#mcl fic

[licuadora-nasir]

A torrid massage - Kentin/My Candy Love

Minors DNI tw: oral sex, blowjob, erotic massage

You can also read it in my AO3!

Today had been a long day for Kentin. We were currently in Spain, the best country in the world and whoever says otherwise is an idiot, and Kentin had started picking olives while I was working on my master's thesis.

He departed early in the morning, while I was still in Morpheus' arms and returned exhausted late in the afternoon. From what he told me, it seemed a very tiresome work that luckily would only last a few weeks for him. The days were long and tedious, our time together brief and I missed the warmth of our bodies since he collapsed asleep when he reached the bed.

I was laying on the sheets, waiting for him to come out of the shower when an idea popped up in my mind. I lazily reached the nightstand and roaming the drawers, I found what I was searching for; a bottle of massage oil.

We bought it on our trip to Portugal. We stayed a few days in Oporto wandering around the city when I spotted a sex shop. I thought about buying something special to give him a surprise but I never had the chance to do it. Although his day had been exhausting that didn’t mean it couldn’t end in a satisfying way.

I turned my head to watch him getting out of the shower and grabbing a towel to dry up. It didn’t matter how many times I had already seen him naked, it wouldn’t stop me from staring at his sculpted form dumbfounded and stunned. Sometimes I found it hard to believe THAT man was my Kentin.

Although the kind reminder always arrived when he gazed at me, kindness and adoration filled his eyes every time he glanced my way.

“Come here” I requested, patting the spot on the bed in front of me.

“What are you up to?” he questioned with a smirk, dropping the towel and striding to me completely naked.

“Oh, nothing. Just a little massage, you seem very tense lately” I replied, gesturing him to sit in front of me, his back facing me.

I applied some oil to my hands, gently rubbing them against each other allowing the scent of coconut to expand. I brought my hands in front of his face, shaking my fingers so he could dive into the sweet smell.

My fingertips began to trace a path of coconut from his forehead to his chin, going forward and back. My fingers pressed gently his chest, his neck, and they went up to meet his face again, making sure they erased the tension from every inch of his face.

With care, I slowly thumbed the eyebrows, his temple, and even his lips, allowing his face to shift into a state of peacefulness.

Giving him a warm kiss on his nape, I started to work on his broad shoulders. I began to trace slow, circular patterns up and down the sides of his spine, paying extra attention to the knots I found so my guy’s back could relieve all that tension.

With the firm pressure of my entire hand, I moved from the muscles around the spine to the shoulders, in between the shoulder blades and up to the back of the neck, making sure every muscle of his back was taken care of.

My mischievous touch began to travel down to his hips, reaching the soft insides of his thighs, stroking them with care using my fingertips and my knuckles. Getting closer to his crotch, I noticed how his shaft shifted accompanied by an embarrassed cough.

I rearranged myself, stretching my legs to both sides of his body to press my chest against his well-worked back. As my hardened nipples met his skin I felt how a wild shiver travelled down his spine.

After applying some more oil to my hands, I kissed his right shoulder before I started working on his balls. I kindly cupped one on my hand, stroking it, caressing it in circular motions as I held the base of his length with my other hand.

He rolled his head back moaning my name and I answered gently squeezing them. I began to tend the other one, accompanying the nuzzling with sweet kisses from his nape to his left shoulder.

He had always been so precious, so obliged. He would take all I gave him and much more than that. Pleasure, pain, joy, my fears, my hopes, my desires. Kentin had taken me with him, showing me the colours of a new world I knew nothing of. My partner, my lover and my friend; it had always been him.

Without taking any longer, I asked him to sit on the edge of the bed while I went down on my knees between his legs. I rested my hand on top of his thighs, sliding them down like rivers as we locked eyes.

He gave me an emerald gaze brimming with sentiment. His mien was flustered as his eyes burned with desire, his luscious lips parted and he whispered “You’re beautiful”

Happy to oblige, my mellow mouth met his length, cosying it with my tongue, enveloping it like a very awaited present. Gripping on his legs, my head went down, ready and pleased to take all of him in. Indulging in, his moans claiming my name like cries of madness encouraged my movements to meticulously trail a path up and down, roaming and liking every inch of his needy skin.

His fingers tanged the strands of my hair, stringing alone with my sole purpose of pleasing him. My hands went back to his balls joining the movement of my dutiful tongue. My mouth’s warmth ascended, greeting the tip of his shaft circling and embracing it with cautiousness.

Between the sighing, the heat, the scent of coconut, our burning flesh and his lustful stare that did not leave me once, I felt how his husky thighs tensed and the grip on my locks enhanced, a spirited sign of what it was to come.

I took all of it, feeling the urgent liquid run through my throat. Kentin held my arms and pulled me towards him. “I love you” he muttered, before giving me a torrid kiss and laying us down on the mattress.

Liked what you've read? Check my masterlist here!

[marycecilyy]

Emergency Commissions

Hey, friends, it’s me, Cecily. I’m once again asking for your kindness and support. I know I don’t deliver content that much, specially mcl related, but I’m getting desperate here. I’ll explain you what’s happening,

As some of you may know, I’m 18. I’m overage but I have no work yet. I’m an actress that’s not leaving her house, so it’s even more difficult to get money. I rely completely on my parents’s income. Which brings me to the reason why I’m writing this post.

My dad has more than the double of my mom’s salary. He’s an engineer and she’s a documentary director assistant, so he paid for my school, singing classes and even part of our apartment’s rent (they’re divorced and I live with my mother).

Since the pandemic started, I didn’t see him and that bothered him a lot. I get that he misses me, but I’m not leaving home. Not because mother forced me to, of course, it was my choice. 

We’ve been fighting a lot lately and it reached a point where, this month, he said that he wouldn’t pay my pre-ENEM classes (ENEM is like SAT but for Brazil). My mother couldn’t afford it, but it’s important to me so she paid for it.

We decided that we wouldn’t depend on my dad anymore for anything financially, and here i am. 

PLEASE HELP ME. No, really, I don’t work and my mom’s job doesn’t pay that well. 

If you can’t donate or commission, please share this post. Support me by spreading the word. Reblog, talk about it. Please.

And if you can and want to help me by commissioning or donating, here are important links.

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[centralsaints]

the internet at my apartment isnt working today so I'm godspeeding editing some things for gemini and will post asap

[mclfutarinotamashi]

Could you write a post-funeral with Lysander and Castiel too? Loved the one with Leigh and Rosa ^^

see you’re in luck cause I actually did do just that for a drabble series in the forums which i will shamelessly plug which you can check out here!

it’s the last drabble in the series as of when i’m posting this; i’ll put the text from it in this response too (it’s in second person, from Castiel’s POV:

When his father dies, he doesn’t stop crying for a long time.For all he’d said he was prepared, he couldn’t handle it when the time actually came, and so he clung to you and cried and you clung back. You meet him at the bus stop on his way home, and he stays with you that night; he’s not in an emotional state you’d want him to walk home in. He has plans to visit his mother tomorrow, but for now, he just wants to be away from his family’s grief so that he can be alone with his.So you hold him, and you let him cry himself to sleep, and you make him breakfast in the morning which he barely nibbles at but appreciates nonetheless.You hug him one last time as he leaves, tell him to be safe, and cherish the small smile he manages in return.

granted it’s super short and i’ll write more if you’d like me to!

[messwriting]

Amor Doce - Lysandre

Quanto Lysandre olhava para ela, o melhor jeito de se controlar era falando até a sua língua inchar.

Aqueles olhos díspares cravaram-se nos seus e ela imaginou como seria delicioso vê-los desfoques, apertados em uma espiral de prazer enquanto seu nome sairia daqueles suaves e pequenos lábios masculinos. O álcool estava subindo mais rápido do que o esperado se ela estava pensando algo como isso tão abertamente enquanto eles supostamente deveriam estar conversando. - O quê? – Ela reclamou, seu rosto indiferente enquanto seu corpo se aquecia sozinho; rapidamente desviou o olhar para a taça de vinho em sua mão e quando não podia mais olhar para o líquido escuro, virou para a vista da ofensivamente grande varanda do novo apartamento de seu amigo de infância.

Ela podia facilmente sentir seu olhar queimar na altura de seus ombros. Institivamente descobriu seu pescoço a ele, puxando seus cabelos para o lado contrário e passando-os sobre seu ombro direito – foi menos de segundos antes de ela sentir como o olhar dele vagou para seu rosto e então virou para olhar a mesma vista que ela. Agora, bem, na opinião dela, isso era o mais vergonhoso de se estar apaixonada há tanto tempo por seu melhor amigo. Após tanto tempo de amizade, não havia nada de sensualidade que você pudesse usar. E não é que elas não funcionassem, ele, simplesmente, não está interessado. Ele não lhe vê do mesmo jeito.

Por isso, enquanto ela fez o melhor de sua feminilidade para muito calmamente recolher as madeixas escuras e deixar aquela grande quantidade de pele clara da curva atrativamente feminina de seu pescoço, tudo o que ele havia sentido foi uma incômoda vontade de desviar o olhar, ou talvez ainda pior, não tenha nem mesmo dado atenção ao ato ou processado qualquer indicio de sua tentativa de ser sexy. Sim, decididamente, não poderia haver nada pior em estar tanto tempo perdidamente apaixonada pelo seu amigo de infância. Após isso, apenas faltaria o dia onde ela apareceria nua em seu apartamento numa tentativa desesperada de atenção e receberia um olhar indiferente – e possivelmente preocupado com sua sanidade mental – junto com um par de boxers e alguma blusa surrada do Winged Skull que Castiel provavelmente teria deixado por lá. E Lys seria considerativo o bastante de não perguntar porquês e lhe oferecer uma carona para casa, mesmo que odiasse dirigir e, agora, seu novo apartamento fosse o mais longe dos dormitórios do Campus que qualquer outro condomínio na cidade.

Ela virou a taça de vinho em um gole.

Lysandre encarou-a e seus olhos perfuraram os seus - varrendo a súbita coloração vermelha que aparecia em suas bochechas – enviando uma óbvia mensagem de que ele não concordava com a sua mais nova maneira de beber vinho ou talvez com o fato de que ela não falasse nada. Mesmo assim ele foi dentro do apartamento, provavelmente buscar a garrafa – porque ele é um cavalheiro, e ela pode respirar fundo pelo primeiro momento desde que ele veio à varanda também. Arrependeu-se amargamente. O perfume dele entrou em seus pulmões, agarrou suas terminações nervosas e deu curto-circuito no que restava de seu senso crítico; era uma sensual fragrância almiscarada; masculina e marcante, mas, sendo carregada pela brisa da noite que varria a varanda, era incrivelmente suave.

Ela podia ouvir o bater de portas na cozinha que indicava que ele estava em seu caminho de volta. Um arrepio desceu por sua espinha com o vento frio que soprou de repente e então pelos passos que se aproximavam. Quando a brisa voltou a soprar, não havia mais nada de suave.  

Foi um puro massacre de tudo que a prendia a razão, total aniquilação da prudência e cautela que eram os pilares de sua relação com Lysandre. Oh deus, por quê? Porque precisava se decidir em deixar sua amizade com Lysandre ruir neste momento? Enquanto tudo que tinha em sua cabeça eram imagens aquecidas daquele rosto adorável contorcido em um prazer divino e o vinho, voando a seu cérebro com sua circulação acelerada, dizendo que estava tudo bem que o fizesse, que deixasse tudo aquilo que sempre teve como tão valioso desmoronar em ruínas?

(vou postar em inglês também)

[centralsaints]

i found some stuff i wrote about charlie and nath a long while ago, and you know what? it’s not total shit so im posting it. both titles are songs by dazey and the scouts

Maggots

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror; you stare at the dark circles under your eyes, your bitten and bleeding lip, your dry skin, your even dryer hair from all those late night sessions bleaching them to keep the icy blonde color. Your roots are over an inch long now. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Staring at yourself, every time you catch a glimpse in a reflective surface, watching yourself go deeper and get more and more miserable. You don’t know what Nathaniel finds attractive about you. You still feel nauseous of last night’s drinks. 

Your hands grip the counter and you close your eyes tightly when you feel tears coming on, refusing to allow yourself to cry over your own person once again. You’ve shed enough tears over all your fuck ups already. You spit in the sink. Your saliva comes away stained pink. 

You make a decision, as rash and impulsive as it may be. You rummage through the cabinet until you find Emmanuel’s hair cutting scissors, and taking a strand of limp, dry blond hair, you cut it. You take another, and you cut. You hack away at your hair, until it is short and uneven and all of the blonde is gone, and you’re left with an awkward, janky head of deep brown hair. You look less tired already. You undress without taking a look at your naked body in the mirror and you turn on the shower, washing everything away. Hair, grime and water mix on the floor of the shower and you don’t stare at it. You scrub every inch of your body and wash your hair with the coconut scented body wash you barely used. It doesn’t smell anything like Nathaniel did, and that’s a very good thing. You don’t want to smell like him anymore. 

You don’t want to cause him pain anymore. You don’t want to be with him anymore. You need to tell him. 

Sad Boys

You are sober, for the first night in some time now. You are sober and sitting on the sidewalk, sharing the last cigarette of your pack with him, because going inside to join your friends who are drinking and having fun seems like an impossible behemoth of a task. Neither of you speak, as you lose your eyes somewhere in the street. It’s almost midnight and you have been sitting there for nearly an hour. You don’t speak a word and neither does he, because words like those you want to say are ticking time bombs, and they’ve been waiting to explode since the first time he told you that he was falling for you.  You are a ticking time bomb for anyone who gets close to you because you have never learned how to keep them by your side.

Nathaniel takes a drag of your cigarette then gives it back to you. He used to joke that this was a sort of indirect kiss, and you used to say that you could kiss him for real if he wanted. Neither of you say anything, and the cigarette consumes itself between your finger. You drop it and crush it with your boot, still fighting what you don’t want to say. You brush a hand through your hair, your breath heavy. The short strands tickle your fingers. The silence stretches on, without a burning to slow it down. 

“I don’t think this is working,” you say, finally. Nathaniel doesn’t respond. He simply looks at you and you don’t know how to read him. 

“This isn’t working. Us, I mean. We should…” You take a breath. “I think we should just stop seeing each other.” 

Nathaniel is still silent and you find this extremely fucking irritating. He should be getting angry at you, asking why you won’t let yourself be loved, why you’re rejecting him like this. When Nathaniel opens his mouth finally, he’s not angry. 

“Okay.” 

You suddenly don’t know how to respond to this. It isn’t anger and it isn’t agreement. It’s flat and cold and understanding in the worst way possible. 

“Do you want to tell me why?” He asks you. It’s too understanding and it scares you so much that you have let yourself so close to someone. 

“No.” 

“Okay.” He gets up from the sidewalk, and you hate that everything about him is closed off and that it’s your fault but you keep telling yourself that it’s the right thing to do. 

He doesn’t say anything else as he walks away from you and in the bar where you were supposed to join your friends more than an hour ago. Your feet carry you home where you know Emmanuel isn’t waiting, because he’s at the bar where you were supposed to go with him that night. You don’t cry as you crash into your bed, still sober and too aware of what you said. You fall asleep around three in the morning, and you still haven’t cried. Maybe it really was the right decision. 

[centralsaints]

just posted part 5 of gemini during classes yes i'm a model student

[messwriting]

My Candy Love - Lysander

When Lysander looked at her, the best way to control herself was talking until her tongue swelled.

Those disparate eyes locked on hers and she imagined how delightful it would be to see them blurred, tightened in a spiral of pleasure as her name would come out of those soft, small, masculine lips. The alcohol was rising faster than expected if she was thinking something like this so openly while they were supposed to be talking. - What? - She complained, her face indifferent as her body started to burn; Quickly turned her gaze to the glass of wine in her hands, and when she could no longer look at the dark liquid, she turned to look at the offensively large balcony of his childhood friend's new apartment.

She could easily feel his gaze burn at her shoulders. Instinctively she discovered her neck to him, pulling her hair to the opposite side and passing them over her right shoulder - it was less than seconds before she felt his gaze wander to her face and then turned to look at the same view as her. Now, well, in her opinion, that was the most shameful thing about being in love for so long with her best friend. After so much time of friendship, there was nothing sensual that you could use. And it's not that they didn't work, he just was not interested. He does not see you in the same way. So while she made the best of her femininity to very quietly collect the dark locks and leave that large amount of fair skin on the attractively feminine curve of her neck, all he had felt was an uneasy urge to look away, or perhaps even worse, had not even paid attention to the act or processed any hint of her attempt to be sexy. Yes, decidedly, there could be nothing worse than being so long in love with her childhood friend. After that, she would only miss the day where she would appear nude in his apartment in a desperate attempt of getting attention and receive an indifferent glance - and possibly preoccupied with her sanity - along with a pair of boxers and some shabby Winged Skull t-shirt that Castiel would probably have left there. And Lys would be considerate enough not to ask why and offer her a ride home, even if he hated driving, and now his new apartment was the furthest from Campus dormitories than any other condo in town. She turned the glass of wine in a sip. Lysander stared at her and his eyes pierced hers - sweeping the sudden red color on her cheeks - sending an obvious message that he did not agree with her newest way to drink wine or perhaps the fact that she wasnt speaking anything. Even so, he went inside the apartment, probably fetch the bottle - because he is a gentleman, and she could take a deep breath for the first moment since he came to the balcony too. She repented bitterly. His perfume entered her lungs, grabbed her nerve endings, and short-circuited what was left of her critical sense; It was a sensual musky fragrance; Masculine and striking, but, being carried away by the night breeze sweeping the porch, was unbelievably soft. She could hear the knock of doors in the kitchen indicating that he was on his way back. A shiver ran down her spine in the cold wind that blew suddenly and then through the approaching footsteps. When the breeze blew again, there was nothing soft about it. It was a pure massacre of all that held her to reason, utter annihilation of the prudence and caution that were the pillars of her relationship with Lysander. Oh God, why? Why did she have to decide to let her friendship with Lysander collapse at this point? While all she had in her head were heated images of that adorable face contorted in divine pleasure and wine, flying to her brain with her accelerated circulation, saying that it was all right for her to leave everything she always had as valuable to fall apart in ruins?