༊࿐⠀ ׅ⠀ㅤ ¹⁸⁺ 𝓢imon 𝓡iley fucking you on a rooftop during a mission ₊ ˚ ⊹ 𝔀arnings. rough pronebone. dubcon. graphic depiction of violence. hair tugging. power dynamics. slight manhandling. ❛ 26 © 𝓵eons𝓫rat.
the mission is an agonizing slow burn. hours dragging on and spent in the same prone position on a gritty rooftop, the world reduced to the circular view through your scope. simon is beside you, a silent, hulking shadow meant to be your spotter. but you can feel his eyes on you, and they’re not watching the street below.
you’ve been in this position for so long your muscles ache, but the tight fit of your cargo pants as you lie on your stomach is apparently doing something for him. you can feel the heat of his gaze burning into your ass, a tangible weight. you hear the soft rustle of gear, the subtle shift of his body closer to yours on the rough surface.
a rough, gloved hand lands on your hip, not to steady you, but to hold you in place. it’s a silent question you’ve both answered a dozen times before. you don’t move from your scope, but you feel the air shift as he unbuckles his belt, the rasp of his zipper a deafening sound in the tense quiet. his hand moves to the front of your pants, popping the button with practiced ease before dragging the zipper down. he pushes the rough fabric of your pants and underwear down your thighs, exposing you to the cool night air.
you don’t flinch when you feel the blunt, wet head of his cock pressing against you. he doesnt waste a second, just shoves himself inside, a slow, thick stretch that makes your whole body clench. he’s so fucking big, a heavy, aching fullness that immediately starts to throb deep inside you.
“focus,” is all he grunts, his voice a low, gravelly rumble right next to your ear. it’s an order. stay on target.
he starts moving, and it’s all so raw. a hard, messy rhythm that slams you into the cold concrete with every thrust. the wet, sloppy sound of his hips hitting your ass fills the air, a disgusting, perfect counterpoint to the quiet phut of your silenced rifle. your body is jerked forward with every single thrust, the recoil from your own shots a dull thud against your shoulder in comparison. his gloved hands grip your hips, holding you down, using your own body as leverage to drive himself even deeper.
you spot quick movement. a tango rounding the corner. you adjust your aim, the crosshairs wobbling for just a second as simon’s cock rams deep right into your cervix, a bruising impact that sends a shockwave of pure, painful pleasure right to your brain. your vision whites out for a second, a hazy, pleasure-fucked blur. you squeeze the trigger. the body drops.
his pace gets rougher, sloppier. he’s fucking you like he’s trying to leave a mark on your cervix, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. you can feel his sweat dripping onto your back, hot trails that snake down your skin, mixing with the grime on your gear. his dick is just a thick, penetrating presence inside you, relentlessly pounding that same spot until you’re sure you’ll be sore on the inside. a low, aching throb starts deep in your gut, a constant reminder of how completely he’s filling you, stretching you past your limit.
he lets out a rough grunt, the sound muffled by his mask, and his thrusts get frantic. he’s close. his hand comes up, slamming your head down for a few brutal thrusts, his gloved fingers fisted at the base of your skull as he grinds your cheek into the gritty roof. the second his hand moves back to your hip for more leverage, you wrench your head back up, pressing your eye to the cold rubber of the scope just in time. another tango. you quickly line up the shot, your whole body shaking from the force of his fucking. you fire. the enemy falls just as simon finally goes over the edge, a ragged, choked-off noise torn from his throat right against your neck.
he gives one last, impossibly deep thrust, holding himself there as his hot cum floods your womb, a thick, scalding release that makes your orgasm crash over you in a wave of static. for a second, he’s jus still on top of you, his ragged breaths ghosting over your skin.
then he pulls out in one slick, wet motion, the feeling of emptiness almost as shocking as the feeling of being filled. you hear the rasp of his zipper, the click of his belt. you manage to pull your pants up, your hands shaking slightly as you fasten the button and zipper.
you look back through your scope, scanning the empty street.
“street’s all clear,” you murmur into your comms, your voice surprisingly steady.
“good work,” he replies from beside you, his voice nothing but cold, flat professionalism. as if the last few seconds never happened.
𝓫efore 𝔂ou 𝓰o . . . i’ve decided to get back on my cod grind after seeing the mw4 trailer + i loooove simon’s left arm sleeve tat like its sooooo sooo attractive.