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astroboots · 1 year ago

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EVERY YOU EVERY ME #11.5 SPECIAL

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Let’s start from the beginning one last time.

Word count: 5,800

Warning: Heavy angst and character death. Dead Dove do not eat.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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Let’s start from the beginning one last time.

My name is Miguel O’Hara, and in an experiment gone wrong, my genetic code was partially rewritten with Spider DNA, giving me superpowers.

My home is Earth 928-C where I was the one and only Spiderman... of my home dimension at least.

I invented and built a dimensional travel device that allowed me to jump between universes with the goal of exploring the limits of the multiverse.

And then I met a woman in this other world who nearly died from a crazy freak accident.

I saved her of course.

Then I saved her again.

And again, and again.

... And again.

We fell in love, and I decided to stay with her in her world.

You know the rest. We got married. We had a life together.

I was happy. Really happy.

For a while.

[Earth 383-D]

3 YEARS AGO

"Goddamn idiot bird," Miguel mutters under his breath.

Vulture is on the loose again, wreaking havoc on the city. The maniac is flying high above the city grounds, leaving a trail of mayhem in his wake.

Miguel's been in pursuit for the better half of two hours. In that time, the bird has derailed the High Line, literally hit a traffic light and managed to knock over the spire on the Statue of Liberty as if he was flying under the influence.

Then somehow flew across town through Tribeca, along Lower Manhattan and Greenwich Village and now reached all the way to Midtown Manhattan.

Dumbass ugly stupid bird.

Miguel digs his claws into the exterior of the limestone and granite of the Empire State Building to steady himself, using the momentum to leap forward.

The Vulture crashes into a skyscraper 50 feet ahead of Miguel, and in the mad dash, he can see a man tumble out of the building head first to the ground from the 30th floor.

Swinging forward, Miguel slings out a web from his palm, catching the screaming and sobbing office worker in midair and lands briefly against the windowpane. He ensures the man is secured to the building in a cocoon of webbing until the fire department can get him to safer grounds.

Miguel doesn't even get a second to catch his breath. From afar, he can pick up the sound of another window being crashed into by the unwieldy metal bird.

Crap.

It's impossible for Miguel to both chase the Vulture and keep everyone else in his path of destruction safe. One superhero can't be in two places at once (none that he has encountered).

Gritting his teeth, Miguel leaps off the building swinging freely into the air to make up on the lost ground between him and the metallic cuckoo bird.

He needs backup, and the backup is unfortunately running late.

Where is he? Why is he always late?

Does that man not understand that when someone calls for backup because of an emergency, the emergency part indicates that there's some urgency to it?

Flying through the air 100 feet above the ground, from the corner of his eyes, Miguel catches the familiar garish red flowing cape that billows from the cowl of the grand cloak and suit.

Miguel would know that weird wizard get-up anywhere.

"Strange!" Miguel calls out, and he can feel irritation rattle in his chest. "You're late! Where the shock were you?"

"The word you're looking for is 'fuck.' Where the fuck was I," the man responds with a sarcastic drawl.

Strange levitates through the air, effortlessly without expending any energy at all as he catches up with Miguel. "You gave me no notice. Be happy I showed up at all."

From a distance he sees the dumb bird soar high up into the sky and towards the all too familiar crowned roof of the Chrysler building.

No. nononono.

Why is he there? What is he doing there? Anywhere but there.

His back flashes cold then burning hot as the Vulture makes a straight beeline for the familiar building.

It’s fine. Maybe he’s not going to fly in there. Maybe he’s just going to fly past it.

Miguel watches as the metallic bird soars up and up and up, past the midpoint of the building, past the 40th floor of your office and up to the 50th floor. The tight squeeze in his chest eases.

Then the vulture stops, mid-flight and looks down below, as if he changed his mind, before he descends again.

Shit! Shit! SHIT!

He dives into one of the windows between the 40th and 50th floor. The sound of broken glass and shrill screams can be heard even from where Miguel is.

Blood freezes in his veins and nausea overtakes him. Calm down. Breathe.. Maybe you’re not in. After all, Lyla’s security protocols would’ve been activated by now if you were. He would’ve been alerted.

Soaring through the skies, Miguel reaches over to his wrist to punch in the dial for Lyla to check in and reassure himself you're safe. But his tracker blinks back in an alarming red, and he darts down his head towards the display.

Error.

His heart stops.

The flying silhouette reappears through the shattered windows and the metallic harness strapped onto the vulture gleams bright against the sun.

It’s only then it hits him. Lyla's been deactivated by the madman's stupid Electro-Magnetic Harness.

Why hadn't he foreseen that as a technical flaw?

Against the reflective glass panes, Miguel sees you, caught in the Vulture talons like a mouse captured by a large predatory bird. Every hair on his neck stands on end. His vision bleeds into red, blood roaring at the sight of it.

Kill him.

Miguel's gonna murder that freak for touching you. Crush his windpipe so he can't ever squawk again, then rip his throat out with his claws and feed it to the street pigeons for good measure.

Launching himself through the air, Miguel tears up the side of the building. The tempered glass beneath his claws and feet, shatters into sharp jagged pieces as he closes the distance.

He is almost within reach. Only some 30 feet that still separates you from him. Leaping the final distance he slams hard into the side of the Vulture until metal crunches beneath his feet.

Miguel roars until his throat burns with it. Palms gripping at the man’s jaw and prying it back to get at his bare throat. His fangs are ready to sink into the jugular. He can see the dark pupil of Vulture's eyes dilate with fear.

Good. Miguel's anger will be the last thing this freak sees.

"Miguel calm down," Strange shouts at him from behind. "You're gonna knock her off."

Miguel freezes at the warning, forcing himself to hold still as he looks down to where you are dangling precariously from the Vulture's claws.

"Be ready," Strange shouts, and Miguel looks to him, not understanding what the hell he means.

Strange rests his hand over the shiny blue gem hanging around a chain from his neck.

What does he mean by be ready? What is Strange going to do?

"What'd you mea–"

Miguel doesn't have a chance to finish the rest of his sentence. An unnatural force vibrates through him. A pulsating wave that pervades his senses, punching through his lungs and knocks him back.

In an instance, you're propelled away from Strange and the Vulture, and you are freefalling towards the ground below.

Miguel leaps mid-air, arms outstretched to catch you as you plummet towards the ground below. His fingers clasps around your wrists, your warm skin against his fingertips.

He's got you!

Taking hold of you by the arm, Miguel pulls you into his chest as he wraps one arm securely around your waist.

Immediate relief fills him from the inside out as the adrenaline and the searing anger is already starting to fade now that he knows you're safe.

"You okay, nena?" he asks.

You nod, arms finding purchase around the back of his neck, and squeeze down tight. He swings you both to the safety of a nearby rooftop.

There's barely time for him to touch the surface, he hears the nearby explosion and sees Vulture crash into the concrete wall of the nearest building.

Strange is levitating nearby, hands making wild gestures, presumably to perform some hocus pocus ritual. There’s a magical glow as strobes of light manifest out of thin air surrounding the Vulture from all sides and wrapping around him in a restraining bind.

Miguel sets you down. You're a little bit wobbly on your feet, and seeing you stumble the way you do has that protective streak spark anew in his chest.

Stupid Strange. He can't just do shit like that.

What if Miguel hadn't reacted in time? What if you had fallen?

This is why Miguel hates working with the guy, even if they’re friends. Always on his moral high horse about Miguel being reckless, then he pulls shit like this.

"Everyone alright?" Strange asks as he levitates through the sky to set feet close to you both on the rooftop.

Miguel grits his teeth with annoyance at the man’s casual demeanor when he nearly threw you out of the sky.

"Shock you, Strange," he spits out.

"Miggy..." you sigh in a reprimanding tone next to him.

Stephen shakes his head at him. "I told you. It's fuck"

"Fuck you, Strange."

Sanctum Sanctorum is closer than home and Strange has, comfortable sofas in his ridiculously big mansion. Big enough sofas that Miguel can actually lounge in them comfortably without it feeling cramped. It's why, given the choice, he always prefer to regroup there, over your tiny apartment.

Besides, while the man's control over his magical powers can be suspect at times, he used to be a doctor. Supposedly one of the leading brain surgeons in the world, and Miguel is a lot more comfortable at the prospect of Strange giving you a checkover to make sure you don't need further medical attention than trying your luck at one of the local ERs.

"Follow my finger," Strange says as he shines a little flashlight into your eyes and moves his index from side to side.

Your eyes follow him dutifully, and Strange proceeds with the rest of his medical check, asking you the boring standard questions. "Any symptoms of dizziness, lightheadedness, or a sense of vertigo?"

He fires them out in rapid succession, and a bit too perfunctory for Miguel's liking.

"Noticed any changes in your vision, blurriness or double vision, etcetera etcetera?"

Miguel's jaw tic in irritation at how Strange is putting in minimal effort and just going through the motions.

"Yeah, you're fine." Strange pats your knees, then whisks the flashlight away into nothingness with his cape.

That medical check wasn't anything close to thorough. Miguel crosses his arms over his chest. "Are you sure? Her feet were wobbly before, I wanted to make sure she didn't sprain her ankle."

"A little bit overprotective as always aren't we?" Strange says.

Miguel shoots the man a glare and Stephen sighs, "Her reflexes are fine, I don't think anything's sprained."

"Check again, you seemed sloppy," Miguel accuses.

"You know, I'm doing this as a favor because you’re a friend. Do you have any idea how much a medical examination by one of the leading neurological surgeons in the world would cost you normally?"

"I'll have Lyla transfer the money."

“No, it’s not actually about money just–" Stephen shakes his head, then sighs. "Nevermind.”

He gestures for you to drape your leg across his lap, then he reaches over to gently assess your ankle as requested.

"What is this necklace?" You ask. You lean closer to Strange, inspecting the blue gem where it rests against his chest.

Strange swats at your hand, the way an adult scolds a child with sticky chocolate smeared hands trying to touch the fine china.

"It's a protection amulet. When activated it forms a protective barrier that forcibly repels everything within ten feet of you."

"Huh," you reach back for the amulet undaunted by the earlier reprimand, fascinated and clearly enamored by it. "I'll give you fifty bucks for it."

Strange looks offended. "It's not for sale, and if it was it would certainly be worth a lot more than fifty dollars. It's a genuine magical artifact, not fake costume jewelry from the theater department."

You purse your lips, considering the amulet.

"Forty," you offer.

Miguel has to choke back a snorting laughter in his throat at the way Stephen's eyes goes wide in confused outrage.

"Wait, why is the price going down?"

“We’re in the middle of an economic crisis, Stephen,” you counter.

Strange's head darts over to where Miguel sits, presumably for backup, but he's knocked on the wrong door. The man must be mad if he thinks that there is ever a world where Miguel would side against you.

"Strange, we both know it’s easier if you just give her the amulet." Miguel says.

The man sighs, shaking his head in defeat.

"Be careful with it," he says as he drags the chain over his head to place it in your awaiting palms. "And don't lose it like the invisibility amulet with Mysterio. Had to spend a whole month clearing up your mess when that creep used it to get into the women's locker rooms at every local gym in Greenwich!"

"That wasn’t my mess! Miggy lost that one during an aerial fight. You can't blame that on me."

"You married him, so you're responsible for him. I consider you two jointly to blame."

"Now you're just lashing out," you shoot back.

Miguel watches the two of you in patient boredom, his head propped up by an elbow on the arm of the sofa. He expended way too much energy during the fight, and now he needs to refuel.

If Miguel leaves you two to it, you'll spend an eternity bantering, the way you do. His stomach growls. He wants food. Wants wantons and beef ho fun and a dozen custard salted egg buns for dessert. And the longer you two are at it, the longer it's going to take for him to get it.

"Nena," he calls out, "I'm hungry. Are you two done? I want to go for dinner."

You shoot Miguel a quick smile, pulling out your wallet and take out a wad of green bills then fold it into Strange's hand with a happy grin.

Strange looks down at the crumpled up money in his hand. "Wait, you're only giving me thirty? I thought we said forty."

"You still owe me like ten bucks from mini golf last week."

Strange pockets the money with a grumble. "Unbelievable."

“C’mon,” Miguel says as he stands up and gestures to the both of you with a curt nod of his head towards the door. “Let’s go. I’ll pay for dinner this time,” Miguel says, and that seems to abate Strange’s outrage somewhat as the man grabs your coat from the sofa cushions and offers it to you.

Life on Earth 383-D is strange.

Life here is borderline primitive. The technology is something out of the stone ages.

Social media is a wasteland. Reality TV is a dystopian concept. And he doesn't understand who Kardashian is or why everyone is obsessed with her and her family.

He does like fax machines though. They are basically teleportation machines and it boggles him that the people of your dimension do not seem to understand its potential.

The one thing he will give this version of earth credit for is that the food here is nice. Everyone in his home dimension is too health conscious, and fried food has long been banned by the government for the long term damage it does to the cardiovascular system.

He also likes the life that the two of you have built together here. You have a home in that tiny shoebox apartment. You have friends. Strange friends. Like the Doctor who flies around with the help of a magic cape and now practices the mystic arts after a gap year in Asia. A young girl whose main superpower is the ability to communicate with squirrels. Then there’s that ugly red-masked wise-cracking, katana-wielding maniac who never dies.

Sadly, your friends are not the only thing that is strange about your surroundings.

Miguel perches himself on top of the Chrysler building sitting hunched over on the ledge of the roof. He’s drained and bone-tired, chasing down a helicopter that had gone haywire and was hurtling towards your office building.

Luckily Strange was able to assist and sent it through a magic portal to crash into the Atlantic without putting any lives at stake.

"Just had to do some cleaning up," Strange says as he sets his boots back down on the ground.

Miguel doesn't answer him, staring out at the city view and the setting sun as he takes a well earned breather for a moment or two. New York is a bit of a shit hole, but it does look pretty from a high viewpoint, especially when the sun is setting, Miguel has to give this city that.

It's silent between the two of them. Or at least it is until Strange decides to break it with a harkle of his throat. When Miguel doesn't react the man does it again, coughing discreetly in a clear attempt to get his attention.

Miguel doesn't say anything about the man's sore throat. He ran out of the lemon drops you bought him as snacks hours ago, but he does tilt his head up at the man.

"She's been getting into a lot of these incidents lately. More than usual, more than any normal human for it to be a coincidence" Strange says.

The whole of Miguel's back stiffens.

"Have you noticed the abnormal uptick in strange unexplainable supernatural occurrences lately? Indoor tornadoes. The rain of poisonous frogs outside of whole foods. A sinkhole appearing right next to the cafe your wife frequents."

Miguel doesn't love the insinuations. Even with his lips pressed tightly together, Miguel can feel the small muscle in his jaw flex like a nervous tic at the mention of it. Because yeah, he's noticed, kind of hard to miss when your wife's life is in constant peril at all hours of the day.

Ice storms in July that hit right outside your workplace. An inexplicable solar flare causing a blackout that had every single vehicle within a 5 miles radius go haywire in the dark near your apartment. A swarm of mutated mosquitoes with a venomous bite that chased you down Central Park.

The incidents are occurring more frequently. They are also getting increasingly bizarre and dangerous.

No one can say it’s just bad luck when the daily occurrences around you are defying the very laws of nature itself. Something isn't right with the universe, and he's not sure what else there is to do except pretend that everything is still ok.

"What are you implying?" Miguel asks through gritted teeth.

But for the first time in the years that Miguel has known him, Strange's talkativeness is nowhere to be found. He doesn't answer Miguel. He's smart that way, the clever bastard. Knows that if he says one wrong word, Miguel is going to unhinge his jaws like a feral alligator and snap at him.

Strange has said what he needed for Miguel to know exactly what he's getting at. The man just meets his eyes with an intentional stare, not shying away from Miguel's glare.

It's not like the thought hasn't crossed Miguel's mind. Not like it hasn't been keeping him up at night, every night.

Even though you've always been accident prone and suffered from bad luck, at this point it's a mathematical impossibility that anyone would run into as many near death incidents as you have.

This isn't by chance. It's by design. Miguel's suspected as much for a while now. He just doesn't know whose design and why.

"It's not her fault," Miguel spits out.

"I never said it was."

"Even if what you are saying is true..." Miguel stops, and stares down at his fisted palms with a sinking feeling in his guts. "There's nothing she can do about it to stop it. You can't put that on her."

"Whether she knows about it or not, if it's true, none of this is going to go away.

Strange walks over to where Miguel is, sitting down next to him.

"It’s been escalating in severity," he continues. "There are strange universal energies attached to her. There’s warping of the universal order and space around her. We don't know how bad this can get, if we don’t do anything about this, it could unravel the fabric of reality itself."

Despite the calamity of what Strange is implying, his voice is even and calm as he says it as if he might as well be discussing the weather. That trait has always annoyed the shit out of Miguel.

"What are you planning to do if this continues?" Strange asks.

It's such a silly question. Strange says it as if this is a multiple choice question. But for Miguel there's only one correct answer.

"Protect her. I have to. She's everything to me."

Miguel is staring into the sunset bu all he sees before him is your face even though you aren’t here. The happy smile that he wants to preserve forever. He tries to fight the ache that's building in him at the thought that it would go away.

"Strange, don't tell her. Please. She doesn't need that burden."

He fists his palms into his side.

Miguel never liked asking for help, but even he knows that if what Strange is saying is true. That if the universe for some unfathomable reason wants you dead, then he's going to need all the help he can get.

If Strange has figured it out. Then it's only a matter of time before others do as well.

Soon enough, you won't just have the universe coming after you but every superhero and villain combined in a united front to take out the common threat that you pose to this entire universe.

Even Miguel knows he can't do this alone and as much as that helplessness tastes like failure and bile in his throat, he can swallow his pride if it helps keep you safe.

"Stephen, you have to help me save her."

From behind, Strange rests one hand on the corner of his shoulder. The weight of it feels like a promise being made. For the first time in a long time, Miguel feels like he can breathe just a little bit easier.

"I will do what I can, my friend."

Weeks go by. There are more incidents. Runaway vehicles that go haywire. Electrical storm fires. Rain of poisonous locusts.

Somehow he manages to protect you from it all.

It just means that he has to be more vigilant, that's all. The universe doesn't rest and neither does Miguel now. Lyla has been set on constant alert to wake him up whenever he's napping at any small signs of abnormal occurrences happening near you, with an electric shock to make sure he wakes. Something the A.I. is taking a worryingly amount of glee in (which probably means he needs to retune her programming when he has time).

And today, today Miguel was meant to have a Sunday lie in. Universe be willing, his goal was to sleep all the way into the late afternoon and then you had promised to take him to IHOP and get him all the pancakes he could eat for late breakfast.

But right now he's not asleep. He's trying to. But there are hushed words and whispered murmurs, buzzing in his ear that keeps trying to drag him away from sleep.

It's you and Strange.

Judging from the distance of the noises, you're both standing outside in the hall. The fact that you two are trying to be quiet makes it worse. If you'd spoken in normal volume he could tune it out as white noise, but the conspiratorial quietness of it all makes the hair on the back of his neck tingle with alertness.

Fuck's sake. He swears to god if you two are gossiping and making fun of Hercules’ costume (or the lack of it) again.

It's too early for this crap. Don't you two know that people are trying to sleep? He was up all night chasing crazy Kraven worshippers releasing animals from the Brooklyn zoo. Miguel had to gather wild zebras and crocodiles all the way down East Village til 4am.

With a groan, he drags himself halfway up along the mattress, about to go and growl at you both to be quiet, when the cluttered noises register as words and the fuzziness of sleep clears momentarily.

"He'd destroy this world for you."

Huh? What are you two talking about?

Miguel's too groggy to make sense of the context of what's being said. Even with his super hearing he has to focus to make out the words.

"You can't let him."

Irritated, he gets out of bed and walks to the front door to swing it open. The first thing he sees is you standing with Strange in the hallway. You jump at the suddenness and look up at him with wide eyes.

You have the worst poker face of anyone he's ever seen in his life.

"What are you two jabbering on about this damn early?" he asks.

He'd expected the two of you to act coy, maybe a clever 'wouldn't you like to know' retort back from the Mystic. Instead, Strange's face is entirely inscrutable, tone serious as he responds.

"We were just catching up. Nothing important. I need to head back," Strange says, then he turns to you with a meaningful tilt to his head. "Think about what I said."

"What was that about?" Miguel asks you as he watches Strange step through a portal and disappear.

You don't say anything. There's a worried frown etched between your eyebrows as you bite down on your lip.

Something crawls under Miguel's skin at the whole interaction.

You're oddly quiet the whole afternoon. Deep in thought and walking around as if in a daze, which unsettles him.

It's not difficult for him to guess what's wrong. He might have been half asleep when you and Strange were whispering in the corridors, but Miguel can put one and one together. Having two PHDs and a lifetime's experience of working in theoretical physics gives you that leg up.

In a last ditch effort to get you out of the uncharacteristic blues, he orders a dozen of your favorite cupcakes from that tiny shop in New Jersey. It costs an arm and a leg to have it couriered, but it'll be worth it if it makes you smile.

Then he sits down next to you on the bed and places the pink pastry box down on the mattress. It's your favorite place to eat cakes and it’s why you two always end up with crumbs and frosting all over the sheets.

You happily cram half a cupcake into your mouth in one bite as you eat, and he watches you contently. If there was any fairness in the world, this quiet idyllic moment could last forever. In a good world, Miguel wouldn’t have to burst this perfect bubble.

Sadly, this world is neither fair nor good sometimes.

"Strange said something to you right?" Miguel asks.

You still next to him, clearly torn between whether or not to share what was said to you, probably in secret with the very intention of being kept away from him.

“Nena,” Miguel tries again, and you close your eyes taking a deep breath, caving into his prodding.

"Strange thinks that my incidents might be correlated with the strange natural occurrences lately."

That fucking asshole. He knew it. Irritation pings across his jaw, and Miguel bites it down. He tries to reel it, forcing back the rant that wants to surface. Instead he tries to focus on you instead of his own anger.

"We don't know that. It could just be a series of coincidences," Miguel tells you.

You nod, but Miguel's not an idiot and neither are you. He can see the worry creasing your eyes as you look down to your lap.

Putting down the cupcake, he reaches over and links his right hand with yours.

"Nena, don't worry.” He cups his free hand over your cheek to drag you up to meet his eyes.

“I'll fight the whole universe to keep you safe if I have to. Nothing's ever going to harm you so long as I'm here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. You're the most important thing to me."

You smile at him at the words, but there's a wistfulness to it that embeds a dull ache in his chest that he wants to physically rub away to make it stop.

You lean into his touch, until your forehead presses up against his and the physical touch blunts the ache in him for a moment, putting it on pause.

"You’re the most important to me too," you say.

The sky itself cracks open not long after.

It doesn’t take the combined forces and intellect of the entire world too long to hone in on you being the root cause. Soon enough every superhero, mutant, villain and alien starts coming after you. Because hero or villain alike, no one truly wants their world to end, not if it’s not on their terms.

Mysterio tries to kidnap you by the elevator in your apartment building. The Human Torch even tries to burn the whole building down. The Punisher tries to murder you point blank outside your office.

Miguel can’t remember the last time he slept. He’s running on fumes. Day after day, he feels like he’s getting by on borrowed time.

The friends and allies you have thin out fast as the threats to the world increase in severity. Miguel never imagined having Deadpool standing outside his door stating that the life of one single person cannot outweigh the universe itself.

It’s all so stupid. None of them know what they’re talking about. A lynching mob with their torches and pitchforks. Never stopping to think whether harming you could trigger something much worse.

If Strange is right and you are the knot at the center of the fabric of reality that is coming apart, then ripping that out leaves a hole. Miguel gave up on explaining that fairly quickly because he realized that theoretical consequences doesn’t matter to an angry mob scared of facing the reality of extinction.

It all becomes a blur.

Exhaustion eats into his bones, until he can no longer tell the days apart. No matter how many times he saves you, disaster is always waiting just around the corner.

And now he’s chasing down the Green Goblin to the top of the Chrysler building from the 61st floor, where the green freak has cornered you to the edge of the rooftop.

Miguel is already out of breath, running away from the coalition of superheroes and villains that are hot on his heels, trying to stop him from saving you.

Adrenaline beats fast in his veins as he keeps running. Miguel is only able to make out those in pursuit in brief glimpses. The bright blue spandex suit of Reed Richards as his freakishly long elastic limbs stretch towards him. The blocks of metal hurtling towards Miguel, missing by inches and crashes into the side of a building as Magneto’s form hovers nearby.

He ignores them all, not sparing a glance behind him. He just has to keep moving. It doesn't matter that his muscles scream and burn in exhaustion. Doesn't matter that his head dulls with a heavy ache from lack of sleep. He has to keep going for you. Has to save you.

He's so close, he's almost there.

From the corner of his eyes, he makes out the familiar garish red flowing cape fluttering against the blue sky.

Strange.

Miguel marginally relaxes, at the sight of the sole ally he has left in this universe. He leaps across the rooftop, into the temporary safety of the observatory deck.

His feet doesn't even reach the ground. Something restrains him from behind. Bright lights materialize out of thin air. It wraps around Miguel's limb with the strength of unbreakable manacles, hugging him so tight it restricts the flow of blood to his fingers. Then he’s brought down to his knees.

Miguel whips his head back and Strange stands there, hands formed in a holding gesture.

“What are you–”

"I'm sorry," Strange says.

Miguel snarls at his restraints, wrenching and twisting in every direction he is able to even with the limited range of motion, but it's to no avail. The harder he struggles the more forceful the restraints seem to close in on him, mirroring his strength.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this. I really hoped there was another way but every life in the whole of the universe is at stake, Miguel."

Hot burning anger spears through him, and if he could he would raze it all to the ground with it. This place, this world and this fucking traitor standing there can all fucking burn. Miguel is gonna kill him. He's gonna kill this fucking bastard. He can't believe he trusted him.

“Strange, fucking let me… Stephen!”

He hears your pained shout and snaps his head towards the sound.

Miguel is only ten feet away from you. Ten measly feet from where the Green Goblin is holding you by the ledge of the rooftop. He can still reach you, if he can get free he can still save you.

Tearing through the magical binds, there’s a bone-cracking sound in his shoulder. Searing pain spreads through his arm. For all his struggles, he doesn't know if he’s even an inch closer towards you.

He watches you drop from the ledge.

It's a pin drop moment where everything stops. His heart is no longer beating.

No. This can't be how it ends.

He's moving forward, even as the sharp restraints digs into his limbs and flesh and burrows in with an excruciating ache. But the pain doesn't matter. All that matters is you.

It claws into him, and digs and tears, until he is sure that his entire limbs are going to be torn off, but he doesn't stop, keeps pulling against the resisting strength that surrounds him, rips against the hindrance embracing every ounce of the pain until finally, the pressure gives.

There's a cacophony of sound that's left behind him as he leaps through the air. He slingshots downwards, cutting through air as he tries to reach you.

Miguel catches your hand and relief fills his chest.

"I got you. I got you," he murmurs. He's not sure if those words are to calm you or himself.

Pulling you up in defiance of the pull of gravity, he tries to haul you up towards him. Your hand squirms in his, and if you keep going you're going to slip out of his grasp.

"Nena, don't move," he shouts in alarm, but you don't stop, twisting in all directions, making it harder for him to get a better grip.

What're you– You're resisting against his strength, why would you...

It hits him with a sickening realization.

You don' want him to save you.

"Stop!" he shouts. “Stop!”

You shake your head, tears filling the corner of your eyes that flow upwards and everything is upside down to him.

"We’re out of time. You have to let me go,” you say.

His fingers squeeze down even harder at your words, refusing to hear it.

“There's still time. There are still other options. I can still save you!”

Your hand reaches for the amulet pressed against your collarbone. Dread floods every nerve in his body as he sees your fingers squeeze around it.

"No!" He shouts. Screams it so loud it burns in his lungs. But deep down he knows it's not going to make any difference. "Nena, don't!"

The wind whips too loudly against his face. The sound of your heart pounding so painfully hard in his ear that it's deafening and he knows that sound will haunt him forever.

You're scared.

He sees your lips move, but he can't hear what you're saying.

But he's heard these words so many times before from your lips that he knows them by heart.

''I love you.''

An invisible force blasts away at him, it shatters through him through his limbs and torso into the very soft tissue of his stomach and makes his teeth shake. He's propelled upwards, unable to control his movements or defy the gravity that he's learned to navigate after all these years mid-air.

He holds on as hard as he can to your hand, but it doesn't matter. His fingers slip, his grip is lost.

You're falling through the sky.

Miguel doesn't remember much after that.

Somehow he makes it back onto the ground.

Somehow he finds you amongst the cracked dirty concrete.

Somehow, despite falling from over a 100 feet your body is still intact where it lies lifeless on the ground.

Your bones are broken though. Body limp and soft in his arms in a way that has never felt more wrong to him. His only consolation is that you're still warm in his arms, and he thinks that maybe if he just doesn't let go, if he holds you tightly pressed to him the way he is doing now, it'll remain that way forever.

The sky has cleared above. There are no cracks in the azure blue canvas.

This world is saved.

His world has ended.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To @thirstworldproblemss who has been with me on this journey since chapter one without her enthusiasm and her companionship and friendship and listening to my wild ramblings about this story, I would never have set out to write this thing. She gave me so much joy in the process, she also gave me her time and her skills and brainy talent to help me process and brainstorm this into a shape that I was excited to share with you all! You also have her to thank for that devastating last line.

@guruan who has been a constant well of inspiration with her amazing art, her bright sense of humor and her sharing of theories of what's going to happen! You've made writing this story so much fun!

Author's note: Here we go guys, we've officially entered the final arc now. With only three chapters to go! I am so excited to share the remaining puzzle pieces with you all!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #marvel mcu #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you

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fandomnerd9602 · 4 months ago

Text

Planning Jitters

Fem!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

The colors are all wrong. I can’t find the right dress. These were the thoughts running through Petra Parker’s mind. She hadn’t had her prom yet and here she was planning her wedding to you, the son of the legendary Tony Stark.

The wedding, along with its usual stresses and jitters, had brought a whole new set of anxieties and worries to the forefront of Petra’s mind. It was all too much for her.

You were loving and gentle with her. Everything a young woman like Petra could want in a husband. The downside was the jokes and jeering that she got at Midtown High.

Guys were jealous of you and girls were jealous of her. There was constant snide remarks of how quickly you two were tying the knot. Rumors spread of her faking a pregnancy or how she was only marrying you for the money.

All of it along with the worries she had led Petra to sit on the Empire State Building. Her feet dangling over the edge. The wind in her hair. The distant sound of cars and people. It all allowed her mind to ease for five seconds or so.

Then came the metallic clank of a power suit behind her.

“Hey Spider Monkey” you said with a gentle smile. “Why do all our talks lead us here?”

“It’s a great view” she shrugged. Petra patted the spot next to her, silently inviting you to join her. You gladly did.

“So what’s eating you?”

“Our wedding plans.” Petra bit her lip, “and everything afterwards”

“O-oh” you blushed a little.

“It scares and excites me. I-I wanna spend my life with you. But are we moving too fast?”

“We don’t have to get married right after high school. We can wait til after college.” You rub the back of your neck. “It scares me too”

“Really?” She looks to you, her hazelnut eyes reflecting the sunlight perfectly.

“Dad gave me the talk when I was younger and I-I don’t want to hurt you. Both in the physical sense and the emotional sense.”

“Y/N…”

“I love you, Petra. But can I be the husband you need? I want to be but I…I’m scared.”

Petra wraps you in a hug as you hug her tight back.

“We’ll solve this together. Maybe we are perfect for each other” she giggles.

“I think we are.” You smiled back. “And don’t listen to those idiots in the hallway. I’ll buy out all their works when they’re older and then fire them.”

“Don’t!” Petra giggles. Her stomach grumbles, “aw crap. I didn’t have-“

You summon your suit and pull our two PB&J sandwiches. Your spider monkey can’t help but smile.

The jitters would pass as would the jeering in the hallway, but your love for Petra Parker will remain eternal

Tags: @ma1egamer @jacenradio7 @supercorpdanbeau @multi-fandom-enjoyer @holiday-house-of-m @tokufighter @family-house-of-m @ab1nsur @russianredassassin @revanshand @iamnicodemus @iiconicsfan25

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moonlit-imagines · 1 year ago

Text

Headcanons for Halloween with Peter Parker

Peter Parker x reader

warnings:

a/n: FORGOT I WAS WRITIN THIS. LATE HALLOWEEN POST. I HAVE BEEN SO BUSY.

prompt:

you were spider-man for halloween (of course)

“really?” -peter

“there’s no better costume i could have picked” -you

peter was…iron man

“don’t tell mr. stark about this. ever” -peter

“too late” -you, taking a picture

you sent it straight to tony

and he called almost immediately

“you could have told me you were gonna be me, im flattered. i could have lent you an old suit of mine so you didn’t have to wear that cheap mask” -tony

“that’s so kind of you, but i dont know how safe it is to wear a military grade weapon to any halloween parties or like, on the street” -you

“well, you guys wouldn’t be on the street. you could fly!” -tony

“thank you, mr. stark. i just think i’ll fit it better with this stuff!” -peter

“well, suit yourself. cheaply.” -tony

you guys took so many pictures together

remaking all kinds of poses and such

(you colored a paper plate to look like captain america’s shield and did the spider pose on peter’s bed)

you both recreated the peter/tony picture together

“can i draw the goatee on your face” -you

“it’d be my greatest honor” -peter

it was sloppy but it was a fantastic addition

“‘FRIDAY, how many hours of sleep should the average human being get each night?’” -peter, mocking tony’s voice

“‘eight hours, mr. stark’” -you, mocking FRIDAY

“‘no, you’re wrong FRIDAY. the answer is two hours every two days’” -peter

fighting the urge to go trick or treating

“i mean—aren’t we a little too old for that?” -you

“i don’t really think there’s an age limit” -peter

“yeah, but like, i was thinking more of a party and some scary movies afterwards” -you

“…i have to call ned” -peter

ned showed up to peter’s house dressed as a spider

“we coordinated this. im the spider that bit you” -ned

may was basically babysitting you guys with a camera during all of this, too

constantly snapping candids

“guys, squeeze together so i can get a few more” -may

you guys ended up finding a party thrown by a midtown student and it was…

okay?

not exactly your speed, you know?

ned actually was kind of into it though

“shots! shots! shots!” -the crowd

ned did one shot

“UGHHHHHH” -ned, hating every second of it

“told you” -you and peter

okay, so maybe the party was a blow

(you guys stole a bunch of candy out of a bowl and left)

the neighborhood had really cool halloween lights, you were able to wander and check out the decor

“that’s so me” -you, every 60 seconds

“no, that’s me” -peter

“no, that’s you” -you, pointing at an inflatable spider that had been deflated

when you got back to peter’s, you found may obsessively baking “halloween treats”

“hi guys! okay, so i have witch finger pretzels, ghost marshmallows, pumpkin cookies—oh! and those tiny pumpkins with paint. go ahead, take some stuff!” -may

you all three squeezed together on the couch and turned on the halloween movie (og of course)

“no one draw any more spiders!” -peter

*you and ned freezing and trying to cover the spiders you just painted*

“oops” -you

cracking up the whole time

peter trying to poke you with the witch finger pretzel

then pretending to pick his nose with it and eat it

“ew, peter! stop!!” -you

“hey, did may just stick some sprinkles in this marshmallow and call it a ghost?” -ned

“yeah. it’s a ghost.” -peter

“yeah, ned. are you too good for it?” -you

*ned quietly eating the marshmallow*

every once in a while you’d start paying attention to the movie again

“gross. fake. dumbass. ew.” -you

eventually you guys all crashed (on the couches, of course) and may made sure to give each of you a blanket so you had a good night

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @zoeyserpentluck // @wild-rose-35 // @ipurpleeyou // @nekoannie-chan // @punk-rock-raven // @evilcr0ne // @minxsblog // @v0idl1nq // @sydknee624 // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston //@multifandomfix // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 //

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #fall imagine #halloween imagine #autumn imagine #holiday imagine

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takiki16 · 5 months ago

Note

Was watching Coyote Ugly and Bridget Moynahan, who plays Helen Wick, is in it. So now, I fully accept this movie as her origin story. x)

YOU. YES. THIS VIBES. IT FUCKS, EVEN. YEAH.

Loud, proud, angry early 00's fashion Helen, yelling snarky comebacks at her regulars and doing bartender juggling tricks with bottles that would never be allowed past the door of Continental. Helen, dancing on the bar top, emptying a bucket of icy water over her head and absolutely soaking John because he's staring like a fucking creep right up against the bar, horribly out of place and horribly in love. Helen, working the floor and picking up tips, striding boldly up to their nightly fancy suit creep and grabbing a hunk of his hair to pull his face down into the boobs he's been trying not to stare at all night. She waves a pair of scissors teasingly at the hooting night rush crowd, and feels the flinch of hard muscle beneath her hands as the guy puts his hands - not on her ass, but back on his knees.

Helen, after a long shift, standing in a ratty leather jacket outside the cafe as the fancy suit creep awkwardly tries to put the moves on her. She slips a hand into her bag for the brass knuckles her PO definitely doesn't know about.

"Look, dickbag," she says roughly as the guy just keeps staring. "I don't know what you think you're entitled to, but I can and will fuck you up. Move along, this doesn't have to get personal."

"Sorry," says the guy even more awkwardly. "I picked a bad time. I'm not very good at this."

"No shit," snaps Helen. "Now beat it, or I'll tell Romero to call the cops."

"Please don't do that," says Creepy Suit. He doesn't look scared, but the puppy eyes don't go away. Puppy eyes. Zoe would love him. Cammie would eat him alive. "If you don't want to see me again, I'll go."

Helen considers. Despite the creepy stare, the guy isn't bad-looking. Might even be cute, if he dropped the funeral director attitude. He's got an expensive suit on, as well as classy shoes and a watch that Helen knows she could hock for a nice handful of cash right around the corner. He clearly has a thing for her. Probably a repressed stockbroker from north of Midtown whose stuck-up wife wouldn't blow him. Worth at least a couple bills for her - maybe even a grand, if she played him right. If he got weird, she could kick his ass and send him on his way.

How dangerous could he be?

"I didn't say that," Helen says, and smiles. Cocks a hip. Lets him know that she sees him looking. Or not looking, whatever. He really is adorable. "Didn't catch your name."

"John," says Creepy Suit, and it turns out he can smile. "John Wick."

#helen wick #john wick #my posts #coyote ugly #bridget moynahan #I AM IN LOVE #THOUGH THIS au definitely doesn't end up with them in that same multimillion house in the jersey burbs i can't see this helen there

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gojodarling · 1 year ago

Text

after hours ⤑ gojo satoru | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: ❝ thanks to the missions assigned by the higher-ups, you've not seen your boyfriend in two weeks. thus, when he asks you to meet him in his office, at two am no less, there's little you can do to refuse him. ❞ established relationship. pwp.

❥ pairing: gojo x f!reader ❥ genre: fluff ∴ smut ❥ word count: 14.7k don't look at me

⤑ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: hard dom!gojo, bratty sub!reader, big cock!gojo, bdsm themes, office sex, teasing, hickeys, marking, fingering, degradation, dirty talk, finger sucking, spanking, pain kink, thigh riding, masturbation, praise, grinding, thigh spanking, choking, nipple play, nipple torture, bondage, anal play, gojo is mean, orgasm control, orgasm denial, cum eating, excessive rubbing/grinding of genitals, wet & messy, self exhibitionism & voyeurism, unprotected sex, riding, rough sex, crying, begging, overstimulation, objectification kink (i.e. she wants to be used as a cocksleeve), deep dicking, hair pulling, once again gojo is fucking mean, spit as lube, anal fingering, multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, squirting, brief cum play

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: nothing but gojo brain rot for the rest of the gowhores out there because i am v much obsessed with this man. 12/10 would sell my soul for 1 [one] lick of his dick

― read it on AO3 here

It’s a Tuesday night when your phone buzzes from under your pillow. Considering it’s way past midnight, and you’re attempting to fall asleep—though to no avail, sleep generally didn’t come to you until the early hours of night—you decide to ignore it. Whoever it is, can wait till the morning. After you’ve had some well deserved rest.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself at first.

That is, until your phone buzzes again after a couple of moments. Then again, and again, and again. Until the buzzing sound drives you insane and you have no choice but to answer whoever was messaging you. Whoever it is, it better be a life or death situation—if it’s anything short of mass curses terrorising midtown Tokyo and slaughtering everyone, you’ll be the one committing a series of murders. Especially if it’s the higher-ups sending you on another mission.

When your phone buzzes again, this time with a slew of vibrations, you groan and blindly reach under your pillow to grab it, your eyes squinting at the harsh light when you see multiple notifications from your boyfriend. Curiosity speckling your being, you unlock your phone and open his messages.

asshole💖: u up? asshole💖: baby? asshole💖: baabbbbyyy asshole💖: come on wakey wakey sweet angel asshole💖: its not even 3am i know ur not asleep asshole💖: honey? asshole💖: sweetheart? asshole💖: pretty girl? asshole💖: princess? asshole💖: little dove? you: no, i am asleep asshole💖: haha, knew you weren’t :) asshole💖: where r u rn? you: ? you: in bed you: where else would i be??? asshole💖: which bed, mine or urs you: mine obviously you: ur luxury penthouse is 2 big n bougie for me to stay in it comfortably without u you: all that space to myself is… disconcerting asshole💖: u deserve luxury n bougie baby asshole💖: nothing but the best for my girl

That has you pausing, a warm fuzziness settling within your stomach. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and gnaw at the flesh, your eyes roving across the text over and over again. Satoru spoils you like no one else would, like no one else could. Lavish dates at fancy, completely booked out, reservation only restaurants, extravagant holidays and cruises to beautiful countries across the world, expensive gifts from luxury brands with far more zeros than it’s worth on the price tag.

But none of that compares to the way Satoru is completely and utterly enamoured with you; nor the way he claims you as his. My girl. Something about the honeyed possessiveness in his words blooms butterflies within the pits of your abdomen. And if you close your eyes, you can envision the carnal lust in his eyes as his gaze roves over your body, feel the greedy hunger in his touch as his imaginary fingers skim over your flesh, setting it afire with need. You’ve never felt as loved, or desired, in your life as you have with Satoru.

A smile curls at your lips involuntarily and you begin typing again.

you: ok that’s sweet you: but also it’s fine, i like my room asshole💖: ok so ur at the school then, yeah? come meet me at my office you: what you: ??????? you: no you: its 2am you: some of us are trying to sleep asshole💖: without me? unfortunate. asshole💖: and also unacceptable you: not my fault you’re on a mission

You pause, your exhausted brain slowly parsing his words as you reach over his previous texts once again. In your tiredness, you’d somehow missed the fact that he’d asked you to meet in his office—an office that was definitely in Tokyo, Japan and not London, England where he’d been sent on a mission. As soon as it clicks, you shoot up in bed, the covers falling to your waist. The warmth you’d enveloped yourself disappears, your flesh prickling with goosebumps as a shiver runs up your spine at the sudden drop in temperature. Ignoring the sudden chill, your fingers hastily glide over your phone screen as you reply to him.

you: wait. did u say meet u at ur office???? you: satoru r u back??? asshole💖: lol yeah asshole💖: also not my fault i was on a mission either :(((( asshole💖: blame the higher ups asshole💖: maybe i should kill all of them <3 asshole💖: if it weren’t for them, i would never have to leave u you: 🙄 you: you’ve been saying that ur gonna kill them all for years and yet… here we r, so either follow thru or move on 🙄🙄🙄 you: but also gojo… when tf did u get back 🤨 asshole💖: gojo?! asshole💖: who tf is gojo you: ??? u lmao asshole💖: no tf i’m not asshole💖: it’s satoru, or toru, or baby, or love of my life, or my one and only, or the best dick game ever to u asshole💖: not gojo you: ur literally so annoying asshole💖: you love me you: right now? debatable. i am TRYING to sleep asshole💖: but u can’t sleep can u? you: well, i could if SOMEONE stops blowing up my phone with texts 😐 asshole💖: hahaha asshole💖: ur so funny you: oh my god. WHAT do u want??????? asshole💖: i literally told you. meet me in my office lol you: ? yeah u mentioned you: but why? you: can’t we just see each other tomorrow morning you: u know you: at a more reasonable time asshole💖: no i have something to show u you: what? asshole💖: a surprise :) you: i literally hate you. its 2 ! AM ! asshole💖: yeah but i just got back asshole💖: and i missed u you: … you: i missed you too toru asshole💖: okay good. so you’ll meet me in my office then? you: that is not what i said asshole💖: come ooonnn baby. i really, really missed you :( asshole💖: and that pretty pussy you: you dick!!!! surprise my ass you: this is just about u getting ur dick wet!!!!! asshole💖: hahahaha u got me asshole💖: but no i srsly have a surprise asshole💖: so my office, yeah? you: satoru, it’s so late you: i rly am trying to sleep

Despite your blatant refusal, you find yourself complying. It wasn’t very often that you could truly deny Satoru. More than that, you have missed him, and in spite of the late hour, you couldn’t wait to see him. Throwing the covers off of yourself completely, you slip your feet into your sliders and walk across your room to your closet.

asshole💖: i know u can’t sleep till u get this gojick you: wtf is a gojick asshole💖: gojo dick 🍆💦🍆💦🍆💦 you: 😐 you: yes i can. watch me do it rn you; 🥱😴💤

It only takes you a brief few seconds to type out the messages, before you open your wardrobe and begin looking for some clothes to wear. It’s the middle of winter, and considering the school’s location high in the mountains, on the far outskirts of Tokyo, you would not be able to get away crossing the campus from your accommodation to Satoru’s office—no matter how short the walk—in just your scant pyjamas. Not without you first freezing your tits off at least.

asshole💖: hahaha come on u know u want ur gojogasms asshole💖: so come to my office you: you ! are ! so ! annoying !!!!!! you: also why ur office? you: you can literally warp here and it’s be easier. hell u could even walk. the office isn’t far from my room asshole💖: yeah but where’s the fun in that lol asshole💖: office because i’m doing paperwork you: haha what a joke. u never do paperwork asshole💖: well SOMEONE said im too mean to ijichi. so now i’m doing my own paperwork asshole💖: but it’s boring. and i want u asshole💖: i promise i’ll make it worth ur while you: …. asshole💖: come on angel you: ugh fine you: this surprise better be worth it too asshole💖: ur gonna love it you: if the surprise is just ur dick i’m going to be so mad asshole💖: 😈 asshole💖: alsoooooooo asshole💖: wear something sexy

Flicking your eyes from the message on your phone screen, you look at the pair of sweatpants and thick jumper you’d rifled from your closet. Warm but definitely not sexy. You haphazardly throw them back into your cupboard before texting your boyfriend back.

you: fuck u asshole💖: don’t worry sweetheart, gonna fuck u so good

Twenty minutes later, you’re walking through the empty corridors of Tokyo Jujutsu High. Thick shafts of moonlight filter through the glass windows, the hoary effulgence your only source of light as you navigate through the school. The wintry air is crisp against your skin, the brittle wind seeping through the cracks of the window and nipping your naked flesh. Limbs trembling, you pull your boyfriend’s jacket closer to you—the article one of many he’d left in your room in the year you’ve been together—it’s warmth your only reprieve from the cold.

Other than Satoru’s jacket, you’re not wearing much else—just a skimpy lingerie set— and though his coat is warm, and oversized enough to cover you to mid-thigh, your outfit does little to shield you from the frigid weather. Nonetheless, with how you’re practically running across the campus grounds, you’ve built up enough heat to keep you warm. As thrilling as it is to walk around the deserted school grounds practically naked for a rendezvous with your boyfriend, you’d really rather not have one of your fellow faculty members—or god forbid, a student—catch you in your current state of dress.

It’s clear you’re not here to complete paperwork. More than that, no one in their right mind would be caught dead out and about in an outfit like this in the middle of winter. Sexy, but definitely not warm.

Thankfully, within moments, you arrive at the door to Satoru’s office and, with a brief knock, you enter. The second you do, however, you halt, a frown forming on your lips. Your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Eyebrows furrowed, your expression coloured with confusion, you approach his desk. The lights are dimmed low, a soft amber glow cast over the space. Your gaze flickers around and from the abandoned papers sprawled on Satoru’s desk, along with his jacket slung over the back of the chair, you know he has been here.

So where the fuck is he now?

Just as you move for your phone, you hear heavy footsteps echo across the hallway. Cocking your head to the side, you watch as Satoru enters his office, only to pause when he sees you. Your boyfriend seems to have abandoned his blindfold, lambent eyes of cerulean on display as they rake over you, a hum of appreciation rumbling through his chest as he takes in your outfit.

“Satoru,” you breathe heavily.

The sound of your voice has him moving once again, your breath hitching as he closes the distance, until he’s standing right in front of you.

“Satoru—” you choke out a second time, your throat tightening at the sight of his blown out pupils, the inky wells dilated with lust and obscuring the ethereal blue of his irises.

Your boyfriend simply hums again, the rich timbre of the sound reverberating through the air and straight to your core. Inadvertently, your thighs clench, molten desire pooling within the pits of your abdomen.

“So pretty in my clothing,” he murmurs, dark possessiveness overshadowing the lust in his eyes. His hand wraps around you, a gasp falling from your lips as he pulls your chest flush against his own, only to lift you up and perch you on the edge of his desk. In a smooth motion, he steps between your legs, your thighs instinctively spreading to make room for him.

You stare at him through the thick of your eyelashes and swallow thickly— an attempt to soothe your dry throat. “W-Where’s my surprise?” you finally ask, grimacing internally at the stutter in your voice.

It’s been a little over two weeks since you’ve seen Satoru—both of you passing each other like ships in the night. Whenever you were back from a mission, it’d seem like Satoru was scheduled on one, and vice versa. You have no idea if the higher-ups had purposely done it, but if you had to bet money on it, you’d bet that they had. The animosity between Satoru and them was no secret, and you wouldn’t put it past them to take out their frustration with him on your relationship.

Two weeks may seem like a short time, but you couldn’t deny just how much you missed him in those days, and reunited now, it was even more evident in the way your body ached for him, the way your pussy wept to be filled by him.

Running his glossy lips along the column of your throat, “You’ll have to wait for it,” Satoru murmurs before lightly nipping your flesh. A gasp of surprise slips through your mouth, your head falling to his shoulder before lolling to the side as you grant him further access. The heat between your thighs intensifies—your arousal dripping out of you and onto your thighs.

“I—I want it now,” you somehow manage to force out, your eyes fluttering as Satoru blooms bruises into your skin—his lips suckling and his teeth scraping your flesh. The hand around your waist drops to your hip and, gripping it, he pulls you further into him. Feeling the hard outline of his throbbing shaft, you let out a small moan; Satoru lowly chuckles.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he responds, his voice heavily laced with a taunt. The pet name drips from his lips, thick like honey and as sweet as sin. “You want it now?” he mimics. As he speaks, his hips buck forward, your mouth parting in a loud groan when his cock presses further against your core. Your pussy clenches at the sensation, your hands moving to grip Satoru’s shirt.

“T-Toru,” his name spills from your lips in a needy whimper, your hips thrusting forward to push against him. Your actions cause Satoru to laugh, the sound low and dark against your neck.

“Tell me, what is it you want?” Satoru taunts, a knowing lilt to his voice. You can’t see his face from the way it's buried into the delicate column of your throat. But you don’t need to see it, you can feel the shit-eating, teasing grin that paints his plump lips—in more ways than one.

A ripple of annoyance flutters through you at his cockiness. He has you exactly how he always does—wanton and desperate for him—and he knows it, feels it in the way you squirm under him. Hell, he could probably smell it, your arousal dripping out of you and onto your thighs, his desk, his crotch. You’d be damned if he had you this easy, he’d never let you live it down. Thus, gathering as much of your willpower, you allow a teasing smile to curl at your lips.

“I want my surprise, Gojo,” you purr out your demand, drawing out the syllables of his name in a sultry tone. When your voice comes out steady, you internally cheer. Instantly, Satoru lifts his head before harshly biting the soft flesh of your earlobe. The action tears a soft cry from your lips, Satoru’s fingers digging into the soft flesh at your hips, so hard you’re sure he’ll bruise his fingerprints into your skin.

“What did you just call me?” he questions, eyeing you with his unimpressed gaze.

“Gojo,” you goad once again. You stare at him with wide eyes, the faux innocence belied by a mischievous twinkle.

“You’ll regret that, baby,” Satoru sneers.

His long fingers move to push the hem of his jacket further up your thighs, uncovering more and more of your skin. With each inch of flesh revealed to his gaze, Satoru devours you, his grandidierite eyes following the movement of his hands up your legs. With a final push, Satoru bunches the hem of his coat around your hips, his hand slipping underneath the material. A guttural moan emanates from your throat when you feel his warm palm pressing hard against your abdomen.

Immediately, his hand begins trailing down until his fingers reach the waistband of your lace panties. He doesn’t bother divesting the coat from your body. Instead, he watches your face as his fingers dip under the elastic.

“Spread,” comes his command; his deep voice cutting sharply through the air.

You don’t have to be asked twice, your thighs immediately parting as you grant him better access to your folds, your pussy desperately aching for his touch.

“Someone’s being good,” Satoru chuckles.

Before you can retort, however, his hand darts further into your underwear, his fingers slipping between your folds and causing you to hiss at the sudden contact. Completely ignoring your clit, Satoru’s fingers begin softly massaging your soaked, puffy lips—the pads of his middle and pointer finger rubbing against either fold of your sex.

“S’toru,” you gasp, your eyes fluttering as you feel him play with your folds.

“Aww, is my baby all swollen and needy? Have you missed my cock in you, princess?” Satoru jeers, a lopsided smirk on his face.

Your nose wrinkles at the taunt. “F-Fuck you,” you stammer.

In a flash, Satoru’s hand moves, his pointer finger and thumb swiftly pinching your swollen clit. The sudden pain, mixed with pleasure, has you crying out, your hand shooting to grip his arm as you dig your nails into its flesh.

“Such a fucking brat, aren’t you, sweetheart,” Satoru practically spits out the endearment. “But it’s all for show, isn’t it? I know how much you want me, know how much of a desperate little cockslut you really are for me,” he continues with a hiss. Thighs trembling, you mew out your disagreement, though the high-pitched, needy inclination of your voice gives you away in an instant.

In indolent movements, Satoru circles the outline of your clit with his fingertip, lightly rolling it under his touch. Whining at the action, you feel your pussy clench around nothing; a gush of wetness floods out of you and down your thighs.

Moving his fingers through your slit, Satoru smirks. His gaze firmly locked on yours, he runs his long, nimble fingers through your cunt, gathering as much of your wetness onto them as he can. Then, travelling further down, he comes into contact with your rippling entrance. Satoru lets out a soft coo when he feels the slick, heated hole.

“God, you’re already so wet. Bet I could slide my cock into this tight little hole right now if I wanted to, bet you’d take it all like a well-trained whore,” he derisively sneers.

Reflexively, your pussy begins to pulsate, twitching around his fingers. The pads of his pointer and middle finger press against your entrance—just enough pressure to draw your attention to it, but not enough to press into you. No matter how much you buck into his hand.

“Oh? I can feel this pretty cunt twitch, baby. Is that what you want? To feel my fat cock slide into this little hole and fuck it open?” Satoru jeers, emphasising his words by sliding two fingers into you.

Pliant in your state of lust, the walls of your cunt easily spread open around his digits, the ringed muscles contracting and sucking him deeper into your velvet depths. Your forehead drops to rest on his chest in response, a low keen escaping your chest when you feel his fingers thrust inside you. Unrelenting, Satoru pushes them deeper and deeper—the motion incredibly slow and deliberate, making you feel every centimetre of his fingers, until he’s pushed them hilt-deep.

“P-please,” you stutter out, your hips grinding into his hand as you try to get him to move.

“Look at me, baby. I want to see how fucked out you are just for my fingers,” Satoru commands.

Unable to disobey, you shift your head and look up at him through the thick of your eyelashes. Gaze locked onto your own, Satoru groans at the turbulent, heady lust clearly visible in your eyes. Pleased by your obedience, he begins leisurely thrusting his fingers into you, the digits wriggling inside you with every plunge. Soft whimpers fall from your lips, your fingers curling around Satoru’s arm tighter as you moan in pleasure.

“Shit—Look at you. Look at the way you’re fucking into my hand. Needy bitch,” Satoru laughs lowly. And sure enough, you grind against his palm, your ass rocking onto his fingers. Swivelling your hips, you thrust into him harder—your cunt walls pulsating as your pussy tries to swallow his fingers deeper. However, all of a sudden, Satoru’s pulling his hand out of your panties, his fingers pulling out of your cunt and leaving you feeling empty all of a sudden.

“No!” you sob, your hips bucking wildly in an attempt to chase his fingers. Softly, Satoru hushes you, pressing soothing kisses against your neck—even as he keeps his hand between your thighs—his fingers rubbing your nether lips and wiping your slick onto them. Pulling away from your sex, he brings his fingers to your lips.

“Awww baby, it’s okay. I’ll ruin that sweet little cunt soon. Fuck you so good, you’ll be crying on my cock,” Satoru cajoles.

“Toru—Toru, please,” you whine, your hips squirming over his desk. You should feel ashamed, you know you should, with the way your pussy is leaking all over his desk. Yet, you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when the emptiness in your cunt aches to be filled up.

“Yeah, baby? Want me to fill you up nice and tight with my cock? Want me to cum inside till you’re leaking?” he taunts. The sinfulness of his words has you releasing another gush of arousal, the walls of your pussy tightening around nothing as you feel the dull ache return with a vengeance. Brushing his fingers against your lips, he paints them in your own essence.

“Suck,” Satoru orders as he pushes the digits into your mouth and onto your tongue. Reflexively, you wrap your mouth around the appendages, licking off your own arousal—the heady flavour heavy on your tongue. Satoru hums in approval. Then, he’s stepping away, his fingers slipping from your mouth.

With laboured breaths, you watch as he steps away from you and towards his chair. Eyes glued to his figure, you watch as he takes a seat, his thighs spreading out to accommodate his lengthy legs. In his new position, you can clearly see the way his trousers tent—his indurated cock straining within the confines of his jeans. Staring at you with lust-filled eyes, Satoru beckons you over to him with a crook of his fingers, and on wobbly legs, you walk over to him. When you’re a few feet in front of him, Satoru raises his palm—stopping you in your tracks.

Hand falling down to his side, “Take off my coat,” he orders.

Obediently, you comply. Your fingers move to unfasten the buttons of his jacket, hastily undoing each one before you clasp the material in your hands and shrug it off. The moment your figure comes into view, Satoru’s jaw clenches—the corner muscles flexing.

“Fuck,” Satoru breathes out.

Deliberately, his dark gaze wanders over you—practically feasting on your figure as he drinks you in. Pale blue and black lace cling to your skin; the skimpy material doing nothing to shield you from his predatory glower.

“Come here, pretty girl,” your boyfriend calls out to you. You hop off the desk and close the short distance, stopping when you’re between Satoru’s thick, spread thighs.

“Fuck, baby. Is this a new set? I’ve never seen it before,” he asks, his eyes trailing over your body.

With a teasing smirk, you look down at him. He’s asked you to dress sexy, so you have. Thankfully, you’d had this little piece hidden away, bought after one of your recent missions in Ginza. It was also one of the few pieces you hadn’t shown Satoru yet, something you were grateful for now. It’s a pretty set—made of a mix of delicate lace and soft satin. Of course, it had cost a small fortune—but it’d been worth every yen.

The cups are made of see-through baby blue lace—clearly revealing your hardened nipples as they poke against the material—while the thin straps are made of black satin, each wrapping around your rib cage and breasts like a harness, while a thicker one reaches from between your breasts to wrap around your neck like a choker. The panties are designed in a similar manner—thin, barely-there lace covering your sex while multiple black satin straps sit on your upper hips—just under your waist. You completed the look with a pair of black garters and stockings, the black suspenders clinging onto the lace tops of your thigh highs.

Definitely sexy, just like he’d asked.

“Mhm, do you like it?” you ask before twirling.

All of a sudden, with your back turned towards him, you feel Satoru’s hands grip your hips—halting you in your movements. Lips curling into a devious glint, you know your boyfriend’s seen the best part of this set. You’re glad he was more preoccupied with the way your cunt had felt against his fingers earlier—otherwise, you’re sure he would have realised sooner.

“Fuck are these—” Satoru breathes out, his voice a little strained as he stares at your ass. Turning around and looking at him over your shoulder, your eyes flash with playful delight.

“Crotchless? Mhm,” you hum in response. Satoru sucks in a sharp breath, and instantly, he’s pressing against the lower curve of your spine, pushing you to bend over in front of him.

The movement causes your ass to spread slightly, the thick bands of lace resting against fleshy cheeks pulling apart in tandem. Hissing at the sight, Satoru’s hands grip your ass before his thumbs press against the lower part of your cheeks: spreading the globes and further revealing your sex to him. A strangled moan slips from his throat, his eyes trailing from your ass to your slit, watching as the two thick pieces of fabric turn narrow, resting in the junction of either of your thighs before attaching to the thicker material that he knows covers your mons pubis.

You feel his heavy gaze rest against your ass and, with his hands spreading your cheeks, you know you’re completely on display for his viewing pleasure. Growing wetter against his gaze, you feel him move one of his thumbs from your ass, the other holding you open wider, while he brushes the pad through your soaked slit. A soft moan slips past your throat at the gentle touch, his thumb lightly dipping into your messy hole.

“Sexy enough?” you innocently question. Then, lowering your voice a couple of decibels, “It’s got easy access,” you purr.

Instantly, you feel your boyfriend spank your ass—hard. Heat sears across your skin, a cry tearing through your lips at the sudden strike. Flesh smarting with pain, you feel your boyfriend’s thick lips press against the tender skin: lavishing it with soothing kisses.

“Easy access? God, you’re such a dirty fucking slut. I should spank your pretty ass raw for being such a filthy, depraved whore,” Satoru sneers. His words cause you to clench around his thumb.

“Oh? Do you like that sweetheart? You want me to spank you?” Satoru taunts, pushing his thumb deeper into your dripping hole. Eagerly, you nod, bucking your hips back into him at the prospect. Leaning forward, he presses a tender kiss to the base of your spine, the soft touch making you sigh heavily.

“Oh, I know you do, baby. You’re such a desperate little pain slut,” Satoru says. Then all of a sudden, he’s bringing his hand over your bare ass cheek. Sharp pain flares across your ass, causing you to whimper out his name. When he brings his palm onto your ass, lightly gripping and caressing it soothingly, you let out another deep sigh. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” Satoru coos.

Abruptly, he’s pushing you away. Stumbling forward, you manage to catch yourself, your palms bracing against Satoru’s desk—your boyfriend holding onto your hip to steady you, before he turns you around once more so you can watch him. Through lust-fogged eyes—your thighs rubbing against each other in a bid to alleviate the intense ache between them—you follow the way he unbuckles his jeans: a ripple of anticipation thrumming through you. Time passes slowly, and it feels like Satoru can’t move quick enough. Eventually, he pulls his cock out from under his jeans, a low whimper falling from your throat when you see it.

Perhaps it’s just that you haven’t seen it in a while—but, somehow, he looks bigger than usual. With a thick, angry pink head: the bulbous tip leaking precum, and a swollen shaft: long, thick and ridged with dusky-rose veins, you can’t help the way your mouth waters. Eyes fixated on him, you watch as he runs his large hands over his cock, swallowing thickly as it pulses in his hold. When he runs his thumb over his own tip, covering it in his own precum, you let out a pained whimper—your cunt aching to be filled by him.

“Is this what you want, baby?” Satoru asks sweetly whilst lazily palming his cock. Swiftly, you nod, your hand shooting out to grip his member. The moment you move, Satoru tuts and smacks your hand lightly.

“Satoru,” you whine, once again reaching for his cock. Again, Satoru tuts and bats your hand away.

“I didn’t say you could touch, sweetheart,” he reprimands while clicking his tongue. “In fact…” Satoru continues.

The moment he drawls out the words, you feel an inkling of despair, paired with excitement, course through you. Indolently stroking his cock, your eyes following the movement surreptitiously.

“You’re not allowed to touch at all, do you understand me, princess?” he commands, practically purring. Hearing the words, your face immediately falls—petulance etched across your features.

“Noooo, Toru,” you whine, a pout curling onto your lips. Your fingers twitch to touch him. it’s been so long, you want—no, need—to feel it. Hand shooting out, it moves to curl around his thick shaft. However, anticipating the movement, Satoru brings his hand down onto your thigh hard, causing you to mewl in pain.

“I said no,” Satoru hisses, his voice low, and dangerous.

Whimpering, you squirm harder. However, with how slick your thighs are—covered in a light sheen of your own wetness—the movement does nothing to alleviate your wanton neediness. A broken sob falls from your lip; Satoru moves his hands to your hips and pulls you closer. Dipping his head down, he runs his nose along the length of your torso: from just under your breasts, to the top of your mound. He places a tender kiss against the waistband of your underwear—his supple lips causing your flesh to tingle with pleasure.

“I told you to be good for me, baby. Don’t you want to be good for me?” Satoru taunts. An impertinent retort sits at the tip of your tongue, but you bite it down; mainly because you’re desperate to feel his cock in you—or even on you at this point.

“I’ll be good,” you murmur back.

Satoru smiles against your skin, and with a soft kiss, paired with a hum of approval, he pulls away. Then, in one fluid motion, he pushes his thigh between your legs before bringing your hips down onto them. Hissing through your teeth at the movement, your cunt clenches around nothing—the rough, hard fabric of his jeans pressing against your aching pussy. Satoru lets out a soft grunt, his thigh twitching slightly as he feels the heat of your core seep through the denim.

“God—you’re so hot. And so fucking wet…” Satoru murmurs through gritted teeth. The rough denim against your bare, swollen folds has you whimpering, and before he can say anything, you’re already fidgeting over his thighs.

“Depraved little slut. Does it feel good, baby? Hmmm, I bet it does… finally having something other than yourself touch your needy pussy,” Satoru taunts, a wry grin on his face. Eagerly, you nod, your hips moving harder.

Suddenly, he spanks your thigh, making you cry out his name. The flesh blooming with pain from the sharp impact, Satoru soothingly runs his palms up and down your thigh. “Now, I want you to be good, sweetheart. Can you do that?” Satoru asks, his voice coming out in a deep hum.

Hastily nodding, “I’ll be good,” you repeat once again.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Satoru chuckles, knowing that your obedient streak would run out sooner or later. “Now, here’s what I want you to do… I want you to ride my thigh,” Satoru commands.

You mewl in pleasure, nodding eagerly once again. You’ll ride his thigh for the rest of the night if it means he finally plays with you. Then, after a brief pause, and with a borderline sadistic smile, “But I want you to keep your hands to yourself,” Satoru finishes.

Despair washes through you at that.

“Satoru, that’s not fair. P-Please. W-Wanna feel you,” you whimper out in protest.

“I know you do, baby. But this is your punishment for behaving like a little brat. How many times did I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself, hmm? How many times have you called me Gojo, huh baby?” Satoru snarks. The deep baritone of his voice resounds through his office and involuntarily, your stomach twists.

“I’m sooory,” you whine out your apology.

Satoru chuckles darkly. His hand moves to your hip, and dipping it between your thighs, he lazily brushes it against your exposed clit. Crying out, you begin rocking over his thigh—your eyes fluttering open and shut as he continues stroking your clit with featherlight movements.

“Oh, I bet you are, sweetheart. I bet you’re soo sorry,” Satoru coos, and if you didn’t know your boyfriend better, you’d believe the false sympathy in his voice.

However, you do know better, and you’re proven right a few brief seconds after, when that same sympathy disappears. All of a sudden, Satoru flicks your clit hard, his fingernail scraping against the sensitive bud. You cry out, pleasure blurring your vision as your head falls back.

“But I told you you’d regret it, didn’t I?” Satoru laughs wryly, a sardonic smile curling at his glossy lips. “So, now, you’ll ride my thigh and watch me play with myself knowing you can’t touch. I think that’s fair, don’t you, baby?”

It’s not often that anyone would call Satoru sweet, but to you, he is. He’s sweet, and loving, and gives into every single one of your whims. But Satoru’s dominance is not to be tested—and you know that he won’t budge—no matter how much you whine or beg. At least, not until he’s sure you’re at your wit’s end.

Spanking your thigh suddenly, “I asked you a question, princess, I expect an answer,” Satoru hisses.

“Y-Yes, Toru. That’s fair,” you snivel.

It’s not. You know it’s not.

And every part of you wants to rebel, to scream that no, it’s not fair and you want to touch him, need to touch him.

Nevertheless, you know that will only result in Satoru punishing you with something worse. More than that, you’re too caught up in how good the coarse fabric of his jeans feels against your naked, sopping cunt.

“Good girl. Now, ride,” Satoru purrs as he leans back in the leather chair.

Yielding to his dominance, you gyrate your cunt against his thighs, your hands falling to grip your own—your fingers twitching to touch him. Whiny gasps and moans fall from your lips; the abrasiveness of his jeans causes you to cry out in pleasure. His thigh is thick between yours, your clit dragging across the length as you try to press it harder into him. With every movement of your hips, you leave broad trails of slick over his jeans—the thick material covered in a light coating of arousal. Though, with each motion of your hips, the fabric grows wetter.

From his reclined position, Satoru simply watches the way you move: your hips swivelling and your stomach writhing enticingly as you do your best to grind over him. Captivated by your erotic motions, Satoru begins palming at his heavy length. Lazily, he strokes his pulsating member—rhythmically squeezing it whenever you get to his tip. Mushroom tip leaking translucent beads of precum, he swipes at his slit every now and then, coating his thumb in the sticky substance as he wets his dick with his own arousal.

Seeing his movement, you let out a soft whimper; your mouth watering. You’d give anything—anything—to feel his cock. Plagued by the way it pulses in his large hands—how the angry bulbous head leaks all over him—your movements become more feverish: each motion a little faster, or harsher than the previous one.

Meanwhile, Satoru’s lust-darkened gaze trails down your body, stopping when he gets to your chest. Within the confines of your bra, your nipples are twisted hard—the buds straining against the lace mesh of the cup. A large part of him wants to remove the bra and tease your nipples until you’re begging him to cum—but he can’t deny just how undeniably good it looks on you, the sight of the baby blue and black material against your skin causing his cock to throb painfully in his hand. So, instead, he reaches out and lightly brushes his thumb against your covered nipple.

“Fuck,” you cry out, your fingernails digging into your thighs as you shudder over him.

Nonetheless, repeatedly, Satoru begins swiping his thumb over your nipples—dragging them under his pad—while his other hand leisurely strokes his own shaft. Almost painfully tightened to hardness, each of his movements has your sensitive nipples brushing against the coarse material of your bra, the sensation only heightening your pleasure. Briefly, you pause your motions, simply sitting on his thigh as your cunt erratically clenches, while you relish in the way he teases your hardened bud.

God, you desperately need to touch him.

In an instant, Satoru pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, before twisting it painfully. A sharp thrum of stinging pain shoots from your breast and straight to your core: your cunt clenching and releasing a gush of wetness at the pain.

“Did I say you could stop, sweetheart?” Satoru hisses, his pretty features twisted into a domineering sneer.

Despite his words, the pain has you arching into his hold, a moan of ecstasy emanating from your throat as you wordlessly beg for more. Satoru growls, and twists your nipple harder this time; his fingers pulling the hardened peak painfully.

“Don’t be a fucking brat. I told you to move,” he scolds.

Having had enough of your own obedience, petulance rises in your chest, and for a moment, you don’t do anything—simply looking at him, defiance rife within your eyes. Seeing the mischievous spark, Satoru raises a single eyebrow at you.

He trails his hand up your chest, his hand splaying against your sternum before he wraps it around your throat. The thick lace band of the bra’s choker pulls tighter against your throat, Satoru’s warm fingers simultaneously flexing around your neck. With his hand spread over your throat, he tenderly brushes his lips against yours. Then, pulling your lip between his teeth, he nips at the soft petal.

“Do you really want to be a brat now, princess? When you’re so close to cumming?” Satoru’s sweet voice breaks the silence; his breath wafting against your lower face.

He doesn’t say it explicitly, but the warning is there: as clear as day. If you don’t obey him, he won’t let you cum. The threat of your boyfriend edging you has your eyes widening. Usually, you would push him more—loving nothing more than when your boyfriend punishes you by pushing you to your limits. But it’s been so long since you’ve had him that you’re sure if he edges you even once, you’ll go insane, each of your brain cells fried by ravenous lust. You already can’t touch him—the restraint driving you crazy. So, instead of challenging him further, you begin moving on top of him again.

“That’s my good girl,” Satoru praises, his head dropping so he can brush his thick lips against the outline of your collarbone.

The appraising action has you mewling—and unable to help yourself—you drop your head; your nose buries in his thick hair as you breathe him in.

“Come on, sweet girl, don’t you wanna cum?” Satoru asks as he purposely tenses his thigh. His ministration causes his muscle to contract to hardness, the tense flesh pressing against your swollen clit.

The action draws a deep, guttural groan from you and you begin moving over him again. Not having had a decent orgasm in over two weeks—the orgasms you wring from your fingers or your toys nowhere near the blissful intensity of the ones Satoru reaps from you—you can already feel your stomach begin to twist; the dull heat intensifying into a searing vengeance.

Your eyes drop to where Satoru is once again playing with his own cock, palming at the heavy length in long, slow strokes. Mouth drying at the sight, you can’t resist any longer. Hand shooting out, you press your palm against his length and caress it. The moment you feel it—thick and pulsating—under your touch, you whimper needily.

Instantly, Satoru pinches your nipple—twisting and pulling it harshly. Pain flares around your breast, the stinging sensation causing your entrance to quiver and release another gush of wetness onto his jeans.

“What did I say?” Satoru hisses out.

“Please,” you whine, your hand reaching out to stroke him again. However, batting your hand away, Satoru lets out a low growl.

“Hands to yourself or I’ll tie them up,” Satoru warns through grit teeth.

Pausing for a moment, your throat constricts as you imagine being bound and at the mercy of your angry, dominant boyfriend. A thrum of excitement flitting through you, you simply quirk your eyebrow. Then, with a mischievous smile curling on your face, “You have nothing to tie me up with,” you purr out, a challenging twinkle sparkling in your eyes.

“I don’t need something to restrain you, princess,” Satoru spits out.

Then, as if to prove a point, he’s twisting your hands behind your back. Eyes widening at the sudden movement, he leaves you no room to react, one of his strong hands already gripping both your wrists in his hold. Wildly, you thrash against him, trying to release your wrists from his hold. However, Satoru is much stronger than you, the strongest, and his fingers curl around your wrists tightly in a warning.

“Toruuu,” you whine out, and moving your thigh up, you brush your knee against his cock. The unexpected movement has Satoru hissing; his grip around your wrists loosens. Using the opportunity, you break away from his hold before palming at his cock. Swiftly, you run your hand along the entire length, high-pitched keens resounding from your mouth as you relish in the velvet feel of it.

All of a sudden, Satoru spanks your thigh. In a swift motion, he buries his hand into the pocket of his jeans, before pulling out his crumpled blindfold. Your eyes widen at the fabric, and swiftly, Satoru has your hands behind your back—his fingers expertly moving to bind your wrists. Ferociously, you struggle against his hold, doing your best to prevent him from restraining your hands, but Satoru is used to your disobedience, and without much trouble, he has you tied up.

“N-No. No, wanna touch you,” you whimper out, your knee once again rising to brush against his cock. However, anticipating the movement, Satoru brings both his hands onto your thighs—holding them down with his strong grip.

“I said no. Now, I’m willing to let this slide—I know you’re desperate to touch me. But if you disobey me again, I won’t let you cum. Are we clear, princess?” Satoru hisses in a warning.

With your hands bound behind your wrists, you pout. Momentarily, you try struggling again against the binding; however, the knotted material only tightens, making you whimper.

“What did I say, sweetheart? Are you going to try disobeying? Or do you want to cum?” Satoru growls.

You pull your lip between your teeth, gnawing at it as you contemplate your next decision. Again, you want to disobey—you want him to punish you until you can’t take it anymore. However, the overwhelming need to cum overtakes your brattish tendency, and giving in to him, you submit once more.

“I want to cum. I’ll be good,” you mumble out. The corners of his lips pull into a smile, and Satoru leans forward to brush them against yours in appraisal.

“That’s my good girl. See, you do know how to behave,” Satoru hums. Preening under his praise, you nod, your thighs twitching. “Come on, baby, ride me,” Satoru urges, his hands softly massaging the flesh of your thighs.

Wrists flexing around your restraint, you let out a series of short cries and whimpers—your hips moving against him once again. One of your boyfriend’s hands moves to grip your hip, the other wanders up your body to leisurely toy with your nipple—pinching and tugging it through the lace of your bra.

The hand resting on your hip grips you, his fingers digging almost bruisingly into your pelvis as he helps you grind on him. Harder and harder, you rock on top of him: dragging your swollen, aching cunt over the entire length of his thigh as you chase your own pleasure. It’s been so long since you’ve had Satoru play with you like this that even the rough friction of his jeans against your swollen clit is going to have you cumming.

Dark eyes falling to where your thigh clenches his, your cunt moving on him, Satoru lets out a hiss. Fingers tightening on your hips, “That’s it. Good little whore. Get yourself off on my thigh. Look at you, you’re so fucking soaked I can feel you drench my jeans. Desperate fucking cockslut,” Satoru spits out. His words have you whimpering; your pussy involuntarily clenches around nothing—the contraction only serving to emphasise the emptiness of your walls.

Eyes dropping to his cock, you let out a low mew. Left untouched, it stands erect, pressed against his abdomen as it continues leaking into the cotton of his shirt. Imperceptibly, it pulses—the prominent veins pulsing every time blood is pumped to the thick, swollen shaft.

“S’toru, please. P-Please. W-Want your c-cock,” you stammer out as you begin moving in a more frenzied manner.

Humming noncommittally, Satoru presses his thumb against your nipple before rolling it in one tight circle. The ministration has you mewling his name, your spine tingling with pleasure.

“Is that right, sweet girl? Are you already that desperate for my cock? Do you want me to sink into that tight cunt? Feel my cock stretch open that tiny, needy little hole as you cum around me? Is that what you want, baby?” Satoru taunts. His voice is sweet—mellifluous and syrupy. Yet, there’s a darker undercurrent to it, a sinful undertone of dominance that causes your stomach to flip.

“Oh fuck—fuck yes… Toru, I want it. I want it so bad, please,” you beg over him.

Satoru lets out a dark chuckle, his hand moving from your hip to grip your ass. Large palm splaying across the plump flesh, he grips it in his hold before rolling and palming at the muscle.

Satoru hums.

“But I don’t think you can take it, sweetheart. It’s been so long since I’ve fucked that sweet little cunt. Mmmm… that’s right, your tiny pussy is probably too tight to take my fat cock now,” Satoru taunts. Swiftly, you shake your head, your head dropping to his shoulder as you sob out his name.

“I can take it. I can! I want to feel you stretch me out. Toru, please. I want it—want you to ruin my cunt and fuck it open, please,” you wail, pleading with him over and over again; your hips writhing wildly on his thigh.

“Needy fucking whore. God, you’re so fucking desperate,” Satoru hisses

Sitting up in the chair, he pulls your chest against his—both his hands falling to hold your ass—helping you move harder over him. His head dips into the curve of your throat, his nose running up the flesh until his plump lips tease your earlobe.

“Did you miss my cock, baby? Did you miss how good it feels when I slide into that tight little pussy? How I push into that little hole, stretch it open before fucking you hard and deep? I know I did. I missed feeling your dirty little cunt milk my cock,” Satoru groans out.

You let out a shuddering sob, your eyes screwed shut as his deep, melodious, throaty voice reverberates through your eardrum. Nodding against his shoulder, you whine out his name—his words only causing the emptiness of your pussy to intensify.

“You’re already so wet you’ve completely soaked my jeans, you know. I bet you’ll soak my cock just as well—get it nice and wet and messy so I can fuck you hard and fast and rough. Just the way you like—just the way you deserve,” Satoru continues taunting.

Gasping for air, you bury your forehead further into his shoulder, wishing that you could wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling to him.

Between laboured breaths, “S-S’toru… wanna cum… please,” you heave out.

The hands grasping your ass moves to spread your cheeks, his fingers dipping between them. Indolently, he strokes the pads through your wet slit, gathering up your wetness onto them, before trailing up to circle the puckered rim off your ass. Feeling his fingers tease your asshole, you let out a sharp cry, your back arching in pleasure. You push harder against him, shifting your weight so you can grind your clit into the top of his thigh.

The hard material repetitively brushes your throbbing, engorged clit—forcing tingles of heated pleasure to prickle at your skin. Every writhing motion, every time you squirm over him, you climb higher and higher to the brink of your own pleasure. Continuously, Satoru teases your asshole—his slick fingers tauntingly circling the outline of your rim.

When you whine in pleasure, “God, I missed how much of a slut you are for me. Missed how eager you are to take me into any hole,” Satoru admits, his voice thick with torrid hunger. He pushes his finger against the ring of muscles, applying just enough force to tease your asshole, but not enough to push through. The pressure against your ass has the emptiness of your pussy flaring up.

“M-Missed you too. P-Please, Toru… N-Need… Need something,” you force out.

You’re so incredibly close—teetering on the precipice of your orgasm as you ride his thigh. Rocking harder onto him, you grind your clit into his leg, trying to force your own orgasm. Sparks of pleasure jolt across your spine, and you let out a low moan as you feel your end near. However, just before you can fall off of the edge, Satoru lifts you off of him. Swiftly, without any friction against your clit, the intensity of your orgasm fades; the searing heat in your stomach dwindling into a dull ache.

“N-No. You said I could cum! Please! I’m being good!” you sob out in protest, fighting against his strength as you attempt to continue riding his thigh. Tears sting at your eyes, your vision blurring slightly.

Hand coming down onto your thigh sharply, “Not yet. You’ll cum when I say so,” Satoru scolds.

Shaking your head, you scrunch your eyes, a single tear rolling down your cheek, and wail in objection, “But you said! You said I could cum! Satoru, please! I’m being good.”

“Then continue being good and I’ll let you cum. Be patient, princess,” Satoru admonishes. Whimpering as you continue writhing in his hold, Satoru’s strength keeps you from pressing against his thigh again. His hand falls onto his cock, and wrapping around the base, he lifts it up.

He drags his palm over his shaft, till he gets to the weepy tip. Then, swiping his thumb against the head, he coats the pad of his appendage in the sticky wetness of his arousal. Your throat constricts, watching as stringy ropes of precum cling to his thumb. Satoru tears his hand away, and bringing it up to your lips, he swipes it against your lip. Your eyes flutter shut at the movement, Satoru painting your mouth in his essence. Helpless under the action, you poke out your tongue and lick your lips, keening as his heady flavour taints your tongue.

“Filthy cockslut,” Satoru purrs, a praising lilt to his voice. “Do I taste good?” he coos while pressing his thumb between your lips.

Feeling the weight of it on your tongue, his arousal bathing your taste buds, you moan. Instinctively, your tongue roves over his digit, your eyes slipping shut as you relish in his heavy taste. Eventually, Satoru pulls it out, only to swipe at your swollen, precum stained lips.

“That’s my good slut,” your boyfriend praises.

Dropping his hand to his cock, he grips the shaft and holds it up once again. His other hand shoots to your hips and pulls you so you’re straddling both his thighs. With your legs spread open, Satoru drags his cockhead through your puffy folds. Crying out in pleasure, your head falls back; your hips instinctively squirming on top of him.

“Want it, S’toru,” you mumble, your hips swivelling in a circle.

Moving over him, you drag your slit across the velvet head of his cock, trying to position it at your aching entrance. With every second that passes, your walls throb tortuously—the emptiness of them only heightening as Satoru continues to teasingly drag his cockhead through your folds. When his tip catches on your entrance, your cunt rippling around him involuntarily, you both gasp.

His eyes fixated on where his cock strokes through your cunt, Satoru simply watches. Thick, filmy strings of your arousal drip from your pussy—hanging in the air and over his hand and cock in gooey ropes. Each and every time he swipes his head through your slit, you release another gush of wetness, until his entire shaft is coated in your arousal. The stickiness of your sex is only aided further by his own wetness—his precum gathering in thick globs around his slit—and with every drag, he only coats your cunt in his own arousal.

“Fucking shit, you’re so fucking messy. Look down, baby, look at how your needy cunt soaks my cock,” Satoru urges. With a keening moan, your gaze drops to where his cock presses against your pussy.

Gripping his cock harder, he positions it at your clit and—when you feel him press his head against your throbbing, engorged clit—you can’t help but let out a strangled moan. Satoru lets out a low hiss, the hardened bundle of nerves throbbing intoxicatingly against his slit. The surreptitious motion stimulates his cock, causing more of his precum to leak out. Moaning in ecstasy, you feel your throat tighten when his warm arousal drips over your clit, coating the swollen bud in more of his stickiness. Squirming over him, you begin rocking your clit against his tip, dragging it back and forth as you try to stimulate yourself.

“That’s it, be a good cockslut and rub that pretty little cunt over me. Get it nice and wet so I can fuck open your wet pussy,” Satoru orders.

Mewling in pleasure, you do as he says, repeatedly grinding your throbbing bud into his oozing cockhead. Agonisingly, the entrance to your cunt quivers—your entire sex weeping for him to fill you up.

“Fuck me,” you gasp out. Satoru only hums noncommittally, moving both hands to grip at your hips.

“Hmmm, I don’t think you’re ready. I don’t think you want it enough,” Satoru purrs—the low vibrations of his voice shooting straight to your core. Shaky breaths falling from your lips, you squirm harder on top of him.

“I do! I want it so bad. S’toru, please, fuck me. Want to feel your cock in me,” you croon desperately.

Dark chuckles resounding through the air, the sound heavy with dominance, Satoru positions his cock at your entrance. Feeling him press his cock against your entrance—just enough to tease, but not enough to enter you—you cry out in pleasure. Responsively, the tight rings of muscles clench, trying to pull him further into you.

Laughingly lowly, “God, I can feel your tight little cunt clenching. Are you desperate for my cock, pretty girl?” Satoru asks, the inflexion of his voice dripping with taunt.

“Yes. Yes. Want it,” you reply, unhesitant.

Pressing his cock harder against your entrance, Satoru grips your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking his cock into you. Desirous mews and whimpers fall from your lips; tears sting your eyes as your boyfriend continues to tease you. Every passing moment has the heat in your stomach growing wilder and wilder—until wanton desire courses through your bloodstream, overtaking your entire being.

“Are you sure, baby? You want it?” Satoru coos, the taunt heavy in your voice.

He drops his head to your chest, his lips wrapping around your bra-clad nipple. Lazily, your boyfriend laves at the hardened bud—wetting the fabric of your bra as he teases your nipple. His action draws a hoarse cry from deep within your throat; your voice cracks for a moment.

“Yes. Yes. Please. Please, I’ll do anything, Toru, please,” you gasp out, your hips once again squirming on top of him. Satoru chuckles lowly, the sound laced with a sinister inclination.

“Anything? Are you sure, baby?” Satoru questions.

The mischievous intonation of his voice should alarm you, and if your mind wasn’t hazed with desire, if you weren’t so incredibly fucked out and desperate, it would have. But right now, driven to the brink of insanity by Satoru’s teasing, you can’t bring yourself to care. It doesn’t matter what he has in store for you, doesn’t matter what Satoru choose to do, you’ll take anything he gives you and more; especially if it means Satoru fucks you right here, right now.

“Yes. Yes. Please. Anything. Anything, Toru, please just fuck me,” you sob, your dry throat straining to force the words out.

“You have no idea what you’re getting into, do you, sweet girl?” Satoru questions. However, you barely register his words. Instead, pleasure thrums through your breast—the vibrations of Satoru’s words shooting straight to your core.

“Don’t care! Don’t care. Fuck me. Want your cock. Toru, please, just fuck me. Please. Please, please, please,” you repeat over and over again.

Arms struggling behind your back, you futilely tug at the restraints as you try to free yourself. At least if they were free you could hold onto his shoulders and fuck yourself onto his cock. You feel Satoru smirk against your tit, and then suddenly, he’s pushing your hips down. Feeling the intense pressure of his flared cockhead against your entrance, your mouth drops open in a silent scream.

Satoru was right, you weren’t ready for him—because two weeks may not seem like a long time, but it is. It is when he’s huge—ridiculously long and absurdly thick—and you’re far too small to take him when you haven’t felt him stretch you out in days. And it’s been so long that despite how wet you are, how wet his cock is, he still struggles to open you out. Nonetheless, unrelentingly, Satoru presses into you—his hands pushing your hips down onto his cock—and eventually, he pops into you.

The moment his head breaches your walls—you throw your head back and let out a strangled wail. He’s incredibly thick inside you, the ringed muscles that make up your entrance pulled thin around him. Eyes slipping shut, you moan in a mix of pain and pleasure, relishing in the delicious burn of him stretching you out. Ruthlessly, he pushes the rest of him into you, ignoring your cries of ‘Too much’ and ‘Slower’ as the taut flesh of your inner walls is forcibly pulled apart around his hard length. Thich inch by inch, he fucks his cock into you; refusing to stop until he’s buried into the hilt. Then, roughly pulling your hips onto him, he sinks the last few inches into you in one sudden movement—burying himself into your cunt to the hilt.

Wired beyond belief, pleasure consumes you, the veined ridges of his cock hitting every erogenous spot inside your cunt. When the blunt tip of his cockhead hits the back of your supple cervix, a high-pitched wail tears through you. Toes curling, your thighs begin trembling violently as you suddenly cum around his cock. Back contorting violently, your fingers grip your own wrists behind your back as you sob out his name. Orgasm rocketing through you out of the blue, you vehemently convulse over your boyfriend. Over and over again, you cry out his name, twisting and writhing as blinding ecstasy courses through you. It’s been so long since you’ve had a decent orgasm, that the intensity of your first one has your vision blurring, thick tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Fucking cockslut,” Satoru hisses. “Did you just cum from being fucked open on my cock? Fuck—you got so much tighter,” Satoru harshly grunts out.

Then, without waiting any longer, he begins fucking into you from underneath. Gripping at your hips, he rams his cock upward, pulling you down harshly onto him. With each motion, your own orgasm is drawn out—making you cry out his name loud, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Cunt rippling around him, you milk his shaft—Satoru forcing himself into your erratically tightening and untightening walls. Viciously, you convulse as you cum over your boyfriend; Satoru groans when thick rivulets of your cum begin flowing down his cock. The additional wetness adds to the mess between your thighs, and only aids his motions, his cock slippery enough to batter into you.

Through it all, you let the tide of our orgasm wash through you, drifting on its wave of euphoria as it drowns you in nothing but utter, unadulterated ecstasy. Reduced to a sobbing, quivering mess on top of your boyfriend, you heave for air as you try to satiate the burn in your lungs. Ceaselessly, however, Satoru fucks into you—refusing to give you any reprieve from his cock.

Coming down from your high, you whine as you feel the blunt head of Satoru’s cock enter your pussy—over and over again—as he impales you onto his cock. His thrusts are forceful, your body jerking up and down over him. With every movement, you struggle against your restraints harder—wanting to dig your fingers into his shoulder blades as he bounces you onto his cock. Instead, you settle for falling over him, your head resting on your shoulder, and your face pressed into his neck.

All of a sudden, Satoru spanks your ass, causing you to cry out.

“Sit up, I want you to ride my cock,” Satoru commands.

Limply, you pull yourself off of him, Satoru’s head immediately dipping to take one of your nipples into his mouth. Gathering your strength, you plant your feet firmly on the ground before flexing your thighs as you begin to ride him. The both of you hiss; your bodies writhing harder together.

Every time he impales his cock into you, you feel the ridges of his cock drag against your sensitive inner walls, causing you to cry out in pleasure. Sensitivity still grips at your sex, the ache of overstimulation only turning you on more. With a swivel of your hips, you bring yourself down onto his cock harder—both of you gasping when the motion causes his cockhead to slam against the back walls of your pussy. He’s so deep inside you, that there’s an intense, nauseating, pressure inside your stomach, and the back of your cunt throbs, Satoru relentlessly battering your cervix.

“H-Harder. W-want you to f-fuck me, h-harder,” you stutter out.

His pace is already intense, your entire body bouncing on top of him as you take him deep inside you. Still, you voluntarily clench around his cock, purposely tightening your walls against his shaft as you beckon him deeper.

“Harder? You want it harder?” Satoru asks, causing you to hastily nod.

Throat tight, and mind addled with pleasure, you can barely string together a coherent sentence. Rather, you push your hips harder into his, undulating them over his cock. Satoru grunts when you clamp down around him again.

“Fuck. Hold on, princess, I’m going to fucking ruin you,” Satoru breathes out, emphasising each word with a brutal thrust, his cockhead dragging against your sweet spot.

Eyes rolling into the back of your skull, “Please, want it,” you gasp out, white spots already blinding your vision again.

“Oh, I know you do. Love when I fuck you hard and fast like this, don’t you baby. Love when I fuck you dumb; leave you a speechless, quivering mess, don’t you, baby?” Satoru derides. Again, your throat tightens, your toes curling in pleasure as he purposely, vehemently, drags his head against your g-spot before battering it into your cervix.

“Yessssss, want you to use me, please,” you hiss. Satoru grips your hips tighter.

“Is that what you want, my sweet girl? Do you want me to use you as my own personal cocksleeve? Cum inside and fill you up?” Satoru gibes. Fingers flexing behind your back, you whimper out—the walls of your sex clenching around his throbbing shaft.

“Say it, I want you to say it. Tell me what you want,” Satoru hisses out, his hand coming down onto your ass hard. The sharp pain has you wailing out his name, Satoru soothingly rolling the cheek in his palm.

“W-Want you to u-use me as your c-cocks-sleeve, pleeeassse,” you mewl. Again, out of the blue, Satoru spanks you; your back contorting in euphoria.

“Then hold on slut, I’m going to use this tight little cunt however I want. You’re here for my pleasure now,” Satoru whispers against your ear, his words low and gravelly.

“S’toru, wanna cum again,” you slur out. Satoru only chuckles at that.

“You either cum from me fucking you, or you don’t cum at all. Don’t forget, you asked for this. Said I could do anything,” Satoru replies.

Then, one hand gripping your wrists, the other curling around your waist, Satoru pulls you flush against him. Using your weight to brace himself, Satoru increases his pace. Viciously slamming into you from underneath, the thick of his girth spreading your soft, sensitive walls around his cock with each rapid stroke. Immediately, your mouth falls open as you begin wailing out his name.

Blindly, your fingers flex for some sort of purchase, but with them tied up, you find none. Thus, helpless, your body bounces over Satoru—jolted up and down onto his cock—as he uses you in the way you had asked for. Hips surging into you from above, he batters your cunt, the ringed muscles releasing another gush of wetness. Euphoria tingles at your spine, your entire body heating as you feel your second orgasm thrum through you. However, without any stimulation to your clit, you can’t bring yourself to cum.

Instead, you teeter over the edge, your orgasm practically taunting you with every one of Satoru’s deep, hard thrusts. Between the friction of his jeans rubbing against the bottom of your thighs, and the way his cock repeatedly plunges into your silken depths, tears of pleasure sting your eyes. Eyelids screwing shut, the tears gathered in them begin to spill down, and you sob out his name—the ecstatic bliss of euphoria causing you to grow mad with lust.

You’re so close, but you know you can’t cum. Not without his permission, and definitely not without him playing with your clit.

“Toru, wanna c-cum,” you once again croon out. Again, Satoru brings his hand harshly onto your ass, the soft muscle smarting with pain.

“And I told you, you either cum from being used like my cocksleeve, or you don’t cum at all,” Satoru responds. Through it all, his pace doesn’t falter for a single moment.

You feel Satoru’s cock pulsate inside you—the rhythm falling out of place—and when he swells with a throb, you feel despair course through you. You know your boyfriend well enough to know he’s close, and if he cums before you do, you won’t cum at all. Vigour renewed by your realisation, you squirm over him, trying your hardest to grind your clit into his abdomen, or the open zipper of his jeans resting on either side of his cock.

“Fuck—I’m cumming,” Satoru groans as he thrusts into you with reckless abandon. “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you, baby? Gonna lemme fill up this tight, pretty little cunt with my cum? Fuck I know you will. Your cunt always looks so pretty when it’s sloppy with my cum.” His words have you moving in a frenzy, thrashing your hips against his abdomen as you futilely try to stimulate your own clit.

However, it’s all in vain, because swivelling your hips in his hands, Satoru rocks you further onto him. Then, all of a sudden, he pulls you down with one, fluid motion. The action has him burying his cock as deep as he can into you, and you find yourself winded—his blunt cockhead pushing painfully deep against your cervix. Satoru grinds his cock into you, using your cunt to sheath the entirety of his length: from tip to shaft.

“Fuck.” With a low groan, Satoru cums.

His cock pulsates inside you, swelling a little as it releases rope after rope of his cum into you. Feeling his warm seed flood your depths, you wail out his name, desperately needing to cum. Nonetheless, Satoru ignores you. Instead, he continues spilling inside you, thick pools of his cum gathering deep against your cervix, painting your inner walls white. Warmth fills you from the inside, and with the sheer amount he’s cum inside you, you wonder if he, like you, hasn’t had a good orgasm in a while.

“Toru—Toru, please,” you sob dryly.

Frustrated tears flow freely down your face, your words almost garbled and unintelligible as you plead for an orgasm. High-pitched keen slipping from your throat, you writhe against him harder; your thighs flex as you try bouncing your ass on his cock again—urgently chasing your own orgasm. Fingers digging into the flesh of your ass—hard enough that you know he’s bruised you—Satoru halts your motion, using his strength against you.

Satoru pulls away from your neck to look at your face. He takes in the sight of you, your eyelids teary, half-lidded and completely fucked out. He trails over the tear stains over your cheeks, your lips bruised and swollen, the precum he’d swiped on them dried out by now. Leaning up, he gently kisses your cheeks, his tongue swiping up to lick at the salty trails of your tears.

“Beg for it,” Satoru sneers.

“Please,” you breathe out. You look up at him through the thick of your lashes, your doe-like, teary eyes and swollen, precum-stained lips causing Satoru to groan.

“That’s my sweet girl,” Satoru praises.

Immediately, he retreats from your cunt, ignoring your moans of displeasure. Satoru draws up to his full height, easily lifting you up in his arms, before manoeuvring your trembling body so you’re bent over his desk. The side of your head rests on the table, cheek pressed against the wood, and bracing your feet on the ground, you thrust your hips back into him—chasing any form of friction.

Gripping your hips, Satoru holds your ass up and then, in one smooth thrust, he’s completely buried in you. With how rough he’s just fucked you, paired with his cum staining your walls and your own wetness, he should slide in easily. Nonetheless, the abrupt intrusion has you howling out, his girth splitting you apart once more as he leaves you no time to adjust. It’s too much all at once, your hips jerking forward as you try to pull away from him.

Satoru’s fingertips dig into your hips, holding your ass flush against his hips, and you cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain, your walls throbbing around his vascularised length. The uncontrollable clenching of your walls only highlights how incredibly big he is, his length buried so deep inside you, the head of his cock once again sits flat against your cervix. His sudden thrust has his cum spilling out of you, milky white rivulets smearing his cock, dripping down his balls, and onto your thighs.

“Fuck, baby. Always so tight for me like this,” Satoru moans, his hand coming down to spank your ass in tandem. The sharp impact has your hips jerking, a moan tearing from your throat. Satoru’s head falls back, revelling in the way your cunt tightens around him.

“Toru, move,” you urge, your hips squirming under his. Satoru bends over your back, his clothed chest pressing into your bare back.

“Who knew my Kitten was so cock-hungry?” Satoru purrs against your ear, emphasising his words with a deep thrust.

Your thighs shake and you fall further onto the table, your hands splaying on either side as your chest presses flat against the surface. Drawing back up to his height, Satoru begins thrusting hard into you. Over and over, he plunges his cock into you. His pace isn’t fast as before, but with his feet anchored to the ground, his thrusts are somehow more forceful, deeper. With every forward drive of his hips, your entire body jolts, your own hips digging into the edge of the table with how hard he impales you.

“Too—Too much,” comes your strained protest. Nonetheless, Satoru only laughs derisively behind you. One of his hands moves from your hips, caressing up the delicate curve of your spine and up to your neck, only for his fingers to curl into the roots of your hair. Tugging harshly, he forces you to arch your neck, your back bending in unison.

“Isn’t this what you asked for, princess? Begged me to use you as a cocksleeve, said you’d do anything just as long as I fucked you,” Satoru sneers, the derisiveness in his voice causing your skin to flash with heat. A deep, throaty mew is your only response, your brain unable to form words anymore. When you don’t respond, Satoru pulls your hair once again, simultaneously driving his hips forward in a brutal thrust.

“Hnnn—Deep, too deep, S’toru,” you gasp, your words slightly slurred. The pain of his cockhead battering into the walls of your cervix intermingles with the way his veiny cock strokes every nerve ending inside your cunt.

“I told you to be good for me, sweetheart. I asked you a question, I expect an answer” Satoru hisses, his fingers uncurling from your hair to spank your ass instead.

“Yes! I-It’s what I w-wanted,” you choke out, your voice faltering. Satoru caresses your tender cheek, a hum of approval tremoring from deep within his chest as he feels the heat of pain emanate from your flesh. Then, hand trailing down to your thigh, he grips your flesh before manoeuvring it to rest on the desk, your knee bending with the action.

In your new position, Satoru can press deeper into you, your wet, tumescent cunt peeking from between the apex of your thighs. Satoru’s lips curl sardonically before he swivels his hips. The rolling motion shifts the angle of his shaft inside you and you sob out his name once again. His entire length is hot inside you, the shaft throbbing rhythmically—completely different from the way your own walls ripple erratically. With a hard thrust, Satoru angles his cock to brush against your g-spot as he slides in. Instantly, you screech out his name, your thighs quivering violently.

Ruthlessly, he abuses your cunt—his cockhead brushes against your g-spot with every plunge of his cock. Dark eyes roam over your helpless form, Satoru watching as your muscles tremble almost imperceptibly from pleasure. Every time he impales his cock inside you, you jerk forward, only for him to pull you back onto his shaft. Each movement causes your sensitised, lace-clad nipples against the smooth wood—drawing out further sensations of pleasure as you gradually grow delirious.

Satoru’s hands move to drop to your ass, and thumbs pressing into the fleshy cheeks, he spreads them apart. A throaty groan resounds through the air, Satoru’s cerulean eyes fixating immediately onto the way your tumid cunt is stretched thin around his girth, how your wetness—mixed with his cum—leaks out of you and onto his cock, your thighs, his balls, with every thrust; and just above it all, is your tiny little asshole, the puckered rim twitching with pleasure.

Unable to stop himself, Satoru spreads them further apart, only to bend down slightly and spit. Instantly, you feel the warm wetness trail down the seam of your ass and onto your asshole, a small whimper resounding from your throat. Ignoring you, Satoru traces the puckered ring, relishing in the way it trembles under his touch. Then, running his fingers through your soaked slit, he gathers as much of your sticky arousal and his cum onto his middle finger, and with featherlight touches, he circles your asshole before dipping the tip of his finger into you, the muscles reflexively tightening to deny him entrance.

“Ah—Toru,” you hiss, the intrusion causing your stomach to clench.

“Relax, baby. It’s not the first time I’ve used this tight little hole, is it?” Satoru orders. Taking a deep breath, you will yourself to relax, Satoru groans when his finger slides in easily, the intrusion aided by the excessive amount of slick that coats his digit. When he’s buried knuckle deep into your ass he stills, the hot muscles clenching tightly around his appendage. Experimentally, he wiggles his finger inside you and you let out a heavy moan of pleasure.

“That’s it. Only filthy whores like you enjoy having their asses played with, don’t they, princess?” Satoru ribs, his voice mocking as he thrusts his finger deeper into your asshole. Whimpering, you only nod your head—your mind clouded with ecstasy from the feeling of your boyfriend’s finger inside your ass, while the head of his cock is still burrowed in your cunt.

When you don’t reply, Satoru pulls his finger out, only to shove both his middle and pointer finger into you this time. Blissed out, your pliant asshole initially stretches readily to let him in, however, the moment they probe further, the muscles clench involuntarily. Unhindered by the sudden contraction—more than used to loosening up the tight hole for his use—Satoru thrusts both his fingers hilt deep into you, before curling them and stroking the sensitive nerves inside your ass.

“Fuck! Toru,” you cry out, your hips jerking to pull away from him.

“Say it,” he hisses before swivelling his cock, the movement causing him to expertly stroke your sweet spot.

“O-Only filthy whores like me enjoy having their asses played with,” you cry out in pleasure.

Humming in approval behind you, Satoru begins fucking into you once again, his cock thrusting in and out of you, his fingers mimicking the rhythm as he forces them into your ass.

“S’toru—” you whimper.

This time, your voice is incredibly low and nearly inaudible; almost drowned out by the slick sounds of his cock fucking into your cum sodden cunt and the slapping of his skin against yours. Taking pity on you, Satoru leans over and presses a kiss to your shoulder blade. It’s a warming gesture, one meant to comfort you. However, the movement forces him slightly deeper into you making you jerk.

“Toru!” you sob.

“Fuck—cum for me, pretty girl,” Satoru orders.

As he speaks, the hand spreading your ass cheek moves to curl around your body before two fingers press against your clit. A strained sob escapes your lips as the sudden pleasure hurtles you off the edge. Body quaking, you wail out his name, the sound coming out more like a strangled groan as your throat strains under the sound. Satoru hisses, his jaw clenching as he feels you clamp down impossibly tight around his girth. Emboldened by your orgasm, he wildly thrusts both his cock, and his fingers, into you, drawing out the delirious pleasure that ricochets through your body.

“Fuck yes, that’s it sweet girl, cum around my cock,” Satoru urges.

All of a sudden, he rips out the fingers in your ass, using the hand instead to press into your back as he ruts his cock into you. The abrupt exit of his digits has you yelping, your slightly gaping hole clenching around nothing as Satoru thrusts into you with reckless abandon. The fingers toying with your clit increase in their vigour, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. Under him, your thighs tremble, your toes curling as he draws out your pleasure.

“Cum again. Fuck, cum again. Wanna feel you milk my cum out my cock,” Satoru commands.

“N-No, c-can’t. Too much,” you refute with a sob, your head shaking as your eyes screw shut. Satoru laughs mockingly at your weeping form.

“You begged me to cum, cried for it like a desperate slut. So cum,” he orders, his fingers rolling and pinching your tumid bundle of nerves. Simultaneously, his cock pierces into you, his bulbous head dragging against the sensitive tissue of your sweet spot.

With an ear-splitting wail, you cry out his name as your body locks. Ecstasy suddenly rockets through you, hurtling you over the precipice and sending you diving head first into your orgasm once more. Drawing into yourself, your body curls and shudders under him as you quietly sob. Your walls contract painfully, Satoru hissing at how you tighten around him.

“Fuck—fuck,” Satoru groans out.

The vehement rippling of your walls milks his shaft as he begins chasing his own high. A lewd squelching fills the air, the sloppy sounds of your cum-filled, dripping pussy loud in the night. Through it all, Satoru continues plunging into you, heightening your climax, and soon, the pain of overstimulation ripples through your over-stimulated sex. Through your desire-clouded mind, you vaguely register the burning ache that passes through you.

“N-No more. S’toru, please, too much, hurts,” you slur from underneath him, unable to articulate a coherent form of thought from the unbridled euphoria that clouds your mind. Relentless in his pursuit of his own pleasure, however, Satoru continues toying with your clit, revelling in the way the messy, wet walls of your cunt erratically tighten around him.

“Fuck, you can do it, sweet girl. Wanna cum deep in you while you milk my cock,” Satoru softly coaxes. When he pinches your clit once more, you scream out his name.

Pleasure blurs your vision, and eyes screwing shut, white-spots blind the darkness of your mind. Abruptly, the knot within your stomach unravels, and feeling the sudden relief spread through your abdomen, you’re forced over the precipice of blissful ecstasy once again. Jaw slackening, your mouth falls open and your throat strains as you force out a silent cry. Without warning, your walls tighten—almost painfully—around Satoru’s cock, the forceful contractions causing pelt after pelt of your cum to gush out of you. When he feels wetness pelt against the material of his slacks, Satoru groans, realising you’ve squirted all over him and his desk.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Satoru hisses.

Satoru’s hands move to grip your ass cheeks, and forces them apart, his eyes dropping to where his girth splits you open. Then, with two stuttered thrusts, he impales his cock as deep as he can into you, his balls tightening. For a second time that night, his thick cum floods inside you, shooting out of his length and straight against your cervix. Through the overstimulated fog of ecstasy, you feel the torrent of his seed pour into you, your womb overwhelmed with his warmth.

While your body uncontrollably spasms—your muscles still reeling with the aftershocks of your orgasm—you slowly come to. Drifting back to reality, the high of your climax ebbs into a post-orgasmic haze. Breath laboured, the two of you heave for air as you stay completely still. Feeling the dryness of your throat, you swallow thickly in a bid to soothe the raw muscles.

As your mind slowly clears, the inescapable warmth of Satoru’s cum within your belly becomes apparent. You whine softly, relishing in the comforting sensation. Behind you, Satoru stays buried deep inside you, hips moving imperceptibly as he rides out the aftershocks of his own climax. When the erratic clenching of your walls becomes too much, Satoru hisses in overstimulation before drawing out.

As he pulls his cock out from your depths, you whimper, his bulbous cockhead stroking against your over-sensitised walls. The head retreats with a slight pop, your hips jerking when your tender walls stretch around his tip once more, before you’re left empty. You lay limply on the table, your entire body trembling. Gasping for air, you try to catch your breath, your muscles involuntarily twitching.

Satoru flops onto his chair, a groan of appreciation emanating from his throat. In your position, bent over his desk, you’re completely bared for him, ass and cunt on display. Your raw, abused sex drips with a mixture of cum, the sloppy essence spilling out of you are your cunt clenches around nothing. Unable to help himself, Satoru caresses your folds, two fingers stroking up your slit and toward your entrance. Gathering up his cum that had spilled out of you onto his digits, he presses them into your gaping entrance, pushing his seed back inside you.

“S’toru, sensitive,” you whine, your hips sluggishly squirming in a bid to pull away from him.

Satoru rolls closer to you, presses a soft kiss to your ass cheek in an apology. Pulling his fingers out, he reaches out for you. Strong arms circle your waist and, gathering you within his embrace, Satoru pulls your boneless form onto his lap. You settle into your boyfriend, your back flush against his chest as your head rests against his shoulder.

“God, I fucking missed you,” Satoru sighs. He nuzzles his face into your neck, lavishing the delicate column with tender kisses.

“Missed you too,” you reply, your voice hoarse. Snuggling further into him, you allow his scent to wash over you and exhale in contentment. After a few short moments, you tilt your head to the side and look up at him.

“So, where’s my surprise?” you question, your eyebrow cocking. Satoru chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest and into your back.

“It’s inside you right now,” he smirks in response, arrogance dripping in his voice. You frown, confusion painting your features as you attempt to make sense of his words. Then, realisation dawns upon you, your eyes narrowing instantly.

“Gojo Satoru, was my surprise your fucking cum?” you screech, only to wince when your aching, dry throat protests the sound.

“Told you you’d love it,” Satoru grins.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you scowl.

Satoru’s only response is to laugh in that annoying, purposely high-pitched tone of his.

a/n: this is my first fic in a while and i am probably v rusty with my writing but i hope you all enjoyed it :)

m.list

#jjk smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x female reader #jjk gojo x reader #jjk gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo fanfic #mdni #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru smut

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dvrk-moon · 10 months ago

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SPIDER-FIEND - chapter i

— synopsis: spider-man spilling coffee on you wasn’t on your 2008 bingo card.

— word count: 1.7k

— warnings: cursing, mentions of divorced parents

— featuring: p1h jongseob, kiof haneul

— a/n: i will die on the riki spiderman hill. anyways enjoy this thing while i kms over finishing eat me up 😆😆😆🙏🙏🙏

series masterlist

i. COFFEE, NEWS, AND A SPECIAL GUEST

You were sat at a table with two of your friends, Haneul and Jongseob, in your favorite coffee shop. For it being in New York City, it had a quaint atmosphere, something that not a lot of places here had. You three were exchanging in conversation about school while drinking your drinks.

You and Haneul had just been laughing at some stupid joke she made about one of your teachers at your school: Midtown School of Science and Tech. You hated the fact that of all people, you had to go there. You only had three real friends anyway, Jongseob, Haneul, and your best friend, Riki.

Speaking of Riki, he was supposed to join you all at the coffee shop today, but had just not shown up, no warning. He had a tendency to do that as of late, and it had you losing your mind over what the hell he could be doing that’s so important.

Suddenly, Jongseob pointed his finger at the TV behind both you and Haneul, interrupting your conversation and grabbing your attention. You craned your neck to take a look at what he was pointing out, but your eyes had to take a second to focus. The news was on, but the camera was moving so rapidly that you couldn’t place your finger on what was happening onscreen.

As if it had read your mind, the news now had subtitles accompanying the chaos, some speech about the alleged “Spider-Man” saving some people from a threat. You had seen pictures in the newspaper of the anthropoid-human figure, some videos on a new platform called YouTube, and even caught him in person once, swinging from building to building.

You didn’t really understand all the hype, though. Sure, it was cool that he could save people or whatever, but there had never really been an actual “supervillain” for him to defend the city from, so most of the time you called bullshit on his “powers”.

It was a little cool, though. Just a little.

The TV screen suddenly went black, signifying that something had happened to the camera or news station. You couldn’t tell, you hadn’t been paying that close of attention anyways.

Turning back around, you were met with a gaping Jongseob.

“What is wrong with you?” you teased, pointing out his facial expression. Haneul laughed and mimicked him.

“Stop it,” he commented, fixing his face, “I just think he’s cool, is all.”

“Awww,” Haneul reached across the table and grabbed Jongseob’s cheeks, “our little baby is a fanboy!”

He swatted her hands away before pulling his wrist to check his watch. You took a peak at the wall clock in the shop.

It was 5:17 PM, April 10th, 2008. Stopping by the cafe after school with your friends was always your favorite, but you’d been there for almost two and a half hours now, you should probably leave.

You gave Jongseob and Haneul a pointed look, and you could tell that you were all thinking the same thing. It would be best to go.

You stood up, grabbing your mug and bringing it to the counter, asking the worker for a to-go cup so you could leave. You returned to the table and grabbed your bag and your iPod from off the table, which Haneul had been using for the time being.

Walking back to the counter, the barista called out your name and handed you the coffee in the to-go cup.

Jongseob and Haneul met you near the counter, you three now taking your leave from the coffee shop. Jongseob opened and held the door for you two.

The streets of the city were as busy as ever, people, traffic, flashing lights, you were used to it all. Even in a neighborhood less close to the heart of the city, it was crazily busy. You watched from across the street as a man was casually walking backwards, another man was breakdancing for money, and a woman was scantily clad calling out at random strangers from her window. Some classy city you lived in.

You shook your head as you exited the building, taking a right to head towards the subway station, which was about three blocks away from the cafe. Haneul and Jongseob quickly caught up with you, following your lead.

“I don’t know,” Jongseob started, “I think it’s just be cool to see Spider-Man in person.”

You groaned and looked over your shoulder at him, “So we’re back on this now?”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just saying,” Jongseob defended himself, shrugging at you.

“I just don’t really think I get the hype,” you admitted, picking up your pace as you reached a crosswalk.

“What’s there to not get?!” Haneul cocked her head at you, furrowing her eyebrows but still smiling.

“I dunno,” you said, reaching the other side of the crosswalk, “I just don’t think he’s all that.”

“Sounds to me like you’re just being a hater for no reason,” Haneul commented.

“Maybe I am,” you replied, “so what? It’s not like he’s ever gonna know.”

The steps down to the subway station quickly came into view, so all three of you picked up the pace. Ever since you left the cafe and got closer to the heart of the city, the human traffic only picked up. You had to almost shove your way through to get to where you needed to go.

You grabbed your Metro Card out of your bag, ready to swipe your card as you neared the entrance.

Once through, you three stepped up to the platform, waiting for the subway. Moments later, Jongseob’s phone started blasting his ringtone — “Low” by Flo Rida — and begging to be answered. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, he had a much newer phone than yours. He was lucky enough to get an Ericsson P1i, one you’d been wishing for, hoping to have for a little less than a year now.

You were stuck with a dingy Nokia N70, a hand-me-down from your older brother, which was now an almost three year old phone. You couldn’t always complain though, some of your classmates weren’t allowed to have individual smart phones. It was hard for you to believe; it’s 2008 now, not the 1800s!

Jongseob quickly answered the phone to who you assumed was his mother because his demeanor completely changed. Seconds after he answered, the subway pulled up, and you three filed yourselves in.

At the other end of the car you’d just entered, there was someone performing music with a guitar and a hat on the floor for money. You really didn’t want to listen to whatever was going on, so you fished your iPod and Apple earphones from out of your bag and drowned out reality. The music wasn’t bad, per se, in fact it was better than a crack addict being in the car, but you just weren’t in the mood today.

Your green iPod started playing “Thnks fr th Mmrs” by a band called Fall Out Boy, a song you had recently purchased on iTunes.

You let your mind drift to Riki. It’d been like that all too often lately. He wouldn’t even do anything and you’d be thinking of him. You knew you liked him more than a friend, you had now for a while. You weren’t stupid. But with all the flakiness he had been pulling lately, you began to get annoyed with him.

A few songs later and you were at your stop. Haneul and Jongseob still had a stop to go, so even when they offered to walk you home, you politely declined. You knew the way home well, and it wasn’t even dark yet. Plus, you had a taser in your bag.

You straightened your white blouse and plaid skirt before bidding your goodbyes to your friends, stepping out of the car and making your way back up the stairs up to the ground level.

You didn’t live extremely close to the inner city, you were about 15 minutes away by subway. It was far enough to not go crazy by the amount of light that Times Square had always elicited at night, but close enough to where you didn’t feel isolated from the inner city life.

The next song on your playlist was “How to Save a Life” by The Fray, a new favorite of yours. It had come out last year but you weren’t sure how you’d missed out on it for so long. As soon as you got the iPod for Christmas with an iTunes card, you bought that song. 2007 really did have the best hits.

As you slipped through alleyways to get to your street, you made sure not to spill any of your coffee. You hadn’t been drinking it so the cup was mostly filled, but you were waiting until you got home. You’d probably post about it on MySpace.

You got through a few more alleyways and back to a more crowded street that led to your mom’s apartment, easing your nerves as you approached your safe space.

Maybe it was because you had your earphones in, maybe it was because you’d been looking down at your iPod for a second too long so you could turn up your music, or maybe you were too distracted, your mind still on Riki.

No matter what it was, you definitely weren’t expecting to see Spider-Man swinging around your neighborhood. He had a bit of swagger about him naturally.

You wondered who hid under that mask.

Once your eyes left his figure, you once again drew your attention towards your iPod, turning it up once more. You believed it would be optimal for you to go deaf.

Within an instant, your once white blouse had hot coffee spilled all over it. Your mouth flew open, turning around to face the culprit that had bumped into you, roughly, causing you to spill your drink. You weren’t even sure how the drink had spilled as much as it did, you had a safety lid on it.

When you whipped your head around, you did not expect to be met face-to-face with none other than your personal hero, Spider-Man. You couldn’t believe what happened, immediately starting to curse out the man under the suit.

“Yo, can you watch where the fuck you’re going, man? You ruined my shirt, thanks.”

Instead of offering an apology, Spider-Man stood there for a few seconds before simply webbing away.

Some fucking hero he was.

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anyaharveyii · 2 months ago

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college is fucking lonely.

peter parker is grateful that he, ned, and mj got accepted into and committed to the same school, because at least he doesn't have to worry about eating alone in the dining hall for the next four years.

ned being his roommate also takes a huge spider-man-shaped portion off his plate of things to stress over.

but here's the thing:

when you go through the things peter and his friends have gone through, it can be hard to empathize with others who haven't faced the same experiences.

college is a place where many people go to find themselves and learn who they are ... something peter parker has already known for several years at this point (you don't sign up to become a superhero without doing some serious soul-searching every couple of weeks).

and sometimes, college feels like a video game or simulation, where the grades and scores are points that have no actual value in the real world—the complete opposite of peters' job as spider-man, which is to care about the real world / the big picture / the important shit that goes on beyond the classroom walls and campus borders.

peter's never been a social butterfly—just ask anyone at midtown—but something people have always told him is that college is where he will "find his people," whatever the hell that means.

peter's tried talking to people other than ned and mj. but after all the crazy shit he's experienced in his life, the repetitive small talk (what's your name? where are you from? what dorm are you in? what's your major?) feels so strange and almost dishonest in a way.

some of his classmates are cool, don't get him wrong, but what makes ned and mj so special is that he can open up to them about anything.

there's very few other people on that list (tony, may, and ... nope, that's it), he doesn't know if he'll ever find other names to add to it—especially not here.

#marvel #mcu #avengers #peter parker #spider man #college #university

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indestructibleheart · 9 months ago

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Hi, fam! Okay, so I'm going to be out at an appointment tomorrow morning, so I'm kicking this off a little bit early. It's technically Wednesday in several timezones and very nearly Wednesday in mine. I'm... also a bit eager to share this, ngl.

I know that I've shared a lot of angst lately, but I swear that's not all I'm doing. 😅 In fact, the actor/playwright AU decided to wallop me in the face out of nowhere after sitting in my WIP folder for months. I'm really excited about it, so I'm gonna share the first scene!

(Also, those of you who have been to New York with me will recognize my favorite brunch spot in this scene lmao.)

---

You probably didn't even know I was in the room, but I noticed you straight away. You were talking with your friends, happy and animated and fully alive—a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access—and so beautiful. Your hair was longer then. You were the center of attention, but you weren’t afraid. You had a yellow ipê-amarelo in your pocket. I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen; I'd better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire.

INT. MOM'S KITCHEN & BAR - HELL'S KITCHEN - LATE MORNING

"I'm telling y'all," Alex is saying, punctuating with dangerously large bites of his pancake burrito. "The dude's a dick."

It's been two hours since the nightmare audition, but Alex has been on this tirade since June and Nora first slid into the retro diner chairs across from him (at least forty-five minutes ago).

They're at Mom's: a restaurant-bar in midtown that can only be described as millennial nostalgia incarnate. The trio fell in love with it two years back—post-karaoke, stumbling in right before closing—when Alex saw God in their Fruity Pebble pancakes. Since then, it's been his favorite place to eat his feelings.

Mom's is just really fucking comforting in general, honestly; whether it's the televisions cycling through episodes of 'Rugrats,' 'Dexter's Laboratory,' and 'Hey, Arnold!' or the rainbow straws and Lisa-Frank-looking menus, Alex can't be sure. It doesn't hurt that they've made friends with several of the waitstaff, including an eccentric bartender, Pez, whose pink hair and painted nails fit right in with the decor.

Today, it's the combination of breakfast sausage, bacon, eggs and cheese wrapped up in a syrup-soaked pancake that's really doing something for him. It could also be the margarita the size of his face, which Pez placed in front of him before making himself uncharacteristically scarce. But it's fine. He's probably just busy.

Alex won't admit it out loud, but what really helps is having June and Nora here to talk to… even though Nora is scrolling on her phone.

"I'm sorry," June says. She pokes an ice cube with her straw, and Alex watches as it bobs around her mimosa like a buoy. "That sounds like it sucked, but if he's really that rude… maybe you didn't want to work with him anyway."

Nora doesn't look up as she pops a home fry into her mouth.

"Several sources say he's difficult to work with," she adds, evidently reading about Henry on the internet. "Though, in his defense, his dad did just die, like, three years ago… and there was that whole thing when he came out after. Remember?"

Alex does remember. Henry's grandmother, Mary Mountchristen, runs a pretty major company that used to own half the theatres on the West End. When Henry came out last year, she tried blacklisting his shows from her properties to punish him—which totally backfired when it got around. At least a dozen other queer writers and producers started talking about how they were also denied the space, and Mary was stoned on the streets of the theatre district. Like, metaphorically.

Alex, Nora, and June had just moved to New York, but between June's position at Newsday and both Alex and Nora on the audition circuit, it was all anyone in their new circles could talk about. They were some of the first to know when the Mountchristens were bought out of their properties and Henry moved to the States.

This show is the first of Henry's being produced here—and it's autobiographical, which Alex has to admit is pretty fucking baller. So, yeah, Nora's not wrong. He has reason to be standoffish. Still, it doesn't explain why Alex was only halfway through his audition monologue when Henry abruptly stood up and exited stage left as if pursued by a bear.

He shoves another forkful into his mouth. "It's just, like, they're the only people who let me into the room," he says, barely finishing chewing. "Nobody wants to take me seriously, and I really thought this was my shot, you know?"

June and Nora both know Alex is having a hard time landing serious roles after growing up on a sitcom—Nora more than most, as his former co-star. What they don't know is that losing this role, specifically, feels like a kick to the stomach. From the moment Alex saw the script, he wanted to be a part of it. He can't even explain why, and now he'll never figure it out. Henry wouldn't give him a chance.

"It wasn't your only shot, and you know it." Nora fixes him with a look. "Seriously, I get it—I do—but it's just one play, buddy."

June nods. "Something will happen for you, baby brother."

At that, Alex finally groans. "Okay, calling me baby brother doesn't help me feel better about the entertainment industry infantili—"

"—itty bitty, teeny weeny—"

Alex throws a home fry at her face.

It bounces off her forehead and into the giant gauntlet holding her mimosa with a very unappetizing splash. Just as Alex throws his hands into the air with a victorious whoop, his phone buzzes on the table.

A glance is all it takes for him to see that it's his agent, Zahra.

"Damn," he says, deflating. There goes that upswing. "You answer it."

June balks. "Me?"

"I don't need to hear how fucking badly it went. Trust me, I got the message." Alex blinks innocently, like he's six years old again, asking her to lie to their mom about that broken vase. "Please, Bug? Besides, Zahra actually likes you."

"Everyone likes me." June rolls her eyes, but she caves—answering the phone with a haughty, "Alex Claremont-Diaz's office," before breaking into a smile. "Yeah, Z. It's me… No, Alex is feeling a little sensitive today."

(He throws another home fry at her. This one misses.)

To her credit, June's face remains totally blank as Zahra no doubt tells her how Alex insulted Henry Fox's name and all of his inbred ancestors just by showing up, or whatever—which is extremely annoying and unhelpful—but, once she says goodbye and sets the phone back down on the table, her face breaks out into a grin.

"Guess you didn't suck too bad," she says. "They want you for the part."

He doesn't know if it's Nora throwing herself at him or the shock that knocks him onto the floor.

Tagging some lovelies. If you haven't been tagged and you want to be, consider this your tag!

@anchoredarchangel, @barbiediaz, @cha-melodius, @cricketnationrise, @guillermosfamiliar, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @hippolotamus, @inexplicablymine, @jettestar, @junebugclaremontdiaz, @kiwiana-writes, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @missgeevious, @mulderscully, @myheartalivewrites, @ninzied, @nontoxic-writes, @notspecialbabe, @priincebutt, @rmd-writes, @rosedavid, @three-drink-amy, @treluna4, @vanillahigh00, @welcometololaland, @orchidscript, @ships-to-sail, @stereopticons

#wip:snippet #m:wip #fic: breaking character

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misguidedasgardian · 6 months ago

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From the Ashes (PROLOGUE)

MASTERLIST

Summary: You were found amongst the ashes

Warnings: Supernatural (and all that comes with it), monsters of all kinds, pyrokinesis, murder, child endangerment, impersonating a law enforcer, guns, might miss some warnings

Wordcount: 4,4 k

Notes: Look, of all my fics, I want them to be as “realistic” and faithful to the story as I can… BUT… this will be different, there are 15 seasons of SPN, and I get so stressed with the devils and angels and all. So… this will be, some chill scooby-doo monster hunting shenanigans, this will not be faithful (much) to the story, this will be about cases and solving them, and about John as well… slow burn

1987, Jackson Hole, Wyoming

John Winchester was at an impasse, he had never seen everything like it.

He had come here in this lost town in the middle of Wyoming because of a lead, given to him by his friend, the local Sheriff, people were starting to go missing, and then found dead, that sort of thing. Bear attacks, officially…. unofficially? Vampires, new ones, because of the mess they were leaving behind.

It didn’t took him long to find the vamp either

Nothing out of the ordinary so far, though, he thought vampires were gone, almost extinct according to his friend, so he was pleased to help with that. to make it official

But everything really started turning strange when he was trailing that Vamp back to his nest, he would have taken them all down right then and there, he only had to wait until morning and wipe them out, but they didn’t stay put, they were on the move, a very quick move, not only one, all of them. A single man leading them drew his attention, he was wearing an expensive looking suit, he drove a mercedes. He had to be a vampire, because of how he moved easily amongst them.

They moved out of town and the all-you-can-eat buffé midtown represented. He followed them right along a road that left the city, and then another dirt road across a forest, and beyond.

There, in the middle of a clearing, stood a big farmhouse.

He called for backup for his friend, but it was going to take a while, he was busy with official stuff. That put John in another bind, he couldn’t face them all alone, not without Sheriff Jeffersons, or Daniel Elkins and his special gun. He stood there, waiting, in the woods, with the lights and the motor still turned off.

He would never admit it, he was ashamed, and to this day, it would be one of the things he regretted the most, he snoozed on the job. The sounds from the woods lulled him to sleep, and the House, even though had been boarded with a group of vampires, was quiet.

The rumble of the cars woke him up, not even an hour later.

He looked at the house some more, but everything was quiet, and in the dark, so he grabbed his gun with silver bullets, and his knife with a bottle of dead man’s blood, and he ventured towards the property.

It was a nice house, which surprised him, no gates or big fences around it though… it was all out in the open…

…So was the door, opened for everyone who wanted to go inside. He entered slowly, everything was in silence, quiet… except… from a horrible smell that lingered. He walked through the foyer and into the house, his gun up, the living room to his left was empty, so was the dining room to the right, and the kitchen in the far left… he ended up in a study, the smell was stronger there because… there it was…

A half charred body of a woman. Her face was still… untouched, which allowed him to go near, and check, she wasn’t a vampire, he noticed as he lifted her top lip. But she was dead… very dead…a human woman, gone. A sense of dread and guilt was settling inside of him, but there was no time for that now, his senses were still much activated in hunter mode.

He looked around and found pictures hanging on the wall of the cozy room, of her and a man, and a baby, and some others of a little girl, the same child, who had clearly grown up… he looked for the rest of the rooms, the second floor, there was nobody there, the house was empty, he found the little girl’s room, but… not little girl anywhere.

The vamps didn’t take anyone with them, so he could just assume… he couldn’t assume anything

If she was simply a victim why didn’t they just… fed off of her? Why leave her like this?, why go to the trouble of burning her? This seemed personal.

He came back to the study, to see if he had missed something, thinking about calling the police… his friend.

He looked back at the woman, sadly. But this time, what also drew his attention is that only her body was burned… not the floor, not the carpet, nor did he see any accelerants around, it looked like a supernatural affair, aside from the vampire part… but what he did see, is that when he moved the carpet to look at it more closely… There were marks on the wooden floor.

He looked up to the big bookcase above him, and figure it out

He moved it with difficulty… but it yielded… and behind it, he found an iron door…

This wasn’t a good sign… Iron was known to stop a plethora of monsters and creatures

He opened the steel doors with a grunt and all of his force, wondering how that frail looking woman could have moved this on her own. He expected to find some sort of weapon, or beast, or an undiscovered creature ready to jump him, but instead, he gasped, opening his eyes wide and shaking with surprise… when he found that he least expected.

His legs shook with uncertainty and his eyes shined with unshed tears when he saw a little girl curled up in the corner of the safe space, she looked up at him with eyes filled with tears, she couldn’t have been older than 7, she was the one from the pictures, doe eyes and chubby cheeks, lips in the form of a wobbly pout

“Where's my mommy?” she cried

“Sweetheart, are you ok?” he asked, and she just nodded. He didn’t know what to do, she… this… little girl, was inside an Iron box, this was no coincidence, she could be this supernatural being, she could be…

“My mommy” she cried again, but John didn’t have the heart to tell her her mother was gone, but wise beyond her years, the girl seemed to notice his sadness. “Oh” she whined, dropping some more tears down her chubby cheeks. Against everything he knew, against everything he believed in… he lowered his guard

“C´mere” he called, opening his arms and without even thinking, she jumped in between them, hugging him tightly, curling up against his chest. His body seemed to be working of his own accord, because he could have never done that under different circumstances, this little girl… was something else…

“M’scared” she whined. He shushed her, caressing her hair

“It’s ok little one” , he hushed softly, “i’m going to get you out of here, alright?”

He didn’t know why, or how, knowing the context in which he found her he could bet that she was also a supernatural being, but even against his hunter nature, he hugged that kid against his chest, drawn to her like he had ever been drawn to anything else. With his fingers crossed, at least metaphorically, he exited the iron room, and the girl only seemed to hang onto him more tightly. He made sure to hide the little one’s face against his chest, so she wouldn’t look at the scene in the study.

“Where’s your daddy?”, he asked softly

“He went away”, she said, “mommy said he went to heaven”. she said so innocently, it broke his heart

Well, fuck

He couldn’t leave her, not here, but he didn’t know what to do… he could call the police… but… they would ask questions, and leaving her here was out of the question, she was just a child.

If she was a supernatural being, he didn’t know what she was, there was still a small chance she was a normal kid There was a bigger chance her family knew about the supernatural, judging by the Iron box, it would have made sense if her mother was, and this turned out to be personal for the vampires to come after her.

There were so many theories working in John’s mind right now.

“Do you have any family, darling?”, he asked, as he took her out of the house. She shook her head. But now, that wasn’t much to go on, she could not know, she was still little.

He walked back to the Impala, and buckled her in in the copilot seat. Then, he called the Sheriff back, asking him to send people to the house, and asking him about information on the family. He was asked to keep the girl with him until the next morning, from this time to tomorrow, so they could gather information, if there was any, about her family.

John, after hanging up with Henry, he climbed to the pilot seat. He didn’t even realize, but he was shaking, his hands trembling as he grabbed the steering wheel, and started the car. He looked to the side, to the little girl, and then to the other side, to the door, and then back at the road.

He had stashed in his car holy water, salt, copper, anything, all sorts of weapons for all sorts of monsters, he eyed her back, carefully.

She was just trying to look at the road over the tall board of the car. She was still sniffing, her eyes big with tears, he made his heart sink. The little girl just lost her mom, she probably didn’t have anyone else.

“How old are you?”, he asked, the girl just looked at him

“Six”, she answered simply, and then she just kept looking at the road in the dark, lighted up by the yellow lights of the Impala.

He stopped by the local diner, and bought her dinner. Also, he bought a couple of burgers for his sons, who were waiting for him back at the motel. He insisted she stayed in the car, and before he gave her the food, he sneaked holy water in her strawberry milkshake.

John watched her eat a burger, fries and sip on the strawberry milkshake, no reaction. So, demonic creatures were discarded.

He needed to get back to his sons. His mind was saying that this was a mistake, taking this girl with him, however… he couldn’t leave her. He didn’t even understand it himself, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the girl to the authorities… At least until tomorrow

He came back to the motel were his sons were waiting for him, the trembling girl holding onto his hand

“Who are you?”, asked Dean, frowning at the little girl

“I’m (y/n)”, she said softly, Dean seemed to… be content by now… going back to watch TV, and Sam was… didn’t understand much of what was going on. He was only four. The girl looked back at him.

“Those are my sons, Dean, and Sam”, he introduced, and the little girl just smiled and nodded

Was he just going to… keep this kid?

Dean seemed pleased as he let her give them the burgers and fries, and he watched them from the corner, sipping a beer as they talked and then curled up together and falling asleep on the bed. She seemed.. normal… she didn’t flinch when he slipped holy water into her milkshake, she ate normally, she looked normal… was she a hunter’s kid? there was a still very real chance she was just a child.

The very next day, he was called into the Sheriff office, with not very happy news. There was no record of family, her grandparents on both sides were gone, her parents didn’t have any siblings, so, no uncles or aunts…

“I received a call nonetheless”, he said shortly, “some relatives asking about the girl”

“Can you corroborate?”, he asked then

“It’s hard, they are her mother’s cousins or something, but hey… this is good news, she is just a little girl, that poor woman was just… in the wrong place at the wrong time”, he said simply

“At her house?”, he said, he should be relieved, the case was closed, but he wasn’t, “the vamps wanted the girl, the mother hid her, she… is different, she has to be…”

“I don’t know what to tell you, there is a birth certificate of her”, he said, sliding it over the table, “a very real and corroborated birth certificate, from Wyoming”, he said, “the story of her parents check out too”

“What about the relatives?”, he asked, checking the document, a normal name, a normal date, nothing out of the ordinary.

“They are on their way, should be here in a couple of hours”, he said simply. Not knowing what his friend was truly thinking. “Why don’t you take the kids for a while until this family can come and pick her up?”, he offered with a shy smile. John grunted, not liking where this was going. But he returned to his kids.

Three kids ate more than a group of piranhas, John thought as he took them for pizza. Wyoming was a nice place, he thought, looking at the beautiful snowy mountains, the green pastures all around, the beautiful valley, then he looked at his kids, eating happily. The girl had this sad look on her face, but she seemed content.

Time went by quickly, and soon, he was back at the police station, when he parked the car, he saw a mini-van parked outside, a pretty picture, he thought. His friend was speaking to a couple, then he gestured to the car where they were.

John excited the car, his sons stood inside, only taking the little girl

“Who are they?”. She asked, looking at the couple, grabbing onto his hand tightly.

“You don’t know them sweety?”, John asked, she shook her head

“There you are!”, shrieked the extremely happy woman, she looked nice enough. But (y/n) hid behind John.

“I don’t know you!”, she accused

“I’m your aunt sweety”, she said through gritted teeth. John looked back at the car, where Sam and Dean were waiting, they did not seem impressed, their hands on the window of the impala, watching the scene.

John turned to meet the couple, who were trying to coax the little girl from going with them

“Leave me alone!”, she screamed

“Don’t be a brat now, we are taking you to your new home”, said the man, again, this couple looks like a picture perfect pair, like they are just coming out of a Benetton catalog… but something was off about them. “we have your things from your house, your favorite blanket, your clothes”, but she only shrieked in response

Sheriff Jefferson tried to calm them down, both parties, hands in the air and a soft smile on his face

“Now now, Petersons, why don’t we go inside and start some paperwork?”, he said, trying to invite the couple in

“Who are you? Why do you have our niece?”, the unknown man started attacking John this time.

“She is a collaborator”, explained the Sheriff, “please”, he said standing between the couple and John and the girl, pointing towards the building, the little girl was invited to follow, but she didn’t want to go.

He felt (y/n) grab onto his jeans tightly, with too much strength for a little girl.

“I don’t want to go with them”, she said shakily

“Sweety, they are your family”, he said gently, but she shook her head

“I don’t have a family!”, they might be estranged, but he couldn’t take her word for it, could he?

It took him a while, but he finally convinced her, he even had to go inside with her, but after he made her enter the office with the “Petersons”, he managed to sneak away, out of the office, and out of the station.

He should be relieved, he though, as he walked back to his car, he couldn’t keep her like she was some sort of puppy, he already had two kids, he couldn't possibly handle one more, he was on a path of revenge, and he was just started, getting good at it… only four years on the road… he couldn’t take on one more, he just couldn’t… he got into his car, and with a last look at the station, he turned around on his car and started to drive away

His boys said nothing, they only looked at him.

“Are we leaving (y/n)?”, Dean asked

“She is with her family now”, he said simply, but not convinced.

He tried to get his mind on the road ahead of him, he already had a lead on a new case, but he felt the intense gaze of his children on him, and when he looked at the rearview mirror, the station seemed to be staring back at him, the van… it was so weird…

“God dammit”, he muttered under his breath, turning the car around. That seemed to please them. The Impala brake in front of the building, and he got out of the car in a jump

He couldn’t just leave.

And he was going to be so glad he didn’t.

He heard a commotion inside the station, shouting, people screaming.

They were not a Benetton catalog couple after all

Fangs were drawn.

Vampires

There were only two, against John, a Sheriff and his apprentice. (y/n) was curled up against a corner in the office, screaming, scared out of her life, John had a bitter flashback from when he first found her, inside that Iron safe space.

They finished the vamps without much effort, and soon (y/n) had her small arms around John’s neck, not wanting to let go.

“Take the girl and go”, Sheriff Jefferson said, “don’t lose her”, John nodded, grabbed the bag “Petersons” had made her, and he also grabbed her documents the sheriff had gathered, put it in the impala next to his small arsenal, and then… he grabbed her and his kids and left right then and there, never looking back.

As he drove back to Bobby’s, and despite everything that happened, he realized that he had no answers, only more questions. The alarm between hunters had been raised and some were going to show up to slay the vampires, but he couldn’t be the one to do the work

He had a more important job at the moment. He thought, looking back at (y/n) chatting with Sam about their favorite animal they saw in a book.

He had no answers about her, only more questions

“So Vampires gathered to slaughter a woman” resumed Bobby, as he met with John and his other good friend.

“It's like that woman was their common enemy” he told them, looking out the window how the mysterious girl played with his sons, “They didn’t eat her or mangled her, they… I didn’t get to see but when I reached the house I saw her body cremated, like she had been burn up in flames”

“So she is another kind of monster” Bobby’s best friend chipped in

“But why would they team up like that?” Asked Bobby, but John didn’t listen as he kept looking at the kids. Dean and Sam looked at the little girl and she seemed excited, her body language told him she wanted to show them something, they walked towards an old wooden pallet. And he gasped in surprise when the little girl drew a small flame off her hand and set the pallet on fire

“SHIT!” John screamed, jumping from his chair and running towards the backyard door

Bobby followed him close by to find the kids surprised at their new friend’s trick

“How do you do that?” asked Sam, but John grabbed him and put him behind him to protect him just as he grabbed Dean. The little girl looked at them confused, like she did nothing wrong nor weird

“What are you?” asked John. She just looked back at them with her doe eyes

“I'm sorry!”, she said quickly, tears falling down her eyes

“What are you?”, he asked again, more calmly

“I don’t know!”, she said, but he could tell she didn’t know what to answer.

“Dad? what are you doing?”, asked Dean, releasing himself from his father’s hold. John’s eyes were towards the girl who looked back at him crying

Could he have been so mistaken? Was she a dangerous monster?

“I’m sorry for doing that”, she said simply, “I didn’t know that was important”, she explained, thinking this whole ordeal was because she set fire to a pile of useless wood

“Have you always been able to do that?”, he asked gently, more calmed, since she didn’t seemed to present any danger.

“Set things on fire?”, she asked softly, “yes”, was she the one that… no… that woman was her mother, how could she possibly have done that to her mother and then locked herself up in that box?

“You can’t do that anymore”, he said softly

“Alright”, she said softly, “I’m sorry”

He watched wide-eyed how the kids just went back inside Bobby’s house

He followed them back inside to an amazed Bobby and his friend. Was he insane for letting the girl near his sons? he was, but somehow, he wasn’t able to separate him

“What monsters do we know that are harmless but can set things on fire?”, he asked out loud

They raided the entirety of Bobby’s library, he even called some people, but nothing seemed too believable.

“Does she… feed? like other monsters?”, asked Bobby, already tired

“She eats with the boys”, John said, “and since the three days we have been with her she hasn’t shown signs of wanting to… feed on something else, nor to be hungry for souls or human flesh”, he said, looking back at the living room where his kids… Dean, Sam and the girl were curled up together like three cute kittens on the couch watching TV, “she sleeps normally, I have watched them, there is nothing strange about that…”

“I see”, they both looked at the children again, what surprised John the most is that even Dean had taken to her, he, who didn’t like anyone, nobody, was hugging her protectively against him. “She is so… precious…”, even Bobby, it only took one look from the little girl for him to go to town to get the three of them ice cream, “what if she is like… a siren?”

“A Siren”, John muttered, unconvinced, they looked at her again, “she doesn’t look like a Siren to me, Bobby, neither has she tried to convince us to do suicidal or homicidal things, just get her ice cream”, he said, “and sirens can’t set things on fire”

“Another type of monster then”, he said. “a witch”

“Witches aren’t born, they are made”, he said simply, “she is too young”. They kept reading, until Jim Murphy called them a couple of hours later, when the kids were asleep and they were deep in their fifth beer

“A phoenix”, muttered Bobby to John after he hang up, he didn’t believe it himself

“Apparently Phoenixes are hated by other monsters, they are very special creatures, immortals, they grow up like a normal beings and then when they reach a mature age they stay like that” Bobby read a book he didn’t even realized he had, on mythical lore, he himself believed to be bullshit

“I thought they were mythical creatures, legends” John said unconvinced, “How is she…?”, they looked at the kids, now sleeping on the ouch

“I don’t know man” he answered, looking at the same scene as his friend, “But, I believe that with iron…” John turned to see Bobby with an iron knife in his hand. He grabbed his wrist and shook his head as a no

“We shouldn't kill her, she is just a kid”, he said softly

“A kid that could turn into a monster” responded Bobby.

“She doesn't eat human flesh, she doesn’t eat souls or haunt people…”

“He could set you, or the boys on fire”, he said severely

“I’m not wasting an innocent child who just lost her family”, he said severely

“John, what are you doing?”, he asked

“I can’t do it Bobby”, he said, his friend only nodded, and they kept reading, but no matter how much they read, they couldn’t find a chapter on its book that spoke about how or if phoenixes could control their victims, they were no victims, except those who angered them and ended up burned

A few paragraphs, that is all there was. John didn’t know if finally knowing what she was was any better, he only got more questions. But the fact that monsters hated phoenixes made a bit more sense about the vampires.

So life needed to go on, if John wasn't going to… “get rid” of the girl, there was only one thing left to do.

John had another lead, another case, he needed to go on the road again, so the very next day, over breakfast with the kids, he broke the news.

“We are leaving”, he said gently, to see their reactions, the girl’s… wasn’t good

“Are you leaving me too?” she asked, about to broke into tears

“I have to work” he explained softly, Bobby grumbled something on the sort of “she is not staying here”

“Please don’t leave me!”, she screeched, standing up, running around the table, hugging into his legs, “is it because I set that thing on fire? Please, I won’t do it again! I’m sorry!” John’s jeans got wet with her tears, and he exchanged looks with Bobby

“I can’t take her with me Bobby” he explained, they both looked at the little girl, looking back at them with wide eyes

“She can’t stay…” Bobby said but not much convinced

“Bobby, it’s just going to be for a little while, I can't take her with me and leaving her alone with the boys it's just… too risky”

“And leaving her with me?”

“Just don’t upset her…or she is going to burn your house down” he smiled apologetically. He then turned to the little girl, “Sweetheart” he greeted the little one, leaning in and kissing her forehead. “it’s just for a little while”

“But I married Sammy, you can’t take him,” she said, frowning. John chuckled

“What do you mean?”, he asked softly

“I married them because they asked me”, said Dean, not impressed by the scene, eating his cereal

“Darling, I can’t leave you alone with the children if I don’t know you are not going to burn anything”, he said

“My mommy used to put me gloves”, she offered, “I won’t burn anything, I promise”

John and Bobby shared looks again. She was with them now, they couldn’t abandon her, the only thing they could do… was to embrace her into their world…. and pray it didn’t went poorly

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