#camp buddy imagine

[malereadermaniac]

Fire Crotch ~ Taiga Akatora x Male Reader

Plotless smut - Fuck bullies! YEAH LETS FUCK BULLIES! Top!Taiga x Bottom!Reader word count: 1.4k (of just smut) Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI

Pants and moans harmonised with groans and whimpers of pleasure

Your clothes and underwear were ditched in the corner of your room - along with your boyfriend's shorts and jockstrap

With your sweaty back on the bed and your legs on your boyfriend's broad, clothed shoulders, your arms aimlessly move and grab at the pillows

Taiga's positioned above you, his bare knees holding him in place above you as he spams his hips against your ass, slapping noises joining the sounds of your shared moans

The redhead biting his bottom lip sexily as his dick fucks deep into you, your walls tighten around Taiga's cock - making the tan man whimper slightly

Every so often, Taiga would slow his pace down and move his mouth to your exposed neck, marking you as his boy as he slowly pushes his veiny dick in and out of you

With his t-shirt almost drenched in sweat, Taiga's hair matches as his red hairs stick to his forehead, the muscular man moans your name along with millions of compliments as he fucks into you

Even in moments as heated as this, your boyfriend manages to sweep you off of your feet, ensuring to let you know how much he fucking loves you

Your dick twitches from Taiga's thick dickhead drilling against your prostate - the man hissing above you as he bites his lip, the pleasure of your warm, tight walls getting to him

"Ha... Hey, babe... Mind switching positions real quick?" Taiga stutters out, literally about to cum from even 3 more thrusts of his muscular hips

"Haha... sure, handsome~" you say, giggling at your boyfriend's courtesy, bringing your hand up to his face and giving it a squish

The two of you kiss softly for a moment as Taiga ever so slowly pulls his thick cock from your desperate hole

You let the red-head manhandle you into the position he wanted you in - a simple Doggy to finish with some might

With your back arched, your sensitive nipples on your soiled duvet, and your ass up in the air, Taiga fixes his manly hands on your hips

With one smooth thrust of his manly hips, your boyfriend fucks his dick all the way inside of you

Taiga starts hitting it from the back, literally spanking your ass as the waves of immense pleasure take Taiga over - letting out hos meaner, very horny side

A fast pace is set, Taiga fucking you fast and hard, pulling your hips to crash against his as he moans sexily

If only you could see your sex symbol of a boyfriend in that moment...

Taiga's hair was stuck to his forehead, his muscles were all flexing as he pounded into you - a horny, smug grin on his face

His pearly, sharp whites showing as the man had his tongue out, holding it to his top row of teeth in the most confident and sexy way imaginable

As Taiga pounds his hips against your ass, his loose balls dangle beneath his cock, saggy and boiling, storing cum ready to be shot inside of you

His red, thin pubes push softly against your ass, slightly tickling you every millisecond as Taiga grinding his hips into you at light speed

As the two of you got closer and closer to your respective orgasms, both your moans and Taiga's became louder in volume

Your dick was dangling beneath your hips, twitching desperately to shoot out your spunk

With even more might than before, Taiga moves his hands up to your waist, gripping you even tighter as he fucks into you with a new vigour

Your voice starts to break as your moans become wilder, your hands gripping for dear life onto your pillows

Your body starts to twitch erratically as you cum, waves of pleasure crashing over you as your vision fades in and out - your mind devoid of thoughts, only the intense yet very delightful feelings of your orgasm filling your brain up

The vice-like grip of your tight asshole is what then pushed Taiga over the edge - his hips locking within your ass like a perfectly fitting puzzle

The harmony of your moans and your boyfriend's hisses, groans, and sexy moans fall so beautifully on both your ears and his

The scene looks, smells, sounds and feels like a porno - the bed underneath you soiled with your sweat and a lot of your off-white cum

You can feel Taiga's cock pump your hole full of his hot jizz in great detail, your gummy walls so tight that your can feel each vein on your boyfriend's cock

"Ha.... heh heh.... Fuck, babe... you're too damn good" Taiga chuckles, giving your plump cheek another slap as he pulls out of you

"Haaa.... ditto to you~" you mumble, still obviously high off of the vibes and your earth-shattering orgasm

The redhead laughs at your state and gently lowers you to the bed, making sure to avoid the wet patch of your cum

Taiga kisses the nape of your neck and smells your hair, the scent of your sweat amplifying your scent - driving the man crazy

"Y'know I fuckin' love you right, (y/n)?" Taiga whispers, his breath very hot and his voice evidently raspy

"Hmhm~ Yeah, I can't get enough of it~" you chuckle, playfully running your finger up and down your boyfriend's pecs as you flutter your eyes between his muscular chest and his deep red eyes

"I love you more, though... fire-cracker~" you convey the romantic message, unable to stay completely serious and teasing your taller boyfriend in turn

The two of you mindlessly chat, whispering sweet nothings as you kiss and giggle

Taiga runs his fingers through your hair, his eyes wandering tour face with such love and admiration

"Y'know, I really regret... being such a dick to you guys back at camp..." Taiga mumbles, his face darkening slightly as his giddy smile drops, his hand still playing with your hair

"I know, babe. I wouldn't be in bed with you right now if I wasn't certain you weren't a raging cunt anymore" you chuckle, making the redhead laugh along with you - running your finger gently across the man's scar

As the uncomfortable feeling of drying cum and sticky sweat settles in (Taiga still in his sweat drenched top) you sit up with aim to wash up

But sitting on one side of the bed, your boyfriend laying half naked on your bed still daydreaming of you, a thought occurred

You turn your head to Taiga - "Ready to go again, fire-crotch?~"

A smug smile on your face, calling your boyfriend the one name you know gets on his nerves (but secretly turns him on like hell)

And once those words leave your mouth, the muscular man is already sitting up on his knees and removing his sweaty t-shirt with one, tan hand

Within seconds, Taiga had sat up against the bedframe, pulling you onto his lap - his hands comfortable on your hips as the redhead looks up lovingly into your eyes

The two of you make out for a few minutes, desperate for each other once more as your dicks harden back up very quickly

With your hands resting on your boyfriend's chest, you continue to kiss Taiga passionately - his warm tongue toying with yours in a sort of dance

Eventually, Taiga makes his way down your neck and to your perky nipples, his mouth fully covering your buds as he bites and licks and sucks in them

You whimper from the feelings, one arm moving around Taiga's neck, your head falling onto his strong shoulder

Quietly moaning against his neck as the redhead teases your nipples, you decide to try and fight back - gently nibbling at Taiga's neck

Both of you start moaning gently against the others skin, your mouth creating soft pink and purple marks of your boyfriend's tan skin

As Taiga moves his face away from your body to relish his work, he chuckles at the perfectly circular bite marks around your nipples

You also take a look at your work, the possessive marks on your boyfriend's neck turning you on even more

It was a late night for the both of you, but man did you two sleep so damn good after fucking like literal bunnies

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Camp Buddy (Only the Scoutmasters)

Aiden Flynn

Goro Nomoru

Naoto Hamasaki

Archer Springfield

Yoshinori Nagira

William Clermont

[extraterrestrial-artist]

camp counsellors AU 100% real and canon ignore the fact i drew over a highly specific screenshot for the sillies

[tired-biscuit]

I don’t know if you’re still in a fluffy moods butttttt kibas reaction to y/n naming their soon to be born son after him (kiba jr!!) there’s absolutely no way he’d be able to hide his emotions. He’d feel all the feels. He may even shed a tear or two 🥹

omg yes, him trying to blink away the tears, like looking up towards the ceiling and sniffling a little cos he's trying so hard not to show what a softie he is when it comes to family. his heart is so much bigger than he tends to show and he just gets so emotional over things concerning his wife and kids :(

imagine as the years go by and the kid grows a bit older, you call out their name and they both do the same little head tilt as they look at you hdhshdhshsgs IT'D BE SO CUTE!!

also, imo if he had a son, the lil' guy would be his perfect copy by the time he grows older. right down to the way he walks and smiles, the temper and all sorts of little mannerisms would be stolen like that, so the name wouldn't be the only thing they'd have in common. he'd look up to his dad so much!!

i also think the kid would even be really happy when his friends would start using the same nickname that his dad has. like his best friend starts calling him 'ki 2.0' or something like that at some point, and it's just pure joy and kiba notices it and is over the moon too hahahshhags <3

[squidaped-oyt]

Greagoir really does just pull a bait-and-switch on you if you don’t annul the Circle, lmao

Before you head into the tower he says ‘If you succeed, I would owe you much, enough that I would pledge my templars to your cause.’

But when you come out without killing everyone, suddenly it’s ‘oh we need to watch the mages :) you can ask them for help if you want :)’

[snekdood]

worst thing is when a white person who 'grew up poor' and maybe lived in the city temporarily starts to insinuate they're from the hood or whatever shit lmao

[evilminji]

You think the Zone has its version of Comic Con?

Like? Think about it. You have literally all of time to work on it, your Magnum Opus, your life's work. That DREAM comic. All the supplies you could ever wish for. Endless paper. Endless ink. You can practice and practice for CENTURIES until it's JUST right.

Wouldn't you want to share it?

There are definitely Ghosts who have Obsessions that make them collect.

And two people meeting would lead to a group. Lead to a bigger group. Lead to a large group. A gathering. A crowd even. Eventually you need a Lair to meet IN. It becomes An Event.

People hear about it.

Want to bring other art mediums. Food stalls. Report on it. It grows. Shoot offs start happening. Niche meet ups.

But like?

Unlike comic con? It's all FREE. Sure, you might have fork over the ecto to make your copy. And yeah, weaker ghosts can only do that so many times. Will have to prioritize. But? They can come back after leaving for a nap. Ask a buddy to come with. There ARE work arounds.

Just? Imagine the unbelievable HIPE? Danny would feel? But be unable to TELL anyone about? Zone Con happens several times a year! Cause so many people wanna come. The Zone being infinite, after all.

Problem 1? They're using THEIR standard of a "year". Which is actual 5 earth years. So it's only happens every year and a half for him. And Problem 2? He can't even TALK about how excited he is about Z Con with anyone (outside his friends and family) because they haven't heard of it and might Ask Questions.

It's ALSO held in a part of the Zone that's like? Three days of flying away from the portal. And no amount of begging is gonna get any of his loved ones to camp in the Speeder for around six-ish days just to go to a Con.

So you can imagine his DELIGHT. His utter JOY and *Target Spotted* "!!!" Noise, when? In the crowd? He spots A HUMAN! Hi fellow human!!! Omg, wanna be Con Besties? *doesn't even wait for an answer*

So now? This sad, blonde, deeply lost and kinda alarmed, trench coat dude? Is Danny's new Z Con Going Bestie! You got a map yet, bestie? No? That's cool, he has one. By the way, he has human food in the Speeder if you nee-

YES!

Cause, see, here's the THING. John? Lost to the Realms Infinte. Or Infinte Realms. Translation was iffy... and on fire... like the rest of the building. It was him or the kids those psychos had kidnapped, for what fucked "ritual" the voices in their heads, that THEY thought were demons but frankly he's pretty sure was just feedback from-

Look, doesn't matter, he had to choose. He always knew someday he'd have too. That even twisting Luck and talking fast wouldn't quite be enough. And he had to decide, in that moment, which outcome mattered more to him. They get out safe, or he does.

Wasn't much of a question, was it?

So, there he is. Staring down oblivion and all those debts unpaid. 'Bout to see who's gonna come for him this time, and take what left of wretched soul. When? He bleeds on the FUCKIN two-bit crap circle they squiggled in God only knows what. Remembers that "oh YEAH, set dressings!" Sometimes when you focus too hard on insuring a Good Outcome?

You weird weird as shit byproducts happening on the side to balance it all out.

Or BAD ones.

He wakes up someone fucking green and crowded. For the life of him can't tell you which one it is. And THAT was of course, bout two days ago.

Biggest and most immediate problem? He... does NOT recognize what flavor of magical fuckery this is. Doesn't seem Fae. And doesn't smell like Hell. There are... there are honest to God BOOTH BABES hanging around. Hunks too. The view is LOVELY.

And nerdy.

Very, very nerdy.

But he isn't THAT out of touch. So he should recognize SOMETHING. Or at least the languages. But nope! It's like aliens and magic had a nerd baby and dipped it in GREEN. And the worst thing? Is there is food everywhere, but it all glows and John's not stupid enough to eat it.

Then? Sweet merciful fuck. Salvation! Some teeny bopper Barely No Longer Teen fresh faced INFANT of a Hero kid. With a SHIP. Who has FOOD and a clear idea of where they are. Hello~ John's new BEST FRIEND. Yes. Absolutely. Con Buddies, whatever.

Just feed me, kid.

Only? Once he inhales like 5 "Fenton rations"? He only gets half way through introducing himself before getting interrupted. Kid hears "magic" and "occult Detective" and just? Goes "oh! So you wanna check out the magic Ally with me? Sam wanted me to pick up some witchy stuff!"

..............how magic?

(In Which? Constantine becomes Danny's interdimensional Con buddy)

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe

[artjiayi]

Jade's worst nightmare 🌊

That's definitely the most detailed illustration I've ever drawn and it also took me a while to finish it. I procrastinated because I was going out of my comfort zone and I was so scared to mess it up... but I overcame it because the lore behind this drawing meant a lot to me.

About this illustration, I wanted to focus on Jade's sensitivity through the world surrounding him, especially on land. I wanted to break the twisted picture we all have of him and show his vulnerability. I also wanted to express a duality between his sea life and life on land. His eel form is a reminder of where he originally comes from.

To me, Jade looks like an unbreakable wall: he basically smiles all the time and he always seems to hide his true emotions. Although Jade tends to do some questionable things (let’s be real), I do believe that behind that wall, there’s an unusual but very touching sensitivity.

What I adore about Jade is the fact that he doesn't fear people's opinion about his hobbies and nothing can stop him from doing them, no matter what. He has a deep connection to everything related to nature so to me, he enjoys quiet places and being alone. Therefore I strongly believe he's an introvert and needs those moments disconnected from any social interactions.

Even though Jade appreciates solitude, he also needs to connect with people from time to time. There was a sentence he said during Vargas Camp that literally broke my heart:

"I'm envious that everyone else has someone to converse with. And here I am, all alone."

To me, that proves he's actually looking for deep connections with people so that he can be himself without being judged at all. Even Floyd and Azul find his interests weird and they're pretty harsh about his club. I know the octatrio has their own dynamics but still, Jade deserves to have a buddy who shares the same hobbies as him.

Anyway, I could write so much more about Jade but that's basically how I see him. My interpretation is probably a bit biased because of the love I already have for him but whatever. Thanks to it, I was able to imagine what could be his worst fear as he always seems so untouchable at first sight. I love shady Jade but sensitive Jade is what I need right now.

[1800titz]

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.

[malereadermaniac]

Camp Buddy x Male Reader Masterlist

Key: ❤️- Smut 🖤- Angst 🩷- Fluff

Ordered by character then chronologically of when I wrote them

Idk the public stance on camp buddy but i like some of the characters so I'll write for them!

Keitaro Nagame

Camper busy - come back later!

Yoichi Yukimura

🩷 Bully! - You are constantly bullied by Yoichi, but when you snap back at him, he starts liking you?

❤️You smell good - Yoichi notices you smell really good, then you notice his scent, which leads to hard smut

Natsumi Hamasaki

❤️ Innocent - Longer fic with Natsumi, hot summer days and teaching the inexperienced man filthy things

Hiro Akiba

Camper busy - come back later!

Taiga Akatora

❤️ Fire-crotch - P without plot with Taiga, with a little Fluff in the middle

Aiden Flynn

Camper busy - come back later!

Cross-Cabin (Includes bonus charas e.g. Darius or Seto)

❤️Subtle top/Busy bottom - Headcannons with Aiden & Lloyd (separately) as your tops who seem like they'd be bottoms

❤️ Nsfw Alphabets - 3-4 letters of the alphabet assigned to Keitaro, Hiro, Yoichi, Natsumi, Taiga, Seto, Aiden, Yoshinori, Naoto, Lloyd, and Darius

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

New Characters!

I added some guys from the game camp buddy: Aiden Flynn, Goro Nomoru, Naoto Hamasaki, Archer Springfield, Yoshinori Nagira, and William Clermont to the randoms!

(They so hot-)

[dravenscroft]

Imagine your friend dies and your bosses are screwing up everything at work, and then some cute coworker you used to dislike convinces you to unionise but it turns out your union is an armed militia (you armed it) and the cute coworker straight up murdered two of your other coworkers, and now you're being dragged along on the worst camping trip of your life. You're kind of dating the cute coworker but he's also married and his wife is right there, things are super weird and awkward. And then one day his wife is literally killed and eaten so you're promoted to Husband except no one is getting laid because you all have lead poisoning and your honeymoon involves you being chained to a boat like a dog and sacrificed to a bear-god-spirit-thing. At which point you learn your husband has been comitting identity theft all this time. Also your old boss is there?

This happened to my buddy Solomon Tozer 😔

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

immortal apollo kids headcanons!

this is specifically for the rrverse versions of Apollo's immortal kids! but feel free to think about it in the mythology context too! :3

Hymenaeus

still has a room in Apollo's palace

still sleeps in it

but he also has a room in Eros's because he's an Erote

this makes for some awkward situations when Apollo and/or Eros have to go to the other's place to grab him for something or other

they basically share custody of him

divorced dads behavior

when he was little he tried to get people to marry his dad because he reeeally wanted to plan his dad's wedding

technically, he succeeded, because he was the one who made Apollo/Cyrene's marriage official XD

his hair is fluffy like a sheep's fluff. also somewhere between strawberry-blonde and a very light amber. and reaches to just under his chin. don't forget the floppiness tho >:3

has his dad's bright blue eyes

LOVES his dad's swans. and corvids. he loves birds.

probably because he also has wings

wings are brilliantly white with a soft pink and gold flush

never looks older than 16

many of the other Erotes find Apollo hot. Hymen is distinctly horrified to know this.

Himeros: Your dad's a DILF

Hymen: a what?

Anteros: don't you dare-

Himeros: A Dad I'd Like to FUCK-

Hymen: *much screaming*

Ialemus

also still has a room in Apollo's palace

as a matter of fact, he still lives in said room

his room is also in apollo's basement (he wanted it there)

he is the emo kid. but he's also not necessarily antisocial

he just likes his solitude. and honestly, mood

imagine dragons is a favorite band. and hozier. he likes "slower" songs as well as sad ones

has Apollo's long hair, but in a very dark brown

has vivid green eyes. like radioactive ones.

likes ponytails

cows are his favorite animal

they are calm creatures he can ramble too so he likes them

knows a lot about things. comes with listening rather than talking ;)

WILL infodump

Apollonides

these girls are the PARTY KIDS

they are the ones throwing parties in their dad's house at 2 am

they also still live in Apollo's palace

frequent clubs and discos; can be seen at concert venues and are in many of the big city concerts (ie, Las Vegas, Madrid, Vienna, ect.)

Borysthenis is the 'oldest' (Hypatē - the lowerest & first string on the lyre); has curly brown hair and dark green eyes

Apollonis is the 'middle' (Mesē - the middle string); has Apollo's blonde hair, but straight, and dark eyes (crow-like, even... >;3)

and Cephisso is the 'youngest' (Nētē - the highest string); has poofy black hair and silvery-blue eyes

Hypatē has a comfy sort of style, such as sweaters and sandals

Mesē likes to wear aesthetically dark clothes with silver accents

Nētē wears blouses and loose jackets

one time they highjacked the sun chariot and got away with it by pulling the puppy eyes

they have demigod children in CHB

Asclepius

the baby

died at 15- still treated like he's 10

snuck onto the Argo mission at 13

Idmon and Orpheus played pass the babysitter with Jason

He kicked Heracles in the shins once for "trying to steal my dad's stuff!!"

Atalanta and Asclepius were buddies

The Boreads played games with him to keep him occupied

went on the Calydonian Boar Hunt to make sure Atalanta didn't 1) hurt herself; or 2) kill someone

he grew up in the beginning stages of CHB

in 'camp' with him were: Jason (the oldest), Atalanta (raised by bears), and Hippolytus (it was his boarding school).

Theseus dropped by sometimes and Asclepius was able to smuggle his way into his belongs so he could visit Athens. just because :)

Jason and Atalanta freaked out and they and Hippolytus went on a 'quest' to find him

Phoebe the hunter is his favorite sister

he befriends snakes quickly

he died at 15

his death pushed Phoebe into distancing herself from her other siblings

when he was resurrected, he wasn't allowed to see Apollo

his only visitors in his prison medical school is his wife and children. he hasn't seen or heard from his father or any sibling in centuries.

has his mother's shiny black hair but his father's curls as well as his bright blue eyes

Aristaeus

the REAL baby

has anxiety

severe imposter syndrome

pov: all your siblings are great and wonderful and accomplished people. and you made cheese and honey :)

mom and dad were very proud of u ofc but you feel like you didn't even do much

especially when your cool older brother went on the Argo mission even though he knew he would die (RIP Idmon)

gets easily defensive over agriculture (specifically the innovations and how they have taken over the Good Ol' Days's way aka his way)

(he got that from his dad <3)

he also got his dad's blonde hair, but in a honey tone. his skin tone is also darker and closer in shade to Cyrene's

makes really good charcuterie boards

hangs out in the Midwest

visits his mom in Cyrene, Libya (he is a good son ty)

(ironically) mice are his favorite from his dad's sacred animals

he hates locusts though

don't u love it that apollo's number is 7 and he has 7 immortal kids...

[star-girl69]

imagine the little family but reader gets hit on by one of the new campers and the rest of the camp is waiting to see ivy and clarisse reaction 🌚

I LOVE THIS OMMGGGGGG

no bc this is specifically so funny and dear to me bc imagine

you’re like sitting with ivy and playing in the sand on the beach having a fun time

and then hi harry from better than revenge in an alternate universe

clarisse has been so busy lately bc it’s the start of summer and there’s all these new campers and things

so you haven’t been around each other as much 💔

dumbass harry walks over to you and is like “it’s so sweet how you treat your younger sibling like your own”

and ivy is preening at the attention of this nice boy who quickly realizes the way to your heart is through ivy

you just think he’s nice and playing with ivy in the sand and making a killer sand castle tbh….

then he says smth a little flirty like a compliment but neither you or ivy think much of it at first

then he’s like “oh hey here you have some sand on your face” and leans so close to you to brush your cheek with his thumb

woah buddy 😟😟😟😟😟

ivy is like ok what the freak (she’s not supposed to swear) (let’s be real she still does)

bc like she’s not dumb….. she knows the only person who touches you like this is clarisse and yeah this guy is nice but she doesn’t like him THAT much

he doesn’t look that strong he can’t be her jungle gym she’s not liking it

you’re sitting there in shock and ivy is getting mad bc HE SHUFFLES CLOSER TO YOU

she climbs into your lap and starts SCREAMING bloody murder and kicking out wildly at harry

“Y/N I WANT TO GO Y/N I WANT TO GO I WANT TO GO I WANT TO GO”

so you pick her up and rush your little butts out of there and harry is trying to follow you bc THIS BITCH WILL NOT GIVE UP DAMN

and you’re looking over your shoulder like GO AWAY

after another second you think he’s gone so you set ivy down

you crouch down and you’re pretty sure she just didn’t like harry flirting w you but you just wanna make sure smth wasn’t actually wrong

“hey are you guys okay?”

“RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” is ivy’s war cry as she jumps on top of harry and starts screaming and kicking and hitting him

AND YOURE SCREAMING TOO BC WTF??????

“IVY YOU GET DOWN RIGHT NOW NO DESSERT FOR THREE DAYS I SWEAR”

eventually everyone kinda heads towards the commotion of this 10 year old screaming and attacking harry and you desperately trying to pull ivy off of him

that is when clarisse walks over

she just stares at the scene for a second in absolute shock

then harry finally pushes ivy off of him and she FLIES into you like he pushed her HARD bc he’s a BITCH

and you weren’t expecting it so you fall back w ivy in your arms

CLARISSE IS ABOUT TO GO INSANE

she runs over but harry is like NO NO NO MY CHANCES ARE RUINED

so he’s desperately trying to help you up and you’re like oh my god i think i’m gonna die

ivy starts attacking him like a feral dog again

“YOU- HURT- MY- Y/N- STUPID HEAD!!!!!!!”

you need a leash for her atp

but by the time clarisse makes it over to you she realizes what’s going on

she crouches down next to you and says ivy’s name really intimidatingly and ivy is like

“OMG HI CLARISSE I LITERALLY SAVED Y/N’S LIFE ARENT YOU PROUD OF ME”

and after she looks over you and sees that your find just a little shocked and very tired (motherhood is hard) she decides to glare at harry

“okay and what does that mean?”

“ok so we were playing in the sand and then harry comes over and he’s nice and he’s helping me build my sandcastle and then he starts TOUCHING Y/N and getting all CLOSE TO HER and i was like woah wait hold on what the freak so then i threw a tantrum so we would leave BUT HE KEPT FOLLOWING!!!!!!! I JUST WANTED HIM TO GO AWAY BC YOURE THE ONLY ONE WHO TOUCHES Y/N LIKE THAT SO I ATTACKED HIM AND THEN HE PUSHED ME SO I ATTACKED HIM MORE BUT NOW YOURE HERE!!!!!!”

harry is just horrified bc that’s exactly what happened this child was just throwing a tantrum 5 minutes ago how is she so articulated

she’s just smart like that tho

clarisse is like “oh so you’re flirting with my girlfriend? are you dumb? literally everyone knows.”

harry just accepts defeat and mutters a few choice words under his breath and walks away

clarisse debates about punching him but decides that ivy has already done all of the work for her

ivy hugs clarisse so tight

“you are so amazing my little warrior you did such a great job protecting y/n i am so proud”

then you join the hug “yes you’re my little knight in shining armor but please remember violence is not always the answer”

ivy and clarisse share a look like “this crazy lady just be saying stuff”

“EXCUSE ME???? BC I KNOW YOU TWO DIDNT JUST LOOK AT EACH OTHER LIKE THAT-”

you try to actually make ivy skip dessert for a few days but she’s so adorable so you give it to her anyways

clarisse teaches her how to properly throw a punch and kick someone

you are not pleased

ivy is ecstatic her new passion is fighting

harry stays far away from you

also percy is now campaigning to bring awareness to the clarisse and mini clarisse epidemic

he is very concerned.

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex

[olive-fics]

Abby Anderson x Injured Reader

I need to be held so.. Just some fluff. Uses Y/N and some pet names, Some mentions of blood and a deep cut, Friends with benefits, Abby just kinda taking care of you cus she loooovesss you.. Not proof read.

It was your first patrol back after an incident that left you sidelined for weeks. Abby Anderson, someone you considered more than just an acquaintance, had insisted on being your patrol buddy for this crucial return to duty. . .

Hail hammered against your coat and hat, each icy pellet sent a jolt against your skin, matching the erratic pounding in your chest as you struggled to keep pace through the freezing storm. Abby's grip tightened on your arm to keep you balanced with your limp leg after snagging it on an old fence.

“Damn it, Y/N..” Abby’s voice trembled with a mix of worry and frustration, her breath visible in the frigid air. “It’s your First patrol back your surgery and you’re hurt again.. Base is too far. We have to camp out in this cabin..” Abby’s voice was breathy from the cold breeze and sniffle from her nose.

Her words cut through the howling wind, Together, you stumbled towards the rustic cabin. With every step, the hail seemed to intensify as you slowly inched to the door. You couldn’t help but wince from the sharp, uneasy twinge shooting through your leg.

Abby cautiously eased the door open, her senses alert for any sign of danger, her pistol drawn and ready in case infected had breached the cabin.

“It’s clear.. Let’s get you on that couch..”

The sight matched your imagination: an abandoned, dirty place, its abandonment was clear in the busted up floor boards and dirt along the trim.

"It's better than nothing," you managed, your voice trembling with each syllable, punctuated by the relentless waves of pain surging through your leg. "It’s just for tonight- I'll be alright by morning." Your words strained through the discomfort as you sat down on the filthy chair.

“I think I have a few matches left..Lets get a fire in here..” Abby rummaged through her pocket and grabbed a match, tossing it into the fireplace. Abby let out a low sigh as she focused her attention on you.

"Now, let me take a look at this knee, Angel.”

You couldn’t help but feel flustered by that stupid nickname she called you. She knew it pissed you off but you were in no mood to argue.

"It's nothing," you admitted reluctantly, feeling a pang of vulnerability as Abby rolled up your jeans. “Just... hurts more than I thought..”

“Oh yeah? Then why are you making a fuss about me just rolling up your jeans then?”

You couldn’t argue with that and just let her off with a grumpy sigh.

“I probably just.. pulled a muscle.”

Abby sighed as she saw the Laceration. “Sure thing..”

Abby unzipped her backpack and retrieved a med kit, she pulled out an antibiotic cleaner. With a careful touch, she began to clean the cut.

"It's gonna sting a bit," she warned, her voice gentle yet tinged with concern. "you need to hold my hand or somethin', love?"

You scoffed and looked away not wanting to accept her hand.. when suddenly the stinging was intense and aching throughout your thigh to ankle.

“F-fuck..!” You exclaimed and gripped the couch cushion to try and alleviate some pain.. Nothing worked. Abby’s free hand reached yours gently and she sighed, “Told you, Gotta listen to me more Princess.” 

Whatever..

Abby removed the blood-soaked rag and applied some ointment. She then wrapped a gauze bandage on your cut and sealed it with medical tape. “Don’t get up from this couch until tomorrow morning. And I mean that Y/N.”

You let out a weary groan, adjusting yourself on the couch, using your backpack as a makeshift pillow. The dull ache persisted, and despite the discomfort, you tried to close your eyes to sleep while Abby searched the cabin for supplies and rations.

“There’s a bedroom if you wanna lay in there.” Abby leaned on the door frame to the living room looking down at you on the couch.

"Gods, yes I do," you whined, attempting to rise from the couch when Abby abruptly halted your movement. Her sudden intervention paused your attempt. Her hand rested gently on your shoulder.

"Easy there," Abby's voice was firm. "Let me help."

With a gentle hold, Abby swiftly slid her right hand under your thighs and her left hand under your back, lifting you with ease. Abby's biceps were toned and defined, when picking you up the muscles in her upper arms flexed, revealing a gentle curve.

"Comfortable? Just a few more steps. Easy now Princess.."

You couldn’t help but have that tiredness in your eyelids hit you as soon as you smelled her musky pine soap. The gentle tickle of the end of her braid against your arm was a subtle, soothing touch, each strand brushing lightly and creating a calming sensation. A soft yawn escaped your lips and you shut your eyes, you nestled your head into her shoulder as she lowered you into the little bed.

“Sleepy girl.” Abby laughed quietly and stroked your hair.

“Don’t go..” you whined as Abby started to walk off..

“You want me to stay? Like… in bed with you??”

“Yes.”

Abby couldn't deny that sleepy voice.

Abby slowly crawled into bed next to you. She picked you up and placed you on top of her chest where she cuddled you the rest of the night.

---

[titansarmy]

considering how hoo starts because of a god's big play of switching the two main heroes of each camp, one of the seven had to be an ex titan army kid. considering how all of the seven (maybe except for annabeth) had their lives meddled with (by the gods and gaea) to ensure that they play the roles they needed to play/be who they needed them to be, an ex titan army kid would allow for the question of "are we just pawns to the gods?" to continue on with the anger that was displayed during og pjo.

not having a singular character who was sympathetic to luke’s cause or a full on ex-titan army kid in any of the books following tlo literally ends issue from the demigod side even tho the problem keeps going from the gods' side. from percy's pov we know that the issue is not resolved at all and even percy himself is annoyed by it but what about the kids who actively were fighting against that issue and were supposedly promised resolution despite being defeated?