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aemondsbabe · 1 year ago

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Stick it Out to the End

summary: michael is desperate to get into oxford's prestigious bullingdon club; unfortunately for him, they command him to do the impossible to gain admittance

pairing: michael gavey x bimbo!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, bimbo reader, mentions of hazing but nothing horrible/extreme, virgin!michael, breast/nipple play, praise kink, piv sex, protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral sex (f receiving), consensual filming, dirty talk, cursing, what i hope is saltburn-esque humor, mild size kink, mild angst but happy ending, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 12.7k

a/n: images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only & are not used to describe the reader! she's back and she's long as hell but what else is new!!! this is my first time writing bimbo!reader and while she wasn't super bimbo-y, it was fun getting my feet wet! hope y'all enjoy!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Michael

Michael couldn’t help but feel his heart speed up in his chest as he wound through the quiet corridors clutching tightly to the cryptic note he’d found stuffed in his pigeonhole that morning – just a page torn out of a standard notebook covered hastily written red ink; wholly un-intimidating as far as cryptic notes were concerned. Really, he was surprised to see they didn’t put more effort in; with as secretive and imperious as this little club was, he had been expecting some sort of extravagant stationary, perhaps even some gold embossing.

Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming janitor’s closet door, he narrows his eyes behind the gold frames of his glasses, staring at the door with a nearly accusatorial expression. Michael swivels his head once more, his brows furrowed as he checks and re-checks every door in the vicinity before turning back to the one he stands before. Scoffing, he unfolds the note with a little irritated sigh and quickly scans the page again, mouthing the words to himself for the millionth time that day.

The riddle had been easy enough to figure out, some trivial little lines about dead men walking, the mob, finding God, and looking to one’s heart pointed right toward some hush hush basement beneath the Merton College Chapel. That, and it didn’t take a genius to see that each line consisted of a specific number of words, pointing him right to the very door he stood in front of now – 129.

Fucking amateurs, he’d thought after cracking the code in under half an hour. But that was earlier. And now, as he stares at the stupid dull grey janitor’s closet door in front of him, Michael can’t stop the little tendrils of doubt from creeping into his periphery. He’s sure this is the right door and positive this is the right place and yet… janitor’s closet. He checks his watch, 11:50 PM on the dot, and glances up and down the dark, shadowy corridors once more, half expecting one of the twatty rich assholes to jump out and start snickering at him, making fun of him for thinking that a no one like him would’ve ever received an invite to a club like this.

Shaking his head, he reaches for the doorknob anyway, he’s come this far so he may as well. He freezes a little when it actually turns and his blue eyes go wide when he pushes the door open, shivering a little as he’s met with a wall of cool, dank air – eau de basement, just as he’d expected. A little actually impressed sigh passes his lips when he pokes his head in, an apprehensive smile blooming on his lips as he takes in the eerie red lighting spilling up the stairwell from the God-knows-what downstairs.

He winces as the door squeaks when he tugs it open but he doesn’t stop, emboldened now as he knows he had been right once again. He takes the stairs quickly, probably too quickly given that he hasn’t a fucking clue what or who could be down here, but before he can dwell on the idea too much, he’s faced with another corridor. This one, unlike the ones upstairs, is narrow and brick-lined and leads in only one direction, straight to another closed door at the other end.

Michael squints against the bright red light coming from a spotlight that had been haphazardly set up on the stone floor and walks down the hallway, his steps speeding up as he hears the janitor’s door above him open and close once more. His breath hitches a little as he opens the second door and quickly steps inside, like ripping off a band-aid.

He freezes once more when a strong hand latches onto his shoulder and quickly jerks him further into the room, making him yelp as he stumbles, trying to keep pace with whoever the hell is leading him.

“What the –”

Before he has time to so much as blink, his back thuds against a brick wall and finally he looks up, the vicious scowl he’d prepared morphing into a look of disturbed confusion as he eyes a row of other students, about fifteen and all men from the looks of it, dawned with black –

Oh, Christ, are those ski masks? He thinks as he eyes them up and down, How fucking banal… at least it’s not hooded cloaks. He nearly rolls his eyes as he scans the rest of the room, taking in the dim lighting interspersed with blues and greens from more of those stupid party boy spotlights. Glancing to the side, he sees another boy in his year, some guy he only knew from a few classes and passing glances in the hallways, but even still he’s comforted to not be alone down here, no matter how cliché this whole affair seemed.

His blue eyes snap forward as the door, the only door, to the room is opened once more and some other poor sap is hastily dragged across the room, only to be smacked on the wall to his left. Again, it’s just some other boy Michael knows from classes, though he doesn’t know why he expects any different – it’s not as if he knows many people outside of the forced proximity of a lecture hall. Which was really his only reason for putting up with this bother, for seeking it out in the first place; a quick flash of him placing a tightly folded up sticky note with his name and pigeonhole number in an old, beaten up copy of King Lear in the library played in his mind – the price he seemed to pay for loneliness.

Distantly, the bells of the chapel began to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, and eventually twelve times – midnight. Time to start the show, Michael surmises.

“Welcome, initiates,” one of the hooded men says in a tone that makes Michael glare judgmentally, his voice pitched down like some idiotic knock-off Darth Vader. He steps forward from the row they stand in and holds his arms out open at his sides, “Consider this your first foray into the Bullingdon Club.”

Again, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a scoff. This was all just so… juvenile? He was beginning to sincerely doubt that this was the über clandestine club that granted its members all sorts of connections to various businesses, societies, and insider information that even the richest of the rich couldn’t buy.

Unfortunately, his face seemed to betray more of his emotions than he intended and the masked boy steps forward once more, his dark eyes zeroing in on Michael.

“You,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger in his direction, “Something you wanna say, initiate?”

Out of habit, he pushed his glasses up on his nose before he spoke, perhaps foolishly bold given the situation.

“Doesn’t this all seem a bit much for three people?” He scoffs, shaking his head slightly, “I mean, masks, really?”

The hooded boy stops for a second and studies Michael closely, one hand on his hip, “What’s wrong with the masks?”

“Well, what’s the point? There’s, what, fifteen or sixteen of you? And three of us?” He asks, glancing around the room, which he now realized very clearly used to be some run-of-the-mill storage room, probably forgotten about by now.

The boy laughs sarcastically and shrugs his shoulders a bit, his voice back to its natural pitch, “It wouldn’t really be a secret thing if we just invited half the student body, mate.”

Michael supposes his reasoning is sound and says as much with a little hum and nod of his head, eyebrows raising dismissively.

“Anything else?” The masked boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The masks don’t really disguise you lot that well,” he observes, pointing at one of the other boys standing in the row, “That’s Harry from Multivariable Calculus.”

“Shit…” Harry mutters under his breath, the sound carrying through the concrete room. A few of the other boys in the row lean over and place comforting hands on his shoulders and murmur words of encouragement, much to Michael’s dismay.

“Why’re you here, initiate?” The lead boy asks, turning back to Michael.

“Dunno,” he shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Friends, I guess.”

A couple of the boys in the row make little noises, mutters of empathy that make the blond’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he glances up and down the line.

“And this was your first thought? A secret society?” Harry from Multivariable Calculus asks with a little laugh, “Not like… chess or something?”

“Don’t really like chess…” Michael says with a little shrug. Apparently a good enough answer for Harry, who makes a little noise of understanding and nods his head.

After another moment, the lead boy clears his throat, which shuts up the rest. “Anyway,” he says, his voice falsely low once more. “Each of you will be given a task…,” his dark eyes glance between Michael and the other two boys as he paces in front of them, “Perfectly customized to challenge you, to push you to your absolute limits.”

The masked boy pauses his little speech and gestures back to three of the other boys standing in the row behind him who then step forward and walk over to the dank brick wall that Michael and the other two boys stand against. He studies the boy that walks towards him carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when he notices how much shorter he appears to be.

Finally, the boy comes to stand before him and presents a plain white envelope, though Michael’s lips spread into a hateful smirk when he sees an all too familiar pair of old, beat up trainers on the boy’s feet.

“Oliver?!” He hisses meanly, shock lacing his voice as he jerks back the hand he had reached out for the envelope, wincing as his elbow collides with the cool wall behind him. He glances around the room, noting the few pairs of eyes that were on him, before fixing his gaze on the boy before him once more with a harsh glare, “You’re in Bullingdon?”

The boy in front of him hesitates for a second, cutting a sideways glance toward a taller boy that was busy presenting an envelope to the boy to Michael’s left, before he sighs and looks back at him, blue eyes peeking out of the holes in his ski mask. “Yeah,” he huffs, shrugging his shoulders defensively, “How’d you know it was me, then?”

“You look like a goddamn twelve year old!” Michael jeers, his voice low and vicious as his hands curl into fists at his sides, “How’d you manage to get into this club anyway?” He questions, seething, “They only let you in if you have the money or the marks and I know for a fucking fact you don’t have either.”

Oliver sighs again and rolls his eyes, which makes him see red and grit his teeth, although he doesn’t miss how the shorter boy’s eyes cut to the side again quickly. He opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in edgewise, the blond cuts him off with a little mocking laugh.

“Don’t tell me that’s fucking Catton,” Michael groans lowly with a shake of his head, breathing heavily as he feels the same sense of anger and betrayal he’d felt all those months ago well up in him once more, transporting him right back to the stupid damn pub, “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me, is this shite little club only full of cunts?”

“Look, I’m –”

Oliver starts to speak again, only to be cut off when the head boy traipses over to where they are, coming to stand ominously behind him with his arms clasped behind his back. His dark eyes dart between the two boys before he speaks.

“Problem over here, lads?”

“No,” Oliver answers quickly, staring warily up at Michael as he practically shoves the envelope into his arms, “Just complete the task, initiate. You have thirty-six hours.”

Before Michael can blink, Oliver turns his back and stalks back over to the other boys, taking his place in the row once more. The head boy looks Michael up and down appraisingly before nodding to the letter in his hands with a sly smirk.

“I can’t wait to see how you fare with that one, Gavey,” he says, his voice low and threatening, as if he’s in on the most delicious joke, “Remember, thirty-six hours, initiate.” He chuckles softly and departs, returning to stand in the center of the room.

Everyone stands still for a moment, Michael and the other two boys to his left and right holding their respective envelopes nervously, unsure if they were supposed to open them now or not. Thankfully, the head boy clears his throat, commanding all eyes to him once again.

“Initiates,” he says slowly, his voice no doubt already hoarse from this little farce, “Failure to complete your tasks will result in a permanent ban from Bullingdon; no second chances. We expect results as well as proof of those results,” his dark eyes scan over the three boys once more, one corner of his mouth turned up into a mean smirk, “We’ll be seeing you back in this location Sunday at noon. Your thirty-six hours begin now… have fun.” He finishes with a taunting laugh before turning and exiting from the room, the old door creaking as he pulls it open before disappearing into the faint red glow of the hallway, followed by the rest of the fifteen boys in an orderly line.

As soon as the old door closes, the sound of paper tearing echoes around the dimly lit basement as Michael and the other two boys hastily tear open their envelopes. Pulling out a little slip of paper, his eyes go wide as a wave of dread washes over him. His eyes scan over the paper again and again as he nervously shoves his glasses back up his nose once more, silently willing the chicken-scratch words on the paper to somehow change, to give him some other command.

His heart is pumping so loudly in his ears that he misses it when one of the other boys tries getting his attention, his head snapping up suddenly as a hand waves in front of it.

“Oi!”

“W-What?”

“What did they give you?” The boy asks, nodding at the scrap of paper in Michael’s hand.

He clears his throat and tries his best to come off as casual, though he hardly cares with the way thoughts begin racing through his mind. “Oh, um,” he starts, glancing down to read over the paper once more, “I just uh, have to sleep with someone is all.”

The other two boys gape at him for a moment before groaning frustratedly. The one that had first spoken to him holds his paper out and smacks it disdainfully with the back of his hand.

“What the hell?” He asks gruffly, glancing between his paper and Michael, “Why’s yours so bloody easy?”

“For real,” sighs the second boy, rubbing the back of his head, “Ours are damn near impossible. They must already be decided on you to go so soft. How am I meant to steal the fucking Selden Map from Bodleian?” He laments, brows furrowed as he stares down at the paper in his hands.

“Yeah, and I have to transfer ten thousand pounds out of the chancellor’s bank account and into mine!” The first boy sighs, shaking his head, “At least your mum’s head of conservatorship here, you can at least get within a stone’s throw of the map. I have to commit fucking wire fraud!”

The two boys grumble for another moment as Michael silently descends into a tailspin, his blue eyes unfocused as he stares at one of the dingy brick walls of the basement, trying desperately to formulate a plan, any plan. He merely glances up as the other to head for the door, spitballing ideas for each of their tasks.

“Isn’t your dad the president of Julius Baer? Can’t you just get him to pull strings?”

“Oh, yeah, fantastic idea! I’ll just ring him and ask the old man to commit a felony! What could possibly go wrong there?”

Michael tries to tune out their bickering as the three of them ascend the staircase and trail out into the hallway of Merton College Chapel once more; the two other boys don’t pay him any mind as they continue whispering amongst themselves, their voices trailing quietly down the hallway as he leans with his back against the cool metal of the janitor’s closet door.

Sighing, he reads over the directive again, his blue eyes catching on the sharply scrawled letters of a very familiar name, one that makes his cheeks flush and his heart race. He swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

How could they know to do this? He wonders sheepishly. It’s not like he’d mentioned her to anyone; hell, he’d never even said so much as three words to her! No, his pathetic little crush was entirely in his mind.

Too much of a coward to even say hi, he bemoans, trying to stave off the sense of shame he felt as he considered how many times he’d finished with her name on his lips, her pretty face and soft curves and sweet smell and little girly outfits whirling around his head since he’d spotted her on the first fucking day; he’d pined ever since and she didn’t even know he existed! How could she?

This is fucking impossible, he thinks miserably, wishing that he had any other task. He’d rather steal the Queen’s own goddamn family jewels than this. He glances at his watch once more and groans when he sees it’s almost already two in the morning; pushing himself up off the door, he hangs his head as he scurries back to his dorm room, thoughts spiraling as he plots.

You

A laugh bubbles up past your lips as you sway your hips, your whole body vibrating as “Umbrella” blasts through the speakers while you dance with your friends, partying to celebrate the end of term.

“You can run into my arms, it’s okay, don't be alarmed!” You sing happily, yours and your friends voices mingling together with another peal of laughter; you take another sip of your drink as you move along with the beat of the song, savoring the fizzy strawberry daiquiri as you begin to feel a bit warm from the little rush of alcohol, already on your third drink of the night.

You smile proudly as you spot Felix in the crowd, his hazel eyes already fixed on you, or well, fixated on your chest. His attention makes you preen and you bite your lower lip, the sickly sweet taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth as you purposefully bounce up and down on the balls of your feet.

The thin straps of your pastel pink dress hold on for dear life as your chest heaves enticingly, and you giggle when you see those hazel eyes widen just a bit, no doubt tracing over the glittering chain of your necklace, following down to where it settles, a little sparkly pink diamond nestling temptingly at your cleavage. You teasingly wink, blushing a little when you get a wink back, and go back to dancing with your friends, knowing from experience that Felix preferred to approach rather than be approached.

You dance with your friends for a few more moments, grinding up against any warm body you can find as a raunchier song begins pumping through the speakers, before you feel eyes on you yet again. Smiling at the attention, you glance around again, the low, colorful lighting of the pub making it hard to tell exactly which direction your admirer’s coming from.

Your eyes flit over a few familiar faces, you can’t help but sigh in relief when you notice that Oliver’s eyes are thankfully planted firmly on someone that is not you, though a confused little crease forms between your brows when you realize that Felix’s aren’t either. Turning your head, you sway along to the music still as you look around quickly, your feet beginning to ache finally from the precious little satin Chanel heels buckled around your ankles.

Your eyes finally lock onto an unexpected gaze, a fresh wash of pink coloring your cheeks as blue eyes glance shyly away from you. A little giggle titters past your lips as you lean over to one of your friends, patting her shoulder to get her attention.

“You know who that blond guy is? With the glasses?” You call over the music, nodding over in your admirer’s direction as he stands awkwardly back against the wall by the entrance, clutching a still-foamy pint.

She glances over before turning back to you with a little shrug. “Michael something, I think!” She says, her breath warm as she leans in closer so you can hear her, “I thought Oliver knew him!”

Your eyes immediately find the brunette, predictably following Felix around like a lost little puppy, before you look back over at Michael. You can’t help but feel a bit bad when you see him quickly look away from your direction again before staring intently into his pint glass, one hand shoved in the pocket of his khaki pants.

“I’m gonna take a breather for a second!” You yell over the loud music, leaning in close and cupping a hand over her ear.

“Aw, babe, come on!” She pouts playfully, tilting her head at you, “Stay longer!”

You shake your head with another little laugh and gesture at your feet, “These are sooo cute but they’re killing me!” You laugh, finishing off the last sip of your drink, “I’ll be over by the notice board!” You tell her, blowing a kiss as you walk away from the dance floor of the small, cramped pub.

Finally, you reach the little area by the front door and lean back against the wall, taking in a much-needed deep breath as you pull your little tube of lip gloss out of your bra and carefully reapply some more, smirking when you glance over out of the corner of your eye and see a certain blond boy already shyly eyeing you.

Rubbing your lips together with a little pouty pop, you tuck your gloss back in your bra once more before slowly approaching Michael, prettily manicured hands clasped behind your back to help shamelessly push your chest out more. His wide eyed stare makes you giggle and blush as you study him, eyes flitting appreciatively up and down his lithe frame; so much potential hidden away under a little button down and khakis.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you tease, smirking when he blushes and all but chokes on his beer, coughing for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“I… Me?” He asks awkwardly, glancing around for seemingly anyone else you could be talking to.

Lucky for him, you find his awkwardness endearing. Truthfully, you had for months, never missing the way his eyes always happened upon you in a crowd. There was something impressive about the boy, something that had made your mind drift to him on more than one occasion, even if you were already under someone else.

“Of course you, silly,” you laugh softly, leaning against the wall next to him and tilting your head curiously, “You’re Michael, right?”

His eyes go wide again and nods wordlessly before finding his voice. “Yeah, Michael,” he says with a reserved little smile, “Gavey! Michael Gavey…” He adds awkwardly, cheeks flushing even more when you giggle, seemingly charmed by his inability to string two words together. He nods as you introduce yourself.

“I know,” he says before blinking, eyes going wide behind his gold framed glasses as he awkwardly glances away, “I just… I mean I’ve heard your name before, that’s all.”

“That’s all, huh?” You echo with a flirty little giggle, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you let the moment linger, just wanting to push him a little. “What’re you reading?” You ask curiously, cocking your head to the side a little.

“Maths,” he nods quickly before looking down into his pint glass once more as if fizzling beer is the most interesting thing in the world, “I don’t really like it all that much, though… I mostly only picked it because I’m good at it.”

“Ooh,” you coo softly, nodding along with his words as you watch him carefully, “You must be wicked smart, I can’t do maths to save my life.” You comment with a little giggle, biting your lip when he seems to perk up at that comment and looks up at you with a little grin.

“I can do it in my head,” he says lowly, an unexpectedly cocky edge to his voice that has your heart picking up in your chest, “Ask me a sum,” he says, a challenging glimmer in his eyes.

You hum softly, biting your lip as you think for a second, “Uhm, seventy-two plus a hundred and thirteen?”

“One eighty-five,” he chuckles after no more than a second before scoffing a little, “Come on, give me one that’s hard, love.”

Love? The little pet name makes you raise an eyebrow before you laugh softly. “What do you mean a hard one?” You giggle, shaking your head, “That one was hard!”

“That was hard for you?” He teases, making your cheeks tingle as a pink flush settles over your skin, “What’re you reading, then?”

“Art history!” You chirp proudly, chuckling nervously when you see him roll his eyes a bit, “What? Something wrong with that?”

He shakes his head dismissively, quickly polishing off the last of his pint before setting the empty class on a table and turning back to you, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin, “Ask me another one, then. Biggest numbers you can think of.”

You don’t know why, but something about his little challenge has you blushing again, like he’s testing you somehow. But still, you take a moment to think of some numbers, biting your lip and quirking your eyes up toward the ceiling.

“Six hundred thirty-two times… eight hundred ninety-one,” you hum, cocking your head to the side as you watch him closely. His eyes seem to glaze over, only for a second, before once again he’s spouting off numbers like a calculator.

“Five hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred and twelve.”

Your eyebrows raise at that as you gawk at him. “Wow…,” you breathe after a moment, blinking as you stare up at him, “You’re, like, super smart, then?”

“Suppose so,” he says, smiling shyly again as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his khaki pants.

You study him for a moment as the conversation lulls, finding something endlessly fascinating about the boy; the way he could swing from being so cocky and self assured to shy and awkward makes your stomach do summersaults. Turning your head, you spot your group of friends still dancing and you look back at Michael with a little sigh as another upbeat song blasts loudly through the pub.

“D’you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smirking when he looks up at you shyly.

“W-What?”

“My dorm’s only, like, a minute from here,” you flirt, sweet and enticing as you make him blush somehow more, “We could go somewhere more… quiet?”

He stares at you for a moment, shocked that you’re asking him of all people to come back to yours before he nods and nervously runs a hand through his wheat colored hair, unsuccessfully trying to act casual. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Yay!” You giggle happily, flirtatiously grabbing one of his hands as you saunter past him, heading for the exit, “C’mon, it’s like a five minute walk!” He nods wordlessly and you can’t help but smirk as he follows you like a lost little puppy.

True to your word, it’s only a few minutes later when you and Michael reach your dorm room, after you’d stopped for a minute at the entrance to your hall to chat with Farleigh, who seemed very interested in the nerdy boy following at your heels. You just couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face as you and Michael left him standing at the doors, mouth open and a wicked little gleam in his eyes; no doubt, he’d immediately scurried off to the King’s Arms.

The door to your room opens with a tiny squeak, blasted old building, and you all but prance inside, turning back to the blond boy still lingering in the doorway with a smile.

“Am I going to have to invite you in like a vampire?” You joke with a little laugh as you bend down to quickly undo the buckles of your heels, letting out a relieved sigh when you finally step out of them, leaving you in frilly white ankle socks.

Michael finally steps into your room with a huffed laugh and quickly kicks off his shoes, you smirk when you see his Star Wars themed socks. “‘M no vampire, love,” he quips, gold framed eyes darting around your room as he looks over every detail. You grin at the little blush on his cheeks and perch on the edge of your bed to watch him, head tilted ever so slightly.

“It’s, uh, it’s cute in here,” he observes, his voice a low hum as he takes in your frilly, lacy curtains, plush white rug, and equally girlish floral bedding, all encased in the faint pink glow of the heart-shaped fairy lights strung up around the room, “Just like how I imagined…” He breathes, so lowly you doubt he meant to say that bit aloud.

“Like you imagined?” You echo with a little giggle, quickly reapplying your lip gloss before setting the little tube on the corner of your desk.

“I just… I – It’s just very… you, is all I meant,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair awkwardly, the apples of his cheeks flushed a dark pink.

His awkwardness is so endearing, you can’t help but grin. The more time you spend with him, the more interesting he seems to become; this bumbling, nervous boy is so different from the one you’ve seen on campus so many times. On campus, he’s comfortable, quiet still, but with a definite air of confidence – clearly in his element as he prowls through bookshelves in the library or explains some complex math formula in the quad.

“So, you think about me often, then?” Your voice stays sweet, innocent almost, though you can’t help but tease him; he’s so pretty when he blushes.

“No!” He answers quickly, whipping his head toward you from where he’d been studying the various pictures tacked up on the walls, everything from boy band posters to stills from Clueless and Legally Blonde. “I mean, yes, sometimes, I…,” he fumbles again and pushes his glasses up his sharp nose, “I think about you a normal amount.” He says finally, glancing at you quickly before looking away.

You hum softly and stand before walking toward him with a kind smile, though you don’t miss the way he keeps glancing down at your cleavage, or the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows nervously.

“A normal amount?”

“Mhm,” he nods, gaze unsure as you come to stand in front of him, teeth biting into your plush lower lip as you twirl a piece of hair through your fingers, “As much as I think of anyone else.”

“So…,” you breathe, drawing out the word as you reach up and fiddle with the collar of his button down shirt, the turquoise gingham a bright blue blip among all the blush tones of your room, “Every time I’ve caught you looking at my tits in the library or in the quad or in the hallways… that was just a normal amount?”

You giggle as his eyes go wide, his lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. Deciding to take mercy on him, you run a finger down his chest, playfully fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Relax, I’m not mad,” you shake your head, smiling when the tension in his shoulders visibly eases, “Why wouldn’t I want a cutie like you staring?”

His lips part at that as he sucks in a little breath, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. “You think I’m… cute?” He asks breathlessly, heart pounding under your fingertip.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip once more as you nod, cocking your head to the side just slightly as you peer up at him. “‘Course I do, honey, what’s not to like?”

Again, he gawks at you, blinking in shock and swallowing nervously.

“I –”

“I do have one question though…,” you tease, pouting a bit as you slowly and carefully undo the very top button on his shirt, relishing the way his breath hitches in his throat.

“Y-Yeah?” His voice breaks, making you giggle while he blushes somehow deeper.

“Mhm,” you nod, undoing the second button and pausing when you find a splash of hair across his chest, the same shiny wheat color as the hair on his head, causing a familiar knot to begin twisting itself up in your belly, “Why were you at the end of term party?”

He blinks for a second, evidently taken off guard. “I… W-Was it invite only?”

His question nearly makes you snort and you shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching as you try not to laugh. “No, sweetie,” you peer up at him through your lashes as you rest your hand against his bare chest, smirking ever so slightly when he shivers, “I just meant, I haven’t seen you at parties before… doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.”

“I, well,” he stammers, the bottoms of his glasses fogging up from the heat radiating off his cheeks, “I just –”

“It’s for that club, yeah?” You ask finally, giggling at the shocked expression on his face.

“How do –”

“You lot are not nearly as sneaky as you think,” you laugh cheekily, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet, “Plus, I heard Felix and Oliver whispering about something to do with tasks a few weeks ago… and boys are very bad at keeping secrets once you get their cocks out.” You add with a little giggle, taking Michael’s hand once more and dragging him over to your plush bed. You sit him on the edge before all but climbing in his lap, smiling cheekily as you straddle his thighs, your knees digging into your soft bedding.

“So,” you start, holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself and smiling a little when he finally touches you, lightly resting his hands on your hips, “What’s your task, hm? I heard they made them, like, particularly brutal this year.”

“I don’t think I should say,” Michael murmurs with a little shake of his head, making you pout.

“Oh, come on!” You bounce on his lap a little, not missing the way his eyes seem to be drawn to your breasts like magnets, “I want to help! Is it something at the King’s Arms?”

“N-No, I really don’t think –”

“I know they keep the important rugby trophies there,” you think aloud, still playing dumb, just wanting him to say it, “Is that it? D’you have to steal one? One of the boys that works there owes me, I could get him to let you in after hours…” You prattle on, speaking faster and faster as Michael shakes his head beneath you.

Finally, he seems to reach a breaking point and his grip on your hips tightens. “I have to fuck you!” He blurts out before sighing.

“Oh, really?”

“I… I have to fuck you –”

“Mhm?”

“And prove I did somehow.”

“How interesting!”

He narrows his eyes at that and peers up at you suspiciously, studying you carefully. You can’t help but giggle, loving the way you feel when his eyes are on you, and you smirk when he finally blinks in realization.

“You… you knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

A sly smile spreads across your lips as you nod, squirming excitedly on his lap. “Like I said,” you chuckle with a little shrug, “Not. Sneaky!” You tease, punctuating each word with a little boop to the tip of his nose, unable to resist.

He stays silent for a moment, gazing up at you with a strange mixture of awe and unease before he finally speaks through a deep sigh. “So, I suppose this is the part where you tell me to leave?”

Well, that comment throws you off. You cock your head to the side, confused, as your eyebrows furrow together. “Why would I ask you to leave?”

He sighs again and grits his teeth, looking dejectedly at the floor. “Come on, love,” he mutters, looking anywhere but you, “I-It’s not like you’d ever want to –”

“Ever want to what?” You ask with a frown, gently grabbing at his chin and tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze, “You think I don’t wanna fuck you, honey?”

“Well, I –”

“Michael,” you say pointedly, raising your brows as you smirk slightly, staring deeply into his blue eyes, “I’m the one that came onto you, yeah?”

“I… I suppose.”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as you run your fingers through his short hair, not missing the little sigh that leaves his lips when you push yourself closer to him, your chest pressing tightly against his, “And while I’m not thrilled at our first time being for some stupid little task –”

“It’s,” he cuts you off shyly, shaking his head ever so slightly, “It’s – I’ve never…” He stammers, nervously gripping at your waist once more.

You can’t help but smile softly, so charmed by him over and over. You nod your head knowingly, raising your brows just a bit. “I know, honey,” you whisper reassuringly, “We don’t have to, I’ll let you take a pair of my panties or whatever else, but we don’t need to do anything.”

He sighs up at you again, so taken with you he feels like he could scream, and shakes his head more, grabbing at your hips tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “N-No, I… I want to,” he nods, swallowing anxiously, “I do, I just… don’t really know what I’m doing.”

You nod again, listening carefully as he speaks. “So, is it all new or…?”

He shakes his head and smiles a little, shyly, though the sight of it still makes that knot in your belly tighten further, making you blush on his lap while butterflies swirl around inside you. “I’ve kissed before,” he says lowly, chuckling awkwardly as he seems to get bolder, causing you to shudder when he lightly rubs his hands over your waist and hips, “And done… hand stuff.”

You giggle at his boyish explanation and bite your lip when you smile at him, wiggling in his lap as a heat begins to settle at the apex of your thighs. “Can I kiss you, honey?”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat again, making you want so badly to press soft, glossy kisses to it, but you resist, determined to make this good for him.

“Yeah,” he nods eagerly, blue eyes fixated on your lips.

You smile softly before leaning in and finally pressing your lips against his, both of you sighing at once. One of his hands stays at your hip while the other comes to rest in the small of your back, pressing you more tightly to him as your lips move together, his motions surprisingly fluid and practiced.

You make a small noise in the back of your throat when you feel his tongue licking at your bottom lip, and eagerly allow him access with a little sigh. Your fingers busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making him shudder beneath you when you skim your hands over his bare chest and stomach as his tongue flows with your own, the bitter, coffee-ish flavor of the pint he’d had earlier still on his tongue.

Impatient, you pull back long enough to look at him for reassurance, smiling when you earn a little nod. You kiss him once more before tugging his shirt off, flushing when he groans lowly as you trail kisses down over his jaw and neck before swiping your tongue greedily over his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch.

“F-Fuck,” he sighs brokenly, bolding tracing over your thigh until his fingers are tucked up under the silky, baby pink material of your dress. His touches make you shiver as goosebumps bloom over your skin, making you whine against the pale column of his throat, “Can I?” He breathes, fingers toying with a strap of your dress while the others slowly inched the bottom of it up higher and higher.

“God, please,” you mewl, nodding against his throat, your head on his shoulder. He shudders at the feel of your breath on his neck and nods once before tugging at the bottom of your dress. You sit up to help him, whining when you feel his hard length pressing against your thin, lacy underwear, “You don’t need to ask, Michael. Want you to take me however you want.” You whisper as he tugs your dress over your head, blue eyes meeting yours for a second as he nods before they skim lower, widening as he takes you in on his lap wearing only a bra and panties.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, making you giggle shyly as you lean in and softly kiss over his cheeks, “You have…you’re – you’re perfect,” he sighs, brazenly cupping your breasts, skimming his thumbs over your nipples through the thin pink fabric of your bra and smiling proudly when he feels them harden at his touch, “You’re perfect, but these are… holy shit.” He repeats, his voice breathy and mesmerized as he takes in your chest for another moment while you softly card your fingers through his golden hair.

You gasp through a little giggle when you feel his length twitch, even through his trousers, and wiggle on his lap, blushing when the movement earns you a broken groan. “Yeah?” You whisper cheekily, watching as he marvels at your chest for a second longer before quickly unclasping your bra and shrugging out of it, tossing it down onto the floor with his shirt and your dress, “What about now?” You tease, proudly arching your back as you bite your lip.

He groans again, louder than he has all evening, and instantly ducks his head down. The feel of his soft lips wrapping eagerly around one of your nipples makes you cry out, gasping sharply as he sucks at the sensitive bud before he runs his tongue over it. You cradle the back of his head in your hands, fingers lightly pulling at the short strands of hair, as he switches from one breast to the other, kneading whichever one is free with his hand.

Needing something, anything, you finally pull him off of your chest after a few moments, laughing when he all but whines, and smiling even more when you take in his disheveled appearance – blond hair sticking up at odd angles from where you’d run your fingers through it, cheeks flushed as his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his blue eyes staring up at you hungrily.

You shift back on his thighs just enough to snake a hand between the two of you and he gasps when you cup the bulge pressing against the zipper of his khakis. “You want me to suck your cock?” You ask cheekily, lightly squeezing at his length.

He surprises you by shaking his head no,gulping slightly with an awkward laugh before answering. “I do, I really fucking do, love,” he breathes, kneading at your breasts as he stares up at you sheepishly, “B-But I really want to last and if you… if you suck it, I –”

“Okay, okay,” you stop him with a kiss, “We’ll table it for next time.”

“N-Next time?” He questions, fighting to keep his eyes open as you press kisses against his neck once more. You nod against his shoulder and press kisses up to just beneath his ear.

“I’m not letting you go that easy, honey,” you whisper, chuckling when he shivers. You spend another moment softly kissing and biting at his neck before speaking again, “Have you ever eaten anyone out?” You question, pulling back to look at him.

He shakes his head, his eyes flicking between both of yours as he looks up at you. “No.” He answers simply, his voice hardly a whisper.

You can’t help but smirk coyly and cock your head to the side, running a finger through the little patch of hair on his chest just to see him shudder. “You wanna try it?”

He nods eagerly and surprises you once again by quickly swinging you around, maneuvering you until your head rests on the pillows of your bed. You squeal at the movement, laughing with him as he settles over you, his narrow hips slotting easily between your thighs as you silently marvel at his unexpected strength, the shock of it going right between your legs.

“You want me to lick your pussy?” He asks lowly, grinning when he sees your eyes widen ever so slightly.

“You’re quite something, huh?” You breathe, still gazing up at him in surprise.

“Observant,” he shrugs, smirking as he sits up, kneeling between your legs, “You aren’t the only one who is, love.” He teases, quickly undoing his belt and trousers and groaning as he pushes them down his thighs, stopping at his knees.

Your eyes go wide at the size of his length, it’s clearly very impressive and it’s not even out of his plaid boxers yet. That smirk stays plastered on his face as he leans back down to hover over you, hastily removing his glasses and sitting them on your desk before sloppily kissing you for a moment, surprising you yet again by trailing wet kisses down your neck.

“Michael…” You sigh dreamily, arching your back toward him when he starts kissing over your chest. He groans from deep in his chest, mouth pressed against the fat of your breast.

“Fucking hell,” he curses, teasing your nipple again with the tip of his tongue, “Say it again, love.”

His simple command sends shivers down your spine and you mewl, squirming underneath him, “M-Michael!” You moan again, fumbling over your words as he sucks at your breast again before he lifts his head.

“Good girl,” he purrs with a sly, easy smirk that makes your heart jump, a soft sigh tumbling past your lips. He shifts further down the bed, kissing down over your ribs and stomach, his confidence seemingly growing every time he presses his lips against your skin; the thought makes your head spin.

Finally, he hooks his fingers into the lacy sides of your panties, and his eyes peer up at you as he tugs them down over your hips before flinging them onto the floor. “Oh, my God…,” he sighs, staring greedily at your pussy, a broken groan sounds from his throat when you spread your legs more.

You bite your lip and giggle, smiling shyly as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. “Like what you see?”

He nods his head rapidly, making you chuckle again as he stares up at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I… uh, w-what now?”

He’s so endearing, you can’t help the little sigh that leaves you and you sit up a little, leaning back on an elbow as you use your other hand to spread your center open. You bite your bottom lip once more when he whines a little, seeing you all spread out before him, flushed folds already slick and shiny.

“Lick here, honey,” you whimper as you skim your fingers over your clit, so keyed up from only a few kisses that you gasp a little when you feel yourself clench; Michael looks like he may pass out.

Ever the dutiful student, he gives you one last look before diving in. Your head falls back with a whiny gasp as his tongue snakes over your clit, just as you’d instructed. A long, shuddery moan leaves him, vibrating against your cunt and you watch as his blue eyes all but roll back in his head.

“Just like that, Michael,” you praise, tugging at his hair ever so slightly, which only serves to make him moan more. Your chest heaves as you watch him, determined not to let your eyes squeeze shut while he licks and kisses and sucks at your pussy like a man possessed, “Holy shit!” You whimper loudly when he pushes his tongue into you, groaning lowly when he feels your walls clench around it as he presses his nose perfectly against your clit.

“You taste so good,” he gasps, wrapping his hands around your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants. He peers up at you through blond lashes as he feasts on you, sucking eagerly at your clit and savoring the way you shiver and squirm from his motions.

Unbelievably, you already feel that warm, familiar tug in your belly beginning to grow, making your whole body feel flush and taut. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine urgently, grabbing onto his hair tighter and guiding his mouth exactly where you need it, your eyes finally rolling back and fluttering shut, “Holy fuck, don’t stop!”

Michael grunts as you tug at his hair, his own hips rutting greedily against your pretty bedding — cock throbbing so hard there’s no doubt he’s leaked through his boxers. He watches you carefully, studying your movements and reactions as best he can while he rhythmically licks at your clit.

“Oh, shit!” You cry not even a moment later, your whole body seeming to stutter as your muscles finally relax. You mewl as your high finally washes over you, savoring the way Michael groans into your cunt as he feels it contracting on his tongue. Your eyes stay squeezed shut as shivers roll up and down your spine, shuddered cries leaving your lips.

Just as his touches begin to border on overstimulation, you have enough wherewithal to push him away, and he releases your center with a lewd little pop.

“Was that good?” He asks through a breathless laugh, swallowing as he looks up at you, evidence of your arousal still shining on his lips and chin.

“Good?” You huff, eyebrows raised as you gaze down at him, “You’re sure you’ve never done that before?” You question in disbelief, chest still heaving.

He smiles shyly, already pink cheeks seeming to flush deeper from your praise as he chuckles. You cup his cheeks when he leans over you again, whimpering as you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re unbelievable.” You sign as he kisses down your neck again, making him chuckle against your skin.

“Just observant,” he grunts, shuddering when you wrap your legs around his trim waist. You gasp as his length brushes over your still sensitive pussy, impossibly hot and hard even through the thin fabric of his boxers. His fragmented sigh makes you smile and you tug his head up, blushing as you look up at him.

“You ready, honey?” You breathe, giggling when he nods his head again eagerly, his hips stuttering instinctually against your center. “Here, let me…” You trail off, the two of you separating for a moment as you lean over and pull open the top drawer of your desk, pulling out a pack of condoms and tearing one off before laying back down.

You watch enraptured as he kneels between your legs again, pulling down his boxers finally. “Holy…” you gasp when his cock finally bobs free, twitching up to rut against his lower stomach; he’s long and thick, curving a little as veins run up the underside, leading to a flushed, leaking head. He smiles shyly again at your attention as he shuffles awkwardly out of his trousers and underwear, kicking them off and onto the floor.

You hand him the condom and watch as he rolls it on, giving him a little reassuring smile as he does. Once it’s securely in place, you pull him back to you, eagerly kissing him once more and wrapping your legs securely around his waist. Both of you moan in unison when his length glides through your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit.

He pulls away with a little gasp, hovering over you as he glances down at your hips. “S-So, I just…” He trails off, watching as you reach down with one hand, grunting softly when you wrap your hand around his cock.

Carefully, you position him at your entrance and angle your hips a little. “Go on, honey,” you encourage with a soft smile, running your other hand over his chest.

Nodding once, he presses forward and swears he sees God. “F-Fucking hell,” he groans, loudly sighing your name as he carefully guides himself into you, absolutely in awe at the way your hot cunt grips him. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips resting firmly against yours as his chest heaves, breaths coming in short, sharp pants.

You aren’t fairing much better, head spinning at the way he splits you open, pressing incessantly at each and every sensitive spot within you. You pant against his neck as he stills, pressed deeply within you.

“D-Do… fuck, do I just…?” Michael stutters, giving half-hearted little thrusts to test the waters.

“Yes!” You answer instantly, anxiously nodding up at him as your hips wiggle against the bedsheets, making him swear and shudder above you, “Just move, honey, do what feels good.”

He groans again and gives a little nod before experimentally moving his hips again, pulling out more this time before pushing back in. “Shit,” he breathes above you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grunts with each roll of his hips.

You pant underneath him, spurring him on by pressing your feet against his backside, urging him to move faster and faster as the frilly lace from your socks tickles his pale skin. “You’re doing so, so good, oh, my God,” you breathe, your voice high-pitched and whimpery as you tangle your fingers in his hair again, knowing by now that it drives him crazy.

Above you, Michael’s hips slowly but surely begin to stutter, his thrusts starting to peter out as his breathing picks up. “I’m —!”

“Wait!” You blurt suddenly, smiling wickedly as he comes to a screeching halt, pushing himself up enough to stare down at you with wild eyes, “I have an idea…” You tease with a little giggle.

“W-What?”

“You have a phone, yeah?”

“…Yeah?”

“One that can, like, take video?”

“Yes?”

“Grab it,” you laugh, pushing him off of you with a laugh. He rolls his eyes with a smirk but does as you ask, clumsily pulling himself from your heat before stumbling over to where his khakis had landed. He shuffles about for a second before pulling a silver phone from the pocket of his trousers.

“Now what?” He asks curiously, positioning himself back between your thighs, cock twitching meanly.

“Film me.”

“What?!” He gapes at you, brows creased.

“Film me, honey,” you giggle, biting your lip conspiratorially, “For your little task, you need proof, yeah?”

“Well, yeah, b-but I can just take your panties or something, I don’t —“

“Or you could bring back something better…” You smirk, shrugging your shoulders playfully, “We don’t have to but… it could be kinda hot?”

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking between you, your pussy, and the phone in his hand before he nods once, curtly. “We… we can try it.”

“Yeah? You wanna?”

“Yeah,” he quips, catching you by surprise as a mean little smirk spreads over his lips, “Wanna see the look on Catton’s face when he sees you creaming on my cock.”

Your eyes widen and you huff out a shocked laugh, a zing of electricity lighting behind your eyes. “You’re insane,” you say softly, an endeared smile on your lips.

He snickers, his whole demeanor seeming to change before your eyes as he transforms from this shy, stuttering boy into an astonishingly cocky man. “You like it, love,” he teases, grabbing his dick and positioning himself at your entrance yet again.

“Wait!” You giggle again, blushing as he groans.

“You don’t want to anymore?”

“No, no, not that,” you assure him, affectionately running your hand down one of his shockingly muscular arms, “You can film me… on one condition.”

“‘N what would that be?”

“Take me on a date.” You breathe, suddenly shy. You know he’ll agree to it, but even still, your heart pumps wildly in your chest.

He stares at you for a second, blinking dumbly as he processes your request. “You want me to take you on a date?” He asks, flushing so deeply that the soft pink hue cascades all the way down to his chest.

Giggling, you nod your head, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “You need to start giving yourself more credit, honey.”

He sighs at that, a little astounded huff, before he’s suddenly grabbing at your calves and pushing your legs up toward your shoulders, all but bending you in half, anxious to get his cock back into you. You gasp at the movement, and chuckle at his eagerness, a sound that morphs into a whiny moan when he slides back home.

“Christ,” he grunts, shoulders heaving as he gets used to the way you feel around him once more, “Y-You feel so good, love, fucking perfect.”

“You’re so big,” you whine, nodding as you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, “You’re so good, Michael, you have no idea.”

He groans above you, hands shaking as he grabs for his phone, flipping it open and quickly opening the camera as his hips rut into you, making the springs of your bed creak softly.

As soon as Michael gives you a little nod to let you know he’s filming, you truly put on a show — or well, you at least stop trying to quiet yourself down and be conscientious of the people in the rooms next to you. The way he has your legs bent back makes him feel somehow bigger and causes his cock to hit that sensitive spot within you with pinpoint accuracy every time he thrusts in, making you clench around him and moan loudly each time he moves his hips against you.

You watch as he angles the camera down a bit, no doubt pointing it at the spot the two of you are joined together, letting the camera record his cock sliding in and out of you. When he moves it back up, however, to get your face as evidence, you plaster on the cheekiest grin you can muster.

“H-Hi boys,” you tease breathlessly, smirking as you lean up on one elbow. You wave with your other hand before blowing a kiss to the camera, which makes Michael cockily laugh.

“Fuck, I gotta…” he mutters after a few more seconds, carelessly dropping his phone down on the bed before roughly grabbing at your thighs with a bruising grip, one that makes you mewl and arch your back toward him. The two of you moan and whimper in unison as he begins thrusting wildly, seemingly too worked up to care about anything but cumming.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant over and over, head spinning as he bullies your sweet spot.

“That’s it, love,” Michael murmurs, his voice gruff and low as he stares down at you, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead; he looks wilder than you’ve ever seen him, the thought only serving to push you closer and closer to the edge. “S-Shit, that’s it. Fucking come for me, cream on my cock; please, please, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to press desperate kisses against your neck and collarbones.

The new position causes his pubic bone to rub deliciously over your clit, making you seize beneath him with a loud whine. Your toes curl, heels still pressing into the small of his back. “M-Michael, holy fuck!” You practically squeal as your high finally washes over you once more, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you go lax and pliant underneath him.

The feel of your walls pulsing around his cock has Michael reeling, his hips somehow thrusting even faster as he both desperately wants to cum while also never wanting this feeling to end. “C-Cum, honey, cum,” you pant softly, cupping his cheek with one hand and turning his face toward yours.

That does him in and the rubber band in his belly viciously snaps, making him shudder above you as his thrusts come to a halt, cock twitching wildly inside you as he empties himself into the condom. You watch him in awe, taking in every detail from the way his nose scrunches up as his eyes squeeze close to the way he whispers your name over and over like a prayer.

The two of you lay in silence for a moment, his breath warm against your neck as he slumps against you trying to catch his breath.

Eventually, you can’t help it anymore and let out a breathless giggle, which only intensifies when he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at you with a smirk.

“Something funny?”

“Just,” you breathe, trying to calm yourself enough to get words out, “Just… wow,” you finally say, giggles petering out as you look up at him, the soft gleam in his eyes makes your heart clench in your chest.

“Good wow?” He blushes, looking down between the two of you as he pulls himself from your walls with a little hiss.

“Very, very good wow,” you confirm, grinning as you watch him pull off the condom before he peers up at you with a sheepish grin. “Tie it off, honey,” you instruct, smirking as he does just that, before nodding to the little wastebasket by your desk.

He gets up with a groan and quickly tosses the condom in the trash before turning back to you, the bashful look on his face making you blush.

Unable to resist, you grin at him and spread your arms with a giggle, wordlessly inviting him for a cuddle, which he gladly accepts. The bed creaks slightly as he lays back down, relaxing his head on the pillow just beside yours. Again, the two of you stay silent for a moment, content to merely gaze at one another, before he shyly looks away and sighs.

“I…,” he starts, blue eyes blinking and flitting around your room as he gathers his thoughts, “Thank you,” he finally says, looking back at you with a little half smile.

Your brows furrow at this as you grin at him. “What’re you thanking me for?”

“Well, f-for… this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the two of you before sitting up just slightly and fishing around in the blankets for a second. “And this,” he sighs, holding his phone up before twisting around to set it on the corner of your desk, turning back to you. “I just… I know you didn’t have to, is all, so…”

You cock your head to the side as you prop yourself up on an elbow, eyes narrowing as you study him closely. “And people have the nerve to say I’m thick,” you joke, lips spreading into a wide grin as you gaze down at him, “I wanted to do all this, Michael. I’m the one that came onto you, remember?”

“W-Well, yeah, but —“

“No buts!” You laugh, pressing a finger against his lips as you shake your head, “I have eyes too, you know.”

“What does that mean?”

“You haven’t been the only one watching someone for months,” you giggle shyly, pressing your forehead against his, “I meant what I said about that date, too.”

His arms wind around your waist, holding you tight as he processes your words with a dumbstruck smile, blushing under your gaze. “Whatever you say, love,” he concedes finally, pressing his lips against yours sweetly.

He yawns tiredly when he pulls away from you after a moment, which only makes you yawn as well, and you glance over at the little clock on your dresser. “Christ,” you gasp, turning back to him, “I didn’t realize it’s already almost four… you can crash here, if you want?”

He considers it for a moment, knowing he has to be back in that stupid little basement by noon and making a mental map of where exactly your dormitory is in relation to the Merton College Chapel. “I… I can stay, yeah,” he finally nods after a moment.

“You’re sure?”

“Love, I’m not sure my legs work well enough yet to walk out of here anyway.”

Michael

Groaning, Michael slowly blinks his eyes open, rubbing them softly as he sits up in bed with a yawn. Blindly reaching over for his glasses, he’s confused when he doesn’t feel them in their usual spot and finally opens his eyes properly.

He stares, confused for a moment as to how exactly he somehow got transported into what appears to be Barbie’s damn dream house, before the events of last night come flooding back to him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes when he turns his head and sees your still-sleeping form beneath your flowery sheets, your hair tousled wildly on the pillow as your shoulders rise and fall evenly still with each breath. Looking around, he finally spots his glasses and puts them on before reaching for his phone, and cursing again when he sees the time.

11:47 AM.

He practically falls out of your bed as he tries to extricate himself from the sheets, and he hears you wake with a start behind him as he grabs wildly at his clothes on the floor.

“Michael?” You ask questioningly, your voice still hoarse from sleep as you, frankly fucking adorably, rub at your eyes before fixing him with a curious look.

“Gotta, shit, gotta run,” he explains quickly, cursing as he nearly loses his balance trying to tug his trousers on, “Need to be at Merton Chapel in, like, Christ, ten minutes!”

“Ohh,” you giggle softly, watching with amusement as he finishes getting dressed, hair and clothes so disheveled that he’s sure he looks like the very definition of the walk of shame.

Just as he’s tugging his shoes on and making a mad dash for the door, you stop him. “Here,” you smirk, holding out the same lacy pair of pink panties you wore last night, “For proof,” you explain, nodding to the phone in his hand, “Along with that. Should be more than enough,” you giggle proudly.

He smiled sheepishly as he pockets your underwear. “T-Thanks,” he nods, turning to leave before you stop him once more.

He can’t help but blush when you lean in and press and quick kiss to his lips, your cherry chapstick rubbing off on him some. Pulling away, you playfully smack his chest with a little grin. “Go get ‘em, honey.”

Nodding, he smiles again before finally pulling your door open and bounding down the hallway. “I’ll text you, love!” He calls, peering back just before he rounds a corner, “About that date!”

It’s 11:58 on the dot when he flings the basement door open, only to be pulled over to the same stupid dank basement wall, his back hitting it once more with a dull thud.

Glancing around, he sees the ski-masked boys again, all fifteen of them, standing in a row with the head boy slightly out of line. To his left stands one of the other initiates, clutching a black tube of some sort.

The basement stays silent for a moment before one of the masked boy’s watch alarms goes off just as the bells in the tower begin to chime.

Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Noon.

Right on cue, the head boy steps forward even more and looks between Michael and the other initiate. “Your friend couldn’t be bothered to show his face, then?” He asks, dark eyes peering at the boy next to Michael.

He scoffs and shakes his head, glaring at the head boy. “He’s still at the bank!” He snaps, “All the way in bloody Switzerland,” he kicks at the dirty stone floor as he explains, “Dickhead,” he finally mutters lowly under his breath.

“Shame,” the head boy quips, clasping his hands in front of his waist, “Some men are simply not cut out for Bullingdon.”

The boys in the row behind him nod knowingly, each making some little noise of affirmation until the head boy quickly stops them, holding a fist up by his head, bringing it back down to his side when they shut up.

“So, initiates, what’ve you got?”

The boy next to Michael steps forward first and hands the black tube to the head boy with a sigh. “There,” he says, gesturing to it, “There’s your bloody map. My mum could get sacked for that.”

The head boy pops open one end of the tube, a document sleeve Michael now realizes, and gingerly extracts a rolled up piece of parchment from it, unrolling it just enough to confirm it's what they asked for.

“Well done, initiate,” he nods, seemingly impressed as he flashes a smile at the boy, white teeth gleaming creepily through the slit in his ski mask. Carefully, he rolls the document up again before sliding it back in the tube, “Your commitment to Bullingdon will take you far. Welcome to the fray.”

The boy stands still for a moment, eyeing the document tube with an almost regretful expression before curtly nodding and taking his place back against the wall.

“And then there was one,” the head boy murmurs, dark faze fixed on Michael, “I seem to remember we gave you quite the… interesting task indeed, initiate. How did you manage?”

Smiling damn near arrogantly, Michael all but skips up the head boy and proudly pulls your panties from his back pocket, letting them dangle from his index finger. “See for yourself.”

The head boy grabs them by the edge and studies them for a moment, turning back to the row of boys behind him with a questioning glance. The boy Michael knows already to be that cunt, Oliver Quick, glances between him, the panties, and Michael, before cutting a sideways glance to a tall boy standing next to him.

“These could be anyone’s,” the head boy says, turning back to Michael as he shakes his head, “You could’ve nicked them from your sister or something, we’ll need more than this, initiate.”

“Don’t even have a sister,” Michael quips, shrugging his shoulders with a little frown.

“Okay, like, your cousin or something then –”

“Don’t have a female cousin,” he says with a shake of his head, “All boys.”

“The point still stands!” The head boy finally snaps, making Michael bite the inside of his cheek to hide a little laugh, though the corner of his lips still quirks up in a smirk, “You haven’t got any proof, do you? Is that why you’re stalling?”

Huffing a little laugh, Michael finally lets himself smirk meanly and steps closer to the head boy as he pulls his phone from his pocket, flips it open, and navigates to his video gallery. “Is this enough proof?” He teases, pressing play on the most recent video.

The picture is small and grainy but there’s no doubt as to what’s happening as the sound of your pretty whimpers and moans echoes around the brick basement, along with the wet smack of Michael’s cock driving into you again and again.

The head boy stares at the screen still as curiosity gets to a few of the boys in the row behind him and they all come crowd around Michael’s phone, eyes widening behind their ski masks and mouths falling open.

The tallest one, the one Oliver keeps glancing at, lets out a long sigh as he peers down at the small screen and brings a hand up to his head as if he were going to run it through his hair before remembering the mask he has on. With him this close, Michael finally notices the little silver barbell stuck through his eyebrow and shivers as his lips curl up into a sadistic Cheshire cat smile, a tidal wave of savage pride crashing through his system.

Finally, fucking finally, I get something he wants, he thinks as your breathy moans continue to pour from the speaker of his phone, tinny and muffled in some spots where he’d accidentally covered the microphone, but beautiful, beautiful and because of him.

After a moment, the video ends, the tiny phone screen reverting back to it’s little thumbnail as the head boy peers up at Michael, the rest of the club members taking their places back in line, though he can’t help but notice that Felix’s broad shoulders are slumped now and Oliver stands ever closer to him, like some kind of fucked up bodyguard.

“I’ll be damned, initiate,” the head boy sighs with a shake of his head, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

He watches as Michael merely nods and pockets his phone again, holding it tightly in his fist even still. After a second, he smiles widely and claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

“Welcome to Bullingdon.”

Some time later, Michael finally exits the basement, a few of the club members, sans ski masks now, nodding goodbye to him as they disperse across campus, meeting adjourned.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting from the initial meeting but it was mostly them prattling on about where exactly they had all their grubby little fingers, poked in seemingly every facet of society from Parliament to local newspapers.

Braggy cunts, Michael thinks as he ambles outside, glancing up at the sky as he steps into the Mob Quad, surrounded by stony old buildings.

Smiling to himself, he pulls out his phone and quickly finds your number in his contacts list, blushing when he sees you’ve taken the liberty of adding some girly heart emoticon next to it. He hardly has time to press it against his ear before you answer.

“Well?” You demand with that now familiar giggle, some unfamiliar pop song playing in the background.

“I’m in,” he confirms, nodding to himself as he slowly walks in the direction of his dormitory, “Thanks to you.” He smiles like an idiot when you laugh.

“Don’t sell yourself short, honey,” you tease, he can picture your bright, glossy smile in his head, “You earned that spot.”

Michael merely shakes his head with a happy little sigh. “So,” he starts, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “About that date… I was thinking the King’s Arms? Tonight at six, if that works?”

“Oooh, tonight at six,” you repeat teasingly, an image flashing in his mind of you twirling your hair around a perfectly manicured finger, “Someone’s quite eager, hm?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Hmm, I suppose not,” you giggle, pausing for a second, “It’s a date then.”

“Fantastic,” Michael sighs, trying with every fiber of his being to sound casual and cool about the whole thing, even as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest.

“See you tonight, Mr. Bullingdon,” you tease, making a little kissy sound into the phone before hanging up.

Michael pauses for a moment, standing to the side on the pavement as he nods to himself. If it weren’t so fucking cheesy, he’d raise his fist in the air, victorious, à la Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club.

Instead, he flips his phone back open and navigates back to your video. Sighing, he stares at the little thumbnail for a second before deleting it, pocketing his phone once more, and continuing back to his dormitory.

He has the real thing now.

taggled lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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thesvnandthemooon · 3 months ago

Text

𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧

or: natasha not acting like herself at all when it comes to anything pregnancy-related

part of the short n’ sweet universe

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: the header is atrocious. the pictures don’t match at all. also, this one’s more of a quick oneshot than a full, detailed story (mainly because there’s like no plot lol). hope you’ll enjoy reading, anyway :)

fair warning—this entire thing makes sns nat seem like the biggest idiot alive. i promise that’s not the case, these are just some of her worst moments lol 😭

summary: natasha being deep in the pregnancy/newborn trenches; based on following prompt: nat being freaked out about pregnancy things in short n sweet au

warnings: gagging/spitting, smut (brief, part of the plot ig?), childbirth, mentions of blood and bodily fluids

word count: 5.6k

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Eyes wide open, Natasha stares at the creation on the plate you just carried into the living room.

She lowers the PlayStation controller and clears her throat. Oblivious, you shift on the couch and stretch out your legs. She pokes your thigh.

"Yeah?", you ask, looking away from the tv screen. She raises her eyebrows pointedly.

"What the fuck is that."

"Oh." You tilt the plate a little to show it to her. She immediately grimaces. "Pickles in fruit roll-ups with some whipped cream on the side!"

"Dear god", she mumbles, trying her hardest not to judge. You're pregnant, after all, but those pregnancy cravings aren't for the weak. "You sound excited, too. Jesus Christ."

You hum, already grabbing one of the rolls and taking a bite. Pickle juice leaks, dripping down your finger and onto the big dollop of whipped cream. Natasha gags quietly.

"You're exaggerating", you say through a mouthful of the sour-sweet-fatty concoction. "Try it!"

"Over my dead body", she says, jumping up from the couch and abandoning her video game. You raise your eyebrows, wiggling a pickle-roll. "Quit that."

"Just one bite", you say. "I'm literally carrying your kid. May as well see what they like."

Natasha points a finger at you. "Don't blame this on them. This is on you."

You frown, taking another deliberately slow bite and savoring it. The oh-so-tough athlete almost loses it.

"It's good", you insist. You get up — a difficult task, thanks to the basketball-sized bump you're carrying around. Yes, Natasha measured it. It's basketball-sized.

She jumps backwards and bumps into a potted plant. You hear your mom's voice from upstairs.

"What are you kids doing?"

"Nothing", you call. You hold out your newest craving and tilt your head, plush glossy lips forming a pout. "One little bite. Just a tiny one."

Natasha stares at it, hesitating. The Red 40 roll-up. The pickle, still oozing juice. The poor whipped cream, now dissolving into a white puddle.

Forget any basketball-injury she's ever had. She's pretty sure this might be the thing that ends her career.

Your eyes light up when she leans in. Teeth first bite down on something soft yet firm. Then, something crunchy. It's sweet and sour and rich and so absolutely vile she reaches for the potted plant.

"Not in there!"

Natasha shakes her head and gags, almost spitting everything out. "You trying to kill me?!"

You scrunch up your nose when a mixture of pickle juice, drool and whipped cream runs down her chin. You grab a napkin and hand it to her, and she spits into it.

"You've literally helped me with a clogged milk duct. I think you'll be fine."

Natasha shoots you a glare. Her eyes are teary, and she's still letting out little coughs and sniffles. "You're bringing that up now?"

"You didn’t seem to mind it, so I think it's worth mentioning", you say, grabbing a new pickle roll and taking a bite. She whines quietly.

"This is worse than your sardines and onions-phase, you know."

You tilt your head. Right, that one. It took you about two weeks until you lost the appeal there. Good thing fatty fish is actually beneficial for the baby, or Natasha would've banned it.

She grabs her water bottle and chugs until it's almost gone. Then she rubs her face and nods at your plate.

"Could you, uh..."

You frown. "Could I what?"

She shifts uncomfortably. "Maybe eat that...somewhere else...?"

You stare at her. Oh, wow. You're the pregnant one, the one who went through morning sickness and swollen feet, the one who can barely sleep at night ever since your belly has gotten this big, but some pickles and roll-ups are too much for her?

Apparently, Natasha didn't consider the fact you're currently visiting your family.

..."Mom!"

Her eyes widen in an instant. She shakes her head, jumping forward and grabbing you. Your mom likes her, sure, but she feels like something like this wouldn't be tolerated anyway.

"I was kidding!"

Muscular arms hold you against her body. You squirm and try to make your way out of her embrace, but she's strong and stubborn (and a little afraid of possible maternal rage), so she plops down onto the couch and keeps you in her lap.

Pregnant and exhausted, you slump into her.

"Screw you."

"I wasn't being serious, babe."

"Sure."

"I promise", she adds. After a beat of hesitation, she tightens her grip on you. "But no more pickles in roll-ups."

You stare at her, battling the urge to call for backup again. Natasha knows you well by now — too well. She leans in and kisses you, ignoring the lingering taste of pickle brine and artificial fruit. You make a noise of protest, but she deepens the kiss, and your resistance softens and turns into acceptance.

Thanks to your heightened sensitivity, it takes about two minutes until you're both flushed and on your way to the privacy of your old bedroom. No matter what, Natasha's won. She's about to get laid and the stupid pickles lay forgotten.

. . .

Naked and skin slick with sweat, you lie tangled in the sheets of Natasha's bed.

It's quiet in her dorm, and cold as well. You're tucked against her side, your belly resting against her hip. She cups it, rubbing gently, and her eyes drift downward. Suddenly, she pauses.

You're far too spent and comfortable to question her reaction, so you just hum. When she pokes your belly button, though, your eyes flit to her face.

"What are you doing?"

"Are you...okay?"

You frown, still not understanding what's wrong. You look at your belly button and huff when you see how it's popped out. Your breath being released so rapidly even makes it billow a little more, and when you inhale, it gets smaller again.

Natasha stares at it, her hand frozen in place. From sprained ankles to busted lips, broken noses to actual bloodshed — she's seen just about everything. But your belly button doing this weird thing? Being popped out? This...growing and contracting? It might be too much.

"You're a pussy", you say, rolling your eyes. "How do you plan on seeing your kid actually be born?"

"You want the honest answer?"

You ram your elbow into her side, knocking all the air from her lungs. A quiet 'oof' sound escapes her, and she reaches between your bodies to get ahold of your arm.

"Did pregnancy make you lose your sense of humor as well?", she asks. You huff again, and your belly button does the thing again, and Natasha visibly recoils. You glare at her. "I'm sorry, it's just-"

"Gross?", you snap. She shakes her head, hoping you're not about to kick her out of her own dorm.

"No, just...unusual?" She swallows. "I thought it stays inside."

"Are you stupid? Genuinely."

This time, it's her turn to look offended. Though, she doesn't have much of a reason for that. She's the one who started this, after all. She could've grabbed a blanket and covered you with it, using the coldness of the room as an excuse. But no.

"You're the one who let 'stupid' knock you up", she shoots back, sinking into the mattress again. You scoff, but don't say anything.

Silence, at least for a few minutes. Then, she sees a little bulge form on the side of your belly. Just like that, she's sitting up straight again.

"Their foot?", she asks, touching the spot. The look you give her answers the question. "Alright, alright. Should've been obvious."

You hum, adjusting your position and resting your back against a couple pillows. It's the only way you don't get out of breath when doing anything even remotely physically demanding.

Natasha's forgotten about the belly button. Her focus is entirely on the baby now, or to be more exact, the baby's kicks against your stomach. Her palm presses against your skin, her breath being held. You tap your fingers against the other side, hoping to coax out another kick.

It works. Her face lights up, and suddenly, you've forgotten about the belly button-fiasco.

More kicks. Against her palm, mostly, and some against the top of your bump. Then, the baby starts turning and shifting. What was once cute and enthralling quickly turns horrifying. Natasha has no idea how a living being this tiny can achieve that, but your stomach is moving like there's an alien inside. Or maybe she just watched a few horror movies too many.

It's shifting, morphing, rolling under your skin. An exorcism suddenly seems like a reasonable option.

She pulls back her hand, eyes nervously flickering toward you. You're fighting to keep your eyes open, though. You're not exactly comfortable like this.

"You're joking."

She gestures at your stomach. "Does that not hurt?"

"It's not nice", you agree, adjusting your position once more. Natasha quickly reaches out to steady you. "But it's not too bad."

"It looks painful", she mumbles, blinking in disbelief. The baby stops for a moment, then continues with the water gymnastics. She rubs her forehead. "No one told me pregnancy could be this..."

"Creepy?"

"Yeah."

You snort tiredly. "Honestly, just give me the damn blanket. I'm done with you for tonight."

"No, no", she suddenly says, shaking her head. She feels bad. Never did she intend to make you want to cover up because of her. "Don't. I'm being an idiot. Ignore me."

You tilt your head and lift your hand to cup her jaw. Natasha looks at you, softening entirely. "Is it really that bad?"

"No", she assures you, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "It's a me-issue. I'm the only one stupid enough to get freaked out by it."

You want to roll your eyes, but she's all over you again. Kissing your cheek, your nose, your lips, touching everywhere and anywhere. Whether she's smothering you in love or distracting you from her stupidity — it's working, unfortunately. She's a charmer and always will be. An expert at smooth-talking herself out of situations she got herself into.

. . .

It's no secret that, when your water breaks, amniotic fluid leaves your body.

Natasha knew that. She'd prepared herself for it. So when she sees it drip down your legs on the way to the hospital, she isn't too fazed. She doesn't even care it's getting on her car's seat. She'll just have it cleaned. Honestly, she's just glad you've made it to the hospital in time.

"Help", you say, one leg awkwardly hanging out the car, tiptoes touching the ground.

"Huh?" Natasha, who's been in the digging through the trunk to get everything you packed, glances at you. She quickly straightens up. "Oh! Fuck, sorry love."

"No, no", Daisy says, returning with a wheelchair. "Get those bags, Romanoff. I'll help her."

"But-"

"Shush", Wanda insists, backing her up. You let her help you into the wheelchair and sigh once you're seated. "All good?"

"Well, I guess."

Natasha, apparently benched from helping her own girlfriend, lets out a sigh and follows behind you. Right as you enter the hospital, she swoops in and steals the wheelchair from Daisy.

You notice how the ride suddenly becomes shaky, if only for a second. There's not much time to focus on that, though. Another contraction hits, and though the pain is still relatively mild, it's enough to make you shut your mouth.

"I'll handle this now", Natasha says. You're waiting in line for the maternity unit admissions desk, and Daisy and Wanda are still hanging around. Daisy frowns. "No, don't give me that look. We don't need a crammed delivery room."

Daisy lifts her eyebrows. Natasha gives her a challenging look in return. You roll your eyes.

"For fuck's sake, just leave", you finally say, making them snap out of it. "Go, go. I'll keep you updated."

"You better", Wanda says, then nods at Daisy. They kiss you goodbye and head out.

You shift in the wheelchair, trying to find a way to make this entire experience more comfortable. But that's not the point of labor, and no matter how much you wiggle around, it's doomed to get way worse before it can get better.

Natasha glances at you, and that's when the realization finally hits her. None of this is a joke. It's not a dream she's about to wake up from. Suddenly, she kinda wishes she hadn't sent your friends away.

"You okay?", she asks, leaning over your shoulder. You shoot her a weak glare. "Alright, got it."

"Just fill out the form."

She nods and does as told. You wait, arms crossed and head leaned back, and look up when she stops writing.

"You're done?"

"I may need a new form."

"What?" You sit up, grabbing the clipboard from her. "Oh my god. How did you manage that?"

Natasha gestures helplessly. Somehow, despite the fact you aren't even engaged, she managed to put 'Romanoff' as your last name.

"I think they call that manifesting."

"I swear to god, I will-" You exhale sharply and put your hand on your belly. "Fix that now."

A while later, you make it into the delivery room. You're about to get on the bed, Natasha helping you, when a fluid literally gushes out of you. She stops in her tracks.

"Please tell me you didn't pee. I'm begging you."

You glare at her, now both miserable and embarrassed. "My water broke, idiot."

"But it already-"

"Yes, yes, I know. It can happen twice."

Natasha raises her eyebrows, but thankfully doesn't say anything. She sits down next to you and kisses your cheek. Her arm wraps around you but you pull away. She frowns, clearly offended. Sure, you're in labor, but you're not one to reject her like that.

You notice the look on her face and roll your eyes. You gesture at her basketball jersey. "You're still sweaty."

She huffs. "Not that sweaty."

"Sweaty enough."

She wants to say 'fuck you', she really does. But you're having her baby, and she'd rather be found dead than cursing out the mother of her child.

Neither of you have gone through labor before, obviously. You have seen videos of it during childbirth class — women screaming in agony, blood, wailing babies — but seeing it on video and actively going through it are two completely different things.

You spend the first few hours doing fine. You talk, watch tv, even manage to take a small nap. Right as Natasha presses her lips to your belly, though (for good luck), you almost shoot off the bed.

"Oh fuck."

She stares at you, alarmed. "What?"

You shake your head and bite back a cry. It's too early to scream, it's too early to scream — you keep repeating that same sentence like a mantra, but lord, is it hard.

Natasha curses when you grip her hand. You're not exactly the strongest person she's met, so this has no business being that painful.

"You're crushing my bones!"

"You did this to me", you mutter through gritted teeth. "Your stupid bones will be fine."

Fair enough. Still, she shifts in pain until your grip finally loosens. She shakes her hand and inspects it. She was wrong: if anything ends her career, it'll be you.

More contractions. More screaming. Natasha, slowly losing her mind because she's worried to death about both you and the baby. Blood, tons of it. Natasha feeling faint. A nurse splashing her with cold water.

Labor seems to take forever until it suddenly goes really fast. The nurses scramble, the midwife says something Natasha doesn't hear. Then, a scream. Tiny but powerful, coming out of a pair of lungs that'll continue to grow for a while. Someone announcing that it's a boy.

Natasha sobs and glances at your baby — and suddenly, she understands why some people say newborns look funny.

It's not like she doesn't love him. All it took was seeing him on a grainy screen months ago, and she was smitten. But he's swollen, and pink, and covered in some weird substance that makes him look icky.

She looks at you when you nudge her. You're exhausted, dark circles under your eyes and your face pale. Baby hairs are sticking to your sweaty temples.

"How is he?"

"Beautiful", she assures you, kissing your cheek. No way is she going to be honest. You've gone through enough — you don't need to hear your girlfriend say your son looks like a shriveled up potato. "He's gorgeous."

You lift your head a little, but immediately let it drop back into the pillow. "Are you blind?"

"Oh, come on."

"He looks like a tiny old man."

"Careful", she mumbles, watching the nurse pat the baby dry and carry him to you, "they're about to put the 'tiny old man' on your chest."

Up close and a quick cleanse with a towel later, he doesn't actually look that much like an old man anymore. Or maybe that's your hormones kicking in. Whatever — you're both in love, feeling like you're floating. You both ignore what's happening around you and instead focus on the little life squirming in your arms.

That is, until you start to feel pain again. Natasha looks at your midwife and frowns, about to interrupt, when she casually holds up the placenta. A bumpy tissue, covered in blood vessels, dark and disgusting.

"What the fuck is that?"

"The placenta!" Your midwife looks way too proud. Seeing the look on Natasha's face, she wiggles the afterbirth a little. That's her favorite part of labor — poking fun at squirmy partners. You give her an unimpressed look when she gags. "Some people eat it."

She stares at her. "You're kidding."

"I'm not! You can also turn it into pills, or tinctures-"

"Tell her to stop talking", she pleads, looking at you. All she gets is a brief glance, though. You're way too focused on the newborn you're holding. "Babe."

"Anna?", you say, absently rubbing the baby's back. "Show it to her up close."

"NO."

"Oh dear." Anna tuts and puts the placenta aside. She takes off her gloves and washes her hands. "Go, focus on your baby. I'll get rid of the afterbirth."

You nod, adjusting the baby a little. Natasha exhales in relief.

Focusing on a tiny baby is much nicer than a bloody, alien-looking organ, after all.

. . .

"There you go", she says, helping you sit down. "Does it hurt bad?"

"I'm fine", you grit. It's embarrassing enough that she has to help you go to the bathroom now. You're not going to describe the pain you feel in detail. "Check on Niko for me?"

Natasha nods. It's been a week since he was born, and you've been home for a few days. It's going fine, mostly. You're healing and adjusting well. Niko is an easy baby too, so far, and you feel lucky. The only issue is that you tore while giving birth, which meant a couple stitches and at least three weeks of pain.

"Call me if you need me", she says, brushing some hair out of your face. She steps out the bathroom and closes the door to give you some privacy, then she makes her way into the living room.

Niko's in his crib, slowly waking up from his nap. He stretches and grunts quietly, his lips briefly pulling into a pout. The moment she takes one look at him, it's over. She's entranced, watching him like he's the most fascinating little human in the entire world. Which he probably is, at least in her eyes.

She scoops him up and places him against her chest. He squeaks, as babies tend to — it scared the crap out of her at first, because he sounded like a damn chew toy. But now, it's almost cute enough to make her tear up.

"Oh, it's so stuffy in here, huh?", she mumbles, bouncing him gently. She walks around the room with him, and when her eyes land on the stroller next to the front door, she's already forgotten about a certain someone who's stuck on the toilet. "You want to go on a walk, bud? Hm? I wouldn't mind getting my steps in for today."

It's not surprising that Niko doesn't react to her suggestion. She kisses the top of his head and carefully carries him to the stroller. Once she's bundled him up in a fleece suit and a couple other warm clothes and blankets, she shrugs on a jacket and steps into the hallway with him.

The door falls shut. You, still sitting in the bathroom, hear the muffled sound.

"No way. Nat?"

Nothing. Silence. You try again, but no response comes. You stare at the door and the finality of it all sinks in.

You, on the toilet, pants down and abandoned. No way to get up. Natasha, gone, taking your infant son on a walk. Mother first, girlfriend second — that's how it's going to be, apparently.

You wouldn't mind it that much if she hadn't left you in this vulnerable position. Walking is difficult enough already. The stitches burn, everything down there burns. Peeing is like a punishment right now. At least you had Natasha to help you.

And now? Now you're stuck on the toilet, helpless and betrayed, silently plotting her murder.

Dumb and poetic is what Daisy had called her right after you'd started putting on the PDA during spring break. Back then, you'd defended her. Said that Natasha isn't dumb, actually defended her. You're not so sure now, though.

Natasha, in the meantime, is unbothered. She's just rounded the corner of the building, Niko still wide awake in his stroller and staring at nothing in particular. She remembers reading that it takes a while for babies' eyesight to develop, so he's probably only seeing blurry shapes.

"You know what sounds good?", she mumbles, suppressing a yawn. He's an easy baby, yes, but that doesn't mean he sleeps through the night. "Coffee. Mhm. Some caffeine."

They enter a coffee shop. You stare at the floor, silently debating whether trying to get up by yourself would be worth it. Maybe you'd make it to your phone, so you could call her. Or you'd get straight to business and deflate every single basketball in her collection. Maybe smash her PlayStation, too.

Natasha orders a coffee for herself and, out of habit, a decaf vanilla iced coffee for you. As soon as she's grabbed both, she freezes. She's had the feeling that she forgot something ever since she left the apartment, and now she finally remembers.

"Crap", she curses, putting one coffee into the cup holder attached to the stroller and holding the other. She starts pushing with one hand, but it's not nearly fast enough. She can't risk spilling coffee all over the baby, after all. "Shit! What did we do?!"

Niko's slowly dozing off again. Screw 'we' — this is not the baby's fault. He's not an accomplice. She can't blame anyone but herself. Who in their right mind would think that a one week old wants to go on a spontaneous walk, after all? He would've been fine at home, maybe with an opened window and a snuggle session in the rocking chair.

She's sprinting now. The coffee is literally one wrong step away from spilling, but whatever. It's iced coffee, and Niko's all bundled up, and it'd probably do less damage than whatever you plan on doing to her.

As the doors of the building's elevator close, she gets a text. You somehow made it to your phone.

You: you're fucking kidding — 11.32am

You: 20 MINUTES — 11.32am

She's sweating, staring at the screen. Six more floors. The messages keep coming.

You: are you aware that I need to pump?? — 11.32am

You: do you know how PAINFUL THIS IS YOU MORON — 11.33am

You: you're sleeping on the fucking couch — 11.33am

Natasha: sorry :( — 11.34am

You did, in fact, make her sleep on the couch.

. . .

There was no doubt Natasha would be a great mom. You knew it from the beginning. Despite the initial shock, despite the dumb comments, despite her sometimes being absolutely clueless — she was trying her best, always.

She picked out baby clothes. She assembled furniture. She made sure to find the best apartment for your little family. And when Niko finally arrived, safe and sound and perfect, you only became more certain that she'd do just fine.

A few weeks later, you're still convinced. Having a newborn is hard. Late night feedings, changing diapers, worrying constantly. Trying to learn the baby's cues, catching up on sleep, needing time for each other but knowing that won't be possible for a while.

It's hard, but Natasha's doing excellent so far. She's balancing school, basketball and parenthood. She cooks lunch and cleans the apartment. She holds you at night, when you're too tired to function, and carries Niko around when he won't sleep. It's exactly why you can't really blame her when she struggles to do one thing.

Diapers. They've been her kryptonite since the very first day. She changes them — but she complains.

"God", she mutters, scooping Niko up and carrying him to the changing table. You decided to put it into the bedroom for now, since you spend a majority of your time here anyway. "Why me?"

"I'm not supposed to get up too much", you say, snuggling into the blankets. "Besides, you've got to change a few of the poopy ones, too."

"Yeah, yeah." She huffs, gently putting him down. "That smell, though. What the fuck does he eat? Taco Bell?"

"He basically eats what I eat, just...in the form of breast milk."

"That doesn't seem right."

You grin, shoving your hand into a bag of Cheetos. "Yeah, I don't think it is."

Natasha hums and slowly opens his onesie. He's still small and fragile, and her hands look huge compared to his body, so changing him feels similar to defusing a bomb. As soon as she's opened his diaper, though, she recoils and gags.

You look at her, frowning. "What?"

"Do you smell that?"

"I'm literally right next to you. Yes, I do. Just change it."

Another attempt leads to another gag. She's tearing up now, her eyes red. "Fucking hell. Buddy, what did you do?"

Niko's merely a month old, so he can't do much more than exist. He makes one of those baby noises that usually melt Natasha's heart, but right now, not even that comforts her.

"He didn't do anything." You give her a lazy glance. "Let me tell you something. Stop complaining and maybe you'll score tonight."

"What?" Her head whips around. "Babe, it's only been a month. You can't yet, you-"

"Yes, but I'm creative." You gesture at the tv, which usually means 'shut up, I'm watching my show.'

Natasha sighs, but something about your promise seems to have worked. She's fighting for her life, but she does it, and realizing she managed to put him into a fresh diaper feels like a victory in itself. You hum in acknowledgment, giving her a quick wink, and she couldn't be prouder as she scoops the baby into her arms again.

. . .

"You're sure?"

"Love, it's been almost three months." You shift underneath her, hands gripping the front of her jersey.

The moment she walked into the apartment this evening, you were all over her. You're not sure what exactly provoked it. Maybe seeing her in her jersey, all sweaty and rugged. Or not being with her like this ever since Niko was born. Whatever it was — it made you grab her and slam your lips against hers.

Natasha hesitates. Again, you haven't done this since you gave birth. Not because you didn't want to, but because it's recommended to wait. If it were up to you, you would've waited a month at most. But Natasha? Natasha's terrified. She's been blue balled for months, sure, and she gets hard at the tiniest of touches. She still prefers that over accidentally hurting you, though.

"Babe, I know, but..." She sighs, burying her face against your neck. You smell sweet, different. Like milk and sugar instead of perfume and bubblegum. "I don't know."

"Can you stop being stubborn and just fuck me?"

She huffs against your skin. Truth be told, she didn't expect you to be this assertive right away — but maybe she should've. Niko is finally asleep, after all. You've got the living room to yourselves. Tomorrow is a Sunday, which means that even if you lose sleep in order to have sex, it won't matter as much.

"Lord", she mutters, sitting up to take off her jersey. You sigh when you see her abs, still defined from exercising all evening. "I'll be gentle."

"Don't you dare", you say, sitting up and taking off your shirt as well. Natasha's eyes zero in on your breasts, softer and fuller, little wet patches on your bra. You roll your eyes and hook your finger into the waistband of her boxers, only to make it snap back.

"Hey!"

"Can you focus?"

Natasha hums, leaning in to press a kiss to your collarbone. Just like that, you forget complaining was ever an option and lay back down. She crawls on top of you, lips trailing kisses all over your neck, and dips her hand into her boxers. There's no need to touch herself, as she's already so hard it's almost painful.

Her free hand tugs at your sweatpants, silently telling you to get rid of them. You respond immediately, wiggling out of them and removing your underwear at the same time. Natasha makes an appreciative noise, her eyes trail down your body — and she stops in her tracks.

There's never an ideal moment to get labor-flashbacks. The arguably worst one, though, is getting one right as you're about to sleep with your girlfriend.

You give her a confused look, and she swallows. All she can think about now is the nightmare that is childbirth, what being fully dilated looks like, how the baby's head-

"Nat?"

"Huh?"

You raise your eyebrows. "What is it now?"

She quickly shakes her head and leans in, plush lips landing on yours. You exhale softly, cupping her face and kissing her back. Her hand dips between your legs, working you open, and you moan.

Don't look down, she thinks, adjusting herself. She grabs her cock and aligns it with your cunt. Don't look down, don't...fuck.

You give her a deadpan look. She bites her lip, looking a little like a dog who knows it's screwed up.

"Tell me."

"No", she insists, trying to kiss you again. You press your index finger against her lips and push her away. "Baby."

"I want to know", you protest. "Come on."

Natasha sighs and shifts uncomfortably. She rubs your side — you're not sure whether she's trying to calm down you or herself — and looks at the tv next to you. Some old movie is playing, but you muted it. The colors flicker on her face.

"It's just...hard to forget that a baby came out of there."

You stare at her, blinking slowly. Out of all the things she could've said, it's probably the least offensive but also most ridiculous.

"Uh, yes", you say, frowning. "I know that. I pushed that 9 pound baby out of there. Thank you for that, by the way."

"How is that my fault??"

"Are you kidding? You're..." You gesture at her entire existence. "You're a giant! And so is he!"

It's her turn to look offended now. "I don't think it's him being big that was the issue, you know."

You narrow your eyes at her. Oh, you know what she's implying. That you had trouble getting him out of there because you're tiny, and not because he's a 90th percentile baby. That she's completely innocent here, even though she put that baby inside you.

Fine, that baby being put inside you was mostly your fault. But that's not something that needs to be brought up now.

"You're saying it was my fault."

Natasha blinks. If she wasn't in trouble before, she definitely is now. You're not pregnant anymore, thank god, and that cocktail of hormones you'd been high on for weeks after you had Niko seems to have mostly worn off. That doesn't mean you can't absolutely kick her ass, though.

"I didn't-"

"You implied it!"

"Well, you are tiny! Which means that naturally, you have a harder time birthing...bigger babies."

Speaking of bigger babies — right as she says that, you hear yours fuss on the baby monitor. Your head drops into the pillow and you curse quietly. You're annoyed, yes, but you're also wet and needy.

Natasha goes completely still, staring at the little screen. He fusses one more time, then he seems to calm down again. For the moment being, at least. She exhales.

"Alright", she says, parting your thighs and kissing the little scowl off your face. "Let me make you feel good."

"Fuck you."

She smiles and kisses your cheek. "I love you."

"Whatever", you mutter, but moan when she thrusts into you. She feels good, so much better than you remember, filling you up and easing that ache a little. Her hips roll against yours, making the couch creak quietly.

Swollen lips, slick thighs, hands roaming each other's bodies. She's nestled deep inside you, bottoming out with every lazy thrust, and tingles make their way up your spine. You barely notice when she pauses.

"We forgot the condom, didn't we."

#short n sweet au #short n sweet #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #wlw #lesbian #marvel #fanfic #x reader #fluff #moon’s fics

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yukagerei · 5 months ago

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I was wrong make size for my new header :'D

#dcmk #kuroba kaito #黒羽快斗 #kaito kid #sketch #kaito kuroba #工藤新一 #kaishin #快新 #magic kaito #hellyeahlassotoolOwO

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pneuma-themes · 4 months ago

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Primavera: All in One Page #01 by @pneuma-themes

Always, it's spring, and everyone's in love, and the flowers pick themselves.

Live Preview / Get the code: [Pastebin] / [Github]

Another Twitter inspired layout. This is an all-in-one page with about, blogroll, tags, and FAQ sections. The code has been heavily annotated, so please go through the code first before sending me an ask!

Important note: Your blog must have been given permission to use Javascript on pages. As of 2024, the waiting time is almost indefinite, and thus might necessitate a circumvention. You can refer to the post I linked to find the how-to.

For the blogroll to display the list of blogs you follow, you must enable this option on the blog setting:

This will not work on secondary blogs, as they do not have that option on their settings.

Features:

Five custom links

Everything is customizable, from the icons to the content and the colors. Customizable options can be found on the :root section of the CSS.

A built-in light-on/off mode that can be toggled by one click.

A header image. The size of your header image is 60% of your screen width x. 250px. The image should resize automatically.

An endless space for practically every section. You can be as detailed or as concise as you like.

Sticky navigation tabs.

A short "currently" tab in the about section, can be about anything you like.

This is a page theme, so blog posts will not be displayed. Please install this through the Add new page link instead.

Credits:

Icons: @alydae

Header: @tofuvi

Fonts: Merriweather, Albert Sans @ bunny.net

Font icons: Dencar Icons (ported by @glenthemes)

CSS tabs: bulma.css, functionality adapted from this StackOverflow post.

Tooltips: tippy.js

Please like and reblog if you like or are using this!

#themehunter #theme hunter #tumblr themes #tumblr pages #html #*mine: all #*mine: page #*page: primavera

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esccpism · 4 months ago

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[…] love is my religion—I could die for that.

it’s valentine’s day. ceo!ambessa gifts you flowers.

abstract: ambessa wants you. more: she wants you to chase. the problem is the time it takes—you’re a tough nut to crack, and the woman has never been good at waiting.

cw: ceo!ambessa x assistant!reader, groping, kissing, shy ambessa for .002 secs but don’t tell anyone, sub/dom themes, corporal punishment (r!reader), voyuerism, ambessa has you masturbate in front of her, older woman x younger woman, reader is fat/plus sized

wc: 3.9k

fic inspired by this artwork by @/RoseYSD13 on twitter. heart skipped like 12 full beats. header inspired by the lovely @hcneymooners.

the year marches onwards.

if you catch the day early enough, time seems to pause and suspend; a breath you could almost hold in your hand.

it’s four in the morning—and so ambessa changes in her office today. and you stand, staring forward, only stealing glances when her back is turned.

she gets ready for as long as two hours, at times, when it’s early enough and the preliminary steps of her routine haven't already been run through at her home. such days are rare. she’s perfect in every other instance, she’s perfect even now. skin and scars, tight and flexible, choking up the room with her overpowering perfume.

you don’t know why she allows you to guard her incompletion. but then again, you’re fresh, and new. you aren’t worth much to her at all.

“haven’t i taught you manners, child?”

your eyes snap back to position. she hasn’t turned even a modicum, but of course it’s a gamble worth taking—her muscles practically ripple like water. the sun simmers against her skin. it’s asking the impossible to not watch them stretch and contract as she bends.

you allowed yourself it and nothing else, avoiding the dip low in her back where safety ends and the curve of her ass begins.

“come,” she beckons, “and help me out of this suit.”

you bob your head, and no hair spills out of your tight bun this time.

dress shoes click and reverberate in the wide and endless room, traveling ages before bouncing off the walls. she says nothing and so neither do you. the time passes, you can tell only by the morning waking outside. unbuttoning the corset becomes your primary objective and you do it with steadfast attention, ignoring her stomach tensing each time your fingers brush the vulnerable skin. ignoring her stomach entirely. ignoring the fact she is wearing no bra underneath and how her full breasts swell towards you beseechingly.

when you finish unraveling the intricate set of satin ribbons and pull the heavy fabric away from her torso, she lets you fold it neatly and place it atop her desk before pressing in, correcting your posture for you.

a hand tickles your stomach, finger under your chin, raising your line of sight until it meets with hers.

”don’t steal glances. i won’t remind you again.”

you nod as best as you can. your post might be fucked—though you don’t have a moment to let the grief wrack through you. “take wholly, or not at all. i won’t have any nibbling around me.”

gripping now, ambessa carries your chin and levels it so you are staring directly at her bare body.

“tell me. what are you feeling?”

“satisfaction, ma’am. i am honored to learn from you, and happy i was able to be of service to you.”

she sighs, and tuts. ”i told them to get rid of that stupid training video. i don’t want a robot tending to me. do you understand me?”

you nod. no hesitation, because she hates the scent, smells it like a dog smells fear.

“once more.” she relaxes your face and steps to your right, curls around you like a lioness circling its prey. “what are you feeling?”

”curiosity.” your eyes flicker to follow her, then keep straight ahead.

“around?”

“around you, ma’am.”

“good girl.” she stops her orbit directly in front of you, and drags her seat over. leans back, body open, legs spread. “satiate it.”

you pat your hands briefly on your dress pants—she interjects with a wily smile, “don’t be afraid, dear.” and you bite back an i’m not before it snaps from you, sharp as a knife.

you sink forward, distantly aware of your hanging cleavage. growing far more aware from how unabashedly she stares at it. you trail your nails down from her ear lobe, across her neck, watch her shiver at the pressure on her throat. you dip then, and politely squeeze her tit in your hand.

she scoffs, and then laughs, a tinkling, rich, barberry sound.

“callow,” she says. “you search like you are reading off my monthly estimates. have you no hunger?”

“i have hunger,” you retaliate, eyes alight. you pinch, and her brows flicker, arching into the pain near imperceptibly.

“but my job does not demand my hunger, ma’am. it only requires that i compartmentalize.” quite literally. you retract your hand and fold it behind you. ”allow me to return to my work.”

she leans her head back, face unreadable as she takes you in. seconds pass, and then the cloud passes as well. she waves you off, sounding bored. “very well. i’ll call you should i need you again.”

⚘

she tends to need you often.

it would seem actually, that she couldn’t do anything by herself were you to be zapped away tomorrow.

she enjoys when you pull the chair out for her, and requests it each time she returns to her desk. says heartily that it makes her feel regal. the cafe on the ground floor has a daily special that she orders three of, at three separate times in the afternoon, sending you on a fourth trip with a lofty tip for the barista should she have enjoyed all three instances. the lines are unbearably long, since the coffee tends towards being delicious. you make the fourth trip often.

her write ups, the real work: which loan repayment negotiations are still underway—there are many—and which partnering fell through—there are many. getting cussed out over the phone on her behalf. day trips across the city and long nights bent over blue light and ass-early mornings, awake even before the sun.

it’s…a demanding job, at its worst.

work breaks are terse at their best, and your coworkers are a restless bunch. they ask you questions, hoping the pressure will, at what is perhaps the 20,001st attempt, eventually give way.

ruler with an iron fist. does she even have emotions pulsing in there? you must’ve seen it, seen her slip. it’s psychopathic, how she’s so good at smiling. a wolf trying to hide its teeth.

here, these people, they don’t nurture expression. self wilts and dies here. that’s what got you at her side in the first place. you were always so loud, anyway, always too much. your mother told you to swallow yourself before the earth tears open its mouth and does it for you.

so you swallow, and you keep your teeth together, and you don’t say a word.

they’re right. you have seen it. ambessa’s smile befalls you often, and her touch is kind, when it grazes the small of your back.

she takes like a tyrant. she desires unceasingly. this you know.

you leave an afternoon with her mangled or otherwise changed, fundamentally at the parts. she so easily finds the fleshy soft of your belly, where it gives way with no resistance, and wraps a jaw around it. settles down to the marrow. your training was this, over and over, every mundane afternoon. eaten and spat back out. you’d be lucky to leave the night with any part of you still intact.

it was meant to make you human—this you couldn’t understand. i don’t want a robot tending to me, she’d instructed.

tell me. what do you feel?

what your coworkers don’t acknowledge is that absolute deference weakens in the face of idiosyncrasies. it's far more effective to strip a thing naked and leave it trembling out in the cold—completely numb the senses. a tyrant cannot rule a person. your brain must be empty so that they might squirm inside.

ambessa does not squirm.

she digs. afternoons change and shift, not yet stretching towards the light, but stretching nonetheless.

you pick inside yourself and place it down before ambessa—at her bequest: your runaway mother, how you hadn’t cried at your brother’s funeral, your bite-sized calico, your tamagotchi collection—and she watches every item splayed like a buffet with a fever that warms, that singes—you nearly snatch yourself back from the simmering air, afraid to lose yourself in her belly. to the licking flame of her tongue.

her hand extends across the table. it crosses the sheets of daily agendas and your laptop and the stack of reports, crosses seas towards you. she lands softly on your chin, and travels to cradle your cheek.

“are you happy here?” she unloads.

“of course, ma’am.”

her frown makes a hearth of her face. “give me the honest answer.”

“here at this position, or here with your fingers taking my face?”

“either,” she says, lowly. “both,” she corrects.

you ease a foot on the gas pedal. you aren’t sure what’s gotten into you, but it drums in your thighs like a second heartbeat. ”then, if i said i wasn't?”

she’s silent, and then her hand slips off. the heat follows her, and your body creaks forward before your brain catches up. chasing.

“then i would release you.” she folds her hands. “and i wouldn’t allow anyone else to have you.”

“i would no longer be yours, ma’am.”

“i may have no use for a pet with reservations, that does not mean i could stand someone else having what i can’t.”

“then must i repeat myself, too?”

the air quivers. the admission breaks inside your chest. her smile curls tight inside you and doesn’t let go.

“indulge me.”

“i’m happy here,” you indulge her. you really say—i’m happy it’s you. you press it into the gaping, leaking space between you, right next to your stewn out innards and idiosyncrasies. right to where her fingers fold on the table. “you’ve got a hand like a fireplace. i don’t mind when you touch, or when you take. above everything it’s the warmth i feel first.”

⚘

the pet names begin shortly thereafter.

only in private, but strong contenders each time—

would you fetch me another coffee, pet?

ah, my pretty dove. you’ve cleaned up sharply today.

come closer, little one. sit. there’s space for you, and i want you near me.

each cuts accordingly, chips at you in intentional ways. she’s relentless and unmerciful. she drags you around and does so easily; you bend for her like a lily. under her strong hands she directs you how to stand during meetings, at what angle to arch when pouring her drinks, at what angle to bow at each of her contemporaries as they enter.

she’s sat with her legs splayed, gaze sharp as she pushes in between your shoulder blades. a shudder slides down through the tendon until your knees threaten collapse.

”head low, and shoulders squared, little lamb. even in civility don’t forget whose you are.”

you couldn’t, not with the dents her fingers press into the tumbling skin of your back. it’ll surely leave marks. it’s only fair.

⚘

ambessa smiles when you enter—she always had, but these are toothier as of late, more disarming. you are startled by them each time.

you offer her one back that probably more closely resembles a wince, and then duck your head and the indignant flush that rises.

⚘

”i’ve brought coffee,” she announces with gusto, swishing in one morning. the pinks and lilacs outside grace the silhouette of her broad shoulders as she swoops down to place one of two in front of you. “tell me if it’s to your liking, so i may have someone replace it if not.”

your mouth unhinges, staring up at her dumbly. “ma’am—coffee runs are my job.”

“and an overly drab one. i didn’t know the lines were so long.”

she waits expectantly, and with a start you reach for the cup, hesitating, slowly tipping it back. it tingles on your tongue—spice and caramel. she watches it slide down your throat with rapt interest, eyes finding yours immediately when you settle the cup back down.

“it’s—good. it’s delicious.”

her grin spreads like wildfire. ”i’ll have them preserve it on the menu. it will be our daily order.”

“ma’am,” you try helplessly, but she pushes forward, leaning her weight on the desk.

she towers, casting a harsh shadow as the sun erects behind her. she might be glowing, or maybe it’s your eyes crossing as she tips over, far too close. ambessa dabs at the corner of your lip, carefully moving around your makeup and the mauve paint to your mouth.

“you’ve a stain, pet.”

her carefulness promptly exits her body through parted lips as she pushes, slipping her thumb into your mouth.

your body jumps. ambessa’s eyes lid as she regards you. “clean it off,” she says.

no hesitation. your tongue snakes out and wraps around the thick digit, suctioning softly. her large hand swallows the line of drool that escapes.

she pops it out, stained now with worse than mere coffee.

“you were saying?”

heart thundering in your throat, you slowly shake your head, swallowing around a newly dried mouth. “‘wasn’t. ma’am.”

she smiles. reaches sideways for your tissue box, and draws away.

⚘

in a turn of events, ambessa has you over her lap—fifteen strokes for standing too closely behind an attendee.

she says it’s because he’s a propagandist, how do you think it looks having my attendant whine herself against my biggest proponent? but her voice had clipped sharply and she'd demanded you untuck your chin from your chest and lower your skirt and recount exactly how it had happened.

her hand collides with the bare flesh of your ass, and it ripples, sharp singing through you at the point of contact. you gasp out, a strangled thing. she shushes you quietly, soothing the bruising spot.

”how did he feel against your cunt? hm?”

her finger slips, just grazing just grazing the damp folds through the thick pulp of your thighs. you whimper softly, pushing back against her touch.

”like nothing at all,” you pant, “ma’am.”

“i was under the impression you were happy here.” it’s sudden as a thunder clap, her hand lands again, and your body locks with divine will so as not to rock forward on the muscle of her thigh.

your voice breaks around a hiccup. you wish you hadn’t in you to be embarrassed, but all there is is ambessa. she overtakes and overloads. even the cold walnut desk smells of her. “yes ma’am. i am very happy here.“

“then display it to me better.”

you nod, tearily, frantically. your face buried in your folded arms makes it hard for your yes’m to make itself intelligible. ambessa doesn’t mind. isn’t finished.

“anything you need you must receive from me. understand? your robust pain, your inane pleasures. only through me.”

her hand presses against your back, testing your state, and your breathing jumps and shudders under her fingers. she coos softly, gracing them up your back and carding her fingers through your hair, massaging at the scalp.

“i’m going to sit you up, sweet girl. let me see your face.”

you’re all over her thigh when she lifts you. you gape, she gazes. swipes at your slick and licks it into her mouth.

“would you like me to handle it?”

“no, ma’am, i’m terribly sorry—i’m not sure what came over me—“

”if you wish to handle it yourself,” she interrupts, and swings her arm out before her, gesturing at a low seated sofa and pile of pillows, “sit right there where i can see you.”

her legs rest eagled, arms bent over her knees, eyes ravenous as she watches you pound your fingers into yourself. your moans jump out stilted and quiet. it’s not enough, it’s nowhere near enough. you need her inside you. you know she could stretch you out so good.

it’s chasing you, it’s chasing you, and your body rolls into your stuttering fingers, your heel reaching pathetically for your clit.

“such a good girl,” ambessa murmurs.

and the moan bubbles out of you like a wail, body climbing towards heaven as your orgasm ascends on you. white hot crashing waves you ride yourself through, hips jumping and twitching until you collapse back into yourself. pleasure tingling in you like an aftertaste.

she strides over immediately, presses a kiss to the top of your head. leaves and return, cleans you off with a warm, wet hand towel and dresses you with fresh clothing, helping your hands through the sleeves, slow and deliberate. she says nothing the whole while. so you say nothing in return.

when she’s finished and she’s satisfied, she sits you in front of a hearty meal.

it’s still hot and you don’t know when she had called for it—but you’re drained and you're grateful, and you take her kindness without complaint.

ambessa sits across from you, watches you eat. satisfaction smoothes her face out.

“are you happy here, little one?”

you glance up from your fork of chicken. she cradles you with her eyes.

it’s a given that you won’t report tonight. too many HR violations to count and technically it’d be your job to file and forward them all. you’ll have to reach for the CCTV footage as well, aware contemporaries come with varying intentions. you know the footage will not be bad at all. it was merely a brush, a push, a passing by—and you know it will not matter. just as it had not tonight.

despite it all stillness resides in you. just the way you like it.

“yes, ma’am. i’m happy.”

⚘

your work continues as usual. her hands remain gentle. you remember them on your body like the frozen earth remembers spring.

⚘

“i’d like your opinion,” her voice sings through the air, and you rise from your chair to indulge her. “which of these three do you believe suits me better?”

you hum, crossing your arms over your chest. it delights her, and mirth dances in her eyes.

“mahogany, as always. brings out your eyes.”

she lets the other two fold over her arm. ”well. aren’t you a sweet talker.”

”i’ll adjust my speech with you if you enjoy it, ma’am.“

“watch yourself,” she points. after a moment you allow yourself a little grin, one she drinks in and guzzles, exhaling sharp. berating on hold, too busy grinning back.

⚘

she wants you, and she leaves it scattered all over the place. makes it so obvious as to practically scream it from every rooftop.

she stares, she appears around your desk, hovers, frets when you are dressed too light for the weather—frets. the iron fisted tyrant. too warm to let you numb to the cold.

ambessa continues to change in front of you again and again, now with your added commentary. she welcomes your input, lets you see every curve of her breast and dip in her stomach—eyes follow you like incandescent light, curiosity, or more so daring your gaze to dip, to explore. to devour like a rabid tongue.

shouting from the rooftops without hearing herself echoed back isn’t something she’d ever commit to long, anyway.

ambessa grows increasingly frustrated with your fastidiousness and pushes and presses inwards. suffocates, encircles. as she does.

“i wasn’t trained for massages,” you tell her in vain. it verges on complaint, and she waves it off.

“you weren’t trained for many things, yet you hold up excellently.”

it’s high praise, she knows what she’s doing. your cheeks bruise, anyway.

“if you wish to be paid for it, i can arrange that.“

“no payment.” you say. “…ma’am. it stains it.”

“ah.” her head tips back, catches your gaze, a small smile at her mouth at the fluster in your face. “i see.”

with sleeves rolled to your elbows, your hands work her shoulders. dips into her sharp clavicle, unwinds and unravels the string of muscle and the plate of bone.

“lower, dove.” she crumbles under your touch, and your chest pangs where her silvery, pillowy coils tickle your stomach, as she sags into you. “deeper. you’ve the arms for it. i won’t break.“

she’s broken already. fragments of her spill supple into your hands, drenching your fingertips, caking under your nails. she melts like candle wax and swallows the flame.

it’s a simple revelation, and nothing that you hadn’t known. she’s beautiful. nips the breath right out of your lungs. you know she’d gleam if you told her—and so you do, rehearsing her lines in your head the microsecond before she acts them each out, a tensing, a shifting, a pleasant hum, rising in pitch. pride, preening like a bird. a charmed grin about her.

like water in a river. she’s predictable these days, but you’ll keep that one for yourself.

⚘

february marches onwards.

a quirk of her’s you’ve noticed: she decorates for every holiday without fail, even the ones she does not formally celebrate.

you would wonder what sub-intelligent lick your coworkers have to offer about it if you were given the chance to think at all.

you sign out of your laptop that night and step through the sliding doors the next morning, bright and early and instantaneously the bursts of red and gold slap you right in the face, just as if you’d stumbled into the sun.

every floor is like this, until you reach hers—and she’s waiting for you, the most flabbergasting yet—and swathed in her arms is a bouquet of red carnations and roses.

your stunned gaze picks out a single golden rose among the bloodbath. it’s an unimportant detail. but her face waits right above it, and you don’t know yet what to do with that.

“thank you for the hard work,” she starts, extending the garden towards you. “you’ve been a good employee.”

you stare. ambessa hates hesitation, you know this, but your head and your heart pull pitilessly in opposite directions with you inbetween, tearing like a piece of paper down the middle.

with steeled hands you relieve it from her, and have to hoist it against your body—you aren’t as strong as she is.

“why?”

“take it as an investment. you strengthen me, my vision. my life’s work. i hope to rely on you for a long time.”

you search for a tell on her face, but she gives you nothing. exasperation enters your voice as a last ditch effort.

“a note on my desk would have sufficed.”

“do you know me to merely ’suffice’?” ambessa crosses her arms, shoulders rising towards the ceilings, like you’re the one being difficult. “read between the lines, dear.”

“i am. it’s why i’m asking why.”

she exhales. raises her chin. “and i’ve told you. personal afflictions.” she gestures towards it, arms waving vaguely before folding back under her chest. “i wasn’t—sure what color you might like.”

her arms unfold as if relenting, relinquishing—bearing her chest open. she leans back to regard you, hands supporting her weight behind her. the words are quiet and cut thin through the air.

“are you dissatisfied?”

“no. never, ma’am. never with you.”

you stare at her, then down at the flowers you can barely peek over, then back at her, across her face, her neck beginning to resemble the bouquet the wider the silence expands—and—and—

you extend your hand to her arm, reaching blindly until you land, and her bicep tenses once under your touch.

“just hungry.” your eyes flicker to her lips.

she sinks into you like a feeding wolf. you aren’t sure where the flowers crash to, you don’t care. her mouth is as the rest of her—tender and all consuming. you offer yourself to her as a sacrifice, whimpering as you crumple in her arms. her skin smells overwhelming under your hands, her face cradled by your shaking fingers—of creamy vanilla, of baby powder and fresh sheets, enchanting, clothes drenched in amber accord. powerful and near unbearable and expanding like a balloon in your throat.

the urgency rises like a migraine, the need to gasp for air. gently, you shove it back down. not now, you whisper to your weeping heart. more important matters at hand.

©esccpism

RAHHHHHH thank you so much for reading. she’s perfect. i want her to bend me like a plastic fork.

#arcane #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #ambessa x reader #ambessa x you #ambessa league of legends #ambessa chosen of the wolf #ambessa arcane #lesbian #sapphic #arcane smut #arcane x reader #wlw smut #ambessa x fem reader #bookshelf ; mine

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dannyriccsystem · 23 days ago

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can i have 35, 28 and 5 with gabi? if you're comfortable with it 🤞

AREN’T YOU SOMETHIN’ TO ADMIRE?

1K SPECIAL - GB5

“Wear a jacket,” “I don’t have one,” “You can borrow mine.” + Mirror sex + Size difference

SUMMARY: A date gone right with your boyfriend ;)

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

WARNINGS: Smut, AFAB reader, P in V, mirror sex, size difference, praise kink perchance

FEATURING: Gabriel Bortoleto x Reader

NOTE: Hi! I totally did NOT forget about this 1K special and that I promised to fulfill these requests so. I gotta get back on that lol

GABRIEL ALWAYS PUT EXTRA THOUGHTS INTO YOUR DATES. He went out of his way to make sure everything was planned to a T, and that you’d both be ensured to have a lovely night together. Date nights were sparse during the racing season— It had been that way for years now; this information wasn’t something new to you. But during his well deserved week long break after a triple header, Gabi was quick to plan something up for the two of you.

This ‘something’ wasn’t anything particularly out of the norm. It was just dinner at a restaurant you both have been attending for years. The portions were large and the prices weren’t terribly high. The best part about it all was it was still somewhat high-end, meaning the chances of him being recognized or distractions popping up were low. The perks of him being an F1 rookie was that fewer people could actually recognize you. The true die-hard fans, and the occasional trackmate, being an exception!

Living in a small city came with various other benefits, too. When you guys didn’t feel like driving, it was a short walk back home. Gabi, being the ever chivalrous man he is, followed all the steps of a true gentleman. He held the door for you, walked on the outside of the sidewalk, locked arms— Okay, I lied. Almost everything. Because all night you had been dropping hints to being cold, and he just wasn’t getting it.

“It’s chilly out,” You’d comment, only for him to reply with, “yeah, really chilly.” You’d roll your eyes playfully at your boyfriend’s cluelessness. Seems he forgot he was wearing a jacket. However, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was cold, too. Why should he give up his jacket when you’re the one who forgot to bring one?

“Gabi, I’m cold,” You finally spoke firmly, in a more direct manner so he’d get the hint. He perked up at your sudden change of tone, his face reflecting his sheepishness. It was here he was beginning to wonder if he did something wrong.

“Put your jacket…” He trailed off when he scanned you over. You could see his cheeks flush softly, and he shook his head in disappointment at himself.

“I don’t have one.” Your lips twisted up into a smile. It was somewhat teasing, because you could tell he had not been intentionally ignoring you. You watched him pull away to slip his coat jacket off, and then drape it over your shoulders. You slid your arms through the sleeves, hugging the fabric around yourself.

“Desculpe, meu docinho. I didn’t realize you hadn’t brought a jacket.” He kissed your forehead whilst interlocking your hands. The two of you continued to walk— This time with you feeling much more comfortable. He had a long sleeve shirt underneath: He’d be fine!

When you got home, you stood before your full length mirror to take apart your outfit. You stripped down your jewelry first, which was a rather freeing experience no longer having all that extra weight. “Gabi,” you called affectionately. Your boyfriend rushed over like an obedient puppy, standing behind you. His gaze drifted over you in the mirror, hands circling your waist to rest on your tummy.

“You look pretty,” He mumbled for probably the eight-hundredth time that night. You laughed, and his eyes lit up like it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. “I mean it. Especially in my jacket…”

“Thank you,” And that was probably your eight-hundredth time responding to said compliment with gratitude. It didn’t matter how many times he said it, because he always said it with so much sincerity you could have been tricked into believing it was the first. “Will you unzip my dress?”

He nodded eagerly and pushed his jacket up to reveal the back of your dress. He seemed dead-set on keeping his clothes on you, so you didn’t make a move to stop him. His fingers, warm and calloused, pulled the zipper down with caution. He even helped you slip out of the dress— even though that first required removing the jacket.

There you were, in just your undergarments. It was a sight he had seen multiple times before, but it was a sight he was always appreciative of. Gabi discreetly draped the jacket over your shoulders once more, kissing your neck with festering fervor. His hands slid over your stomach, squeezing whatever skin he could with greedy hands.

“Do you see how beautiful you are?” He questioned in a low whisper, breath hot against your ear. You nodded meekly, staring at yourself in the reflection. Every time you were with Gabriel, he managed to wash away your insecurities with ease. “Will you let me show you how beautiful I think you are?”

You nodded again, but he made eye contact with you— harsh eye contact— in the mirror. That was the gaze of someone who needed a verbal answer. So you hoarsely responded, “yes please.”

His hands slid down your underwear, teasing your increasingly wet folds, all while he kissed your neck. He occasionally bit at your skin, or left a hickey with the intent of marking you up. Gabriel dipped his middle finger into you, curling it to increase the friction. You gasped, your moan drawn out by the various points of stimulation. He seemed satisfied with your noise, which persuaded him into adding another finger: his ring finger.

The long digits teased at the spongy, intense points of pleasure from deep within. You whimpered, leaning forward with a hand against the wall right beside your mirror. You were too shy to look up as you were somewhat afraid to see your own expressions. This ideation would not last long, unfortunately.

When he figured you were readily prepped, Gabriel slid your delicate underwear down your legs, leaving them at your ankles for you to step out of. He unbuckled his pants with one hand, maneuvering expertly to release his aching cock, which was flushed pink at the end; this was an indication of his eagerness to please.

You had taken him many times. This wasn’t a new occurrence to you, but each time had a rather long grace period between, which gave just enough time for you to require some stretching. He pushed the tip in— just the tip, because you could barely even handle that. You seethed, breathing through clenched teeth. Gabi massaged your stomach where he could feel a slight bulge, kissing your shoulder blades.

“You’re doing so great, minha vida. Você me completa.” He’d whisper such sweet nothings in your ear all while bullying his dick deeper and deeper inside your hole. He kept you steady, serving as something to squeeze at the initial sting. When he finally bottomed out, his length fully engulfed by you, Gabriel groaned in satisfaction, burying his face in your neck to take it all in.

He pushed you over, bending you down in front of the mirror as he drew his hips back for a harsh thrust. He lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Watch as I destroy you,” was the only warning he gave. Such a sweet, romantic night had turned into something filthy with your boyfriend pounding into you from behind. He manhandled you with such ease, it made you completely forget about his previous acts of courtesy. You tried to pull your gaze away, but he was quick to redirect you back to the mirror.

You felt shameful seeing yourself drool with every thrust, your hands pressed against the wall and your arms shaky. A shudder ran down your spine, and you felt yourself growing weak in the knees already. “Gabi,” you whined out his name, making the Brazilian man smirk with a form of cockiness.

“Hm?” He pulled your head back by your hair, staring into your reflection’s eyes. You nervously looked back, your walls squeezing him.

“Please let me come,” You begged, your tone pitchy and whiny.

“Of course I’ll let you come, meu docinho. You’ve been so good for me.” He pulled you back against him, holding you around your torso. His thrusts slowed, but they felt a lot more intimate this way. He kissed your jawline and cheeks, showering you with love as you came undone around him.

He helped you through your orgasm with his praise and his feather-like touches. You leaned back against him, your eyes fluttering shut as he slowly pulled out. He lifted you onto the bed, laying you down with tender care.

“Let me grab you some water and a towel,” He whispered before pecking you on the lips. You grinned, nodding your head.

“Thank you, Gabi.” He chuckled at your nickname before scurrying off to fulfill his promise.

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chilling-seavey · 2 months ago

Text

Welcome Home (gr63)

The Way It Goes Masterlist

↳ A/N It all started with this anon and, honestly, every single anon from February 26th that helped me to formulate this amazing idea and encourage me to write some new things I've never written before! Can't wait to hear all your thoughts on this one since we developed it all together! <3

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 13.6k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, flirting, dirty talk, mentions of masturbation and sexting, bit of a slow build up, begging, praise, compliments, grinding, oral sex (m and f receiving), forced deep throating, spitting, minor degradation (use of names like 'slut'), mentions of body hair, some manhandling, body worship, clothes ripping, mentions of tattoos, natural ebbs and flows of intensity, nipple play, size kink (but in regards to dick size, not body size), minor pain, fingering, did I mention dirty talk?, use of lube, finger sucking, pet names, edging, mirror sex, belly pressing, breeding kink, daddy kink, use of toys (magic wand vibrator), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, crying, choking, almost squirting, use of an IUD to allow for otherwise 'unprotected' sex and creampie x.

It was a comfortable afternoon in southern Europe in late February, the warmth of the sun cooled by the slight Mediterranean breeze. You leaned against the side of the white Mercedes convertible in a sundress, thankful to be able to start to take out your summer clothes with the turn of the seasons. You had spent the prior three weeks readying the house for spring and tending to chores and busying yourself with work and hobbies. You had plenty of time with George across the world for a triple header; leaving you to your shared apartment, all alone.

You never minded time alone but it was always exciting to welcome him back and as you stood in the ‘Arrivals’ parking of the Nice airport, you could hardly stand still. Strangers came and went through the sliding doors of the airport a few yards away and you followed each with a careful gaze but none were who you were looking for. Until, finally, the doors slid open once more and out walked George, dressed in his usual comfortable trousers and favourite knitted brown collared shirt, donning an expensive pair of sunglasses as he turned his face towards the sun and the breeze ruffled through his brunette waves like he was an angel incarnate.

He spotted you across the chaos of the airport parking lot like he was instinctively drawn to you and he broke into a brisk walk to get to you faster. With a smile, you pushed away from the car and already had your arms held out as he approached and he let go of his suitcase and gracefully dropped his backpack to the asphalt so he could have both arms free to wrap around your waist and heave you right up off the ground.

“Oh, there’s my girl,” he groaned happily as you squealed at his lift, clinging onto his shoulders.

He set you down on the ground again and right away his lips found yours in a long-awaited kiss. You smiled into it and your hands raised to frame his face to keep him there a little longer, sharing sweet, eager kisses until he was pulling back to catch his breath and he rested his forehead against yours.

“Welcome home,” you greeted finally with a grinning smile, tangling your fingers in the back of his soft hair that was slightly tangled from the lengthy plane ride.

George smiled right back and turned his face to steal one more kiss from your lips before replying, “You’re the most wonderful thing to come home to.”

“I missed you so much,” you exhaled contentedly, arms draping around his shoulders.

“I missed you too, my love,” George crooned as he pulled you closer by your waist and pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then another to your neck, and another just under your ear, “It never feels right when we’re apart.”

The shivers that rose over your skin from his kisses had your head tilting back towards the sun with a dreamy smile, hands splaying over his back and shoulders as you held him close, fingers grasping onto the material of his shirt. You spoke in a soft whisper meant only for him to hear, “We’re gonna need at least a week to make up for lost time, hm?”

He chuckled warmly against your neck and his nose grazed over the column of your throat, “Oh, I intend to make use of every minute.”

Your fingers tangled in the back of his hair and scratched gently along his scalp, just enough to make him shiver as you offered a hum in agreement.

George nipped at your earlobe before he added in a breath against the shell of your ear, “God, I hope you’re not working this week.”

“Not tomorrow at least,” you mumbled, sliding your hands out of his hair and, instead, over his shoulders and down his chest, feeling every lovely inch of him after so long.

“Mm, that’s good,” George hummed against your neck while his fingers teased the bottom hem of your sundress, “Because you’re coming home with me and I’m not letting you leave my bed for at least a day.”

“Our bed,” you corrected sweetly.

When he pulled back from your neck to meet your gaze, he had this dopey grin on his face and his hands squeezed your hips, echoing pleasantly in affirmation, “Our bed.”

It was only a slightly risky place in the airport parking garage to be showing so much public affection like that, especially with the knowledge that George was very much a public figure. But, thankfully, you had chosen a spot near the edge of the parking, away from the hustle and bustle, and perhaps it would allow you solace for just a moment longer. Just a few more moments for appreciating your reunion and telling your fiancé just how much you missed him, and he could return the favour with how he backed you up against the side of his car just a little harder.

“Y’know,” you hummed, staring at his lips with your arms slung around his shoulders as you spoke casually, “our bed was very lonely this last month…nothing but the company of my measly little vibrator…”

George’s whole body practically shivered at your words and something flashed across his eyes like he had to restrain himself from throwing you in the backseat right then and there. His once tired and sweethearted expression upon finding you in the airport parking had turned into a battle of need and passion storming within him. You felt it just as strongly.

Ever a man of restraint and composure, George merely gave your hips a squeeze with a muttered, “tease”, before his forehead rested against yours with a breathy, “You were that lonely, huh?”

“Mhm,” your hands trailed down his shoulders and biceps until your hands pulled his away from your waist so you could blindly intertwine your fingers together between your closely pressed bodies as you stared into each other’s eyes, “I was missing you in every way humanly possible.”

George’s hands fit in yours like they were meant to be there and his thumbs rubbed the back of his hands gently; the gesture sweet and tender despite the slight tension between the two of you. His eyes were all over your face in your close proximity, flicking between your gaze and your lips and your flushed cheeks.

“Yeah?” he replied softly, his voice a little breathier than usual, “I missed you like mad. Did you like my pictures?”

The reminder of his lewd pictures he had sent you from various hotel rooms, private jet bathrooms, his drivers room, from the prior month flicked through your mind like a photo album, your connection strengthened over the distance by steamy late-night texts filled with needy desires. You were more on the receiving end than sending but, God, not that you would complain. The images of his large hand gripping his thick cock in his fist in the warm light of some luxury 5-star hotel suite, leaking from thoughts of you and only you, were ingrained in your head.

“Yeah,” you gushed angelically, hips pushing off the side of his car to nudge against his just to feel the shape of him through his trousers, “but I much prefer the real thing.”

George let out a low groan at your action and his hands tightened in yours for a moment, his words slow and a little slurred, “Maybe we should go home then?”

“Yes, please.”

George, ever the gentleman, led you around to the passenger side of his Mercedes and he opened the door for you and helped you in. You waited (im)patiently as he put his bags in the back and then got behind the wheel with a content sigh, like he had missed his road car while away racing his professional cars. He started the car and the engine rumbled to life and he buckled his seatbelt, as did you.

With a glance in your direction and a hand falling innocently onto your thigh, he asked, “Ready, love?”

The glint in his eye and the tone of his voice had you cunt throbbing under your dress, but you replied with a sweet smile and a, “Mhm.”

George pulled out of the parking spot and navigated his way through the maze of the airport until he reached the stretch of road that would take you back home to Monaco. Once out of the chaos of the public’s worldly comings and goings, he could ease back in his seat a little more, giving your thigh a squeeze with his fingers just reaching the hem of your dress. You couldn’t stop staring at him, as if in disbelief that he was finally back within arms reach of you, watching his profile as he drove you towards home.

He kept stealing glances at you here and there, a soft smile on his face and his eyes raking over your body when he could. After a moment, he said finally, “You look so fucking good in that dress.”

“Thank you, my love,” you replied sweetly, “I remembered it was your favourite.”

George’s hand tightened on your thigh and a sly smile pricked at his lips as he kept his eyes on the road and then, with a caress of your supple flesh with his thumb, he said in a voice low and teasing, playful, “My favourite is no dress at all.”

“Naughty,” you chuckled, reaching over to give his bicep a faint little swat in mock scolding before adding, “That would not have been well received by everyone else at the airport, I’m sure.”

“You’re right…as always. But you can’t blame me for thinking such thoughts when you’re sitting here so pretty.” He let out a soft, warm chuckle and his hand slid a little higher up your thigh and disappeared under the ruffled hem of your sundress, “I wonder if you’ve got anything on underneath this…”

“Ah, ah,” you grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away with a playful, “You have to wait until we get home to find out.”

With a playful pout and a mischievous glint in his eye, he stole another glance your way, then gently caught your fingers and drew your hand across the front seat to press a kiss to the diamond ring on your left hand. He then protested meekly against your fingers, “But I’ve waited long enough, don’t you reckon? You’re going to torture me even longer, are you?”

“It’s not easy for me to resist either but we’d much prefer the comfort of home, I think,” you stated simply as your fingers laced with his once he lowered your joined hands to your lap.

George laughed softly and nodded in agreement, relenting, “Patience is a virtue, as they say. And it’ll make it worth the wait…I can promise you that.”

You eased back into the expensive leather seat and fell into the comfort of his thumb caressing the back of your back as he drove. The familiar sound of the engine, the tires on the narrow streets, the scent of him, and that unmistakable ache working its way from between your legs and up into the pit of your stomach. Unbearable.

The rest of the twenty minute drive was spent with small talk and comfortable silences, the two of you finding your ease of familiarity in each other’s presence. George, as promised, tried to keep his hands to himself, though the occasional glance down to your bare legs tested his restraint and left you with that ever present buzz of anticipation all across your skin.

Soon, you were parked in the underground parking garage of your apartment and you helped George unpack his bags from the car. With him taking control of his suitcase, you slung his backpack over one shoulder and, the both of you having one hand free each, your fingers almost magnetically intertwined. The elevator ride was filled with an almost suffocating amount of tension as his hand in yours kept drifting to play with the hem of your dress with a stray fingertip but even just his eyes lingering on your profile was blatantly obvious of what was to come.

As you reached the door to your apartment, you let go of his hand just long enough so you could fish the key from your purse. George fell to a stop close behind you and his hand moved to brush over your hip gently as he leaned in for his nose to ghost across the column of your neck before his lips pressed a soft kiss to your skin there. You giggled faintly at the slight tickle of his gentle kiss and the feeling of his warm breath fanning across your neck as you turned the key in the lock.

George grinned at the sound of your giggle and as you opened the front door, he pulled his hand back to give your bum a playful swat, “Inside. Now.”

You had barely stepped over the threshold of your apartment and he was letting go of the handle of his suitcase in exchange for a gentle yet firm grasp of your face to drag your lips to his in a passionate kiss. The door shut behind the two of you and right away he was backing you up against it. You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you kissed him back, his backpack sliding down your arm until you carefully and blindly dropped it onto the tile floor of the foyer to give yourself the ability to turn all your attention on him after so long.

When your arms slid around his waist and pulled him closer by the fabric of his shirt, George groaned into your kiss and his large hands cupped your face as his lips moved against yours with practiced urgency. It was almost instinctual how his knee nudged between your legs, parting them just enough to cause your hips to naturally jump against his thigh at the teasing pressure up your skirt. Needy and burning after going a month without, you kissed him back fiercely.

George couldn’t help himself as his hands moved from your face down to your chest and he groped your breasts through the fabric of your dress while his head tilted to the side to deepen your kisses. You moaned into his mouth and dug your fingers into his sides as you let him lead, opening up for him greedily and welcoming his tongue against yours in possessive strokes. But then his hands kept moving and soon they settled at your hips and tugged you closer across his thigh, forcing you to rut against the firm muscle a little more.

You gasped from the friction and he swallowed up with greedy lips, licking his way into your mouth between sloppy kisses, drunk on the thrill of your reunion. When he pulled away from your mouth only seconds later to, instead, trail heated kisses down your neck, you let your head fall back against the front door, hands snug on the material of his shirt, and you breathed out to the ceiling a dreamy, “George…”

“Mm, God, I’ve missed this,” he mumbled against your skin, his teeth scraping against the column of your throat. His hands slid around to your back and grabbed two snug fistfuls of your ass, grinding you against him again to pull another pretty gasp from your chest as he marked up your neck in wet kisses and hickeys. He sucked gently on your pulse point and your hips rolled against his thigh once more with a shaky exhale from your swollen lips.

“Please…” you whined pathetically, pushing at the bottom of his shirt until you could get your hands all over his abs.

George grabbed your hands roughly and yanked them away before pinning your wrists against the door on either side of your head, trapping you against it with his body. He spoke right to your face, his eyes locked on yours, breath falling against your cheek, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You bit your swollen lip, staring back at him with unprecedented amounts of lust in your gaze and you nudged your hips against his again, already able to feel just how hard he was through his trousers. In doing so, you replied with a soft, “Maybe a little idea.”

“Cheeky,” George tutted with a sly smile before taking a step away from you and letting your wrists go. With a cock of his head in the direction of your bedroom, he toed off his shoes at the same time as he said, “C’mon. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves; you still haven’t let me know if you’re wearing anything under that pretty dress of yours.”

You pushed away from the door and then kicked off your sandals to follow him down the hallway towards your bedroom with matching grins of anticipation. He swatted your bum on your way past before he was following after you and tugging off his shirt. Once inside your bedroom, with his shirt dropped aimlessly to the floor, he stepped right up close behind you and his fingers found the zipper at the back of your dress as he leaned in to kiss over your neck some more.

You smiled sweetly, eyes fluttering closed at his tender touches, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he slowly pulled down your zipper, his ghostly touches sending shivers down your spine. His fingers guided your dress off your shoulders and you let it pool around your feet, leaving you braless and in only a dainty pair of white lace panties. The cool air conditioning of your room rose goosebumps over your skin and the added touch of your fiancé’s fingertips tracing the shape of your body helped your nipples to grow hard. You dropped your head back against his shoulder with a pleasant hum and his lips attached to your neck.

“Mm,” George groaned softly as his full hands cupped your breasts, fingers pinching your nipples, and his body moulded against the shape of yours, “You’re so gorgeous.”

You raised a hand up to reach over your shoulder to grasp the back of his neck, turning your face towards his just as his lips locked with yours and he rolled your nipples between thumb and forefinger. It was dizzying to have him back like that; almost feeling entirely surreal as if you had gone so long without him that your mind had to get used to having him again. God, it had not even been a month…you were embarrassingly dependent on him. In love.

One of George’s hands moved from your chest, down the plane of your abdomen, slowly, slowly, before settling along the waistband of your panties. His lips broke away from yours for just a moment, moving to kiss across the apple of your cheek while his fingertips traced the lace across your hips and pelvis.

“I like these,” he complimented simply.

“Yeah?” your fingers ghosted over his forearm, lust filled eyes staring into his face with your head still against his shoulder, “Bought them new just for you…matches this dress you like so much.”

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured, fingers continuing to tease over the lace, his breath falling against your cheek, “So, so good to me.”

You let out a little hum at his praise and the feeling of his hand drifting lower, teasing, not quite touching where you needed him, but just close enough to elicit a reaction out of you. He groaned when you habitually pushed back against him, already feeling the hard bulge hidden behind the fabric of his slacks pressing against your ass. Your fingers tightened on the back of his neck and his lips pressed to your jaw again.

“My good, sweet girl.” he cooed against your skin.

Pushing back on him again, you reminded him sweetly, “And I’ve been so good for you while you were gone.”

“Mhm…but you have no idea the things I want to do to you now that I’m home.”

“Anything you want,” you purred.

The afternoon sun poured into your bedroom, casting golden warmth across the space as the open curtains framed a sweeping view of the harbour. Fortunately, your apartment sat high enough above Monte Carlo that there were no prying sightlines to worry about—nothing to steal your attention from each other. Which was how George managed to have you on your knees in a heartbeat, giving you a front-row seat to the slow, mouth-watering clink of his belt buckle and the soft pop of the button on his slacks.

You sat in front of him on your haunches, patiently, eyes trained in on his groin and the way he had to pull his trousers outward before pushing them down to avoid the obvious tent that was hiding beneath the fabric. There was no shyness between you and so you reached out to rub your hand over the taut material of his boxer briefs, fingers faintly curling around the shape of his erection.

“Already so hard,” you stated with an eager smile, punctuated by the way your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. Beneath your palm, his cock twitched at your words, your touch.

“Yeah…been waiting for you,” George exhaled. His normally bright blue eyes were now dark with desire as he stared down at you, watching you touch him, and his hand carded through your hair to push it away from your face so he could look at you properly.

You leaned in to rub your face against the front of his boxers just so you could feel the size of him and how hard he was against your lips and nose and cheeks. In doing so, you dropped out your tongue to tease the shape of him with absentminded laps between lazy kisses. There was no more time to waste and George didn’t let another second go by before he was tucking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and you eagerly lifted your hands up to help him pull them down.

Without tearing your eyes away from his cock in your face, you crawled after him as he took the three short strides backwards so he could sit at the foot of the bed. It felt dream-like, sitting there, positioning yourself between his thighs, staring at his gorgeously hard cock right at eye level. Sometimes it took a little bit of tender loving care to get him this extremely hard but, after a month apart, it clearly wouldn’t take much—the withdrawal the both of you had gone through in your month apart felt almost agonizing.

The moan that slipped from your lips at the sight of him, swollen and almost already leaking, had him letting out a faint chuckle. Shamelessly impatient, George grabbed your wrist and pulled your left hand towards him, guiding your fingers to wrap around him firmly. The imagery of your diamond engagement ring on your hand that was wrapped around his cock was not lost on you and the sight alone had your stomach swirling.

George’s voice was low and warm, “Mhm, just like that…don’t be shy now, baby…you know what I like.”

He guided your hand along the length of his dick and back down, once, twice, and then he was letting go to let you do it yourself. You kept that steady pace, slow and sure, keeping a nice firm grasp with your eyes trained on your motions and how you worked his foreskin back until you got your first glance at the pretty pink head. When you opened your mouth for your first taste, a drip of spit slipped from your tongue, exposing just how much you were salivating for him from only a glance.

But then George’s fingers captured your cheeks in one hand before you could move any closer and you raised your eyes to his face. He dragged his thumb along your bottom lip as he spoke, “Open up a little wider, pretty girl.”

You groaned at his demand, knowing what was coming, and you opened up for him and stuck out your tongue, head tilting back like a baby bird. But he didn’t do anything at first, just stared at you, eyes focused on your stupidly open mouth and the way another drip of spit slipped from your tongue.

“Oh, you have such a pretty little mouth…just right for me to stuff full, hm?” his thumb pressed against your tongue, rough but gentle at the same time, persistent, “You want it? Want me to use your mouth?”

You could barely nod, staring up at his dilated blue eyes and handsome face and all the control he had over you.

“Gotta use your words like a good girl.” he crooned.

“Yes,” you forced out, the simple word slurred and muffled by his thumb still firmly in your mouth.

Your left hand was still firmly around his cock while you stayed perfectly still and obedient, awaiting your reward. Then, finally, George took his thumb from your tongue and squeezed your cheeks so he could spit loudly into your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered at the filthy actions, letting out a small moan as his fingers smoothly tangled in the back of your hair and dragged your head down towards his lap.

He held you just out of reach of it, using his other hand to shove your hand away so he could wrap his fist around his cock and smack it wetly against your tongue. You were already drooling for it, dripping down your chin, eyes peering up at him under furrowed brows, staying right where he wanted you and otherwise perfectly obedient.

George spoke down to you with a voice riddled with unbridled lust, sliding the head of his cock back and forth against your tongue, “Look at you, you’re drooling all over yourself just for me…it’s like you’re desperate for me, baby…so needy.”

“Please,” you breathed.

“You want this in your mouth?” he taunted, slapping it a few more times on your tongue, “Wanna show me how good you can be?”

It felt as though your skin was burning from his words and your eyes nearly rolled as he finally permitted you to take him in your mouth. You raised your left hand back up to grasp his cock as you took just what was comfortable at first, reaching about halfway down the length, and finding a lazy pace. The familiar weight and taste of him in your mouth was arousing in and of itself and you offered a pleasured moan around him.

“Fuck…” George groaned tightly, “Look in my eyes, darling.”

With his cock in your mouth, you raised your eyes up to look at his face as you lazily started to suck him off, trailing your tongue along the underside and around the head when you pulled back. You knew just what he liked, what he reacted to best.

“Oh yeah, just like that. So beautiful, doll.” he purred, brushing your hair back from your face with both hands so he could hold it in a fist out of your way. He closely watched the way your lips were wrapped around him with every little bob of your head, his chest starting to rise and fall with how warm and wet your mouth felt after so long going without.

Tearing your eyes away from his for the sake of giving him what he deserved and what you had been dying to give him, you shuffled closer on your knees and leaned closer to his lap. You had to give your head a little shake to help ease him deeper as if having to re-teach your throat how to take him after so long apart. The muffled gag you let out had his mouth falling open with a low moan, his hands tightening in your hair.

“That’s it…come on,” he exhaled tightly, pulling you down just a little more, “You can go deeper than that, come on.”

Your hand flew to his thigh to hold yourself up as you let him guide you deeper until tears were brimming in your eyes and you could hardly breathe. George inhaled sharply through his teeth just before you choked loudly around him and pulled back with a wet cough.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised.

There was no need to get his hands on you again before you were leaning back in for more on your own. Wrapping your hand around him again, you pulled firm twisting strokes in time with the bobs of your mouth, filling your shared bedroom with the lewd sound of your mouth taking him again and again and again. It was just deep enough to force the crudest sounds from your throat that had his handsome face screwing up in pleasure.

George’s voice was almost raspy, clinging onto his last shreds of control with his hand tangled in your hair, “Christ, you look so fucking gorgeous choking on my big cock.”

The hazy sense of reality from it all was washing over you, forcing you to swear that nothing was more important than pleasuring him—not even air. You forced yourself deeper until your nose touched the coarse hair at the base of his cock, gagging loudly around him as tears slipped from your eyes and trailed down your flushed cheeks. But right then George pulled you back by your hair and you gasped for air, spit falling down your chin as you blinked your teary eyes up at him. He slapped the tip against your lips and cheek, smearing your spit around your mouth and chin some more as you coughed yourself back to your senses.

His hand stroked across your spitty bottom lip as he spoke down to you warmly, “I think it’s time to stop playing and get to what you really want…don’t you think so, doll?”

You choked out a rough but needy, “Yes, please, sir.”

When he stood up, he grabbed your arm to heave you off the ground and you let him move you like a ragdoll onto the bed, commanding as he did so in a low, authoritative voice, “On your back, baby. Let me look at you.”

You scooted backwards on the bed a little more so you could drape yourself out, flat, across the neatly made sheets, all without tearing your eyes away from his handsome face and glorious, naked body. With a sweet smile, you draped your arms above you on either side of your head and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you laid there in only your white lace panties.

George ran a hand up your leg and you bent them up so your feet were flat on the mattress, allowing him to place a knee on the foot of the bed and lean down to kiss your shin. His lips were warm and soft and heavenly, the smallest graze of a kiss making your skin tingle and your pussy to throb behind the fabric of your panties. You could feel how absolutely soaked you were already and he had barely even touched you.

The kisses gifted to you by your lovely fiancé traveled up your leg, past your knee, and towards your thigh, his words a breath against your supple skin, “So…so pretty.”

You bit the tip of your index finger despite your smile as you watched him carefully, eyes following the gentle touches of his fingers as he traced the arches and planes of your legs and teased the lace of your panties. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to your inner thigh while his fingers dragged between your legs, over the thin fabric of your underwear, causing your hips to instinctively jump.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he all but groaned before turning his head to kiss your other thigh, his hands sliding up your hips to grip firmly at the flesh there, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you and this beautiful body of yours.”

Laid out bare for him in only your panties, his eyes traveled over your body hungrily as he ran his hands over your hips and back down to your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles over your skin and teasing against the lace that stood out against it. You watched him in perfect comfort despite the way your heart raced with anticipation, cunt throbbing at just the way he was looking down at you. He took in every inch of your bare skin like you were his own artwork to admire, for his eyes only, a stormy mix of lust and love in his irises.

Then his lips were against your knee again, trailing up your leg towards the edge of your panties, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, “I could eat you up, baby.”

Your legs parted almost automatically at his words, a silent invitation. His head positioned itself just above your hips by then, half-laying, half-kneeling up the foot of the bed to reach you, his slender fingers toying with the white lace along the hem of your panties. When his fingertips slipped under the edge and kissed your skin hidden beneath, you shivered.

“Such a pretty pair of panties…and you bought them just for me, yeah?” he murmured as he pulled his fingers back to trace the pattern of the lace. “Just to show me what a good girl you were…a perfect, sweet thing?”

“Yeah…” you exhaled, squirming just a little beneath his touch.

“Yeah? I’ve barely even gotten to appreciate them and I already want to tear them off you,” he tutted, punctuating his statement with a slow, open mouthed kiss to your skin just above the hem. “Would you like that, darling? Would you like me to rip them off you?”

Your mind felt hazy and his words shot a feeling of warmth right through you, speaking such salacious things that made you feel like you were short-circuiting. All you wanted was him in that moment; a raw, carnal desire that nothing else could fulfil. So you nodded, almost too eagerly, encouraging him with a soft, “Mhm.”

“Yeah?” George linked his finger into the fabric, an almost anticipatory smirk grazing his face as he gave it a taunting little tug, “Bit of a shame though; you look so pretty in them.”

And then, without another word, he gave them a quick yank, tearing the delicate lace with an audible rip and he dropped the pieces aside without another glance. It had torn so easily under his strength and you couldn’t help the soft gasp you let out at the physical reminder of just how strong he was and the slight sting that it left behind across your hips. Curling your legs up towards your chest with a bashful grin up at him, you folded yourself nearly in half, ankles linked, hiding yourself just a little more from him…to make him work for it.

“There you are...just as pretty as I knew you would be…” he crooned as he gently took your knees in his hands and parted them so he could take in the sight of you perfectly bare and already glistening beneath him, “God, love, you have no idea how much I missed—”

His words halted as his eyes were drawn to the unfamiliar smudge standing out against your skin. There, having been hidden behind the fabric of your underwear over your bikini line, was a small inked ‘63’ in his handwriting; dainty and discreet. And an entire surprise for him. George’s breath hitched at the sight of the tattoo on your hip, eyes locked on the small number as if he were processing what he was looking at. Then, he reached out a tentative hand and touched it gently, his fingers tracing lightly over it as he breathed your name in near-disbelief.

“Surprise…” you offered shyly, your cheeks pink despite your grin.

“Holy shit…is this real?” he breathed as his hand continued to brush over it tenderly, eyes fixated on it, “When did you…?”

“Yeah, it’s real. Got it the day after you left…so it could be nice and healed for when you got home,” you replied softly, trying to read the expression on his face as he stared down at it, taking it in. He was quiet, as if he were in a trance, his thumb passing over it again in a faint stroke. Your hands gently grasped his forearms and gave them a little caress, “Is it okay?”

As if your worried question snapped him back to reality, his eyes raised to meet your gaze and he gave you an incredulous look, “Is it okay? It's more than okay, my love, fuck. You permanently marked your body with my number, my most meaningful number. You have any idea what that would do to my ego?”

You giggled in slight relief that he was onboard with such a permanent surprise, “Maybe a little. But I thought it was something a little fun…a secret just for us…branding me yours.”

George only smiled and he leaned down to kiss your lips, once, twice, thrice, and then once more before speaking softly, “I guess now you’re permanently my little good luck charm.”

Your hands raised to frame his face like artwork and you stole a few more kisses before replying adoringly, “Always, baby.”

He sat back from you again, still knelt fully bare between your spread legs, and his hands traveled down the shape of your naked body as he admired every inch of you. His fingertips fell to a stop over the little tattoo on your hip, his lips pricking into a fond smile, “How did I get so lucky to find a woman like you?”

And your years together flicked past your mind like a photo album, thinking back to that one weekend when you worked abroad at a luxury hotel and one of your VIP guests had taken a liking to you. Lingering in the memory of it for a moment, you simply shrugged playfully, “You booked at the right hotel.”

“I guess I did, huh?” George chuckled warmly while his hands continued to trace over your body, around your thighs, up your legs, replying cheekily, “Though I think I only booked at that hotel because it had a nice gym…”

“Uh huh,” you drew out in sarcastic acknowledgement, a love-sick grin spread across your face just as he leaned down for a smiling kiss.

George then left another kiss to the underside of your jaw, musing, “Crazy to think that back then I had no idea that I was going to meet the best thing that ever happened to me."

With a calm smile, your eyes fluttered closed as the warmth of his words washed over you and the feeling of his lips trailing kisses down your neck started to fuel that unyielding heat within you once more. Instinctively, your legs parted a little more as his hand trailed its way between your thighs, teasing along your supple skin but never quite reaching where you were aching. No matter how much you both craved each other after so long, there was something about the build up—the dangling what you could have right in front of your noses without being able to grab it—that made the final release all the more worthwhile.

“I missed you so much,” you breathed, raking your fingers through his hair, “Missed you kissing my body…touching me…”

He hummed against your chest as he kissed over your collarbones, his hand sliding up your thighs gently, “I missed you too, so much. Every night I was alone in my hotel room, I thought of you...wishing you were there with me…”

You kept your eyes closed as you listened to him speak, turning all your attention to how he touched you and spoke to you, like you were a treasure. It was all you could think about and all you had been thinking about: him, alone in those hotel rooms, and all that he got up to in your absence. Texts and images sufficed in a pinch but nothing could measure up to the real thing.

George kissed over your breasts, taking your nipples in his mouth one at a time for a teasing little suckle before he spoke against them, “I couldn’t get you out of my mind. All I could think about was all the dirty things I wanted to do with my perfect girl when I got home…”

“Please…I missed you…” you breathed with an edge of a whine to your voice.

“You’ve been a good girl for me while I was gone, haven’t you?” George asked, leaning back from you just enough to look down into your eyes with his hand lingering tauntingly close to your cunt but just not quite there, his firm palm keeping your thighs open.

You nodded, staring up into his pretty eyes that were dilated almost black with lust, “Yes, I was so good.”

“Mhm?” George’s thumb grazed over your inner thigh, “And my needy girl touched herself while I was gone?”

You nodded again, a hand reaching to grasp his bicep as you kept your eyes on his, “Yeah…and said your name when I made myself come every time. But I only used my vibrator…nothing went inside…that’s only for you.”

“God…good girl, that’s what I like to hear, baby.” George praised lowly.

As if as a reward for your honesty, George dragged his fingers along your pussy, moving effortlessly with how soaked you already were since the moment you had picked him up from the airport. You shuddered and he leaned down to kiss down your stomach and over the small 63 inked into your skin on your bikini line while his fingers continued their taunting ministrations over your cunt. Beneath your hand, his hair was soft, and you curled your fingers in the strands as he made his way down your body before placing a ghostly kiss to your clit.

When you took a sharp inhale of breath, he chuckled warmly, his breath falling against your skin, and his finger drawing taunting circles across your glistening lips, “So wet. Just for me, isn’t that right? Always so good for me.”

“Yeah…I need you so bad,” you exhaled.

“Mm, and I just need a little taste of you first,” he replied effortlessly before leaning down to drag his tongue right up your cunt, parting your lips, earning himself a greedy taste of you and the way your wetness clung to his lips and dripped down his chin from only one fleeting touch.

You were soaked and as he tended to you like that, it was growing more and more unbearable. When his tongue met you again, you tossed your head back against the bed with a groan, pushing your hips up towards his face. You could feel the slight vibration from the way he chuckled against your swollen clit before he was pulling back just far enough to be able to watch the way his finger dragged down across your cunt again, licking his lips at the sight before him.

“Look at that tiny, drippy little pussy.”

You groaned needily, “George…”

He shifted over top of you so he could lean down and kiss his name from your lips, his right hand still helping itself to languid caresses of your pussy before, finally, he was slowly sinking his middle finger inside you. You gasped into his mouth and he groaned right back as you both tried to keep kissing as he sunk his one finger in slowly, slowly, until he was knuckle deep. Your legs parted a little wider to accommodate him, wanting to feel as much as possible, and habitually, your pussy pulsed around his single digit.

George groaned out of your kiss, his words falling against your cheek, “Just one finger and you’re this tight…I don’t know how I’m even gonna fit inside you, baby.”

“Been so long,” you played along expertly as you tangled your fingers in the back of his hair and pulled his lips onto yours again, kissing him fiercely as his finger curled inside you.

You could feel his hard cock against your thigh with how he was leaning over you, the tip leaking and you could feel the dampness of it against your skin. With a subconscious roll of his hips against your body, George mumbled lustfully between your shared kisses, “Yeah? You think it’s gonna hurt when I put it inside?”

“Yeah,” you whimpered out a reply.

It was barely out of your mouth before he was adding a second finger, pushing it into your tight muscles as he kissed you through it, only broken when your head tossed back against the pillow with a groan. Your hips nudged up against his touch as he curled his two fingers inside you, his breath panted against your cheek as he felt the way you throbbed around him, squeezing his two fingers tightly.

“You're so tight...my fingers are barely fitting, baby,” he whispered hoarsely against your cheek, thrusting his fingers into you a little more insistently against the snugness that enveloped them, “God, you're gonna feel incredible.”

“Please stretch me open,” you breathed, feeling hazy with pleasure, “Make it fit…”

George’s breath shuddered against your face, his eyelashes fluttering over the apple of your cheek, and he groaned out a low, “Yeah, darling, I got you.”

“Please…please,” you whimpered out, writhing beneath his hands and so far past the point of turned on. You could feel how your body squeezed his two fingers, only two fingers, and you craved more of that feeling of being filled by him more than anything.

George left one more kiss to your jaw before he was sitting back from you so he was kneeling between your spread legs, two fingers still knuckle deep inside you and rocking steadily as he hushed you with a sweet, “I know, my love. Be patient, okay? You don’t have to wait much longer.”

His eyes were focused on his task and the way your gorgeous pussy was wrapped around his fingers and just sucking him in with every quirk of his wrist. You were soaking his fingers and leaking down the side of his hand and he couldn’t help himself but slowly slipped in a third finger at the next push. A broken, pleasured cry slipped from your lips, head tossing back, as he slowly stretched you out a little more after a whole month apart, and your fingers splayed across the bedsheets for something to hold onto. With his other hand, he framed the little tattoo on your hip with the space between his thumb and forefinger, both to hold you still and so he had a perfect view of his number inked into your skin. All for him.

The sounds you made had him groaning; he loved when you got to the point where you were so into it that you didn’t even notice when noises like that slipped out. Noises only he could elicit from you. His three fingers pushed a little faster inside you and made the lewdest, wettest sounds, while his other hand stroked his thumb over the tattoo on your hip. Through your hazy gaze, you could see the way his bicep bulged with how intently he was focusing on fingering you, wanting to bring you only the strongest pleasure in every way only he knew how.

After a moment, his fingers slowed, and he took a second to spread them apart inside you, helping to stretch you open a little more and you pulled in a sharp breath at the ache. George then leaned down and kissed your stomach before easing his fingers out of you entirely and moving back. You whined softly in protest while your eyes followed him as he leaned across the bed and yanked open the bedside table drawer to fish out the bottle of lube and, as he did so, you reached down to swipe your fingers across your pussy and bring them up to your lips for a taste.

George could only smirk down at you as he watched you suck your fingers clean and he fumbled with the cap on the bottle briefly before managing to pop it open. You watched him patiently, nothing but the sounds of your shared anticipatory breaths filling your bedroom. He poured a generous amount on your cunt and you gasped faintly at the cool sensation against the heat of your skin, wide eyes watching how his fingers rubbed it in before he was smearing the excess along the shaft of his cock in languid strokes.

He then nodded towards the top of the bed as he snapped the bottle shut, “Put a pillow under your hips, love.”

You reached above you and grabbed one of the pillows before heaving up your hips on jelly-like legs so you could ungracefully shove it under your bum. With his clean hand, he helped you get settled before he was shuffling up closer on his knees between your spread legs, making sure you were at that perfect height for him to drag the head of his cock between your glistening lips. You gasped, your whole body almost twitching.

His chuckle was low and warm and taunting and he pushed his hips forward just enough to have the length of his dick resting on top of your pelvis as if to replicate just how deep he could reach inside you. You stared down at it intently, reaching a hand out to gently pet the swollen head that was fully past the confines of his foreskin now, red and angry and desperate. George gave you a lazy mock thrust against you, smearing the lube from his dick over the hair of your pelvis and simply taunting you just a little more.

“Look at me,” he called adoringly, luring your eyes to raise to his face, “There you are…such a pretty girl.”

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as he guided the head of his cock back and forth over your clit, desperate eyes staring up at him above you, feeling as if you were burning from the inside out with need for him.

“Please…” you exhaled uselessly, fingers curling around his wrists as if to pull him where you wanted him.

“Please what? Use your words.” George taunted.

The words tumbled from your lips without thought, the haze of your arousal fading your filter until all you could say was any and all filthy desires that grazed your mind, “Want your big dick inside me…split me open…please.”

“Yeah?” he cooed, his hand sliding down your body to spread your pussy open between two fingers so he could angle the head of his cock against your entrance, “Be a good girl for me, alright?”

You nodded as you stared up at him and kept your eyes on his handsome, focused face, shuddering at the feeling of him starting to press against your painfully tight pussy. He kept your lips spread with his fingers to give himself some more room, his other hand guiding himself inwards until there was some resistance as the snugness of your muscles wrapped around him. The both of you pulled in sharp breaths at the shift, words unnecessary in that moment as he started to envelop himself in the perfect heat of your body.

Yes, it had been a month since you had each other like that—a long, agonizing month—and although you were all too familiar with each other’s bodies, the feeling of having to stretch around the size of him again felt a little painful. You winced a little as you dropped a hand down to grab onto his wrist, teeth sinking into your bottom lip through the scrunch of your nose at the aching pressure it spread across your hips. It wasn’t bad…besides, you liked it when it hurt a little.

“Fuck,” George huffed out, falling forward a little with his hand pressed flat on the mattress beside your head as he slowly sunk deeper into you, “Christ, you’re so tight—”

“Please make it fit,” you whimpered needily, hands curling under his arms to grasp onto his shoulders with your legs splayed wide on either side of his broad body.

His eyes raised to yours with a fire behind them that was unmissable and his voice was low, strained, “I’ll make it fit, don’t you worry.”

“Shit,” you squeaked, nails pressing into his shoulders as he gave you another little grind of his hips, “it’s so fucking big—”

“Mhm, I know, baby. It’s so much for your little tight cunt, isn’t it?” he groaned softly down to you, “But you’re taking me like such a good girl.”

George ground a little deeper, giving you slow, shallow thrusts to ease into you, taking his time to feel every inch of you stretching around him and working to accommodate him. You could see on his face how much he was holding back, how much he was working to keep himself together for the sake of leaning into the on-going taunt that he could barely fit inside you after a month apart. Sure, it was a little fictitious for the sake of leaning into that filthy dirty talk but that was what made it all the more thrilling.

“Just let me in a bit further. Just an inch more.” George told you. When you whined and squirmed underneath him, trying to adjust, he reached to grab your cheeks and force your eyes on his again. He spoke with words dripping in honey, “You want all of it, don’t you? Say yes, pet. It’s just an inch.”

“Yes,” you purred, “Yes, please…I want all of it.”

His hips rocked against yours a little deeper, finally giving you every last bit of him. The glorious warm pressure that radiated across your hips and deep inside you had your eyes rolling, fluttering shut, moaning to the ceiling as he just stayed there for a second, the both of you just wrapping yourselves around that feeling. Overwhelming, intense, passionate.

George was staring down at your face and you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every little reaction to feeling him like that, “Feels so good to get stuffed full after so long, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you couldn’t help but giggle out.

You clutched onto his back a little tighter as he started to thrust into you in deep, curling motions that had you feeling almost every last inch of him sliding out and back in. George sank down onto his forearms on either side of your head, nose to nose, staring into your eyes as your chests rose and fell in time, breathing as one. He was slow with it but so intensely passionate, grinding deep into you so his cock kissed your cervix every time, forcing you to pull in tight breaths at the feeling.

“Christ…” George groaned, resting his forehead against yours, “I’m never leaving you for that long again…I can’t…”

You clutched onto him and tilted your head up to capture his lips with yours in an off-centered kiss, sharing silent agreement at his lust-fueled dramatics. You moaned into his mouth as he started to thrust into you a little faster, as if his raw need was taking over, your hands pulling across his skin and the flexing muscles of his back and sides. When the kiss had to break to prioritize breathing, he didn’t move away, staying on top of you to feel you as close as possible as he fucked into you hungrily.

The lewd plap, plap, plap of wet skin slapping filled the room, made all the more wet from the plethora of lube he had added to your already sopping pussy. It was as if he wanted it as messy as possible, wanting every single one of your senses to be taken up by your reunion. And as he got a little rougher with it, the bed started creaking beneath his strength, but he countered the aggression with a large hand under your neck as if cradling your head, thumb caressing behind your ear, right at your hairline.

Your hands moved from his back to his arms, wrapping your fingers around his large biceps as he held himself up over top of you, letting him fuck the whimpers from your lips and the tears to your eyes. You couldn’t stop staring at him like that, as if all the times you had imagined him over the prior month hadn’t been able to truly do him justice. And this way, it was so much easier to get yourself there, giving everything up to him, feeling the familiar sizzling coil of pleasure in the pit of your stomach start to burn hotter.

It was as if the first anticipatory clench of your cunt around him had him immediately aware that you were getting close and without another word, he pulled right out of you and sat back. You shrieked in surprise and frustration, left uncomfortably empty, and before you could open your mouth to plead with him, he was sitting himself on the end of the bed again.

“Come here,” he ordered, impatiently, wrapping his fingers around your ankle for a tug, “Ride me.”

On trembling limbs, you heaved yourself up from your lying position and crawled over to him at the foot of the bed and he helped to guide your leg across his lap so your back was to his chest. Once you were straddling him, it was then that you noticed the full length mirror affixed to one of your closet doors, displaying your reflection back at you. Suddenly, the method behind his madness made all the more sense to you.

“I want you to see how good we look together,” George cooed from behind you, “How good we fit together.”

George swiped your hair over one shoulder so he could peer over the other to watch your reflection too before he trailed his hands down your body and helped you get comfortable on your knees on either side of his lap. The feeling of his cock pressing against your inner thigh was invigorating and you shuddered as he reached down to glide it between your cheeks before guiding you to sink down on it. You watched the way your mouth fell open in the mirror at the stretch until your ass was right down on him, his entire dick disappearing inside you.

“That’s it,” George groaned lowly, his hands finding your waist, “Christ, you’re so fucking wet.”

There was no need for him to set the pace because right then, you were already taking over by starting to bounce yourself on his lap. His moan from behind you was handsome and you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as that steady slap of wet skin on skin filled your bedroom again and your gaze was trained in on the mirror. George, too, was watching intently, hands useless on your waist, but his eyes all over you.

“Look at your gorgeous body, fuck.” he huffed, “And that sweet little tattoo.”

With your legs spread on either side of him, that little 63 on your bikini line was entirely visible in the mirror, moving along with your bounces on his lap. His hands caressed your hips and his slender fingers traced over the ink as you moved before they were sliding higher to grab your breasts so he could cup them firmly and pinch your nipples as you rode him. Your head dropped back against his shoulder with a pathetic groan.

“Uh uh,” he scolded lightly, grabbing your cheeks in one hand to heave your head up, “Watch.”

You blinked heavily as you tried to keep your attention on the mirror but the lust that poured itself through your veins was intense and overwhelming and it was getting harder to keep your eyes open. It felt like a dream. You slowed to a stop and, instead, started to grind yourself on his lap just to feel how he pressed inside of you in all the right spots.

George’s hands let go of your chest and he rubbed your inner thighs with how gloriously you were spread for him before three fingers magnetized to your clit and he gave the swollen spot a little caress. Your hips jumped against his touch, inhaling sharply, and he smirked against your shoulder and slapped his fingers down against your pussy just to hear you gasp again.

He gave it another smack before speaking, “This perfect little pussy of yours just stretched so tight around my big cock. You see that?”

With both hands, he spread your legs wider and you watched through the mirror to earn a front row view of how he was tucked entirely inside you, your swollen lips gripping around him as you leaked down to his balls. His fingertips gently caressed your cunt, right where you were connected.

George hummed against your ear, tutting a mocking, “Poor thing.”

“Feels so good inside me,” you whined, grinding down on him a little more until he was kissing your cervix and tears were blurring in your eyes.

“Yeah, you feel me so deep, don’t you?” he taunted, circling his fingertips over your clit lazily.

“Yeah…” you withered.

“Yeah? How deep?” George’s breath against the shell of your ear as his right hand slid up your body until it was splayed across your abdomen, just beneath your navel. He pressed down just a little as he asked, “Here?”

The added pressure of his hand pressing down right above where he was tucked inside you had your whole body flinching and a soft shriek slipped past your lips.

“Oh, yeah, that’s the spot, isn’t it?” George chuckled warmly.

In a flurry of need, you started to move in ungraceful bounces on him again, panting heavily as the heat of pleasure and exertion overtook you. You could hardly focus on the mirror in front of you with how intense it was feeling but the reflection of his body beneath yours was captivating, forcing you to try and keep your eyes from closing. It was made all the more difficult with how the heel of George’s palm was pressing against your abdomen to add just a slightest bit of squeeze around his cock still tucked inside you as you rode him hungrily.

Just then, his hands gripped at your doughy hips and started to move you a little himself, guiding you along into firm bounces that had your ass clapping loudly against his lap. With a moan, he spoke, “Fuck, you feel so good…makin’ me wanna put a baby in this beautiful body of yours.”

Shivers tore through you at his words and you moaned loudly, head dropping back against his and your hand reaching up behind you to grab a fistful of his hair as you stumbled out a pathetic, “Please! I wanna feel you fill me up…wanna be all sloppy for you—”

“Oh, I know, doll,” George said against your ear to make sure you heard every word despite the noise of your rendezvous, “Not even gonna wait until you’re my wife. Gonna get you pregnant now…fill you right up…so you have a pretty little belly when walking down the aisle. So everyone can see who you belong to…who’s the only one cumming inside you.”

It was as if his words flipped a switch in you, sending you far past the point of turned on until you were insatiable for it, for him, willing to do anything for him. Without a thought from your brain, you sobbed out a pleading, “Please, daddy. I want it so bad, want you to fill me up.”

That title didn’t slip out often—and if you were in your proper state of mind you would entirely decline ever voluntarily using it—but when you were so far past the point of desperation, sometimes your filter gave way completely. And when it did, George—who would also decline enjoying being on the receiving end of such a title in his proper state of mind—would seize on it with a dark, hungry smile, as if the sound of it alone shattered whatever restraint he had left.

His hands gripped your body, tugging you right down on him and holding you there, murmuring right up against your ear with his eyes still fixed on yours through the mirror, “Yeah? You really want that, huh? Want daddy to put a baby in you?”

Trying to squirm against his firm hold, you whimpered pathetically, legs starting to tremble from exertion, “Please—”

“God, I love that…you saying please, huh? Being such a good girl for daddy,” he groaned, hands squeezing your hips so hard you thought you were going to have his fingerprints marked on you. He reached down and gave your pussy another smack, “Begging so prettily for me.”

You squealed at the hit, legs trying to close, but he shoved them apart again before guiding you off his lap and onto the bed. He stood up and grabbed your ankle to yank you towards the foot of the bed again, manhandling you like suddenly he had newfound purpose, a goal based on primal hunger in need of being fulfilled. He moved you how he wanted you until you were flat on your back at the edge of the mattress with the pillow stuffed under your hips again, your legs pushed back towards your chest, and he leaned down to leave a few sloppy kisses to your messy cunt. Your eyes fluttered shut with a strained groan from your pouted lips and you tried to reach for him but he was already moving away and around the side of the bed.

“Stay right there,” he ordered as he opened the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out your vibrator, the classic magic wand that both of you had grown to know all too well.

He was back in front of you at the foot of the bed in a blink and he tossed the wand to the side for later to, instead, focus on the priority of the moment: getting back inside you. George grabbed your thighs and tugged you a little closer just to make sure you were right where he needed you, your ass positioned just slightly off the end of the bed, and he leaned down to let a thick dribble of spit fall from his lips onto your messy pussy. Then, he was smearing it in with the head of his cock before plunging it strongly inside you all the way.

You shrieked in surprise, hands flying out to grab onto the sheets as he filled you right up again and then immediately starting to find a steady pace. It had you falling perfectly silent, heavy-lidded eyes staring up at him with your mouth agape as he fucked you on the side of the bed. It had already been so much for you that your legs were naturally trying to squeeze shut but, instead, George grabbed your ankles and forced your legs open in a wide v-shape, leaving you perfect spread for him to thrust roughly into your broken-in pussy.

You were so sensitive that it almost hurt, not to mention that he was hitting so incredibly deep that it almost had you seeing stars, lacing your moans with strained whimpers as you stared up at him. George didn’t look away from your eyes for a second as he kept his consistent pace, even as the headboard started to hit the wall with how hard he was giving it. Your face scrunched up in a pleasured wince.

“Mm, look at you,” he cooed breathily, letting go of one of your ankles to drag his fingers over your swollen bottom lip and you opened up to take them in your mouth as he taunted, “Say ‘it hurts, daddy’.”

“It hurts, daddy” you echoed through his fingers, drooling around them, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“But my pretty little slut likes it when it hurts a little, doesn’t she?”

You nodded meekly.

“Yeah…good girl,” he praised lowly, keeping his firm pace as he let go of your other ankle and reached across the bed for the wand without stopping. The steady buzz of the vibrator filled the room and the sound made your body shiver in anticipation, peering up at him with his fingers in your mouth and his dick still shoving strongly inside you, wondering if this was heaven.

George kept the wand gripped in his fist and lowered it to let the rounded vibrating head just barely touch your clit. It was so intense that your entire body flinched and you squealed around his fingers, hands flying forward to grab onto his arms.

“Oh fuck—” George gasped lowly, strained, still fucking into you and he watched it so intently. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth to wrap them around your throat instead, pinning you to the bed and letting the head of the toy brush up and down over the hood of your clit as he spoke down to you with a voice thick with lust, “You thought I’ve forgotten how to play with you after a month?”

You could hardly formulate an answer with the pleasure that tore through you, unable to even respond to his rhetorical question, head arching back on the bed as you struggled to keep your legs spread for him and his pleasurable attack. Instead, your left hand grabbed onto his wrist that held you pinned down, the diamond of your engagement ring glinting in the afternoon sun that poured in through the open curtains. George thought there was no better sight than you sweaty and flushed with pleasure, tears brimming in your eyes, and nothing but him on your mind.

He groaned lowly, speaking over the sound of the bed hitting the wall in a steady rhythm, “You’re tightening up so perfectly around me, love. Does that feel good?”

You nodded, having lost the ability to properly reply to him, but forcing yourself to stumble out a ragged, “Please don’t stop.”

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he taunted.

He kept the wand right against your clit, the relentless vibration paired with how deliciously he was fucking you making you dizzy. You could feel it building again, that intense coiling deep within you that felt like every nerve in your body was sizzling in anticipation, with need. The month apart was near torture, having to get yourself off alone. It was nothing compared to him.

All you could do was clutch at his wrist and stare up into his eyes and chant out a pathetic, whimpering, never ending, “Like that, like that, like that—”

“Come on, that’s it,” George encouraged through a clenched jaw as he kept his pace going.

And then it hit you all at once, rendering you absolutely silent for a beat, eyes rolling and head aching back with a gaping mouth as your entire body tensed right up. George groaned deeply at the grip your pussy clutched him with into your orgasm but he didn’t let up, keeping his hard thrusts into your body with the wand still held firmly against your throbbing clit.

After the first wave, you heaved in a shrieking breath into the second one with a sobbing, “Fuck, daddy! Shit!”

The pleasure tore through you in intense waves that made your whole body start to tremour with how strong it was, nearly vibrating against the bed and under his hand. It was an immense relief unlike anything else and you couldn’t help but let out a giddy giggle through it, especially with how he wasn’t stopping. But then George was leaning down and swallowing up your pleasured laughter with a sloppy kiss, the wand still trapped between your bodies in place in his tight fist, hips rutting hard against yours.

The moment your orgasm tapered out and the overwhelm set in quickly, you were breaking away from his lips with a groan and a tilt of your head, slapping your hand against his bicep to get him to let up. George leaned back with a proud chuckle, removing the wand from your swollen, aching clit and he switched it off to set aside again, and he slowed his thrusts to give you a second to catch your breath.

“You okay?” he checked in warmly as he let go of your throat.

“Yeah,” you giggled, draping your arms above your head, “Holy shit, I missed that so much.”

“Me making you cum?”

“Uh huh.”

George leaned back down for another tongue-led kiss in silent agreement and when he pulled back, his hand navigated down to the tattoo on your hip, tracing it with gentle fingers that contrasted the passionate roughness you had just shared. For a moment, you swore you could feel his cock throb inside you. And then, as if driven by the need that stemmed from seeing you branded with his number in his handwriting, he slowly curled his hips towards yours in a gentle thrust.

You hummed softly, keeping your legs spread for him, arms draped above your head, watching as he started to fuck you again at the foot of the bed. His large hands slid down your thighs and gently pushed them a little farther open so he could see all of you, how you wrapped around him so snugly, how you sucked him in with every purposeful thrust. The sound of his gentle groan warmed through your veins and you watched how he stared at you so lovingly, his thumbs caressing the apex of your thighs and pelvis as he held you open, giving you every inch in slow, delicious succession.

After a few moments, losing his own self-control, he started to speed up. Your fingers grasped at the sheets you were laying on as he finally matched his pace from earlier, shoving into you all the way in a consistent, firm motion, forcing the headboard to hit the wall again and again and again. Your head arched back with a whine to the ceiling, still overly sensitive from your previous orgasm and even though he wasn’t touching your clit, it still all felt very intense.

“Ohh my God, George—” you withered, eyes rolling shut, knuckles turning white as you fisted the sheets.

He was looking at you like you were going to be the last thing he ever saw, like he could spend eternity with his eyes fixed on every tiny movement you made, “Oh, look at that…there it is, there’s my sweet, whimpering, needy girl…God you’re so beautiful.”

You could hardly stay still from how perfectly he was taking you, forcing him to really grip your thighs in place to keep you from moving too much. It was a feeling beyond yourself, taking you over completely, feeling so much more intense than anything had for as long as you could remember. You heaved your head up to stare down your body and watch how he fucked into you mercilessly, hungry, creating the most erotic of symphonies between the lewd squelch of your body and the wet slaps of your skin and the creak of the bed and the headboard hitting the wall. In any other state of mind, you might have been worried about your neighbours.

Instead, now, you were too busy trying to keep yourself together as George brought the wand back in and rested the vibrating head against your swollen clit, forcing a shriek from your throat and pleasured tears streaked down your cheeks. Your eyes screwed shut and you dropped back down flat on the bed, flailing stupidly across the sheets with a crying, “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“You’re just asking to be filled up,” George purred, his voice thick and ragged and oh so beautiful, “You need a creampie so bad, don’t you? Need me to fucking fill you up…fucking breed you?”

Sure, it was all performative given that you still had an IUD, but both of you got off on the concept of a pregnancy risk…on the concept of making a family together. Regardless, you couldn’t answer him, too beside yourself with the intensity of it all and yet all you wanted was more. You just wanted him in every way imaginable.

“Yeah, come on…you got another one in there for me…don’t you, darling?” he taunted through his teeth, desperate to make your orgasm again as his bicep bulged with how tightly he was gripping the wand and holding it against your clit, “Be a good fucking girl for daddy and come all over my cock and…I’ll give you what you want.”

It came on fast, that one, tearing a cry from your chest that nearly echoed through your bedroom as he fucked you through it. George groaned hard with how tightly you gripped around him and he stared down between your legs to watch your pussy flutter around his cock as your second orgasm hit. He held the vibrator in place, his other hand gripping your hip to keep you from squirming too much with how your body trembled and writhed through your sobbing pleasure. His eyes widened as he watched you cream around him, slicking him up with every thrust, and a small trickle of liquid spilled out of you and onto the pillow and the edge of the bed sheets beneath you.

“Jesus fucking Christ—” George barely got out before he was succumbing to you right after, desperately trying to keep fucking into you as he finally came. Hard.

Yeah, it was no comparison to his hand over the prior month, nothing measured up to how you felt around him, and as he plunged himself as deep as he could go in your cunt, every inch of him was blessed by the fluttering vice-like grip of your warm, wet muscles. Fuck. He just kept coming, grinding into a little here or there to ride it out, loving how he swore he could feel the vibration of the wand radiating through your cunt and helping him along more. And, God, you could never get over the feeling of him spurting inside you, warm and thick and so deep.

But it was far too much as you came down from your second orgasm and the feeling of the vibrator still attacking your aching clit felt painful, and you winced and grabbed his wrist to try and push him away with a strained, “Fuck, George, too much, toomuchtoomuchtoomuch—”

He pulled away with a breathless gasp as if you had snapped him back to reality and he moved the wand away and switched it off. Still tucked inside you, he scrubbed his hands over his face for a second to catch his bearings before settling them back down on your thighs, caressing your quivering limbs tenderly.

“Blimey…I think you almost squirted,” he rasped.

You chuckled tiredly and took that second to try and catch your breath, sprawled out from the foot of the bed, “What?”

“Yeah…like…” George struggled to formulate words, his mind still hazy from pleasure, “it wasn’t insane or anything but you made more mess than normal.”

You lifted your head up from the bed and propped yourself up on your elbows to look down between your legs to try and see and he guided your hand down to feel the dampness of the pillow beneath your hips. Your eyes raised to his in surprise and you laid back down, “Wow…well it did feel more intense.”

George followed after you to chase your lips, stealing a few breathless kisses from you, muttering between them, “New goal for us then…make it happen.”

You shared soft laughter as he stood up straight again and then he was carefully pulling out of you, leaving behind your gaping pussy and the thick drip of cum that slipped out after him. His fingers followed and swiped it back up to push inside you again, staring at it with a bite to his bottom lip.

“Can’t wait until we take that fucking IUD out,” he murmered as if he weren’t outwardly saying it to you.

“Mm, me too,” your fingers traced up his forearm, “but not until after the wedding.”

He leaned down to kiss the inside of your knee, your thigh, and then left one more just above your pelvis, “I know…only a few more months.”

You ran your fingers through his hair with a content smile on your face, “Can’t wait to marry you…steal your last name…and have a bunch of babies with your pretty eyes running around.”

George looked up at you with those very same pretty eyes and you stroked your thumb over his cheek, feeling the way his face melted into a smile at your words. He turned to kiss the inside of your wrist, breathing out the sweetest, “I love you” you had ever heard fall from his lips.

“I love you too,” you echoed earnestly.

He helped you clean up after your passionate welcome home and as afternoon melted into evening, the two of you found yourselves cuddling up in your shared bed together, naked, watching the sun fall shallower over the horizon. You shared whispers and kisses and caresses and you both faded in and out of a well deserved nap wrapped in the arms of your lover, skin against skin, heart to heart, letting the day pass you by.

And in that moment, with him back beside you after so long apart, your soul felt whole again.

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