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under-sedationnn · 4 months

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mike schmidt x pregnant fem!reader pt.2

summary: a continuation of a day in the life with mike schmidt in which the reader navigates the joys, and hardships, of pregnancy.

"so, what are we thinking, a classic baby blue or something more adventurous? like" a pause, squinting at the screen, "green."

With Abby gone for the day, Mike and I plopped ourselves in the living room for a debrief of the day ahead. I opted for the floor, Mike helping me lower myself to the carpet in front of the TV. I groan as my butt hits the floor less than gracefully, and lay flat on my back as we chat.

"What sounds best to you, y/n?" he starts, stifling a yawn. I feel myself frown slightly in response, feeling guilty about how tired he must be feeling. He catches on.

"Hey hey, baby, I'm okay," another yawn, "I just need another cup of coffee, I think."

"No, Mike, you need to sleep," I say, and turn to lay on my side with my head propped up on my hand. He leans back on the couch and huffs, pulling his hands down his face as he lets out a sigh.

I pick at the carpet with my fingers, and wait for him to respond.

"I know, I know I need to sleep but- damnit, I'm trying to make this work, y/n." Face still hidden, he sits in silence again until I move to sit up. With great difficulty, might I add.

"And you're doing a great job, Mikey, but I really think you could use the rest. We could use the rest, right now." He moves his hands from his face and pulls me in for a hug by my neck. I trace my nails up and down his back through his shirt, and he lets out a small sigh.

He nods his head against my shoulder, and in silence, we move to the bedroom. The bed is still unmade, and we slip back under the covers as if we have never left. Turning to face away from him, Mike buries his front into my back and we melt into one another, the warmth of his chest replacing the chill of vacant sheets.

He places his hand on my stomach, and I feel at home in his embrace. "Mike," I start, "you're gonna be a great dad."

He kisses the back of my neck. "Thank you, baby. You're gonna be a great mom, I know it."

With that, the sound of the TV in the living room drowns out to a lulling hum and the morning light of the window slowly but surely fades to black.

"We're in this together, y/n."

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When I wake up from my nap, I haven't moved from my original position, but Mike is gone. The absence of his warmth sends a chill through my body, and I sit up to find the nearest throw blanket.

Walking into the living room, I catch sight of Mike scrolling on my laptop at the table. His forehead is wrinkled in concentration, and when he looks up to find me standing in the doorway, he cracks a smile.

"Good morning," he says, "again."

I chuckle, and he turns his attention back to the screen, scrolling once again.

"Whatcha looking at?" I ask, moving to pour myself a glass of water. I open the dishwasher to find that it hadn't been run the night before, and curse myself silently. I give up for now, and walk back over to the couch. "Mike, please do remind me to run the dishes tonight. But seriously, what's got you all focused in? Looking for a new job listing?"

"I definitely should be, but the night shift pays the bills. Just look at this." He swivels the laptop toward me, and when I see different swatches of paint pulled up, I can't help but smile.

"Good thinking, Mike. Ooooh, I like this purple! It's like a periwinkle."

He leans in to look with me. "Yeah, they have a good selection for not too much money. I'm sure Abby might want a new coat of paint once we get started on a nursery, so we need to prep for that."

"Right," I draw out, "she's probably sick of the shade she's got. Needs something more big girl, you know?"

He only rolls his eyes, grinning slightly. "So, what are we thinking, a classic baby blue or something more adventurous? like" a pause, squinting at the screen, "green."

"Hmmm, green is quite daunting, huh?" I scroll for a few moments, and find a springy peach color. "This would look great with all the sunlight coming in, and we could get everything else in neutrals and use all the hand-me-down furniture my family gave us."

"I'm glad you're feeling inspired," and he looks over the paint color himself, turning to smile wider this time. "This'll be great, let's go pick it up now."

I kiss him, hugging him as well as I can, and waddle to our room to get ready.

After changing our clothes, I find myself on the couch, looking longingly at my sneakers from across the room. Mike walks in, follows my gaze to where my shoes sit, and places my shoes in front of me, chuckling as he goes for his keys.

I sigh, defeated. “Mike, I'm gonna be honest, there's no way I can tie my shoes.”

“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”

i know that this part 2 is late and was way shorter than the first but i did just want to give a little more attention to dad!mike because uh so cute?? anyways

thanks for reading!!

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson imagine #mike schimdt smut #mike schimdt x reader #mike schmidt

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under-sedationnn · 4 months

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Showing people our writing makes me feel like a cat presenting someone a dead mouse.

“Yes, it’s a bit horrifying but I am very proud of it”

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under-sedationnn · 4 months

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that mike x pregnant reader fic was mmmmm 😋😋😋🙏

thank you thank you, anon!! will post the second part soon 🫡🤍🤍

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under-sedationnn · 4 months

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Mike Schmidt x reader where she’s pregnant?

mike schmidt x pregnant fem!reader pt.1

summary: a day in the life with mike and abby as the reader navigates the ups and downs of the much dreaded (and much anticipated) third trimester.

“Mike, I'm going to be honest, there's no way I can tie my shoes.”

"Abby-girl! Come on, breakfast!"

I hear the sound of small, bare feet skittering down the hallway and halt to a stop at the edge of the dining table. Abby, hair still unbrushed and pajamas wrinkled, smiles at me from her seat by the window.

"What did you make this morning, y/n?" She leans across the table to see the bowl I'm holding, and I give her a sympathetic look.

"Oatmeal," I say, and she wilts slightly. "With nutella, and bananas! Made special for you."

I set down the bowl and she inspects it, picking up the spoon by the small end and poking at the slices of fruit. I shift on my swollen feet, and pray that she decides it's not poison, after-all. Besides, I need to eat something soon, too. And take a bath. And online shop for baby clothes, on clearance.

"I guess it's fine," she mutters, but digs in anyways.

"Well," I start, heading back into the kitchen, "I bet if you are a super star today that Mike will take you to get pizza tonight. And if he says no, I'll tell him the baby said we need it."

She smiles widely, and I pour myself a small cup of coffee. I sit down across from her at the table, and prop my feet onto the seat beside me, settling my coffee cup onto my bump to rest. Abby is fully invested in eating her oatmeal now, and I anticipate the need for a snack when she finishes.

Settling into domestic life with Abby and Mike wasn't difficult, one could say it was the exact opposite, but there are ups and downs. For one, I had to drop myself into a semi-stepmom situation, and pretty soon afterwards found out I was going to be a mom for real. But Abby is a good kid, and Mike is the kindest man I have ever met, and we're making it work day by day.

"So, Abs," I say between sips, "what are we feeling we want to do on this glorious day of all days, Saturday?"

She thinks for half a second, and opens her mouth to answer when the door begins to unlock. Mike steps into the living room, backpack slung over his shoulder with deep bags under his eyes. He smiles when he sees us nestled in our little corner of the room, and shuts out the bright morning light behind him.

I move to stand, but he puts his hand out to stop me.

"Woah woah woah, remember what the doc said, no unnecessary walking, right now. How are your feet feeling by the way?" He leans down to kiss me on the forehead, the cheek, a peck on the mouth, and moves to put his backpack and keys by the door.

"Eh, they're doing okay, but they definitely don't feel great," I respond, and he kneels down beside me.

"Want me to take a look?"

I nod my head, and he peels my socks off. The swelling is a little better, but I still hiss slightly when he pokes at the top of my foot, and the pit stays in my skin.

"Not the best, but not the worst," he says, not too sure of himself, "but you're not doing anything today, you need to rest."

I sigh. "Mike, you just got off of a shift, I know you're exhausted, and the house needs to be cleaned. There is no way I'm going to let you-"

"There is no way I am going to let you clean the house today, or do anything that is going to make you feel worse." He moves his hand to my stomach. "We're in this together, remember? 'Til the very end."

I place my hand over his own, "The very end, I love you."

"I love you, too. Now, what's first?" He kisses my fingers once and stands up. Abby joins him in watching for my answer.

"Breakfast, please."

"Agreed." He smiles and turns to the kitchen, presumedly to make us each an equally bland bowl of oatmeal.

"What were you saying you wanted to do today, Abby? You never got a chance to finish what you were saying, sweetheart."

Her bowl is empty; she wipes the leftover nutella from her lips, and moves towards the fridge to get out some milk. "One of my friends at school is having a birthday party today and I wanted to go." She pours herself a precariously full glass of milk from the carton, and slowly walks back to the table.

"You can still go Abs," says Mike, "and I could drive if you want me to."

"Well, her mom is carpooling for other kids and said she could come and get me," she adds between gulps.

I look at Mike over the kitchen bar, and he smiles at me slightly. "Abby, do you have her mom's number? I can call and see if she'll come and get you."

"Sure! Hold on, it's in my back pack." She hops up from her chair, stumbling in her excitement, and races to her room.

"Mike, if she goes, we could have a day all to ourselves."

Not that we don't love having Abby around, but a day alone would be well-deserved.

"Yeah, we could take a nap." He chuckles, and brings our breakfast to the table. Oatmeal, with just a little bit of nutella.

I nod my head in agreement as Abby races back to the dining room and shoves a piece of paper with a phone number in Mike's face. He calls, talks for a moment, and places down the phone while saying, "Abby, go get dressed, she will be here in 20 minutes." She turns on the spot and speeds down the hallway, once again.

We give each other a silent high five, and look forward to a day of relaxation together.

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i'm going to be honest, i kind of want to continue this blurb into a second part where the day continues. i was really enjoying making this into a small, domestic fic and I didn't want to just make it about the pregnancy but the life that it would lead to WITH mike (which includes abby).

thanks for reading!!! <3

#josh hutcherson imagine #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson #mike schimdt smut #mike schimdt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie

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under-sedationnn · 4 months

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for the love of god can someone please send me prompts for Mike schmidt??? YES YOU CAN REQUEST NSFW i’m about to implode

#josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson imagine #mike schimdt x reader #mike schimdt smut

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under-sedationnn · 4 months

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Premature ejaculation with Mike

set my clocks early

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, coworker!reader, premature ejaculation, smut, unprotected piv, overstimulation

word count: <1k

(thanks for sending in this request, anon!)

He should stop talking. He should really stop talking and close his eyes, or think about anything else but how tight you feel and how good you look stretched around him.

Naked grandmas, his shitty boss at Tire Zone, killer animatronic animals. Anything.

But he can't. You're overtaking all of Mike's senses at once, and his caveman brain can't comprehend that he's finally fucking you after months of pining and awkward flirting.

Now that you're actually on top of him, reverse cowgirl with that perfect ass in his face, he can't do anything else but stare in disbelief. Those are his hands on your body. His hands bouncing you on his lap and spreading your cheeks so he can watch your pussy swallow him whole. And he can't shut up about it.

"Fuuuck, that's it. That's—fucking perfect, look at you," he breathes out raggedly, biting back a groan when you lean forward to change the angle. "Gripping me s-so tight...shit."

His grip slackens and he lets you take over, fighting not to rock into you and throw off your rhythm. On every upstroke, your hips roll and his cock drags against your walls until just the tip is stretching you out. Then, you swivel down and he hits something that makes you clench and moan like he's only ever heard in his wet dreams.

"S'good...feels good. Right—," you gasp as he accidentally bucks into your heat, "—there, right there."

Shit, you liked that. You're trying to get him to do it again, he can tell, and he wants to. He wants to fuck you harder, to piston into you until your hushed sighs are amplified to stuttered, high-pitched moans.

"Where, baby, here? Feels good here?"

He tries to work his way up to it one deep thrust at a time, but he can't keep going. You're squeezing him too hard, and his own words are sending him over the edge.

"N-need you to cum for me. Wanna make you feel good...you feel so fucking good," he whines, turning and burying his face into his pillow to muffle his babbling. He can't control it anymore. "You're gonna make me cum, oh my god."

You speed up, and he lets you because he knows you're close. You're louder than before and quaking on his thighs, grinding your clit into the base of his cock like your life depends on it.

"Shit—"

It's too much. Your pussy creaming around him is too much. Your pussy pulsing around him is way too much. The sight of his hips slapping into your ass every time you drop onto him is...going to make him cum. Fuck, he's going to cum.

"—shit, shit, shit."

He should pull out. He should take a second to breathe and stave off his orgasm. He should stop fucking talking. But it's already too late.

There's barely enough time to drag you off before his cock lands on your ass and he starts cumming. And he cums hard. Thick spurts leak between your cheeks and splatter across your back as he pulses against your skin, and he grips your waist so tight, you squeal in surprise above him.

He tries not to feel like a complete asshole, even as he all but sobs his way through it, because it should be you cumming right now. You should be unraveling on top of him while he fucks you through it. But you're not mad—he should've known you wouldn't be. You've always been so sweet to him.

When he finally lifts his gaze, you're watching him over your shoulder, so pretty as you bite your lip and rub frantic circles into your clit. He's sensitive as fuck, but you deserve better than that. He can still treat you better than that.

He bends you forward to line himself up again, hissing at the overstimulation as he slips back inside you. Every thrust feels like a jolt of lightning through his spine, intense and a little painful, but fucking incredible.

"Mike...M-Mike, it's okay. You don't—fuck," you keen as he hits harder and deeper than before, forcing you up and down his cock until your walls begin to flutter around him.

"I need you to cum," he pants heavily, overwhelmed by conflicting waves of pain and pleasure. He's loving every second of it. "Until that happens, I'm not stopping."

thanks for reading!

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under-sedationnn · 4 months

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waiting to spill

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike never thought your week-long trip home would lead to the discovery of a costly new craving

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, breeding kink, smut, desperate!mike, unprotected piv, creampie, riding, fingering, blue balls, mentions of pregnancy, cum play

word count: 3.9k

(based on this request)

Mike's praying the call goes through this time because if it doesn't, he might just lose his mind. You were supposed to land 20 minutes ago, but it's already half past 4 and your phone's still off.

Will it show how many missed calls you have? God, he hopes not. He's been redialing for the better part of an hour, hoping you landed early, but luck clearly isn't on his side. Every time it goes to voicemail, your voice taunts him. Just another reminder that you're not here—unreachable and untouchable.

Shitty fucking airline. He knew you should've taken an earlier flight, but he didn't want to be that guy. The one who tells you what to do and when, and makes decisions for his own benefit. He's a better guy than that, a better boyfriend than that, it's just—fuck, what is taking so long?

One more time. He'll try you one more time, and if it doesn't connect, he'll go sit on the couch and distract himself until you call him. He's already waited this long. He can suck it up a little longer. Probably.

He hits redial for the umpteenth time, his forehead thunking against the wall next to the landline, and then something miraculous happens. It rings.

Once, twice, and then you pick up. He doesn't wait for you to answer. Any patience he had left flew out the window hours ago and he doesn't care if you know it.

"Babe?"

You laugh softly on the other end, and it tugs at his heart...and his dick. Seatbelts click open in the background, and sounds of movement and chatter filter through the speaker.

"Hey, you. I actually just landed. I'll call you back once I get through customs, okay?" you reply, bright as ever.

It sets him off worse than he expected. You're so much more potent in real-time than on voicemail, and it's fucking with his sense of urgency. He doesn't want to rush you, but he needs you. So badly.

"W-wait. Can you come over? After you're done with the airport stuff, I mean," he manages to get out, interjecting cautiously before you can hang up.

"I was gonna stop home to drop off my bags and take a quick shower, but I can come over after that," you reply distractedly, likely dealing with overhead bins and other passengers trying to deplane.

He shakes his head, gripping the phone a little too tightly as he bites back a frustrated whine. That'll take too long. The airport's about an hour's ride from your apartment, and by the time you're done showering—no. No, just come to him. It's a shorter ride to his house, anyway.

"Just—you can do all of that here. Stay over and I'll drive you back to your place in the morning. Please?" he asks, desperation beginning to bleed into his voice.

It pulls your attention back to him almost immediately, and he hates how good that feels.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" you counter, misreading his plea as an emergency.

Your phone keeps shifting like it's tucked against your shoulder, and now it sounds like you're moving faster, hurrying like he wants you to, but for the wrong reasons.

"Everything's fine, I just need to see you," he says, willing you to understand. "Babe, I really need to see you."

He's too ashamed to spell it out. What would he even say? If he doesn't cum inside you soon, he thinks he might die? He's horny, not pathetic.

"Mike, that doesn't sound fine...," you sigh on the other end, your quickening footsteps audible through the receiver.

"Please."

You pause for a second, and his heart leaps into his throat. Don't say no. Please, don't say no.

"Gimme an hour, okay? I'll catch a cab to your place as soon as I can," you finally agree.

He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, but it's louder than he realizes and you clock it on the spot.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, all good. I'm just glad you're back. Feels like it's been forever," he mumbles, somehow sated and yet anticipating your arrival more than ever.

He shifts anxiously from one foot to the other, wincing at the unexpected friction against the growing problem between his legs. The atmosphere around you changes and your responding laugh blends into the bustle of casual conversations and overhead announcements in your terminal.

"Can't survive one week without me, huh? I guess I'm bringing you and Abby along next time I visit my parents," you joke, but it's getting harder to make out what you're saying. "Look, I'm almost at customs. I'll see you soon, I promise."

The call ends, and he's left with the loneliness of a dial tone and an empty house. He hangs up and plops down on the couch, clutching the TV remote like a lifeline while he desperately tries to ignore the painful tent in his boxers.

An hour. He can handle one more hour.

He can't handle one more hour. It's been 45 minutes and he feels like he's about to burst. The worst part? It's his own damn fault.

He's the asshole who made the conscious decision not to jerk off the entire time you were gone, but he can't bring himself to regret it. He had his reasons. In about 15 minutes, it'll all be worth it.

Maybe less.

There's a knock at the door, and he's up and off the couch so fast, he's surprised he doesn't have whiplash. He wrenches it open to find you on the other side, a little stunned by the abrupt greeting, but worth every second of blue balls he put himself through.

"Hey," he breathes out, winded by his mad dash and the relief of you finally being here.

"Hey, yourself," you smile wryly. Your eyes drop to where he's not even remotely trying to hide his raging boner. "Ah-ha, so that's—"

But that's all you manage to say before he drags you into the house and slams your back against the door, shutting out your luggage and the cab driver still idling in the driveway. His lips crash into yours and you taste so good, it's dizzying.

Remnants of Sprite and spearmint gum linger on your tongue as it meets his, and he groans, wondering how he went an entire week without this. All that time, deprived of your addictive touch and perfect tits while he tortured himself, waiting for you to come back to him.

He can't decide where to put his hands first, roaming and squeezing from your waist, up your shirt—which he's just realizing is his—to splay across your ribcage. Pressing you harder into the door, he separates from your lips to mouth at the underside of your jaw, mumbling his appreciation between each harsh bruise he sucks into your skin.

"Fuck, I missed you," he pants, shamelessly grinding into your hip for relief. He wants you to feel how hard you're making him, so you'll understand all those missed calls.

"Yeah? I can tell," you laugh breathily, running your hands up his chest, pushing his shirt up as you go.

Your thumbs brush against his bare skin, sending a heady jolt straight to his cock, and suddenly none of this is moving fast enough. His hands drop to your ass, roughly tugging your hips into his, and you gasp in unison at the friction. Together, you fall into a frantic rhythm, rutting into each other like a pair of horny teenagers.

"Shit, Mike...," you moan his name, and he feels like he's dreaming. He has to be because nothing else in his waking world has ever felt this good.

Contrary to the rest of his body, he kisses you again slowly, savoring every noise he's coaxing from you and devouring them like a man starved. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer, and he swears he's never letting you leave this house again.

If by some miracle he does, he's going to make sure you're pumped so full of him, you'll be leaking him the entire time you're gone, unable to think about anything else. And when you come back, he'll do it all over again.

Damnit, he needs you in his bed, now.

He backs away from the door with you still in his arms, leading you further into the house down a path you know by heart. Briefly, he separates from your lips to lift your shirt up and over your head, then discards his own before tugging down the cups of your bra to latch onto a nipple.

You hiss at the contact, trembling as he teases it with his teeth, and immediately reach behind you to unclasp the offending piece of fabric. It drops soundlessly to the floor along with your jeans, underwear, and finally his boxers. Nipping sharply at the sensitive skin one last time, he pulls away to admire you, trailing his fingers down your arms until your hands are in his.

You're fucking beautiful. Your lips are kiss-swollen and glossy, begging to be kissed again, and your thighs are...wet, fucking hell. Fuck, he missed you. His mouth starts to water at the thought of licking into you, fucking you with his tongue while your thighs quake on either side of his head, but the painful throbbing between his legs is starting to overwhelm him.

He's positive, now, that if he's not inside you soon, he'll actually die. He's not just horny, anymore. It's so far beyond that.

Four more agonizing steps backward and he's finally passing the threshold into his room, so close to being on his back with you bouncing on top of him—except he doesn't make it that far.

The door shuts behind you, and then you're on your knees, wrapping those perfect fingers around his dick and guiding him between your lips. He panics. There's no way he's going to last if you try to blow him right now.

Tenderly, you lick a stray bead of precum off the tip, and his balls immediately draw up so tight, he has to slide your hand down to the base and squeeze to keep from cumming on the spot. He shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing as he inhales sharply through his nose.

"Babe, I can't...," he grits out, struggling to find the words to explain himself. "I'll cum too fast, you can't."

You grin, leaning forward to press your lips against his white-knuckled fist.

"That's sort of the whole point, isn't it?" you tease, trailing back to his cock, seconds away from giving him the most intense orgasm of his life.

"I need to fuck you," he blurts out. It's short and to the point, but there's no use in pretending he doesn't. At this point, he'll be lucky if he doesn't explode the second he's inside you. "I need to fuck you so bad right now, I feel like I'm going crazy."

You pause to look up at him, your eyes roving over his face, lingering on his angrily ticking jaw. You get it, now.

"Hey, it's okay—you're okay," you murmur, leaning forward to kiss away another drop of precum. He chokes back a groan and reflexively jerks away, and you take the hint to release your grip. "Okay, fuck me. Show me how much you missed me."

But you don't have any idea what you're asking for, do you? He missed you so much. There's so much catching up to do, and he has so little patience left.

He doesn't waste any more time. With every ounce of self-control he's got left, he drags you to your feet and towards the bed, trying his best not to manhandle you up the mattress and onto his lap. He fails epically. The second he's flat on his back with you grinding down on him, his patience becomes a thing of the past.

"You ready for me? Because I'm not gonna be able to stop, and I need you to feel good," he's starting to babble, but he has a feeling nothing he says from now on will make any sense, and he needs you to want it as much as he does.

His hands slide up your thighs to your waist, and when he tugs you closer to notch at your entrance, he can feel you clenching wetly around him.

"Shit—," he breathes out, his biceps tensing as he lifts you and lines himself up. He pushes in just enough for you to stretch around the tip, and you steady yourself on his chest, your palms searingly hot on his skin as you squeeze him a little harder.

"Let me make you feel good," he says again, even though you're already letting him, already yielding to his steady push and pull. Every inch he gives you feels like taking a shot of tequila, and it's making his head spin. If he could hear himself anymore, he'd realize he sounds wasted.

"Let me fill you up, please," he begs, rolling his hips up to lengthen his thrusts. They’re so much easier now that you’re dribbling down him—so much wetter—but you're so damn tight, he has to force himself to look away from where you're joined and gripping the hell out of him. "You know, I-I waited for you—waited to cum, I didn't cum at all."

"Mike...fuck. That's good. That's so good, baby," you tell him shakily. "Give it to me. Nice and deep, you deserve it."

He keens at the praise—he couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried—and your nails bite into his skin in response, nose scrunching adorably as you gush around him. He knew you'd like that. He knew you'd want it.

Look at his girl, so pretty on top of him, just waiting for him to bust inside you. Fleetingly, he wonders if you're still on birth control. Possessively, he doesn't care. Rationally, he knows he can't afford to knock you up, but shit—right now, he really fucking wants to. He imagines you in the same position you're in, horny and round with his baby, and suddenly he's never wanted anything so badly in his life.

He doesn't stop to think about whether or not he should. He doesn't stop at all, just like he warned you, not even when he's buried to the hilt and you're both struggling to adjust.

He just buries himself in you again and again and again until the sound of your skin colliding with his becomes a wet thock-thock-thock that bounces off the walls of his bedroom. The springs beneath him squeak dangerously as he pushes his bedframe to its absolute limits, but he can’t hear any of that, either.

His senses are in overdrive, and all he can focus on is how you feel around him. And he’s not nearly as deep as he needs to be. Rougher than he means to, he grabs your ass with both hands and starts to force you up and down his cock, gripping hard enough to bruise. He’ll hate how much he likes the idea of that later.

"S-so fucking pretty...gonna make me cum so hard. So much. Need you to take all of it," he pants with the exertion of lifting and dropping your full weight onto himself.

He can feel himself slamming into your cervix and desperately tries to think about anything else but emptying right into it, but the sight of you taking him like you were made for it makes it ten times worse.

Just looking at you makes him want to cum—your tits bouncing as you ride him, your pussy creaming down his cock and balls, and seeping into his sheets. Those pouty lips of yours moaning around pleas of harder and right there and don't stop, I'm cumming.

"Baby...babe—," your shattered voice cuts through the fog, and then he feels it. "M'cumming. I'm...Mike, keep going there, there. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Fucking hell, you're really cumming. Tight and wet, and clamping down on him like a vice. Somehow, he always forgets it's like this with you. That you cum this hard for him, that he's able to make you cum this hard for him. For a second, he feels overwhelmingly grateful. Then, he's planting his feet on the bed and fucking you so hard, you stop moaning and start screaming.

It's there. It's right there, so close he can feel it building everywhere. Sweat trickles down his temples, matting his curls to his forehead, and you brush them away, one hand braced on the mattress next to his head and the other buried in his hair as you ride out your high.

His balls draw up so tight, it's painful, and he thinks he might start yelling too, but he's too focused on the chase. He's too busy watching, dumbfounded by the perfect body coming apart on top of him.

The girl he waited for.

He tries to tell you. He tries to open his mouth and tell you that you’re everything he thought he’d never have, and that he wants to keep you forever. That he wants to be part of you, that being inside you is one of the rare places he’s ever felt wanted. But that’s not what comes out.

He’s too far gone now, and all he can manage is an incomprehensible stream of moans and sighs as he forces you flush against his pelvis, grinding into you as deep as he can reach. His eyes struggle not to close, nearly crossing as that familiar heat permeates his limbs and pools at the base of his cock. But it’s so much more intense than he can ever remember it being.

He lifts his gaze to your lips to find them moving, repeatedly forming a single word he can barely make out. But by the time he figures it out, he’s already giving you what you asked for.

Please. You’re saying please. He repeats it back, begging you to take it, thanking you for letting him have this.

His orgasm rocks him. As it peaks, he feels numb like he’s suspended in time, and then it slams into him so hard, he folds in on himself. He buries his face in your tits, his breath hitching sharply in time with the visible throbbing of his cock, and he’s immediately flooded with relief. But it won’t fucking stop. It lasts so much longer than either of you expect it to, pulse after endless pulse, and he holds you in place through it all.

When it finally subsides and sensitivity sets in, your nails scratching lightly across his back are what bring him back to the present. He lifts his head from where it's still pillowed on your tits, and you lean down to kiss his forehead.

Maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe he’s just been dreaming this entire time, but he swears you’re glowing. The final rays of late summer sun illuminate your dewy skin and soft curves, and as you move lower to kiss his lips, he unconsciously rests a hand over your stomach. It feels right—but only briefly. His head starts to clear the longer he licks into your mouth, and when you part, reality finally hits.

"Shit, I think I just got you pregnant," he breathes out, sliding his hand off your stomach to your waist before collapsing onto the mattress. "Shit."

He looks up at you in concern, his mind racing a mile a minute. What did he just do? He can’t—you can't get pregnant. Not with Abby, and your jobs, and his shitty finances. It just isn't an option.

And yet you’re still perched on top of him, snug around his softening dick, and he can’t bring himself to pull out. You don’t even seem remotely worried.

You're actually smiling. No, you're laughing, and he's still panicking and confused as hell. It gets infinitely worse when you accidentally push him out and his gut reaction is to plug you back up with his fingers, keeping his release from leaking out. This is so fucked up. He’s so fucked up.

"I mean—were you trying to?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Kinda seems like it."

Your eyes drop between your legs to where his hand is cupping your heat, irrefutable proof that you’re not wrong. So, why doesn’t that bother you?

"Babe, breathe," you smile softly, brushing a few stray hairs from his face. "I'm like, 98.8 percent positive you can't knock me up. Give or take, but we can check the box if it'll make you feel better."

It actually might, but the last thing he's going to do is admit it. He can't believe he didn't double-check something like that—but then again, he feels like he's been in a fugue state for hours, if not the entire week you were gone.

"You're still on birth control?" he asks cautiously, almost afraid to get his hopes up. He takes a deep breath like you told him to and it helps ease some of his lingering panic. Not all of it, but at least he's starting to think rationally and not with his dick.

"Mike. There isn't a single condom in this entire house. Yes, I'm on birth control," you laugh again, and even just the sound of it is soothing. It helps, too.

"And it definitely works? Because that was...a lot," he mumbles. He already knows he sounds like a total idiot, but he has to be sure. There's still a week's worth of his release plugged up inside you, and as much as it turns him on, he needs to know if he has to run out to the pharmacy or if he's free to do it again. And again.

"Have you ever fucked me with a condom on?" you counter. He scoffs at the question, and you clench around his fingers in retaliation.

"Of course, I have. Maybe not in a while, but early on, for sure," he replies confidently, even though he's not confident in his answer at all. Sure, he can't give you a specific example, but that doesn't mean it never happened.

"You literally came inside me the day we met," you deadpan.

His cock stirs at the memory, hardening distractingly against your inner thigh. That, he definitely remembers. He's pretty sure that's the night he fell in love with you, but he's hard-pressed to admit that, either.

"There's no way."

"And every time since then," you continue, looking way too amused at his misfortune. Can't get anything past you, can he?

Okay, so maybe it wasn't just your trip that triggered what happened tonight. Maybe it's always been a thing. His thing. You just look so goddamn good—filled with it, covered in it. Shit, he really shouldn't be hard already.

"Babe, come on. I do...it other places, too,” he reasons, sliding his hand up to tweak a nipple. But it becomes a moot point the second your breath hitches. So much for rational thinking. “I just—"

"You just really like cumming inside me," you finish for him, taking his cock in your hand and stroking him until he's as desperate as he was earlier.

He pulls his fingers free from your pussy and tries not to lament the immediate rush of cum that leaks out. It's okay. He's got plenty more to give you.

"Yeah, I really do."

thanks for reading!

(and so much love to @joelsgreys, @tinycozycomfort & @psychedelic-ink for your help & support, and for listening to me go on and on about this man <3)

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