#all the while in a desperate and delirious haze

[okkennymay]

This time around I thought I would make a comic relaying the events after the last time I posted, because my gosh is it easier to explain with pretty pictures than upsetting words >vO I prefer to make jokes about my situation than anything, ‘cause honestly it’s a solid way of dealing with it and I take so many medications as it is, why not add laughter to it I say! ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

Despite my condition’s best efforts I still managed to organise and complete a commission with someone through emails! Thank you @waezi2 you were so patient as I arose from my grave every other day to get things done (❁´◡`❁) Fighting my body and winning to complete it was the victory I needed! The sheer satisfaction I get from a commission well received by someone is like pure nectar to me~ Sweet sustenance I just can’t get enough of! The money don’t hurt either, Disability Support Pensions do not go far in this economy 👀 This is as close as I can get to having a job and I wont let C.V.S (Cyclic vomiting Syndrome) or Chrohns take that from me! 

I’m raring to dive into more if anyone’s interested ♪(´▽｀) I’m just about to post a new “commissions sheet” to broadcast that very fact >vO I do love having something to draw between Ectober pages~

[junggunz]

5,6,7 vinny hong

im craving pleasee

 “I can’t pull out when you wrap your legs around me like that.” + “I wanna take you so fucking bad.” + “Be a good girl/boy and swallow for me.”

“Babe,” Vinny calls out to you, the honeyed tone of his voice letting you know he wanted something from you. Parties with a bunch of people he didn’t know were never his thing so you expected him to childishly beg you to ditch the event when he dragged you off to a quieter part of the venue.

The last thing you expected was him cornering you against the wall, pinning your hips with his and making you feel the very solid erection hiding in his pants.

“I wanna take you so fucking bad.” He murmurs against your lips between fleeting kisses, his hands eagerly feeling you up through your clothes; his touch so hot that the thin fabric of your dress couldn’t act as an adequate barrier.

“We can’t.” You reason, nervously peeking over his shoulder for any potential onlookers. 

Seeing that you had no other real concerns besides the public location the two of you were currently in, he gently takes your hand and guides you elsewhere; your new destination being the coat room missing its attendant. He looks at you expectantly, waiting to hear you try and make another complaint but it never comes and he gets you exactly where he wants you. 

 Laid out on the tufted bench beneath Vinny after he spots it in his lust-fueled quest, each reckless thrust he delivers into your pussy coats his length in a glossy mess of your arousal. The sight of you so disheveled with your makeup streaked, hair a mess as you beg for him to keep fucking you is even more enticing to Vinny than usual, knowing that all your little friends are probably looking for you; but sneaking off to get your guts rearranged by him was higher on your list of priorities. One of his hands relinquishes the bruising grip he had on your hips and affectionately strokes your face only to grab you by the cheeks; forcing you to look at him. 

“Open your mouth.” He commands you in a low voice, already gathering his saliva in the back of his throat as he waits for you to comply. With a mind as pliant as your body, you eagerly part your lips and stick out your tongue before Vinny lets a glob of his spit fall right on to the pink muscle.  “Be a good girl and swallow for me.” He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You swallow his spit before he could even get out the last syllable of his request, your fervent attitude making his cock twitch within your walls as he continues to pound away at your slick pussy. 

“You close?” Vinny asks, face flushed and his breathing becoming more ragged as he feels your cunt start to pulse around him. You nod quickly, biting back the shrill moan that threatens to pour from your lungs while he continues to drive his cock in and out of you, now desperate to make you cum first. And just with a few more sharp thrusts into the spongy bundle of nerves seated in the deepest part of your slick walls, he feels your body tense up; your thighs squeezing his waist tightly while your pussy gushes around him.

“I can’t pull out when you wrap your legs around me like that.” He groans out in an almost whiny tone, feeling his own climax just right around the corner because of how tightly your walls squeezed him. Through the lusty haze that clouds your eyes, Vinny notices something else when he looks at you. Something a bit more mischievous. 

“Cum inside.” You murmur deliriously, wrapping your legs around him tighter and urging him to finish within the velvety warmth of your pussy. Just your words are enough to send him over the edge, his hips jerking and a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he floods you with his seed. 

an: this was the combination of numbers that broke me. oh my god. bless u. and thank u for sending in some numbers hehehe.

[hiskillingjar]

i love the gender swap version so much ! if you’re accepting request can you please post part 2 i love your work <3

let's go lesbians let's go!!

i took this literally btw. as in this is just continued from my last girlfriend to death post. 2500+ words, lesbicious daddy kink usage dubious consent on all levels lol

🥀

"No, no, no, please, don't-"

The begging words from the laptop were cut off by the buzz of a chainsaw and a blood-curdling scream, a shower of blood and viscera covering the camera lens recording…whatever was happening.

You had found that people generally didn't beg or plead for mercy in the videos Law showed you, and it was a little strange that this person was.

Most were just stoically resigned to their fate and completely dissociated from their own mortality, eyes dead and skin pallid, and didn't struggle or even scream that much when a gun was pressed to their temple or a knife was plunged into their throat.

It seemed peaceful, you thought, and a little like the current state you were in.

Law kept her fingers tangled tightly in your hair while your head bobbed up and down in her lap, taking her cock deep into your throat and stimulating it with your tongue whenever she gave your hair a tug, expecting more effort from you, demanding more without words.

Your cunt was throbbing from the implication of her using you like an object, a sex toy, while she smoked a joint and watched her gory videos still playing on her laptop, but you couldn't touch yourself to the idea of your depersonalisation while your hands were cuffed to the foot of her bed, keeping you pinned, keeping you prisoner.

You didn't put up much of a fight, though. You didn't struggle or scream.

You were resigned to your fate, much like the sadsacks in her videos.

"You like this, don't you? You like when I…"

Law's breath, stained with the smell and intoxication of weed, came out lowly, like she was speaking from the very back of her throat between desperate, heavy gasps and her grip on your hair was starting to tighten again as her short nails dug into your scalp.

"You like it when I use you? Mph, when I fuck your mouth like my own personal sex toy?" She finished, stammering a little around the uncharacteristic words, raising her joint to her lips for another steady inhale. "Ahh…you're so pretty," She added with a dreamy smile (barely visible in your peripheral vision), a stream of smoke falling from her pretty lips as she set the still-burning joint down and pushed her palm into her bralette, palming her small breasts. "So pretty when you're sucking my cock."

She pushed your head down as far as it would go, your lips stretched tight and barely reaching the base of her, despite how much you were panting and spluttering.

It really was true what they said about trans girls.

"Mmm, god, I can't even fit it all inside you," She mumbled deliriously to herself, letting her body flop back against the bed as she groped herself even more and tried to force your head down, tried to force her cock even deeper down your throat. "Your mouth is so tight…ahhh…"

A thick string of glistening drool and pre-cum (sharp tasting like saline) pooled down your chin as she pushed in deeper, almost triggering your gag reflex and cutting off any and all oxygen going to your brain.

Triggered out of your haze of dissociation, you tried to pull back, not to stop in anyway, just to give yourself a breath of air, but she kept your head pinned down in her lap, not relenting for even a second, winding your hair around her palm so she had an even better grip of you.

"I could suffocate you," She mused airily, her fingers rubbing soothing patterns against your scalp, her voice a gentle (and again, sickeningly maternal) coo. "It would be so easy. Just keep you on my cock until you're convulsing and begging for air, and just…watch you wilt." She chuckled to herself, cutting herself off with a low moan as her back arched, her hips raising against your face and pushing (somehow) even deeper into your throat. "You probably wouldn't die, either, not for a long time, anyway. So I could keep you forever. Just like this."

You moaned helplessly against her cock, unable to meet her eyes as your own rolled back into your skull and you pulled at your cuffs hard. You weren't as much scared of the threat as you were endlessly turned on and eager for any kind of relief that she'd let you have.

But this wasn't about you. It was about her.

You were hers, and you were there for her to use as she wanted, even if you had to die for her to get off.

It was almost peaceful. Blissful.

You couldn't think of a better way to go.

🦊

"Ahhnn…ohhh, oh god, Ren!"

You moaned, loud and desperate and open-mouthed, as your back arched against the bed, the chains of your cuffs rubbing against the hotel room's bedframe, a harsh noise that did nothing to distract you from your own searing pleasure.

Ren hadn't let you take off the cosplay despite stripping herself off to her underwear as soon as you got back to the hotel. So, you were lying there, clothed and bound and totally disheveled with your petticoats shoved up around your waist, bucking your hips up restlessly against her hungry mouth on your cunt and the dangerous little toy she was holding against your clit.

Each time she indulgently suckled your cunt, the pornographic slurp of her tongue running along your wet slit, was so hideously loud, even over the constant buzzing of the toy, inching up little by little as she grew even more desperate for your pleasure as you were, but those sounds were nothing compared to your desperate keening moans, whines, and whimpers.

"God, you look fucking possessed," Ren said with a yipping laugh as she looked up at you, her golden eyes wide and almost manic while they were staring so intently. Her lacy bra and panties were almost see-through, exposing her dark areolas and the soft bush of pubic hair that dusted her cunt, and made you all the more desperate for her as she sat up, licking her jaws. "Mm, your cunt is soaking wet, baby. Like I could slide my biggest toy inside of you and you wouldn't even feel a thing."

You bit your lip with another needy moan, your eyes glazing over as you thought about her toys back home, the strap-on that she could switch out and change, depending on how much she wanted to torture you.

What you wouldn't give to take that fucking strap on now?

"Mmph, please, please-"

"What are you begging for?" She said with a mean smile, leaning close to you but not moving the buzzing toy for even a moment. "You want me to fuck you, to let you cum?" She tilted her head, her ears tipping forward on top of her head as her tail began to wag a little more. "Hm? What is it, sweetie?"

"Fuck meeeee~" You pleaded, looking up into her eyes, pleading for her mercy with everything you still had left. "Please, I'm desperate for it, please..."

"Oh, silly girl, your voice is slurring." She interrupted with another laugh, yipping and barking like a hyena, taking the utmost pleasure in how much you needed her. "Wow, you really must have been way drunker than me! I'm already sobering up, but you?" She ran her tongue over her lips again as she slid the slider of the vibrator up, making it buzz louder and faster against your sore clit. "Hah, you sound so cute and dumb when you're tipsy!"

You shrieked as she pressed a little more weight against the vibrator, pushing it harshly against your clit and rubbing each ridge against the throbbing muscle, making the pain (and pleasure) all the more intense.

"Ren, pleaseeee," Your voice was a near sob as you pulled hard at your cuffs, almost wanting to hide your flushed, sweating face from her hungry gaze. "Please, please, I can't, I can't-"

"Maybe we shouldn't go to the con tomorrow, hm?" She mumbled softly, rubbing a tight, little circle against your cunt with the vibrator, stimulating even more, making your body thrash erratically. "Maybe I should just tie you to the bed and edge you all day long." She grinned again, the way she did when she had a particularly hideous idea to tell you. "Let in the housekeepers too, so they can get a good look at you."

"Nooooo," You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to pull at your cuffs again, opting to hide your face in your trembling bicep, against the scratch tulle of the cosplay's blouse. "No, no no, noooo…"

"Yessss~" She giggled and reached up to your face with her free hand, pushing your head back into the pillows and forcing your eyes together as she brought her face down to yours. "C'mon, baby, you know you're way too dumb to make decisions for yourself right now. I mean, just look at you. You're a mess." She tilted her head to the side, her ears flat, a condescending look of sympathy on her pretty (pretty) face. "That's why I'm here to take care of you."

"And I'll always take care of you. That's what we agreed to, right?"

🔨

You gasped brokenly each time you were pulled down onto Strade's strap-on, words slurred into helpless gurgles and grunts as her full hips slammed against your backside loudly, rhythmically, like a well-oiled machine, the leather of her harness sticking to the sweat running down your arse and hips.

She kept one hand on your shoulder, the other on your hip, both grips authoritative and controlling as short nails dug into your soft flesh, sure to leave a mark, a bruise, and remind you of the encounter for days to come.

"God, you're taking it so well, fraulein. I knew you were a needy, little whore, but this is something else." She growled with an unseen smirk, her accent even thicker as she grew even more aroused, pulling you down even more on the massive toy, to the point of discomfort (to the point of you moaning even louder, any protests slurred into whines.) "Mm, taking it like the dog you are, aren't you?"

"Uh huh," You slurred in idle agreement, your head still swimming from the drink as she pushed a hand into your sweaty hair and pulled your head back, forcing your back to arch and your arse to be raised even higher, the grip probably better than the one on your shoulder and much more painful for you.

You had a sense that that was Strade's ultimate goal.

"Yeah? Kleiner hündchen, little puppy, is that it?" She asked with a rasped chuckle, hooking her chin over your shoulder as the hand on your hip slid up to palm your chest, her own (covered by a sports bra, her shirt haphazardly unbuttoned to reveal a soft stomach) pressed to your back. "Wanna prove that to me? Bark then, if you're a dog."

"Ahhnn…" You moaned helplessly as she rolled one of your pierced nipples between her thumb and forefinger, pressing somehow even deeper inside you, the head of the strap-on so deep that it felt like it was penetrating one of your organs. "F-Fuck…"

"That doesn't sound much like a bark to me, little dog," She laughed again, pressing her drooling mouth against your shoulder, nipping your skin and leaving behind even more bruises as she continued to palm and grope your chest. "Do as you're told or I'm gonna have to get nasty."

You whimpered feebly as she slowed down her thrusts, angling the massive toy even deeper inside you and idly thrusting up against the sensitive bundle of nerves that made up your g-spot, making you clench tight and your body stiffen in shock and brain-melting arousal.

"Come on," Strade then rasped, her voice dipping down lowly as she pressed her lips to your neck, warm and wet and waiting to bite. "Bark for Daddy, or I'll look for something else big and sharp to stick into your guts, hm?"

Your body spasmed as you clenched even tighter around the toy, letting your head drop down to your sweating chest.

"Wuff wuff," You mumbled softly, your voice a slurred murmur as she continued to fuck into your body like a toy, a pile of meat.

"What was that?" She asked airly with an evident smile to her voice, the hand on your chest reaching up to your chin to force your head back up against hers, hips once again smacking against your backside as the pace picked up. "Come on, that was nowhere near good enough! Let me hear you properly."

"Wuff wuff!" You yapped a little more loudly, going as far as to subtly wag your arse to prove how good of a dog you could be for 'Daddy'.

"That's it! That's perfect!" She praised, as the hand on your hip descended to your front to idly circle your clit, her thick fingers toying with the muscle as you whimpered and whined and arched forward for even more, consequences be damned. "Such a good dog, fraulein. So good for your Daddy."

You whined needily as your shaking hands reached up to hers. The hand on your chin ran down to your neck as she grabbed your throat and pulled you even closer against her, and as each hand circled her thick wrists, you found yourself unwilling to push away each of the sensations, the shortness in your breath pushing you over the edge all the more.

"That's a good girl," She whispered against your neck, running her tongue over each sensitive spot and leaving behind a mean little nip against your jaw. "Such a good, well-behaved pet for me."

Her voice was filled with an almost cruel and predatory kind of amusement, but you barely had the brain about you to care, focusing only on the pounding heat in your cunt and her fingers rubbing your clit.

You'd be a good dog as long as she wanted, just as long as you kept feeling this maddeningly delicious torture.

[differenteagletragedy]

Cove isn't the stepdad, he's the dad who stepped up: Baxter's POV

A companion story (lol) to my silly little series about MC ending up with Cove after Baxter impregnated her in Step 3 then disappeared. Baxter is their wedding planner, finds out about the kid, and angsty ensues.

But like so much angst. An absurd amount, really.

Latest part of the series here, with links to the first two!

Baxter was a deeply pathetic man -- he knew that. He'd never tried to fool himself into believing any different.

He had countless reasons for hating himself, but none of them cut quite as deeply as being reunited with you and learning about what he could have had.

The pain came in waves -- seeing you after all this time was the knife to his heart, and every additional detail was a twist of the blade. You were with Cove. And you were beautifully, hopelessly in love with him. And you were getting married.

But if all that pain was a knife, then learning that you'd had a child and piecing together that that child was his? That was a landmine. It blew him to pieces.

It happened so quickly, and he could tell you hadn't meant to tell him. After hearing that you and Cove had a son, he'd only asked how old he was. It didn't take a scholar to work out the math -- with his age, there was no way he wasn't the father.

Usually so quick witted, he'd completely frozen at the realization. Before he could unthaw himself, you and Cove had left his office, and he was alone. As always.

He finished the rest of his workday in a haze, and he must have driven himself home safely because the next thing he knew, he was unlocking the door to his apartment.

The thing was that it was just such a deeply ironic mess -- if he was truly honest with himself, a real family was really all he'd ever wanted. And to think that he could have possibly had that with you and a baby, a little piece of him and you that he could have watched grow and learn and change and love, but he didn't even give himself the chance because he'd convinced himself long ago that he didn't deserve it ... it was maddening.

After a bit of restless wandering, Baxter pulled out his phone and found your contact information. Even though he'd never responded to your attempts to reach out or even read the texts you'd sent, he never brought himself to delete your number.

"Please call me, it's important," you'd written about a month after he left. There were a few of those -- "seriously, call me," "Pick up the phone, I need to talk to you," "I really really need you to talk to me."

The last message you'd sent was the longest and was sent a couple of months later. In that one, you'd told him that you were pregnant, that the baby was his, and that you were scared and didn't know what to do. The desperate plea had been in his phone for nearly five years.

He put the phone back in his pocket.

Baxter didn't sleep last night, instead opting to drink coffee and ruminate on what could have been -- a familiar pastime. At one point he ended up in his guestroom, imagining it with a crib and then a toddler bed, maybe a twin bed now if the boy was big enough. Toys on the floor, tiny little clothes in the drawer. He imagined himself kneeling on the floor here, playing with his son or telling him bedtime stories. He imagined standing in the doorway with you, watching him fall asleep before heading to bed together.

In reality, it was a guestroom that had never and would never see any guests -- another testament to how pitiful he was.

It was a nice, bittersweet break from reality while it lasted.

He was on the balcony, looking mindlessly over the city when his alarm went off on his phone. He stumbled back inside and got ready for work. By the time his shift was over and he gotten back to his empty apartment, he was almost delirious, and so naturally that's when he decided it would be a good idea to call you.

"Hello?" you answered.

"Hello," Baxter replied, willing himself to sound calm and relaxed.

"I'm sorry we left like that yesterday, but everything is fine," you told him. "I'm still not sure when we'll be able to reschedule our appointment, if you still even want --"

He cut you off as politely as possible, saying, "I actually wasn't calling about the wedding, if that's all right."

In a stilted, scared voice he was sure sounded ridiculous, he tried to ask about your son. He didn't want to outright ask what he wanted to know, but you were able to pick up on what he was getting at.

And you, understandably, were furious.

He listened as you tore him apart for leaving you like he did and for ignoring you after. You sounded like you were as angry as if it had happened five days ago, not five years, but considering the seriousness of the circumstances, he didn't think that was that unusual.

You called him a coward. He didn't say anything, but he knew you were right.

At the end, all he could do was apologize. He'd wanted to know the truth, but he hadn't thought about what to do with it once he'd gotten it.

Somehow, he had the nerve to ask for a picture.

You were always nicer to him than you should have been, and so seconds later, he heard his phone ping in his hand. He pulled it down and opened the message you'd sent, and there it was.

Baxter took in the photo, as painful as it was. The boy in the picture had dark hair, warm brown eyes and he noticed a small mole on his wrist -- he'd noticed it because he had one there as well. The resemblance was undeniable. This was his son.

He wasn't aware he'd started crying until he heard the sounds he was making. Even then, he was lost in the picture you'd sent, another wave of what could have been washing over him. What if he knew this boy? What if he'd called him Dad?

Your voice cut through his thoughts, and he heard you say, "I have to go. Dylan is waking up from his nap."

"His name is Dylan?" he asked.

"Yes. I ... I'll talk to you later, I guess," you replied, then hung up.

At that, he sunk to the floor, letting his phone drop somewhere beside him. He wasn't sure if seeing the boy and learning his name had made it better or worse. Then again, he couldn't really imagine feeling worse.

Utterly exhausted in every conceivable way, Baxter eventually picked himself off the ground and made his way into his bedroom. He peeled his clothes off and climbed under the covers of his bed, willing sleep to take him immediately. He wasn't that lucky.

Instead, he laid in the quiet, the last light of the day streaming through the windows. He laid on his side and put a hand on the empty space beside him, just under the extra pillow that was there for no one.

He closed his eyes and imagined you there, your skin just as warm and as soft as when he last felt it. He pictured his arm around you, rising and falling with your breath, and that imaginary movement was enough to lull him to sleep.

[pilesofpillows]

Bound in Pleasure || Okoye x Attuma One-Shot

Read it here on AO3

Warnings: Smut (18+), NSFW, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Light Bondage, PWP, Breeding Kink, Excessive Use of the Word ‘Baby’ (But it’s in Mayan😅)

A/N: First of all, IDK how I got here… this is just filth. I’m working on other stuff too, but for now you’re getting p0rn

Word Count: 1.8k

“Bast, fuck…”

Okoye choked out a strangled groan as Attuma harshly thrust into her.

“No, ko’oj. Your god has no part in this.”

He plowed into her at a punishing pace, fucking her into the sheets. She screwed her eyes shut at the feeling of his dick stretching her. It felt like she was going to split in half. Clenching her fists around the headboard slats, she arched back further.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Stick it out for me,” Attuma said, palming the cheeks of her supple ass.

He spread her open, plunging deeper and deeper. Okoye groaned, low and long. She swore she could feel him in her stomach.

“You look so pretty like this… wrapped around my dick. You're squeezing me so tight, ko’oj.”

Okoye clenched around him, and Attuma groaned, cursing in his native tongue. He squeezed her ass, watching as her pussy stretched around him, taking him in with ease. His eyes traced the curves and dips of her figure, admiring the stunning picture she made.

Smooth brown skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat, pooling in the divots of her spine and the dimples of her back. Her wrists were bound above her head in silk ties, secured to the headboard, keeping her at his mercy. There was nothing more beautiful, above the surface or below.

“I should keep you like this. Tied up and open… just for me. Only for me. Would you like that, in K‘iino’?”

Okoye moaned helplessly, twisting her wrists in the silk restraints. Her mind was in a haze clouded by lust and desire. Attuma delivered a stinging slap to her ass, drawing a sharp cry from her.

“Answer me, Okoye.”

Okoye couldn’t. Forming words was beyond her. She could only moan, her voice pitching an octave as she felt him reaching around to rub her clit in quick circles.

“You’re soaked, sweet girl... Your slutty little pussy is gushing around me,” Attuma hummed. “Do you hear it, ko’oj? You sound so pretty.”

Theirs was a depraved melody, sinful and debauched, but so, so right. Okoye could feel the wetness dripping down her thighs, and her face burned at the thought of the puddle forming beneath her.

“You’re making a mess, pretty girl,” Attuma rasped, enchanted by the way her sex drenched him. He wanted more. Pressing firmly on her bundle of nerves, Attuma rubbed harder and faster, relishing in Okoye’s cries.

Okoye keened, delirious with pleasure. “Ah-tuma, I-I’m gonna cum!”

“No, you’re not. Not without asking, right, ko’oj?” He asked, taunting her. He was strumming her clit while shoving every inch of his cock into her relentlessly.

“Pl-please! I-Oh-I need to- Attuma please!”

Attuma thrust harder, refusing to give her any quarter. She knew what he expected. “That didn’t sound like a question. Try again, sweet girl.” The sweetness of his tone directly contradicted the brutal mess he was making of her insides.

Okoye choked on a scream, gasping out the question she prayed would grant her sweet release.

“‘Tu-ma, please… can I- m-may I cum?”

Attuma continued plunging in and out of her slick heat, flicking her clit in time with his strokes. “So polite for such a greedy slut.”

His words sent a bolt of pleasure straight to her clit, and her pussy throbbed. She keened at the harsh slap he delivered to her ass and let out a swift string of profanities.

She was so close.

“Please!” Okoye was desperate; tears leaked from her eyes as she fought to keep her orgasm at bay. Her muscles tensed and tightened as she neared the precipice, and then-

“No.”

Attuma withdrew from her completely, leaving her bereft.

“I don’t think you’ve earned it yet.”

Okoye sobbed, sagging down, pulling at her restraints. Hot tears ran down her cheeks, staining the pillow below her. Her pussy throbbed painfully, clenching around nothing.

“Attuma, sithandwa, nceda.” Her voice was a broken whine.

He didn’t answer but instead leaned forward to undo the knots securing her to the bed. His cock, still wet with their combined juices, rubbed against her ass, and Okoye ground back into him with abandon, desperate for any sort of sensation.

Attuma pulled his hips away, chuckling darkly. “No, Ki’in. It’ll take more than that if you want to come tonight.”

He turned her over and brought her arms down, settling his weight between her thighs, kissing and caressing her skin. Okoye whimpered at his tenderness, still reeling from the abrupt denial of her climax. Attuma kissed his way up her neck, sandwiching her arms between them. She twisted her hands in the bindings, stroking the tip of his dick.

“Behave,” Attuma growled, nipping her chin in warning.

Okoye ignored him, gripping tighter, running her thumb along his weeping slit. He hissed, cursing softly. Attuma’s head bowed forward, bringing his lips closer than they’d been all night. She darted forward, tilting her head to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

Attuma groaned, caught off guard. His hand shot up from her waist to grasp her jaw, taking control of the kiss. He squeezed, forcing her to open her mouth as he devoured her. She mewled and released him as he sucked on her bottom lip harshly, sharp teeth cutting into the ripe flesh. He drew back, admiring her tear-stained face, swollen lips, and dazed expression.

“Attuma,” Okoye whined, drawing out the sound of his name. She was pouting adorably.

“Do you want it, Ki’in?” Attuma asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes! Pleasepleasepleasepl-“

He kissed her again, silencing her begging. He could feel her fists clenching, desperate to cling to him. With enough effort, Attuma knew she could free herself. But she wouldn’t.

Not tonight.

Tonight, she was going to be his good girl and take his cock every which way until she was all fucked out.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you? You gonna be good for me?” He murmured, moving his hand down her neck, squeezing her throat briefly.

Okoye nodded frantically. “Uh-huh.”

“Good girl.”

Attuma trailed his hand down her body, deftly rolling them over. He laid back, running his hands over the smooth skin of her thighs as she sat astride him. Okoye began rocking back and forth on his length, breathing heavily as her chest heaved. She was a temptress; her sweet sighs more alluring than any siren song he could sing.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Attuma lifted her and placed the tip of his dick at her entrance. Okoye moaned, high and breathy, as she sank down on him. The silken heat of her pussy enveloped him, and he groaned at the feeling of her walls fluttering around him.

Attuma’s hands gripped her hips, moving her up and down until she was rolling them on her own. “Come on, sweet girl. If you want it, you’re going to have to work for it.”

Okoye’s head was thrown back, mouth open in a silent gasp. Attuma smacked her ass, and she cried out, twisting her wrists, placing her palms flat on his chest. She bore down, using him as leverage, and began working her hips, just as he’d commanded.

Her hips rose and fell in a slow rhythm, grinding down each time she met the base of his cock. She felt deliciously full, the pleasure bordering on painful. Okoye felt her climax building quickly, her body too worked up from his earlier attentions, and she rode him harder, chasing after the high she’d been cruelly denied earlier. Attuma began thrusting up into her, meeting her stroke for stroke. Her moans intermingled with Attuma’s grunts as the carnal sound of their flesh meeting echoed in the room.

Attuma squeezed her ass, delivering hard, swift strokes that made her eyes roll back. His hand came to play with her clit again, and she gasped his name.

“You close, ko’oj?”

She nodded, her nails digging into his chest.

“Beg me for it, pretty girl,” he commanded, his voice clouded with lust.

“Attuma! Fuck! Attuma, I’m gonna- Please let me… May I, please?”

His grip was iron, holding her in place as he drove into her. Okoye babbled an incomprehensible jumble of words, pleading with him for her release. Every muscle in her body was tense and taut, on the brink of ecstasy.

“Cum for me, Okoye.”

Okoye wailed, a deep, guttural sound of heady pleasure ripping through her as she toppled over the edge into delirium. She convulsed on top of him, her pussy clamping down on his dick with such intensity, Attuma nearly came undone. He held off, determined to wring another orgasm from her body before he filled her with his seed.

He plowed into her mercilessly. “Fuck! Just like that! Cum for me, ko’oj, cum on my dick… make a mess for me, pretty girl.”

Okoye yelped as his thumb rubbed fast, sloppy circles around her slippery clit. Her body was quaking, overcome with sensation. It was all too much, too hard, too fast.

“Gonna cum for me again?”

Okoye couldn’t answer even if she wanted to. All she could feel was electrifying pleasure as his hips snapped into hers.

“Yeah, you are… I can feel you squeezing me, ko’oj… Cum for me again so I can fill you up.”

“Attuma!”

The strangled scream of his name on her lips as she came was divine. Her body shuddered, her walls spasming around him. Pulling his fingers away from her sensitive, straining bud, Attuma untied her wrists and brought her hands to his shoulders. Her nails cut into him as he fucked her through her climax, the sweet clench of her cunt making him lose control.

“Gonna cum inside you, sweet girl… you want it?”

Okoye mewled, overwrought with pleasure. “Please…”

“Yeah? You want me to stuff you full of it, huh? Maybe fuck a baby into you?”

Her cunt spasmed wildly at his words, a fresh wave of arousal washing over her. Okoye’s eyes shot open, meeting his lustful gaze, and she bit her lip.

“I want it…” she said breathlessly, “I want it, ‘Tuma… put a baby in me.”

Attuma moaned at her request, redoubling his efforts. Okoye leaned forward, crashing their lips together in a sloppy kiss. She pulled back only to whisper filthily to him, pleading with him to stuff her with cum. Attuma’s hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering as she begged for him. He growled out a litany of curses as she ground down, squeezing him into her silken walls.

“Okoye… fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfu- ah!”

Attuma roared as he came, flooding every inch of her with warmth. Spurred on by the intensity of his climax, Okoye felt herself cumming right along with him.

She slumped on top of him, trembling through the aftershocks. Attuma cupped her cheeks, placing soft kisses on her lips and face, but didn’t move to pull out of her.

“Mmm, are we going to get up?” Okoye asked, languorous and lax in his arms.

“Yeah, in a little bit,” Attuma replied, running a hand along her back. “Wanna make sure it takes…”

[loganlermanstanaccount]

What You Deserve part 3

Joel Miller x reader 

(AO3 mirror)

part 1, part 2, TLOU Masterlist

summary: after years and years of pining, you and joel confess, and deal with the aftermath. 

warnings: just smut. pwp. fem receiving oral, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), a little angsty, some fluff (domestic joel). 18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: i have, if you can believe it, at least one more part after this in me (an epilogue/ day in the life of these three). and an angsty prequel in the works.

wc: 1.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sniffling now, you notice how he shivers at your touch. Time to go back inside.

The place is quiet as you get back in. Tommy and Maria must have left a while ago. Sighing, you motion to hand Joel his jacket back.

"I should get going now, I guess."

"S'yours now. Keep it." He looks at you in the moonlight and then through to the front porch. "It's late, sweetheart, wouldn't feel right lettin' you leave like this. You can crash here; take the bed. I can take the couch." 

Joel was shy, you think. Demure and rubbing the back of his neck as he asks you to stay over. Shy, after putting his heart on a platter not ten minutes before. You step closer, putting your hands on his broad chest. 

"We can both take the bed, don't y'think?" 

He nods, eyes hazy, glued to your lips. He leans in, closing the gap. 

"I suppose we can." 

Your first kiss with Joel Miller starts off gentle. He sighs into your mouth, hands on your waist like a nervous teen. When you shift his hands lower, he's hungry; deepening the kiss and scrunching up the fabric like a man possessed. It's wet, and sloppy, and obscene in the quiet of his empty house. You separate, panting, desperate, coming up for air.

God, it's hot now. you look at one another in the muddy light of the moon and everything else melts away. 

"Upstairs?"

He gives you an open mouth kiss onto the juncture of your neck, and the crook of your collarbone. He mumbles into your skin, "Can't wait that long, angel."

You want him. Your words are on a feedback loop in his head. You feel the same way, and you want him, warts and all. He wants you so bad it hurts, so bad he could die. You're dragging your clothed pussy onto the meat of his thigh in anticipation; and Joel goes delirious with want. 

His hands are wandering now, on your hips as he pushes you against the nearest wall. Back to the wall, you clasp his forearm with a groan, as he helps you get off on his thigh. Your moans are sweet and saccharine to his ears, and he palms himself in anticipation of cumming deep inside that pretty cunt. 

You separate for a moment, and whine at the loss of contact. He drops to his knees and kneads the flesh of your beautiful thighs. You're snaking a hand into your panties to touch yourself at the sight; but Joel grabs your wrists and looks up at you. 

"No touchin', please. Let me help you get off, darlin', wan' you to cum on my tongue."

Miller, on his knees in the half-dark and he's begging to break you apart. He places your hands in his hair when you nod, finally, and breathes hot breaths of relief into the juncture of your thighs.

He's kissing you through your panties and you're already soaked through.

"Don't tease, Joel, fuuuck, please don't tease," He drags your panties down your legs and pockets them once they're off. Placing a big palm on your ass to steady himself, he tongues your sopping hole - eating you out like it was his last meal. You jump at the sudden contact and he's quick to pin you firmly against the wall. 

"'-fuck, I need it, need your pussy, need to taste it, fuuck, aren't you pretty…" He's babbling now, and in your haze you realise he's crudely humping the floor for some relief. His desperation sends you careening off the edge, cumming into Joel' s mouth as he licks you up eagerly. 

Eventually, he separates from between your thighs, coming apart with an obscene glob of spit connecting his mouth to your pussy. You're grabbing him, pulling him upwards so you can taste yourself on his tongue; and he moans into your touch. It's your turn to be handsy, cupping his cock through his jeans and circling the waistband. 

All of a sudden, you're lifted into the air and Joel's carrying you with ease to the sofa in the next room. You're lain gently on the cushions, legs spread as you watch him take off his shirt and trousers for you. A rattle, and his belt is off. Still in the afterglow of your orgasm, you think you're dreaming when he clambers on top of you for a kiss; caging you in with his corded arms.

Like before, you place your palms on his chest, gently pushing him backwards. You want to ride him, to see his face when he finally cums. When he flips over, a little confused, you grind the lips of your pussy against his exposed cock and Joel throws his head back into the cushions. He's so fucking gorgeous like this: needy and pussy-drunk, stupid with want. You slip yourself onto him and swear you see his eyes roll back into his head. 

Beautiful sounds spill from both of your mouths as you bounce up and down his big cock. Now his eyes are lidded, and he can't take his eyes off of you. An angel, shrouded in white like a bride, on his cock in the warmth of his own home. You're so beautiful it hurts; he thinks. 

He can't help himself in the searing heat of your pussy. He's slamming upwards into you, with a hand trained onto your clit. 

"S'feel good, angel? You gonna cum again f'me? You feel so fuckin' good, 'nd you're so pretty; think I died and went to heaven," He's smiling up at you and you laugh, crystal clear in his ears. "You ready? You ready to come f'me? Please, baby, cum on my cock, please, please…" 

You cum hard, clamping down on his cock. 

It's a leg shaking orgasm he helps you through; liquid gushing out from where you meet. He's close, so fucking close as he keeps a hand on your clit, rubbing unfaltering circles into your heat. 

Joel pulls out, desperately, and cums all over his tanned stomach. You bend down in the haze, and lick him clean. His palm's on your cheek and you're looking at one another, chin on his chest. It should be filthy, the way you're covered in one another. Instead, there's something else in the air, something gentler. 

"I love you." you whisper. 

"I know." He chuckles softly. "I love you too." 

~~~

In the morning, you're in Joel's bed, in his shirt with no recollection of either event. He must've cleaned you up afterwards and the thought makes you warm. The sheets are rumpled and empty besides you. All of a sudden, there's the thud of someone coming up the stairs. The door opens to Joel; breakfast in hand and two mugs. 

"Thought I heard you wake up. I made-"

"Pancakes," you smile as he places a tray on the bed. 

"-and shitty coffee." 

You bring the mug to your lips, and grimace at it's bitterness. He's laughing at the way your face contorts and furrows in. A genuine snort, and he's choking with laughter on a piece of toast. Light from the windows streams in; and you're framed in its golden glow, flushed and pretty despite your embarrassment. You're gorgeous and Joel knows it. He brings a hand to the side of your face and kisses you; a gentle peck that threatens to deepen into something more. You split, and there's a flash of something on the your face. Disappointment? Sadness? 

"What's the matter, darlin'?" He sits up besides you, a little confused. 

"I know we just…" You gesture vaguely around, a small smile on your face "...and we're here now. You're making me breakfast in bed like it meant something. Like it wasn't just sex." His heart splinters at the doubt in your voice. "That's why… I need to know now… if y-you meant what you said. Last night. I can't do this if it isn't real-" 

"It's real." He says firmly. "It's real. Not just sex. I want to be something with you, if you'll let me."

There's a moment between you two, where everything slows down. The song of morning birds fades away. Just you and Joel. The only people in the universe, it feels like. 

"Can't say I think I'm worthy of it." Something firm in your sudden glare tells him to add: "-yet. Yet. I want to be the man you think I am. I want to see myself the way you do. I've made a lot of stupid mistakes in my lifetime. Last night…. you? You weren't one of 'em.  I meant it. M'sorry I ever made you feel like you're not good enough, 'cus you are. Gonna take you out on a real date and fuck you nice and slow to make up to you."

Your eyes widen at his last line. "I-in that order?"

Joel chuckles, and you collapse into the crook of his neck. He traces your spine with a longing touch. There's a shiver up at what he whispers into your ear. 

"It's what you deserve, sweetheart."

_

_

_

[elemit]

A Gift, A Curse

A story in which we discover just how damned an ascended vampire can be, and just how far you will go to save the spawn you loved.

Read in full on AO3

dead dove/not beta read

fic warnings: Abuse, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Food Restriction, Hate Sex, Horror, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Total Power Exchange, Trauma, Vampire Bites

Chapter 6: Betrothal

A month has passed since Astarion’s proposal. The hunger, as he promised, has become more manageable. You can go hours between feeds without entirely losing your mind.

It is the night before your wedding, and you are in the drawing room with your husband-to-be. He sits in a high-backed chair by the fire; you sit at his feet, resting your head on his knee. You are tracing the elaborate stitching on his trousers absentmindedly, while he strokes your hair.

“What are you thinking?” you ask after a while, breaking the comfortable silence as you watch the flames dancing before you. There is a long pause before he replies.

“Bhaal’s army would have made a wonderful dowry.”

You freeze, then turn to him, and you know you haven’t managed to hide the hurt in your face. “I thought you were glad that I was free of him.”

“Of course I am. After all, how could I have made you my pet when you were still on your father’s leash?”

You jerk away from him, not even trying to hide the hurt now.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, my love. I’m only joking. If I had known making you undead would kill your sense of humour then I might have held off for longer. Come here.”

He takes hold of your forearms and pulls you, facing him, onto his lap.

“You know I love you, don’t you, little pet?”

You give a nod that turns into a shrug.

“Hmm. It seems you might need some convincing,” he says, releasing one of your arms and snaking his arm down your body, finding the spot between your legs with a practised hand and applying just enough pressure to make you squirm.

“Astarion, I don’t—“

“Shh, pet. Sit still. Good girl.”

There’s only the barest hint of command in his voice, but you comply anyway, allowing him to push his hand under your clothes and tug your underwear to the side. His fingers slide inside you as his thumb strokes teasingly around your clit, every gentle brush sending a thrill through your body. He curls his fingers inside you, pumping in and out, every movement pushing against that place within you that emits an almost unbearable bliss at the touch. Before long your head falls back, eyes half closed in ecstasy, moaned prayers to the pantheon and the godlike man before you spilling from your lips. All the while, he whispers a string of honeyed words into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“My sweet treasure. My darling consort. My queen. My future wife. Everything you are…” He pulls his face away from your ear to watch you for a moment, and through the delirious haze of your pleasure you notice that there is no joy on his face - just a cold curiosity as he takes in your writhing gratification. “Everything you are is mine.” He punctuates the last word with a particularly deep thrust of his fingers, curling and pushing against that sweet spot inside you, and that is all it takes to make you come undone. You cry out, arching your back and bucking your hips desperately against his hand, pleasure crashing in waves through your body. You feel him pull you close, feel the cold sting of fangs piercing the flesh of your neck, and the ebbing buzz of your orgasm melts into the numbing rush of being fed upon. You think of how your heart would be beating wildly had he not already stopped it. Drunk on the over-stimulation, you let your lover bite and suck at your neck until dizziness threatens to overwhelm you, at which point you murmur a wordless warning into his hair. He pulls away, face smeared with red, eyes heavily lidded.

“My love,” he says, then he kisses you. You taste your own blood on his lips and tongue, and you delight in the flavour. Hunger stirs in your stomach once more, but you try to push it down, focusing instead on your future husband. The man you love. He pulls back from the kiss, and looks into your eyes, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Tomorrow is the big day. Our big day. I’m sure you’re excited to see them, but I worry our old friends will have grown jealous of our power… of our love. You will defend me to them, won’t you, darling?”

“Of course,” you say, and you mean it. But a small part of you wonders whether it would even have been possible for you to say anything else.

[velvetmud]

fez/lexi + wet &messy (18+) + daddy kink

passion fruit

when fez gives it to her, he gives it to her good.

the wet slap of his cock filling her like a pie, the arousal churning in her gut while his hot breath fanned the back of her neck. lexi can’t help nor control herself. beyond desperate for release, drool drooping down the corner of her puffy mouth as she revels in the sensations. fez continued his vicious pounding from behind, grunting almost in animalistic pain, that’s a good girl, lexi. this pussy feelin so fucking good.

“‘das a good girl lexi, my perfect little slut,” he mumbles with high admiration, delirious from her pussy still working him. tightening. his thick middle finger moves down and smooths around her swollen clit. feels her heartbeat there along with the delicious squish of their combined arousal and precum. lexi downright screams from the extra needed stimulation, bunting her hips and her clit back and forth on him.

“atta girl. you needed that, huh baby?” he smiles with a bite of his lip, hearing the progression of her moans and the sloppy squelch rapidly annihilating his cock.

“daddy, daddy fuck I’m so wet—you fuck me so good fez, it’s so big and deep,” lexi howled. her cheek is smooshed against the messy cotton of her pillowcase, the drool from her mouth seeping down to it while fez chuckles and speeds up, giving her ass a spank with the other hand that was rubbing her clit. “‘m gonna cum on it.”

“mmhm. you finna cum on this dick, lexi? damn, I’m fucking you so good you creaming all over us baby—shit that’s beautiful.”

he looked downward to study where they’re connecting, the mess they’ve made in the haze of pleasure. her pretty lips sliding up and down his cock leaving a creamy trail. it’s dirty, downright indecent, and it’s not what fez would have ever guessed how a proper girl like lexi would want it. but by now in their relationship, he has to wash the sheets far more times than only once a week or they just fuck with a towel underneath. he never needs to hold back, she always takes him so good. good enough to make a mess.

“yes yes, just for you daddy—you fuck my pussy so good.” her voice turns into more of a whine, slicking up and down the mushroom head of his cock to tease her own entrance.

fez closes his eyes as his breath and his pace hitched, stuttering with the flow of his hips. It feels like she made him even more engorged than he already was. she begins taking over once again, pressing back onto his cock to bounce with wild abandon, uncaring of the milky juices slowly dripping down with each and every pump. fez feels his balls tighten where they slap against her ass, now swirling his fingers harsher against her bud to make her as close to the edge as he was. his other hand pinches and twists one of her nipples before gripping her jaw to turn her face around for a sloppy desperate kiss. once he gets his fix on her lips, he pulls away only to suck and kiss on her neck, murmuring almost drunkenly:

“gonna lemme fill you up all the way baby girl? wanna see it drippin’ outta you again. gonna lick you clean lex. god, drivin’ my dick fucking crazy.”

lexi gasps and flushes at his words, still not used to it no matter how much they’ve done this. “yes, fill me, fuck me, need your cum inside—“

“shh shh. you can cum now baby girl, jus’ let it all out, I’ll take care of you—“

“mmmm, fez!” lexi shouts, scrambling to grip one of his arms as he continues pounding her relentlessly. a quick spurt flows from their connecting bodies when he practically jackhammers his thick member in her soft g-spot. her scream and his groan loud enough for neighbors to likely hear and leave little to imagination. he marvels at lexi soaking the sheets and his cock during her moment, squeezing her hip while nearly out-moaning her. she soon feels his own thick spend start to leak from the tip as his hips stutter once more. grinding down harshly, intending to take then keep every single drop, fully milking him of his orgasm. fez hissed and cursed while he went in balls deep one last time, staying all the way inside.

they catch their breath before he kisses down her back, gently sliding his cock out of her swollen lips, only for more juices from her pussy to begin oozing down her inner thigh and drenching plops onto the sheets of the bed. he laughs at the dirty sight and sound while she kicks him in return.

relaxing in the afterglow, she lightens up and stretches her arms still lying down. “forgot the towel?”

“mmhm. guess we gotta do some laundry and improvise then,” he teased with a feigned disappointed click of his tongue. his eyes roam up and down between her legs and her face. she sighs and also feigns annoyance before allowing him to get going.

“go ahead,” she beckons with a fist of his short hair. he doesn’t need to be asked twice, diving down to nuzzle the slick mess of cum pooling between her thighs. his beard always tickles, but she doesn’t care and forgets to notice when his tongue and his fingers already have her screaming daddy all over again.

[peri-kyo]

PGR: What if? — Chrome didn't manage to save Gray Raven's Commandant during Imprisoned Sight

Disclaimer: PGR Chapter 14 spoiler, not proofread and kinda inconsistent pacing (never wrote before)

this is a twitter reply that evolved into a long long paragraph, text under the cut

Chrome ends up being obliged to revert back to his Arclight frame, and everyday when he returns to his dorm he's being tortured of staring at his Glory frame... Haha.

What Glory? All his glories were gone the moment Commandant slipped from his hold and got swallowed into the sweet embrace of the Red tide. Since that incident, the Strike Hawk Captain became more reclused and stoic, focusing solely on each mission's success and breaking his M.I.N.D. to become the perfect Smith.

Off-duty, he spends all his time in his room, staring at his failure, the frame that supposedly was supposed to bring a new hope to Babylonia, the successful Project Winter. How ironic that he ended up losing everything for the sake of this frame's stability.

Habits from his F.O.S. period come gnawing at him so often late at night, taunting him relentlessly, encouraging him to commit atrocities on himself and his Glory frame to atone for his sins.

So he does. Every night without a rest, Chrome spends his time in a haze — disassociated from reality — putting the blame on Glory, hitting him, yelling at him, begging his failure to explain how he could've failed this oh so miserably.

Chrome still often hears them, the hushed whispers in the walls of Babylonia, mocking him for his failure.

"Didn't you hear? Smith's kid let the Gray Raven Commandant die on its last mission."

"What? The Gray Raven Commandant? The President won't be happy with these news..."

"I'm disappointed with how John's child turned out to be."

"Failing to be a Commandant, becoming a construct and now killing Babylonia's most valuable Commandant ? What a joke."

Still, the pain from those murmurs and jeering stares don't come close to his excruciating heartache when he hallucinates about Commandant. Asimov explained to him that this is a side effect from the M.I.N.D. connection he experienced with the Gray Raven's Commandant during his emergency frame transfer.

Alas for Chrome, the side effect ended up being permanent. His M.I.N.D. connection with the Commandant ended up too abruptly — he can still feel the crushed ribs the Commandant had, the desperation in their eyes, the trembling tone they had when confessing their fears of death to Chrome, the worse was the smile they parted to him while falling into the inviting pool of scarlet red — all these moments burned so deep into Chrome, his only salvation would be being recalled.

Ever since that incident, Smith prohibited his failure of a protégé from participating in missions involving the Red tide. He knows what this boy would do, Chrome may be a Construct but Langston is still his son. He knows how enthralled Langston was to the Gray Raven Commandant. He knows the dangers of letting a delirious sailor too close to the deep red sea flocking with alluring sirens.

That is not correct. That is not "Smith".

Despite his father and his companions warnings, Chrome stood resolutely face to face with Vonnegut, knees deep into the dazzling scarlet water. Broken, but determined.

"Ah... I see you have finally found your purpose to join the Ascension Network. You took your time, mein lieber Freund. Now... close your eyes and be reborn anew from this holy water. Your lieber Kommandant is waiting for you after all".

Those were the last words Chrome heard before he willingly submerged himself into the Red tide, submitting himself to the Punishing.

[the-diabolist]

For kinktober: Rire, Library, Drill 😊😊

Kinktober 2022, day 25

c.w: gn reader, aphrodisiacs (mind warping), cockwarming, choking, edging, tentacles (duh). 700w

"Please, please, please," you chant, breathless, struggling valiantly against his hold in a vain attempt to move your hips and get some friction.

"Ooh, keep begging, it's making me throb," he purrs, followed by a nip at your earlobe. It sends a jolt of electricity down your spine and between your legs.

He's doing something to you - making you crave him so intensely you can hardly think about anything else. You're feverish with it, overheated and panting, starving for more of his touch than he's currently deigning to give you.

You've been trapped in his lap for almost an hour, writhing and full and more painfully eager by the minute. He, on the other hand, is downright gleeful - happy, as ever, to watch you squirm.

"More," you gasp, rocking in his arms as a warm, smooth tentacle slides up your chest and coils around your neck. It squeezes, cutting off your air.

"Patience, angel," he sighs, sharp teeth scraping across your skin; you shudder, but the whine that builds in your chest gets tangled up in his grip on your throat, trapped there with your drumming pulse. "I haven't had enough of your desperation quite yet."

You don't have the breath to plead with him; in fact, your vision is starting to spot as a spasm takes hold of your lungs. You struggle against him in earnest while your oxygen deficit builds, nearly panicking - and then he relaxes his grip. You gasp harshly, gulping in some air which you almost immediately release again in a loud, warbling cry of pleasure.

You almost came just now. It was so close, its recession has left you bereft. The throbbing between your legs matches the pounding in your head. You'd give anything for more of his attention.

He licks a long stripe up the side of your neck, and you sob; he laughs aloud in response, like the absolute monster he is.

"Mmm, you sound so broken," he purrs jovially. Then, as if reading your mind: "So what would you do for it, hmm? Practically anything? I could make you do some deliciously sinful and degrading things, I bet... or maybe you'd like to jump straight to selling that pretty little soul of yours?"

You can feel his grin against your spine. You think you're becoming delirious.

"... you'll keep it forever if I give it to you?" you murmur, slowly - pitifully - piecing the sentence together through a haze of burned-out neurons. "You have to promise to keep it, keep me..." you mutter.

His smile falters; the arms wrapped around your middle pull you tighter to his chest.

"Hm... did I overdo it, love? Is your mind melting? Or are you just that desperate?" he chuckles, planting a kiss at the base of your neck. "I didn't mean to make it so overpowering... I tend to forget how delicate your little human brains can be. Are you all out of fight already?"

He sounds disappointed, which is devastating, but you're too foggy to do anything about it except turn your head, seeking a kiss - he acquiesces, capturing your mouth, only lightly biting down on your lower lip.

As the kiss deepens, the tentacles gripping various parts of your body flex and tighten, taking your weight; he lifts you off of him, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness, but you don't remain in that state for long. He spins you around to face him before sheathing himself again, sliding back in easily.

You moan weakly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, grinding your pelvis into his. He lets you - aids you, even, with his hands on your hips and a couple tentacles winding around your thighs - so you press on, winding up until you're bouncing in his lap.

Unsurprisingly, you climax quickly, shaking apart noisily in his arms before slumping against his chest. He chuckles and drops a kiss on the top of your head.

"Let's get you to bed, angel," he says, running his hands up and down your back. "I'm not done with you, but that's fine - you can sleep while I finish up."

[rubctosis]

                                        @heavens-sin liked for a plotted starter

𝐋𝐚𝐰’𝐬   𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧   𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤   𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲   𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭   𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧   𝐚   𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭   𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.   it   left   a   bitter   imprint   on   the   familial   tapestry   that   woven   his   life.   It   wasn't   a   mere   event;   it   was   a   haunting   memory   etched   into   the   very   core   of   his   being.   The   recollection   of   that   fateful   day,   when   Corazon   was   mercilessly   shot   multiple   times,   played   out   like   a   haunting   melody   in   the   recesses   of   his   mind.   The   small   fragments   of   his   memories   flashed   vividly,   portraying   the   macabre   scene   of   blood   spilling   onto   the   pristine   snow   that   adorned   the   ground.   The   question   lingered,   heavy   as   the   lead,   within   him   –   was   Corazon   dead   or   alive?   Had   he   truly   emerged   unscathed   from   the   ordeal?   it   was   a   memory   that   was   burned   into   his   mind   since it   happened.   .   .   Law's   heart   ached   at   the   contemplation,   revisiting   the   desperate   moments   when   he   himself   sought   escape.   His   futile   kicks,   bites,   and   struggles   were   easily   extinguished   -    his   efforts   were   for   naught   –   snuffed   out   easily   by   by   the   ruthless   duo   of   Diamante   and   Trebol,   met   with   a   torrent   of   hits   and   jeers   that   marked   his   failed   rebellion   and   he   was   punished   severely   for   it.   The   mere   thought   clawed   at   Law's   heart,   a   relentless   ache   that   threatened   to   consume   him   whole.    As   if   he    𝐇𝐀𝐃   𝐀   𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄    before.   

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞,   𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬,   𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞   𝐡𝐚𝐝   𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧   𝐚   𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞   𝐨𝐟   𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞,   𝐚   𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫   𝐨𝐟   𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧   𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭   𝐡𝐚𝐝   𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧   𝐡𝐢𝐦   𝐟𝐨𝐫   But   now,   all   that   remained   was   a   smoldering   ember   of   rage,   a   primal   fire   that   burned   with   an   intensity   ,   but   that   flagged   soon   enough.    he    was   beaten   bloody   ,   black   and   blue.   blood   and   abrasions   covering   his   skin.   they   truly   held   no   remorse   towards   the   boy   at   the   time.     he   was   hauled   to   his   feet   and   shoved   at   the   King.   His   knees   gave   way   and   he   slumped   to   the   floor,   head   bowed   low.   A   heavy   hand   landed   on   the   back   of   his   neck,   squeezed   and   made   his   teeth   grit   together.   When   the   bastard   spoke,   his   tone   was   light,   airy   even,   but   it   held   an   undertone   that   had   Law   tensing.   it   angered   him   to   no   end.    he   was   tugged   upwards   ;   forced   to   face   the   blond   who   looked   down   at   him   with   the   same   smirk.

time   and   time   again   It   wouldn’t   stop   Law.   As   soon   as   he   could   move   he   would   be   back   at   it,   and   it   was   a   repetitive   cycle   until   Law's   strength   waned,   and   he   lay   defeated   on   the   unforgiving   ground.   The   haze   of   pain   and   delirium   clouded   his   vision,   and   in   one   such   moment   of   weakness,   he   gazed   upon   the   blurry,   hunched   form   of   the   self   proclaimed   king.   The   pink   feathers   that   adorned   him   seemed   to   create   an   otherworldly   aura,   an   almost   angelic   facade   that   mocked   Law's   suffering.   In   that   delirious   state,   bitter   thoughts   swirled   as   he   teetered   on   the   precipice   of    despair.   He   hadn’t   figured   out   how   to   use   his   Devil   Fruit.   He’d   already   been   on   death’s   door   when   Cora-san   forced   it   on   him,   and   for   a   while   now   the   only   reason   he’d   still   been   able   to   move   had   been   because   of   adrenaline.   When   it   all   became   too   much   Law   could   only   lay   where   he   fell   and   struggle   to   breathe.

𝐛𝐮𝐭   𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬   𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝   𝐭𝐨   𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬,   𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬   𝐭𝐨   𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬,   𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬   𝐭𝐨   𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬   -   𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬   𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞   𝐚𝐧𝐝   𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭.   𝐡𝐞   𝐰𝐚𝐬   𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧   𝐭𝐨   𝐠𝐨   𝐭𝐨   𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧   𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬   𝐨𝐟   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞   doflamingo   had   claimed   as   his   own.     Cora-san’s   coat   over   his   draped   across   his   shoulders.   his   face   seemed   to   paint   no   emotion   as   he   stood   by.   as   he   was   instructed   to.   a   lit   cigarette   between   his   lips,   wisps    of    smoke    spiraling    lazily    from    the    his   mouth. 

[factorialsfandoms]

"You will never be one of us" would be so painful for literally any of the LU boys to say to another of them, but my brain specifically latched onto Time saying this ^u^ Please and thank you

Sorry for the delay my brain fought hard on this one. Ended up having to throw some hallucination-inducing poison around. Please enjoy Sky having a shitty time!

Warnings for non-specific poison, inter-Link violence, at least one dislocated jaw, a tiny bit of blood, and a fair does of Sky angst.

AO3 Link as I'm semi organised for one

They had, at least, managed to get back to camp before the danger had become apparent. The battle had been short, without more than a few scratches being obtained by anyone - and the brambles had caused more injuries than any weapon. Sky, having even fewer nicks than the others, was helping Legend clean out the bramble scratches on his legs. The veteran continued insisting that he could manage, but taking no action to actually stop him.

The mood was relaxed and the Links were chatting amongst themselves.

And then, a thud echoed. Legend's eyes widened, and Sky's head turned quickly.

Twilight was on the floor, sporting a new black eye, whilst Time was sprawled on the floor, seething and trying to get up. From his knees he went to lash out at Wind, blind panic in every one of his features; Twilight tackled him back down, and the Links swarmed about.

Seeing his companions struggle, Sky rushed reached out, pressing down on Time's feet to keep them still. Twilight gave him a grateful look, adjusting position to restrain his arms, while Hyrule held his head still. Beside him, Legend knelt down, scowling but without any way to help.

After a few moments Time relaxed, looking around with an almost feverish confusion - almost, because there was no red on his face, and Hyrule's own confusion implies he was not warm to touch.

"... Pup?" Time's eyes focused on Twilight's black eye.

"Right here," he assured. "No harm done."

Sky would object, harm was definitely done, except for how Warriors leant over, frowning.

"Time?" he asked. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Time's brows furrowed sharply, before shaking his head. When he spoke again, his words were slurred, "its... blurry. scrape on my neck feels wrong."

The frown became a scowl as Warriors turned his head slightly, looking at his neck. Sky did not see what he saw, but he did hear the "shit" followed by "Wild, did you collect up the weapons?"

"Yes. Why?"

Despite his question, Wild was already grabbing his slate and flicking to the correct screen.

"One of the blades was poisoned," Warriors turned back to the rest. "Time? Stay still and relaxed, it will be fine. The rest of you? Keep him still while we work it out."

None of them knew a great deal about poisons at all, but this was Warriors' world, and Wild knew the most about strange concoctions. Together they stood the best chance of finding an antidote, or simply some sort of treatment until the body managed to handle it on its own.

For a few minutes things were fine, right until the confused, delirious haze took over Time's eyes once again, and he began to thrash. Having relaxed as Time did, Sky threw his weight onto the legs once more, letting Twilight handle yelling a report over to where Warriors and Wild were working.

Then, suddenly, Time went deathly still. Sky did not think; he leant forwards, desperate to check on the man, as worried as everyone about the sudden change.

A knee smashed into Sky's chin, sending his head spinning as his neck cracked from the force. He fell backwards, slamming hard into the grass with full force.

Legend and Four quickly stepped in, pinning a leg each as Sky regained his bearings. Wind moved a little closer, watching the mess before him.

"Link!" Warriors turned back over his shoulder. "Stop that."

Time did pause for a moment, before struggling harder.

"Get away!" He screamed, twisting again. "Get away from him!"

"Time?" Wind was maybe the most nervous that Sky has ever seen him, yet still he could keep the leg that had slammed into Sky's chin pinned. "Stop, it's just Sky. He won't hurt you."

Time's lips peeled in a snarl, looking sharply at Sky.

On instinct, Sky tumbled back a little further, still checking for if his jaw was broken. Probably not, thankfully, but the joint on the right was swollen and felt wrong, and somehow hurt worse than the spreading bruise where the knee had connected - dislocated, probably. And… He would need one of the others to help set it.

"Good," Time snarled in Sky's direction. "And stay away. I don't know your game, but I won't let you hurt them. Not again."

"Hurt us?" Wind was the only one still talking. "What do you mean? Sky never hurt us."

But he had, hadn't he? The curse, the cycle, it should never have been any of theirs to bear - it was his own failure, the fact that even after everything he was still /too slow/ to stop a curse being laid on everyone. On everything, everyone, locking them into an eternal cycle of hatred and despair.

Time was quiet for a moment, allowing Sky to catch himself. The spiral would not help; he had messed that up, yes, but he had been fighting a god. It was unreasonable to assume -

Hyrule yelped, moving back. Quick as a flash Sky turned to look at him, just catching the bleeding shape of human teeth deep in his palm before magic sealed it away. His expression was determined as he grabbed their leader's face once more, but he was too late to stop more words from coming.

"I don't know what you are," Time continued to snarl. "But you will /never/ be one of /us/."

Sky did not wait to hear what else might be said, nor the angered voices raised in his defense. He did not even wait to process any of the emotions those words bought to mind.

All he felt was pain sharper and more intense than his dislocated chin before he turned on his heel, and fled into the night.

---

Hours later, Sky's mind was numb. The only sensations he could quite feel, sat out under a frozen moon as he was, were the throbbing of pain in his still dislocated jaw, and an empty hollow beneath his heart. Not even the shuffling footsteps behind him drew his attention, not until someone sat down beside him.

He turned, and say the traveller sat right there.

A memory of blood managed to flitter through; he tried to open his mouth, to ask if Hyrule was alright now, only to find his jaw impossible to move.

Right. He'd… It was injured.

"Sky?" Hyrule's whisper was nervous as his determination had not let him be before. "Are you alright?"

Not wanting to bother the younger hero, Sky nodded regardless of spiking pain and hollow chest. Hyrule's eyes flittered over to his jaw, then up to the joint. With hesitation he poked at the injury.

Sky whimpered; Hyrule's eyes took on a sharper glint as he wrapped an arm around Sky's neck, keeping his head still, and pressed hard with the other.

Sky was certain that he screamed as the joint cracked, stifling a second as Hyrule's fingers traced over the joint to check his own work.

"Don't try talk," he instructed. "I… Warriors should check it's stable before you use it."

That left Sky with… He shouldn't return, should he? The pain had jolted something in his brain, and Time's words rattled in his head once again. He had been right, hadn't he? Sky had never been one of the heroes, not really; they were shared by a common foe, while he…

He was merely the one who had released that enemy into the world.

A finger pressed against his unswollen cheek, gently forcing him to turn. His neck seized up as it was asked to move, and yet somehow Hyrule's finger worked it free.

"He shouldn't have said that," the teenager said. "It was wrong, and it was cruel."

"He was poisoned," Sky stepped in to defend Time even as his mind twisted with the thought of 'bur was he /wrong/'.

"It was still cruel. And I said no talking." "And he shouldn't have bitten you, either." This time, Sky signed the words with just as much emotion.

Sky saw the flinch, and the way Hyrule curled his hand. There was no mark there, not any more, but still the palm formed a fist and was bought protectively over his chest.

"That's healed," Hyrule's voice was a little more determined. "He… They finished the antidote, and he's sleeping off the last of it now. Everyone was worried about you, so I said I'd come look."

And how many others had been injured, that Hyrule had been sent out alone.

"You…" Sky hesitated a moment. "No, he was right. I'm not one of you. You should just… Leave me here, alright? It's better this way." Hyrule shrugged, "do you remember the way back to camp at least? I got lost but found you!"

Sky was about to comment that of course he did not, not when he'd run off in a panic, but… No, he did remember. He always remembered.

… Sending Hyrule out alone after him had been entirely on purpose, hadn't it?

Still, he could not leave the teenager out alone. Huffing through his nose he pulled himself to his feet, body stuff and cold and needing Hryule's help to get up.

"Just as far as camp," he signed again.

Hyrule's grin was as mischievous as it was nervous, "that's fine I can make it once I can see it. Will you… Be okay out here alone?" Despite knowing the night would only get colder and his blankets were at camp, Sky nodded; he would be as fine as he deserved, that much was to be sure.

The walk was not long, but the trees were all very similar. Just inside the treeline, where the fire and bustle of camp could be seen, but not able to be spotted themselves, Sky stopped.

There were a few moments hesitation and one fast, desperate hug and a whispered insistence for Sky to be okay and be sure and known he was welcome back to camp /any time/ before Hyrule let go, and walked into camp.

The hollow feeling in Sky's chest grew sharper, curling outwards and cutting into flesh as he watched the teen leave him so easily. Clearly, clearly, he was not actually wanted here. Just a heroic duty to someone injured and distressed, nothing more.

He was not one of them, and unlike Wind never could make himself so. Just as Time had said it was merely another fact.

Sky turned to leave, fully prepared to run again, when a hand grabbed each of his shoulders, and another pair each of his hands.

The surprise drew a startled yelp; his jaw crackled dangerously, and he quickly shut it back up.

On one side, Legend had grabbed him. On the other side, Twilight. From the leaves in their hair, they must have come from the bushes.

"Camp's this way, Sky. You're nearly as bad as 'Rulie." Twilight's tone was teasing, but his eyes were terrified.

"Please, Sky," Legend's voice was trying very hard to crack, and being stamped on at every turn. "It's warm, I promise."

Faced with two pleading voices and no hands available to sign, Sky could only let himself be dragged back to camp. Quickly he was swarmed, Legend curling into one of his sides and Four in the other, someone draping a thick blanket around all three of them even as Wild handed him warm, vaguely medicinal smelling tea, and Warriors knelt in front of him. Practiced hands turned his face, and gentle fingers examined his jaw. After a moment, Warriors asked someone to get him a straw so he could drink without opening his mouth too far, then turned back to him.

"The tea should take the edge off the pain," he explained. "So long as you rest it, everything should heal fine. But you /must/ rest it, understand?"

Still under orders not to use it, Sky nodded.

"Good," Warriors face softened. "We're glad to have you back."

"But-"

Warriors placed a hand under Sky's chin, forcing his mouth closed again. "No moving it, remember? Time was probably hallucinating. Even if not, he can't change the fact you're my brother. No matter what he thinks."

That…

Sky glanced around. The six other conscious Links gave him various nods, squeezes, and words of agreement as they cluttered close again. Hyrule in particular gave him a knowing grin alongside his nod.

Definitely planned, then. And tricked.

Still, surrounded by seven of his brothers… Sky's heart still felt hollow and Time's words still bit deep, but the hollowness was being soothed by an old, comfortable warmth.

[hb-writes]

What Makes a Family

Summary: Alice had sworn to Neal that if they ever ended up in trouble like this, she would erase the FBI kidnapping handbook from her mind. She'd forget about him and she’d do whatever she had to in order to get herself out of harm’s way, out of Matthew Keller's way.

Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Matthew Keller, & Alice Burke (OC)

Request (from anon): B) 20. Alice and Neal 🤍🤍

Content Warnings: angst, kidnapping/ hostage situation, guns, found family feels

Here’s the AO3 link if you prefer to read over there.

White Collar (Alice Burke) Masterlist

Angst Celebration Masterlist

Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

Alice could barely keep her head up but she followed Matthew Keller’s movements as best as she could. She kept her eyes open, her gaze purposely diverted from Neal’s face though some part of her was desperate for his guidance, the comfort of eye contact. 

She didn’t want Keller to think they were communicating anything, like they were in cahoots. Alice figured it would be better for them if Keller thought they weren’t on the same side. Then he couldn’t use them against each other.

As the seconds stretched on, it grew more difficult for Alice to focus on anything. She could feel herself being pulled towards sleep, exhausted and dizzy now that the knock on her head had settled in and the initial adrenaline had subsided. 

It was tempting—the idea of sleep, the idea of slipping away for a bit. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to wake up at home. Maybe she’d learn this was all just a dream—more like a nightmare, really. Whatever it was, real or dream, both seemed possible the more fuzzy Alice’s mind became, some part of her figured they were safe for now. 

She felt certain Keller wouldn’t hurt them. Not yet, at least. He seemed to be more interested in talking for the moment, more amused by playing with them—enjoying the sport of it. Alice knew he was getting more from it than just that, focused as he was on hers and Neal’s reactions, but she could tell he wanted to savor it. He was drawing out toying with them and collecting the limited, overly calculated words Neal and Alice had been giving him as answers.

Neal was better at it. He’d taken the lead more and more as Alice's focus slipped. She hadn’t spoken for a few minutes when Keller asked her something directly, and it was no more than a whimper and ragged breath that finally left her lips in response. That was all she could muster, her mind distracted by the throbbing on the left side of her head.

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question, Miss Burke,” Keller said as he stepped toward her. 

The inquiry had been a calculated one. Keller expected a proper answer. He had envisioned the girl’s protests, actually, imagining that his words would make Alice Burke a bit more cognizant, a bit more engaged in their conversation. Keller had thought the threat to Caffrey’s life would bring Alice back from the delirious haze she was steadily slipping into. 

He grasped Alice’s chin with one hand while tapping her cheek with the other. “Hey, c’mon, kid. Eyes on me.” 

Alice’s eyes fluttered open and her blinking gaze latched onto Neal as Keller tipped her face to his. The moment’s connection, and seeing Neal tied to a chair on the other side of the room, reminded Alice of where they were and who had ahold of her. 

She jolted in her chair, her breath catching in her throat. She forced her eyes open the rest of the way, shifting them to focus on Keller’s face and lips, straining to decipher the words that she could barely hear. She couldn’t focus, her mind returning to things that were no longer relevant. Nothing outside of this moment was relevant, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid weatherman. 

Conrad Murray had promised her clear skies and sunshine. Alice remembered that. She’d watched the broadcast with a bowl of cereal in her hands and Satchmo’s head in her lap while her aunt and uncle moved seamlessly through their practiced morning routines. They were in a hurry to get out the door on time, but Alice had the day off from school, so she lounged in pajamas. 

Clear skies and sunshine, the man had promised. 

Alice had assumed the sun meant it would be a good day, and truthfully, it had been. She’d taken Satchmo to the park. Then she’d sat out in the back garden with a book. It had been just the type of relaxing day she’d needed, the perfect day off to rest and recharge before her beach weekend with a few friends from her dance classes, the ones with wealthy parents who had houses out on Long Island. 

It had been a good day, but the night was giving her trouble. She supposed she couldn’t blame the weatherman for this. He could barely predict the rain, let alone this. No one could have predicted this.

But Alice had been prepared for this. She had never really thought about it, but she was as familiar with Matthew Keller as she was with their local weatherman. More familiar, probably. Keller’s face had been seared in Alice’s mind long before she ever met him. She could recall his crimes and mannerisms and tells more easily than she could recite calculus formulas or her Spanish vocabulary lists even though she didn’t spend hours studying him. All she’d done was listen to Neal’s stories with rapt attention and somehow, it had made itself a permanent home in her mind.

When Neal finally broke down and started telling Alice about the infamous cases, the information delivered in small doses under the guise of casual confessions over their dinners and chess games, Alice thought it was because she had manipulated him. She thought it was because she had used a certain charm to get her way, to break Neal down and get what she wanted. Alice had been convinced that she knew these secrets about the bad people her uncle shielded her from because she’d been able to exploit the criminal mastermind into telling her things she had no business knowing. She thought she had bested Neal. And her uncle, too. 

What Alice didn’t know was that everything she knew about Matthew Keller had been shared with her only because Peter Burke had already okayed it. Her uncle had encouraged Neal to share it with her, to make her really understand the danger, to give her a healthy sense of fear so it wouldn’t be some cautionary tale doled out by her overprotective FBI uncle, but cherished insider information pried from the clever guy Alice had come to worship a little bit. 

This way, the information would be precious to her, special and unforgettable like a secret shared between friends. It would be something she had cleverly snuck past her uncle—finding out about the cases Peter always kept away from her. 

Alice caught Neal’s nod, slight as it was, and swallowed hard. There was a granting of permission nestled in that barely perceptible movement—permission and encouragement and a small plea all wrapped up in one—and Alice knew she didn’t have a choice. She had made a promise to Neal and she’d made it over and over again. She had sworn to him that if they ever ended up here, in the custody of Matthew Keller, she would erase the FBI kidnapping handbook from her mind. She’d do whatever she had to in order to get herself out of harm’s way. And she’d do it without thinking about him.

The handbook may have been useful in another context, with another person wielding the gun, a different person asking the questions, but Alice couldn’t expect Matthew Keller to be like a normal kidnapper or a normal criminal because he was neither. Keller was a killer. He would not hesitate to end her life if it was his best move. He would not be bothered by the fact that she was so young, completely unfazed by a bit of humanizing eye contact or by her identifying with him in some way. 

Alice was good at relating to people, but Keller wouldn’t be swayed by her relating to a piece of him. That might even be the type of thing that would make him more likely to end her life, sensing the weakness of connection in himself and severing it before it could do any damage to his chances of success. 

Alice’s head lolled to the side. Keller’s hand reaffirmed its grip on her chin, righting her. His eyes searched for her gaze as she allowed it to drift. She hoped he hadn’t noticed the communication that had passed between her and Neal, that her fatigue and lack of focus were enough to mask it. 

Alice flinched when Keller lifted the gun in his hand and he smiled, chuckling a little. 

“Oh, so you are with me?”

Alice nodded, or she tried to, any movement she could muster limited by his hold and the pain in her head.

“Alright, which is it, then?” he asked and Alice searched her mind for the question that seemed too far away now, like it had been asked days prior rather than a minute ago.

“I don’t care,” she mumbled.

Keller laughed at that, turning towards Neal with a smirk on his face before turning back to Alice. “Is that right? You don’t care what happens to him?”

Alice shook her head. “Why should I?” 

Keller dropped his hold, stepping away from her, the gun in his hand used to gesture as he spoke. “Neal, this girl does not like you,” he said, laughter dancing around his words.

“She’s a kid, Keller.” Neal shrugged. “Just jealous because—”

Alice’s eyes focused across the room, hardening a bit as they found Neal’s face. “I’m not jealous.”

Keller’s eyes moved back and forth between them. He hummed. “Well now, one of those wasn’t the truth...” he said, “and I’m starting to think it was the first one.”

Neal snorted, pulling Keller’s eyes from Alice. “It’s not, if the kid’s made one thing entirely clear it’s—”

“Shut up, Caffrey. Let her speak for herself,” Keller answered. He lowered himself to catch Alice’s eyes again. “Actually, you can prove it. Actions speak louder than words and all that...You know how to shoot a gun, right, Miss Burke?” He continued on without giving Alice time to answer, waving the gun around in his hand as he spoke. “Yeah, I figure an FBI kid like you...your uncle probably has you at the range, what, probably three, four times a year at least? Maybe more if you took a liking to it.”

Alice kept her mouth shut. Keller didn’t need to know that she had only been to the firing range the one time, proving she could at least manage a weapon if needed. He didn’t need to know that she hadn’t liked it. He didn’t need to know that her uncle hadn’t pushed the subject after that. He probably wouldn’t have believed her anyway.

“Good,” he said, taking her silence as confirmation. “We can clear this up easy, then. You're gonna shoot our friend Caffrey over there. Shouldn’t matter since you don’t care about him. Do that and I’ll let you go—completely unharm...” Keller gestured to the growing knot on her head as he revised his offer. “Well, not harmed any further, at least—when this is all said and done.”

Alice almost faltered. Everything inside of her screamed like an alarm at Keller’s words. Actually doing what he was asking of her was taking the ruse too far, but Alice steeled her face and her voice anyway. She willed what came from her mouth to come off as collected and unbothered. She tried to recall when there had been a time that she would have willingly sacrificed Neal to save herself. In those early days, she would’ve done just about anything to get him thrown back behind bars and away from her family, but it was so far from their current existence that she struggled to reach for it. Neal was family now, just as important to her as Peter or Elizabeth were. 

And this was different. This wasn’t putting a man in prison. This was harm beyond anything Alice could imagine bestowing on another person, but if she played it right, it was also an opportunity. It was a risk, but this was a chance at gaining control. If she could get the gun...

“Fine.” Alice opened her hand and twisted her palm toward the gun, the motion limited by the rope securing her wrist to the chair. “Give me the gun.” 

Alice focused her attention on Keller. She focused on his voice and his movements. She focused on steadying herself while he watched her, but she couldn’t do it all at the same time. Alice felt like pieces of her were just floating away every time she centered her mind on a single thing and she didn’t have enough hands to pull it all back and keep herself together. She couldn’t do it. 

“Yeah,” Keller snorted and smirked at her. “Nice try there, sweetheart.” 

He considered Alice for a moment as she sat there bound to the chair. He could see everything she was trying to hide from him—the dilated pupils, the taut muscles she couldn’t quite relax, her flushed skin, but he didn’t comment. 

He was enjoying himself. 

“I’ll help you aim the gun, kid,” he offered. “All you have to do is pull the trigger.” 

She opened her mouth to speak, the words and confidence she had just before not coming so easily now that the task had conditions, variables she couldn’t control.  

“Do we have a deal, Miss Burke?” Keller prompted. It was only a second or so that Alice hesitated, her gaze trained on Keller as she fought against the lump in her throat, but it had been long enough that Neal cleared his throat, saving her.

“You really do wound me, Ace,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I once considered you family. Guess that was my mistake, trusting a kid.” 

Alice closed her eyes and swallowed, taking in another bit of Neal’s permission. Neal had said what he said, but through the sarcasm, through the acting, he’d meant something else entirely: 

You shoot me—wound me. It’s alright, Ace. We’re family. Do what you have to do. Get yourself out of this. I trust you.

"Alright, Caffrey. Shut up. I'm thinking we blow out your knee cap," Keller said. "You ready, Miss Burke?"

Alice nodded, though the movement was somehow separate from her because every part of Alice was screaming no. Every part of her knew she wouldn't be able to do it. She wouldn’t be able to hurt Neal. She wouldn’t be able to keep her promise and save herself, but it was already in motion and Alice felt like she was going to pass out, overwhelmed by the sensations running through her. 

Keller moved behind her chair, holding the gun out and lowering himself until he was at her level. Alice trembled as she opened her fingers again, stretching her hand wide enough to accept the gun. She whimpered when the metal pressed against her clammy skin, a wave of panic passing over her before she could control it. Alice swallowed down a sob and tried to grab for the gun, but Keller shifted away before she could fit her hand around the grip. 

“That’s what I thought.” Keller let out a chuckle, his breath hot on Alice’s ear as he placed the barrel of the gun to her temple. “You two think I’m stupid?” 

Alice leaned away from the gun and whimpered when Keller righted her by setting a firm hand on the back of her neck.

“Keller,” Neal cautioned, though his interjection almost seemed to go unnoticed.

Keller continued to press the gun to Alice's skin as he started up talking again.“She comes to your apartment twice a week to play chess," Keller said, rising to his full height and stepping away from Alice. "She gets coffee with Mozzie on Tuesday afternoons. And you expect me to believe this—” Keller pointed the gun back and forth between Alice and Neal. “—little show?”

“Now, here’s the thing,” Keller said. “I need you, Neal. I don’t like it, but I do. But her?” he said, pointing the gun back at Alice. “I don’t need the damn kid. And I think you know I have no problem with—”

If it was just Neal and Keller there alone when the sirens first sounded, growing louder with each passing millisecond—the impending promise of safety for Neal and Alice and a promise of something less desirable for Keller—if that was the case, Neal would have made some cocky comment, but they weren’t alone and Keller still had the gun pointed at Alice, so Neal stayed quiet. 

They all did—quiet and still, almost as if they were all just waiting to see how it played out. Alice and Neal were waiting on Keller to make his move, both of them hoping he’d just give up and run. It was the safest move, but Keller was waiting for some sign that it wasn’t just a fluke, that the sirens weren’t coming for them.

After less than a few seconds of delay, while the sirens grew louder and closer, it was clear they were the intended target. Keller was the intended target. And he had no choice but to do what was best for him—run. There were no words, no flashy shows or threats as Keller slipped through the back door leaving Neal and Alice alone while the full force of the NYPD and the FBI closed in around them. 

Alice’s body was racked almost immediately with a fit of sobbing that could barely be heard over the sounds of the sirens and the movements of the SWAT team as they made their way through the building. Neal watched her fall apart from a few feet away, all of the pent-up emotions washing over her and all he could do was sit by. 

Alice was only half-conscious of them suddenly being surrounded by men with guns. She didn't move, even after being released from her bindings, but then Neal was in front of her—standing there safe and whole, less bruised and battered than she was even. Alice stood up on numb feet, scrambling for him as Neal reached out to pull her to his chest. 

“It’s alright, Ace,” he said, holding her tightly as things settled around them. He spotted Peter and Diana and Jones over Alice’s head after a minute or so. “I got you. And look, Peter's here.” Neal tried to shift his hold on Alice, preparing to hand her over to her uncle's arms as he came closer to them, but Alice wasn’t budging. She clung to Neal, holding him like he'd slip away if she let him go. 

Peter paused for a moment when he reached their side and Neal gave him an apologetic frown. Neal knew Peter would want to check Alice over for himself and make sure she was alright, but he gave a report anyway as he tried once again to hand Alice over. "She's alright, Peter. A concussion and maybe a broken rib or two, but she's—" 

Peter crushed both Neal and Alice in his hold, holding them there for a moment before pulling out of the hug to observe the angry bump on Alice's head. “You need to go to the hospital, Al,” he said. “We’ll get checked out and get you back home, alright?”  

Alice swallowed and nodded. She had stopped crying, but she was still holding onto Neal, her hand clasped in his. Peter kissed her forehead before waving over one of the paramedics. The young man started assessing Alice immediately and she reluctantly dropped Neal’s hand as he guided her to sit. 

Satisfied Alice was settled, Peter turned back to Neal. "What about you?"

"Me?" Neal asked. "Peter, I'm fine. I—" 

"You're going with her to the hospital," Peter decided. "Elizabeth will meet you both there and—" 

"But, Keller—" Neal started. Now that the threat was gone, now that Alice was safe, part of his mind was racing with possibilities and follow-ups. It would be best if both he and Peter stayed to deal with the next steps, but Neal didn't want to leave Alice alone for the ride to the hospital either. 

Neal saw something in her break. She was quiet now, seemingly subdued while the paramedic checked her over a few feet away, but she’d need comfort if all that she was pushing aside came back...when it came back. Neal knew it was only a matter of when. And when it happened, Alice would need her family. She would need Peter and Elizabeth. She wouldn’t need to see him and be reminded of the ordeal she’d been through. 

"No,” Peter’s casual musing interrupted Neal's thoughts. “No. You know as well as I do Keller's long gone. I need to stay and wrap this up, but you two go in the ambulance and I’ll be along as soon as I can be. And don’t bother arguing, Neal. You'll need medical clearance either way." 

Neal shook his head. "I'll get medical clearance, but Peter, listen." Neal lowered his voice as he caught Alice's gaze trained on them, watching them over the head of the paramedic. "I really think she needs her family right now. She's been through a lot and...I should...I can stay here so you and Elizabeth can—"

"Neal?" Peter interrupted, a laugh nearly coming to his lips despite the seriousness of all that had just happened. "You are family." He clapped a hand down on Neal's shoulder. "And right now, she doesn't need me or Elizabeth. She needs you."

White Collar (Alice Burke) Masterlist

Angst Celebration Masterlist

[erolayer]

Komi Wants to Share

After dealing with a bout of sickness, Shouko and Hitohito want to make up for the time they couldn’t be intimate together. But is that all there is to this?

Komi Shouko lies in bed after spending a couple of days in her apartment with a cold.

The door to her room opens and Tadano Hitohito comes in carrying a serving tray with warm tea pot on it.

He sets it down on a coffee table next to Shouko’s bed and tends to her by touching her forehead.

She blushes, looking at him as he checks her fever.

“It feels like you are past the worst now. Here, take this.” 

He serves and hands her a cup of tea and her medicine.

Shouko holds the warm cup in her hands and blows on it to cool it down before drinking.

“Thanks for taking care of me…” She says as she finishes up.

Hitohito blushes while scratching his cheek.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m the one that got you sick in the first place, hehe.”

They both blush as they look at each other and laugh quietly.

A few days prior Hitohito was the one being nursed back to health and in his delirious state he requested a kiss from Shouko before passing out.

She wouldn’t even try to decline.

Now, they both understood that was probably not the best idea, but it’s fine now.

Shouko pulls her bedsheets to hide her face.

“Then…” she twirls her toes under the sheets “Can I have a kiss as well?”

Hitohito smiles warmly as he leans towards her and gives her a kiss.

“Anytime.”

Without hesitation Shouko leans forward to continue kissing him.

Small pecks become lip bites.

He holds her from falling from her bedside and pushes her down without letting go of her kisses.

Her arms tighten around his neck as she pulls him towards her.

They kiss for minutes before drifting slightly appart.

“It’s been a while…” he says gasping for breath.

Shouko nods her head vigorously, some drool running down her chin.

He kisses her neck, biting and clawing at her skin.

She pushes him weakly away from her as she says in her small voice “Don’t! The sweat…”

But he licks her earlobe.

His left hand reaches for her pussy under her pijamas. 

“You are so wet…” he says in her ear as he slides his middle finger through her pussy lips.

She gasps, her legs tremble.

Hitohito’s hands move to her chest, pulling her shirt open revealing her beautiful tits.

Breathing heavily he gets up from kissing her to take a look.

Shouko lies on her bed with her hands to her sides, her breasts exposed to him and her eyes fixated on his.

He goes back down on her to suck and kiss her nipples, buried into her breasts as he fondles her.

His hands again move down on her body, this time pulling her pants and underwear out of the way, leaving her dressed only in her socks.

“Make love to me…” she whispers between breaths.

Hitohito’s eyes haze over and he takes off his clothes, taking off the bedsheets in the process, revealing Shouko’s burning body calling for him.

With both his hands he holds her from her hips to pull her towards him, making her squeal as he does.

She looks at him while he prods her pussy with his dick.

The face he makes as he finally pushes into her makes her feel incredible.

Hitohito’s dick slides deep into her.

“You are burning inside Shouko.” He tells her as he starts moving.

Shouko tries to hold her voice in but it’s inevitable that her moans start leaking.

The fullness she feels with each thrust numbs her senses.

“You are so big…” Shouko whisper into his ear.

She grabs onto his back while shaking her hips enticing him to go deeper.

They kiss, their tongues dancing desperately with each other.

The intense desire from the week of abstinence they had to endure shows.

“I’m coming!” He exclaims as he pulls upwards lifting her onto his lap.

He holds her hips as he rhythmically pulls and thrusts into her.

She dangles backwards, her breasts violently bouncing up and down.

Her legs close onto his back.

“Fill… FILL ME…UP.” She manages to shout between thrusts.

“Shouko!” he exclaims as he presses his fingers onto her skin, coming deep inside her pussy.

“Oh god!” A woman’s voice exclaims with pleasure.

Absent minded, Hitohito returns to his senses, gasping for air.

He pulls out of Shouko’s pussy, some semen dripping out as he does.

Shouko lies on her back, with her hands on her belly.

Breathing deeply but slow she stares at the ceiling, recovering.

Hitohito collapses next to her, holding a closed fist above his forehead.

“Agh, I couldn’t control myself.” he hits his forehead repeatedly.

They lie together for a few moments.

Shouko turns on her side and reaches above Hitohito and out of her bed to get her phone from her nightstand.

She stays on her side as she cuddles up to him.

Holding her phone above them she holds two fingers in a victory sign .

“Huh? What are you doing Shouko?”

On her phone screen a scarlet faced Manbagi Rumiko stares slyly. She’s slightly out of breath.

“Good job Tadano-kun.” She holds a thumbs up to the camera.

“RUMIKO?” He freaks out and tries to cover his naked chest.

[purple-heart-x]

Did you know Villain is on the same base as you? You'd better hope he doesn't want revenge

Although none of my asks are canon unless I say so, please in particular do not take this one as any implication of canon. In the story, Supervillain is completely unaware that Villain is anywhere near, and won't for a while. Villain also does not know Supervillain is anywhere near (for now). That being said... Why not make the mans go brrr a bit?

---

Supervillain's head snaps up at the mention of Villain, but his face drains of colour when he realizes he's there. In the same base. With him. He doesn't even hear the second part of your statement; he doesn't need to. His mind is screaming it at him already.

He holds onto the cool metal of the bed rail next to him, staring at the door like he expected Villain to come through to exact vengeance at any moment. Eventually, his death grip loosens just slightly, as his breath comes back. He's sweating, but he can't help but realize he deserves it. The shaking doesn't stop, exactly, but he can move enough to wrap his arms around himself.

In these days of recovering, not being strong enough to do much more than sleep and think, he'd been quick to realize he desperately wanted to apologize to Villain, as much as it was futile to seek forgiveness. But now, knowing he had the chance. He was terrified. He was almost certain Villain would never forgive him, but he was also convinced Villain would hurt him. Even after all that he had been given, even forgiven for, that he definitely didn't deserve, there was no way. And while he knew that he deserved it, definitely deserved it... Even the thought of more pain paralyzed him.

---

Bonus: If he was in recovery from the fever that is upcoming in main story, and dipped back into a high fever zone. He would 100% regain consciousness while half-delirious from the fever and crawl out of bed, dragging himself on countertops to try and find Villain. To apologize. He wouldn't dare beg forgiveness, but he needs to.

If Medic found him in time, he'd have to physically guide Supervillain back to the medbay. While it wouldn't take much effort to counter Supervillain in this state, Supervillain would resist with as much strength as he had left, desperate to find Villain.

If Medic didn't find him in time, Supervillain would get lost in the building, probably losing his train of thought in the haze of delirium and would crawl into a small, hidden space and lose consciousness once more.

[breedaboyd]

Highs and Lows ~ Peter Kristo

Prompt: [CW: dub-con/non-con.] Somnophilia. Peter is sick or injured, and Jason is taking care of them: mopping their brow, feeding them, giving them medicine, etc. With the blurring of physical boundaries, Jason starts feeling like they can touch Peter however they want, even while Peter is passed out. It's up to you whether Peter consents to this, or doesn't know it's happening. (☓)

Pairing: Peter Kristo ☓ Jason Bennett.

Word Count: 3k+

CW: Daddy kink, dub-con, oral sex, sickfic, somnophilia.

The night air hangs heavy with the scent of desperation as Peter staggers down the street. His steps are unsteady, each one a battle against the pull of exhaustion and pain.

Finally, he reaches Jason's doorstep, his knuckles rapping weakly against the dark wood. The door swings open, revealing Jason, concerned and shadowed by the soft glow of lamplight.

"Peter? You look like Hell. You haven't relapsed, have you?" Jason asks, guiding the younger man inside. Peter shakes his head. The air is cooler in here, a blessed respite from the suffocating heat of the city night. "Come on, let's get you laid down." Peter's body sags like a marionette with cut strings, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. With Jason's support, they navigate through the cramped apartment, the familiar surroundings a blurry haze.

They reach the sofa, its worn cushions a makeshift sanctuary. Jason eases Peter down onto the cushions, the blonde's breaths ragged and laboured. He fetches a damp cloth from the kitchen, returning to mop away the moisture, offering a small measure of comfort. "Easy there, champ." Jason murmurs, his voice a soothing. "You're gonna make it through this. Just hang in there." Peter's eyes flutter open, bleary and unfocused. He manages a weak smile, gratitude flickering in his gaze.

"Thanks, Jay..." He rasps, his voice a mere whisper. "I...I don't know if I can..."

"You can, bud." Jason insists, his voice firm with conviction. "You're stronger than you think, Pete. We're in this together."

As the night wears on, the cycle repeats. Peter drifts in and out of consciousness, his body a battlefield of withdrawal. Each time he stirs awake, Jason's there, a steady presence at his side. There's always a tall glass of water on the coffee table, a lifeline to quench the unyielding thirst that courses through Peter's veins. He only wakes up every so often but Jason knows these symptoms, knows that Peter's done this before and he can do it again. The important thing is to stay by his side, not to give in, not to leave him to suffer alone.

He's so pretty, even now; sweaty and bedraggled and half-delirious. Jason reaches out, a calloused hand running softly along Peter's jawline. The movement causes the blonde to shiver, a soft moan bubbling from shaking lips.

"It's okay, baby, I'm here." Jason says softly as he traces soothing circles along Peter's neck. "Not gonna leave you." He hears Peter sigh, sees his chest rise and fall, as though breathing is a struggle. Over and over but never ending. It might look severe to some but this is all normal. He's seen this before. In fact, he's seen it more times than he'd like. "Just relax, baby. Daddy's got you. You're gonna get better, just like last time." Jason whispers, running his fingers through Peter's damp, sweat-matted hair. The blonde's breath stutters and he whimpers as he twitches in his half-sleep, eyelashes fluttering against flushed cheeks.

"Ja...son..."

"Shh, baby. I'm right here." Jason breathes, letting his eyes wander across Peter's body as the shivers start to ease. Peter exhales, and this one sounds less strained, less raspy and hoarse. He looks drained, the bags under his eyes dark and pronounced. As if sleep has eluded him for days. Knowing Peter, it probably has. "God, baby. Look at you, you're so worn out. Just relax, I'll take care of you." Jason's voice is low and velvety smooth. Hypnotic, relaxing Peter's hyper-tense nerves, draining the stress from him with every passing word. At long last, his pulse begins to settle, no longer drumming against the skin at his neck. It's still a touch higher than Jason's own but he doesn't mind.

Jason remembers that time in the ER. Whether it was a bad batch or just too much, Jason didn't know. All he knew was that Peter was laid out on a hospital bed, practically comatose, with a nurse hooking up an IV bag and desperately trying to find a vein that worked. Jason tried not to think about the risks, the complications, the statistics. Goddamnit, Peter was all he could think. But then again, he couldn't really talk.

He all lost count of how many times the nurses had come to their room, huffing and puffing while Peter turned paler and paler. They'd see his lips go blue and have to breathe air into his lungs. Receiving end of a needle. Getting his stomach pumped. Spending hours praying and hoping and not eating or drinking because Jason fucking couldn't hold anything down, it was so touch-and-go. God-fucking-damnit, Peter. Jason had prayed and cried and screamed and swore enough for the two of them. And it just got harder and harder, knowing that Peter was hurting and helpless and—

"Jay...?" Peter's voice, small and uncertain, drags him back to reality. Their gazes lock, eyes meeting as a single tear rolls down the older man's cheek.

"Yeah, Pete? You need something?" Jason asks.

"No, I just... I'm... Thanks." Jason can't respond. The words are caught in his throat as he fights the sob that threatens to rip loose. Because his boy is safe. And he'll fight tooth and nail to make sure that stays true.

"It's okay, champ. I'm so proud of you." He leans down and presses a kiss to Peter's forehead, letting the moment linger. Peter dozes off again as Jason strokes his hair. Once in a while, a stray fragment of fever dream will jolt him but he never stirs. He looks almost peaceful, such a pretty boy. Pale cheeks bloom a light pink, accentuating high cheekbones. Lashes fan out across the thin stretch of skin, fluttering as he sleeps. Lips, soft and pink and slightly parted. Without thinking, Jason leans down to press a chaste kiss, his tongue tracing the younger man's lip and curling around it before releasing. There's a soft moan, a sound that makes Jason's heart swell with affection. "Taste so sweet, baby... Just relax. Let Daddy take care of you. You're okay, I promise." Another groan, low in Peter's throat. A whisper of Jason's name. Just once. And then, silence. "I've got you, baby. Daddy's got you."

Jason decides to make Peter a little more comfortable, starting with untying and slipping off his old, worn sneakers. They're streaked with dirt and blood and God-knows-what-else but he sets them beside the couch. His socks are worn and thin, in desperate need of being replaced.

Next Jason moves his efforts up. He shucks off Peter's denim jacket as best he can without waking him, pulling it off his arms and sliding it out from under him. He lays the jacket over the blonde's shoes in a neat pile. Jason then moves to the hem of Peter's sweater and the vest underneath it. He stops for a moment, glances up and gently thumbs at the younger man's bottom lip.

"Just getting you a little comfier, okay, Pete?" Jason coos and Peter lets out a sigh at the gentle touch, his skin flushed and hot. God, he's so sweet, so soft, so perfect, even like this. He fumbles with the hem of the sweater and the vest for a moment. He doesn't want to wake Peter up — the sleep's doing him a world of good — so Jason just hitches them up, the fabric bunching under the blonde's chin and armpits. His skin is so soft, smooth and pale, a light sheen of sweat glistening in the dim light of the apartment. Peter's body is so slight and slender. He's Jason's pretty boy and Daddy needs to help him out, make him comfortable.

Jason leans down to press kisses along his chest. Peter's skin is blazing hot but that won't stop him from lavishing every inch of it with tender affection. He runs his tongue eagerly around the blonde's nipples, moving from left to right and back again, his breath hot against the skin. Peter moans softly, shifting a little, half-asleep.

"... Jason...?" He mumbles, his hand reaching up and threading weakly through the older man's hair. Jason sucks gently on a pert, little bud, eliciting a shiver and whimper from the younger man, running his rough hands over Peter's slim chest. The movements are slow and soothing, another tactile reassurance that Peter's here. He's safe. He's clean. He's getting better. And that's what counts.

"Shh... Daddy's gonna make it all better, baby." When Jason pulls back, Peter's cute, little nipples are hard and just a shade darker than his lips. Fucking gorgeous.

"Daddy... H-Hahhn... F-Feels good..." Peter whines, soft and sweet. It's music to Jason's ears.

"Patience, baby. I'll take care of you. I got you, don't worry, baby." He says softly and Peter's eyes roll back again as he slips under, too delirious to muster a response. "Such a good boy, Pete. My perfect boy. I'll take care of you." He's slow and thorough, meticulous and steadfast in showing his devotion. He lays kisses all the way down to Peter's midsection and abdomen, teasing lower until his lips graze against the hem of the blonde's jeans. His breath is heavy and hot, dampening the fabric and making the blonde shiver.

But this isn't about Jason; it's about his boy. His Peter. His beautiful, beloved Peter who's sickly and sweating oh-so deserving of some comfort. Jason sighs against Peter's zipper and looks up again. His pretty, adorable, sweet baby boy. If it was anyone else, Jason would've brought them in, tucked them up and then gone to bed but for Peter? God, he can make an exception.

Jason returns his attention back to Peter's body. The bulge that's formed in his jeans is twitching against his zipper, aching to be let loose. Jason thumbs and tugs at Peter's waistband for a while before his fingers drift to the button and, after popping it open, the zipper. Peter shifts in his sleep, brow furrowed and mouth hanging slightly open. "Daddy... Please..." He sighs.

"Shh. We're getting there, Pete." Jason hums as he tugs the younger man's jeans open, pulling the worn denim down those gorgeous, supple thighs. They're too tight to let Jason slip them off easily but that's okay. Peter's already thickening in his boxers, straining at the fabric. Jason chuckles softly. His arousal continues to grow as the kisses come faster and hotter, dappling the blonde's hip bones. Before long, the pair's panting in harmony, one barely awake while the other lingers on the cusp. "Baby... You're gettin' so hard. You feeling a little better?"

"Mhm... Still kinda...out of it..." Peter groans, the damp patch at the front of his boxers growing bigger and bigger. He's still caught between wakefulness and sleep, every touch, every sensation, amplified and echoing across his body. Every stroke of Jason's hands across his thighs, across his abdomen, across his chest. And now...

"Need you, baby." Jason says, tired himself from staying up all night, stroking a hand up and down the expanse of the blonde's legs. "Need you to give yourself to Daddy. Let Daddy make it all better." Without thinking, he cups a hand and starts to palm the other man. Peter keens, rocking into Jason's grip, bucking against him as his mind is cast adrift.

"Fuck, Daddy... Ah! Hah... Hnn... Oh..." He fucks and thrashes against Jason's palm and God, he looks even better now. Sweaty and flushed, all out of breath, eyes squeezed shut, hot and leaking all over himself. It's a treat to see him like this. Precum stains the fabric of Peter's boxers, a stain that grows darker and darker with every roll of his hips.

"That's it, baby. Fuck, just like that..." Jason groans. Peter's so worked up, so desperate and writhing, that he's going to cum before Jason can do anything else to him.

"Please, Daddy..." The blonde sobs, not sure when tears started to run down his face. "Feels... Ohhh, God... Feels... S-So good..." Jason dips his finger inside the waistband of the younger man's boxers, shoving them out of the way and watching how Peter's cock slips from his boxers, the head pulsing, red and oozing pre, thick and hot. Jason draws his tongue up the shaft, leaving it glistening. "D-Daddy... Daddy's mouth... Haaahn..." Peter's still in that special place where he can't tell if this is real or not, all sensations melding together in an almost overwhelming haze.

"Need you, baby." Jason whispers, low and filthy as he thumbs under Peter's throbbing head, each breath hot and heavy. "Need to take care of my boy." He takes a few seconds to tease and cup him, fondling his warm, heavy balls. "God, baby... You're so big...and you're leaking so much..." The blonde doesn't respond, too lost in pleasure.

When Peter finally feels Jason's lips wrap around the head of his cock, he lets out a sharp whimper, his hands grabbing at the couch cushions.

"Fuuuck... Daddy... Oh God, oh God, oh fuck..." He groans as Jason sinks down on him, his tongue swirling around Peter's length while his hand cups those full, heavy balls, rolling them, massaging them. He's already so close, his body wound so tight that Jason just has to suck and squeeze and play to tip him over the edge. If the blonde had the wherewithal, he'd be ashamed he'd come so quickly.

"Come on, baby..." Jason growls around his mouthful of Peter's throbbing dick. "You're doing so good. Just let go for Daddy..." That seems to do it.

"Da-Daddy... Oh, fuck... Daddy, please...!" Peter whines as his hips snap forward, burying his cock as deep in Jason's mouth as possible. "I-I'm gonna... I'm cu... Daddy, I'm c...c-c-cumming...! Ohhh... Y-Yeahh..." A heartbeat later, he tenses as the first pulse of his orgasm hits, ropes of hot cum flooding Jason's mouth. The older man just sucks harder, takes his boy deeper, milking every last drop. There's a little whimper as the climax shudders and breaks, the last little pulses shooting in the back of Jason's throat. The older man swallows every drop, not letting it spill over, his eyes locked on Peter's the whole time, lidded, vacant, grateful.

"That's it, baby. Such a good boy for me." Jason says softly, easing his lips free of the younger man's oversensitive cock with a soft pop. Peter gives a small nod, smiling weakly in his afterglow, his face relaxed and happy. Almost blissful.

Jason works his way up, laying tender kisses on the blonde's stomach and chest, loving the feeling of hot skin. He lays a final kiss to Peter's lips, a slow, almost lazy, passionate moment, before they part and Jason lays his forehead on the younger man's own. Peter stays quiet, just dazed enough that every shift in the flat sounds a little fuzzy, distant. All he knows is that Daddy is taking care of him. Daddy takes such good care of him. Just like always.

The morning after, Peter wakes up to the smell of pancakes and the sound of Jason humming to himself. He rubs his eyes a little and yawns, slumping against the back of the couch. Shit, he's still wearing yesterday's clothes. He feels so much better, much to his relief. He rolls his head a little, trying to straighten up. Something's already simmering in his gut and if he can just keep that down, things'll be fine. He rakes a hand through his hair and tries to focus, tries to adjust to the world outside his little bubble on the couch.

"Hey there, champ." He hears Jason call from the kitchen. "Just hold on a sec. Food's almost ready." He smiles a little. God, Jason's such a dad sometimes. The food smells so good and Peter's stomach growls just a little. "And take it easy, okay? I brought you some aspirin." Another smile from the younger man as he spies the pills next to the tall glass of water. "Figured you'd wake up a bit sore." And then he's wandering back into the kitchen. "Maple syrup or blueberry jelly?"

"Uhh... Jelly, please." Peter replies, taking a gulp of water with the aspirin. He leans his head against the cushions and stares at the ceiling as he feels the couch creak a little when Jason plops down beside him.

"Here you go, bud." The older man says, holding out a plate of fluffy, buttermilk pancakes smothered in blueberry jelly. It smells heavenly, sweet and buttery. Peter dips a fork in, carefully eating piece by piece, savouring the food and the warmth and everything. And God, he's so hungry.

"Hey... Umm... Thanks for staying up with me last night. Sorry I just kinda landed on your doorstep." Peter says after a few moments, leaning his head on Jason's shoulder.

"Not a problem, Pete." The older man chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of the blonde's head. "You have to start taking better care of yourself, move out of that shithole basement."

"Got no money." Peter huffs, shovelling another mouthful of pancake into his mouth.

"You can't keep living like that, Pete. Come on, you have that degree—" Jason says, stretching an arm around Peter's shoulders.

"Fine art and, no, there's not a lot I can do with that." The blonde grumbles, tossing the clean plate onto the coffee table before flopping against Jason.

"Art auctioneer." The older man says bluntly, squeezing the other man's shoulder. "It's all about spotting talent. You'd do well, I'm sure." Peter giggles, the vibrations of his mirth rumbling against Jason's chest.

"Shut up."

"Sure, sure. Come upstairs. I've got a fresh set of sheets and I don't have work 'til Tuesday." Jason murmurs, kissing along Peter's throat, smirking against his skin.

"Sounds perfect."

"Good." Jason says as he helps the blonde up off the sofa, sweeping him into a bridal carry.

"I'm...still a little shaky." Peter huffs, curling against the older man.

"No worries, champ. I got you." Jason winks, whisking the younger man towards the stairs.