#simon riley Drabble

[dmitriene]

simon ghost riley is the void, the inky blackness that haunts the darkened corners of your bedroom at nights, faint rustles of someone's feet shuffling on the parquet floor, your cotton sheets gripped by someone's arm, tugged, pulled off your body that lays vulnerable wholly under perilous black eyes, watching you, the goosebumps that run along your flesh.

something incomprehensible, a creature, lurking in your apartment, coming at deep nights needy, greedy for the warmth of human's warmth, or yours, but it's barely matters when there's a ghostly, cooling touch that sweeps along your body, everywhere, along your naked legs and to the suppleness of your thighs, the slope of your waist, and deeper, beneath the clothes.

on your naked skin, so warm, so delicate, untouched by this tar that drips down his arms like an wax, coating your skin where his touch dips beneath your sleeping shirt, long fingers splaying across the seam of your belly, inching up and pushing your clothes, away from your body, unraveling you like something he has a permission to have, something he waited for so long.

maybe anyone could have been in your place, but it's your plump breasts are squeezed in his rough palms, fat spilling from between his fingers, nipples pebbled and hardening under the cool touch of his calloused skin, feeling so natural, so right, in the way he caresses every sensitive spot on your body, a ghost of a breath on the curve of your neck, firm palm cupped at your clothed pussy, burrowed under your sleeping shorts.

it's only constant touching, long, thick fingers teasing against your neglected folds that hide beneath the cotton of your panties, calloused fingertips circling along your nipples, feeling the way your pussy flutters beneath his touch, seeping warm slick that simon get's addicted to, and each time he comes back, there's more groping, as it's gets beyond his fingers.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.

when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.

when you’re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.

when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.

“sorry, love”

he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.

when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.

when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.

when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.

“in here, my love”

as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.

that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.

even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.

minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.

(and you are)

[alexthetrashyracoon]

“You look like my boyfriend.”

Simon raises a brow at that statement and sits down in the nearby chair. His eyes on you. “Is that so, lovely?”

“Mhm,” you agree with a confident nod and loopy. “No. My boyfriend is prettier than you.”

He isn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment or as an insult, for now Simon decides to not comment on it. “You must be lucky to have such a pretty boyfriend then.” He grins and sips his cheap hospital coffee.

“Oh, I am! He’s pretty and cool and strong. And you should be careful because he’ll be here soon!” You pout, shoving your lower lip forward.

Cute. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gone before he shows up.” Simon reassures you and pats your thigh.

You don’t reply, the remaining anesthesia must still be running its course through your body after the surgery in which the doctor took out your inflamed appendix, snoring softly in the otherwise quiet room. “Good thing your boyfriend is already here, lovely.” Simon chuckles before tugging the thin hospital blanket higher over your chest and keeping watch as your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. “And he will be here when you wake up again. He will always be there, my lovely.”

[veritasangel]

Simon, whose only tattoos are from your little sketches.

It starts out accidental, you have no paper and he lets you draw on his arm, but he likes it so much that he gets it tattooed.

And then he asks if you can purposely design him a tattoo, which he gets on the same arm as the first one.

But before you know it, he’s gone through almost all of your sketchbooks and ends up with two patchwork sleeves, every single dot of ink being one of your creations.

“Bit overboard, no?” you tilt your head at him, a raised eyebrow as you eye both of his arms.

“No. I don’t think so.” he says matter of factly with a shrug as he hands you a pen and a brand new sketchbook

“...A few more won’t hurt.”

✄┈┈┈┈

༄ cod m.list

© veritasangel ↣ 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴

[dixonsgirl93]

You take out your little tin of Vaseline, taking a small amount on your finger and bringing it to your lips. You feel Simon Riley’s large presence walk up to you. He leans one hand against the wall. He’s standing so close you could almost see his pupils expand a little when you looked up into them.

Your heart racing, you hold his gaze and rub your finger over your lips. Dip into the tin, back onto your lips. You rub your lips together.

“Can I have some?” Ghost’s gruff voice rumbles from beneath his mask.

“You want lip balm?” You ask, somewhat incredulous. He didn’t seem like the type.

He merely nods, never talking his eyes off yours.

“Okay.” You say, the word sounding more like a question. He lifts his mask just above his mouth. You go to hand over the tin. His hand comes out but instead of taking the tin, they find your chin, gently gripping you and pulling you closer. His lips land on yours, firm but a lot gentler than you were expecting.

He pulls back, rubbing his lips together. You blush furiously.

“Thanks, love.” He mumbles, pulling his mask back down. He walks away then as if nothing just happened.

[secretlovezz]

Casual intimacy with Simon "Ghost" Riley.

He loves to shower with you.

Hopping into a steamy shower together and washing each other's skin clean after you both get home from a tiring day at work. The feeling of you scrubbing shampoo through his freshly cut hair fingers softly grasping at the strands even after he tells you it's not necessary. Sometimes, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and squeeze as you wash your face. He'll kiss gently at your skin as droplets of water drip from your body to his lips and let his nose dig into the crook of your shoulder to inhale your clean scent.

He loves grocery shopping with you.

Getting to keep his large palm against the small of your back rubbing up and down every once in a while to show that he's with you. He likes to listen to your voice as you read down the list of things the two of you need and the way you point your finger and bossily tell him to fetch a certain item. He pushes the cart for you when it starts getting heavy with items even after you complain and tell him "You could do it yourself." He enjoys being strong for you, finds pride in being able to carry and hold all of the bags when the two of you get home from the shops.

Simon Riley really loves these seemingly little moments of intimacy with you.

[ramonathinks]

tiny repost <3 18+, mdni

cw: smut mention

simon joined the military right after he lost his wife and daughter, he figured he could numb his pain better this way, take out his pain in the field. his eyes still never lit up like they did all those years ago. but it was the small things that made it better. he would always love his wife and his daughter. but he knew he had to move on at some point.

when he returned with no one holding any signs for him and nothing but a taxi to get him home, watching his friends hug on to wives, children, parents and all… he realized how lonely he was. he just needed someone to hold for a few days when he was here.

he didn’t exactly go looking for you. but with one click on a website and a few scrolls down, he eventually came across your profile.

you wanted to co-parent a child, needed a sperm donor and had a lot of good qualities from what he could tell. it was a way for him to finally fulfill his paternal instincts and to cope. it was probably the unhealthiest thing but he knew he couldn’t replace his daughter nor his wife, but this was a better thing.

he wanted to do it the natural way. he didn’t believe in any other methods. he wanted to be inside of you, to feel you milk him down and clench around him. he wanted to watch your face contort into pleasure and to hear those pretty precious sounds. he wanted to make a baby not just leave you with a bottle of his sperm, he wanted to fuck a baby into you and to put his hand on you belly so that he can feel himself filling you up. he wanted to see lots of it spilling out of you and to use his thick fingers to fuck it back inside of you.

and he wanted to do it as many times as he could before he was called back out, he wanted to come back and to see your belly swelled and to hold you in the night.

[konigsblog]

CW: HANDCUFFS, AFAB!F!READER. MDNI 18+

this video screams simon riley so much that it actually hurts. (🌽 link)

“Attagirl... That’s it- look how painfully hard you’ve left my cock, dove.”

Simon's voice is deep and filled with lust, your back arching at the shivers it sends down your spine. You can feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up and your glossy cunt clenching around nothing when Simon slaps his stiff, thick cock against your hole teasingly.

He adores the sight in front of him; his precious girlfriend, forced into the mattress with an arched back and a drooling pussy ready to be fucked ruthlessly. Your hands are held together with leather handcuffs that keep you secure and prevent you from wiggling out of his perverted grasp. Simon gropes your tight ass and begins to sink himself inside your hole, breathing out heavily at the sudden tightness and stickiness around his veiny shaft.

His dick is veiny, lengthy, and agonisingly large. He prods against your cervix through thrusts with his creamy tip, every inch on his shaft running against your gummy walls. You can feel each vein sink into your slick folds, his breathing quickening at the pulsating and throbbing feeling of your cunt. You whine out, tears brimming in your waterline when his balls smack against your supple ass. You choke out and gasp when his pace quickens, the bedframe smacking against the wall echoing, drowned out by your greedy cries for more.

“You take me so fuckin’ well. You’re made to take dick, aren’t ya?” Simon grumbles out as he digs his nails into your plush hips. His girthy cock is dripping, globs of his pearly arousal coating your slit and running down his dick, tip oozing out his fluids uncontrollably. He pounds into your little pussy while you whimper out at the waves of pleasure rushing through your weak body, the state Simon leaves your cunt in.

“That’s right- Beg for more... Every inch, take it like a good girl.”

[haven-1307]

Simon’s girlfriend touching herself to his gruff voice over the phone while he’s away on deployment. She’s tried and tried to work her fingers into the sweet spot but no matter how much she tries she just can’t quite reach like he can. Her delicate fingers poke and prod trying to find it and you can only huff with annoyance when it doesn’t work.

Simon solution? Getting a mould made of his cock, just for his sweet girl to use when he’s on the other side of the world. It fits perfectly, hitting the spots that have her breath stuttering and her back arching. Curling inside her, feeling the pinch on her cervix when the toy bottoms out.

[dmitriene]

simon riley kissing at your legs, drawing patch of featherlight brushes of his chapped lips against the silkness of your skin, from your ankles that feels especially thin between the grip of his fingers, up to your calves and where your thighs are parted, thin fabric of your nightie tensing against your legs as they spread, cotton of your panties beneath, welcoming his ravenous gaze.

eyes pooling with consuming, liquid darkness, as he rubs at the suppleness of your skin, fingertips sweeping up and down with the harshness of his callouses, but they do nothing except make goosebumps rake along your spine, your soft palm cupped against the hinge of his jaw, brushing at his ears that flush under your touch.

coating the paleness of his skin with rosy hue, warm beneath your fingertips as you rub at simon's earlobe, the same warmth emanating from between your doughy thighs that brush against the sides of his face and scratchy stubble as he moves upwards, the touch of his lips still ghosting at your legs, craning his neck towards your panty clad pussy.

twitching at the sweep of his warm breath, tickling the sensitive, squished folds of your cunt, outlined by your panties that start to grow wet, oozing slick soddening the gusset of the fabric, as simon nudges his nose against your needy pussy, tongue lolling out to brush against your slit, soaking your underwear with his saliva.

simon feasts not only on your cunt, but at your whole being, kneading at the delicate plushness of your thighs, never stopping to rub absentminded circles that trail to join his mouth at your sappy cunt, bunching your underwear aside to bare your slick glossed folds, pulsing as his digits join his already curling tongue, dipping against your lips to spread you up, ready to be worshipped.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[heavenbarnes]

there was something to be said about the fact older bf!simon made such a good house husband.

“i forgot my lunch :( ”

“forgot to make it or bring it?”

“both?”

“on my way”

because the next thing was your coworkers slowly raising their heads to the sound outside your office, a throaty rumbling of an engine right outside the doors.

not a car, motorcycle maybe? question affirmed when it revved twice.

they shot you confused looks when the sound made your ears prick up, a sweet smile on your face as you trotted out the front of the building.

behemoth of a man sat astride a motorcycle. his leathers added bulk but there was something about him that said he was big enough without them.

he watched you walk over as he raised the visor on his helmet, the black one with a ghostly image of a skull painted across it.

your coworkers pressed to the windows, trying their best to hide behind the curtains and potted plants but failing all the same.

the man pointed to his face as you got on tip toes to press a kiss to his nose through the balaclava he had under the helmet.

“don’t make it a late one, alright?”

“yessir”

as you gave him a haphazard salute, he reached behind to give you a pat on the backside before he stood to retrieve the brown paper bag he’d been carrying.

lunch in hand, you lean in to press a kiss to the visor he’d just lowered- right on top of the lipstick print that sat in the corner of it.

the print that looked a lot like your lips.

the helmet never leaves the back of you as you walk towards the office, your coworkers scrambling to not get caught staring.

you didn’t mind, just smiled as you reached into your lunch bag and retrieved a sandwich. the one that was cut perfectly into the shape of a heart.

[kechiwrites]

wake up; reader getting fucked from below by neighbour!Simon who keeps your hands pinned behind your back while he bullies the thickness of his cock inside you, just a little too deep. All too happy to let you drool on his shoulder as he drives into you again and again, watching the reflection of your ass bouncing heavy and fast over his lap on the black screen of your television. Scarred and tattooed arms sinking into your sides, anchoring you to him, implacable, insatiable. He was only supposed to pick-up a package mistakenly delivered to your front door, too heavy for you to bring it over yourself. Only supposed to have 'a cuppa, if you have it, pet.' Only supposed to take a kiss, soft, fleeting. Only supposed to 'touch it, over yer clothes, promise.' Only supposed to rub against the outside, slotting his ruddy, leaking tip between the already soaked lips of your pussy. Only supposed to pull out, come against the curve of your ass.

But Ghost can be neighbourly, he can go above and beyond. If it's for you.

[alexthetrashyracoon]

Simon grinned at himself through the mirror like a stupid teenager in the changing room as Price, god bless this man and his father figure behavior, tugged on his tie to keep it straight and clean.

Wedding Day had come. His wedding day had come.

“Mate, you must be shakin’ with excitement to marry the pretty face.” Gaz grinned from his spot on the couch, all three of them dressed in their best attire. Even Soap hadn’t complained once about wearing a tie.

Simon’s mind wandered to you in the other room, he hadn’t seen you since last night, tradition, that’s what they called it.

He hoped you were having a blast, because you had to spend so many days and nights over the wedding plans that he had to get you to the hospital once after you broke down from exhaustion.

“Anyone ever thought big bad ol’ Ghost gets married?” Soap teased as he rummaged through the drawers at the desk. What exactly was he searching? Simon didn’t know or maybe he was too happy to question his best friend’s motives for now, they usually end in chaos and today was meant no chaos.

“I always believed Simon would find the one true love one day.” Price nodded and patted Simon’s chest, telling him he was done with the tie.

“Liar.” Gaz laughed and shook his head. “If you want to know who always believed in you, Lieutenant, that’s me. Ol’ Captain and MacTavish over here said you would die a virgin. We got a bet running for a while.”

Simon wasn’t even surprised or mad, maybe tomorrow, or the week after. But tonight he wanted to be on Cloud Nine and looking through the pink tinted glasses of love. Tonight he would say ‘yes’ to the person he loved the most, the one that kept him alive and sane and put up with his antics.

“I’m getting married.” He smiled at himself in the mirror.

“You’re getting married, son.” Price looked at him, through the mirror, a proud smile hidden under the beard.

A minute later his phone rang, your name and picture on the screen.

“Yes? Everything alright, darling?” Simon asked and looked at Price, worry flashing behind his brown eyes.

“I’m scared, Simon. I… I know this will sound crazy and you probably think I’m mad. But… I wanna run away.” You say, followed by a shaky breath. “But at the same time I don’t wanna run away but stay and marry you. Does it make sense?”

Simon relaxed immediately, you were nervous, as you should be. Just like him.

“How about this then, darling, we run away together until you know what you want.” He grinned and picked up his suit jacket.

Soap and Gaz were gasping at him.

“Let’s run away together and if you still feel like running, we blew off this party. And if not, we come back, say yes to each other tonight and live our happily ever after.”

Gaz asked if he was insane. Soap was looking between Simon and Price, who simply had the time of his life while opening the door for Simon to leave.

“Are you sure… do you… I mean…?” You started to ramble and mutter under your breath.

“Darling… For you I would go through hell and back. I am not complete without you anymore. There was a time before you, sure. But there will be no time after you. Together.” Simon spoke gently and could see through the phone who your cheeks turned pink and tears pricked your eyes. “I’ll be out in two minutes, don’t let me wait.”

(Spoiler, in the end Simon and you got married surrounded by friends and family. Price lost a bet to Laswell because they both know you two and knew you would pull such a stunt. Soap had gained a few more grey hairs than necessary and Gaz was pretty sure this was some kind of punishment, why else would you two pull something like that.)

[veritasangel]

"Oi, anyone else starting to lose the feeling in their ass? Or just me?"

You grinned, glad of the distraction. "Thought you were used to sitting on your ass, MacTavish," you said back as you shifted position.

Soap’s voice crackled through the comms. "Aye, but usually I'm sittin' on somethin' a bit more comfy than cold concrete."

Gaz cut in, his voice laced with amusement. "You want me to send you a cushion, mate?"

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing. "Yeah, get him one with memory foam," you supplied. "Might help him focus for once.

Price shut the banter down, his commanding voice making it serious once more, though you could make out the tiniest hint of a smile. "Focus now, banter later. Soap, if you're done whinin', keep your eyes on the warehouse."

Gaz chipped in again. "Soap's probably too busy looking at his reflection to get any real work done."

"Oi, I'm a man of many talents, mate. I can do both."

Price sighed. "Gonna have to get you lot’ to start babysitting him at this point."

You laughed a little, imagining the expression on Soap's face, but he launched straight into his defence. "Babysittin'? Captain, I got more focus than any of these-"

"Focus on shutting up then." Ghost's voice was low as he finally spoke.

…

A moment of silence followed Ghost's comment until you and Gaz both burst into a fit of laughter.

"Do we think Ghost admires himself in the mirror before missions?" You can’t help but ask.

Gaz echoes, "I don't know, he might just give a little assured nod to the mirror and walk out the door."

"I do not. Now will you two shut up?" Ghost deadpanned.

"You sure you don't have a secret vanity in your kit?" Gaz teased. "A little compact mirror tucked away for emergencies?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Ghost returned dryly, but you knew he was enjoying the light-hearted banter as much as you were.

Not to be outdone, Soap piped back in. "Let's be serious, I’m the real looker here. Best hair in the squad, no competition."

"Well, that’s because none of us care enough to style our hair like you do 24/7," you replied with a grin.

This time it was Price's voice that cut through the night with playful reprimand. "If you lot’ spent half as much time watching the target as you do your hair, we'd have this op done by now."

For a moment or two, the comms went silent as you all focused on what was to come, until Ghost grumbled under his breath, a smirk in his voice. "If anyone's got a vanity, it's definitely Johnny."

“...And what about it?”

༄ cod m.list

© veritasangel ↣ 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴

[kittywhimsical]

thinking about simon riley waiting for you when you come home from work.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

during the times he's been on deployment, you still had to wake up every weekday at 6 and go to work from 7 to 3 which fills the empty void in your heart but still, you dread to go back to an empty home.

so, when simon comes back after 3 long months on deployment, he sets his bags down and kicks his boots off, treading to the bathroom and taking a shower so at least he doesn't reek of sweat and war when his missus comes home. he turns the shower off, gets changed, makes himself a cuppa, and sits on the couch patiently waiting for you.

when he hears your car parking in the driveway, he can't help but feel his lips curl up a bit knowing you won't walk into an empty house anymore.

unlocking the door, you let out a long, exhausted sigh after a day of scolding interns who barely do their job right. much to your surprise, after walking in and taking off your shoes, you see your husbands boots on the spot of the rack that has been empty for the past 3 months. whipping your head around, you see simon riley smiling right at you, sitting on the couch in your shared living room.

"simon!" you let out as you run over to your husband, engulfing him in an embrace he reciprocates with his bear hugs. "hi luvie" he responds back as he nuzzles his face into your neck, "i missed you".

that night, he tells you that he's decided to resign from the 141, saying that he can't go to war knowing the dangers and turmoil it may bring in future deployments. and knowing that you are home alone every night, worrying about him, having to lay alone in your shared bed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

this is my first drabble (i think thats what its called?) likes + reblogs or comments are much appreciated !!

[ervotica]

MDNI pairing; simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader warnings; smut (18+ ONLY), rough rough sex, heavy choking, breathplay & asphyxiation in a controlled environment, loss of consciousness, multiple orgasms, simon is mean but in a sweet way, pre-established consent, subspace (may write a part two of the aftercare if that's something you lot would be interested in!) a/n; this is my first cod fic so go easy on me please!! my cod requests and thirst discussions are wide open (like me for simon ngl) so if you have anything you want to talk about or request PLEASE don't hesitate to pop it in my inbox!

Really, you did this to yourself.

You're the one who asked Simon to be rough, to manhandle you, to fuck you hard and deep until you forget your own name.

He does just that.

He's got your back anchored to his firm chest by means of a thick bicep curled around your throat, restricting your airways just enough until the world tunes out around you, everything a little fuzzy as he pistons his hips into your soft cunt; all you can feel is him, the way the fat head of his cock nestles deep against your cervix, the drag of it against your walls as he pulls out only to force you wide open again for him.

You're far past forming coherent words, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering when he hikes you further up by the soft column of your throat until you arch against his chest, limp and pliable like putty under the control of those experienced hands. Your cunt drools with each rocking movement, excreting more of the milky fluid as the vein that runs against the underside of his cock- purple and angry with his arousal- creates a delicious friction against your pulsing insides.

You garble something entirely unintelligible when that corded arm tightens around your neck, your mouth hanging open as you drool like a leaky tap, kiss-bitten lips gaping when you halfheartedly attempt to form something that isn't completely inarticulate.

You can't even warn him before you're cumming on the length of him with a silent cry, your muscles pulling tight like a bowstring as you quiver under his expert touch before you're falling limp, dead weight in his arms. His spare hand reaches up and over to deliver a firm slap to your cheek in an effort to rouse you from your haze, but you only sink further into that blissful headspace where nothing matters except the way that he's fucking you.

You're not sure you could beg him for more if you tried despite so desperately wanting it. Your sticky cunt weeps over his cock, running in a stream downward until his heavy balls are saturated in your sweet juices, your body twitching weakly when the pleasure washes over you once again.

"There you go, baby," he murmurs, fisting your hair into a ponytail at the back of your head until he's snapping your head up, those eyes hungrily surveying your wrecked expression– eyes blackened with mascara from crying on his cock, lids barely open in your daze, lips swollen and flushed dark with colour. If he were to release his bruising grip on you, you'd crumple, entirely unable to hold yourself up. "My good, good girl. You gonna let me give you one more?"

You whine something that neither one of you understand, but the nod of your head and the way your eyes light up as you drag yourself from bliss just enough to affirm has him resuming his movements, hiking his knee up and over your hip to give him deeper access to fuck you; his pace quickens and you're damn near wailing by the time he grabs your bobbing throat, all hulking six foot four of him tipping forward until your airway is near completely cut off and your noises are silenced by the flexing muscles.

"Easy, love, take it easy," he murmurs, demands really, cadence gravelly but saccharine sweet, a stark juxtaposition to his cruel touch; you're barrelling towards another orgasm, entire body alight and burning with a pleasure that's damn near unbearable; your arse is slick and bruised, branded by his touch as his hips slap lewdly against you.

It hits you like a freight train, every muscle pulling tight and then suddenly liquifying all at once– and as the pleasure ebbs away, you're hit with the frightening realisation that you truly can't breathe. You force a limp hand up to claw at the tense muscles clamped around your neck, a pained, gasping little noise breaking free of the confines of your chest. But still, he doesn't let up. The room spins and shrinks around you, darkness creeping in at the corners until it's consumed you. His voice is dark and unyielding against the shell of your ear.

"Let it happen," he says. "'ve got you. Don't fight it."

It's not like you have much of a choice anyway as your head drops, hair hanging loosely around your face when you fall headfirst into darkness.

When you come to, you're flat on your back, no longer speared on the thick length of him as he lazily pumps his cock, pressing your knees upward against your chest in order to have ample room to torture your throbbing cunt with calloused fingers.

"There she is." Simon grins when you whimper and reach up for him, gazing through sticky lashes with those teary eyes he adores. He indulges you, coming forward to smear a quick kiss to the crown of your skull before he's gathering your slick with the head of his cock, breaching your sore entrance once again.

That night, you're sure you meet God.

And he looks an awful lot like Simon Riley.