#blank blogs dni

[tuiccim]

PSA for New Users/Blank Blogs/Ageless Blogs

If you keep getting blocked from content creator blogs there are three major reasons and ways to fix them.

🚩🚩🚩This is a Huge RED flag!🚩🚩🚩

1. Update your avatar. Anything besides the default picture.

2. Update your blog title and description. "Untitled" is a red flag that you are a bot. Something as simple as "Here for the fanfic! 18+" will do it. If you want to follow an 18+ blog, add your age range or 18+ to the blog title/description to let them know you are an adult.

3. Reblog or post something to let us know you aren't just a bot. You can reblog some of your favorite content or make a post that just says "Human. Please don't block me!"

4. Please respect others' boundaries. If a blog says they are 18+, don't follow them if you are a minor. If a blog posts things you aren't interested in, unfollow or block them.

Most of all, be kind. Kindness costs nothing and means everything.

[sprout-fics]

dunno if imissed thurs thots bc time zone is an arse but i pilled an allnighter and needed some smit to keep going bc coffeee aint doing it job anymore so heres a copy paste of my idea from when i was actuallyawake

hallo! so taking a page from the spider verse movie, what if reader did yell out a safeword? there is an “aftercare for a red moment” hole in the fic community (or im just blinded by the algorithm who knows)

So this is a really interesting concept, and also a good way to discuss proper sex practices, so thank you anon!

For those unaware, the color system (Green, yellow, red) is typically associated with BDSM practices. Green is all clear, yellow is slow down/change tactics, and red is full stop, change into aftercare mode. However this system is not exclusively designed for kink related practices, it can be a useful tool for even vanilla sex. Please remember to always check in with your partners and obtain enthusiastic consent before engaging in sexual activities. I am not an expert in this area, so please remember to do your own independent research if you are curious about this topic.

(Warning: Uncomfortable sexual scenarios and use of safe words, please read at your own discretion)

The Color Red

(TF 141 reacting to you using a safe word during sex)

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

You’re not really sure what does it, but something inside you drops abruptly, without warning as Soap’s hand wraps around your throat. 

There’s not even any pressure, just a heavy grasp that circles under your jaw but it’s enough to make something in you rise in panic, blood chilling and breath seizing inside your chest

He’s still hunches over you, your legs wrapped around his hips, brow scrunched in pleasure, voice dragging as he tries to angle himself just right to graze against the soft spongy part of you he knows will make you go boneless in his arms

Whatever pleasure was tightening low across your hips dies as a cold, fearful wash of dread takes its place, the world spinning as you drop fast.

“Red.” You croak, voice trembling, abruptly, entire body going rigid with panic.

It’s over in an instant. Soap knows what the word means, is trained to respond at the first instinct of discomfort, and within a blink his hand is gone, his weight off of you

You curl over onto your side, eyes wide and shoulders trembling, wetness still on the inside of your thighs but air rising sharply as hyperventilation threatens to take over

Soap’s weight is off the bed, giving you space, but when he notices your breathing he kneels beside you at once, eyes brimming with worry

“Hen, sweetheart, it’s alright.” He coos softly, words echoing as a steady stream, a reminder to his nearby presence. “You’re safe, we’re done. Breathe for me, You’re alright.”

“Johnny.” You gasp, reaching for him, and he obliges instantly, maneuvering you both so he sits against the headboard and puts your head into his lap, positioning a pillow underneath it. 

“I’m here.” He reminds you, a hand stroking along your shoulder in soothing circles as you try to control your breathing, listening to him breathe alongside you. Deep inhale, hold for 4, out for 7. Repeat.

“What do you need, hen?” He asks after a few minutes, after the panic has faded to a dull bite, once you stop shuddering and instead curl into an exhausted heap at his side.

You sigh out a shuddering exhale, feel his thumb graze across the top of your shoulder. Gentle, patient, devoted.

“You, Johnny.” You tell him at last. “Just you.”

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

“Red.”

You gasp it out unexpectedly in Gaz’s bed, hands secured above your head as he bends over you, three fingers curling inside you, smug smile plastered over his face as he tries to wring another orgasm from you despite you telling him you can’t, and him finding another, another anyways

Now, however, it’s finally too much, and when he presses just right the sensation it summons is less pleasurable and more aching, stretching an overworn muscle that leaves something twisting unpleasantly inside you

“Oh shit, doll.” He gasps at the word, and slowly withdraws his fingers to not cause you additional discomfort. You whine, but the sound catches in your throat, pleading and tender. “I’m sorry, shh, take a breath for me.”

He reaches up above you, pulls at the rope and it comes loose easily, allows your hands to sink into the pillows and reduces the strain on your shoulders. 

“Hey, hey, I got you.” He murmurs as you shudder, face contorting at the unpleasant ache inside you

He drags you into his arms, and you don’t complain at all, curling into his steady frame as he tucks you against his chest

“You did good.” He tells you at once, reassuring, gentle. “Promise you did good. Just take your time.”

You nuzzle against the coarse, curly hair of his chest, feel him stroke a hand against your back as the ache inside you dies to a low murmur

“I’m okay.” You tell him after a few minutes, taking all the time you need to fully relax into his embrace “It just…it was so much.”

Kyle exhales then, a breath you didn’t realize had been holding. His form goes a little lax against you, relieved by your words

“I’m sorry, doll.” He tells you at once. “I should have stopped sooner.”

You shake your head a little, remind him gently “That’s what the colors are for. I’m alright, just-” and you wince. “Tender.”

You feel him smile into your hair, mouth tugging just an inch, his body warm, solid, reaffirming against yours

“We can fix that.” He tells you softly. “How about I run you a bath and get you cleaned up, hmm?”

You nod, pause, and then crane your head up to plant a kiss against his lips

“Sounds wonderful.”

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Sex with Simon can usually be an intense, emotional affair, an experience where you try and carve space within each other through touch, seeking a balm to the brokenness, soothing to the fear and hurt 

Yet there are also times when you both just need release

Which is where you are now, face down, his hands hauling yours behind your back, hips slapping against your pelvis with a rapid, brutal intensity that’s going to leave you pleasantly sore for days

His voice is a grinding, rumbling presence that doesn’t allow you to drift entirely off, forcing you back into the presence of him. A hand tangles in your hair, presses you down into the sheets as he growls lewd, filthy praise down at you

Yet there’s a hint of malice to it, and normally you’d welcome it, send it right back to him, teeth bared and spirit a bright flame that burns against his darkness

Now, however, each word seems to puncture through you, as he hisses ‘Slut. Pretty little whore.’ down at you

You want to take it, want it to feed the coiling need as he buries himself inside you, but tonight it sounds almost like Simon means it.

It hurts.

It forces you to drop so fast it gives you whiplash, mind reeling and you have to remind yourself to say the word that bleeds across your tongue.

“Red.”

Simon stops instantly, removes his hand from your hair like he’s been burned.

You barely even notice, caught in your own turmoil of thoughts, trying to find your way out of the labyrinth. You don’t even notice as he pulls out from you, but the sudden emptiness only feeds the fall, makes a sob curl in your throat as you try and fail to swallow it down

He’s gone from the bed, you notice, and if anything it makes you panic more.

“S-Simon.” He try, voice wavering, and as if you’ve summoned him he appears back at your side, his voice gentler now but strained, guilty

“Here, pet.” A hand against your spine, a feathering touch given only as a mild offering before you give him permission to touch you, to which you gasp “Please.”

The touch becomes firmer, fingers pulling at the rigidness coiled in your frame, and after a moment there’s the cool touch of a washcloth that wipes the sweat from your skin.

“Y-you didn’t mean it, did you?” You try at last, not moving yet, knowing he’d only hush you back into stillness, make sure you didn’t push yourself too fast too soon

Simon takes a moment to process, realization washing over him at why you invoked your color.

“No, never.” He tells you, voice a little distant, and you know the faint unhappiness that colors his own voice isn’t for you but for him, tearing at himself for causing you hurt

You take care of him too, knot your fingers between his in tender reassurance, reminding him that even as he hovers at your side, you stay beside him too

Captain John Price

You’re trying to soldier through it, the pain that wraps around your thigh as he hauls it over his shoulder, braces it on the broad planes of his frame

Your hands are fisted in the sheets, chest heaving as Price forces his tongue into your cunt, fingers digging red marks into your opposite leg. There’s pleasure coiling n your core with every stripe of his tongue, dragging whimpering moans from your throat

It’s soured, however, by the wrapping on your thigh, the stitched bullet hole radiating pain. The sharp ache drowns any potential pleasure that rises inside you and you try to grit your teeth against it, force it down in pursuit of the warmth of price’s breath against your folds

You can’t. You can’t do it, not with tears beginning to well in your eyes and the sounds coming from transitioning into whimpers of pain. 

“John.” You manage, strained, and for a moment Price is so absorbed in his task he almost doesn’t hear you. “J-John, red. Red.”

Price’s head shoots up, his ears attuned to that word specifically, and when he does you see slick coating his chin, his eyes flickering brightly in worry.

A sob bursts from your chest at the sight, dragging with pain, eyes hot and wet as you press a hand to the red blossoming bandage. 

He surmises the situation quickly, and instantly he’s rising off you, nearly vanishing from you entirely, giving you a bit of space before sitting back down beside you and gently bending your leg onto his lap

“Shh, it’s alright love.” He reassures you, a hand reaching up to stroke at your sweaty forehead, against your brow bunched in worry. “I’ve got you, you’re alright.”

“I’m sorry.” You blurt out even as his fingers knead into your calf. “I didn’t- it hurts.”

“Never apologize for using your colors.” The captain tells you sternly, and he holds your eyes on him, levying you with a disciplining stare that ensures your compliance. You nod, sniffling, and it makes some of the grimness melt from his eyes, tendered with affection

“Where are your pain meds?” He asks then, a hand gently tracing over the bloodied bandage, and you nod to the bedside drawer.

He nods absently, one hand still braced on your leg, the other reaching past you to withdraw the bottle from the assembly of items there

“You’re going to take these.” He tells you without question, drawing your gaze back to him once more. “We’ll get you cleaned up, and then get something warm in your stomach so they go down sunny, yes?”

You sniffle and nod at him, still feeling a little embarrassed, still in pain. Yet it’s softer now with his touch as his eyes turn to you fondly.

“Might even get you some hair of the dog for good measure.” He offers, and it at last summons a shy but warm smile from you

------

Again, if your partner every signals they are uncomfortable during sex, stop, talk, and proceed as needed. If anyone ever disrespects you signaling you are uncomfortable or blatantly ignores your safeword, do not engage with them further. Stay safe, stay sane, and stay consensual

[i-hold-horrors-hand]

The Papas' Focuses in (Post-Secondary) Secular School

Primo: Porn studies

Secondo: Music theory

Terzo: Film studies and history

Copia: Dance (ballet)

[the-lady-writes-what]

Poll Option #1

Content: aphrodisiac, oral (receiving and giving), body worship (hers), overstimulation, face-sitting, 69 (nice), cowgirl, multiple orgasms, food play ? (if you squint REALLY hard I guess?), cock warming (i think?)

🔞NSFW Content Below! 18+ Only! Minors DNI!🔞

A knock at your door disrupts your studies. With a sigh, you drop your pencil, get up, and head towards the door. It hadn't been a soft rap on your door like Satan or Asmo. Whoever was outside the door didn't knock excitedly while calling your name like Levi. They didn't knock with a stern, commanding force like Lucifer. And, they certainly didn't barge in like Mammon was wont to do. You were unfamiliar with this knock. You quickly crossed the room to get the interruption over with and opened the door. Barbatos, still in his crisp, tidy, and sharp-pressed uniform, stood in the doorway. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed.

"Good evening, Y/N," said Barbatos.

"Uh, hi. What can I do for you?"

Barbatos reached into the interior confines of his jacket and retrieved an envelope.

"Lord Diavolo sends his regards, and asked me to personally deliver this to you." Barbatos held out the envelope towards you.

You cautiously take it. The parchment paper the envelope was made of felt smooth like silk between your fingers. The finest vellum in Devildom, you wondered what this could possibly mean. Surely, the Prince of Devildom wasn't wasting precious, expensive stationary on you...right? You glanced at the front and back. A stamp of maroon wax bore Diavolo's crest and sealed the letter shut. You looked up to find Barbatos standing in your doorway still as a sentinel, waiting. For what? Your reaction to Diavolo's letter more than likely. Not wanting to keep Barbatos standing in the hallway all night, you cracked the wax seal. All the envelope contained was a letter about the size of a postcard. The station was equally, and inappropriately, grand for a banal message to someone so unimportant to Devildom. You read the letter silently.

"Di--" You stop yourself from saying his informal name in front of Barbatos. "His Highness invites me to the castle? Right now? I-I don't understand."

"My Lord has indeed requested your presence immediately. I'm to escort you there. Why is there only confusion."

"Well, for starters, what does he want from me this time of night? Can't he wait until morning?" You ask.

"It can not," answered Barbatos.

You stared at the demon butler. He blocked the door from closing. In a fight, he would win against you, a mere mortal human and not even a witch. You thought about summoning one of the brothers through their contracts but something told you that would be no avail to you either. Diavolo's influence and power in the realm overshadowed any of theirs and Lucifer would insist on obeying the Prince of Hell.

"And even if I refuse, you'll take me to him anyways?"

"That is correct. He promised that he would do all his paperwork this week without complaint if I brought you to the castle this evening. The young master has been...distracted as of late. If I do this, he can oversee the running of his soon-to-be kingdom. Forgive me, but if I must kidnap you, then I will."

Barbatos said it so matter-of-factually that you believed him. You sighed.

"Alright, let me grab a jacket and put on some shoes."

"Very good, young miss," said Barbatos, making your eyes roll.

You slipped on a pair of flats and pulled on a lightweight jacket. Barbatos turned his back to you as you turned out the light and followed him into the hallway. The brothers didn't seem to notice you leaving, at least not yet. Nobody was in the foyer to see you off. Perhaps that was for the better. Barbatos opened the front door for you. Waiting outside the House of Lamentation, a black, gold, and red carriage pulled by a team of two black, bat-winged horses waited for you. Barbatos continued to play the attentive servant by helping you inside the carriage. Although, you had the sneaking suspicion he was only doing that to make sure you didn't break for it in case you changed your mind at the last minute. He sat across from you in the carriage and gazed out the window, a small mercy.

The ride to the castle was a quick one. It made for quite the spectacle to gallivant from the House of Lamentation to the castle in such a fine carriage. It wasn't the most inconspicuous mode of transportation. When you finally arrived, the giant iron gates swung open by invisible servants. Barbatos assisted you out of the carriage after it pulled to a gentle stop in front of the castle.

"Follow me, please. My lord has been waiting all evening to see you," said Barbatos.

You had no choice but to follow. He knew the castle like the back of his hand. A human like you would get lost in the maze-like corridors. You passed many servants who bowed as Barbatos passed them. You tailed behind him closely to avoid getting left behind. He stopped at a pair of ornate doors leading to the castle gardens. Barbatos pushed them open. Perfumed flowers akin to gardenias unknown to humans wafted through the night air. Beneath a weeping willow, Diavolo sat at a wrought-iron table, playing with a strange object. The closer you drew, the more strange his appearance became.

Diavolo wore an outfit unsuitable for a tryst in a midnight garden. He looked...nice. He wore sleek white trousers with a matching vest. Diavolo's shirt was black and hugged his muscles. Three buttons were left undone to reveal his clavicle and the smallest proportion of his chest muscles. A black-painted finger toyed with the skin of what looked like a dark purple apple. Diavolo glanced from the corner of his eye and saw the approach of Barbatos and you. He shot up from his chair, almost knocking it over. Diavolo's face flushed slightly. He cleared his throat and straightened his chair.

"Y/N, you're here. I--"

"Didn't expect me to be here after Barbatos threatened to kidnap me?" You folded your arms across your chest.

Diavolo looked down and away. Embarrassed, he said, "Sorry about that. I was anxious you wouldn't show up. Please, have a seat. There's something I want to discuss with you."

"Will that be all, my lord?" Asked Barbatos.

"Yes. Why don't take the rest of the night off, Barbatos? I can handle everything from here," said Diavolo.

"As you wish, my lord." Barbatos gave a slight bow. He turned you.

You shuddered at the look in his eyes. It wasn't anything sinister, but the sparkle in them made you worry all the same. The demon butler knew something you didn't. Barbatos took his leave. You sat across from Diavolo. You couldn't help but allow your eyes leave him and look at the fruit he was playing with.

"Y/N, thank you for coming at short notice. If Barbatos said anything that offended you, please forgive him. I'm sorry that he said something that made you afraid or uncomfortable. That was never my intention with you."

"What did you want to talk to me about?" You asked.

Diavolo smiled broadly. "Yes. That. Let me cut to the chase, Y/N. It's been some time since I brought you here for the student exchange. You're nothing short of a miracle worker, you know? You brought out the best side of the brothers and they're different than from before. You changed them for the better. All that while being a human. I find your strength and courage to be very admirable."

"Oh?" You said, surprised. "Thank you."

"I admire you in other ways, too. The brothers make it difficult to tell you so. They're always hanging around you...interfering." Diavolo's eyes hardened. "They have a habit of keeping your attention all to themselves, don't they?"

"You have no idea," you chuckled.

Diavolo didn't laugh back.

"Did I say something wrong?" You asked.

"No, not at all. It's just that...they make it difficult to pull you away from them. I've recently come to terms with a feeling I've had for a very long time. I can't seem to get you alone long enough to tell you," said Diavolo.

Your heart started to pound. You could feel blood throb in your ears. Diavolo stopped playing with the strange fruit and held it out for you to see.

"You probably don't know what this is, but it's a very special apple from Devildom. It reveals the truth. Whoever takes a bite out of it will become aware of their subconscious emotions and admit the truth. And by myself, I don't think I have the strength to say it out loud."

Diavolo brought the fruit to his lips. He took a bite. Juice trickled down the side of his mouth. You stared at his mouth as he chewed. He swallowed and licked the juice off his bottom lip. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After exhaling, Diavolo removed himself from the garden chair. He moved to stand next to you, holding the apple aloft.

"Y/N, I can't hide my feelings for you anymore. I have never met anyone like you. I think...I'm in love with you, Y/N. Or, at least as close to love as someone can get without dating the other person."

"Diavolo..." Heat rose to your cheeks. You didn't know what else to say. You wracked your brain for ideas and came away blank. Diavolo continued to hold out the fruit towards you.

"I won't ask you to return my feelings right away. I only ask that you give me a chance. Here. Take a bite. It'll help you see the truth. Please." Diavolo was practically begging.

You stood up. You glanced from Diavolo's face to the apple in his hand then back again. Golden eyes watched your every move. Unconsciously, you bring yourself forward. You outstretched your hand to take the apple for yourself, but Diavolo pulled his hand away.

"Just take a bite while I hold it. Humor me?" He said.

Diavolo held out the apple. This time, you didn't reach for it with your hand. Diavolo watched you intently as you brought your mouth to the strange fruit. You bit down. A combination of sweet, sour, and bitter filled your mouth. The apple's juice overflowed from the wound you made with your teeth. You sank down harder and enveloped a chunk of the apple in your mouth. The texture wasn't too dissimilar to an apple you're used to, but it was softer. Its juice seeped through the corner of your mouth, mirroring the slim trail on Diavolo's chin. You went to wipe your chin with the back of your hand when Diavolo leaned down and swiped his tongue along your chin, lapping up the juice to savor for himself.

A warm fuzzy feeling settled deep inside you. You found yourself leaning in to Diavolo's body. He chucked the apple behind his shoulder where it landed somewhere in the garden with a thud. His large hand cupped the side of your face; his thumb played with your bottom lip.

"Well? Tell me. How do you feel?" Asked Diavolo.

Your skin felt like it was on fire. Not a painful, unbearable blaze, but a smolder nonetheless. The pit of your stomach and your brain were filled to the brim with this heat burrowing into your essence. It was then you noticed the wetness between your thighs. Your legs rubbed together to relieve the tension building there. You didn't want to answer him with words as desire pulled you forward, puppeteering all your actions. So, instead of using words, you answered by looping your arms around Diavolo's neck and bringing your lips to his.

The kiss. What a kiss. Diavolo was inhumanly tall, so you had to step on your toes to kiss him. He compensated for that by lifting you up in his arms. With your faces more or less level, it made kissing so much easier. Both of you were all tongues, teeth, and lips duking it out in the middle of the castle garden. Diavolo held you up then wrapped your legs around his waist. You didn't stop kissing him even he carried you inside.

Not wanting for anyone to see you in such a state or climb the numerous flights of stairs, Diavolo used a teleportation spell to summon the two of you to his bedroom. His nice outfit became a pile of dirty laundry on the floor shortly followed by yours. With his hands and mouth preoccupied with you, Diavolo had a vague grasp of his surroundings. He bumped his hip into one of his bedroom sofas and grazed his toe on the coffee table's clawed foot. He helped you out of your bothersome clothes. Once he had you close to his canopy bed, Diavolo shoved you backwards into the silk down blanket. Another spell dimmed the lights but left him just enough to get a good look at you beneath him.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured before getting down on his knees. "You deserve to be worshiped. This is my communion."

Large, smooth hands spread your thighs apart. Without anything on, Diavolo knelt and kissed up the length of your leg from your knee up to your inner most thigh. He kissed the top of your cunt, making you sigh and thread your fingers through his hair. You peered up at the ornate ceiling through fluttering eyelashes. Diavolo meant what he said about worshiping you. A demon his age would know a thing or two, and you didn't question his experience. Not when he was making your toes curl. Diavolo's strong hands kept you steady and legs far apart. Of course, that didn't stop your body from writhing in pleasure.

Diavolo's tongue wound up a spring in your lower belly. With every lick, he wound it tighter and tighter. Just as the dam was about to burst, Diavolo ripped himself away from between your thighs. You whined at the loss of his mouth on you. He climbed into bed, dragging you with him. Diavolo adjusted your body to suit his desires. He turned you so that you faced away from while he lay on his back. Pulling down on your hips, Diavolo made you sit on his face. His hands squeezed your thighs and ass while he resumed the work of eating you out, not stopping for breath.

You held yourself up by the elbow. Your head rested on his hip. His cock twitched inches from your face. A wicked idea formed in your head. Propping yourself up again, you wrapped your lips around him and sucked. Your heard Diavolo's muffled groan behind you. He squezed your ass and hips as he drove you wild on his tongue. You returned the favor by taking him down your throat. You swallowed about all you could muster. You swirled your tongue along the shaft and licked the pre-cum off the tip. However, Diavolo was determined to make you cum before him.

He ate you like a starving man. No matter how hard you tried to concentrate, Diavolo's tongue diverted your efforts. Your legs shook with effort. Your body simply coldn't withstand the pleasure surging through you from the tip of his tongue. You gagged on his cock, but that wasn't enough to distract Diavolo from making you crumble. He worked faster, harder than you, a poor mortal, ever could. He squeezed, played with your clit, licked your cunt, and reached inside with his tongue just right. Your eyes rolled back into your skull even while you had his cock shoved down your throat. You let out a subdued scream. You fisted the sheets as your body tumbled over the cliff of euphoria. You pulled away to choke on air. Diavolo didn't stop there.

Not able to breathe, suck his dick, and be eaten out all at the same time, you stroked his cock. You panted for air after the first orgasm rocked you. Diavolo dragged his tongue up and down the length of your slit. His fingers curled inside, finding the sweet spot. Your juices dribbled all over his face again. He brought you to the edge and back again.

"Moan more for me," he said. Diavolo drove his tongue and fingers into your pussy.

You didn't just moan for him, you screamed. You whined, whimpered, sighed, cried, and murmured. Most of all, you begged. Begged for more, more, more. You lost count just how many times you came on Diavolo's tongue, and you were sure that was the idea. He wanted you boneless and pliable before giving you his fat cock. You worked him. You felt him grow hard in your hand as you stroked him. Slow, at first, and then stroked faster.

"Stroke me just like that. Make me nice and hard. That's going inside this pretty pussy in a minute. Just give me one more. One more. You can do that, pretty girl, right? I know you can," said Diavolo.

It didn't take more or take long before you could no longer stroke him. You feared that the pleasure coursing through you would make you squeeze his cock to the point of pain. You heard Diavolo moan behind you and heard just how wet your cunt was. He wound the spiral tight, tighter.

"Cum for me, Y/N. Give me one more." He squeezed your hip.

Diavolo licked your cunt, moving his head from side to side then up and down. White hot heat shot down your spine and exploded at the base. Your hips rocked against Diavolo's face as you came yet again. Diavolo helped you ride out this orgasm. He licked you clean of excess juices.

You rolled over onto your side. You expected to for Diavolo to pounce and fuck your cunt with his cock. You were wet enough. Instead, you found yourself being picked up by him at the waist and brought to sit on his stomach.

"Ride me," said Diavolo. He was already stroking his cock.

You slid down his body. On shaking legs, you hovered over his hips. Diavolo replaced his hand with yours. He sat up to watch you slid it in until you were enthroned fully on his cock.

"Good job. Look at you. Taking my cock like a champ. You're so good," said Diavolo.

"I-I've never tried this position before. What do I do?" You ask.

"Just do what feels natural. I'll let you know if I don't like something. And let me know if you get tired," he answered with a wink.

Now, you were determined to ride him until he begged you to stop. You bounced up and down on his cock, picking up speed. Your hands groped at the sculpted muscles of his abs.

Before long, your muscles began to ache. Your bravado faltered. Diavolo reached up to grope your breasts, and you lost your resolve completely. Your hips slammed up and down, but your efforts were dogged by aching muscles and tiredness creeping in. Beneath you, Diavolo shifted his hips and legs so that your back was supported by his knees. He thrust upward into you while he palmed your breasts. He caressed the skin of your chest and pinched your nipples into hard peaks.

"Mhmm, yes. That's it. I can feel you getting close. Such a good girl. You feel so good," Diavolo moaned.

He wasn't wrong either. His hard thrusts and groping your breasts made your eyes roll back into your skull for a second time since you entered his bedroom. You bucked your hips in time with his thrusts and gripped his knees for leverage. Once the coil sprang loose, you screamed out your pleasure, you rolled your hips against his. His cock, still hard inside of you, reached deep inside. Diavolo's hands traveled down from your chest to grip your hips to pound you even deeper, faster, harder.

The next orgasm struck you like lightning. It came unseen. Your brain seemed to melt out of your ears. One moment, you were riding atop of the prince of hell, and in the next you stared up at him. Your body was nothing more than a rag doll for him to use, but you loved it. Unable to control himself, Diavolo rocked into your hips as he chased his own high. Sweat beaded down his face, neck, and back while fucking you into the mattress. The headboard slammed into the wall like a drum. Diavolo never looked away from you.

He could fuck you forever if that's what you wanted. Sadly, even demons lose their stamina. Diavolo enveloped you. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his head in her neck while he slammed into your cunt. Hot breath ghosted across your throat. Diavolo murmured sweet nothings about love and devotion in one breath, and whispered the most salacious things in the next. You had no more strength in you to cum again. You couldn't even embrace him back. You simply took his cock.

Diavolo's hips stuttered. He ground his cock into you until his body finally reached its limit. Diavolo's body quivered. He slammed down hard into your body three or four more times before he filled your lower belly with rope after rope of cum. You felt the heat seep out of your cunt while at the same time it filled your womb. Diavolo panted against your neck. You didn't even know demons needed to stop to catch their breath. His massive, muscled chest crushed you to the bed and unable to move. After a long while, when Diavolo breathed normally, he raised himself up to the elbows. He kissed you, pulled you into his arms, and lifted you by the waist.

Diavolo turned to recline on the pillows again, but he did not move you from being on top of him either. You tried to get up. Diavolo pinned you down by your hips. His cock was still buried inside your cunt.

"No, no," said Diavolo. "I want to feel you wrapped around me. I want to sleep knowing that you're not going anywhere."

A blanket appeared out of thin air to protect your naked back from chill and immodesty. You were already exhausted by the time Diavolo finished. Your eyelids closed as soon as you laid on top his chest. Sleep crept upon you by listening to the steady beat of Diavolo's chest. Unbeknownst to you, Diavolo smirked in triumph. For what you didn't know, wouldn't hurt you.

[accidentalslayer]

[midnighthoneybee]

Would you say I'm a handful?

[cyberparadis]

please don't barge into my home (my blog ) without clothes ( blank and ageless blogs )

[twistedgardens]

Hello:)

Can I request giving Vil his first blowjob before a fashion show he will be modeling for?

Thank you for the request, friend!

Since it doesn't specify whether Reader is male or female, I'll default to GN Reader (to the best of my abilities; anyone is free to correct me if I get something wrong).

Vil Shoenheit x GN!Reader

Content: suggestive/sexual language, praise kink, blowjob, semi-public, non-con drugging (someone tried to sabotage him), facefucking, cum swallowing (mostly)

🔞NSFW Content Below! 18+ Only! Minors DNI!🔞

The music blasting from the catwalk pulsed through the walls and deep into your bones. You narrowly dodged models and security guards to get to Vil's dressing room in time. A cryptic text from his cell brought you from the audience waiting for the fashion show to start to backstage with nothing more than a guest pass dangling from your neck. And, of course, Vil has his own dressing room, albeit a small one but it was the only one his manager could get it on short notice. You used a rack of clothes to hide your tracks as you searched for it. Backstage was chaos with people bustling to and fro. Those who weren't getting their hair and makeup done, were switching out clothes. The show was about to start by your calculations, so why did Vil need you all of a sudden.

You ditched the clothes rack just as you found his dressing room not a moment too soon. It was emblazoned with a purple star with Vil's name written in glittery gold lettering. You rapped on the door lightly. There was a shuffle behind the door and before you could try and knock again, it burst open. A strong hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside. Vil slammed the door closed behind you and clicked the lock into place. His arms pinned you against the door.

"Vil, what's wrong? Why'd you say you needed me? Is everything okay? Did someone put the wrong lotion on your dressing room table?"

Vil was such a diva. You loved him, you really did, but sometimes his antics could prove too much. His face and hair were perfectly well done. He wore the first set the designer made just for him in black and purple silk. Vil's brows pinched close together, he panted for breath, and he blinked in rapid succession. You reached up to cradle his face between your hands when Vil grabbed your wrist yet again. Beads of sweat threatened to ruin his makeup.

"Vil. Tell me what's wrong. How can I help you if I don't know what's going on? You don't look well. Please."

"S-Someone put something in my water bottle. A potion...I think..."

"Oh my god," you said, horrified. "Are you going to be sick?"

"It's not...it's not that. L-Look down at my pants," Vil murmured.

You obediently looked down. A prominent bulge pitched a tent in the couture silk pants. When you looked back up at Vil's face, his cheeks burned bright red and chewed on his lower lip, smearing his perfect lipstick.

"I see, I see. Do you...want me to fetch security and find the culprit?" You asked.

Vil shook his head.

"Then what do you want me to do? How can I help?"

Vil pushed you firmly against the door and pinned your wrist next to your head. The music just beyond grew louder; the show was starting. He leaned his face towards you.

In a husky whisper, Vil said, "We have t-twenty minutes to take care of this before I...I have to go on. I'm not...I'm not getting security and potentially halting the show to find some prankster. The potion's effects will last...at least until the end of the show. So I need you...to help me get rid of this." He ground his hard cock against your stomach.

"But you're wearing the couture! You can't ruin it then go on the catwalk!"

"Do you have any other ideas?"

You glanced beyond Vil's shoulder. The dressing room was small and contained very few furnishings besides the vanity. However, there was a leather couch. You managed to wriggle your hand free to take Vil's. You guided him over to the couch and pushed him down to have a seat. Sinking down to your knees, your hands fumbled with the closures of his pants. Vil had to lift his hips off the couch and help you pull them down to his knees.

"I admit...I didn't think about this as an option," Vil chuckled as you moved his cock out of his silk boxers. "I don't think I've ever asked you to blow me."

"You haven't. Have you asked anyone else to do it?"

"Darling, with me schedule?" Vil quirked a perfectly manicured brow at you.

His cock was hard as steel. It twitched under your touch as you stroked him, which made Vil hiss. Not wanting to waste more time, you licked the tip and wrapped your lips around his cock. You weren't exactly a pro either, but you'd seen enough porn out of curiosity to guess what Vil might like. You took the tip into your mouth and suckled on his cockhead. What you didn't have in your mouth was stroked by your hand.

"Good...so good. Keep going. Your mouth feels so good, darling," Vil groaned, head resting against the back of couch.

You relaxed your throat and prepared to take him further. Vil patted the top of your head as you bobbed up and down on his cock. You flattened your tongue to make more room for him and to flick at the vein running underside him.

"W-Where did you learn how to suck cock? Fuck, fuck, yes. Can you take more? I bet you can. You're already so talented."

Butterflies swarmed your stomach at Vil's high praise. Heat rested in your lower belly. You wanted to touch yourself so badly, but Vil's condition was more important. Later, you promised yourself, you'd make him return the favor later.

"More, please, more. I need more of your mouth on my cock. Please."

You almost stopped. Vil never begged for anything. He fanned himself with his hand as he looked down on you sitting on your knees before him. You opened your mouth a little more and swallowed another inch. The tip of his cock very nearly reached the back of your throat. You suppressed a gag and sucked in your cheeks. When you couldn't do that indefinitely, you released his cock. Vil whined at the loss of your mouth, only to stifle a moan that would've alerted anyone beyond his dressing room door. You wouldn't leave him hanging for long, not when you could tell how close he was. You spat on his cock, heaping globs of spit on him, and stroked him fast and hard, giving your sore jaws time to rest before sinking back down on him.

You listened to Vil's moans to further discover what he liked when it came (pun not intended) to receiving head. He seemed to like eye contact best of all. His hand gripped the sides of your head and bucked his hips against your face.

"S-Sorry but we're starting to...run out of time and I'm so close. Let me...take control for a while. Your mouth just feels so good. Just like the rest of you. Warm, wet, tight."

Vil's legs trembled as he got to feet and thrust into your mouth. You leaned back for balance. You clawed at the floor at the pleasure of Vil using your mouth as he saw fit. Pre-cum and spit pooled on your chin and dripped to splatter on your shirt. You moaned around Vil's cock fucking the back of your throat. When he could take no more, Vil pushed your face to his crotch. You gagged, sputtering around him as bitter and salty cum ran down your tongue and throat. You were forced to swallow, but enjoyed it despite the circumstances.

"Mr. Shoenheit, you're on in five!" Shouted a stage hand.

"T-Thank you!" Vil peered down at you while easing your head back. "You did beautifully. I needed that so bad. And you didn't even spill a drop. After the show, I promise, I'll make it up to you. I'm going to spoil you rotten."

Vil hurriedly fixed his clothes and left you clean yourself up. You'd wait there for him to find you again. You didn't want anyone to see the globs of cum still on your shirt. So much for not spilling a drop.

[revelinginthedarkrooms]

College Bestie - Fem!Yan x GN!Reader

I’ve been playing a few too many VNs, I swear. Have a soft yandere. (This won’t be the last of the OC imagines - I have at least two others I want to work out. I don’t know how they’ll be perceived, considering this is a wide departure from my usual smut, but we’ll see how it goes!)

WARNING(S): Gaslighting, emotional manipulation, depressive thoughts, obsessive behavior, brief mention of drug use

Please read responsibly. Minors fuck off. Ageless/blank blogs DNI.

Imagine for a minute.

It’s your second year of college and you’ve just moved to a new district, with a better (more affordable) school and new people to meet. You’re kind of anxious and awkward, a bit nervous to make new connections post-transfer.

The very first person to greet you is a blonde girl around your age or younger, or so she seems when she meets you. She’s bubbly, extroverted, cheerful - and somehow she finesses her way into becoming your first friend.

You later learn her name is Alex, and that she’s a year below you. She’s stuck to your side like glue, chattering nearly a mile a minute, showing you all around campus. The teachers regard her with amusement, her peers regard you with a sense of envy and curiosity. You can’t understand why, but some of them shrink away from you whenever she draws near.

You soon learn more about her; she has a brother in your year and another above you, you learn her favorite color is pink (which does not surprise you, given her pink hair bow, pink earrings, pink shirt, pink socks, white and red and pink accessories...), you learn she loves puppies and kittens and rats and lizards, and her favorite soda is Dr. Pepper. You learn her favorite nickname for you is ‘sugar’, or ‘buttercup’, and when you ask she laughs and says she gives nicknames to all of her besties. She’s so open with you that it’s simultaneously overwhelming and kind of funny in a way - but given how much other students swarm around her when you’re separated, drawing her into their little groups and vying for attention, it’s not hard to see why.

The year goes on. Days turn into weeks. You start settling into your new school quite well - or as well as you can - and even make a few friends of your own. But Alex remains a stubborn fixture in your life, and it’s like she can’t bear to be away from you for long. For a while you chalk it up to her being desperate to be friends with the new student on campus. But as weeks turn into a month, then two, then three... certain things start to trouble you.

It seems like whenever you begin to make friends with those around you, you always end up growing distant. Boys you’re paired with in projects, girls who lend you pencils during exams, students who offer to share their granola bar with you when you forget your lunch at home and don’t have money for the cafeteria - it always seems that you end up alone, just as you were when you first arrived. Loneliness follows you like a raincloud, and despite your attempts to ignore it, your calls home to your loved ones begin to reflect it. It’s hard not to be depressed when you’re at a Saturday night party and everyone around you is engrossed in their own little worlds - and you’re the only one tethered to cold, hard reality. You always ended up alone.

Well, perhaps not alone - Alex is always there, always consoling you when your latest friend pulls away from you or stops coming to classes, cheering you up when your latest interest crushes your hopes or turns out to be a worse person than you thought they were. She’s there through every heartbreak and late-night sleepover. She’s sugar-sweet as she offers your favorite snack and a commiserating smile, sweet as honey when she reassures you that it’s not you, sugar, it’s them, and aren’t people just so awful sometimes? But not her, never her, she’s always got your back. She’s your number-one fan. And you begin to feel desperate to cling to one of your only sources of human happiness in this unfamiliar college town.

But sometimes you can’t help but feel frustrated with the way you yearn for her presence; whenever you happen to catch her on a walk with her other friends, you often find yourself hiding and watching them go past. Alex is all smiles and laughter and cheer, and there’s an ugly, jealous pit in your stomach that rips open its maw and roars at you, tearing down your self-confidence: Look at how happy she is with others. You’re holding onto her too tightly - she probably wants a break from you because you’re so damned depressing.

Self-loathing turns to depression, and depression turns into nights where you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, a strange numbness in your brain and a void in your chest. It’s hard to even get out of bed, despite Alex’s ringtone (something from Taylor Swift - she had picked it out herself and you hadn’t bothered to change it) blaring loudly from your bedside table. When you finally do pick up, she’s often worried sick, asking if you’re okay and if you need her to come over and spend the night with you. You always hate to impose, even when you can hear other people in the background of the call murmuring to each other. She never fails to show up anyway, a bag of your favorite snacks and a thermos of your favorite drink to whittle away the hours together. More than once you doze off, suddenly too drowsy to function, and wake up an undetermined amount of time later to her hand gently petting your hair and her soft voice humming one of her favorite songs. There’s a wistful smile on her face and a certain tenderness to her touch that makes you wonder, but you never dwell on it for long as sleep claims you again. The next morning it’s like those moments never happened, and she’s back to her bubbly self as she drags you out of your apartment for lunch.

It isn’t until winter break wraps up that her older brother finally approaches you, the only one in your grade to remain in your circle despite your best attempts. He’s cool as can be (and stinks faintly of weed - or is that dirty laundry and sweat? You can’t tell) as he murmurs, “So you’re Lexie’s little crush, huh? I should’ve guessed she’d pick someone as cute as you.”

Crush? Your cheeks flush as you protest. It’s a misunderstanding, it has to be; Alex is friendly with everyone, you’ve seen it with your own eyes.

But no, he insists - she likes you, and he’s genuinely surprised you’ve never picked up on it. It’s gotten to the point where everyone else knows, and for a moment, everything makes so much more sense. How everyone keeps their distance from you now unless they explicitly have to, how she constantly dotes on you more than her other friends, how much she remembers about you - from your favorite pair of socks to your deepest fears.

It all makes sense, and you aren’t sure if you should be worried.

Perhaps you should, as your mind reminds you, and all her brother can say is a cryptic “Don’t break her heart” before he leaves, and out of nowhere Alex is clinging to your hand and talking about some new anime that she’s gotten into.

Dread settles in as you think back on the year thus far, and finally she asks you, “What’s up, (Name)? You look a little pale... did someone say something to you?”

There’s an unsettling seriousness to her voice, a firmness to the way her jaw is set.

You have to ask.

She listens to your concerns with a contemplative expression, before it finally turns into something of amusement - or is that sardonic?

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, sugar,” she laughs it off, waving a hand despite the pink bloom to her cheeks. “That’s just Aster - he’s so nosy, y’know how older brothers are. Just can’t help himself but to embarrass me! We’re friends, right? Best friends.”

Then she pauses, and her icy-blue eyes dart to yours in an unnerving intensity. Shyly, she asks, “Unless... you feel otherwise? I don’t want to assume anything...”

You honestly don’t know how to respond. It’s true that you feel a connection, but much of that, you believe, comes from her being your best - and only - friend. The last thing you want is to drive her away just because you’re desperate for connection.

She seems to sense your thoughts, and all at once her face softens and she rests a hand atop your shoulder. “(Name), you know I would never leave you over something like that. I really, really do like you, y’know? You’re my best friend. Nothing you can do will ever change it.”

That warmth returns to your face, and her comforting squeeze to your shoulder lightens your heart as she steers you towards the cafeteria.

Alex was a really great friend.

“I keep telling you, sugar,” she giggles, nuzzling your hand to her cheek, “this is what besties are for, right? You have nothing to worry about. Gosh, I’m so glad I met you.”

[reddstarr-exe]

had to update my bio today bc the amount of blank accounts interacting with my content is INSANE.

So anyways if you are a blank blog/account (as in you just joined tumblr and/or no posts, no pfp, etc) don’t interact with me because i WILL block you.

I cannot tell if you’re a bot or a real person if you don’t season your blogs. and it makes me and many others uncomfortable to see blogs like that interact with our content.

season your blogs, please.

[k9wa]

⠀

⠀ 日 … still,

⠀ let me say this just in case,

⠀ kawa, nineteen, he & they

⠀ thank you for being the victim

⠀ of my shallow emotions. 月

⠀

⠀

[i-hold-horrors-hand]

The Papas' Focuses in Satanic Seminary School

Primo: Theology, occult studies & history, horticulture

Secondo: Comparative religion, business studies, sexuality studies

Terzo: Historical theology, economics, women's & gender studies

Copia: Medieval history, comparative study of empires, sociology

[accidentalslayer]

Who is making these porn blogs? Not the cool NSWF ones where it looks like someone real is actually posting their own content or talking about their kinks. I mean the weird ones with a bunch of random numbers after a painfully generic name that post a bunch of pictures of equally generic white women posing in the nude.

Who are you? What do you want? Do you honestly enjoy that kind of porn??? Why so many pictures of feet?

😬 You're freaking me out and it isn't even Halloween yet.

[midnighthoneybee]

Always such a fucking mess

[revelinginthedarkrooms]

Down With Lovesickness - Male Yan x GN!Reader

WARNING(S): Yandere, stalking, smoking, animal cruelty, breaking/entering, implied violence

Please read responsibly. Minors fuck off. Ageless/blank blogs DNI.

Imagine for a minute.

It’s your last year of high school and you’re hard at work trying to get your grades up. The very last project of the semester is coming, and you’ve just been assigned to work with the boy at the back of the class who’s never said a word as long as you’ve known him.

Andrew, you faintly remember, is a 6′3″ wall of a teen with dark, dark hair, a darker fashion sense, and icy blue eyes; someone nobody really wanted to socialize with, least of all you. He was the kind of guy to wear combat boots and chokers and snakebite piercings, listening to little else but My Chemical Romance and Three Days Grace with the music blaring through his earbuds. He was a parent’s worst nightmare and the envy of preteens everywhere, but he seemed to give little thought to any of it.

How he was even passing his classes, you’d never know. There were stretches of time where he just didn’t show up to class at all, you never saw him do any classwork or engage in discussions either. All he did was sit back and stare out the window, rolling a pencil between his fingers. Any time you’d ever seen anyone talk to him, he disregarded them coldly, as if it wasn’t worth his time to speak. Needless to say, you hadn’t been thrilled, but the groups were final and your teacher was insistent that if he didn’t pull his weight, you could do the whole thing yourself instead of risking half marks.

The very first time you spoke to him was during lunch. You managed to ask around until you found his sister two grades below, who pointed you in the direction of the gym with a huff of “Guess he didn’t stick to that promise again”. Sure enough you found him between the gym and the main building, a cigarette releasing a lazy stream of smoke in the shadows.

He wasn’t much for conversation at first, but with time, impatience, and offering whatever he wanted if he would just cooperate, he finally handed you his half of the project on the day of the presentation. You’d been floored - it was great-quality work, something that was sure to get a good grade. But he ignored any attempts at conversation and busied himself with staring out the window again.

After that, you found yourself crossing paths with him more and more. Sometimes you’d catch him standing behind you in the lunch line (”What? I didn’t have breakfast this morning,” he’d grumble when you looked up with a questioning glance), sometimes he’d just so happen to be checking out books in the school library when you were there to study (”I promised my brother that I’d find a horticulture guide for his weird plant hobby”), sometimes you’d even run into him after school, at the mall, at cafes, at the park - and every time he was nonchalant, cool, even, as he gave you an explanation as to why he happened to be there. Other times he brusquely said he didn’t have to say anything, and turned the tables on you. “Well, why are you here?”

Things only got weirder from there. One day one of your friends complained of a dead rat sitting on their doorstep that morning. Later on, another one complained of a weird feeling that someone was watching them as they went home every day. And yet another came to you privately and showed you pictures they’d taken of their tire slashed and blood across their windshield, spelling out “BEWARE”. It wasn’t human blood, or so they said - it was animal blood. Still didn’t explain why it was there, or who had done it. A couple in your friend group theorized that the dead rats and the blood incident were related, and it was too easy to get caught up in their talk of it. Paranoia seeped into the cracks of your friend group, and it wasn’t long before one of them snapped.

They just... disappeared from school for a week with no explanations or excuses. Even their parents refused to say anything, and your other friends were of no help either. Nobody knew what the hell had happened to them, and when they came back there was a haunted look in their eyes as they told you that you couldn’t be friends anymore. It sucked, but with all of the strange goings-on you didn’t blame them. It still burned inside to see them pull away from you.

You continued to run into Andrew more and more now. Sometimes you’d get to school and he would be just inside the doors, scaring the daylights out of you and getting a little smirk of amusement. You’d figure he enjoyed scaring you for fun with how much he spoke of little details in his life that should’ve been highly upsetting to a normal person, such as his parents’ divorce. Still he never outright bullied you, or so you thought. Who knows, maybe him making you jump and telling you morbid things was his way of being mean.

Something was weird about him, and you just couldn’t place it.

One day, he cornered you in the hallway. Classes were in session and the halls were clear, and oddly quiet, as Andrew leaned in with a rasping voice. “Go out with me, (Name).”

The question- no, demand, was so out of the blue that all you could do was balk at him. Yet he remained stoic as ever, and slowly you realized he wasn’t joking.

“I don’t want anyone except you,” he explained, and the almost suffocating linger of cigarette smoke filled your senses. His jacket was well-worn and thick, and you could feel the body heat radiating from him at this close proximity. “Go out with me. I won’t let anyone mess with you.”

It was a strange stipulation, but, well, what had you to lose? That was the first time you saw him smile, and the sight was oddly heartwarming despite his waspish façade.

Nobody could believe you if you mentioned that you were dating him. Not even your closest friends, who had laughed when you explained it after they’d seen him leave your locker one morning. Sure, his reputation proceeded him, but after a while it just began to get annoying how people would tease you and call you crazy for it.

Winter turned to spring, and you and Andrew were still dating. He walked you to your classes every day now, and more than once had slipped your favorite candy into your bag during breaks. You figured it was his way of being sweet, not noticing the ring of bruises on the back of his neck underneath his longcoat collar.

As the year wore on, people teased you less and less. Instead, now they seemed almost afraid to discuss your new relationship. Their eyes followed you when you passed, and if Andrew was walking you they would avert their gaze entirely until he was gone. Some of the school’s biggest jerks, ones who used to antagonize him, one by one stopped coming to school. When asked, he never said a thing about it, muttering something about it not being your business to know.

Something was weird about your boyfriend, but as long as he was respectful you didn’t care. Well, until you did.

One night you awoke to your window sliding open. As you all but leapt from your bed, a shout on your tongue, he shushed you by clapping a hand over your mouth, hissing, “It’s just me! Don’t scream, you idiot!”

How had he opened it from the outside? You’d sworn you’d locked it before bed. How had he managed to sneak into your hard and not set off the floodlights outside the house? Most importantly, how were you not screaming for your parents already?!

“I needed to see you,” he said next, burying his nose in your hair. The choker around his neck clinked and felt cold against your skin and you could smell sandalwood and smoke clinging to his clothes, but as your fear melted away and you were left with your giant of a boyfriend holding you in his lap on your bed, all you could think about was how warm and nice he felt.

That night went by quickly, much of it spent with Andrew’s once-icy gaze raking over your form in a soft, dare you say it loving way. By the time you woke up he was pressed into you, holding you to his chest in an iron grip. You barely managed to wake him up and shoo him out the window before your parents decided to check on you, but the grin spreading across his face sent butterflies through your chest.

He texted you later, musing about how he enjoyed spending the night, and how you’d have to come over and meet his siblings and his mother already. Your boyfriend may be gruff and cold, but somehow he swept you off your feet - and you were already anticipating the next time he would sneak in on a streak of teenage rebellion.