My fic for @oricalcon for their stunning work on my Halloween compilation. It was so good working with them T.T

Please enjoy some ABO action with old Alphas Jack and Gabriel, and Jack being absolutely in love with Gabriel’s knot.

“You’re stinking up the place, Jackie-boy… love my cock so much?”

Gabriel is practically purring, leaning back on the old warehouse crate that creaks dangerously beneath his heavy body; muscles dense from the super soldier program and him being an Alpha.

Jack grunts low, flicking up pale eyes to throw him an impatient, unimpressed gaze. He doesn’t deign to answer even though Gabriel’s assessment is so very accurate: the small warehouse is thick with Jack’s excited pheromones, wafting almost visibly from his big body curled small and tight to fit in the space between Reaper’s massive thighs.

“It’s okay,” Reaper murmurs, clawed fingers carding slow and self-indulgent through the Soldier’s thinning, white hair. “I know how much you missed playing.”

He missed it too, of course, but… but.

Jack doesn’t seem to be listening to him much, anyway. His eyes are heavy lidded, staring into nothingness as he snuggles with Reaper’s half-hard cock, rubbing the tip against his cheek until Gabriel’s toes are curling in his boots and an involuntary growl is stuck in his throat from Jack’s perpetual stubble scraping against the sensitive, tender skin.

“Fuck… Jackie-boy,” he murmurs, head falling back and thunking against the wall. His hips want to move, fuck up into the loose grip, but he keeps himself under control, wide chest heaving as he scents the air. His mouth floods with saliva as he smells Jack, thick and spicy, laying over the back of his tongue until Reaper has to pant beneath his mask, open mouthed and needy, every inhale infused with the other Alpha.

His body’s confused reactions only work to heighten his lust; adrenaline pumping as his instincts want him to fight the other Alpha when in reality he just wants to lean back and lazily fuck Jack’s throat like he knows he can; like he knows they trained hours upon hours back in the SEP days, crawling all over each other and learning each other’s dick.

Jack, however, seems to have other plans. He is pressing little distracted kisses against the growing cock in his big, gentle hands, but he is not paying too much attention to the tip slipping from the silky foreskin as Gabriel’s cock thickens.

When he glances down, face hidden behind the mask, he can see how almost… sleepy Jack looks. For once, his face isn’t drawn into tight, agitated lines – rather he looks relaxed, purring deep and rumbling in his chest as he drags his tongue in long, wet laps against the other Alpha’s thick cock.

He acts almost like he wants to soothe an agitated Omega; as if he has to calm them with the low, non-aggressive growls, and it unexpectedly warms Gabriel’s heart. His claws become a little gentler against Jack’s scalp, his own growl answering as his muscles grow a little warmer; a little more lax.

An old, dusty warehouse is not an ideal location to have a nice, lazy fuck, but if Jack is willing to pretend, he is too.

They rumble at each other, big bodies vibrating as Jack keeps travelling down towards the base of Gabriel’s cock; and it takes him a lethargic second or two to realize what is happening: for his brain to parse the information that is Jack’s tongue probing curious and mischievously against the soft, painfully sensitive skin that would swell up quick and dirty into a knot.

He chokes on a growl, knees jerking, clamping around Jack’s wide shoulders, a pathetic jip stuck in the back of his throat.

His fingers curl tight into Jack’s thinning hair, staring down at the content, sly expression on his scarred face, and he can’t help but pull lips back from his teeth, impatiently shoving his mask up and out of the way to let Jack see his sharp fangs.

“Oh,” he rumbles, hand twisting, forcing Jack to tilt his head so he can press his wet, cheeky mouth against the tender base of his cock. “That’s how it is, Jacky-boy? Want to play dirty? Damn…” Jack’s tongue had flickered out, dragging against that special place just beneath his knot where it was thick and fragrant with pheromones. He could see Jack’s face go lax, his cheeks growing hot red with an excited flush as the taste and smell crawls down his throat and sets his Alpha body on fire. Gabriel can’t manage to bring up even a dredge of shame at the juvenile excitement and small whimper slithering free.

“Yeah… yeah, let’s play dirty… fuck.”

.o.

He feels weirdly young watching Jack cowering between his thighs and mouthing at his almost shyly swelling knot. There is an element of thrill to it; of having another Alpha pay such intense focus to it, mouth open and wet, teeth so close to the sensitive, flushing skin.

His cock is dragging across Jack’s face, smearing pre-cum against his forehead and the bridge of his nose, but the old Soldier doesn’t seem to mind too much. His eyelids are fluttering delicately as he scents the air with his mouth open subtly, pale cheeks flushed a dull, nervous red.

He is just as flustered about his actions as Gabriel is. They aren’t quite looking at each other, growling low and gentle in their chests while Gabriel gently rocks his hips, pressing his tender knot against Jack’s mouth.

It feels so… it feels so dirty, so illicit; shockingly more than actually mounting another Alpha; holding Jack down and feeding his body a big cock.

“You want my knot, Jackie?” Reaper murmurs, toes curling in his boots, fingers carefully curling around his shaft to squeeze it in supplication because he feels like he is going to explode soon if nobody is going to pay attention to the weeping head soon.

Jack growls again, sharp and aggressive this time, pale eyes flicking up as he leaves his peaceful nuzzling of Gabriel’s knot in order to bite at his fingers. It is obvious he reins his temper in only barely, the pressure of his incisors gentle but firm as they clamp around one of his knuckles.

“Woah there,” Gabriel murmurs, heart stuttering in his chest. He knew how possessive Jack was of his cock – remembers how feral the Soldier had gotten in their youth, practically nesting atop his fucking dick, not letting him touch even when Gabriel was about to claw his way out of his skin with overstimulation.

He hadn’t thought Jack would still… even after all this time…

“That’s all right, Jackie-boy,” Reaper murmurs, carefully losing the grip on his cock, a whine stuck in his throat as it pulses in need. “It’s yours… I know how much you love dick… damn, Jack…”

The aggressive pinpricks of Jack’s pupils slowly dilate again as he watches Gabriel’s hand retreat. He hums low, licking the underside of the fat shaft a few times as if making sure to mark it up with his own scent once again before diving back down.

Gabriel’s knot is swollen enough now to let Jack’s mouth, wet and cherry red, clamp around it and suckle, tongue so eager, dragging across the tight skin until Gabriel’s eyes roll back in his chest, the nanites in his body making him feel like a hive of agitated ants are under his skin.

His body is so very confused – not only having another Alpha pay such close, loving attention to his cock, but also that the same Alpha is coaxing his knot into swelling even before his orgasm.

Leave it to Jack to be stubborn enough.

He looks goddamn out of it when Gabriel glances down, face slack as he suckles on his knot, rumbling low in his chest but ending on small, near Omega-like whimpers every time. His stubbly chin pressing against Gabriel’s skin again and again, hurting enough to keep him on edge, a low growl constantly vibrating out of him.

Part of him wants to bite; force Jack back into submission and get his teeth around his throat. Make him lie back and show his belly and show that he is acknowledging Reaper as his superior Alpha.

Wants to get the sharp, painful rasp of his stubble off of his knot and the silky skin beneath.

The crate is groaning dangerously beneath his weight as he forces himself to calm down. To sit back and enjoy how Jack is lavishing attention on him, his thick Alpha smell oppressive and domineering in their little bubble.

“Wanna fuck you, Jackie-boy,” he rumbles, head back, staring at the ceiling as he feels Jack pop off his swelling knot with a wet, obscene sound. There are tears of overstimulation pricking at the corners of his eyes. He feels near delirious but can’t help constantly scenting the air; layering a new coat of Jack onto his tongue.

“I wanna fuck your throat. Tie your fucking mouth since you love my goddamn knot so much. Wanna hear you suffocate on my dick. Wouldn’t even gag, would you? Trained that out of you so long ago…”

Jack is watching him with sly, intelligent eyes. Reaper doesn’t even need to look down to see it: he can feel it on him like a touch.

His knot his half-swollen and out in the cold air, pulsing with blood, and when he scrunches his eyes shut, there are more tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, body so goddamn confused just because of Jack who coaxed him into this nervous half-state of arousal and need.

“You want to come, Gabriel?”

Jack’s deep, rasping voice is a shock to the system; even more so than the hand around his shaft, holding on firm, almost a bit mean, with a blunt, calloused thumb pressing into his frenulum in a way that makes Reaper choke and see stars.

“Want to show me your pretty knot, Gabriel? Want to show me how nice and fat it can get?”

Damn… Damn… he wants that. He wants that. He’s whining like a much much younger man, needy and pathetic, claws ripping at the wood of the crate as Jack starts jerking him with sure but jerky motions, his short fingernail scratching once – maybe on accident, maybe not – against the tender folds of skin beneath his glans. Gabriel can’t help his body convulse at the sharp, confusing burst of pain, belly clenching, hips jutting out towards the source of pleasure-pain, mouth open and panting with his tongue near lolling, drooling liberally at the thick Alpha pheromones in the air.

He wants to knot for Jackie. Wants to show off how big and hot it becomes.

There’s a mouth at the base of his cock, wet and merciless; sucking at the confused half-swell of his knot as his hand is jerking him off, tight and a little dry even though his dick is trying so very hard to get everything nice and slick.

His balls feel painful. Swollen. A swelteringly hot presence between his trembling thighs, trapped in his pants.

“Show me your knot, Gabriel,” Jack murmurs, his deep voice scraping along Reaper’s nerves – and he can’t help but obey; submissively whining and following the other Alpha’s orders; cock jumping and flexing in his grip as thick cream pulses out in long, forceful splashes, Jack’s goddamned mouth still on his goddamned knot, not giving him a second of reprieve as he coaxes and cajoles, begging with suckling, painful kisses for it to swell for him –

and God, does it swell, thick and fast; painful in a way that takes Gabriel’s breath and thrums through his body. He can’t even tell whether it is a good kind of painful; he can only tell that his cock is still jerking out pathetic dribbles of cum, balls aching, his whole lower body an open, needy wound that Jack is nursing on like a babe; groaning low and snuggling his face against the knot he’s so obviously in fucking love with.

Gabriel thinks, head back, staring panting and out-of-it at the high ceiling of the warehouse, that if he had been a younger Alpha – if this had been the first time he knotted, he would have pissed himself and never tried to knot anybody ever again.

He grins at that thought, one hand blearily pawing for Jack and clumsily carding through his mussed, thinning hair.

“Goddamn, Jackie-boy… never knew how much you loved knot,” he slurs, feeling how Jack finally, blessedly lets go of suckling and kissing and licking the fiercely pulsing organ.

“Figured I’ve waited long enough,” Jack murmurs, head on Gabriel’s thigh, smelling so goddamn satisfied that it strokes the Alpha’s ego even though he hasn’t been allowed to touch much.

“Hmmm that we have… how about you come here and let me see how pretty you can knot for me, then?”

Jack chuckles low and rasping, joints cracking audibly as he clambers up unto his feet with a groan.

Not beta read at all :)))))) last part of the sub!Gabe/dom!Lúcio storyline :)))) only took me like a year :))))))))))))) (I like the last part tho :3c)

For the beginning: angst tw, past abuse tw, anxiety attack tw

Part 1 (no real fic just rambling)

Part 2 (no real fic just rambling)

Lúcio stares down at the data stick in his hand, turning it around and around between his fingers. His knee is bouncing nervously. The stick had been in his mail a couple days ago, taped to a little piece of paper.

The fruits of my research – Reinhardt

Behind him, Gabriel is lying on the bed, watching his back quietly. The room is dark, and when Lúcio turns to glance at his submissive, the cold light of the computer screen doesn’t quite reach the other man’s face.

He turns back around and stares at the stick some more. Turns it around and around. It has been haunting him since he pulled it out of the mail, wondering what Reinhardt has dug up about Gabriel.

It takes him a while longer before he finally plugs the stick in and watches the videos his old mentor had found for him.

Gabriel is a ghostly presence at his back. He is not making a sound while Lúcio watches, yet he’s never been as aware of his submissive’s presence in a room as in those nauseating hours.

.oOo.

It hasn’t been as difficult to watch the footage as Gabriel had surmised it might be. He doesn’t identify with the man drugged up to incoherence and made to debase himself for cajoling strangers.

He recognizes himself, vaguely, but most of all he is watching the kid’s reactions.

Lúcio’s leg had bounced restlessly through the first ten minutes, shoulders rigid. Slowly, however, the bounce had stopped in favor of some kind of stupor: the kid sitting more quiet than Gabriel has ever seen him, hands folded in his lap, watching video after video.

.oOo.

Gabriel feels himself walking on eggshells around Lúcio even though he doesn’t need to. He didn’t do anything wrong – there is nothing to apologize anymore, not after he’s got his discipline from his dominant a couple weeks ago.

And yet…

Lúcio has been quiet and withdrawn, youthful face edged into tight, hard lines. He looks angry in a way that makes Gabriel want to lie down on his back and show him his belly – offer up his body for stress relief. The need to be the punching bag is as much trained into him as it is his intrinsic need to be good for his dominant, and it makes him antsy all on its own.

Antsy and angry. Like he should have grown out of that mindless, self-destructive response, especially after watching his pathetic displays captured on video for eternity. Like he learned nothing at all and is doomed to make the same mistakes over and over again without any improvement in sight.

He feels like a lemming that is too… too… too stupid to look after itself, and it makes him want to destroy things.

Himself, first and foremost.

.oOo.

It feels like he is watching himself from the outside, sometimes. Like he is not entirely his own person these days.

He can see himself slipping into his tired, old behavioral patterns that he thought he had shucked off years ago, and it makes him feel… hopeless.

He can’t get out of it; can’t get out of the mindset, the stupid, idiotic need that he make his dominant happy again because he feels like he is the reason Lúcio has stopped laughing every single moment of the day and instead became so quiet it makes Gabriel feel like he has to hurt himself in his anxiety.

He wants the old dynamic back. He wants things to be how they had been before he fucked up. He wants a routine that helps him not being so horribly, horribly stupid.

At work, he’s capable. His colleagues look at him for advice more often than not. They respect him to a T. He is independent.

At home he wants to crawl on his knees towards his dominant and hide his face in his lap. He wants to beg for his hands on him again, but first and foremost he wants to cry – and he can’t do any of this because he’s burned all those bridges in the months he’s lived with Lúcio, hasn’t he?

He’s been an ass every turn of the way, hissing and snapping and growling at his dominant, and he feels like he’s now forfeited every right to seeking solace.

Lúcio is so young, still…

Gabriel is breaking patterns, trying to lift Lúcio’s mood. He sits down close to him, trying to offer himself up, make himself available for touch without Lúcio having to coax him into it. He brings home treats after work. He cleans the apartment.

Most of all, he hovers. He tries to anticipate what his dominant might need. He tries to anticipate when his dominant might decide that what he needs is not him anymore.

He sees himself spiraling out of control, ready to humiliate himself – to do anything just to make things go back the way they were – yet can’t make himself stop.

.o.

“Stop.”

Gabriel jerks to a halt at the door of Lúcio’s studio, staring at him in hopeless confusion, big hands hanging uselessly at his sides. He turns them, showing Lúcio their vulnerable palms for some reason. Like he needs to proof that he has no weapons.

Lúcio is standing at his chair, one hand on the back of it. He’s been ready to sit down when he’s noticed Gabriel traipsing after him again like a lost puppy.

Gabriel feels nauseous, his belly clenched into a tight, hard fist. He’s close to retching, anxiety kicking up a storm; only growing the longer his dominant looks at him with a frown on his face.

“Why are you here?”

Gabriel’s head lowers, shoulders pulling up minimally. He can’t look at Lúcio anymore and instead is staring at his feet. He’s at a loss for words. He feels like crying, but…

but he’s no crybaby.

“Dude, you hate sitting in here while I work. Why are you following me in, then?”

Gabriel’s nose starts running, his eyes are so very wet. He bites his lips and tries to remain quiet because if he makes a sound, he will bawl like a little kid in front of his dominant.

He hears Lúcio’s deep sigh. He moves around – he can see his shadow on the hardwood floor, even if he can’t hear his socked feet.

After a while, there’s the sound of Lúcio sitting down in his chair.

“Come here, babe.”

Gabriel glances up and sees a large, green pillow on the floor, shaped like a frog face. His pillow – the one Lúcio always lets him kneel on when he feels like wrestling his stupidly stubborn ass into compliance.

He presses his mouth into a tight line as he feels his lips tremble and stumbles forward, throwing himself onto the pillow, forehead slamming violently against his dominant’s thigh. He’s breathing quick and loud, wet gasps that make him feel humiliated.

His hair is shorn short enough that he is sure his flush of embarrassment is visible even there.

Lúcio’s soft fingers touch the nape of his neck carefully for a second before he seems to think better of it and clasps a firm hand there, thumb scratching along the line of shorn hair.

Gabriel stares at the hardwood floor, everything swimming in front of his wet eyes.

“Why are you so keyed up?” Lúcio murmurs, his other hand joining to rub firm across the shorn head. Lúcio is maybe half of what Gabriel weighs, but he feels as anchored in this moment as he’s sure he could never achieve on his own.

He groans low and pained as muscles start relaxing that have been cramped for weeks now.

“My poor boy. What are you eating yourself up for? Everything is good.”

Gabriel shakes his head minimally simply to do something; to feel the fabric of Lúcio’s bermuda shorts drag against the skin of his forehead.

Lúcio is silent for a while, the motions of his hands rubbing hypnotically across Gabriel’s head, and slowly incorporating the slope of his shoulders, lulling him to an almost sleep.

At last, he leans down, curling over Gabriel and smothering him in the smell of him. The need to cry like a child has abated somewhat, and his nose is free to take in deep gulps.

Just a month ago he would have tried to squirm his way out of a headlock like this and retreated from the room with an ill-tempered grumble. A month ago, however, he also hadn’t known how precious Lúcio’s disregard for personal boundaries was to him until his dominant wasn’t up in his grill at all times anymore.

“I thought you needed time,” Lúcio murmurs next to Gabriel’s ear, his voice sending shivers down his spine. “I know I needed time. It was a lot to take in, dude. But-” he hesitates and leans up a little; uncurls from the small cocoon he created around Gabriel’s head to grab his head and pull it up, staring into his face with a solemn expression. “It doesn’t change anything between us, all right? I don’t give a shit about what you have done earlier. I… understand better now, though, so maybe it was for the best? I dunno. Damn.”

He groans and lets his head fall back into his neck. his hands are steady around Gabriel’s jaw, keeping him in place with gentle force.

“It was hard seeing you like that,” he says, voice scratchy and a bit forced, and Gabriel realizes with a weird feeling in his belly that he sounds close to tears himself, now. “Knowing something and seeing it are just… dude, it’s hard.”

He falls back into silence for a moment, then looks back down at Gabriel, his face and voice back under control, fingertips slipping up and across Gabriel’s face, forcing him to close his eyes so they can ghost across the lids where they stay and make him sit like that.

“I think it’s as good as any reason for a new beginning,” he murmurs, voice sounding so close and intimate even though he hasn’t moved.

The darkness makes Gabriel squirmy in a good way. A little excited. Aroused. His body relaxes, leaning more heavily into Lúcio’s thigh, and the low chuckle his dominant produces makes him feel like a million dollars. His mouth drops open, and he groans low and wrecked.

“Oh would you look at that?” Lúcio mumbles, “Look how good you’re being for me already… my good boy-o.” Usually he hates it when his dominant calls him that, but this time he is close to drooling, already a bit loopy and into his head, drunk on the affection he felt certain he would never have again.

“You’re already giving me so many ideas to play with you, pretty boy. MMhhh yeah. I got some nice ideas for my submissive. So nice and well-behaved for me.

Stay with me, hm? I want you to kneel for me while I work, Gabriel. Let’s leave that other shit behind us and go forward.”

.oOo.

“You look so pretty in my ropes, babe. Are you comfortable?”

Gabriel grits his teeth, bad temper rising fast as he feels his dominant loosely holding the two ends of the thin green rope together beneath his wrists. He hasn’t even knotted it yet.

“I’ve done this before,” Gabriel spits out, shoulders rigid, staring moodily at the ground. “Get on with it.”

Lúcio hums, his smooth fingertips slowly rubbing along the edges of Gabriel’s hands, and then across his palms. It is sometimes startling for him how soft and unused Lúcio is. The kid is working hard, but not with his hands – not like Gabriel is in the garage.

There are no scars, no callouses on his dominant; just a whole lot of quiet, unyielding strength and endless patience.

Gabriel feels weepy, and that makes him even more antsy. He growls again, choked and a little wet and hunches his shoulders forward, balls his fists…

“No,” Lúcio says, soft but firm, fingers immediately leaving their idle petting of Gabriel’s hands. He grabs his submissive’s shoulder and pulls him back into position. “Spine straight. Stand still, Gabriel.”

And then, when Gabriel doesn’t move a muscle: “Good boy.”

Gabriel squeezes his eyes shut, grinds his teeth, and breathes deeply.

.o.

“Ah man,” Lúcio sighs after a while, taking a step back and observing his work. “You look so pretty like this. Such a good boy, holding still and letting me put you in my ropes. Damn.”

There isn’t much rope, just an intricate criss-cross of bright green holding his forearms together behind his back.

Gabriel keeps quiet, head hanging low as he subtly shifts his hands, rotating his wrists to feel how tight Lúcio had made his rope work. A hand beneath his chin startles him, causing him almost to jerk back as his dominant coaxes his head up and holds it with a firm grip on his jaw.

“There. Like this. Don’t hide, now.”

Gabriel bares his teeth, but there is no real heat in it. When Lúcio thumbs with his free hand at one of his nipples, his jaw falls open on a soft, needy pant, cock lifting a little from between his thighs.

“There you go. Love how responsive you are. Such nice, sensitive tits.”

As Gabriel watches, his dominant turns minimally and fishes for a bandana just as bright green as the ropes binding his arms. He slowly pulls it through his fingers as he watches his submissive with a pensive expression.

Gabriel can’t help but straighten up a bit, chin lifting, chest pushing out. His nipple is still tingling where Lúcio touched it. He is hyper aware of the silver barbell, feeling like it is heavier than usual and putting more pressure onto the sensitive tissue. He is preening, he realises with a weird twist to his stomach, and Lúcio’s face relaxes, warm eyes brightening.

“That’s my boy! Damn, but you’re gorgeous.”

He can feel himself slipping down – not physically but mentally, his attention zeroing in on his dominant, hanging onto his every word; and while he wants this; has always wanted exactly this, a part of him rebels at how quickly he goes under for Lúcio.

Still, when his dominant lifts the bandana with a questioning look, he bends down easily, offering himself up.

Lúcio is murmuring low praise, a constant stream of input as the world around him goes dark, yet still it is… scary. Everything feels that much more significant when he can’t anticipate what is going to come. He jerks and flinches when Lúcio touches his shoulder, and the young man shushes him, grips his bicep with a firm, warm hand.

“Easy, now. Look at you taking everything I give you. I’m going to give you your ball now. You’ll remember to let it drop if something is wrong?”

“Yes, Sir.” He whispers the response, feeling a bit meek, rebelliousness cracking away as he is trapped in darkness, arms immobilized. His head swivels towards Lúcio, tracking every little sound he makes. Moments later he feels a soft ball placed into one of his palms. He curls his fingers around it and holds on for dear life.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Are you scared?”

“No.” And then after a second he ads in a pathetic little whine: “A little.”

His dominant steps close, warm breath fanning across his cheek a moment before he feels a kiss pressed against his beard.

“You don’t need to. I’ve got you. And you have your ball if you need me to stop. Do you want your gag now?”

He breathes deeply, head lowering until his forehead is pressed against Lúcio’s shoulder, subtly sniffing at his skin. His scent is so comforting it almost hurts. Lùcio is hugging him loosely, fingers dancing along a few small scars as he waits for Gabriel to get a grip on himself.

Finally, he nods and rightens himself up once more, mouth obediently opening for his gag.

.o.

Gabriel twists as he feels the warm washcloth slip from the dip of his spine that it had travelled along, down into the cleft of his ass. He slowly manipulates his feet wider, lifting up onto their tips to push his ass into the warmth like a cat.

His dominant hums low and pleased, the fingers inside the washcloth pressing insistently against Gabriel’s hole. There is no intent of trying to slip in – just a possessive press that makes electricity zing from the tips of his toes up into the small of his back.

They move, starting little circling motions over the nervous, fluttering clench of the muscle, and Gabriel groans deep and heartfelt into the gag.

“There you go,” Lúcio murmurs, his other hand landing briefly on the back of Gabriel’s neck to squeeze and press him down a bit more firmly for good measure. Gabriel is leaning across a padded bank, feeling utterly contained in himself and his dominant.

There is nothing to distract him; no obligation to try and figure out what his dominant’s facial expression means, or whether what he is doing could be embarrassing. Just him and the warmth of the washcloth, the rough texture wandering down and leaving a mildly cool trail of wetness behind.

It feels good, cupping his heavy sac. Keeping it nice and warm as his dominant moves his fingers, rolling the full testicles in his palm. Next to it, his cock is hard, throbbing dully in need. The metal pierced along the underside pulls vaguely at the silky skin and makes him hyper aware of the foreskin not quite rolled down the fat head yet.

Lúcio hadn’t touched his cock, but he hopes that if he offers himself up enough, he might consider it.

Gabriel can’t even remember the last time he’s been so fixated on his dominant; the last time he wondered how good he had to be to make him touch his body and coax an orgasm out of him instead of wondering how to debase himself in order to make him happy.

“Are you ready, Gabriel?” Lúcio murmurs, voice pitched low; an amused lilt to it that makes Gabriel nod even before he’s parsed the question. Eager and hopeful, hand clenched around the soft little ball to make sure he wouldn’t lose track of it.

The warm washcloth vanishes, then, seconds before a new sensation engulfs his balls just as gentle and loving, with an equally rough texture. His brain has two false starts, body poised, breath stuck in his throat as what he’s had anticipated doesn’t come true: the washcloth is no longer a nice, toe-curling warmth but cold enough to make everything stutter to a halt.

It is not freezing, but it might as well have been after the delicious warmth of before.

Gabriel howls into his gag, back arching, then going round as he hunches his hips down, trying to get away from the cold.

Lúcio chuckles, warm and commiserating as he puts a hand between Gabriel’s shoulder blades, making sure he stays where he is.

“Good boy… Stay still, now. Yeah. You’re gonna love what I’ve planned for you.”

.o.

Gabriel can’t stay still any longer. He is jumping like a rabbit with its hind legs trapped, bucking and winding as his body shivers out false response after false response. His dominant has long since stopped dutifully alternating the warmth from the cold, and instead uses them at whim, never letting his submissive get too caught up in the moment.

His nipples, pressed against the warmed leather he is leaning on, are painfully tight and sending shocks of pleasure down his spine whenever the piercings roll against the surface.

He is drooling into his gag, blindfold wet with tears of overstimulation. He doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks he might have come already, body pulsing out one or two shivery orgasms, tricked into them by his dominant first cuddling him in warmth before gently rubbing him down again.

Gabriel dreads the next touch as much as he needs it, cock fat and heavy, swinging, wet with water and pre-cum, glans exposed to the cool air of the room. He twists awkwardly, half his body turning away as the other half turns into his dominant, little noises escaping him that sound more like squeaks than anything else.

His hand vaguely hurts, fingers so tightly clenched around the ball, panicked that he might lose it without meaning to.

When Lúcio touches him again, hands settling warm and sure on his hips, Gabriel cries out, head thrown back, brain firing and trying to figure out if the touch is warm or cold, stuttering and retrying until he realizes it is neither, not really – Lúcio has put away the washcloths, and instead is rubbing slow circles into his skin with his thumbs.

“Damn, babe.” He sounds choked, voice raspy. Gabriel is hyper aware of him; feels how his cock is pressing into the back of his thigh, and with a little whimper he realizes how he can feel wetness smearing against the trembling muscle: his dominant is naked. “You’re so out of it, Gabriel. Damn… Drooling like a good boy. Are you with me? Can you hear me?”

He nods frantically, rubbing his cheek against the surface of the bench, mindless and needy, dragging it across the mess of sweat and spit there.

One of his dominant’s hands moves, sliding down his ass and his trembling thigh to keep him notified of where it is going before reaching sure and self-assured between his thighs and taking a hold of his swollen cock.

He wants to cry out, but all he can do is whimper pathetically, holding still in his exhaustion.

Lúcio hums and squeezes him gently, then gives him two long, strokes that frizz his mind and make him gurgle. His smooth, firm fingers rolling against the ladder of barbell piercings, moving them gently beneath the thin, tender skin.

“You have such a lovely cock. It’s been so nice and hard for me the entire time. Such an attentive boy, Gabriel. I wonder…”

He trails off, fingers squeezing just beneath the fat, swollen head, thumb rubbing across the crown and blunt fingernail carefully pressing against the slit there.

Gabriel freezes, halts his breath, then goes lax all over like a puppet with its strings cut. His balls feel too full and tender, swollen to double their size. He feels like a prized breeding bull that’s getting inspected, and still he wants to preen for Lúcio.

“You’ve been so well-behaved, babe. You have earned yourself a treat…”

He moves his hips, pressing his weeping cock against Gabriel’s trembling thigh muscle, and his brain jumps to it, making him babble indistinct with the ball gag still in his mouth, frantic and begging, voice broken and whiney as more tears wet the inside of his blindfold.

“Calm,” Lúcio murmurs low even though his own voice is trembling with excitement, hand letting go of Gabriel’s cock to travel back up and touch his hole, warm and loose and so very ready. “You want my dick, babe? Right here? Have you earned my cock, good boy?”

Yes, yes, yes, God yes, please, please, please, please…

He doesn’t know what sounds he’s made, only that he’s crying openly now, sobbing unabashedly as his nose runs and his cheeks get wet. He loses control over his body and couldn’t care less as his dominant presses kisses against the small of his back and shushes him until the first onslaught of need has rolled through him.

“Yeah, you earned it.”

.o.

His dominant is a lot shorter than him and Gabriel would have tripped over himself to get himself to the right height if he hadn’t stood still already.

As is, he hunches down, head lifted and turned, trying to see whether he is being a good boy even though he is wearing a blindfold. Logic has fled him and all vestiges of fear of being made fun of have let go of him. In their stead the overwhelming need to have his dominant’s cock is eating him up and making him eager like a dog.

Lúcio chuckles and rubs his hips, the small of his back, the swell of his bicep. He shifts and moves closer, and then there’s a blunt, delicious pressure against Gabriel’s hole.

Feeling his dominant slide inside him is better than anything he could have thought up in those feverish, needy nights he spent alone at home, fantasizing of being good enough for Lúcio to earn his cock.

It’s slow and perfect, spreading him open until the muscle burns deep and delicious, insides throbbing and clenching down; hugging the intruder and trying desperately to pull him deeper.

His body is in love with Lúcio and there is no way he could have hidden it even if he wanted to.

His dominant laughs softly, voice cracking, sounding elated to the point of hysteria as he rocks his hips, fucking his submissive for the first time.

“Not gonna last long,” he whimpers, leaning forward, pressing his forehead against Gabriel’s bound forearms.

I know he wants to say I know I know I know, but all he does is gurgle, soft and weak, body trembling, cock flexing as he is getting deep dicked gently, intimately, Lúcio barely moving enough to pull even an inch out.

Like he couldn’t bear the thought of not being inside Gabriel’s warm, suckling body to the very hilt. Like he wanted to crawl into his submissive.

Gabriel imagines that he can feel every vein; can feel the ridge of Lúcio’s cock drag against the spongy, wet insides of his gut.

He knows his dominant’s cock intimately; has spent hours lapping at it, keeping it nice and warm, worshipping it; yet feeling it finally spread him open is making his head spin and cock drool, balls fat and swollen.

He wants to come, wants to come, wants to come so bad. He’s sobbing, bawling openly, shaking and sweating as he curls into his dominant and lets him hold him, a little stiff, a little uncoordinated as his hips jerk into him, fucking him uneducated and enthusiastic like the young man he is.

“Feel so good, so good, so good,” Lúcio is mumbling, a little delirious, pressing hot, suckling kisses against whatever patch of skin he can find. “My good boy. My good boy. Not gonna let you go ever again. Gonna keep you nice and safe. Put you in my damn pocket and carry you around.”

There’s white noise filling Gabriel’s head when he comes, thick pulses of come that shake him to the very core of his being, body shaking and uncoordinated but held nice and secure by his dominant’s arms and the ropes he put on him.

He feels so safe and loved.

Genyatta Just The Tip that I promised ~~~ @robotfvckers @mujaween

“M-Master…” Genji sounds overwhelmed, mumbling against Zenyatta’s back and fogging up the gleaming chrome with his moist breath. He’s found out about the tender little space his Master had hidden a couple days ago but he still seems at a loss for words.

Zenyatta can feel his fingertips trembling as they skirt the metallic edge of his maintenance orifice, uncharacteristically shy as they don’t quite dare to dip in and rub against the smooth silicone that lines it; thick enough to produce a tight, stout channel originally designed to keep the highly sensitive plug secure that had to be connected to the port hidden behind, but now the unending source of Genji’s (happy) misery.

“So soft,” his student whispers, and Zenyatta can feel him shift minutely, receptors registering the warmth of his cheek as he turns his head and presses it against Zenyatta’s shoulder blade.

His posterior orifice is not as sensitive as his valve – by far not as sensitive – yet Genji’s skilled fingers feel nice rounding the very edges again and again, hypnotically and soothing. Comforting, almost – enough so that Zenyatta feels a vague flush of shame at how swollen his valve had become, inner workings producing slick that has started to drip in long, thin strings of teal towards the ground from the plush swell of his folds.

There is no urgency in their coupling, and Zenyatta thrives on it; focusing on the gentle crest of feedback as Genji’s clever fingers leave his maintenance orifice for a moment to slide through the mess of his folds and scoop up the oily slick there.

He uses it to tease deeper into the tight channel, coaxing the silicone to retreat for the wriggling digits carefully, nervously slipping in deeper – and Zenyatta is unprepared for the sudden frizz of feeling as Genji’s fingertip bumps into the sensitive socket all too soon.

Zenyatta’s back arches, voice glitching as he cries out softly, valve pulsing warm and insistent beneath what his body deems the wrong orifice, systems confused as to why Genji is not paying attention to the swollen folds and fat, glowing node sitting at their apex.

“G-Genji,” he hums, hands shaking mildly as he pushes against the slick floor, looking for purchase. “C-Careful.”

“Master Zenyatta,” Genji whispers, fingers still scissoring deep, the tips flirting around the painfully sensitive plug, more careful now. “You’re so tight back here… there is not much room at all…”

Zenyatta’s fans kick on as his body’s temperature spikes suddenly, his silicone cock emerging from its hiding space with an embarrassingly wet suction sound.

“Genji… please,” Zenyatta murmurs, voice fraying. Every time Genji’s curious digit scrapes against the plug, the a jolt of near painful feedback zips up Zenyatta’s spinal column, sending the readings in his visual quick and merciless into the reds.

“I can’t believe you have this,” Genji whispers breathless, fingers slipping out with a wet slide before he shuffles forwards and a new intrusion spreads Zenyatta wide, makes him hiccup and his gold chin clank noisily against the floor as he jerks, knees spreading wider uselessly as if that would make it easier to spread for the swollen tip of Genji’s cock.

“Keep still, Master…” Genji’s voice sounds so strained, almost whiney; on the verge of tears just from trying to squeeze the tip of his cock into Zenyatta’s swollen passage, the thick silicone walls unwilling to spread more than what their intended use allows.

One of Zenyatta’s hands travels down, shivering, jerking as his processes start glitching out. His valve is searingly hot to the touch, probably steaming subtly as everything gets rerouted to his pleasure centers, protocols still tripping over each other as they try to figure out why Genji is using the wrong orifice – why he is so determined to try and squeeze his cock where it has no right to be, and Zenyatta hiccups out little static noises, silicone cock straining, valve dripping profusely as Genji grunts above him, working his hips, trying with insufferable patience to cram his cock into-

“There,” he rasps, “I think… I think that’s as far as I can go.” He barks out a laugh, sounding a little hysteric as his hips jerk and his tip slips a bit deeper… just that bit that makes it press up against Zenyatta’s inner plug and have bright lights dance in his vision, a long warbling sound of static and feedback singing from his voicebox, cock bobbing eagerly and the node at the top of his valve flashing-

“Just the tip.. fuck, I can only fit the tip inside,” Genji whimpers, decidedly teary now, hips shimmying back and forth to move the head of his cock in the tight squeeze of Zenyatta’s maintenance orifice.

Zenyatta offlines. He doesn’t know for how long – figures that it must have been only seconds because Genji is still panting, still whining above him as he tries to get off with the tip of his cock nestled inside the impossibly tight space.

Zenyatta wants to tell him to pull out; to change orifices and pound the dripping, swollen mess of his valve before he short circuits completely, but his voice box is frayed and his body’s processes are so very confused; directing every single input into the throbbing, unrelenting river of pleasure coursing along Zenyatta’s nodes.

When Genji pulls out, his cum splashing in cooling, sticky ropes against Zenyatta’s overheating frame, it is enough to make him come again; valve squirting loud and noisy, filthy sounds as slick drips from his folds and splashes onto the ground.

Genji has to be talking – he always is; so self-satisfied when he can find a new way to make his Master debase himself – but all Zenyatta hears is static, vision flickering and body jerking as pleasure ricochets through his body, inner plug seemingly throbbing with pleasure-pain even though it is impossible for it to do so.

“I can make you come on just the tip of my cock, Master,” Genji whispers, suddenly blanketing him, cheek pressed against the side of Zenyatta’s faceplate. He sounds so in awe; so satisfied-

“I’ve n-n-never doubted it, my S-S-Student,” Zenyatta manages to murmur, voice fraying at the edges and body almost reluctantly starting to cool down.

ohhh man just the tip fuckin is SO GOOD. i love love LOVE young genji being all pushy and beggin his date in the club high and drunk off his ass in a dark corner “c’mon babe just the tip I promise” like good shit gOOD SHIT

RIGHT??? he would get so fucking whiney for it. Beg his mildly annoyed date, hand beneath their skirt, stroking some clumsy fingers over their panties. he’s not an asshole but he gets this hangdog puppy look and it’s pretty hard to resist.

So they roll their eyes and glance around the club; the corner is dark enough and nobody is paying much attention to them anyway, so they’ll ruck up their skirt and hook a finger into the side of their panties to pull them from their slick cunt.

“Okok. Just the tip. And make it quick.”

He nods with his forehead plastered against their shoulder because he’s too unsteady to stand up straight. He’ll slick the crown through their plump cunt, nudging it against their clit because even when he’s on autopilot he knows how to be good to someone.

One of their hands is curled around his cock, making sure that he doesn’t slide farther inside, and it is kinda cute when he starts whimpering and whining when he gets his cock into them; begs for just a little deeper, just a little more, but they only shake their head and murmur that he should make it quick because they saw their friend exit the bathroom on the other side of the dancefloor and they want to meet up.

Genji doesn’t take long to pump his load into them, nice and warm and creamy. He just puppy ruts, dipping the tip of his swollen dick in again and again (sometimes probably not even hitting the target but that’s okay, they keep their hand around him and that’s just as good with all the slick squelching there.)

He mumbles a thank you and probably wants to give them his number but they just wave off and clean their hand on his pants and skip off to their friend, skirt back in place and pussy pulsing pleasantly from the nice little workout and the cum frothing between their plump lips.

Oh man… for abo just the tip ideas, would you consider a little dubious consent? Maybe a young deadlock Jesse McCree. He’s just a scrawny young alpha trying to make his way up the chain of command. It doesn’t really count if it’s just the tip anyways – not like he’s takin the whole knot or nothin, right?

ommmfffgggggg YEEESSSS

it’s not weird if he takes just the tip. Their knots aren’t even remotely touching.

“F-Fuck… C’mon dude, this isn’t.. it’s not funny, alright?” Jesse whispers heatedly, straining to keep his voice low as a gaggle of other Deadlock members sleep just around the corner.

His pants hang around his skinny thighs, belt shucked to have it more comfortable, and Bertie’s hand is cupping his balls, fingers cheekily slipping behind and rooting around without finesse until he finds the small clench of the other Alpha’s hole.

Jesse hisses, fingers curling into Bertie’s shoulders. He lifts up onto the balls of his feet, legs dancing apart until they are restricted by his pants.

“And it’s not funny to wake up to you stuffing your fucking face with my ration, McCree,” Bertie hisses back, a flush spread across the bridge of his nose and his high cheekbones. He looks just as nervous and unsure as Jesse feels. “And if you don’t want me go crying to the boss, you should be a little nicer to me.”

“Fuck you,” Jesse grunts because Bertie’s fingertips, blunt and square, has wriggled into the tight clench of his body. Bertie stinks of Alpha pheromones, but they don’t set his teeth on edge as much as they should have. In fact, he feels nervously aroused. It’s been a while he fucked someone.

“Come on, McCree,” Bertie whispers, face so close Jesse can feel his breath against his lips. His tone has taken on a decidedly whining quality. “Just the tip, man. Nobody’s gonna ever know. Just… Just wanna jerk off into you, hm?”

Jesse groans, belly clenching tight. Fuck, that sounded hot. Fuck. He clenches his jaw for a second. Unclenches. Licks his lips. His fingers are kneading into the fabric of Bertie’s shirt as he throws nervous glances around the dark, dingy hallway. Just around the corner, they can hear the other guys snore.

“Alright,” he finally whispers, embarrassed at how hard he’d gotten. “Just the tip, though. Just the fucking tip.”

He turns around awkwardly, flushing hotter at how he has to hold up his pants so they don’t fall to his ankles.

Bertie is breathing hard and wet behind him and is on him in a second. There’s the clinking of metal as he fumbles with his fly, Jesse biting into his arm, trying to keep quiet. He wants to touch his cock; can already feel the tip being wet and needy, but between stuffing his mouth and holding up his pants, he has no hand free.

And then Bertie is on him, fumbling and cursing under his breath, inexpertly pressing the wet tip of his own cock against the tight clench of Jesse’s hole.

“Just the tip,” he can hear Bertie whisper under his breath; a little sibilant because he’s probably biting his tongue as he stares down, concentrating on the task at hand.

Jesse grunts when he takes the thing, eyes watering with the stretch and burn, lifting up onto the tips of his feet once more.

Bertie groans and Jesse closes his eyes at the fierce throb of his cock. It should be disgusting to get mounted by another Alpha, but all he feels is fierce, unadulterated lust.

“Just the tip,” Bertie whimpers like a mantra, and Jesse ripples around his cock and feels himself getting needy for it, which is when he doubles down on biting into his sleeve to keep himself quiet.

feral pup mccree getting taken in by pack alpha gabe and feeling like he doesn’t fit in. he’s used to being put in his place by mean alphas but gabe has been nothing but gentle with jesse. he doesn’t know how to act around the rest of the pack so he resorts to causing trouble in attempts to get gabe to mount him like he’s used to. gabe does mount jesse but it’s not rough and violent. he turns jesse into a preening whiny mess without even knotting him and now the pup has heart eyes for him

There’s a nervous quality to Jesse’s fidgeting that puts Gabriel’s teeth on edge. The pup is looking anywhere but at him, his knee jiggling against his hips like an addict on withdrawal.

He’s not that young anymore, but he still simpers like a pup, lifting his pointy chin and offering up his throat as Gabriel leans down and wants to press warm little kisses against the corner of his mouth. Instead, he hits his jaw. He rolls with it, smearing his lips against the scraggly fur there that Jesse refuses to take proper care of even in human form like this.

Jesse wants to twist around onto his belly and lift his ass up way too fast. There’s a subservience to his behavior that makes Gabriel’s mood sour. Jesse McCree hadn’t been sweet and forthcoming a second since Gabriel dragged him into the pack, and seeing his concave belly flutter with the panting, quick breaths he takes makes him want to back off.

Instead, his large black tail slowly wags from side to side, the curve of it causing his own tip to tickle between his shoulder blades. He leans down, tongue out as he slowly drags licks Jesse’s throat.

They are not that big on grooming – not like the feline tribe a few blocks farther – but Jesse laps it up eagerly. He grunts in surprise, then groans as he lets himself relax for the first time; pretty body stretching out long beneath Gabriel’s bulk; his brown tail slowly revealing his cock as he lets it uncurl from the desperate clench between his thighs.

A nice big dick that Gabriel eyes greedily, wondering how it would feel splitting it open – if he wasn’t suitably sure that Jesse would get a heart attack when his leader presented to him, begging to be mounted.

Later, then. When he’s righted the kid’s head.

“You’ve broken into the storeroom,” he mumbles after grooming Jesse’s throat and the sensitive underside of his scraggly chin. McCree has gone almost cross-eyed, his hands – wide palms and long fingers with knobby joints that Gabriel thinks must feel too good to ride – are closed softly around Reyes’ biceps.

When Gabriel speaks, he blinks slowly. He looks like he has trouble resurfacing, and when he does, his eyebrows draw together and he glances at Reyes with uncertain stubbornness.

“So?”

His outright refusal to deny the accusation is infuriating, but better than the disturbing frightened submission he showcased as soon as Gabriel had crawled over him, cock out and so very interested in the newest member of his pack.

Gabriel lifts one hand, palm across the narrow ribcage, feeling up Jesse’s pec and the meager bit of cushioning he has there. He zeroes in on one of the nipples – tiny and tender, and so very, very sensitive if the immediate color to Jesse’s cheeks is any indication – and gives it a good pinch.

“We will talk about that later. I have no idea how you even got past the guards.”

Jesse smirks, then, cocksure as always – but the expression slides off his face as quickly as it had come as he feels Gabriel hiking his long legs up, guiding them to clamp around his wide ribcage.

One of Jesse’s hands digs sharp claws into his arm while the other claws at the ground. He is looking down between them with a look that is so profoundly worried while simultaneously trying not to be, that Gabriel halts again, the tip of his cock nestled in the warm, humid space behind Jesse’s balls.

“I want you to smell like one of mine,” he rumbles, voice pitched low, chin dipped towards his chest; watching Jesse from beneath heavy brows. “I want the others to curl up with you tonight because they’ll know I’ve made you mine just as I’ve made them mine.”

Jesse is nodding along the whole time, body so open and receptive, but brown eyes large and pupils small pinpricks of fear even as Gabriel minutely rocks his hips and does nothing more than gently fuck that warm, snuggly space behind McCree’s ball sack.

“Christ, pup,” he mumbles, sliding down to his elbows to bring himself closer to Jesse, body blanketing the other man. Usually, Jesse would bristle at being addressed as such, but now he is merely panting, obviously trying not to hyperventilate as Gabriel rumbles low and soothing in his chest. “You’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

He reaches down, guiding himself into that well prepared space. He goes nearly cross-eyed as Jesse clenches down on him, walls velvet and hot, suckling at his cock every step of the way as Gabriel mouths wet against Jesse’s shoulder, trying out his teeth minimally on the tender, thin skin.

McCree is as robust a guy as any; scrappy with long limbs and sinewy muscles – but his skin is stretched taut across bones that look sharp enough to slice through it.

“Good boy,” he murmurs again. McCree’s breath sounds wet in his ears; long and shivery, and when he looks up into his face, his cheeks have darkened even more, eyes gone a bit watery as he lets himself get fucked, knees clamped painfully around Gabriel’s ribcage, hands finding their way almost shyly unto his shoulders to hold on.

Gabriel rumbles again, leaning up, nudging against Jesse’s cheek with his nose, then pressing their cheeks together.

Around them he can vaguely hear the others of the pack shifting. Barely out of sight but close enough. They don’t trust Jesse yet; not as he does. The pup hasn’t given them any reason to; he’s been contrary every chance he’d gotten – but now he is as obedient as they come.

He coos for him, body so unendingly hot as he opens up for more and more, insides having to stretch and accommodate the fat cock slipping in deeper and deeper; demanding a warm, cushioned space to nestle into and getting it offered on a silver platter.

Every now and then, Jesse tries to twist; get on his belly for him. An awkward maneuver in and off itself as he is speared on cock so deeply Gabriel wonders if he could see it bulge his belly. A deep rumble and firm shove keeps him pinned to the ground, however.

His cock is chubby; half-hard and delicious looking. Gabriel wants to get it in his hands; wants to spend hours licking and sucking at it – but he does not think that Jesse will come for him tonight. He seems too confused by his body’s neediness; mouth open and soft in surprise, the long muscles in his thighs shaking.

He seems even more confused, however, when Gabriel pulls out with a grunt, sudden and sharp enough to make him cry out, hands clawing at him, trying to pull him back into the warm, loving cradle of his body.

So very submissive for a young canine man. So overly eager to give his warm little hole away – and Gabriel wonders, as he jerks off with his bottom lip clamped between his teeth, soft whines stuck in his throat, how much of this subservience is Jesse’s natural inclination and how much has been taught to him by other pack leaders. The thought makes him bristle, but there is no room to dwell on it when he comes, watching himself jerk off onto Jesse’s gorgeous cock; striping it and the warm sack beneath with his cream to mark him as a part of his pack.

For a moment, he wonders how Jesse will take it; if he will get flustered about his own half-hard state. He is young and stubborn enough that he would probably get upset – but when Gabriel looks up, panting and still riding on the high of his orgasm, Jesse looks as content and sleepy as he’s not yet seen him.

Fucked out is definitely a good look on the pup.

Vampire Reaper slowly getting fed alcohol concentrated blood by Vampire Hunter McCree until he’s too drunk/desperate to protest when the hunter starts playing with him. I love the idea of a desperate Reaper who got the tables turned on him by his prey, trussed up and getting taunted by that big blood filled McDick but only being able to get it up his butt <3

Jesse’s thumb traces idly Reaper’s lower lip. It’s a slow, methodical left-to-right motion as he stares into Gabriel’s face and gauges his reaction.

The vampire’s cheeks are flushed with the blood McCree had fed him, his breath warm as it ghosts across Jesse’s knuckles.

“That summoner that has given me the herbs sure knows her stuff, hm? Hit you real good. Damn… look how sweet you are for me.”

It only takes a soft press at the joints of his jaw to get Reaper’s mouth to drop open. His eyes are a little glassy but not drugged. He knows what is going on – his usually shitty attitude is simply curbed by the special liquor Jesse has brought him. He wonders if Gabriel has ever managed to get drunk since he turned god-knows-when.

“Damn good stuff,” he mumbles, taking the thermos and lifting it unnecessarily high above Gabriel’s mouth, so he can watch the thick red liquid drip down as he tips the can, splashing messily onto Reaper’s tongue.

He groans, a simple thumb hooked behind his bottom teeth keeping his mouth open. Jesse can see his throat work as he swallows the spiked blood down.

Jesse sits the thermos down on the ground carefully, then inspects Reaper’s teeth. His fingertips slide along the edges; canines razor sharp and long. He’d have no problem biting off Jesse’s fingers – or ripping out his jugular for that matter – but he’s warm and content half-lying on the ground and letting his teeth get inspected and played with.

When Jesse drags a thumb across his tongue, Gabriel obligingly stretches it out, letting it loll like a dog. His flush has crept across the bridge of his nose now, the blood having worked its way completely into his system.

Usually there was more of a fight whenever they clashed, but Jesse is more than willing to let it slide this time in favor of this lazy contentment.

“That’s it,” he mumbles, free hand starting to work at his belt. “Keep like that. Nice and open. Got a nice big treat for ya coming right up.”

Okami Hanzo domming a coyote pup Mccree? Pls? I need young Mccree with a wreaked pussy and abused tits.

The pup is thin but not emaciated. Sinewy. Scrappy, more like. Not much body fat to warm him, fur too scraggly along his arms and legs in the confused, half-transformed state he is sporting now.

He shivers, getting antsy and trying to shift away, but a low, almost distracted whuff from Hanzo gets him to behave once more, skinny hips lifting into the air, bushy tail out of the way as he presents to the wolf.

Hanzo’s eyes are half-lidded, posture relaxed as he laps at the gorgeous cunt; surprisingly juicy for such a scrappy coyote pup. Fragrant and blooming open under his insistent tongue dragging across swollen lips again and again.

Every now and then he will focus on the thick clit sitting there at their apex, puffy and prominent. It will get Jesse to groan into the dusty ground, hole dilating for a second, insides clenching to work out more of his slick before it will clench down tight again.

The sight is mesmerizing.

Hanzo doesn’t even know if he wants to mount him this time. He likes the nervous, young energy radiating off the coyote – is flattered by the servant-like deference he displayed towards him.

He has yet a lot to learn, naturally, but Hanzo could be swayed to teach him. He thinks his belly would look a lot better, taut and bulging with his young.

twunkmccree

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I know usually I see Symmetra as asexual, but that…

I would volunteer for this in a hot second. Hot damn. But what if she finds demon hanzo encroaching on her territory and decides to put him in his place for it?

It had felt like open territory at first; her ownership is more subtle than other’s. The scent is fragrant but faint, the scratches on the trees and the burnt shrubbery well hidden. Almost artistic.

Hanzo definitely knows he’s encroaching, though, when she suddenly springs from the darkness like a hellhound, body flaring to molten life within a heartbeat as she lets go of her camouflage in order to tear him down.

He struggles like a wet cat, indignant and humiliated by being caught so thoroughly off-guard, everything blazing hot to the touch. He can’t get a good grip on her as she holds him down, the sharp talons on her fingers and toes ripping at his clothes and thick skin until even he starts to bleed sluggishly.

He wants to explain his ignorance, but she is a devil on top of him, hissing furiously and threatening to burn him into the ground the more he struggles – until he finally relents and goes limp beneath the demoness, chin tipping up, showing her his throat.

He glances at her carefully as the roaring blaze finally settles down, her anger mollified at his display of submission.

She is gorgeous and fierce; her tail lashing behind her.

When she goes for his cock, he doesn’t even try to put up a fight. Her cunt has been drooling onto his belly in her excitement from the fight, and he thinks the puddle of glowing hot slick might have burnt him enough to leave a scar.

How humiliating.

Her cunt is puffy and glowing, but not as blazing as before. She’s calmer now that he submitted, and uses his cock as her prize; sitting down with a hiss of relief, head falling back, throat stretching long and beautiful before his eyes.

His mouth fills with saliva as he feels her hot insides close around his cock. Her round hips roll fluid but fierce, taking him to the hilt again and again to make the ridges and bumps along his girth drag at her tender insides.

He thinks, maybe, that she might have looked for a mate. He hopes that she will let him go unharmed after she had gotten what she wants. Fucking her – being fucked by her – is like fucking a feverdream. She works herself on his cock with single minded intent, her mouth open and glowing, sharp tipped tongue lolling out.

She loves his dick, that much is obvious, but he doesn’t delude himself for a second in thinking that she might find any merit in the rest of his body. Having his cock inside her hurts, but not enough to dampen any of his own ardor, teeth gnashing and eyes clenching shut as he fights the instinct to throw her down and mount her.

Hold her steady with a claw on her tail and fuck her into the ground.

He doesn’t think she’d appreciate the treatment; she is bigger than him, and – as humiliating it was to admit – more ferocious than he.

All he can do is yield and hope she will let him flee her territory as soon as she’d gotten his cream to cool her ever-burning insides.

I AM HERE FOR PUPPY BAKUGOU. I love your petplay stuff in general. But the thought of Deku training bakugou is choice. Like outwardly nervous, but later, you know kacchan is going on a ride.

omg right

Deku nervously stuttering and barely daring to touch Bakugo because he’s being a little bastard and is growling and snapping at Deku’s fingers. I mean like… goood yess…

They had both agreed to it, somehow, but Midoriya was having second thoughts now whether Bakugo actually wants to try being a puppy or just wanted an opportunity to bite him.

He is crouching on the floor, back round, shoulders up, growling in a low, frightening cadence that grows the closer Midoriya tries to come, voice shaking, fingers trembling.

“C-Come on. Be… be a good puppy, now, okay? K-Kacchan?”

It doesn’t work, obviously, because Bakugo is difficult and Midoriya has no authoritative bone in his body. Still, it hurts to see the bitter, resignated hurt on Bakugo’s face when he has to step back and lean over, taking deep, shuddering breaths because Midoriya doesn’t think for a second that Bakugo wouldn’t bite him viciously if he got close enough.

They don’t talk about it, and Bakugo leaves shortly after, very quiet and very grumpy looking.

Midoriya wonders what he wants from him; that of course he wouldn’t damn touch him if he was acting like a feral wolf. He couldn’t just… just force him to play along…

Midoriya stares ahead at the door Bakugo had left through, deep in thoughts as something clicks inside his head.

When Bakugo visits him the next time, he is not prepared for Midoriya’s hand on his throat, slamming him against the closed door.

“I want to play again,” he tells him in no uncertain terms before Bakugo can shake off his surprise. He sounds a lot more firm and sure than he actually feels. He wonders if Bakugo feels how sweaty his hand is, but if he does, he doesn’t comment on it for once. Rather, he squints at Midoriya, upper lip twitching in a confused snarl.

“What?”

“I want to play again. Go and be a good puppy in he living room.” His hand slides around, gripping the back of Bakugo’s neck rudely; shoves him away from the door and towards the living room.

“Go.”

Bakugo rolls his head around his neck, lifts his shoulders, tugs on the sleeves of his jacket. He glances back at Midoriya, an unholy expression on his face as he starts grinning.

“You want to play, Deku? Want to fail again?” He turns away, starts making his way towards the room. “No skin off my nose.”

He is being flippant about it, but Midoriya can tell he is trying to figure out what’s different this time; why good old, fumbling, stuttering, too-good-for-this-world Deku is acting the way he does.

Midoriya doesn’t intent to let him get his footing back. Having Bakugo off-balance is the only way for him to make this work.

He hides the muzzle behind his back for the longest time, forcing his legs to make step after step towards the feral creature Bakugo has become in the few minutes he’s left him alone.

When he pulls it out, there’s a stutter in Bakugo’s growl, his head snaps up, confusion on his face, staring at the device, and Midoriya pounces, putting the muzzle in place, and snapping the clasp shut just on the tail end of Bakugo’s first furious headshake.

He steps back hurriedly, watching as Bakugo gets up from his crouch to stand on all fours, shaking his head viciously left to right, trying to shake the muzzle loose.

Midoriya’s first fear – that Bakugo would use his hands to get the muzzle off – is dashed when his puppy puts his head to the ground and tries to push the straps off with hands held as paws.

Midoriya’s heart finally starts to slow down from the mad dash. He admits freely that he is still very much afraid of Bakugo, but having him muzzled and obviously willing to play along is doing wonders for him.

He slowly sits down, watching Bakugo growl and try desperately to get the muzzle off.

Midoriya is patient, however. He is willing to wait his Bakugo’s temper tantrum out and start training the feral pup properly.