, baby."

"N-no, Daddy! Stop, I can't!"

Her nails dig roughly into the soft fabric of the sheets, her body instinctively trying to escape the overwhelming sensation of pleasure coursing through her. Tears pour from her eyes as she whines and pleads for justice for her cunt.

She moves her body up, attempting to crawl away. Her pussy fluttered around the emptiness and absence of his tongue, his fingers, his cock, everything.

With a forceful grip on her hips, Harry used his hands to pull her back towards him, his frustration evident as she struggled to escape his grasp.

"Daddy I can't", she tried to run again, but it’ll be a lie if Harry said he didn’t love the chase.

"Yes, you can.”

Once again, Harry yanked her back, so her pussy was back against his mouth.

This caused tears to well up in her eyes and release gracefully. As she cried, Harry's mouth returned to her throbbing pussy, still wet with her earlier release and trembling in anticipation of the return of his thick, hard cock. Harry’s tongue lapped at her pussy, tasting every bit of her once again. He moaned at the taste of her ecstasy.

“Can’t get enough of you, sweet thing. You think you can give me one more?”

Harry chuckled, the sound almost sinister in nature, reminiscent of a villain in a movie plotting a terrorizing plan. His eyes sparkled mischievously as he shook his head in response to her clear denial. He watched her shake her head back and forth, no.

Harry kept a tight grip on her body, his touch possessive and commanding.

“You can do it, baby. I know you can. Come on, give me one more.”

With deliberate movements, he straightened his back and aligned his cock with her entrance.

“Oh, Daddy! Fuck,” She moaned. Arching her back deeper, face pressed against the sheets, she was trying her hardest.

Harry grinned, “Too sensitive, Puppy, is that it? Is she sensitive right now?”

“Yes, yes, Daddy.”

“Okay, baby. I got you. Just relax. Daddy’s got you.”

Harry slid into her walls smoothly. With each thrust of his cock entering her already sensitive and used pussy, she can feel the intense pressure building within her. The room is filled with the sounds of their labored breathing, her loud cries and pleads, the creaking of the bed frame, and the wet sounds of their bodies coming together.

As her fourth orgasm of the night creeps up on her, sweat glistens on her skin, mixing with the remnants from earlier, creating a slick sheen that makes every movement slippery and intense. Her mind is a haze of sensation, her thoughts consumed by the overwhelming feeling of being overstimulated. She can't remember the last time she felt this way, this thoroughly fucked and used.

She cries, “Daddy. Please, please, please.” As if she’s praying to him, she’s pleading and pleading as he continues to drive into her with a relentless rhythm, she knows that she's reaching her limit. Her body is aching, her nerves on fire, and she doesn't think she has another orgasm left in her. But still, she pushes through, determined to ride out the waves of pleasure crashing over her until she's completely spent and satisfied.

The room was spinning to her. The walls were closing in and her mind was blown. Her moans were loud and straight out of a pornography. Harry fucked faster and faster as she grew closer to her orgasm. As she claw the sheets she cried and cried and cried begging for Harry to allow her cum.

“I know, baby. I know. I want you to cum around Daddy’s cock, okay?”

i’m losing it.

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #dom!harry #dom harry styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurbs #harry styles ddlg #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles one shots #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #horny #whitemanscumslut #domrry #dom!harry x sub!reader #harry styles x sub!reader #harry styles concept #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic rec #harry styles masterlist #harry styles x reader

[whitemancumslut]

“Tension”

famoushusband!Harry x you

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: very angsty (y/n & Harry fighting), choking, degradation, edging, slight bondage (wrists are held down by hands), a brief mommy kink and unprotected sex

Plot: You’ve been missing Harry since he was currently in LA on business, so he flies you in from your home together in NY (where you work). You attend a party together, and you end up walking up on something that Harry never intended for you to hear.

◃───────────▹

The car was silent as you and Harry sat in the backseat. You were resting the back of your fingers against your lips as you stared out the window - body slightly turned to be facing the door instead of your husband. You were having a hard time even looking at him right now even though you knew he was glancing over to you every few minutes.

You were doing your best to remain calm, your sadness from earlier had now turned into anger, and you knew that if you opened your mouth to speak, you’d be creating a scene in front of the driver.

Once you saw the gates of your home, you felt a little better knowing you’d be somewhere familiar to deal with your emotions - regardless of the cause of your anger being with you. The car pulled up to the front door, and you thanked the driver before stepping out. Your heels crunched against the rocks in the driveway for a moment before you met the stone steps leading up to the front door.

You weren’t waiting for Harry. You didn’t want to wait for Harry. Truly, you wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

You had been together for almost eight years total, married for two, and never once did you think you’d hear him make the remarks about you that he had tonight. It caused you to spiral - it made you rethink your entire relationship.

Once you made it inside the house, you left the door open behind you as you walked up the stairs towards your bedroom. As you walked into the room, you heard the front door close, but you chose to ignore it - ignore him. You were standing by your vanity as you began to remove your earrings, tossing them into the drawer before discarding all of your other jewelry except for the set on your ring finger.

You stared at the two rings for a moment, sadness welling in your being before you heard Harry step into the bedroom.

“Can we at least talk about this, Y/N?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you stated as you dropped your hand. “You feel the way you feel.”

Harry cleared his throat as he leaned against your dresser - arms crossed over his chest. “I misspoke.”

“Did you?” You laughed as you sat at the foot of your bed, beginning to undo the straps of your heels as you continued to avoid looking at him. “Because misspeaking is a word, or a sentence. Not an entire goddamn rant, Harry.”

You watched as he hung his head out of the corner of your eye - chin meeting his chest. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way that it did.”

“That’s just another way of saying you misspoke.”

You pulled your heels off and dropped them onto the floor before propping your elbows up on your knees - practically burying your face in your forearms as your fingers ran through your styled hair.

“I just…I’m clearly sobered up now, but I had too much to drink. I was saying things that I didn’t mean,” Harry said as he shrugged off the jacket he had worn - draping it over the back of the armchair in the corner of the room.

Humming, you nodded at his words. “The fact that it took your friend to cut you off because they noticed I had walked up speaks volumes. You would’ve just kept going. I don’t care if it was the alcohol. Sober thoughts are drunk words - ever heard that one?”

You finally looked over to him, and you watched as Harry rolled his eyes. 

Now your blood truly began to boil.

“You don’t get to fucking do that, Harry. You don’t get to roll your eyes like that,” you stated, pointing a finger at him before sticking that same finger against your chest. “I have a right to be upset about this.”

You were fighting back your tears again as your hands began to shake.

These were the times that you truly hated being one of those individuals who cried when they were angry.

Harry pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he looked away from you, staring at the wall for a moment before speaking. “I just think you’re kind of overreacting right now.”

Mouth slightly gaping, you blinked at him - letting out a laugh of disbelief. “Overreacting? I’m sorry - how would you feel if you heard me saying what you said earlier?”

He didn’t say anything further, and you shook your head.

“You know what? I’m going to take a shower, and then I’m going to try and find a flight back to New York tomorrow. I really don’t understand why you flew me out here. Barely here for 24 hours,” you laughed again.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Harry sighed, moving his head in disagreement as he ran his thumb above his brow. “I’m going into the studio.”

“Oh, yes, go downstairs and into the studio so you can write another song about how shitty you make me feel. My pain has brought you so much success, hasn’t it? You’ll just sing everything instead of talking to me like a man,” you snapped. 

It was quiet between the two of you, and you waited for Harry to say something, anything, but instead he just stared at you. Shaking your head, you spoke up again. “Don’t even bother coming back in here tonight. You can sleep in the fucking guest room.”

Standing up from the bed, you snatched your heels off the floor before heading into your en-suite - not even sparing Harry a second glance as you did so. You slammed the door shut and locked it, dropping your shoes to the ground as you rested both hands against it. Sucking in a deep breath, you allowed your forehead to fall to rest between your hands as your eyes slipped shut.

You hadn’t heard the bedroom door open back up, so you knew that Harry hadn’t left yet. After a moment, you heard the sound of him walking over to the door, and you opened your mouth to tell him to go away again, but you were met with the sound of him dropping his shoes off in front of it. The footsteps trickled away and got quieter, and you heard the bedroom door open.

“Fuck,” you heard him say sharply before the door clicked shut.

Your emotions fully took over after a few seconds, knowing that he’d be far away to not hear you, and you let out a sob of pain - pounding your fist against the door. This was the first time in your entire relationship that you doubted everything.

Pushing yourself off the surface, you approached the bathroom counter. You kept your eyes away from your reflection as you reached around to undo the zipper of your dress, pulling it down so that the garment dropped to the floor - leaving you in just your underwear. Heading over to the shower, you started it up, and while the water warmed you hung up your dress and discarded your underwear into the hamper.

Your hands shook as you pulled your hair up into a messy bun, and then you stepped into the shower.

As the water washed over your skin, you closed your eyes and did your best to push the events of tonight out of your mind, but that was easier said than done. You couldn’t stop seeing the look on Tyler’s face when he realized you had walked up on his best friend speaking poorly about his own wife. The tone of Harry’s voice rang in your ears, and a noise of distress escaped you as you dropped your face into your hands as it all came rushing back to you.

“I’m going to grab another drink, baby,” you had informed Harry as you dropped your arm from around his waist, and you pressed a kiss against his cheek. “Do you want another tequila?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed as he looked down at you. “Thanks, honey.”

Smiling, you stepped inside the house and into the kitchen so that you could grab both of you the proper refills. You had just flown into LA a few hours prior, and you practically had to rush to get ready for the two of you to make it on time, but you did it. Harry had surprised you earlier this week by telling you he had bought you a ticket to come and see him so you could attend this party with him. You had been missing him terribly, and it made your heart soar that he planned this all out on his own.

You were at the house of the VP at Columbia Records, and to be honest, you weren’t exactly sure what this whole party was about, but you were excited to accompany Harry nonetheless.

After topping Harry’s tequila off, and grabbing yourself another cocktail, you started back out onto the large patio where most of the party seemed to be hanging out.

Harry had now shifted from where you had left him, and you found him engaged in a conversation with Tyler, as well as a couple of women you hadn’t seen before.

“Thought you were coming to this party on your own, Harry,” you heard one of them say, and you stayed back a bit as you listened. 

“Yeah, well, my wife has been beside herself these past couple weeks while I’ve been here for work, so I decided to fly her out.”

“Didn’t take you as one to be into the needy types,” the other woman spoke up as she curled her long fingers around her wine glass, and you watched the way her eyes trailed over your husband.

Harry chuckled at that statement, running a hand up and through his curls. “She has been rather needy lately, I’m not going to lie,” he said, and you felt your heart fall into your stomach. “It’s not like me coming out here to LA for a few months was a shock to her - this had been planned out for months now. It’s not my fault she chooses to keep a job that ties her solely to New York. Last week all she kept saying on the phone with me was how much she missed me, and how she’d had a hard time sleeping since I haven’t been home. I’m hoping this quick little weekend trip helps nip that in the bud.”

You watched as Tyler’s eyes flickered over to you from where you stood behind Harry, and he cleared his throat. “Harry.”

“I’ve been gone for way longer before, and been way further away. At least I’m in the same country as her, for Christ’s sake. Just for once I’d like to call her, and have an actual discussion - not just hear her talk about how miserable she is without me being home there. So yeah, I guess needy would be the perfect way to describe her, and you’re right, I’m not usually one to surround myself with that type of behavior.”

“Harry!” Tyler said again, this time raising his voice, and you watched as Harry looked over to him.

“What?”

Tyler looked back at you as he pointed his finger over Harry’s shoulder in your direction, and you watched as Harry turned around - his expression immediately dropping once he realized you had just heard everything he had been saying.

“Y/N,” he said as you walked forward, and you shoved his glass of tequila to his chest.

“There’s your refill,” you mumbled, not even looking at him as you walked through the middle of the little group they had formed.

You heard the women snickering behind you as you continued to walk - heading towards the lounge chairs that lined the large swimming pool in the middle of the yard. It was a good distance away from where the party was really going on, so you knew you could be alone. Harry was continuing to call out your name as you walked, but he didn’t make any movement to walk after you.

That said enough.

New tears were beginning to mix with the warm shower water as you turned around to face the stream completely. You lazily washed over your body, and you scrubbed the makeup off your face before stepping back out of the foggy glass cubicle. You were grateful that the mirrors were now fogged up as well, not wanting to see your reflection, and you stepped back into the bedroom after wrapping a towel around your torso.

Your open suitcase still remained on the side of the bed from earlier when you were in a rush to get ready, and you dug through to find the pajamas you had packed. A knot formed in your throat when you realized you had only really packed your sexiest items. You figured the two nights that you and Harry would be spending together would’ve looked a little differently than tonight did. 

Sighing, you dropped the silky garments from your hands as you made your way into the closet, and you grabbed one of the boxes that was filled with some of your old t-shirts from throughout the years that you and Harry just hadn’t had a chance to go through yet. You pulled out a random shirt from your time in Las Vegas on a family trip - grateful that you always bought trip shirts so you could wear them as night shirts, having this one hit you right in the middle of your thighs once you tugged it on.

You walked back out to the suitcase, and you slipped on a pair of underwear as well before zipping up the luggage and pushing it up against the wall. Pulling the covers to the bed back, you slipped underneath them and propped up the pillows as you grabbed your phone, and you immediately pulled up the app to the airline Harry had bought your plane ticket through.

Browsing through flights, you realized that any flight that was leaving tomorrow was either going to give you an insane layover between your connecting flights, or it was going to cost almost double than what Harry had already paid. You groaned as you shut your phone off, tossing it into the bed next to you as you ran your hands over your face.

As you turned onto your side, pulling the covers right up underneath your chin, you slipped your eyes shut as you tried your best to get some rest. Maybe sleeping on this was what you needed to do rather than act irrationally, and end up doing something that you’d end up regretting in the morning. 

You just couldn’t help but continue to dwell on whether or not Harry had been sick of you for a while. From the tone of his voice tonight, and the harsh words that he was speaking, you figured your suspicions had to be correct. Maybe his investment in this marriage was dwindling away, and that in itself caused your stomach to churn. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, and you shook your head as you tried to get your brain to stop.

◃───────────▹

Your eyes fluttered open, and you realized you were still in the same position as when you first tried to fall asleep. You weren’t sure if you had been out for a few minutes, or a few hours, but when you glanced at the clock to see it was a little after five in the morning, you knew you had been asleep for at least two hours. You and Harry had gotten home a little after one, and with the argument and you taking a shower, you were sure you must’ve dozed off in the three o’clock hour.

Sitting up, you looked over your shoulder and saw the bed was still made and unslept, so you knew Harry had stuck by your demand of him sleeping in the guest room. You pushed yourself up to use the bathroom quickly, and while you washed your hands, you made the decision to go and  check on your husband.

You hoped that he had actually made it to bed, and that he hadn’t passed out downstairs on the couch in the studio.

As you approached the door to the guest room, you held your ear against it for a moment, but you were met with silence. You sucked in a deep breath as you opened the door as quietly as possible, and you peeked your head in to see Harry sprawled over the mattress on his back. The moonlight was just barely shining through the curtains to illuminate his figure, and you stepped into the room fully - shutting the door just as quietly as you opened it. 

You glanced to the chair in the corner to see both his dress shirt and dress pants draped over the back of it, so you knew that he was sleeping in just his briefs.

You made your way over to the bed and sat down on the side of it, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you slipped his left hand out from underneath the covers - placing it in your lap. Your eyes dwelled on the gold band around his ring finger, and you felt tears burning against your waterline as you ran your fingertips over it. His other rings had been discarded, and you figured they were down in the studio as you began to twist his wedding band around.

Blinking, you sent the tears down your cheeks as you bit down harder on your lip to try and conceal the sobs that wanted to leave you.

You were going to lose him. You were sure of it.

You hadn’t even noticed that Harry had woken up, but he remained still as he felt your hands roaming all over his left one, and he felt as you began to fiddle with his wedding band. He felt your body jolt just slightly, and that’s when he knew that you had to be crying. 

It caused his heart to ache, and he felt tears of his own pressing to the forefront of his lids. There was nothing he wanted more than to take back all the harsh words he had spoken earlier at the party. The tequila had caused his head to swim, and when he heard those women making comments about you being needy, he just snapped. He wasn’t sure why he allowed those comments to get under his skin.

Sure, you had been a little more open to him lately about how much you were missing him while he was away, but Harry knew that he loved hearing that from you. He missed you just as much as you missed him, and if he wasn’t such a fucking idiot, he would’ve expressed that to you. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t. He didn’t want you to feel alone in your need to always want to be together.

If he could have you with him every second of the day, he would. He loved you more than words could ever express, and that’s why he wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive himself for the nasty lies he had spewed tonight.

He was terrified that you would never forgive him either.

Swallowing harshly, he slowly sat up in bed, and you snapped your head over to look at him - your eyes meeting underneath the small bit of light that hung in the room. He brought his right hand up to cup the back of your neck, and as he used the leverage to bring your face closer, he could see the glistening of the tears coating the apples of your cheeks.

“Y/N,” he spoke, but you quickly shook your head.

You didn’t want to talk right now.

Your shaking hands lifted to cradle his jawline in your palms, and before you knew it, his hand on the back of your neck was now completely pulling you into him - lips clashing together.

His hand that was in your lap slipped underneath your shirt, grasping to your hip, and giving it a squeeze to signal that he wanted you even closer. Moving further onto the bed, you then straddled his waist, but your hands remained in the same places as your lips separated - tongues lapping over one another, and tracing patterns onto the roof of each other's mouths.

Harry’s fingers curled around your hip as you began to grind down against him, and you could feel that he was already growing hard underneath you - the only thing separating the two of you being your pairs of underwear.

The two of you knew this wasn’t a solution to the fight that happened earlier, but you were trying to push those thoughts away for the time being. Despite your anger, you still wanted him, and as angry as it made you that those feelings overpowered your want to scream at him, you couldn’t help but give in. You needed this.

You needed him.

You could tell that you were completely ruining your underwear as his hard length began to press just perfectly to your clit through the fabric, and you moaned into his mouth.

After a few more seconds, you both moved around so that you could remove the unnecessary undergarments - tossing them onto the ground before you were straddling him once more.

Sitting up a bit, you rested your hands on his chest as you rocked your hips back and forth, and you heard Harry groan as he cupped your hips in his hands to help your movements. You looked down to see his tip peeking out from underneath you every time you drew your hips back, and you could see that he was actively leaking precome onto the skin of his stomach.

You knew it wouldn’t be long until the need to have him inside of you would take over completely, so you decided to give yourself a bit of an advantage for once. You were going to be the one in charge. You were going to be the one to call the shots.

With your eyes looking back up to Harry’s face, you could see that he was already looking at you, and you watched as his eyes widened once your hand was wrapped around his neck - applying the smallest bit of pressure.

“Beg,” you demanded, stopping all other movements.

Harry let out a small gasp as you tightened your fingers just a little more against his pressure points, and his lips parted. You had never been in this position with him before. He was always the one to dictate the pace, so you knew that he was more than shocked to hear, and see you in such a way.

“Beg me to fuck you,” you told him, your tone unwavering as you continued to stay still.

“Y/N, I-”

“That doesn’t sound like begging,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “You must not want me that bad.”

“No, no, no,” Harry pleaded as you acted like you were beginning to move off of his torso, but your hand still remained firmly in place. “I need you, baby. I want you so bad. Can’t you see?”

Harry tilted his chin down to his stomach where you could see that he was still leaking, and you stared for a few moments before meeting his eyes once more. “Yeah, I can see the mess you’re making, you pathetic little boy. About to come on his own stomach without even properly having his dick touched, is that right? All because of a little bit of grinding.”

You started up the rolling of your hips again - wetting his cock with your steadily dripping arousal as you did so. “But still, that’s not enough to convince me. If you don’t get to properly begging me within the next few seconds, I’m going to have to go back to the other bedroom, and just take care of myself with my own hand.”

The whine that left Harry was unlike any other noise you’ve heard him make before, but it was the start of him actually showing you that he wanted this.

“Please, Y/N, I haven’t had you in almost a month, and you know I love how good you feel around me. The most delicious pussy I’ve ever had, and the only one I’ll ever want for the rest of my life. I was made just for you. Take me, baby, please. Use me.”

You didn’t speak anymore, and you now heard Harry whimper as his bottom lip began to tremble.

Smirking softly, you applied just a tad more pressure to his throat as you lowered your torso down onto his so you could speak directly into his ear. “Now who’s needy?”

With just the slight shifting of your hips, you completely sunk yourself down onto him - both of you moaning out as you felt him filling you up entirely. You could feel him stretching you out, the subtle burn causing you to wince as you continued to pant into his ear. After giving yourself a moment to properly adjust, you sat back up and braced your free hand on his chest as you began to ride him.

The angle had your clit massaging perfectly against his pelvis, and you threw your head back with a soft moan - digging your teeth into your bottom lip. 

“God, the sweetest little cunt,” Harry groaned, and you squeezed his neck the hardest you had all night.

“Shut up,” you gasped as you continued to move yourself up and down his shaft. “I don’t want to hear anymore talking from you, got it? But I would appreciate hearing you whine and moan like the needy boy you are.”

Letting up on his neck, you put more of your weight into the hand on his pec as you started slamming your hips down against his. You wanted relief, and you wanted it fast, especially after how emotionally worked up you had been all night.

At this point, you really didn’t even care if Harry got to come, and you decided you wanted to threaten him with that.

“I should just make you lay here, and watch me get myself off. And then when I come, at least twice, I’m going to stop. I’ll let you slide right out of me, and I’ll leave this room. I’ll make sure that you know that you wouldn’t be able to touch yourself either.”

Harry let out a large whimper at your words, and you smirked to yourself. He was giving you the exact reaction that you wanted.

“Does that make you upset to think about, Harry?” You continued to tease him. “That you haven’t been able to fuck anything but your fist this past month, and now that you have the sweetest cunt wrapped around you, you won’t even be able to finish inside of it? That I can take it away so easily?”

Harry’s face scrunched up, and if you weren’t mistaken, you were sure that you saw a few tears leaking from the corner of his eyes.

“That’s right, cry,” you chastised. “You’ve made me cry all fucking night. It’s about time I made you pay for that.”

You felt Harry’s prick twitch against one of your walls, and with one more thrust downwards, you felt yourself coming for the first time around him. Your ears were ringing, and your toes were curling as you felt your movements growing a bit sloppy as you rode yourself through your high completely.

“Oh, yes,” you moaned, thighs quivering as you started to come back down. “There it is.”

Worried that you were going to bruise Harry’s neck from how long you had been holding onto it, you moved your hands to where they both wrapped around his wrists, and you pinned them down onto the bed on each side of his head. You stared into each other's eyes as you continued to recuperate from your first orgasm, and once you felt your strength regaining, you started to ride him just as hard as you had before. 

Your mouth was gaping open from just how overwhelming the pleasure of just having him back inside of you after so long was. As much as you wanted that second orgasm, you also didn’t want this to end. 

You forced your eyes to stay open so that you could watch him, and you saw the tell of his own orgasm approaching - his eyebrows knitting together in the middle of his forehead.

“Don’t you dare,” you told him sternly, a groan escaping you at the end from how deep you felt him. 

“It hurts,” Harry whined, and you shook your head in response before he continued. “I want to come so bad. Please let me come, mommy.”

Your eyes widened at the term as Harry had never used it before in the entirety of your relationship together, but then again, you had never been this in control - not even close.

“No, I told you, you don’t get to come.”

A sob wrecked through Harry’s chest, and you could see that his nails were digging into his palms. Using the leverage of your hands still around his wrists, you worked yourself at a new angle against his leaking cock, and you started to feel the familiar twitching in your lower abdomen as your cunt pulsed around him.

“I’m gonna come again,” you spoke subconsciously as your eyes rolled back into your head, and this climax hit you even harder than the first.

Your body trembled as your movements started to slow down entirely, and your grasp on Harry’s wrists ceased to exist as you collapsed against his chest. With his cock still inside of you, but with no stimulation, you clenched down around him with every pulse you felt. You knew that if you didn’t get off of him soon, that he would still come from this.

With a newfound clarity after your two orgasms, you blinked your eyes open, and you pushed yourself up to hover your face over his once more.

“You can come,” you ghosted your lips over his before connecting just your top lips, and you felt him starting to fill you up with his come. 

Regardless of you letting him finish inside of you, you knew that it wasn’t the most satisfying orgasm for him. You didn’t milk his cock for everything he could give you as you usually would. You remained as still, and practically as loose as possible to make him suffer slightly. He still was a moaning mess underneath you despite all of it, and you expected for him to reach out and grab you in some way but his hands stayed right where you left them against the mattress.

After a few seconds, you began to shift on top of him, going to crawl off his torso, but that’s when Harry did move - his arms wrapping securely around your waist.

“Don’t go yet, please,” he whispered, and you felt fresh tears forming at the vulnerability you heard in his voice. “I want to hold you, Y/N. Just for a little bit.”

Swallowing the knot in your throat, you gave a nod as you laid back down against his chest - hands finding their home on his biceps. You shut your eyes, and you knew Harry was softening inside of you, and that your orgasms had to be making a mess of the sheets, but neither of you could be bothered to care.

You were still extremely hurt by what you heard earlier, but being in his arms like this again dulled the pain for a little bit - just like what happened a few moments earlier. 

“I should’ve never said those things about you, my love,” Harry spoke up again, his fingertips now grazing along the back of your neck. “I don’t know why I did, and I hope you know that I’m going to spend every second going forward trying to make you feel better. I know I can never take them back, no matter how much I wish that I could, but I need you to know that’s not how I feel about you - not in the slightest.”

You could tell he cut himself off due to the emotions rising in his voice, but once he cleared his throat he continued.

“You are everything to me, Y/N. My entire world. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, would matter to me anymore if I lost you. The thought terrifies me. Having to live without you is my biggest fear because you are the love of my life. It’s why I married you, and why I want to stay married to you until our last breaths. The day I married you was the day my life finally started to make sense. Yes, I have my fans, and my music, but I would give all of that up if that’s what allowed me to continue to keep you.”

Tears were now streaming down both of your cheeks as you listened to him, and you sniffled as you turned your head to rest your chin against his chest, and he tilted his own head down to look at you.

“Do you want me to do that? I can give it all up right now, if that’s what will make you happy.”

“Harry, baby, no,” you shook your head as you cupped one of his cheeks in your hand. “I would never ask for you to give your career up for me. You love what you do, and so do I. The overwhelming pride I get when I see you out on that stage is only comparable to one other thing in my life, and that’s the love that I know we have for each other. 

“What you said tonight did hurt me, and I was questioning everything from the time I heard those words until right now, but I trust you when you say that you didn’t mean them. I promise that I’ll try to be better during our phone calls. I’ll try not to complain as much about not being with you, and I can start keeping some things to myself if it’s going-”

“Stop that,” Harry stated as he moved one of his hands from around you to press the pad of his thumb against your lips. “I want you to be able to tell me everything. Don’t you dare filter yourself because of me. I’m a fucking idiot, Y/N, because I should’ve told you that when you tell me how much you miss me, I miss you just the same. You’re not alone in that. I also can’t hardly sleep without you being by my side, and knowing that you’re leaving on Sunday, and that I’m going to have to be here by myself for another month or two is almost unbearable to think about.”

Your bottom lip wobbled, and you saw his lips curl into a frown as his own tears started to coat his cheeks. “I miss you every second that I’m not with you, honey. I love you so much.”

Leaning forward, Harry’s thumb slipped from your lips, and you captured his mouth in a searing kiss. He let out a deep breath through his nose as his hands cupped your hips, and soon your tongues were wrestling for dominance before you could even process. 

You could feel Harry hardening inside of you again, and you encouraged it by starting the grinding of your hips once more.

“I love you too, Harry, and I want you to show me how much you miss me when we’re apart,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel it.”

The next thing you knew, Harry had you flipped onto your back, and he hovered over you as you let him consume you entirely for the second time that morning. It was in that moment that you knew everything would be okay, and that the love you had for each other was unchanging.

[whitemancumslut]

HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.

CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse

WC: 7.5K (whoops)

There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip. 

In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying. 

There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar. 

There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss. 

There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away. 

There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock. 

This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows. 

Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way. 

There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental. 

They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that... 

That’s sexy, the young woman thinks. 

They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck. 

She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does. 

Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter. 

By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.

She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi. 

Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her. 

A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.” 

The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her. 

“Easy.” 

She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.

Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?” 

He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders. 

When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement. 

“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet. 

And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again. 

“Hey, you.” 

Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?” 

When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly. 

“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over. 

His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair. 

“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry. 

Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?” 

Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug. 

That’s dangerous. 

She’s glad he isn’t. 

The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…

“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.” 

Her breath stutters. 

“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”

Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”

Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?” 

Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear. 

“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.” 

He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.” 

Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work. 

“Would you like that?” 

And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently. 

“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.

She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.” 

But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs. 

“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch. 

“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased. 

“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest. 

Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?” 

The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.” 

The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth. 

Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.  

Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon. 

Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more. 

“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled. 

And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down. 

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”

The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…” 

His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?” 

Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.

Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign. 

It’s not. 

It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp.  

It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters. 

“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks. 

Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though. 

He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress. 

Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.

“Gonna suck my cock, baby.” 

It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head. 

Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists. 

“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?” 

Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.

“Good girl.” 

The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.

“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.” 

And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.

“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.” 

The pointed little end grazes over his balls. 

“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.” 

It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.  

And Christ, does it feel good when she does that. 

Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her. 

“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“

And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.

And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first. 

“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.” 

Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek. 

“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”

Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth. 

Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?” 

The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth. 

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.” 

He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene. 

“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.

A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face. 

A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.” 

Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds. 

The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans. 

There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there. 

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” 

The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly. 

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.” 

Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.

Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.” 

And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together. 

“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”  

Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.  

Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.” 

In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach. 

“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway. 

It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.

“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.” 

Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that? 

There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile. 

He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?” 

Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back. 

“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.” 

Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter. 

Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock. 

“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.

“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?” 

She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat. 

“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?” 

Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back. 

“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull. 

“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”

He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath. 

The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts. 

“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”

Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence. 

“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”

Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.

“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.” 

He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.

He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before. 

But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.

Tomorrow they’ll still be friends. 

Just friends that fuck.

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This or That | Steddie x Fem!Reader

Summary: You can’t seem to figure out what you like better between Steve and Eddie (basically about who gives the best head..)

Warnings: EXPLICIT AF Minors DNI 18+ threesome, f & m receiving, m/f giving, oral f/m, filth filth FILTH

Note: This always happens...I ovulate and right very horny and filthy shit. This is becoming a pattern...Anyway, enjoy!

Reposts and comments are always apperciated!

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Watching Steve get Eddie off is your favorite pastime. 

Eddie is usually a talker when you all have sex. Always saying how good it feels when you clench against him or how hot it is when Steve spills his cum against his chest.  Or any other dirty filthy thing that comes out of his mouth. But when Steve goes down on him, he’s always quiet. Too stunned to anything as he watches  Steve fucking Harrington lick him from his balls to tip before swallowing his length down his throat. 

And seeing Steve with Eddie’s cock in his mouth does something to you. You clench against nothing, your holes begging to be filled as you lay your head on Eddie’s thigh and watch Steve drip spit from his mouth onto Eddie’s red tip. 

Licking your lips you see Steve lock eyes with you and smile before going back down on him. He takes on hand off of Eddie’s length and places it against your cheek. His hand still a bit wet as his thumb rubs against your lips, you eagerly open you mouth as needy as Steve knows you are, sucking and licking on his thumb. You let out a gasp when you feel two wet finger dip inside of you and curl with a skilled way that always gets you to come. 

Maybe your favorite is when Eddie gives Steve head.  His hair acting as a curtain, covering the filthy image of Steve’s cock between his lips. The only way you can know for certain that it’s happening is by the way Eddie moves his head up and down and the pretty noises Steve makes when Eddie goes an inch deeper.

 If Eddie doesn’t say anything when someone’s going down on him, Steve always becomes a whimpering talkative mess. His cheeks flushed and his chest moving rapidly as Eddie takes him inch by inch. You kiss Steve’s chest, licking any and every place you can, and Steve can’t get enough. He whines and whimpers and curses at the actions, and you love to shush his cries with a deep kiss. 

Wait, no, it’s the way Steve eats your pussy. Yeah, with his head in between your thighs and his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you from moving. Steve alternates sucking against your clit with putting his tongue inside you. Steve is good at what he does, you know it and Eddie knows it.

 Eddie, who's right next to you, palming your tits, squeezing your nipples ever so harshly and whispering praises to you. His eyes focused on Steve lapping at your wet folds. Eddie never lasts long with being the one to watch and praise you while the other eats you out. He always loses focus and gets distracted and jealous. So he never stays next to you for long. 

He goes down  next to Steve wanting in on the action so within seconds you feel both of their tongues against your pussy which causes you to come a lot quicker than usual. Unless Steve doesn’t push him off and order him back to lay next to you. 

Actually, it’s the way Eddie eats you out. How could you forget?  The way he talks to you with his lips right against your pussy, rubbing almost his whole face in your heat. His lips, nose and cheeks glistening with your slick as he drowns in you. He talks a lot, mumbling against you but you and Steve know it’s mainly to himself. Eddie goes dumb when he eats you out. A mumbling mess that will only be brought back to life with you having an orgasm on his tongue. 

Steve, ever so caring, gives you the extra care and praise you need to get there quicker. His kisses, all tongue and swollen lips, the way he sucks on your tits and flicks your wet nipples with his fingers. Sucking and biting your neck as your back arches.

 And he talks to you so sweetly. “Is Eddie making you feel good sweetheart? Do you like what he’s doing with his tongue? Fuck, just look at him, all drunk and dumb on your pussy. You're such a good girl baby, your pussy so good it’s makin’ Eddie lose his mind. You wanna come baby? Huh? You wanna come with Eddie’s fingers inside you?”

Honestly, you couldn’t really choose one or the other. Either way, it's always good with them.

[whitemancumslut]

BIG SHOT polaroid | e.m.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem reader

Summary: In which you and Eddie have a picture book where you both store your sex pics. <3 💕

Warnings: 18+ Cursing, a little Smut (p in v), Oral (fem receiving), Praise kink, body worship(?), pet names, nudes

Word count: 1k

If you pushed past the mounds of dirty laundry intertwined with disposed candy bar wrappers and a few empty shoe boxes, underneath Eddie Munson's bed lies the picture book. 

The picture book was your idea, but the pictures themselves were all Eddie's perverted idea. 

"Lemme take a picture of you, yeah?" Eddie said, taking a break from his delicious never-ending assault on your clit. Your juices dripped down his chin, some droplets stringing the tips of his hair, his lips all red and puffy covered in slick, and his eyes a little crazed and tinted in admiration. 

He kissed the supple plush of your thigh in a diagonal line; your hands stayed grazing his curls, body supine on the foam of Eddie's mattress. Eddie's lips make love to your thighs, to your tummy, from your breast to your neck, and eventually to your lips; where'd you gotten to taste yourself for the first time.

Eddie quotes Shakespeare. "Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry. Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie." He says, glossy lips forming a smile.

"Lemme get a picture of you.” He asks again. “I want to savor my pretty girl in this moment," he says with that boyish smile and those adoring chocolate eyes.

Fuck, those eyes. Even if you were thinking of saying 'no' to Eddie, you simply couldn't. It was the way Eddie's eyes gazed at you every time you made contact. It was as if he was put into a dreamlike trance.

If Eddie had been a cartoon, his eyes and pupils would have turned heart-shaped.

You agreed to the picture, but just one.

Eddie sprung up from the bed, his naked pale body sprinting around the smallish trailer.

You hear a few thuds and ruffling coming from the next room. You imagine Eddie tearing his home apart to find his Polaroid camera.

When Eddie comes back, he returns holding a big-shot Polaroid. He says it was his mother's. He and Wayne don't use it often, so there should be enough film on it.

You try to sit up as Eddie crawls onto the bed, but he lightly pushes you back down, telling you you shouldn't have to move a finger, lie back, and be his muse.

You felt an uneasiness plummet in your stomach as you felt the cold lens of Eddie's mother polaroid aimed at your cunt; it was similar to the feeling you get when your doctor has to check beneath your folds for any signs of ovarian cysts or cancers at your yearly checkups.

And though Eddie had seen your bare cunt a multitude of times (just like your doctor), this particular time made your body shutter. Just as Eddie goes to snap the picture, he notices your sudden twitchiness.

"Hey," he says, palming the plum of your cheek. He lightly pecks your lips. "You trust me, right?"

You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip; of course, you trusted Eddie.

"Good." He nearly mumbles, eyes fixated on your glistening folds.

Eddie resume.

The Polaroid covers half of Eddie's face. With his right eye peeking through the eyepiece and his left eye squeezed tightly, Eddie aims the lens close to your cunt.

He places his thumb onto one of your folds and pulls back on the skin, snapping the picture in one snap. Seconds later, the blackened photo ejects from underneath the film shield.

With a few anticipated shakes from Eddie, the photo started to fade in, and you and Eddie stared at it with wide bug eyes and gaping mouths.

It wasn't the fact that Eddie could date back to this photo and jack off to it later that turned him on. Eddie was turned on because you let him do it; it turned him on even more that you trusted him to do it.

It turned you on because there was something obscure about seeing another aspect of your body, other than your face, on a Polaroid picture. In a way, you felt like you were Eddie's personal playboy bunny.

"Can I take another one?" Eddie asked in a daze, just as you went to ask him to take another, and then another, and then another, until you eventually ran out of film.

Taking pictures of you and Eddie's naked bodies would become almost like an addiction to both of you.

It became a ritualistic practice for you two before sex, grabbing the Polaroid (which now rested on Eddie's bedside table, along with packs of film) and taking turns snapping pictures of one another mid fuck.

Eddie would take the Polaroid from you and snap a picture of his cock plunging into your tight wet cunt; once he has his picture, then you'll take the Polaroid and snap a photo of your foot pressed against his pelvis, just above his happy trail. The cycle would go on and on until you were both covered in Polaroid pictures and cum.

It gets to a point where Eddie's bedside dresser, the current home for your photos, gets filled up, and you both have to resort to putting your photos in a picture book.

Making the picture book would be fun for both of you. You would sit on the trailer's living room floor, surrounded by glue, glitter, and markers; it's like a little arts and crafts project.

It'd be nostalgic for you and Eddie to return to your first photos all those months ago until now.

Eddie gets that gooey mushy feeling, getting wrapped up in the trust and intimacy of the photos--love, he thinks the feeling is called-- watching you watch a picture of yourself with a mouthful of his cock, and scrapbooking secret photos preserved for just his and your eyes only.

Eddie wants to tell you he loves you but doesn't yet; now isn't the right time. So he runs to his room, returning with his mother's big-shot Polaroid camera, and takes a snapshot of you.

[whitemancumslut]

They’ve literally become one

#boyfriends