hello and welcome to the new series that i need to make because people on the internet are acting a fool and they need to be taught how to act with respect and kindness because their parents fumbled the bag...
below the cut is a rant type post calling out the hurtful behaviour of this unnamed individual to hopefully cut this shit out right as it's starting...
just saw someone post a fanfiction REVIEW as if it's a legitimately published and sold piece of literature. why the HELL did you think it would be a good idea to publicly post something like that?
like sure the poster should have had a list of "warnings" or "tags" for what's in the post so you knew what you were getting into (it was a smut fic and it had kinks they didn't like, and to be fair i had to skip that fic because i also wasn't into the kinks), but at that point don't read it? don't go making this your whole brand you are being so weird for no reason like???? why complain about kinks you don't like complain that they didn't TAG those kinks as a warning if anything. be CONSTRUCTIVE with your criticism.
imagine being so spiteful of a person that you make your whole blog about it. and take REQUESTS from people that ARENT THE AUTHOR to rate and review fanfics that everyday people write for FREE. it's not even constructive criticism for their writing as a whole, pointing out grammar or spelling mistakes, or poor formatting (a giant wall of text or not separating speech properly). you're just complaining to complain about something at that point.
get a fucking life, go back to twitter (x is a stupid name it will never be x) or tiktok, and stop polluting tumblr with your toxic mentality.
ALSO DONT TAG THE POSTER IN THE "REVIEW" WTAF IS WRONG WITH YOU? just send your compliments to them in an ask and don't post something that could embarrass or humiliate them? The writing community is already dying out because no one reblogs SHIT (that's why I made this blag in the first place. sharing is caring and completely free). don't add this to the list of reasons that writers stop writing.
For completely nice and not at all vengeful reasons I need to know who blocked me from seeing their fanfic blog just because they think I'm lying about my age :(
A/N: first time writing male oral it's apparently not easy to do when the only people you've been with are women.
It's easy to forget that you're an actual adult with an adult job when you've got a fully grown man sulking like a toddler on your couch. You don't even know what time it is, only that you should absolutely still be asleep right now instead of cleaning up Natasha's latest mess.
"For someone trained by Hope, you would think you would learn when you should back out of a fight." You say, carrying your worn medkit into the living room, facing a put out Scott looking like he was just sent to time out.
"I was." He mumbles his way through his words, and you're barely able to understand them even though it's only two things he's said. Still, he doesn't look like he's in that much pain, physically at least. You move to stand between his legs, trying to get a good look at the mess Natasha has made of him.
You hum, getting to work on laying out your things for the very simple task of tending to his scrapes and bruises. It's nothing a little butterfly tape can't fix, from what you can see, anyways. Keeping your touch light, you make quick work of his face, cleaning the cuts with a damp towel before applying the butterfly tape.
He flinches only slightly, a hand coming up to grip behind your knee as you smooth out the pained wrinkles in his forehead, "How long did you last against Natasha?"
"Few minutes, better than Tony did the first time they fought, apparently." He tilts his head without being asked so that you can clean up the painful looking rug burn along his chin, blotchy and already bruising. You work quickly, only both of your breathing filling the silent room.
As you trail your fingers along his face, admiring him up close while looking for anything else that needs to be bandaged and cleaned. It's as your tilting his head up to double check his jaw that you feel the hand on the back of your knee start to slowly work it's way up your leg.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" You ask while trying to ignore the ticklish feeling of his fingers grazing up your bare thigh. You hadn't bothered to but on pants when you realized it was just Scott at your door, wearing only one of his shirts.
Scott simply hums, other hand coming up to mirror the other on your neglected thigh. He tugs gently on you left leg, guiding it up and over his leg, urging you to do the same with the other. You do, making sure he sees your eye roll as you do. Scott is far too used to you by now, the charming smile on his face melting whatever annoyance you were pretending to feel.
You settle fully on his lap, and while he doesn't make a sound, he does tense up significantly. Lifting your weight off of him right away, hands pressed onto his shoulders for support, you glare down at your boyfriend until he breaks.
"Okay! There might be some bruising on my legs... and my chest."
"Scott!"
"You can't blame me when you open the door looking like that, wear my shirt," he tugs on the end of it, an old thing that doesn't even fit him properly anymore. It's been worn so much that it's disgustingly soft to the touch and never seems to loose his scent no matter how much you wear it.
"It's not like we can do anything if your this hurt. You should have said something."
"Darling, baby, light of my life. You cannot expect me to not have some sort of reaction to you," and it's then that you notice the sizeable tent in his black sweats. Your drop a hand onto him without even thinking, grinning at the loud groan he lets out when you give him a soft squeeze.
"If you can sit still and be good, I'll help you out with your little problem here, okay?" You give him another teasing squeeze before letting go.
Scott let's out a pathetic whine at the loss, hips rolling up to chase your touch. You've lifted yourself too far off of him, leaving Scott to desperately roll his hips into the air before he's settling back into the couch.
"Mhmm, yeah. Yeah, I can be good," Scott babbles, hands dropping to the hem of his shirt. He pulls it off with some effort, his slow movements eventually revealing a patchwork of bruises deeper cuts that make you wince in sympathy. There aren't many cuts on his chest, but you do still take your time rubbing cream into his bruises and covering the mystery cuts, making sure to "accidentally" brush your fingers up over his pecks and across pert nipples as you make you way across the expanse of skin.
Scott does nothing more than moan low in his throat, heavy lidded eyes watching you and your every move as you work you way down his chest and to the waistband of his sweats. And if you make a few extra seconds to trace the shape of his abs, well, that's no one's business but your own.
The careful removal of his pants isn't to tease him, though the impatient sounds Scott makes would say otherwise. But his reaction to you sitting on him was alarming, and you desperately wanted to see what was going on.
You have to stand up to be able to get the pants off without doing any harm, and as the tops of his thighs are revealed, you can see that they're already covered in folded up, haphazardly taped down squares of gauze, tiny spots of dried blood peeking through the white fabric.
"What happened?" You whisper, letting your fingers dance along the edge of a smaller piece of gauze.
"Got too close to the mirror, crashed into it when she flipped me. Most of it hit my legs. Sam helped me get all the glass out.
"Well," you start, hands drifting to the hem of his horrible flamingo covered boxers, "it's a good thing you legs took the brunt of the hit. Don't know what I would have done if you were fully out of commission."
You pull the elastic until his cock spring out, tip red and already starting to leak. There's no time wasted between when he's freed and when your hand is wrapped around the base, dropping swiftly to your knees to get a better angle as you start to slowly work your hand over the soft skin.
Scott let's out an obscene moan, hip rolling up into your fist, urging you to go faster. You don't, though, keeping the brutally slow pace as you look up at him in amusement. He's trying his best to be annoyed at your blatant teasing, but the flush settling on his face and down to his pecks ruined the effect.
Slowly, you inch your face closer, sure that he can feel ever exhale on his pre covered cock. It gives a feeble twitch is your hand, pre dribbling down the shaft and getting lost in your fist as you slowly drag it back up, giving the head a twist as you lean foreword.
You've barely got your mouth around him before he's thrusting up into the warm heat of your mouth. You take him down as far as your comfortable, not having to move much at all as Scott unconsciously does all of the work. Fist gently gently the base, your free hand comes up to cup the heavy weight of his balls, working both your hands in pace with your slowly bobbing head.
His eyes are screwed shut as you look up the toned expanse of his body to his face, mouth open as he pants, the occasional moan forcing its way through his stuttered breathing. You let your teeth just barely touch his head as you go back down, catching his attention as his eyes shoot open. They drop down to you, only to squeeze shut right away when he catches sight of you between his legs.
He opens them again with a bit of effort, eyes half lidded as they stare down at you. His hand comes up to cup the hollow of your cheek, thumb swiping high on your cheekbone before hi hand makes his way into your hair. He doesn't try to guide your head despite the desperate roll of his hips, pressure light enough to know that it's there.
Your hand is soaked in a mixture of his pre and your saliva, making the most obscene sound as you pull off of him to take in some much needed air, pumping your hand over his entire length. You give his heavy cock a few pumps before your bringing your hand up to your mouth, licking over your palm and finger to try and clean up the mess you've both made.
Scott groans low in his throat, cock dribbling out even more pre that glides all the way down, mixing with your saliva and to the hand still fondling his balls. You quickly bring your head back to his cock with a less teasing pace, desperate to make him cum.
All it takes is the teasing slide of your tongue along his weeping slit for him to start babbling, the hand in your hair grabbing a fistful that borders on painful as his moan become more drawn out and desperate. You barely have time to take a steadying breath before he's coming, painting your mouth and throat in his cum, hips stuttering to a stop as you swallow him down.
The death like grip he had on you hair quickly lets up, hand cupping your cheek to guide you off him when the absent was you were you hung at him began to be overwhelming on his spent cock. You tuck him back into his boxers, moving to sit over him again when he stops you.
"Help me lay back so that you can sit that pretty pussy of yours on my face," He rasps out, voice raw from moaning as load as he was. You can't help but roll your eyes at his eagerness, quickly helping him when he starts to do it on his own. Who are you to deny him what he wants?
but what if you pulled xaviers hair just a little? just gave it a good tug while making out. imagine the noise he'd make, he'd be squirming under you while you keep a fistful of his hair, sucking a pretty purple mark into his neck. the second he'd try to kiss you again you'd bite his neck, holding his head back by his hair while he desperately rutted up into you.
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