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isobug · 3 months ago

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I was sent something which was, quiet honestly, a pretty bad faith reading of what I meant when I said "Intersexism within Trans- spaces" and here and I wanted to just slap this note on that I used that language to refer to how, in multiple Trans- focused private communities ( "Trans spaces" meaning mainly Discords and forums if i'm being honest. Though some irl spaces as well but those have been much nicer recently. )

I've had to tell multiple other Trans people that it's just not appropriate to call me a Hermaphrodite or a "Herm" off the bat. Or that it's not appropriate to ask me for pictures of my body or genitalia. Or that it is painful for me when I discuss my medical abuse or trauma to have another Trans person go "but i would just KILL to have your experiences / body though!"

These were Trans spaces ( marketed and labeled as "Trans spaces / Safe Trans Spaces " ) I entered because I am Trans and because I want to talk to other Trans people about being Trans. I want medical advice as well. I cannot discuss my Trans experiences without also discussing my Intersex experiences because I am both and they medically brush up against each other pretty frequently.

I have constantly come up against blatant Intersexism and the fetishization of my body, and while I am so lucky and fortunate to have ( both perisex and intersex ) Trans friends who have stood up for me or helped me work through these feelings, I still feel a sense of alienation and hurt.

That is what I mean by "Trans spaces" and that is what I mean by "intersexism". End of. I have no idea HOW externalizing that experience into a term which I and maybe 5 other people use ( somewhat inconsistently TBH ) has ANYTHING to do with transmedicalists or anyone being white or not ??

( I put "Trans-" with the hyphen because I have experienced this in both Transgender and Transsexual labeled spaces BTW. Maybe the asterisk ( Trans* ) would have been more clear for that but IDK. I've seen both around. These are things that have happened to me regardless of specific labels being used at the time !! )

Anyways please stop sending this post to me. I am tired and it is completely incoherent to the experiences behind this because none of this intersexism came from other intersex people and none of it has to do with anyone being white or not ( ??????? )

But if you couldn't tell from the tone this isn't even about that post fully. This is about intersex people needing to drag out a whole essays about our trauma with multiple explanations of what we exactly mean and who we are exactly talking about so we can go "this was actually traumatic for me, this is a real issue, and no, I don't think intersex people are the source of intersexism, actually".

It's a microlabel at the end of the day. Maybe we would be less of a "little society" on edge if random intersex bloggers didn't have to be playing the defense 24/7 for our trauma. God forbid you just asked me what I meant by "Trans spaces", not like I love to clarify and add long post edits and additions or anything ( <- this is sarcasm. )

Caedulter and Caedipso

( Image 1 ID: A five striped flag, the colors going as follows from top to bottom, purple, yellow, white, yellow, purple. From the left side, there are blocks on each stripe incrementally increasing in length and becoming lighter gray prior to the center stripe, then decreasing in length and becoming darker gray after the center stripe. End ID. )

( Image 2 ID: A mostly purple flag with a yellow circle with a plus inside of it. There are also blocks on the left side of the flag, incrementally increasing in length and becoming lighter gray prior to the circle, and then decreasing in length and becoming darker gray after the circle. End ID. )

Caedulter: An intersex individual who at one point, was Transgender, but due to trauma ( from their own Intersex experiences, Intersexism within Trans- spaces, etc. ) is now Ultergender. May also be spelled Caedoulter.

Caedipso: An intersex individual who at one point, was Cisgender, but due to trauma ( from their own Intersex experiences, Intersexism from Perisex Cisgender individuals, etc. ) is now Ipsogender. May also be spelled Caedoipso.

Any other Intersex people may use these if you feel like you connect with them! Similar to other Caed- / Caedo- terms, you do not need to be specific or open about your trauma at all.

These are terms that are roughly based on the other existing Caed- / Caedo- terms but with slightly modified language. They are based off of my personal experiences ( Caedulter) and one of my friend's ( Caedipso ) so please be respectful.

( Perisex people do not be weird, these aren't for you. )

Taglist - @interarchive, @radiomogai, @revenant-coining

#iso.bug #h slur cw #h slur tw #intersexism tw #intersexism cw #i think this covers anything upsetting but idk. anyways break might end soon or not i'm not sure #this is so fucking weird. not speaking for my friend who asked me to make the caedipso flag for them either #but it is very. interesting how only caedulter was focused on here #''cis spaces'' does not need to be mentioned because ''cis space'' is most spaces. and it's not my label or experience !! it is my friends #i don't know what people want from me online sometimes. you do not know me and you are projecting your issues w/ others-#online onto me and my hobby. you are vagueposting about an implication which does not exist beyond your snap judgement of me #i am not a Representative of my community. i am just an intersex person. not a well-known one either #*insert Shrek meme* isobug isn't even White

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screampied · 4 months ago

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vegas id give you the sloppiest head ever if you wrote scissoring w shoko 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

★ : rubbing pretty clits w shoko.

cw. fem! reader, wlw, scissoring, praise, spanks, nıpple play, overstim, petnames, mdni.

shoko who can’t help but giggle, watching with doe brown irises as your hips stutter every few seconds. you were simply no match for her pace. with your slick cunt repeatedly grinding back against hers, you were already this close to losing it. to making yet another mess. she’s lied flat on her back, one hand gripped against the left side of your waist before humming, tilting her head in faux coy. “cupcake, c’mon, thought you said you knew what you were doing, hm?”

as your mouth hangs open—you lock your legs securely against hers, trying to scissor her properly. the heat of skin clashing against each other makes a school of butterflies flutter inside of your tummy. “m tryin’ shoko,” you pant, watching as she trails a hand down your ass, a thumb brushing up against it’s shape as if it was carved into a heart. “fuck, feels so good, ‘sho.”

“try harder, honey,” she huffs, almost about to break out a sweat herself. long brunette locks tangle around her finger as she keeps a keen eye on you the entire time. puffy cunt hoods glissade against each other back and forth and oh, the stimulation. with the mixture of her growing heat, you felt hot. shoko’s angle of her thigh legs wrap around yours and you felt everything. “pick up the pace, uh huh—good . . girl,” and a sharp gasp wrenches out of her throat once you start to accelerate. “thaaat’s it, fuck me, pretty girl.”

both scorching hot bodies continue to move in rhythmic sync. she lets off a sweet moan, feeling the convulsing thumps of your clit pulse against hers and it feels almost too good.

her breath hitches as she snakes a hand toward your breasts that bounce right in front of her face. “come closer, cupcake. don’t be shy,” and her words were a bit low—she lets off a tiny hiccup as her eyes roamed at your perfect jittery body. with each lengthy second that passed, she was getting more and more drunk from your sweet cunt. as you lean closer, pawing your right hand into the mushy skin of her right leg, she grabs ahold of one of your tits, latching her plump glossed lips against the tender nipple. “mhm.”

you moan out a singular hiss, bouncing against her body as she lies right underneath you—

skewing the bulb of your cunt straight against her drooling opening. with the merciless speed of your hips, she could barely keep your sweetened neglected mounds in her mouth. although, she left a pretty trail of her sheeny saliva onto each of your tits. she sucks against them both, briefly closing her eyes shut as you’re merrily rutting into her sloppy core salaciously.

“shokooo,” you drag out her words in a candied slur of both twin syllables.

the slow yet deadly grind of your hips had her head spinning. not just hers but yours too.

clammy hands of hers make their way back toward your unsteady hips, yanking them closer to her sweltering, sticky heat before she spanks your ass.

with that single spank . . one turns into two, then three, then four.

shoko’s obsessed with your ass, never failing to leave it a few concise stings near the very plush parts of your flesh. “f— fuck,” she stammers, a shake in her voice due to your insane rhythm. she felt it too, with both sloppy mounds bumping against each other, the incoming pleasure was almost inevitable to feel. she pried one of your legs open just a bit farther apart, strumming her slender fingers against your pulsating cunt to play against your throbbing slit. “mhm, twitching so good for me, huh. you gonna make a mess already? barely been a few minutes, cupcake.”

your throat was parched with dryness — with the bed underneath you and shoko wailing out in weak creaks, you moan. as your head tosses itself back in rapture, your trembling thighs briefly shifts to acclimatize against her wide open angle.

“gonna cum, shoko,” you warn, feeling the furrow of your eyebrow pull both arched brows together. for just a second, you take a second to suck in a nice amount of balmy air.

everything around you felt so warm, including the welcoming cunt of your girlfriend who’s just humidly sultry with tepid heat.

effortlessly, it sticks against your own core, creating a lewd concoction of damp juices, forming into a little soaked cobweb. there’s an entering ring that goes through your ears and hers. it’s never ending screech makes your back arch at the moment of your climax and she slumps back against the mattress. her skin’s met with the velvety silk sheets. as her body directly underneath you moves back in drowse, her lowly hooded eyes meet yours again once you prepare to speak out a whimper. “can i cum, shoko? pretty please?”

“with those manners, you can do anything you want to me, cupcake,” she hoarsely whispers, pulling you close to her face.

inches away, you close the remaining distance to drag her into a needy, wet kiss.

both bodies remain to rut back ‘n forth, limbs all tangled and intertwined in pure bliss.

she tasted so sweet. her syrupy gloss ghosts against your tastebuds and you moan right into her mouth. shoko was handsy, wasting no time to feel all over the curvature of your presentable physique. starting at your ass — then back toward your hips and the rest of your body. she even leans in, lolling her tongue out to lick a long stripe down the valley of your chest.

“mhm,” you whimper, sappy soddened juices squelching against each other. as you both eventually succumb to your orgasmic peak, in each mouth, you both moan in pretty flawless unison.

your hips come to an abrupt slow but you’re still jerking against her, swerving in swift addictive arcs as she feebly wrapping her arms around your waist. the rickety of the bed continues to sob out creaks from the double amounts of weight. “baby,” she croaks out lowly, strings of fluids departing with each inch that you move your cunt away from hers.

exhausted, you slump forward into her chest and you feel a rumble of her shoulders. “ah, worn out already? i guess we can take a break,” she whispers, feeling your body still shiver within her hold. her touch was always gentle—she loved how you’d always lean into it, lean into her. with a sheepish smile curling against her slight crooked lips, she makes you sit up. you unlock your weak legs against hers before lying on top of her, droopy eyes meeting her lust filled gaze. she gives your forehead a single kiss before huffing. “you did so good, baby. always so good for me.”

“s- shoko,” you stutter out, her perfume making you throb. you were already starting to fantasize about the lewd feeling of her cunt rubbing off against yours in carnal harmony that was literally just seconds ago.

“shhh,” she shushes you, a thumb swiping its way over the part of your lips. body again body — it was warm, her sweat mixed with yours and you could feel yourself aching for more. already, you missed the way she felt bumping against your sensitive pussy. it made your head spin, your nerves were still in overdrive before she makes you lie on her chest. “let’s rest, okay,” and her slight raspy voice made you let off a soft content sigh. she strokes your back, hearing your breathing slow a bit before she coos against the shell of your ear. “when you’re well energized again, i’ll start a nice bath for us both,” and she gives the crown of your forehead one more kiss.

“my sweet girl.”

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cosmicmunsonwrites · 1 month ago

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hihi could you write about pogue!reader who's been in love w jj for like ever and everyone EXCEPT for him know? and like at some point they become fwb bc its easier for her to have something rather than nothing but it does more harm than good lmao (w angryish love confession from her and a confused bc he had no idea but also in love jj)

and we both drew blood

jj maybank x fem!pogue!reader

cw — p in v, slight jealousy, angst, fluff, alochol consumption, happy ending

summary — after everything finally builds up, you tell jj how you feel.

a/n — thank you for the request!! i really hope i did well but i kinda wrote this fast so please forgive me if it sucks. please request more!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

your hands mindlessly gripped the sheets of your bed, whimpering when he hit that deep spot inside of you as he thrusted into you from behind. “oh fuck, j. i‘m gonna cum,” you babbled out as best you could without stuttering.

jj huffed out a laugh and gripped your hips a little tighter to pull you back against him in time with his thrusts. “yeah? ‘m close too,” he mumbled in response as he began to speed his pace up. “cum for me, baby. wanna feel your pretty little pussy squeezin’ my cock.”

you closed your eyes and bit down on your lip to suppress a scream theatening to leave your lips. one of his hands reached around and underneath you to rub tight circles on your clit, making you cry out and moan in overwhelming pleasure. “oh my fuck,” you spluttered between pants. “i’m coming—fuck, jj!”

“always such a good girl for me,” he mumbled, focused on the sight of him sliding in and out of you and a white ring formed around the base of him. he continued rubbing your clit quickly to ride your orgasm out. “shit, baby. so fuckin’ tight around me. squeezin’ me so good. best pussy i’ve ever had.”

you felt tears slip past the corners of your eyes as he fucked into you harder and quicker until he was pressing himself as deep into you as he could and filling you with his warm cum. he smoothed his hands down your aching back and leaned down to kiss the skin of your spine. “that’s it, angel. jus’ fuckin’ take it,” he rasped out while still gently caressing your skin.

when he finally began to soften inside of you, he slowly and carefully pulled out before laying another kiss to your skin then disappearing off to the bathroom to grab a towel. he ran it under warm water, wringing the excess out and returning to you.

he gently grabbed your thighs and turned you over onto your back so you could lay comfortably. “you still with me, sweetheart?” he asked considerately.

“mhm,” you hummed, eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath. your hips jerked when he ran the towel over your spent cunt to clean you up.

jj chuckled softly before launching the fabric to your bucket of dirty laundry and laying down beside you. he pulled you into his chest, your head against the firm muscle and his hands making quick work to throw the blanket over the two of you. “need anythin’ from me? water? a snack?” he questioned.

you shook your head and curled into him further. “i’m good. jus’ tired,” you slurred, still slightly out of it and very very sleepy.

“i’ll head out then and let you get some rest,” he said and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

before he could make another move, you quickly objected. “want you to stay a little longer, j. you’re warm.”

he smiled to himself and shuffled a little bit to get comfortable, knowing he’s probably be here for an hour or two.

the next night, everyone was gathered around at the boneyard for another kegger like they often did on warm summer nights. kooks, pogues, and tourons on littered across the beach with red solo cups in their hands and music playing through the air.

“hey! where were you last night?” sarah asked as he and kiara approached when they finally saw you arrive. “we waited for like, half an hour before we gave up on you.”

you saw the knowing look on kie’s face, rolling your eyes and looking down at your cup of beer. “yeah, sorry guys, something came up and i was stuck at home.”

the brunette couldn’t help but snort. “did the ‘something’ have to do with jj?” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “john b and pope said he never showed to the chateau last night.”

you looked around, wondering how you could get out of this even though you already knew you were busted. “you know,” you began with absolutely no clue where to go with this. “somethings happen.”

kiara immediately smiled and clapped her hands then pointed at sarah. “i told you! you owe me twenty bucks,” she said excitedly. “it’s not that hard to find out, babe. we all know you guys are hooking up.”

you shrugged and took another sip of your drink. “i mean, its not exactly a secret.”

sarah gave you a knowing look. “i don’t get why you don’t just tell him how you feel. we all know you guys have liked each other for years.”

shaking your head, you waved off the idea. “i doubt he feels the same way about me and i’m not gonna embarrass myself if he doesn’t,” you replied honestly. “and besides, i like where we’re at right now.”

kiara rolled her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. “oh, come on. no you don’t. you’re upset because you wish there was more between you guys,” she stated. “hanging onto these little bits and pieces is only hurting you more in the long run.”

“guys, it’s not that big of a deal. we just hookup casually every now and then and thats it. i’d rather have some part of him than have nothing at the end of the day,” you admitted. “and it’s not hurting me, i’m fine!”

sarah tilted her head at you, as if to say ‘seriously?’ “dude, we all see it. you’re getting your hopes up and then he’s just letting you down. just tell him how you feel and then at least if he says he doesn’t want anything, then you can move on peacefully and live your life without delusions.”

kiara nodded in agreement. “she’s right babe. we don’t wanna attack you or anything or come off as rude, we jus’ wanna see you happy and you’re obviously not right now,” she said softly and sincerely. “you should really tell him how you feel. i’m sure you’ll be pretty happy with how it turns out.”

you chewed your bottom lip anxiously and looked around to see what was going on only to feel your heart begin to break in your chest. jj was leaned up against a tree with a girl clinging to his arm. she almost looked like you in a way. same hair color and length, similar facial features, similar build.

it made your lip wobble and your stomach turn uncomfortably. “i really appreciate that guys, but i’m just gonna head back to the chateau for a little bit,” you whispered, not trusting your own voice.

the two followed your gaze to jj and the girl, both their faces dropping in a matter of seconds. “do you want us to come with you?” sarah asked softly.

when you shook your head and sniffled to stop the tears, kiara took you into her arms and gave you a tight hug. “you’re gonna be okay. you’re one of the strongest people i know.”

you smiled sadly before the two wished you off with gentle reassuring affirmations. you made the long walk to the chateau in silence as you sipped on what was left of your alcohol and thought about what to do next.

you couldn’t realistically continue this fling with him if he was messing with another girl, even though you technically had no reason to be upset. you were friends with benefits, not dating or exclusive. he was allowed to do whatever he pleased.

yet the nights he’d stay over after making you feel better than you ever had, fucking you so soft and sweet, kissing you so passionately when he’s buried inside you, defending you around everyone, protecting you always, opening up to you about his most personal details, complimenting you every chance he gets. you didn’t understand why he’d do all these things just to go off with someone else.

once you finally arrived, you’d immediately walked over to the fridge to grab a bottle of vodka and your old cup. you quickly poured yourself a shot, or two, or three. you didn’t really remember. you also couldn’t remember how much time had passed since you had left the party.

you’d found yourself standing at the shoreline of the beach directly outside of the front door to the chateau. you stood barefoot in the warm sand just far back enough to where the water couldn’t touch you.

you crossed your arms over your body to preserve some of the heat before sighing and rolling the kinks out of your neck. you felt your body and mind start to slowly relax from the various shots you’d taken. it felt like everything had finally gone quiet.

unfortunately for you, that didn’t last long. “hey! where’ve you been? i’ve been looking all over for you. i thought something might’ve happen to you,” jj half shouted as he approached you from the direction of the boneyard. “what happened, cupcake? sarah and kie told me you weren’t feelin’ too hot.”

you couldn’t help but scoff at his words. “looking all over for me?” you repeated as a question. he had to have been lying.

he looked almost confused. “yeah…you’ve been gone for like an hour,” he replied. “i checked the whole party for you.”

“was that before or after you were all over that girl?” you blurted out. you almost instantly regretted it. you didn’t even really want to know.

his expression changed into one you couldn’t quite read. “what?” he asked, voice just above a whisper now. “i went searching for you the moment you left kiara and sarah.” you shook your head in disbelief and turned your head back at the ocean. “i don’t get it. what did i do wrong?”

you took a deep breath and hugged your body tighter when a strong gust of wind blew past you. “i’m not gonna keep doing this jj. god, you’re so oblivious!” you snapped finally, turning your full body to see his. “i mean, at this point i feel like i’m throwing myself at you! i’m always trying to be around you, catering to you, showing you that i’m here for you, asking you to hang out— i even agreed to be fucking friends with benefits just to have something with you!”

you stopped for a minute and sighed. “i ask you to stay the night, to just hold me whenever theres a chance, i ask you to run errands and shit with me just to spend time with you jj. i can’t make it anymore clear how much i like you and i feel like you’re giving me signals sometimes that maybe you feel the same way but then the next day you just act like nothing happened and the inconsistency is killing me!”

jj looked stunned. like he would’ve never seen this coming in a million years as if it weren’t totally noticeable. the pogues all saw they way they felt about each other except them.

“if you don’t want me or see anything, can you please just say that?” your voice shook slightly as you spoke as if the conversation was starting to sober you up and the confidence you once had is gone. “i really fucking like you jj and its really hard to keep acting like everything we do means nothing to me because thats just not true. if you see me as nothing more than just friends with benefits or just friends, please just tell me so i can get over you.”

his mouth was slightly agape as he listened to you talk, shocked that you had all this built up inside. you guys were best friends and he truly thought he’d known everything about you. this was something he would’ve never guessed you’d be keeping from him. his lips twitched like he was gonna say something but the words never came. it was just awkward, tense silence.

you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling as tears of embarrassment clouded your sight. you took one last look at him, your glossy gaze locked on his unreadable one, before deciding to head back into the chateau to grab your things.

he quickly lurched forward and grabbed onto your wrist to keep you from moving any further. “please don’t go,” he said softly. he slid his hand down your arm and took your hand in his before doing the same with the other. “i didn’t know you felt like that, sweetheart.”

you averted your eyes from your interlocked hands up to his pretty blue ones that you’d fallen for over the years. “i’ve always thought you were too good for me. too nice, too smart, too pretty. thought i was always jus’ your best friend,” he said, titling his head slightly and staring right into you. “i really fucking like you too, cupcake. and saying i don’t want you would be a lie.”

a soft gasp left your lips at the confession. never in a million years did you ever think you’d hear those words come out of his mouth in real life. you could’ve swore that only happened in dreams.

what you especially didn’t expect was for him to grab your hips and pull you into him, kissing you full of passion, love, years of wanting. you sighed against his lips and wrapped your arms loosely around his neck before tilting your head a little more to deepen it as his tongue soothed over yours.

once the two of you needed to pull away for air with spit-slick and puffy lips, he was the first to speak. “you’re all mine now, right? my beautiful girl all to myself?” he asked, earning a nod and a hum of approval from you. “good. ‘nd i’m all yours, baby.”

you smiled and pulled him back into you for another kiss. only then did you hear whistling and hollering along with obnoxious claps that you could easily distinguish as your friends returning back from the boneyard.

#gracies asks and requests 💌#gracie writes jj maybank 🌸#jj maybank #jj maybank angst #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank obx #jj maybank x you #obx #jj obx #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #obx jj #rudy pankow #jj outer banks #outer banks

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alnilaem · 9 months ago

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rugby player soap fucks you after a win. that’s it. extension from this post of mine

cw for dubcon smut, noncon exhibitionism, and gross johnny + simon

“Did ya see that, hen?”

Johnny’s words come out stifled behind his mouthguard. He smiles, and it’s bulky, a little dim-witted in how he darts his tongue out, licking up a wash of blood that sluices down his lip. His eyebrow is split and his nose is bent out of shape, his cheeks all swollen and ruddy.

He pulls you into a crushing hug, shaking like an ebullient dog that’s unaware of how big it is. His jersey, a royal blue, turns cobalt with his sweat. It sticks to his skin and outlines his chest, peeling off of your shirt when you sheepishly pull away.

The pitch is glutted with celebrating teammates and their loved ones, but the broadcast camera is raptly focused on you and Johnny. On the grudging hold he has on your waist and the unwieldy trophy he’s just won for his team.

Johnny grins like it’s a challenge. Like he wants to make the camera turn away. He forestalls the protests on your tongue by sinking into you for a hard kiss, bruising, and almost brutal in its force. It’s like he hasn’t separated himself from the game yet. Like he doesn’t want to compartmentalise you from the barbarous sport he plays.

The scruff of Johnny’s stubble tickles you as you try pushing him back, try twisting out of his hands. But his fingers, as bandaged and torn as they are, press dimples into your jawbone and keep you in place. Keeps you squirming and shameful beneath the dissonance of celebration.

He peels away with a kitten lick, pressing a wet smooch to the corner of your mouth. He’s smiling, pulling your jeans against the bulge beneath his spandex-like shorts, chuckling.

“Scored that last try for you, hen,” he pants. Spits out his mouthguard and passes his tongue over his bloodied teeth. “Did’ja see it?”

Johnny stinks of iron musk and sweat. He hands the trophy away and uses both hands to pull you close, clemently kissing your jaw.

“I did,” you hum. You consciously lilt your voice upwards, telling it to Johnny how he always needs to hear it. “You did so well, Johnny. So good.”

He whimpers into your neck. Just barely gyroscopes his hips against you.

“Did it for you,” he slurs. Johnny’s words are all soft, melting on his tongue as if he’s drunk. As if his brain is belated and stuck in the grip of your praise. “Did so good, right? A’practiced so hard.”

You take the bait that Johnny has given you, petting him, because if not, he’ll get ratty and make a scene. You pull back and cup his face, preening under the cornflower blue of his eyes and the puppy-like dip of his lips. You smile. “So good. I’m so proud of you.”

Johnny is half-lidded and dizzy, nodding to himself, swallowing your praise like an empty-headed dog. Impatience and lust are written into him—you can tell by the darkened shade of his eyes and how hard he clutches your hand.

“Let’s go,” he says, leading you through the stadium entrance, shouldering past fans asking him for autographs and photos. “We’ve time before the team goes for dinner. Nobody’ll be in the change room.”

Your cheeks flare with the implication of Johnny’s words and how purposeful they are. Marked by firm determination, leaving no room for objection.

He tugs you like a puppy pulling its owner. Excited, working against its leash, your feet struggling to catch up. Johnny pulls you into his team's changing room, slamming the door shut behind you. The sound of you getting pressed against the lockers is thin, tinny, and fleetingly impairs you. When you reorient, Johnny has his skinned knee between your legs and against your pussy. His hand palming his cock through the tight material of his rugby shorts.

“Johnny,” you pant, “what if someone comes in?”

“Let ‘em,” he huffs out a laugh. “What’re they gonna do? Ban me from the league? I just won us a trophy. ’m on top of the fuckin’ world, baby.”

Annoyance cycles in your stomach at his lack of consideration. You try wiggling out and mewling, but the thigh between your legs is an immovable object. Your clothed clit catches on his sinews at every angle, pushing a gasp out of you regardless of how you twist and turn.

“Haud y’r wheesht,” he barks. A hint of aggression bleeds into Johnny’s words, and that makes you pliant. “We’re just celebratin’, hen, no need ta ruin my win.”

Your eyes are on the door while Johnny shucks down his shorts. It rolls down his thighs and he leaves it at his knees, too eager to toe off his cleats and pull it all the way off. He stands awkwardly now, a little stilted because he can’t stretch his legs all the way, but that doesn’t stop him from bevelling his thigh into you and flexing, grinding into you.

Johnny peels your shirt—a replica of his jersey—off of you, and kisses you deeply. You can taste the salt and blood crusted against his lips, feel his small smile.

Johnny spins you around and folds you over the bench. Your knees bruise against the rubber flooring and your chest flattens against the cold wood, your brain reeling in the gross implications of it, whatever Johnny and his friends get up to in this locker room.

He rips down your jeans, almost popping the buttons off, almost burns your skin with the denim, and settles himself behind you. Johnny grabs a fistful of your ass and spreads you open, swatting your pussy with his other hand.

“Johnny…” you mewl, and he chuckles. Gives you a waggle, slipping his large hand over and thumbing your clit.

“Thought you were feart of bein’ found?” He asks, lowering to his knees and kissing your dewy folds. “Why’re y’being so loud?”

Johnny waits for a second, giving you time to think of a reply, but with the first sound to leave your mouth he’s licking a fat stripe up your pussy, collapsing your words.

He laughs at himself and it sends vibrations up your spine. Your bones are grinding together, your nerves filaments of live wire under Johnny’s hands that dig divots into your thighs and his mouth that sucks on your clit, tonguing your sticky folds.

He spits on your cunt, spreads the wad of saliva around with his tongue. He pulls you into his mouth and suckles, moving his wet lips against your dewy ones.

You stretch your arm back and tug on Johnny’s fleecy mohawk, scratching your fingers against the dew-skinned, shaved parts of his head. He expels a groan against your clit and you mewl, pushing into him, wiggling so his nose buries further, his tongue plunging into you and licking a stroke up your walls.

You’re quivering now, shaking against the cold bench and Johnny’s hot mouth. A knot of energy crackles in your stomach as he wraps his lips around your clit and slurps.

“Gonna come on my mouth, hen?” Johnny pants, but pulls away before you reply. Punches a whine out of you by spinning you onto your back against the bench, pulling his cock out and giving it a few tugs, his dick so hard it droops with laden weight and a slaver of precum.

“Or would’ya rather do it on here?” He asks, stroking himself. His balls low-hanging in front of you, the fat head of his cock all ruddy and red and flaring as he pinches it.

You stare, dull-headed, with your mouth hanging open and a hazy film behind your eyes. Johnny giggles.

“Cannae think with this in front of ye?” He smears his cockhead on your lips. “Sweet girl. So cute.”

Johnny winces and pulls away. He swings one leg over the bench, settling himself on top of you. His cock is a heavy mass of muscle between him. Swinging, bobbing in place. Dumb and drooling with precum that drops onto your navel.

He slips himself between your puffy folds, panting like a dog. Equally as impatient as one, squeezing his cockhead past your first ring of muscle, writing off your small cries of pain. He thinks cupping your cheek offsets the burn—still, Johnny’s cock is so heavy and so big inside you. Spreading you open, stretching you out. Making a home inside your belly.

You hic his name, and he shushes you with a kiss. Johnny weaves into short, quick thrusts, because pulling himself to the tip means losing most of your warmth, and he can’t have that. He settles on barely rolling his hips, focusing on burying himself deep, folding himself into a frog position if that means fucking you meaner.

“Takin’ so much cock, bonnie,” he moans into your neck. “So good. So good.”

Johnny’s ears turn pink and his eyes turn glassy. He keeps rocking inside you, his cock filling you out so well, so full, your thighs shaking and damp with slick. He fingers your clit, and in his pace, wild and unfettered, you wrap your legs around his waist like a cobbled together leash that you use to pull him closer.

Johnny grows feral at that. He slaps his balls harder against you, biting your shoulder. Sweat and blood rolls down his cheek and onto your face, augmenting the icy gold of his first place medal. It drags along your chest with each of his thrusts, turning into a ball of liquid fire as your body saturates with sweat. Johnny leans down, his lips slick as he kisses you, the push and pull of his hips ripening into a more jagged, desperate rhythm.

“Gonna fill y’up, hen,” he pants. There’s a strong dissonance that impairs you, echoing within the locker room. Johnny’s degenerate moans and the slap of skin against skin. The pitched sound of the wind being knocked out of you, the sticky sound of your cunt getting spread open on his big cock.

Something else poises itself on Johnny’s tongue, something impure, but it gets shaved-off as he cuts himself off with a long, flinty moan. Johnny quivers as he comes, and that pushes him deeper as he fills you with his warm ropes.

He presses down on your clit, pushing the rise of your orgasm out of you. Your spine curls off the bench, your nails digging divots into Johnny’s arms, your mouth hanging open and a rough wave of pleasure curling over you and breaking into your skin. Your orgasm is so consuming it burns, eating you whole.

It chews you up and spits you out. You tremble around Johnny’s softening cock as he peppers kisses down your sternum, and while you reorient, you see an unearthly spot of colour in the corner of your eye. It isn’t composed of matter—it’s big and blurry and hides between two rows of lockers.

Then, you realise the drapery England flag, the absence of a Scottish one.

The man who stands in the corner is blonde and huge and has his fat cock out, curling his fist around it, pumping. He’s so quiet, an ambush predator as he just stands there, continuing to beat his dick even after you make eye contact with him.

He turns to Johnny, grotesquely smiling.

Johnny returns it.

#johnny mactavish x reader #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #soap/reader #cod mw2 #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap writing #orion writing

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elliespillowprincess · 11 months ago

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need stoned sex w ellie😣

cw: smut. both ellie n reader are high, spit ig? descriptions of it, pussy eating (r receiving)

WHY YOU SHOULD NOT SUPPORT NEIL DRUCKMANN

you’re on her lap, making out with her sloppily, while a joint hangs loosely from her fingers. you’re wrapping your hands around her neck as you moan into the kiss, grinding softly on her leg. she’s intoxicating. the room is intoxicating, filled with the familiar scent of weed and your spit mixing, dripping down your faces. you feel like you can feel everything, but also nothing all at once.

“els… please…” you say, slurring your words and dipping your head into her neck. she’ll just look up with you with hazy, red eyes and a dumb smile.

she would be MESSY when she eats pussy high. drool falling down her chin as she practically makes out w your clit, pushing her face so far in she can’t breathe.

grabbing on your legs with a DEATH GRIP. trying to mumble things like “love this pussy so much, baby. can drown in it s’sweet.” but the sound of your pussy squelching against her mouth and the fact her face is so deep between your legs you can’t hear her.

PUSSY DRUNK. she would just slowly eat your cunt for HOURSSSS ugh until eventually she pumps her long calloused hands in you making you reach your peak. just laying there for a few minutes cleaning you up.

when she thinks you’re clean enough she’ll just fall asleep between your legs after showering your legs with kisses telling u how amazing u were and how much she loves you. being too unbothered to clean her messy cum and drool covered face, tired from all her hard work :(

sorry this was so short i’ve just been thinking abt it a lot !

#ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams smut #stoner ellie #ellie williams x reader

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rememberwren · 5 months ago

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A Dichotomy of Thought || 6

Johnny and Simon argue.

CW: mentions of dub con/non con; domestic abuse; ableist slurs

Just when you settle in at your job he starts showing up at the diner to terrorize you, like an illness you cannot shake or a cloud you cannot outrun. Maybe he knows that that’s where you’re hiding your phone.

Maybe he knows that you have almost two thousand dollars stashed in your locker in the break room.

Either way, there is no rhyme or reason to his visits. He sets a pattern (once a week) and then breaks it, coming two days in a row, and then doesn’t visit for a whole month, until you are constantly off balance, always dreading the sound of the bell over the door.

Today when he comes, he seats himself at the bar where you are required to talk to him. He watches you work, delighting in the way your hands shake while you pour his coffee. You’ve never met someone who feeds off of fear like this, who gorges themselves on your flinches and trembling.

You think about shattering the coffee pot and taking one of the shards to his throat. You long to slit open his bloated belly and steal back all the feeling he has stolen from you. But you are useless, neutered by the fear that still remains, the fear yet to be eaten. One day…

“This one’s new,” he says, nodding to the new girl: young, with hair in a glossy, gleaming braid over her shoulder.

You tell him her name. How long she’s been working there now. That she’s nice. He hums, filing all the knowledge away in his head and dubbing it all useless by remarking, “Pretty.”

Your hand clenches into a tight fist around the rag you are using to wash down the bar. You don’t know why that bothers you. He hasn’t called you pretty since the early days when he was still trying to win you out from under your family’s thumb—like you wouldn’t have gone anywhere with anyone to be free of them, at the time (You’d had no idea that there were worse creatures out there than the ones who raised you). Maybe there’s some sick part of you that still wants to be wanted by him, that still wants to be pretty.

“Where’s Jackie?” he asks. Then, just to make your head spin: “You’ve been texting her more lately.”

Your skin flushes hot and then cold. You want to ask how he knows that, how he knows at all about the contact in your phone you named JACKIE when you keep your phone in your storage locker at work at all times, charging it in the breakroom, never to bring it home.

You hadn’t been stupid enough to save Simon’s number under his own name. No, God might not have given you enough sense to fill a teacup, but He gave you enough to fill a thimble. You just had to hope that would be enough. You had to hope that you could pull Jackie aside the next time you were both working together and that she would be willing to cover for you, should your boyfriend ask her about your ‘texts’. You hated bringing anyone else into the network of your own lies, but wrote it off as a necessary pain.

“It’s her day off,” you tell him.

He hums, doubtful.

The bell over the door rings.

Johnny looks thin and tired, arm crutch in place as Simon holds the door open for him. He’s dressed for the warm weather in a t-shirt and shorts which show the surgical scars at his knee, vivid purple lines in the fluorescent lights of the diner.

Simon spots you first, and a peculiar look comes over his face, one that you hope your boyfriend doesn’t see because you would have no way to explain it. You wouldn’t call it fondness, but it’s one of recognition certainly, a deeper understanding than you can just pass off as having run into each other a few times in the building.

Johnny sees you next and his face brightens. The strangest thought comes to you: I have made a friend. Then his eyes naturally flicker to your boyfriend, and his entire demeanor transforms—into one of such strange, dark, poignant delight, as if he and your boyfriend are old pals who have run into each other after years apart.

It makes your stomach turn over, and you don’t know why.

You’ve been silent too long. Your boyfriend has noticed, his head turning to take in the new patrons. He asks, voice mild and amused: “You know them?”

“They’re our neighbors. 5C.”

He sits up straighter. “No shit? That’s the cripple you almost killed?”

“He’s not a cripple,” you mutter.

“Sure looks like one from here.” Your boyfriend gives a little salute in greeting.

Johnny makes a beeline for the bar, crutch thudding rhythmically against the tiled floor with every purposeful step. He sits in the seat beside your boyfriend, removing his arm crutch and shifting it to rest on his other side against the edge of the bar. Simon reaches out and adjusts it to keep it from sliding over.

Simon slips into the seat beside him, quiet and solemn, looking like a man braced for bad news.

“Hey there, neighbor. Sorry about all that mess in the parking lot the other day,” your boyfriend says. He jerks a thumb toward you. “She never should have been behind the wheel if we’re being honest.”

“Then why the hell was she?” Johnny wonders, accent thicker than usual, rough. His tone is mild, but the grin pinned on his face is like a wolf’s: hungry for blood. Dangerous. It is so at odds with his happy demeanor that it makes goosebumps rise on your arms. For the first time since you’ve met him, Johnny frightens you.

Your boyfriend is no idiot. He senses the thinly veiled malevolence beneath Johnny’s words but doesn’t understand it (and neither do you). Maybe Johnny really is still upset about almost getting squished like a bug beneath your car, but in that case, his anger at your boyfriend is misplaced. You turn away, grabbing two empty mugs, shoulders tensing. Waiting for all that anger to find somewhere to go.

Your boyfriend shifts on his seat, sighing through his nose a little. He doesn’t like to admit this. “I had some trouble a while back. Got my license revoked.”

Johnny coos, condescending and mean: “Bad luck.”

“Johnny,” Simon says, voice flat with a warning. You place the mugs down in front of him and Johnny, your hands shaking. Reaching for the coffee pot, you fill both their cups to the hallway mark, leaving room for sugar and cream. Some sloshes over the edge of Johnny’s cup.

“Stupid. Stupid,” you mutter, reaching for your rag to wipe it away. The three of them pay you no mind.

“We should have you over. I get a couple of close friends together on Saturdays and we play poker. You’re welcome to join us,” your boyfriend says, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You blanch, rag dropping uselessly to the counter from your lax hand. The idea of Johnny and Simon being in your personal space, in the place where Bad Things Happen is a nightmare. Though you know they wouldn’t, (good people. They are good people), the thought of them taking place in Saturday poker rituals makes you feel sick. Fresh in your mind is your dream from the other night when you had ridden Simon until your boyfriend passed you on to someone new, and the thought of it becoming a reality is—it’s too much.

You leave your body.

“What do you think, baby?” he asks you, smiling. “Would you like to have them over? Would that be fun?”

“Yes,” your mouth answers numbly, because it has to.

“Then it’s settled. First deal is at noon and we play through the evening.”

“We’ll fucking be there,” Johnny says, words sounding adjacent to a threat.

Your boyfriend doesn’t stay long after that. Perhaps a part of him feels threatened by the presence of Simon, or perhaps he’s grown bored with tormenting you, but eventually he places money (your money. It’s your money. It’s your fucking money—) on the bar top and leaves, the bell ringing at his exit.

Johnny turns his blue eyes onto you. The wolf-like quality that had frightened you so much has fled, receded back into the man, no longer needed. But you know it is there. It’s in every man.

His voice is remarkably gentle when he asks you: “Lass, are you alright?”

“Yes,” your mouth says.

“You’re crying,” says Simon simply, reaching for a napkin to hand you. Your hand reaches for it numbly and uses it to pat at your face.

“It’s just something in my eye.” Your hands stuff the napkin in your apron and pull out your pad and pen, hand poised to write, eyes empty and unseeing. “What can I get for you?”

“He’s beatin’ her,'' Johnny says mildly. He waits until they are inside Simon’s car, stuck in traffic on the way back to the apartment. The heat is stifling, the AC not yet working after the time the car spent baking in the sunlight of the diner’s parking lot.

Simon reaches out and adjusts the knobs, turning them more toward himself. Johnny doesn’t like the cold much anymore, making Simon dread the thought of winter coming to the city, of snow. He can’t imagine what it will be like to be Johnny then, surrounded by ice all over again. Clearing his throat, he says: “I know.”

Johnny’s head snaps over to look at Simon, and the expression on his face is one akin to absolute betrayal. It’s the deepest of hurts, like Simon has reached out across the center console and slapped him. Johnny’s never given him that look in his entire life, and Simon could have gone the rest of his life without seeing it.

“You know. You know. And just what have you done to help her?”

“Help her?” Simon asks, bracing one elbow against the driver’s side door and massaging at his temples where a headache has been growing for the last two days. “How the hell do you want me to do that?”

“I can think of a few ways,” Johnny says darkly. “A few accidents that could happen to that cunt next door—”

“No,” Simon snaps. “Don’t even think about it, Johnny. Not only are you in no condition, but it’s fucking illegal.”

“So was half the shite we did in the name of Queen and Country,” Johnny hisses.

“We were following orders,” Simon says, hackles rising. “There’s a difference.”

“The difference is that now you’d have to use your own mind instead of letting someone else do the thinking fer you,” Johnny says, anger making him cruel.

Simon grits his teeth together. The car inches forward in traffic, and it takes all of his self control not to slam on the gas and rear end the car in front of him just to end this fucking conversation with Johnny.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, aiming for calm. He tries more sense, even if it feels like pushing a boulder uphill: “We have no resources to help her, and no idea that she even wants help.”

“Of course she wants help!” Johnny cries. “Why the fuck wouldn’t she?”

“Lots of reasons,” Simon says, thinking of his mother. What had been her reason for staying with his father for so long, for always being willing to open the door to him when he came knocking? Children. Money. Her religion. “You’re thinking of it in black and white but it isn’t. Nothing is.”

“Some things are. Some things are just wrong.” And then, voice laden with disappointment: “Yer a coward, Simon Riley.”

Simon feels these words in his chest, like Johnny has shaped them into a knife and jammed them between his ribs. Simon stares at the license plate in front of them until the numbers and letters blur together, until his eyes burn. His jaw aches from biting back so many hurtful things that he knows he could say, that he wants to say, just to hurt Johnny the way Johnny has hurt him.

But that’s just the imprint of his father on him, like a smudged thumbprint on the glass of his DNA. He’s a better man than that.

He knows it, even if Johnny doesn’t anymore.

#ghoap x reader #dichotomy of thought

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