my spank bank

"Christ—" you kicked at his foot, "Close your fucking legs, LT."

He grumbled something unintelligible, glaring blankly into the middle distance and making no effort to ease up in his seat or grant you the space you needed to pass.

"I’m serious," you huffed, "There’s no way your balls are so big that you can’t spare a few inches of legroom for me."

It sort of just slipped out; a low-effort joke you hoped might get him to empathize with your struggle—or maybe embarrass him into closing his fucking legs.

"Might be."

Simon didn’t bother looking up at you when he spoke. He remained statuesque, thick arms crossed over his wide chest.

"What?"

"Balls might be ‘at fuckin big," now he looked up, that deep glare finding your face. "Try findin' time for a wank in 'is line o’work."

"I find plenty of time," you shot back quickly, trying to keep up with his odd brand of humor—was it humor? "What? Shower's too good for you? Can’t jerk off in bed like a normal person?"

"Tired." He shrugged.

His eyes were half-lidded, frustrated, but not angry, and when he tilted his head to the side, an almost imperceptible gesture, you thought the conversation was done. You thought you might be able to kick your way past his legs; be able to storm off, knowing you had lost this battle, and allow yourself the time to stew over it.

But then he dropped his forearms to his thighs with a quiet huff—whether it was one of amusement or not, you could never tell with him.

"'Nd the mess ain't worth it."

You swallowed, almost taking a step back out of sheer surprise that he was being so direct. Granted, Simon's only method of communication was to speak candidly, or not at all.

“Maybe you just need someone to…help you out,” there was no hesitancy to your words, though you couldn't hide the slight waver in your voice. “Somewhere pretty to…for—for easy clean up...”

And that’s how you wound up face down on Simon's bed, bent over yourself on shaky hands and trembling knees. A calloused palm pressed against your back, forcing you to arch, squirming while he fucked his previous load back into you.

"Pretty li’l cumslut," his voice was almost jovial, despite the gravelly baritone he maintained, as he watched the messy combination of slick and cum drip down the backs of your thighs. "S'at what you are, sweetheart?"

"I—mmh…Ye-es—"

Groaning at your easy submission, the quiver in your voice as you confirmed his query, he slid his hand down from your upper back, maneuvering between your shoulder blades and pressing down on the side of your head in a gentle but apparent show of control. You arched further, unable to stop yourself from chasing that perfect angle—the one that let you feel him between your ribs, that pushed the air from your lungs while he pulled another orgasm from you.

"Yeah, s’right," his free hand came down to rest on the curve of your ass, spreading you further—wider—for his own enjoyment. "’Nd whose fuckin’ cum dumpster are ya?"

"Please—Simon!"

Your cry of his name inadvertently answered his question, and he growled in recognition, bringing his hand down hard over the flesh of your ass before squeezing.

"Yeah, s’fuckin’ right—" another squeeze, "Mine."

His grip on your ass faltered slightly, just enough to let his palm sweep inwards, his thumb brushing against the tight rim of your asshole while you gasped beneath him.

"Think when I’ve pumped your pretty cunt full, you’ll let me fill ya ‘ere?" He pressed lightly, watching your eyelids flutter as you drooled onto his bedspread.

You moaned wantonly, keening at his words; his filthy promises and desperate touches. The lazy arch of your back against the pressure of his thumb and silent mouthing of his name—that was answer enough for him.

"Yeah—fuck, gonna give it to ya, sweetheart," he practically crooned it, determined to provide what you both wanted again, and again, and again. "Give ya every fuckin’ drop..."

shut up my show is on (show is me thinking….) anyway ex army! reader who is also simon’s sweet wife …

thinking about how silent simon riley is on base, how he barely talks about his life back at home. he’s so menacing, cruel, he trains recruits like there’s no tomorrow. he’s changed since “roach” was decommissioned, since the 141 became more prolific.

the new recruits tentatively speak about him and roach, speak about how they were inseparable.

“you really think the ghost could like someone?” a recruit asks, in the mess hall, eating his rice pudding.

“think he could have loved them.” the other recruit says, “heard when roach died his heart was broken.”

and that’s that. he was a cruel man that’d lost too much. his own family, his partner. and now he was cruel and icy to everyone else.

that is until one day someone comes to the base’s reception, with a lunchbox in her hands. you’re standing there, your hair, that barely reaches your shoulders. you’ve got a large lunchbox in your hands, and you give a small smile to the receptionist as you give your ID card to be scanned. 

you’re sweet, wearing a cutesy summer top and a pair of cargo trousers, a right fit for the summer. 

you walk down the halls, with ease, mouthing 174 over and over again until you find simon’s office, and it’s fucking empty. he’s working again, through lunchtime, and obviously won’t eat until he comes back home to you for dinner.

 he’s sparring with the newbies in the gym, and you knock on the door. you swear you hear the recruits thinking he’s shout at you, but he drops everything he’s doing to rush to you.

“love,” he says, “you alright?” his hands pat your head and back down, and you shake your head. but still he insists, “you sure?”

“i’m sure sweetheart.” you shake your head, and then hand him the lunchbox. “please eat your greens lieutenant.” you blush, before putting the box in his hands.

he waves the recruits off, “take lunch off, we’ll be back in the afternoon.” and you just shake your head. 

“i swear she looks familiar.” a recruit says, “like i’ve seen photos of her around.”

simon isn’t so stupid to carry photos of you in his office. but there is a photo of his squadron in the early days. he’s near the back of the photo, tall and menacing, and two rows down you’re there too, grinning with your sparkling eyes. 

hi lovely! of course, i hope you enjoy! thank you for the request as well, how exciting! 🤍

pt.2 right here, love! ⟢

simon’s heart thuds, heartbeat crisp as his pulse races down the shell of his ear, blood flow running too quickly through his thin veins. its dizzying, mind struggling to keep up, struggling to keep up with the pace you’ve set.

your smooth tongue cascades into his mouth, coaxing his teeth apart until it’s gliding over the wetness hiding behind the pearls. simon breathes heavy, panting into your mouth as the pink muscle of his tongue stretches over yours, curling and circling yours as if on the battlefield.

“eh, not too cocky now…” you trail off, the soft pillows of your lips suddenly closing in on his outstretched tongue. you suck, bobbing your head ever so slightly, letting your own drool run down til it’s pooling in the back of his throat, the crevices of his teeth.

simon’s whimpering, hips thrusting up lazily, subconsciously. you’re hovering right over him, applying no pressure to the rough hardness beneath you. he can feel the underside of his cock dig against his zipper, thickening by the second til the metal begins to hurt, begins to imprint into his sensitive skin.

“god, please, love,” his voice curls around the words, accent thick and heady with the impending desperation that shadows him. his fingers, once settled on your thighs slide to your hips, forcing you down.

the warmth of your sweet cunt on top of him is painful, has his cock kicking up, and he can feel the way it spurts sticky pre. his boxers are surely a mess, glued to his skin with the mess he’s creating of himself. but he can’t help his humps, hips tilting till he finds the right angle, jutting himself against you till youre moaning into his mouth.

“you’re so desperate, baby, why don’t i-“ and as your fingers fall to his belt, you freeze, both jumping out of your skin when heavy knocks shake the front door. simon’s eyes flash open, staring up at you in a angry mix of desperation and disappointment.

“no, baby, no, i need you. jus- jus’ ignore whoever it is,” he pleads, big brown eyes drowning in something so heavy, so much desperation its sweating from his pores. he holds you tighter, fingertips crushing your hips as you begin to stand.

“can ‘ear ya’ bastard ass ‘n t’ere, open up!” johnnys voice rings out rough, accent cutting through the thick atmosphere, lust oozing off the two of you. you press a quick kiss to simon’s lips before raising and skipping over to the door, johnny was a sweetheart, presence always welcome.

though simon could beg to differ, whimpering out under his breath. he can feel the tears bead along his lower lash line, he’s so worked up. the warmth your body left behind already beginning to fade, and he can’t help but squeeze his cock tight, relishing in what could be around him, on top of him, sliding down onto him.

a tear falls at the same moment his angry tip cries out, he’s sticky in the face and beneath the belt. but as johnny comes stomping inside he wipes his face. his shoulders curl in defeat, lower lip trembling slightly. he’s going to be stuck here, long drawn out hours, with a twitching cock and nothing to do about it.

when the bloke falls beside him, feet already kicked up on the coffee table, is when he turns. johnny looks over simon, eyebrow raised curiously at his curled in personality, not even a glance towards the scottish fella.

patience was worked through simon. etched, carved into every fiber of his being. he was born with it, the rough military work simply engraving it deeper. it came easy to him, he knew the mistakes when it came to rushing, he knew the risks of impatience, disobedience.

yet patience burned away at his nerve endings, sizzling out the tips of his fingers, his toes. he was never patient with you, all hands and teeth. and here he was, fingers wrapped tight around a beer with you in his lap. his poor cock oozing into you, slathering your soft walls disgustingly.

but the most disgusting part. you weren’t even fucking moving, not an inch, he couldn’t even feel your breaths. just your pretty pussy planted onto him, sucking him in and holding there nice and warm. it was so cruel, had his mind dripping in cruel, poised thoughts. knuckles white at the back of your neck, pressing your tears into the couch cushions as his hips fucked… no. no.

his hips bucked just slightly, subconsciously as want, need, began to consume him. and the slight movement had him whimpering out, had his head rolling back against the wooden framing of the couch. if he could just…. just once more.

“simon.” your tone was berating. you couldn’t even bother him a look over your shoulder, just a demand. a demand that had his balls aching, his poor cock thudding inside of you, milking itself dry without even a fucking release.

he breathed slowly, shallowly. before he smiled gently, free hand resting just gently on your thigh. his motive clear as his thick, rough fingers stretched out. his movements were slow, precise, desperate to not distract you, fingers just ever so slightly brushing across the slick nub of your clit.

slap!

“keep tryin’ it ‘nd you’ll be here all week.” you snapped, chin jutting angrily. he was so damn impatient, always expected to get what he wanted the second he wanted it. he needed to learn obedience, to be a good boy. “and i won’t let you fuckin’ cum once.”

he whined, vocal cords going raw as it pitched into a greedy growl. he was panting, so worked up, so needy. he couldn’t help the roll of his hips despite your threatening words, couldn’t help the shudder, the shaky, desperate thrust of his hips as he came.

“m’sorry, mmph… so sorry, love,” he couldn’t even form a sentence, rocking into you as he worked himself through his own pathetic release. you tried shoving him down, but his hips were stronger, glued to your backside as he shook. “just…. i-i had to…. hurt so bad, baby, don’t you understand? needed to cum so b- hah- bad.”

he was babbling, beer spilling onto the couch cushions, release so heavy his thighs pressed together beneath you. his head lolled back, hips stuttering to a slow halt, his tongue drooling out at his bottom lip as he whimpered out low, heavy breaths. he couldn’t get a grip of himself, especially not with the way his cum began to seep out of you, pooling at the base of his cock.

(Main Masterlist)

Poly!141 x GN!Puppy!Hybrid!Reader

The 141 runs into Puppy!Hybrid!Reader being mistreated and they save them.

AN: This part is fluff, the second part will be suggestive, and the third part smut.

cw: porn link, mdni, fingering, squirting, sweet simon

When you casually mention that you can't squirt, Simon immedietaly pulls over from the road and looks at you confused.

And when you further explain it's because non of your past partners could do it when they tried, you whine about how you're totally convinced that there's something wrong with you and he decides to prove you wrong.