#Dawg Pound

[daminouspurity]

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[bruiserdarula]

Out with the old in with the new🐾🦴

[sinful-roxy]

[thugguzzler]

Pound. Puppy. x Dawggy. Style.

[majachee]

Sensory issues 🤯 autism? 🤨💥

[peapod20001]

Hmmggmg what’s smth I can doodle poly bfs doin. Posing 9 characters is difficult lmaoo

[infizero]

that dream post made me remember the nightmare i had like a year or two ago about bon from the walten files that shit was still to this day probably the most terrifying nightmare ive ever had

[ochrearia]

I love when my friends draw my elfsona that I based 100% on my irl body because I wanted to work on body positivity and they draw me with the pudginess I have and it actually doesn't make me hate myself. Incredible

[daminouspurity]

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[calebrity]

separation anxiety

⤷ caleb experiences a rut after a long time, and it just so happens that you’re in his path.

cw. 18+ smut, hybrid! caleb, knotting, dubcon if you squint, breeding, obsessive/possessive behavior, perv caleb, fem human! reader, ruts, size difference, also a lil breeding, 3.5k words because i physically struggle to write smut without a preamble, reader is ovulating and it triggers his rut this time for whatever reason

an. saw this trope going around & wanted to try it <33 he’s got that DAWG in him 💪 also i cant decide if hybrid caleb gives german shepherd vibes or samoyed vibes…. that moments post lives rent free in my mind tho idk (>_<)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, & 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅! (๑´ `๑)♡

Caleb would say he hates you for the time you’re gone, but it’d be a big fat lie. His love for you, big and bursting in his chest, deepens in the quiet windows where you’re present at work or running errands throughout Linkon before returning home to him.

There’s a permanence of you in his mind and being. He wants it no other way.

His devotion for you doesn’t necessarily drown him- no, you’re always there with a lifering waiting- but it certainly sweeps him up and threatens to.

He gets a bit ahead of himself sometimes, he’s aware of that; energetic, bulging at the seams with vigor; whether it’s an integral part of his personality or just a consequence of his breed, the pound he came from never quite knew. Your Gran never figured that out, either, and for as sweet and trying as she was, she soon realized she couldn’t foster him for long.

Because he was a big boy, hungry for attention and wired to please, well-meaning but oft over involved with personal space— and he brought a loaded package that your Gran just couldn’t sign her name off on, not after a few months, anyway. She tried her best before nudging him into your care, because she sure as hell wasn’t about to give him up to that squalid pound or the streets again- and besides, the mutt liked her granddaughter; all those visits she paid throughout the summer obviously endeared Caleb to her, and quickly.

You admit, it’s a mite difficult to juggle between long days at work, little tasks that drag you from point to point throughout Linkon, and your own personal life on top of caring for a hybrid stowed away in your shoebox apartment— but your grandmother was all but sapped of her energy then, turning to you for aid although she seldom ever did, and you’d always lend a hand where you could.

The mutt- Caleb, is his name (and you call it fondly even as he’s pawing at your thighs for attention or drooling on your collar)- has grown on you considerably in the past half year, anyway.

You won’t let him down or leave him at the curb. He’s yours. The red collar you bought him says as much, printed with your number on a silver plate, and he wears it not because you make him but because he’s proud of it.

He’s a good boy, he is. He always has been and for that you’re thankful.

Except, this week he’s… different.

As of a few days ago, it’s like he’s been testing the waters- and your patience- on just how far he can go before you tell him off or say bad dog. He must find them warm because he’s just been diving deeper as the week progresses.

You don’t know what to do. He’s oddly aggressive. It’s not rare at all for him to follow you all around your apartment, but he’s foregone the very last shred of respect for your personal space and nips when you try to push him away. Not hard enough to actually hurt- the yip you make is more surprised than anything when he pulls you back in and licks at the small red patch- but you look wounded at it.

Because Caleb doesn’t bite— he just doesn’t.

He wraps you up in seemingly endless embraces and breathes your smell in until he’s dizzy, laughing into your neck like a giddy child. He does this every time you try to leave for work and he’s made you late for it.

Maybe it’s just because you’re ovulating and a little hormonal, but it makes you quite sour and the mood stays even when you return in the afternoon. He’s never liked when you’re gone, sure, but he’s always been there to see you off at the door with a pout as you scratch behind his ear- more or less tame about it.

Your patience really frays at the odd uptick in his possessiveness, though. It’s hurtful.

You’ve always treated him less like a pet- a hybrid- and more like a friend, and you feel quite indignant for it when he growls and tells you that he hates the smell of other men on you, hearing none of your excuses that it’s ‘just coworkers’, glaring at you like some brainless extension of him. You feel less like a person and more like an object, a streetlamp in which he emerges from the shadows for just to piss on to show it belongs to him.

He’s touchy. Snippy. Glued to your side at all times. It’s concerning and frustrating and confusing all at once.

By the fifth day mark, on Friday night, you’re tuckered out by it and don’t question where he is when you return home early from a shift and he’s, uncharacteristically, not there to greet you.

A red collar however, laid on the floor, its tag glittering under dim hallways lights, strikes you as both curious and unsettling.

He never takes that off. No- says it’s his way of showing you and the whole world that he belongs to you, and— have you been too impatient with him lately? Brusque? Maybe you’re a little hormonal but it’s no cause to get short with him, even when he’s acting up, and what if he no longer wants you as his owner—

A gasp.

You find him in your bedroom, humping your pillow, yowling as he comes undone- unawares- and the walls spin as you nearly faint.

You drop your purse. “Caleb!” You shriek, and a visible shiver rolls down his spine as he turns around.

“Bad dog!”

✦

You sleep on it.

Well, you wash your sheet and your pillowcases- and then you sleep on it.

Maybe you overreacted. If anything, you should be grateful for what you walked in on because otherwise, he wouldn’t have known how to tell you he’s been going through a bit of a hot phase- the first of his you’ve experienced- and doesn’t know how to control himself.

You blush just thinking about it, shame knocking in your chest as your heart beats heavy. You feel awful for walking in on him for a number of reasons. One of them being he came all over your bed- and his tummy- and you had to clean both up through furious tears as you peeled your covers off the mattress and pointed him off in the direction of the bathroom, telling him to run the faucet and quick.

A pass of guilt, the fear of you being angry with him, made its round across his kicked expression but he held off on arguing.

For the first documented time in the whole week, Caleb appeared mellow- not agitated, restless, or tense- and rather crestfallen, and you noted it only vaguely as you irately turned on the washer.

Now, it’s in the forefront of your brain.

Well, if he’s been going through some kind of rut lately, it only makes sense he’d be all kinds of pent up, and that his release (albeit in an inconvenient way and place) would provide some relief.

It’s closer to noon when you finally exit your bedroom and meet him at the sofa- the same one you’d all but banished him to last night. He prefers to spend his nights with you, either curled up at your side or splaying his full weight over your back- a breed-relative habit, you’re sure. You’ve heard of some other kinds who enjoy a room to themselves or do just fine with the couch, on their lonesome— But not Caleb.

He looks tired but perks up when he hears you patter down the hall, violet eyes lighting when you timidly take a seat.

With a bit of hesitation, he inches closer until you sheepishly wave a hand and he barrels into your arms.

“Ah- Caleb-“

Before you can even apologize for your jumping the gun last night, he beats you to the punch. “M’ sorry. You don’t hate me for it, do you?” He sighs into your collar and you shiver, “I wish you could understand what it feels like- I wouldn’t have done it if it was somethin’ I could control, I hope you realize that.”

You swallow, digesting his words as you belatedly place a hand on his head to pet. He positively melts. “Y-Yeah,” you mumble back. “It’s okay. I actually wanted to say sorry too. I- I didn’t understand what was going on…”

A deep groan looses from his throat, his chest swelling with content as you itch that spot behind the furry ears say upright on his head. They give a few twitches as he leans against you and wraps his muscular arms around your middle, resting his chin by your shoulder.

“It’s my fault, though, not yours. I didn’t know how to tell you- I was worried you’d just end up scared’a me, or…”

His pause instills interest in you. Your fingers smooth back his brown locks, mussed from fitful sleep, and he sighs. “Or what?” You press softly.

You pull him back just enough to get a look at him, his cheekbones almost shiny with a dusting of pink. His thick brows furrow together.

“Or that you’d leave,” he whispers.

Your eyes widen. You lasso your arms around his neck and pull him to you, your head slotting above his shoulder as his fingers quickly move to support the position, one hand perched at your thigh and the other braced at your side.

“Nonsense,” you grumble at his ear, a bit angry at the suggestion. “I’d never leave you.”

Something hard, then, prods at your middle- too fleshy to be something in either of your pockets- and you stiffen at the realization as it comes a beat too late.

Caleb’s voice is breathy at your ear, low, his tail thumping on the cushion. “Yeah?” He murmurs, a pang of heat stirring in your belly at the sound. Suddenly aware, you gently go to push at his broad chest but he stops you with an imploring look- although the desire, brewing in dilated pupils, isn’t lost on you- and musters a pout.

It looks out of place, the wholesome gaze marred by hunger as it reshapes his puppyish look.

“Even when I am no better than a bad dog?”

Your brow quirks, “I didn’t mean it,” you whisper, wide-eyed as his eyes bore into yours. Every micro expression you make is being catalogued and noted with utmost care, his pink tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as they grow dry.

“It’s okay if you did,” he murmurs back. “I’m just glad I have you around to remind me of my place…” Long, slim fingers reach up and you watch, unseeingly, as they stroke your cheek, his other hand creeping dangerously close to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

He chuckles, but the humor wanes quickly.

“Otherwise, I’d always be misbehaving. Do you even know what you do to me?” His voice is meaningful, torrid, as he draws in and the tip of his nose brushes with yours. You can’t find it in you to move as your thighs- the ones he slithers a singleminded hand in between- begin to roil with unexpected warmth.

You plant a hand to his chest, shying away, “C-Caleb-“

“Don’t worry,” he says sweetly, “M’ not gonna hurt you. I just….” He lets out a sigh, long and perhaps just a bit exaggerated- but it has the intended effect on you. You purse your lips and feel a trace of guilt twist in your heart.

“You drive me crazy. Y-Your smell- I don’t know why this is happening, either. Honestly? I haven’t had a rut in a couple years. But this…”

Caleb lets out a soft noise of pleasure, lending his full weight to you when he breathes you in and shakes.

When he speaks next, his words come out raspy and so low you hardly register them as his breaths grow labored- they’re all you can hear as the living room space shrinks down to just him and the knuckles that dare to dip into your panties.

“This is just too unfair. You won’t leave me hangin’, pretty,… w-will you?” Breathy. With an undeniable streak of need. You can’t miss the lust that usurps the softer parts of him and makes him look less puppyish and cheerful and more wolfish, calculating.

And, well, when he puts it like that, how could you?

✦

He doesn’t fuck you on the couch. He takes you to your bed and fucks you there like a lover would.

He fucks you deep and fast- to his credit, he doesn’t hurt you, staying true to his word, but the possibility of bruises becomes a nearer thing when he folds your legs back and his grasp becomes constricting, plunging in and out of your cunt with rapt focus. Indigo eyes glow with something feral, like you’ve given him no choice but to claim his ownership over you through sloppy kisses and clinking teeth as he pounds into you, driven him into a corner- but his touch turns worshipful when he presses his forehead to yours and moans.

“Ah- y-you feel so good, so tight,” he compliments, words almost slurred. His pupils expand and he looks no different than a drunken, babbling man, his cheeks a rosy red.

His murmurs are wet against your lips as they graze and mush with his, Caleb’s face so close to yours that his lashes tickle your brow as he gawks at you, so entranced by whatever it is he’s seeing to look away.

A fluffy tail sways unevenly behind him and touches your leg on occasion, almost like it’s trying to curl around you, prickling and eager. Every part of him gravitates to you. You’re the ground beneath his feet. Fertile land.

“And you’re all mine, okay? Nobody else’s. I want you to wear my scent- to carry me with you no matter where you go. You have to promise me you will- mmph- That sound good-?

“C-Caleb—“

You groan when he stuffs himself deeper inside and you swear you feel his length throb inside your walls, stretching. The veins running along his shaft carve out a new pathway in you, one special and just for him, as his balls- heavy and fat, with a hell of a lot to give- slap against your ass. Slick oozes out from the squelching seam of you, coating his thick cock but you still struggle to accomodate his size despite the lubrication.

He’s made to make you feel as if you’re losing your mind. You snatch your jaw with your own hand to keep the flurry of high-pitched sounds from spilling out lest they embarrass you, but he shoos it away and cuffs your wrists with a hand splayed over them.

“Nah- I wanna hear you, baby. You can’t keep holdin’ out on me like this... I’m giving you my all right now, so it should be pretty obvious that you can do the same, yeah?”

A mewl punches out from your lungs half a second later and he seems quite contented at that. He sighs, closing his eyes, saying,

“I’ve been good all along. Can’t you play the part, too? I just want you to see how much I really love you,” his confession is by no means considered casual what with the passion in which its conveyed, but you can’t help but feel it’s a little sudden, said a little too quickly, and you wonder if he means what he says or if the rut is responsible for all these novel, amorous feelings in him.

I mean, he’s probably too wrapped up in the moment to even contemplate his own admissions as they all spew out—

“Caleb, too big—“ you gasp, cutting him off, and he lets out a strangled kind of noise when your walls clamp around him.

Holyfuck holyfuck holyfuck do it again, he wants to say, suffocate me, but nothing comes out and he realizes after a long second that his vision has whited completely. He can’t see anything; he’s in a fuzzy, dazzling world with the blinders on and all he can smell and feel is you- your scent, sugar sweet and about as inviting as a barstool pulled out, envelopes him and he can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

He fucks into you with reckless abandon, huffs you in like it’s his final breaths, and then lets it all go without care for anything else. Far as he’s concerned, everything he knows is defined by you. This is a give and take relationship: he actually gives a damn about your opinion of him and takes all you have to offer.

He’s in love, puppyish and clumsy but fuck you lead the way and lead him on.

“Shh, I know,” he rasps out, steaming up your neck like a fogged window pane as he insinuates himself there. Your whole body feels like a furnace, burning up for him as he opens you up and tucks himself inside.

“I know it’s big, but you gotta be ready for-“ he clips his sentence short, thinking better of it.

He wants to warn you of his impending knot- the one that’ll no doubt leave you yelping and writhing away from him- you certainly deserve as much of a foreword to it, but part of him is just so terrified you’ll reject him or deny him the priviledge of shoving it inside you and fuck he can’t have that.

Caleb’s nothing if not loyal. He’s also nothing if not selfish. That’s always been a wriggling bug he’s tried to stomp out but it remains in the baser part of him, only amplified by the intense rut that came right out of the blue.

He wants you singing his name and bonded to him (or as much of a bond the two of you can form), and so that’s what he’ll get.

He’ll apologize later, and you will forgive him. So all’s fine.

“Y-You can take it,” is the simpler thing he settles on, and you let it pass, because between the fat cockhead splitting you apart deliciously and the sweet, somewhat perturbing nothings he gushes at your ear, you’re deaf to most of everything.

But when you come- unexpected and sharp, overwhelming your senses as your hips ruck up and he has to pin you down in place and ride it out with you as you cream around him- the scream you let out rings in your ears and so does his ferocious grunt. It’s loud and you’re so numb as seconds pass that feel like eons; pointed teeth teasing at the squishy chunk of your shoulder, invoking a buried sense of alarm.

And then he’s biting down hard- not just nipping- the pleasure thankfully driving off the pain as he ploughs inside, muffling a string of curses as he picks up his pace. Caleb gets sloppier and sloppier and then he’s burning white-hot inside you and moaning like a pornstar, pelvis juddering as he comes.

“Mmh- f-fuck- Good girl!” he rewards with half a brain, fucked out into perfect oblivion, and for a second you wonder why his voice sounds more meant for comfort than praise- until you expect him to pull out but he doesn’t, something big and round forming at the base of his cock that has his eyes fluttering back as it pops in. He goes boneless on top of you as every limb of yours stiffens and coils around his broad back.

You scream his name. He shivers.

It feels enough to shatter your mind- the pain searing you, but the ghost of pleasure that creeps up along your nervous system makes you go like jelly beneath him, helpless to whatever he’s got planned for you.

“C-Caleb, you-!”

“Yeah, a bad dog, a bad dog,” he stammers, whimpering at your earlobe, “I know, baby, I know. Just- don’t shut me out, okay? I- It’ll be over soon, just- ah- loosen up around it, okay? It’ll feel so much better that way. Just… hold on to me.”

“I-It hurts-!”

“Ngh, shhh…” He trembles out, shifting to sample a broken mewl from your lips, cupping your jaw with all the love in the world and staring at you as if you told the sun to rise this morning. “Be a good girl and take it, mm? Your pussy’s squeezing me so tight, I think she wants it too, but she has to relax a little first, yeah? Mm… I could give you a whole litter of pups. Give your Gran a bunch of cute lil granbabies to drive her crazy.”

You choke on your own spit, the brunet letting out a near delirious chuckle at the idea and your reaction to it before his brow gives a wince, your walls instinctively trying to push his swollen knot out.

“Wha- Caleb, is that even-?”

“I don’t know,” he kisses your forehead tenderly, his tail giving a heavy, excited thump behind him on the bed as you grab the sheets for dear life and they wrinkle, pinched like your conflicted expression.

“But I’ve been dyin’ to try it out for myself.”

[syrenqin]

Love and Deepspace, Ft. Assorted Kinks➶-͙˚ ༘✶

>>>>>>>>>>>>> smut, mdni! >>> f!MC

➸ caleb

praise kink: okay so he gets off of being praised, like tell him he's the only one in the world who can satisfy you. Tell him he's the only one you need, and he'll show you just how well he can pound you.

lingerie kink: something about sneaking into the lingerie stores of the girl he's loved since childhood, the shedding of innocence and seeing you as an adult for the first time.

dacryphilia: I believe he has a savior complex. Seeing you cry and call out his name to save you would turn him on 100%.

powerplay: he's the colonel ffs he def gets off having authority and would love to display it in bed, having you at his mercy. The two of you get mutually turned on by this.

golden shower: The dawg in him will pee on you to mark his territory, especially after he sees literally any MALE interact with you, he'd feel the need to drown you in his piss and show you who you belong to.

➸ sylus

cockwarming: sylus is someone who needs external stimuli while working, since he tends to work all day. What is a better stimulus than your warm walls hugging his lonely cock as he types away on his laptop, or attends calls with his dealers, or cleans his guns...

body worship: will 10/10 be bowing down to every inch of your body. No matter how insecure you are, HE can't BELIEVE that all of you belongs to him AND he's allowed to touch it. Expect a lusty compliment every 10 minutes, sex or no sex.

sensory deprivation: canoncially believes that switching off one sense heightens the other so.... expect a lot of blindfolds and other innovations he might come up with to please you to the fullest

motorcycle sex: some days he wants to ride his motorcycle, some days he wants you to ride him, atop the motorcycle sfhsfk. he'd take you out on a ride to see the nightlights and you'd find a spot dark enough to climb on top of him and ride out the adrenaline rush.

size kink: big fat dragon cock, you'll definitely need to be trained to take in. It will take a few sessions but Sylus is more than patient.

➸ xavier

roleplay: I think specifically like... he wants to roleplay as hunters who bang bang after killing off a particularly difficult bunch of wanderers after a perfect display of teamwork? I can see it as something he'd want to do in real life but can't so he makes up this scenario in bed.

consensual somnophilia: he sleeps so much, he gives you the permission to play with him even when he's asleep. He'd often, to his delight, wake up to you sucking him off as he giggles drowsily

groping: possessive kitty, will grope you in public if anyone even looks at you. He'd grope your ass anyway frequently but he'd bolden up and grope your boobs too.

anal: ... he loves your other cavities but the shitter is his favorite place to nest.. something about the deviation from the norm and the chance to plug in 3 fingers into your pussy while he fucks your ass really gets him off.

also, golden shower: would def pee on you too. Wants you to swallow it mostly. Does it more than caleb, and not to mark his territory - he just likes peeing on you. Love when the sound of the trickle bounces off your tits.

➸ rafayel

waxplay: well melt some candles with his evol and pour it over you. It really resembles his cum. Spreads it around your body to guage your reaction.

neon paint play: Loves having sex in the dark but also wants to see the shape of you properly. Paints your curves with neon paint as he watches you illuminated breasts marked with glowing Xs bounce around in the dark as he thrusts into you.

underwater sex: again, he loves watching the flabs of your body, especially your breasts and ass bounce in the water when he pounds into you. He also feels this is his natural habitat and the most natural way for him to make love to you.

also roleplay: he'd love to play the hostage with you as the capturer, sorry not sorry.

foot fetish: hear me out, him licking your toes and rubbing up wet strips up your sole and kissing your heels. He wishes your feet were a tail but they aren't so he shows his admiration for you by lathering up your legs.

➸ zayne

bondage: he likes it when you take away his ability to move. He's the one the likes to be bound up so he can frown and snarl at you while you have his way with him. Closeted sub boy.

nipple play: loves loves lovessss suckling on your nipples like a baby. Wants to have you boobs constantly in his mouth, rent free. Will especially need a nip session post a tiring work day.

car sex: He has an AUDI for a reason and it's not mileage or performance. It's to make it reek with the smell of sex after you and him go multiple rounds atop the expensive leather of the back seats. He makes sure your head never hits the car interior

face sitting: Sit on him, sit, put all your weight on the wicked curve of his nose. Don't just hover over his face, plant yourself DOWN. He will give you the best head of your life while his angry cock slaps itself on his abdomen, waiting for its turn.

breeding kink: Dr. Zayne wants to knock you up so bad but you aren't ready yet. So whenever you decide to be on birth control, he will absolutely fill you up with his seed and watch it pool inside you, guaging your fucked out expression and dreaming of the pretty babies you will make in the future.

[uhohdad]

Dawg what if we tortured König instead. Forcing him down on his knees after kidnapping him huh :(((. I need. To torture a man. But also he seems like a maso

(18+) König x Reader

Bested by a meek little thing like you. He of all people should know not to judge a book by its cover, he was wrong to overlook you, to underestimate you. The hypocrisy is sharpened into a serated blade that shreds him from core to chest. Those half-lidded, dangerous blue eyes project nothing but icy hatred. Under his hood, his lips pull into a snarl, a growl threatening to leave grit teeth.

The aching, leaking cock straining against the give in his pants tells a different story.

His eyes roll when you catch it. Your brow raises, head tilting with a smug, arrogant grin that spreads like butter across bread.

“Well, would you look at that,” You chime, the patronization in your voice successfully searing his skin with heat.

The muzzle of your gun gets distracted, your aim leaving his chest, a slight rattle in your gun’s parts as you eye the taut zipper of his pants.

When you laugh, proud and sinful and cackling, he has to close his eyes, fingers clenching over the palms raised in surrender. He mutters under his breath, cursing his cock that only strengthens in response to your reveling in his humiliation.

Your draw is smooth, eyes narrowed at him, a playful smile tugging on the corners of your lips.

“You pervert.”

König has to look away, his eyes finding the ceiling, giving you a clear view of the adam’s apple nervously bobbing in his throat.

“You like this?” You give a two-note hum as your boots step closer to him, “You like it when someone tames a thing like you?”

Your gun gestures top to bottom, outlining his clearly superior figure.

He huffs a deep breath into his hood, tilting his head down to meet your eyes again, piercing you with a deadly stare. It would normally send a shiver down your spine, but unfortunately for him, König brought a stare to a gun fight.

Every muscle in König’s body tightens when you press the muzzle of your gun to the base of the strain in his pants. Craning your neck to meet his pretty, infuriated blue eyes, tracing your gun up the outline of his cock. He trembles and twitches under the teasing, dangerous touch, his eyes lulling behind fluttering eyelids.

You scoff, cheeks bunched with an arrogant smile.

“On your knees, soldier,” You mock, a light shake in your gun to pair with your demand.

König’s eyes crease when they pinch. His boots make a slight shuffle as he digests both hard truths - that he has no choice, and that his cock is pulsing in excitement because of it.

He has to force his muscles to obey your demands, his teeth grinding in frustration and his face burning under his hood while he plants his knees to the harsh touch of concrete, sitting back on his calves in defeat.

Each snicker, every scoff, every noise that conveys your superiority as you look down on him only sends more blood rushing to his painful erection.

The taunting, agonizingly slow steps you make as you circle him has his shoulders bracing a little tighter, his breaths shallow and his heart pounding in his chest.

His eyes pinch shut when you leave his sight, both your bootsteps and your voice behind him.

“Hands behind your back.”

König sputters, his fists clenching with a pause of hesitance before he meets your demand, giving any remaining control he had to you with trembling muscles. A shaky, deep exhale leaves him as you restrain him by his wrists, taut, scratchy rope digging into his flesh. He can’t resist the urge to sway ever so slightly on his thighs, granting minimal relief to his aching cock with the friction of his pants, smearing the generous bead of precum leaking from his tip onto his underwear.

When he’s tightly restrained, you circle him again, admiring the catch of the day before you settle between spread, powerful thighs. You give a long, drawn out hum as you ravage him with hungry eyes, drooling over him while you decide how you’re going to play with your prey. Your stare, the implications and the possibilities, sends a shudder down König’s spine.

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth when the sole of your boot presses to his cock. Gently at first, rolling your ankle to massage him through his pants, relishing in the shaky, soft gasps, and the squirm of his sculpted body.

“Feel good, pervert?” You whisper, a seductive tone stitched into your words, “You like being under my boot?”

He lets out a low, guttural moan, his eyes closing and his hips rutting ever so slightly into your touch.

When he doesn’t answer, you apply more pressure, your perpetual cocky smile disappearing at his disobedience. Your voice shoots up from silky smooth to harsh and demanding, jamming the muzzle of your gun into his forehead in threat.

“I asked you a question,” You growl.

König flinches, eyes twitching as he buckles his core under your cruel touch.

“Yes,” He grits, his affirmation strained.

You give a pleased hum, holding your abusive boot to him for a moment longer before granting him relief.

With one hand you press the muzzle of the gun to his forehead hard enough to leave an imprint, and with the other you swirl the button of your pants to free it from its notch. König eyes follow your fingers with shallow breath as you undo your zipper before bunching the fabric of your pants and underwear to your lower thigh.

“If you bite, I’ll end you. Got it?”

When König doesn’t answer, you jam the gun further into his flesh, insisting he make eye contact.

“Got it?”

König gives a harsh swallow and a shaky nod.

“Yes.”

Your thumb snags on the hem of his hood, pulling it up to reveal his lips and holding it in place with a strict finger on his cheek.

“Stick your tongue out.”

With cloudy, half-lidded eyes, he looks to you like you’re a higher power who just descended from the heavens, obeying to your wish, offering his tongue as a meager sacrifice.

The fingers on the side of his face tighten to guide him to your cunt, burying his nose and tongue into your clit.

His hood falls, caught in place by the bridge of his nose when you snatch a handful of the hair sticking out from the the t-shirt he uses as a mask, forcing him further into your cunt in the hopes of suffocating him. König’s eyes lull, glossy with arousal and the tears pricking in the corner of his eyes with each yank on his scalp. A pleased hum hides behind your sly smile, his stubble sanding along your cunt with each rut of your hips into his face, his tongue eagerly lapping at your clit.

“Grind on my boot.”

König lets out a shallow, hitched breath into your cunt, and uses the slack on his hair you’ve gifted him to lower himself to the top of your boot. Your light laugh twists into a groan, the grip on his hair harshening as he quickens his needy swipes along your cunt, painting you with his spit. König moans and grunts turn to a rousing vibration against your swollen clit, beads of sweat sheen on his forehead, his steady grinds on your shoe quickening.

König’s eager to please, wearing pussy drunk eyes and flushed cheeks while he hungrily coats his tongue with your arousal.

“Taste good?”

König nods, stifling a hum into your cunt, greedy tongue devouring you with sloppy verve.

“That’s a good boy.”

König whines, his cock throbbing against your shoe. When the rhythm of his slick tongue and grinds waver, you give a breathy laugh.

“Close already, hm? Been awhile since someone put you in your place?”

König’s needy groan is swallowed by your cunt, picking up the pace of his stripes as he indulges in your taste.

“It’s okay,” You coo with condescension, “You can make a mess in your underwear.”

König whines again, quickening his grinds until his truly pathetic moans come to a halt, muscles tight and trembling. He has to pull from your cunt to keep from nearly choking on his own breath, pressing his cheek into your thigh.

“Oh,” You draw soothingly, gently tracing your gun up and down the side of his face, “That’s my good boy. Did it feel good?”

König’s stubble scrapes against your inner thigh, smearing his spit and your arousal across your skin when he nods with short, puffy breaths. He melts into you as you scratch his scalp, your voice just a sultry purr.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, sweetheart.”

♡ KÖNIG VISITS DOMINATRIX READER FOR THE FIRST TIME ♡

♡ KÖNIG DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[ransprang]

Jaime Lannister x Fem!Reader Hcs

Fueling my Nikolaj and GOT brainrot~ enjoy

NSFW and SFW -

1. Man protects you like a dawg. He will not have anyone touch you or get too close without drawing his sword the second they take a step closer (Not even your parents).

2. Jaime loves having sex the second you both are alone, he just can’t help it. A quickie in the meeting room, in his chamber, after shower. He loves it when he stands tall and you’re on your knees sucking him off as a to thank him for protecting you.

3. Jaime loves carrying you over his shoulder. He’s strong, and you’re his. In the palace he will subtly tease you by carrying you over his shoulder to your room.

4. Jaime loves restraining you, he will tackle you down, pinning your hands above your head. He likes to be in charge, and fuck you to relieve his stress from the long day of managing Cersei.

5. Jaime would like to have children with you, and possibly favour them over Joffrey. As they are his to claim to the public, and he can love them freely also protect and raise them.

6. Jaime likes being just a boy around you. No pressures to fight or decisions. He likes teasing, making jokes and possibly be obsessed with building blocks which makes you look at him sometimes think, how at the core hes just. a. guy.

7. When you watch him fight or be an exceptional swordsman you want him to fight you similarly but in the bedroom, without his clothes on and definitely with a different sword of his. You could testify Jaime was skilled with his other not so miniature sword as well.

8. Cersei would love bullying you, in order to push you away from her beloved brother. Jaime wouldnt never rage at her, but would protect you from all her evil schemes and will never let anyone or anything harm you. They will have to face him before you.

9. Jaime takes off his metal hand and stares at where his wrist used to be sometimes, but he will only show such level of sadness and vulnerability in front of you.

10. Jaime loves pounding you with your legs over his shoulders, he loves to watch your breasts bounce bringing him closer to the edge faster.

Your twin,

Admin Sav

[debonairprincesposts]

Frankenstein Lookin’ Ass Abomination Thing

Summary: Reader and Jason were just taking a light walk after patrol and come across something horrifying. Jason is terrified.

The streets of Gotham were cloaked in darkness as you and Jason navigated an unfamiliar alleyway, the air thick with tension. The distant sounds of the city faded into an eerie silence, heightening your senses.

Suddenly, you spotted something grotesque out of the corner of your eye.

“What the fuck is that?!” you yelled, your heart racing.

Jason turned to you, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You pointed into the shadows, panic gripping you. “That Frankenstein looking ass abomination thing! How do you not see it?!”

Jason squinted, trying to focus. “Wher—Oh my god! What the hell is that?!” His voice shifted from confusion to alarm as he finally saw the creature lurching toward you, its mismatched limbs twisting in an unnatural way.

“That’s what I’ve been tryna tell you, dawg!” you shot back, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Dawg? I’m your boyfriend. The fuck you mean ‘dawg’!” he exclaimed, incredulous, despite the danger looming ahead.

“Now is not the time for this, dammit!” you snapped, heart pounding as the creature drew closer.

“Kill it!!!” Jason shouted, his instincts kicking in.

“You’re the one with the gun! You kill it!” you replied, frustration mingling with fear.

Without hesitation, Jason threw the gun to you, a wild look in his eyes. “Well, now you’re the one with the gun! You kill it!”

You fumbled for a moment, catching the weapon just in time. “Seriously?!”

The creature’s grotesque form advanced menacingly. With your heart racing, you took a deep breath, aiming the gun with shaky hands. “Okay, okay… just stay behind me!”

Jason moved into position beside you, his presence grounding you. “You’ve got this. Just focus.”

With a steadying breath, you pulled the trigger, the loud bang echoing through the alley. The creature staggered back, and you glanced at Jason, who wore a proud, albeit worried, grin.

“The hell are you grinning for! Since when were you a pussy?!” You turn to him, all furious and maybe a little terrified. Since when did the Red Hood hide behind you for anything?

“Since alien looking things started jump scaring me!” He cries, looking absolutely ready to throw up from the thing you just shot.

“Bullshit! You’re Red Fucking Hood! You deal with this kinda shit on a monthly basis!” You argue, feeling exasperated. This stuff shouldn’t even phase him, but here we are.

“I’m tired, okay?! And I really don’t wanna get night terrors from stuff like that! My brain does it for me already!” Poor baby.

“Let’s just get out of here,” you sigh, disbelief and exhaustion at the ridiculousness of the situation flooding your voice as you lowered the gun.

You took a hold of his arm and bolted in the opposite direction of the weird alien thing. Its corpse is still there….. You’ll just call Nightwing for a cleanup…. You just hope he doesn’t faint on the spot once he sees the nightmare inducing creature dead in an alleyway. And its blood was green. Ew.

[jd07201990]

I shouldn't have opened my mouth. All I had to do was just walk away, and I'd have been fine. Now, It takes 3 showers a day, and a can of Axe a week, just to control the apocalyptic funk of athlete that pours from my pits... and feet... ok, ok I just stink, ok?! And its all because I tried to stop Pops, a local Gym Owner, from bullying one of his regulars.

The massive man was absolutely raging, as he berated a Jock for skipping sessions, despite the young man explaining desperately that he couldn't miss any more assignments or he'd lose his scholarship. It didn't seem to quell Pops's anger, as I watched the man drag the boy to a bench, and force him to lift rep after rep, until the Jock was panting, begging for a break, promising not to miss any more sessions. 

I'd been walking on the treadmill the whole time, and decided to get involved. My first mistake. Walking up to Pops, I cleared my throat, and told him to lay off, that clearly the Jock was exhausted. Pops grabbed my collar and hoisted me up off the ground, before I could react, his face nearly against mine as he went off, first about my nosing about, then about how ridiculously thin I am. I stammered, my legs dangling, until Pops put me down, and smirked.

"You know, a little meat on those bones wouldn't hurt. Maybe with a few pounds, those big, sweaty dawgs you've got wouldn't look so clownish!"

My jaw dropped, a squirmed under his gaze, as a shiver went down my spine, and a dull, warm itch began in my feet. I don't know where he'd gotten the idea that my feet were clownish, I'm 5'7" with size 9.5s! But suddenly, my sneakers felt cramped, warm, with a dull humid dampness making it feel as if I'd stuffed my foot into a wet towel.

Then, I groaned, as a sharp pain shot down my ankles, and my sneakers burst open, revealing wide, reeking Jock-feet, at least size 13. A dense funk rose, and I gagged, the intense reek of Athlete poured from my torn shoes. Pops laughed heartily, then sneered. 

"And those pits! You'd think with hairy, sweaty pits like those, you'd be top of the roster! Not even Big Billy has pits as bad as yours! There's a bull inside you, just waiting to come out!"

Again, that cold shiver ran down my back, and my armpits felt as if fire ants were biting them. Hundreds of itchy bumps formed, then, hair sprouted, filling in and dampening until the stink of the locker room oozed out from them. I whimpered as I caught the scent. Looking up at Pops, I begged.

"Please! Don't do this! You gotta undo this! I'm not a Jock!"

Pops laughed, taking both my shoulders in his massive rough hands, and pushed me down onto a bench, taking my arms and forcing them up onto the bar. My pits were fully on display as he growled.

"Lift. Don't stop until I come back, or those pits and feet will be the least of your worries."

I believed him, and tried to pull the bar down, barely moving the weights. Pops facepalmed, moved to a backpack next to a mountainous young brute lifting what had to be the weight of a small car. He fished out a protein shake, pressed the nozzle to my lips, and forced me to guzzle a few mouthfuls, pulling it away as I heard my stomach gurgle. 

I hiccuped, then burped, as my body seemed to warm, sweat forming, soaking down my shirt. Then, muscle began to swell under my skin, not huge, round bulk, but enough to look as if I'd been hitting the gym for several months, not days. When it settled, I must've gained 10 lbs, all of it hard muscle. When I pulled the bar down this time, it wasn't easy, but I wasn't lifted off the seat this time. Again and again I tested my new size, and Pops grinned. giving my thicker shoulder a punch. 

"I'll make an athlete out of you yet. Like it or not, you're gonna be one of Pops's boys! No one mouth's off to pop, unless they've earned it here at my gym! got it!"

I wanted to be defiant, to insult him, or run, but the look in his eye told me if I so much as thought about leaving, I'd be waddling out of here, sideways through the door, looking like the Behemoth that Pops had taken the shake from! I gulped, looked down, and forced myself to lift. Maybe if Pops is happy, he'll at least tone down the absolute fog of stink that screams, "Big Dumb Jock" from a mile away!

[darkgodcomplex]

Dawg, are you still writing? If so, can you make another Your Boyfriend X reader one, please? Where the reader TRULY loves Peter?? :oo

Oh, an anon, how exciting! Yes, I still write haha, life has just been a little crazy lately. 🤪 Anyway, enjoy!

Burning Breakfast

Peter (Your Boyfriend) X Reader

CW: kidnapping mention, self-esteem issues, yandere

AO3 Link

You hum softly to yourself, sliding the spatula along the pan and flipping the eggs as they stick to the surface. It’s early morning, long streaks of sunlight just barely begin to peek into the cabin.

You’ve been here just about six months, but really it’s felt like home since you first stepped foot in it. You’re not entirely sure why he kidnapped you, you would’ve come willingly.

Yet, it still feels like he’s suspicious of you. He watches the door and hovers around you when the two of you go outside for walks. You’re not exactly sure how else to tell him that you’re absolutely madly in love with him, he just seems to refuse to believe it.

You hear a pounding of footsteps from the bedroom, frantic and panicked as he makes his way down the hall way.

“Darling-“ When he reaches the kitchen, he comes to a screeching halt at the sight of you, breathless from running and bleary eyed from just waking up.

“What are you doing?” It comes out harsher than he means it, you’re sure of it.

“Breakfast.” You lift the pan to show him. “Don’t you know what day it is?”

“Of course I know what day it is.” He’s suddenly softer, relaxing at just the sound of your voice. Your heart melts at that. He truly does love you, you know that.

You smile to yourself, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Well, since I can’t go anywhere, a Valentine’s Day breakfast will have to be enough.”

Peter perks up, a grin spreading across his face. “Anything you do for me is enough.” He comes up behind you, hugging you from behind as you cook on the stove. He buries his face in your neck, breathing in your scent as his hands slide over your stomach lovingly.

“I got you some gifts.” He kisses your ear, sending a pleasant tingle down your spine. “Everything for Valentine’s Day. Flowers, chocolates, books, jewelry. It’s our first. You deserve everything.”

“You deserve things too.” You say quietly.

He pauses, confused. “All I want is your presence.”

“Well, you should want for more.” You turn, sliding your body against his so that you’re chest to chest. “Peter, you’re…” you look down, fingers ghosting along the sleeves of his shirt, barely daring to the touch the skin underneath. “Amazing. You do all these wonderful things for me and I… just sit around and accept your gifts.”

You sigh, “You deserve more than just a breakfast.”

He gives a light smile, pressing his index finger under your chin to raise it up high enough to kiss you. It’s a tender kiss, one you sigh into before you hear the sizzle of the eggs burning behind you.

You panic, pulling away and nearly falling onto the stove. Peter catches you, saving you from permanently scarring yourself before you rip the pan from the stovetop.

“No no no…” You frown at the burnt eggs. “Your breakfast…”

“It’s okay.” He says. “It’s not I could do any better.”

“This was supposed to be special.” You’re not even sure why you’re getting so worked up over a couple of eggs, but you feel tears spring to your eyes. “I was supposed to make you breakfast. It was supposed to be tasty and perfect and you were supposed to love it.”

“I love it anyway-“

“That’s exactly the problem!” You burst into tears. Peter’s eyes widen as he frantically tries to calm you.

“I don’t understand, you’re perfect, I don’t care if you burn the breakfast. Hell, you could burn the house down if you wanted and I wouldn’t mind.”

The tears continue to fall down your face. You feel like a child as you wipe your face. “You do all these amazing things for me Peter and I just don’t deserve them!”

Peter reels back at this. He shakes his head, voice suddenly firm but still soft. “I want you to listen to me, darling, okay?” He presses his palm to your cheek, wiping away stray tears as you look up at him. “You deserve this.”

He pauses, letting the statement linger before taking a deep breath. “It’s not a burden for me to do things for you. You could never be a burden. I would carry all the weight in the world for you.”

You press your hand over his, letting him caress your face. “I want to carry your weight too.”

He looks down at you, eyebrows scrunching, “You don’t-“

“You deserve this relationship too, Peter.” You tell him. “Don’t shoulder everything, please, let me be your equal.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, but slowly, he nods. “It’s hard.”

“I know it is.” You smile at him. “So let’s do it together.”

The two of you go out for breakfast. As you’re sitting across from him, outside of the immediate vicinity of the cabin for the first time in months, you can’t help but notice that he seems more relaxed with you outside than he ever did with you inside.