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#the girls in fact are adult men

martymcflown · 6 months

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Sorry I'm hyper-fixating on this James Somerton thing because I used to have his videos on in the background quite a bit and now I'm having this spiral of "wow how did I NOT see the misogyny?" And it makes me think of another self-discovery journey I'd been going on recently of confronting the "acceptable" levels of misogyny among queer men, including other trans queer men like myself. How casual misogyny is seen as wholly acceptable because "well the cishet girls hurt us too." How cis gay men in particular think that disparaging certain body parts is an okay thing to do because "I'm gay, I'm supposed to think they're gross" even if it excludes trans men. Not to say cishet people can't or don't hurt people within the queer community, whether voluntarily or not. It happens, often. The idea that some straight women do write queer men as stereotypes that have largely been propagated by the media they consume is accurate, and sometimes those misconceptions pass onto their treatment of real queer men. But also, buddy--don't you think some critiques apply to us, too? That we also need to do some self-reflection as queer men? Because clearly someone like James Somerton, whom many considered a person of authority in queer media content (for the worst), was able to spread blatant misogyny and hide it behind a mask of pretentious, self-righteous, and exclusionary advocacy. If you're okay giving misogyny a pass because you think women as a whole somehow "deserve" what's coming to them based on their preconceived slights against you, then maybe rethink things a little bit. I'm trying to do that, too.

#also i've said it before but the way queer media written by PERCEIVED straight women is seen as lesser is just gross #especially when people in the same breath will praise queer content produced by ostensibly straight MEN #and it's even worse when it has been proven time and time again that these so-called straight women are NOT actually straight women #that a lot of people perceived by others to be teen girls or adult straight women writing queer content are actually queer themselves #or are nonbinary or trans #LIKE I WAS ONE OF THOSE KIDS #anyway just wanted to rant #james somerton #queer authorship #lgbtq #misogyny #also the fact tumblr wanted to autofill me typing misogyny with misandry OOOOOF

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sillyangellover · 4 months

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!!PLEASE READ!!

Hii hii!! so... this post is for saint young men fans and people who hate art thieves...

( I'm also very sorry for the bad English, I'm terrible....)

This person has dedicated to stealing content from other Saint Young Men content creators, (the banner is mine actually-)

In all her networks she is dedicated to publishing other people's drawings, copying the # and the text added to the publications, I clarify, WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF THE ORIGINAL CREATOR OR GIVING CREDITS!!!

Some examples:

Those are originally my videos that I uploaded to my Tiktok account, she copied everything and re-uploaded it to her own account, Even my bf asked her to give me credits and she continued uploading content stolen from my account

AND EVEN COPY EVERYTHING FROM ME!!! MY DESCRIPTION AND MY PPF!!!! and all the videos you see there are mine

Here is the rest of the evidence about other content from artists that she stole- (I have censored the drawings since I do not have the artists' permission to upload it, but you understand what I'm trying to explain)

The original artist->

I'm sorry if this post isn't explained well, but I'm worried that she will steal from more people

If you go to any of her social networks you can see that it is full of stolen art, PLEASE REPORT THESE ACCOUNTS!!!!

#saint young men #saint oniisan #drawing #draw #please help #help with an art thief #srs #In fact I thought she was just a little girl but in reality she is already an adult...

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lovelyrotter · 6 months

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yknow i think a lot of the really far-gone transfemme vs transmasc people who still play by the 6th grade milquetoast "trans women are targeted way more than trans men cause femininity is bad and masculinity is good In Our Society, so trans men get free acceptability passes" feminism forget that trans men/transmascs started life. as. little girls. we were mistaken, from birth, for baby girls. and we were raised by our parents to believe that we were little girls.

a lot of trans men and transmascs then grew up to be teenaged girls

a lot of trans men and transmascs were adult women too

and for a while we *believed* we were girls and women. some of us even WISHED we were girls and women (points at myself). and much more importantly, we were continually seen as girls and women. a lot of the time, we are STILL seen as girls and women, even with full fuckin beards and baritone voices. especially if we need to go to any kind of medical professional. this is what our free acceptability pass looks like?

its just so much more nuanced than these 'boys vs girls' people ever seem to care to think about. even binary trans folks dont have the same sense of cisgendered binary that cis people do. we literally cross from one fake end of the fake-binary to the other. thats where the trans in transgender comes from. i dont know how some other trans folks seem to forget that?? i don't know how, somewhere along the line, we forgot that trans men and transmascs also directly suffer under misogyny?

#my t #sorry for more gender based griping i saw smth on twitter that reminded me of this.#the bright spots of Little Girl euphoria i had in my childhood were rare and beautiful. i refuse to forget them.#my perception of myself i had as a child is important to me.#possibly in a different way to others because. yknow. i am plural.#and plural folks have a different brain and sense of understanding of themselves that singlets wont have. its just a neurological differenc #but my little girl self is an important part of my present day adult man self.#and looking at the adult trans men in my system who are still under my care today-#the little girls they were - however fucking briefly - are still important to me and to them too.#and i fully understand that a lot of other trans folks cannot think of themselves this way #but trans mens experiences of being mistaken for little girls are as important as trans womens experiences being mistaken for little boys #we are all trapped in the same systemic cycle of gender-based abusive conditioning.#really we just have to do away with assigning gender to baby bits completely. its weird.#trans men are either eternally confused women or just invisible #and crushed under the weight of maintaining a cis-man image.#i mean for fucks sake #my partner system and us have been talking about having a kid for ages #if i were to get pregnant i'd just have to accept the fact that i have to masquerade around as a woman for 9 months.#because there is NOTHING for pregnant transmascs.#nothing.#there aren't even a lot of gender neutral options for maternity clothing.#even the term 'maternity' denotes femininity and motherhood.#paternity clothing isn't a thing that exists for me for look forward to or even mildly worry about.#and i'm just talking about a *planned* pregnancy involving a trans man. what do yall think happens to transmascs with unwanted pregnancies.#what a privileged life i lead as a no-op no-hrt trans man. big cishet loves me because i am obviously exactly like a cis man now #just want people to stop infighting and being stupid tbh.#breaking: bro strider fictive gets really fuckin pressed about gender and systemic abuse again!

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faultsofyouth · 5 months

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Except she literally said "91% of women are murdered by men they know" you and I both know what she was talking about, which is why you Changed Your Wording to tell me the accurate statistic. The problem is, it's only obvious to Us because we already knew that.

This is a public space; people with no feminist insight are looking at our posts. If you know the correct statistics about male violence, you need to share those instead of playing a game of telephone with facts and then expecting people to understand your point at the end.

Most people don't know that men commit murder way more often than women. The average women I meet only know that men are murdered more often than women are, with no idea Who is committing those murders. If this was someone's First introduction to the 91% stat, they would think it's fear mongering. Minus credibility points for the whole feminist movement because some girl on Twitter couldn't be bothered to get her facts straight, and hundreds of other people agreed with her uncritically.

#asks #honestly like the way you talk matters im so tired of people acting like they can say Whatever they want and we should only judge it #based on their meaning and context instead of by what they literally just said with their hands and mouth #you know how to talk about male violence the right way (honestly) anon. you just said it to me #so i dont even get why defend somebody talking about it the wrong way. obvs there are young girls and also stupid adults on radblr #who are taking their mutuals posts seriously and not really taking the time to factcheck for ourselves #we are all sometimes guilty of not fact checking everything all the time. the best thing we can do is to not spread things we Know #are misinformation? especially if that misinformation is worded perfectly to provoke anxiety in women and ridicule from men #hahahahaha i really pwned myself up there by saying there are stupid women not taking time to factcheck things for OURSELVES #lmfaoooooooo rofl #ah well. if anyone thinks of me as stupid then i cant blame em ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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unpretty · 1 year

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a fact about me is that i was an early bloomer who hit puberty in elementary school and was immediately, obnoxiously horny in ways that were uncomfortable for everyone because no one is prepared for an elementary schooler with b cups and a deep fascination with movies where people get tied up. another fact is that because i was considered smart for my age in the ways that mattered, i just accepted all this as a single package, the many ways that i was not really a child the way other children were children but was instead a miniature adult. i was technically a child, but not really, as far as i was concerned. it also did not occur to me until around high school that i was fat, because i instead considered myself to be sturdy, to be buff, to be built like a tank.

so somewhere around middle school i am noticing the ways in which i am Not Like Other Girls, the ways in which i am not what society says a girl is and the ways that things marketed to girls do not appeal to me. i don't know how other girls dealt with this, but i very rationally decided that i was only technically a girl, in the way that i was only technically a child. so i looked at the things that did appeal to me, and that i did enjoy, and reverse engineered my demographic to decide that on a practical and functional level i was a middle-aged man. i had also gotten really hornily into wolverine because of the first x-men movie, and ended up reading a lot of comics, so as you can imagine the comic book version of wolverine who is short and built like a tank and older than he looks despite being for all intents and purposes a middle aged man really had some appeal to me.

there are idiots who say shit about how tomboys would be considered trans these days or whatever, but i can assure you that was not what was happening here. by middle school i already had to special order bras and i was fine with that because of the many weird fetishes i was developing, none of which can be blamed on the internet because i hadn't found that shit yet and also to this day you would have a hard time finding anything similar to the things i wrote in my secret notebook and immediately destroyed. the fact that i was technically a girl was vital to all this. media where there was a big reveal that some cool dude had been a hot chick the whole time was my shit. weird feral beast people who turned out to be hot women once they took a bath? fuck yes. i would never have cut my hair because that would have ruined my chances to take off a helmet and reveal that i had girl hair. at no point did i think i was anything but a girl, it was just that i was functionally a middle-aged man, who was a girl.

what this means is that i still liked all the things i already liked, such as leather jackets and comic books and anime and old stand-up comedy, but i also did extensive research on the other things i felt i should like according to the demographic i had assigned myself. i watched vh1's 'i love the 70s' with the air of someone trying to hide their amnesia, even though my parents were children in the 70s. i got into the beatles. i tried to get into cars for a while before accepting that i only liked the vintage car aesthetic and couldn't be fucked to know actual car facts. i wore nothing but cargo shorts and aloha shirts for a while, which didn't really stand out that much because it was middle school. i bought a fedora and became a libertarian atheist. i made plans to buy a motorcycle (i could not ride a bike).

i gave up on it after a while because quite frankly my titty situation meant there was never really going to be a big reveal that i'd been a girl the whole time. it was pretty obvious even with the cargo shorts. also the older of a teen i was, the more likely it felt that i could maybe get laid, except i could tell that was never going to happen as long as i kept wearing cargo shorts. it took longer to give up the fedora because it was leather and i wore it with my leather jacket and fingerless gloves, which i convinced myself worked a lot better after i'd gone full high school goth. i lived in the desert so you can imagine how well that worked out for me, smell-wise.

anyway that's how my female socialization went, i don't think it was particularly successful tbqh

#original #the funniest part to me is the vh1 thing #i watched so much vh1 while inexplicably behaving as if i was already familiar with everything i was seeing

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aromantic-pantyanarchy · 5 months

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It's me. I'm the cis, heterosexual, aromantic man. I will never marry, I will never be married, I will grow into middle age and elder age and I will die unmarried. I will be forced to support a household of myself on only my wages alone for the rest of my life. I will be asked about women and marriage and children by my family for the rest of my life (or men, the progressive ones might say). I may not ever come out to them. I feel like I burned my coming out on something stupid. I don't want to explain it. I don't want to run them through the definitions and intricacies. I don't want the acceptance without understanding, placating me with ceased questions and poor explanations to other, drunk adults.

I like my hair to be long, I spent a year with it dyed a golden blonde with dark roots because I like the trashy party girl aesthetic. I want to dye it again with pink tips. I like painting my nails, black and blue are my favorite colors. I like wearing chokers. I also like wearing baggy jeans and ratty hoodies. I like having stubble. I like having chest hair. I like having a square jaw and broad shoulders. I wish I had a flatter stomach and a thinner profile frame. I don't know what this makes me, perhaps this is something no more GNC than Machine Gun Kelly. I think about this a lot, how queer my appearance truly is. I should think about it less. I have thought long and hard about if I could be trans or if I could be non-binary or if I could be genderqueer and the conclusion I ultimately came to is that I most enjoy being a man open to whatever self-expression I want.

I don't date, but I've thought about it. I would like to meet people, and I would like to have sex with them. But I don't want to hurt them. I fear if I explain what I am beforehand it'll scare them away. I fear if I explain after they'll feel manipulated or abused. I don't know how many people in the dating scene want what I want. I fear my own lack of experience will make me a bad lay, an embarrassing story to tell to confidants in hindsight. I fear my own virginity, a boundary to those I wish to be like. All of these fears are baseless, as I've not been able to even begin a single relationship in my life. Despite this I still heavily identify with terms like "slut" and "manwhore" and "thot" because my interests lay so deeply within casual sex, sex without great intimacy or emotion. This may be some form of stolen valor. I hope the true sluts are not too mad at me.

I made this blog several years ago because a mutual of mine reblogged memes making fun of aro and ace people, making fun of the concept of aphobia, and in addition well known aphobes. I didn't feel comfortable talking about aro stuff on my main blog, for as little as I talk about it. Living through the ace discourse of the 2016 era has largely caused me to cringe in embarrassment any time I am forced to discuss my orientation with people who aren't aro or ace themselves. I no longer follow this person. I unfollowed many people I was mutuals with from that time, most of them because they posted too often about how much they hated men and I didn't want to see that, some because our interests simply drifted too far apart, only one for explicit aphobia reasons. (Also one because they became a "both sides are bad, any vote is wasted" libertarian, but that's unrelated.)

I guess at this point I don't care deeply about what strangers on the internet think of me. If a trusted friend told me that they don't think I'm truly queer that may hurt. But I am going to continue to use the word for myself. I take up no resources. I go to events that are open to me. If an event was not open to me, I think I'd not want to go anyways. I am not a hypothetical, I am not a strawman, I am a person with lived experiences both within and exterior to the queer community. If you hate me, I will permit you to continue to do so. But ultimately, I am who I am, I cannot change these facts, and I would not choose to do so even if I could.

#aromantic #aro #aro positivity #reference to aphobia

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comradekatara · 2 months

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one thing that pisses me off is when people supposedly love sokka but then say things that just don’t make sense. like that post that’s like “sokka was so charismatic he was charming everyone” no that was aang. aang is the one being charming and charismatic and friendly and beloved by everyone everywhere he goes. meanwhile many people straight up found sokka offputting due to his being a miserable little hater. neurotic freak. paranoid sleep-deprived and kills people without remorse. like he straight up gives off bad vibes a lot of the time. yes he does pull bitches and father figures, but that’s because cute girls and fatherly adult men are the only two demographics of people he actually makes an effort to be nice to. i’m all here for people appreciating sokka, but we need to stop acting like what his makes him great is the fact that he’s some extroverted life of the party when a) he isn’t b) aang, however, very much is and c) he’s literally so depressed that he makes it everyone else’s problem just by standing in the same room as them with his utterly miserable vibes. get it right

#sokka #aang #hot takes #sorry I’m procrastinating today can you tell #edit: just fixed a rly stupid typo. dear god

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ceilidho · 3 months

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prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 4; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2, part 3 tags: dubcon/noncon, nsfw

Much of Ghost’s behaviour is reactive. Oddly passive for the assumptions people often make of him. He doesn’t run from trouble, but certainly he doesn’t seek it out. Aside from a few rare deviations from the norm (running his father out of the city at eighteen, not breaking enough bones to count as restitution, and finally leaving home to enlist), that remains the rule.

The way Johnny mopes for days after parading his bird around base has Ghost nearly rolling his eyes, already exasperated. He should’ve known his puppy wouldn’t share well.

It’s worse than he expected though. Johnny mopes for a week straight after the fact, hardly able to meet Ghost’s eyes in briefings. He stares straight down at the floor pathetically, dragging his feet behind him when he’s dismissed. Price notices it right away, raising an eyebrow at Ghost after Johnny leaves the room.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

“In the dog house, I reckon. His girl’s pissed at him.”

“Your doing?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Ghost replies smoothly, face giving away nothing.

Price is hardly convinced. “I’m sure. Nothing to do with you.”

Ghost doesn’t answer that. He waits until he’s dismissed and then takes off down the same hall Johnny just left, curious about wherever his boy’s slunk off to.

He can’t help the latent sadistic streak in him that curls up in pleasure at the sight of Johnny pouting and squirming whenever he walks into the room. Still, his attitude will need to be rectified soon enough—there’s only so much Ghost will tolerate, only so much disrespect he’ll turn a blind eye to. One day Johnny will look back and reflect on this, and appreciate the extent of Ghost’s magnanimity.

Still, he doesn’t enjoy being ignored. One week bleeds into the beating heart of the next and Ghost realizes that he’s had enough of the silent treatment. He’s given Johnny more than enough time to come to terms with their new situation.

He tracks him down to the armoury on a Monday evening after most of the other soldiers have already left for the day, back home or eating supper in the mess hall. It’s empty apart from the two of them, and when Johnny finally notices his presence in the room, his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t flinch at least. Good boy. He’s gotten better at being less reactive, less shaky about being caught off guard.

“Done for the day, sergeant?” He keeps it light to start, taking a step closer.

Johnny tenses at the approach. “Yes, sir.” The title would usually satisfy on its own, but it comes strained, polite but removed.

“Where’d you come from?”

“Layouts and gunners training, sir.”

On any other day, Johnny’s deference might come as a lovely note to end the day on, but not today. It rankles now, the edge of his voice sweetened by a kind of silent dismissal, not giving any more information than what’s required of him. Nothing like the boy who used to open his mouth and sing the world back to him. Ghost has earned his every thought.

“We have a problem, Soap?”

“No, sir,” Johnny grumbles, still not meeting his eyes. His mouth barely moves when he says the words, teeth all but grit.

No dealing with this temper tantrum like adults then. For all Johnny must carp and bitch to himself about the hardships that Ghost has put him through, he seems to have no desire to actually deal with the problem. That’s too bad. It would’ve been easy enough to talk it out like grown men.

They’ll have to come to terms some other way.

“Come. We’re fixing this attitude of yours now,” Ghost grunts, turning before Johnny has the opportunity to complain and marching down the hall towards the gym.

He hears Johnny make a sound like an angry bull before following him down the hall. The loud footfalls against the tile floor betray his simmering anger; it reveals to Ghost what he already knew intuitively. His boy still needs to learn to play well with others.

In time, this anger will fade into the ether, replaced by Johnny’s old doggish need to please Ghost, but it’s causing too many problems now to be tolerated. He hasn’t gotten to see the bird since the week before. Doesn’t even have a photo of his own to look at when he rubs one out. It would be less aggravating if Johnny were willing to spread his legs and let Ghost rut between his thighs, but they aren’t there yet.

The gym is empty as it usually is around early evening when Ghost opens the door, the lights off from whoever last used it. Johnny follows him sullenly, dragging his feet about it. Ghost’s eye ticks at the show of attitude persisting into this space.

“Lock it behind you,” Ghost says without looking back at him, crossing to where the mats are on the other side of the gym.

Neither of them are dressed to spar, still clad in their fatigues, but his blood cranks up to boiling when he turns around to watch as Johnny crosses the room angrily, picking up steam now as well. He comes in hot, not even bothering to suss out Ghost’s first move before launching himself at him.

Ghost staggers back a step at the hit, but he takes it in stride, shifting his weight and using Johnny’s momentum to throw him off, sending him sprawling. He’s quick to get back to his feet, but that moment of carelessness gives Ghost everything he needs. The next time Johnny throws himself at him, Ghost lets him get an arm around his leg and nearly grins to himself when he feels Johnny put all his weight into trying to flip him.

He knows strength isn’t everything, but there’s something to be said about the several inches and even more kilos he has on Johnny. That plus a decade’s worth of experience. Sparring devolves into a sweat-slicked grapple, Johnny’s shirt coming untucked and rucked up, his hair mussed. He tries to go for the mask, eyes gleaming with a wet, savage glint—forgetting decorum or tact, and just going for the most underhanded maneuver.

He pays for it when Ghost takes him hard to the floor, catching him with a leg sweep that he might’ve been able to avoid if he were fighting with a clear mind. Anger makes him sloppy though.

“Fuckin’ bastard—” Johnny grunts when he hits the floor, narrowly avoiding clipping his chin against the mat.

“Folks never married, so guess you’re right,” Ghost remarks, unbothered. Hardly winded even, only the lightest sheen of sweat on his brow, obscured by the mask.

His sudden divulgence makes Johnny falter. So rarely does Ghost open even a crack that the momentary honesty catches him off guard, giving Ghost the opportunity to wrangle him into a tight hold.

Pinning Johnny isn’t an easy task because the kid fights dirty when he feels cornered. Lashes out wildly with his fists when Ghost gets an arm around his neck and holds him in place, less precise than when he’s coolheaded, but still brutal, all raw strength packed behind his punches. He twists Johnny over onto his stomach when the boy tries to buck him off, slamming him down hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

“Gonna tell me what’s got you all riled up now?” Ghost asks, twisting Johnny’s arms behind his back to pin him in place.

He struggles in Ghost’s hold, trying to find a weak point. The search is fruitless. Ghost’s body weighs him down like a boulder pinning him flush to a dirt-streaked mountainside, forcing the air out of his lungs when he presses down harder.

“Ye cannae just take her from me—” he spits out, face flushed. He kicks out a foot, trying to free himself, but all Ghost does is shift slightly to press his shin to Johnny’s calf, holding it down. “I told ye she was different and ye had to—and now she willnae even fuckin’ talk to me. Barely texts me, willnae answer my calls. I cannae—I can’…”

His voice trails off on a hitch. Not quite a sob, but a frustrated, wretched sound.

“Held that in for a while, didn’t ya?” Ghost murmurs, holding Johnny down with ease when he struggles again, trying to wrench his arms out of Ghost’s hold.

“I almost fuckin’—almost just fuckin’ gave her to ye,” Johnny says, shame thick in his voice. “Thought maybe it wouldnae be worth…jus’ dinnae want a girl coming between us. But she’s—I told ye, Lt, she’s special, I cannae jus’—I cannae jus’ let her go. And now she doesnae want anythin’ to do with me.”

Ghost doesn’t bother pointing out the absurdity of that statement. As if Johnny could give him something that’s already his.

“Not trying to steal your bird, Johnny.” He taps Johnny’s cheek, a little reprimand. It makes him blink and scrunch up his nose. “What’d be the point of that?”

He forgets how young Johnny is sometimes, just now nearing the end of his twenties. Still wet behind the ears, all blood flushed and pink cheeked. Green still to the realities of the world and Ghost’s presence in his life (permanent, fixed; unchanging).

There isn’t a version of him that wants someone who doesn’t also want Johnny. Inconceivable. After everything that they’ve been through together, the root of him and what he wants is inextricably tied with what Johnny wants—at times, Ghost almost wishes he could live inside his head, just a constant stream of Johnny’s thoughts into his.

Johnny twists his head enough to glare over his shoulder at Ghost. “The fuck are ye on about? Ye grabbed her ass in front of God ‘n everyone, for Christ’s sake. Said your intentions loud ‘n clear.”

“‘Course I did. She’s got a nice arse, doesn’t she?”

“You’re really startin’ to fuck with my head, Ghost, I dinnae understand what ye—”

“You keep running your mouth off about trying to take the girl from you—I don’t need to take anything.” He stresses the word to be clear, forcing Johnny back down when he tries to buck Ghost off again. This time he stays in place, both calves pinned down to the mat, cheek pressed into the fabric when Ghost slots a hand into the scruff of his mohawk, forcing his head down. “Quit struggling—you’re not getting back up. We’re sorting this shit out now so you quit moping around base and giving me a fuckin’ headache.”

“Stop exaggerating—I havenae even opened my mouth around ye in days. I’m no’ doing anything to your head—”

“How the fuck am I supposed to think when you keep running away?”

The air hangs heavy in the wake of his words, the oxygen all but sucked out of the room.

“The two of you are mine,” Ghost says in a low, harsh voice, the sound making Johnny flinch against the mat. “I’m not asking for just one of you. You’re out of your fuckin’ mind if you think I’d leave you out of this, mutt.”

He’d sooner lose them both, but that’s another scenario that he’d never tolerate.

With some effort, Ghost tips Johnny over onto his back, holding him down before he can start to struggle again. He keeps his wrists trapped behind his back, forcing Johnny to arch his back off the floor, presenting himself. From his vantage point, it’s easy for Ghost to flick his gaze down and find Johnny’s dick pressed hard against the zipper of his pants, all plumped up from being pinned to the ground.

“Good, you’re already hard,” Ghost grunts approvingly, rolling his hips down to alleviate some of the pressure building up in his groin. “Haven’t come since she left the other week, I bet.”

Panic flares red hot in Johnny’s eyes, widening when Ghost settles deeper between his legs, his own hard cock unmistakable. “Wait—wait, Ghost—I’m no’—I’m no’—”

It would be a stretch to say that anything softens in him, but a part of Ghost does feel for the boy. He’s been around Johnny long enough to know his persuasion—strictly women with the occasional appreciative glances towards some men. An appreciation he relegates to furtive, guilty glances, holding it inside of him like a nasty secret that he’ll never part with. Too riddled with Catholic guilt and the ease of just playing it straight.

Ghost has no intention of making it easy on him though.

He tries to imagine what it might be like if he were on the other end, but for him it’s only ever been cunts and Johnny and the bird. Now just the latter two hold any weight.

His protests only last as long as it takes Ghost to unfasten their belts and zippers, fishing Johnny’s cock out first. The second his rough hand wraps around Johnny’s length, the words die on the boy’s lips, replaced by a choked off grunt. His balls are full enough to corroborate Ghost’s words—he probably hasn’t come since seeing his girl off the other day, too frustrated and upset to jack off, the ducts shut, working himself up into a frothy mess only for it to slip right out of his hands at the last second.

Johnny’s eyes roll back when Ghost grips both their cocks in his fist, slicking his hand up with Johnny’s precome. Sweat sluices down the sides of his neck. He looks good with his tongue tied up in knots, thoughts emptying out through his ears in rivulets.

Even with Ghost’s hand as big as it is, he can’t wrap it all the way around the two of them. Johnny’s come provides a nice glide though, lubricating the underside of his shaft when Ghost grinds up into his fist.

It spurs him into a kind of protolithic fervour, desperate only to come. The iron rich scent of blood and sweat makes Ghost salivate, eyes drawn to the tender skin of his neck, the flush now riding high, up and over his cheekbones. Lips bitten red, also swollen with blood. In a better mood, Ghost might indulge him, might roll up his mask and lick into the wet mouth hanging open deliciously, teasing him, but there’ll be time for that later.

He slurs out Ghost’s name when he comes, Simon ripped from his lips like it was dug clean out of his soul. His come splatters across his belly and shirt in thin, watery spurts, the wind knocked out of him again.

Johnny squirms when Ghost doesn’t let go of their cocks, hand still dragging up and down, mumbling that he’s too sensitive, fuck, lemme go, I cannae—

“I’ll stroke your cock and grab the bird’s ass whenever I feel like it,” Ghost growls down at him, at the end of his patience now. He pants out a ragged breath when his cock throbs at a particularly whorish moan dropping broken from Johnny’s mouth. “I’ll nut in her cunt and make you lick it out if I want. And you’ll fuckin’ thank me for giving you a taste.”

Johnny almost goes nonverbal at that, a leg trying to kick out weakly even though it’s still pinned down under Ghost’s heavy thigh. His dick twitches against Ghost’s, a valiant effort.

When Ghost comes, it settles in a thick, viscous mess across Johnny’s stomach, pooling around his belly button. It radiates hot down his back, the ache in his lower spine abating momentarily. Can only imagine how much better it would feel balls deep in Johnny’s ass or the bird’s pussy, a wet warmth clutching him tight, legs wrapped around his waist to drag him closer.

He’ll have that soon enough.

A ragged wheeze is pulled from Johnny’s chest when Ghost drags his cock through it, spreading it over his stomach. It’s worse when Ghost dips his fingers into the mess, a sticky blend of both their come, before bringing his fingers up to Johnny’s mouth, forcing them past his lips and over his teeth and gums. Johnny sputters at the taste, going cross-eyed to look down at Ghost’s hand.

There’s no time for pillowtalk or soft words though. Even if there were, niceties come out of Ghost’s mouth like a ring of smoke. Still, the thought of the bird not returning Johnny’s calls or texts makes him bristle, his annoyance renewed. His own disinclination to communicate aside—a waste of words as far as Ghost’s concerned, he says more with his actions anyway—none of this works if the girl won’t talk it out.

Probably pent up, the stubborn thing. He’ll have to sort that out too. It keeps him young at least.

“C’mon, Johnny,” Ghost says, rising to his feet. He dusts his hands off on his fatigues as if nothing happened, then holds out a hand for Johnny to grab. “Let’s go see our bird.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #soap/reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/soap/reader

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