#characteristic gestures

[yridenergyridenergy]

For Toshiya's birthday this year, I decided to fulfill a super old anonymous request (sorry about the delay!). Far from a complete compilation that would be too repetitive, I'm satisfied that this came out as a sweet tribute to his gestures on stage. Hopefully you have fun watching it!

[nostalgia-tblr]

...actually it's kind of effed up that the early MCU cared so little about women that Loki has no bio mother (and nobody ever even asks the question). yes, yes, i see the daddy issues, i am very invested in how this specific male character has daddy issues (lying, btw), but like. they literally just forgot mothers exist???

[heartvisor]

i do feel like you should take my comments about teruaki with a grain of salt though. he's one of my favorites, so i also just think about him often...

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Building A Culture

Culture is defined by a collection of morals, ethics, traditions, customs and behaviours shared by a group of people.

Hierarchy and Social Structures

Within every culture, there is a hierarchy. Hierarchies are an important part of any culture, usually do ingrained that one within the culture wouldn't even question it. Hierarchy can be established either by age, gender or wealth and could even determine roles within their society. Sometimes hierarchy can may be oppressive and rigid whilst other times, ranks can intermingle without trouble. You should consider how these different ranks interact with one another and whether there are any special gestures or acts of deference one must pay to those higher than them. For example, the Khasi people of Meghalaya (Northern India), are strictly matrillineal. Women run the households, inheritance runs through the female line, and the men of the culture typically defer to their mothers and wives. Here are a few questions to consider:

How is a leader determined within the culture as a whole and the family unit?

Is the culture matriarchal? Patriarchal? Or does gender even matter?

How would one recognise the different ranks?

How would one act around somebody higher ranking? How would somebody he expected to act around somebody lower ranking?

Can one move socially? If not, why? If so, how?

Traditions and Customs

Traditions are a staple in any culture. These can be gestures or living life a certain way or to the way a certain person should look. Traditions are a personal detail to culture, they are what make it important. Tradition can dictate how one should keep their home, run their family, take care of their appearance, act in public and even determine relationship. Tradition can also be a double edged sword. Traditions can also be restrictive and allow a culture to push away a former member if they do not adhere to them, eg Traditional expectations of chastity led to thousands of Irish women being imprisoned at the Magdelene Laundries. Customs could be anything from how one treats another, to how they greet someone.

How important is tradition?

What are some rituals your culture undertakes?

What are some traditional values in your world? Does it effect daily life?

Are there any traditions that determine one's status?

Values and Opinions

Values and Opinions are the bread and butter of any culture. This is the way your culture sees the world and how they approach different life hurdles. These may differ with other cultures and be considered odd to outsiders, what one culture may value another may not and what opinion another holds, one may not. There will be historical and traditional reasons to why these values and opinions are held. Cultures usually have a paragon to which they hold their members to, a list of characteristics that they expect one to if not adhere to then aspire to. The Yoruba people value honesty, hard work, courage and integrity. Here are some questions to consider?

How important are these ethics and core values? Could somebody be ostracised for not living up to them?

What are some morals that clash with other cultures?

What does your culture precieved to be right? Or wrong?

What are some opinions that are considered to be taboo in your culture? Why?

Dress Code

For many cultures, the way somebody dresses can be important. History and ethics can effect how one is meant to be dressed such as an expectation of chastity, can impose strict modesty. While other cultures, put more importance on details, the different sorts of clothes worn and when or what colour one might wear. The Palestinian people (من النهر إلى البحر ، قد يكونون أحرارا) denoted different family ties, marriage status and wealth by the embroidery and detailing on their thoub.

Are there traditional clothes for your world? Are they something somebody wears on a daily basis or just on occasion?

Are there any rules around what people can wear?

What would be considered formal dress? Casual dress?

What would happen if somebody wore the wrong clothes to an event?

Language

Language can also be ingrained as part of a Culture. It can be a specific way one speaks or a an entirely different language. For example, in the Southern States of America, one can engage in a sort of double talk, saying something that sounds sweet whilst delivering something pointed. Bless their heart. I have a post on creating your own language here.

Arts, Music and Craft

Many cultures are known for different styles of dance, their artwork and crafts. Art is a great part of culture, a way for people to express themselves and their culture in art form. Dance can be an integral part of culture, such as céilí dance in Ireland or the Polka in the Czech Republic. Handicrafts could also be important in culture, such as knitting in Scottish culture and Hebron glass in Palestine. Music is also close to culture, from traditional kinds of singing such as the White Voice in Ukraine and the playing of certain instruments such as the mvet.

Food and Diet

The way a culture prepares or intakes or treats certain foods are important to a culture. In some cultures, there is a diet yo adhere to, certain foods are completely banned. With Jewish culture, pork is prohibited along with fish such as sturgeon, along with shellfish and certain fowl. Meat must also be prepared in a certain way and animal byproducts such as dairy, must never be created or even eaten around this meat. This is known as kosher. The way one consumes food is also important to culture. In some cultures, only certain people may eat together. Some cultures place important on how food is eaten. In Nigerian culture, the oldest guests are served first usually the men before the women. In Japanese culture, one must say 'itadakimasu' (I recieve) before eating. Culture may also include fasting, periods of time one doesn't intake food for a specific reason.

What are some traditional dishes in your world?

What would be a basic diet for the common man?

What's considered a delicacy?

Is there a societal difference in diet? What are the factors that effect diet between classes?

Is there any influence from other cuisines? If not, why not? If so, to what extent?

What would a typical breakfast contain?

What meals are served during the day?

What's considered a comfort food or drink?

Are there any restrictions on who can eat what or when?

Are there any banned foods?

What stance does your world take on alcohol? Is it legal? Can anybody consume it?

Are there any dining customs? Are traditions?

Is there a difference in formal meals or casual meals? If so, what's involved?

Are there any gestures or actions unacceptable at the dinner table?

How are guests treated at meals? If they are given deference, how so?

[deal-right]

Wanna do a compilation of weird sounds i do all the time when on my own but I always make them without thinking so that's troublesome if I want to record them lmao

[vanteguccir]

TikTok trends | Matt Sturniolo | pt. 2

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: 4 times that Y/N and Matt made a couple's trend on tiktok.

Warning: None.

Requested?: Yes, by anons.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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1.

It was the beginning of the pandemic, everyone was in lockdown, businesses were closed, and meetings in person were only held between people who were sure they weren't with the virus.

TikTok was the only distraction for the young ones as their schools were closed, and online classes were difficult to maintain their concentrations.

Y/N had created her account on the app a few months behind and spent hours watching the videos that her For You brought with Matt, her best friend and neighbor.

Since their houses were right next to each other and Mary Lou and Y/N's mother were keeping everything extremely clean and taking every precaution possible, Y/N spent almost all of her days with Matt, whether at his house or hers.

But what no one knew was that Y/N had a crush - huge one - on Matt, and who could judge her for that? Matt was affectionate, protective, and caring. His heart was huge, and his kindness was even greater. His different personality and unique characteristics embraced the girl's heart.

That's why, when she saw the trend of kissing your best friend to the sound of Electric Love, she decided to make her first move with him. What so bad could happen?

Matt and Y/N had been sitting on Matt's bed for a few hours now, talking and spending time together, when Y/N finally got up the courage.

She took advantage of the fact that Matt was texting Nate and reached over, grabbing her own phone that was on the bedside table. She unlocked it and opened TikTok, quickly turning down the volume so the boy couldn't hear the audio. She selected the sound for the video and opened the camera, clicking on the recording tab and setting it to start.

Her hands rested her cell against the lamp so that the front camera took her and Matt figures before adjusting herself on the mattress, turning her body slightly and facing the brunette.

Y/N took a deep breath, playing with her fingers as she tried to take the initiative. She closed her eyes momentarily before finally leaning over, catching Matt's attention with her movements, who lifted his blue eyes from Nate's chat and looked at the girl.

Her hands snaked up his arms until they reached his face, holding his jaw gently and lifting her own body slightly, moving closer to him. She brought her lips closer to Matt's, who was watching her movements with a confused - but hopeful - look.

Y/N stopped her face close to his, asking him with her gaze if she could move forward. Matt quickly understood, dropping his phone on the mattress and putting his hands on the girl's head, pulling her closer and pressing their lips together.

Y/N opened her eyes wide for a few seconds - not expecting that - before closing them and surrendering to the gesture, feeling like fireworks were going off around the two of them. Her heart was racing, and her cheeks felt hot. A happy sigh escaped her nose as her hands went up to Matt's soft hair, tugging lightly.

The image of Matt pulling her into his lap by her waist was the last thing captured on camera, before the TikTok ended.

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2.

Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line to stop her laughter from escaping as she rested her phone on the sink in her shared bathroom with Matt.

The TikTok screen was already open, ready to start recording. The girl took a deep breath before clicking the red button, moving away from the device.

"Baby!" She shouted, tilting her chin up so her voice echoed better, her eyes fixed on the door, waiting for Matt's response.

Low footsteps were heard from the bedroom, followed by the bathroom door opening a few inches, Matt's head appearing between the door and the frame.

"Hi baby. Do you need toilet paper?" He asked quickly, his eyes traveling around the bathroom, checking if everything was alright before looking at his girlfriend again. She had a false expression of desperation, which made him automatically raise his eyebrows in concern.

"No, it's an emergency, actually." Y/N spoke slowly, swallowing her laugh, playing with the hem of Matt's hoodie that covered her body, showing embarrassment.

The boy frowned, opening the door wider and entering the bathroom before closing it behind him.

"What happened, baby? Are you okay?" He asked in a low voice, approaching his girlfriend and hugging her, receiving a negative wave in response. "Is the toilet clogged?"

"Matt!" A surprised laugh escaped Y/N's lips as she rolled her eyes against his chest before taking a step away, bis hands still holding her waist slightly. "No, my tampon is stuck inside me. The string broke." She explained, her tongue escaping her lips, wetting them nervously.

The brunette's eyes widened, watching her for a few seconds as if he expected her to say it was just a prank - which it really was.

"Oh no. Does it hurt? Oh my God, what can I do?" Matt paused, seeming to think of a solution before exhaling. "Okay, pull down your pants and panties and sit on the bathtub edge with your legs open, baby. I know your pussy too well, I can find it quickly." He quickly instructed, leaning forward slightly and bringing his hands to the waistband of the sweatpants that hugged Y/N's waist, ready to pull them down.

"Baby!" The girl shouted, letting out a loud laugh. Matt stopped his movements, looking at her.

"What? I'll take it off for you."

"I love you, Matt." Y/N said, still laughing.

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3.

Y/N placed her phone on the hood of Matt's car so that the front camera covered her entire body.

The screen showed the TikTok camera opened with the audio already selected. Y/N briefly glanced at her boyfriend, who was out of frame and observing her with a small smile before clicking the red button, starting the recording.

"You better lock your phone"

She took a few steps back, raising her arms so that they were straight horizontally, spinning her body slowly.

"And look at me when you're alone"

Matt's figure appeared on the right side of the camera. He ran towards Y/N, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her slightly off the ground, spinning her in the air.

The image of Y/N throwing her head back with her mouth open and her eyes closed, as loud laughter escaped her lips, was the last thing captured on camera.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

4.

Y/N docked her phone in the phone holder attached to the dashboard of Matt's car, smiling nervously at the camera that was already recording her, before quickly straightening up in her seat when she heard the passenger door open.

The girl had taken Matt's car keys to go shopping at the mall, and as agreed with her boyfriend before, she was now waiting for him in front of their house so they could have lunch together.

Matt got into the passenger seat, mentally thanking Chris for sitting there the day before, so the seat was already in the right position for his body size.

He closed the door and turned to his girlfriend, smiling big while running his eyes over her face. He leaned slightly towards her and sealed their lips gently, his right hand caressing the covered skin of her thigh gently, exhaling her perfume.

"Hi baby, I missed you." He whispered against his girl's pink lips, smiling slightly when he heard her let out a shy laughter.

"I missed you too, my love." She responded in the same tone, sealing their lips one last time before pulling away.

"How was shopping? Did you buy everything you needed? That cropped you were dying to get?" The brunette asked interestedly, turning to the right side and pulling the seat belt, crossing it over his body and closing it.

"It was great! I bought everything I wanted and, you won't believe it, I stopped by the gas station to change the oil!" Y/N told it like it was something extraordinary, her tone loud and excited as she smiled big.

"Change the oil? But, baby, I changed it recently, it would only need to be changed again in a month now." Matt frowned, looking at her with a confused look.

"Oh, I thought we needed to change it. Can you believe they charged me $500? I thought about calling you right away, but I ended up accepting it so I could leave faster."

Matt turned around abruptly upon hearing the value his girlfriend said, widening his eyes comically as his mouth opened into a perfect O.

"$500 dollars? They charged you $500 dollars for oil?" The boy's voice was thin and broken, his heart skipping a beat.

"Yeah. The total was $1,000 because they offered me premium air, I thought it was interesting. Now our car is premium." The girl continued excitedly, making jazz hands to the car dashboard.

"$1,000 dollars? Premium air?" Matt asked aloud, bringing his right hand to his forehead as he took a deep breath, feeling suddenly dizzy. "Babe-"

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, stopping her laugh from escaping.

"What? I thought it was a little absurd when the guy told me, but it sounded amazing." She shrugged, watching him closely.

"Premium air... Can you hear yourself? Oh my God, I'm going to have a heart attack." Matt kept his right hand on his forehead, bringing his left to his chest, above his heart, feeling how fast it was.

A sound of laughter escaped Y/N's throat. She couldn't hold back any longer. Her mouth dropped open as she laughed loudly.

"You are crazy, I swear. Do you have a receipt?"

Y/N shook her head while still laughing, briefly pointing to the phone that was recording them. Matt threw his body against the seat, sighing deeply and closing his eyes. She still would kill him someday.

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My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd

(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)

[loveinhawkins]

Every so often, Eddie will get the bus to Starcourt Mall (because what else is there to do?) and watch the world go by.

It’s not like he’s above a cliché or two—maybe he wants to indulge in being a lone figure within the crowd. Maybe he just feels like wallowing in the aimlessness of it all, damn it.

This is where Wayne would point out that Eddie is exactly the opposite of aimless, what with how he’d stormed into the trailer last month, failed test results in hand and snarled, “Next year. I’ll fuckin’ show ‘em.”

But there’s a long time between now and the new school year starting, the summer stretching out before him like taffy. He’d tried to start his reading list early again, but that’s never done him much good; this time he’d gotten through one chapter of Moby-fucking-Dick before despairing.

So. People-watching at the mall it is.

It’s surprisingly not all that terrible an activity, apart from discovering which teachers are suddenly very passionate about jazzercise—a sight Eddie could’ve blissfully lived the rest of his life without seeing.

There’s also the confirmation that the Starcourt commercial he saw was not a vivid hallucination—that Scoops Ahoy is, in fact, real.

And so are the ridiculous sailor outfits.

Well, I’ll be damned, Eddie thinks.

Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington are an incredibly unlikely duo. It’s like the universe abandoned all sense, spun a wheel and paired them up just for the fun of it.

When he joins the line for ice-cream, Eddie initially thinks he’ll find the whole thing laughable: seeing people forced to work together when usually the laws of the universe (and Hawkins High) would keep them as far apart as possible.

But then he discovers that the ice-cream parlor is packed, one hell of a bottleneck forming right up at the counter, where folks are waiting for a seemingly never-ending amount of floats to be poured.

It takes a while for Eddie to near the front of the line; enough time passes that he honestly feels kind of bad for even taking up a spot, for adding to the workload that has Robin shouting herself hoarse with every, “Next please!”

He strongly considers just leaving, but he hesitates for a moment too long, and unintentionally meets eyes with…

“Hi,” Steve says, pleasantly enough, if a little distracted as he prods at the soda machine. He smiles apologetically. “Be with you in a sec.”

Eddie almost wants to tell him you know it’s me, right? He doesn’t.

It’s not that he expects Steve to be mean, exactly; it’s just that he’s getting more than familiar with the whole post graduation routine. It’s like there’s a secret page in folks’ yearbooks, instructing them to look at anyone still attached to high school with either indifference or embarrassment—or both.

Steve must not have got the memo.

“Next!”

Robin beckons Eddie forward with a sweeping arm gesture, looks somewhere behind him and sighs in relief, puffing out her cheeks.

“Oh, thank God. You stopped the tide.”

Eddie glances over his shoulder; sure enough, he’s the last person left to order.

“Don’t think I’ve got that power, Buckley.”

Robin raises an eyebrow. “Debatable.”

Eddie almost laughs. There was a rumour in his first attempt at senior year that he could curse people: it only came about because he ominously whispered some Pig Latin he’d once overheard Robin herself use during History, and Molly Pritchard crossed herself in horror.

“I’ll have a vanilla cup.”

“Ooh,” Robin says dryly, “adventurous.”

“Nothing wrong with a classic,” Eddie says.

Robin smirks as she rings him up. They don’t know each other that well, but there’s admittedly something nice in the distant familiarity they share; at the very least, she’s not gonna add to any potential awfulness when school starts again.

While Robin hands over his change, Steve is filling up a cup—Eddie would say he’s uncharacteristically quiet, except for the fact that he doesn’t actually know what truly is characteristic of Steve Harrington.

Plus he’s stuck on the fact that he only paid for one scoop, but the amount of ice-cream Steve manages to cram in is almost double that.

And he does this ridiculous little twirly thing with the scooper before he even reaches for the tray of vanilla.

Eddie tells himself he notices just because the move is so stupid; it’s definitely not because he’s noticing Steve’s hands in general. It’s just… eyes get drawn to movement. That’s all.

“Syrup?” Steve asks, nodding his head at the dispensers.

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Strawberry.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Oh, don’t do that, man. Get it with butterscotch.”

Robin’s eyes rise to the heavens, as if some longstanding argument has begun once again.

“And why should I do that, Harrington?” Eddie says.

“Because,” Steve says, like he’s patiently explaining that two plus two equals four, “butterscotch is better. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Robin parrots mockingly. She closes the register drawer and says, “I’m taking my break, Popeye. Try not to judge the customers too hard.”

Eddie’s pretty sure he hears Steve mutter under his breath as she leaves, “Seriously? You’re worse than me.”

His cup of ice-cream is under hostage, apparently. Steve still hasn’t pressed down on the damn syrup pump.

“This your usual sales technique?” Eddie says. “Browbeating the customers?”

“Only the lucky ones,” Steve returns mildly.

Eddie scoffs. “Fine. Gimme the damn butterscotch then.”

“Knew you’d come to your senses,” Steve says.

He hands the cup over without any more quips; just as he’s done with the syrup, a large family swoops in with multiple sundae orders.

Eddie eats the ice-cream while waiting for the bus back home. He grudgingly has to admit that the butterscotch isn’t bad.

But that’s not really what’s bugging him.

He has to know if it’s a fluke—if maybe, just maybe, Steve Harrington only deigned to talk to him because he was, like… delirious or something. Maybe the flood of demanding customers scrambled his brain.

Of course, when Eddie goes back to the mall, it’s purely to test his theory. Strictly observational—educational, even. Like… summer school. (Take that, O’Donnell.)

The bus drops them off a little bit before the mall actually opens, but they’re allowed inside anyway. Eddie inwardly cringes at the sight of grown adults tapping persistently on the windows of still closed stores. Jesus Christ, they’re worse than zombies.

Scoops Ahoy isn’t open yet either; Eddie’s soon witness to a very stressed looking Steve striding over to unlock the place.

He flits in and out of view for a while, taking mops round to the back, filling up the jars of toppings.

Eddie actually considers heading over to Waldenbooks to check if it’s open (it’s not like he’s coming here for one store in particular, obviously), but then he hears metal clacking against the tiles.

When he looks back at Scoops Ahoy, he spots a set of keys on the ground right at the entrance, Steve nowhere in sight.

Goddamn it. He’s gonna have to be a Good Samaritan. Ugh.

Eddie briefly looks up to the ceiling as if he can condemn the ways of the universe from here. Then he sighs, picks up the keys and steps into the store.

“Harrington, you dropped these—”

“Shit,” comes Steve’s voice from the back, followed by an almighty clatter.

Eddie hesitates before his curiosity inevitably wins out.

He goes behind the register, through the door and finds the aftermath of complete disaster: Steve standing in front of an entire vat of ice-cream that’s been dropped onto the floor. It’s splattered all up his legs, cookies and cream clinging to the hairs.

Holy shit, stop thinking about his leg hair, Eddie thinks.

Up until this point in time, he’d believed it was physically impossible to look anything other than comical in that stupid sailor outfit.

(Well. Almost.)

But right now Steve looks absolutely tragic. Like he’s a crew member on the Titanic levels of tragic, and he’s about to deliver the news that there’s simply no more lifeboats.

Steve meets Eddie’s gaze.

“That was limited edition,” he says pitifully.

They both look down at the floor.

“Well,” Eddie says. “It definitely is now. Still, uh, what’s the phrase? No use crying over spilled… ice-cream.”

“Oh, I’m not gonna cry over it,” Steve says. “I’m gonna scream.” For a moment he looks murderous. “Robin’s not coming in.”

“Is she sick?”

Steve snorts. “Sick my ass. No, she’s keeping The Hawk in business—gonna see a movie about an ice-cream parlor, something like that.”

“An ice-cream parlor,” Eddie echoes. “Um. Are you sure she didn’t just make it up?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s one of those foreign—never mind.”

He cuts himself off, lifts up one foot, as if he’s become aware of his predicament all over again.

“I was fine with her ditching, she can do whatever; it’s not like we have managers checking up on us. But I forgot a huge delivery was coming, and it’s Saturday so it’s gonna be crazy, so I’m not gonna have time to put all of it in the freezer or check the stock chart, so it’s all just gonna become fucking soup, Jesus, maybe I should just throw everything on the floor and—”

“I could help,” Eddie interrupts, because apparently a little alien has burrowed into his brain and now he just says things.

Steve stares at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Yeah, uh, sorry,” Eddie says. He wishes his brain-invading alien an immediate death. “Bad idea, just—”

“No, I mean why would you do that? Dude, it’s not like I can pay you or—”

“I don’t really have plans,” Eddie says—oh great, the alien hasn’t died! “Uh, you can pay me with, like, a name tag?” What? Stop talking. “Like a souvenir?” Stop! “Oh sorry,” Steve says, as if on automatic pilot. He pulls at his shirt. “We don’t have—our names are stitched on.”

I was kidding about the name tag. Actually, maybe you should just murder me instead.

By some miracle, Eddie’s expression must somehow still look fairly normal because Steve continues, deadly serious, “Munson. Are you sure?”

This is the time to back out—

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Look, man, it’s no big deal. I can clean this up and—”

A bell starts ringing from the front, being struck over and over again in the most obnoxious way possible.

Something in Steve’s eyes flickers, a shift from panic into planning mode, and Eddie has the sudden bizarre feeling that this is what the basketball team saw whenever a crisis timeout was called.

“You sure you’re okay if I leave you back here?” Steve asks, and the gravity with which he says it threatens to send Eddie into hysterics—Christ, you’d think they were in the goddamn trenches.

“Think I’ll survive,” Eddie says. “I’m basically cleaning up, and putting everything into the freezer?”

Steve nods. “And, um, a stock check too, if that’s okay? There’s a chart pinned up, you just gotta count the flavours and put, like, tally marks next to—”

“Oh my God, not tally marks,” Eddie drawls. “The horror.”

Steve huffs. “I was just—”

The bell rings even more insistently.

“Uh, think you’re needed on the front line,” Eddie says.

He nearly chokes on his own spit when Steve turns to just march right on out there.

“Harrington, wait! Your—your legs,” he says weakly.

Steve has the audacity to look puzzled. “What about them?”

They’re very long.

Eddie gestures silently to the ice-cream on the floor, then attempts a vague hovering motion in the direction of Steve’s legs.

Steve’s eyes go wide in realisation. His cheeks turn slightly red. “Oh! Yeah, um, thanks. Um. I’ll just…”

He disappears into the world’s tiniest restroom, comes back free of cookies and cream before heading out to the front.

Well, Eddie thinks to the mop he finds, this is definitely a situation.

It’s not the worst way he’s spent a few hours, apart from having to listen to a Sailor’s Hornpipe on loop through the speakers (he briefly wonders how Robin and Steve stay sane). He cleans up, gets the rest of the delivery into the freezer, even jots down some tally marks, wonder of wonders.

Steve will occasionally slide back the shutters and pop his head in, passing over a soda.

“Employee perks,” he says, then has to hurriedly retreat to keep serving.

Eddie keeps waiting for the stiltedness to set in, but it seems Steve’s far too busy for there to be any awkwardness.

At midday the shutter slides back again and Steve says, “Hey, can you do me one last thing, and I’ll never ask you for anything ever again, I swear.”

“Harrington, you’ve technically never asked me for anything. Gimme the mission.”

Turns out the mission is just to use some employee only coupons at Burger King so Steve can take his lunch.

Eddie returns to Scoops Ahoy with two burgers to find that Steve’s strategically placed a pile of chairs and wet floor signs at the threshold to deter people from entering.

There’s also a hand-drawn sign on top of one of the chairs: Out for Lunch. Underneath, there’s a horrendously bad drawing of a ship on choppy waves.

Eddie tries very hard to not find it endearing.

He gives Steve a burger, hops onto the table in the back and starts eating his own.

A quarter of the way through, he realises that he could leave now—he’s done everything Steve’s asked, and Steve’s already said he can manage the remaining shift on his own now that the delivery’s been put away.

Huh. Well, he’s already gone to all the effort of sitting here…

Steve’s quiet for most of his lunch. Eddie doesn’t mind; he enjoys his free food, comes up with a half-baked campaign idea before discarding it, counts every tile in the room…

Looks over.

Steve’s sat with one leg hunched up to his chest, a book resting on his knee—the cover’s folded over the back as he reads, the spine broken. Eddie doesn’t know why on earth it’s attractive, but it is; he feels like some mooning middle schooler, entranced by the way their stupid crush eats spaghetti or some bullshit like that.

But then again, there’s always been an easy grace to Steve Harrington.

A beeping noise; Steve checks his wristwatch with a sigh.

“Ugh.”

He leaves the book on the table, at just the right angle for Eddie to read the title: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.

“Is it good?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I’m only a couple chapters in, so…” Steve shrugs. “Honestly, it’s the most I’ve read since starting high school.”

And Eddie gets that: the senior years he’s suffered through have left him each time with a brain like a wrung out sponge, not even having the energy for Tolkien.

God. At this rate he’s never gonna read for fun ever again.

His face must do something because Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times before saying, a little hesitant, “Hey, I’m sorry you never, uh… made it through, y’know? You—you were so close, man.” Eddie doesn’t bother wasting time on being pissed that Steve knows some of the details: ‘test results’ and ‘confidentiality’ don’t exactly go together in Hawkins High.

“Yeah, uh. Thanks. Here’s hoping third time’s the charm.”

Steve claps his shoulder. “You’ll do it, it was just tough this year. Like, I scraped through, trust me.”

Eddie snorts—he would literally kill to have a handful of Steve’s grades.

“Think my definition of ‘scraped through’ is different to yours.”

He helps Steve disassemble the mountain of chairs, and now it really is obvious that he could just leave; he only has to take a few steps, and then he’s out of there.

But he pauses.

The store is still empty.

Eddie shuffles back from the doorway. “Ice-cream for the road?”

Steve laughs. “Sure. Least I can do.”

He doesn’t ask Eddie what he wants, just serves a vanilla cup with butterscotch syrup.

Eddie suddenly feels himself fighting a smile. “Think you’ve got an agenda, man.”

“Nope. Just giving you the superior choice, Munson.”

Then Steve picks up an empty cup and pours more butterscotch into it, nothing else. He knocks it back like a shot. “Gross,” Eddie says.

Steve flashes him a syrup-streaked grin.

It’s so… juvenile.

If it wasn’t for the fact that they’re in a mall, Eddie would almost think that he’d gone back a few years, made an unexpected temporary friend that goofed off with him in the back of the class.

He finishes his ice-cream as more people flock to the counter; in what seems like no time at all, Steve’s ushering Eddie out, pulling down the security grille.

It feels a bit like a soap bubble has burst. Like the bell’s unexpectedly rung at the end of last period, in a class he was actually enjoying, against all odds.

Steve does say, quite sincerely, “Thanks, Munson. You didn’t have to… you really saved my ass.”

Eddie’s about to clumsily work his way through some reply about how it was nothing, but then they really do have to go, because some stern-faced security guard’s staring like he might vaporise them.

It’s just one day, Eddie thinks. A… what’s-it-called. An anomaly.

But he goes back to the mall the next afternoon. He doesn’t bother to make up an excuse even in his own head.

Scoops Ahoy is somehow even more packed this time—Steve’s serving up samples while Robin’s back at the register, and when she sees Eddie coming, she points at the vanilla, mouths, “The classic?”

He chuckles, nods. “How was your movie, Buckley?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” she says serenely. “I was very sick.” She coughs delicately.

“Praying for your miraculous recovery.”

He gets vanilla with butterscotch syrup (just because Robin’s the closest to that particular dispenser, that’s all).

It’s so busy that once Robin’s finished at the register, she starts filling orders alongside Steve. When Eddie picks up his cup, they barely look at him, surrounded by other cups and plastic bowls laid out for ice-cream.

Figures. Eddie knows it’s not personal. Just. Soap bubble’s burst, and all that.

He’s almost out the store when he hears a whistle.

“Hey, Munson! Go long!”

“Fuck off, no,” Eddie says automatically, a response drilled into him from many a compulsory Phys Ed class.

But he turns, just in time to see Steve throw something at him. He catches it—it’s plastic, round—somehow manages to keep a hold of his ice-cream, too.

Steve gives a brief thumbs up, before he’s back to scooping. He still finds time to do that stupid twirl move again.

Once outside, Eddie opens up his hand. Snorts.

It’s a shitty white badge, chipped in several places. His name’s scrawled on it in red marker, a cartoony anchor in the upper right corner.

On the bus home, Eddie mulls over the thought of flicking through a couple chapters of The Hobbit, something like that. No pressure, no notes—no imagining the year ahead, a teacher looming over his shoulder. Just for fun.

There’s plenty of time.

He puts his souvenir in his pocket, takes another spoonful of ice-cream.

And he has to admit that butterscotch is pretty damn good.

[ladylokilaufeyson5]

Where The Shadows Dance - The Proposition (i)

Bodyguard!Azriel x AutumnDaughter!Reader

CHAPTER I: The Proposition

SUMMARY: Beron has invited the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court to spend a week in the Autumn Court. Azriel and the rest of the Court of Dream believe he has ulterior motives, and they are correct - but these motives come as a surprise.

WARNINGS: Um. Misogyny. love that for us (i hate the autumn court). swearing (the f-word (as in fuck)), y/n has daddy issues (bc beron is a cunt) and uh... i haven't read acotar in ages so apologies for any OC characteristics and forgetting everything about the autumn court. but i did read HOFAS recently so hopefully az isn't too out of character. also tw: beron

NOTE: so obviously Y/n is the daughter of the autumn court. we know they have red hair BUT i want this to be as less oc as possible so y/n has your colour hair and u can make up ur own story about why but mine is that she's 'rebellious' (as you'll see later on) and just dyes her hair. also special thank you to my moots @icey--stars and @fieldofdaisiies for proofreading my work! i love you guys<3

WORDS: 2.7K

Azriel glowered at the male sat across from him. Eris either didn't notice or pretended he didn't care as he reclined in his chair, one arm over the back and looking for all the world he was in his own home, rather than the Court Of Nightmares.

"Eris," Rhys drawled, "if you have any information to help us with this meeting with your father, we would appreciate it immensely."

The High Lord of the Autumn Court had invited the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court to his castle for a week, as a gesture of good will, and an attempt to strengthen their bonds. Of course, the court was suspicious of the intent behind such actions. Although Azriel had sent his contacts in to find any sliver of information, his spies had come back empty-handed.

Eris rolled his shoulders, seemingly at ease despite being surrounded by the Night Court's most deadly warriors. "I am not entirely sure what he wants, but I assume it has something to do with my sister, Y/n."

Y/n, the only daughter of the High Lord of Autumn. She was quite young, by Fae standards – only seventy-nine. She had not fought in the war against Hybern, and had very little training according to Azriel's knowledge.

"Why her?" Feyre asked carefully.

Azriel heard the shift in her tone. She was wondering, as they all were, what Beron intended to do with her. The Autumn Court was just as backwards as the Court Of Nightmares, and females were considered little more than property. 

Eris simply shrugged, either not hearing the implications in the High Lady's tone, or simply not caring. "That is all I know, I'm afraid."

Cassian grunted, his eyes still on the heir to the Autumn throne. No one was particularly happy about the bargain they had struck with him, but he seemed to be a willing ally. For now.

"What can you tell us about her?" Feyre inquired.

Eris watched her for a moment, before responding, "She is… wild. Untamed, and unpredictable."

Despite his words, Azriel sensed a flicker of admiration in his tone. Azriel stored that piece of information away. It could be a weakness of Eris's, his sister. They may need to exploit it one day.

"Sounds like my kind of lady," Mor grinned.

The fact that Mor bothered speak in Eris's presence was a gift that the heir did not appreciate enough. Azriel glanced sidelong at her, noticing the way her unbound golden hair cascaded down her back, and the amount of skin her low-cut red dress revealed. Once, looking at her like that would have sent Azriel mad with longing. But after she had confided in him, after she had revealed she could never love him back because she preferred females… some part of him had been relieved to let her go.

Eris scoffed at Mor's comment. "Yes, well, she irritates my father to no end."

There was a silence, and Azriel wondered whether Y/n annoyed Eris as well, before Rhys sighed, "Well, if that's all, Eris, I'm sure you have places to be."

The dismissal was clear in the High Lord's tone, and Eris rose from his chair with a nod before leaving the council room. Everyone was silent as the male left, all eyeing each other. Feyre and Rhys were looking at each other, a clear indication of their telepathic conversation, and Azriel watched the two with a hint of jealousy. Of course he was happy from them – finding one's mate was one of the most fulfilling things one could experience. But he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for his own. It seemed he was the last of the court to find his mate, and he had a fear that he would never find them.

"Has anyone heard much about this Princess?" Cassian asked, looking towards Azriel.

Azriel shook his head. "She is one of the most guarded individuals in Prythian. My sources struggle to even see her."

"Very guarded indeed," Rhysand murmured.

The Court of Dreams debated between themselves the possibilities of what the High Lord of Autumn could want regarding his daughter. Azriel had a few of his own suspicions – to have her taken away, or perhaps trained in combat – but none of them seemed accurate. 

After a while of debating plausible explanations for Beron's offer, the court decided to head home to the City of Starlight in order to get a good night's rest before their meeting tomorrow. The High Lord and High Lady were going, as well as Cassian and Azriel. Morrigan was not permitted in the Autumn Court, so she would stay behind with Nesta to hold down the fort while they were gone. Amren would also be travelling to the Autumn Court, and although the monster she was no longer crawled beneath her skin, she made most people wary.

As he lay in his bed, Azriel couldn't help but wonder what awaited him tomorrow. He was curious about what the Autumn High Lord wanted, especially regarding his daughter, although he was also wary. Although Autumn had helped them in the war, they couldn't be trusted. Azriel fell into an uneasy sleep, cautious of the days to come.

Azriel awoke at dawn the next day. They weren't due in the Autumn Court until the evening, so Azriel decided to go through his morning exercises. The Valkyries weren't up yet, so he went through his warm ups, taking his shirt off halfway through. The morning was uneventful, and Azriel ran over the information they had in his head. Eris had suggested that Beron may be seeking a favour of some sort, so perhaps it had something to do with that.

The day passed by quickly, and soon enough, those travelling to the Autumn Court had gathered in the living room of the River House, just as they had planned. Azriel and Cassian wore their scaled, black armour, while Rhys and Feyre wore their finery. Rhysand held his mate's arm, and Azriel grabbed onto Cassian, before winnowing to the entrance of the Autumn Court castle.

It was big, and made of stone. It was quite majestic, if Azriel was being honest – high towers and red and orange flags waving in the wind, large windows showcasing rich carpets and tapestries inside.

Rhys led the way, Feyre on his arm and Cassian and Azriel following closely, and Amren trailing behind. Guards monitored them as they passed through the halls, their armour heavier the closer they got to the throne room. Azriel marked each one as they passed, something he was sure Cassian and Rhysand were also doing.

The doors to the throne room opened, and revealed the High Lord of the Autumn Court sat atop a dais, the Lady of Autumn seated beside him. Beron's sons stood on his left, and his daughter was seated to her mother's right.

Azriel paused at the sight of her. She was beautiful, even by Fae standards. Her h/c hair shone in the Fae light liming the walls, piled neatly on her head in a braid crown. Y/n’s e/c eyes sparked with mischief and curiosity, skimming over the members of Azriel's Court, until they finally landed on him. Her gaze was mesmerising, and Azriel couldn't find it in himself to break it. A small smirk played at the corners of her mouth, as if she were aware of the effect she had on him, although Azriel's mask of icy cold had not budged even an inch. Azriel quickly tore his eyes away from the Daughter of Autumn, marking the guards posted by the doors and the dais, and counting the weapons each of Beron's sons carried. 

"Beron," Rhysand purred, ever the arrogant High Lord, the mask back up despite the High Lords' meeting all those months ago. "So lovely to see you again. Thank you for inviting us to stay."

Beron rose from his dias and stalked towards the High Lord of the Night Court. Everyone tensed as he stepped closer and closer, and Azriel subtly reached for the dagger at his side. Beron's blood would spray across the marble floors the second Azriel suspected he would harm his High Lord or Lady. But Beron simply held his hand out, and Rhys gripped it tightly, his eyes holding a small amount of surprise.

"Rhysand. A pleasure to have you here," Beron replied. Azriel didn't miss the slight strain in his voice. "You must be hungry. Shall we?"

Beron inclined his head to the dining room and led the way with Rhysand and Feyre at his side. He hadn't even acknowledged the High Lady, something that made Azriel want to rip the male’s head off, but Rhys got there first.

“And what about my High Lady?” Rhys purred, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Beron’s smile faltered slightly, and he glanced at Feyre with a barely concealed look of distaste, as if he would rather rip off his own toenails than address a female with the same amount of respect that he would expect. Azriel felt a protective anger surge through him, and he watched carefully, curious as to what the High Lord’s next move would be.

“Of course,” Beron said, his voice dripping with fake courtesy. “My apologies, Lady Feyre. Of course it is wonderful to have you both visit.”

Cassian gave Azriel a look that said, And-what-about-us? Aren't-we-wonderful?

Azriel sent him a look back that said, Shut-the-fuck-up.

Beron led them all to the dining room, the Autumn colours present everywhere they looked. The chairs were all high-backed, and Azriel knew that Beron did not care if he and Cassian would be comfortable with their wings. Everyone took their seats — Beron at the head, Rhysand to his left, and Feyre beside him. Azriel sat next to his High Lady, Cassian taking his seat adjacent to the shadowsinger. The Lady of Autumn (still not a High Lady, despite the fact that Viviane was also now a High Lady) sat to Beron’s right, Eris beside her, and Y/n next to him, and across from Azriel. Azriel felt Y/n’s eyes on him, and he met her gaze. There was a curious look in her eyes, a look of anticipation mixed with mischief.

Dinner was served, an array of meats and vegetables placed on the table by servants, mostly lesser fairies. None of them looked Azriel in the eye, and he wondered if it was because they knew who and what he was, or if they’d been trained not to. Y/n, however, had no such qualms about this, and stared at the shadowsinger unabashedly.

Beron struck up a conversation with Rhys — small talk, something that Azriel internally cringed at, because it was definitely just to fill the silence. Ever the gracious guest, Rhysand responded in kind, although Azriel knew he was wondering what Beron’s ulterior motives were.

“How do your siphons work?”

The table went silent as Y/n spoke, her cunning eyes trained on Azriel. Beron looked at his daughter with a hint of irritation gleaming in his eyes, as if it was unacceptable for her to speak without permission. Azriel glanced at Rhysand, who was watching the daughter of Autumn with a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

“How do you know that is what they are called?” Rhys asked, his eyes trained on the only daughter of Autumn.

She shrugged, and answered, “I read a lot in my spare time. I remember reading about the Illyrians, and their siphons. If I remember correctly, Illyrians tend to possess only one, yet the two of you hold several.”

“There is no need to question our guests, Y/n,” Beron scolded firmly.

Y/n frowned. “I was simply curious.”

“Do not speak back to me,” Beron reprimanded, a burning fury now evident in his eyes.

Y/n slumped back into her chair slightly and bowed her head. “My apologies, Father.”

Beron didn’t even acknowledge his daughter before he turned back to Rhys, as if her mere existence didn’t deserve another moment of his time. Azriel watched the female in front of him as she stared at her plate, and felt a sense of sympathy for her. Azriel owed her nothing — he did not know the female in front of him, did not know if she even deserved his sympathy — and yet he felt the need to protect, to wipe that blank expression off of her face.

“Our siphons act as a conduit for our raw power,” Azriel offered, causing Y/n to look up. Beron paused, glancing at the shadowsinger and the Autumn daughter, and Azriel continued, “It helps to control our magic, to make it precise and nimble, rather than a messy outburst of power.”

Cassian gaped at his brother, as if he had never heard that many words come out of Azriel’s mouth in one sitting. While that was an inaccurate statement, it was true that Azriel never tended to speak in front of new people. He wasn’t sure why he had done so anyway. But Y/n bowed her head in thanks at the information, perhaps still wary of answering and speaking without her father’s permission, but Azriel had observed a small, triumphant light in the female’s eyes at his reply.

Azriel watched as that gleam faded when Beron cleared his throat, gaining the attention from everyone in the room.

“There is a reason why I have asked you here,” Beron stated.

“Surprise, surprise,” Cassian muttered, and Azriel elbowed him.

Beron glanced at Cassian for all of a second before continuing, “There has been an attempt on my daughter’s life.” Stunned silence met Beron’s words, and Azriel caught Y/n rolling her eyes. That raised his suspicion — were Beron’s words false, or did she simply believe it was not an issue? “If it appeals to you,” Beron went on, “I seek to employ one of your Night Court warriors as her personal bodyguard.”

Rhys blinked once, his only sign of surprise. Beron looked at Rhys expectantly, and Azriel could have guessed the thoughts that flew around Rhys’s head.

“Why one of my warriors?” Rhys inquired carefully.

“I hoped it might help strengthen bonds between our courts,” Beron expressed.

Azriel watched the High Lord of the Autumn Court carefully. There seemed to be no ulterior motives hidden within his demeanour — he did not shift nervously, none of his facial features even so much as twitched.

“And say I agree to this,” Rhys said casually, “how long would you hold onto one of my warriors?”

“Until the threat against my daughter’s life is eliminated,” Beron answered.

There was silence for a few moments while everyone processed what was happening. Azriel looked at Eris to see the male’s eyes on his father. They were carefully guarded, a mask in place to ensure no one was able to discern what he was thinking. Azriel turned his gaze to Y/n, and a shadow slithered up by his ear.

She does not believe it to be such a serious matter, the shadow whispered. She wishes for this dinner to be over so she may go back to her quarters and finish her novel.

Azriel blinked in surprise at the information from his shadow. Usually, his shadows would tell him what others could not see and hear — but this felt almost like too much. Yes, his shadows had a tendency to recognise when someone was lying, or what weapons they were concealing, but to give him a person’s unvoiced opinion on a matter was something new.

But indeed, with her chin propped up on her delicate hand, and twirling her dessert fork in the other, she appeared to be completely disinterested. Azriel turned his gaze back to the male beside her, to see Eris already watching his sister. His eyes were cold and calculating as he regarded her, as if he was mentally playing out how this ‘bodyguard’ situation would go. With the slight frown tugging the corners of his lips downwards, Azriel assumed Eris did not believe it would end well.

“Please, do take time to come to a decision,” Beron offered. “I do understand this is a lot to ask.”

“We shall have an answer by the end of the week,” Rhys said with a nod.

Beron nodded back, and Azriel wondered what they were getting themselves into.

TAGLIST: @honeybee54321 @marigold-morelli @lucky7rosie @itsswritten @paankhaleyaar @bubybubsters @5onedirection5 @lilah-asteria @sheblogs @thelov3lybookworm @blushingfawnsposts @thisiskaylin

(users in bold could not be tagged)

[moonastro]

your fs's cute habits

pick a picture

left to right(top)-> 1,2,3

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑how to choose an image? take a deep breath, close your eyes, RELAX, and let your intuition do the rest.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑remember, you can be drawn to more than one picture!!

°DO NOT take this as literal, take everything with a grain of salt as this is purely and intendedly for entertainment purposes.

°Don't be afraid to give feedback and opinions about this post (as i would entirely appreciate it).

° This is a GENERAL reading, take what resonates and leave and pass on what does not!

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

pile one

they might have a smirk to their smile, or have this instinctive smile that they do that is unique to them. i don't know, it feels very cute though. like i see them doing it whenever they get shy or get suddenly happy. Also, along with that will be their laugh. they may have a distinctive laugh that they do. they may hit (in a friendly way) when laughing or they may get weak and pretend fall, and so on. i do see them being dramatic with it though😅. your person may randomly say what's on their mind without any context. like it will become so normal to you guys that you will either go with it or just ignore it. by random i mean like continuing a conversation you guys had 30 minutes ago and they add to it, or they purely just bring up the time when they were a kid and such. in public, i feel like they will be quite shy, they may unintentionally hide behind you especially if you are talking with someone or walk slightly behind. they may be a slow walker too, its not because they are slow but they get distracted easily. by the nature, the birds, the cars, the buildings etc etc. very much new soul vibes, taking in everything around them. they can be a collector and have a collection of little figures and items. it is their possessions and they will protect their collection with all their heart and take time to correct their positions and such when accidently moved.

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pile two

awk, this is too cute, so your partner may blush quite often. it may be from embarrassment, anger, stress, or getting put in the spotlight. you may find it cute because it can make you love them even more and it may make you feel like they are like more genuine?? anyway, they may space out quite often, probably just blanking out and staring into abyss. this may be a habit and they may have a nickname given from spacing out so much 😅. like for example, you may ask them a question and they reply with mumbles and when you say 'did you even hear what i said' they come back and go 'huh' or 'no, sorry'. you may laugh at it because you find the way they look doing it cute. you may find it cute when they get mad. they may have a face that they do or do a gesture that you notice each time. its giving me every time when they're angry you cant take them seriously and then they get even more mad. the way they eat/chew may be significant, so they may pout/ make a cute face when eating.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

pile three

okay, so pile 3, your person is giving very much clueless energy. i feel like most of the time they may not know what you may be talking about but they still contribute to the conversation so you wont feel upset about it. but i feel like you will always ask them if they know what you mean and then they'll admit that they don't! but i do see you laughing it off and telling them that they can admit if they don't get it. oh, they are really into structure and have really organised drawers, closets, shoe racks and so forth. you may find it cute how they keep it VERY organised and are serious about it too. you may find their concentrated face cute lol. they do portray this youthful energy so they might express those characteristics through their actions. they definitely don't like to argue and will let you win every single time which may feel frustrating sometimes but they just avoid it at all cost and feel there is no need for it. it can make you feel guilty about it though and make you want to take care of them. at the end of they day you laugh it off and find it cute. they may have trouble with their vision and may squint a lot- you can tend to make fun of them cutely for it. like, every minute of they day you see they squinting at EVERYTHING and that can catch you off guard and make you laugh by their cuteness. this is a very fun/ laughter couple so there is a lot of laughing and giggling involved.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

thank you dear soul for reading this!! it is greatly appreciated, and i hope you all are doing well and enjoyed this post🤍.

[morallyinept]

Azalea - A Lucien Flores One Shot

Summary: A man from your past shows up at a party and leaves you on the cusp of making a life changing choice. Do you stay, or do you leave with him?

Pairing: Lucien Flores x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However Reader has hair long enough to be brushed over their shoulder and wears a dress.)

Word Count: 4.8k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶 “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral F recieving/mild ass play/kissing/infidelity/mentions of past issues with alcolholism and addiction/toxic relationship traits/unrequited love and longing/Lucien's chains come with their own warning

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I get the sense (from the little clips we've seen of Lucien so far) that he's in love, and probably loves hard, and is messy and complicated with a turbulent past, and isn't a bad guy at all. So here he is, my version. I hope you like him. 😘 (I've used some of his lines from the clips we've seen too.)

MAIN MASTERLIST | LUCIEN FLORES MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

As guests mingle and laughter fills the air in the grand house, you can’t shake off the heavy feeling of discontent grinding sharply around your teeth.

As you stand invisible amongst the cluster of your braying friends, you can't help but cast a wistful gaze back towards the brown eyes staring at you from across the room, loitering casually with a hand in his pocket and lips wrapped around a cigarette.

It makes your skin itch and pickle that he's here.

How is it that he’s fucking here?

He’s like a ghost haunting the hollows of your bones. A constant white noise that only you can hear.

He looks good, well. Better.

He has colour in the capillaries of his cheeks again, and the way he stands is different, he seems taller somehow, a little more grey and wispy, but still handsome. He’s put on a little weight, a small paunch evidence of that. He appears more foreboding with those squared-off shoulders in their thick broadness.

He smirks at you, he never smiles. Just smirks, crookedly and you look away immediately. Those itches and prickles melting into warm heat that floods down your spine.

Fuck, why is he here?

You turn your attention to Mitch, basking in the spotlight of adulation. His animated gestures and booming laughter echo out through the open windows, mingling with the soft strains of music drifting from within the dining room.

Guests cluster around him, hanging onto his every word; their faces alight with admiration and respect. And it makes you fucking sick.

You slip away unnoticed, carrying a bottle of open and warm champagne, seeking solace amidst the blood red azaleas in the expansive garden.

You’re drinking from the bottle of flattening fizz bitterly, leaving your partner toasting his fortune and parry, and there’s tension swirling around your gut that hasn’t died down since the vicious verbal spat you endured the previous night with him.

Your jaw still aches from clenching it all night.

As the celebration in the house continues, the siren call of the garden seems to provide a contrasting haven for you amidst the vibrant azalea bushes that grow plush and full.

An immediate sense of relief washes over your clammy skin, being away from the pomp and grandeur of the party inside, where Mitch holds court with his characteristic charisma. Mitch is a man of stature, exuding an air of confidence that borders on total arrogance.

Tonight's gathering is, after all, in honour of the recent success of his book - a testament to his hard ambition and callous drive. You have no idea what it’s about. You’ve not read it, tiring of your opinions and input being constantly quashed.

Mitch moves through the crowd with ease, regaling guests with anecdotes of his success and achievements, which doesn’t care to highlight the months of patience and suffering you’ve endured whilst he wrote it; his crackling laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses and the hum of vibrant conversation.

Despite the outward display of celebration, you can't shake off the underlying tautness swirling in your gut, lingering from the fight that still hovers between you both. Mitch's ego often overshadows the relationship, and controls it, leaving your own feelings and desires overlooked and unappreciated.

And as you find welcome loneliness in the garden, a fucking moment to just breathe, you can't help but wonder if Mitch has even noticed your absence amidst the ass-kissing bestowed upon him.

Well, it's all about having the right mindset, you see. I've always been driven by success, and I refuse to settle for anything less than the best...

You roll your eyes at Mitch's self-congratulatory tone that follows out the windows and berates you further. It’s moments like these that remind you of the growing chasm between you, feeling a pang of disconnection, a sense of longing for something more profound than the superficial trappings of hollow success.

You find yourself retreating deeper into the shadows of the garden, seeking pause amidst the fragrant blooms with the champagne bottle as your only companion.

And then, startled by a familiar voice, one that grates on you for completely different reasons, you find yourself vis-a-vis with your ex-boyfriend, Lucien Flores, who’s unabashedly shown up uninvited.

Somehow inserting himself back into your life in blocks of time to taunt you further no doubt. The tension between you is palpable as you exchange awkward looks amidst the blossoming flowers under the moonlit sky.

His molten brown eyes are soft and deep as he smirks in your direction as you cast an aloof glace over your shoulder at him that is anything but. You swig on the bottle like his presence hasn’t jangled your nerves tenfold, but you both know that it has.

You can feel his eyes wandering and burning holes across your body framed in a cascade of vibrant crimson fabric; its rich hue contrasting beautifully against the wild backdrop of the garden. With every step, the hem of the dress brushes against the dew-kissed grass as you turn from him and head further into the darker recesses of the plush oasis.

Lucien follows, checking behind him to make sure you’re both still alone.

Lush greenery envelopes the space, with vibrant bursts of blood colour provided by the clusters of azalea bushes in full bloom, their delicate petals casting a gentle fragrance into the air. He watches as your fingers brush through their leaves and velvety heads as you pass.

Stone pathways wind their way through the verdant landscape, leading to secluded alcoves, where you find yourself now with Lucien’s presence engulfing the small space.

“This isn't really a good time for your bullshit, Lucien." You say, as you drink from the bottle again, feeling a trickle of its nectar within roll down your chin.

“I wanted to see you, amante," (lover) he says, nonchalantly.

You wince at the endearing nickname he used to shower you with, whispers of it keening from a set of explorative lips as they inked the affectionate moniker under your skin.

“Really.” You snort rather ungraciously. “Why are you even here?”

He drags on the last of his cigarette, smoke billowing from pink lips, before flicking it away, its embers dying in the night. “Can we talk?”

You shake your head adamantly. “We never just talk. You know I'm with someone else now."

“Yeah. Mitch.” He nods over to the house, the party still in full swing. “Quite the catch.” He slurs with a strained hiss, then smirks.

“He wants kids,” you scoff.

And Lucien’s face softens. “You’d be a great mom.”

“I don’t want to be a mom.” You confirm and he nods.

“I know. That's why I got the snip.” His eyebrow flexes in sympathy. “Remember that summer in Tuscany?”

You shake your head again. “We never went to Tuscany.”

He thinks for a second through the haze and frowns. “No, that’s right. That was Annabelle.” He corrects with a dip in his cheeks. He simply clicks his tongue at his mistake.

“Right. Annabelle.” You bristle. “How is she these days?” Although you don’t really care.

“We should go.”

“To Tuscany?” You baulk.

“Yeah, let's go. Right now. Slip away.” He suggests with a warm seriousness.

“Lucien-”

“Kiss me.” He steps in gently and you place a palm on his chest; the silk of his shirt like fluid under your touch.

Your eyes trail over the shiny watercolour of it, the way it hangs flimsy and baggy at the hem before you brave yourself to trail upwards over the familiar shape of his chest and exposed collarbone, shiny with sweat in the hollow. A duo of gold chains knotted around one another twinkle at you before your eyes find his own.

“You are so unfair.” You shake your head despondently.

“You’ve wanted to kiss me since you saw me tonight.” Lucien states, casually. You feel him take the bottle from your fingers and he drinks a mouthful of it for himself.

“I thought you were sober.” You frown.

“I am, but I still drink.”

You roll your eyes as he clears his throat and puts the bottle down.

“I don’t even know why you’re here tonight. Who invited you?” You question with a knitted brow. You’re pretty certain he doesn't know anyone here. Except you.

You he knows really well. Too well.

He looks at you for a moment, head dipped and cocked to one side as if taking you all in.

“You’re not happy.” Lucien says, brushing your hair over your shoulder and it lingers there, his fingers in your roots gently massaging.

You turn, your nose brushing the inside of his wrist and inhale the scents there. The sun, the natural salt musk of his skin, cigarettes. You close your eyes just basking in the innocent feel of him. He was always so generous with his touch.

“No, I'm not.” You turn your face up to meet his. You can't lie to him, not when he sees you - really sees you. “But I wasn’t happy with you either.”

“I am sober.” He reassures, dropping his hand. “Eight months. I have control of my life now.”

“Right.” You fold in on yourself. You can’t go there. You refuse to go there.

“I came here to apologise to you.” Lucien says, stepping back and casting his glance down the pathway back at the house and its design.

“Is that what your sponsor suggested you do?” You remark.

“Is it Venetian?” He asks.

From the outside, the house exudes an air of opulence, with its intricate facade adorned with ornate columns and graceful archways reminiscent of palazzos.

You shrug, watching him carefully as he frowns.

“I never knew Mitch had such exquisite taste." Lucien smirks with a sneer.

“He doesn’t. It’s his parent’s second home. We’re renting it for the summer. His stupid book tour.” You mutter.

"Pshoo. Fancy." He shakes his head. “No, my sponsor didn’t tell me to come here to apologise to you.”

He turns back to you, his features soft and moulding into concern at your watery eyes looking back at him.

“You seem... melancholy." You feel his thumbs stroke either side of your face and this time you don’t stop him. Just helplessly letting those rough, calloused pads swipe over the skin under your eyes.

“You’re all glittery and sad,” Lucien says, looking at the metallic shadow brushed delicately over your eyelids.

“Why are you doing this?” You query, deflating. Surrendering.

“Doing what?”

“Torturing me.”

“You think this is torture?” Lucien asks, stroking your cheeks delicately. “It got dark. I wanted to see the sun again.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he presses a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

A phantom sensation dances across your skin - a gentle caress, feather-light and tender in its hesitation. In that brief, ethereal moment, you feel transported back to a time when what you and Lucien had was untarnished by the shadows of addiction and betrayal - a time when his touch had been a balm to your weary heart.

And you missed the sun too.

He walks with you, guiding you backwards to the craggy, stone wall encased in the curve of the dark. You can still see his eyes as they drop to your lips and you remember the taste of him, choking on the smoke of him as he draws nearer to your face.

A hushed conversation stirs your attention from the other side of the wall. A faint, muffled voice drifts through the thick stone wall, and your heart clenches as you recognize Mitch's unmistakable tone.

Lucien covers your mouth gently with an engulfing, warm hand as he ghosts his nose gently over the skin of your neck.

It's hard to focus as you inhale a faint remant of his heady cologne, but on the other side of the wall you can hear your partner Mitch on the phone; his voice dripping with honeyed affection that he hasn’t used with you for a long time.

Lucien pulls back as you push against his chest, standing straight, his palm flat against the wall above your head as he listens out curiously with you.

I can’t stop thinking about you either, darling…

Lucien’s eyes drop to yours, his smirk dipping. “He’s fucking someone else?” He mouths.

You nod. You’ve suspected it for a while now and are only more confounded as to why you haven’t left him yet.

"Pendejo." (Asshole/idiot) Lucien bites in a growl.

As he’s speaking beyond the wall to his clandestine lover, Lucien pulls back, standing upright and shaking his head.

Your hands clench into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms as Mitch waves his infidelity around the garden so casually.

His voice eventually fades out and Lucien takes one of your fists, unkinks your fingers, and brings your palm up to his mouth where he kisses it gently, eyes lancing at you, deep and entracing.

“Fuck him. Come with me to Tuscany.” Lucien drawls.

You wrinkle your nose. “What about Annabelle?”

He shrugs. “It didn’t work out.”

“Why am I not surprised?” You snort.

“Wasn’t the drinking.” He says, shaking his head and cupping your hand in between both of his ginormous ones. “Sober, remember?”

“You just drank from the champagne, I'm not an idiot.”

“Proof.” He says. “Proof that I can control it now.”

“You’ll never be able to control it.”

He nods. “Yeah, not without help. And I have help.”

You sigh and he looks at you earnestly pressing your hands to his chest. You can feel the ribbing of his heartbeat underneath them.

“I ended things with Annabelle ages ago.”

“Why? She was good for you.”

He breaks off with a garbled sigh amd swallows. You watch as he stares intonthe distance, and then he smirks.

“Do you remember when you threw my keys over the fence?”

“Don’t change the subject. Why did you leave her?” You say, fearing the answer.

“She’s not… you.” Lucien kisses your palm again and you can only watch him. Watch, rooted to the spot, heart thudding as he kisses slowly up your wrist and arm.

"I can't be with someone I don't love." He says simply.

You know it’s empty promises and hollow words as he paints this fantasy of a forever with him on your skin with his hot tongue. And it’s an illusion you’ll happily let yourself fall into for a while because it seems almost better than your current reality.

So you kiss him back. Pulling him by the lapels of his thin shirt until his lips are felt against yours, desperately.

He kisses you like the first time, when he was unsure and flighty. Before he became the man who broke your heart and left you walking barefoot on the shards of it.

His hands roam your face, cupping your cheek, thumbs stroking again as you feel his body crush against yours. Hips winding into your belly as he gasps around the taste of your lips.

You both part, panting and wanting, his deep eyes searching you out. He knows you’re in there somewhere, knows you’re better than this life, and also the one he tried - and failed - to give you.

Amidst the confusing turmoil, you can't ignore the unspoken longing lingering between you both, a palpable undercurrent of tension and desire on both parts.

He’s crushed tightly against you, bleeding into the shadows of the stone wall propped up behind you and your skin alike. You can almost feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, aquiline nose brushing up the side of your jaw inhaling the sweet scents of you that make his mouth water and his cock stiffen into your gut.

His hand pulls at the silk of your belt and your dress falls open, cascades of rich velvet and silk opening for his hands to roam gently over your naked skin.

You feel a rush of warmth flood your body despite the cool breeze puckering your nipples - warmth at the way Lucien looks at you, marvelling at you.

At the way he touches you, reigniting the sparks that you ensured you snuffed out a long time ago. You shudder at Lucien’s tender touch, the way his fingertips barely glide across your exposed skin, your weak heart fluttering in response to the raw vulnerability you see reflected back in his eyes.

You find yourself leaning into Lucien’s touch, finding solace and comfort in the unspoken connection that has always lingered between you both, despite everything. In that moment, amidst the fragrant blooms and the moonlit shadows, that small nagging thought mutates, that perhaps the love you’d always been searching for had been right here, in his stacked arms all along.

You shake your head, quickly gathering your wits and wrapping the dress around your body.

“We can’t do this.” You croak, trying to convince yourself of it despite all the blood in your veins rushing towards your centre and throbbing like a jungle drum.

“Yes we can.” Lucien assures. “I’ve fucking missed you, amante.”

It stops you in your tracks.

The words hang in the air, sharp and raw, teetering on the edge of a dreamy possibility that you’ve only allowed yourself to relive in the dark corners of your mind in quiet moments of a self-loathing masochism you allow yourself to harbour.

You feel his thick fingers on the tips of yours, a delicate yet invading touch that spreads its poison quickly and renders your resolve to crumble at your feet.

Any thoughts of regret are pushed aside as you wrap your arms around him and kiss him again.

Lucien worships your body as he trails his mouth over your naked breasts, sucking nipples into his mouth as he pushes you back against the wall. You gasp, already squirming and clenching as his lips leave more devastation.

He makes out with your stomach, dipping his tongue lavishly into your belly button as he sinks to his knees. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging gently as you wind fluffed, messy curls around them.

Lucien turns you with ease in his large hands, gathering your dress to the side, and kisses across your butt, biting the pert cheeks of them softly into his mouth as his hands pry them apart and his tongue makes lewd discoveries that make you gasp into the wall.

He crushes you to him, wrapping his arms around your thighs and forcing his face further in between your cheeks as you reach behind and rake desperately through his hair.

Running his tongue around the tight knot of your skin, and your mind can't help to revisit all the times when he claimed it with his fingers and cock too.

He kisses over the dimples of your thighs, all around them, under them, the backs of your knees - just everywhere and anywhere he can run his scuffed lips against.

Turning you again, he stares at your cunt inches from his nose, that’s soaking through the flimsy, black lace panties you’re wearing.

“He doesn’t fucking deserve you.” Lucien growls, looking up at you. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

“No, you don’t.” You breathe resolutely. But you pull your panties aside and he gasps as you yank him forward by the back of his head.

He groans out in sweet relief as soon as his tongue makes contact, swiping into your soaked folds.

His hands run up the back of your thighs as he squeezes your ass, pushing your sopping cunt further onto his mouth.

“Yes, Lucien, get in there… get right in there,” you pant as your eyes roll back.

You struggle to stay upright, your body like jelly as you feel yourself slipping against the ragged stone wall against your skin.

He pries you open with his thumbs, licking over the shiny, wet bead of your clit and your thighs shakes uncontrollably. He brutally sucks it, flicking his tongue over and over in his determination to make you unravel.

He won’t stop until you come, you know this. He always was a generous lover in carefree abundance. Far from what you’re used to now - Mitch hasn't touched you in months, and the thought of it makes your skin crawl.

Lucien’s tongue works you up quickly, lapping and gliding expertly as he mouths on you exquisitely. You hear him grunt in hunger and want as he pulls you onto him further; his blunt fingertips pressing bruises into your ass cheeks as he grips tighter onto you, your hips winding into his face.

“Lucien…” you whine as you bubble and brew.

His eyes look up at you, mouth and nose buried into your core as you come; the silvery moon bathing your face in sweet, adoring kisses through its crescent smile as your body heats and your bones shake.

He lets you taste it as he rises up and kisses you, slipping his honey coated tongue back between your lips as you groan.

"Taste so fucking good." He groans.

His fingers attack your pussy, sliding in and pumping fast as you gasp. Clutching onto his shoulders, the silk bunches up around them in knotted waterfalls spilling over your knuckles as you claw and squeeze.

“Come for me again, baby.” Lucien encourages in a low, deep tone. Eyes watching you as the shadows of the alcove play over his ragged face like Rorschach inkblots.

“I’m gonna fuck you right here, amante,” he grunts as you squeeze and contract around his fingers brushing over your spot. “And then I’m gonna take you away from here, away from that piece of shit, and fuck you again. And again.”

“Lucien, please…” you whimper.

“We belong together, baby. I fucking love you.” He mumbles into your lips. “I never stopped. Not once. And I know you didn’t either. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby... come for me, that's it, let go... come... Fuck, you're so beautiful.”

You cry out as your orgasm floods your body and his fingers. Your body shakes beyond your control, eyes glazed over and lost in a tumble of his sweet ramblings and bewitching ministrations.

“Come here.” Lucien reaches to his fly as he kisses your neck. His heady grunts sound like gravel in your ears, breath warming you with the acrid scent of smoke seeping into your pores.

He hoists your leg up over his thick arm, his hand coming to rest on your face again as you feel him run his cock through your folds. He dips his hips low as he breaks on through inside you.

“You feel that, you feel that all the way?” He asks, as he slides all the way in and out again.

“Lucien!” You gasp, your lips nipping onto his as you feel him pack you out. You never forgot the feel of him, so hard and thick.

"That's it, baby. Back where I belong."

His pants are desperate; puffy little breaths that soon grow into laboured whines of lusty need. Drunk off of you completely, sobriety smashed in an instant.

He vowed to stay away, to let you heal and move on, but he’s selfish. He knows he is. He can’t abstain, can’t ever quit you. It’s why he’s here, fucking another man’s woman because he’s selfish. Sabotaging every relationship he’s had since you, trapped in that cycle.

Basking in the addictive feel of your cunt squeezing around him as you come, watching as your eyes soar into the sky, howling his name into his mouth as he tastes your tongue and sucks on it greedily.

"Fuck, you feel so good." He grunts.

He comes inside you, filing you full, but he still keeps pumping, still keeps himself buried inside of you, fucking deep and slow. Unable to pull himself out of you, unable to be parted from you now that he has you back inside his hands.

You clutch on tighter to him, not wanting this to end; wanting to indulge in this secret shame in the back of the garden you've allowed yourself to wallow freely in.

He feels so good, so warm and thick. He peppers your face with kisses, the silk scruff of his jawline smooth against your cheeks. Your fingers coil in the curls behind his ears and the back of his bronzed neck, damp with sweat.

They tangle in the chains, one that you're pretty certain in your cock-addled haze that was a gift from you that he still wears - you pull him closer to you still.

“Come inside me again, Lucien,” you whisper as he pecks over your face gently.

“I wanna spend forever coming inside of you,” he whispers back, voice breaking.

And you know he means it. He always means what he says, it's just the follow through is often lost in translation. He’s not a bad man, you know this in your heart.

You spent days convincing your reflection in the mirror that he's not a bad man; he was just weak when you needed him to be strong - an unravelling mess. But he was your mess for time.

And now that he’s inside you again like this, so uncouthly unperturbed that anyone could venture down here and see him claiming you, you know a part of you still loves him too.

You believed it when he said he loved you and you suspect he probably hasn’t loved anyone else like he loved you.

It was raw, unfiltered. Intense. You know it because you felt it too. It hurt, viscerally. Consumed you both and spit you out.

A gaping wound that you’ve not been able to stitch up and every day you’re bleeding out. You wanna tell him how much it fucking hurt to watch him willingly drown, inadvertently pulling you under with him.

You want to lash out and scratch at his beautiful face, slap him and bite and bruise him like he bruised you.

But instead you kiss him, you hear him falter and become weak inside your ear and he groans and whimpers your name as he comes once more.

You let him flood you again, feel it dripping down your thighs, thick and warm as he stains your skin with him all over again.

In the afterglow of your post-coital bliss, your hand traces the contours of his weathered face, running lightly through the wiry greys along his jaw.

Lucien nestles into your palm, lips finding the skin to press in a kiss.

You want to believe it, you want to believe he’s changed and grown and learnt. That he's spent time reflecting, healing.

But you're still marred with the splinters of hurt that’ve lacerated your heart.

Looking into the rich, warm browns of melted chocolate, flecked with golden hues that dance like sunlight on water, you allow yourself to remember the days when Lucien was your everything.

When his gruff, nicotine soaked laughter was the sound that filled your days, and his touch chased away any fears you could harbour.

The ways he would fuck you for hours into the night; his sweat soaking into your skin, as you gnawed on his shoulder, like perfume you’d wear for days without showering him away.

You remember the first time you noticed the signs - the subtle scent of hard liquor on his breath, the empty bottles hidden away in the depths of your home in the most unusual of places. At first, you’d dismissed it as stress or a passing phase, but as the weeks turned into months, the truth became impossible to ignore.

You’d watched helplessly as Lucien spiralled further into the grip of his addiction, his once-charming demeanour giving way to bouts of anger and despair that would paint your bathroom in plumes of his vomit. You remember the sleepless nights spent drowning in tears, the ache in your chest that refused to relent, the biting emptiness that hollowed out your soul into a pair of unblinking eyes and a heart cemented over.

You wonder if that’s why you’re with Mitch now. Wonder if perhaps that this is all you deserve; that you’ll never be happy, so what's the point in trying to fight for it?

The nights had become endless cycles of fear and uncertainty, each day a desperate struggle to hold your crumbling world together. You’d become withdrawn, adept at hiding the truth from your friends and family, plastering on a smile to conceal the pain.

But amidst the chaos and despair, there had been moments of hope - fleeting glimpses of the man you had once loved, the man buried beneath the weight of his addiction and trying to swim out of it.

And though you had often questioned your decision to stay as long as you did, you can't deny the flicker of love that still burns within you for him, the belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there’s still a chance for redemption.

And you hate yourself for allowing your mind to go there.

Lucien reaches to the bush and plucks an azalea off the stem and combs it behind your ear.

“Beautiful.” He says with a smile. Not a smirk, a smile.

“I can’t go back to that place, Lucien.” You say, shaking your head.

You stare out at the house and the sounds of music and chatter still tinkle down the pathway towards you both.

“I know,” he says, running a hand through his hair listlessly.

You untangle the flower from your hair and look at it resting in your palm, the velvety petals smoothed out under your thumb as you stroke.

“But you can’t stay here, either.” His voice pulls you from your swampy thoughts.

"No," you agree. You turn to glance back at the house.

“Come with me,” Lucien pleads softly, deep eyes searching yours out. "What's stopping you, baby?"

Fingertips on your chin tilt you towards him. You tuck the flower inside his breast pocket and he looks forlorn as you do, eyes sinking and any trace of a smile vanishing.

You wrap your dress around your waist and he watches you belt it up into a messy bow on your hip. You can still feel him pooling between your legs.

You take in a deep breath, a steadying one that seeks clarity through the confusion, and inhale the familiar, swarming fragrance of the azaleas one last time.

My first time writing for Lucien and I'd love to know your thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog too so others can read and enjoy. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | LUCIEN FLORES MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST

Tagging @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @undercoverpena @linzels-blog @avastrasposts @trulybetty

[heartvisor]

"i know. you... hate humans."

[ahhhwomen]

Nothing really matters.

Vampire Empire

Part 3

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: Well this was depressing to write... Anyways, enjoy!

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death  Minors DNI 18+

Summary: You feel numb, what does it matter anymore?

Word Count: 2.1k

Taglist: @thinking1bee

The next time either of them sees you is in one of Natasha’s business meetings a few weeks later.

Back in Carol’s possession, you kneel in the corner of the conference room while Carol raises her voice at anyone with a slight attitude toward her idiotic ideas.

After half an hour, the constant bickering between the blond woman and Natasha’s respective staff members had become background noise.

There is a crinkling of paper as Natasha scuffles her documents around for a moment while deep in thought. The paper is smooth and high quality, her golden rings glide against the white surface, and she traces black lines of information she can recite in her sleep.

To Natasha’s surprise, you had seemed indifferent to her presence, you didn’t even glance at her once during the introduction to today’s meeting.

Following the same line back and forth, the ink smudges and blurs after the seventh round of Natasha's thumb gliding gently on top of the unimportant details.

She had to give credit where credit was due. You were poised and unbothered.

She could not say the same for herself, however.

Ever since she could smell you getting in the elevator with blondie, she kept glancing toward the door, waiting for your arrival. And now, she continuously spares a glance in your direction when she thinks someone talks too loudly or expresses themselves with broad gestures.

It doesn't take long for her to understand you a little better.

Carol changes you.

Your eyes are cast downward, and you hold your head low in a display of obedience. You are sitting on your heels with your hands just out in front of your knees. Your back is strung tight to form a perfect line and the muzzle is only for show. But whereas your posture and attitude would be considered perfection, your eyes are empty.

Natasha’s chair creaks and groans as she rocks back and forth, the leather cushion softens the knockback as her leg bounces against the flooring, unfitting of her usual characteristics, she can’t seem to keep her calm and collected demeanor.

Small tears and wrinkles form, as Natasha tightens her hands against some case report she wrote half-heartedly before bed the previous night. She inhales sharply, her nostrils flaring.

You are still covered in bruises.

They are healing, and so are the once red and angry lines, they are now pinker and more muted. But it’s clear some of them were fresher, it had been close to a month since she had seen you last, yet the color of some were as fresh as a daisy.

Specifically, your face seemed to have been put through the gutter.

Though it was clear that whatever transpired that day hadn’t been repeated, she could still sense in you that Carol wasn’t very light-handed.

She tells herself it is because she pities you for having to go through the blonde’s rage, but there is also something about the two small puncture wounds on your neck that aggravates her.

Her fingers drum against the table in annoyance while she thinks it over, her nails clicking against the resin top of her newly polished conference table.

Pinching the skin between her eyebrows she sighs loudly. Enough so, that the man currently presenting stutters and has to loosen his tie before continuing with a slight tremor to his hands.

She can’t figure it out.

She huffs and readjusts her posture to show she is listening.

Never mind, the little mystery you are, she has business to attend to. With one last glance, she emerges herself back in the matter at hand and makes sure to fix Carol with a hard glare whenever something becomes too heated.

You are sitting on an old wooden bench in the garden.

The flowers bloom around you and rustle in the fresh, spring, wind. If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the rosebush across the tiny plot of land. The birds sing in a tune you are not familiar with, but it’s nice. Lilies hug your legs, all colorful and fresh, there are tiny little droplets atop their pedals, it must have rained before you got out here.

That would explain the chill that settles deep in your spine.

There are dogs around, you hear them bark and growl at each other on the other side of the fence, but you don’t mind.

Because you are in the garden. With a fence between you and them.

Until one of them jumps the fence.

You have been staring at the ground with a slight tremor lacing your every move for the better part of an hour. She seems like a calm dog, but she’s big, bigger than you, and there is this presence to her that you don’t know what to do with.

She smells like the flowers around you, maybe that’s why you don’t flee. No matter how much you want to, you are frozen in your seat as the big hound stares at you.

She licks her snout and blinks slowly while you sit there. It feels like she is mocking you, almost as if daring you to move.

The wind picks up every now and then, the howling of the other dogs growing louder and more concerning, but the big dog doesn’t bat an eye. She growls deeply, but you can tell it isn’t directed at you, and then the other dog’s calm.

Maybe she is a nice dog, but it doesn’t matter.

A dog is a dog.

The fence opens with a piercing screech. Even as you close your eyes in hope, the big dog does nothing. She doesn’t run away, but she doesn’t help either.

She just watches as Master drags you away. You don’t know why you thought she would do anything else.

Master is right.

Master is always right.

No one will help.

You don’t deserve it.

When the meeting commends, Carol drags you out of the room quickly, she has other matters to settle tonight, and she can’t be bothered to stay here too long.

Your knuckles rasp against the expensive flooring of Mrs. Romanoff´s office. The tasteful tree-work makes your bones ache, and your tag jingles repeatedly as bone connects with fifty thousand dollars worth of Brazilian rosewood. The blond woman tugs at your leash impatiently.

“Carol. Wait a moment.”

Please don’t.

Master halted her movements just before she passed through the elevator´s door, effectively also halting yours.

“There is some paperwork James wants you to finish up before you leave.”

Natasha waves her hand around with a roll of her eyes, showcasing false annoyance she knows the blond will eat right up, “Something about an unsettled bank record?” The redhead squints in the blonde’s direction, displeasure hidden not so greatly on the CEO’s face.

Natasha has to work extremely hard to not showcase how disgusting she finds the woman in front of her to be.

The woman beside you tenses up. She bunches her eyebrows and sighs before nodding slowly and releasing the tight clutch on your leash.

A pointed finger comes into view as Carol shifts her body towards you and tilts her head downward to face you. “Stay here.” Her voice leaves no room for arguing, it’s a clear command, you know she only does it to showcase her power over you. You couldn’t talk back even if you wanted to, the clinic made sure of that long before you even knew Masters hard angles.

Nonetheless, you bow your head and place your rump back onto the cruel flooring, somehow it feels even stiffer than the concrete inside your familiar slammer.

There is a long and rather awkward silence before Miss Romanoff clears her throat and breaks the stillness.

“Are you in pain?” Natasha gestures towards her own face as if you need a hint to understand what she means.

Just a few months ago, Romanoff acknowledging you in the slightest would send you through a rollercoaster of fear and wonder. Now you merely play dumb and tilt your head in confusion.

Of course, it hurts.

That was the point, wasn’t it?

“You smell different.” Carol scrutinizes you from afar.

If it weren’t for the years of experience you have with this sort of thing you would give yourself away immediately by tensing up and begging for her mercy, instead, you remain impassive.

The blond woman studies you carefully, waiting for any telltale that you heard her.

It’s easier than you thought.

Maybe it’s from the emotional drainage these days have been, but you barely feel anything as Carol looks you over. No matter how much she has hurt you, her eyes hold nothing compared to the power that the Maximoff clan’s leader has in hers.

You can hear the familiar crunch of rough concrete beneath a heavy army boot.

Master moves closer, but still, you feel nothing.

It’s been three days since that day. The first night you sobbed your sorrows, your pain, your fear, everything that has been building up and suppressed throughout the years all expressed in a puddle of tears and blood.

You don’t know what the women wanted, but something about them had made ancient wounds reopen, and the floodgates that followed were inevitable.

You don’t even remember falling asleep, you find it more likely that you passed out from dehydration or exhaustion.

The other days had passed in a blur.

It’s like you have been stuck in a trance where nothing really matters anymore.

Then the smashing of keys came back, and still, you were inconsolable. You didn’t even acknowledge her when she ran her hands over your bare body. Didn’t blink as her hands took a threatening hold of your collar.

She was testing this new side of yours; you could tell it angered her that she didn’t affect you.

You ruined her little power trip of the day.

She grips the back of your neck and forces you to face her. “Look at me when I am talking to you!” Spit sprays on your face as she talks through gritted teeth.

You don’t care, you just stare at her through hooded eyes, looking but not seeing.

Her hand connected hard with your face; you could feel the vibration inside your skull. And yet, all you could think about were them.

The feeling of concrete pouring through your veins wasn’t so scary anymore.

*slap*

You wonder what would happen if she went all the way…

*slap*

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they killed you.

*slap*

“LOOK AT ME!” Carol screams into your ear, but it is fuzzy and unintelligible to you.

*slap*

“CAN’T YOU TELL I AM TALKING TO YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH!?”

*slap*

“Look at me?” Her hand strokes your chin lightly, but you know her…

*slap*

*slap*

Your head bounces against the pavement.

*slap*

Your vision becomes blurry and unfocused.

She hit you a total of twenty-four more times, before finally relenting and stomping away.

From that day forward you decided to play into it, pretend like what took place with the powerful women never happened to begin with. You were sure it would anger them.

If this is what Carol does when you ruin her little high.

Maybe, they will return and finish what they started if you ruin theirs.

Natasha scratches the nape of her neck as you sit there staring into nothingness. Your brows are slightly raised, and your eyes are wide, to Natasha, it seems like you are in a completely different world.

She leans against the wall, her shoulder squishing against the glass panel, and she crosses one leg over the other. Relying solely on her right leg to hold her up, she looks down at her dress shoes.

Her question was stupid, she knew as much, but what else was she supposed to say?

She wanted to talk to you.

Nat knows she should just leave you be and return back to her office, but when you were being led out of the room earlier your eyes had connected with her, it was a mere millisecond. But in that moment Natasha had felt a chill run down her spine.

Something was definitely wrong.

However, she didn’t expect you to completely shut down after just one simple question.

You are unresponsive to any stimuli while you sit in the hallway with Natasha’s presence close by. The older redhead tries to tap her foot or grunt obnoxiously, just to get a response, but nothing.

It’s not until you can hear Carol’s heavy footsteps that you quicken up and bow your head down.

Carol nods in Natasha’s direction before she passes her and collects you. Her gruff hands slide up and down the expanses of your leash until she finds the position that will yield her the most amount of control over your movements.

If the circumstances were different, Natasha would kill Carol on the spot.

Yet, as Carol takes ahold of your leash and steers you both into the elevator, Natasha lets you go.

Convincing herself it’s for the better. Again.

[kyloherrera]

 ۫ 𑄼ల۫  ۪ FEB 8 — PROPOSE

featuring: dot, , abel, rayne, odler, mash, lance. finn, abyss x gn! reader

note: hope you like, this is very fluffy, and a big comfort for me <3

summary: how would mashle boys propose to their s/o

genre: fluff || event || patreon

✦ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇

-Mash has decided that its time to take the next step in his relantionship with.

-While grand gestures and elaborate plans aren't mash style, but he wants to make this moment special nonetheless.

-One day, Mash takes you on a walk to their favorite spot in the forest, a serene clearing surrounded by towering trees

-As you stroll hand in hand, Mash's heart pounds with anticipation, but he tries to keep his composure.

-Finally reaching the clearing, Mash pauses and turns to you , his eyes filled with unwavering love and determination.

- He takes a deep breath and begins to speak from the heart, expressing his gratitude for their unwavering support and the happiness you've brought into his life.

-Then in his characteristic straightforward manner, Mash kneels down before you and reaches into his pocket,

-He pulls out a small, crudely crafted ring made from twigs and vines. It's not flashy or extravagant, but it's a symbol of his sincerity and devotion.

-With a voiced emotion reflected in his voice, Mash asks you to spend the rest of their life with him, promising to always stand by your side and protect you with all his strength.

✦𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

-Lance would orchestrate an extravagant evening at the most luxurious venue in town.

-He would spare no expense in creating an ambiance of opulence, with twinkling lights, fine dining, and a live band playing romantic melodies in the background.

-Lance would take your hand and begin to express his feelings, weaving words of love and admiration with his signature charm and wit.

-Then, in a moment of theatrical flair, Lance snaps his fingers, and fireworks burst into the sky outside, illuminating the night with a dazzling display of colors. The crowd gasps in awe, and you look on in astonishment.

-With all eyes on you, Lance drops to one knee, producing a velvet box from his pocket. Inside gleams a stunning diamond ring, reflecting the brilliance of the fireworks above.

-In a voice filled with sincerity, Lance pours his heart out, expressing his unwavering devotion and his desire to spend eternity with his beloved. He asks the all-important question, his eyes shimmering with anticipation.

✦𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍

-Finn most likely would propose in a place that holds special significance for both him and you.

-A serene meadow where they often go to unwind and connect with nature. He carefully chooses the time, waiting for the perfect sunset to cast a warm glow over the landscape.

-A vast expanse of wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze, with the colors of the setting sun painting the sky in hues of gold and pink. show in front of your eyes.

-With a gentle smile, Finn takes your hand and leads you to a spot in the meadow's center, where a picnic blanket is spread out under a towering oak tree

- He invites you to sit beside him, taking a moment to savor the tranquility of the moment.

-As you watch he sun dip below the horizon, Finn begins to speak from the heart, expressing his love and gratitude for you.

-Then, reaching into his pocket, Finn pulls out a small, intricately carved wooden box. Opening it, he reveals a simple yet elegant ring, crafted from a rare wood found only in the deepest parts of the forest.

-With trembling hands, Finn takes your hand and gazes into their eyes, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He asks you to be his partner for life, promising to cherish and support them through every challenge and triumph.

✦𝐃𝐎𝐓

-Dot decides to propose in a place that holds sentimental value for both them and you.

A quaint café where they shared their first date. He chooses a time when the café is relatively quiet, allowing for an intimate and personal moment.

-He leads you to a secluded corner of the café, where a table is adorned with flickering candles and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Soft music plays in the background, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

-With a nervous but determined smile, Dot takes your hand and begins to speak from the heart. They express their love and admiration, recounting the moments you've shared together and the ways in which you had enriched their life.

-Then, reaching into their bag, Dot retrieves a small, beautifully wrapped gift box. Inside lies a carefully crafted scrapbook filled with cherished memories—photographs, ticket stubs, and handwritten notes documenting your journey as a couple.

-As you flipped through the pages of the scrapbook, tears of joy well up in your eyes. Each memory serves as a testament to the depth of your love and the bond you share.

-With trembling hands, Dot takes your hand and gazes into their eyes. They pour their heart out, expressing their deepest desires and their unwavering commitment to your happiness.

-Finally, with a nervous laugh, Dot presents a velvet box containing a delicate ring—a symbol of their love and devotion. They ask you to spend the rest of their life with them, promising to stand by their side through thick and thin.

✦𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒

-Abyss chooses a secluded and mystical forest shrouded in mist and shadow. They choose a moonlit night when the stars are bright, casting an ethereal glow over the landscape.

-When you reach a clearing deep within the forest—a place untouched by time, where magic seems to linger in the air. In the center of the clearing stands a stone altar, illuminated by flickering torches and adorned with mystical runes. Abyss takes your hand and leads them to the altar.

-Their eyes gleam with determination as they begin to speak in a voice that resonates with power and authority.

-Abyss expresses their love and admiration for you, weaving words of mystery and intrigue with a hint of vulnerability. They recount the moments you 've shared together, the challenges you've faced, and the bond that has grown between you.

-Then, reaching into the folds of their cloak, Abyss Razor retrieves a small, intricately carved box—an artifact of ancient origin. With reverence, they open the box to reveal a ring unlike any other—a band of blackened metal adorned with a single glowing gemstone, said to hold the power of the abyss itself.

-With a solemn expression, Abyss Razor looks into your eyes and speaks from the depths of their soul. They ask you to join them on a journey of darkness and light, of mystery and adventure, promising to stand by your side through every trial and tribulation.

✦𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

-Like Dot, Rayne decides to propose in a place that holds sentimental value for both them and you.

-a secluded beach where you often go to find solace and tranquility. They choose a time when the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the sand and sea.

-As you arrive at the beach, you are greeted by the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the salty breeze, and the soft hues of the setting sun painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.

-With a gentle smile, Rayne takes your hand and leads you to a quiet spot near the water's edge.You sit together, watching the sun dip below the horizon, enveloped in the serenity of the moment.

-As the last rays of sunlight fade away, Rayne begins to speak from the heart, expressing their love and gratitude for you. They recount the moments you've shared together—the laughter, the tears, and the deep connection that binds you.

-Then, reaching into their pocket, Rayne retrieves a small, intricately crafted shell—a token of their affection. He, offers you the shell, explaining its significance as a symbol of their love and devotion.

✦𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐑

-He selected a a serene botanical garden filled with exotic plants and flowers. He choose a time when the garden is in full bloom, bursting with vibrant colors and intoxicating fragrances.

-With a warm smile, Odler takes your hand and leads them along the winding pathways, pausing to admire the beauty of each flower and plant you encounter. You share stories and laughter, lost in the magic of the garden.

-Finally,you both reach a secluded spot in the heart of the garden—a hidden alcove adorned with blooming roses and twinkling fairy lights.

-With a tender expression, Odler begins to speak from the heart, expressing their love and admiration for you. They recount the moments you've shared together—your conversations, your adventures, and the deep connection that binds it.

-Then, reaching into their pocket, Odler retrieves a small, leather-bound book—a collection of poems and love letters they've written for you. With trembling hands, they read aloud a passage that captures the essence of their love and devotion.

-In a voice filled with sincerity, Odler looks into your eyes and speaks the words they've been longing to say. They ask you to spend the rest of your life with them, promising to cherish and support them through every moment, both joyful and challenging.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@stvrlightt123 @Mysticalpersonpoetry @mailkyeom03

[saraswritingtipps]

Tips to help you describe love and attraction in your novel:

1. Show, don't tell: Instead of directly stating that a character is in love or attracted to another, demonstrate their emotions through their actions, thoughts, and interactions. Describe their reactions, gestures, and expressions to convey the depth of their feelings.

Example: "Her heart raced as he entered the room, a smile spreading across her face that she couldn't contain. In that moment, she knew she was helplessly in love.

///////

2. Engage the senses: Use sensory details to immerse readers in the experience of love and attraction. Describe the sights, sounds, scents, tastes, and textures associated with the characters and their interactions to create a rich and immersive atmosphere.

Example: "As they danced, the soft melody filled the air, intertwining with the sound of their laughter. She caught a whiff of his cologne, a mix of warmth and familiarity that sent a shiver down her spine. The touch of his hand against hers was electric, igniting a flame of desire she couldn't ignore."

///////

3. Use metaphor and symbolism: Employ metaphorical language and symbolism to convey the intensity and depth of love and attraction. Compare the characters to natural elements, use imagery to describe their connection, or associate their emotions with colors, seasons, or other evocative symbols.

Example: "Their love blossomed like a garden in spring, vibrant and full of life. Each touch was a brushstroke on the canvas of their hearts, painting a masterpiece of desire and longing."

///////

4. Explore internal thoughts and emotions: Provide insights into the characters' internal dialogue, thoughts, and emotions to convey the complexity and nuances of their love and attraction. Show their vulnerability, doubts, and the transformative power of their connection.

Example: "Her mind was filled with his presence, his voice echoing in her thoughts. Doubts melted away as her heart whispered, 'This is love, undeniable and all-consuming.'"

///////

5. Highlight the unique qualities and chemistry: Describe the unique qualities and characteristics that draw the characters to each other. Focus on their shared interests, intellectual connection, shared values, or the sparks that fly between them to emphasize their compatibility and chemistry.

Example: "Their conversations flowed effortlessly, their minds dancing in perfect sync. They understood each other in ways no one else could, their connection a magnetic force that pulled them closer with each passing moment."

///////

6. Capture the range of emotions: Love and attraction encompass a wide range of emotions, from joy and passion to longing and vulnerability. Capture the various emotional states the characters experience, both the highs and lows, to create a multidimensional portrayal of their relationship.

Example: "In his arms, she felt a sense of belonging she had never known. The world melted away, leaving only the euphoria of their love. But as the distance grew, an ache settled in her chest, a yearning for his touch that consumed her thoughts."

[hamausagi]

okay i’m thinking thoughts about monarch, or rather, poeiva.

poeiva went through great lengths to leave her family behind. she left fiji when they were young, around 16, leaving behind their last name and simply using her first. poeiva. poeiva the delinquent, hanging around bars and beating up random men in san francisco. breaking into places, stealing, causing a scene. they were angry, violent, the perfect target for gangs preying on angsty impressionable young teenagers. they eventually joined a gang, gaining even more of a reputation. poeiva was known as “the red admiral” or “the monarch”, butterfly species names based on the large butterfly wings she had embroidered on the massive leather jacket they were always seen wearing. they were aggressive and easily set off. their temper was well known and it was also well known how quickly they jumped to violence in any situation. with such little control over their emotions, she was almost always used as an attack dog.

but poeiva wasn’t just good at fighting. they’re smart. she always was. higher ups in the gang learned this eventually, and soon they were a valuable tool used mainly to hack online locks, disable security systems, create weapons and/or explosives. they could almost do it all, it seemed. but they never accounted for someone else to take interest in her. someone who was watching.

when the gang leader had them hack a kingdom security system so they could steal radianite, kingdom was watching. they always were. after the cops busted the robbery, they caught poeiva in a corner and gave her an offer they couldn’t refuse, as she really didn’t have anywhere else to go. her freedom, but in exchange for work. they would have to go to back to school and work for the corporation. when she accepted, they asked for their full name as they only knew them as their street names. but when they didn’t accept jusy “poeiva” as her full name, she thought back to her years with the gang and decided to go with “poeiva morningstar”, as a reminder of the time spent being known as a monster as evil as the devil himself.

[freshappleblossoms]

ᯓ★ 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭!

PLEASE READ HERE TO HELP PALESTINE

• pairing; choso/reader

✵ wc; 1499-1500

Rating; R (Smvt)

✵ Summary: You, and Choso were enemies. But in the moment, you two found sitting on your couch making out. You were sitting on his lap, straddling it as he held you close. Between kisses, you managed to get out a mumbled “I hate you.” But honestly, do you?…

Content warning: consensual sex, unprotected sex, pet names (baby, good girl, darling:p), soft dom, talking her through it.

You and Choso were enemies. But currently, you two were sitting on the couch making out. You were sitting in his lap, straddling him as he held you close. The kiss becoming quite heated. Between the kiss, you managed to mumble “I hate you.” Against his lips. Him then letting out a chuckle, pulling you in.

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you replied to his cocky statement, unbuttoning his shirt while still indulging in the kiss. Choso’s lips curl into a smirk, he breaks the kiss taking a deep breath as he quietly chuckles. Once you unbuttoned the shirt, he places his freezing hands on the nape of your neck. Trailing down to your waist. 

He looked at you, then picking you up, with your legs wrapped around his waist. “Where’s your room,” between inviting kisses, you pointed to the bedroom on the left. Once he enters the room he throws you on the bed,

“Relax baby,” he murmured leaning over your damp body. Kissing you on the lips, being cut off with your moans. His tongue pranced around, moaning in each-others mouths. You couldn’t keep up with his eagerness. What madness starting with bumping gestures, had turned into captivating support. His large hands squeezing your chest, pulling your nipples through the clothed shirt. His fingers tracing over your body were either a factor of delight to your pulsating cunt. It wasn’t your first time taking Choso, besides him being a dis enjoyment to the headache you got while even being with him. The pleasure was too much to enjoy that “characteristic” beside. That bastard wouldn’t show you any remorse in the bed, or the battlefield. In a million years you’d never thought once in a while you’d sleep with your companion pleasuring you. 

The familiar smell of his dior savage cologne, suffocating you. It rekindled the memories from the previous times. He kissed down your throat, across your collar bones. You can’t help but let out small muffled moans as his hands beneath your shirt, teasing you. He pulls your shirt off, roughly. He pulls away from you, just admiring your body. After a few seconds, he pulls you closer, kissing you harder. More, more, more you think to yourself.

Now he’s just playing with you. He knows exactly what you want, as much as he does also. You feel his hands fumbling the button on your jeans now, “can i?,” he looks at you with those eyes. Those sexy, alluring eyes.

You nodded, as a response. He pulls off your pants, starting to pick up where he left off. Instead he goes lower, and lower. Planting kisses along your inner thighs, chuckling against your soft skin.

He had barley even touched you, but you shuddered. Your small whines entice him even more. 

He stopped, “what do you want baby?” Choso looks up at you, he looks at you like he’s standing before the pearly gates of heaven. He knew what it was, he wanted you to say it although. Awaiting to do whatever you please.

“more, please” you dimly whisper. The room was cold, making your steamy breathe bring closure to both.

Choso then plants a kiss on your cunt, which it doesn’t end there. 

“Is this okay?” he quietly whispered in a deep voice. His hands started to align the cotton panties you wore moving further to your clit.

With a powerful grip on your legs, hands clenching the bed sides. He noticed the fret look on your face, can’t helping but to muster a grin as he stripped your panties off. 

“Open your legs a tad bit more for me, baby.” Softening the spread. You couldn’t contradict. His head nuzzled between your thighs, leaving messy kisses before your area. To guess tracing up properly to your clit. 

As you said, it wasn’t your first time sleeping together, but somehow he wanted it to be astounding than the other times remarking beforehand. 

He assorted spit with your wetness, you were honestly shocked how he got you this time. Further more, you were always in authority when it came to you two. 

Bodys being lined together, with his face being in the confines of your lower half. Taking what you provided at the time. He ate you like he never has aten a meal since days ago. Being pussy drunk.

Flicking your clit, and his spit teasing your folds. This feeling was new, screaming his name as he picked you up throwing you over  his shoulders to the sofa beside you two. 

Once again he reopened your legs, parting you like the red sea. “Your clit’s swollen,” sucking on it, precisely taking precious timing. Your legs quivered, and he involved his fingers down your hole. He was quite lost into you now. 

“You’re being such a good girl for me.” With your whining enlarging. His fingers were lengthy, “calm down,” he chatters as your hips locked. He was full in control over your body now.

Now sliding in two, he fastened his movements. With his fingers fucking you, while he flopped his tongue on your clit. Overstimulation. 

You were on the brink of insanity. 

“C…Choso. I-“ you mustered out, closing close to your orgasm. Swallowing your moans, and words. His fingers kissed your womb by the minute, holding his head for support. 

“Close…close…”

“Hold it in for me, darling.” He politely asked. His stern hands holding your flimsy body down. As you kept trembling, going feral. 

“I can’t…p..please” It was becoming more intense than before, by his fingers. He chuckled, nibbling against your tasty sweet clit. Mocking your actions. He pulled out just before you finished. 

Inserting his fingers into his mouth, tasting you. Licking your juices clean.  

“You taste so fucking good,” Choso sat on his knees infront of you. Undoing his sweats, pulling them down along with his black Calvin Kline boxers. That fit him damn well. 

Choso was fully ready, as his erect dick dripped pre-cum through the boxers leaving a stain. Couldn’t mind but to gawk at the wide cock before you. It was fully swollen with long shattering veins contracting along it.

“You’re so big, is that going to fit?” You shot you eyes between his face, and his lower half. 

“It’s okay, it’ll fit somehow” he got up from his position, inching closer to you, he smoothened his dick against your anticipated hole. One hand placed on the cushion below your head, that’d normally rest on the sofa. With his left hand placement on your hip. 

His dick slid into your soaking pussy easily, 

“F-fuck you’re swallowing me… you’re so. fucki’n tight m’nnh.” A resistance moan fell from his lips. Cursing. 

Knees being creased along his sides, his massive cock was destroying you. At a supernatural pace, it was supposedly like his cock was made to make you fall apart.

Soaking the silked fabric as you gushed wetness with every thrust. Your body gave him perfect attachment, he howled at there being no space inbetween your closed pussy. While he fucked you nice, and rough.

“Ch-choso~” with your moans being gagged on with the saliva in your mouth. And also from the way his cock was drilling you. 

“What is it?” He hitched, feeling your vagina hugging him tightly around him. While his tip hit a sensitive spotting in you. 

“Slo-w down, too fast please~” You cried, with a tear rolling down your eye. Your words didn’t comprehend to any of his vocabulary. It was all mixed. He couldn’t help but giggle, gripping the fabric underneath. Feeling his hands dig into the material. 

“Fuck~ tight, you’re so tight. You’re doing so good, baby. Hold on.” He babbled licking his lips coating them, sweat beaming off his forehead. His eyes looked for yours, meeting his gaze. Looking like a puppy awaiting it’s owner arrival.

“This feels amazing” he huffed, inching closer to your lips for a kiss. Leaning down, with his dick curving while thrusting into you.

Attempting to land a sloppy kiss, you couldn’t help but fail. You moaned from him breaking the barrier. “Cmon, kiss me” he asked, you finally reached out kissing.

Overlapping a kiss, playing with eachother tongues in his mouth. A battle.

“M’mnn” pulling away as you moaned. Continuing to give back into making out, once more. Groaning against his lips, each time he forced his cock inside. 

He groaned, “baby,” his voice was deep still tainted with the fact of lust in the room. “m’m gonna c-cum..cum with me.” Ordering. His strokes randomly picking up, with lewd noises fulfilling around the room along with the energy. 

It’s like he wants you to gear those wet noises you’re making. “N’baby you want my load n, nhm? M’m” he crept those dirty words out. He fucked you so good it sent spirals of pleasure down your spine.

His dick curls at your sweet spot, making you practically yelp out. Hot serum is pressed to your womb. Feeling completely filled, like a Boston creme donut. Your stomach bulged with his dick still feeding out your insides. 

“A’h shit you did s’good…can you keep up some more though? Relax yourself for me. It’s going to be a while before I’m done with you, darling. 

a/n: this took day, so please show some love. It was hard trying to come up with a dialogue but I received some help from my partner! if you want to request, please reach out don’t be shy, love:)