cw noncon, injuries, forced orgasm, slapping (all kinds), kidnapping, mean!simon // simon riley x fem!reader // freak loner neighbour simon // reader can be dragged (but simon is big but yeah you get dragged yeouch)
You should've known better than to be on his driveway.
It's just that it's so spacious, so flat, so perfect for practicing.
You'd been sucked into the trend by all the cute girls flouncing around on their new wheels. The ones dancing backwards down the street through the screen had you ordering a nice pair of nylon plated rollerskates.
Purple, your favourite. Sturdy. Bedazzled.
The only issue is how hard it is to practice on your driveway - it's at the very end of the street, beside Simon's - you'd learned his name unwillingly from a neighbour - and slanted.
You try, to your credit, earning yourself a myriad of bumps, scrapes, aches and pains.
Your hip is an amalgamation of broken blood vessels and raised skin, your shins have never felt worse, and you've never been so miffed at a neighbour.
What's his problem, anyway? He's always been rude, glaring, like an old man shaking his fist at rowdy kids.
The most you'd done to him was bring over a tupperware of brown butter chocolate cookies, but he'd slammed the door in your face.
Asshole. Now he glares through the window if you edge too close while practicing, opening his blinds like he'd been just waiting for you to get a toe too close.
Sue me, you think, the day you don't see his motorcycle collecting dust in his driveway.
Your confidence builds when you step one foot onto the concrete of his property and the blinds stay put.
Further still, when you make it halfway across and still no movement.
It evaporates the second his front door opens and he thunders out. You're so startled you try to scurry away, forgetting the stupid rollerskates weighing your feet down and your utter lack of coordination in them.
You go down hard, right on your sore hip, yelping like an injured dog when you do.
"S'what you get," he grunts, approaching you quicker than you can process, "stupid fucking cunt. Come here."
He practically snarls the last part. Your blood turns to ice when his massive hand wraps around your ankle and starts to drag you.
Right over the concrete.
Your thigh and your lower back get scratched like hell, something almost like road burn, and it hurts so badly you forget to scream until he's got you banging into every one of his front steps, and-
Nothing happens. Nobody seems to hear.
The little purple jewels on your skates shine in the sunlight, glinting cruelly into your eyes.
You shriek, help me, help me! and though it's broad daylight, there's not a peep other than you. Not even a bird.
Your head tilts back, frantically scanning the houses, when you see - your more distant neighbour.
Help! you think you scream, you can hear it but nothing changes. He watches you with his head tilted down, boonie hat obscuring his eyes.
The last thing you see when the door shuts is his cigar come up to his mout and his head nodding - not towards you, but to Simon.
You kick your legs out, thinking maybe the added weight of your godforsaken rollerskates will help you, but Simon only folds your legs backwards as easily as origami and everything becomes very real very quickly.
Your heart jackrabbits in your chest, pressure mounting from panic and from the weight of him bearing down on you.
"Too fucking stupid for your own good," his voice is strong, echoing through your head as he uses a hand to hold the backs of your knees, "guess you can be either pretty or smart, eh," he laughs, cruel, raucous.
His other hand comes towards you, making you scream again until he slaps your mouth one, two, three times hard. Simon lowers it, tugging hard on your t shirt until it rips, pinching a nipple through your sports bra and shaking your breast painfully up and down.
He pushes it up, then, slapping your tits, laughing.
"Please!" you shout, your nervous system desperately flitting between frozen terror and pleading and the need to run, "please- I'll never-"
"Never what?" he interrupts. He pulls your cotton bike shorts over your ass, down to your thighs, "never step foot on my property again? Little late for that."
There's nothing for you to bargain with. Your mind races as he tears your panties the way he did your shirt, breath coming in wheezes hands dead weight beside you.
Simon stuffs two fat fingers in your cunt, making you gasp, tense, something strangled coming out of your throat. He pushes them deeper even though you aren't quite ready, aren't wet enough.
"Playin' hard to get," he grunts, but it's low, like he's talking to himself.
He roots around like he's looking for something, forceful and too rough and scraping against you.
You struggle again, lifting your arms, but Simon put's a stop to it by pulling his thick fingers out and slapping you on your pussy.
Fuck, his hand is so meaty, so heavy, you shriek again, twisting, until he does it again. Then again, and you freeze because you don't want him to hurt you anymore.
"Y'gonna make me give you another?" he snaps.
"No!" you squeak before you can stop yourself. Your mind turns to fawning, to self preservation, playing dead to escape a predator's jaws around your throat.
"Was gonna be nice to you, but you decided to be ungrateful," he looks at you with angry eyes, still holding your knees, pulling his heavy cock out with the other hand.
"I'm sorry- please-" you try, tears burning your eyes. He's fucking huge.
"Too late," he nudges the tip against your hole, making you sit there in agonized terror for another moment before he pushes in.
"I can't!" the sound comes out of you like a deflating animal, "please, you're too big-"
"You can," he pushes further in. It burns, both because you aren't wet enough and because he's the size of a metal baseball bat, "just relax."
Easy for him to say. The very breath from your lungs is getting punched out of you the further in he goes.
The pain is sharp, hot barbs, like a medieval torture tool heated with flame.
You try to relax, looking up at the ceiling with eyes that are starting to glaze over, vision swimming, before he slaps your mouth again and startles you back into reality.
"Look at me," he snaps his hips, shocking you, making you cry.
His cock is long, poking you in places that feel wrong wrong wrong, that feel like you're gonna really freak the fuck out until he pushes his thumb against your clit and rubs in tight circles.
The sound that comes out of your mouth is a strangled, lilting sort of keen. You're humiliated by it, by the way your pussy squeezes around him.
"That's right," he keeps going, picking up speed, "you're gonna come on my cock when I fucking tell you to."
Your world narrows down to the aching pain in your cunt, to the sparks of pleasure from your clit, to the mix of sensation that has blood rushing through your head.
Simon fucks you like that until you start to tighten, until you're gasping and arching and trying to twist away again.
Long, deep strokes now, in and out, seesawing, driving you insane. He doesn't have to hit you to make you stay put - no, now your body turns useless and begins to come.
"Yeah, that's it," he sounds strained, "come on my cock."
You do, though it takes you by surprise. Your eyes fucking roll back, trembling helplessly below him.
You don't even feel him come, but when you come to he's looking down at you with a little glint in his eye and come leaking from your pussy.
As he stands, leaving you empty and dragging you again by your limp ankle, you're struck by the absurdity of it all. The neighbour, just watching you be taken.
You don't fight until he tugs you to the open basement door, pulling you down the stairs, letting you hit each step on the way down.
But by then it's too late - he's prepared for this, you see that now. The little cot and chain at the far corner of the room is testament to that.
So's the collar he picks up from the cotside table.