18+ Mdni

someone send me their thoughts about ghost being a gross little perv 👀

this girl must have pussy like a pizza bc Everytime she fucks me I have little seizures

jeans ghost 🤲

Sorry I'm going to be more normal about him

Simon Riley

meaner than a junkyard dog

cw: dubcon, ghost being a creep, vague allusions to murder (maybe?)

simon who owns the local junkyard, always wearing a wifebeater and covered in grease, known as just about the meanest bastard you'll ever meet. he makes even the roughest guys at the dive bar in town shuffle uncomfortably when he shows up. takes a seat in the corner where a glass of whisky materializes in front of him, lights a cigarette, and glares. smoking inside was outlawed 27 years ago but nobody's going to tell him to put it out.

you manage to slip through the rusted chain-link gate on one of the rare days the junkyard is open for business - you don't want to be here, sun beating down relentlessly, gleaming on acres of exposed metal husks, but you're desperate. you need a part for your shitbox of a car and can't afford a real mechanic. one of the waitresses at work has a brother who is willing to do the work for cheap, if you can get your hands on the right part.

when you sheepishly approach simon where he stands on the back porch of his home/office (a beat down doublewide that's more rust than anything else), cigarette dangling between his scarred lips, he almost can't believe his luck. he's had plenty of things wander their way into his yard (there's a bone pile out back to prove it) but never anything as cute as you. flimsy tanktop and cutoff shorts, big doe eyes, paper clutched between perfectly manicured little fingers.

and when you stammer out your request, asking if he could just point you in the right direction, of course he offers to be your guide. it's easy to get lost out there, after all. he'd hate for you to spend all day wandering in this heat. and if there's a malicious glint in his eyes, you miss it, oblivious little thing. too focused on your task.

get in, get the part, get out.

so what if his hand brushes your ass a few times on the way there? you're certainly not going to say anything. no different than putting up with the creepy customers at work for a good tip, you tell yourself. this is important, you need your car. if you have to let the guy from the junkyard feel you up a little bit, so be it. you'll live.

(give an inch, take a mile, or however the saying goes.)

that's how you'd ended up bent over the hood of the car you were looking for, shorts and underwear tugged aside just enough for three thick fingers stuffed in your cunt down to the second knuckle. metal searing into your skin through the barely-there fabric of your tanktop.

you're perfectly pliant after that, easy to maneuver inside. bent over the table. flat on your back on the floor. face down in his bed.

when you wake up alone the next morning to the faint smell of dust and stale cigarettes his spend is still drying between your thighs. you turn over with some effort, sore all over, and spot something on the nightstand. your part.

it's a shame when, a month later, something else goes wrong with your car. and again a few weeks after that.

(so maybe simon is sabotaging your car, now. making sure you keep slinking back, tail between your legs. he has to make sure you keep coming back to him somehow. and if you'll get on your knees, or your back, for a few parts, he wonders, briefly, what you'd do for a whole car.)

Gaz the type of guy to say ‘we’ll look back at this and laugh’ as a genuine attempt to soothe you while you’re gagged in the backseat

meat man 🔪🥩

come get ur meats or whatever

All 13 full moons of 2023