#idk i might remaster this when ive had a bit more practice bc i dont think ive done the concept justice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wreckedandpolemic · 10 months

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yours - george daniel

(mdni) thank you anon for this request i had a SPECTACULAR time with this i hope i did it justice!!

warnings: 18+, semi-public unprotected sex, degradation, praise, jealousy, bratting, slight exhibitionism

It starts the way it always does: teasing. You don’t think you've taken your eyes off George once since he left your side, always ready with a smirk or sly wink when he catches your gaze. He’s talking to some indie darling or other, a pretty girl, really, but you can see her hand practically white-knuckling his bicep from across the room. She smiles too big and laughs too hard and you hate her, just a little bit. You can’t stop her — you have no reason to. George isn’t yours, not really. The two of you fuck. It’s not exclusive, there’s no strings, but you’re starting to realise you might have let him in one too many times, let him jam something in the door to your heart; you can’t lock it back up when he leaves anymore.

George locks eyes with you, expression pleading, and you suppress a victorious grin and delicately lift a shoulder in his direction. This is a game you play; he loves it when you get jealous, though neither of you would admit it. You want him all to yourself, want to march over there and prise that girl’s fingers off him, demand that he never so much as look at another girl. But that would be losing, which you’re not in the habit of, so you swallow your bitter fury and wash it down with a long sip of sweet wine, staring intensely at him over the rim of your glass. The girl goes on tiptoes to whisper something to him, and he stoops low to listen, two blonde heads bending together conspiratorially. Worse, he laughs in response, not a polite, awkward chuckle, but a genuine laugh. And he doesn’t look back at you afterwards.

You drain the rest of your wine and set the glass back on the table with a too-loud thud. Making your excuses to the director? producer? you’ve been chatting with, you stroll across the room, feigned casualness becoming harder to maintain with every step. The self-congratulatory smirk on his face as you approach is aggravating. He’s won and he knows it.

“Well, hello, love. I was wondering when I’d get to chat to you,” he says, hugging you from the side and letting his hand linger low on your waist for just a moment longer than he should. “Was starting to think you were avoiding me,” he adds, voice heavy with meaning, dripping with the unsaid.

“You know I can’t keep away from you for too long,” you grin, trailing a finger down his chest. It’s hot in here, his shirt unbuttoned as much as it’s acceptable, giving you the tiniest preview of the toned chest you know so well. The other girl hasn’t said a word, but she’s still lingering, her presence an unwelcome stain on the moment blossoming around the two of you, both curbing your tongues for her benefit. “Come on, I need a refill. We can catch up at the bar.” You phrase it like a suggestion, but he knows from the way your nails dig into his arm through his suit jacket that it’s a command. He leads you away and you shoot the girl a warning glare as you go for good measure.

“You look incredible,” he murmurs low in your ear, splaying a hand at your waist. The warmth of his palm radiates through you, some Pavlovian response to the simple feel of his fingers on your skin making you suppress a shudder.

“Thank you, darling. I guess you’re alright,” you tease. He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Fine, you’re fucking gorgeous.” You wander over to the bar, and you let him order for the pair of you. He knows what you like, anyway. Probably better than any man on Earth.

You still keep your eyes averted, though, because you knows as soon as you meet his eyes, he’ll say, “You really didn’t want me talking to her, huh?”

You roll your eyes, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, please. You were begging me to get rid of her. Besides, tiny, pretty little thing like her? She couldn’t have handled you.” You shrug. The bartender sets two glasses of wine in front of you, one red, one white, and he takes a long sip before replying.

“Maybe you’re right. I’ll never know, now. You dragged me out of there before I could even get her name.” Smug satisfaction courses through you — you’ve got your claws firmly hooked into him, at least for tonight. You bite back the reply of ‘Good. Forget her. Forget them all,’ that springs to your lips. You’re cool, you remind yourself. You’re relaxed and chill, and you can do casual. You’re not that cliché girl who falls in love with her fuckbuddy.

He runs a finger along the edge of your jaw, dipping down to play with your necklace. “My eyes are up here, darling,” you tell him, his warm hands nauseatingly close to your traitorous, beating heart. It thuds harder, calling out to him. You pray he can’t tell that if he wanted to crack your ribs, reach in and pluck your heart from its place in your chest, that you would let him. You wouldn’t even resist.

“I know what I’m looking at,” he says. “God, you can see everything through this dress.” He raises his other hand, knuckles grazing your nipple accidentally-on-purpose, and tucks a flyaway piece of hair behind your ear.

You swallow a moan, leaning close enough to him that his breath ghosts on your face. He tilts your chin up with a thumb, parting his lips in expectation. “You’re a fucking cock-tease bitch,” you murmur with a scowl, startling him into a laugh; that endearing, high pitched cackle that shakes his shoulders near-violently. “Where the fuck do you get off, flirting with her just to piss me off? Touching me like that in public?”

One of his hands glides down to the thigh-high slit in your dress, thumbing over the skin there. Electricity races from the point his fingers touch your skin, so close to where you want them and yet miles and miles away. “You wanna play, baby? Let’s play,” you breathe, gripping his neck and crashing your lips together. It’s harsh, messy, an explosion of lips and teeth and tongues sliding together. You pull back, biting hard at his lower lip just to feel the flesh tear beneath your teeth. To leave your mark on him so that when he kisses the next girl, the sting reminds him of you.

“You’re fucking wild,” he hisses, tongue flicking over your bite mark.

You shrug. “Don’t piss me off next time.” You pat his chest and lean past him to pick up your wine glass, brushing deliberately against him. “Come find me when you’re ready to get out of here. And you’re not gonna like what I do if you try it on with one more bitch in front of my face,” you promise, turning your back to him and taking a few calculated steps away before throwing him a glance over your shoulder.

“Oh, and George? Can I tell you a secret? I’m not wearing any underwear.”

He freezes and you give a self-satisfied grin. Your victory is short-lived, though, his hand shooting out to catch you by the wrist as you try to walk away. He tugs you back towards him, and you obey easily. There was never any question that you would, really. “You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he hisses in your ear. “Come with me,” he orders, keeping your wrist in a vice-like grip as he drags you out of the room. He doesn’t look at you once the whole time he stalks down the corridor, the only sound your heels clicking against the tile as you struggle to keep pace with him.

George crowds you into a bathroom, attacking your lips the moment the door slams closed. You barely register the quiet click of the lock, letting him flip you so your back is against the door and pin your arms above your head. The second he frees your mouth you moan, trying to squirm away from his lips against your neck and collarbones, but he holds you fast. He dips his head into the valley between your breasts, licking at the skin there. “I love your fucking tits,” he says, mouthing wetly over the fabric that covers your nipple.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you sigh, voice full of false bravado that can’t cover how weak his touch makes you. “Get on with it, or people are going to notice we’re missing,”

“Greedy girl,” George chastises, but his eyes shine with want and his hard cock presses against you through his trousers. He steps back, and your whole body mourns the loss of his skin against yours, aching for him. “Bend over for me, baby,” he orders, a bolt of lust striking you. He knows acutely that all he has to do is tack on for me? and you’ll do whatever he asks. You lean over the sink, cold porcelain biting into your thighs. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, and he lowers his head to kiss your bare back. It’s soft, intimate, in stark contrast to the rough way he’s handling you. It adds fuel to the sickening flare of hope deep in your chest that gutters and gutters but never goes out. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” He’s gentle, all of a sudden, gathering your dress in one fist and pulling it to the side. You gasp, your cunt fluttering in the cool air, and George grins.

“Come on, just fuck me,” you groan, rocking your bare cunt against him, the friction from the fabric of his clothes burning your clit deliciously. Your breath fogs up the mirror, the tap presses uncomfortably between your breasts and the corner of the counter cuts into your thighs. You hardly feel any of it, singularly focused on the man behind you. He removes his steadying hand from your hip, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers and boxers down just enough to release his cock. You contort your body, twisting to look over your shoulder at him, his cock red and dripping, begging for you. He still looks so put together, crisp and elegant in his suit, his reflection immaculate above you. You look even more wanton by comparison, hair tumbling over your shoulders and lipstick smeared across your chin. Desperate, hot desire drips out of you, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Beg for it,” he orders, and you’re too far gone to feel embarrassed. He slides a hand between your legs, just barely grazing at your clit. “Oh, God, George, please fuck me,” you moan, mind-wiping pleasure licking from where he toys gently with your swollen bud. “Shit, I need it. Nobody fucks me like you, baby. It’s you, it’s you, it’s always you,” you gasp, biting down on your lower lip before you let slip another incriminating admission.

He swipes a finger across your cunt, dipping teasingly into your entrance and pulling away before you can even react. He licks your arousal off his finger, both of you moaning softly. “Wish we had enough time for me to eat that sweet little pussy. Always so fucking wet for me. Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get what you need,” he promises. You watch him reach into his pocket for a condom and shake your head wildly. “Oh, my dirty girl,” he murmurs, interest colouring his tone. My, your heart gets caught on. My, my, my. My girl. The words ricochet in your skull, bashing against your brain, denting it, leaving it bent out of shape with enough room for George to shove his way in and stay firmly glued there. “You want it raw?”

You nod desperately. “Want it fast. Hard. Dirty,” you plead. “Come on, baby. Ruin me.” At that, he can’t stay teasingly out of your reach any longer, guiding himself to your dripping entrance and thrusting into you in one fluid motion. You’re full so fast you’re practically choking on him, biting down hard to keep a scream at bay. You marvel every time at how well he fits inside you; your body feels made for him. Coherent thought escapes you, euphoria twining through all of your limbs at once.

He paws at your tit with the hand not holding your dress, pinching your nipple cruelly and sending a shock of pleasure-pain spiralling through you. His thrusts are quick but measured, exercising a control that you can’t even begin to fathom as you cling to the edge of the sink for dear life. Your thighs bash against the counter, but you can’t even begin to care. The only thing you know now is George. His hand digging into your waist, nails biting at your flesh, sharp pinpricks drawing a constellation of pleasure in your skin. You’ll be glad, tomorrow, to have the marks, the physical evidence of this encounter, proof of the ownership you feel over him.

“Is someone in there?” somebody calls from outside. You freeze. George only laughs, low and breathy in your ear, teasing, taunting.

“Well? Is someone here, baby?” he whispers, fucking into you again as he speaks.

You choke back a whimper, thrill stealing up your spine at the prospect of getting caught. Someone is right there. If they decide to open the door, there’s no hiding the dirty display you and George are putting on. Being seen like this, bent over, stuffed full of him and begging for more should be humiliating, but inexplicably you almost want to be caught. Maybe, if those girls out there could see how perfectly you fit, how well you fuck him, they’d leave him alone.

“Yeah, I’m in here,” you choke out, clapping a hand to your mouth to stifle a moan when George rolls your clit between his fingers, hot euphoria dripping down your spine. “I’ll— I’ll probably be a second!” you manage, his teasing fingers not giving you even a moment to breathe. Footsteps recede from behind the door and you breathe a sigh of relief, letting a string of suppressed whines and curses fall from your lips. Before you can chastise him, he perfectly hits that spot inside of you and you scream out, mind going blank from pleasure.

He groans. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this, baby. My sweet girl, stretching so pretty around my cock.” You whimper, widening your legs to draw him in deeper. George lifts your head up by your hair, forcing you to make eye contact with yourself in the mirror. “Look at yourself,” he commands. “Look at my pretty girl, falling apart for me.” Your soupy mind latches onto that my again, that little word choking you as effectively as if he had wrapped his hands around your throat. “Made to take my cock. Isn’t that right?”

“Tell me you’re mine,” you gasp, so, so full of him.

“What?” he manages between pants, hips never slowing from their brutal pace. Your skin slaps together, wet, sopping sounds ringing through the small room.

“Fuck, George, just say you’re mine. You don’t even have to mean it,” you coax, moaning low in your throat when his fingers brush your clit. “Come on, baby. Who else do you get it this good from? You know you own my fucking pussy. Let me pretend I get something back,”

He stills for a split second, as though your words cut through the fog of lust swirling between you. Another girl might not have even noticed, but you know every motion he makes inside and out. A broken beat in his perfect rhythm means everything to you. He leans down, slow and deliberate. “I’m yours,” George whispers, and you can’t hide your physical reaction, how good it feels to hear those words. Your blood turns to syrup, heart beating deadly fast to keep it pumping through your organs. “Does it feel good when I say that?” You nod wildly. “I know it does. I can feel what that does for you. I’m yours, baby. Yours, all yours. As long as you’re mine,” he croons, breath hot and sticking in your ears. He’s ruining you. You won’t ever be able to lay under another man without thinking of him, of this.

“I’m yours, George, you know that. Ugh, fuck, I’m getting close.” You slip a hand between your legs, both of you rolling circles on your clit. Tantalising pleasure builds and builds, churning in your gut, setting your body alight. George doesn’t let up, words failing the pair of you, grunts and moans dripping off his tongue in the place of gratifying words. Pleasure coils in your belly, winding tighter and tighter, dragging you ever closer to your high.

One final thrust and you fall apart, unspooling under his quick, clever fingers. Euphoria seeps into your bones, sticky heat keeping you glued to George. Your toes curl in your shoes, your legs shake, unsteady on your feet. He fucks you through your orgasm, stroking your flushed skin as his thrusts become more erratic. You cry out something that could be his name, rocking your hips, half retreating from overstimulation and half chasing his orgasm. You squeeze your cunt around him and he comes with a shout, his body loosening against you, his hand dropping from your hip to catch himself on the counter. He spills inside you as your name spills from his lips, smooth and sweet on his tongue. He pants, hips resting against yours, and catches your eye in the mirror with a smile.

“Fuck,” he mutters, grinning tiredly. He pulls out of you with a sickening squelch, cleaning up as best as he can in the bathroom sink and tucking himself away. You stand upright slowly, clutching your abused muscles.

“Fuck is right,” you reply, wincing as you feel his cum trickling out of you. “I think you’ve shattered my hipbones, darling.” You adjust your dress, crumpled where George had it clutched in his fist.

“You love it,” he fires back. You shrug, tipping your head in acknowledgement. “Sit up here for me, love,” he says, patting the counter. You balance on the edge and let George fuss over you for a moment, cleaning you up as gently as possible, plying you with soft kisses when you whimper and squirm away, oversensitive. This is always the worst part of your hookups — he takes such good care of you after, and for those few minutes, you feel what it would be like to be really his. You stand on shaky legs and try to breathe some life back into your body, try to reel your mutinous heart back in.

“Shit,” you hiss, registering your reflection in the mirror. You look utterly fucked, hair wild, dress ruined, makeup smeared, chest heaving. “I can’t go back out there like this,” you complain, swatting at him when he smirks. Of course, he still looks completely put together, composed as if he wasn’t crying out your name and cumming mere minutes ago.

It takes a minute, but you manage to wrangle your hair into submission and scrub the lipstick stains from your face. There isn’t a lot you can do for your dress, though. Your thighs burn every time you take a step, and your bare cunt is desperately sore. George swats you on the ass and follows you out of the bathroom. Matty catches your eye as you slink guiltily back into the party, shooting you a wicked smirk. You can’t help but love him, even if it does mean everyone in this room is going to know your business by night’s end.

“Hey,” George says, still keeping a supportive arm around your waist. “If you really want me, I’m yours,”

Your pulse speeds, your tender heart smashing against your ribs, bruising to a pulp. “Can you repeat that?” you manage.

“I’m yours, love. As long as you’re mine,” he promises, taking you by the waist and staring deep into your eyes. You’ve always wondered whether he could read your thoughts with that look, and now you have your answer. Stretching up on tiptoes, you sling your arms around his neck and catch him in a long, sweet kiss. You link a finger around his.

“Yours. All yours,”

#george daniel x reader #george daniel #george daniel imagine #george daniel smut #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfic #smut #writing #request #i dont think this is as good as sun-soaked sorry guys #i also wrote Three endings and im not a Huge fan of any of them #idk i might remaster this when ive had a bit more practice bc i dont think ive done the concept justice

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