#and they gave him the muzzle!!

[nekomamiiz]

@tetzoro

[ditzyclown]

That awkward moment when your ex vessel now annoying usurper commits mitosis or smt am I rite?

Mf put those horns away from the thought bubble!

Off topic I like to think Chivo's crown is pretty silly and enjoys the chaos compared to the lamb's crown

[emry-stars-art]

Whumptober day 15: experimentation/muzzle/transformation (full under the cut)

Find the royal au masterpost here

“Too many bitten fingers.”

[gar-a-ash]

Bad puppies who can't stop mauling their sibling get to wear a muzzle

[shellys-apprentice]

"Weird that your dog's eye isn't getting better"

I mean it might possibly have something to do with the fact that the initial bottle of eyedrops you gave us was clearly never going to make it through a whole week at the dosage you said, as well as the fact that when he went back a week later with no improvement because *shockingly* the eyedrops ran out you didn't feel the need to give more of them

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

I have decidet that it's a 'working memory' issue (or a generally issue with the brain no longer quiet working like it is supposed to ) ...

And if marvel has issues with that they can wrench it from my cold dead hands ...

I mean think about it.

The colapsing wormhole he fell through propabyl injured him badly and I doupt that he had the time to recover properly

What ever the other and thanos where up to propably didn't help and neither did the mindstone

And neither did the hulk ...

SO ... 'working memory' issues ...

Like he still can DO the things he used to be able to do ... but he forgetts that he could use them

-> forgets on lamentis that he could teleport, only remebers he can do telekinesis wenn a literall rocket is about to fall on them etc. ...

Like, brains are a bit sensitive and while someone might seem alright on a day to day basis they might be struggling with "invisible" issues

These comics kind a explain what I mean better then I can:

Some random person: So that's why Loki's magic is weak. Because everytime he dies he loses his magic...

Me: So here's a very long list of why an 1,065 year old cosmic sorcerer genius taught by Frigga since birth should have been able to easily beat Dr. Strange.

[sasha-psychedelia]

The Provably Worst Gun for Home Defense

What is provably the WORST gun for home defense? A .22 single shot rifle is at least small and quick to point. A Barrett M82 is at least going to instantly stop whatever it hits. Even a good old fashioned musket is going to do good damage and won't hurt your ears. No, I wanted to know what the undisputable worst home defense gun in the world is; and I have found it.

This is the .950 JDJ Fat Mac. It is a 100 pound, 5 foot long rifle that shoots a one pound solid brass bullet at 2200 FPS. It is a non-NFA item only because the ATF gave it a sporting exemption as a joke as if anybody is going to hunt with this. This round would be overkill for hunting blue whales.

I would like to paint a picture for you. It's 2AM and you hear a window break in your living room. This is the worst day this could happen, as every single one of your guns was lost in a tragic boating accident this morning. All were lost except for one. You look across your room in dread at your anti-kaiju rifle. You know what you have to do, but you don't know if you have the strength to do it, both literally and figuratively.

Heaving the rifle into your arms, you load a .950 cartridge and begin to waddle towards the door. Your feet make a loud "thud" as you take each 6" step. You know the intruders hear you. You hope they do, for perhaps they will run and spare the world the suffering that is about to befall it.

You try to set the rifle down, but end up clipping your bedroom door and it is immediately knocked off its hinges by this battering ram in your hands. You attempt to round the corner, bonking the muzzle against the doorframe and adjacent wall across the hall at least 4 times.

To your horror, two invaders stand there at the end of the hall.

With a heavy heart, you raise the rifle to your shoulder while making inhuman grunting noises from the strain of attempting some semblance of a shooting position. The burglars simply stare in disbelief, unable to process the situation they are witnessing, as if in a dream.

You cannot aim the rifle, as the last time you fired the gun, it turned your $3000 Leopuld into a kaleidoscope. You simply hold it at an angle that appears correct and fire.

You are immediately knocked to the floor as if hit by a semi truck going 20 MPH. The shot connected with one of the criminals and it erased him from existence. Even the memories of him have been destroyed and you're wondering why you just shot into an empty hallway. The shot continues to travel through at least 4 houses, a car, and a 10 ton boulder before lodging itself 20 feet into a nearby hill, never to be seen again.

It is at this point, you realize you cannot hear.

The surviving burglar can't hear either but he's also on fire from the muzzle blast and is currently vacating your home. You don't care. Your shoulder is dislocated and there is a hole in your brand new AR500 refrigerator.

You're crying now.

The police arrive and, upon seeing the scene, start laughing. You start crying harder.

[toxicanonymity]

The Stitch

PAIR: THOMAS HEWITT X READER

WORD COUNT: 3.6k | THE SPREAD UNIVERSE one shot

SUMMARY: A stranger tries to get into the shed. You help Tommy when he's hurt and... hungry, then sit in his lap.

WARNINGS: 18+ Smut*, stockholm syndrome, violence off screen, blood, giving stitches, hand kink, light angst & dark fluff. *oral, squirting, captivity dubcon, unsafe cockwarming-adjacent piv, creampie. Feral/soft Tommy, leather muzzle.

SIZE KINK: Tommy is a strong, hefty 6'5", reader much smaller.

Ty for your enthusiasm for this fic! Ty @dark-scape for title help and @gasolinerainbowpuddles for the ⛓️ divider. 🖤

It was dusk when you spotted a man prowling around, then you ducked away from the shed’s clouded window and pretended not to see. Time crawled by–-you didn’t know how much–-as you sat frozen, afraid of making any noise at all. The wind howled, and twigs snapped in the woods behind the shed. You would’ve felt safer with Tommy nearby, but he must have been dead asleep after his family worked him hard all day.

You finally let yourself relax enough to fall asleep, only for chains to rattle on the outside of the shed. 

“C’mon,” the stranger pleaded to himself, then whisper-shouted into the distance, “hurry up, Ronnie!” followed by a startled “oh shit.”

You recognized Tommy's footsteps as he lumbered across the yard.

Huddled in the corner of the shed, you held your breath and listened to the ruckus just outside. You were pulling for your captor. He had committed violent acts, but he didn't seem like a violent man at heart. You felt sure he wouldn’t hurt you… even though he already had. 

Arms wrapped around your knees, you pulled your hands into your oversized sleeves and gripped the fabric with your fists.

“Get outta here, freak!” the man yelled. 

Tommy grunted. 

“Ronnie!” the man pleaded to his friend who was nowhere in sight. Then he warned Tommy, “Don’t do it man. My buddy’s got a gun.” 

Tommy’s grunt sounded almost like a laugh. 

“There’s more of us too,” the trespasser claimed, then muttered, “shit.” 

Shoes scraped against dirt. The shed door shook with an impact, and chains rattled. The man coughed and tried to vocalize. His shoes thumped and slid against the wood, with his feet unable to reach the ground. Tommy held him by the neck with just one hand. The struggle continued. 

The man went quiet, and Tommy grumbled indistinctly. 

Dead weight hit the ground. 

There was shuffling, dragging, and a few seconds later, the wet thwack of sharp metal through bone.  

-

Tommy caught his breath, then came around toward your window. His massive shadow was just visible enough in the dark to make his presence known. He tapped the glass with one knuckle, then you approached and lifted the curtain. 

He had an ax slung over his shoulder.

He braced his other hand on the shed, to the side of the window. Then, he stopped down to rest his forehead gently against the glass. Below his half-muzzle, his breath fogged the window and his chest heaved. The glass was cloudy, but you still felt his eye contact. You looked at each other, then he pulled back, leaving a smear high on the glass where his forehead had been. He gave you a nod that felt like a promise—he’d come back.

When you peeked out the window again, Tommy was walking toward the main house with the man’s body slung over his shoulder. The head and arms hung limply over Tommy’s back. The guy’s head was dripping into the dirt. In Tommy’s other hand, he held his ax, letting it hang by his side in a loose grip. He was unbothered by the prospect of another man to fight. 

You sat in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, trying to calm yourself enough to get to sleep. Eventually, you heard Tommy on his way back. 

After unlocking the shed and ducking inside, he lit a lantern. The warm light flickered on, just bright enough to see dark splatter on his shirt and neck. His hair was matted dark. A thick path of blood oozed down the side of his face. He looked you over and took a seat against the adjacent wall.

For a minute, he simply breathed and watched you. 

You watched him, too. “Are you okay?” 

He nodded. The trickle down his face hadn’t stopped. It must have been his own blood. 

“You’re bleeding,” you observed.

You started to move toward him, but he lunged forward before you could get up. Even on his knees, he was a looming presence.

“Can I see?” You asked, and brought a hand out of the blanket, squinting to find the source of the blood. 

Before you could touch him, he scooped you up in his arms for a swift exit, shaking the shed with each step. After ducking through the door, you expected him to put you in the wheelbarrow. Instead, he stood up and adjusted your weight so you were held flush against him, hugging his apron. He made sure you were covered by the blanket. You couldn't wrap your legs around him–he was too big, but you trusted him not to drop you. The soft padding of his torso was warm and comforting as he took long strides toward the house.

Tommy’s footsteps clopped under you in the garage. He slowed down, then stopped in front of a piece of furniture and leaned forward. He took a hand off your back. You tightened your limbs around him as best you could while he pushed some things out of the way, clearing a space for you. Then he sat you down on a smooth wood surface and uncovered your head. He reached up toward the ceiling and pulled a chain. A dim light buzzed on. You were seated on a desk, with all sorts of scraps and junk scattered around. 

Tommy took off his apron and he sat down in a chair, facing you. He reached across the desk and slid a tin box toward himself.  When he opened the tin, it looked like sewing supplies. His fingers were so enormous, you couldn't imagine how he sewed anything, but he handled the box with care and familiarity. 

It was his. This was his place. His craft. 

He turned the tin toward you so you could get what you needed. Meanwhile, he reached for an old glass bottle with an inch of clear liquid in it, and he used every drop to wet a rag. He held the cloth to his head. 

Okay, not his first time. 

You held up a needle. “It’s dirty.”

Tommy shook his head no. Okay, it didn’t look dirty, but it sure wasn’t sterile, and for some reason, you wanted him to be okay. 

“It could get infected.” 

His eyes shifted around in thought, then he looked back to you for the answer. 

“Do you have any matches? Fire?”

He placed his thick, wide hands on your thighs as he stood up. He squeezed them lightly and checked your face for whether you might run. Then he went over to a workbench that was against the wall. 

As he rummaged around, your eyes wandered. The space was cluttered and stuck in another era. There were doll parts strewn around. A softball-sized, hollow head with no hair and  a painted-on face chipping off.  There were tools. So many tools. Cleavers and saws hanging from the ceiling by chains. Too high for anyone but Tommy to reach them. 

He returned with a rusted zippo lighter and flicked it open as he sat down. You held the needle to the flame and he held the lighter steady for you, with the casual intimacy of a stranger lighting your cigarette. In the glow of the flame, he watched your face. 

When the needle was ready, you looked at the thread. You unwound the spool long enough to reach some unexposed thread.

Tommy watched patiently, never making you feel rushed or scrutinized. 

With the needle threaded, you announced, “okay. It’ll hurt, but not too bad.” 

He gave a short nod with a squint that bore the hint of a smile. 

-

"Little closer," you whispered, never speaking at full volume with him. 

He spread your knees, making your heart skip a beat. He settled in between them, leaned forward, and his elbows bracketed your thighs.

His face was close. His eyes were blue with lines of gray darting out from the pupils. His eyelashes were dark and thick.  Your heart skipped a beat as his face moved closer, thinking for a split second that he might kiss you, but he dipped his head to offer you his injury. 

"Good," you encouraged him.   

His sweat wafted into your nostrils, and just as you felt heat rising to your face, his hands curved around your bottom. Arousal buzzed in your gut, so loud you had to pause and compose yourself. “Ready?”

He nodded his head forward. 

You needed to adjust the angle of his head so you could comfortably work on it, and when your fingers grazed the side of his muzzle he flinched. 

Your hand pulled back, but then he held it. As he placed your hand back on his cheek, the sight of his giant paw holding yours made a butterfly float through your chest. 

You wet your lips, then bit your lip and saw him glance toward your mouth.  

Bracing one palm to the side of the wound, you held the skin shut. You rested the needle point against his skin, then pushed and dragged the thread through it. He didn’t react. He watched your face in silence as you patched him up, thread by thread. Not a single puncture made him move his head.

You could feel his appreciation in the way his hands gently cradled you. He looked at you with a soft fascination.

Was this the first time someone helped him like this? It was easy to imagine why, but somewhere in this monster, there was a little boy. Did anyone ever take care of that boy? Tuck him in? Walk him to the bus stop for school? No, surely not. He hadn’t ever said a word to you, but he told you so much. His eyes told you. The way he moved. The way he never spoke, and hung his head as the others barked orders at him.

—

When you were about halfway done stitching him up, he began to sniff the air, and it made you realize how turned on you were. With your legs spread and no panties under the shirt-dress, you had to be leaking onto the desk. 

Tommy sniffed and growled, and maybe his primal sounds shouldn't have hit the way they always did, but your core tingled. You felt exposed with your legs spread around him. He sniffed again, and your face was hot with why. 

–

You tied off the threas and whispered, “Good, Tommy." You blotted the area with the wet rag.

Tommy reached for his face to touch the stitches, and your hand stopped his: “no."

Your hand lingered, with your fingers wrapped around the heel of his palm. You wanted to hug him, have your body against his again, which made your mind jump back to the way he carried you there. In that moment, something clicked, and your throat tightened. No one but him had ever handled you in that particular way—big arms wrapped around you like you were too precious to lose. He did his best to make you comfortable. So what if you were his possession? It felt like you were his world. Maybe no one ever cared as much as Tommy Hewitt cared about keeping you. 

Your vision got cloudy, and Tommy’s eyes narrowed. Once you blinked, a fat tear pushed through your lashes. Before it could run down your cheek, his thumb was there to collect it. Then he put your tear just below his eye. It slid down to his muzzle in a tiny trickle that left a clean path through the grime. 

You smiled and whispered, “It’s okay.” 

His gaze fell down your body, and his eyes darkened. The corners of his mouth glistened in the shadow of his muzzle. He took your chin in his hand and took a deep breath. 

-

Tommy reached behind you and urgently cleared the whole desk. Then he put his hand on your chest and pushed you down flat on your back.  Your feet dangled off the edge, but not for long. He bent forward, lifted your knees, and soon had your legs over his shoulders with your ass in the air, held up by his massive hands. With your sex exposed so close to his face, Tommy growled. Your upper back remained flat on the surface. 

With his elbows braced on the desk, he held you with your cunt at his mouth. His breath was warm. With his mouth ever closer, he began to drool. His breath was heavy and full of desire.  

You let out a little moan, and with that, he attacked you like his first meal in ages. Holding you like a juicy burger, he fed himself your cunt. There was no ceremony in the first touch, he simply dug in, licking right up the center, then sucking at the apex. He ate you with a hunger that was felt in every push of his lips and heard in every breath through his nose. He used his face to spread your lower lips apart, wedging his mouth into your heat like it belonged there. 

He ate with abandon, licking and planting his lips and sucking. Collecting every drop he could from each secret little ruffle of your body, scavenging each surface for more to consume. The firmness of his lips, the rhythmic suction, and the strong lap of his tongue had pleasure building in your gut.  His hands continued to hold up your hips, thumbs digging into your asscheeks. His grip kept you firmly at his mouth with your thighs hugging his cheeks. With his mouth latched fully onto you, it was a vision you could never forget. God, it felt good. 

He couldn’t have known it, but he’d found the perfect angle, bridging your hips for you, with his elbows planted on the desk. He feasted selfishly, and his ravenous work had your body churning out more and more arousal for him to slurp up. 

He refused to come up for air, his nose instead taking ragged breaths. He paused only to adjust the muzzle, nudging it against you thigh. Then, the smooth leather nudged your slick clit as his tongue plunged into you. His eyes closed as he licked upward, massaging your front wall with his hunger. Your eyes fluttered closed. His tongue was so strong and thick, he really fucked you with it, filled your wet little hole with it.

Each slide of his tongue against your spongy spot made you lose a little more control. Soon, it felt like you were going to pee. 

“Tommy,” you warned him. 

He only fucked you harder with his tongue. 

“Tommy,” you whined, “I’m gonna—please—I—Ohhh” 

Tommy’s response was to growl and pull you closer, harder against his mouth.

At least there were no bedsheets, no decorum, and no expectations from him. He nudged that spot again, you let go. Your release began, pulsing through you, and he moaned as it filled his mouth. His mouth was so large, and he was so thirsty, there was barely any overflow. You rode that high and he drank every drop. You sighed when you were finished. His pace slowed, and his eyelids drooped. 

-

Satisfied with his meal, he let your ass back down on the table and ducked out from under your legs. He turned his head to fix his muzzle in case his feeding frenzy had exposed the center of his face. When he turned toward you again, you sat up on your elbows. 

Tommy's eyes panned over you as he palmed himself under the desk. His muzzle was shiny with you, and so were his lips. His pupils were dilated. He caught you watching the motion of his arm, and his face blotched pinker.

"It's normal," you reassured him. "It's normal to get hard from doing that." 

What were you saying?

What were you asking for?

A swell of shame washed through your chest, but it didn’t change what you wanted. 

Tommy looked at you, unsure. 

You nodded. “It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed.”

–

He grabbed you by your (his) shirt and pulled you upright. Then he ripped the shirt open, sending two buttons flying. 

When you looked down, your chest expanded with desire at the sight of the massive log straining his pants. He squeezed the outline and you nodded reassuringly. A wet spot was growing.

Your mouth hung slightly open as you looked at the gift in his pants. Your thighs were still spread wide. Tommy looked between your legs, then down at himself. Then in a flurry he unbuttoned and shoved his pants down, reaching into his underwear at the same time to help free his massive cock. Your knees twitched with the urge to sit on it. 

And sure enough, he grabbed your ass, pulling you off the edge of the desk and into his lap in one swift motion, which made his stiff cock slap heavily against your pussy. He quickly jostled it into place at your entrance and moaned when your wet heat covered the tip of his cock. Between his precum, your slick, and his slobber all over your cunt, the stiff log prodding at your hole was well-lubed. 

Tommy wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down, making his girth divide your soft, warm walls. His cock claimed every inch of your cunt and then more, as your body relaxed and opened with arousal. He was impossibly stiff. It must have been painfully hard in his pants. Slowed by his girth and stopped by his length, you came to a rest as far down his shaft as you could, far enough to meet the cushion of his bush.  His swollen shaft throbbed, and he let out a contented sigh.

He held your waist, and you were prepared to be used as a fucksleeve, but he hesitated. Instead of jerking himself off with you, his hands loosened and slid under your open dress shirt. His two palms rested warmly on your back, together covering a significant portion of your skin. You closed your eyes and bent forward, curving your torso snugly against the swell of his midsection. As you laid your head on his chest, your hips shifted and his throat rumbled with a twitch of his dick.  His heart thumped against your cheek. 

You moved your hips again, and his chest expanded with a deep breath. Another twitch of his cock made your walls spasm, and you let out a little moan. He pulled you closer and inhaled the scent of your hair, then lifted you ever so slightly against him before  sinking fully into your tight, wet cunt again. 

He shifted you in small motions, letting out lazy grunts and shuddering when you squeezed him in just the right way. This was perfect for how tired he was. 

You rolled your hips cautiously, curious how long he could wait before ravishing you.  He seemed to enjoy this new way of experiencing you. And God did you love it, too — stuffed full of his cock, with your tits and tummy pressed against him. 

“This is nice,” you whispered.

His lap lifted, and you sighed, “God, Tommy.” 

His breathing stuttered. His fingers twitched, pressing against your back. His dick throbbed and seemed to occupy even more of you.

His breathing sped up. You just barely rocked yourself, and observed his quiet loss of control until he groaned and throbbed so powerfully it made your whole body tighten. He held his breath as his balls spasmed, then he sighed with his hot load throbbing into you. With his seed pumping into you, he used a hand on your ass to pull you even tighter against him.

The pressure of his heft against your front sent you to the stars. You turned your head with your mouth against his chest and whined into his shirt as you came on his cock, making him shudder. While you came, he held your head to his chest. His stomach heaved under you, as you both finished your release.  

–-

You stayed impaled on him, and after a minute, you felt him tense. You lifted your head to look at him, and could see he was self-conscious. 

With his hands on your waist, he lifted you off his dick. Your pussy tried to hang on, but the last of his dick slid out, leaving you empty as he put you down on the desk, leaking his cum onto the wood. 

He stood up and turned away for a moment to put his dick back in his pants. 

He looked you over, and held both sides of your unbuttoned shirt-dress. He ran a thumb over the threads where he had ripped the buttons, and he grumbled quietly in dissatisfaction. He retrieved the sewing tin, scooting it closer again, then he pushed the shirt off your shoulders. He wrapped you in the blanket, then sat back down. 

He pulled you into his lap, having you sit on his thigh to make space on the desk. You sat in his lap while he went to work. He got out a needle and thread, and began to select a button, then paused. He looked at you, then back at the buttons, and slid the tin toward you with a nod. You picked out two different shades of blue. 

He reached his arms around you to work on the shirt, and you watched his hands as he sewed them on. It was amazing to see how nimble his fat fingers could be. How studious he was with his work, and how well he sewed them on. 

When he was finished, he scooted the chair back and you stood up off his lap. He gently took the blanket off you and dressed you in the shirt again. He admired the way you looked in his shirt, then picked you up to carry you back to the shed. Before he covered you with the blanket, you looked at his wound. 

“You have to keep that clean, okay?” 

He nodded once. 

“Do you have a shower? Bath?” you asked.

He grunted with a nod. You thought you’d smelled soap on him before and wondered what he'd look like fresh and clean.

-

Back in the shed, he tucked you in and sat next to you as you grew sleepier. It was easier to fall asleep with him by your side. 

-

-

-

-----------------------

Thank you for reading, and I really appreciate all your comments and reblogs on the first two. 🖤 Your enthusiasm goes a long way.

You can follow @toxicfics and turn on notifications to see when I've posted new fics.

[novelistwriter]

The Power Core

DP x DC Prompt

Danny doesn't know how long he's been trapped in this coffin the GIW put him in. His parents gave him to the GIW when they couldn't accept him being a Halfa.

He endured so many painful experiments by the hands of the GIW. He was then put into a cylindrical coffin that drains him of his powers. He can't see what's going on outside because the GIW put a casing over the glass in his coffin. He can't move either. Many things are keeping his limbs and mouth from moving. He can even feel them digging into his body and can feel them drain his ectoplasm for who know what. He probably wouldn't survive this long if he hadn't ascended to the throne for the Infinite Realms.

He can tell he's somewhere new, as he's begun to hear the voice of a woman trying to talk to him, he can't respond to the woman because of the muzzle on his mouth. And then his body couldn't handle anymore torture. His body morphed into the age his Ghostly half is, the age of a 6 year old boy, which causes his limbs and mouth to be freed, but it also causes him to collapse from where he was being held in the air by the things restricting his limbs(he didn't know that he was right-side up and was mostly out of it because of the low levels of ectoplasm he has).

Meanwhile, either Bruce, Tim, or both are wondering why the power core they bought from a government agency is malfunctioning. It was bought for Wayne Enterprises. It was said to be the only power core capable of lasting years. And when it was opened up to see what's wrong, a young boy around the age of 5 wasn't what anyone expected to see inside the power core, with wounds on his limbs and mouth from the restraints and the muzzle inside the power core that could be seen.

[fear-is-truth]

˖˚⊹ 𝓙’s note: rafe cameron x reader who’s as batshit crazy as him, if not more so ! warnings: 18+ . gunplay

“you’re one crazy piece of work, aren’t you.”

rafe deadpans, easing his thigh between your legs while his hand around your throat squeezed slightly. as the cool, metallic sensation fills your mouth, you begin to bob your head up and down the muzzle, imagining it as a cock instead of a glock that can blow your brains off. slowly but steadily, you drag your tongue along the bottom of the barrel like you would the underside of his shaft and you could hear the quiet groan sound from above you.

feeling more confident, you suckle harder, picturing the pretty pink tip of your boyfriend’s dick. you gave it special attention, all the while peering up at rafe through your eyelashes. upon seeing that his heaving chest, you try to take even more—sliding it further into your mouth, even as your eyes are watering. saliva is dripping down your chin so you breathe through your nose, deepthroating it to the best of your ability. you gag at the stretch, to which rafe starts to grind the hard muscle of his thigh against your crotch.

he slowly pulls the gun barrel from between parted lips, strings of saliva stretching, breaking as he pulls it back. his thumb slides over the chamber, flicking it open with a ease, and one by one, he unloads the bullets, letting them clatter onto the table beside you.

“crazy bitch,” he mumbles, but not without affection.

he taps the slightly warm, damp gun on each of your cheeks. taking it as your cue, you raise one hand to gently cup the hard bulge in his slacks.

“but you’re my crazy bitch.”

[vivwritesfics]

Drive Me Crazy

Chapter Ten

None of you are used to pack dynamics. Unlike then, it made you near feral. There's nothing more they want than to build you back up.

Lestappen X Reader

Series masterlist

Your arms were wrapped around him, staring up at him as he spoke. He always spoke to the Italian press, speaking on behalf of the both of you. If you were paying attention you would have nodded along with his words, made it look like you knew what was going on.

Truthfully, you didn't have a clue, entirely distracted by him. His arm was around your shoulders, thumb moving so distractingly against your arm. You couldn't help but stare up at him, at his pretty face.

He had entirely captivated you. And he wasn't even trying.

Suddenly, he was staring down at you. Not at the interviewer, not at the camera. At you.

Your insides did flips.

"Birdy," he prompted, his fingers coming to hold your chin. Your lips parted as you kept staring, searching his eyes for the answer he was looking for. You couldn't speak it, but you could nod.

He dropped your chin, made it look as if he hadn't been prompting you. You weren't great with the media, not like Charles. This was the first time you had been allowed around the media without your muzzle and shock collar. Well, when Charles wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in front of the camera, there was no way your handler could pull you away.

Charles thanked the interviewer. You flashed your teeth, hoping it was a smile and not a threat. Funny, isn't it? How smiling wrong can make someone look.

"You did so good, Birdy," he whispered as he walked you back into the garage. You were still holding each other, you were still safely nestled against his side.

You could confidently say that race weekends had become one of your favourite things ever. The energy it took both hyped you up and helped to calm you down. There was no better feeling than a post race nap, if you'd finished with a good amount of points.

Race weekends also meant Max and Charles. They were the only drivers who would talk to you, who didn't still see you as a danger. But it had been weeks since you last snapped at someone, and that was in your F2 days.

The updates you got on Carlos Sainz were few and far between. Just that he was getting better but he was still a long way off racing. Good, that meant more time with Max and Charles. Of course, the second the thought entered your head you felt guilty. No, you didn't want to wish ill on the man, but you never wanted this feeling to end.

Charles walked you across the paddock. The moment he left you alone, your handler would be there, leading you around like you were some dog. Charles led you around but with a kind hand, with his arm around your shoulders and a kiss pressed to your temple.

You walked past the other garages, taking everything in. The smells, the sounds. You loved all of it. Even the different languages spoken throughout the F1 paddock was fascinating to listen to.

Dutch. And a familiar Red Bull shirt. He didn't notice you at first, and you didn't want to bother him while he conducted an interview.

Other drivers walked past you. One lifted his hand and gave you a wave. You knew him, raced against him before. Nut that was when you were back in F2, when he was supposed to go to Alpine. But now he was in McLaren, having success most almost rookies could only dream of (his rookie year was incredible, something to be celebrated).

You waved back, eyes lighting up. At the movement of your hand, Charles looked down. He glanced at Oscar and looked back at you. He tightened his grip on you as his heart swelled with pride. You were waving kindly at someone, not trying to bite their hands. You had grown so much.

"Birdy! Charlie!"

You lifted your head, looked towards Max. The cameras turned to you as you broke away from Charles and ran across the paddock. Max opened his arms for you and you ran into them. Muzzling yourself against his chest, you hummed in contentment. Even if you weren’t racing, being around Max and Charles was enough.

Media day was fun. Media day with Charles was fun. But race day was where you shined.

You sat in the car, waiting for the light to go out. When they did, you were off like a rocket, overtaking two of the cars in front of you as you went into the first corner.

It was a drive you could be proud of. The way you were going, you were on track for a podium,maybe even a win. A win in your rookie season, you were bound to get a seat after that. Was that really what you wanted, though? A career in Formula One?

You blinked, clearing away the thoughts. Anymore thoughts like that and you'd end up in the barrier, hopefully gaining a bad enough injury that you wouldn't get back in the car ever again.

"Box, box."

It pulled you from your ugly thoughts. Box, box. You had barely done ten laps yet. Too early for you to come in, according to your strategy. So, you drove past the pitlane. Max was right behind you, and you were unwilling to lose the leas to him.

"Box, box!" Your engineer insisted. "We have to retire the car.”

"No."

You didn't realise you had said it, but the silence on the other end of the radio was a dead give away. No. A word you hadn't been able to say in years. A word you had been too afraid to say in years.

Suddenly, there was a voice, a French accent. "Birdy, I'm sorry," said Fred. It was so strange to hear your team principles voice during a race. "But you have to bring the car in."

It was easy to listen to Fred. He kept his voice calm when talking to you. He made you want to bring the car in. So, you did as you were told. You pitted the car, and climbed out, trying to hide your disappointment. Keeping your helmet on kept any tears from escaping.

Sitting in the corner of the garage, with your helmet on, you waited. You waited for the race to finish. For the podiums and celebrations, for the drivers to be weighed and for them to return to the garage.

You didn't blame Charles for smiling as he walked in. A win under his belt. But it was a win that should have been yours. No, that was no way to think. You were happy for him, happy he was one step closer to catching Max in the championship.

"Where is she?" You heard him ask. An engineer must have pointed, because the next thing you knew he was in front of you.

His smile was so pretty. You could have stared at it for hours.

Sitting on the floor in front of you, Charles flipped up your visor. "There she is," he whispered. He moved to take your helmet off, but you shook your head. "C'mon Birdy. Gotta get you out of this thing. As soon as we've debriefed with the team, we can head home with Max."

Face the team. When your car had cost them points. You couldn't do it. But the way Charles was looking at you, making you feel as if you could do anything.

You didn't protest as he undid the strap beneath your chin and pulled your helmet from your head. Your hair was a mess, you were a mess, eyes shining with unshed tears. Putting your helmet to one side, Charles pulled you to your sheet. He whispered something in French and led you to your drivers room. "I'm gonna take you home to Monaco with me," he promised.

***

You were beginning to like travelling in style. Sat on Maxs private jet, sharing a seat with him as you had a drink. Maxs face was hot, arm around your shoulder as you leaned against him. It was just your second drink, but the most you'd ever had.

"We're gonna get you in a good car, Birdy," Max had said as you flew. "Get you in a Red Bull."

You had shaken your head at him, you remembered. Your head wasn't fuzzy, but the world around you was moving slower than it should have been. No more driving. You'd drive in the place of Carlos, and that was it.

There was no plans for you in Monaco. You were to stay with Charles, you knew that. Part of it had you giddy, but then your handler followed you into the car. "Don't worry," Charles whispered in your ear.

And you didn't have to worry, bc Charles dropped her off at a hotel. You could still picture your handlers face as Charles drove off, leaving her behind.

That left three of you in the car. We live in the same building, Max had explained to you the moment you realised he was still in the car. There were a few drivers that lived in the same building, but none of them drove there together.

Heading up to the apartment, you expected Max to go his own way. But he was still following you and Charles. You weren't complaining, though. You loved Maxs company, his and Charles's.

Charles let you and Max into the apartment. It was spacious, tastefully decorated with pictures of the f1 cars he had driven. Family pictures, too. Pictures with Arthur.

A piano was pushed against the wall.

The door shut and Max dropped his bags. He stretched his arms up and let out a yawn. "Want something to eat, Birdy?" He asked, but you were distracted, looking around at all the stuff a real f1 career could get you.

Charles rolled his eyes at you. He just found you so damn endearing. He followed Max into the kitchen, kissing him for the first time in days. You didn't witness it, though.

After getting himself something to drink, Charles wandered over to the piano. He sat down and pressed a couple of keys. You walked away from the window, standing behind him as Charles began to play.

Your body began to move. Just small movements, barely noticeable.

"Shut up, Charlie," Max called from the kitchen.

Charles stopped playing and you stopped moving. A whine left your lips and you moved forward, coming to sit beside him. "No," you said through a whine. "I liked it."

You weren't aware of how Charles was staring at you as your fingers hovered over the keys. You didn't know what to press to make sounds as pretty as Charles.

"You liked it," he whispered. "You liked it."

You nodded your head and folded your hands in your lap, waiting for him to continue playing.

So, that was what he did.

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[kisakis-boyfriend]

Wrote this at midnight. Not even melatonin could contain the horny curse that Mok Tok put on me. Bon appetit~

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, alpha borisin!reader, sub/bottom/omega!Mok Tok, mind break, breeding, kidnapping (?), marking

Mok Tok is too feisty for his own good. He's the kind of guy who's impulsive and needs to follow someone, or something, far, far stronger than he is.

He needs a big, strong alpha to keep him in line. Needs you to show him where he truly belongs, even if he can't see it at first.

It takes a long time, and an absurd amount of patience, to break him. Mok Tok will yell, scream, howl, snarl, and try to bite you every step of the way — which is why he ends up chained in your basement, muzzled and isolated from everything. Your touch as gentle as can be, even as the omega pulls at his restraints and curses you out again.

Eventually, he's worn down. Your whispers in his sensitive, fuzzy ears — combined with miniscule suggestive touches that gradually made him desire you — eventually gave you the perfect mate.

Now, Mok Tok is your pliant omega whore, clingy and constantly craving his master's touch. He shivers when you enter the nest that he built in his little room. Piles of blankets and your used clothing, most of which ends up stained from Mok Tok's incessant humping when you're away.

You can see his thighs clamp together, feebly attempting to stop another wave of need from dripping out of his stiff cock, but it's too little, too late… you only need to brush your fingertips down his arm, and Mok Tok is whimpering like a sad puppy. Rolling over and going belly up for you — his alpha.

No matter how often you fuck him, Mok Tok always ends up tight again, gripping your dick like his insides are trying to bear hug you… but, hey, you're not about to complain about that. It only makes breeding his borussy that much more fun~

Speaking of breeding; you created an addiction. Mok Tok is desperate for your hot, alpha cum, whining so loudly for you to breed his omega pussy and let him have your pups. He'll do anything! Please, please, please cum in him — don't pull your cock out until there's so much cum in his hole that he can barely move! 🥺

While you're busy jackhammering his wet, creamy hole for the nth time, Mok Tok will shed tears of pure happiness, howling at the heavens when you fill him AGAIN, and pulling your body closer until he can barely breathe.

This little wolf is also a bit addicted to your marks. Every tiny bite or scratch is viewed as a trophy in his dumbed out, horny mess of a brain. Borisin typically view scars in a positive light, and Mok Tok is no exception. Even after you turned his brain to mush and programmed him to be your bitch, that fact didn't change.

The hickeys you cover his neck with? Treasures, all of them.

The long scratches running down his arms, sides, and back? Treasures, even though those do hurt a little…

The bite marks on Mok Tok's thighs, ankles, hands, and shoulders? Priceless treasures, every last one of 'em.

—

The moral of the story is: Mok Tok is my little wife, and I need to keep him forever~ 🩶

[gay-dorito-dust]

hello! if you're still writing for Creature Commandos, i'd like to request some platonic headcanons for Weasel, please! just some general thoughts or scenarios on being his friend/caretaker. if you're not writing for these characters anymore then pls ignore!

Weasel was innocent in your eyes! No fucking doubt about that! You didn’t buy the whole ‘child killer’ narrative about him when you were quick to see that there was no hostile nor violent tendencies towards children in general.

So your and weasels friendship felt borderline like you were his caretaker in most cases as dr phosphorus would always tell you to rein in your ‘feral child’

To which you would smile innocently before telling Weasel to piss on the irradiated Skelton out of spite. Good times.

Many on the team had noticed that weasel was more comfortable and at ease when you were nearby, which mean that you were often teamed up together on more then one occasion as you both worked like a well oiled machine. You could understand him on a level that others couldn’t grasp and that was what made you an unlikely duo.

You weren’t seen without weasel and weasel wasn’t seen without you, so even if the rest of the team saw one without the other they’d always ask the question;

‘Where’s the rest of you?’

You would then point to the rafter above you where weasel was hanging out, looking a little sickly than usual. ‘He threw up.’

Or if weasel was asked where you were, he’d run away before coming back to with your arm in his jaw, but you were unfazed as this wasn’t the first time that weasel dragged you with your arm in his jaw, you still had the marks form the previous times he did this that you had to squint to see since he never put any pressure when dragging you at all as though he was careful to not hurt you.

Weasel does go fucking apeshit when he sees that you were hurt, his only friend and somewhat caretaker was injured and he was seeing red as he tore apart the person(s) who did it to absolute shreds. Literally he gave a new meaning to the word feral after that with a bloody muzzle, teeth and claws.

‘I’m fine.’ You’d have to tell him when he inspects your wounds, making noises of distress as he would attempt to lick your wounds like a dog would, but you were certain that wasn’t hygienic at all but you appreciate the gesture as you scratched him behind the ear, making him close his eyes and let out a noise akin to purr.

I’d like to think that now and then weasel would cuddle into your side afterwards, always being your feral protector when you were healing, always watching over you silently as you smile at your best friend. It’s a beautiful thing between the two of you as you cradled your furry friend to your chest before drifting off to sleep after a gruesome and tiresome mission.

‘You did good today weez.’ You’d praise him as you rubbed his back, only for weasel to make a soft noise like he was telling you something similar as he nuzzled himself further into you like the clingy rat that you knew he could be. And he could be clingy when he wanted to be as half of the time he was climb your back and force you to carry him back to your shared room.

Now if weasel was hurt, you’d react in kind by going ballistic before sticking by his side as he recovered. ‘You okay weez?’ You’d ask.

Weasel would make a weak noise but you’d smile and keep watch over him. ‘I’m right here weez, I’m not going anywhere.’ You’d remind him and that was enough to calm him down and go into a light slumber.

Yours and weasel’s friendship was unheard of but you wouldn’t change it for anything not anyone as weasel has become a vital part of you as you had become a vital part of him, something you’d protect until you couldn’t anymore as you didn’t know where you’d be without having your furry friend making your life that little more bearable…even if you did have to tell him to stop licking the damn windows and eating shit that he’s not meant to by forcing your hand in his jaw to get it out yourself.

‘SPIT IT OUT WEEZ! YOU’RE NOT MEANT TO EAT THAT!’ You’d yell but weasel was adamant on eating the dirty bandaid he found on the floor, much to your disappointment and everyone else’s (mainly dr phosphorus) hilarity.

Also you, weasel and dr phosphorus are like a trio of pure chaos with you being the mediator between the two, but that’s a story for another day.

[nightingale-prompts]

Horrible Creatures-DCxDP prompt

Studying ghosts is always confusing. They aren't humans and they aren't aliens. They are entities unlike other sentient lifeforms.

Currently, three of them have taken up residence in the Watchtower. Not bound by the rules of mortals, the heroes had to make peace with them.

They had a system in place. Leave the big one alone at all costs. The middle one was in charge. And the little one will steal your food.

A good question is what are they?

Sometimes they appear perfectly human even bearing a resemblance to Clark, Bruce or Diana. They only do this when they wish to communicate. Sometimes they fly about with wispy tails instead of legs. This is for when they fly outside the base in space. Other times they change into half human half beast things as they lurk around corners of the tower. This is for when they get hungry and want to scare Barry or Hal.

Most of the day they just sleep. Or what they think is sleep. The big one likes to find the hottest place to plop down and nap like the sun or the furnace. The middle one likes it cold so he's usually curled up in the walk-in freezer. The little one likes sleeping either in tight spaces like the vents or in the open like on the table in the middle of a meeting.

Diana once scolded her about acting properly to get her off a stack of documents. In response, the little ghost changed her form into that of a small cat. She then proceeded to yowl annoyingly until Clark held her throughout the meeting.

After that, the ghost favored turning into little beasts to pester the heroes. For what reason? Fun.

The following day the middle one waited until Bruce got a glass of water to shove his muzzle into the cup. When Bruce got a second cup the ghost wanted that cup instead. The only solution was to designate cups for each of the ghosts. It solved the issue until they wanted their own placemats for when they eat. Keep in mind they only like stealing food. They do have their own but unless they can bully you out of eating it they don't want it.

You can't even call them pets. They are sentient beings and they can communicate. They are closer to children, really ornery children.

Taking a nap was liable to summon one. Hal learned that if he dozed off they would join him and bury him.

The big one is roughly the size of a bear and just has heavy and has no respect for your space. It's his space now and he uses his size to his advantage by constantly bullying Clark and Barry.

What are they going to do? Stop them?

When Constantine finally got off his "vacation" he came to assess the situation he became a lightning rod for the ghost's attention. The ghosts followed him around loving the aura around him and the irritable emotions he gave off.

"So they have just been running wild and you let them. No wonder they are acting like this. They don't respect you so they do what they want. They must also like you because they would have left by now if they didn't."

Clark holding Dani

Danny trying to eat Bruce's food

Hal trying to sleep

[daydaydayrk420]

Muzzle that dog

Logan Howlett (wolverine) X male reader

⚠️bondage, bottom Logan, dog muzzle, dog play (?), male reader, collar and leash⚠️

🚨 Minors and girls do not interact 🚨

______________________________________________________________

Since Logan has mutated he's become more animal-like. Sometimes he goes feral. He turns into a feral wolf. Especially when he's in heat. Yes. He has heat seasons. Once to two times a year. And by feral I mean feral.

And what does he do when that happens? He locks himself in his cabin that was gifted to him by his friends from Xaviers when he almost broke the school kitchen.

Recently though. His heat has been worse. There's this new guy in the school named Y/n. And he and Logan grew close almost instantly. Logan thinks he's starting to fall in love with him. But he doesn't want to accept it. Not when all the people he loved got hurt because of him.

Now it's October. And to Logan's luck. His heat is starting. And his heat lasts for as long as possible. So he'll have to inform Ororo so she doesn't plan a birthday party as she likes to do because he'll definitely still be in heat during his birthday.

Ororo understood immediately and cancelled her already plan in the works and just gave Logan his birthday present early. Y/n on the other hand. He had a lot of gifts. And he couldn't just give them to Logan in the open. So he waited.

He had a plan.

A horny plan.

Eventually, the date hits October 12th. Logan's been in his cabin for a week now. Currently he's in the middle of the empty room whose flooring is just mattresses. There's a wooden floor underneath obviously but most of the floor is a mattress. Besides the bathroom which is separated by a door opposite of the front door, a kitchen corner that has a classic wooden floor, and a fireplace that is built into a wall but still has enough of a wooden floor in front of it so the mattress wouldn't catch.

It's kind of like a kids dream pillow fort. Other than that the cabin is pretty modern. Obviously paid for by Charles to get it as comfortable as possible.

Logan is sitting in the nest of pillows and blankets. Sweating even though the fire isn't on. He's just staring at a wall. That's until he hears footsteps near his cabin. He doesn't think much of it at first but then he catches a familiar scent. He growls and watches the door hoping that they're not stupid enough to walk in.

Now the cabin is locked yes. But the door is on a password lock. Only Charles and Logan know it. At least that's what Logan thought before the door clicked and opened. And in walked y/n with a big box.

"Morning birthday boy." Y/n grins and closes the door that automatically locks. Logan growls. "What are you doing here Y/L/N."

"Came here to celebrate with my favourite boy." The other mutant said with a smirk and set the box down in front of Logan. "Happy birthday sweaty boy." He joked about Logan's current state.

Now Logan may not look the best. But y/n's isn't complaining. He doesn't mind sweaty body hair and that delicious-looking erection that's standing between Logan's legs. Yes, he's not wearing underwear. He feels like his skin is on fire. Of course, he's not wearing anything.

Logan just watches the other mutant debating if this is a joke or not. Eventually, he reaches for the big box that could fit an old box TV. In the meantime, y/n removes his jacket and looks around the cabin.

Logan looks into the box and sees more boxes, but these are wrapped with birthday-themed wrapping paper. He raised an eyebrow and briefly looked at the other mutant before looking back at the gifts.

He reaches for one of the gifts and rips the paper off. He can feel y/n sit behind him. He's so close Logan can feel the heat radiating off of his body. He also feels that y/n is now shirtless. Logan's hands stopped moving as all of his senses focused on the man pressed against his back.

The other mutant looks over Logan's shoulder. He breathes against his neck and talks in a low murmuring voice "Why aren't you opening it?" Logan shivers at the closeness and feeling of y/n's breath against his neck.

Logan takes a shaky breath and focuses back on the box. Once he fully removed the wrapping paper he used one of his claws to cut the box.

Inside was a handmade leather collar with a loop at the front of it. Logan flushes beet red. His breath hitches as he feels the leather under his fingers. Y/n smirks against Logan's neck. "Open the next one."

The older mutant shakily reaches for another present. He rips off the paper and cuts the box open. Inside is a matching leash. It looks sturdy enough for a good rough tug. Logan's dick twitches at the thought.

Y/n kisses the crook of Logan's neck. Which causes Logan to whimper. But it doesn't sound like a moaning whimper. It sounds like an actual sad dog whimpering.

He reaches for another box wanting to be done already so he can jump on the other mutant's dick. He grabs the present, rips off the paper, and tears the box open. Inside is a dog muzzle.

That's enough for Logan. He pushes the box back and turns around to pounce on y/n. The other mutant laughs and catches Logan. The force of the wolfish man causes them both to fall back on the mattress floor.

Logan whines like a dog as he claims y/n's lips with his own. Y/n caresses his thighs and flips them over. "I take you're happy with your gifts?" He murmured against Logan's lips. The wolfish man whines in response and pulls y/n's face closer.

"Even though you haven't opened the rest of them yet?" He murmured between kisses. Logan huffs. "Just tell me what they are."

"More collars." Y/n hummed and kissed Logan's neck. The wolfish man only shivered and whined. Logan grabbed y/n's head and pulled him into an open kiss. He fought y/n's tongue like an animal.

The other mutant let go of Logan's thigh with one hand and patted around on the floor for the collar. Logan could feel the heat in his body starting to calm down but he still felt like he was on fire because he was being touched by y/n.

Logan suddenly let out a gasp when he felt cold leather wrap around his neck. He looked down and saw the o ring dangling from the front of the collar. He looks up and is met with y/n's hungry eyes. Logan whimpers and squeezes his thighs together.

"Look at you. So beautiful." Y/n murmurs and traces the collar. Logan whines. "Such beautiful sounds. I wonder what sounds you'd make if I..." Y/n's words trail off as he hooks two fingers into the o ring and tugs. Logan gasps and cries out. Those sounds go straight to y/n's groin.

Y/n kisses the collared man and pushes him onto the floor/bed. He reaches for the leash and attaches it to the collar. "Be a good boy for me okay?" Y/n murmured as he kissed down Logan's body. Logan nods.

The other mutant makes his way towards Logan's leaking cock and gives it a kiss. Logan whimpers and bucks his hips up. But y/n pulls back. "Ah ah ah. No moving."

The collared man whimpers and fights the urge to thrust up. So he bites into his hand without much worrying about how hard he's biting. He'll heal. Which he does right after he bites deep into his flesh by accident when he feels y/n's fingers against his hole.

Y/n pushes one lubed finger in which goes in with ease because Logan's wet with slick. As he fingers the whimpering man he kisses and licks his dick. "You taste as delicious as you sound."

Logan whines and thrusts up again. Y/n grumbles and tugs at the leash. The collared man gasps and stops moving. "I said no moving pup," Y/n said as he hovered over Logan. Logan whimpers again.

The other mutant adds a second finger and kisses Logan's neck. The room is filled with whimpers and whines. Each one was louder with each added finger. "Good job pup. Do you think you can ride?" Y/n murmurs as he sits down and pulls Logan into his lap. The collared man nods eagerly and lines up.

Y/n chuckles. "So eager." Y/n teased but let Logan do what he wanted. Logan sank almost instantly the moment he felt the tip enter him. He whines loudly and starts bouncing. The other mutant mons at the instant movement and grabs onto Logan's thighs. "Holly shit pup you're tight."

The collared man whimpers and rests his hands on y/n's shoulders. He bounces and rolls his hips wanting as much friction as possible. Whenever he's in heat it's like he has a constant itch from the inside. And the way y/n's dick is rubbing against his walls it's like the best back scratch anyone could wish for.

Y/n tugged at the leash to pull Logan closer so he could devour his lips. Logan angled his hips in a way that abused his g-spot almost perfectly, and he accidentally bit y/n's lip harshly. Y/n hisses and pulls back. He licks the blood off his lips and his eyes darker with lust.

Logan whimpers out, repeated apologies, but keeps bouncing. The other man growls and reaches for the muzzle. "Bad dog. Who told you you could bite?" That gets Logan to whimper louder. Y/n tugs at the leash. "Stop." He ordered.

Logan whines in protest and keeps bouncing. Y/n shakes his head and tugs again but this time harder. "Don't disobey."

The collared man whines and forces his body to stay still so Y/n can put the cage around his mouth. "Dogs that bite without permission get the muzzle. This is what you get for being a bad puppy." Y/n scolded as he made sure the muzzle is on tight but still comfortable for Logan.

The said man only whimpered in response and looked at y/n with sad puppy eyes and a pouty lip. The other man only shakes his head and leans back on his hands. "Go ahead. Fuck yourself on my cock."

Logan doesn't hesitate to lift and drop down again. He searched for that angle again. Fortunately, it doesn't take long before his head throws back and his cries fill the room. He's so close, but he doesn't want to cum yet, so he holds back.

Y/n has a tight grip with one hand on Logan's thigh and the other hand tightly holds the leash. The muzzled man looks so beautiful like this.

All deliciously wet and red. He's wet for multiple reasons. Sweat that makes his body hair stick together and his hair stick to his forehead, pre cum that's covering his belly due to his dick smacking against it so much, spit on his lips and chin because he forgot how to close his mouth, and tears running down his cheeks due to his amount of overwhelming emotions.

Y/n groans and watches Logan like he's an angel sent from heaven right for him. "Fuck you're so beautiful like this." He praised. "I imagined beauty but not like this." Y/n shamelessly confesses that he's been dreaming of doing this for a while. Logan whines and scratches at the other man's chest.

Y/n hisses and throws his head back. "Fucking beast." He grunts and digs his nails into Logan's thigh that immediately heals any signs of it.

The muzzled man whimpered. "I want to taste you so bad." He said with a sniffle and looked at y/n begging. The other man smirked and sat up. His nose is against the metal of the cage muzzle. "What was that pup?" He teased.

Logan whines. "Wanna taste you." He sounds so sad. Y/m though only smirks wider and licks one of the rods of the metal cage that's keeping their lips separated. The collared man whimpers and pouts.

"aww. Look at you you gorgeous puppy. I almost want to take this muzzle off." He teased, hooked his fingers through the cage, and tugged him closer. Logan cries out at that. He watches the other mutant with desperation.

Y/n kisses the bars and licks the side of the muzzle until he's able to kiss Logan's cheek. "Next time you behave and you'll get what you want." He let go of the muzzle and leaned back again.

The collared man whimpered but kept bouncing. Y/n runs his hand up Logan's thigh until it reaches the round goods of his ass. "I'm going to stuff you so much you won't be in heat for a year." Y/n grunts and meets Logan's bounces by thrusting up into him.

Logan whimpers. He's so close. "I can't hold it anymore." He cried out and spilled all over his belly. Y/n chuckles and watches how the muzzled man shakes with overstimulation because he's not stopping yet. "Just a little more. I'm almost there." Y/n murmurs and lays Logan on his back so he can rest as Y/n does the work.

Which he doesn't do much because his hips are so fucking sore from Logan's adamantium weight. But he makes work with what he can and chases his climax. Which also doesn't take long.

Without moments y/n spills into Logan and collapses on top of him. They both pant and catch their breath. Eventually y/n rolls off of Logan and onto the comfy mattress floor. He pets Logan's hair and slowly removes the muzzle so they can cuddle easier.

This was a mistake because Logan immediately latched himself onto Logan's chest and started marking. But y/n is too tired to bother and just caresses the collared man's hair. "Alright pup slow down." He gives a weak chuckle.

Logan whines but stops his marking. For now anyway. Instead he just nuzzles into y/n. He's as close as much as he can and still not satisfied. It's like he wants to be absorbed by y/n he wants to be close to him in ways that aren't possible.

"it's alright pup I'm not leaving you can rest." Y/n said and lazily caressed Logan's hair. The collared man relaxed and lets his body fall into much needed sleep.

[simplyholl]

Hunted

Summary: Hydra hosts a training exercise for their super soldiers. You can run, but you can't hide from the Winter Soldier.

Pairing: Dark Winter Soldier x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. This is a dark fic. Non con. Death.

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You ran as hard as your feet would carry you. You were terrified, shaking so hard you were surprised that you could even move. Footsteps approached quickly, your breath hitches as you make a decision. You could run, but the super soldier could easily catch up to you. Or you could stay where you are and pray that you are hidden well enough that he won't find you.

Last month, Hydra caught your uncle's company trying to take them down. They killed all the men that worked there and captured all the women. They brought you all to cells under their headquarters. They fed you three meals a day, stating you all would need your strength for what they had planned.

This morning, you learned what they had meant. You were all brought out to the edge of the woods. The man in charge told you that they were training their super soldiers today. They would be practicing their hunting skills. A large van pulled up, and out came ten super soldiers. You looked around, counting the women who were with you. There were twenty-three of you. A second van halted to a stop beside the other. Two large men drug out another.

He was chained up, arms behind his back, black mask almost like a muzzle covered his mouth. His dark, shoulder length hair was messy, piercing blue eyes locking on you. You felt like you were going to faint. The Winter Soldier was the most brutal of all the super soldiers. A skilled assassin, he was sent on Hydra's most important missions. He did all their dirty work.

The Hydra leader who brought you outside explained the rules to the prisoners and soldiers. They were going to give you all an hour head start. Your job was to hide from the men. If they found you, they could do whatever they wanted with you as a reward. Bile rose in your throat, turning the contents of your stomach sour. Some of you wouldn't come out of this alive. But if you were fortunate enough to make it until sunrise, you would be free.

The footsteps grow closer, you close your eyes hoping he won't notice the footprints you had left in the mud. Then you see him, the man was tall, blonde hair shaved off. He walked toward the bushes you were hiding in. Your hand flies to your mouth to hide your cries. To your dismay, one escapes anyway. The soldier's head whips toward the noise, across the way from you.

You realize it wasn't you who cried too loudly. The soldier smiles wickedly, reaching for the poor woman who just gave up her hiding spot. He flings her out of the bushes onto the hard ground. More tears fall when you notice that it's Claire, the secretary from your uncle's failed company.

The soldier begins pawing at her as she tries to fight him off. It's no use. He holds her down with one knee on her torso, as he strips off his clothes. "You're my second one today." He brags. "Let's see if you're luckier than the last one. I choked her too hard." His evil laugh echoes through the quiet forest. When he rips Claire's clothing from her shaking body, you take the opportunity to run.

He looks up when he hears you leaving your shelter. "I'll catch up to you next!" He yells after you. The sun has started setting, you take a precious minute to catch your breath. You know if you stop for too long, you'll lose your momentum, or someone could catch up to you. You hear the screams and cries of your fellow prisoners as you make your way further into the woods. You search for a new place to hide, since it would be dark soon.

They could have at least equipped you with flashlights, you think to yourself. That was the whole point of all of this, wasn't it? You weren't meant to survive. Hydra expected the super soldiers to kill most of you. The women who survived would be brought back to the prison, probably made to work for them now that their spirits had been broken.

It was almost too dark to continue, so you took shelter in a cluster of bushes, shrinking yourself as small as you could underneath it. Night fell, and you laid on the cold ground, the horrendous sounds of the others getting caught filled the air. Finally, you rested your eyes. You needed the rest if you were going to make until the morning.

You woke up, sensing someone was nearby. You silently prayed that it was just another prisoner and not a threat. You release the shaky breath you were holding when they leave the area. The dark sky turns reddish - pink and you sigh with relief. It shouldn't be long now. Sunrise was so close you could almost taste your freedom.

You close your eyes, hoping that when you opened them the next time, this torture would be over. Your few moments of peace were interrupted when the blonde super soldier from earlier reached down into the bushes, pulling you up by your hair. Your scream rips through the woods, the soldier slings you back onto the ground, kicking you. "Shut up, bitch. I told you I was coming for you. You're my sixth, and from the looks of it, my last." He gestures to the sky.

He rips your shirt from your body. You try to cover yourself, but he moves your hands away. A metal hand wraps around the soldier's neck, a sickening crunch filling your ears as The Winter Soldier snaps it with ease. The soldier slumps over, his lifeless body landing with a thud.

"Mine." The Winter Soldier states, blue eyes locked on your exposed bra. A cold metal finger slips under the bra between your breasts, tearing it from your body with no effort. "No please! I almost made it. Please don't do this!" You cry, pleading with him. His hands find your breasts, squeezing roughly. His eyes land on your peaked nipples, taking them between his fingers.

He twists and pulls too roughly. When he's finished his assault on them, he reaches for his face, removing the black mask from his mouth. He's beautiful, you think for a split second. His blue eyes and pouty, full lips seemed like they didn't belong on the same man who was trained to kill. "Like what you see?" He smirks, when he notices you staring at his face. He pushes your breasts together, face lowering toward them. He runs his tongue from one pointed nipple to the other. Chapped lips taking one between them, sucking harshly.

He bites down, pulling your nipple with his teeth. You cry out, hands on his face trying to push him away. He chuckles, as you fight him, biting down your torso to your pants. He pulls them down along with your panties, discarding them immediately. One thick finger runs through your folds, disappointment evident as it comes out dry. "You're not even wet for me? We can't have that. I won't fit if you're not ready."

You shiver at his words. You didn't want to know how big he was. You had studied the super soldier serum enough at your old job to know that the serum enhanced everything. He brings his mouth down against your core, lips brushing your clit. He swirls his tongue around it, metal arm hooking under your legs to bring you closer. His full lips tug on your clit, you can't help but moan for him.

"That's it, good girl. If you're good for me, I'll convince them to let me keep you." You spit at him, kicking your legs, to push him away. "Why would I want that?" He smiles, because Hydra's gonna kill anyone left in these woods when this is over." You gasp, you should have known. "You didn't really think they would just let you go? You know too much. They will let me keep you as my little plaything though. All I have to do is say the word."

You didn't doubt him for a second. “Stop fighting." He commands, lowering his face again. His nose brushes your clit while he works his tongue inside you. You try to fight back, but he misinterprets your movements. He thinks you're enjoying it now. "That's it." The Winter Soldier suckles your swollen clit, hot tongue lapping up every drop of arousal. You bite your lips so hard; it bleeds trying to keep a moan in.

He grabs your chin, jerking your face towards him. "Do not hold back from me, kitten." His warm tongue drags over you slowly before his plump lips suction around your clit. Your thighs close against his ears as he draws a forceful orgasm out of you, legs trembling as you flood his face. Your moan rips through your throat, earning a satisfied smile from the soldier.

He spreads your legs with one hand, his other freeing his hard cock. You were right about the size of it. You were so fortunate that he got you wet first. You'd be lucky if he didn't split you in half. He plunges inside you, you squirm from the painful way he entered you. "Hold still." He says, holding your stomach down. "I can't, it hurts too much." You whine. The Winter Soldier rolls his eyes, lifting you like a rag doll.

He sits on the ground, lowering you onto him. This position was worse for you. He hit even deeper than before. But he could hold you better this way. His metal arm snakes around your waist, holding you close. He bounces you on his cock, your arms wrap around his neck. His fingers dig into your hips as you get used to it and start to grind on him.

Your clit brushes his dark curls as you ride him. "I knew you would be worth it." He grunts. "I wanted you the moment I saw you this morning. I found you immediately. You're not great at hiding, you know. But I waited. I knew it would be better if I let you think you could escape." He chuckles, "You should have seen those other broads, they would piss themselves when they saw me. But I only wanted you, so I left them for the others."

His dark pants rub against your thighs as he fucks into you. You roll your hips, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. "You feel incredible." He moans into the crook of your neck. You scratch at his leather clad back, as the Winter Soldier's mouth latches onto the exposed skin of your neck. He sucks harshly, making sure it will leave a mark. You clench around him as he cums inside you.

His metal hand reaches between you, icy digits colliding with your heat. His thumb circles your clit, causing you to unravel. You shake in his arms, too exhausted to move as he pulls you off him. He takes his shirt off, handing it to you. "Put this on. I don't want anyone looking at my little doll." You take it, looking up at the sun coming up in the distance.

Tags

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