specterings

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currently imagining johnny with a muzzle strapped to his face, drool slowly dripping off the metal and down onto your poor shivering form. he’s rutting into your thigh like a dog in heat, panting and growling as he rolls his slick cock against you continuously, hands gripping at you too tightly. he’s using you to get off, uncaring of your pleasure. that’s until a large hand is clamping down on the back of his neck, yanking him back and tutting loudly, “bad dog.” it’s simon, your owner, saving you from the naughty, dirty dog :((

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Rudy :3

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I love chubby boys. I love boys with rolls. Boys with folds. Boys who have love handles and a tummy that drapes. Boys with soft squishable thighs and flabby arms. Boys with wide hips and manboobs. There’s nothing wrong with being fat and I’m tired of people acting like there is. It’s so fucking hot. I need a big boy to dick me down so bad

not fetish content btw op is just a fat man that loves other fat men :)

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guys i actually beg of you to not let palestine become an unpleasant flashback, a transient tumblr trend, a hasbeen subject that just faded away. as an arab—and specifically iraqi—girl, i know what it feels like to have family displaced all over the world as a result of western imperialism. i know what it feels like to not be able to step foot into your homeland because it’s no longer safe. as an american iraqi, raised in the us and insulated from my roots, it wasn’t until last summer that i was able to visit iraq for the first time, and even then my family was worried for my safety—in my own blood country. although nothing like what palestinians are experiencing right now, it might be the tiniest semblance of what it feels like to watch your country disintegrate in front of you.

and this is a universal arab experience. i volunteer weekly at a refugee center that serves middle eastern refugees, and every day i see the longing in their eyes when they speak of where they hail from. it’s safe to say that we will be getting a wave of palestinian refugees very soon: just another generation of arabs who can’t inhabit their own country.

arab culture is so rich, so profound, so beautiful. i am tired of being told by the world—through literal genocide—that it doesn’t mean anything. please never let this be forgotten. free palestine. free palestine. free palestine.

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i have TWO jon snow drabbles in my draft *shaking myself* WRITE YOU BITCH WRITE!!!!

#cal speaks.

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♡ Someone tell me that they don't look the same.

♡it's literally him in animal form.

♡he's so adorable!!

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🫣🫣

Inspired by Twitter artists: bæz

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okay so Price/Ghost one shot where Ghost is a tow-truck driver and Price is a cop, and Ghost sees Price parked in a fire lane while he's inside a store buying cigarettes or a coffee and tows his ass, and Price has to walk all the way to the impound lot just steaming mad, where he meets this huge, scarred-up ex-military tow truck driver who isn't the least bit intimidated by him. But Price tries to throw his badge around a little, so Ghost (ornery motherfucker that he is) decides to teach him a lesson personally, and makes it his life's mission to catch Price parked illegally and tow first his squad car, and then later on his personal vehicle. Price tries to catch Ghost doing things he could arrest him for but Simon is the most boring man on the planet, he works, goes home, drinks one beer, sleeps, rinse repeat ad infinitum. So Price arrests Johnny for something bullshit instead (Ghost only has one friend and no family), and Ghost has to go down to the precinct to bail him out. Price starts leaving Gaz in the vehicle to stop Ghost from towing him, but he tows it with Gaz inside as retaliation for the Johnny arrest.

Culminating in them having an altercation when Price finally catches Ghost hooking up his car, and after a few punches are thrown they probably end up on the ground making out sloppy style.

Is this anything? I feel like this is something.

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simon’s that guy. “don’t want a cat, for fuck’s sake.” he grumbles as you plead and beg, using the ol’ reliable puppy dog eyes to try and egg him on. “no, love. ‘m allergic.” he blatantly lies, sniffing as he looks down at you, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“no you’re not, simon.” you huff, rolling your eyes as you purposely ruffle his hair. it makes him chuckle, how quick you were to call him out. “fairs.” he replies, leaning back against the headboard with a smug grin. “still not getting a cat, though.”

the day you bring home the bundle of fur and purrs back from the adoption centre, simon’s not impressed. he stands in the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed as he watches the tuxedo cat pad around the kitchen curiously. “look at it. ‘ts just a bag of fleas.” he grimaces, looking at you with a deadpan expression. he’s such a sour puss, it makes you giggle as you kneel down to croon at the kitty, baby talking to it— which makes si groan and roll his eyes. “can’t deal with this.” he grumbles out, leaving you to suck up to the new addition to the riley family.

he’s so adamant he doesn’t like the cat!! he gives it the stink eye, sticks his middle finger up at it whenever it stares at him and calls it fat. “need’t go to weight watchers, fatty.” he teases as he watches it chow down on some food. you playfully chide him by swatting his shoulder, eliciting a deep rumble of amusement. “what? not exactly lyin’, am i?” he replies, grinning as he pulls you in close against him, peppering kisses over your face childishly.

he’s not slick, though. you accidentally notice it one day when passing the kitchen. you halt in your tracks, stealthily peeking round the corner as you watch simon crouching low, baby talking to the cat as he puts out some treats for it to nibble at. “such a fat puddy tat, ain’t ya? oh my.” he croons down at the furry fiend, who’s purring up a storm as it rubs its scent against his legs.

and then you can’t not see it. the cat pawing at the bathroom door, mewling for attention from si as he takes a shower. or the time you came home, finding the two of them napping on the sofa. the cat chirping happily when you walk in, stretching and pawing his face, which elicits a gruff chuckle. “ey, stop it, you.” he affectionately says to the cat, his eyes still shut as he continues to blissfully nap with a purring weight nestled on his chest.

it finally comes to an end when the three of you are relaxing in bed, you’re nestled up to simon while the cat lays at your feet. it begins to playfully swat simon’s toes, making him yelp and laugh something fierce. “oi!” he chuckles, wiggling his toes at the cat. it makes you look up at simon, amused as you shake your head. “you and that bloody cat, get a room.” you tease, nudging him with a grin. he snorts, nudging you back with a grin to match. “someone’s jealous, eh? don’t worry, i don’t love the cat more than you.”

he shoots a wink at the cat, hiding his mouth with his hand as he whispers loudly, “don’t listen to that, i love you more than them. we’re for lifers, mate.” before looking over at you with an impish expression. this man’s gonna be the death of you.

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Hey, I'm not sure if youve done something like this yet, but could you please do a fic where Reader just wants to feel closer to Simon and honestly is just being really clingy and kind of gently begs him if they can just sit on his cock and then they doze off like that bc theyre finally as close to his as they want to be? Lots and lots of love and thanks!

"The Space Between" (AO3 Link)

You watched him carefully from your spot across the wide den. He was playing some racing game, the same track over and over, trying to beat an old ghost of his. But, you could tell he was growing tired. Every lap, he lost a few seconds here and there, or he'd needed to restart. You tried to give him space. He'd been in one of his moods.

Simon never pushed you away, but he did wrap himself in a protective layer of quiet. He would say less, he would answer in wordless grunts or looks, and he would sleep more, turning inward on himself like a flower in the night, closing up in the face of the darkness.

But, you needed him. Badly. You wanted his warm mouth and his skin to cover you again. You wanted him to grab you like a lifeboat in a storm, out of need.

You rose, letting your blanket fall behind you, stalking over to him in his huge tee shirt and nothing else, your hair messy from your shower.

"Si?" You whispered as if you were giving the secret password to an underground club, a secret organization, a code you weren't supposed to have.

It worked. It opened the arms of your man. He paused the game and spread himself wide for you, like a big, sleeping dog, belly up. You mounted his hips and leaned into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around the heavy muscles there, and you felt him relax his body into yours, melting into you like thawing ice.

"Let me keep you warm," you begged quietly into his neck, soft enough that he could barely hear you. The music from the game's menu beat softly in the background.

He knew what you wanted. You'd gotten into the habit lately. It had happened wordlessly the first few times, you sinking yourself down onto his hard length, wrapping him in your wet, warm body, coaxing him to swell with your fluttering core.

Now, you'd been asking for it, and he obliged you. You felt him digging into his sweatpants for your prize, ready and willing to be comforted by you. The head of him prodded gently at your hole, spread wide as you straddled him, fully vulnerable to him, ready to let him have you however he wanted.

You felt it slot into place, thick and solid, and you began the slow, long descent. Each inch of him stretched you more and more, filling you up, completing you like your missing piece.

You heard him sigh, and you felt the breath against your neck. It washed over you like a reward, telling you exactly how much he needed you, how much he wanted you to need him. Once he was fully sheathed in you, he ran his cheek over your cheek, smelling your clean scent, his dark voice coating you like smoke in a burning house,

"Mm, tha's what you wanted, innit, pretty thing?"

"Yeah, Si. That's what I wanted. Can I stay here, just for a little while?"

He shifted his hips and pulled you in closer, locking you in to his body and pressing himself even deeper than you had felt him in a long while. With his hands wandering under your shirt, he felt the smooth, warm skin of your back, petting you gently, soothing you to sleep.

As you were on the edge of sinking into slumber, he sighed again and said,

"As long as you need, love."

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Ghost Letting You Watch Him Masturbate

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Desperate! Ghost, Touch-Starved! Ghost, Dominant! Ghost, Edging, Assisted Masturbation, Guided Masturbation, The Mask Stays On, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

He loves the way you watch him so intently as his hand works the shaft of his aching cock, the tip red and angry as he staves off his orgasm just to let you watch for a little bit longer. You come closer, on hands and knees, and sit before him, just shy of the area between his legs. The danger zone.

The sound of squelching is obscene, as is the sight of his dick glistening with pre. If he pulled his hand away, strings of it would cling to his palm, beckoning – begging – him to return.

He can hardly refuse you when you ask him if you can touch it. Touch him.

He nods, pulls his hand away enough so that you can slip yours beneath his. His hand is sticky as it clamps down around yours. He guides you, starting out with light strokes, mindful of the euphoria building just below his stomach again. Raw. Fresh.

When you’re more confident in this rhythm, you grip him a little tighter. Look up into Ghost’s half-lidded eyes. He nods, but can’t find the energy to lift his head back up. He’s looking down at you, his mask concealing all but the lethargic lust in his eyes. And when you start to move faster, he thinks he can feel Heaven. His slick hand is tight – nigh crushing – over yours, making you squeeze him tighter, harder. God, harder.

And when your fingers graze the sensitive skin of his tip, his head almost rolls back, his eyes screwing shut. He gasps, and his breath shutters

He knows that this won’t be like all the other times when it was just him all alone in his room, or the barracks, or the showers. He can feel it in the rapid tightening of his balls, one hanging lower than the other, in the knotting in his stomach. He feels his vein twitch – the one you’d been so curiously eyeing earlier – when you gaze up at him from beneath your lashes, eyes soft. You come closer. Sat between his legs now. He’s oozing from the tip; an effect only you can have. He’d have been embarrassed were he not in the crosshairs of what he could tell would be one of the most excruciating orgasms he’s ever had.

He’s panting now, watching you as, with soft fingers, you work the tip, spreading his juices across it, down his shaft. When you come back up, clenching your fingers around his tip, he hisses. Jolts. When you try to retract, concern evident in the furrow of your brow, he snatches your hand back, gripping your wrist and enclosing your hand around him once more.

“Keep goin’,' he pants. His eyes glisten beneath the fluorescence of the dim bulb above you.

“Please.”

And you do. You squeeze and squelch and slide your hand along the length of him until your arm aches and his back is arching out of his chair, head lolling back as thick globs of cum spurt out from the tip. No warning. Just the explosion and its aftermath.

His grip around your hand tightens. You wince, but he doesn’t notice. He’s growling, guttural and animal, teeth gritted beneath his mask. He can feel his eyes strain with how far back into his skull they’ve rolled.

His stomach gradually becomes soaked in a viscous, milky spray. You’re sure you can see his shaft pulsating with every pump of his semen – like water through a pipe – emptying himself. Some of it gets caught in the hairs leading down from his belly button, thicker as they reach the pubic area.

His chest heaves. His hand is still around yours, looser now. But not by much. Keeping you there.

He musters the strength to look down at you again. Your eyes follow the beads of cum weeping from his tip as they cover his hand, staining the expanse of his scarred skin. He lets you go. Watches you watch the glossy beads of his release meet your hand. Warm and wet.

He’ll teach you how to take him with your mouth next time; teach you to work your tongue just how he likes it. He’ll watch you swallow all of him. He’ll forge the satisfaction of knowing that his cum will be swimming inside your stomach.

His. From the inside.

Heavy breathing; a hand tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his; a slim, crooked smile beneath his mask. He promises.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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haven’t seen one for gaz yet and i do NOT tolerate gaz erasure

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Sibling asked how ppl in star wars dance to jizz music and I had to give her an example

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I’d just like to acknowledge that South Africa wouldn’t have such a strong case without the work of the journalists, both alive and martyred, on the ground in Gaza supplying the world with firsthand information about the genocide and that they deserve thanks for it.

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'Breathe'

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raining like hell here so im just thinking about rainy days with ghost.

if you have to go out he gives you one of his rain jackets and an umbrella so you dont get wet. when you get back home he takes your jacket off and trails behind you as you go to make tea or coffee or whatever nice warm drink you want, hooking his chin over your shoulder and making little comments about how he likes his even though you already know.

thinking about him laying down, you cuddled up on top of him, a light blanket over you both as you watch some stupid tv show. its absolutely shit, but youre not watching tv just to watch tv, youre watching it together.

booing at the screen and simon pointing out obviously low grade special effects, making you laugh and poke him when he goes into a rant about how this show has no accuracy for real life weapons— “when is he reloading? that was forty shots, which is all that gun carries. oh, forty one. great.”— until you relent and put on john wick for the thousandth time, because simon can appreciate the small amount of realism.

#cal writes. #call of duty mwii #cod simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #lieutenant simon riley