—writer and artist? I write for f!readers though some of my fics might include an MC or gn!reader.
Do not steal; rewrite, translate, or post any of my works on this or any other platforms. Everything is written and made by me. Images taken from Pinterest and Google! I do not condone hate!!
MASTERLIST updates will take place ever so often b/c I’m inconsistent
REQUESTS are [CLOSED] (recs come out every Friday night or Saturday)
high drabble about finger sucking and cunnilingus with daryl dixon
im obsessed with sucking fingers. and of course daryl obliges.
have you seen the way no food goes to waste? every last bit is always slurped up by this man. so why wouldnt the same apply to you?
you huff and puff before just demanding your boyfriend eat you out. he stutters, but your word is his command. thats when he lets you know hes never done this before…
you smirk grabbing his large hand, slowly bringing his fingers to your lips. a soft kiss on his knuckle, nuzzling into his warm palm. his other hand rubbing up and down your thigh. it has your cunt pulsing.
youre sick with need and so you make the move hes been waiting for. “gotta wet ya fingers first…” its all slurred
his blueeyes wide, he watches you open your plump lips, and seal them around the first few inches of his middle finger.
hes addicted, just as you are. theres a spark between you both as you sloppily suck around his middle and ring finger. they’re thick and its all messy. they hit the back of your throat in no time, and you’re OBSESSED. you cant stop, the rhythm drags you in. hips rolling into his chest as you close your eyes and hollow your cheeks. tongue swirling and forcing its way between his digits.
daryl is desperately trying to keep up, groaning at the way you swallow and suck on his fingers. he imagines your slick lips on his dick, neck, and biceps. and his heart is beating out of his chest.
it all comes to a stop when daryl yanks his hand back to grab at your jeans. youre whining at the loss but quickly scramble to help him
“need ya fingers in me”
“thats wha im doing”
and oh does he. when you say just eat. hes unsure at first but dives in.
he takes a few long flat licks up your cunt, rolling the tip of his tongue around your clit before kissing.
and its messy and hot and everything you need
daryls fingered you before, but the way you scream squeal and twitch when he EATS is something different.
your back is arching, legs closing around his head so hard he has to pin you down. and he keeps curling his thick fingers into your g-spot. the breath is knocked right out of you.
youre gasping hard, whining his name, coiling your hand in his hair so you can watch the way he works his face into your clit. making out with it, eating like his last meal.
you snap, when he sucks particularly hard, while rubbing that spot that you love so much. and you go limp after, weakly pushing him away. grabbing his wrist, and forearm with tears in your eyes hiccuping.
you beg him to stop, or at least give you a break.
he pulls off, and slowly removes his fingers. sitting on his hunches, dick hard in his black denim.
youre slouched with your weight on your hands, watching him, watching you.
he switches focus from your glistening cunt to his own filty fingers. and the speed in which he sticks his fingers into his mouth is a shame. he groans, slobbering to get every bit off of his hand and forearm.
you wont let him have a second helping of your cunt so hes licking up his leftovers of course!
“gross”
he just takes his winged jacket off, shirt spilling unto the floor.
Big fan of the fact that, in Frankenstein 2025, Victor did not run from his monster because he was "too grotesque" like in the original novel. The film established that Victor is very comfortable with the grotesque. He's not disconcerted by it, which makes sense. He's building a man out of dead men's body parts. Why would he suddenly be shocked at its appearance?
I love that what GDT did instead. Victor was not afraid of the grotesqueness of life, but the responsibility of it.
You made life, and it's no more than a baby. You must now raise it and nurture it and teach it and love it, and THAT was what was too much for Victor.
Just a really awesome change that worked REALLY well.
Edit: it's been over 10 years since I read the original novel so I may be misremembering, cut me some slack. I'm not interested in book vs movie discourse, I just like how the movie further emphasized this theme.
People on Letterboxd complaining that Frankenstein (2025) is just 'Daddy issues the movie' as though the original novel doesn't feature Victor's father telling him alchemy is bullshit, Victor going 'and I took that personally', and then becoming a deadbeat science dad to the Creature about it
It's so funny to me that Mary Shelley, her husband, John Polidori, and Lord Byron had a competition to see who could write the best horror story and she wrote fucking Frankenstein. Imagine losing a competition that badly. Imagine just doing a silly little competition with your friend and she basically invents a new genre and creates one of the most famous characters in fiction. Imagine being proud of your little story and then she shares one that people will still read every day in 200 years. Imagine doing a writing competition with your wife and she becomes so recognizable that you'll always be known as Mary Shelley's husband
Summary: After inhaling a mysterious powder on a mission, your life is put on the line.
Word Count: 5.2k
Warnings: 18+, sex pollen, multiple partners, rough sex, cream pie, Plan B, tad bit of cockwarming, oral sex (fem receiving), cum eating, overstimulation (brief), they’re all head-over-heels in love with you. Minors DNI.
Dividers can found here.
A/N: Translations will be at the end. Please be aware they’re not always word-for-word translations, but meaning/vibes based. I’m like decently confident in my very basic Spanish here, but I’m not fluent. So if you see anything wrong, let me know.
“I told you not to come.”
Maybe you should have listened to Marc. If you had, you wouldn’t have been in that stupid warehouse looking for some stolen relic they had been hired to find. They didn’t need your help, not really, but you just had to go. And Steven couldn’t say no to you.
If you had listened to Marc, you wouldn’t have got caught in a gunfight. You wouldn’t have been next to some stupid ancient sealed jar set on a shelf. You wouldn’t have breathed in the strange yellow powder when it was hit by a stray bullet.
Getting out of that warehouse and back to Steven’s flat was a blur. It didn’t take long to start feeling the effects. The heat. Gods, the fucking heat.
“Could you not do the ‘I told you so’ speech right now?” you groaned, fanning yourself as you sat in front of the fan. “Wait until I’m dead at least.”
“Oye, that’s not very funny, is it?” Steven glared disapprovingly, a look you didn’t quite catch through your half lidded eyes. “We don’t even know what you inhaled! You very well could die!”
Sweat was beginning to drench your clothes. “It’d be a relief at this point.”
There was a huff you recognized as Marc’s.
You peeled yourself off the floor. “While you boys are busy being offended, I’m going to go stand under some cold water.”
They watched you walk towards the bathroom, averting their gaze as you began to pull off your shirt before you’d even made it. Neither of them could understand how you were so nonchalant. They were terrified. You had only been in their lives for a short period of time and they weren’t ready for that time to come to such an abrupt end.
A deep rumble of a laugh pulled the men from their shared worry. Their glares focused on the giant humanoid skeletal bird sitting on the bed who had finally decided to show up after they’d called to him a dozen times.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Marc growled.
“Mortals are so weak. A bit of copulation powder a few millennia past its expiration and they’re on the verge of death.”
“Expired what?”
Khonshu sighed. “Maybe Steven isn’t the idiot.” The god appeared next to the window, seemingly staring into the distance. “That powder was pollen from special lotus flowers Hathor bloomed for some fertility festival after a harsh plague. One whiff caused a rather long orgy in the palace.”
“So she inhaled some old horny dust? That’s it?” Steven relaxed. Better than anthrax.
“Yes, she should be perfectly fine after she gets it out of her system.”
Marc could have hugged the god. You would be fine. “Great, that’s great! How long should it take to run its course?”
“Oh, Marc you are the idiot, aren’t you? She needs to fuck someone for it to get out of her system. Otherwise she’ll die.”
Marc’s gaze locked on the bathroom door as Steven’s voice cried out, “No! There has to be something else. Can’t you, can’t you speak to Hathor? Get a remedy?”
“There is a remedy,” Khonshu stated. “Fucking.”
Steven met Marc’s gaze in the mirror. They had done this to you. If they’d just made you stay behind you wouldn’t be on the verge of death. Marc turned to glare at Khonshu. “You need to go speak with Hathor and find a cure. Now.”
“I’m not going to waste my—“
“Saving her life is not a waste,” Marc growled.
Khonshu bellowed, “It is a waste of my time.”
Marc’s hand curled into fists before Steven folded his arms across his chest. “Alright, you stupid pigeon, what do you want?”
There was a long silence that stretched as the god seemed to contemplate before his shoulders sagged. “I am sorry, Steven. But it would be a waste of time. There is no other cure. She needs to fornicate with another human or she will die.”
Steven continued to argue before his obscenities turned to pleas. He had to save you. He had to.
“He’s telling the truth,” Marc interrupted, stone faced. “He would have made a deal with us even if he thought there was the slightest chance he could save her."
"So that's it, then? We either let her die or we go in there," his finger jabbed towards the bathroom, "and force ourselves on her?"
Marc couldn't meet Steven's eyes in the mirror. "We'll give her that choice."
"It's not a choice! She can't make a choice under the influence of some millenia old sex pollen!"
Marc snapped his attention to the mirror, stepping closer. "So we just let her die?" He hated it as much as Steven did. More. If had put his foot down, kept you out of this life like he wanted, kept you at a distance, kept you safe...but he hadn't. This was his fault. He couldn't let you die. Not you.
“You should make a decision soon. If you won’t save her, a bullet would be kinder than letting her suffer.”
Steven spun on his heel, but the god was gone. Their gaze fell to the bathroom door. The water was still running.
"Pinches pendejos."
—
The water did little to help. The freezing water splattered over you as you slumped to the bottom of the tub. Your eyes squeezed shut. Everything hurt. You'd expected a bit of a fever, maybe an ache, but no. Body wracked with pain, every cell aflame, and a throbbing between your legs that had only been heightened when you'd let your fingers wander. Your head fell back against the edge of the bath.
A touch on your shoulder made your eyes flutter open. You barely suppressed a whimper. They kneeled beside the tub, face uncharacteristically impassive. Through the pain it was difficult to tell which of them it was. "I-it's not helping," you croaked, head lolling to the side. "I feel like I'm burning alive."
Fingers trailed up your neck, your thighs pressing tighter together to relieve the ache. "The dust you inhaled was an ancient aphrodisiac.”
Your mind struggled to process the words, too caught up in trying to place the accent. "Dust...aphrodisiac?"
"Khonshu confirmed it. Hathor made it from some flower," their voice dropped, eyes falling away from your face. "The only way to get the pollen out of your system is to fuck. Either that or die."
The world you’d found yourself sounded ludicrous. A year ago you’d never have believed some sort of sex pollen could exist. You’d just been on vacation in London when you’d turned down several wrong streets one night and accidently stumbled into a fight between a man dressed in a white suit and a few comically accurate bad guys in black masks. They’d thought they’d use your mishap to their benefit, trying to leverage your life for their swift escape. But unfortunately for them—and fortunately for you—they were men who didn’t see the benefit in wearing cups to protect their tender bits. Steven’s excited babbling about it after had Marc’s concerned outbursts in between feel like whiplash. But a magical suit change made Steven and Marc’s situation a tad less outlandish. If a whole pantheon of ancient gods existed and had avatars running around, sex pollen wasn’t out of the question.
Your body felt too weak to move, but your lips still twisted into a lopsided grin. "Are you asking me to sleep with you?"
"I'm giving you the option," they clarified.
You could have laughed if you weren't in pain. “What are my options, exactly? Sex or death?"
"Yes."
The bluntness wasn’t Marc's usual sort and the accent didn’t belong to Steven. Maybe it was just the pollen confusing you. Your head lulled to the other side, eyes closing again. The fingers climbed higher, palm cupping your cheek. Sex or death. What a terribly difficult question. "And you’ll do it?“
“Yes.”
Your hand covered his. "Okay."
The world shifted. Lifted from the tub with water still beating against the porcelain, he held you with ease. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you let out a relieved groan. The contact alone lessened the pain. “Yo sé. Cuidaré de ti, amor,” he whispered with a kiss to your hair. His clothes grew damp as he carried you to the bed. Gently, he laid you down on the mattress.
Your hand fisted in the front of his shirt. "Who are you?"
His lips spread into a taut line. "You know who I am."
"You're not Marc and you're not Steven. They don’t speak Spanish." If sex pollen could exist, so could a third. Your hold relaxed. "So who are you?"
He was quiet for a moment before he responded. "Jake."
"Jake," you repeated, letting your hand press against his chest. "Are you here because they didn't want to?"
"They were stuck on the morality of it and taking too long to decide.” He took your wrist and pulled it to his lips. It’s the faintest of brushes across your skin, but it had you near breathless. “I’m not patient enough to wait for them to come to the same conclusion I already have.” His fingers trailed up your forearm. They continued to your shoulder and traced along your collarbone. When they brushed across the base of your neck you let out a choked whimper. He shushed you. "Yo sé, amor.” His hand curved around your neck and pulled you to him. His kiss fanned the flames, pain consumed by need. Lips rough, impatient, he drank in your desperate breaths like a man deprived of water. When he broke away, you chased after him. Fingers gripped his hair, tugging him back.
You wanted more.
Needed more.
Your nails scraped across his scalp, over his shoulders, down his back, and pulled at his shirt. It was discarded quickly. His lips moved to the side and traieled kisses along your jaw, nipping at the curve of your ear. You let out a soft cry when his teeth sunk into your neck. Hands wandered. Bites and scratches had you squirming beneath him, moaning for more. There was a moment where he pulled away and you nearly cried in frustration. But he was back quickly, pulling your legs apart and pushing the head of his cock into your soaked cunt.
He didn't start slow. Didn't take his time. You didn't want him to. His pace was punishing, fucking into you like it was his life on the line. Fingers dug into his shoulders, back arching off the mattress, cries and pleas pouring from your lips.
"That's it," he rasped.
Your hips rolled, meeting his thrusts, wanting more. He was relentless, biting and sucking along your neck and shoulders. Digging his fingers into your hips, he pulled them closer.
"Jake," you sobbed. It was almost too much. His pace quickened, the sound of his hips slapping against yours nearly drowned out your whines. It was too much. Your nails dug into his back as you came. He slowed but didn't stop, fucking you through the waves. Jake, Jake, Jake. His name became a prayer on your lips. As your body calmed he began to pull out.
But with the high fading the pain returned.
"Fuck," you hissed, eyes screwing shut.
The weight above you disappeared. "Amor?"
"Hurts," you ground out. Your hands fisted in the sheets, tears pooling at the edges of your eyes. It was unbearable. Worse than before. "Gods, it fucking hurts."
He cursed. Your eyes opened as the weight returned. His hands cradled your face. "Look at me," he ordered. You met his gaze, panting. "It was for some fertility festival so I think the only way for it to stop is if I finish in you."
"Finish." The word was foreign. The world spun. "Cum. You've got to come in me."
"Yes."
You swallowed. "Do it."
"Are you sure?"
"Please, please, please. Please. Fuck."
When he pushed inside, you sobbed with relief. The pain was ebbing again. But this time his pace was gentle, slower. One of his hands slid down to your waist. He guided your hips, pulling them higher. Your legs wrapped around his waist. It was too much and not enough. Your eyes shut, head turning to the side, and he growled, "Mírame."
Your eyes snapped open. His dark gaze burned, his thrusts becoming harder. The coil was beginning to tighten again, the heat building. You pled, cried, begged. More. Fuck me. Cum in me. Please. Please. Please please please.
He leaned down and bit the junction between your neck and shoulder, making you arch off the bed. Pain mixed with pleasure as he sucked the skin into his mouth, marking you. A strangled moan left his lips as he pulled away, watching you writhe. A pressure on your clit had stars sparking in your eyes. The coil snapped, a silent scream caught in your throat. He groaned your name, a deep, guttural sound that could have fueled a thousand climaxes. His hips stuttered and slowed. His cock pulsed.
When his arms began to tremble and his forehead fell against your shoulder, you let out a heavy breath. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly as he collapsed.
"Fuck."
He let out a breathy laugh, rolling onto his side and taking you with him. Arms curled around you. You buried your face in his chest, the warmth and the scent of him calming you.
"Fuck," he repeated, softer. "Are you okay?"
Your body was beginning to ache, but it was nothing like the agony of before. "Better."
"Bien. Muy bien." His hand began to rub soothing circles along your back.
You hummed, nuzzling against him. It was only a moment later that the exhaustion caught up. Your body began to grow heavy, mind shutting down. He said something, but you didn't hear. You were already drifting.
—
When you woke, it was slow. Eyes blinking, adjusting to the light, mind groggy.
"How are you feeling?"
Steven.
You let out a low hum. Sore maybe, but no real pain. "Better, I guess."
"Good."
"Where's—" You had to think for a moment. The name was fuzzy, but the accent came rushing back. "Jake?"
It's Marc's angry expression that crossed their face. "That's his name?"
"It's what he told me."
"Told you," Marc repeated.
"Before..."
Steven's brows knitted together, eyes flitting across your blanket covered body. "Did he hurt you?"
"What? No. Gods, no. He was..." You cleared your throat. Less was more. "He thought you were taking too long to decide and did what he thought he needed to."
Marc's jaw set. “We weren’t going to let you die.”
"We didn't want to force ourselves on you, but we'd have done it. To keep you alive. Only needed a minute to come to terms with it, ya know?" Steven's familiar doe eyes pleaded for understanding.
“I know,” you told him quickly, reaching to take his hand. "It's alright. I know."
"We would never, we'd rather die than—"
"I know." You squeezed his hand.
There was a long pause. You were content to watch their face shift. Marc and Steven were one and the same, but you could tell the difference. It was in the details. The way their brows furrowed, how they held their shoulders, the tilt of their chin. It was the little things that changed. Marc's thumb brushed along the back of your hand. "What was he like?"
For a moment you thought he was asking about what the sex had been like. The word amazing had been on the tip of your tongue before his real meaning came through. "Impatient. He spoke Spanish. And he knew me." Your head tilted. “Did you know he was there?”
“Figured there was another of us. Had a few blackouts neither of us could explain. The prick’s probably watching us now,” Marc huffed. “But he’s never tried to contact us before.” He holds up a piece of paper with very neat cursive curling across it. “Said to make sure to get you some Levonelle.”
“England's version of Plan B,” Steven answered your scrunched brows.
"Right, yeah. Cause he had to finish in me." You regretted letting that part slip out.
Marc's eyes darkened. "He...finished? Inside?"
"That fucker."
They got off the bed with a string of obscenities leaving their lips, letting your hand go.
"Wait, wait," you called as they began to make their way to the door. You followed them. "What are doing?"
"We're gonna go find the tallest building we can and jump off it."
"Marc!" It wouldn't kill them, but it'd hurt like hell.
"Oy, the bloke bloody deserves it! Taking advantage of you like that to get his rocks off!"
"He had to!" You took hold of their arm and they turned to you. "It didn't work otherwise. You know, fertitlty festival and whatnot."
It's Steven's wide, doe eyes making their way down your body that had you realizing you were still undressed. "And he had to do all that then?"
Marc reached for your shoulder, brushing over the skin. You flinched as he pushed against a particularly sore spot. "You said he didn't hurt you."
"He didn't."
"You're covered in bites and bruises.”
"He was trying to help."
"You've got fingerprints on your waist."
"He didn't hurt me," you assured, though your words were beginning to falter. The image of Jake, face contorted, lips parted, came rushing back. Your body warmed. "The opposite."
"I don't understand why he couldn't be a little gentler," Steven grumbled.
Marc's fingers brushed across another mark, a bite at the junction of your shoulder. "He wanted to mark his territory."
You pulled their hand away from the sore spot. "Why do you both keep focusing on this? He did what was needed. That's it."
"He took advantage of the situation."
"And he's been taking advantage for who knows how long!" Steven threw his arms in the air. "Who knows how many times he's taken over when we weren't even aware?"
Marc's lips pressed into a thin line.
"I'm sure he was just doing what he thought was best," you tried.
"He's a bloody coward. Hiding away after he got what he wanted, leaving us to clean up his mess."
Your hands folded over your chest and you took a few steps back. Is that how they saw this? How they saw you? "I'm just a mess to clean up then?"
"No, no, that's not what I meant," Steven stammered, but you had already turned away.
You made a beeline for the bathroom, tears welling. A mess to clean up. A mess. A fucking mess. They didn't want you. They didn't. If they did, Jake wouldn't have had to take over. Your fingers curled around the knob, ready to shut it behind you.
The door didn't budge when you tugged.
"Estas siendo injusta."
You rounded on Jake. "I'm being unfair? They just called you a coward!"
The accusation didn't faze him. Arms folded across his chest, he leaned against the door. "He was right. I was a coward. I should have introduced myself to you a long time ago." He looked past you. "Lockley. Jake Lockley." You followed his gaze over your shoulder to the three paned mirror. All you saw was a reflection of yourself and him. But Steven and Marc would talk to each other like this sometimes. "You were wasting too much time debating the ethics." His eyes trailed back to you and you were once again reminded of how bare you were. "She didn't complain," Jake scoffed, shaking his head. There's a long moment of silence for you, but his face hinted there was a lot being said. When he finally spoke again, it was to growl at his reflection. "I was willing for her to hate me, hate all of us, if it meant she was alive. If either of you had the cojones to let her know about your feelings before, I wouldn't have had to step up."
You were missing a huge part of this conversation. An important part. "What—what feelings?"
His eyes flicked back to you. "Tú sabes, amor. Tambien tienes.” A single step forward was all it took to close the small distance between you. He held your neck with dark eyes boring into yours. "Maybe one day you can have them for me too.”
Your lips parted. Breathless, all you can say is, “Jake…”
“Un día.” His thumb brushed across the bite mark he’d left behind. "I’ll see you soon, amor. Be nice to them.”
There’s a shift in his face. A softening of features. “Steven?”
“Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean you were a—“
You pressed your lips against his. He stammered and stopped, body tensing. Your hands slid up his chest. He relaxed against you, trembling hands finding your bare hips and resting there. When the kiss broke, you smiled up at him. Doe eyes wide and cheeks flushed, a dopey grin broke across his face. Gods, he was so sweet. "I know."
His forehead pressed against yours. "Maybe this Jake bloke isn't that bad." His head turned to the side, back to the mirror. "You'll have to take that up with her yourself, mate. l've learned my lesson to shut up." A beat later he heaved a sigh.
You knew the change before Marc spoke by the way his hands steady. "We nearly got you killed today. Do you really want to entangle your life in ours even more?"
Your hand came to rest against his face, his eyes closing at the gentle affection. "I'd argue that entangling our lives more saved my life today."
"Baby, I'm serious."
"So am I."
He leaned into your touch. "You deserve better than us. Someone not fucked up."
"I want you. All of you." Your thumb traced his cheekbone. His eyes opened and studied your face. For the briefest of moments, a flicker of a smile ghosted his lips.
"Okay,” he whispered. Anything louder would have shattered the moment.
His kiss was so different from the others. Jake's had been starved. Steven's was awed. Marc's was worship. His arms cradled around you like you're the most precious thing they'd ever held. Your fingers found the curls at the nape of his neck, tangling there, tugging, drawing him closer. You swallowed his groan, tongue brushing along his bottom lip.He lifted you and encouraged your legs to wrap around him. With a few steps, he dropped to the couch. When his hips rolled, his clothed bulge rubbing against your bare cunt, you pulled back, breathless. He watched, enraptured, as your eyes fell closed.
His mouth found the curve of your breast. You whined when his lips wrapped around your nipple. His tongue grazed the sensitive peak.
"Marc."
He hummed in response, the vibrations curling curling your toes. His hips moved again and he groaned against your skin. His hand found your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Your head fell back with a low moan.
”You are so beautiful." He kissed across your chest, up your neck. Praises murmured into your skin, punctuated by kisses. Your hands tugged at his shirt and he lifted his arms to allow you to pull it off.
Nails raked down his back causing his breath to stutter, mouth falling open. You grinned, grinding down against him. "Baby," he breathed. His head fell to your shoulder. Hands on your waist, he let you move as you pleased.
"Marc." Your voice was soft.
"Hmm."
Your fingers trailed down his chest and over his stomach and grasped the button of his jeans. "Can I?" You could feel him beneath you, hard and straining against his jeans. He wanted this. You. But Marc denied himself his wants constantly.
After a few long moments, he nodded.
The button came undone and the zipper went down. He lifted his hips and pulled his jeans and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out. You stared down at his thick cock, mouth watering. Technically you'd had it in you already, but it wasn't the same as seeing it.
Your fingers curled around him, giving him a few gentle strokes.
He moaned, hips stuttering. "Baby."
Your hand continued its slow pace, thumb swiping across the tip and smearing the precum gathered there. The pads of his fingers dug into your waist, jaw clenched, lips parted, and eyes screwed shut.
"Please, baby. I need you."
"Need me?"
"Yes."
"How do you need me?"
"I-I," he stammered.
You raised yourself just enough to line his cock at your entrance before slowly sinking back down. "Is this what you needed?" The stretch is agonizing bliss. Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing, adjusting.
"Yes, yes."
You gave yourself a moment to adjust to the feeling before you started moving. But his arms wrapped around your waist and stilled you.
"Hold on, baby. Want to feel you for a minute."
A fond smile pulled at your mouth. Your hands found his hair, running your fingers through it. His lips met yours again and you melted against him. Gentle and tender, like he was savoring the taste.
"I love you," he breathed against your lips.
Breath caught in your throat, your heart skipped a beat.
"I love you," he repeated.
"Marc..."
"I don't expect you to say it back. I just needed you to know." His face dropped to your shoulder, hiding it from you. It's an awkward position, but he didn't seem to mind.
Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and held him. There was a long, quiet moment. His shoulders tense beneath your arms. "Marc?"
"Mmhmm?"
"Look at me."
With a sigh, his head lifted and turned. Watery eyes flitted between yours.
"I love you too," you whispered.
His mouth parted, brows knitting. "You don’t have to say that.”
You pressed a soft kiss against his lips. "But I want to."
"Really?"
Another kiss. "Really."
"I..."
"Shhh." Another kiss.
You began to rock your hips. He let out a low moan. "I love you," you said, pulling his bottom lip between yours. He swallowed the sound. His arms tightened around your waist, lifting you up and down his length. Your lips found his neck, sucking the skin into your mouth. His thrusts became more erratic, moans and groans turning to pants and gasps.
"Baby," he gasped. "I'm close."
His hand slipped between you, thumb brushing over your clit. Your walls tightened, the coil wound, and stars sparkled in your vision. With a cry, your walls clenched around him, drawing him deeper. Marc cursed. A few more erratic thrusts and he was spilling inside of you, crying your name.
He slumped back into the couch. You laid on top of him, both trying to catch your breath. "Are you alright?"
"Perfect," he sighed, kissing the top of your head. "You?"
"Better than perfect."
"Good. That's good." His thumb brushed along the curve of your waist, but halted. “No, no, don’t you dare—“
A shiver rolled through their body. “Oy, that’s sensitive,” Steven trilled, lifting you enough to slip out his spent cock. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, “Well no, actually, I’m not because he cut in line.”
You let out a huff of laughter. The two squabbled like brothers. Marc was probably equally as peeved.
"That is,” his arms loosened around you, “if you’re interested in my company?"
You pecked his lips. "I'd love it."
“Fantastic.” He stood, lifting you easily. ”Because I’m starved.”
Giggling, you said, “We can grab some takeout from the Chinese place by the pharmacy.”
He kissed your cheek. “Takeout? Sweetheart, I’ve got a whole feast right here.”
For the second time in—gods how many hours had it been? Was it even the same day? Didn’t matter. For the second time in however long it had been, you’re dropped on the bed. Less gently this time. He bounced on the mattress after you, eagerly throwing your legs over his shoulders and diving happily into the mess his predecessors had made. The groan he let out against your core was downright sinful. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging, as his tongue explored.
It’s…surprising how good he is. You’d expected him to be inexperienced. He had been in your fantasies. But Steven seemed particularly skilled at this part at least. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh. The tip of his tongue ran along your slit, dipping into your entrance and gathering the cum that had begun to leak. He hummed. "You taste delicious, sweetheart." His tongue swiped over the bud, sending a jolt through you.
"Steven."
His eyes flicked up, meeting yours.
"More."
A grin spread across his face. He lowered his head again, tongue tracing patterns. Your head fell back.
"I want to hear you," he murmured.
You didn't need the encouragement.
He began sucking on your clit, pulling the sensitive bud into his mouth and humming. His fingers pried your lips apart and sunk into you. One, then two, pumping, curling.
"Fuck, fuck, Steven," you cried.
His tongue flicked your clit.
It's all too much. Your walls tightened, clamping around his fingers. You moaned his name, tugging at his hair. He kept moving, coaxing out an orgasm far too quickly for your overworked body. You shook beneath him, gasping for air. The high ebbed, but his ministrations did not. His fingers continued to pump, tongue continued its work.
"Steven, please," you plead, trying to push his head away
He lifted it, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. "I'm not done."
Your hand fell to his face, cupping his cheek. "Please, I can't. Not yet."
"Just a bit more, yeah?" His free hand slid up your waist, fingers caressing your chest. "I want to feel you fall apart one more time. Please?"
The pad of his thumb brushed over your nipple, causing you to suck in a sharp breath.
"Just keep making your pretty little noises for me, alright? Won’t take long." He didn’t wait for you to deny him, letting his tongue return to its previous endeavor.
He’d reversed your roles. Usually, he’d be the one who couldn’t deny you. Now you’re sure he could ask you for anything and you’d agree with your own dopey grin. The hand on his face moved to the sheets, clutching at the fabric. Fingers curled inside you, pressing against the spot that had you seeing stars. His mouth wrapped around your clit, sucking and licking and humming. Your back arched off the mattress, a silent scream stuck in your throat.
Stars.
Everything was stars.
His movements slowed, fingers and tongue working you through the waves. When the high faded, you could only manage a stuttered breath. He lifted his head. A proud smile had his eyes dancing. He seemed ridiculously proud of himself. He kissed his way up your body, pausing at every bruise or bite mark Jake had left behind. His fingers traced patterns over your stomach and up to your breasts. Whispered how good you were for him, how amazing, how perfect.
You expected to feel his cock prodding at your entrance, but all he did was curl against you with a content hum.
"You don't want...?"
He kissed your shoulder. "Later."
"Steven..."
"Later," he repeated.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
You sighed. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him. He buried his face in your hair, mumbling something about how good it smelled. You could hear his breathing growing heavy through the endless praises.
"Mind if I take a kip before we head out to the pharmacy?”
You kissed his hair. “Not at all, love. Sleep.”
Translations
Pinches pendejos. : Fucking idiots.
Yo sé. Cuidaré de ti, amor : I know. I’ll take care of you, love.
Mírame : Look at me.
Bien. Muy bien. : Good. Very good.
Estas siendo injusta. : You’re being unfair.
Tú sabes, amor. Tambien tienes. : You know, love. You have them too.
