10- "We're really going to fuck here? What if someone sees us?"

It'd been an easy job. Get in, stab, claw, and shoot all the fuckers in the warehouse to death, get out. No one was left alive; not even the cleaning crew.

Making a quick getaway wasnt strictly necessary; given how blood-soaked they both were, it probably would've made them more suspicious. But the surrounding area had been terrorized by that group for so long that everyone turned a blind eye to the two mutants booking it down shaded alleyways, and the adrenaline made for great foreplay, so they ran anyways.

Logan pulled Wade down an alleyway, around a corner, and then into a dead end, where a brick building towered over everything.

Deep scratch marks in sets of threes littered the face of the building; hundreds, if not thousands of sets, some clearly much older than the several months Logan had been living in this universe.

"Climb," Logan instructed, lacking anything in the way of real urgency. It was made even less urgent by Logan tugging Wade's mask off and pressing him briefly to the brick wall for a deep, but surprisingly gentle kiss.

Once he was released, Wade did as he was asked. Fortunately, Logan had the forethought to make sure that people with normal hands could get to the roof, though just barely; it was a tough climb, even for Wade, and he had to question if it was really the only way up onto the roof, or if Logan just wanted to watch his ass as he made his way up tedious hand-and-foot-holds.

"Used to love coming up here," Logan sighed once they'd both reached the roof, leaning shoulder-to-shoulder against a boarded-up maintenance entrance. "Quiet. Good views. Hard to climb for most people. Back... back where I'm from, it got torn down years ago."

Wade, using the little good sense he had, didn't pry or crack a joke. He didn't particularly feel like regenerating any limbs tonight, thank you very much.

"But, anyways," Logan continued, giving Wade a sharp-toothed grin. "Thought it'd be a good place to bring you to catch our breath after a job. Be nice to spend an evening together without worrying about waking anyone up."

"Wait, do you mean-" he leaned in close, exaggeratedly whisper-shouting in Logan's ear- "S-E-X?"

"Yes, you goddamn loser, I mean fucking." Logan snorted, bumping his forehead against Wade's shoulder. "Up here, alone, under the stars."

"Aww, Wolvie, that's so romantic! We're really going to fuck here?" Wade gasped in mock surprise, bringing his hands to his face. "What if someone sees us?"

The twitching of Logan's lips gave away his attempts so suppress a laugh. "Who the fuck would see us, moron? It's the middle of the night, this is an abandoned building, and we'd see if anyone came on a nearby roof." Then he grinned. "Besides, what do you care? I always thought you'd be an exhibitionist."

"Oh, I am an exhibitionist, peanut, but you never know. There are cameras everywhere these days.

With a brief, disparaging "Jesus Christ, Wade", Logan dropped to his knees, nuzzling gently at Wade's already hard cock under his suit.

Then, the claws came out, moving towards the fabric of Wade's pants, and-

"Hey, no, no, no! Soft paws!" Wade shouted, swatting Logan's hands away and getting his fingers quite scratched up in the process. "I'm not sewing this up again! God, the knife hands are hot, but can you use your fingers to unzip me like a normal fucking person for once?"

Reluctantly, Logan did as ordered, sheathing his claws and unzipping his pants without ripping them (and Wade's skin, though that was of less concern) to shreds.

If there were cameras around (and of course there were- whatever the dicks at the TVA said, he's the main character here), they'd be getting quite a show.

23- "I'll stuff you so full you'll be leaking my come for days."

Most of the time, having a somewhat (extremely) feral mutant as a boyfriend was... pretty good. The months they'd been together were definitely above average as far as relationships go.

But other times, it was beyond fan-fucking-tastic (partially because no thank you, fucking fans is actually one of his least favorite ways his dick has been removed. And fucking the other type of fan seemed like a great way to get some innocent schmuk in a sexy red costume stabbed with six knives).

(Though, on second thought... No, he wouldn't do that just to make Logan jealous. Unless...? No. No, he wouldn't.)

But truly. It was incredible how absolutely filthy Logan could get. Neither of them were even out of their suits yet, both spattered in blood and sweaty from their latest job. Logan hadn't even waited for Wade to take his mask off all the way to *bite* and growl and whine.

His cock rubbed rhythmically against Wade's hip, hard and *so goddamn hot*.

"I'll stuff you so full you'll be leaking my come for days," Logan growled into his ear, sharp teeth nipping harshly, drawing blood for just a few seconds before the bites healed over.

"Better make good on that promise, peanut," Wade teases, tugging gently at Logan's hair. "The pound has a free return policy, so-"

He hissed as Logan's claws slashed across his chest, indelicately slicing the front of his suit and proceeding to rip it off of him.

"Fuck, peanut, do wolverines go into heat or something? Cause damn," Wade whistled, breaking off into a groan as his dick was groped none-too-gently. "This is intense."

"No," Logan grumbled as he tried to simultaneously lick the blood on Wade's chest before the cuts healed and get Wade's belt open. "You're just- fuck, you're so fucking hot, you just-" he whined, nipping Wade's chest. "You fucking ripped through those guys like it was nothing, *fuck*, Wade."

As cute as it was watching Logan's useless pawing at his crotch, he took pity on him after a moment, undoing his belt and allowing him access.

21- You think a brat can get a reward without begging?

Being tied up by Logan was always good. It usually meant that Logan wanted to have his way with him, letting out all of that feral energy on a helpless (well... as much as he could be. Wade wasn't good at being totally helpless) victim.

Those times were always good. So were the times Logan tied him up and stabbed the shit out of him. He always deserved that, and the tender sex afterwards would be to die for, if that was a thing either of them were really capable of doing.

But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what the fuck the point of tying him up, gagging him, and leaving him on the bed. For fuck's sake, he wasn't even naked!

Logan had tied his arms behind his back, while his legs were tied so that they were spread open, thighs and calves bound together. His protests were almost entirely muffled by the fabric gag in his mouth.

All in all, not the most fun situation. And girls do just want to have fun. And by girls, of course he meant brats. (He always did prefer Bratz to Barbies. Maybe they should make a new movie about them instead.)

So, as quietly as he could, he squirmed closer to the bedside table, where of course he hadn't put away the cute little vibrator he'd been using last night. So convenient. With a well-aimed nudge, the vibrator feel from the table directly into his lap. Dislocating a hip in order to press the button with his knee was no big deal; the pain would just make the reward all the sweeter.

And then- oh, fuck yes. Ordinarily, a small vibe through his pants wouldn't feel particularly incredible. But, as a reward after being unfairly bound and left to simmer? It was the best thing his dick had ever felt.

But all good things must come to an end, and so it didn't come as a surprise that Logan noticed almost immediately. It was easy to forget how good his senses were at times, but the buzzing of the tiny vibrator must have been like an alarm bell for him.

In just a few strides, Logan was in front of him, tossing the still-buzzing toy carelessly to the side (where it promptly ceased moving, most likely permanently), then placing a hand on his chest to pin him down.

"You think a brat can get a reward without begging?" Logan hissed, claws digging just hard enough into Wade's throat to draw blood. Wade made a muffled noise through the gag, and Logan dug his claws in deeper. "You're such a fucking brat, Wade, you can't even go twenty minutes without trying to get off. That's how long you were gonna be tied up. Twenty minutes. Y’know how long you lasted?"

Wade shook his head, so Logan leaned in close, whispering harshly into his ear. "Five fucking minutes, Wade. So, how about, for every minute you couldn't be fucking patient, you get edged? How's that sound, you insufferable goddamn brat?"

It happens on an impulse. (Really, it does- though Crowley will spend the next year insisting that it was absolutely premeditated, and absolutely something he's going to do again at any moment.)

After two bottles of wine, they're both rather tipsy.

Crowley is right where Aziraphale loves him to be- on his back, spread out on soft pillows, while Aziraphale lays between his legs, licking and kissing every piece of Crowley available to him.

He looks like a feast.

Which, of course, is his explanation several moments later when Crowley demands to know why, exactly, Aziraphale decided to (very, very, very gently, of course) bite him directly on the clit.

With a startled (and very, very dignified) squawk, Crowley's thighs clamp down around his husband's head. Then he flips them over, nearly sitting on Aziraphale's face.

In other circumstances, he would have appreciated this.

"Love, please, raise up just a tad, I can't breathe," he complains, though he's not sure if Crowley can actually hear him.

Crowley squeezes his thighs even tighter, thoroughly smothering any protests from his angel.

"Should've thought about breathing before trying to- to take a fucking chunk out of me!"

What Carlos expects when they get home from work is silence; they’ll heat up the leftover soup from dinner the other day, eat it while reading a bit of the historical fiction novel TK picked up for them after responding to a bookshop fire last week, then curl up in bed with their still sleeping husband until he has to get up for work.

What he doesn't expect is for all the lights to be on, with bowls of a myriad of different ingredients sitting on the counter, and his husband bustling around the kitchen.

(he/they transmasc carlos pregnancy fluff!)

Written for the @911actions fundraising event!

It's been two weeks since Sadie invaded their home. Two weeks since TK's sobriety was stolen from him. For the first time since, he feels *okay* enough to try to have sex.

And he can't fucking get it up.

He hides it- Carlos is fucking him, so it's easy enough to just press himself against the bed and pretend he's humping against it to get himself off.

He feels Carlos come inside of him, and, just a moment later, a hand begins to slip down his side, aiming to grab his dick under him, and-

TK fakes it. He feels horrible, lying to his boyfriend like this, but he doesn't know what else to do.

Whimpering and wailing, he thrusts his hips weakly against the bed, trying to screw up his face to what he thinks he probably looks like when he comes.

Then everything goes quiet for thirty seconds, and he thinks he's gotten away with it.

"Are you serious right now?" Carlos demands, still panting slightly from his own orgasm.

TK feels his stomach drop. "Huh?"

"Did you just fake an orgasm?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. "No, of course not," he laughs. "How would I do that? Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. But that's not how you act when you come. And it's definitely not how you look." He nudges at TK's side, clearly trying to see if he did actually come, but TK stays stubbornly still. Carlos frowns, brow furrowed. "Is there something wrong, TK?"

Then, reluctantly, TK rolls onto his back, and Carlos sees that he hasn't come, but he's soft anyways. And oh, god. Now Carlos knows. He knows that TK is broken, and damaged, and that sometimes his dick just doesn't fuckung work. It's like some screwed up punishment for sobriety; somehow, in the first few weeks he's sober, without fail his dick just... malfunctions. It's happened before, but never with someone he cares about. Not with Carlos.

But it only takes a second for Carlos to wipe away every worry in his mind.

"Oh, baby," Carlos soothes, dragging him into an embrace. "It's okay. You're okay, I'm not mad. We're okay. Everything's okay."

I'm not mad. It's such a simple statement, and such an obvious one; why would Carlos be mad at TK for something he can't control? But it calms him all the same, and the tears he didn't even realize he was shedding are wiped away with gentle hands.

And it's going to be okay. Carlos doesn't mind that he's broken. Carlos loves every bit of him, and TK hopes that he knows how deeply he loves him, too. When he stops sobbing, he'll put it into words.

But for now, it's alright to just sob against his boyfriend's chest.

One of TK's absolute favorite positions is on his back, a pillow under his hips and his legs tossed over his husband's shoulders as he fucks him senseless. It's perfect- he gets to see Carlos' face, hear his moans, watch his arms, mess with his pecs, and get absolutely ruined, all at the same time.

It's one of the many evenings after work when TK gets fucked like that when a twinge goes up his leg mid fuck. He winces, but ignores it. It's mild- it'll go away in a moment (he hopes.)

But it doesn't; as Carlos keeps fucking him, he can still feel the slight pain in his muscle.

Then he comes, and suddenly his entire thigh hurts.

"Ow!" TK yelps. "Ow, fuck!"

Carlos jolts up, cock slipping out of his husband. "Baby? Baby, are you alright?"

"No- I mean yes, just- shit- I got a cramp," TK complains. "Fuck, that hurts. But- It's fine, you can-" he waves vaguely to Carlos' dick and his own hole, "- you know, carry on, it'll be fine in a second."

"I'm going to get you some water. And a heating pad."

"Come on, you're a sadist, you think me hurting is hot."

His husband snorts. "I think you being in pain when I spank you is hot. Sorry, baby, leg cramps don't really do it for me."

"What if it would make me feel better?" he asks, pouting dramatically.

A hand brushes gently over his cramping thigh. "I'm going to get you a heating pad. I'll be right back."

BDSM Dungeon Gif 7B

"Talking back has consequences," Carlos had told him three hours ago, before going to the bar with the rest of the 126.

As usual, TK hadn't listened. Instead, he bratted and bitched and backtalked the entire night.

It didn't really matter, he thought. Carlos would dish out some half-assed punishment, too weak for TK's mouth to refuse the offer of an apology blowjob.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Instead of getting a brief spanking and a cock in his mouth, TK is tied down to the bondage/coffee table hybrid in their living room, his head hanging off. His husband's cock slams against the back of his throat, over and over again. He can't breathe; all he can hope for is half a second to gulp down air, then it's forced right out of him.

Carlos' balls slap against his face, the humiliation of it stinging more than the impact.

The worst part of it is how long Carlos is lasting. If TK was in control, his husband would've come ten minutes ago. But, fifteen minutes in, Carlos shows no sign of flagging or coming anytime soon.

He isn't sure if it's so miserable because he wants his punishment to be over, or because he wants to please his husband, or both.

TK lets out a muffled whine, and Carlos pauses in his thrusts with his cock fully down TK's throat. So he does it again, and Carlos' hips jerk, then again, and again, until his husband is coming down his throat and collapsing on top of him, cock still in TK's mouth.