#pulse credit card

[techandtravel]

Best SBI pulse credit card benefits in Hindi

SBI pulse credit card benefits in Hindi SBI pulse credit card benefits in HindiIntroductionA Lifestyle Upgrade with SBI Card Pulse1. Rewards and Cashback Offers2. Contactless Technology3. Lifestyle BenefitsAchieve Your Financial Goals with SBI Card Pulse1. EMI Options2. Balance Transfer3. Credit Card Bill Payment OptionsConclusion Introduction At SBI Card, we are committed to empowering our…

[rafeysbunny]

Ok rafe doing coke with the reader and then having a fuck fest 😌

a/n. this has been sitting on my asks for a while now, i really hope you get to see it anon! thanks for the request!

you are giggling softly as rafe's finger gently rubs a tiny bit of coke onto your pink gums for the second time tonight, the effects of the drug already kicking in —even though he was careful enough not to give you too much.

is it bad that you love getting high with him?

you can't help but suck his digit in a playful manner before he finally pulls his hand away, a thin thread of saliva stretching in between his finger and your lips as he takes it out of your mouth.

"now stay still for a sec, baby," he mutters, pouring a bit of the white powder for himself over your sternum.

your shirt is laying somewhere on the floor of his living room, boobs on full display while he does a line on your chest using his credit card —he has been insisting on doing this all night, and it's not like you can deny him anything.

every little brush of his fingers lights your skin on fire, more than it usually does, and you know that's the cocaine doing its thing. your little nipples are hard, panties already wet as you watch him lean forward to snort the cocaine from between your tits, his tongue sliding all the way up your flesh where the coke was just laying when he's done so none of it goes to waste.

you gasp in response to his actions while you reach out to tangle your fingers in his soft, blonde hair. you give it a slight tug, knowing how much he loves it when you do that, and you're rewarded with a little grunt of his own.

he leaves a trail of wet kisses all over your chest, collarbone and neck as he makes his way up your body, aiming for your lips. he kisses you like he's starving as his large hands force your thighs open so he can slot himself in between them. you're both panting when he breaks the contact.

"how you doin', baby?" he asks breathlessly, lips still brushing against yours while he talks, "feeling good ?"

you nod in response. "so horny, rafey," you pant out, your hips unconsciously bucking up to grind your pussy against his cock over your clothes, desperate to feel him.

"suck a needy, little slut, huh?" he chuckles darkly, wrapping a hand around your slender neck.

he's just as turned on as you are, his hard dick throbbing insistently inside his pants while he stares at your semi-naked body squirming beneath him on the couch. your breath hitches slightly at his rough grip and you can feel your cheeks blushing when he grinds back, the friction making you shudder.

"dirty girl... so fuckin' desperate for cock," he murmurs hoarsely.

his calloused thumb gently presses against your pulse point —feeling your fast heartbeat there, while his free hand reaches out to grasp the waistband of your shorts and yank them down your smooth thighs, exposing your black lace underwear. when he slips that same hand inside your panties, he finds you soaking wet for him.

"drenched already ? haven't even touched you properly yet... what a pathetic whore," he taunts.

he smirks against your flushed cheek as he pushes two of his thick fingers inside your tight cunt, and your pussy flutters around them. the dirty talk, added to the degrading words sent your way, has you turning to putty in his arms.

"gonna fuck this slutty cunt the way it deserves, you hear me?" he says, curling his digits inside you to hit your g-spot. when you moan and nod eagerly in response, he adds, "yeah? want me to ruin this fuckin' perfect pussy? words, baby."

you shiver at the demanding tone he uses with you, his raspy voice filling your ears and striking just the right chord in your brain to make your pussy drool.

"yes, need you to fuck my pussy so bad," you answer between pretty whimpers.

"you're gonna get it, a'right."

he's quick to get rid of your remaining clothes and then he undresses as well. once naked, he grips your hips roughly to turn you around, bending you over the couch. as he positions himself behind you, his hands are restraining you, one of them forcing your head onto the cushions so your back is arched while the other is pinning your hands at the bottom of your spine.

when he finally thrusts into your sloppy cunt, you're seeing starts behind your closed eyelids as you let out the loudest moans he's ever heard from you, which only motivates him to fuck you harder, hips slamming roughly against your plush butt and pussy squelching lewdly around his cock. he'd make you cum again and again, fingers bullying your swollen clit until you're begging him to stop, pretty cheeks wet with tears. only then, he allows himself to cum.

"baby, fuck, so good f'me," he'd moan while he fills you up, dick throbbing inside your spasming cunt as he fucks you through his orgasm, "such a good little slut."

more.

[simpjaes]

(not) strictly business.

Jay walks, talks, and fucks in business mode. anon request: could you do Jay and the reader in the back of his limousine?? wc: 1.7k A/N: probs not that good considering i'm basically brain fried from finals but ayyye! not proof read. MDNI.

The plush seats are no where near as plush as Jay's lips when he puts them against you. Bruising, so brash and rough compared to what you expected from him.

He looked so...expensive just hours ago, but look at him now. Acting like a starving man in need of something. Acting as if you paid for this limousine to bring him back to after a chance meeting. Leaving his wallet with all of those heavy weighted credit cards tossed to the side as if you'd never think to steal them. For a moment in the club, you thought his passing glances were coincidence. After all, you're not the prettiest or most flashy girl here tonight. In fact, you only got in because your boss put your name on the list. "Stay professional" has been the thought on your mind all night too. After five or so drinks though, professional becomes something else. It becomes flirting with your boss. Flirting with your boss' sister, flirting with the bar tender, with the bouncer, with anyone walking up to the table since it's not professional to go out and dance. When Jay approached, an upper management dick, or whatever, from your company's competitor, you remember drinking the paid for drink by him as if it was an insult. Like it didn't taste like fucking heaven. You endured your boss shit talking him, and the whole company he works for. You endured the fuzzy feelings in your gut when more drinks kept coming with his name attached through a whisper from the waiter. It was for the whole table just once, now multiple times, only for you. And where did that professional persona go when you looked your boss in the eye as Jay walked you out of the club? Where did it go when Jay's lips formed a smirk at your boss' more pursed expression, with narrowed eyes solely because you laughed?

That smirk now. So, so soft compared to that fake ass company-man voice used to speak through them. He's saying sweet words now. No more work-related terms, only praise, only wants, only needs. Curiosities. Oh god. "Ever fuck your boss?" Jay had mumbled against your neck, kissing along your pulse points and making damn sure you shiver. You lend him a giggle and a shake of your head. "Fuck no." You laugh out, drunkenly and slurred just like him. "Good." He had said back, while simultaneously pushing his fingers into you through the deep make out session with both your lips and your neck. You didn't quite pick up on the possessiveness there, nor did you really care. "Heard he wasn't of much use," Jay continues to mumble against you, angling his fingers up, down, forward, trying to learn your body and become an expert at it in record time. "Seeing how he let you walk right out with me, I'd argue the rumors may be true." You moan before you pause, wrapping your legs around him and feeling the leather against your shoulders. His fingers are working magic despite the tight space he's created on top of you like this, but still, you pause. He notes the slight confusion, or perhaps you're just as curious as he is. The response to your pause is a breathy laugh and a lick to your jaw before he whispers again, right against the shell of your ear. "Just shocked he hasn't tried anything with you yet." Oh, so those other rumors are true. You've heard your boss may be a bit of a playboy. A fucking asshole about it too. You didn't really pay much mind to those rumors though, after all...someone who runs an entire department usually has some enemies. "Oh, you think he'd fuck me?" "Who wouldn't?" Jay chuckles again, shutting you up efficiently this time when his fingers hit the spot he had been looking for. The soft, spongy surface planted on your upper walls. His mouth falls open when yours does, mimicking your expression before that slack mouth turns to a wide and sparkling toothed grin. "Right there?" Your arms and legs both squeeze at him as you nod aggressively, eyes closing tightly when you let out another moan, this time more broken. "Yes!" You choke out, chasing his fingers with your body as if to invite him to hit the spot harder, harder, harder. That's all Jay needed though. To find it with his fingers, watch you fall apart, and then leave you with nothing. He shakes his head at you when he pulls his fingers out, placating anything you want to argue by sliding his fingers past your lips and giving you a look that, somehow, silently tells you to "wait." You do, watching as his other hand makes itself useful by means of shoving his tight pants down in one go. He grimaces at the harsh feeling at first, the stiff waistband dragging past his pulsing cock all at once, almost making him shiver even through the pain. "Yeah?” He asks for confirmation through a slur, eyes drowsy but dark and piercing. 

You nod instantly, feeling your pussy throb at the need for it. You can’t even see it but fuck, fuck, yes. You want it.

You want it right now.  He mimics you again, nodding along with you as he gives you that same smile, with those plush lips. Then you feel it. The head of his cock feels average at the first prod of it. He’s tapping your clit, gently pressing against your hole, sliding up and down. You can’t truly pinpoint his size through this, nor does it really matter because you feel good regardless. You could do all this and not ever have a single glimpse of it as long as he knows how to use it. The slide inside of you is bigger than you had been prepared for though, and he is well aware based on your expression. The head alone, thick and dribbling with precum fills you beyond expectation. Your mouth falls open again, to that of the look he seems to enjoy the most out of you. He leans closer to your face now, inhaling your small, open-mouthed whimpers at the way he doesn’t stop.

He keeps sliding in, all the way, until he feels that tight hole pulse around him as if it’s struggling to fit the last inch of his girth. In all fairness, you are struggling, but your legs don’t loosen, your grip around his shoulders tighten, and you finally blink up at him with glassy, drowsy eyes. 

“Fuck–” He moans at you, watching the way you endure it, the way you let him give it to you however he pleases. And, well, he takes that thought and runs with it. Slamming into you hard to fit that last inch, holding himself there for a moment to feel your tight heat struggle, then he pulls out, and then slams back in. Over and over again, up until you relax and release that held breath of yours for him to swallow up. 

And you know, this limousine is quite spacious but Jay manages to make it feel as cramped as any shitty little car. He’s so crowded up to you, so tightly packed into you, you can't help but hold your breath out of fear you’d steal all the oxygen in this space. 

Still, the leather seats are comforting, slicking up the more the straps of your shirt nudge down. The sweat offers a slide similar to that of Jay’s cock inside of you. You move easily under him, and he uses it to his advantage for a moment. Lifting up and looking down at you, watching the way your entire body slides up with each harsh thrust into you.  The image is more delicious than any expensive drink he could buy right now, and goddamn do you look good in a space that probably costs more than your home. He can’t help but feel like you’d look even better attached to his arm, at his company, with his friends. 

“Quit your job.” Jay suddenly blurts mid-groan, his gut bubbling with arousal and pausing his thrust at the sheer arousal of it. Financial domination, financial bribery. You’ll take it just like you take his cock, he knows you will. 

You’d scoff at the mid-fuck bribe if it weren’t for the fact that you’re well aware of what even the lower level employees make at that company. You had sent your resume to them long before you considered the company you currently work for. He’ll probably think he’s done some dirty-tactic in the business world at getting you to quit, but to be quite honest…you don’t really care.

“Okay.” You respond in a broken way, a tone and pitch to your voice that Jay clings to. 

“Yeah? Gonna stay right here for me?” Jay continues, slowly urging the conversation back to that of fucking you, repeatedly. “Gonna do as I say from now on?”

“Yes.” You nod aggressively, wondering if having Jay’s cock in you right now means a higher pay later when you inevitably pack your shit and are given a new office, in a new building, in a much nicer part of town. 

“Fuck–yeah, that’s right.”

And, well. You’re both kind of right.  ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

That night in the limousine ended with you in his bed. The mattress in his loft was just as plush as his lips, and his cock repeatedly proved to you over and over again just how much worth the decision would end up being for you. 

“Name your price–” He had mumbled against you at one point, as if slightly questioning that you’re just telling him what he wants to hear. 

“You don’t have to pay me to fuck me, you know.” You had responded to him, sick of the work talk by that point. “I’m not a prostitute.” 

“I know.” He had responded, solidifying in your head that the confidence he has is for good reason, and the fucking asshole is genuinely negotiating pay with you while his cock is lodged in your uterus. 

Well.  “Give me the highest paying job I qualify for.” 

Wife, is what Jay would suggest if he lets himself think with his dick, but he holds that one back. He’s not ready for that shit yet anyway. 

“Assistant.” He mumbled in a moan, gripping your tit tightly before shutting himself up with your perked up nipple. 

You hummed in response, brushing his hair with your fingers. Assistant to him, you assume. And considering he is a big wig in the company, you can only imagine that soon, your apartment, car, and wardrobe will appear far better than it is now. 

He’ll make sure of it. 

[rafeandonlyrafe]

a bet's a bet

rafe participates in no nut november

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, female masturbation (with toys), p in v sex, unprotected sex

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs

nov. 1

“this is the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard.” you cross your arms over your chest, but your boyfriend doesn’t give in, remaining steadfast.

“i already agreed to the bet, baby. you can’t change my mind.” rafe simply says, focusing on looking out the window instead of at you, avoiding your glare.

“i have needs too rafe! i can’t believe you’d agree to this without talking to me first.” you stand up from the couch, tired of this conversation. you grab your laptop and head up to your shared bedroom.

if rafe was going to make a stupid bet to not cum for the entire month of november, then you are at least going to repurchase a vibrator and dildo that rafe threw away when you first started dating, claiming you’d never need them again.

you pay for rush shipping and use rafes credit card, because fuck him.

nov. 3

“come on, just eat my pussy.” you groan, legs spread wide open on the bed, trying to convince rafe to pleasure you, but he just shakes his head no.

“baby, if i eat you out, i’m going to fuck you too. i can’t cum and break the bet, it’s only november 3rd. it’s been three days, we can do this.”

you close your legs as rafe lays down in bed next to you. you shouldn’t even be particularly needy yet. it’s not like you haven’t gone this amount of time before without having sex, but knowing you can’t have him is torture. 

you can’t imagine a world without rafes cock, you’ve gotten so used to being stretched out by him on the regular that an entire month without is giving you withdrawal symptoms, increasing your horniness to unbearable levels.

nov. 5

look what just arrived. you attach a picture of your opened package, pink dildo and vibrator sat inside the box.

rafe reads the message but doesn’t deem you a reply, too busy doing whatever with barry. you honestly doesn’t care as you cunt pulses, needing to feel something inside of it, knowing it won’t be anywhere near as satisfying as rafes cock, but it will do. for now.

you strip yourself free of clothing and lay down on the bed, not even needing to go into the hidden album on your phone of nudes rafe has sent you, or when he snatched your phone off the nightstand and videoed you getting fucked, you simply imagine rafe being there, being the one touching you.

you send snaps to rafe, hoping to entice him into coming home and giving you his cock, but when you send him a video of you coming on the dildo, he simply replies with good try princess.

nov. 6

“aren’t you jealous of my dildo?” you ask, purposely leaving it out on the bed, but rafe doesn’t say a word as he lays down for the night.

“of course i am. this is hell for me too, y/n, but a bet is bet.”

nov. 7

“they won’t even know. just fuck me, i need it.” you whine, rocking against the seat that you’re sat on, not even caring that you’re out on rafes boat, and anyone could see you, not when he’s shirtless, muscles gleaming in the sun, a slight sweat sheening his skin from the high temperature.

“i can’t lie, princess. besides, they’ll know.”

“please, i’m desperate.” you beg, sliding off the stool to sit next to rafe on the captains bench as he effortlessly steers the boat towards deeper water.

“sorry baby.” rafe just tsks.

“can we make out at least? you’ve barely kissed me at all this month.” it’s true, in an effort to keep himself from growing a boner and losing self control, rafe has kept all of your kisses brief.

“fine, but keep your hands away.” rafe says, also missing your lips against his.

you were hoping you could press your body against his, at least get some relief, but rafe does make you keep your distance as your lips glide over his.

nov. 9

“i think this counts as girlfriend cruelty.” you cross your arms over your chest after another unsuccessful attempt at begging rafe to fuck you.

“i’ll make it up with a shopping spree.” rafe offers, and it’s not as good as his dick, but you still agree to it.

nov. 10

“does it feel as good as me?” rafe whispers in your ear, resisting the urge to reach down and help you out as you’re sat on the bed, fucking yourself with your new dildo as he tries to ignore the pulsating erection, forcing himself to think about things that turn him off, even as you’re laid out masturbating in front of him.

“fuck no it doesn’t.” you grunt, desperate for an orgasm even though you hate doing it solo, especially when rafe is right there, able to help. “which is why you should give up on this stupid bet and fuck me. need your cock, baby, i miss it.” “sorry.” rafe kisses your cheek, but still watches you in fascination as you cum.

nov. 12

“miss you.” you tell rafe, snuggling into his side as his arms are wrapped around you, keeping you tight to his body as you cuddle, having just enjoyed a lazy day together.

“miss you too baby.” rafe kisses the top of your head, letting his hands touch your, rub over your back, but never venturing into dangerous territory.

“want you so bad.” you complain. you don’t mean to ruin the sweet moment, but you really are beyond desperate for rafe.

“18 more days, we can do it.” rafe says, but you’re really not sure that you can.

nov. 13

“maybe i’ll go sleep with topper.” you say, hands on your hips, finally getting rafes attention as his head snaps up.

“fuck you will not.” he grunts.

“well, this bet is between you topper and kelce, right? maybe i’ll just go make them cum and then you can finally fuck me. i would also get some new dick out of it.” “you’re being a brat.” rafe says, knowing they’re idle threats, there’s no way you’d ever cheat on rafe, you just want to get him to break.

“well what are you going to do?” you taunt. “it’s not like you can punish me.”

rafe just smirks.

nov. 15

“what are you working on?” you ask rafe, placing your hands on his shoulders as he types away on his laptop. you bend down and give him a kiss on the cheek as he hums about whatever project he’s doing. you rub your hands over his shoulders, mumbling something about tension and working too much.

you let your hands move forward against his chest, and then lower and lower, until rafe is pushing your hand away from his crotch.

“come on, please.” you pout.

“you’re halfway there, baby. we can do this. a little bit longer and i’ll make you cum every day in december.” “multiple times a day, i think i’ve earned it.” you argue back.

nov. 16

you’ve had it. you’re sitting watching rafe work out, pussy dripping into you’re underwear, and you’re done with the games and the stupid bet, you’re getting your boyfriend to fuck you today.

you leave the home gym, rafe asking you where you’re going as he lifts the weight, but you ignore him. you head into your bedroom, changing into rafes favorite pair of lingerie and a tall pair of heels that still don’t cause you to reach his height.

you walk back down the stairs, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as you reenter the gym.

“fuck, baby, don’t do this to me.” rafe drops his head into his hands, physically unable to look at you.

“no. fuck this bet. it’s so stupid, rafe, i’m about to explode. i need you to fuck me. i don’t care what you lose.” “fine.” rafe says, and you think you misheard him at first.

“what?” you question.

“get the fuck over here before i change my mind, god i need you.” rafe stands, meeting you halfway as your bodies clash, lips pressed hard against each others as you paw at rafes clothes, needing to see him in all his naked glory.

you don’t even care that he’s sweaty from the gym, or that he’s lowering you onto the tiled floor instead of your bed. you’re not going to take the time to move even a foot.

“take your shorts off, fuck.” you groan, hands slipping as you try to push them down his hips. 

rafe pauses his assault on your mouth to push his shoulders and underwear down, his hard cock springing free, tip already leaking with his balls hanging heavy down, filled with need from going without an orgasm for so long.

you pull your underwear to the side, revealing your soaked cunt. all it took was rafe agreeing to have sex that you got a rush of wetness.

rafe doesn’t waste time fingering you to open you up. you’ve been consistent enough with your dildo that it doesn’t hurt at all as he slides in, his warmth pressing against your walls as rafe groans, eyes fluttering shut as he cums before he even gives you one thrust, spurting into your pussy.

it’s too quick for you, but you still moan, clit pulsing as you finally get your boyfriend inside of you again.

“fuck, forgot how fucking tight you are.” rafe moans, and despite just cumming, he begins to snap his hips again already, fucking the cum further into you.

you reach down with one hand to rub your clit, pulling your boobs out of your bra with the other, letting them bounce with every hard thrust rafe delivers, not going easy on you despite it being 16 full days since you last had him.

“never doing no nut november again.” rafe promises you, pressing your lips back together in a searing kiss as you wrap your free arm around his shoulder and pulling him into you, his chest pressing against your sensitive nipples.

“i love your cock so much.” you moan, knowing when this is over you are going right upstairs and throwing that dildo away again.

“cum for me baby.” rafe begs, already feeling a second orgasm build, somehow having more cum to give you.

“yes, rafe!” you shout, back arching up off the floor as you cum, rubbing your clit to completion as rafe finishes inside you again, the excess of cum spilling out even as he keeps himself deep inside of you.

rafe collapses on top of you, twisting to the side so all your weight isn’t on him. he flinches when his bare skin hits the floor. “fuck, it’s cold.”

“it’s tile, dummy.” you giggle, causing rafe to groan when your pussy tightens. “take me upstairs, please.” you press your lips to rafe.

“i need a little bit of a break, baby.” rafe says, and you can tell from the way his cock is steadily softening inside of you.

“nope, you can eat me out until you’re ready to go again. i absolutely deserve this.” rafe laughs softly, “okay, you do.”

nov. 17

“you didn’t tell me this is what you had to do if you lost!” you shout at rafe as he looks at himself in the mirror.

“would it have changed how crazy horny you were?” rafe asks.

“i mean- no.” you sigh. “but you could have told me! i probably could have made it 15 more days if you just fingered me or something!” “do you wanna do it for me or do i have to do it myself?” rafe asks, causing you to snatch the clippers out of his hand.

“i’ll do it.” you run the blade over his head, watching as the gorgeous blond strands of hair fall off your boyfriends head, having to buzz it because he couldn’t resist fucking you for an entire month.

[hawberries]

I can't take it anymore. I'll never get sick of Baizhu. I try to play Alhaitham, Baizhu can heal me. I try to play Furina, Baizhu can heal me. I try to play Tighnari, Cyno – Baizhu can heal me. He takes me by the wrist to check my pulse. I forage for him. I craft five copies of Prototype Amber for him. He's satisfied. "This gives me a good amount of both HP and energy" he says. "I don't need any field time to full heal your entire team." I want to pull the Jadefall's Splendour but I can't, I don't have enough primogems. He shakes his head gently and puts my credit card away to be used on something more important. "This is not the end. You're taking a turn for the better." There is no hint of malice in Changsheng's eyes. Nothing but pure, instant, teamwide healing with no circle impact or energy hunting. What a kind world.

[augustinewrites]

satoru bday fic! cw: suggestive

gojo thinks he should be nominated for boyfriend of the year.

not only had he managed to get the kids to school on time, pick up the groceries, get all his reports in to principal yaga, and clean the kitchen, but he’d managed to do it all while extremely hungover on his birthday. 

he’d even managed to do it all before you’d even gotten out of bed.

he doesn’t blame you for sleeping in. the impromptu birthday party he’d thrown had left you all in quite the state by the early hours of morning. you need the re—

“satoru! could you come in here for a second?”

“coming!” he calls back, shoving the coupon that’d fallen from shoko’s birthday card into his wallet before making his way to the bedroom. “hey, let’s get some frozen yogurt when the kids get ho— holy shit.”

your face breaks out into a grin of triumph at his sudden silence. gojo’s rightfully stunned, carefully studying each bit of revealing lace and the way it sits against your body before committing it to memory. 

“is that…”

“the set you had commissioned in paris,” you hum, nonchalant as you drag your fingertips up your hip. “that’s the one.”

he takes a few slow steps toward where you are and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, arousal warming his whole body. “but you said you’d never wear it because—”

“because i was saving it for something special,” you finish, leaning up and shifting towards him. “like your birthday.” 

“well,” he sighs as you close the distance between you. “i should unwrap my gift then.”

“please try not to tear it,” you murmur as his lips brush over your pulse. “i’d very much like to wear it again, and i, oh, i saw the charge on the credit card…”

his reply is no more than a distracted hum as you shift onto his lap, allowing curious hands to explore your body and hungry lips to move against yours. 

the lace is soft on your skin, his hands eagerly working to undo the ties holding up delicate florals and sheer material. 

“satoru, i need you.” your breath is warm against his skin, exciting him more as he goes to pull off garter belt.

“uh, babe?”

“hm?”

“how do you take this off?”

_____

“well, i connected it to this piece—”

“but we can’t take this piece off unless we take this one off too. that doesn’t make any sense.” 

“i’m telling you, that’s how i put it on.”

“then why won’t it come off?”

it’s then that gojo decides custom lingerie should come with instructions. when he’d designed it, he hadn’t actually considered the logistics of this operation.

“okay,” you huff, turning around and placing your hands on his shoulders. “you’re just going to have to tear it.”

“fine by me,” he grins, slightly smug as he curls his fingers around the expensive material and tears—

the two of you scramble up when the front door slams open. it’s in that moment you realize that satoru hadn’t closed the bedroom door. 

“mom!” you hear megumi shout, his stomps echoing through the apartment. “tsumiki ate one of my snacks!”

“shit, fuck.” cursing, you grab his discarded t-shirt and slip it on before jumping into bed. satoru slips in next to you, pulling the duvet up to your chins and pressing against you from behind.

“satoru!” you hiss when you feel something poke the back of your thigh. 

“we just made out for like ten minutes,” he whispers back, only pulling you closer. “you didn’t think i’d get one?”

“put it away!”

“i could, but—”

you manage to summon one of your divine dogs in time for it push the bedroom door closed, breathing a sigh of relief when the kid’s footsteps come to a halt. 

“we’ll be out in a second!” you call, hearing their hushed argument as they trudge back to the kitchen.

“i might need more than a second…”

you hit satoru in the face with a pillow. “you’ll get the rest of your birthday gift tonight, after you drop the kids off at nanami’s.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Princess treatment with Ellie Williams: Headcannons

❀Ellie wants to treat you. It's always those soft, sensual kisses in which her plush lips will trace over your jaw down to your pulse, kissing at the fluttery feeling and quickly back up to your lips where she'll take her time with that shit. She wants to give you the world, not sloppy seconds.

❀"Ass or tits?" Thighs. Ellie loves thighs. She'll spend hours with her laid on your lap so she can occasionally leave soft pecks on your thighs. Small thighs, big thighs, stretch marks or none, she loves thighs. She's all about having a hand spread out on one of your thighs while she's driving, too.

❀Her love for you is something she is so proud of but also her biggest weakness. If you deny her, she loses her mind. Not actually denying her of course, because if you said she word she would keep her hands to herself in a heartbeat. But just denying her of what she wants so you can hear her soft, raspy voice pleading to touch you? Fuck, yeah.

❀Did I mention how much she loves your thighs? Not only that, but being between them. Ellie's a huge service top. She already knows she has power over you, but she wouldn't care if she didn't. Really, you're the one who has her wrapped around her slender fingers. Figuratively and literally. Tell that girl you want to go shopping and a credit card is in your hands. Hungry? Ellie will let you pick the restaurant, and she HAS to get you a bouquet of your favorite flowers every single time she picks you up. You're horny? She'll spend hours taking you apart from the seams, fingers pleasingly dipping into your warm hole, hours spent french-kissing your pussy lips, or if you're up for it her strap-on is always in her closet just for you.

❀She lives for your content sounds. She loves hearing the way you gasp when the plastic tip catches on your drenched hole, and she can't just shove it in, even if she's slightly tempted. She'll plunge into you like you're delicate and in need of the utmost care, and when you beg for more, she cannot bear denying you for even a second. She hates the idea of denying you orgasms or just edging overall. She also isn't too fond of overstimulation because if you seem like you're in any pain, even if it's the good type, she hates it. She has to be slow, sweet with you.

❀Not to say she won't be intense with you, though. As long as you beg, she'll be perfectly capable with slamming her hips into you, absolutely obliterating your train of thoughts. She wants to kiss you while she does it though, or at least tell you how fucking gorgeous you are between thrusts, and tell you how lucky she is to be inside you between her panting breaths.

❀Fuck, Ellie is just obsessed with you. She would spend the rest of her life keeping you happy just so she can plant her lips all over that sweet smile of yours, and it feels like she's loving a goddess.

A/N: I’m currently obsessed with service top Ellie/princess treatment so expect more of this version of her

[liiixsturniolos]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ angel ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings!: smut, p in v, sex in a changing room..

~ chris, let's you have his card, and spend what you want at the mall, in victorias Secret, he likes the look of certain red underwear and can't keep his hands off of you in the changing room.

You and your boyfriend chris are walking hand in hand across the mall, and you hold onto his credit card contentedly. It was his 'treat' today, and he'd told you to spend whatever you like.

The last stop of the list was victorias secret. As you skip in to the blindingly pink store, Chris trudges behind you tiredly.

You shuffle through a rack of bras, looking for a new pink one, and some matching lace underwear.

Chris' eyes shift over to a red lacey thong, "You should get this." He smirks,

"Hm. Yeah, it's cute." You say throwing it into your basket.

His eyes widen, "You should try it on." He suggests.

You look up at him, "Kay." You respond smugly, grasping his arm and leading him over to the changing room, pushing him in and closing the door on you two.

You take off your underwear, putting on the red ones Chris wanted, twirling around for him.

"So, what'cha think of em?" You ask, already knowing the answer by his facial expression. His jaw dropped open as his eyes roamed up and down your body.

"Uh-yeah. Definitely, you should get 'em." He mumbles, preoccupied gawking at you.

Noticing the way he's glaring at you, taking in every inch of your body with his eyes, you stroke his face, leaning in and kissing him passionately.

His hands immediately start to cling to you, rapidly searching your body and grappling onto your hips firmly.

"So pretty angel, but lemme' take 'em off now?" He asks. Snapping his fingers along the band of the underwear.

"Mmm.. yeah." You whine, as he rips them off.

"So wet for me, huh?" He groans, unbuttoning his jeans.

He drags his finger gently over your clit, pushing it inside your walls,your eyebrows furrowing in your face, as you moan quietly.

He strokes his cock a few times and rubbing his pre-cum all over his head, with no hesitation, he slides his cock into you with ease, filling you up.

You and him both let out a simultaneous moan, trying to stay quiet, incase anyone could hear.

He instantly starts ramming you, desperate and searching for release, he couldn't take the teasing anymore.

He grunts, pushing you up against the changing room wall.

You let out a strangled moan. "Yeah? Come on my cock angel," he groans.

"Chris! m' gonna...f-finish! you stutter out.

He shoves a hand over your mouth. "Quiet baby." He whispers in your ear, still pumping into you.

"Fuck!" You yelp. As continues to ruthlessly fuck you. You were coming closer to finishing.

His words push you over the edge. You twitch engulfed by him, allowing a flow of whines and whimpers to escape your lips as he helps you ride out your high,

I feel his hands grip your hips in desperation, as and his warm cum paints your insides His movements begin to slow, and you let out satisfied sigh.

Feeling him pull his limp cock out of your pulsing pussy.

interacting is insanely appreciated, likes, comments, re-blogs I love! thanks for reading darlingsss ♡

taglist; @matthewsroses @chrislilcumslvt @1-d0nt-w4nn4-b3-m3-4nym0r3 @pvssychicken @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @sturniolo-fann @matts-myloverboy

[todays-xkcd]

Hint: If you ever encounter this puzzle in a crossword app, just [term for someone with a competitive and high-achieving personality].

A Crossword Puzzle [Explained]

Transcript

[A square 15x15 crossword puzzle is shown. Only 21 of the 225 squares are black. The black squares are in a pattern that are 180 degree rotationally symmetrical. Three black squares down from the 11th column and similarly three black squares up from the 5th column. Three black squares out from the right in row 7 and then two more black squares diagonally up from the end. Similarly three black squares out from the left in row 9 with two more black squares diagonally down from the end. A single black square is three above the first black square on the diagonal going down to the right and similarly there is a black square three under the first of the diagonal squares going down to the left. (Row 6 column 12 and Row 10 column 4). Finally there are three black squares on a diagonal crossing over the central point by going up from the left through the central point (Row 8 column 8). There are numbers at the top of every column (except the one that is a black square) and similarly at the left edge of all rows (except the one that is a black square). There are also numbers at the bottom of every black segment (except the one that reaches the bottom) and all rows after black segments except the one that reaches the right edge. In total all numbers from 1 to 51 is written. They are written in reading order from 1 to 51.]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

[Below the square there are two rows of clues for each number that belongs to across (rows) and to the right there are one row of clues for each number that belongs to down (columns). Both segments have an underlined and bold title above the clues. ]

'''Across'''

1. Famous Pvt. Wilhelm quote

11. IPv6 address record

15. "CIPHERTEXT" decrypted with Vigenère key "CIPHERTEXT"

16. 8mm diameter battery

17. "Warthog" attack aircraft

18. Every third letter in the word for "inability to visualize"

19. An acrostic hidden on the first page of the dictionary

21. Default paper size in Europe

22. First four unary strings

23. Lysine codon

24. 40 CFR Part 63 subpart concerning asphalt pollution

25. Top bond credit rating

26. Audi coupe

27. A pair of small remote batteries, when inserted

29. Unofficial Howard Dean slogan

32. A 4.0 report card

33. The "Harlem Globetrotters of baseball" (vowels only)

34. 2018 Kiefer song

35. Top Minor League tier

36. Reply elicited by a dentist

38. ANAA's airport

41. Macaulay Culkin's review of aftershave

43. Marketing agency trade grp.

44. Soaring climax of Linda Eder's ''Man of La Mancha''

46. Military flight community org.

47. Iconic line from ''Tarzan''

48. Every other letter of Jimmy Wales's birth state

49. Warthog's postscript after "They call me ''mister'' pig!"

50. Message to Elsa in ''Frozen 2''

51. Lola, when betting it all on Black 20 in ''Run Lola Run''

“Down

1. Game featuring "a reckless disregard for gravity"

2. 101010101010101010101010 [sub]2→16

3. Google phone released July '22

4. It's five times better than that ''other'' steak sauce

5. ToHex(43690)

6. Freddie Mercury lyric from ''Under Pressure''

7. Full-size Audi luxury sedan

8. Fast path through a multiple choice marketing survey

9. 12356631 in base 26

10. Viral Jimmy Barnes chorus

11. Ruby Rhod catchphrase

12. badbeef + 9efcebbb

13. In Wet Let's ''Ur Mum'', what the singer has been practicing

14. Refrain from Nora Reed bot

20. Mario button presses to ascend Minas Tirith's walls

24. Vermont historic route north from Bennington

26. High-budget video game

28. Unorthodox Tic-Tac-Toe win

29. String whose SHA-256 hash ends "...689510285e212385"

30. Arnold's remark to the Predator

31. The vowels in the fire salamander's binomial name

32. Janet Leigh ''Psycho'' line

34. Seven 440Hz pulses

37. Audi luxury sports sedan

38. A half-dozen eggs with reasonably firm yolks

39. 2-2-2-2-2-2 on a multitap phone keypad

40. .- .- .- .- .- .-

42. Rating for China's best tourist attractions

43. Standard drumstick size

45. "The rain/in Spain/falls main-/ly on the plain" rhyme scheme

[littlest-w01f]

Clubs

"Triple penetration" with:

Batboys x Reader

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Summary: Morden AU, working in a strip club, you got your fair share of customers who offered you payment for vip services even when you never did, until you finally chose to.

Cw: Illegal clubs, strippers/escorts, oral! Both F and M receiving, fingering, double penetration, triple penetration, Smut 18+ MDNI

The dim red lights cast an intimate glow on the stage as you sashayed your hips to the pulsing beat. Your hair swayed with each step, framing your face and eyes that seemed to hold secrets behind their sultry gaze. As you twirled the pole, dancing freely, enjoying yourself, the sequined fabric of your skimpy top glittered, drawing attention to your cleavage straining against the material.

Your audience roared with approval, bills fluttering onto the stage like confetti. But one man stood out, a tall, muscular figure lurking at the edge of the VIP section. His intense violet eyes locked onto you with an unmistakable hunger. As you continued your sensual dance, the music reached a crescendo. Sweat glistened on your skin, adding a tantalizing sheen to your curves.

With every sway of your hips, you felt the heat of hundreds of male gazes burning into her flesh. You relished the power and control you wielded over these men and women with nothing but your body and a strategically placed dance. As the final notes faded away, the roar of applause enveloped you, a symphony of approval and desire.

After the dance, you retreat backstage where you find your favourite manager waiting for you, a wide grin plastered across her tanned face. "Damn, y/n! That was incredible," She exclaimed, clapping you on the shoulder. "You had them eating out of the palm of your hand."

She leaned in closer, her voice taking on a more conspiratorial tone. "I've got a special request from one of our VIPs. He wants a private show." A sly smile played on her lips as she gestured towards the door leading to the exclusive area.

You hesitated for a moment, eyeing the doors warily. While you'd received countless offers for private shows, you rarely accepted. You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the prospect. "Who is it?" you asked, curiosity piqued.

"Let's just say he's a very... generous patron," your manager replied with a knowing wink. "He's willing to pay top dollar for a little extra attention from you. He's been eyeing you all night, trying to book a private session with you."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you considered the offer. Private shows were not something you typically indulged in, preferring to keep a certain level of professional distance between yourself and your clientele. However, there was something about this particular client that piqued your interest, perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze during your performance.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you agreed to meet this mysterious patron. As you entered the VIP lounge, the air thickened with anticipation. You spotted him, the imposing figure from the main floor, now sitting in the middle of the room, his piercing violet eyes landing on you.

Seated around the room, were two other men, built a little bigger than him but it was clear he was in charge, legs spread wide, with eyes that locked onto you the moment you entered. He wore a black tailored suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and chiselled jawline. You then knew he was Rhysand. He was a very popular man, beautiful beyond belief, dangerous too with his job in the life of crime, not that the club you worked in was much legal.

Rhysand moved to tower over you, his commanding presence evident even in the casual setting of the lounge. A shiver ran down your spine, there was something undeniably dominant about him, a raw power that drew you in despite yourself. "What do I get for this?" He asks as he slides his black credit card between your lips, before you even acknowledge him properly, or his two close men, Cassian and Azriel, from what you could tell.

With the black credit card still held between your teeth, you slowly drag your tongue along its length, maintaining eye contact with Rhysand as you do so. "For this much money, whatever the fuck you want," You purr pulling the card out, eyes noting the number and authenticity of the card.

Rhysand's eyes darkened with lust as he watched you drag your tongue along the length of his card. He took a step closer, invading your personal space as his large frame loomed over you. "Good girl," he purred, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your chin up to force you to maintain eye contact. "Now, let's talk about what I want." His other hand trailed down your side, grazing the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your top. "First, I want to watch you strip for us."

As if on cue, Cassian and Azriel rose from their seats, moving to stand on either side of you. With the three men surrounding you, you felt a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness. They exuded an aura of raw masculinity, their eyes raking over your barely covered body with undisguised hunger.

Taking a deep breath, you began to move your hips sensually to an imaginary beat, swaying your body. "Then I suggest you men take a seat back."

Each man settled into their places, their faces alight with anticipation as you made your way around the circle. First, you positioned yourself between Cassian's thighs, pressing your breasts against his chest as you ground your hips against his crotch. He groaned, hands instantly groping your breasts as you worked your lace off your body, leaving your breasts bare for the man kissing down your neck.

Rhysand watched intently as you teased Cassian mercilessly, grinding your barely clothed body against the growing bulge in his pants, making him groan and grunt. He licked his lips hungrily, transfixed by the erotic display unfolding before him. When you finally peeled off your top, revealing your perfect breasts to Cassian's greedy hands, Rhysand couldn't help but reach down and adjust himself discreetly.

Next, you moved to sit astride Azriel's lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as you moved against him seductively, whispering all sorts of nasty things in his ear, draping yourself across his lap. Your pert nipples grazed his chest as you rolled your hips. Azriel gripped your ass firmly, scared fingers hooking around your thong, already tugging at it, squeezing the supple skin of your ass as he buried his face in your cleavage, groaning. You moaned softly, relishing the sensation of his hot mouth on your sensitive skin, helping him get your thong off from under your tiny skirt, throwing it over his lap.

Finally, you turned your attention to Rhysand, straddling his lap as he sat in his chair. His large hands gripped your hips possessively as you leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear. "And for you, Rhysand?" you whispered huskily. "What would you like me to do?"

Without waiting for a response, you began to unbutton his suit jacket, revealing the powerful muscles of his chest beneath. You kissed and nipped at his collarbone, working your way down to his belt buckle. With deft fingers, you popped open the button and slid the zipper down, freeing the impressive cock straining against his trousers.

Rhysand let out a low growl, his hands tightening on your hips as you wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft, stroking it slowly. "Fuck, darling... You're playing with fire..."

His large hands slid up your thighs, pushing your tiny skirt up to expose your slick, heated cunt. "You're dripping wet already, hmm?"

Rhysand smirked as he felt your slick arousal coating his fingers. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you? Desperate for me and my men." He brought his coated fingers to his lips, sucking your essence off them lewdly. "Mmm, delicious."

Suddenly, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your back on the plush sofa in the room. In one swift motion, he ripped your flimsy skirt off, exposing your glistening cunt completely. "I'm going to devour this pretty cunt until you're screaming," He growled, spreading your thighs apart.

Rhysand descended upon you, burying his face between your legs. His skilled tongue delved into your sopping entrance, lapping at your juices greedily.

As Rhysand feasted on your aching cunt, Cassian and Azriel closed in, their hands roaming your curves possessively. Cassian cupped your breasts, kneading the soft mounds roughly as he pinched and tugged at your stiff nipples. Meanwhile, Azriel pressed his hard body against Rhysand's, his face sliding between your thighs to join Rhysand's ministrations.

The stimulations were almost too much to bear. Pleasure coursed through your veins as the three men worked you into a frenzy. Their mouths and hands seemed to be everywhere at once, worshipping every inch of your trembling body. Rhysand and Azriel continued to thrust their tongue against you, swirling and flicking against your most sensitive spots as Cassian groped your breasts.

The intense sensations overwhelmed your senses as the three men ravaged your body with expert touches. Cassian's rough handling of your body sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core while Rhysand and Azriel's talented tongues drove you wild with ecstasy.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, grinding your dripping cunt against their eager mouths. "Oh god, yes! Don't stop!" you cried out, fisting your hands in their hair. The obscene slurping sounds filled the air as they feasted on your cunt, their chins glistening with your juices.

Cassian released your abused nipples only to trail his hand lower, rubbing firm circles on your throbbing clit, biting and sucking on your neck and shoulders, leaving marks. The added stimulation had you seeing stars, teetering on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm. "Come for us, y/n."

Your climax hit with the force of a tidal wave, your body arching off the couch as waves of pure bliss crashed over you. A high-pitched wail tore from your throat as you came undone, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around Rhysand and Azriel's probing tongues.

They lapped at your spasming cunt, drinking in your release with greedy abandon. Cassian rubbed your clit relentlessly, prolonging your ecstasy until you were quivering and spent. Only then did they pull back, leaving you gasping and drenched in sweat.

Rhysand sat up, his eyes blazing with desire as he looked down at you. "That was just the beginning, love," he promised, his voice low and husky. "We've only just warmed up."

Rhysand guided you to stand between Cassian and Azriel, your legs shaking, who immediately surrounded you, their muscular frames closing in. "Time to show these two how well you can please a man," Rhysand purred, his hands gripping your hips possessively.

He pushed you forward slightly, so you were facing Cassian, and then reached past you to unbuckle Cassian's belt. With a swift tug, he freed Cassian's thick cock, which sprang up eagerly, the tip glistening with precum.

"Now, y/n, I want you to suck Cassian off while Azriel eats your cunt again," Rhysand commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "Make sure you give me a good show."

You sank to your knees in front of Cassian instantly, at eye level with his cock. Wrapping your hand around his girthy shaft, you gave him a few slow pumps, admiring the weight and heat of him in your grasp. Then, without further preamble, you took him into your mouth, your lips stretching obscenely around his thick girth.

"Fuuuuck..." Cassian groaned, his head falling back as you started bobbing your head, taking him deeper each time. His hands instinctively went to your hair, guiding your pace. "That's it, baby girl... Take my cock down that tight little throat..."

Meanwhile, Azriel knelt behind you, his strong hands parting your legs. You felt his hot breath ghost over your sensitive folds before his tongue delved between them, lapping at your dripping slit.

You moaned around Cassian's thick cock as Azriel ate you out from behind, his talented tongue bringing you right back to the edge. The dual stimulation was dizzying, your mind hazing with lust as you surrendered yourself fully to their carnal desires, hand reaching between your legs to stroke Azriel's cock to pleasure him too.

Rhysand watched the display with rapt attention, his own impressive cock free of his trousers, now in his hand. "Look at you, taking both of them so well," he praised, his voice heavy with arousal. "Such a perfect little slut for us."

Cassian grunted as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder. "Shit, shit, so good," He moaned, his grip on your hair tightening. Behind you, Azriel redoubled his efforts, sealing his lips around your clit and suckling intensely, hips stuttering, pushing his cock further in your fist.

The combined assault on your senses quickly pushed you towards another shattering climax. Your muffled moans vibrated around Cassian's cock as Azriel drove you higher, his wicked tongue flicking mercilessly over your swollen bud.

Soon you felt the blunt tip of a cock ghost over your cunt, Rhysand grunted above you, "You ready to take me?"

You moaned around Cassian, trying to nod as Azriel kept licking over your clit. Rhysand pushed in, instantly setting a strong pace as you squirmed between them. Trembling at the simulations.

Just as your orgasm crested as time went by, threatening to consume you whole, Cassian suddenly pulled you away, off of Azrial and Rhysand, ruining your orgasm making you whine. "Not yet, sweetheart," he growled, hauling you to your feet. "I want to feel this sweet cunt squeezing my cock when you come."

In a flash, he spun you around and bent you over the edge of the pristine bed in the lounge. Azriel moved aside just in time for Cassian to notch his fat cockhead at your entrance. With one brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt in your fluttering cunt, the breath punching from your lungs at the sudden intrusion.

You screamed as your toes curled, "Fuck- Fuck Cass! More!!" Pressed under his weight, eyes bulging out slightly. "Ugh-"

Cassian set a punishing pace, pounding into you with long, powerful strokes that shook your very foundation. Each savage thrust knocked the wind from your lungs, sending bolts of pleasure zinging up your spine, he pulled you up, pressed you against his body as he kissed over the bite marks on your neck. Your breasts bounced wildly with the force of his pounding, drawing Rhysand like a moth to a flame.

He stepped closer, grasping your swaying breasts and tweaking your nipples sharply, taking your breasts in his mouth, marking them up in lovebites. "That's it. Take his cock like a good whore," Rhysand taunted, turning you to face him, pulling you both on the bed, rolling the stiff peaks between his fingers. "Squeeze him with this greedy little cunt like you did me."

Azriel joined in on the bed, pressing against you too. His clever scared fingers found your neglected clit, strumming the engorged nub in time with Cassian's thrusts.

Lost in a haze of ecstasy, you could only moan and writhe helplessly as the three men used your willing body for their pleasure. Cassian's relentless hammering struck a primal chord within you, stoking the flames of your need ever higher.

Rhysand's cruel pinch on your breasts sent delicious shocks of pain mingling with pleasure, pushing you closer to the precipice. And Azriel's fingers on your clit, the way he played your body like an instrument nearly had you in tears.

"Yes-yes-YESSSS!" You wailed, feeling your climax barreling towards you like a freight train. Every muscle tensed as you braced for impact, your nails digging into Rhysand's shoulders as he stood before you. "Don't-stop-don't... stop-don'tstop-"

Your scream echoed through the room as Rhysand's thick cock thrust alongside Cassian's inside you, your legs going wider, stretching your tight cunt. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious kind of agony that left you panting and trembling.

"You're so fucking tight, love," Rhysand groaned, his hips surging in sync with Cassian's. "Taking our cocks like you were made for it." He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth ruthlessly.

Beside you, Azriel's hands roamed your body, caressing your sides, anything to heighten your pleasure. His fingers never left your clit, stroking and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves in time with the dual invasion of your cunt.

The triple stimulation proved too much, your orgasm hit with the force of an eruption, your cunt clamping down viciously on the twin invasions as a torrent of fluid gushed out to coat their pistoning cocks and splash onto the bed below.

"Ahh, fuck yes! Look at her squirtt!" Cassian bellowed, his hips snapping furiously now, chasing his own release. Rhysand followed suit, slamming into you with wild abandon as he chased his peak.

Azriel spread your folds, watching Cassian and Rhysand's cock pound in and out of you, "You think you can take another in this tight cunt?" He taunted, his cock in hand, already nudging against your dripping entrance.

Before you could even catch your breath, Azriel's words were proven true. Rhysand withdrew slightly, leaving Cassian still plunging into your quivering depths. "Don't knock it till you try, darling." He kissed you softly to form a little distraction.

"Get ready, darling," Azriel purred, his eyes blazing with lust as he notched the broad head of his cock at your entrance. With a single smooth motion, he sheathed himself inside you, his thick cock filling you to capacity, not even fully in you, stuck.

"Fuck you're so tight!" Azriel groaned, "I can't even move." He tried pulling out slightly and then pushing back in, head nuzzled in your neck, marked and bitten by Cassian and Rhysand.

Your back arched, a choked cry escaping your lips at the sudden fullness, Cassian held your arms back when you tried to cover your mouth to quiet the moans. "Oh gods, oh fuck... So big!" You gasped, your inner walls clenching reflexively around the new intruder.

Rhysand stroked your clit over to soothe the fullness in your cunt. "Shhh, love, you can take it... Just breath."

Azriel held perfectly still, letting you adjust to the intense stretch as Rhysand's soothing touch calmed your frantic heartbeat, scarred hand storking over the bulge in your abdomen. "Easy, baby," Rhysand cooed, his thumb circling your sensitive clit with gentle pressure. "You've got this. Breathe through it."

Slowly, your body began to relax, with the help of Cassian kissing your back, accepting the unyielding presence of Azriel's cock. It wasn't comfortable, but there was a twisted sort of pleasure in being so thoroughly stuffed, so completely owned by these three dominant males.

With a low groan, Azriel started to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside before plunging back into the hilt. The slow, deliberate rhythm allowed you to accommodate his size, your slick walls gradually relaxing to cradle their cocks snugly. "That's it, sweetheart,"

You whined, head pressed in Rhysand's chest, the sensations were overwhelming, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain radiating through your core. Tears streamed down your face as you clung to Rhysand, your body shaking with the effort of taking them all.

"Look at me, love," Rhysand commanded gently, moving inside you gently, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with concern and tender affection, a stark contrast to the brutal pace of their coupling. "You're doing so well, taking us all like a champ. Such a good girl for us."

His praise washed over you like a balm, easing the sting of the overstimulation. You focused on his handsome face, losing yourself in the depths of his violet eyes as they continued their relentless assault on your senses.

Rhysand's praise seemed to embolden you, and you met his gaze with a shuddering breath, a faint smile playing on your lips despite the torment of your overfilled, drooling cunt. "Mmm, yeah, look at her go," Cassian growled approvingly.

Azriel's movements grew more confident, his hips picking up speed as he fucked into you with increasing urgency. The trio of cocks stretched and filled you to the limit, each stroke hitting that perfect spot deep inside, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting up your spine.

Rhysand captured your mouth in a passionate kiss, swallowing your moans as his tongue danced with yours. His hand slipped down to join Azriel's, both fingers working in tandem to stimulate your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge once more.

As the first wave of heat flooded your cunt, signaling Cassian's release, filling your cunt up fully. Cassian cried out, pressing deep into her cunt to spill his cum inside you. You felt Rhysand's cock twitch inside you, following close behind. Azriel groaned, pushing you down on the bed as Cassian pulled away, slamming into you over and over again. You gasped and groaned, eyes rolled at the back of your head as Rhysand and Azriel took you together.

"Gods baby," Cassian dropped in the bed beside you, brushing away your sweating hair away as he watched your face contort in pleasure, "You look gorgeous."

"I'm close, darling," Rhysand growled, pushing in fully inside you, groaning at how hard you squeezed the twin cocks inside you. Azriel's cock pulsed deep within you, their hot cum adding to the already overflowing mess of Cassian inside your stretched, convulsing cunt.

The sensation of being so thoroughly marked, so completely claimed by these powerful men, sent you hurtling over the brink once again. Your own orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your vision blurring as your body shook and spasmed in their embrace.

The sheer volume of cum pumped into you was staggering, threatening to overflow from your overstuffed cunt. It leaked out around their cocks, dribbling down your thighs in a sticky trail as you lay there, limp and spent, utterly consumed by the intensity of your multiple orgasms. As the aftershocks slowly subsided, the three men carefully withdrew, their softening cocks glistening with your combined fluids.

You lay there, a boneless heap of satisfaction, as the men admired their handiwork - the mess they'd made of your cunt, the evidence of their possession dripping down your thighs. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you felt their cum still trickling out of you, a constant reminder of what had transpired.

Rhysand gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as if you were the most precious thing in the world. "Such a good girl, taking everything we gave you," He murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "You're ours now, in every way possible."

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a look, their faces alight with male pride and possessiveness. Cassian mounted you again as Azriel leaned back against the headboard, stroking your hair in comfort.

"How do you plan to spend this?" Rhysand hummed as he waved his card in front of your dropping eyes, "I suggest buying some sexy lingerie for us to ogle you in."

A lazy grin spread across your face as you took in the sight of the credit card, the promise of indulging in some decadent shopping sprees hanging tantalizingly in the air. "Hmm, us...?" You questioned aloud, your mind already wandering to the various stores and boutiques you could visit, the sinful delights waiting to be purchased.

"You're ours now..." Cassian whispered as he rubbed their mixed release into your skin, "Rhys could pay you more than this little job of yours."

"Should you decide to join, of course." Rhysand purred with a feline grin.

You felt a thrill run through you at the mention of joining them permanently. No more long hours at the club, dancing from morning to night, no more dealing with difficult clients or micromanaging bosses. Just endless days spent pleasing these three devoted men, indulging in every carnal fantasy under the sun.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff}

{Acotar kinktober Taglist- @romanticatheartt}

{Rhysand Taglist- @yeonalie}

{Cassian Taglist- @yeonalie}

{Azriel Taglist- @fxckmiup @annamariereads16 @saltedcoffeescotch @satorusemepls @fieldofdaisiies}

[lumiambrose]

✰ house rules

kinktober 24 - day five

featuring: dr ratio x f!reader

summary: veritas ratio, your university professor, is renowned for being the greatest lecturer at your university but also the cruellest, willing to fail any student who doesn't meet his high standard. so you can't help but try your luck for some "extra credit" when you run with said professor on a night out with your girlfriends.

tags: smut, professor x student dynamic, public/semi-public, fingering, oral (fem receiving) petnames (dear)

wc: 1k

the poker table hums with quiet tension, chips clinking and cards sliding across the velvet surface. you’re currently sitting next to dr. veritas ratio, out of all people. as for how you landed a seat next to your professor—the same professor that sneers at mediocre efforts and fails half his students—will forever be a mystery. tonight was supposed to be girls night, where you can relax and party your academic deadlines away. yet instead, you find your heart racing as you watch your professor calculate his odds and size up his opponents like it’s nothing.

albeit terrified, you attempt to catch his attention. “didn’t expect to see you here,” you say, leaning in ever so slightly towards him. the words hang between you, but your pulse is racing. “you don’t strike me as the casino type, professor.”

he doesn’t spare you a glance yet. instead, he places a bet, his fingers tapping the chips. “i could say the same,” he replies, finally turning his gaze on you. his eyes have that familiar coolness in them, but this time, there’s something else—amusement maybe? “though, considering your recent performance, you might need to rely on luck more than most.”

embarrassed, you let out a weak laugh, more to relieve your nerves than anything else. “maybe i’ve just been waiting for a proper chance to test my skills.”

he cocks a brow. “how bold. though i expect your aiming for more than a simple game.”

your heart skips a beat at how easily he sees through you. “maybe,” you start, “depends on how much you're willing to offer.”

before you can react to his words, you feel veritas' hand on your thigh. his grip firm, making your breath hitch. you bite your lip, doing your utmost best to concentrate on the game in play. your professor, unbothered by your reaction, continues to play his hand as his eyes never leave the table in front of him.

“something tells me you’re more interested in winning than you let on,” he whispers, voice laced with velvet, loud enough for your ears only to hear. each word stirring goosebumps on your fragile skin. his fingers dance their way up your inner thigh, caressing your soft skin. touch featherlight as you do your best to stifle a moan.

“now why would i ever back down from a challenge?” you retort, your voice shamelessly laced with need and desire. as the words left your mouth, you feel his thumb hook the edge of your lace panties, cutting you off abruptly and sending your mind into a whirlwind of thoughts. the game in front of you now hidden in the back of your mind.

the game continues with the sound of chips clinking, card shuffling and rare exclamations from other players, but they all went in one ear and out the other. your professor now completely overtaking your thoughts. shrinking your world down to the little space surrounding you and veritas. your only reality being the tantalising touch of his fingers against your clothed core.

“eyes on the game, dear. you’re so far in it would be a pity to lose your cool now,” he says as though it’s nothing. as though his actions aren’t getting bolder by the minute.

his hand, now tucked away beneath your skirt, teases your wet folds through the thin fabric of your panties. focusing on the cards in front of you now seemed impossible as your mind hazed with lust. the heat between your legs is now becoming unbearable. your hips now subtly grinding against his fingers.

a loud clang pierces the air, pulling you back to reality. your heart skips a beat as you feel a cold presence on your lap. you look down to the sight of veritas' drink spilt over the edge of the table, soaking your clothes.

you gasp at the shock of icy liquid against you, seeping through your skirt and leaving a sticky mess on your thighs. veritas immediately stood up, abandoning the game in front of him, offering his hand out to you. “let’s clean you up. it’s a small spill, but we don’t want it to stain,” he says, and you swear you can see a small smirk play on his lips.

initially embarrassed, you nod and take his hand as he guides you through the casino floor. excitement slowly proceeds to replace your initial embarrassment as you draw closer to the bathrooms. all the background noise slowly fading away as the both of you enter the quiet bathroom, veritas locking the door behind you.

without warning, he pushes you against the wall and unzips your skirt, letting the fabric slide down your legs. your panties are coated with arousal, betraying the facade you did your best to keep up. veritas locks eyes with you, his eyes fueled with hunger as he kneels down in front of you.

“keep it quiet. you don’t want to get caught now, do you?” he warns before leaning in to devour you. his skilled tongue quickly finds its way to your clit, sucking and abusing it teasingly while his fingers work wonders inside of you. you arch your back, throwing your head back as the pleasure courses through you, your body begging for release.

with one hand tugging on veritas’ hair, aching for more, the other found its way to your mouth. attempting to cover up the sweet moans getting drawn out of you. although veritas doesn’t seem to take your moans seriously. he carries on teasing you, his tongue flicking your clit and his fingers pushing deeper inside you. your breathing grows ragged, and you know that you couldn't hold back the wave of ecstasy much longer.

but veritas, ever the harsh professor, pulled away, just when you were on the brink. leaving your bare pussy wet and needy, he stands up and wipes your remaining slick off his face. looking down on you, he commands, “stay behind after my lecture tomorrow.” his voice firm and unwavering before exiting the bathroom.

leaving you in the bathroom all alone, you contemplated the situation that just played out. your heart racing and your body still humming with desire. although, as you cleaned yourself up in the bathroom, you’re already contemplating your outfit for tomorrow and a cute matching set to wear underneath for your favourite professor.

taglist: @ryescapades @iamjellyfish @143-ilyuu @maruflix @pixelcafe-network

©lumis kinktober 24' ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

"It's Always Been You"

This is #1 out of 10 of my Phrase Series, hope you all enjoy! ❤️

Thank you @queeny23 for the phrase!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Word Count: 3.1k

“Can I get you anything else?’ Melanie Greg broke out of her daydream at the bartender's voice. She gently shook her head, pulled her wallet out of her bag, and handed the bartender her debit card. 

She looked around the restaurant with a small frown on her face.  She hated the holidays. Here she was, a 39-year-old, freshly divorced woman, spending the holidays without her kids for the first time since they were born. 

She sighed as her eyes fell on a family of four sitting in the corner booth. They were all matching and had genuine smiles on their faces, it reminded her of what her life used to be before it all went to shit. 

Melanie barely noticed the man sitting down next to her at first. Her attention was still fixed on the family across the room, their matching sweaters and easy smiles a reminder of everything she no longer had. She sighed again and tried to tear her gaze away from the family. 

“Nah Uce, fuck that” His voice was loud, full of frustration, cutting through the hum of holiday chatter around them. “I’m not coming back until she fucking leaves.”  

Melanie watched out the corner of her eyes as someone flopped down on the chair next to her at the bar. 

“We talked and she fuckin’ promised not to do that fuck shit tonight. It’s Christmas Eve for crying out loud!”  

Melanie froze as she was about to sip the rest of her drink. It can’t be she thought, eyes wide as she turned her head to the left of her. Her eyes were wide as she took him in, no longer the scrawny teenager with the pencil mustache that took him months to grow. Joshua Fatu had grown up and the years had been VERY kind to him. 

His broad shoulders filled the space at the bar, his athletic frame undeniably more solid than she remembered. The same dark eyes, the same familiar face—but with sharper edges, a defined jawline, and a confidence that hadn’t been there when they were kids. He was a man now, not the awkward teenager who’d been the subject of teasing for his failed attempts at facial hair.

The tattoos that peeked from under the sleeves of his black Nike hoodie only added to the transformation. 

Her pulse quickened, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Joshua?”

His head snapped toward her, and his expression shifted from frustration to surprise. He blinked, his eyes scanning her for a moment as if he, too, wasn’t sure if he was seeing things clearly. Then, a slow grin spread across his face, and he leaned back in his chair.

“Oh shit.” He laughed, standing up from his chair and opening his arms for a hug, his phone conversation forgotten. She laughed as she stood from her seat and walked into his awaiting arms. “Damn Mel. It’s been a minute.” He mumbled into her hair, rocking them from side to side. 

She melted into his arms and it was like the past 14 years didn’t happen. The hug was over way too quick for her liking. 

“Man, whatchu doin’ back in Pensacola?”  Jey asked, leaning back with a grin. 

Melanie’s smile faltered, “Oh, uhh. I’m here visiting my parents for the holidays.” 

Jey nodded and brought his hand up to his chin to scratch his beard. He let his eyes travel down her body his eyes locked on her now bare ring finger and he couldn’t help the look of surprise that came over his features.  His eyes flickered up to hers. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, his phone started ringing. “Fuck.” He muttered as he remembered he was on the phone. 

“Give me one second.” He said answering the phone while looking at her. “Don’t go nowhere.” Melanie let a giggle and nodded, her amusement evident in her expression

“Wassup Uce.” He said as he brought the phone up to his face indicating that it was a Facetime call. 

“Whatchu mean wassup?!” The unmistakable voice of Josh’s twin Jon came through the phone. “You just hung up on me.” 

She let out a giggle as Josh sucked his teeth. “Cause you was pissing me off, but hold up, hold up, look who I ran into!” He turned the phone around, tilting it just enough for Jon to see Melanie standing next to him. “Mel, say hi to Uce.”

Jon’s eyes were wide as he looked at Melanie. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way! Melanie?!?!” 

“Hey Jon.” She replied with a tiny wave. It was like no time had passed between the trio. 

“Girl, whatchu’ doin' all the way over here?! Thought you were living it up in Cali with that big-time movie producer.” 

Melanie winced slightly and cleared her throat. “ I just decided to come see my folks for the holidays.” She absentmindedly started rubbing her bare ring finger, Josh noticed but didn’t say anything. 

“Well, shoot. If you not doing anything later on, My mom would love to see you. You know she still is going on and on about how you were the one that -”  Jon was cut off by Josh hurriedly hanging the phone up and stuffing it into the pocket of his hoodie. When she looked up at Josh his cheeks were starting to turn a pinkish shade and he was scratching the back of his neck. 

“Ahem,” He cleared his throat. “Don’t listen to him... I mean not about the coming over part, you can come over just uh about the other part..” He trailed off and Melanie couldn’t help the smirk that came over her features. 

“It’s cool.” she laughed. “I would love to see your mom again. Is that where you’re going now?” 

Josh nodded. “Yeah. Same house from when we were kids.” 

“Okay. I’ll Uber over there.” 

Josh sucked his teeth, “Girl, stop playin’. You know you can come with me.” 

Melanie bit her lip and shrugged. “I don’t know..” she trailed off. “ I don’t want to get you into any trouble with your wife.” 

Josh snorted and held up his left hand which was bare of any jewelry.  “I ain't worried bout that.”  

Melanie’s eyes widened a bit. “Oh shit, my bad Josh. I didn’t-” 

“Nah Mel, you cool I promise. Now let's go before Jon’s big ass eat all the food.” She let out a laugh and grabbed her card that the bartender had put down on the bar top and placed it in her bag. She put her bag on her shoulder and let Josh lead her out of the bar, holding her hand. 

Melanie didn’t know why she was so nervous. The butterflies in her stomach kept intensifying the closer they got to Josh's mom's house. She was about to tell him that she needed to get back to her parents when the front door opened and Talisua greeted them with a big smile. 

“Oh, Mel hunny, It’s so good to see you!” She said, pulling Melanie into a tight hug. “Now, you on the other hand,” Talisua said as she glared at Josh over Mel’s shoulder. “Don’t you ever slam my door like that again, you hear me?” 

“Yes Ma’am” Josh replied rolling his eyes as Melanie started to snicker. 

She let Talisua lead her into the house. Mel let out an oof as a body collided with her and she was picked off the ground and spun into a circle. 

“Damn lil Mel, look at you all grown and shit.”  

Melanie rolled her eyes.  She broke away from Jon and went to hug their younger brother Joseph who introduced her to his wife Alima and their two boys Jaden and Joseph Jr. She looked around the living room to see if she recognized any more familiar faces but froze when she noticed someone glaring at her. She took a step back and bumped into Jon who was in the middle of talking with Joseph and Alima. 

“Don’t worry about her. Same ole mean girl from high school. Ashley just pissed because Josh divorced her ass.” Jon finished rolling his eyes at Josh’s ex-wife. “You hungry?” He added at the end and Mel nodded. “C’mon, you can meet my wife Trinity.” 

Melanie felt so out of place sitting at the dinner table between Josh and Jon. Ashley was sitting directly across from her, just glaring. 

“So Mel,” Talisua started. “How have you been sweetie? Last I heard you were in California.” 

“Yeah. I just came down here to visit my parents.” Melanie replied with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Talisua said, clearly pleased. “I’m sure your parents are thrilled to have you home.”

Ashley scoffed and everyone turned their attention to her. 

“Don’t start your mess, Ashley. Not in front of my kids.”   His gaze flicked to his two boys who were sitting at the kids' table with their cousins. 

“Our Kids,” Ashley said as she kept her attention on Melanie. She had noticed the absence of her wedding ring and she was going to bring it up. “Speaking of kids…” She trailed off, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her fist. “Don’t you have some? Why are you not with them and what happened to your wedding ring?” 

Melanie shifted in her seat as she felt some of Josh’s family look her way. 

“I mean, y'all were all over The Shaderoom last month for your husband's movie premiere, looking like the perfect little family.” 

Melanie felt Josh stiffen beside her and heard Jon whisper “Aw hell”. She cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter in her chair. 

“Some things never change huh?” Melanie chuckled under her breath shaking her head. “Good to see you been keeping up with my life though,” Melaine said as she winked at Ashley. 

Ashley narrowed her eyes at Melanie and straightened up in her chair. Not one to back down from a fight, Ashley smiled before saying. “I mean, y’all looked like the perfect family in that photo.” 

“Looks can be deceiving.” Melanie shrugged. 

“Really?” Ashley scoffed. “You still pretending everything’s fine? I saw the way your ‘perfect family’ crumbled. Pretty fast, too. Must’ve been rough.” She dragged out the last word, trying to stick the knife in. 

“Man, will you chill?” Josh said. Shaking his head at Ashley. “You doin’ too much” 

Ashley scoffed. “I’m so over this. Do you know how many times I caught him scrolling through her Instagram page while we were married?!” She said glaring at Josh before turning her attention back to Melanie. “When you broke his heart and left, I picked up the pieces. I helped bring him out that funk he was in!” 

Melanie snuck a glance at Josh. He was staring a hole through Ashley, his jaw was tight and his fists clenched at his sides. “Leave.” Josh snarled out, lip curling as he tried to hold back from yelling at Ashley in front of their kids. 

Ashley rolled her eyes and finished her wine before standing up from the table and leaving the room. Melanie felt Jon wince as the front door slammed, signaling Ashley’s departure.  Talisua took a deep breath before picking up the rolls in the basket on the table. “Rolls anyone?” 

After Ashley had left, the rest of the dinner went smoothly, and Melanie was grateful nobody brought up her or Josh’s disaster of a marriage again. She was sitting on the couch in the living room with Trinity as the two got to know each other. She felt someone looking at her. She looked over and immediately locked eyes with Josh, who was standing on the other side of the room talking with his brothers. 

Once they locked eyes, Josh hurriedly immediately looked away. Melanie let out a soft chuckle and her stomach flipped as the butterflies started fluttering as she turned her attention back to Trinity. 

“What you gonna do about that?” Josh blinked, he looked up from his beer bottle and noticed that all three of his brothers were staring at him. 

“What?” He asked, lip curling as he glared at the three of them. 

“Aint nobody scared of you Uce. What you gon do about Melanie?” Jon said as he cut his eyes over to Melanie who was now talking with Trinity and Alima. “You know what moms always said” Jon paused as he tried to remember the quote his momma used to say to them. “Some shit about destiny.”  Josh rolled his rolled his eyes but remained silent. “Uce, do you remember how tore up you was when she left? How it took months to get you out the house? This is your chance. Both of y’all are single... There’s nothing in the way. Y’all being at the same bar tonight was destiny.” 

Josh bit his lip as he let Jon’s words sink in. He finished off the rest of his beer and handed the empty bottle to Jon before slowly walking over to Melanie and his sisters-in-law. He felt his heart start to pound in his chest as the three of them stopped talking when they noticed him walking closer. Alima and Trinity were trying to hide the smiles on their faces. 

“Y’all mind if I steal Mel for a minute?”  

Alima and Trinity exchanged quick glances before shaking their heads in unison. "Go ahead," Alima said, a teasing glint in her eye. "She’s all yours."

Josh held his hand out for Melanie to take and once she did he helped her to her feet before leading her outside, towards the backyard where the bonfire was lit. The butterflies had returned to her stomach tenfold. They both were silent as they made their way to the bonfire. Josh had no idea what he was going to say to Melanie. He kicked his Nike slides off before sitting down on one of the blankets. He watched as Melanie took off her shoes and sat down right next to him. 

“I missed being in Pensacola,” Melanie said after a while. Josh hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they sat down. She was looking up at the stars in the sky with a soft smile on her face. “Missed being around my family.” 

“Yeah,” Josh asked, still looking at her. “You could’ve came back.” 

“I was…” She trailed off. “Y’know after you called.” Josh’s breath hitched in his throat. He remembered the day he called vividly. It was a moment of weakness about fourteen years ago. He had overhead that his younger sister Stasi had gotten back in contact with Melanie and Josh had begged Stasi for Mel’s number and once he finally got it, he had dialed the number but couldn’t find it in him to actually press the call button. It took him hours to work up the courage to call and when he did he was a bit drunk. An angry and drunk Josh was not a good combination. After he had aired his frustrations out about her leaving, he begged her to come home, to come back to Pensacola so they could pick up where they left off. 

“Do you remember what you said?” She asked and he nodded immediately. “You said that If I really loved you, that if you ever meant anything to me, I should come home and you would forgive me for leaving you.” 

“I was drunk,” Josh whispered. 

“I know,” Melanie smiled. “I had my bags packed and I was waiting for Ryan to come home and by sheer coincidence, my doctor called.”  She quickly reached up to wipe the tears that had just escaped her eyes. “I had found out I was pregnant with McKenzie that day, and when I had called you back, Ashley had answered.” Melanie kept her gaze focused on the fire. “She told me that y’all were getting married in a couple of weeks and I needed to move on with my life and then she hung up.” 

“Mel…” Josh trailed off, not knowing what to say. That phone call was a moment of weakness. He was weeks away from getting married to Ashley but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making a big mistake, once he heard that Stasi was in contact with Melanie he felt like he had a chance to fix it and when he never heard from Melanie again he had tried to move on with his life. 

“I never stopped loving you,” Melanie whispered and Josh closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “You were my first everything I was willing to give up my life with Ryan to be with you.” 

“I never stopped loving you either. I tried… I tried so hard to move on but.” Josh stopped talking and stood to his feet. He grabbed Melanie’s hand and pulled her up. He pulled her close so he was looking into her eyes. “It’s always been you.” 

The air between them grew thick with everything unsaid, all the years of separation, pain, and yearning. Melanie’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to speak, to say everything that was flooding her mind, but her words got caught in her throat. He moved a little closer, closing the gap between them, his forehead just barely grazing hers. “I missed you Mel, and I’m not going to pass up another moment with you.”  

Melanie let her gaze fall from his eyes to his lips and she nodded. “I don’t wanna pass up another moment with you neither Josh.” He smiled and leaned close to her, their lips were almost touching when she whispered. “I just put a down payment on my house. I’m moving back to Pensacola.” Josh's eyes widened with surprise and joy. Without another word, he closed the final distance between them, capturing Melanie's lips in a passionate kiss. Years of pent-up desire flooded through them as their mouths moved together urgently.

Melanie's fingers tangled in Josh's hair, pulling him closer as his hands roamed down her back. They broke away from each other and jumped slightly when someone banging on the sliding glass backdoor that looked out into the backyard startled them. 

“THAT'S WHAT THE FUCK I’M TALKING ABOUT!” Jon was looking out at them with a big ass smile on his face. He gave his brother a thumbs-up before he was pulled away by Trinity. 

Melanie rolled her eyes at Jon’s antics before pressing her body back against Josh’s and leaning in for another kiss, this one was slower, deeper, filled with the promise of all the moments they'd missed and all the ones yet to come.

Author's Note: Whew... finally part one of the Phrase Series is out!

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[scoutofmymind]

i just saw you reblogged an Anora post😍 would u ever be interested in writing a reader x Luigi prompt inspired by that movie? love your writing girl you are just so fantastic

Losing Dogs — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: NSFW - MNDI, sex work, rich as fuck Luigi, Dancer!Reader, p in v, come eating (whoooops), reader is addicted to uncertainty.

Wc: 7,158 (This is an unfinished work, I’m willing to continue if requests for it are substantial, but for the sake of keeping it on Tumblr and not posting it on Ao3, I had to stop where I did 💕)

Notes; Luigi Mangione, heir to a Sicilian real estate empire and alleged regular at underground poker clubs where he watches rather than plays, never expected to find himself falling for a dancer at Sapphire.

Click here for part 2

"It's actually funny," Luigi mumbles, more to himself than his companions, wedged between his two cousins fresh off the plane from Sicily.

Tony, the giant of the family, shares Luigi's sharp features but stretched larger, like someone had taken Luigi's face and expanded it to fit a bruiser's frame. Then there's Lorenzo — shorter but somehow taking up just as much space, his body a testament to long hours at his father's dockyard; the scar splitting his right eyebrow catches sunlight every time he smirks. “First time on American soil in what, five years? And this is where you had to come firs-“

The door is swung open, the facade is deceptively plain — just black marble and smoked glass, a discreet Sapphire etched in gold above the door marks this as their destination.

The bouncer, a mountain in a tailored suit, doesn't bark or posture like the ones on cheaper doors. He just stands there, radiating quiet competence, his earpiece gleaming. "IDs," he requests, somehow making the single word sound both polite and non-negotiable.

His eyes linger on the Italian passports, but his face betrays nothing.

Inside the antechamber, it's all dark wood and soft amber lighting and a woman in a pencil skirt recites the house rules with practiced efficiency: no phones on the floor, no photographs, minimum table service in VIP is $500, and — she pauses here, sliding elegant paperwork across the marble counter — there's the matter of the $200 per person convenience fee that will be withdrawn immediately.

Tony balks slightly at this. "Two hundred just to walk in?"

"It's to ensure our clientele maintains a certain standard," she explains, her smile professional but cooling several degrees. "The amount is credited toward your evening's entertainment, of course."

Lorenzo elbows Tony, muttering something in rapid Italian about American prices, but Luigi slides his card across, knowing this is how places like this filter out the tourists and trouble-makers.

Through the second set of doors, bass pulses like a heartbeat, but it's still muffled, promising rather than announcing, and the air smells of expensive perfume and aged whiskey, not beer and desperation.

The main floor unfolds before them like a fever dream in black marble. Sapphires reputation for being high end suddenly makes visceral sense — everything gleams with the kind of wealth that doesn't need to announce itself.

The lighting is precise, strategic; LEDs trace abstract patterns across coffered ceilings while hidden spots paint the stages in liquid gold. "Dio," breathes Tony, his complaints about the entrance fee forgotten.

Three circular stages dominate the space, each with its own constellation of private tables, but it's the architecture that catches Luigi's eye — the way the room seems to spiral inward like a nautilus shell, the tables far enough apart that conversations stay private, close enough to feel intimate with the performance space.

A hostess materializes — there's no other word for how smoothly she appears — in a black dress that costs more than most people's monthly rent. "Gentlemen, will you be joining us at the bar, or would you prefer a table?" Her eyes flick to Lorenzo's Rolex, Tony's Brunello Cucinelli jacket, making rapid calculations.

"Table," Lorenzo says before anyone else can speak. "Something close." His English is heavily accented but the universal language of status needs no translation.

She leads them through the crowd — if you can call it that. The usual press of bodies you'd expect in a club is absent here.

Instead, there's space, carefully crafted distance.

Men in suits that cost more than Beamers speak in low voices, and a tech billionaire Luigi recognizes from CNBC sits alone, staring into middle distance while a dancer performs with the kind of grace that suggests formal training.

They're led to a half-moon booth with a perfect view of the main stage. The leather is butter-soft, the table's surface black glass that seems to swallow light, with a subtle panel of buttons for service inlaid near the edge.

"Your server will be with you shortly," the hostess says, then hesitates. "And gentlemen? I'd recommend staying for the next set."

That's when Luigi notices the music tumbles into something that isn’t the typical club thunder — instead, it's something classical, deconstructed and woven through with electronic elements; Chopin's Nocturne in E-flat major, he realizes, but reimagined as something darker, more modern.

The server approaches with the same calculated grace as the hostess, but there's something different in her manner — a hint of genuine warmth. "Welcome to Sapphire. I'm Aria." She sets down crystal water glasses with practiced precision. "Our special tonight is the 1982 Macallan, though—“ her eyes drift meaningfully to Luigi, "We also make an exceptional Manhattan.”

Before anyone can order, the lights shift — subtle at first, then with purpose.

The deconstructed Chopin fades into silence, the main stage, empty moments ago, now holds a single figure in darkness, and the murmur of conversation around them dies without prompting.

A single cello note cuts through the quiet, followed by another, building a melody that feels both ancient and startlingly modern.

As the music swells, light bleeds onto the stage, revealing her.

Her whose movement matches the music's duality — classical technique fractured and reassembled into something hypnotic.

She doesn't dance around the pole so much as she seems to bend gravity to her will, each transition so fluid it looks like liquid mercury.

Luigi notices something else.

The crowd's reaction.

These men, who deal in billions and shape markets with a phone call, are completely still. It's not the typical attention of a gentleman's club — it’s the silence of an audience witnessing something they don't quite understand but can't look away from.

Both Tony and Lorenzo order bottles with the casual arrogance of men used to throwing money around, and Luigi can't tear his eyes away long enough to ask about their other cocktails.

He's never been much for bourbon, but right now he doesn't care — the performance has him in a trance that no spirit could match.

It's not long before he hears his cousins acting up, murmuring something to each other in their native tongue, that lyrical Italian that Luigi understands but rarely speaks, his own command of it lost somewhere between private schools and college lectures.

“Where's her tits?” Lorenzo mutters, Tony leaning in to complain right behind him, “I thought this was a strip club?”

Luigi furrows his brows, the spell broken.

He turns his broad chest toward them both, pausing only to acknowledge the two women who parade over their bottles of champagne with divine precision and grace, their movements a stark contrast to his cousins' crude commentary. "You buy a fuckin' room if you want tits," he growls, flicking his finger first in Tony's direction, then Lorenzo's, each gesture sharp as a warning shot. "Don't put a bad name on us, cugini — Papa has investments here."

The cousins exchange glances but settle back, chastened more by the mention of their uncle than Luigi's reprimand.

On stage, the music shifts again — something even darker now, all cello and static — and her routine evolves with it, the control is absolute, each movement deliberate yet somehow wild, like watching lightning decide where to strike.

The pole becomes less prop and more partner, an extension of her artistry rather than its center, and Luigi finds himself leaning forward, elbows on his knees, aware that he's staring but far past caring.

He notices details his cousins miss — the way her muscles tell stories of dedication, how her face reveals nothing and everything at once.

There's mathematics in her movement, philosophy in her form.

A sharp sound of crystal meeting crystal breaks his concentration — Lorenzo, already refilling his glass, the champagne sloshing slightly over the rim.

The cousin catches Luigi's glare and shrugs, muttering something that sounds like an apology but isn't while Tony's attention has already wandered to one of the cocktail waitresses, his earlier complaints forgotten in favor of more immediate distractions.

Reluctantly, the music fades and she descends from the stage with the same fluid grace that marked her performance, moving through the club like water finding its path, stopping at tables where regulars sit with their crystal glasses and dollar bills.

Luigi, needing air — or space— or both, makes his way to the bar, leaving his cousins to their champagne and their increasingly loud discussions about Italian soccer to a couple of women who couldn’t care less, but would open a ear to anything if it meant getting them in a private room.

"Sanpellegrino," he murmurs to a bartender, suddenly wanting clarity rather than clouds. The sparkling water arrives in a glass with lime, and that's when he sees her — the girl who was just on stage —materialized a few seats down, leaning across the bar to speak with the bartender.

Her right hand rests on the polished wood, and there, in delicate script across her inner wrist: "God is dead."

Before he can stop himself, the words leave his mouth, soft but clear: "And we have killed him.”

Your head turns, eyes finding his with an intensity that makes him forget the rest of Nietzsche's proclamation, and for a moment, the club, his cousins, everything else fades away.

You tilt your head slightly, a subtle smile playing at the corner of your mouth. "Most people just ask if it's about Satan," you grin, your voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Or they try to save my soul."

Luigi takes a slow sip of his sparkling water that tickles his nose, appreciating the irony. "Nietzsche would've had thoughts about both responses." He gestures to the empty seat between them. "Though I doubt he ever imagined his words would end up here.”

"Oh, I don't know," your voice becomes airy and light, sliding onto the stool next to him, closer than the one he'd indicated. "The death of God, the birth of tragedy, eternal recurrence — seems fitting for a club where people come to forget." You eye him, take inventory of his posture, what he’s wearing, and the sparkling water he’s drinking. "Besides, what better place to question values?"

Luigi finds himself leaning in slightly, aware that this conversation is rapidly becoming more intriguing than anything happening on stage, or back at the table with his cousins. "So, you studied philosophy?" he asks, though it's more statement than question.

"Columbia," you answer, then add with a knowing look, "Before you ask — yes, this is how I pay for it. And no, I'm not looking for rescue from this life of sin."

The directness catches him off guard, but he appreciates it. "NYU. Comp Sci.” he offers in return. "And I wouldn't presume to rescue anyone who quotes Nietzsche.”

"Let me guess," your eyes scan him with amused precision, "You were more Camus than Nietzsche?"

Luigi can't help but smile, caught between surprise and appreciation. "The Myth of Sisyphus was my thesis," he admits. "Though these days I'm pushing more rocks up hills than contemplating them."

A glance over his shoulder reminds him of his cousins' presence — they're still at the table, but their attention has shifted to their phones, probably already bored without the promised spectacle they came for, or having scared the girls enough to deny them private rooms.

He feels a shift in the air as one of the floor managers approaches — the kind of interruption that seems inevitable in a place like this, and you notice too, but instead of immediately pulling away, you reach for a cocktail napkin and a pen from behind the bar.

"Speaking of eternal recurrence," you scribble over the napkin, "I'm here Thursdays and Fridays. If you want to continue our discussion about the death of God, or-“ you slide it toward him, "the birth of tragedy."

•

Thursday.

Oh, Thursday, Thursday, Thursday.

"Happy thirsty Thursday, bitches!" Julia's voice rings through the dressing room as she weaves between vanity stations, balancing a bottle of Prosecco.

You're perched on the counter, nose nearly touching the mirror, wielding your liquid eyeliner with the precision of a surgeon — or at least attempting to.

"Honey," Julia pauses behind you, pressing a cool glass into your hand while gently easing you back from the mirror, which has begun to fog from your focused breathing. "Don't you make enough for some contacts? I swear you're going to give yourself a repetitive stress injury.”

You accept the prosecco without turning from your reflection, then the shot she presses into your other hand. The old rule echoes in your mind — drinking before shifts is bad business — but tonight feels different.

It wasn't any one thing that set this mood — but maybe it was the way your boots crunched through dirty ice on your trek from the subway, or how the wind cut right through that orange and brown balaclava your mother had knitted, sent from Santa Monic with a note saying "stay warm".

You sit by the bar, chin propped on your fist as you survey the crowd through half-lidded eyes.

The regulars hunch over their drinks like old friends, while first-timers betray themselves with darting glances and tentative sips. Music thrums through the floorboards —some nameless pop song stripped down and remixed until only the bassline remains, vibrating in your chest like a second heartbeat.

His "Hey" materializes beside you, soft enough that it nearly dissolves into the din. You don't need to look to know it's him — that particular shadow in charcoal grey wool.

He's shed the usual entourage of boisterous cousins, and there's something different in his approach — a hesitation in steps that usually claim every room they enter.

You turn, "Sanpellegrino?" A ghost of a smile plays at your lips as the glass catches the low light. His face is different tonight — something raw beneath the polished exterior, like fresh paint that hasn't quite dried.

"About last week," he begins, easing onto the barstool as if it might disappear beneath him. "The, uh — your number - it -"

"Let me guess." You slide his drink across the mahogany with practiced grace. "Either your suit met an untimely end at the cleaners with it still in the pocket, or one of those cousins of yours lifted it."

Breaking your cardinal rule — never give your number to a customer — only to have it vanish feels like the universe's personal punchline.

Seven digits sacrificed to whatever deity presides over dry cleaning.

Luigi's grimace tells you everything. "Dry cleaning," he confesses, shoulders dropping slightly. "My housekeeper has a scorched-earth policy with receipts. By the time I realized-“ He lifts the glass, ice clicking against crystal. "I spent the week with Camus instead. Came strapped with counterarguments about the fundamental absurdity of existence."

You find yourself fighting back a smile.

In five years of working here, you've had countless men try to continue conversations, usually with tired lines about destiny or missed connections, but none of them ever showed up having done philosophical homework.

"Well," you say, leaning against the bar, "you did make it on a Thursday. That's something Sisyphus would appreciate — the eternal return and all that." You glance at the clock, then back at him. "Let's hear your defense of absurdism.” You find yourself reaching for his hand, your usual pitch tumbling out like second nature. "We could continue this conversation somewhere more private?"

The words hang there for a moment, and you watch his expression shift from philosophical intensity to something more certain.

In the private room, you move sinuously to music that's now more vibration than sound, while he dissects existentialism with the intensity of a doctoral candidate defending his thesis.

Even as you straddle him, skin gleaming in the low light, he's animated — one hand conducting an invisible orchestra while the other remains fixed to the armrest like it's been superglued there. His voice never wavers as he explains how Sisyphus's comprehension of his eternal task is actually his triumph over the gods.

"— and if we examine the boulder as a metaphor for societal expectations—" He's still lecturing while you execute a move that's earned you countless thousands, your body folded into an artful display of flexibility, each movement a masterpiece of calculated seduction.

"Babe," you cut in, flowing back into his lap with liquid grace. You press your palm against his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath expensive wool. "Are you even into this?" Your voice carries equal parts amusement and genuine curiosity. For the first time tonight, he falls silent.

Luigi freezes mid-sentence, mouth still shaped around 'existentialism,' blinking like someone emerging from a trance. "What? Of course I'm- Why would you think-"

"Because I've been doing inverted crosses and Russian splits for fifteen minutes, and you're more invested in French philosophy than the fact that I'm practically naked in your lap."

Color floods his neck, creeping up like watercolor on wet paper. "I just- I thought- You seemed so engaged in our discussion last week, and I spent days researching, and-" He drags fingers through dark curls, leaving them charmingly disheveled. "I'm completely fucking this up, aren't I?"

You laugh, soft and genuine, settling deeper into his lap as your arms drape over his rigid shoulders. "Most guys in here pretend to be intellectuals to get closer to the dancers. You might be the first one pretending not to notice my body to prove you actually are one."

"I notice," he blurts, then looks like he wants to dissolve into the leather seat. "God- I mean, I'm extremely aware. I just thought if I-"

"Luigi," you interrupt, oddly moved by his fumbling sincerity, "you can appreciate both Camus and tits. The universe is absurd enough for both."

His laugh is nervous but genuine, shoulders finally releasing their tension beneath your touch. "I suppose that would be a false dichotomy." Then, after a pause where his eyes actually — finally —trace your silhouette, "Though I have to admit, I'm finding it considerably harder to focus on French existentialism now that I'm not actively trying to ignore-“

"My existence preceding my essence?" You smirk, rolling your hips in a way that makes his breath catch, his head resting on the crushed velvet back of the chair beneath him, his eyes stuck on yours in a narrow gaze.

"That's — uh - that's Sartre, not Camus," he manages, hands still firmly gripped on the armrests like they're keeping him anchored to reality.

"Look at you, still managing to be pedantic." You run a finger down the cable knit of his sweater — Hermès, you notice, because of course it is. "You can touch me, you know. Club rules allow it in private rooms, and I'm giving you permission. Unless you'd rather discuss Kierkegaard's views on anxiety?"

His hands finally leave the armrests, hovering uncertainly near your waist. "I actually did read some Kierkegaard this week too," he admits, and you can't help but laugh at his commitment to the bit. "But maybe,” his hands finally settle on your hips, warm through the thin fabric of your tiny, ruffed lace bottoms, "we could table the philosophical discussion for now?"

"There he is," you murmur, noting how his pupils have dilated, his cheeks having gone pink, his aura radiating like a halo around him in the soft neon light of the shared private room, another dancer nearby with a regular client. "Though I have to say, this is the first time I've had to actively encourage a client to be less respectful."

•

Three months in, and you're lounging by his infinity pool overlooking Central Park. The Upper East Side condo had been a surprise — you'd known he was wealthy from his clothes and manners, but this was old money, generations of it seeping from every handcrafted molding and imported marble tile.

You adjust the Van Cleef he gave you last week — "Just because," he'd said, as if dropping $50K on jewelry was as casual as picking up coffee, and you run your fingers over the spine of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, thinking about power dynamics and the eternal dance between giving and taking — every gift, every dinner, every weekend in the Hamptons — you catalog them mentally, like entries in a ledger.

Not because you're calculating, but because you've learned that everything has a price, even if it's not immediately apparent.

Luigi looks at you like you're an answer to a question he never knew to ask, and when he kisses you, it's reverent, like you're something precious. When he talks about the future, it's with a certainty that would be frightening if you let yourself think about it too deeply.

But you've spent years understanding the transactional nature of desire.

Even as you feel yourself falling into the gravity of his affection, there's a part of you that remains detached, analytical. You recognize his love — it's evident in every gesture, every thoughtful gift, every time he shows up at the club just to drive you home after your shift, never asking you to quit, never making demands.

Your own feelings are more complicated.

You care for him, deeply even, but there's always that voice in the back of your mind tallying the cost of everything, wondering when the bill will come due, because it always does.

It's not that you don't feel love — it's that you've learned to view love itself as another form of currency, something to be exchanged, measured, quantified.

You’re snapped out of your daze when Luigi emerges from the townhouses study nook, still clutching his Advanced Algorithms textbook at his side. He's in his final semester, juggling classes with the machine learning research project he's hoping will revolutionize his family's investment firm.

The place isn't his — it's his parents', who spend most of their time at their place in Puglia.

"My brain is absolutely fried," he groans, collapsing onto the lounge chair beside you, a loud sigh following. "If I have to debug one more recursive function or optimize another binary search tree, I might actually lose it."

You close your Beauvoir and look at him with amusement. "The heir apparent to the Mangione empire, defeated by code?"

"Don't," he mumbles into the cushion. "Papa’s already called twice today to remind me about graduation expectations. Apparently, anything less than building the next revolutionary trading algorithm would be an embarrassment to five generations of Mangione bankers."

You run your fingers through his hair, and he leans into your touch like a cat — for a moment, you see him as he really is, not the polished future tech innovator, not the philosophy-quoting client, but just a 24-year-old kid trying to live up to impossible expectations.

Moving from your own lounge chair to his, you settle into his lap with a practiced grace that blurs the line between habit and performance, your hands splayed across his chest, and you can feel his heartbeat quickening beneath your fingers.

"What would you think if -“ you lean down, pressing kisses along his collarbone, tasting the salty skin of spring and expensive cologne, "I were to treat you tonight?" Your voice carries the same silky tone you use at the club, but there's something else there too — something that makes you uncomfortable if you think about it too hard.

"Mm?" His voice is gentle, soft but frayed around the edges. You can hear the weight of those endless phone calls with his father in it — arguments about the family's ventures, about graduation expectations, about codes both computational and criminal that you don't yet know about. "How so?"

You kiss your way up his neck, buying time, wondering when exactly you started using intimacy as currency, even outside of work.

His hands settle on your hips, and they're trembling slightly — from exhaustion or desire or both.

"Let me take care of you," you murmur against his jaw. "No thinking about algorithms or binary trees or whatever your father wants-“ You feel him tense slightly at the mention of his father, but you continue, "Just us."

He draws back just enough to study your face, and there's something in his gaze that makes your breath catch — like he's reading between the lines of your carefully constructed script, past the glitter and practiced smiles to something you thought you'd buried deep enough that no one would find it.

His thumb ghosts across your lower lip, and you brace yourself — waiting for him to name the thing you both see; how you turn every genuine connection into a filed entry, every moment of vulnerability into a debt to be repaid.

Instead, his voice comes soft as a confession, “You don't have to earn your place here, you know."

The words land like a punch to the chest, stealing your breath mid-motion.

Because isn't that exactly what you've been doing all these years — keeping a running tally, maintaining equilibrium, treating your heart like a balance sheet?

Even here, you're performing mental arithmetic — calculating the precise exchange rate between vulnerability and safety, between affection given and security received.

You recover with the grace of long practice, muscle memory sliding you back into familiar patterns. "Maybe I just want to," you say, but there's a tremor in your voice that betrays you, a hairline crack in carefully maintained armor.

His hands come up to cradle your face like you're something precious, something breakable, and he's looking at you with that devastating combination of tenderness and insight that makes your flight instincts scream. "Tell me what you're thinking," he whispers into the space between you. "Really thinking."

And that's the problem, isn't it?

You're thinking about debt and worth and the price of everything. You're thinking about how many private club dances it would take to equal the necklace around your throat. You're thinking about the way his family's wealth feels like a weight even as it lifts you up.

You think about the way he watches you – not just your body moving through practiced routines, but the quick flash of your wit, the sharp edges of your mind. How he's never once suggested you quit, never tried to "save" you from choices that were always yours to make. How he handles your thoughts with the same reverence others reserve for your curves.

And somewhere beneath the ledgers and calculations, beneath the careful arithmetic of survival, something dangerous is blooming — something that tastes like truth and terrifies you more than any amount of nakedness ever could.

So instead of words, you answer with your mouth against his, and for once there's no performance in it, no mental tallying of what this kiss might be worth.

His fingers thread through your hair like he's memorizing you, and for one crystalline moment, you let the numbers fall away, let yourself exist in the simple miracle of being wanted exactly as you are.

"May I ask something?" Luigi whispers softly against your lips, his palms pressing into your back as if he could somehow draw you closer, make you more real.

"With those manners, you can do just about anything, Lu." you murmur, rolling your hips against his with an urgency that would never appear in your calculated club performances.

"Well," he clears his throat, and you can feel him stalling beneath you. His request had tumbled out rushed and nervous, like ripping off a bandaid, words escaping before he could think better of them. "My parents are coming back from Sicily soon — they do usually in spring." He looks at you sheepishly, sweat beading on his brow. "And we do this dinner-“

You lean up slowly from his neck where you'd been losing yourself in the essence of him, in this space where things are simple. Where there are no student loans crushing your shoulders, no club schedules dictating your nights, no complicated family dynamics lurking beneath perfectly polished surfaces.

"Mm, is that so?" you murmur, studying the way his throat moves when he swallows, the tension gathering in his jaw.

"It is," Luigi says, blinking up at you like he's emerging from deep water. His fingers find the strings of your bikini, twisting them absently — an unconscious tell, like he needs something physical to hold onto while his usually precise mind fumbles for words.

This is the same man who can explain market derivatives or quantum entanglement without breaking stride, but now his throat works visibly, precision failing him when it matters most.

"And- well," he swallows, those clever fingers still tangled in thin strings against your skin, "it wouldn't necessarily be about meeting them - you know- as much as it would be about - uh..."

You can't help the smile that spreads across your face, oddly touched by this glimpse of the infamous Luigi Mangione – who can debate quantum mechanics in three languages – tripping over a simple invitation. "Are you asking me to be your dinner date?"

Your mind immediately unfolds a scene worthy of Gatsby — crystal chandeliers refracting old money whispers, wines older than your grandmother, silverware that could pay off your student loans. You know whatever you're picturing probably falls short of the actual Mangione world, but you let yourself imagine anyway.

His hands are still at your hips, thumbs brushing against bare skin in that absent way of his, like touching you is as natural as breathing. "Not exactly," he admits, and there's something in his voice that makes your heart skip. "I'm asking you to be my date. Period."

The implication settles between you like morning dew — delicate but impossible to ignore.

"Luigi," you breathe, and for once, you're the one struggling for words. “I-“

He shifts beneath you, spine straightening as one arm anchors you against him. His other hand finds your cheek, and those eyes — amber-bright, search your face with an intensity that sends a shiver through you, despite the winter bleeding into a blazing spring.

"I'm asking you to let me introduce you to my family. Properly. As the woman I—" He stops, and you can see the gears turning, watch him weigh each syllable with the same meticulous protection he applies to his billion-dollar code. "I care so much for you."

The words hang between you, heavy with everything he's not quite saying, and you realize this might be the first time in his life Luigi Mangione has chosen imprecise language.

That "care" is a placeholder, a variable waiting to be defined by something larger, something neither of you are quite ready to name.

The words hover between you like smoke, dense with unspoken weight — family legacies, billion-dollar empires, carefully segregated worlds. You think about everything you've heard whispered at the club about the Mangione name, about old money and new power, about the precise way Luigi has always kept his family's orbit separate from your shared nights.

And yet here he is, offering to bridge the gap.

"What do they think of me?"

Something flickers across his face — subtle, but you've learned to read the micro-expressions that betray his thoughts. "My sister already likes you," he says, each word measured and deliberate, his fingers still tracing absent patterns on your skin. "She says you're different — real."

But you notice the careful omission. "And your parents?"

Luigi's jaw tightens just enough to catch the light differently. "My mother," he begins, then seems to reset. "She's traditional. Concerned about appearances. But she'll come around."

The weight of what he's not saying about his father fills the space between his words. "And your father?"

His eyes catch yours, something dark and protective flashing in them. "My father is calculating. He's had his goons look into you." Luigi's fingers press slightly harder into your hips, like he's trying to hold you in place against some unseen current. "He knows about the club. Your student loans. Everything."

"Of course he does," you murmur. You're not shocked about him knowing your connection to the club — given his investment portfolio, that was inevitable — but the thought of strangers dissecting your life still leaves you feeling raw. "And?"

"And he thinks you're either a liability, or an asset. He hasn't decided which yet." Luigi's honesty cuts clean and quick, but his thumbs trace gentle circles against your ribs like an apology. "That's part of why this dinner is important. He'll be watching how you handle yourself."

"A test?" The word tastes bitter.

"Everything's a test with him."

There's something in his voice — not quite resentment, not quite resignation, but somewhere in the territory between the two.

You wonder how many tests Luigi has passed, failed, or refused to take over the years.

You stare down at him, your hands settling over his where they anchor you at your hips. The world seems to quiet around you — just the whisper of leaves in the breeze and distant city sounds filtering through the moment like white noise.

He doesn't shy away from your scrutiny.

Instead, those eyes hold yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch — pleading, vulnerable in a way that seems almost impossible for someone born into his world of calculated moves and careful masks.

But you can't help but appreciate the absurdity of it all.

Your first real conversation had been about existentialism, of all things — you'd challenged his clinical view of human behavior as merely predictable patterns, and he'd been intrigued by your passionate defense of life's beautiful chaos.

Now here you are, living proof of his father's worst nightmare

An unpredictable variable in their carefully ordered world.

Luigi, heir of Marco Mangione, a rich, sophisticated in his own right, business mogul of some sort — important and wealthy enough, you know, for one of his three children to buy the club dancer he’s been seeing for three months a fifty thousand dollar piece of jewelry between an eggs Benedict breakfast and an Eleven Madison Park dinner.

But also Luigi — who showed up at 2 AM after your shift with mint chocolate chip ice cream melting in his Maserati's cup holder, because you'd texted about craving it.

Luigi, who got brain freeze from eating too fast while you both sat in his parked car, you still in your platform heels and him in his $5,000 suit, sharing a single spoon and laughing about nothing.

The duality strikes you; the man who moves billions through digital empires with a keystroke is the one who remembers how you take your coffee. The Mangione heir, and the boy who gets adorably flustered when you wear his dress shirts around.

Then, your mind drifts back to last week's conversation with Julia.

You'd been perched in your usual spot on the dressing room counter, legs swinging, while she sat at her vanity.

"Saw your boy at Paradiso," she'd said, casual in that deliberate way that meant it wasn't casual at all.

Your hands had stilled on your stockings.

Paradiso.

Not just a casino — the casino. Where million-dollar hands were dealt in back rooms and real business happened over whiskey and poker chips.

"He was with his father." Julia had turned then, arm draped over her chair back, dark eyes serious despite her light tone. "Spitting image, those two. But Luigi wasn't playing." She'd paused, checking to see if you were really listening. "He was doing that thing he does — you know, when his brain goes all Beautiful Mind? But he wasn't counting cards. He was watching. Patterns. Players. Money movement."

"His daddy kept introducing him around," Julia had added softly. "To men who looked like they buy countries.”

You realize that this uncertainty is something that fuels your curiosity further — and if you're honest with yourself, it's part of what draws you to him.

You'd seen that same distant look Julia described, but in softer moments; Luigi calculating the exact trajectory needed for a paper airplane to sail from your bedroom window to the fountain below, his hands moving through the air as he mapped invisible vectors.

Or the night he'd gotten excited explaining market microstructures, his brilliant mind spinning beautiful patterns from chaos.

But there's another side to those patterns now.

Its power flows, influence matrices, the invisible algorithms that govern his father's world — and Luigi reads them all like sheet music, even if he never talks about the song they're playing.

His hands tighten slightly on your hips, bringing you back to the present moment; to those brown eyes still watching you, waiting for an answer about a dinner that suddenly feels like more than just meeting the family.

You wonder if he's already mapped out all the variables of this moment.

The invitation isn't just about meeting his mother, enduring his father's scrutiny, or bearing his siblings judgment. It's about acknowledging what you've been carefully not discussing — that falling for Luigi Mangione means entering a world where dinner parties are strategic moves and casual observations can carry the weight of corporate empires.

You think about the way he looks at you sometimes, like you're a glorious aberration in his ordered universe.

"You're thinking too hard," he murmurs, and there's that smile — the real one, not the calculated curve he shows to his professors and business partners. "It's just dinner."

But you both know it's not.

You trace your fingers along his jaw, feeling the slight tension there. "Your father's going to hate me.” you say, but what you mean is: I see the patterns too, even if we don't talk about them.

His eyes darken with something between worry and pride. Because you do see — maybe not the complex mathematics of power and influence that he tracks, but you see him.

The brilliant mind that draws patterns out of mayhem, and the heart that chose disorder anyway.

•

You could spend forever like this with him, lost in the heat of morning light. Luigi's head falls back, eyes half-lidded and languid, looking at you like you're some Renaissance masterpiece come to life.

The months together have stripped away any need for performance, leaving only this raw, honest thing between you.

"You need—" Your words dissolve into a gasp as his hands map the contours of your skin with quiet worship, your hips working over him in gentle circles. "T-to help me pick out a dress."

He lets out a low sound from deep in his throat, his palms steady against your back as he guides you down. The world tilts, and suddenly, he’s above you — lean muscle and sun-warmed skin, haloed by the morning light streaming through the windows. “Mhmm,” Luigi groans, the gold chain around his neck swinging with each rhythmic thrust.

You grasp that same chain, pulling him closer, and he quickly obliges. “Tell me how good it feels,” you whisper against his lips. For a moment, his hips falter, an uncoordinated tempo, but he quickly regains his rhythm. “You’re too quiet today.”

Usually, Luigi would be breathless and chatty, his praise flowing like a devoted worshipper at the feet of a saint. But today, you can sense his anxiety, and it stirs your own.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he breathes, his spit-slicked kisses trailing over your chest, warm tongue tracing your nipples before moving to your neck. “You know you’re my-“ he’s cut off by another low moan, “my sweet girl.”

You’re not convinced, studying his features to find some sort of hidden answer there, but all you can assume is that he’s nervous about the party — about his parents, his grandparents, his siblings, distant relatives — and it does nothing to ease your own nerves.

He whimpers, truly whimpers, your body filled with warmth from the inside out, Luigi riding out the last of his orgasm for every bit it was worth and yet you’d gone rather ridged, shoving his chest down slowly between your legs. “Clean up your mess.” You murmur, more as a demand, which you’d learned rather quickly Luigi liked very much being told what to do.

He’s eager, always.

He first trails his tongue along your thighs, descending to the mess he left inside you, threatening to stain the sheets. “Good boy,” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair—this wouldn’t be the first time he’s tasted himself from you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last if you had any say in it. “What’s with the radio silence?”

Despite the sight before you — the devotion, the raw intimacy — you can't help but ask.

“I-I’m just tired, I guess.” Luigi is lying, of course; a tired man doesn’t have sex for three hours. He stares at you, his eyes glossy and his mouth slick with his own pleasure, making it hard to take him seriously, yet he looks at you as if he has something to prove.

“Is it about the party?” you ask, gently wiping his mouth with your thumb. “Be honest, Lu.”

He blinks at you several times before allowing himself a slow nod, still lying there between your legs. In this moment, you're both stripped of your usual armor — him without his tailored suits and careful control, you without your practiced distance.

"Should I just-" You close your legs and sit up, leaving him there on sheets. Even now, part of you still wants to solve this for him, make it easier. "Not go? Would it just be easier if I didn't?"

"No." Luigi rises quickly to his knees, crawling across the vast expanse of his bed toward you. The California king makes your studio apartment mattress feel like a child's cot in comparison. "Baby— fuck," he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture so uncharacteristically unpolished it makes your chest ache. He shakes his head, sighing. "I'm just — yeah, of course I'm nervous." His hands lift in frustration, fingers splayed like he's trying to grasp the right words from the air. "This is the first time I've ever done this."

You turn to look at him finally, having kept your gaze fixed on the Manhattan skyline outside his window. It's easier than seeing him like this — mouth still glistening, cheeks flushed, all his careful composure undone by pleasure and something deeper. "First time you've done what, Lu?"

There's a weighted silence between you, his eyes meeting yours before darting away like he can't quite hold your gaze. It reminds you of those first nights at the club, when he'd try to maintain that perfect Mangione composure while coming undone beneath your hands.

"I've never introduced anyone to my parents." The admission hangs heavy. Luigi's had his share of lovers — you both know this, have discussed the parade of socialites and models that graced his bed through high school and beyond.

But none of them made it past the velvet rope of family approval.

None of them earned a seat at the Mangione table.

You see it now in the slight tremor of his hands, the tension in his shoulders — he's not just afraid of his father's judgment or his mother's disapproval.

He's afraid of the worlds colliding; your straightforward honesty meeting his family's carefully orchestrated performance, the raw truth of what you share together being dissected under crystal chandelier light.

“Fuck.”

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 Beautiful Destruction . • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- Some addictions aren't found in powder form. Sometimes they're found in the way he says your name between midnight fights and morning regrets. A toxic love story.

warnings -- 18+-mdni, allusions to smut, mature/dark themes, mentions of blood, substance use, domestic abuse (from both parties), jealousy, toxic relationships, angst, no happy ending...

disclaimer -- with having read said warnings please note that this is a work of fiction, and as a writer, I do not condone or romanticize toxic relationships, substance abuse, or any form of physical/emotional abuse. This story explores dark themes for fictional purposes only. Please proceed with caution if these themes might be triggering.

main masterlist(s) | taglist | wc: 1.4k

The moonlight catches in his hair as Rafe Cameron stares at you across his bedroom, and you hate how beautiful he looks in this light—all sharp edges and barely contained rage. Your lip is still bleeding from where he kissed you too hard, punishment for the marks you left on his neck, visible enough that everyone will know. That was the point, after all.

The residual high from the lines you both did earlier is wearing off, leaving that familiar hollow feeling in your chest. It started as just a party thing, but now neither of you can seem to face these conversations sober anymore. The powder traces on his credit card mock you from the nightstand.

"Stay," he demands more than whispers, and there's that dangerous edge to his voice that should make you run. Instead, it makes you want to push harder, see how far you can take this before something breaks. "Just fucking stay this time."

You don't turn around as you pull your torn shirt back on, trying not to remember last month when you ripped his favorite button-down to shreds after finding texts from another girl on his phone. The fight that followed left a scar on your shoulder from where you hit the corner of his desk, and a matching one on his forearm from your keys. You both swore it would never happen again, but that's what you always say.

"Why? So we can pretend this is something it's not?"

"Don't do that," he says, and you hear him stand up, the sheets rustling. "Don't act like this is just sex when you're the one who showed up at my door at three AM last week, drunk and crying about seeing me with that girl at the Wreck."

"I wasn't crying," you snap, but your hands shake as you button your jeans. "And I don't care who you fuck."

He laughs, that hollow sound that means you've hurt him. Good. That's what you do best. "Right. That's why you made sure to let the whole party hear us tonight? Why you kept saying my name loud enough for everyone downstairs to hear through the walls?"

You finally turn, a cruel smile playing on your lips. "Maybe I just really enjoyed myself."

"You're such a liar," he growls, crossing the room in three quick strides. His hand finds your throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of how he held you earlier. "You're so scared of actually feeling something that you'd rather destroy us both."

"There is no 'us,'" you say, but your pulse races under his palm. "There never was."

His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling just hard enough to hurt. "Then why do you keep coming back?"

"Because you're convenient," you lie, watching the words land like punches. "Because you're always so desperate for it, aren't you? Poor little rich boy, so starved for love he'll take whatever scraps I throw him."

You expect him to push you away, to finally give up. Instead, he kisses you, hard and brutal, tasting of bourbon and blood. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker than you've ever seen them.

"You want to talk about desperate?" His voice is dangerously soft. "You're the one who begged me not to stop last night. Who cries my name when you come. Who shows up at my door every time you're lonely because you know I'll let you in. Because you know I love you, even though you don't deserve it."

The truth of his words feels like drowning. You shove him hard, needing space, needing air. "I never asked you to love me."

"No," he agrees, letting you go but not backing away. "You just made sure no one else could. How many people have you scared away from me? How many times have you shown up just when I was starting to move on?"

Your hand cracks across his face before you can stop yourself. The sound echoes in the quiet room. It reminds you of that night three months ago—the one you both pretend never happened. When the coke and jealousy and rage all exploded at once, leaving you both with bruises you had to explain away to concerned friends. He'd grabbed your wrists too hard; you'd thrown a bottle that shattered inches from his head. You both ended up on the floor, somewhere between fighting and fucking, leaving trails of blood from the broken glass neither of you had bothered to avoid.

"Fuck you," you spit, but there are tears in your eyes now.

"You already did," he says coldly. "Multiple times. Loud enough for the whole fucking house to hear. Was it worth it? Did it make you feel better about the fact that you're in love with me too?"

His smile is all teeth. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"I don't love you," you say, the words scraping your throat raw. "I don't even like you."

"Keep telling yourself that." He grabs your wrist as you reach for the door. "But we both know you'll be back. You always come back."

You jerk away from him. "Not this time."

"Right," he scoffs, running a hand through his hair—the same nervous gesture he made the morning you found him passed out in his bathroom, nose bleeding, pulse too fast. You'd stayed then, nursed him through the comedown, only to steal what was left of his stash before leaving. "Give it a week. You'll get drunk, see me with someone else, and show up at my door pretending you just want sex. And I'll let you in, because I'm stupid enough to keep loving you even though you're destroying me piece by piece."

"Then stop letting me in," you challenge, even as your chest constricts at the thought.

His laugh is bitter. "Maybe I will. Maybe next time I'll have someone else in my bed. Someone who isn't afraid to stay until morning. Would that finally make you feel something?"

The image hits you like a physical blow—Rafe with someone else, someone who deserves him. Someone better than you. The jealousy rises like bile in your throat.

"Do whatever you want," you say, proud that your voice doesn't shake. "I don't care."

"Prove it," he dares you. "Walk out that door and don't come back. For real this time."

Your hand finds the doorknob, and for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself imagine turning around, confessing everything. How you've been in love with him since that first night. How you push him away because you know you'll only break him in the end. How you'd rather hurt him on your terms than wait for him to realize you're not worth staying for.

Instead, you say, "Goodbye, Rafe," and step out into the night, leaving behind the only person who's ever seen through every lie you've told yourself.

Through the door, you hear glass shatter against the wall. Then another. And another.

You make it to your car before the sobs tear free from your chest. Your phone buzzes—a text from him.

I hate that I still love you.

You type back through blurred vision: I hate that I let you.

You drive away, your hands shaking as you resist the urge to dip into the baggie in your purse—the one you bought with money stolen from his wallet while he was sleeping last week. He probably knew; he always knows. Just like you know about the times he's followed you to parties, watched you flirt with other guys just to hurt him, waited for you to break down and come crawling back.

Next week, or next month, one of you will break. You'll end up back in his bed, adding new scars to your collection, both physical and emotional. You'll share lines and lies and bruising kisses, pretending the chemicals in your blood are the only reason your heart races when he touches you. Because that's what you do—you break each other apart and call it love.

Maybe one day, one of you will be strong enough to end this for good. Maybe it'll be when one of you finally goes too far, pushes too hard, breaks something that can't be fixed with apologetic kisses and promises you never mean to keep.

But not tonight. Tonight, you're already calculating how long to wait before texting him about the coke you just bought, knowing he'll let you in even though you both swore last time was the last time.

It's never the last time.

a/n -- Thanks to anyone who made it to the end of this fic! As always, all likes, comments, and reblogs keep me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore @madzig @thatdesigirl17 @drewstarkeysrightarm @seqhyvnz @romantasyreader2024 @luizaelias @rafe-cameronswife @emmavzlsblog @aileenunfiltered @swe3theart-succubus @511rkive @morrrrphin @xcinnamonmalfoyx @obxrafeandjj @rafegf-real @theeternaloptimistt @iluvvmeeee @ecliptide @mrsdrewstarkeyy @blaustappen @disaster-rose @neslayuh @justdamnpeachy @rafecamlovr @lhhlver @upsidedownjill @niyalovests @cl4uus

[jesuistrestriste]

Projecting cos i need money but payipig art ...need him to buy me shoes and ask me to step on him with them

art would absolutely spoil you. he’s got a lot of money from his tennis career, and he’d like nothing more than to spend all of it on a beautiful, dominant individual.

you two met through a kink website and now he’s your personal wallet. and he prides himself in that title ! he’s given you his credit card to keep when he’s off to train at the courts, or when he’s at a match, or when he’s doing press interviews for sports magazines.

his cock gets impossibly hard when you tell him how much money you’re draining from his bank account each day. you usually inform him through texts..

200 dollars down the drain, baby.. just got a new pair of heels 💋

he swallows and texts you back quick.

can i please see them?

a notification from you pops up a minute later.

attachment: one image

he fumbles with his fingers, desperately tapping the banner at the top of his screen, and he has to stifle a whine when he opens the photo in your guys’ chat. it’s a picture of your limbs from the calves down; a pair of sleek, tall, black heels slipped over your feet.

his lips part, drunk with lust, and he feels his mouth go dry in an instant. pulses of heat flood his gut and he lets out a shaky breath as he texts you back.

oh god… they’re perfect on you.

you’re perfect.

please..

the response from you comes a minute later, and art has to resist the urge the shove his hand down into his pants.

you like? xx

his brows pinch together and he replies quick.

are you kidding? i love them. i really want to see you later. can we meet?

two texts from you follow.

hmm. maybe. i’m pretty busy today, but i could probably squeeze you in after i make a trip to chanel and blow another 500 bucks ..

i can bring the shoes.

now he’s nearly panting like a dog as he spares a glance down to the tent in his clothes before his fingers are back on the screen. he blows up your phone.

oh please, yes.

yes, yes, yes… i want you to step on me when you get here.

kick me, spit on me, tell me what a worthless guy i am.. i don’t care.

tell me im only good for my money and that’s it. please.

i’m begging you, goddess.

his hips are twitching against the fabric and his lids flutter as he imagines all the things you might do to him later.. god, he needs you like air. his eyes roll back, and he lets a little moan slip out.

he wants you to use him.

a small *ding* from his phone sends his baby blues darting back down.

one text from you. one sentence. it gets him leaking copiously.

see you in an hour 💋

[rae-writes]

don’t mind me~ [role reversal]

om brothers x poly!reader

wc : 3.k

warnings : nsfw

synopsis : why should they keep their hands to themselves if you’re dating all 7 of them?

a/n : role reversal you say? why don’t mind if I do-

first ver.  

Just the feel of his presence behind you is enough to make you falter in the conversation, pact tingling faintly at the acknowledgement of his pride. Lucifer’s fingers curl around your wrist in greeting, thumbing at your sped-up pulse, while his lips place slow, open mouthed kisses against your shoulder. The sensation is sensual- sinful - as he moves to your other shoulder, and the goosebumps that follow almost make him purr. By now, you’re fumbling and stuttering, trembling hands clenched as you try desperately not to feed into Lucifer’s ego, but when you feel the lightest brush of his teeth over your skin, your eyes tear away from whoever you were talking to- conversation be damned. What was supposed to be a stern look turns almost pleading when it meets his sly one, and at the sight of his smirk peeking over your shoulder, you swear you’d do anything he wanted.

Mammon was trying to fucking talk, thank you very much- He is so upset at his brother for ruining ‘his mc time’ and if he didn’t get so mad at the sight in front of him, he would’ve thrown a fit. Instead, he’ll just settle for stealing Luci’s credit card

Oh…sure, he wasn’t excited about the conversation or anything…!!! When his brain processes just how sensual the scene is and how just a few kisses have you making that face, Levi is fleeing with his heart pounding and his face blistering…oh what he wouldn’t give to be that bold

Satan’s glad he wasn’t holding anything or he would’ve broken it. How dare Lucifer interrupt your conversation? Stupid smug bastard…though on second thought, the fourth born thinks he’ll join in- he’s gotta make sure the front of you is loved too

Asmo is a giggling mess- he’s practically floating at seeing all your cute reactions. The way your body shivers at Lucifer’s touch, the pretty blush blossoming across your face, it’s all right up his alley. Ruined conversation forgotten, he could sit and watch this the entire day!

The sixth born doesn’t really complain- he was probably hungry anyway, so he’s content just letting Lucifer do what he wants; despite that, Beel stays rooted to his spot for a while, not being able to look away from your pretty reactions until your eyes meet his (making him blush at being caught)

Unlike Mammon, Belphie will throw a fit with no qualms about it. He doesn’t give a damn- he wants all your attention to be on him again! And while he does appreciate you trying to keep the conversation going, he doesn’t want your divided attention, he wants it all!

You don’t pay any attention to the feel of him kneading the flesh of your hips, which makes Mammon bristle in annoyance. Deft hands make their way up to your waist, prodding briefly at the ticklish spots, before finding purchase along your chest. His fingers brush over your nipples, nails scratching lightly at the base of your throat, and the chuckle he lets out when you shiver is absolutely dangerous. Still irritated that you’re continuing with the conversation, Mammon’s hands move back down- only this time they go past your hips. You trail off a bit, confused at what he’s doing, but when a sharp slap is delivered to one of your thighs, the words leave your mind in favor of focusing on his triumphant blue hues. He’ll proudly bare his teeth, smug about finally getting your attention; his hands, too, celebrate by grabbing your ass possessively— go on, Mc. Finish your conversation. What was it about again?

If he wasn’t so tired of Mammon’s bullshit, Lucifer would smack him upside the head, but alas. Even so, he’ll keep the conversation going as long as you’re able just so he can piss off his little brother (and maybe make you a bit more flustered) 

Levi actually hisses at Mammon, though it clearly does little to stop anything. Could be the avatar of irritation with how annoyed he looks, but not with you, Mc, of course not! He’ll just go sulk off till you’re done..that’s- that’s fine…

Good thing he’s behind you, or Satan’s tail would’ve knocked the shit outta- anyway, the fourth born doesn’t really appreciate being interrupted, so out of petty spite he’ll just stand there with a clenched jaw until Mammon is done

Oh my! Asmo certainly doesn’t mind this side of Mammon’s greed- just look at how cute your shocked expression is! He’ll get closer, trailing his fingers along your features teasingly; let’s see just what the party duo can do together, hm?

Beel’s more concerned about Mammon slapping your thigh over anything else, but once he sees you’re perfectly fine, he’ll relax again. He’s content with just picking the conversation up later but maybe a kiss before he leaves? Please? 

Ohoho, no. No, no, no— Belphie is not happy with this in the slightest. Those are his thighs you’re slapping Mammon, thank you very much. He has no problem slapping Mammon’s hand in retaliation and will growl in displeasure until your attention is back on him (or will fall asleep at your feet so you can’t go anywhere)

Despite his shy nature, Levi can’t help the envy that shoots through him, so you aren’t surprised when he begins to tug at your sleeve mid-conversation. He practically whines when you hold a finger up, desperately wanting your attention on him; surely you won’t mind if he just…With a gasp, you stare at Levi completely bewildered when he yanks you to him by the waist, feeling his arms slither around you and tighten. Even though he’s the one who initiated it, he’ll bury his face into your shoulder out of pure embarrassment and busy his mouth by placing soft bites everywhere. One of your legs gets trapped between his as he ruts against your thigh, keening loudly into the crook of your neck. Forgetting all about the other person present, Levi’ll start whimpering and begging, pleading you to pay attention to him. Y-you love him, r-right?! He n-needs you, p-please! And once your hands place themselves on his hips to help his movements, cooing in his ear about being a good boy, he cries out loudly, envy finally satisfied.

Lucifer blinks, not really expecting Levi to do something like that. A bit proud of his brother for being so bold, though that doesn’t excuse ruining his conversation…he’ll overlook it just this once, however

You know when cats meow angrily and it’s more funny than taken seriously? Yeah, that was Mammon. He was appalled that Levi would interrupt the two of you like this— absolutely betrayed when you began coddling his younger brother…maybe there’s some room left for him, too? 

Impressed at the boldness, Satan smirks and tilts his head, audibly teasing his older brother and laughing when you grin. He doesn’t mind the ended conversation as much as he thought he would- making fun of Levi like this is entertaining in itself 

Go, Levi! That’s what Asmo likes to see, his adorable big brother finally getting out of his shell! He’ll actually slot himself behind you, cheerfully adding fire to the flaming inferno that is Levi’s red face

He’s gonna be honest…Beel didn’t even realize at first. It was normal for his brother to have his head buried in your neck, but when he caught on to your small giggles, he blinked and began blushing. Wow, Levi, you’re really going for it, huh? Good for you

Internally throwing a fit and outwardly seething, because fuck that’s a really good idea. Belphie glares at Levi’s back for the longest time before he catches your knowing eye and stammers when you pat your other thigh- sure, he’ll join, if you’re offering (like you can’t see the sheer joy that crosses his features when you do)

As a hopeless romantic, it’s only natural for Satan to be a gentleman, so he’ll stand beside you quietly while you’re in conversation. An arm wraps itself around your shoulders lovingly— but it’s all an act. His tail is sneakily slipping past your bottoms, pushing into you without a moment’s hesitation. The concern on his face when you choke up your words is broadway performance perfection and the glare you send him does nothing but make him shove his tail deeper inside you. Your conversation is nothing but stuttered words on your end, though save for the blush, you aren’t as affected as he’d like you to be. That won’t do. Satan gives you even more of his tail, purposefully ramming against the spot inside you that makes your knees buckle. His arm will tighten to keep you upright, smirk shining with smugness. He can’t stop his eyes from darkening when you bite down on his hand and he promises this conversation will be the last thing on your mind once he’s through with you.

Lucifer’s silent rage could rival Satan’s at this point- and it’s honestly funny how alike they are sometimes; Lucifer will stand there out of petty spite and start playing with you as well to see who you pay more attention to. Let the competition begin, Satan. Hope you can keep up

The rate at which Mammon’s blood pressure spikes should be an emergency. Whaat the fuck, Satan?! T-that’s a b-bit too..far…oh, your expressions are so pretty though…alright, he supposes he can forgive the ruined conversation- as long as ya let him stay and watch 

Levi is on the floor, face hidden, and hand slamming against the ground to try and gain some composure. This is something he’s dreamed of doing and there Satan is, doing it like it’s natural. ‘s so not fair!…a-ah, don’t mind his tail sliding up your leg…two feels better than one, doesn’t it? 

Squealing is all that can be heard from Asmo— what a good use of your tail! He’s almost jealous he can’t do that himself, though his brother looks simply ravishing while he does! Azzy will give you a fleeting kiss, wagging his fingers as he settles down for the show

Again, Beel wasn’t paying much attention to Satan himself. When your knees give out, though, he helps steady you with a hand on your lower belly- and only when he feels the faint bulge- does he realize what his brother is doing. It makes Beel flush down to his lower neck and stutter; he’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done…

Belphie ends the conversation before you do, throwing a silent fit because he can’t do that with his tail. It’s almost comical- the way he’s pouting- and if you weren’t so distracted, he knows you’d be laughing at him. The thought makes him huff and storm up to the attic— he’ll be back for you later

Asmo rarely joins a conversation, finding it boring if your focus isn’t on him, but he doesn’t mind entertaining himself while you’re occupied. Perfectly manicured hands will grasp yours, fiddling with your digits until you wiggle them in acknowledgment. Only then does a charming smile break out on his face- a warning, if you will - before he’s taking your fingers in his mouth. Asmo runs a bit warmer than most, so the feeling is shockingly hot and wet. The brief look you cast his way makes him purr and gives him the initiative to push your fingers deeper— he wants to choke on them; Azzy doesn’t have a gag reflex necessarily, but it still makes his eyes roll white when they hit the back of his throat. Instead of receiving your full attention like he anticipated, all he gets is your fingers massaging his tongue, pressing down until saliva pools. Without even glancing at him, still continuing with the conversation, he feels himself flush against his will and choke out a moan when you grin. He won’t be moving until you’re well satisfied, so he better get comfy.

Is debating whether or not to simply just walk away because Lucifer is just so done with his brother’s shit. The mischievous glint in your eyes makes him think twice, instead choosing to watch you humiliate Azzy with a sadistic grin. He’ll leave eventually, but not until Asmo is crying from embarrassment 

Mammon grimaces at the loud sounds Asmo is making, side-eyeing him with intent to kill. He loves his whore brother, don’t get him wrong, but that doesn’t mean he has to be a whore on Mammon’s Mc time!…Pft- just look at the embarrassed look on Asmo’s face! Let him take a picture real quick— 

Shy baby Levi is fully ready to curl up on the floor and either melt or die; how can one person be that confident?! And the way you’re continuing the conversation makes Levi even more of a mess, faintly wishing you’d make him your little toy too, though he’d never admit it out loud (unless maybe you asked) 

Satan’s gotten good at tuning out his annoying brothers, so as long as you keep gagging him like that, the fourth born doesn’t mind; he appreciates you keeping your attention on him. Maybe he’ll award you with his own fingers? Open up, love, Tannie’s got a treat for you

Beel doesn’t understand why Asmo enjoys having your fingers in his mouth so much, so he’s just a bit confused. He’d love to try, it seems kind of fun actually…huh? oral fixation? Hmm…sure, give him your other hand and he’ll find out- don’t mind if he scrapes your fingers with his teeth though. He won’t bite, promise

Excuse you, Asmo, Belphie was trying to woo Mc into taking a nap with him dammit- move! He will push you down the stairs— actually..stay there, he’s quite enjoying the humiliated tears that are forming. Please, Mc, make him cry harder. It’s funny

His intention is never to spoil your conversation, but Beel just gets so hungry sometimes and food isn’t always enough to cure it. He’ll approach you and crouch down, running soothing hands up and down your legs, massaging your thighs until you pet his hair lovingly. At your affection, he beams and buries his face in your crotch area. Skirt, shorts, pants- whatever- he just wants to feel your warmth pressing against his face. It also doesn’t help that he’s got a more advanced sense of smell, so the scent of you makes his mouth water and his arms tighten around your legs. The thought of getting a taste of what’s behind your clothing alone is enough to satiate his hunger a small amount, but it’s the subtle way your fingers press into his scalp that has him pushing closer and mouthing at you. In just a few seconds, the fabric is damp with his saliva, and while that can’t be a comfortable feeling, Beel can’t stop. He thinks he can actually taste you now, his favorite flavor that’s so so close— only some scraps of clothing shutting him off from what he really wants. He’s not above begging and he’ll look up at you with something akin to a pout, nuzzling in between your thighs. The warning tug you give his hair causes him to growl; do it again, Mc. Harder. You’ll need something to hold on to, anyway.

Thankful that his younger brother is quiet, Lucifer chooses to just ignore it and continue with the conversation until it’s finished; by that point, though, the first born is quite interested in the subtle expressions you’re making, so he’ll think of something to keep said conversation going— anything

Mammon can’t even get mad at his little brother- he just looks so innocent and he actually apologizes for ruining the conversation. Even the greedy second born can’t argue with that. He supposes he’ll just go hang out in your room till Beel is done…you’ll have to pay him back later, ya know?

Personally, Levi thinks he’ll just go scream into his pillow, thanks. When you catch his hand as he’s leaving though, he can’t really help the whine that leaves him nor the speed in which he’s also getting on his knees for you. Levi’ll just get comfy with his arms around one of your legs and his head resting on your thigh (but only as long as you pet his hair)

Like his older brother, Satan can’t exactly get mad at Beel, so honestly he doesn’t even know what to do at first. While thinking of a response, Satan focuses his attention on the way your hips roll slightly against the redhead’s mouth and decides he’ll just watch for now

Asmo is grinning from ear to ear, like the smug, shit-eating kind that’s oh so rare on his pretty face. He’s so tickled at Beel’s rather desperate display, he’ll just stand there giddily before he finally skips off to go run a bath. Don’t worry- you can join him when you’re done here

Belphie won’t mind his twin’s intrusion, carrying on your conversation with no issue. When you begin getting distracted, he’ll simply walk behind you and circle his arms around your waist to hold you still as Beel gets his fill— of course, he’ll want a turn too, but he doesn’t care to wait

Being an absolute brat by nature, Belphie simply cuts off your chance at continuing the conversation. His face will only be in your line of sight briefly before his lips are on yours, uncaring of who he interrupted or what you were even talking about; he wants you, so he’ll have you. His tongue will smoothly push its way into your mouth and take over, grinning ever so slightly when yours immediately tangles with his. It’s like there’s no one else there as he wraps one of his hands around your throat, squeezing lightly until he hears you moan. He has no shame in the way he pulls you closer, slotting one of his legs between yours, nor does he mind when spit begins dribbling down his or your chin— Belphie likes it. He likes it messy because you look so undeniably his. Slowly, he’ll break away- almost giving in when you chase him with a whine -but will still make his way to your neck. His lips barely brush over the skin before he’s pulling back entirely and giving you a cocky grin. Oh, he’ll continue, you just have to follow him first.

If you listen closely, you can hear the sound of Lucifer’s patience thinning. He won’t give his little brother the satisfaction of breaking it, however, so he’ll just calmly tell you to come see him later while he goes to seethe quietly in his study 

Mammon is not surprised (but still irritated) at Belphie’s sheer audacity. He could easily break it up, but he’s always spoiled the twins, so he’ll give you a kiss- making sure his tongue grazes yours- before backing down. Don’t get him wrong, though, he’ll be waitin for ya in your room 

[cue boss music] : enter Leviathan, Avatar of Envy. His health meter’s already knocked down by this as he again wishes he could be that bold, b-but he’s totally getting Belphie back for this! He slinks back to his room with a plan…and a request for you to come game with him after

Satan has two reactions and no in between. He’s either pissed at the blatant interruption and will leave or he’ll grin at your flushed face and join his partner in crime, taking to your left side while they take turns swapping spit with you (hoping Lucifer will catch them on his way through the halls)

Who is Asmo to disagree with simply taking what you want? Good job, Belphie! Though he does think they spoil him too much, Asmo will blow a kiss, maybe take a quick picture or two, and leave his baby brother to it (do tell him all about it later)

Beel blinks in surprise before smiling a bit, playfully poking fun at his twin for being needy. There’s a cute blush high on his cheeks as he shuffles closer, silently asking to join. Once he’s settled behind you, though, his shyness completely disappears while he focuses on nibbling your neck