boat babes

anonymous asked:

okay but can we talk about tired harry, with the sweats a tshirt and beanie, and he's hard and whiny for you, begging you to fuck him with those pouty beautiful red lips

BITCHEJSJS THAT BEANIE WOULDNT STAY ON HIM FOR LONG THATS!! FOR!! SURE!! AND THOSE PANTS WONT BE THE ONLY THING WITH THE WORD “SWEAT” IN IT

he’d be so fucking needy, for fuck’s sake. Whining and pouting and maybe even going as far as to kick his feet like a child, throwing a proper fit.

“Want you t'fuck me, baby.” He has his arms stretched out towards you, wiggling his fingers as a tiny smile buckles his plump, raspberry red lips. They tend to get extra colorful when he’s horny.

Just like how some people’s ears get red and other’s hands start to shake, his lips swell up and deepen in pigment, as if inviting to be eaten.

Those same lips hold a cocky smile now, tongue peeking out to lick at them lightly, bottom one running beneath his top teeth in anticipation. He’s just gotten home from a random recording session Jeff has phoned him to do last minute, so he’s clad in a pair of old sweats that have a suspicious blue stain on them, along with his Muscle Machine jumper and a random dark green beanie he’s had lying around, too lazy to tame his messy curls.

“I thought you said you were tired.” You raise your eyebrows questioningly, crawling onto the bed and straight into his awaiting arms.

“That’s exactly why I’m asking you to fuck me. Barely need t'do any of the work that way.” Harry presses his lips to your forehead, nose buried into your soft hair, inhaling the familiar, homey scent you carry and humming with soothing approval. “Y'smell so fucking good.”

“Thanks, Har, but you’re gonna have to do more than that. Getting you to come takes quite a while and a decent amount of energy and I don’t know if I can muster the patience and stamina for either. You’re not the only one who’s tired.” You rest your chin in the center of his upper chest, smiling up at him expectantly.

He simply rolls his eyes, sighing grandly and bringing a hand up behind your head, ticking things off on his fingers as he goes. “You’re the sweetest person I know.”

“Yeah.” You state, staring at his long index finger, waiting for him to continue.

“You taste fuckin’ amazing no matter what.” He taps his second fingers with the index of the other, quirking his eyebrows seductively.

“Keep it coming.”

“You have the prettiest smile in the whole wide world.” He flicks the third finger, wagging all three in front of your face.

You furrow your eyebrows in thought for a second, looking up at him from under them. “You said that to your mom last night through the phone.”

“I don’t recall.”

You sock him in the shoulder, shifting to sit in his lap now, straddling his thick thighs. “Fine, whatever. What else?”

Harry drops his jaw dramatically, fake shock written all over the action. “And I thought I was narcissistic.”

“You’re about to be riding your own dick if you don’t listen.”

He puts his large hands up with his palms facing you, signifying surrender. “Alright, alright. Well, you…”

Harry trails off, going back to holding three fingers in the air, awaiting for another compliment to hit him. He looks up at the ceiling, tapping his lips with two fingers in fake thoughtfulness.

“I’m a great cook.” You suggest, grinning proudly.

Harry’s eyes fill with faux horror. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Let us not forget the Great Incident of Christmas ‘16.”

You smoother his face with the palm of your hand, feeling his laughter vibrating against your skin as your face flushes in embarrassment. “Shut uppppp.”

“You set a cake on fire.” He deadpans, looking at you from under eyes hooded in amusement.

“I set the oven to 350! How it got to 500 is beyond me…”

Harry shrugs nonchalantly, stifling a giggle by pressing his lips to your neck, sponging fluttery kisses up the slope of your throat. “Whatever– flows– your boat– babe.”

“You won’t be floating my boat anytime soon if you keep it up.” You grumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you try to swallow a moan, his hot mouth claiming a particularly weak spot under your left ear.

“Mmmmhhh…Y'sure?” Harry groans smugly, hands coasting up your clenching thighs and onto your ass, squeezing roughly. “Because the way you’re starting t'rock against m'thigh is telling a completely different story, love.”