pfhwrittes - Tumblr blog

[pfhwrittes]

non-uk followers of mine, if i say the word "dogging" do you know what i'm referring to without looking it up or needing further explanation?

[pfhwrittes]

👅👀

[pfhwrittes]

Little wip 👀

(Actually proud of my lineart here hence I’m showing it off)

[pfhwrittes]

so yeah i saw the results of Ncuti Gatwa's photoshoot and was possessed with the incredible need to put Gaz in those fits... @worldseer @cod-dump @totally-not-fandom @yeenybeanies

There is an image ID in alt text.

[pfhwrittes]

pspspspsps wearing ghost’s skull shell mask while you ride him. maybe maybe soap tied with his arms behind his back and his ankles to his thighs, so you can manoeuvre him by the mohawk and his jaw (i was gonna just dm this but eh. inbox rot)

CHAR GOD DAMN 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

sorry this is very soap oriented, i just had more brain worms for that scenario 😭

18+, afab in both, mocking/condescending in ghosts, and fdom reader in soaps scenario.

i immediately imagine ghost mocking you while you’re wearing his mask, looking up at you with a wolfish grin while you grind on his cock.

your pathetic mewls getting muffled by the fabric and the skull shell while you throw your head back in ecstasy. not to mention, you’d be inhaling his scent every time you gasped and moaned. the familiar smoke and woods mixed with his natural musk flooded your nose with every breath.

“that get you all wet, doll? wearin’ my mask while you get yourself off on my cock?” he grunts, letting out a chuckle as he feels your cunt squeeze around his cock even tighter. his big hands gripped your hips almost bruisingly tight, helping you ride him.

“hm? what about the fact that it’s usually covered in blood?” another squeeze.

you’re too busy whining to give him a coherent answer. from the way you kept pulsing around his cock, he could tell you were close.

“mmm, you liked that… what about the fact that i’m always wearing it when i’m killing people?” he held your hips still and gave a particularly rough thrust into you as he said ‘killing’.

(….)

mmmm with soap, i immediately imagine him laying all tied up and naked and vulnerable on your bed 😵‍💫

he’d be all sweaty and needy beneath you as you tease him with the one thing he wants the most - you. your body. your mouth. your hands. your cunt. anything.

first, i think you’d be sitting next to his head, wearing absolutely nothing and leaving everything on display for him to look at. to yearn for.

he’d be peering up at you with big blue eyes, pleading for you to let him touch you. taste you. his muscles ripple as he pulls at his restraints.

“c’mon, please baby,” he begs. his eyes darting from your face, down to your tits that he wanted to suck on so bad, down to your cunt that he wanted to devour so bad, then all the way back up to your face.

“please, what, johnny? say it.” you take pleasure in watching him squirm as you demand him to use him words. “‘please’ you want my hands?” he already started to nod. “or ‘please’ you want my mouth?” his eyes widened and his nodding picked up.

“or… ‘please’ you want my cunt?” he immediately started begging for your cunt, words becoming almost unintelligible as they bled together into just plain lust-filled babbling. jackpot.

you were about to ask where he wanted you, if he wanted you to ride his cock or his face, but you saw him licking his lips hungrily.

face it is, you thought as you swung your leg over his head and straddled his face. you put your hands on his hard, muscular chest to steady yourself as you held a slight hover over his awaiting mouth.

“please, please, please! gimme yer cunt!” you heard him cry out muffled against your thighs, his breath fanning against your skin. “need to taste you so fuckin’ bad, mo chridhe.” my heart.

curse your weakness for his gaelic tongue. and his actual tongue.

you interrupt another muffled cry of his by giving him what he wants and lowering yourself down onto his mouth. immediately he starts devouring you like a man on death row with his last meal.

you gasp as his tongue laps along the span of your heat, licking flat against your soaked slit.

“fuck, you’re so good, baby.” you moan out, your hands flying to his throbbing cock without any thought.

his tongue dips inside your cunt and he takes his time slurping up your juices, being so fucking obscene as he devoured you.

you spit on your palm and rub it on the head of his cock, though he was already dribbling pre by the time you were done teasing him. you were able to build a steady rhythm quickly, his pre mixing with your spit letting you easily stroke his thick length. your palm rubbed the head of his cock every time you came up, then squeezing a bit when your hand met the base.

he shakes his head while his tongue was buried inside you, moaning with pleasure into your cunt. his tongue flicks to your clit over and over, before wrapping around the swollen bud and sucking.

“oh, fuck! fuck, you’re so good baby!”

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[pfhwrittes]

i know it’s been said before, but it bears repeating: a big, big part of maintaining your confidence & self esteem as a creator is fully embracing the concept of “you don’t have to be good like them.  you can be good like you.”

for example, i’m not someone who’s particularly good at coming up with complex, elaborate plots or incredibly unique ideas.  it’s just not how i choose to write.  and it would be easy for me to look at someone with an elaborate, super unique plot & decide that because i don’t write like that, i’m not a good writer.  after all, unique plots are good, and my writing lacks those, so my writing must not be good, right?  well, no, actually.  i just have different strengths, like taking a simple premise & digging super deep into its emotional depths.  that’s what i do well & it isn’t any better or worse than people who do elaborate world building or come up with really creative and unexpected plots.

your writing is never going to be all things to all people.  it just isn’t.  inevitably, you’ll have to make creative choices that favor certain aspects of writing over others.  there is truly no getting around that & it’s honestly a good thing, because it means you’ve developed your own style.  but you’ll always encounter other creators who posses strengths that you don’t.  it doesn’t mean one is better than the other or that your writing isn’t good enough. 

comparing yourself like that would be like taking a piece of pizza & a cupcake & going “oh no, that cupcake is so sweet & my pizza isn’t sweet at all.” or “gosh, the garlic crust on that pizza is delicious and my cupcake doesn’t have ANY garlic.”  obviously your pizza isn’t sweet.  obviously your cupcake doesn’t have garlic.  a food can’t have every single delicious flavor at once.  the cupcake is good like a cupcake.  the pizza is good like a pizza.  so you don’t have to be good like them.  you can be good like you.

[pfhwrittes]

GhostGaz Week - sweet talk // missed connection

I'm so so so excited to have participated in @ghostgazweek this year! It's the first time I've done an event like this and it's brought me so much joy. To everyone who has read and commented on my work this week, thank you! I'm so excited to play with some of these concepts some more.

CW: Relationships between coworkers, mutual pining, front of house/back of house relations, Phillip Graves (derogatory), kissing, a taste of dirty talk

“Takin’ my ten,” Kyle tells his manager, pulling his phone from his pocket. Price nods, waving him off and assigning Kyle’s tables to Alex and Nova. He swings into the kitchen with an absent wave as he checks his messages and steps out back.

“’M no’ sayin’ ye have’ t’ declare yer love in front o’ the whole bloody team.”

Kyle perks up at the sound of Soap’s voice, but back-of-house gossip is going to have to wait while he tries to figure out what his off-again situationship is complaining about now. Or not - the meltdown in his messages is not worth dealing with. Just as he’s about the round the corner though, the growl of Simon’s voice freezes him.

“That’ll do, Soap.”

Kyle has to bite his lip to keep from gasping. Simon isn’t the head chef - that’s Farah - but he might as well be her right hand. He’s the glue of the weekend dinner rush. Level headed no matter what, rarely raises his voice above a raspy muttering, huge hands that Kyle has seen split an apple in half without a hint of visible effort. Whoever he dates is going to be envied by the entire front of house. Partially because he’s bloody gorgeous. But partly because he’s just the perfect man.

“Nae, yer gonna listen t’me,” Soap insists. “I promise, ‘e’s interested.”

“’E’s not,” Simon says. “Already tried flirtin’ wit’ ‘im. No dice.”

“Leavin’ a note wit’ yer phone number - in a pile of other notes with phone numbers - is no’ flirtin,” Soap says, and Kyle can imagine the despair on his face just from the tone of his voice. “Do you ken ‘ow many o’ those damn notes ‘e gets in a night?”

“Exactly. And he’s got a bird.”

“They broke up last week,” Soap hisses. “She’s shacking up with her ex.”

Kyle would snicker at how close he sounds to pulling his hair out but…

Kyle’s situationship ended last week. Because she moved in with her ex and Kyle doesn’t want to go through that roller coaster, again. And Kyle’s the flirt on shift, so he gets the most notes and phone numbers on receipts…

“’E’s got better prospects,” Simon says. Kyle hears the flick of a lighter. “Gorgeous, competent, charismatic? Kyle could have anyone.”

“And ‘e wants you, ye daft fucker,” Soap groans. “Steamin’ Jesus the two of ye. Just fuckin’ tell ‘im.”

“Tell you what,” Simon grumbles, muffled by his cigarette. “If he comes out here before my break’s done, I’ll tell ‘im.”

“Then ah’ll go in an- Oh you mother fucker! 30 seconds?”

Simon sounds amused when he says, “Tick tock.”

Kyle probably couldn’t ask for a better dramatic entrance, so he rounds the corner with a, “What’d I miss?”

Soap yelps and clutches at his chest like an old woman. Leaning against the wall, Simon looks about as surprised as he ever does, which means there’s a hunted look around his eyes, but he mostly looks tired and resigned. He settles into his thousand yard stare and takes a long drag.

“Gaz-bear!” Soap exclaims. He circles behind Kyle and shoves him forward. “Simon has something to tell you that is of a very personal nature. Do not let him distract you with talk about the kitchen! I love both of ye and ah’m tellin’ Price to fire both of ye if ye don’t talk!”

And then he’s slamming back into the kitchen, leaving Simon and Kyle alone in the alley.

He could play coy, but Kyle’s a bit giddy. “You like me, Simon?”

Simon grunts, contemplates his cigarette as he says, “Wondered ‘ow much of that you ‘eard. But don’t worry, I’ll keep professional.”

“God no.” Kyle can’t imagine anything wants less. “Tell me when you wrote me that note.”

“Dunno," Simon shrugs. "6 weeks after that shit with Graves?”

Two years ago, before Price took over, Phillip Graves had been the manager. He’d been a nightmare, harassing hostesses and firing anyone who dared to point out he was bad at his job. After the tenth straight day of a front of house person running into the kitchen to cry, pursued by Graves himself, Simon had had enough.

“I c’n make this a much more hostile working environment if tha’s what we’re aimin’ for.” The big beautiful bastard had shoved his knife a good quarter inch through a cutting board. The reverberation of the blade had rung through the painfully silent kitchen. All of the back of house looked to Farah for direction. She'd looked at Simon. Kyle, Nova, Alex, and the girl they’d been consoling by the fridges had all held their breath.

“I could fire you,” Phil spat.

“You won’t. You fuck with this kitchen, you’re losing your job,” Simon had answered. The fact that he had looked and sounded bored had scared and aroused Kyle in equal measure. “So ‘ere’s what’s going to happen - Keller and Garick are supervisors now. Pay them like it. You got a problem with front o’ house, you talk to them. Another girl comes runnin’ in here, then I‘m coming out there an’ you and I are ‘avin’ words.”

Graves had sputtered, looked around at everyone gathered, then spun on his heel and left.

Three months later, he’d gone missing. Two weeks after that, Price had arrived, greeting Farah and Simon like old friends and preparing to make the restaurant the best Kyle had ever worked at.

What did it say about Kyle that rumors that Simon had gotten rid of Graves for good only made him more attractive?

“That was more than a year ago,” Kyle says, sidling his way under Simon’s arm and leaning into him. Kyle’s not a short man, but Simon is tall and broad and warm under his work tee. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Simon takes another drag, and looks down at Kyle out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not exactly dating material. And you had a bird.”

“I would have dumped her in a heartbeat,” Kyle admits, startled when Simon barks a surprised laugh. “I would have! Fuck, I could have been sneaking out here with you for seven months? I’ll break up with her again right now.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Simon laughs, smashing his cigarette into the wall and dropping the butt into flower pot turned butt bin. He doesn’t move his arm from around Kyle’s shoulders.

“We’re dating now,” Kyle declares. “We’re boyfriends.”

“Movin’ kinda fast,” Simon points out.

“I’ve been in love with you for more than a year. Catch up,” Kyle dismisses. “My lease is up in four months, and I’m movin’ in with you. Now kiss me.”

Simon doesn’t hesitate. His lips are just the slightest bit rough. He smells like cigarettes and spices, and he turns to bracket Kyle against the wall. One large hand finds it’s way to the small of Kyle’s back to pull him in and press their hips together.

“Fuck,” Simon growls when Kyle moans against his mouth. “Pretty, pushy thing. Gonna be this demanding all the time, Gorgeous?”

“I have a lot of time to make up for,” Kyle groans, nibbling kisses along his jaw. “You should let me blow you.”

“Oh, should I?” Simon’s rumbling laugh sends shivers down his spine. “Should let Farah and Price catch you choking on my cock?”

Well, if Kyle was half-hard before, he’s rock hard now. “God, yeah, let me.”

“Not yet,” Simon growls, and that yet sends sparks flying through Kyle’s veins. His next kisses are just this side of too rough, tongue and teeth making Kyle’s lips so sensitive. Finally, he pulls himself away to pant into Kyle’s ear, “Let me take you on a date, huh, Gorgeous? Let me take you out, wine and dine you. Wanna know all about you, wanna talk about something other than work for more than five minutes. Then I’ll take you home and lay you out. Kiss you all over, suck that gorgeous cock of yours, yeah?"

“Jesus,” Kyle hisses. He tries to rock his hips into Simon’s, but strong hands hold him back. “Yeah, okay, yeah. Kiss me again.”

Simon laughs, dips down to give Kyle another closed-mouthed kiss. “Gotta head back in.”

“No,” Kyle pants. “Kiss me again.”

Simon growls into the next kiss and shifts to press his whole front into Kyle. When he pulls back, he presses a thumb against Kyle’s lips. “Be patient, Gorgeous. Gotta get through work tonight.”

He knows he’s pushing it, but, “…kiss me again.”

Simon’s lips are achingly gentle for a moment and then they’re gone as he takes a step back. “’M goin’ inside, now.”

“Thai food after work?” Kyle pants.

Simon chuckles and adjusts himself. “Yeah.” He swoops in for another brief peck. “It’s a date.”

[pfhwrittes]

Carepackage

[pfhwrittes]

non-uk followers of mine, if i say the word "dogging" do you know what i'm referring to without looking it up or needing further explanation?

[pfhwrittes]

ghost has a bird watching book

nothing fancy, just a humble little pocket guide to britain’s most common avifauna. he carries it with him when he takes johnny out on walks; uses it to identify exactly which feathered bastard keeps chirping up a storm overhead, or perhaps to distinguish between a chaffinch and a robin. it’s silly, but filled with annotations in smudged pencil – comments ranging from when he wasn’t able to match a warbling song to its singer, to a ranking of which passerine’s have the most audacity. he’s found it relaxes him to train his eye on the sky, and so he’s made a hobby of it.

johnny also has a bird watching book.

gifted to him by ghost. unlike his partner’s guide, though, johnny’s book came empty. 50 pages of blank, acid free paper, bound by moleskin with a pencil pocket sewn into the side. he loves his walks with simon. really, he does. but they often meandered through boring paths and would stop in the most anticlimactic places. the sketchbook, then, had the express purpose of giving him “something to do, since your chattering scares away the little shits.”

it seems to work. their treks get quieter, more routine. they start taking the same route twice a week, and now, johnny’s book is filled with sketches upon sketches of one bird in particular.

(that is, the pretty thing who hikes their trail too)

[pfhwrittes]

kyle "emotional supportive best friend who emotionally supports you by making you cry on his cock because he can't have you crying over an argument you just had with your boyfriend" garrick

[pfhwrittes]

so i finally finished @syoddeye's For The Record and i am absolutely blinded by tears (in a good way).

if you haven't already read this absolute masterpiece i won't spoil it for you, but just know that you will fall in love with sy's characters and the boys from task force 141 AND you get the choice of two absolutely sublime emotionally fulfilling endings.

i'm not one to make fic recs (perhaps an oversight) but this will be an instant reread for me whenever the mood strikes... in fact i may start another full reread right now...

[pfhwrittes]

Into Your Veins- Part XI

Ao3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4  Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

It only takes one pass around the inside perimeter of the base for Nikto to come to the conclusion that this might be the most secure base currently in existence. He’s seen his share, of course. Ever since things went to shit, he’d bounced from encampment to commune to outpost until finally landing at the farm, completely alone and more than a little restless.

Keep reading

[pfhwrittes]

Quick Fic Question!

For Wrong Number, Right Day I could have it finished by the end of next week. Or I could put it off for another week and have a playlist that Gaz made for Reader that relates to each chapter.

I would need to really look for all the right songs. So I would need that extra week to plan it properly.

[pfhwrittes]

GhostGaz Week - over consumption // sun burn

CW: Brits trying Mexican cuisine without knowing what it is (not fraught), accidental alcohol consumption, sun burn,

@ghostgazweek

Simon had to admit, this whole private beach situation was a lot more enjoyable than he’d expected. When Alejandro and Rudy had suggested a quick flight from Monterrey to Puerto Vallarta before heading back across the pond, he’d been… skeptical. A beach is a beach, sand is sand, and the UK has both. Why fly the opposite direction of from home to sweat in the sand surrounded by civilians? He’d already spent three weeks in joint training sweating in the sand with people he generally liked, and now he just wants to rest.

Well, hell, he’s resting now. He’s reclined on some kind of couch bed on the roof of the villa, hiding from the sun under an awning and letting the heat leach every bit of tension from his body. From here, he can barely hear Soap whooping down by the water. Price is somewhere in town, chasing a Canadian skirt he met at a bar yesterday. And Kyle is… somewhere.

As though summoned, the man appears at the top of the stairs with two of the largest, most vibrantly yellow beverages Simon’s ever seen and a plastic bag hanging from his arm.

“The fuck is tha’?” Simon asks around a yawn. He only sort of sits up to squint as Kyle offers him one of the fishbowls. He sips without waiting for an answer. Citrus and something else, ice cold and refreshing.

“Mechanica something,” Kyle answers, taking a gulp of his own and placing the plastic bag on the table. “Lady at the market was selling jugs of it. Another lady was selling some fermented drink, said they’re good together. These,” he gestures to the bag, which Simon realizes is full to bursting with something fried and delicious smelling, “are molotes, and I got three of every kind they had.”

“Soap’s down at the beach,” Simon reports.

“He’ll come have some or he’ll have to find his own,” Kyle says, taking another gulp of mechanica something. He grabs a pocket of fried dough and chomps into it with a groan. “This one’s cheese. The locals recommended the... see-sos? I don’t know what that is. But there’s chicken, pork, shrimp and mushroom ones, too.”

Simon swipes one, inspects it for a moment, and takes a bite. Spice bursts across his tongue, tasty and just the littlest bit painful. It’s perfect.

Six molotes and a quarter gallon of drink later, Simon realizes that he probably should have slowed down. His belly is pleasantly overfull, but his head is swimming. Kyle, somehow still eating, is swaying in his seat, just a bit. Or maybe that’s Simon.

“’Ey,” he calls, “C’mere.”

Kyle grins, finishes the last swig of his drink, and comes over to flop next to Simon on the couch bed. He drops a kiss on the point of Simon’s shoulder. “Fuck. That was good.”

The burst of pleasure that’s always there when Kyle is casually affectionate feels especially nice this afternoon. Simon kisses his temple with a hum, then meets Kyle's lips when he turns into the contact.

Kyle's lips are warm and the slightest bit greasy from the fried dough. He tastes like citrus, mostly. He doesn't resist as Simon tows him down to the cushions, lets himself be drawn on top to settle in to make out like teenagers.

Except then Simon has to break away and turn his head for a jaw-cracking yawn. He flicks the sleeve of Kyle’s shirt at his snicker. Something about the sun keeps knocking him out, which the team finds endlessly amusing. Simon himself would find it mildly annoying, but he keeps waking up from the best nap of his life every six hours. He snuggles down into his little shaded spot and lets sleep take him again.

He’s a bit stiff, fuzzy headed, and cotton mouthed when he wakes up next. Kyle’s face down next to him, shirtless and snoring. Simon admires the slope of his back in the light of the setting sun for a moment before looking for what woke him up. Price and Soap have apparently joined them, and are pouring shots.

“G’mornin’, bella durmiente,” Soap says with a grin.

Simon grunts something and sits up. Or… he tries, but his head starts spinning so he flops back into the pillows.

“I put a bottle of water by your head,” Price says, arching a judgmental eyebrow. “Not sure what possessed you two to drink that much mezcal at once.”

“Tha’ the fermen’ed thing Kyle brough’?” Simon fishes the ice cold bottle from in the pillows and makes himself sit up to swallow half of it down.

“The pulque? That’s not what you two drank. You drank a quarter bottle of straight mezcal.”

“Wha’s tha’?”

“Tequila.”

“Oh.” That explains a lot. Simon pushes himself up to one elbow, blinks until his eyes refocus. He places a hand on Kyle’s back and has a moment to wonder at how hot his skin is before the man twitches, yelps, arches away, and yelps again.

“Fuck, ow, fuck!”

Soap snickers for the next half hour while Simon smooths frosty aloe vera over Kyle’s neck, shoulders and back. The sunburn isn’t anywhere as bad as if any of the rest of them had laid in the sun for three hours, but Kyle whines like a baby the whole time. He also shares his coconut water with Simon, though, so that’s alright.

[pfhwrittes]

something soft 🖤

[pfhwrittes]

GHOST, GAZ, & PRICE OPERATOR INTROS | MODERN WARFARE 2019