#trinckets of the hoard

[thegnomelord]

speaking of a cod apocalypse (i think actually idk i just skimmed over my tl) thoughts on the boys becoming some sort of fucked up mutated creatures?

like they're soldiers, right? and assuming the government sends them out to deal with whatever apocalyptic shit there is, surely one of them makes a stupid mistake that'll cost them their lives. fast forward to them succumbing to whatever radioactive shit decided to live in their bodies, and they're dead but alive? and like... just grotesque things. they're still them, just more brutal and monstrous. maybe their skin is melting off, maybe they're growing another limb or two, maybe they have teeth growing on their head.

anyways, thoughts on this kind of genre???? :))))

(i think itd be cool if like.... some of them merged together, just a mass of limbs and skin :33)

Okay, consider: Horizon zero dawn world, full of killer machines and tribes n shit, combined with the virus from the Prototype (that and darksiders are my fav games of all time tbh) also body horror, specifically the blend of machine and flesh bh, is my favorite shit :Dd this is a rough idea

So like as killer machines were sweeping across the planet, devouring everything in sight and replicating, a disease was created that, it was hoped, would be able to infect and eat away at the metal. But it fails, the virus ends up infecting the soldiers that are fighting against the machines and just, combining the human and machine.

The world eventually goes so far to shit that everything on the planet dies. The war machines become deactivated and some of the machine/human mutants are sealed away in bunkers to be used as experiments.

And just like, the 141 becoming a blend of steel and flesh in the grotesque approximation of what they used to be, able to strip away parts of other machines and graft them to their own forms.

Gaz was the first, fighting on the front lines back when he had foolishly believed the killer robots could be defeated. He had gotten separated when he got infected, the fear secondary only to the pain as his flesh literally melted into the corruptors, bone and muscle becoming tangled in gears and wires until all he could feel were his numerous stilt like legs now scrambled to gain purchase on the blood soaked ground . Turned into some weird metal scorpion bellow the waist, weaponry weighing on his back and coolant full wires snaking across his body, Kyle had passed out from the pain, his body further changing in his slumber to grow skin and eyes over the raw metal.

He woke up deep underground in a bunker, turned into a science experiment.

Price was next. He was a soldier turned scientist, working on a subfunction of the teraforming AI that would work to clear the world of the virus that had unleashed. He was the soft voice of comfort Kyle would listen to when they pricked and prodded him, the person Kyle spilled his heart out time and time again.

It came as little surprise when Price became infected. He had started to feel lethargic and sick for the few days, all of it going unnoticed as no one knew how the virus affected humans. That was until he came in contact with a Plowhorn, that changed him into a bulwark of flesh and metal, a living tank with a heavy crest of horns sitting on his head and thick metal plates to protect him.

Price and Kyle kept each other from going insane, figuring out the worst part of the virus — they had become immortal like the machines, but still felt pain like people, pain muddling their brains when pistons and gears would grind against flesh again and again until it regrew in a different way.

They were finally freed when the people experimenting on them died and the AI released the locks of the doors. They emerged hell knows how many years later, taking the first steps into a reborn world that was still crying in it's cradle.

Soap was amongst the first humans to emerge from the mechanical cradle, thrust into a wild and untamed world full of strange machines, with no tools but his hands. While out trying to scavange some of the metal from downed glinthawks he was attacked by Scrappers, ending up infected with the virus that had been slumbering in the earth. Soap became like the sphinx, glinthawk wings attaching to his back with wires, talons merging with skin and pushing out bone, the body of the scraper combining with his own until he was unable to stand on two legs, forced to crawl on all fours and screech in pain through distorted vocal chords until Price and Gaz found him. They took care of him until he was used to his body enough to soar through the air about as well as he could run across the earth.

Simon was the last, born to a tribe that valued strength and worshipped the machines above all. And Simon is the only one who's convergence to steel has any semblence of thought or preparation. He had spent years hunting Fireclaws, tearing off the intact pieces and pistons after every hunt until the shamans of his tribe deemed him ready to become one of the metal gods. The change was slow and painful, bones melting and hardening around new metal, body getting bigger and flesh stretching to fit the new frame, heavy claws weighing on his muscular arms until Simon had become Ghost.

It wasn't what he expected. What he had done in an attempt to fit in amongst his kin served to further push him away as his tribe worshipped him as one of the machine gods, erasing his name as Simon. It was a relief when he met the others, finding comfort in their disfigured and grotesque bodies that looked so similar like his own.

And then you meet them.

Maybe you're a foolish mercenary that stumbled too far into the wild, maybe you're one of the subfunctions of the original teraforming AI that gained sentience. Either way, you didn't fear them, you tried to talk to them, to get to know them even when every societal law of your tribe deemed them as monsters and demons.

And on one random evening, when they had all settled into a rough cuddle pile, scarred flesh over sharp metal creating enough of a cushion for you to sleep in the middle of them all — safe and warm... It occured to them: you are nice, you are kind, and they want to to stay by their side.

#gnome correspondence #trinckets of the hoard #cod mw2 #horizon zero dawn #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick x reader #captain john price x reader

[tinylittletreasures]

Some more shinies, buttons, and sparkly nicknacks! We got a sunny outdoor photo shot today after lots of rain, nice to see everything sparkling!

#crow #crowcore #crow core #crow hoard #goblin #goblin core #goblin collection #crow aesthetic #shinies #trinckets #photos #buttons

[thegnomelord]

Good Dog

CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.

Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat

The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.

Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.

It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.

Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.

And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.

His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.

Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"

It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.

"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.

Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"

"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.

Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.

But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.

"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."

That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.

You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.

The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.

"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.

It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.

And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.

Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.

He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.

He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.

After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.

"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.

Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.

You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.

Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.

Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.

"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"

It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.

Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.

His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"

You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."

"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.

You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."

You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.

A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.

His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.

You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.

Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.

But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.

"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"

You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.

You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.

He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.

Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."

A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.

It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.

Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.

You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.

He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.

He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.

You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.

Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.

You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.

His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."

You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.

Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"

The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.

"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.

"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."

“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.

You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.

Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.

You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."

The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.

Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24

#baby's first dark fic #vladimir makarov x male reader #vladimir makarov x reader #bottom cod x male reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw3 #vladimir makarov #gay #cod x male!reader #cod x reader #cod x male reader #cod x you #trinckets of the hoard #centerpieces of the hoard #cod mw2 #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #bottom character #x top male reader #top male reader #top reader #x dom male reader

[thegnomelord]

Ya'll wanna know my kink? Of course you do :D I blame @rodolfoparras for getting me into this brainrot. MDNI

I love to see a man's pretty little hole gape.

Not to the point of total ruin or prolapsing, but so it's loose enough for you to just sliiide right in without a snag until you're balls deep and he swears he can feel it in his throat; loose enough for you to fuck into him in long smooth strokes that has him shaking and whimpering into the sheets; so loose yet it still tries to suck you in deeper, uselessly trying to clench to keep you inside every time you pull back to thrust into him again.

I like the type of gape that his hole stays open when you pull out, the type of gape that no matter how much the poor man whines and tries to clench he can't keep your cum from slowly trickling out down his taint and balls. But the silly thing doesn't need to worry his pretty little head, it's not his fault his hole is so sloppy and loose. You're there to trail your fingers along the small rivulet of cum, gathering it on the pads of your fingers so you can stuff it back into his hole. And he's so content now that he's not empty, his puffy rim fluttering around your knuckles as you spread his already stretched hole with your fingers until you can see your cum pooled in his soft body.

I also love getting to that point.

I'd love to lay him down on the bed and oil him up, make sure he's so relaxed and pliant he's almost asleep by the time you even near his intimate parts. All he could do is turn his head to catch your gaze, skin flushing with goosebumps as you fondle and massage his ass, your thumbs circling his virgin tight hole before going down, caressing his balls and lazily stroking his cock just as it's starting to twitch with interest. And I'd keep my hands moving slowly, up and down, up and down, until he's sighing and panting against the pillow, thighs trembling with how he tries to keep them open for you, cock hard and his rim twitching whenever you press your thumb against it without trying to penetrate.

Only then would I lean in to lick around his hole, your teeth gently nibbling and sucking on his rim. A full body shiver trails up his spine and the prettiest sounds leave his breathless lips when you breach him with your tongue. And he's so tight it takes you ages of slowly eating him out to stretch him out enough for him to be able to take one of your fingers. It's heaven for you but hell for him, the movement of your tongue against his fluttering slow and lazy sensation keeping him teetering on the edge of that pleasure without it being enough.

And stretching him open slowly is the fun part, taking all the time in the world to get him used to the sensation of your finger wiggling inside him, stretching him open bit by bit so your tongue can lap at his sensitive walls as he moans and groans into the pillow, desperately trying to rut his ass into your face and his cock into the sheets. But he can cum as much as he wants, doesn't mean I'll stop until I can fit three fingers inside and his hole is begging for a fourth.

And damn the sight of his hole when you finally pull your fingers out is priceless; the small gape of his hole, the way his puffy rim continues to flutter and try to clench around nothing is as adorable as the small wiggle of his hips that he does and the soft spoken pleas to just "put it in" that has you finally giving him some relief.

And I don't know what I love more, watching inch after inch of your hard cock disappear into him until your pelvis is flush with his ass, or the long and drawn out moan that leaves his lips when you drape your body over his, catching his lips in a lazy kiss as you set a loving pace that leaves him breathless.

#don't mind me just trying to remember how to write #this is rough #idk what this is but the brainrot made me do it #gnome's tea break #trinckets of the hoard #x reader #male reader #top male reader #cod mw2 #gay #im gay as fuck #captain john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #captain john price x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #john soap mactavish x male reader #call of duty modern warfare

[thegnomelord]

Thinking about John Price taking care of you while you're sick(totally self indulgent)

CW: NSFW

And you're a stubborn idiot, you don't think you're that sick to stay in bed even if you can barely stand on your feet. He takes one look at you and before you know it he's corralling you back to your room, hands on your sides to keep you walking and answering all of your complaints with "Zip it. You're sick you bloody Muppet."

Price who scowls and flicks your forehead and calls you 'bad boy' when you attempt to get out of bed when he's not looking. Price who fluffs your pillow and pulls several different layers of sheets and quilts over you. Who makes you hot tea with lemon and ginger just like his nan used to make it and holds the steaming cup to your lips so you don't spill it. Who checks your temperature by pressing the back of his hand and his lips to your forehead because he knows that'll get you from squirming.

Price who lays down behind you when you're still shivering under all those layers, thick arms securely wrapping around your middle to pull you against his chest, your legs intertwining and his strong belly pressing against your back to leave not even an inch of space between you two, his breath fanning over the back of your neck, his beard scratching your skin as he kisses you there. His hands are warm as he gently rubs your aching muscles, raising one hand to instead card his fingers through your hair. "Get some sleep, I'll be here when you wake up." He says, voice low and calming and so safe you don't notice when you nod off.

But also Price smiling at you when you get hard but are too exhausted to have sex or rub one out. Price who settles between your thighs, rough hands shimmying your pajama bottoms and boxers down enough for your cock to spring up. Murmuring a soft "Stay down," against your stomach, pinning your hips down to keep you from bucking up when he pecks the tip of your cock and trails kisses down your shaft to the base, "That's a good lad," he humms against yours sensitive skin, "just relax 'n be good for me."

You can do nothing but groan, eyes rolling into the back of your skull amd eyelids closing as Price takes you into his hot mouth, lazily suckling on your shaft. He's not racing to finish you off, tongue moving slowly and methodically across the veins of your cock up to swirl around your sensitive head before going back down. He lets you float in the same mindless pleasure you like to give him after a rough week, all the tenseness in your body melting away bit by bit every time he swallows around you, pulling off to lick around the cumslit before taking you to the root, savouring the salty taste of your precum.

And you're so out of it you can't tell apart if you're dreaming or awake, pleasure simmering beneath the surface of your skin like a kettle until it boils over, a weak noise escaping the back of your throat and your hips giving small little bucks as you cum down his throat without even noticing. Your eyes only open when your frayed nerves register the slight sting of overstimulation, Price's clever tongue cleaning your cock and swallowing every last drop before he tucks you back into your boxers.

You try to say something, offer to get him off in return, but he just shushes you, "no need lad." He climbs up your body to spoon you from behind once again, his body like your personal heater. "You'll get that chance when you're better," he trails kisses from your jaw to the back of your neck, nuzzling his nose into your skin. "Now be a good lad and go to sleep, yeah?"

#gnome's tea break #trinckets of the hoard #cod mw2 #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #x top male reader #dom male reader #x male reader #cod modern warfare #x reader #captain john price #cod x male reader

[thegnomelord]

for the prompt game, if it's still open, maybe 8 with Ghost? maybe with hatefucking and at the point you're both at it's basically a routine but all of the nasty words and cruel moments are really just because you're both brutes that have trouble expressing emotions properly, and all you really want is just some kind of deeper connection with each other, but with your shitty use of words, arguing and eventual growling into into his mouth as you shove him down onto the nearest flat surface is the only way for you to get that. and perhaapps at one point, one of you, reader or ghost doesn't matter, let's something softer and more caring slip through the angry facade? ofc if you already have one for 8 or you just don't like this idea you can im really sorry and you can ignore me, no pressure and I love all your writing :')) <3

Okay anon holy shit this is GOOD! You should think of writing yourself like what I'm seeing in this prompt is good shit :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "If this is a joke it isn't funny."

CW: NSFW, Sub Bot Ghost, Dom Top MReader, hatefucking, degradation, confessions, soft sex,

It always starts the same; Simon's roughly patting your shoulder and telling you to not cock it up, your equally harsh response for him to keep up with you, rough voices hiding the unsaid 'be careful's. Insults like 'dumbass', 'moron', 'dead weight' crackling over the radio when the other's pinned down by fire, the electric static and suppression fire muting the worry in your voice, the hint of care in Simon's tone.

And it always ends the same; harsh stares across the room while you debrief Price, casualty numbers turning into critiques of the other— you should have noticed the terrorist, Simon should have kept the sniper in mind — prickling barbs and venomed words turning into shoves and punches, leaving bruises on each other's skin instead of the kisses you want to lay down.

Soap loves comparing you to dogs, and that's what you are— animals; talking would kill you both so you end up expressing yourselves through teeth and claws. There's blood on your tongue as you push Simon onto the bed and he pulls you down with his teeth digging into your bottom lip, rough fingers pulling away clothes only to push into bruised flesh, drawing hisses and growls.

'I want you' Ghost wants to say, instead "Stop being a pussy," comes out, blunt nails dragging deep scratches down your back. 'I'm happy you're alive' "You fuck as bad as you fight." Simon tastes blood as he kisses you, both of you struggling to pin the other to the bed.

"Shut up." 'I missed you' you snarl and pin him on his front, trapping his massive arms behind his back so he has no support, his head pushed into the pillows and arse high in the air, your thigh parting his legs. You huff a laugh when you see his cock already hard, hanging uselessly between his thighs. "Slag, good for nothing but taking it up the ass." 'I care for you'.

'You're important to me' Simon swallows the blood and spit in his mouth, jerking in a half-hearted attempt to free himself. "'least ah have a use," he growls, chest stuttering for breath as you bear down even more weight on him. You push your fingers into his mouth to wet them and Simon bites down, loving you with his teeth first, the sting of pain binding you together.

"Yeah, as a cocksleeve." 'I'm sorry' You don't give him a warning, just pull your fingers from his mouth and push into his ass. It's only enough lube to not tear him, but the stretch hurts, burns, and Simon both loves and hates how this roughness makes his cock hard and heart flutter.

"That-hah-" Ghost pants into the sheets, eyes prickling with tears with how he tries to keep them open, body forced to submit to you as your fingers stretch him, fuck him, tenderly brushing against his prostate before pushing to the last knuckle, pain and pleasure burning up his spine. "-that's not true."

Pulling out your fingers you give him a sharp slap on his ass, "Sure is," You use what saliva you have on your hand to wet your cock, swirling the drool in your mouth before you spitting right on his hole for extra wetness, your sudden action making his spasming hole clench and relax reflexively. "Look at how you're clenching." You mount him, pushing your weight down on him until he can barely breathe, cock bobbing against his hole. "Acting like such a bitch!"

You ram in him to put emphasis on the word and Simon bites his tongue so hard it bleeds, resisting letting any noises out. He's never vocal in bed, no matter how hard you fuck him, how many bruises your hips leave on his ass or how many hickeys you lay on his throat, how often your balls slap against his, he never utters more than a low groan.

But he wants to; good god Simon wants to tell you how good you feel, how every brush of your cockhead against his prostate has him seeing stars, how much he loves feeling you pound into him, who bodies bound into one by such a primal connection. . . but he can't, his mouth clamps up when he tries and even if he manages to spit something out it just comes out as venom, earning him firm slaps on his ass and your weight bearing further down on him.

You spill into him, pinning him so hard beneath your weight he can barely breathe, only remembering to rub him into an orgasm when your balls are good and empty, cock plugging his hole full of your cum. Your hands are harsh, his panting ringing in your ears until his cock twitches and he cums onto the sheets beneath him, whole body shaking to hold his moans in.

You collapse onto him, just enough sense in your head to roll you two onto your sides so he isn't laying in his spend or suffocating beneath you. Uncomfortable silence rings in your ears as you pant, bile churning in your stomach; This is your usual, soon enough Simon will tell you to shove off, he'll get up, take a piss, and leave.

And this song and dance will repeat until one of you dies.

Even without sight you feel Simon open his mouth, vestiges of harsh words burning on his tongue. Maybe it's post-orgasmic bliss that makes you speak, "Hey," Your hands tighten around his middle, "Stay the night." You curl around him like a lover; something you know you're not.

He shuts his mouth so quickly you hear the 'click' of his teeth, whole body freezing because this is as new for him as it is for you. "If this is a joke," He growls, turns his head just enough for you to catch his glare. "It's not funny."

Your tongue burns with the usual words— 'Only joke here is you' — but you don't, instead a slow and low "I'm not kidding." escapes you, like something forbidden, something to keep secret lest you get divine punishment.

Simon's mind buffers like an old computer, too many thoughts stuffing his head that he can't understand a single one. This is too far removed from the usual, hummingbirds knocking on his skull as a warning. But his body relaxes while he's still thinking, a stagnant breath escaping his lungs. "Fine."

You think of saying something, but it's better not to. Instead you huddle closer to him, still connected in a carnal way but now it feels so much more. . . intimate. Your hands wander over his toros, a gentle exploration instead of a race for release, your fingers carding through his body hair down his happy trail and up again.

Simon's head tils back to give you access to his neck, your lips soft against his skin as you kiss the bruises you'd left, both of your bodies slowly moving to close the small space between you two, urged to share your warmth.

You shift your hips, only realizing you're hard again when Simon moans. Moans. "Sorry," You duck your head, hands gripping his hips to pull out but he stops you, a rough sound in his throat.

"No," Simon doesn't look at you though the blush across his face is easy to spot. "Keep going," Tilting his hips back into yours tears a moan from both of you. Your cum eases the slide in, his walls stretched and pliant, wetly sucking you in like a needy thing.

Another time you'd have laughed at how desperate he's acting, but the low moans and a little "Fuck, just like that," you earn by rolling your hips has your mind shutting off. You can't believe how vocal he's suddenly become, getting louder the slower and gentler you move your hips, your cock slowly pushing in and out of his hole.

You bury your head in his neck and blindly stroke his leaking cock, kissing the skin under your lips, your eyes closed shut as you thrust into him slowly, your tender and slow movements pulling moan after moan out of him. His hand winds back to cup the back of your neck, pulling you up just enough to give you an awkward kiss but it's sweet and raw and so desperate—

You don't notice he's cumming until his walls clamp down on you, Simon whispering "I love you," so soft and quiet under his breath that you don't hear him, too busy filling him up a second time, but your mind buzzes with warmth all the same.

You lay as you were, somehow so exhausted that even moving an inch is anathema to you. Both of you, it seems, if the way Simon's back is warm and pliant against your chest, his breathing slow and steady. Tomorrow you'll need to talk (or do your best substitution of it), but for tonight, you can hug him close and finally have an answer to what it would feel like to have him close without the sex, to just be with him. . .

#Gnome's Prompt Game #cod mw2 #x reader #gnome correspondence #male reader #top male reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod smut #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #trinckets of the hoard

[thegnomelord]

17 with Phillip Graves I'm begging🙏

also I just found out about your account and your writing is so good what??? in love w your work

You have no idea how long I've wanted to do something with Graves but couldn't figure out what lol :D Play the game HERE.

Prompt: Oral as punishment.

CW: NSFW, sub Phillip Graves, GN reader but you get referred to as 'doll' but as far as I'm aware it's gn sooo, oral, feminization, semi-public sex, humiliation, cross dressing, mentions of masochism/pain play.

Phillip Graves is a fucking brat.

For weeks now he's been trying to rile you up, sitting next to you whenever you go to eat in the mess hall so his hand can safely wander beneath the table. He's all confident when he does this, laughing along with the other shadows like nothing's wrong, feigning worry when your breathing grows stuttered and heat ravages your skin as if the bastard's not unashamedly groping your crotch.

The little shit knows you won't react in public; he knows what he's doing.

And you know what he wants— the little masochist loves the humiliation of being brought over your knees like a boy as much as he craves the sting of your palm on his ass, the sharp bite of your belt leaving welts on his thighs, the lingering nibble of pain from healing bruises decorating his pale skin like paint flicked by a deranged artist —each lick of pain left by your hands is like a drop of a drug he's addicted to, each session leaving him needing more.

You know you've been indulging him for too long when pulling him into his office has victory sparkling in his eyes, goosebumps spreading across his skin like he's already expecting a slap to the face.

You don't reward him with what he wants. "You're a real menace." You growl, closing the door but leaving it unlocked. "Acting up like a little brat."

"Ah don't know what yer talking about Doll," Graves says smoothly, his eyes lingering on the door. "Just bein' my charming self." He notices you don't lock it, that self-preserving part of his mind catching on faster than he does; you're up to something.

"Sure you are." You grip him by the hair, your lips only an inch apart. "My baby girl just wants to be punished, right?" Tugging on his hair just enough to tease him with what he wants you quickly pull your head away when he attempts to kiss you, shoving a small bag into his hands. "Put this on." You suddenly say.

Graves blinks rapidly, heart stuttering at your words, and he's both worried and aroused by the look in your eyes; like an old trickster god. He looks down and reaches into the nondescript bag, careful as if you've stuffed a bear trap inside it, confusion flaring in his eyes when he feels soft fabric and softer lace.

"You've got to be kidding me-" He snaps sharply, almost insulted, ears and cheeks as pretty pink as the gstring and skirt he now holds in his hand. "-I don't- doll, I can't- I-"

"You can and you will." You cut off his sputtering, yanking on his hair to shut him up. "You wanted to be a brat, I'm treating you like one." Your eyes narrow, pointedly ignoring how your harsh voice has a shiver running down his spine. "Now quit bitching and put that on. Right here."

Graves opens his mouth to argue with a retort burning like hot coals on his tongue, but the self-preservation portion of his mind kicks in from one glance into your eyes and before he knows it he's dropping his pants, embarrassment flooding his chest at how his cock bobs to stand at attention.

"Slut." You huff when you notice he's gone commando again, "I wonder how much the others would like to know their commander's such a whore."

He bites his tongue to silence himself and to stop himself from whining as he slips the panties on, the soft dainty lace trapping his cock, the light pink color darkening the fading bruises on his legs. The skirt comes next, so short it doesn't cover anything, and Phill resists rubbing his thighs together when he sees his cock poke out beneath the skirt's frilly fabric.

"Look at you, pretty girl," You chuckle, reaching down to fondle his cock like he'd done to you, the mix of your rough grip mixed with the silky soft fabric of the panties forcing a moan out of his throat. "Ready to stop being a brat and be a good girl?"

"Yes, please-" Graves quivers, clutching your shoulders and moaning while you continue to grope him, only stopping when there's a prominent damp spot at his tip and swiftly taking your hand away. "Fuck, doll."

You ignore his whining, moving him to sit in his chair, using his jeans as an impromptu cushion for your knees as you get beneath his desk. "Now, you've still got work to do." Your words has dread bubbling in his chest and his cock twitching when you pull his chair close to his desk, throwing his naked legs over your shoulders so he can't roll away. "You're finishing your work, oh, and you don't get to cum."

"Fuck-" Graves sucks in a sharp breath as your lips tickle his tip through the panties, "An' if I do?" He can't help himself, needs to rile you up even as a blush crawls down his neck.

He feels you grin against his tip, nearly jumping out of his chair when you roughly grip his balls, the tight string of the panties pushing down the middle of them to make them more grabbable. "Then this little clit is getting stuck in a cage until I decide to forgive you." You chuckle, slowly and leisurely licking him from base to tip, adding your spit to the liquid soaking the fabric. "Now get back to work."

He roughly brushes a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands to get his focus back before his bleary eyes settle on the laptop. He tries to type a report, but he keeps missing letters because it's fucking hard; you're consistent in your inconsistency, switching up the way you pleasure him with your mouth each time he's beginning to get used to it— lapping at his shaft like a dog one second, lewdly sucking on the tip the next, breaking off periodically to bite his fading bruises or tease his hole.

And all the while you keep his cock trapped in the panties, the constant strain of wet fabric adding to the building pleasure in his gut. Your hands keep him still when he attempts to wiggle or squirm, leaving fingerprint bruises to reward him for staying still as you suckle on his length and pulling moans from his chest.

He forgets the door is unlocked, moaning and groaning and squirming at how your spit cools, sending shivers up his spine. His groin is wet with your spit, from the tip of his cock down to his hole, his muscles spasming beneath your fingers as his body tries to buck into your mouth.

He's breathing like a racehorse and barely able to finish one report out of a few hundred when there comes a sharp knock on the door, followed by "Commander Graves?"

Fear and arousal floods his veins, his eyes quickly falling to you, large like dinner plates as he remembers; "Doll-"

"What are you waiting for?" You ask, teasing and smug like he'd been the entire week. "Go on pretty girl, call them in." There's no room for argument in your tone, and Graves gulps, his thighs tensing around your head and clenching his teeth.

"Come in!" He says and thinks-hopes- his voice doesn't sound as shaky to the as it does to him. He keeps his focus on the laptop, whole body tense and ears straining to hear his door open and close, mentally following the shadow's movements. "Report." He says.

You choose this time to lightly nibble on his tip, but he manages to clamp his mouth shut and the shadow doesn't notice anything. They prattle on about several things that could have been sent as an email and all the while Graves is stiff as a board trying not to squirm, trying not to show how your hot mouth on his cock is affecting him.

"Are you alright sir?" The shadow asks, bringing attention how flushed he looks. Graves briefly catches your smug gaze as you purposely open your mouth to rest his leaking tip on your tongue, the panties wet with your spit and his precum.

"Peachy," He grinds out, fingers balled into fists in an attempt to keep from squirming when your thumb presses against his hole without penetrating, trying to make him break. "Dismissed." He says sharply.

"But sir-"

"I said dismissed." He growls, hopes and prays his voice doesn't crack, ears burning and refusing to look at the shadow because he's so close, his balls and cock twitching in your hands.

The shadow hesitates, almost leaning closer and Graves nearly flinches, beath catching in his throat; the shadow would only need to take a half-step to see the pink skirt and panties, and just the knowledge of that, of his shadows knowing how much of a whore he is, has more precum leaking from his tip.

"Yes sir," The shadow says and salutes before leaving. The door closes with a resounding 'click' bringing with it heaven and hell.

Graves slumps back into his chair as if he'd run a marathon, his breath of relief broken by a moan when you dig your nails into a bruise on his thighs. "Good girl," Your smooth praise has liquid pleasure flowing in his veins, your nails digging deeper into his bruises feeding his addiction for pain and building a second need for more humiliation. "Did so well for me."

"Doll, please, I need-" He whines, head falling back against the backrest of his chair and a pitiful sound escaping his chest when you pull your lips from his cock. "-please just let me cum, need to cum."

"Oh no, you're not done yet," You're like a devil between his legs, grinning up to him. "You've still got a few hours of work left."

"You're evil," He breathes out, but he's hopeless to submit, leaning in to reach his laptop, groaning when your lips return to his leaking tip, his belly tight with heat that he's desperate to hold off. "Alright, yes, sure-"

"Good girl." You press on his bruises and suck on his tip again, and maybe you'll let him cum in a few hours...

#gnome correspondence #Gnome's Prompt Game #phillip graves x reader #graves x male reader #trinckets of the hoard #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #phillip graves x male reader #graves x reader #phillip graves #call of duty modern warfare #cod smut

[thegnomelord]

If you do make the rest please do! Bcs like... Im thristing for sully more than price now LOL IM SORRY 😭😭😭 HE'S JUST SO BBY GIRL??? i want to fuck this prettty man so bad arghhh

I need more reader and oc! They're so good and and!! I wanna fuck em so bad like 😭😭

Okay I have no idea where this came from but you've managed to get my brain on the 'fuck Sully' bandwagon so here's this

CW:NSFW, mean dom x sub x gentle dom, domtop Reader, subbot Sullivan (oc), domtop Knox (oc) I may have forgotten what features I gave sully lol

Sullivan is a pretty boy. Pretty brown curls tussled like a crows nest, pretty thin lips kiss swollen and caught between his teeth to muffle his moans, pretty dark eyes puffy and red from crying, pretty red scales on his cheeks shining with the tears having wet them.

Pretty lithe body quivering and arching off the bed as Knox forces even more of his strap into his clenching hole, hips smacking together when Knox bottoms out with a sharp thrust. "Relax." The admonishment comes with a sharp slap to Sully's hip, just shy of hitting his balls but it earns a pitiful whimper and a spurt of precum all the same.

Sullivan's cock and balls look hilariously large on his small frame, the flared head reaching almost to the bottom of his sternum. His chest and even his chin is covered in cum from countless orgasms, Knox having expertly worked a toy until Sully had cum before switching out for a bigger one.

This had been Knox's idea. To use various dildos on Sully until you built up to a silicon mold of Sullivan's own cock. You had asked Sully if he wanted it multiple times, and by the time you were satisfied that he didn't feel forced to do anything and genuinely wanted this, he was already squirming with an obvious bulge in his pants and red like a lobster.

"Come on pretty thing," Knox growls, serpentine yellow eyes glowing with lust as he bucks his hips, the head of the toy brushing against his prostate. "You can take more than this." He slapped Sullivan's thigh again, claws raking across flushed skin, other hand snaking up to lazily roll Sully's heavy balls in his clawed hand.

It shows how Sully has even your most sadistic teammate wrapped around his finger as Knox has let Sully cum multiple times. Usually Knox preferred to keep his subs on the edge until they learned that begging for release was useless and were forced to wait until he deemed them ready to cum.

Sully numbly shook his head, blurry eyes staring up at you from where his head rested on your lap. "Please- please sir, I can't-" A loud moan was forced out of his chest when Knox pulled his hips back before roughly bucking back in, his stretched hole wetly slurping with all the lube you're using.

Your hands soothingly run through Sully's hair, his head resting on your thigh. Tenderly holding his cheek you tilt his head to look at you, "Do you want to stop?"

Your question makes Knox stop, his yellow eyes observing both of you. Sullivan whines as if you'd kicked him, eyes fluttering open and closed as he tries to focus on you. "I- sir." He whines, trying to buck his hips into Knox, trying to get him to move. He's so close he feels like he'll explode, his cock twitching against his skin as he whines.

Knox isn't taking it, clawed hands gripping Sully's hips and pinning them down. "C'mon, precious, the captain asked you a question." He growls.

You chuckle, but your eyes narrow. "Sully, answer me." Your voice is firm, keeping his head steady so he can only look at you. "Don't worry, we won't be mad if you want to stop."

"No- no, no no!" Sully whimpers, a full body shiver raking down his body. "I- please, sir- I want to continue." He sobs, his cock twitching as Knox continues to deny that mind numbing pleasure he needs. "Please, I'm so close- just, please, please,"

Your eyes meet Knox's before the man moves, slowly pulling out so Sully can feel every inch of the large silicone shaft until only the tip remains. And suddenly shoves the entire thing back in, silicone balls roughly slapping against Sully's own.

"See cap?" Knox grins as Sullivan seizes up, a pathetic sob leaving him as cum spurts from his tip, mumbling words of gratitude that are too slurred for you to understand. "Told you, our pretty thing takes cock better than a seasoned whore." He thrusts into Sully a couple more times, making a big dollop of cum spurt from his cock when Knox bottoms out.

"Th-thank you sir- oh frick- sirs." Sully manages, soft moans and shuddering breaths leaving his lips. He sobs as Knox pulls the large dildo out fully, wet and lewd sounds reaching your ears and you can just imagine his hole clench around nothing, still so needy for more.

You make a curious sound as Knox pulls on Sully and flips him over. The small man moans as his cock, still hard as rock, rubs against the sheets. "Oh come on now sergeant, that's no way to thank your captain." Knox's eyes meet yours, a hungry look in them as he pushes Sully's head closer to your crotch. "Ain't that right?"

"I suppose so." You hum, unbuckling your belt and finally freeing your cock. You'd hate to admit, but seeing Sully be ruined over and over again on Knox's various cocks has made you hard. Sully looking up at you with such adoring eyes through his ruffled hair certainly doesn't help, especially when he eagerly nods his head.

"Alright pretty boy," You see the way your low purr makes him shudder. He leans into your hand when you slide it to the back of his head, loosely wrapping your fingers in his hair. "Open wide for me," Sully eagerly opens his mouth, greedily taking in your cocktip, too fucked out to feel shy so he just takes half your shaft in one go.

Knox slaps Sully's ass in reward and you feel him moan around you. "How's he feel cap?" He asks as if he doesn't pull the poor man into a supply closet at least once a day to have Sully eat him out. Knox's wide palm smacks down on Sullivan's reddening cheek a few more times, watching the full globes jiggle before he leans back to take off the dildo he'd used, picking up one that's a little wider and longer than before.

You hum a small purr, watching Sully mindlessly slobber over your cock, his hand carefully stroking your other one. "Like a dream." Sully can't hide the shiver at your praise, wiggling his ass without even realizing. "Good boy," You say and gently pull him by the hair to take more of you, your eyes flickering to look at Knox. "Don't keep him waiting any more, he's earned this."

Knox rolls his eyes, a scoff on his lips, but you know it's just for show. "I'd argue on that." He slaps the new dildo on Sully's back, grinding it between the cheeks and letting him feel the entire length of it as he lubes it up. Sully arches his back and Knox leans back to position the thick head against his stretched hole. "But who am I to refuse a slut like this?"

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