#simon ghost

[druap]

young, pre-141 Simon & Price

[druap]

old strawpage request

[cat-fire]

something happened to me irl and now i’m sitting here possessed by the need to write either a firefighter simon ghost au or a modern firefighter dunk au

like i’m sorry but there is something fundamentally devastating about being stuck in an office building floor 13 while some massive smoke-covered man walks through the building looking sleep deprived and dangerously competent… and so into… you.

anyway this is between me and god now 🥵🥰

[nottsnymph]

contains; boot humping, humiliation, degradation mixed with praise, MNDI 𝟏𝟖+ content

You love teasing Ghost while he's at work on your days off—sending him filthy messages, describing exactly how your fingers slid through your slick folds, how you imagined his cock filling you. You knew exactly what you were doing. And fuck do you regret it now.

The rough polyester of his uniform trousers scratches against your cheek as you while you look up at him with teary eyes, searching for any scrap of mercy. The scent of him—gunpowder, sweat, that sharp masculine musk that clings to his skin after a long shift—fills your lungs with every desperate breath. Your knees ache against the hardwood floor, the pressure a dull throb that punctuates each frantic rock of your hips. His boot is slick with your arousal now, the black leather darkened and glistening where you've been riding it like a desperate animal in heat—the need is a living thing inside you, clawing at your insides, demanding release.

Simon's eyes are dark pools of amusement as he watches you descend into ruin. He's tilted back in his chair, legs spread wide, the outline of his cock straining against the metal zipper of his trousers. You can see the damp spot where precum has beaded at the tip, darkening the fabric. He's hard—so fucking hard—but he shows no sign of easing your torment. His hand rests on your head, fingers threading through your hair with a gentleness that belies his cruelty.

"Si... please” the words tear from your throat, ragged and broken. Tears blur your vision, hot tracks carving paths down your flushed cheeks. Some drip from your chin, splattering onto the leather of his boot. You're a mess—makeup ruined, hair a tangled disaster, body shaking uncontrollably.

"Is it too much?" The question drips with faux sympathy, his voice a low purr that vibrates through your skull as his thumb brushes a tear away with mock tenderness. You nod frantically, more tears spilling free, your lips parting to beg again—

"Good. Keep going."

The command drops an octave, deep and final. The sound of it settles in your bones like a warning. A whine escapes you, high and pathetic, as your hips stutter against his boot. You're so close. So fucking close. The edge is a razor's breadth away, a precipice you've been dangling over for what feels like hours. Every time you think you'll tip over, the pressure shifts, the angle changes, and the wave recedes, leaving you gasping and empty.

"I can't," you sob, your movements halting completely. Your arms wrap around his calf, hugging it like a lifeline, your forehead pressing against his knee. "Please, I can't—"

His fingers find the nape of your neck, grip tightening on your hair, and he yanks your head back with brutal precision. Your spine arches, a gasp punched from your lungs. Through tear-blurred eyes, you meet his gaze—those cold, calculating eyes that see right through you. "Should've thought about that before being a fucking tease." His voice is a low growl, vibrating with restrained dominance. "Sending me those texts, huh? Thinking you could wind me up and I'd forget about it when I got home?"

You can't respond. Your throat is too tight, your breath coming in ragged pants. The tears flow freely now, a silent admission of guilt. Sensing your need, your submission, he tilts his boot upward. The leather toe catches your clit through the soaked fabric, a sharp, deliberate tap that sends a jolt of electricity straight through your pelvis. Your body convulses, a broken moan tearing from your chest. The sensation is too much and not enough all at once.

"Move," he orders.

Your whimper of protest is swallowed by instinct. Your hips roll forward, grinding desperately against the boot, chasing that spark of pleasure-pain. You hate yourself for how easily you obey, how your body responds before your mind can catch up. But the need is overwhelming, a primal force that strips away all dignity.

Simon watches with hungry satisfaction. Your fucked-out, tear-streaked, utterly broken face, how you look up at him with those glossy, hazy eyes. The way you hug his calf, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers, as you hump his foot like a bitch in heat—only his to admire, to humiliate.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his hand moving from your hair to cup your jaw. He tilts your face up, forcing you to maintain eye contact as you continue your frantic movements. "Fucking desperate. Is this what you wanted?" He squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout. "To be begging for permission to come on my boot?"

A sob escapes you, but you can't answer. Your hips only move faster, your breath coming in sharp, frantic gasps. The pressure is building again, that coiled heat in your belly tightening, threatening to snap. But you know he won't let you. Not yet. Not until he's extracted every ounce of punishment for your earlier teasing.

His thumb traces your lower lip, pressing inside, and you instinctively suck, tasting the salt of your own tears mingled with his skin. "Good. That's it," he praises, the words a venomous caress. "Show me how sorry you are." And you do. Because there's nothing else you can do. Because this is exactly where he wants you—on your knees, shattered and desperate, your pleasure dangling just out of reach, his to give or withhold as he sees fit. And as you continue to grind against his boot, you know that it's going to be a long night.

[ohenliska]

[stellsriley]

# i’m not a violent dog (i don’t know why i bite) 🧟‍♂️

hi have something sad because i’ve been feeling really sad 😕😕😕😕

your relationship has never been perfect but you’d be lying if you say that isn’t expected, especially with the horrors of simon’s past and the ones he continues to face daily. but it is real and that’s all that has mattered to you. you know no relationship is ever flawless and you wouldn’t even think to consider yours as such but it works for the two of you, it really does, until there are times when it just doesn’f

it had taken him years of friendship to open up to you first, revealing small puzzle pieces little by little until you were able to see the bigger picture and you had been oh so patient. you had been patient with him every step of the way, never forcing him to give you a part of him but accepting each fragment nevertheless because you loved him. because you still love him, flaws and all.

and he’s learnt things from you too. learnt to breathe, learnt to feel something other than self destructive. he’s been so grateful for everything you’ve taught him and yet on some days he simply can’t help but go back to his old ways.

he doesn’t intend to be rude, he never does, but it just happens. he watches his beautiful girl’s face crumple up and he knows he’s fucked up again but he just can’t stop it. he tries so fucking hard to be a better man, to be what his father never was but he still makes you cry and it kills him. he snaps and he takes and he takes and it disintegrates a little bit more of him every time.

it’s small things, things that shouldn’t matter but he can see the way they do when it’s too late to take them back. a grumbled, “can you just wait a fucking minute?” that leaves his lips without meaning to. it hurts him because he knows he could simply ask you nicely but it kills you. you know what he’s like, know he can’t help it but it’s so hard not to feel horrible when he’ll be so so good for months until he spirals and he’s suddenly back to square one.

and when you cry? he can’t cope, doesn’t know how because he’s never had anyone teach him. he tries — a small tentative touch on your arm but you flinch. not because you think it’ll bruise your skin but because there’s already purple forming around your heart.

and then there’s the shift as you fall asleep, distance between the two of you and silence that says so much more than words ever can. he’ll hold you once you fall asleep, once he’s sure your breathing has evened out, because the idea of his skin near yours when he doesn’t deserve to be so close makes him feel sick.

he makes himself feel sick. he hates himself. he hates what he does to you. and whilst he rubs your back? he thinks about it all, about how he’ll never amount to anything more than a product of his corrupted genes.

[stellsriley]

# mr riley 👾.

thank you sm for 100 followers and 2500+ likes, my babies i adore you smsm i hope you like this <3

you’ve always had a thing for older men but it was merely just a craving, something you imagined late at night when no one was around to watch you slide your fingers in and get off to the thought of being taken properly by a real man. you never expected for it to become a reality, especially not with your best friend’s dad.

whilst yes, he had always been a very attractive man, you’d never anticipated doing anything about your silly little crush. that’s all it was supposed to be, a crush that made you feel giddy every time he was around but were unable to act on.

so the first time he flirted with you? you could have sworn the world tilted on it’s axis and you were mistaken. there’s no way mr riley of all people had smirked down at you and made a comment about your flimsy little skirt. it had to be a figure or your imagination, a late night fake scenario you’d accidentally forgotten how to distinguish.

but then it happened again and again and again. it was never enough but somehow it was everything you needed and more. just out of your reach until it wasn’t, until his daughter had gone for one of her hour long showers and he’d cornered you in the kitchen, his mask nuzzling against your neck and the most sinful groan escaping his lips as he inhaled your unique scent.

“mhm all y’been doing is fucking teasing me, huh lovie? think i don’t notice the way your pretty little eyes fuck me? i see everythin’ doll,” he purrs into your neck and your body stills; he’d seen that?

he raises the mask so his lips and jaw are visible, his teeth sucking at your neck as though he’s itching to ravage your body, “oh you taste so good f’me.”

you can’t help but moan and he smirks in response, his free hand that isn’t wrapped around you moving to roam your body. he tugs on waistband of your skirt, allowing it to snap against your skin — the noise ringing in the otherwise silent room. you wince softly and he licks a stripe down your neck to soothe you.

he’s so fucking big as he towers over you, large arms wrapped around your body to the point it feels like he’ll squeeze you into ceasing to exist. his hand finds its way under your skirt and it’s so cold it makes you squirm. the contrast between your warm body and his freezing one would be comical if you weren’t practically melting under him.

“words lovie? you not gonna tell me i can?” he teases, kissing at your jaw before biting down.

it genuinely feels like you’ve forgotten every word in the english language as you blink up at him, attempting to respond. his thumb swipes against your cheek and you finally manage to breathe out, “okay… you can.”

it’s nowhere near enough but he’s so fucking desperate for you, he can’t even bring himself to scold you for not putting in more effort. his fingers slide in and if you were barely functioning before? god you must be entirely broken right now.

his fingers are far too big compared to your own that you’re used to and he moves them so lazily, it shouldn’t feel as good as it does. one hand pumps in and out of you whilst the other wraps around your neck, a pretty necklace so perfect all for you.

he’s so fucking filthy with his movements and words, praise bundled with the right amount of degradation that has you weak in the knees.

you can’t help the whimper that falls from your lips, your hands clawing at his back as his pace increases, “oh god, shit.”

“uh uh lovie, language yeah? keep that pretty mouth clean or i’ll have to do it for you,” he says it so casually, his expression so normal as though he’s not knuckles deep inside you, not turning you into a babbling mess.

you tighten around him and he groans, forcing his mouth onto yours in a heated kiss that has you seeing stars. his tongue works its way into your mouth, colliding with yours as you clench, “i think… think ‘m gonna cum.”

“say please,” he mumbles into your mouth and you have no choice but to oblige, a quick plead for release as he smirks, still so casual and somehow the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

and when you let go against his fingers? he brings them to his lips, sucking them clean before squishing his mouth against yours again so you can “taste just how much your pretty little cunnie enjoyed it.”