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thetomorrowshow · 2 years

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poisoned rats in a pot of grain - ch. 6

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i spent like days struggling with one scene near the end of this fic only to finish writing it and realizing that it doesn't flow right for the main fic. rip me but hey at least now i've kicked that writer's block! it's a very sizable chunk to cut but it's still a good scene so it'll be repurposed into a post-story one shot :)

cw: past minor character death, violence, blood, dehumanization (the usual)

“You’ve fought the Canary?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“It’s Solidarity. And I think he’s being mind-controlled.”

“Right. Sure. Major, would you be able to come with me to meet someone?”

The streets are dark.

It’s nighttime when Mythics, villain of Empires City, wakes. He’s lying on the ground in a tucked-away alley, staring into nothing, when he suddenly sits up and looks around.

He’d stumbled there earlier that day, clutching his head and groaning in pain, had collapsed on the ground and laid there for hours.

Now he heaves himself to his feet, glances around again, and limps out into the city, one hand clamped over his mouth and the other shading his eyes.

He follows a path that is clearly well-known to him, doubling back at points to ensure that there is no chance of any tails. The walk is two hours, two hours that might have been expedited by the use of his powers, but he never uses them. He walks and walks, pace growing slower and slower, on his own two feet until he reaches some dingy townhouses on the outskirts of the west side rundown part of town. Once there, he loses all sense of stealth (which, admittedly, had not been much) and directly approaches one of the doors. He knocks seven times.

There’s a few moments of waiting, waiting that Mythics does not do patiently. He taps his feet, looks around at the neighborhood, runs his hand up a seam of his costume nervously. Right as he reaches to knock again, the lock clicks and the door swings open.

“Hey, Sausage!” well-known antihero fWhip exclaims, spreading his arms wide. Despite the late hour, he’s still fully dressed, leather coat rustling and creaking with his movements. “Long time, no see! How’re you doing?”

Mythics shifts, looks around again. “Can I come in?” he whispers, leaning in close. fWhip frowns, looks past his shoulder.

“Is everything . . . good?” he asks cautiously, adjusting the goggles that serve as his mask. Mythics hesitates, before leaning even closer.

“Something’s wrong. Xornoth’s planning something bad. I’m in too deep. I—I need help.”

“You’re—you’re going to what?”

“I’m going to kill him,” Lizzie repeats simply, eyes daring Scott to oppose her. “I’m going to hunt him down and fill his lungs with water and watch as he chokes to death slowly.”

Scott blinks.

He opens his mouth, closes it again.

What?

“I’m—” he starts, but Joel cuts him off.

“Yeah, he’s your nemesis,” he says, “but Liz has got personal history. I think you ought to work together to kill him, but it’s not me doing it.”

Kill—kill Solidarity?

“Ex-explain to me, why, exactly, we’re killing him?” Scott asks, voice faint in his disbelief. Lizzie looks down, then back up, glare steely but eyes far away.

“I can’t remember much,” she says, her voice smaller and more unsure than anything she’s said so far, a stark contrast from her stormy appearance. “I lost my memory. Years ago. But I remember this. When I was young, I lived in a city. Maybe this one, I don’t know. I don’t remember. But. . . .”

She sits down in one of the folding chairs, rests her head in her hands. “I was young. I don’t know. I came home. Solidarity was there. He was—he was standing over their bodies. He saw me, and—and the house went up in flames. He ran. I don’t—I don’t know how I survived. I only remember flashes. But he killed them.

“I don’t remember anything else. I woke up underwater, no idea who I was or how I could breathe. Swam until I found land. Started a life. I didn’t start remembering anything until he started appearing on the news.”

Scott blinks again, looks away when Lizzie’s shoulders start to shake. Joel kneels beside her, rubs her back.

“Sometimes—” she chokes out, “sometimes I wonder if I forgot these things on purpose. With my water powers, I—I could have just taken them away. Saved myself the pain I feel now.”

Scott’s been close to just driving ice through her ankles for the past three minutes, but those words give him pause. “I—how would that work?”

Lizzie shrugs. “Memories are fluid.”

“No—”

“Shut up, Major,” hisses Joel. “Are you with us, or not?”

He’s definitely not with them, thank you very much. How can he be? They want to kill Solidarity, and Scott has found himself inexorably in support of the man. But some of the things Lizzie had said. . . .

Unfortunately, Scott can relate. Solidarity had killed his own father, even if it wasn’t by blood. He knows where her anger, her grief, is coming from. Just thinking of Aeor makes his chest ache, even after all this time.

But judging by the admittedly very brief and confusing conversation he had with Solidarity, no harm he does is on purpose. He can’t control his powers. And right now, no matter what the Mad King says, he is not in control of himself.

These two aren’t going to sway from their task. The revenge Lizzie seeks is what’s pushing them forward, and she won’t believe anything Scott tries to tell her.

And as much as he hates it, he needs them. He’s been searching for Solidarity for months with no results. He can’t keep going on alone.

They’ve set up a plan already. He just needs to follow along with it, then double-cross them later and save Solidarity.

Or maybe he can convince them that Solidarity deserves a chance.

Strange bedfellows, he thinks to himself. Now lie in it.

“I’ll help,” he says aloud. Joel shoots up, shakes his hand, telling him he won’t regret it and the like. Scott waits until he’s led back out of the building and until he’s skating home to call the mayor.

“Xornoth’s getting dangerous,” he says. “They’re my responsibility. I’m going to be doing some strange things, all right? Just know that whatever happens, it’s all part of the plan.”

Gem waves her staff, sends a bolt of purple lightning out, but Jimmy sidesteps it and keeps stalking toward her, his bad leg making his limp prominent.

His master is just watching. They'd pointed at Gem, they'd said "Attack," and they'd left Jimmy to it. He's not sure how far they expect him to go. He finds he doesn't care. He's being good. He's being a very good boy.

Gem's on the ground, scrambling back and away from him, and she looks scared. Good. He needs to be feared.

There's people watching this fight, a small crowd and a news van, but they're silent, holding a collective breath.

Then a couple of younger guys join the crowd, and as Jimmy is closing in on Gem, one of them shouts out in an annoying, high-pitched voice, "Canary! Step on me!"

Jimmy's head whips to find them in the crowd, their obnoxious floral button-up, and it's barely a moment and barely a disaster (it's just their shoes catching fire, it's really not much at all), but Xornoth hisses in his ear.

"Pet, your task," they tell him through the crackle of his comms, and Jimmy turns away from the panicked shouts and stamping and back to Gem, who has regained her feet and is holding her staff out threateningly.

"Stay away," she says shakily, taking a step back for every one of Jimmy's steps forward. Jimmy gathers what adrenaline he can, feels it thrum through his veins, and directs it at her.

It's one of his more powerful hits, and Jimmy takes a couple of steps away as leaves swirl down, faster and faster, the wind picking up around Gem as she cries out and is suddenly surrounded by a mini twister. It manages to pick her up and carry her several meters before she breaks it apart with a purple blast of energy, stumbling out and to her knees.

"What on earth is your power?" she gasps, brushing her hair out of her face. Jimmy doesn’t respond, just keeps pushing toward her.

He’s tired. He’s not sure he has the energy to do much more power-wise. He’s flagging fast, months of the bare minimum amount of food and sleep catching up. He doesn’t stumble, though. He’s better trained than that.

He doesn’t mind physical combat, he supposes. Anything to keep fighting.

Gem’s again scrambling back, eyes flicking back and forth between the staff that had been torn from her hands with the twister and Jimmy.

Jimmy flicks a knife out of an inside pocket, grips it tight in his trembling hand. He’s winning this fight.

Or not, because just as he’s about to leap onto Gem, a blast of ice knocks him aside. Great. Incredible. Just what he needed.

Jimmy struggles to his feet, wincing as his bad leg shifts a bit in its socket. He checks on Gem—she's gotten her staff back—and then looks up.

Major's up there, coming down an ice slide from a high window. He lands with a flourish in the middle of the intersection where Jimmy and Gem fight, waves cheerily to the now-growing crowd.

"Hey, Xornoth. Hello, Canary. Good to see you, Gem," Major says loudly with a nod to each of them. Jimmy steals a glance at Xornoth, sees their thunderous expression, and turns back toward Gem. Xornoth told him to fight Gem. He can do that.

Major's saying something, and Xornoth is spitting something back, but he doesn't hear any of it because he has to focus on Gem. He has to take her down. His master told him to attack and he can’t stop, he can’t disappoint them, he can’t be in trouble. . . .

Something hits him from behind and Jimmy crumples, his forehead smacking against asphalt. There’s a weight on his back, and even as he flails he can’t become free—this isn’t good, something’s on top of him and he needs to get back up—

What are you doing? a voice whispers in his head. Jimmy bucks at the sound, foreign and unasked-for and intruding. It’s terrifying—there’s something in his head and he doesn’t know what and he wants it gone. “Master,” he whispers, hoping his comms pick it up. The feeling of something pushing at his brain, the voice, rears back for a second before pushing again.

Why do you follow them?

Unbidden, unwanted, images flash through Jimmy’s mind. The beeping of a machine as skin is grafted from him by faceless scientists. Feeling the stitches behind his ear. The cage. Xornoth fixing the collar around his neck. The cage. Xornoth holding him as he sobs, soaking wet. Underground as he raises his arms. Xornoth’s steady hand guiding his knife maneuvers. The cage. His leash. He’s a pet. He does what he’s told.

“Oh, no,” someone says out loud, but before Jimmy can move to throw the weight off his back, there’s a hand reaching around to his face—he shakes his head, but it presses over his eyes—

There’s a pop and a burst and the weight—a person, he knows now—goes flying.

Jimmy rolls onto his side and takes a short breath before stumbling up, shaking out his glider. Some part of it is bent; he’ll have to make sure to straighten it out and give it to Xornoth before the next battle.

On the ground about twenty feet away to the right is the Mad King, groaning as he sits up. On the ground about ten feet to the left is Gem, staring fearfully at her own staff, which lies on the road before her.

Jimmy stares between them. He’s been commanded to attack Gem, but the Mad King is clearly a threat. He can’t keep his back unguarded. He can’t disobey his orders.

His comms crackle, and Jimmy glances up to see Xornoth held by a tentacle in the sky, Major creating spike after spike of ice to leap up to them.

“Incapacitate the wizard,” Xornoth tells him. “I need her. Get rid of the Mad King in any way you see fit, but do not focus on him. The wizard Gem is your main focus, pet.”

Jimmy nods, turns toward Gem. The Mad King shouts something, but he ignores it. He limps forward, straightens his glider straps.

Gem looks up at him, eyes wide, opens her mouth—

A stoplight above her bursts, an entire bulb falling out. It falls, quicker and quicker, and Jimmy has a moment of thinking that it’s larger than he expected before it slams into Gem’s head and shatters. She’s limp on the ground in barely a moment, eyes closed, blood streaming down her forehead, glass shards around her.

Right. That’s that taken care of. He turns to the Mad King, only to see the man standing, arms outstretched defensively.

"I won't hurt you if I don't have to," the Mad King says, backing away a little. "You can come with us, Solidarity. Make it easier."

For a moment Jimmy doesn't even register the use of that name, but when it processes he stumbles. Do people know who he is? His eyes flick up to Major, who is hand-to-hand with Xornoth.

"It wasn't Major who told me," the Mad King says, calling Jimmy's attention back to him. “I figured it out on my own. Come with me, and I won’t hurt you.”

Jimmy’s mission isn’t to go with the Mad King. It’s to get him out of the way by any means possible.

He’s tired, maybe too tired to use his powers, but he can’t get in close combat with the Mad King at risk of losing his senses. He shudders, recalling just moments ago when the foreign voice had pulled at his brain. His best bet might be to collect Gem and run. The van is waiting not too far away, surely he can get there if he causes something small to happen?

He throws his arm out wide in the Mad King’s direction, hoping for anything to happen. Thankfully, there must be something left in his steadily draining energy reserves. The scar behind his ear buzzes with heat, sparks traveling down his arm, and the Mad King is bowled over by a runaway trash can.

Jimmy blinks back the fuzzy blackness that encroaches on the edges of his vision, turns back to Gem. He doesn’t think he can lift her. He hasn’t done any sort of weight training since . . . well, he’d only just restarted his workout regime after . . . before. . . .

It doesn’t matter, anyway, because a tentacle picks Gem up and drags her unconscious body away. Jimmy nods, begins to follow, when a small chunk of asphalt whizzes over his shoulder.

He spins around to find the Mad King standing, another rock in hand. “You can’t just leave!”

It’s all Jimmy can do to not roll his eyes before waving his arm again. The exact same trash can, which had happened to rebound off a spontaneous ice spike, rams into the Mad King from the other direction and again sends him to the asphalt. Again, Jimmy blinks away darkness. He needs to get out of here.

The crowd is so very, very loud, the fight itself full of shouts and crashes, and Jimmy’s already so tired. . . .

Before he can begin to limp back to the van, though, a tentacle grabs him around the waist and lifts him into the air. For a moment panic seizes his throat, certain that he’s going to be dragged up to fight Major (he doesn’t have enough energy he can’t do it but he’ll do it if his master commands), but it only carries him to the van and sets him down gently beside it.

He clambers into the back of the van, holds his hands out for the guard there to cuff them together. Gem is in his usual place on the floor, blood drying on the bright red hair splayed out around her. Jimmy looks down at her impassively, squished to the side, while the van starts up, then pulls away jerkily.

Xornoth isn’t back when they arrive at the manor, so the guards lead him directly to his cell, dragging Gem in with him. They leave her there, on the floor, while Jimmy takes a seat on the bed and lets them uncuff him.

They bring him half a loaf of stale bread and leave.

Jimmy stares down at Gem.

There’s another person in his cell. That’s not right. This is his cell. This is where he sleeps and eats and drinks and stares into space to contemplate death and eternity, not where people intrude to lie on his floor.

Is Xornoth getting another pet?

Jimmy feels his chest puff out at the idea, the idea that Xornoth would even consider it. He’s Xornoth’s pet, Xornoth’s perfect bird. They don’t need anyone else.

And Jimmy wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone else.

He knows what’s expected of him when Xornoth isn’t here, so Jimmy stands and strips off his gloves, followed by his musketeer hat and his glider and coat. He pauses, glaces at Gem, still motionless on the floor. He shouldn’t undress in front of her, right?

He flinches as he feels the phantom crack of a cane across his shoulder blades. He knows the punishment for not complying. He quickly pulls off the rest of the costume, leaving the Canary mask for last, for which he covers his face with his coat to hide until he can replace it with his plain black mask. Then he’s left in a mask and his collar and shorts, and it’s right. This is how he’s supposed to be. He gathers up the heavy bundle of clothes off the bed and places them in a heap by the door. Someone will come in while he’s asleep to take them.

He stretches a moment, feels rather than finds a sore patch on his chest that will certainly become a bruise soon. Then he lays back on the bed, eats a slice of bread, and promptly falls asleep.

“Wake up.”

Jimmy rolls off the bed, is on his knees before he even has opened his eyes. When he does, he finds that the person standing over him is neither a guard nor his master. It’s—right. Gem.

She watches him, eerie with the dried blood still coating her hair, waits until he meets her eyes to begin speaking.

“Where am I?” she demands. “What’s going on? If you tell me where we are, Solidarity, I promise I’ll try and get the judge to be lenient with your sentence.”

Oh, great. More people who know who he is. Jimmy doesn’t reply. She isn’t Xornoth and she doesn’t get to have his voice.

He rises from creaking knees, glances longingly back at the bed. He needs some water, though. His throat feels like it might just crack apart.

He limps over to the sink, jiggles the knob until it turns on. Gem follows him, undeterred.

“What are we doing here? Where have you been? Why . . . why aren’t you wearing clothes?”

Jimmy cups his hands, drinks a bit. The handcuffs are back on. Someone must’ve come in while he slept.

He shouldn’t have slept through that. He must be more tired than he thought.

Gem’s got cuffs too, he notices out of the corner of his eye. Maybe she is a pet.

He splashes some water on his face, shuts the sink off. Gem is tapping her foot, glaring at him pointedly. He’s not sure what she expects. He’s just a pet. He’s a pet. He has to be a pet.

He should probably give her the bed. He really doesn’t want to, but he’s used to the floor and she’s a girl, so he can let her have it. He’s just a pet, after all.

He points at her, then gestures to the bed, before moving to the middle of the room and easing himself down to the floor. The sack of bread is still there. He digs a slice out of it, tears a piece off and pops it into his mouth. Gem doesn’t move from by the sink and toilet, eyes narrowed.

“Why am I handcuffed?” she asks. Jimmy doesn’t know. He tears off and eats another piece of his bread slice. He’s tired. He’s always tired. He can’t have slept long if he’s still this exhausted.

“How long was I unconscious?” Gem seems to read his thoughts, and Jimmy would be scared if he didn’t already know her powers. He doesn’t know, anyways. Long enough that he’s handcuffed and the Canary costume is gone. Not long enough for him to feel properly rested.

He finishes eating the slice of bread and takes another before Gem speaks again.

“Why won’t you talk?”

Jimmy hunches his shoulders, stares down at the bread. He doesn’t want to talk to her. His voice is for Xornoth.

But they’re going to hurt her, aren’t they? There’s no other reason for her to be here, in his cell, handcuffed. They’re going to experiment on her and hurt her and chain her to the table leg. That’s—that’s not good.

He has to help her.

Gem sits carefully on the edge of the bed, fingers tapping on her knee. “I don’t understand,” she admits. “Have you been here the whole time? Where’s the Canary?”

Oh, so she doesn’t know that he’s the Canary. Jimmy’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. He glances at the door, then back at her.

“Is Xornoth keeping you prisoner?” she asks quietly, gesturing to Jimmy’s wrists.

Prisoner?

Maybe once upon a time, long ago. Jimmy’s not a prisoner anymore. Not really. He belongs here.

He hates it he hates it he hates it.

“Are you . . . able? To talk?”

It would be so easy to shake his head. Instead he twists his bread between his fingers and nods jerkily. Gem huffs.

“Then why don’t you?”

Because he doesn’t want to. Because he only speaks when Xornoth commands it. Because speaking never gets him anywhere except in more pain. Because he can’t stand the sound of his own voice.

He shrugs.

Gem sighs quietly, looks around the room. Her head hurts, Jimmy can tell. He can tell in the tenseness of her jaw, the way her eyes move slowly and blink frequently, the way her fists clench. He’s had bad headaches before.

“I don’t understand what they want with me,” she mutters, her gaze falling back to Jimmy. “Major’s the one who’s been looking for you.”

What?

Jimmy snuffs that hope out before he can even feel it. He’s here. He lives here. He is here. He’s a pet. He doesn’t have hope, except hope to go outside and hope that Xornoth will be kind. He’s good for the devil and he doesn’t dream of anyone rescuing him from Hell.

Gem goes quiet then, and after a couple of minutes, she cautiously eases her legs onto the bed. Jimmy finishes his crumbling bread, crawls to the corner and curls up the best he can. He doesn’t take his eyes off Gem, who doesn’t take her eyes off him.

She’s not supposed to be here. This is his cell. He’s always been alone here, he’s supposed to be alone here. This is where he’s safe, safe to sit by himself and breathe and maybe think a traitorous thought like how much he hates his master—

He shakes his head, as if that’ll push the thought away. He can’t. He can’t think those things. He’s a pet. Those are dangerous, bad thoughts to be having.

He hates them so much.

He pushes that thought away, too, and the next one. Jimmy falls asleep like that, Gem watching him, trying not to think such horrible things about his master.

He wakes when the door slams open, and Jimmy shoots up onto his knees with his head bowed submissively and his hands down. Gem doesn’t do that, only stirs a bit and groans. A sick feeling washes over Jimmy. They’re going to hurt her so very badly for disobeying.

They don’t, yet. The guards hit the bed, yell at her to get up, and Gem does, slower than Jimmy ever would. A guard smacks the back of his head and he turns his focus back on his hands.

Once Gem is fully up, standing between two guards, Jimmy is dragged up by his collar, his leash clipped onto it. Only then do they release him, keeping a hold of the leash and Jimmy steals a glance in Gem’s direction to find her mouth curled in disgust. He bites his lip. He knows he’s disgusting.

His bad leg is stiff today, leaving him limping as he’s dragged down the hallway, then a left turn to a different hallway that disorients him because they don’t go this way ever, but then his eyes catch on a familiar stone bust and he realizes.

They’re going to the ballroom.

The place with the cage.

Jimmy’s halted in his steps before he even knows it, blood rushing in his ears. The guard leading him yanks on the leash, pulling him back into a stumbling walk. He can’t—he didn’t do anything, he didn’t disobey any orders, he’s been good—he’s not going down without a fight—

He braces himself as they enter the room, as he sees the cage beside the throne, the throne where Xornoth currently lounges. He gets ready to dig his heels in, to pull at his leash, but he’s taken by surprise when a guard behind him shoves him and he windmills forward until he reaches Xornoth, who gestures to their knee.

Jimmy stares blankly, even as the guard holding him loops the leash around the arm of the throne. His eyes linger on the cage, then turn back to Xornoth, who coos sweetly and pats their knee again. Slowly, carefully, Jimmy lowers himself to the ground, rests his head on their knee.

“What kind of kink—” Gem starts to say behind him, but she cuts herself off with a grunt. Jimmy readjusts so that he’s facing her, on her knees before the dais, guards all around her.

He closes his eyes briefly, presses into Xornoth’s leg. He’s not going in the cage. Xornoth isn’t putting him in the cage.

“Good boy,” Xornoth murmurs, scratching at Jimmy’s head for a moment. His master has rested since the battle. That’s good. Xornoth is angrier when they’re tired.

“The Wizard Gemini, am I correct?” Xornoth says, voice silky smooth. Gem says nothing, just glowers at them. They slowly run a hand through Jimmy’s hair, rolling strands between their gloved fingers. Jimmy lets his eyes flutter shut, but he doesn’t relax. Not when the cage is right there.

“You could prove quite useful to me.”

“I don’t want to be useful to you!”

A laugh, a light tug on his hair. “She’s feisty, isn’t she, puppy?”

Jimmy swallows, manages a whispered, “Yes, master.”

Xornoth’s hand vanishes, and Jimmy doesn’t move. “In one way or another, Wizard Gem, you will comply,” Xornoth says, voice booming. “You could join me willingly, enjoy all the comforts of my usual associates.”

Gem snorts. “What, and end up like him?”

Jimmy doesn’t need to open his eyes to know she’s talking about him. Xornoth lays a hand on the back of his neck.

“Oh, my little bird is a special case,” they croon, and Jimmy just knows they’re giving him that terrifyingly possessive look. “He didn’t have the choice I give you. His pitiful dreams of escape have been fun to train out of him. Isn’t that right, pet?”

Jimmy can’t help the full-body shudder that seizes him before he croaks, “Yes, master.” Xornoth hums, turns their attention back to Gem.

“You won’t be my pet, I assure you,” they say, and relief washes over Jimmy, filling his throat with a sickly feeling.

He’s not relieved that she’s escaped this fate. He’s relieved that he’s going to remain his master’s only pet. He’s relieved that there will be no one to take Xornoth’s attention from him.

He wishes he’d done it then, when he could, when he had the leash and was alone in his cell. He can’t help but wonder if they would’ve stopped him in time, if they would’ve noticed.

“So, what will it be?” Xornoth says, and Jimmy tunes back in to the conversation. “Join me willingly, or be forced to?”

“I’ll never join you!”

Jimmy almost scoffs when Xornoth does. Everyone joins them eventually.

“Take her away—and not to my pet’s cell. The cellar, perhaps.” Their hand finds Jimmy’s hair again, toys with it gently. “I don’t want her putting any sort of ideas in my pet’s head.”

Jimmy sighs, quieter than quiet. He hates them. He needs them. They keep him safe. They hurt him. He’s fine. He’s—

Gem screams, and Jimmy’s eyes shoot open. The guards are dragging her away, and she’s lashing out—with a blast of purple from her fingertips one gets blown to the other side of the room—Xornoth watches passively as the other guards leap on her, their tasers crackling. She screams again, louder, filled with pain, and all Jimmy can see of her is her red braids, but the ropy scar plastered down his side burns in sympathy. Those stun batons hurt.

Once she goes limp, they drag her from the room. The guard who had been thrown across to hit the wall is sitting up, groaning, another guard helping him. Xornoth’s fingers curl around Jimmy’s ear.

“Such a perfect bird, aren’t you, darling?” Xornoth says absently, and Jimmy can’t help but rest his head a bit more comfortably on their lap. He’s a good pet, and Xornoth seems to think so too. He’s behaved himself so very well lately, hasn’t had any punishments in a little while. He’s been so good.

He settles in once it becomes apparent that Xornoth has no plans on moving, resting his entire body against the throne and his head still propped up on Xornoth’s knee. It’s quiet, still but for Xornoth’s occasional adjustments as they type something up on their tablet.

Jimmy doesn’t exactly doze, but he shifts into a lower state of functioning, unmoving and barely-there, even as the touch in his hair grows tenser and pulls harder.

"Pet," Xornoth says, rousing Jimmy from not-sleep. "You belong to me."

Jimmy's silent until Xornoth yanks hard on his hair, prompting a squeaked, "Yes, master!"

"Hm." Xornoth is quiet again, for long enough that Jimmy feels secure in letting his eyes close.

"How long since your last punishment, pet?"

He doesn't know. He really doesn't. It's impossible to keep track of days here, in his windowless cell with no clock. But Xornoth is waiting on an answer, and Jimmy can't disappoint.

"A—a week, master?"

The fingers move from his hair to caress his cheek, pressing into his face a bit harder than expected.

"I have a choice for you, puppy. Look at me."

Jimmy turns, his leash jangling. It's cold in here, he realizes as his head leaves Xornoth's leg. He holds back a shiver and faces them, not quite meeting their eyes but very clearly paying attention.

"The first choice is a public example," they tell him. Jimmy instantly wants to vomit. Not that choice.

A smile curls those blackened lips. "The second is the cage."

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twilightarcade · 10 months

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i waana keep this library but I have noidea what to do with it

#wordstag #where would it even go. Girlie doesn't fit anywhere #unless we go ona drive #which raises more problems than it solves (solves library)#also why and when and how and just. What. Why do you have a library.#I forget why she had a library actually #I know it's purpose n stuff about it but where did that guy come from.#I love the vibes though I'd love to have old vibes #if so then u could push the modern aspects for no reason other than u can and make it like uhhhhhhh #Uh #pointless parallel. Perpendicular if you will #what would even be in there lol. Why is she simultaneously open to the public and evil #who goes there #why are you part of a modern school and also like 277281 years old #what's wrong with you #is it even part of the school actually I forget if that was something else #I think something else #I think driving would be good. for the soul #though that means a lot of colros.... thoughts. questions comments concerns hatemail etc..#the idea of putting u in a car is really funny though I don't think were going in the car #then the raises the question of breaking into other buildings #idk. I like it in concept but in every other way it's leaving (as it was originally supposed to)#also probably blowing a lot of her up in gnersl

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cartoonrival · 8 months

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what i like most about making fancomics (this obviously applies to any sort of narrative fanwork but im a comicer myself) is writing characters' personalities and deciding Exactly how they would react to whatever situation im putting them in, exactly what the circumstances would have to be for me to explore whatever part of them im trying to explore. how seamlessly can i connect the characters i love in a scenario of my own design to their canon reality. can i picture this actually happening if the story went in this direction. can i hear them say it. and i know obviously not everyone takes this sort of approach or is valuing the same things in fanwork and thats FINE, but like .. i love these characters because of what they're like in canon which is why i like making things that feel like a logical addendum to canon in terms of how they act. this doesnt obviously encompass my entire opinion of what fanworks should be/what makes something enjoyable to me but anywho

#txt157 #the most obvious exception being ku//wtu #which is primarily a comedy and a riff on a spinoff i dont like of a series i do like #and jstt which is a rewrite of something i do love but see a lot of ways in which it could be better #because once you start making really fundamental changes to the characters' reality #ie; julie is discovering she's transfem and slowly letting go of the legion instead of all at once #obviously shifts in how they respond to things will take place #but it is still recognizably the Same Character otherwise i wouldnt be SAYING it was the same character #i'd write some other thing #because i obviously dont even like js if i was gonna swap up Everything about her #anywho anywho. this post does not have any sort of purpose in mind. i need to make deathnot efanart

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prommethium · 6 months

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Voy a sufrir tanto traduciendo. Estúpido Inglés, si me vieran... les juro que escribo re-bonito en Esp, y no es arrogancia. ¡¡¡JODER QUE HE LEÍDO TANTO Y SE NOTA!!!

Voy a llorar.

Sólo espero que algún día mi estilo en Ing sea aceptable; no leíble, no historia barata de Wxxxxx no la historia pendeja que recomiendan celebridades que "leen," QUIERO QUE SE NOTE QUE HAY QUIENES PODEMOS ESCRIBIR BIEN PARA FANDOMS.

#I was wondering why the fic I'm working with is the longest I've written so far #when I DO NOT RELATE AT ALL PERSONALITY WISE with the protagonist.#The answer #we:#The popular high school girl #had a controlling abusive mother #religious trauma #longed to belong with the nerds #(even lowered my notes on purpose to don't be considered *smart* which was seen as something bad back in the 00)#Secretly lover of media considered cringe #loves 80's metal #eating disorder #dated arrogant assholes for 'duty'#- always secretly in love with long haired dark clothed sweet men #so... yeah #🤡#“it will be a cute one shot of 3k so I can translate in a week... post it at the end of October”#it's not 3k it's over 60 word pages Times 11 and I'd be lucky if I post it at the end of the year #personal ramblings #THE PAIN

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arminsumi · 8 months

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ADULT STORE

↳ GETO すぐる + fem!reader

"Oh, see I told you... this product's a bit intense."

1.5k words

Pt. 2

Summary : product testing with the helpful employee at the adult store!

Warnings : minors do not read/interact : smut/explicit content : using toys, stranger/hookup sex, softdom!Geto, praise, cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, squirting, multiple orgasms, sex fantasy trope (sex with the adult store employee)

Note : i haven't made a trip to the adult store in ages bc... everything i want is so expensive lol (the struggle) 😭 i have some rlly funny adult store stories i could ramble about but i will refrain ✋ anyways, indulge yourselves in this fantasy, angels! 😈

Playme : wanna know what it's like?

The gate of the store buzzes, the employee watches you open it with a clink and enter the adult store. Your eyes flood with the overwhelming sight of wall-to-wall toys.

The smooth voice of the employee comes from behind the cash register.

"Yo."

Long hair. Dark, brooding look — almost gothic. Attractive hands with pronounced veins running over the back of them, poised on the countertop which he's lazing over.

He sees you and slowly straightens out his back out to impress you with his height.

"Ah, h-hello..."

He hears you stutter, and assumes it must be your first time in an adult store.

"First time? I mean, in an adult store, that is." he breaks the ice.

"Haha, y-yeah... yeah, it's my first time."

Yeah, that's what I thought.

He holds hard and deep eye contact with you. Yes, he's aware of how intensely he stares. He's doing it on purpose.

"Would you like some assistance, or do you just want to leisurely browse by yourself?"

His tone is so friendly, it doesn't let on to how heated his abdomen is getting at the sight of you.

"Yes, please, I'd appreciate your assistance."

Aw, of course.

"M'kay... then let me assist you."

He smoothly comes out from behind the counter and the two of you stand in front of a wall of toys.

"Overwhelmed?" he chuckles, noting how your eyes widen while looking at all the products. "I know there's a lot to choose from. But just focus on your needs. What do you need?"

"What do I need? Honestly, I have no idea what I need." you laugh nervously.

I know exactly what she needs...

"Well, why don't we carefully go through the products together? I'm sure I can figure out what you need. Promise I know my stuff. I've been working here for three years."

His nonchalance and professionalism puts you at ease. It's something he prides himself on: making customers feel relaxed.

Your eye catches on a pink dildo, so he takes it off the rack to show you up close.

"This one's good, it's got a ribbed design." he shows it off. "Are you looking for just penetration or clitoral stimulation?"

Aw, she's flustered.

"Uh, both I guess? Yeah. I'd love both."

Of course you'd love both. That's what you need, pretty girl.

"Both? Come over here. Let me show you something you might like."

There's a flirty tension between the two of you that just keeps getting more and more... intense.

He plucks a curvy vibrator. It looks expensive. Because it is expensive.

"This one's got ten functions—"

"—ten?! Sounds a bit extra."

"Nothing's too extra when it comes to your personal pleasure."

The two of you share a long look, then laugh.

"But it really is an excellent product."

"Are you advertising?" you joke teasingly.

"Absolutely." he jokes, "Kidding. I'm not trying to come across as a preachy marketer or something. I've used it with partners in the past, that's why I'm recommending it; I know it's good. It's a pretty intense toy. Helps girls squirt even if they think they can't."

I could make her squirt.

He's running his eyes up and down your body.

"Is that so...?" you mumble flirtatiously, eyeing out the product in his veiny, manly hands.

"Hm, still a skeptic? Because I'm sure I could please you."

He hopes that you note his deliberate use of 'I' and not 'it' there.

"Yeah. I'm sure you could please me, too." you flirt.

A heat erupts in his abdomen and stomach.

Oh wow... now she's really flirting, huh? Why'd I wear tight pants today of all days...

He has an unwavering gaze on you. You've captivated him. Put him in some kinda horny trance.

"Did I say me? Sorry. Slip of the tongue." he murmurs, voice dropping lower, "I meant the vibrator." he obviously lies.

You and him exchange a suggestive, longing look. You can feel your pussy clench around nothing, begging to get stuffed up and pleasured.

He hesitates before speaking again, as if he's scared of crossing a line and making you uncomfortable.

"If you want to... we could test it out together?" he suggests. His nonchalance is an act, really he's so nervous when he asks this.

"I'd love to..." you consent, and he doesn't miss the erotic excitement in your tone.

He nods towards the backdoor, eyes keeping on you and your cute little body that he just wants to feel and squeeze like a toy itself.

"Promise to keep your lips sealed about this? I don't wanna get fired for uh... you know... demonstrating products... to my pretty customer."

"Only if you promise to help me squirt for the first time."

Oh wow. Fuck. I'm hard.

His lips widen into a devilish grin. "Sure thing."

After a sloppy, desperate make out with this stranger, you find yourself sat on the couch in the breakroom. Door locked. Blinds shuttered closed. Legs spread wide to his liking, as he cushions the vibrator into your plush slit.

He's rubbing it slowly up and down your folds. He watches your reactions intently, breathing heavier at the sight of your pussy squishing under the pink dildo. The buzzing sound fills the room, but your moans are louder.

He clutches the toy gently, massaging the bulbous head into your clit with sweeping circular motions.

"F-fuck... that pretty clit feels good, doesn't it? Yeah? Let's get it feeling even better."

He turns it up a notch. It buzzes harder against your sensitive nub.

"How's that? Haha, yeah, intense, isn't it?

"Yeahhh — Fuck! Ohhh that's so good, that's so — oh my goddd fuckkk. S-sorry I think... I'm gonna cummm — !!"

"It's okay. Cum as hard as you can, yeah? I want you to get a good idea of how well this toy can pleasure you before you buy it, after all. Oh there we go... just let go and... f-fuck... wow... j-just cum like that. Fuck... that pretty clit feels so good now, huh? Gonna cum? Gonna cum for me, with a vibrator on your cunt?"

He takes note of your reaction to his dirty talk and smirks. Then he slyly turns the toy's setting higher and it buzzes more intensely, and in one... two... three... seconds, you're squirting like crazy all over the pink vibrator and his hand.

Holy shit, look at that pretty pussy gushing... she could drench my dick. I wanna be inside her so fucking baddd...

"Oh, see I told you... this product's a bit intense." he regains his professional tone after you cum.

He turns the toy off and watches you come down from your shaking orgasm, smug look on his face. He keeps it clutched in his veiny hand, and brings it up to his lips to suck and lick up all your juices from it.

She tastes so fucking good... I feel dizzy.

You watch him with wide eyes as he tastes your slick off the toy.

"F-fuck... wh-what did you s-s-say your name was again?" you stutter, starstruck by this stranger.

You're so fucking dizzy, your pussy is buzzing like it still feels the intensity of the toy against it.

"Hm, wanna know my name?" he smiles teasingly, "How about you cum on my face and then I'll tell you."

"Fuck, okay."

And then as soon as you give him permission, he's hungrily diving between your thighs.

"Oh my god..." he loves how you gasp and writhe under the influence of his mouth.

Let's see how fucked-out I can get her. Wanna see her lose her mind 'cause of me.

His lips latch onto your labia and suckle, then onto your clit. He points his tongue at your clit, then oh my god flattens it and laps at your bud while suckling. His softness shows a hint to tenderness in his personality; he really knows how to treat a woman well.

This stranger spoils your pussy with his tongue and lips. He seems to be in his own little world while nosing between your thighs. He carelessly gets your juices smeared across his cheek and lets the rest dribble down his chin.

"Fuck fuck fuck — like that, like that. Don't stop don't stop — !! 'm gonna cum! G-gonna — fffffffucking cummmm ahhhhh — !!"

He flicks the tip of his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves, eager to make your pussy freak out on his mouth. Just before you cum he slips two fingers into your hole, middle and ring, and pumps them into a sweet spot hard. He just wants to get an idea of the feeling of your pussy when it cums.

Suckling at your clit, fingering you with nice hard rough strokes, closing his eyes like he's the one enjoying it meanwhile he's silent and you're moaning like you're going insane. He can tell you're close and speeds it up.

"Cum cum cum, cum for me. Just let go and cum." he sounds so desperate, and that professional tone of his is finally cracking. "Cum on my fucking face, please."

And he dives his tongue right back into your hole, wriggling his tongue around, resulting in the nastiest wet squelching sound. His lips press flat against your pussy, he draws in a deep breath and your heat is all he smells.

Please cum on my face. Please please please.

"Ah! Fuck! Fuckkkk!"

You gush right on his lips, which are plump and swollen and red and glistening with your slick.

He pulls away and licks his lips and tells you his name.

"Suguru, by the way. My name's Suguru. Hey... can I give you my number?"

Oh he's so smooth. But he's even smoother at the checkout, when he asks if you're free this Friday for a date. At his apartment. With the company of some of his favorite toys.

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

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sarahreesbrennan · 4 months

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Are all the themes in “in other lands” supposed to be a commentary on something? Or do you just like writing sex scenes between minors, age gaps, and reverse misogyny?

Genuine question.

Ohhh, my dear anon, I don't believe this is a genuine question.

But it does bring up something I've been meaning to talk about. So I'll take the bait.

Firstly. Yes, my work contains a commentary on the world around us. I wonder what I could be doing with the child soldiers being sexually active in their teens (people hook up right after battles), and the age gap relationship ending in the younger one being too mature for the elder. What could I possibly have been attempting when I said 'how absurd gender roles are, when projected onto people we haven't been accustomed by our own society to see that way'? I wasn't being subtle, that's for sure.

Secondly. Yes I do enjoy writing! I think I should, it's my life's work. Am I titillated by my own writing, no - though I think it's fine to be. The sex scenes of In Other Lands aren't especially titillating, to be honest. It is interesting to me how often people sneer at women for writing romance and sex scenes, having 'book boyfriends,' insinuating women writers fancy their own characters. Women having too much immoral fun! Whereas men clearly write about sex for high literary purposes.

… I have to say from my experience of women and men's writing, I haven't found that to be true.

I’m not in this to have an internet argument. I prefer to leave my anons open since not everyone has a tumblr, as @neil-gaiman says it’s an internet backwater, but a lovely one for those like myself who enjoy an essay about fictional characters! Still I will close my inbox to anons if I must. Mostly people use bad faith takes to poke at others from the other side of a screen for kicks. But I do know some truly internalise the attitude that writing certain things is wrong, that anyone who makes mistakes must be shunned as impure, and that is a deeply Victorian and restrictive attitude that guarantees unhappiness.

I've become increasingly troubled by the very binary and extreme ways of thinking I see arising on the internet. They come naturally from people being in echo chambers, becoming hostile to differing opinions, and the age-old conundrum of wanting to be good, fearing you aren't, and making the futile effort to be free of sin. It makes me think of Tennyson, who when travelling through Ireland at the time of the Great Famine, said nobody should talk about the 'Irish distress' to him and insisted the window shades of his carriage be shut as he went from castle to castle. So he wouldn't see the bodies. But that didn't make the bodies cease to be.

In Les Mis, Victor Hugo explores why someone might steal, what that means about them and their circumstances, and who they might be - and explores why someone else is made terribly unhappy, and endangers others, through their own too rigid adherence to judgement and condemnation without pity. The story understands both Jean Valjean the thief and Javert the policeman. Javert’s way of thinking is the one that inevitably leads to tragedy.

Depiction isn't endorsement. Depiction is discussion.

Many of my loved ones have had widely varying relationships to and experience of sex (including 'none'). They've felt all different types of ways about it. If writing about them is not permissible, I close them out. I'd much rather a dialogue be open than closed.

I do understand the urge to write what seems right to others. I've been brain-poisoned that way myself. I used to worry so much about my female characters doing the wrong things, because then they'd be justly hated! Then I noted which of my writer friends had people love their female characters the most - and it was the one who wrote their female characters as screwing up massively, making rash and sometimes wrong decisions. Who wrote them as people. Because that's what people do. That's what feels true to readers.

I want my characters to feel true to readers. I want my characters to react in messy ways to imperfect situations. I love fantasy, I love wild action and I love deep thought, and I want to engage. That's what In Other Lands is about. That's even more what Long Live Evil is about. That sexy lady who sashays in to have sexy sex with the hero - what is her deal? Someone who tricks and lies to others - why are they doing that, how did they get so skilled at it? What makes one person cruelly judgemental, and another ignore all boundaries? What makes Carmen Maria Machado describe ‘fictional queer villains’ as ‘by far the most interesting characters’? What irritates people about women having a great time? What attracts us to power, to fiction, and to transgression?

I don’t know the answers to all those questions, but I know I want to explore them. And I know one more thing.

If the moral thing to do is shut people out and shut people up? Count me among the villains.

#bookblr #discourse #in other lands #long live evil #les mis #carmen maria machado #writing

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boiohboii · 2 months

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If she's around.

(Lando norris x leclerc!reader)

When lando decides to make a video along with two of his friends for their YouTube channel his girl of course had to make an appearance

In which ethan and ginge are always reminded of the fact that they are single.

Masterlist

N.b: just inspired by the new quadrant video, I loved it, obviously I have no idea if ginge or ethan are single or not, but for the purpose of this fic they don't... WARNINGS: not proof read, some swear words here and there (friends jokingly insulting each other), sexual implicantions?.... and I think that's it? If I missed anything else lmk please.

Ethan and Ginge did not think this through. They obviously got too excited about the idea and did not sit down to actually think about the consequences.

What are the consequences? That damn breakfast that Lando Norris is having them eat.

"This is criminal mate, I can see some good fucking food in there."

Ginge complained as he placed the cup underneath his nose, trying to see if the smell is as bad as the food looks.

"Ah no no, I can't give you that."

"Well, why not? It sure as hell doesn't look like you threw it up."

"That's the missus' breakfast, she'll kill me if I let you eat it."

Now, lando was just messing around. Yn was well aware of the fact that his friends were coming over and she prepared extra food in case they deviate from the video's plan.

"The missus?" Ginge asked as he took the spoon from the f1 driver "who is she? And why have I never seen her before?"

"What are you talking about, you've seen her before."

"I think I'd remember if I've seen a girlfriend of yours mate."

"You have ginge." Ethan answered as he looked at the red head "in one of the streams."

Farrowing his eyebrows ginge tried to remember, he was sure he had never seen lando with a girl before, he would definitely remember if- oh. oh. oh.

"No," ginge gasped as he looked at lando with uncertainty "no way mate. She is not your girlfriend."

"Umm, yes she is."

"No she's not."

"Yes, she is!"

"No, no she's not! She is too pretty for you."

Ethan chocked as he looked at Lando's disbelief of what his friend has said.

"Don't look at me like that! You know that she is too pretty for you"

Blinking, lando shrugged in agreement.

"Simp" ginge scoffed as he took a bite out of his breakfast.

"Well, i don't blame him man, have you seen yn."

"Looks like I will double the weights during training" lando has malice behind his smile, which made the two instantly shut up.

Interview room(ANGRYGINGE has a fear of flying)

" I'll be honest, I still believe that yn leclerc is way too pretty for lando. Like yeah sure he's an f1 driver but like aren't 2 of her brothers drivers as well. It would be so funny if they crashed into lando if he pissed her of or made her sad or something, a whole new meaning to the I will run you over threat."

"What time do you go to bed?"

"Ummm, depends."

"On?"

"If the missus is around, dirty bastard." Ginge answered "now, be honest, what time did you go to bed last night?"

"It was, um, it was early."

"You are lying through your teeth mate, I can see those dark circles."

"Hello boys."

"Dirty bastard." Ginge and ethan laughed harder at the coincidence.

"Hello love." Lando chuckled at her confused face as he pecked her forehead.

"What is going on?" Leaning onto his chest, yn looked at the two guests, wondering about their choice of words being the response to her greetings.

"Oh don't worry about it," wrapping his arm around her waist Lando rests his chin on her head " they were just asking if you being with me makes me go to bed at a later time than usual."

"Oh," yn giggled "i guess they're right? Sometimes we stay up reading a book or watching a movie, it depends on what's near us on the bedside table."

"Alright," lando started before taping yn's stomach and pointing to the firdge " you should have your breakfast and we should go back to what we were doing, yeah?"

Humming in agreement, yn turned around and leaned up to give lando a kiss on the cheek, but upon hearing ginge groan, the formula driver grabbed his girlfriend's neck from the front, redirecting her head so that their lips would meet.

"Oh come on mate, no need to rub it in!"

Being in the small makeshift home gym that lando has, the three brits started discussing what exercises they would be doing.

"First we'll start with a warm up, normally there's a few bands" looking around the room, lando tried to remember where he placed them last "they might be in our bedroom."

"How did the workout band made it into the bedroom?" Ethan asked as he started wiggling his eyebrows at ginge.

"Hey sweetheart," Lando's voice could be heard calling out "do you know where my exercise bands are?"

"They're in the bedroom," yn exclaimed "on your bedside table."

Ethan's eyebrows stopped mid movements while ginge's jaw dropped down "went to bed early lando, ehh, yeah yeah sure!"

Monitoring his friends' forms in a workout was not lando thought he would be doing on a day off where yn was with him without one of her brother's breathing down their necks. Speaking of his lovely girlfriend, lando saw her in one of his mclaren shirts and a short in the hallway, on her way to their bedroom he'd assume, with a bowl of what was either watermelons or strawberries.

"Sweetheart," lando spoke, ignoring the task at hand "can I have some please?"

"Of course mon soleil"

Entering the room, yn took a look at both boys before going straight to her boyfriend. Lando's friends were glaring daggers at him as he just placed his hand on the back of yn's hands as she placed a piece of watermelon in his mouth, making him hum pleasantly at the sweetness that filled his mouth.

"This is so unfair." Ginge complained

"I know mate, such bullshit, we should get to eat that as well."

"Yeah sure." lando agreed as yn placed another piece in his awaiting mouth.

"Well, now you're just being a dick. Come on yn, I want some as well."

"Are you asking my girl to feed you?"

"You're not letting me out of this workout anytime soon now, are you?"

"I think you should add weights onto their backs," yn stated as she smiled innocently at ginge and ethan "Charles, Arthur and Enzo always fo that to each other for the hell of it."

"Oh, you are evil miss leclerc, truly evil."

Ethan watched as lando told ginge to not lean with the weights pushing his neck, it was tough and they only had like a third of what lando usually does.

"So, who usually does this with you? Like you have to have someone to like push the weights, right?"

"Yeah yeah, usually it's my trainer, but then when something comes up or I just feel like training on my own it's yn who's helping."

"Oh look at him just rubbing it in that he has a girlfriend."

"Oh god," lando laughed in disbelief "you're the one who asked."

"The important question is," ginge started as he removed the equipment from his forehead "can yn do this? Like the neck training."

Lando stayed quite, thinking if he'd ever seen his girlfriend doing it or if her or her brothers ever mentioned that she does it. "No, I don't think so. Hold on."

Leaving the room, lando headed into the bedroom having a quick discussion away from the camera and the mics.

"So," lando said as he entered the room with yn behind him "yn will be doing the neck training, we'll go with 5 kilos."

"How about 10?" Yn asked as she took a seat on the bench

"What?"

"Well, for a while charles was convinced I'd get into a car crash and he took me training with him for like a year or something, it was insane."

"I'm sorry, what?"

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x leclerc!reader #lando norris x female reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fic #leclerc reader #leclerc sister fic

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nomercyanywhere · 5 months

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older stepbro sukuna and little bro you

ーーーーー

knowing him for years now you shouldn't be surprised by the amount of times he's left his used underwear in your room, but for the love of you god, you just cannot

"oh for fuck sake!" you yelled, stormed out of your room and into his. your greeted by him having no shirt on and wearing only grey sweatpants that hugged loosely around his waist. sat on his beanbag playing video games while munching on chips. "how many goddamn times do i have to tell you to quit leaving your nasty boxers in my room?!" you scold him again and again but he just yawns then looks at you with an annoyed expression. he got up, then walked towards you, he leaned against the door frame and grabs his undies from your hand. "wanna tell me why you have this? hm?" no. he was just teasing you at this point. "me?! you're the one who-! " you get cut off by him "no fuckin way, it's wet, were you touching yourself? on MY boxers? your brothers? pfft- you fucking pervert~!" he laughed at your face, all confused and irritated. "hah?! i did NOT!-" despite your yells, he continues laughing. you grit your teeth and slammed the door shut.

now, you're sure you don't steal them away from it, you've even seen him throw it in your room on purpose. but, you did secretly fuck yourself to the scent of it..

ugh, you plop onto the bed and thick blankets. trying your best to calm down, looking back at what happened, you noticed that he wasn't wearing any underwearbunder those pants. the outline of his cock was way too distinct. you could even see a vein. you wanted to touch it, rub it, shove your own face into his crotch and you hate yourself for thinking about scenarios like those. the anger you once had turned into you getting pent up, squeezing your legs together, and a visible wet patch on your cute undies. "i fucking hate this.." you whispered to yourself and started to pull your undies down.

kuna always barges in your room, locked or unlocked, he did it once and your lock broke. speaking of, it hasn't been fixed yet, leaving you vulnerable to his unwanted inviting himself in.

he was feeling a bit playful. so who to play with other than his cute brother? he smirked at the thought of it, then walked to your room.. your fingers play with your clit, pressing on it gently, flicking etc. as soft as your fingers were, you wanted to feel his calloused, thicker and longer one on your cunt. you bit your lip to suppress any sounds, and tried real hard to get off, the familiar sensation on your tummy when your about to cum keeps dissappearing when your near orgasming, causing you to start over again. you were so lost in it that "you're so bad this." you didn't notice him entering your room. you jolt at the sudden sound of his voice and immediatelym closed your legs. "what the fuck?! get out!" you threw your blanket over yourself and threw a pillow him, which he dodges easily. "why? you looked so cute trying so hard to cum" he scoffs at your laughable attempt at masturbating. he crawled on your bed "c'mon, i just wanna help my~" pulling the duvet away and slid his hand up your smooth thig "poor, desperate, adorable little brother~". he grabs both your legs, "spread em" you clicked your tongue and looked away, slowly spreading your legs open.

after that, you'd always come to him whenever you feel horny and needy.

"heh, who knew, i'd ever see you bouncing on my cock." up and down you went, dirtying his lap with pre. your hands on his abs for stability. but something else felt missing, like, you wouldn't be able to focus with out it. you look up at him, then tugged on the controller. "mn.. pay attention to me.." you whined. it was attention, you wanted him to look at you and you only. "hm? acting a little slutty bro~" he puts down the controller and turns the tv off. "and here i thought you hated me" he places both hands on your hips, they traveled to your ass, he groped and squeezed.

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a/n: tumblr, if u allow pseudocest with f reader. u should allow it with m reader too. also, a bit lots of typos i think? i wrote this while sleepy lmfao

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna thirst #sukuna smut #ftm reader #m! reader #male reader #nomercyanywhereliterature

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the-bi-fangirl-biatch · 7 months

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if i got a nickel for seeing a ship end with a chatacter who leaves to do something greater/fulfilling their purpose and help more ppl, but at the expense of leaving the love of their life alone and letting them lose their previous purpose...I'd get two nickels. which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

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vroomvroomwee · 9 months

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Aziraphale's vest

I'd like to take a second and talk about his vest because I think it's a really good metaphor for Aziraphale's internal feelings.

At first glance it's obvious the vest is quite old. Really old in fact if you note the way it's practically disintegrating.

And it got me thinking a bit. The way the white practically bleeds from the edges of the neck, shoulders and buttons, going further and further, one day if he's persistent enough to wear it, it might even take over the entire vest. You could say that that, somehow, mirrors Heavens influence over Aziraphale. Slowly, slowly, biding their time, until it has completely ridden him of any colour. Until it has completely washed him of his identity, of his originality, of his character.

Take a look at his clothing when he's up in Heaven.

Completely and utterly white. Every piece of clothing he's wearing is pure and untarnished white. Upon entering Heaven, against his own accord, it has stripped him of his uniqueness, of anything that might distinguish him from any other angel who blindly follows orders and who's sole purpose is to do Heavens bidding.

Now, he could miracle the white patches on the vest away easily. But he doesn't want to.

The thing is. He likes the imperfect. He likes partaking in human activities and pleasures, like food, music, etc. Likes to indulge himself in earthly things Heaven would label as sinful or "sullying." And as someone who bas been on the receiving end of Heavens ridicule and passive aggression for millenia, as someone who for centuries has been told that he's underperforming and needs to do better, as someone who is all too aware of his own impurity by the standards an angel should hold and of the quite frankly unholy behaviour in performing immoral temptations and directly going against Heavens orders no more than a few times throughout the eras, it's no wonder he finds comfort in the imperfect.

He keeps the deteriorating edges because they are a perfect representation of his own internal feelings and image. After all, there's no rule that says he can't. And a big kudos to the costume department, for the patches perfectly encapsulate his religious trauma. Without it, he would probably be a very different person. He wouldn't be the same Aziraphale we know and love. The same way he likes being old-fashioned with his clothes and how that is a part of who he is, his trauma is a part of him as well, along with Heavens influence that has shaped him into who he is today, whether he likes it or not.

Every part of the vest illustrates Aziraphale's character and internal feelings, which brings me to another point I want to draw attention to, and that is the BACK of the vest.

It's DARK. And I don't think I'm mistaken when I say that most of us didn't expect it to look like that from behind. We all just assumed that it would be the same beige colour as the front, which is in tune with the rest of his attire. After all, seeing him wearing a dozen different outfits all throughout history, all of them some shade of white, it was the logical conclusion.

But no.

It's not white. It's a dark, slightly viridian or a dark blue colour. "Dark blue suggests a more mysterious depth or ominous quality. Power and authority: Dark blue signifies power and responsibility. "

Not what we would have expected that colour at all. Similarly to how one wouldn't expect an angel to perform temptations or be gluttonous, or envious, or slothful, or hedonistic. Not at first glance anyway.

Not unless you look carefully.

Not unless you know him.

The coat almost acts like a cover. The light over the dark. Almost as if it's trying to hide something. The only times we see Aziraphale not wearing the coat is in his bookshop. Which is logical, of course. You wouldn't wear a coat indoors, obviously. Except he DOES. He wears the coat when he and Crowley are drunk, he wears it when he's reading Agnes Nutter, he wears it when Gabriel and Sandalphon pop in, he wears it when he's talking to the Metatron, he wears it when he's listening to Shostakovich, he even wears it at the Ritz where it would be custom to take off your coat while dining. And it's worth noting that during the events happening (at least in the first season), the season is summer. Which would make it quite ridiculous to be wearing so many layers everywhere you go and therefore risk boiling. But he still wears the coat.

The only times he doesn't wear it is in the first episode after the sushi, when he's all ALONE, and in season 2 at the bookshop when Crowley comes back and in 1941.

And there's something oh so personal about that.

I don't think it's a coincidence that the darker part is specifically the back of the vest. There's always been this natural human instinct to protect yourself by never ever turning your back on a foe. And I don't think this is a conscious effort on Aziraphale's part, but rather genius writing, directing and costume design, and anyone who's watched and read Good Omens knows that almost nothing is coincidental.

Note this is probably the first time Aziraphale has called Crowley his friend, seeing how uncertain and doubtful he was to even say the word in this scene and how quick he was to deny their friendship in the Shakespeare scene. And the camera immediately cuts from Crowley to Aziraphale, who is turned away, whose back is turned to Crowley oh so casually without a care in the world. Just before he calls him his friend. His back is turned, and so is the dark part of his vest.

The dark part he only shows in his bookshop, when he's alone and there's no one there. The part that he now only shows to Crowley as well. Crowley who knows him so well and who's been with him through everything. "I won't tell anyone if you won't." And "you said trust me""and you did". Just this small motion of Aziraphale depicts exactly how much trust he has in Crowley not only that he'll keep him safe and protected but to accept him just as he is, to not judge him, to not demean him for his imperfections as an angel. Practically mirroring Crowley's self-protection mechanism that is reflected in his motions to hide his eyes with his sunglasses (there's a wonderful meta on this by @simply-brightly-zee here )

And it might just be clothing, or it might just be genius symbolism, but note how self-aware Aziraphale is of his looks when Gabriel pops up.

The desire to impress is almost unconscious in this scene, and how does he go about doing it? By making sure he looks presentable. Presentable, despite the white patches and the vest that is falling apart, he doesn't even realise it. Therefore, it's clear Aziraphale puts thought into his clothes, whether consciously or unconsciously.

I personally dont think any of this (the coat, the patches, the way he turns his back, when, where and around who he's most comfortable) is a deliberate and intentional act on Aziraphales part but rather creative brilliance from the directors and producers. So him being shown to expose the back of the vest only in scenes with Crowley (and the one in s2 infront of an amnesiac Gabriel with the intelligence and awareness of a squirrel) is a master move on the costume department's part. The symbolusm being so small and imperceptible, but holding so much meaning. This small metaphor shows how much Aziraphale trusts Crowley and how comfortable he is around him. Crowley who knows about Aziraphale's transgressions, sins, unholy behaviours, lack of interest and dedication to his job, and overall "incompetence" as Aziraphale might put it and how he's "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing". Crowley, who will accept him and love him no matter what. Not despite those things, but because of those things.

They have found their "own side".

Edit: Not that important, but I just want to mention how, despite being tattered and falling apart, the vest is still in perfectly good condition. No matter the white seeping in and draining its colour, the vest doesn't have a single seam torn, not a button lost, perfect as the day it was bought. No matter what it's been put through, it's still kicking, whether by miracle or sheer willpower. Very much like the person wearing it.

#good omens #goodomens #aziraphale #crowley #goodomenss2 #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens season 2 #aziracrow #goodomenss2spoilers #good omens meta #good omens analysis #analysis

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futureplayboibunnie · 7 months

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Heartless Pt. 4

Mafia Boss! Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

You and Miguel are married to each other…and it wasn’t because of love.

thank you for all the love so far! also this is my personal touch for this fic, but while i was writing it i was listening to the entire Honeymoon album by lana del rey (especially the instrumentals) i’d recommend listenting to it. it fits this vibe so perfectly, literally trying to encapsulate that feeling with this series.

“I'm in the middle of something.” You piped up nonchalantly, like being half naked and dripping with water in front of men was a completely normal occurrence. “Well, now that you're here, it would be nice if you were helpful by getting my bags.” You said with a wry, and slightly pissed-off smile. He just observed you with darkened eyes and a grinding jaw, if he pressed harder you would practically hear the bones crunch together. The look you gave him was an urging one. “So what will it be? Gaping at me blankly or being mildly helpful?” Your tone was aggravating, grating the inside of his head- your glib comments were making him realize that you were actually capable of disrespecting him.

Miguel didn't know what to make of you in his room like this, acting as if it were your own. It wasn't. But you were married now. Technically, what was his was yours. He didn't like it. He sneered, his features merely angry slashes contorting up his face. “I'm not your sniffer dog.” He barked, storming out of the room and slamming the door so hard that it closed and sprung back open. You rolled your eyes at his outburst, but you had to admit, it was a little unnerving to see him lose his temper that quickly. Miguel huffed, grabbed your stupid bag, and slammed the door open like a bull in a china shop. “Here, and get out of the room. It's mine.”

“What? I was in here first.” You protested in vain, you were the one who was dragged away on a honeymoon, you were the one who was being ordered around like a stuck-up child. The least he could do was let you sleep wherever you wanted to sleep.

“Well, I own the fucking building.” Miguel bit back deadpan, his voice flat and so sadistically arrogant, like money was all that made him. It was an insult to the whole idea of humanity to rely on something as belittling as money.

Miguel's head was storming, dissecting every single premonition about you and how you could so easily flip on him, he would tolerate your disrespect for now, you hadn't properly settled in yet, but if you made it a habit, he'd make you regret it. It should be funny, Miguel was so proper and particular about his women. There were things he liked and didn't like on women. He hated flats. He only liked certain colors. He hated jeans. He liked skirts and dresses for...easy access. He liked his women easy, and you were definitely not easy. You were making it difficult for him on purpose now. But for some reason, defiance suited you more than nonchalant complacency. It was more entertaining than the graceful, polite facade you shirked up.

“Can I put my clothes on now?” You objected, snapping him out of his pondering, looking like an idiot just glaring at you like this.

Part of him wanted to say ‘Well. No. I'd prefer you with nothing on actually.' His steely resolve almost broke at the realization, but he shook his head and pushed it down. Yes, you were attractive but your personality was a mystery for him, he was battling his own personal mysteries, and he didn't have time to psychoanalyze anyone elses.

You slept...okay. Miguel didn't disturb you or actually force you out of his room which was odd. He probably had enough of this senseless bickering, you'd probably just go back to ignoring each other, maybe at least try to independently enjoy this stupid 'honeymoon.’

The sun woke you up sweetly, and the soft gentle breeze billowed through the open curtains, offering the hum of salt air whispering through the room. You wanted to avoid Miguel as long as you could, so you decided to just go in the garden, sunbathe, read a book, do something meaningless to just forget about the fact you're married to one of the most dangerous men you've ever met.

You practically jumped out of bed, went to the bathroom, splashed your face with water, brushed your hair, and put it up in a claw clip with the speed of an Olympic runner. But what was all the hurrying for when you were completely stumped on what to wear? You tossed out your clothes and put them all away, you ultimately decided to wear a bikini and on top a cute mid-thigh sundress, you weren't going anywhere too fancy, the back garden wasn't exactly Paris fashion week. When you glanced outside the terrace, you were happy to see that the garden was adorned with carefully cut shrubs, willowing trees, orchids, and chrysanthemums. Considering Miguel rarely leaves for leisure, it was a surprise that is was being kept up - it must have meant a lot to him then. You grabbed your things and opened the door quietly, wanting to sneak out as soundlessly as possible in order not to attract attention from Miguel, or worse, be the reason to wake him up.

You padded away barefoot, feeling the warmth of the sun outside surround you as it seeped through every glass window.

Even though Miguel told you to get used to his lifestyle, you still hadn't settled in, something just didn't sit quite right with you. You were fortunate enough to come from a wealthy family but the way Miguel wasn't bothered by the sheer amount of blood money he acquired is...distasteful. Thinking of which, you peeked your head around the corner in order to see if Miguel was awake but instead you found something else. He wasn't in bed at all. He was asleep, his hands were crossed on the kitchen counter and his head was flat on his upper arm, fast asleep with his laptop open in front of him Jesus. He still hadn't changed. What was it with men not wanting to take care of themselves?

You shifted towards him, inching closer and closer to his sleeping form. Wow. He almost looked peaceful, not full of that mindless aggression he was known for. His copper hair was tousled and disheveled, his golden skin was creased but reflective against the light, and his breathing was slow and heavy- it was odd seeing him this relaxed when he wasn't even in a relaxing position in the first place. You raised an eyebrow at his disposition. Maybe Miguel wanted to outsmart and outwit sleep, he obviously had to succumb to its charms. You worked your way around the kitchen island, unable to stop looking at him like this, you grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and just stood and stared at him like a creep. You really should leave before he wakes up, but you didn't want him sending his capos combing the entire complex for you, so you just left him a note.

In the garden.

Miguel heard a gunshot.

It reverberated in his ears.

More gunshots. Thousands of rounds smoking away.

His eyes widened, and the sleep left his bones. His head spun around, shifting erratically, and he almost fell off the fucking chair. A tight anxiety squeezed the color out of his face, the heavy breaths wouldn't bring any solance to any of the fragments falling at his palms. His chest filled with panic, and the first thing that came into his head to find was you. He eyed your note and rushed down as fast as he could. He needed to get you out of here.

But then all he heard was silence when he stepped out onto the patio. A muffling silence. Then the sharp hum of wildlife, the birds chirping, the distant sounds of the beach, the flattening waves. The crickets trilled and the leaves rustled, the nostalgia of the oddly familiar sounds crept up on him like a disillusioning shadow. An itch he couldn't scratch. A never-ending nightmare he couldn't end. A man with everything he could ever want, but no clear consciousness, no clear mind. He was blind and tortured.

You were lying on a sunbed, and Miguel only caught onto your back and a little bit of your side profile. His eyes were dead set on you, contemplating you...and there you are, emerging in his eyeline. Those flashes of skin become a painting, a jigsaw puzzle coming together. He was slow in his movements, finally viewing you as you were. You were lying there, glowing in a small bikini, taking in the sun like a nymph. Your body was so….

Miguel frowned.

The apple you bit into was stuck to your teeth, you stopped everything you were doing, pausing for your eyes to follow from Miguel's thighs to his face. This was the moment where he saw you as if you were like a deer in headlights, like a naive girl who tries to hide behind back-talk and retaliation. The wide-eyed look you gave him, pupils glazing over, revealing no thought behind your eyes. But he saw you. He saw you being affected by his presence. He felt himself loom over you. Your eyebrows creased in pensive irritation, Miguel's face was hard and steely in something he couldn't quite define. You finished biting into the apple, chewing and just giving him a nonchalant look. Reverting back like second instinct.

“Did you rush out here to gawk at me again? Or to blame me for your lack of sleep?” You breathed out judgementally, but at that moment, the way your eyes connected sent a strange chill down your spine, even when you were lying out in the sun. Miguel felt it too. The scorching, pulsating beat behind your gaze was a never-ending maze, an attempt to figure out who was going to break first. Neither of you was willing to back down. It was sizzling…as wellias unsettling.

Miguel didn't know how to answer your question. He couldn't exactly tell you that his nightmares of the most traumatic thing that's ever happened to him tricked his head into believing he was hearing the remnants of it in real time. Part of him wanted to say yes to both. His sleep schedule was a nightmare in itself and the woman who is the bane of his existence has to be looking so...delicious when he was absolutely not in the mood. He wanted you with nothing on, maybe force you to look at him the exact same way he just found you...with his hand between your thighs.

Miguel shook the annoying, sleep-induced thought away. He was acting like every other man, their mind wandering to hell when they see any attractive woman- he won't fall for it. He won't. But you weren’t any other woman were you?

Miguel watched you bite into the apple and instinctively, he just grabbed it from your mouth, almost pulling at it. He watched your face flit into a multitude of different emotions at what he did. You opened your mouth to say something but you just huffed instead, glaring a hole into his face. Miguel took a bite out of it and tilted his head to contemplate you. He knew he shocked you.

You were really fuckable.

Extremely fuckable.

It was an objective statement.

But he still won't play into it. Nah. You wouldn’t be able to fix him. He was too damaged for you. He wouldn’t mind the primitive pleasure of fucking you. He just won’t do it. You weren’t as nice as before. You’d grown a smart mouth.

“Hm.” That was all he could say to you. “I want my room back.” His fingers reached out and tilted your chin up a little, he felt you flinch just a millisecond and that expression on your face was unamused, dead set looking up at him. It felt like you were holding your breath. He took another bite out of the apple. "Happy sunbathing carino." He yelled behind him as he walked away.

taglist (giggles) : @deputy-videogamer @aisyakirmann @idolautism @residentialcryptid @bunnyrose01 @hqllcheers @minalovesyoubabes @amelialysm @moonvoidpng @ahano @hanberkkk @lavenderslemonade @mynameiswilliamblake @gejo333 @leahnicole1219 @iite-cool @zaunsin @kkchgee @yujyujj @hazelnutbitch @hiraya1802 @leo-lvr @sh4nn @watyousayin @siidmm @ciwywt-com @death-moth-art @ihateuguys @enmuhusben @berry-potchy @s0lm1n @amelialysm @migueloharastruelove @lauraolar14 @tashames @soymiguelsesposa @noblesavagex @miguelsslutprincess @lilipads (sometimes i hate this fkn app it literally doensn’t let me tag other ppl why)

#spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara

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ifangirlalot · 7 months

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if ur still taking requests i would love to see submissive miles fairchild or sal fisher, the thought of either writhing under u, whiny and needy is just too good

˗ˏˋ 𝐓𝐎𝐏!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐱 𝐒𝐔𝐁!𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 ˎˊ˗ | starring miles fairchild & sal fisher

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

*~smut!~* [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘]: sub boyfriend, dom reader, tip rubbing, edging, degradition, orgasm denial, dick riding, face sitting

OMG! FINALLY I WAS HOPING I'D GET A SAL REQUEST! nnnnyahhh

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

┊ ˚➶ ｡Miles Fairchild ˚ ☁️

Miles is sputtering beneath me, his eyelids fluttering almost helplessly as he babbles incoherently with every up and down motion of my body. Despite how controlling and demanding he is, how intimidating he is, it surprisingly wasn't very hard to turn into a whimpering, stuttering mess. Turns out, it's a lot easier to do so when he isn't actually in the house. Quint's influence can't touch him if he's not on the property.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love Miles fucking me into submission and degrading me to the fullest, but it's so amazing that I could reduce a headstrong, controlling, dominant force into nothing more than a pile of whimpering, begging filth.

Slowly, I reach my hand down and wrap it around his throbbing cock, pressing my thumb against his clothed tip. In response, Miles let out a surprisingly high pitched whine, his back arching slightly. "A-ah.. oh no, Mistress.. n-no, not there, I don't wanna cum yet.. n-no please.." he begs softly, eyes still squeezed shut as though he's afraid of he looks at me his cock will explode with cum.

"Hush." I say gently, yet firmly. I've quickly discovered that Miles prefers to be praised, which fits well with the person that he is. Miles normally doesn't like to be told he's doing something wrong. It wounds his otherwise enormous ego. Which is what I want. Ignoring him, I go back to rubbing his leaking tip through his boxers.

"No, Miss! P-pleaseeeee..! Oh please, I'll do anything just please don't make me cum.. I want your pussy, I want your boobs, please.. oh GOD please!" Miles continues to beg. I roll my eyes like it's a chore for me and slowly pull his boxers down to his knees, allowing his fully erect dick to bounce out, almost hitting his stomach. For such a skinny guy, Miles is packing some heat down there. If Miles were in charge, he'd be making me tell him how big it is. Except now, I'm the one in charge, and that brings a smirk to my face.

Miles let out another tiny whimper, and I can feel him watching my face, trying to gauge my reaction to his cock, so hard and ready for me. But I keep my face blank and impassive on purpose, just to beat his ego a little.

"I-it's big.. right Mistress?.." Miles finally asks, tentatively.

It is big. It's really big, actually. But the point of this whole scenario is to humble him, so I shrug, which damn near brings Miles to tears, based on his hurt look. But he very noticeably doesn't use the safe word I gave him, so... Maybe he kinda likes being put in his place?

"Size doesn't matter, my love. Now shut up and I'm gonna ride you, okay?" I smirk and reach for the pack of condoms in Miles's nightstand. Miles doesn't like to use condoms, he says he doesn't like the feel of latex on his cock. But, just tonight, I'm going to make him wear a condom. In all seriousness, if he's going to accidentally knock me up, I'd rather it be on one of the nights he's railing me straight into his bed.

When he sees where my hand is going, he whines in protest and starts to squirm. "Oh no.. n-no, ma'am, please no condom, y-you know I don't like them, please.."

"You'll wear it and you'll fucking like it or you'll have to use your hand." I say firmly, my jaw set.

Miles whimpers and squirms more, begging a little more feebly now. "B-but.. you like t-to.. f-feel my.. my cum.." He gulps as I pull out a single packet and rip it open. He whimpers again, knowing that he's lost.

"Shut up, or I'll stuff my underwear into your mouth to shut you up myself." I say, my voice low and commanding.

Miles's face goes bright red and he moans lowly, a shudder ripping through his body.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

┊ ˚➶ ｡Sal Fisher ˚ ☁️

"Pleasepleaseplease, just.. just let me.. please I want to, I-I want.." Sal's words are coated with a whimper. Drool pooling out of his heavily scarred mouth. His prosthetic lays on the bedside table, the straps hanging limply over the edge. Without his mask, he can't stop drooling, due to the hole torn into the side of his cheek. Most people would think his face is grotesque, but to me it's weirdly beautiful.

Sal's hands are tied together to the bedframe, his lean body squirming underneath mine.

"Shh.. shh.. not right now, we're only just starting, baby.." I say softly, cupping his cheek as my thumb caresses his cheek. My affection makes him whine quietly as he pushes his face against my hand, seeking more. I smile and slowly pull my hand away. I put my hands on his sides to hold him steady as I slowly start to ride him a little harder. He writhes under me and moans out loudly, pushing his hips quickly against mine.

"Mommy.. mommy.. pleasepleasepleasepleaseee.. Gonna.. gonna cum.. m-mm.. I g-gotta.." Sal's adorably pathetic whines almost make me want to give in... but no. That would be too kind. I can see his hands struggling against the restraints, trying to reach out to touch me. His one real eye is glazed over with tears, like he's trying to coax me into untying his hands so he can grab me and hold me against him while he fucks himself into me.

I wrap my hand around his wrists and hold them tight while I bounce my hips quickly. "Don't you cum, Sally. If you cum we'll have to keep going until I want to stop."

He moans loudly and shakes his head in a somewhat lazy way. "N-nuh.. nuh.. oh please no, c-can't take it.."

Eventually, I slowly pull myself off him. His cock is so coated with fluids, both his and mine, that it's shiny with it. I smirk and grab a handful of his electric blue hair and hold his head down as I slowly sink onto his face.

Sal is really good at having his face ridden.

His tongue immediately gets to work swirling around. I moan quietly and tilt my head back, my mouth dropping open in pleasure. "Oh yeah.. that's my good boy.."

His tongue is coated with moisture and it's cold, which makes it all the more better. I rock my hips quicker, clutching his hair harder, causing him to whimper muffledly against my pussy.

Oh, this is going to be an incredibly fun night for me.

#💭 ۫⠀DRABBLE.⠀୨୧⠀· ˚#miles fairchild #sal fisher #miles fairchild x reader #sal fisher x reader #miles fairchild smut #sal fisher smut #miles fairchild x you #sal fisher x you #the turning #sally face #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard smut #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard x you

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