the prince's domain

Wishing you all a get more hairy and naked summer <3

i imagine the live camera feed goes off one night while youre lying in bed. new sheets still hugging you warm after the dryer. the boys are off doing their personal night routines, heavy guard dogs lay at your feet.

with the chime of your phone, a notification alerts you of outside movement. you consider it to be a waving branch or passing car, yet check it nonetheless. something about inner intuition.

youre glad you did.

watching silently as someones shadow skirts along the darker parts of around your house. passing the kitchen windows with a ducked head, then round the back.

"fuck," you bite your lip. sighing quietly as you toss your phone. "johnathan!" four heads from the bathroom peek around the doorframe slow, eyes open with the use of a full name. johnny fights a grin, ready to watch his captain get chewed out by their lady.

"..ye' love?"

"theres some weird guy wandering 'round the house outside," you inform dryly. plucking your phone back up and leaving said comment there. you reach for your wine glass on the bedside table, sipping as their hearts fall to their ass.

sure, anxiety stirs low in your gut. nipping at your reason and concious. but youre also keen of what your boys have lived through, the dirtest negotiations and most horrific actions.

alway do they come back home into your arms.

you could blame it on pure lack of sleep, but its nicer to pin it on the assumption youre probably the safest person in town.

so you continue with scrolling through ao3.

paying a half mind as military tense rounds over their bodies. simon whistles for the dogs and grabs his pistol. grunting and rolling his bare shoulders in atonished anger at somones sheer audacity. i mean for fuck sakes the mans tired. 

johnnys sneaking grin falls, replaced by a flat face as hes quick to grab a flashlight and gun. moving out the door on simons heels. big dogs herding around them.

"stay 'ere yeah love? dont open the fuckin' door," johns voice is a low growl. grabbing a hunters knife ( anniversary gift from you, his names carved in the wood ) and moving to the window. room lights flipped off when johnny left. scanning the open grass with an annoyed brow twitch. "kyle, wi' me."

kyle nods, glancing back three times to make sure youre content. careful to lock the bedroom door and leave a weapon with you, which he drills in not to touch less you hear the burglar. with a final glance, hes gone with the rest of them.

your ears perk for movement outside. glass shatters and a door kicks open. youre pretty sure you hear the guy shriek — most definitely simons doing, weird fucker was waiting in the dark — a brisk struggle before the house falls silent, words they dont want you hearing are exchanged then hes thrown out onto the grass.

hes quick to jump up and scurry off, wet pants uncomfortable and now stinking.

cw: 18+ mdni, smut but fluffy, c0ck warming, ořál (m receiving), mástúrbatïon, faúxcêst, tipsy!Dad bf!Simon, Simon calls you ‘kid’ ‘kitten’

Just like, tipsy!Simon who’s been more than excited to get home to his kid after being stuck drinking with the entire squad. Didn’t even mean to get like this, but somewhere along the way he had one more drink, then another, and another. Enough to have Soap take him home and help him out the car. The door to the house slams shut, making you jump in bed. You curse, immediately putting out the joint in the ash tray and scrambinh out of bed and down the steps.

Simons there, fumbling with taking off his shoes and leaning against the wall, his eyes finally find you, and he smiles.

“Awww, therrre she is, pretty girl.” He slurs, immediately taking you in when you get to the bottom step, in one of his shirts going to your mid thighs. So beautiful, so sexy. He cups your face when he gets to you. “God you’re cute, y’ know that, yer perfect kid.”

“Thanks,” you grumble into his chest, heat rising under your cheeks, “You smell like beer.”

“Yeahhh,” he cups your face, plating kissing all over your skin, “Dad’s been out with allll the blokes you could think ‘f t’night Kitty.”

He hums, copper eyes searching your pretty face, pads of his thumbs widening your slightly hooded eyes, “You smokin?”

“Si-“

“-Is bad for you kid, told you ‘bout out shit like that, yeah?”

“You smoke!” You giggle, watching as he stumbles away from you and to the couch. He waves you off, grumbling something incoherent as he plops down on the cushions with a huff. You heart the click of his belt, “It’s other things t’ do than smoke kitten, let me show you.”

He has you on your knees, in between his legs, your hands taking out his soft cock. You roll your hand up and down his length, smacking the tip against your tongue. But it’s not growing, you can’t help the end of your lips twitching upward, “You’re gettin old, old man.”

Simon flicks your forehead with his finger, shifting so he spreads wider then taking your chin in his hands. “Then keep it warm till it gets there kid, won’t be a bloody issue, will it?”

But it doesn't mean the prince can't touch. He'll brush a hand against their arm any time he passes them, coax them far too close when he needs to say something, tell them to stand and watch over him as he changes and bathes for extra protection, keeping eye contact as he steps into his bath, bare and beautiful, but infuriatingly untouchable.

When the knight has had enough and they can't take the teasing any longer, they'd hatch a plan. They'd beg the prince for just one night, just one, and they'd let it go. It was all they needed. Amused, the prince would agree, but tell them they get only one night.

The knight would be called into the prince's rooms that night, and find the prince lounging in bed. He'd stand and ask them to help him undress, and they'd pull off the prince's silk clothes with trembling, nervous hands, dragging their fingers against his soft skin in wonder. They'd ask for permission to touch him properly, and he'd allow it with a laugh, spreading his legs and coaxing them closer.

The knight would take such care of their prince, mouth slow, fingers gentle, right up until they've got him sunk on their strap. Then their calloused hands would dig into his hips, their thrusts suddenly much faster, his gasps and moans at their chance in pace making them even more desperate. They'd press his face into his pillows, keep him in place, fucking him into the sheets, far rougher than a prince should be handled, but they can't find it in them to worry. If this was the only night they fully planned to take it, and use their prince like the precious prize he was.

And they aren't going to stop when it's so clear the prince loves it. They've watched him for so long, they know what he likes. His face is wet with tears and his fingers fist the sheets but he's begging them for more, back arching when they give it to him. He trembles at their touch, but he never tells them to stop so they use him till they're both too worn out to move.

When morning comes, the knight will assume their usual position, only to find out the prince has changed his mind. He tells them that he wants them every night, that he's craving their touch. But they'd just smile and tell him they only agreed to one night and that's all he's going to get. It's not their fault the prince underestimated them.

But they know he's not going to be able to get off alone after their night together and no one else was going to make him forget. He'd be desperately wanting their touch, the same way the knight had for so long.

Ruining the aesthetic

Steve Harrington x virgin!bimbo!reader Warnings : MNDI ! 18+, virginity loss, p in v, fingering, praise kink (?)

The vanity mirror in your bedroom was bordered by round, glowing bulbs, casting a bright, unforgiving light on your workspace. To anyone else, the array of products scattered across the glass surface, tubes of frosted pink lipstick, pots of glitter gel, three different cans of hairsprays, and an arsenal of brushes, might have looked like chaos. To you, it was an armory.

You were Hawkins High’s resident "doll." You were the girl who wore heels on tuesdays just because, the girl whose notes were color-coded in pastel gel pens, the girl who unironically loved horoscope columns and smelled permanently of vanilla cupcake batter and expensive perfume.

People made assumptions. They saw the bleached highlights, the short skirts, and the wide-eyed, gum-popping smile, and they assumed there wasn’t much going on upstairs. You didn't mind. Let them think you were just air and sugar. It was easier that way. Being a "bimbo", as the burnout kids sometimes muttered when you walked by, was a shield. It was a soft, pink, impenetrable armor against a town that was often grey and scary.

But there was one person who looked at you and didn't just see the aesthetic. He saw the person who curated it.

A horn honked outside. Three short bursts. Steve.

You grabbed your purse and took one last look in the mirror. You were wearing a baby pink fuzzy sweater that stopped just above your navel, and a white mini-skirt that left very little to the imagination. Your lips were glossed to a high-shine mirror finish.

Perfect.

You bounded down the stairs, shouted a quick goodbye to your parents who were watching TV in the den, and stepped out into the humid Indiana evening.

Steve Harrington was leaning against the hood of his car. He was wearing his signature grey member’s only jacket over a yellow polo, his hair coiffed to impossible heights. He looked tired, he always looked tired these days, shadows lingering under his hazel eyes, but when he saw you, the exhaustion evaporated.

His jaw actually dropped. It was a reaction you worked hard for, and it never got old.

“Hi Stevie,” you chirped, walking down the driveway, your white heels clicking on the pavement.

Steve pushed off the car, meeting you halfway. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. He smelled like Brut cologne, hairspray, and faintly of cigarette smoke. It was the best smell in the world.

“You look…” He shook his head, a lopsided grin taking over his face. “I mean, look at you. You look like a movie star. A really hot movie star.”

You giggled, smoothing the collar of his jacket. “And you look like a very handsome babysitter. Rough day with the nuggets?”

Steve groaned, rolling his eyes toward the sky. “Henderson tried to build a radio tower in my backyard. Again. I spent three hours hauling scrap metal. I need a break. I need you.”

“Well, you’ve got me,” you said, going up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, careful not to get gloss on him. “All night. No kids allowed.”

Steve opened the passenger door for you. “Best news I’ve heard all week.”

Dinner was in a small fancy restaurant. You sat in a booth in the back, picking at a plate of pasta while Steve devoured a burger.

The conversation was easy. This was why it worked. You talked about the new fall collection at the mall. You talked about which shade of nail polish suited your skin tone best (Cotton Candy or Ballet Slipper?). You talked about the drama between two cheerleaders Steve barely knew.

And Steve? He listened. He listened with a rapt attention that melted your heart. He watched you talk, his eyes tracking the way your hands moved, the way you twirled your straw. He treated your interests with the same seriousness he treated his monster-hunting. To him, your world of glitter and gossip was a sanctuary. It was normal. It was safe.

But tonight, there was an undercurrent of something else.

Steve’s hand kept finding yours across the table. His thumb rubbed over your knuckles, tracing the rings on your fingers. His gaze was heavier, darker. It wasn't just adoration; it was hunger.

“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head. “You’re staring.”

Steve blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Sorry. I just… I can’t believe you’re mine, sometimes. You’re just so… much. In the best way.”

You flushed, a genuine heat rising to your cheeks that had nothing to do with blush. “You’re sweet.”

“I’m not sweet,” Steve said, his voice dropping, becoming rougher. “I’m a guy sitting across from the most beautiful girl in Hawkins, trying to figure out how fast we can finish dinner so I can take you home.”

Your breath hitched. The air between you suddenly felt thick.

“I’m finished,” you whispered, pushing your plate away.

Steve signaled for the check immediately.

The drive to the Harrington house was filled with the sounds of Madonna and the rushing wind. Steve’s hand rested on your thigh the entire time, his grip firm, possessive. The heat from his palm seeped through your stockings, making your heart race.

You knew where this was going. You had been dating for three months. Three months of heavy make-out sessions in his car, of hands roaming over clothes, of breathless stops at the front door before your curfew.

But you had never gone all the way.

It was the one secret you kept hidden under the layers of lip gloss and bravado. Everyone assumed things about you. They saw the tight skirts and the way you clung to Steve and assumed you were experienced. They assumed you were "easy."

The truth was, you were terrified. You were a virgin. A total, complete, technical virgin. And tonight felt like the night that was going to change.

When you pulled up to his massive, empty house, the lights were off. His parents were gone. Again.

Steve unlocked the front door and you stepped into the cool, silent foyer. He didn't even turn on the lights. He just kicked the door shut, dropped his keys in the bowl, and pulled you toward him.

The kiss was searing. It wasn't the sweet peck from the driveway. It was deep, wet, and urgent. Steve groaned into your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair, messing up the perfect volume you had spent twenty minutes on. You didn't care.

He walked you backward until you hit the wall. He pressed his body flush against yours, his thigh slotting between your legs. You could feel how much he wanted you, the hardness of him pressing against your stomach. It sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

“Let’s go upstairs.” he murmured against your neck, biting gently at the sensitive cord of muscle there. 

You nodded, unable to speak.

He took your hand and led you up the stairs, his grip tight, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

His bedroom was messy, piles of clothes, a half-read book, old mixtapes scattered on the dresser. It smelled like him. It was your favorite place in the world.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you to stand between his knees. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and blown wide. He reached out, his hands resting on your waist, his thumbs stroking the soft fabric of your sweater.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “You know that?”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your stomach through the sweater. Then, he looked up, a silent question in his eyes.

You took a deep breath. You reached down and grabbed the hem of your sweater. You pulled it over your head, tossing it onto the floor.

Underneath, you were wearing a sheer, baby pink lace bralette. It was flimsy, expensive, and made you look like a pin-up girl.

Steve let out a sharp hiss of breath. “Jesus… Y/N…”

He reached for the zipper of your skirt.

“Steve,” you said. Your voice came out small, shaky. A stark contrast to the confident girl who had walked into the restaurant.

Steve stopped immediately. His hands froze on your hips. He looked up, his expression instantly shifting from lust to concern. “What? What is it? Did I do something?”

“No,” you said quickly, placing your hands over his. “No, you’re perfect. It’s just…”

You looked down at him. The King of Hawkins. The guy who had dated Nancy Wheeler. The guy who presumably knew exactly what he was doing. And then there was you, all style, no substance, at least in this department.

“I have to tell you something,” you whispered. “And it’s… it’s kind of embarrassing. Because I know what I look like. I know what people say.”

Steve frowned, his brow furrowing. He stood up, towering over you, but he kept his distance, giving you space. “Hey. Who cares what people say? Talk to me.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you blurted out.

The silence in the room was deafening for a split second.

Steve blinked. “Done what?”

“This,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Sex. Everything. I’m… I’m a virgin, Steve.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for him to laugh. Waiting for him to be disappointed that the "hot bimbo girlfriend" didn't come with the skills he probably expected.

Instead, you felt warm hands cup your face.

You opened your eyes. Steve was looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite place. It was tender. It was surprised, yes, but mostly… he looked awestruck.

“You’re a virgin?” he repeated softly.

You nodded, biting your lip. “I know. It’s stupid. I look like this, and I—”

“It’s not stupid,” Steve interrupted firmly. He ran his thumbs over your cheekbones. “It’s… wow. Okay. So, I’m the first?”

“You’re the first,” you confirmed. “If you… still want to.”

Steve let out a breathless laugh, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. “If I still want to? Baby, are you crazy? Of course I want to. I want you more than anything.”

He pulled back to look at you, his hazel eyes serious now. “But this changes things. We have to… I want to make sure you’re okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We can stop. We can just make out.”

“I want to,” you said, reaching up to thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I really, really want to, Steve. I trust you.”

That broke him. You saw the moment his resolve crumbled into pure, molten affection.

“Okay,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you gently, so much softer than before. “Okay. Then I’m going to take care of you. I promise. I’m going to be so good to you.”

The shift in dynamic was palpable. Before, it had been a race. Now, it was a slow, deliberate worship.

Steve undressed you like you were made of spun glass. He unzipped your skirt and helped you step out of it. He unclasped your bra, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverence that made you shiver. When you were finally standing before him in nothing but your lacy pink panties and stockings, he just looked.

“You are perfect,” he murmured, his gaze traveling over every curve. “Like a doll. My perfect doll.”

He stripped off his own clothes quickly, the jacket, the polo, the jeans, revealing a body that was lean and scarred from battles you only half-knew about. He looked strong. He looked capable.

He picked you up, lifting you effortlessly, and laid you back against the pillows. The sheets were cool against your skin. Steve hovered over you, bracing his weight on his elbows so he wouldn't crush you.

“Tell me if anything feels bad,” he said, brushing hair out of your eyes. “Tell me if you want me to stop. I mean it, Y/N. Even if I’m… in the middle of it. You say stop, I stop.”

“I know,” you whispered. “Kiss me, Stevie.”

He kissed you. He kissed your mouth, slow and deep. He kissed your jaw. He kissed your neck, sucking a bruise there that you’d have to cover with makeup tomorrow. He moved down your body, kissing your collarbone, the slope of your breast, your stomach.

“You’re so soft,” he groaned against your skin. “You smell like frosting. I could eat you up.”

His hand slid down your stomach, slipping beneath the lace of your panties. You gasped, your hips bucking instinctively.

“Easy,” he soothed, his voice low and rumbling. “I’ve got you.”

He used his fingers first, prepping you, stretching you. He watched your face the entire time, gauging your reactions. Every time you moaned, a smirk played on his lips, a mix of male pride and genuine happiness that he was making you feel good.

“You like that?” he whispered, his thumb circling you.

“Yes,” you breathed, your hands gripping the sheets. “Steve, please.”

“You’re so wet,” he praised, leaning up to kiss you again. “You’re so ready for me. God, you’re so pretty when you’re like this. All flushed and messy.”

He removed your panties slowly, sliding them down your legs. Then, he reached over to the nightstand for a condom. He fumbled a bit, his hands were shaking, which somehow made you feel better. He was nervous too. The King of Hawkins was nervous because of you.

When he was protected, he settled between your legs. He nudged your knees apart wider, stepping into the cradle of your hips.

“Okay,” he breathed, his face hovering inches from yours. “I’m gonna come in now. It might hurt a little at first. Just breathe for me.”

You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist. You felt the heavy, blunt pressure of him against your entrance.

Steve pushed forward slowly. He was agonizingly gentle. He entered you inch by inch, giving your body time to adjust to the intrusion. It burned, a sharp, stretching sensation that made you wince and dig your nails into his shoulders.

Steve stopped immediately. He held perfectly still, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back. He kissed the sweat from your forehead.

“You okay?” he gritted out.

“Yeah,” you panted. “Just… give me a second.”

“Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

You took a few deep breaths, focusing on the weight of him, the heat of his chest against yours. The pain began to fade, replaced by a feeling of fullness. You looked into his eyes. They were wide, vulnerable, and full of love.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Keep going.”

Steve pushed deeper, sliding past the barrier until he was fully sheathed inside you. He let out a long, broken groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled. “You feel… you feel incredible.”

He stayed still for a moment, letting you get used to him. Then, slowly, he began to move.

It wasn't fast. It wasn't rough. It was a slow, rolling rhythm. He pulled almost all the way out and then glided back in, hitting deep.

“Steve,” you whimpered. The sensation was overwhelming. It was too much and not enough all at once.

“I know,” he whispered, peppering kisses over your face. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

He began to pick up the pace, just slightly. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to the mattress. You found yourself moving with him, your instincts taking over. You arched your back, meeting his thrusts.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice rough. “Just like that. You’re doing so good. You’re taking it so good.”

Hearing him praise you flipped a switch in your brain. You wanted to be good for him. You wanted to be the best he’d ever had.

“Does it feel good?” you asked breathlessly.

“It feels like heaven,” Steve groaned. “You have no idea. Being the first one inside you… knowing no one else has touched you like this… it’s driving me crazy.”

He thrust harder, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision blur. Pleasure coiled in your stomach, hot and tight.

“Steve!” you cried out.

“I’m here. Let go, baby. Come for me.”

He reached down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. That was the tipping point. The friction, the fullness, the smell of him, it all crashed together.

You fell apart. You cried out his name, your body clamping down around him as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Feeling you climax was too much for Steve. He groaned, a guttural sound deep in his chest. He drove into you hard, once, twice, three times, before burying himself deep and freezing there. His body shuddered against yours, his arms crushing you to him as he poured himself into you.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of harsh breathing and the whir of the ceiling fan.

Steve collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy and comforting. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing slowly returning to normal. You ran your hands up and down his sweaty back, tracing the line of his spine.

After a few minutes, he lifted his head. His hair was a disaster, a messy halo around his head. He looked exhausted and incredibly happy.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of regret or pain. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said softly. “It was… perfect. You were perfect.”

Steve let out a sigh of relief and rolled off you, pulling you into his side. He pulled the duvet up over both of you, cocooning you together.

He looked at you, taking in the smeared lip gloss, the messy hair, the flushed skin. The "bimbo" aesthetic was ruined, dismantled by his hands. And yet, he looked at you like you were even more beautiful now than you were when you walked out of the house.

“You’re a mess,” he teased gently, tracing your lower lip with his thumb.

You laughed, snuggling closer to his chest. “You did this.”

“Guilty,” he grinned. He kissed the top of your head. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice serious again. “For trusting me. For giving me… that. It means a lot. More than you know.”

You rested your hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat steady and strong beneath your palm. You knew people saw you as the airhead and him as the washed-up King. But in this bed, in the dark, you were just two people who had found a safe place to land.

“I love you, Steve,” you whispered.

Steve tightened his arm around you. “I love you too, doll. So much.”

He reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

“Now,” he mumbled sleepily into your hair. “If you think you’re getting out of this bed anytime before noon tomorrow, you’re crazy.”

You smiled, closing your eyes, surrounded by the smell of Brut and the warmth of the only man who mattered. “Totally fine by me.”

your lipgloss is smeared across your cheek from where he kissed you too hard, and your mascara’s already running a bit from how good he’s fucking you—but your voice is still soft and airy when you blink up at him and ask:

"wait—does it like... count as cardio even if I’m just layin’ here bein’ pretty?"

simon’s hips stutter against yours, his groan rough and low as it slips against your neck.

“christ, pet. you’re gonna kill me.”

he’s smirking, though. the kind of smirk you feel rather than see, all pressed against your skin like he’s trying to melt into you.

you giggle, all pleased with yourself, hands sliding lazily up his chest like you’re not even aware of the way you’re clenching around him.

“well, i do feel a bit sweaty…”

your fingers tug playfully at his dog tag.

“is that, like, a workout? or just ‘cause you’re so mean to me?”

“mean?” he huffs out a laugh, voice thick and slurred with accent and need. “you’re the one layin’ there like a fuckin’ angel, sayin’ the dumbest little things with my cock in you—’course i’m losin’ my head.”

you blink up at him, lips parting around a whine when he grinds into you a little deeper, slower.

“mmh, i was gonna wear my new pink panties today…”

your voice is dreamy, almost distracted, like it just floated up from wherever your brain’s gone.

simon’s mouth curls against your jaw.

“yeah? why didn’t you?”

“you never let me keep ‘em on anyway…”

you say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, all wide-eyed and bashful-proud, and he groans again, this time downright pained.

“fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

he dips his head and kisses you, deep and filthy, until you’re pawing at his shoulders and whining against his lips.

“if i say please real nice, will you finish inside?”

that’s what breaks him.

his rhythm falters, rough hands sliding under your thighs to push them higher, deeper, his growl all warm and wrecked against your ear.

“you want that, pet? want me to fill you up like a good girl, yeah?”

you nod so fast your head tips back against the pillows, glossy-eyed and gasping, fingers clawing at him like you need him deeper even when he’s already splitting you in half.

“mhm, yeah—makes my brain all floaty…” you sigh, content and fucked dumb.

you’re all breathy and whiny under him, blinking up at him with lipgloss kissed half-off, and go:

"wait— does it like… count as cardio even if i’m like... just laying here bein' pretty?"

and simon groans against your neck, "christ pet, you're gonna kill me."

it's late at night at some grimy little bar, leon's slumped at one of the bar stools just drinking out of habit. he notices you- a younger boy that immediately catches his attention. at first, he's writing it off and not approaching you... cause he's probably twice your age. until you're the one approaching him, all cute and awkward. stuttering your way through a sentence. yeah, he's going to ruin you.

it takes all of fifteen minutes for leon to pay his tab and then he's bringing you home, a warm hand on the back of your neck leading you to his apartment like a dog.

when you get all nervous, admitting you're trans and muttering out little apologies? leon gets wetter than he already is. he's manhandling you, asking how long you've been on testosterone- and he laughs at the time. he's been going nearly double.

by the time you're on his bed, he's jumping at the bit to get your underwear off, his fingers hooking under the waistband and going tortuously slow- teasing you just to watch you squirm all pathetic like. once he gets properly acquainted with your cunt- making you sob on his rough fingers, counting as you make it past each knuckle, the hair on his hands growing slick with your arousal- he finally unzips his jeans.

kneeling between your legs, he mushes your tdicks together, another open mouthed chuckle leaving him, his chest tight when he sees just how much bigger he is than you. he nearly tries to slide his in, seeing how you coat him in your previous orgasms. that has him reaching for his strap.

don't worry, he'll be kind. he lets you pick out which dildo you want him to use on you. he's built up quite the collection anyways, and is only amused when you go for one of the bigger ones.

"greedy boy, aren't you?" he's practically snarling, spurting an unnecessary amount of lube onto your hole just to see it clench and pulse under the dim light of his bedroom. he makes you watch as he slowly stuffs it inside, stroking your cock slowly as he does just to make you more sensitive.

once he's bottomed out? he's not stopping till you're nearly braindead, taking you in every position possible. the memories are you are going to last in his apartment for days- and he's making sure you'll text him for more. that is, if he isn't the one to text first. he keeps going till you're begging him to get you pregnant

at least the aftercare is good.

Is this something?? Do we like?? Hopefully this is actually something new and not just something I was unaware you wrote already

If you do- this is proudly the same anon who only found you today. If you dont- then its not me 🫣

This is my exact kink so it skipped the line

Tw: rimming, cnc, pup play, trans reader, bitching reader out for a change

Soap clocked it first, when you were tipsy enough to get a little sloppy. You let it slip, bragging to him when Johnny told you about how Ghost fucked him so hard he struggled to walk after a hard mission.

“Funny comin’ from you, big tough guy. Couldn’t be me- nobody’s ever won with me, so I always end up topping,” you say it loosely, struggling to try and keep your head up against the table. Empty glasses circle the pair of you, a rough day drowned with enough alcohol to numb the pinches in your muscles at Price’s fancy condo.

Soap’s ears perk, too blue eyes finding yours even as you lean against your half empty glass.

“Won? What, ye fight every bastard you fall into bed with and win? Ye must only be fuckin civvies then, with arms like that,” the sergeant snarks, pinching your bicep and making you sit up straight with an annoyed look.

“Tell that to my strap, I fuck men twice your size with that thing on my hips,” now THATS interesting, makes Simon suddenly perk up in his seat in curiosity.

“Strap? You? Since when?” Gaz finally inserts himself, grinning and leaning into your space as you squawk and push at him. “Wh- hey!! Since always! I’ll have you know I am always the top and! I have great satisfaction scores!” Your joke makes Price finally cough up a laugh around his cigar smoke, staring at you and tilting his head like he’s deciding something.

“Do you?”

You quirk an eyebrow at that, pausing in your attack to eye your captain and his very obvious tone, the same tone he uses when he’s in an interrogation, or on the field- the one that intimidates, that gives anybody self doubt.

“Are you seriously fucking testing me?” You snap before you can stop yourself, your own eyes widening at your tone. Price was basically your boss- you couldn’t talk to him like that-!

But he doesn’t seem angry. Instead, he just glances at Soap again- two pairs of those creepy ass blue eyes meeting and exchanging something in silence- before the Scot turns back with a grin.

“Yeah. Prove it.” The sergeant says. You scoff, standing immediately to give them both a piece of your mind when Gaz shoves you down with a laugh. Your world turns sideways, and the instant struggle is real- your kicks are harsh, your loud snarls and snaps are intimidating- but you can’t fight off two men at once.

Pinned down over the couch, snapping your teeth as your foot meets Soap’s gut- he lets out a wheezed laugh. It gives you just a second of an advantage though, and you shove yourself up even under Gaz’s weight pinning you- but Johnny’s hands are quick to yank your feet out from under you just as you yank yourself out.

“Woah pup- don’t hurt your little head! We need you aware, don’t we? Silly little thing, I can’t believe he thinks he can top,” Gaz’s deep voice comes out in a false cheerfulness- scratching with desire at the edges of his tone. Your cunt pulses in something you can’t quite admit, even as you shove Johnny into a headlock. He’s laughing even as he gasps for air, like you’re nothing more than the pup Gaz just called you-an overeager dog.

Your quick victory is snuffed by a third pair of hands, suddenly ripping you off of Soap and onto your back- black sweatshirt blocking your field of vision as you slam into hardwood.

“Stupid mutt- thought you’d be a better fight than this,” Ghost taunts in your ear, someone else pinning your legs with his weight. You struggle, but the lieutenant has the upper hand at this angle keeping your hands pinned tight.

“Shut up- this- this isn’t fair! It’s three on one! I would’ve beat you all if you hadn’t CHEATED-!” You snap back, only to let out a loud squeal when your shirt is promptly ripped up. Chest scars on display to your own embarrassment, but the men around you all hum appreciatively at how they’re healing.

“If you didn’t want this, you would’ve kicked me in the jaw and broke it,” Soap says with that same rough grin, your eyes widening as you try to yank away from him on top of your legs. Gaz pulls your chin upwards to look at him, stuck between two brutes as he gives you a sweet smile.

“You like having attention on you for once, don’t you? Naughty boy, look at you. Why would you dom when you could just be my sweet little puppy, hm? Doesn’t that sound nicer,” the sergeant murmurs, dark toned hands tracing along your quivering jaw. You snap your teeth at his fingers, only to have ghost wrench your jaw tight to look at him again.

“Watch it, mutt. You try that again, and I break this pretty jaw. Thought you knew how to dom, mm? Bratty fuckin thing, that’s the real you,” Ghost snarls, his fingers shoving their way into your mouth instead. You gag on the thick digits, squirming and trying to kick your feet- fuck, Soap is still on your legs! And his hands are yanking down your cargos, boxers going along with it. Simon’s hand rips out of your mouth, leaving you gasping and yelping at the sudden cold.

“Aye, thought you said you strapped down men twice my size, lad? All I see here is a cute little cock, that’s funny,” Johnny pipes in, and the men all take turns cooing at your throbbing little t dick- the way it pearls against your wet pussy lips. Gaz swipes a thumb against it, soap’s already forcing your legs apart and leaving all your dignity dangling off your leg- too busy laughing at the way your hips try to buck and wrench out of their grip.

Simon’s pre splatters against your cheek suddenly, making you snap your attention to the massive cock that is now dangling over your face as he sits beside your head. Hands still pinned tight, helpless to the way the head smears against your face. Guess that’s why he pulled his fingers out of your mouth- your spit covering his now slick cock. It’s foul, it’s fucking insulting- fuck, it’s hot.

“Where’s that strap, huh kid? You leave it at home? Is it big like this?” Ghost taunts, letting his heavy member rub against your wet lips. You try not to let your mouth open, but well placed fingers prodding at your holes make you gasp out loud. His head hits the blunt of your teeth first, and Simon groans breathily- masochistic freak.

You lean your head back, glaring daggers up at the man as his cock slips into your mouth fully. You suck the head in fully- halfway down just to try and make him hiss in overstimulation; but Simon seems far too excited to give a fuck at your attempt to throw him off.

“Fuck me,” Price says from his chair, but you can’t be arsed to care as you bob your head. Sucking as hard as you can; fast and rough as the lieutenant shivers and squirms at your mouth’s quickness. Fuck- you’re so hot, and wet-

“Christ, mutt- wait-“ Simon starts, before you’re snatching him by the waist and swallowing him to the hilt- holy SHIT. It’s a struggle, but you’re determined as you start to pull up- teeth grazing his head and making the man let out a breathy whine. It’s working- it’s fucking working, the worthless trout-

An overeager tongue lathering itself against your cunt has you sputtering and coughing for air. That control snatched so quickly out of your grasp, flinching and twitching as Soap’s tongue slobbers over both your holes all the way to your little cock. Gaz laughs openly at the way you’re suddenly struggling and whimpering, and at the way that Ghost has to pull his fat cock from your lips and desperately squeeze the base just to keep his load in.

“Fuckin’ twat- thinking you could make a fool outta me?” Simon snarls, roughly gripping your hair and slapping his cock against your cheek again. You growl and try to speak- but warm hands are suddenly pinching at your nipples and making you writhe.

“He just needs a little training, Simon. Don’t you remember how much it took to make you nice and sweet?” Kyle’s voice cooed over your head, and you feel the way the Lieutenant’s cock pulses against your face. Fuck- but it’s hard to pay attention when Soap’s lips have suctioned around your dick and are trying to suck you off the bone.

Your loud whine gets their attention, and Simon takes the chance to shove his cock back down your throat again- this time, with your hair firmly in his grip while Gaz kissed up the side of your head, traced your poor sore pecs from his punishments. “There we go, that’s better! You’re just a dumb pup, just need a bit of correcting, that’s all,” the sergeant murmured, nipping at your ear.

Spit dripped down your chin, salty pre on your tongue and Simon’s angry thrusts are starting to be in time with Johnny’s insatiable tongue. It’s insane, and your hands are useless trying to scratch at Simon’s thick thighs- not when you’re moaning around his cock down your throat. Your thighs squeezing desperately around Soap’s head- closer, closer-

Until you choke out a loud whine and tremble through your first orgasm, the group of men cooing and laughing at how tightly you clung to Simon now. He rips himself out of your throat finally, yanking Gaz up from beside you- and rolling the man onto his belly in your face. Yanking sweet Kyle’s pants down as the sergeant laughed and struggled slightly- until his perfect ass was pressed against your face.

“Y’ got two options while we fuck this little hole of yours. Rim him, or suck his cock,” Simon growls down at you, making you growl weakly at him. “I- I’ve never been- you can’t fuck me- you’re too big!” You try to argue, throat still sore from the Lieutenant’s rough treatment.

Soap’s sharp spank sets you straight, flinching against Gaz’s ass before rutting his cock against your poor cunt. “I’ll break you in, mutt- you’re getting fucked though, so pick- ass? Or cock?” The Scotsman says far too cheerfully for your taste. You openly scowl, before finally licking a long stripe up Gaz’s heavy balls- peeking at the way he shivered and groaned.

Simon shoving your face into his ass harder makes you finally relent, whining out a quick “fine- fine! Ass! I’ll eat his ass!”

“Just- just be careful, I’m not- I don’t do this-!” You whine, jumping at the feeling of Soap’s cock notching against your pussy. “Aye, aye- just lick him up, pup- relax.”

Your tongue slowly starts moving, increasingly paying more and more attention to how sweet Kyle sounded against the couch cushions. Simon rubbed down the sergeant’s broad back, pale fingers a pretty contrast to his warm skin.

“Fuck- Simon-“ Kyle whines, and you can’t help the way you pout, at the way Simon gently shushes the other man while he was so rough with you. “Good boy, both of you just relax, let him love on you,” the lieutenant said gently, a distant laugh from Price ringing out.

The first push inside of you robs you of all your focus, loudly yelping as your walls are breached. Sure- you’d used dildos to jerk off in the past- but this was different! This was power, power stripped from you until you were desperately whimpering and crying against poor Kyle’s rim, the vibrations making the man writhe against your mouth. His long pretty cock twitching from where it hung between you two, lost and desperate for attention.

“Christ- Savin this wee cunt, were you? So fucking- tight-“ Johnny groans, and you’re forced to hold your breath and slobber against Kyle’s ass while the sergeant breaks you in one slow thrust at a time.

“Fuckin’ joke, you are. Never bottomed, I don’t believe it for a second,” Price mumbles in the corner, his cock angry and red as the older man stares the scene down. “Johnny- pick up the pace, or else you’re not cumming tonight.”

The Scot whines, his thrusts quickening to match his boss’s desired pace. It’s maddening, and you can’t stop the quick grunts of pleasure rumbling from your chest- Gaz grinding back against your face in approval at the delicious vibrations.

“Fuck- that’s it, soap- Simon- please-?” Kyle sighs so so sweetly, and it’s absurd how quickly Ghost drops to his knees to roughly jerk him off. His other hand shoving you harder against the whining sergeant’s wet hole, the other gasping and sighing at the sight of you three.

“C’mon, lovie- you’re so pretty, ain’t you? Go on, show the mutt how to feel good- come on, come for us,” Simon speaks so gently that your heart twists, a loud whine leaving your throat that’s interrupted by another harsh thrust. Feeling so pitiful, tears dripping from your cheeks as Kyle comes apart against Simon’s fist, cum drooling into his palm and slathered back over his pretty cock.

“Fuck- fuck-!” Soap growls out, yanking his cock from your wet heat just to splatter cum all over your back. You’re pulled from Kyle’s ass, only for Simon to roughly yank your jaw open and shove his cum stained fingers down your throat- laughing at the way you gag and whimper at the sweet taste.

What the fuck? Kyle’s cum tasted good as hell-his ass was so clean and well trimmed too! When did he even have the time-?

“Finally broken, little pup? Ready to accept your place? C’mon, look how happy Gaz is- bottoming is fun, ain’t it?” Ghost says in a scratchy voice, his fingers slowly leaving your mouth until your wet lips made a cute pop!

You blink slowly at him, trying to come up with something mean to say. Maybe something harsh and cruel- but Gaz has rolled over to lean against the couch- and fuck, he looks so good all sweaty with a smile that you feel your brain turn to mush.

“Look at that- your fat ass made him dumb, Kyle,” Soap says with a laugh, rutting his still hard cock against your t dick- gripping your hips to keep you still when you buck.

“Stupid thing. Johnny. Move.” Simon grunts, ignoring the man’s whine. “Wh- Ghost! Ah’m still hard, need another go-“ he tries to argue, only to instantly heel at a mouth click from Price.

At his side in an instant, like your hot cunt didn’t even exist as he looks down eagerly at his captain. You swore if he had a tail, it’d be wagging- fuck, that was so hot. Price’s thick hand reaching up and slowly jerking off the needy cock next to him. Ignoring Soap’s pitchy whines, the way he twitches with every slow tug.

You let out a choked noise, only brought back to focus by the sharp slap against your ass by Simon as he stepped behind you, yelping and collapsing into Kyle’s stomach. Pressed up against the couch now, between the sergeant’s legs and so dazed, so fucking overwhelmed.

Kyle’s gentle hands pull you up from hiding in his stomach, cooing and brushing the cum off your lip. “Oh, poor puppy. This is all new for you, huh? Your little cunt didn’t even come on Soap’s cock- how sad! You want Simon to fuck you now, pretty boy?” The sergeant murmurs, smiling at the way you shudder. You feel almost drunk, nodding your head so so pitifully with tears in your eyes- fuck!

“Words, sweetheart,” Gaz says so softly, gently squishing your cheeks in his hand. “Wanna- just wanna cum-“ you finally whimper, your poor soaked hole clenching around nothing. It’s pathetic, it’s humiliating, you’ve never felt so small in your life. The sergeant’s gaze flips up to Simon- pointed. Commanding, communicating something.

Then he’s notching his massive cock against your wet hole. It’s cold- Simon lubed himself at some point, and it makes the new slide much easier- groaning and heaving for air as Simon slowly ground his way inside. Every slow push is restrained, you can feel him twitching against you like he wants to slam his hips into yours- fuck you into the couch.

“There we go, mutt- fuck. Just- needed to be broken in, that’s all. Look at you- haven’t tried to bite me in a whole five minutes,” the lieutenant says dryly, but he’s obviously effected by your pussy- trying to push you along, reaching down to jerk off your throbbing t dick between his fingers.

“Si- ah! Ah fuck- fuck!” You babble, eyes rolling into the back of your head as that wave finally crashes over you, only exacerbated by Simon seemingly losing control and starting to thrust into you. He’s slower than Soap, thank god- but he’s got a solid two inches of extra length and thicker too. You can’t help but bite down against Gaz’s shirt, the fabric straining against your jaw.

“Bloody hell- that’s it, milk this fucking cock- better then the bloody brat over there; ay?”

Soap openly laughs, finally released by Price while the old man licks the second load off his fingers. You try to open your eyes, but every thrust has them rolling back- unable to do anything but finally let out the most pathetic moan, half wheezed out. Everyone’s eyes snap down to you, Ghost’s massive hand clamping down around your throat to yank you against his chest- freeing your mouth.

“What was that? Was that a bitch moan, huh? Come on- louder slut, show us how good of a bottom you can be,” he snarls, and Gaz is looking up at the two of you practically with stars in his eyes. His dripping cock is hardening again just from the sight, jaw hanging open at the sight of you both.

You can’t speak, can’t do anything but moan again- hands trying to grip at Ghost. You feel out of your mind, you feel like his dick is almost in your throat- you feel like you’re going to cum again with the way Simon’s other hand is still jerking your cock-!

“Fuuuuck, that’s it. Squirt on poor Gaz, so cute,” Price groans when you suddenly gush, squirting against the couch- soaking Kyle’s stomach as Simon’s hips stutter and shoves themselves to the hilt- finally ripping up his mask to dig his teeth into your throat. You keen and writhe, but it’s no use. Your blood is in the man’s mouth, his cum now making a ring around where his cock is plugging up your cunt.

A distant whine tells you Kyle came again just at the sight of you, all of you collapsing against each other on the couch as Soap starts pressing slobbering kisses against all of your cheeks. It’s- oddly comforting, these bodies pressing against your own, sweaty and warm and soothing now that they’re not fucking you like they’re trying to kill you.

“Good puppy,” Kyle sighs.

“Sweet mutt,” Simon grunts with a bloody kiss to your jaw.

“Perfect lad- so good, so good”, Soap coos at you, leaning over to kiss Gaz.

“Maybe next time, we’ll let you put on the strap before testing you,” Price says in the back.

not even when you sit on his lap and scrape away the blood from his hands. nothing serious. just dealing with someone found in your quarters, unauthorized and waiting for you to enter so they could see the pretty ward up close. but it's alright. they've been taken care of.

in a thick silence, he watches you, armourless, scrape away at the stains. biting your lip at the size of his hands. eventually slipping one of his fingers into your mouth.

he keeps it there while you multitask–sucking and fumbling with the waistband of his breeches. just as you gag on the digit, out pops his cock. half hard over the acts of protecting you. keeping you nice and safe so you can sit on his and taste his fingers.

he only hisses, nothing more, when you squeeze around his sticky head, thumbing at the slit. the finger tugs away from your tongue to wipe the spit on your cheek.

"thank you for saving me," you grin, moving to pump his cock with a tight fist.

he is quiet, at most giving grunts as a response to let you know he’s listening to your mindless chatter about court gossip. but he cares for you in his own way, picks little flowers when you two are out of the castle in nature. will help with your needling while holding the yarn. even gifting a dagger he paid with his own coin, for an achievement you made

yay or nay 😩

-🍡

PREVIOUS PART | INBOX ✉

tws: some fluff, good bit of smut (mdni), might be calling him shadow but idk we'll see; 0.6 words !

five grunts. that’s your record for one day, and you’re determined to reach higher. what he lacks in words… he makes up for with trinkets.

gifts.

the guards outside your chambers have been instructed to escort your servants to their quarters so your knight can watch you in the low sounds of sloshing water and your shiny skin. whenever you ask him to join, the most he'll do is step up to the edge of the tub to fiddle with your nipples. blinking at the way your chest jumps with gasps at the rough-fingered touch.

"join me, please."

the knight sniffs. no.

"you're no fun," you pout, grabbing his hand to lace his digits with yours. another silence lingers. he can tell you don't want to leave the warmth of the water. "we should go riding before tomorrow's ceremonies. the horses seem antsy."

What's wrong your majesty? If you'd like me to stop, just say the word.