#i reblogged it to the right blog this time

[honeyed-hedonist]

Parings: Jason Todd x afab!Reader Word Count: 4.4k Warnings: SMUT—MINORS DNI. mentions of blood, gore, and violence, oral (f & m receiving), lots of teasing, degradation (jason todd is a big meanie), a lil bit of a size kink if you squint (hims a big, big boy), an obscene amount of dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, jason has multiple orgasms (he’s got stamina, baybee), creampie, cum swapping, and, as always, declarations of love (barf). A/N: I wrote this for my sweet baby angel @heli0s-writes in a little fic swap we’re having because we like to scream at each other about all the fictional men we want to rail us into a pulp. I love you! I hope this makes your brain melt. Tehe 😈 (Reposting from my former blog)

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Jason Todd is a menace. The absolute bane of your existence. 

Who does he think he is banging on your door at 3:45 in the morning? As if your neighbors needed another reason to gossip about you. Nevermind all the probing questions that were poorly masked as casual conversation when you were using the on-site laundry room or grabbing your mail. If you had to hear “So, you and Red Hood, huh?” one more time, you were going to rip your hair out. 

But Jason has always been brazen—not much has changed since the day you found him bleeding out in an alley between your apartment building and the pet shelter next door. He had a gunshot wound, lacerations over damn near every square inch of him, his mask all but shattered and exposing most of his face to you as you did your best to haul his massive frame up from the ground to drag him inside and patch him up. He had grinned at you the entire time, flirted with you while you fished the bullet out, asked you to dinner as you wiped the grit and grime off of his neck and chest. He hasn’t left you alone since.

You love him, of course. How can you not? He’s 6’4” of muscled steel, all wrapped up in a handsome, roguish bow with a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind. Any woman alive would be hard-pressed to resist his charms and you’re no exception, but it’s difficult to remember those warm, fuzzy feelings when he’s pounding on your door hard enough to wake the dead.

With bleary eyes, you unlatch the locks and yank it open, hissing at him as you fist your hand into the lapel of his jacket and tug him inside, ignoring the wide-eyed look on your neighbor’s face from across the hall. Your annoyance is overshadowing the rest of your senses, so you don’t see the tent in his pants, don’t notice his lust-blown pupils when he shucks his helmet off and throws it aside. Instead, you whirl on him, an accusatory finger pointed squarely at his chest in preparation to scold him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why couldn’t you just come in through the window? I keep it unlocked for this exact reason, Jason! You stubborn fucking ass—mmph!” His mouth is on you instantly—demanding and desperate as he crashes his lips into yours, uninterested in hearing your lecture. His gloved hands lift you off the floor in one fluid motion that has you instinctively wrapping your legs around his hips. You feel it then, the heavy, hard length of him trapped between your bodies and you gasp, an action that he capitalizes on by shoving his tongue past your teeth and into the back of your throat.

The tang of coppery blood fills your mouth and has you retreating, pushing back on his chest to look at him, but he’s right there chasing your mouth, walking blindly towards your kitchen table to set you down. “Jay—honey, wait. Are you—fuck!” His teeth are sharp against your throat, silencing your protest with the harsh sting of pain, grunting as he grinds his hips between your spread thighs. 

“Shut up,” He growls, voice low and dangerous, sending your synapses into overdrive, drowning out what little restraint you have left. “Need to be inside you. Need to hear those sweet sounds, baby, just—let me.”  Jason’s fingers are shaking when he moves to peel your shirt off, and you know it’s the adrenaline, that he’s high from the violence of his nightly patrol, teetering on the edge of losing control. These nights, you think, are the ones he needs you the most—seeking salvation with your body, tunneling his way to absolution with powerful thrusts of his hips, because if you can love all the fucked up parts of him, can love him even after all of his mistakes, then maybe, in his mind, he’s worth something afterall. 

So you nod, your own hands making quick work of the kevlar and leather he’s covered in, helping him shed layer after layer of it off until he’s bare chested and heaving with labored breaths. It’s then that you notice the gashes that cut diagonally across his collarbone, the skin ripped in a way that makes you shudder. Claws? A serrated knife? You can only imagine the kind of monsters he grappled with tonight. His chest is smeared with congealed, drying blood, a trail of it leading down his stomach, seeping into his briefs and tactical pants, staining the tuft of coarse, dark hair that leads to his pubic bone an ugly shade of rust.  

His eyes have turned shark-like—a depthless obsidian that makes him look possessed, the usual crystalline blue almost completely eclipsed by his blown out pupils. You should be terrified by the sight, the danger lurking within that endless dark, but your demons have always called to his, so all it does is stoke the flames now licking their way down your spine to pool between your legs. His gaze shifts the second your hands fall to your panties, exhaling a shaky breath as you try to wiggle out of them, to grant him access to the part of you that only he gets to explore.   

Jason snarls then, swatting your hands away to rip the flimsy strip of cotton clean off, tossing it over his shoulder where it floats delicately to the floor in shredded ribbons of fabric. And then he’s on his knees, dropping to your floor with a loud thud that has the knick knacks hanging on your walls tinkling with vibration from the force of his herculean frame hitting the laminate. He scoots closer, boots scuffing your floor, the heat of his stare now focused on your puffy slit. Every exhale is a rumbling growl, hot breath fanning out against your pussy as he inches closer and you bite your lip, ready to muffle the sound you know he’s going to tear from your throat the second he puts his mouth on you.

Warm, calloused hands skate up the insides of your thighs, throwing them open even wider to accommodate the width of his shoulders when he leans in. Jason’s nose settles against your slit and he inhales, breathing in the musky scent of your arousal. It leaves you frozen in place, barely breathing when you watch his eyes roll back with pleasure. It sends your pulse straight to your clit and you whimper, the sound acting as a catalyst for him to dive in tongue-first and lick a wet stripe through your folds. He moans at the taste of you, a deep, salacious vibration of sound that rattles your bones. It has you hooking your hands around the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip, mouth slack when Jason’s deft tongue and plush lips begin to work you over.

He’s precise and purposeful when he eats you out—applying just the right amount of pressure, finding the perfect moments to snag that bundle of nerves with his teeth, gumming at your velvety cunt with his mouth, his tongue attuned to your every need. It takes him no time at all until you’re whining, begging like a god damn harlot, your fingers wound harshly into the roots of his hair, pulling him in, fucking yourself on his face. His girl. Perfect and needy, just the way he likes you.

But, again, Jason Todd is a fucking menace, glancing up at you with that wild look in his eyes, clocking the way your eyebrows are knitted together, the way you’ve got him pressed so deeply between your legs that he can barely breathe—he knows you’re close, can feel your thighs trembling against his ears. He waits, feasts on you until your eyes roll back into your skull, until he knows you’re about to rocket into a release—and then he stops, withdraws his mouth—a mouth that’s glistening with evidence of your pleasure, and offers you a sadistic smile.

“You thought I was gonna let you cum, princess?” He goads, swatting at your pussy hard enough that it sends you reeling, your body jerking with a yelp. “Nah…Tonight you cum on my cock and nowhere else.” Jason rocks back on his heels and stands, towering over you, crowding your space as he takes your jaw in his hand, his grip hard and unforgiving. “Do you understand me?” 

There’s a war happening in your mind, because you know he needs this control, know he’s standing on a very dangerous ledge and you have to tread carefully, but fuck if you don’t want to cop an attitude, push him right off that cliff just to see what he’ll do. Seconds tick by like minutes, his eyes bouncing between yours, expectancy evident on his handsome face while you contemplate how much you value the use of your legs and whether you’ll need them tomorrow. 

“I don’t take orders from you, Todd,” You spit, jerking your chin free from his hold. Curiosity has clearly gotten the better of you, and the fire your response sets ablaze in Jason’s eyes has your stomach flipping. His mouth curls into a wicked little smirk, and then you feel that same hand of his wrap around your throat and squeeze; hard. 

He bends forward, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear, tongue tracing the edge of the cartilage. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, hmm?” Your breath hitches at the gravel in his tone, and now you know without a doubt that you won’t be doing any walking tomorrow, let alone moving. Thank god you have some PTO saved up. 

Jason’s spine straightens when he yanks you off the table, the movement so fast you don’t have enough time to process what’s happening until your ass hits the floor and you wince. “Well, would ya lookit that.” He mocks, palm slapping against your cheek before he’s hooking two fingers into your mouth to suppress your tongue. “Since you’re down there already—might as well make yourself useful, yeah?” 

Fuck. Sometimes you forget the cruelty he’s capable of, the way he can talk so mean, degrade and embarrass you for the sake of your shared pleasure. It’s exactly what you asked for, and he always delivers. With blush stained cheeks, your face pinched in a glare, you reach for his pants, popping the button open, tugging the zipper down, and shucking the blood-stained bottoms and cotton briefs to his knees. What you’re met with has your jaw working, saliva pooling behind your teeth because goddamn is he hung. 

Jason is fucking massive everywhere, so it goes without saying that his dick would carry some weight, but it still astonishes you every single time you see it. Bobbing invitingly in your face, angry red at the tip and oozing precum, veins prominent and pulsing along the shaft just begging for attention, his cock sits proudly above an even heftier set of balls, and you clench remembering just how good they feel smacking your sensitive clit when he pounds you out from behind.

His fingers are still playing against your tongue, sliding over the wet muscle until he breaches the back of your throat and you choke. There’s drool seeping past his knuckles, dribbling onto your chest, and he hums his approval, eyes glittering with the promise of what’s to come. One last pass of his calloused digits before he’s angling his tip and pushing his length into the wet heat of your mouth with a grunt. “This is a much better use for that mouth of yours, don’t you agree, princess?” Jason coos at you, pressing forward until your eyes screw shut, tears trickling down your cheeks when his cock seats itself deep in your esophagus. “That’s a good girl—open up that throat for me. Yeah, just like that—fuck.”

Soggy, spit covered fingers curl against the crown of your head as Jason begins to thrust, fucking your mouth. Your eyes are blurry, crossing each time he bottoms out, breathing harshly through your nose with every withdrawal, your palms digging into the meat of his thighs to keep you steady, to keep you rooted enough to take his assault. Over and over again he drives his hips forward, the slippery sound of the suction of your lips is so fucking obscene it makes you moan. That filthy, wet squelch ringing out as more saliva trickles from the corners of your mouth, bubbling up in sloppy arcs that web between your chin and his cock, matting into his pubic hair, commingling with the remnants of his blood. 

You’re sure your face is stained pink from it by now, and you couldn’t care less, not when Jason’s face is twisted so beautifully above you—jaw slack and cheeks red, sweat marring his brow, hair curling at his temples and the nape of his neck. He looks so goddamn pretty when he loses himself in you like this that it makes the ache in your throat worth it, makes tomorrow’s hoarseness a welcome battlescar if only for the vision of him lost in the throes of violent passion above you right now. “Shit—m’gonna cum, princess. S’too good, I can’t—”

You slip your hand beneath your chin, between your bodies, cupping his balls, teasing them, rolling them in your palm, and he roars, bottoming out to cum down your throat. His cock pulses against your tongue and you wiggle it against his length appreciatively, humming while you swallow down spurt after spurt of milky semen until he’s pulling out with a hiss. Jason’s big hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up while he huffs. “Best little cocksucker, baby, but I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.”

Before you can blink. Jason hauls you up and deposits you right back onto the kitchen table, throwing your legs open. Letting out a low whistle, he drags the pad of his thumb up through your folds, swiping over your throbbing clit with a chuckle. “Such a pretty little pussy, hm? So eager, so fuckin’ desperate, clenching around nothing at all. You just wanna be full, don’t you?” He goads, slotting his hips between your thighs, letting the heavy weight of his dick slap against your sensitive pearl until you’re mewling, fingernails biting into his forearms.

“Jay—please,” You whine, your voice scratchy and rough, and he shakes his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth while his eyes make a slow trek up to meet yours. 

“After your little performance? Not a chance, sweetheart. I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready, but for now? For now you’re gonna put on a show for me. Let me see how you stuff that needy cunt when I’m not here.” He smirks viciously down at you, wrapping his fist around his length, pumping slow and languid while your face heats with embarrassment. 

The weight of his stare presses down on you, hot and heavy, as you guide a trembling hand between your legs, fingers dipping through your slick, peeling your lower lips apart with a breathy sigh. Despite his bravado, you know how bad he wants to be buried in your heat, cock shoved so deep that the tip batters against your cervix. It’s that thought alone that spurs you on, two fingers pushing into that wet, hungry hole with a moan. You hook them upwards, seeking, pressing against that tender little spot that makes your back arch, fucking yourself while he watches, his muscles coiled in waiting like a predator about to strike. It’s maddening—no matter how fast or how hard your fingers work into your pussy, it’s not enough, it’s never enough and he knows it.

“Feels good, huh, princess?” Jason huffs, pumping his dick while he watches you, taunting you with his words. “But you want more—can see it on that pretty face. Those little fingers just don’t cut it, do they? Course not, you need more. Need this fat cock, don’t you?” The whine that pours out of your throat is meek and pathetic, because he’s right and you can’t hide from him—not when you’re splayed out so beautifully like this. 

How many nights have you spent lying on your sheets chasing an unsatisfying release at your own hands. It’s never as good as it is with him, because Jason knows you. Knows all the ways to make you keen and writhe and burst. “Go on,” He says, “let me hear you say it. Beg me real nice and I might give you what you want.”

God damn him, you think, because he never makes it easy, not on nights like this when the battle is still fresh in his mind, when the adrenaline is still plowing through his veins. And god damn you if it doesn’t light you right up, heating the already charged air between you both. Your head falls back with a thud against the table and he tuts at you, pulling your gaze back where he wants it—on him. There’s a lump in your throat despite your fingers still working your cunt, the shame of having to beg both igniting your desire and stoking the fire of your petulance. Gritting your teeth, you spit the words he wants to hear at him with indignant venom. “Please, Jason. Want—need your cock. Fuck me, baby, just—” He chuckles darkly, free hand moving to grip your chin, his thumb stroking the hinge of your jaw.

 “Oh, I think you can do better than that.” Jason sucks a breath in through his teeth, his handsome face scrunched up with pleasure, and you catch sight of his other thumb swabbing over the tip of his cock, still rock hard and leaking between his clenched fist. “Try again.” 

“Fuck!” You spit, fingers soaked as they dive in and out of your pussy with delicious friction. Swallowing what remains of your stubborn pride, you gaze at Jason from beneath your lashes, your eyebrows furrowing, features turning soft and pleading. “Please, baby,” Your voice lifts an octave higher—whiney, simpering—and it works. Jason groans, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Fuck me, baby. Please fuck me. Need you, need that cock—please? M’so empty without it. Wanna cum all over you, Jason. Please!”

“That’s my girl,” He croons, tilting his head to capture your mouth in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else, distracting you enough that you cling to him, fingers carding through his hair while the head of his cock prods through your slit until it catches on your opening and he drives his hips forward, stretching you apart in one powerful, rough thrust.

It forces a scream from your throat that he swallows, bottoming out until his pelvis rests flat against the pocket of fat above your pussy. “Fuck—give me your fingers, baby. Put ‘em in my mouth.” Jason commands, and you know exactly what he wants, bringing your damp middle fingers up to his face, letting him suck the remnants of your efforts from your skin. You watch, hypnotized, as his eyes roll back and he starts to move, his teeth sinking into the digits while he fucks you. 

There’s nothing quite like having a cunt full of Jason Todd. The sting that comes from the sheer size of his dick, the way it stretches you to your very limits, those gummy walls forced open wide to accept every angry stab of his length. He bullies his cock into you, pounds hard enough that your kitchen table slides across the floor with each stroke. But he follows right along with it, hammering into you while his tongue slides between your fingers, sucking on them like a damn pacifier. It’s sinful, filthy, and raw—makes you absolutely feral, crying out for him over and over again, free hand dragging harsh lines down his muscled back so hard you’re certain you’ve broken the skin. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, letting your fingers fall from his mouth. “I know, baby. I fucking know—swear to god you were made for me. Take my cock so fucking well—shit!” He growls, righting his posture and reaching for your ankles. Jason locks both of them in one hand, closing your thighs together, making you even tighter, the fat lips of your pussy peeking out between your legs. The sight has Jason grunting like a wild animal. “That’s my pussy, huh?” He asks and you nod, completely lost to the mind-numbing pleasure he’s supplying. “Know it is. Always gonna be mine, baby. Gonna ruin this little cunt for anyone else. Gonna wreck it.” 

The world shrinks until it’s just you and Jason, no concern for your neighbors who can undoubtedly hear the way your kitchen table knocks against the wall every time he pounds his dick into your pussy, not a single care other than him and the way he loves you—the brutal way he fucks you. Resting both of your legs against the side of his chest that isn’t cut open, he hugs them close, looks down at you, and god, you’ve never seen him quite like this. It’s mesmerizing. 

And then he’s spreading your legs, pushing your shins up and into your chest, folding you in half. The new angle sends his cock even deeper, and you let out another rapturous cry, each stroke pummeling your cervix. He shushes you, fingers mashing your cheeks together in a tight grip. “Eyes on me, princess. Wanna see you fall apart.” 

So you watch, helpless and at his mercy, when his free hand wedges between your legs, fingers seeking out the place where you’re stretched around his dick, stroking it lovingly before moving his attention to your stiff, aching bud. Jason tilts his head, dropping his chin to his chest, letting a drizzle of spit cascade down between you. It hits its mark, splashing against the hood of your clit and rolling down until he catches it with his thumb, sluicing it up and over your pearl. 

“Don’t you dare hold back.” He commands, and all you can do is nod, tits practically tucked under your chin, body jolting from his incessant, endless assault. And then his fingers start to move and you wail. The friction is a welcome respite from the brutal way he’s handling you. Jason plays your clit like he knows what you’re feeling, flicking and tugging, applying enough pressure that the heat beginning to bloom in your belly burns hotter, a blazing inferno that’s about to consume you. “That’s it, let it out. Come on, angel, give it to me. Soak my fucking thighs.”

There’s always this brief moment before you cum—the universe stilling for the tiniest of seconds right before you unravel. You lock eyes with Jason in that instant, lip pinched between your teeth to try and muffle the noise you’re making. He nods at you, encourages you to let it go, tells you that he’s got you with just the look in his eyes, and it’s the truth. When time catches up to you in the next blink of your eyes, you fucking explode. Your back arches, knees slamming into your chest while you scream and quake beneath him. Jason wrangles you through your convulsions, pins your limbs to the table, coos and hushes you, lavishes you with praise while your cunt gushes around the intrusion of his cock. And what a fucking mess you’ve made. 

His teeth grit when he feels your cum wet his stomach and thighs, dribbling down his balls, and that’s the final nail in the coffin for Jason. With a roar of your name, he pumps into you a final time before he, too, loses himself. Jason cums hard—so hard that he damn near goes blind and deaf, vision whiting out, ears ringing as he empties himself into your swollen, fucked out pussy. It’s endless, the thick ropes of spend that now paint your insides. So much that you can’t contain it, a few errant, creamy strands dripping out of the place your bodies are joined. 

When he blinks his eyes open again, he catches as much as he can on his fingers, licks it into his mouth, and yanks you into his arms to kiss you. You’re barely conscious, but you kiss him back anyways, and Jason can’t stop the smile that curls his lips as he feeds you his cum from the tip of his tongue. Brushing your sweat matted hair off your forehead, his smile widens, peppering your reddened face with kisses. “You still with me, baby? Or have I fucked you stupid again?”

A halfhearted swat to the side of his head is your answer, and he laughs, the sound warm and infectious. There’s something so sweet about his laugh, it’s always made your chest swell, deep and gruff and perfect—just like him. You both stay locked together, his arms around you in a tight embrace, until your mind finally floats back into your body enough for you to remember how to be a person again. “Hey—as incredible as that was, and don’t you dare get an ego about it—you’re still very fucking injured, Jason.” 

Another laugh, his lips smacking against yours in a final peck that has you grinning right back at him. “Yeah, alright, I hear you, boss.” Jason teases, right before easing his softening cock from inside you. There are wounds that need tending, but he’s not quite ready to let go of this moment, feeling whole with your body wrapped up in his arms. He presses his forehead to yours once more, warm breath fanning out against your heated skin. “I love you, baby.” He whispers it, soft and sweet, your heart melting at the declaration. 

It’s a sentiment you return without hesitation, arms moving to cup his face—your whole world now held between the palms of your hands—and tilt his face back to level him with your stare. “I love you,” you answer, conviction heavy in your voice as you brush your nose against his “always.” Jason’s breath hitches in his chest, because nothing on this earth could have ever prepared him for the peace, the utter tranquility that loving you and being loved by you has brought him. Despite the lump in his throat, the tears misting his gaze, he echoes “always,” right back to you, kissing you tenderly until you’re both dizzy, until the world around you fades once again, until all that’s left is you and him. Just the way you like it.

[minniesmutt]

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: FELIX X READER ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: BEST FRIEND!FELIX, AFAB!READER, RIDING, ASS GRABBING NIPPLE PLAY, PRAISE, NO REAL PLOT, UNPROTECTED SEX, HAIR PULLING, CUM SHOT, BLURB ☾ ━━━ WC: 0.5K ☾ ━━━ repost from old blog ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

Felix did not think much of fucking his best friend. Maybe once or twice but, never acting on it. But who was he to turn down an offer?

It was just one annoying dry spell for both Felix and Y/n. Both hung out one night and complained about everything, especially the lack of sex they were having. That’s what you did with your best friend. If you’re having a problem, you make it you’re best friend’s problem.

“Call me crazy but what if we just fucked each other?” That was what Y/n asked, without even really thinking.

That had led to Felix having them on his lap, bouncing up and down as fast as he could as he leaned back against their couch, holding onto their waist. “Look so good bouncing on my cock.” Felix leaned forward and kissed around their chest before taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking lightly on it.

“Fuck lix,” Y/n moaned as they tugged at his blue locks.

Felix hummed in response to their tugging as they switched to rolling their hips against him. His hands moved down from their waist to grip their ass as tight as he could. His tongue swirled around the bud in his mouth. The stimulation made Y/n slow down, much to Felix’s dismay.

“On your back,” Felix stated as he pulled away from their nipple.

Y/n got off his lap, whining at the loss of being full, and laid back on her couch. Felix moved quickly to his knees and pumped his hard cock a couple times while his free hand lifted one of their legs up and pressed it against their chest.

He slipped back into their hole with ease. Using his now free hand to push their other leg to their chest. He made a quick adjustment to his own position before fucking into them at a fast pace.

“Oh fuck! Felix,” Y/n moaned

“Feel so fucking good. Just what i fucking needed,” Felix groaned.

His grip on their thigh was tight, he was sure he would leave a bruise there but he didn’t care right now. He was about to be lost in pleasure.

Y/n let a chorus of fucks spill from their mouth as their walls tightened around his cock. Felix’s eyes watched their face contorted in pleasure as their body did the same. Their hands reached for his forearms, just for something to hold onto. Head tossed make into the cushions as their eyes got heavier and heavier the closer they got to orgasm.

Felix moved one hand down to thumb their clit. Just took a few little circles and they were cumming on his cock while their legs slightly shook under his small hands

He fucked them through their high as their moans turned into small whimpers and whines of his name before he pulled out. Wrapping his hand around his length and pumping himself till his cum shot onto their stomach and the back of their thighs.

Both panting as they caught their breaths. Sweat running down their bodies and hair sticking to their foreheads. “You have no right to fuck that good lix, fuck.” Y/n groaned

“You weren't complaining much,” Felix chuckled

“Still not. First guy in a while to fuck that good.”

“Maybe we should do this more often?”

“Fuck yes.”

☾ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

☾ ━━━ please support writers by reblogging and/or leaving feedback

© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[tododeku-or-bust]

To Black Fans:

It's me 🤣 I'm back to bother y'all again. Y'all might know me from my first and second Examples of Fandom Antiblackness lists. This time, I'm trying to get something together for a lesson on my teaching blog. My purpose is to have examples of both 1) how ubiquitous whitewashing is, and 2) of how it happens.

My goal is to collect a general list of commonly whitewashed Black characters, and by proxy, the fandoms they're in. All I'd need from y'all is to REBLOG with the name of that character and the piece of media they're from. And then from that, I'd take the top 10 I saw the most (plus one experience of my own) and find some physical examples.

Now! To everyone else reading this! You can reblog with answers, as long as it's a Black character that you witnessed being whitewashed! I recognize it happens to other people of color, and that it's no less serious. But I'm talking about Black people right now. Thank you 🙏🏾

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

So many people say they're being plagarised and offer no proof except all this hearsay. The one time I saw two people actually offer proof @selfproclaimedunicorn dismissed it as their writing and the accused were basically writing the same generic boring mid smut and weren't being plagarised at all or plagiarising. She says they were causing drama over generic expressions. The funny thing was the complainants fic was being recycled in a new fandom by the accused and nobody really took it seriously except a handful of their mutuals. It's you lot who create cliques and fear mongering and this idolatry worshipping writers with huge followings, in time creating your own worst enemies. People with clout somehow in the fandoms always act like corrupt cops. But it's people in the fandom who create it. I've never seen you reblog anyone's work except your friends. I've seen Natasha reblog different people and offer nice comments. But you and your friends don't. And Ange is .... I don't know. Will she be a bullet you dodged? She has a big following end she was part of a group who were unbelievably toxic until she changed (?) People are just awful in this fandom and you know it getting a taste of it yourself here and elsewhere. I've no doubt people whose OCs are overlooked and ignored or whose x readers are not read, their voices are silent and people steal from them voraciously and nobody cares. People friends with the bigger writers close ranks and shut everyone out and everyone else is scrabbling to fit in and be noticed. I can name on one hand writers who write for the fun and not attention or notes. I don't know you and I'm sorry you have suffered this but welcome to our world

honestly, i wasn't going to answer this because so much of it is just fucking stupid.

I know exactly what you're talking about re misa, and you tagged the wrong blog. it wasn't her that said that, it was @julyzaa - and you know what...she wasn't wrong. she was talking about two fics that shared a similar premise. and we both agreed that it wasn't plagiarism. it was just two authors who wrote an aemond smutty one shot with similar vibes. of which there are a million and one fics like that right now. there is an importance in being able to discern the difference.

and i'll just say it, this obsession of constantly bringing up Ange is weird. it's creepy at this point. you're welcome to dislike someone, but it's becoming glaringly obvious that there's individuals in fandom that want to blame an outside person instead of looking at themselves and the company they keep. in my time being Ange's friend, not once have I been bullied/harrassed/intimidated - not even in a joking way. the chatting never turns toxic and the only time we're talking about other people is when shit gets weird on the dash (like it is right now). that's just normal social interaction, babes. we spend most of our time discussing fic and the show and our real lives.

and frankly, i don't know where this idea of 'clique' came from or why it seems this is an accusation that's being thrown around - not just at myself but others. there's no clique. there's no secret club or burn book or whatever you think there is lurking out there where we're concerned. im so confused as to why it's an issue that friend groups crop up and people get close. that's the nature of being mutuals! it's weird to be angry at people for making friendships and taking those friendships offline.

this is my blog and i'm allowed to reblog what I want - as is everyone else. you don't have a solution for whole 'clique' conundrum you seem so concerned with, so I can only assume your answer would be for me to just reblog everything I see, in hopes that your work reaches an audience. and i'm not going to do that. i will reblog the stories and edits that speak to me, that inspire me, that i actually enjoyed. and i've become friends with a lot of those authors, sure. because i put in the effort to get to know them. i stopped posting on tumblr because I got no response when posting my fic. My audience is clearly elsewhere. But it's always 'will you reblog my stuff' but it's never reciprocated, so what's the point in supporting mutuals if the mutual relationship is gone? have you ever reached out to me? have you ever struck up a conversation or attempted to chat about something other than fic? no? then why do you have any expectations of me at all where your fic is concerned? maybe look that the relationships you have formed and you'll have your answer.

[theresthesnitch]

It's about community, y'all.

I’ve found myself recently in a fandom interaction that has left me feeling very uncomfortable, and I want to talk about it. 

I will not be sharing usernames or fic names, so please do not publicly mention who they are if you figure out who this is. 

About a month ago, I was messaged by an account that doesn’t follow me, asking me to read their friend’s fic. The initial message was very flattering–their friend was a big fan of my work, and it would be so nice for them to get a comment from me on it. Honestly, it was such a sweet message, and I said I was busy right then, but I’d make time to read it.

When I opened the fic, it was a username that I didn’t recognize. Which is not terribly surprising, but I do recognize and notice regular commenters and people who regularly interact with me on Tumblr. (Which, by the way, is a good thing. These people all have a special place in my heart, and I love seeing their interactions.) This person also had no other fics published to AO3, and no bookmarks on their account. 

 I am an email hoarder, which means that every comment, kudo, and tumblr follow I get an email notification for is still stored in my email. I searched my inbox for the writer’s username, and nothing came up. I don’t mean nothing significant, I mean not one single comment, kudos, or follow from the account. I searched the account who messaged me, and got the same result. No one single comment, kudo, or follow. 

The thing that may not be immediately obvious from the outside is that many writers connect with each other as well. We share fic recs, snippets, and plot bunnies. We also talk about comments that we love, fans that we enjoy seeing in our notes, and significant interactions. 

Which is to say that the first thing I did was drop this fic with an explanation of what happened into the “fic recs” channel of our discord. Immediately, I find out that this is not a unique situation. Many of the writers in that discord were also approached, either by the actual writer or a friend, and asked to read it. 

I messaged the account again and asked if their friend was operating under a new username because I didn’t recognize them. Which is valid and I know people change their usernames sometimes. The friend responded that they did, but that the friend wouldn’t like them sharing it. I looked into the tumblr that messaged me then, and the account had been set up one singular day before they messaged me, with nothing more than a few art reblogs on their blog. 

At this point, I’m getting a really weird feeling from this, and I decide to just not respond anymore. I’m not going to call them out, but I’m also not going to engage. 

Yesterday, the “friend’s” account sent me another message, asking if I’d read it and telling me again that they can give their friend’s old account name if I really want it. They also mention that their friend read through and commented on a bunch of my older fics–which they did. Between May 24 and June 1, they left 17 comments on some of the very first fics I ever wrote and published. However, the way she tells me this feels very much like a quid pro quo - I commented, now where’s yours? 

I jumped back into the discords of some of my mutuals, and asked about this again. It turns out that all of us have gotten a weird vibe from them, and that this all feels like such a manipulative, creepy way to ask for exposure on your fic. 

And, because I’m me and needed more information, I went back to their fic and looked through the comments and bookmarks. 

There’s an ongoing discussion in many writer’s circles about interactions being lower, particularly comments, which you’ve probably seen crop up around Tumblr as well. While I don’t want to rehash this discussion here, the basic consensus is that most established writers are seeing fewer comments than ever, even when there’s a significant number of kudos. 

This fic has a not insignificant number of kudos, but a surprisingly large amount of comments and bookmarks, comparatively. Enough that just seeing the stats shocked me. I looked through the comments and saw lots of well known fandom writers, as well as some otherwise blank accounts. It strikes me as very odd–especially from a new, blank account and for a one shot without chapters to build up an audience. 

I jumped back in the discord and asked my mutuals about this again. Several people described really weird interactions with this individual. I heard stories about this person being really flattering when they initially reached out, vaguely complimenting the writer, then completely ghosting after the writer comments on their fics. 

I’ve debated for a bit about whether to post on this or not. The entire interaction has left such a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve no doubt that the writer and their friend are the same person, and I suspect some of their comments are fabricated as well. It’s elaborate, to a weird degree, and I feel so uncomfortable by it. 

The thing is, I love talking to people who have read my work. I love getting sent a fic rec. I read so little at this point just due to life and limited time that basically everything I read is something a mutual wrote or something recommended to me. I also really love the “it would mean so much to me if you read this” message, but only if it’s genuine. I have read first fics of new writers who sent me their own work, with their name attached, and asked me to. 

Fandom writing is a community, and that works best when we have a little give and take. But when you’re out there manipulating interactions, building up fake flattery to only not follow through, that breaks down our community. It’s unfortunate, manipulative, and honestly, a bit creepy. 

I don’t know if they just thought we (the writing community) wouldn’t notice, but we did. I’ve talked to other writers about this, and if any of my mutuals had a similar experience, I’d love to hear about it. 

To my “friend” who wrote this fic, I know you’re proud of your fic, but you’re not doing yourself any favors with this behavior. I will not be reading it. I also will not be responding to you or “your friend” any further. I wish you luck, and I hope you find what you’re looking for. 

[sophieinwonderland]

Hello Sophie, I'm Rune, a tulpa in the "Ross" system. You've done some great wonders for our community and my system and for that I thank you a thousand times. I'm sure you've gotten plenty of responses to THAT post you blogged yesterday, and it made me feel pretty conflicted. I understand where you're coming from, but it still seemed harsh. Do you genuinely believe it's a mistake for anti endos to receive love? Or any of the other points you made (I didn't disagree with all of them)? Maybe I'm too much of a pacifist, but I felt like that crossed a line we as a community shouldn't. I'm aware they also use tactics like these and worse ones, but it still feels wrong to me.

Sincerely, Rune 💜

Genuinely? I don't know...

I had a whole post typed up saying that I don't honestly believe that, that it was mostly about getting a reaction, but the more I've thought about it the angrier I've gotten.

When SAS's main blog was doxxed by AEV and their friends, I watched the whole anti-endo community cheerfully defend it.

When there was a vent sent to AEV talking about wanting endogenic systems to kill themselves, the anti-endo community here ignored it.

When there was a post with a picture saying "Death to the Endos of Tumblr," their community said nothing.

It feels like the absolute lowest bar for human decency in a community is not calling for people to die for existing, and calling out that behavior when you see it, but most anti-endos have failed to clear even that bar.

And it would be one thing if these were small posts from blogs nobody cared about, but the picture calling for death to endogenic systems had 60 notes, and AEV is one of the biggest anti-endo blogs currently.

And let's not forget the "endophobic" flag, a twisted mockery of pride flags, made a few years ago that got 240 likes while the flag was all about how much they hate endogenic systems.

And including that reblog about how they hope it helps people perceive endogenic systems as enemies and not people to really drive the point home.

(Also... why is there a thin "blue" line in this flag. I know it's not actually blue, but that's what they call it and it's a weird design choice.)

And then I think back again to how Aimkid was bullied off of social media by anti-endos for the crime of being traumagenic system who happened to be pro-endo.

And how despite anti-endos claiming to be doing this all for the sake of trauma survivors, using their trauma as a shield, many of the people who are most hurt by anti-endos are trauma survivors. Either purely traumagenic ones who are bullied by them like Aimkid was, or ones who are mixed origin with CDDs and are denied access to support because they're partially endogenic in some way.

I've said before that people can change. And I believe that. How people are now doesn't have to define them.

But as I look at the anti-endo community as it exists right now, the vast majority just suck and are terrible human beings. If they're not actively participating in the worst actions of their community, they're at the very least seeing it and choosing to remain silent.

[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Jake Jensen x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: He always watches, except for today.

Word Count: 1,987

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark (Soft Dark), Kidnapping, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Kidnapping, implied Cyberstalking, Relationships, slightly Confined Spaces, Pet Names (angel, baby, etc.). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Took me a bit longer, but Jake definitely needed some attention. I hope you enjoy!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

Your stomach rumbles. Roaring in the quiet room. Ordinarily, you might try to quiet it. A hand pressed to your abdomen. But it’s just you trapped in the small space. Well, sort of. There’s your watcher, too. The man who sits behind hidden cameras and observes your every move.

Sometimes he comes over the speakers. Engaging in conversation, answering your simple questions. Sometimes the lights will flash because he’s taken a picture of you in your cage. A lovely and comfortable one, but a cage nevertheless.

You wonder how long you’ll last. In the quiet, the solitude. When you’ll snap. When you’ll break. Sometimes you fantasize about your funeral. The flowers, the urn, the mourners. Did Mickey cry? What about your agent—did she even attend? You wonder whether you qualified for the notice of the paparazzi. Just as you were building momentum, all of it gone. A flash in a pan.

The speaker crackles. You’re grateful for the noise, a warning to prepare your character dialogue—captive girl #3, you’ve named her. But also a kindness from him not to startle you.

“Hi angel,” he croons through the air.

“Hi,” you answer in return, tracing a small circle with the movement of your feet, never know to where you should speak. Still getting used to walking without the cast.

“You look lovely,” he says.

The lights flash. Your eyes close against it. A hand raises. How many of his pictures are like that? You shielding your eyes from the brightness. Anger pricked each time and swallowed down. Survival your first instinct. Sweetness, compliance, wrenched from deep inside you to please him and ensure another day.

“Thank you.” Your fingers trace your curves, the smooth fabric soft under your hand. All he allows you flimsy, pastel cotton and lace which expose more than they cover. Today, a ruched bralette top, sleeves puffy and draping off your shoulders. Another pair of bloomers as bottoms, only mildly preferable to certain alternatives.

A strange beep echos in the room. Your watcher doesn’t say anything more. But movement catches your notice. Across from you, a piece of the wall pops open. A door concealed in the white beadboard. You glance around and above, hoping to make the right move by opening it wider and slipping through.

A new room comes into view, darker than the pastels of yours. Stained wood and geometric shelves of books and trinkets. Cluttered but eclectic in style—a little mid-century but more modern. No windows or doors aside from the one from which you came.

But there’s a table. Large enough for two. A lacy tablecloth and drippy candles. Plates of food and glasses for drink. A bottle chilling in a bucket. And a man.

You glance down at your revealing outfit, swallow your fear, and step further into the room. The door remains open behind you. A quick escape—which might prove more dangerous, cornered as you are. Your pulse jumps under your skin and the back of your neck prickles.

The man stumbles from his chair to stand, a sunny smile on his face. He clears his throat into his fist and adjusts his graphic tee before shoving his hands into his pockets. Though even that doesn’t stop him from fidgeting.

His hair styled with blonde tips, a goatee at his chin, an impressive figure with a trim waist and broad shoulders, blue eyes set behind thin circular frames. You don’t recognize him, not at all. But you know he’s your watcher. The man who took you and faked your death.

“Hello,” you greet with a strained smile, watching the way his chin dips and his brow scrunches. The last thing you need is him getting upset while you’re in the same room. With his physique, you wouldn’t stand a chance fighting back.

“Hi.” A hand lifts from his pocket to wave before wrapping around the back of his neck.

“It’s good to see you, Jake,” you say, heart fluttering wild and anxious in your chest. You hold out your hand for him to shake.

“You have no idea,” he enthuses, sliding his fingers against you palm until he can get a good grip. His grasp warm and tight, his other hand cupping the back of yours until you’re encased by him. “To have your skin against mine. Finally.”

You clear your throat and gently withdraw from him, burning from his intensity. “It’s good to put a face and name together.”

“You remember me.” His eyes sparkle and he steps forward, following your retreat.

“How could I, uh, forget?” Your arms wrap behind your back, a step to the side to flit away.

“I know,” he agrees. He pauses to watch you before shoving his hands back in his pockets. “It was only a run in on the street, I can’t believe I thought you were my high school bully.”

You hum in acknowledgment. Brow raising with the oddity. His bully? Wracking your brain for the incident, you come up empty.

“It was fate.” Jake finally steps back and takes his desperate gaze from you.

A breath whooshes past your lips, each inhale harder than the last. Your hands weave together to stay the trembling of your fingers.

“And now you’re here,” your watcher says. His arms gesture wide to the table. “Just in time for us to celebrate the anniversary.”

“How…lovely,” you praise, hoping it hits the note he desires.

Your watcher beckons you over with a quick word, pulling one of the chairs out from the table. You sit and he scoots you in, his head bowing over you in reverence. You don’t want to turn your gaze up to look at what he’s doing, but you can’t help it. Tilting your head back and seeing him.

He stands, eyes closed, hands gripping the chair right beside your shoulders, pressing into them. He breathes deep, filling his chest, muscles rigid.

Your lips part to snap him out of his trance, but you take a moment more to observe. Unsure of how often you’ll get the chance. To see the man who took you, stripped of his technology and vulnerable.

It’s not a conscious choice, but you can’t help but admire him. Spot the freckle near his jaw. His enviably long eyelashes. The pleasant scent of his cologne. He’s handsome. And you don’t know if that makes your circumstances better or worse.

You lick your lips and think up your next line. “I wanted to thank you for your efforts to respect my privacy.”

At the sound of your voice, he melts. Eyes flicking opening and capturing yours. Your head snaps forward.

“You’re welcome,” he croons, releasing your chair and stepping back to his.

He sits adjacent as opposed to across from you. His knee knocking yours under the table. You flinch.

His hands, resting on the tablecloth, flex in your direction. “Don’t worry,” he soothes. He adjusts in his seat, tucking his legs further from yours. “I know we’re taking it slow so we can get to know each other better before we become intimate.” He tucks his hands in his lap and smiles. “My ma taught me how to be a gentleman.”

“She did a very good job,” you grit out. The words a challenge. Though he’s shown no indication of nefarious intentions, you cannot ignore the blaring fact that you sit beside him captive.

He says nothing, but his cheeks tinge red with the slightest blush.

Your stomach burbles again and you cringe. Hunger gnawing at your insides. The food laid before you on the table plentiful, wafting delicious scents to your nose. Your mouth waters.

“I got all your favorites,” he says, reaching toward your plate. “Do you want me to dish?”

The barest nod sets him off, scooping up your plate and spooning bits of the different delicacies for your consumption. You’ll admit they taste just as delicious as they smell. Your lips quirk in the smallest smile.

You both eat your meal, exchanging awkward dialogue back and forth.

“It is an absolute honor to protect you,” Jake enthuses, reaching toward you without touching. You lift your water to your lips for a drink. “I just couldn’t stand Blaine spreading bullshit,” he coughs, “uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to curse.” He sips his own drink.

You take the opportunity to easily contribute to the conversation. “Then you’re lucky he decided to step down and retire so soon after his announcement of a supposed exposé on me. It never saw the light of day.”

“Oh,” Jake says without meeting your eye, “I know.”

The insinuation crackles across your skin. Something dark and deep in the declaration. The harsh set of his brow and the coldness of his stare. You swallow hard.

“You know?”

“Of course,” he returns with a smile. “Someone had to take care of him, didn’t they?”

“So…you?”

He nods with an affirmative hum before continuing to discuss some other related topic. You remain in shock. Locked on the unknown. What exactly did your watcher do in your name?

Your fork lowers to the table. Stomach too tumultuous to consume another bite.

Jake continues to lead the conversation through the rest of his feast and the dessert after. Your spoon poised before your lips as you try to convince yourself to open them. You manage a bite. And a lick of another. But your body protests. Mouth claggy with the texture and stomach still roiling.

“Everything alright?” Jake asks, setting down his own utensil.

“Ate too much dinner,” you reply with a tenuous grin.

He blinks in surprise before smiling. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”

When he balls his napkin, places it beside his plate, and offers his hand to you, you accept without any idea of what he intends. But you know your role. Burned it into your psyche to survive.

Though, through the meal you’ve spent with him, the less sure you are that he’d ever hurt you. Others, he’s admitted. But not you. His lonely soul too convinced you are his saviour as much as he yearns to be yours.

He escorts you back toward the door to your tiny room, thumb rubbing soothing circles against the back of your palm.

“I’ll let you get some rest,” he says, reluctant to drop your hand from his.

“Will we do this again?” you ask, dreading the remainder of your days spent alone and confined.

Your watcher brightens. “Of course! We can do this every night, if you want.”

Unsure how to answer, you simply let your lips tilt in a small grin. You step away from him toward the door. He doesn’t release you. Fingers pressing your loose grip.

“Can I—I mean, may I visit you tonight?”

Forcing yourself to keep your smile and your hand in his, you reply with a quiet, “Not tonight,” wondering if he’ll take the rejection—and for how long.

His hand squeezes yours and drops. Your finger flex in their freedom, cold away from his warmth. A moment of improvisation leans you toward him and pecks your lips against his cheek. All before you can think.

“Thank you,” you say as you retreat, watching a dopey, lovestruck—almost endearing—expression soften his features even more. Cheeks tinting a soft shade of pink. Like a living pudding cup. How little affection he needs to melt.

You back away, one step then two. He doesn’t move, though he watches. You slip through the doorway and grab the door.

“I’ll see you later, angel,” he bids just before the door latches into place.

It disappears into the wall, indistinguishable from the rest of the board. You turn on your heel and lean back against it. A sigh whooshing past your lips. You wait a moment. Take a deep breath and center yourself.

Don’t slip, you think to yourself, moving to settle atop your ruffled bedspread. Don’t get lost in the method.

[ljsarts]

'The Night opened up to welcome me, I walked into her arms. Roll credits'

Obsessed with the layers upon layers of doomed by the Narrative the fictional Alex Casey possesses so here he is as the hanged man Tarot card since his death posing is practically the exact pose already.

The Hanged Man is Associated with: trials, sacrifice, intuition with the 'halo' behind the figures head representing enlightenment.

[plulp]

hey guys. remy design

[minniesmutt]

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: FELIX X READER ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: VOYUERISM/EXHIBITIONISM, MASTURBATION (M. & IMPLIED F.), CUM EATING ☾ ━━━ WC: 0.6K ☾ ━━━ repost from old blog ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     “Can I ask you a question babe?” Y/n asked her boyfriend as he was fixing his keyboard keys. 

     “Yeah. What's up?” he called, not looking away from what he was doing 

     “Can I watch you jerk off?” She heard a few things drop before looking over and seeing him staring at her wide-eyed through his glasses

     “Come again?” he asked 

     “Can I watch you jerk off?” She asked him again, a little slower this time

     “Why?”

     “Just curious. Wanna see how you do it.”

     “Like, right now?” Felix asked. The thought of her watching him was definitely turning him on more than he thought it would. Blood rushing to his dick, his semi barely pushing his sweats up. 

     “If you're hard,” Y/n shrugged. 

     Felix glanced at the bedroom door before getting up and locking it. Y/n sat up on his bed with a smile and moved for him. Felix laid down on the bed as she sat at the end of the bed between his spread legs. Felix tried his best not to look at her as he pushed his t-shirt up a bit and sweatpants down his thighs with his boxers. 

     Y/n watched his every move. Licking her lips a bit when his abs and pretty thighs got exposed to her.

     “You don't have to stare,” Felix told her. Freckled cheeks turning red. 

     “But the show is down here,” Y/n told him, “Just pretend I'm not here.”

     Felix swallowed and wrapped a hand around his cock. Spreading the precum from the tip down his shaft. He bit his bottom lip as he slowly moved his hand up and down. His whole body was warm under her gaze. He gripped his cock tighter and tilted his head back, doing what he always did, imagining it was her hand or mouth pleasuring him as he closed his eyes. “Fuck,” he growled, going just a little bit faster.

     Y/n stayed quiet as she watched him. His hand wrapped around his pretty cock and jerking himself off at a slow pace. Not missing the way her name slipped past his lips in that husky voice. She swallowed, using every ounce of strength not to lean forward and wrap her lips around his tip and suck him off. She asked him to do it for her, she had to let him do it.

     His other hand moved down and massaged his balls. A higher-pitched moan left his lips as he massaged them. She could feel her panties getting wetter the longer she watched him.

     His hand pumping faster till she could see his hips slightly buck up from the bed and into his hand. Seeing his tendons tighten in his hand. His moans filled the bedroom while she slightly shifted to have her legs under her. Rubbing herself against the ball of her feet to try and relieve some pressure. 

     “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” Felix moaned, pumping himself faster. Gripping his cock and balls tighter. 

     Cock hovering over his stomach till his hips bucked erratically and Y/n watched his load shoot out onto his lower stomach. A string of grunts spilled just like the seamen from his tip until he was finished. He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling to catch his breath. 

     Felix felt the bed shift and looked down to see the same girl who had asked him to jerk off for her cleaning his load off his lower stomach. Felix smiled, moving a hand to hold the back of her head while she ate his cum off of him. “Good girl,” he muttered

     Y/n kissed her way up his chest before landing on his lips as she straddled his lap. Her tongue pushed past his lips. Both moaning into the kiss before Felix flipped them over so she was under him know. “Your turn baby. Show me how you masturbate.” Felix smiled as he sat back and fixed himself.

☾ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

☾ ━━━ please support writers by reblogging and/or leaving feedback

© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[liquidstar]

This is such a tangent btw but on the topic of guilt tripping and reblogs... I remember a few years back there were some terrible fires in Greece (and again this year, entire island villages are gone now) and at that time I had family who were caught in them. I can't describe the desperation I felt with these horrible things happening to my family and loved ones in my country. And I remember being frustrated and desperate with how no one around me in America really seemed to give a shit. I remember blogging asking people to PLEASE care please share something please reblog this link for mutual aid please think about the stories and fires etc etc etc. And the thing is I was very much in a state of grief myself, maybe not every word or action was perfectly reasonable, because I don't realistically expect everyone everywhere to care about every tragedy in the world. You can't. Emotionally it's just not possible, especially with all the stuff going on in the states rn too. Yeah it's a lot. It's not like I blog about every tragedy that ever happens either. I understand.

HOWEVER what I also remember was at this time there were a couple mutuals very clearly making vagueposts along the lines of "remember not everyone has the energy to care about everything in the world uwu" while I was posting about family who died and family who were drifting in the ocean for hours as their homes and loved ones burned. Listen. You have to understand sometimes that when a person in grief and frustration with things going on in their countries and communities impacts them very personally beg you to care... It's coming from a place of needing to see that care in the world in general. They're not holding a gun to your head Specifically saying you have to reblog the posts, if you don't have the energy just ignore it.

You don't have to go out of your way saying "um actually I can't care about the horrible stuff you and your family and your country are experiencing rn. I'm too busy focusing on my own stuff so can you be quiet or more reasonable with your grief thanks." Like. Just keep it to yourself then??? Have some fucking sympathy for other people and understand that maybe it's not always logical. The same way you don't have the emotional energy to think about every tragedy in the world, people who've been impacted by them often don't have the emotional energy to handle that alone and may seek somekinda community or solidarity. Idk. It's not about forcing shit on you sometimes it's not about you

[hipsternumbertwo]

The Literal Fall of Grace Helbig

[lettersfromthelevant]

it never fails to make me so fucking uncomfortable whenever i see MENA goyim--or muslims from europe that like pretending they're from MENA--on here reblogging judaica and jewish culture for the middle east aesthetic, and then three posts later they reblog something calling for another intifada and insisting that israelis kill children.

like girl, that blood libel is stale and you are cognitively dissonant to the max

[every-sanji]

[pseudophan]

i just lost two followers and it's making me laugh because judging by my most recent posts i assume they were diehard royalists? or at least people holding the british royal family in an unusually high regard? cry about it i guess idk, i do find it funny that you give a fuck though

on this note though of my followers holding different beliefs than me - if you're a terf? please kill yourself! i don't usually give a fuck because i just don't have it in me to start a war with everyone i disagree with but like. truly. if you hold any kind of prejudice against trans people whatsoever. fuck off from my blog lol i don't want you here

[suburbanlegnd]

trying to like/reblog a post from a blog that has you blocked is so fucking funny lmao. like how could YOU block ME? Unbelievable, shameful even.