This is a really excellent deep dive into AI water use and how a lot of discourse around it is at best inaccurate and at worst deliberately misleading.
A great example of how it's misleading is the NYT story about an AI datacenter causing local wells to dry up for residents, but the story is actually about the construction causing water issues - the datacenter wasn't active, hadn't been finished, and the construction could easily have been for a shipping hub or housing development. Framing "construction company did not do appropriate groundwater surveys and fucked up the water table" as "data centers guzzling up water" is extremely disingenuous.
The substack article I linked is quite long and quite technical, and if you're not interested in reading it Hank Green has made a video discussing the fact that there is a lot more nuance in the discourse around AI water use than the most vocal Pro-AI or Anti-AI people are interested in examining.
There are a lot of people who say that all AI use is theft. I think that's uncomplicatedly wrong, that if you're using "theft" the way that the DMCA uses "theft" you're wrong. For more on that, I'd recommend reading the "Expanding Copyright is not the Answer" section of @mostlysignssomeportents's adapted speech on AI criticism or the EFF's comments to the copyright office RE generative AI. (You should actually read both, and you should read Doctorow's article in full because it is a criticism of AI that moves beyond thought terminating cliches to really explore why the AI industry as it stands is bullshit).
I do not, generally speaking, like AI. I think that most AI products create shit results. I think most AI art looks like shit and most AI writing is awful bordering on unreadable. I think that there's a massive bubble built up around AI and I think AI is absolutely fucking the personal computing market.
And, all that said, it is deeply annoying to dislike AI as much as I do and still feel the need to point out that the way that a lot of people criticize AI is shortsighted, reactionary, and just flat-out incorrect. There are real things wrong with how we are approaching AI as a society and how AI is being sold to users and forced into our environments, and "art theft" is not one of those things.
(And this is everyone's reminder that fair use is the best, I love it, and you are allowed to copy, distribute, remix, sell, and do whatever you want with my art and writing whenever you want to. Every time I write something like this people come into my inbox to say "I hope your art gets stolen" and I'm like "Bitch, me too, the fuck?")
The happiness I feel just from understanding the basics of getting a mobile application running on Android Studio is off the charts! Today, I'm diving into creating a form application and can't wait to see how it turns out. Sending good vibes to everyone for a fantastic day! â¤ď¸
Update
I'm kinda done with the form , I love this already <3
For some books I'm still missing sources, and I know it's not complete or â¨ď¸Aestheticâ¨ď¸. But if there is anything that you think should be on there, let me know.
warnings: smut, oral sex (f! receiving), p In v, nsfw 18+
fyi: can be read as a stand-alone fic or as part of KREAM: maddy perez fem reader! X Miguel Ohara fic im writing atmâŚreblogs are happily appreciated đŠˇ
Miguel seated with his legs crossed as he observes you change into various outfits whilst on a mall trip. Only heâs been in a rut for the last two weeks and you havenât been intimate with each other in recent times given the busyness of work with your businesses in Nueva York and him being on missions meaning less time to be together.
The tension was palpable, given the many strappy, sexy, and fashion forward picks youâd made for a big launch you were having in a few months. It paid to look good, and Miguel was aware of that.
And here he is, biting his lip hard to suppress the thought of pinning you against the wall and thrusting you until your legs give out. heâs sat through over two hours of outfits, helping you pick the ones that suited you the best. Everything was going fine. That was, until you brought back a short party dress to try on.
âHermosaâ He mumbles, already envisioning how the dress would hug your body, the cutouts in the dress showcasing your frame and curves. Heâs lost in thought as you try it on, not hearing you ask for him to zip you up.
âMigsâŚ.could you zip me up, please?â You asked, snapping him back to reality.
He huffs, rolling his eyes not at you, but at the requested task. The pressure in his body escalates, but he moves without hesitation, zipping the dress up and caressing your waist from behind, nibbling into the skin on the back of your shoulder. He takes a glimpse at your gorgeous appearance, cursing under his breath before letting you observe the fitting in the mirror.
âQue LindaâŚâ He murmurs in approval, watching you, taking in the sight of you as you observe the reflection in the mirror. Miguelâs leaning back against the wall, his feet crossed and his breath shallow as his mind once again paints a lewd image of him fucking you in that dress. And then he speaks.
âDo a little twirl for me, cariĂąoâ
His breath is shallower than usual, as if heâs fighting the temptation to not take you then and there. And once you do twirl for him, he stands up, his vice-like grip hold your waist as he presses his hard-on against your ass. Just to silently tell you why heâs been riled up. You chuckle darkly, telling him heâs gotta be quiet.
âSânot my fault if weâre noisy, princesa.â He teases, lifting the hem of the dress to your hips, driving your body forwards against the mirror. He undoes his belt, letting his pants slip to his knees, and he palms himself a few times before slipping his fingers into your aching core. You whimper softly, as two digits penetrate your spongy walls, curling so as to prepare you to take him right there and then. Your breathing quickens with every motion of his fingers, and he leans in to nip at your earlobe every now and then.
âSo damn tight, sweetheart⌠and already soaking when I havenât done anything except ask you to twirl fâme.â
His voice echoes in your ear, paired with the lewd squelch of your pussy being played with as he dropped to his knees, throwing your legs on his shoulders. He was hungry. And he lapped at your core like a starved man, his tongue replacing his fingers as it curled inside you, while his lips engulfed your swollen and throbbing clit, rendering you both helpless and flustered. He ate until he had his fill, his hands gripping onto your thighs as he slurped noisily at your folds, sucking at your clit until you trembled.
âDonât stopâŚmâcloseâŚplease.â Youâd exhale, small moans leaving your swollen lips with every nibble Miguel had of you. It was too overwhelming, the feeling of him eating you out like this after such a long time. His lips glistened, coated in your slick essence mixed with his saliva as he watched you tremble underneath him.
He gets up, turning you around so his back is against your chest, slipping into you as you clench around his length, your breaths so shallow and ragged as you adjust to his size. Heâs so big, stretching you out like an elastic band, as one of his palms grazes your ass. You whimper, face pressed into the wall as he ruts into you, his talons digging into your hips as he breathed heavily.
âShh⌠be a good girl and take it for me.â He boasts, seeing you shudder in pleasure as he thrusts deeper into you, the slight indent of a tummy bulge appearing, and he flips you onto your back against the change room wall, wanting to see how deep he was inside of you. His smug smirk said it all, along with how blissed out you looked, as he made you take him over and over again.
âMâcloseâŚso close, Miguel.â Youâd pant, body nearly spent as he rutted harder into you, one hand pulling down the top of your dress so that he could latch his parched lips onto your breasts, his teeth grazing your nipples delicately as he continued to fuck you to your heartâs content. His jaw tightened as he sucked each breast deliberately, whilst one of his hands squeezed the alternate as he thrusted deeper, the feel of his balls smacking against your ass. His lips travelling upwards in due course as he held you, biting at your earlobe and neck.
âYou can hold it till weâre home.â He whispers, licking the side of your neck and pressing a gentle kiss as he pulls out, chuckling. He takes the dress off, handing you the outfit you had on before, and even gesturing for you to take his arm as if he wasnât both knuckle and balls deep into you a few minutes ago.
It's pitch black in here, and it's the only thing he can see in this cramped and confined darkness that's pressing in on him.
There's no air in this congested space. Everything tastes of sulfur and it burns in his lungs. His heart is pounding. Alarm gripping the base of his spine.
He's afraid, but he doesn't even know why. He shouldn't be.
Miguel hasn't been afraid of the dark for a very long time.
With his optical photo-sensitivity, he's more at home here in the twilight than he is in the light.
So why is every inch of him screaming out that something isnât right?
He moves, trying to make his way forward, but all there is to navigate him is more seemingly infinite darkness.
The only sound in here is a loud beat of a drum that crowds his ears and he can't pinpoint its source. Everything is obscured and he is trapped in this endless eclipse.
Thereâs no noise that accompanies his footfall in this space. With each step his feet sink into the mire of unsteady ground. If he stops to rest, it would bring him under and swallow him whole. Even a second of delay here is going to cost him.
The thumping noise is still there... It comes harder and faster now, refusing to leave him.
Taking another step, there is something from the dark that tugs at him from behind. It feels like a grip. An unseen hand that he cannot make out in the thick inky shadows trying to grab onto his limbs.
Gritting his teeth, Miguel pushes back against the force holding him, but itâs not letting go. His claws extend, primed for a fight
The loud thrashing beats pulsing in his ears isn't stopping. He knows this panicked rhythm, will never forget it for as long as he lives. It's the sound of your heartbeat as you fell...
He turns in the darkness, and the sight that greets him makes him freeze.
Itâs you.
His heart stops.
Your body is wrong, sprawled against the ground, mangled and broken as your arm reaches out trying to clutch at him.
"Donât go,â you say.
His lungs drop to his stomach. He canât breathe. Bile floods his throat. He doesnât understand what is happening.
âSave me,â your voice calls out to him, this time coming somewhere from his left.
He turns towards the second voice to see another you. You are covered in blood. Dried and crusted on your bruised and ruptured skin.
All the fight bleeds out of him. His hands fall limply to his sides.
"Why didnât you help me?" you repeat.
Your voice echoes in the blank empty space. It ricochets and bounces off the nothingness and returns back to him with a sharp strike to his ribs.
"You promised," you say and the accusation is repeated and threaded into the next, as he hears your voice again, this time from behind him.
"You let me die," a third of you says.
This you is missing an arm. The space where your right eye is supposed to be is hollowed out.
He falls to his knees, but he canât feel the ground beneath. He doesnât know what to do. Doesnât know how to help or how to save you.
He can lift a 25,000 pound bus filled with school children barehanded. Can incapacitate a genetically mutated rhino-man in ten minutes flat. But he doesnât know how to do this again. Heâs already failed once and he is powerless in a way that a man gifted with superstrength shouldnât be.
What are superpowers good for, if it doesnât let him protect the one person he needs to.
Your voice is small and you sound terrified as you look up at him with those wide eyes of yours that will haunt him forever. "I don't want to die."
"It hurts," another you says. It's gargled and pained. Like there are bruises inside your throat.
"Please."
"Please."
âSave meâ
The voices come in a chorus. They swarm him in a cacophony of sobbing pleas and angry accusations. He squeezes his eyes tight, trying to hide from the black void but the only thing that greets him is more darkness. There is no escape from this.
A thick tar rises from the ground and covers him in it, sealing off his mouth and nose. It fills his lungs with a cold viscous liquid until he can no longer breathe.
This is going to drown him, collapse his lungs with the weight of it, and thereâs a part of him, if heâs being honest to himself, that wants it to. At least that would make it stop.
This grief in his chest that refuses to leave him. The sound of your heartbeat that fills his every waking moment. It would all finally stop... right?
The darkness swallows him whole. But it doesn't end. It never does.
The weight eases from his chest. Instead of an end, he re-emerges through the heavy muck and grime and slimy darkness, and there is nothing.
Everything is white. A blank empty void of space where nothing else exists.
Youâre gone. Every single one of you. And that is so much worse.
Panic rises in him and he calls your name. There is no response, only the echo of his own feeble voice.
He calls and he calls until his throat is sore and raw, but thereâs nothing here. Slumping down, he shuts his eyes, trying to forget how he has somehow managed to fail you all over again.
Then he hears your voice calling him. Soft and singular from all the rest.
"Miggy."
He opens his eyes again, and all he sees are your familiar eyes. Warm and loving and the only comfort heâs ever known.
âNena?â he whispers.
He reaches up until youâre within his safe reach. He holds you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you closely to every inch of him, trying to make sure youâre real.
Youâre warm in his arms. Soft and precious. He presses his face into the soft crook of your neck, and you smell like the ridiculously expensive shampoo you get from that hipster store in Tribeca and it makes the homesickness heâs buried deep inside of him all this time crawl up through his chest to the surface.
He will always know you. This you. The you imprinted in his memory for the rest of time. The you that he wakes up every morning missing. The you he misses so much it hurts him to breathe when he thinks of you.
âIâm sorry. Iâm so sorry Nena, Iâm soââ
âItâs okay,â you tell him, your arm curls around his neck as you pull him down closer to you. âStay with me here.â
He nods into your neck where heâs buried. Because why would he ever want to be somewhere youâre not?
âIâm sorry. I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to ââ
You shush him before he can finish the rest of his sentence. âThat doesnât matter, you donât have to do that anymore.â
Your fingers thread through his hair, and it tingles pleasantly as you press a soft kiss above his ear. âJust stay with me here. Forget about her.â
Forget?
He freezes in your arms, trying to process your words.
He canât do that.
Miguel made a promise to you, the other you. The you that is fighting your hardest to survive and live back in New York. The absolutely mad and crazy you that jumped off the Chrysler building and fell from the sky just to lure him out. The you who makes weird sour faces while staring at excel spreadsheets all day long. The you that makes him feel something again. Who makes it feel like everything is going to be okay after all, every time you smile.
He canât just abandon you.
âNo, I canât. IâI canât stay here. I still need to protect her,â he murmurs into your skin.
âStop, Miguel.â The arms around his neck squeezes down around him harder, and to his surprise he canât get free.
This isnât right. He tries to move away, gently prying himself off. He needs to save you. Has to help you. Needs toâ
âNena, please, I need toââ
One hard hand cups his jaw, tilting his head until he meets pitched dark eyes he doesn't recognize that are nothing like yours. âYou canât save me, Miggy. You never could. Donât you understand? Itâs your fault I keep dying.â
The voice is cold and unforgiving, and the grip tightens on him until itâs painful.
âYouâre just gonna make it worse.â
Sharp nails digs into his forearm until it ruptures the skin. âHow many more of me do you have to kill before you stop?â
âI didnât, Iââ
He didn't... right? Is it his fault? Is itâ
"Miguel!"
He hears his name. Itâs muffled and far away. Like someone is calling him from the outside.
Distracted, he looks up into the void, easing his grip. The warmth and weight pressed against him fades. He looks down to see the outline of a torso and arms crumbling in his arms. The features of your face fading before him into nothingness against the infinite blank white.
No, no. no. Tears and panic wells up in his throat and pushes against the corner of his eyes.
Why does this keep happening? He shouldnât have let go. Shouldnât haveâ
âMiguel, wake up.â Itâs soft and familiar and he hears it again. Thereâs no anger in the voice this time. No pain.
The whiteness fades away back into darkness. Itâs warm here, wherever it is.
Blinking slowly, he opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is your face. The warmth of your eyes, the soft curve of your lips.
"You looked like you were having a nightmare again," you say.
You are here right in front of him, real and solid and alive.
He shoots upright in bed, arms reaching out before he can stop himself from grabbing you as he drags you into his arms, clutching you hard to him.
"Miguelâ" you yelp.
Too hard, and he knows it, he can hear the small squeak of surprise as your breath is squeezed right out of you.
Heâs such an idiot.
He should let you go. At this rate he's going to crush you. Heâs a big clumsy oaf that doesnât know how to handle you carefully, but he can't make himself let go. Can't risk that you'll start to crumble into dust the moment he eases up, or that the universe won't find some way to rip you from him again.
âAre you okay?â you ask breathlessly.
Bile of anxiety pushes against the sides of his throat, but he swallows it down. Forces himself to relax his grip on you and let you out of his arms.
âYeah,â he answers, but it doesnât sound anything like his own voice. When has his voice ever sounded that weak? When has it ever trembled like this? Why are his hands shaking?
You observe him with worry, then you reach up, resting one hand on the crown of his head, patting gently. Warmth spreads down to his chest and lingers.
It feels good... nice.
All he wants is to lean in and linger in it.
Instead his mind refuses to let go. A thousands thoughts pushes its way to the front.
How did this happen? Did he fall asleep? He was supposed to watch over you while you slept. How did he end up being the one falling asleep?
"I won't let anything happen to you,â you say. Your hand slide down to cup his cheek, searching for his eyes.
âAnyone messes with you, you let me know. I'll beat them up for you.â
He blinks down at you dumbfounded. The absurd image of you, with balled up fist trying to fight a supervillain flashes before his eyes. Then he bursts into laughter. It's so sudden he surprises even himself and the tremor in his hand stops somehow.
You pull your lips into a soft and playful smile.
âWhat? You donât think I can?â you lean in closer to his face, as you continue. âYeah, maybe youâre right, but I know this spider-guy, he'll beat them up for you. He's really grouchy and mean and he bites.â
The smile on your face is so bright itâs radiant even in this dimly lit room. Youâre beaming from it and his heart starts to swell, chest feeling full and warm at the sight of you.
He wishes he could hold onto this moment and make it last forever. You look like a polaroid picture the way youâre bent over in front of him, framed by the window behind you and the pink glow of light around you like a halo.
Pink sky.
His smile freezes. He turns his head to look back at the eerie sky behind you. The fractured cityscape of cracked purple and pink, with its warped gravity and jagged skyscrapers that signals the end of the world. The universe is calling time up and itâs going to try to take you with it.
It wasnât just a dream.
Shit! Heâs not gonna let this happen to you. He canât lose this. Heâs not going to fail you. Not again. Never again.
The smile on your face falters. âWhere did you go?â you ask and your eyes track his, trying to re-establish contact. âDid I lose you again?â
He shakes his head, putting on a smile to reassure you.
âIâm fine. Just groggy. Slept too long.â His eyes flicker away from the window, and glances at the clock: 7 A.M. the two of you better get going.
There is no more time to lose. He was never supposed to fall asleep in the first place. Heâd only wanted for you to get some sleep last night after the broken sky appeared to calm your nerves. The plan was for you to rest for an hour, max two, while he watched over you, before the two of you would check out of this hotel and be gone for good. He hadnât counted on his streak of sleepless nights finally catching up to him.
âGo pack, Cielito. We better get going soon.â
You hop onto your feet, shoving the handful of your surviving clothes into your backpack in minutes.
His eyes roam over the hotel suite. As pompous and luxuriously decorated as it is, itâs altogether temporary. Itâs just a showroom, nothing in here is lived in. Itâs nothing like your tiny cramped little apartment in the Heights that is now just a pile of rubble.
He misses your apartment.
The place you call your home, and in another time and another place, it is near identical to the one he used to come home to every night.
The one with janky second hand furniture you picked up from Craigslist adverts. With a table that has uneven legs that you have to prop up with books so things donât slide off its tilted surface. Or the surprisingly nice sofa you found on the side of the street one summer which led to the infamous bedbugs wars you so dramatically retell.
In front of him, he sees you stop and scan the room and Miguel knows damned well itâs because youâre considering pilfering any free stuff you can fit inside that tiny bag. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he sees you duck into the bathroom.
Then he can hear the clang and clutter of you shoveling everything that isnât attached to the wall into the backpack.
Miguel doesnât have anything to pack. Thereâs no point, heâs been doing this for years now by himself without hoarding belongings. If he needs clothes or personal hygiene products, Lyla always takes care of it for him. Easier than lugging things around with him from dimension to dimension.
The only thing heâs ever kept is his wedding ring that hangs around his neck.
He eyes the small crumpled up ball of paper, that is your poor attempt at practicing origami, perched on the bedside table.
God, the thing looks messed up and ugly.
Reaching out to pick it up in his palms, he stares at it for a long suspended moment, at its warped folded lines and squashed head. Doesnât understand how you manage to still be so bad at this even with all the time you spend at it. Origami isnât hard.
He smiles as he continues to stare at it, before pocketing the sad looking Frankenstein-frog.
Itâll be okay to keep one more thing wonât it? A piece of paper doesnât weigh much.
From beyond the windows, the sky has cracked open, with a menacing glowing splinter positioned right above the hotel. Itâs like a billboard sign, pointing right at your location. It feels purposeful.
âYou ready?â you ask, as you pop out of the bathroom with an expectant look on your face. âWe better hurry up. We donât want to stick around when the Avengers come by.â
You say it lightheartedly as a joke, but he can see the unease in your smile, the way your eyes flicker towards the window with traces of fear.
His hands curl into fists at his side against the sheets, and whatever smile was on his face slips away at the sight of you like this.
His fangs itch. Screw the Avengers. They are not going to come close to you. He wonât let them.
"Cielo, it's okay. You have nothing to worry about. If they become a threat to you, I'll take care of them," Miguel says.
You scoff with a small laugh, as you try to zip up the overfull backpack, but the fancy complimentary soaps keep spilling from the top.
"What do you mean "take care" of them? What are you Michael Corleone, what're you going toâ" You stop mid sentence.
The playful smile drops from your face. Your hands come to a halt above the flap of your bag, and Miguel watches the realization sink into your eyes.
âNo. Donât be silly,â you say empathetically, shaking your head. âYou canât fight the Avengers.â
âIâll eliminate them if I have to.â
You drop your bag to the floor, where it lands with a thud and you stare at him in disbelief.
"No. No you're not. We're not killing any Avengers. Jesus! Thatâs some textbook supervillain shit, Miguel. Theyâre earthâs mightiest heroes!â
Your fingers wrap around your wrist, fiddling with the smooth surface of the device, as you turn back around and look out over the sky.
"I donât understand. Why arenât we just using the watch? You said you were done fixing it. Why do we need to be on the run? I thought that so long as I leave this dimension that will solve everything right?"
A flash of endless white invades his mind. The blank infinite void and your face crumbling underneath his fingers.
Fear grips his spine, and he feels sick at the thought. Has to grind down on his jaw to swallow the bile pressing up against his throat.
"No," he grits out.
"Miguel, what do you mean ânoâ?"
He shakes his head, and his lips itch with irritation, âWe canât use it, Not until we know itâs safe. Itâs still untested.â
âWell, yeah? But the only way to test if it works, is to actually use it.â
âNot on you,â he grits out.
âOkay,â you sigh, clearly frustrated with him. âWhat do you suggest then?â
âWe need to test it on someone.â
You tilt your head, brows drawn together in deep thought. âWhat, like⌠animal testing? Are we going to find a rabbit or something?â
âNo, not a rabbit. Their physiological and genetic make-up is too different. Even if they make it through, it doesnât give us an indication itâs safe for you. Weâd need to test it on someone human.â
Your eyes widen at his answer, and he can see the moment it clicks for you. You take a step back away from him, seemingly without conscious thought, as if some remnant survival instinct is telling you to keep your distance.
âWe canât just grab an innocent person off the street.â
Miguel snaps, veins flashing with heat as his hands curl into fists at his sides, and a blinding white crowds his vision. âYou wanna go back to the void!? Is that what you want?â
âNo, but what if it doesnât work? What if they get hurt? Or worse, what if they die and disappear?â
Something cold drips through his chest and he feels strangely numb and devoid of empathy for the thought of those other people.
âBetter them than you,â he says.
Your mouth drops with an expression of disbelief as you run up to him.
âNo, thatâs not right, and you know it! Letâs just use the watch Miguel, weâre running out of time.â
There is a faint phantom sound of a beating pulse burrowed in his brain that wonât stop. He tries to bite down against his teeth to make it stop but it does nothing to mute it.
Fuck, fuck. His head hurts, streaks of white pain lashing against his temple. âWeâre not taking any risks,â he grits out.
Something touches his cheek, and the suddenness of it makes him flinch until he realizes itâs you.
You and your soft hand splayed across his face as you tilt him down to meet your gaze.
âThe world is literally ending outside because of me. People are going to die if I donât do this. Itâs not up for debate.â
He doesnât understand.
Why don't you see that none of that is important. That's not where your focus should be. After everything thatâs happened. After everything youâve been through, you need to be prioritizing yourself. Itâs the only way youâll make it out of this alive. Why canât you see that?
âPeople are always going to die,â he tells you. âI canât save them all. But I can save you. Youâre the only one I care about.â
Your hand slips from his face and he walks across the room, picking up your discarded backpack from the floor and stretches out his hand towards you.
âCome on, letâs get going,â he says.
You donât take his hand. Your eyes are glued to the floor, and he canât read your expression. The jarring beating noise in his head is getting louder now. It aches and threatens to split his skull apart with it.
âIâm not going to leave,â you say, without moving.
A bitter sound crawls out of his throat and it tastes like mud. âI thought you said you wanted to live. You asked me to protect you, remember?â
âI know, but not like this. Not at the expense of other peopleâs lives.â
God this is ridiculous.
âLet them die! This world would turn on you in a second!â he snaps.
It already did once, and he doesnât know why you would care about the lives of people who never did the same for you.
You bite down on your lower lip as if gathering courage before you meet his eyes again.
âThank you for everything youâve done for me so far,â you say.
Miguel can feel his own brows draw tight in confusion. You sound so formal and unlike you, like heâs a stranger to you. Youâve never spoken to him like that, even back when he first met you and you didnât even know him.
âWhat are you talking about?â he sneers. Some part of him doesnât want to understand what heâs hearing even as youâre saying the words.
You smile, sad and disingenuous and it breaks his heart all over again, cause heâs seen this smile on you before and it nearly killed him.
âYou only promised me three months until the universe collapsed. Itâs happening now, so our time is up.â
His heart sinks at your words. So this is how it ends up again huh? Youâre not going to let him save you.
He canât even imagine it. Or rather, he can. Can imagine all too well the myriad of ways you could die. All the ways that he could fail to save you again. Knows he wouldnât survive holding your broken body in his arms a second time.
âCielito,â he says quietly, tipping your face up to his with his fingers on your jaw. âPlease.â
The unease in your eyes is still there and he has to look away. Drop his own eyes, and just stand there feeling like his chest is caving in and taking the universe with it becauseâŚ. becauseâŚ.
âI canât⌠do this.â The words come out in a hoarse whisper. âI canât lose you againâ.
âThen letâs use the watch. Now. No test bunnies,â you try again, eyes sparking with something like a glimpse of hope.
Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he knows youâre doing your best to convince him. Because up until now, everytime youâve asked him something heâs always said yes.
He's never known how to say no to you.
âYou might die.â
You give him a strained smile, as you look up at him and his chest aches at the sight of how sad and scared this one is compared to every other one youâve thrown his way up until now.
âThatâs a risk weâll just have to take,â you say.
Images of you flash before his eyes, crowding his vision. Of your body, broken and mangled and wrong. Your lip split open and blood trickling down your nose. Of your broken bones and missing eye.
No.
Not this time.
Sadness gives into anger. It burns and simmers in his veins until it roars with an unquenchable flame.
âIâm not gonna let that happen.â
He steps forward towards you and at his advance, you retreat, walking backwards until your back hits the wall. You jolt in surprise at the contact, too focused on him that youâre not paying attention to your surroundings.
You have no survival instincts. You wouldnât survive two minutes out there alone without him.
âWait! Wait. Miguel, what are youââ
Your arms raise in self defense to fend him off before he so much as touches you. But itâs no use. It doesnât matter that youâre using everything in you to try to push him away. Doesnât matter that youâre summoning every ounce of force against him. It doesnât make any difference.
He barely exerts any effort, circling one hand around both your wrists, and locks them there against the wall to hold you in place.
If you refuse to let him protect you, heâll have no other choice but to make you. He parts his mouth, holding you firm against him as he bares your throat to him.
One bite. Thatâs all itâd take. He could keep you safe while he does whatâs necessary, you wouldnât even know what happened by the time you fully wake. Itâd be so simple.
Would be.
But there's a familiar sound that invades his ears. The rhythm of your heart pounding painfully hard and fast. The very same sound that haunts him when he's awake and into his sleep.
He looks down at you, your eyes are wide, brimming with tears. Thereâs fear there.
Youâre scared... of him.
His stomach sinks. This wasnât supposed to be the way it goes.
He just wanted you safe. Happy. Alive. Why wonât the universe let him keep you alive.
âMiguel, please.â Your voice is small, trembling on the words as you barely get them out. âDonât do this.â
He stops.
Releasing his hold on you, he lets your hand slide back down against the wall.
Fuck, what was he thinking? What was he doing?
âIâm sorry,â he murmurs. âIââ
He stands in front of you, unsure of what to do or what to say as he gazes down on your frightened expression.
Thereâs a tremor in your shoulder and the wet sheen of tears threatening to spill from your eyes. All he wants is to draw you into his arms, to hold and comfort you to make it better. But how can he do that when heâs the cause of it.
He keeps his distance, staring down at you. He doesn't know what to do.
"Miguelâ" you start.
Before he hears the rest of your sentence, thereâs a strange sound that Miguel picks up from a distance breaking his attention.
A low hum of an engine, that makes his entire back tense. Itâs the sound of something flying through the air. Not large enough to be another helicopter. But whatever it is, itâs moving at the speed of a fighter jet and approaching your hotel.
Everything in him roars to attention as he tears his eyes towards the window.
There is a small silhouette that grows larger as it approaches in the distance against the broken skyline.
Then it's here.
A plated armor of shiny gold and metallic red that hovers in the middle of the sky against your city view of 62 floors up.
A man covered in alloyed iron from head to toe.
Guess thatâs why he calls himself Iron Man. Not very imaginative is he.
Miguel can feel you tense up next to him. Before you have a chance to get any funny ideas (like give yourself up) he puts a hand on your shoulder, cautiously nudging you back to stand behind him. He steps forward until his body blocks you entirely from view.
In front of him, Stark enters through the open balcony door moving forward until heâs standing some 10 feet away from you. It is entirely too close for Miguelâs liking.
Thereâs a crackle in the air as a distorted voice sounds through the speakers of the armor. âStep away from the lady, Big Blue,â the quippy voice that is unmistakably Starkâs says.
Miguel throws a glance at the Iron Man, the way heâs tracking dirt and scraping his clanky metal feet across your hotel room floors.
âIâve been told by an old friend that these strange occurrences and the looming end of the world are related to our lovely Disney princess over here. So weâre gonna have to take her in.â
âMiguel,â you start from behind him, nudging at his wrist. âItâs okay, I shouldââ
He cuts you off. âAnd what are you planning on doing to her if I did?â
Even behind an expressionless steel mask, Stark averts his gaze. A reflexive gesture of guilt.
Yeah, thatâs what Miguel thought.
At least the man has the decency to feel ashamed.
Adrenaline buzzes through Miguelâs veins, and he feels the heady rush of it as he unsheaths his claws, primed for a fight. âYouâre not laying a fucking finger on her.â
âWait,â you shout trying to push your way past him, but Miguel blocks and drags you back behind him.
âDonât hurt him,â you shout above his shoulder.
Christ!Miguel canât believe youâre still trying to argue Starkâs case when the man admitted he's planning on executing you.
âWeâve built a device that lets us leave this dimension. Things will go back to normal when Iâm gone,â you continue trying desperately to negotiate with the bastard.
Stark shakes his head. He takes another step closer, and Miguel feels fire and brimstone crackle in his chest.
âIâm afraid weâre out of timeâ Stark says, taking yet another step. âWe canât take the risk. We have no reassurance the universe will just reset when you leave.â
You finally stop struggling against Miguel at those words.
âSorry, Sparkles. No hard feelings. But itâs you versus the fate of the entire universe. I hope you understand.â
Miguel wants to laugh. He's heard that sentiment before.
There is a hellish whirring sound of an engine gearing up in warning, Stark raises his hand as the reactor in the metal armor goes glaringly bright. Aimed in your direction.
Miguel leaps, grabbing you by the waist with one arm and curling his other behind your head for protection. The first blast hits the wall not two inches from where your face would have been.
He pivots midair, crashing into the nearest wall of glass, making sure his shoulder connects with the window for impact to make your escape. Glass shatters around you both as he leaps from the 62nd floor.
The cold evening air lashes punishingly against his face at the descent. Your arms tighten around his neck, and the two of you fall through the sky, in the way you two have twice before.
Miguel cuts through air and gravity, soaring downwards.
He has to get you out of here. Has to throw them off and lose them.
Something sharp whizzes through his side, with a whiny little noise.
Arrows, he realizes. His fangs practically itch with annoyance.
What kind of idiot brings arrows to a superhero fight?
He tears through the air, intending to dodge them, but an invisible force wraps around his limbs with a punishing force.
The only thing he can see is a thin red fog infiltrating the nearby air surrounding him. Some kind of weird, dark magic. Miguel doesnât linger on the thought for long.
Thereâs more of them, the stupid arrows. One after another, all aimed with uncanny precision despite the increasing velocity the two of you are falling with.
Miguel should be able to easily dodge them, but with his restrained mobility he canât guarantee it wouldnât leave you exposed. At this angle and trajectory, theyâd pierce right through your femur.
Shit! He can't risk it.
Twisting in the air, itâs all Miguel can do to press you closer and cover every exposed inch of you that he can. One arrow pierces right through his ankle, another his side between his sixth and seventh ribs.
Fuck!
Kicking out his feet, against the cladding of the building, he tries to break his fall as best as he can as he sinks his claws into the concrete for leverage to climb upwards.
But he misjudges the angle. Miscalculates the weight. Gets everything wrong.
Sharp pain streaks through his leg as he tries to gain traction one last time, gripping with the claws of his feet. It doesnât work. He falls.
All he can do is brace your fall with his body so you donât get hurt.
He lands with a nauseating thud against the hard roof below. Back first, absorbing all the impact, and the white blinding pain spears through the length of his entire spine.
Fuck, everything hurts.
He tries to get up, but his shoulder is fucked. The muscles burn, and he canât seem to move properly, mustâve dislocated it on his way down.
âMiguel, are youââ
âI'm fine,â he interrupts, biting down hard to stem the agonized groan that wants to erupt. âIt's fine. Weâre okay.â
He takes hold of the sloping roof tiles beneath his claws, the building seems tilted at an impossible angle. It must be the after effects of this dimension warping.
Gripping tight, he uses it to leverage himself upright, ignoring the painful sensation shooting through the nerves of his back.
He hooks his claws into the crevice of the cement and begins to climb. It's excruciating, but he manages it, laboriously dragging the both of you up the short length of wall to settle you on a ledge, where you at least have the questionable safety of steady ground beneath your feet.
Fuck, youâre shaking, obviously terrified. He pulls you to him until he can cradle you in his arms and between his legs, and wrap himself around you, hoping to comfort you.
This is so stupid. He shouldâve just listened to you from the start. Should have had Lyla transport you out of here.
Shouldnât have let it go this far. He just couldnât do it. Wasnât willing to take the risk. Couldnât live with himself if his miscalculation would be what took your life.
He didnât want to risk it.
But heâs running out of options.
Because he needs you to live. This version of you. This you who drives him mad and makes him smile and makes him want to live again. Singular and unique, and heâs going to love you until his dying breath. Just as surely as he loves the other you.
âLyla,â he calls out and from your wrist, the familiar amber glow springs up and Lyla appears. âCalculate the location for a dimension jump.â
âWhat destination?â she asks, simple and straight to the point. For once thereâs no sass. Even Lyla must understand the severity of their situation. That more than everything else that preceded this moment makes Miguel worry about just how fucked the two of you are.
He takes a second to think about it. Where could he safely bring you? Somewhere you could be safe without a doubt. A dimension without Avengers or interlopers or mad crazy shit like this that would put you at risk. A place that he knows like the back of his hand.
âEarth 928-C,â Miguel orders.
He watches you, tucked to his side, eyes wide and afraid and guilt grips at his lungs. How has he managed to fuck it up this badly.
âIâm sorry,â he murmurs, gripping firmer around your shoulders. âYou were right. Iâm sorry. We shouldâve just done it your way from the start.â
âMig.â Your eyes soften, the worry and alarm melting from your eyes.
It doesnât last for very long. The scent of sulfur singes the evening air. Then there's a bright flash of red lightning against the sky.
Miguel only gets a split second to catch it in the corner of his eyes, then itâs already flying towards you.
He leaps in front of you, pushing you back and out of the way.
Whatever it is, hits him with the force of a tank, catapulting him into the air. He doesnât have time to react but his latent survival instinct reacts for him, webbing shoots out of his wrist by reflex, sticking to a nearby wall. Itâs the only thing that holds him suspended in the air so he doesnât drop some several hundred feet below.
Thereâs a high pitched whistle echoing between his ear drums. He feels discombobulated. Like he doesnât know left from right and when Miguel pulls himself upright, everything spins. He is sure that he is going to be sick and vomit.
Reaching down to his stomach, itâs strangely wet. Must be the fucking rain, which is⌠odd, because the material of the suit is supposed to be hydrophobic.
He brings up his fingers into view, and instead of the shin gray of water, his hand is soaked in red.
Well fuck.
Thereâs gashes in his suit. Deep cuts thatâs broken through the skin. Heâs bleeding. Heavily.
Shit, he doesnât have time for this.
Where are you?
He grits his teeth, ignoring the sharp and searing pain as he grabs hold of the cold metal of a nearby banister and pulls himself back up to the rooftop. A groan escapes him before he can swallow it back down.
Itâs fine. It hurts. But itâll heal.
It doesnât matter. He scans his surroundings, searching for you. What matters is you.
On the far side of the next building, he spots your colorful bright shirt. Youâre sitting upright, which means youâre still conscious.
Still alive. Thank god.
Relief floods him until he spots the looming shape of shiny metal above you. Stark.
Your mouth is moving as you look up at the man and even with his super hearing Miguel can barely make out the words youâre saying above the chaotic noises surrounding him.
âPromise me you wonât hurt him, please.â
A cold sliver runs up his spine when he hears you. The realization lances through him painfully. You werenât arguing for Starkâs case before.
Why is he always such an idiot?
Stark extends one hand towards you, raising the repulsor gauntlet. The blazing reactor in his palm blinds Miguelâs retinas with a sharp pain.
âI wonât,â Stark promises.
No. nononono.
Miguel leaps before he can think. There is no thought or tactics. His brain is wiped blank, driven by pure impulse and instincts: to protect you. Keep you safe. Keep you alive.
He tears through the air, feet stomping down on the hard iron torso and Miguel grabs the hard metallic throat under his hand, putting his entire body-weight into it as he slams down until thereâs a satisfying crunch beneath. Can feel the hard alloy skull hit the concrete with a heavy and unforgiving thud.
A blast goes off, and thereâs sharp and bright searing pain that burns along his entire side, but he ignores it.
He slams down again, blindly and without aim. Until the force pushing back against him from underneath stops and goes slack.
The light on the eye sockets flicker. Then the robot suit slumps and powers down in his grip. Miguel lets go, letting the heavy suit fall to the ground, before pulling away.
His feet wobble on the ground beneath as he takes a step back. His line of vision askew and tilted. He can feel his consciousness slipping, and he has to shake his head hard, to snap himself out of it.
He needs to find you and get you out of here.
Everything spins. The skyline seems to swim in swirly lines, and he canât tell if itâs his consciousness failing him or the reality around him is warping.
From a distance he sees your small silhouette, running up towards him, and all he feels is relief spreading through his chest.
âMiguel,â You reach for him, pulling off your cardigan and shoving the fabric of it onto him, pressing it up against his stomach to slow down the bleeding.
âItâs fine. Leave it.â
âNo, itâs not fine! Nothing is fine! Youâre hurt, bleeding andââ your voice is trembling, and he can hear the tears pushing up against the surface as your shaking hands fumble in your attempt to try to keep the pressure on him to stem the bleeding.
Youâre in tears over worry for him.
You care too much. Always did, and he doesnât deserve it.
To his left the arc reactor engine whirrs as it reboots and starts back up.
Stark is conscious again.
From a distance, Miguel can hear the faint sound of more jet engines whizzing through the air.
From the corner of his eyes, he can see the silhouette of a woman rising in the sky, bathed in a menacing crimson halo of an aura.
Bastard is calling for backup. The two of you have only a handful of seconds left at best.
You're surrounded.
There isnât enough time. Lyla is probably not even done with the calculations. There may still be errors. God knows where the two of you will end up this time.
But itâs now or never.
âCielito.â
At the nickname your eyes dart up to his. The fear in your eyes calms when you hear his voice, and he canât help the faint smile tugging on his lips despite the situation the two of you are in.
Even though he hasnât earned it after everything heâs put you through tonight, thereâs still trust left in there for him. It is more than he would have dared to wish for.
Miguel cups your cheeks, cradling it in his hands. They're damp, stained with tears that he wipes away with his thumb.
He wished he had some perfect words that could make them stop. Wished he could have done something that prevented them from happening in the first place.
"I'm not going to let you die." He leans down until his forehead rests on yours.
"I love you," he says, and he just wished he'd said it to you sooner. Wished he'd gotten to say it more than once.
There's a lot that Miguel wishes he could have done differently.
âLyla.â His hand finds your wrist and the familiar cool metal of the device. Then he presses the button and all he can do is hope for the best.
âDo it,â he commands.
A burst of light erupts all around him. Bright and blinding.
Please let it work this time.
You wake to darkness. Everything is washed in a hue of moody blue.
Thereâs no one here besides you. Miguel isnât here.
Your gaze darts to your left and to your right, but you canât make out anything.
You canât find him anywhere. Didnât you two go through the portal together? Why isnât he here?
Panic climbs up your chest and claws into your lungs, you feel like your chest is collapsing in on itself and you canât breathe. Did something happen to Miguel?
Miguel was hurt. He was bleeding a lot. It comes to you in scattered fragments. The sharp smell of iron filling your nostrils. Slick viscous liquid, sticky on your fingers. The sound of his choked and bitten off pain as he tried to protect you.
You canât do this. Canât sit here and wallow in your fear when there is so little time. You bite down on your tongue, stifling the pathetic sob that wants to climb out of your throat. You make yourself swallow it back down as you force yourself to stand up on wobbly legs, and observe your surroundings.
Thereâs nothing here. Just this dim muted darkness. Just more empty space. Thereâs no wind here. Youâre not exposed to the environment, which means youâre definitely inside a building somewhere. Craning your head upwards, the ceiling stretches high over 20 feet at least and you can barely see where the walls begin or end.
Where the hell are you?
Bringing your wrist up, you press the power button of the watch. âLyla?â
Nothing.
Oh fuck, youâre all by yourself.
You mash the button with your thumb, pressing a little bit too hard, as you call for her again.
Thereâs a pinging sound, as the holographic image floats above your wrist.
âSorry, sorry! That was a rough ride,â she says as she straightens her heart shaped glasses that are crooked on her nose.
Immediate relief fills you at her familiar face. âLyla, where are we?â
She makes a face. âIâm not entirely sure. I didnât have time to finish my calculations before Miggy had me pull you through.â
âWhereâs Miguel,â you ask, and your voice is sharp and shrill even to your own ears.
Lyla peers up at you, eyes filled with something that looks like concern. âYour heart rate is very elevated. You might be in shock. Do you want me to show you edited photos of Miguel in a bunny suit to make you feel better?â
From a distance you can see a door left slanted. Thereâs a flicker of blue and amber light from beyond it, and you start to walk towards it.
âIs that a door?â
âUhm, boss-girl I donât think thatâs a good idea. We donât know where we are.â
Despite Lylaâs warnings, you keep going, because whatever danger waits behind that door, itâs still better than the alternative of sitting like a lame duck, wasting precious time when Miguel is hurt and in need of help.
You reach the door and peer into the next room. There are holographic screens in the middle of the space raised on a podium.
In the center of it you see him. His familiar broad back hunched over the screens. Dark-blue fabric that stretches wide over his shoulders. Youâd recognize him anywhere.
Miguel.
Heâs here. Heâs okay.
You run up towards him, nearly skidding on your unsteady feet as you begin to full on sprint. âMiguel!â
At your voice, the whole of his back stiffens and straightens up until he slowly turns towards you.
You run up the podium and you feel like you can finally breathe again as you reach him, flinging your arms around his neck as soon as he is within reach. You want to cry with the overwhelming relief that fills up the whole of your chest as his arms come up and wrap around you like a protective cocoon.
âI woke up and you werenât here, and I thought, I thoughtâŚâ youâre rambling, words clogged up with the tears you had held back before. Now though, in his arms, the floodgates have opened and there's no stopping them.
âIâm here,â he says.
One hand soothingly strokes the small of your back while his other gently stroke your face, fingers sliding down your throat and shoulder, assessing you.
âYouâre bleeding,â he says.
His voice turns cold, gritted out with anger between his teeth that makes your spine breaks out in shivers. âWho did this to you?â
You raise your head from his embrace, looking up at him in confusion.
No, youâre not the one bleeding, the blood is his. What does he mean who did this to you?
âWhat do you mean?â you sniffle. âIâm notâ The Avengers theyâ Itâs your blooââ your words come out stuttering and scrambled. You can barely think. Your heart is beating so hard you think itâs going to burst out of your chest.
Lyla said this didnât she? Youâre in shock.
His eyes soften at your distress, and he gently shushes you as he strokes your cheeks, guiding you back to his chest. His hand rests on the top of your head as he keeps you there pressed up against him, locked in the protective space of his embrace.
âItâs okay, itâs okay,â he says quietly into your ear. His voice is so soft and gentle, in complete contrast to the iron grip of his arms locked around your chest and back.
It feels different.
You stiffen in his arms, and his hold on you tightens. Your blood freezes in your veins. Something is wrong.
âItâs okay, Iâm not gonna let anything hurt you, Nena.â
Huh?
No, youâre notâ
Miguel doesnât call you that.
He buries his face into your collarbone, mouth pressing to your skin.
You try to resist, try to anchor your hand thatâs trapped between your bodies to wedge and push him away, but he only holds you to him firmer.
âYouâre safe,â he murmurs into your neck, and you can feel his warm breath gust over the goosebumped skin. The hint of his sharp fangs scraping across your flesh.
Wait, waitâ
âYouâre not Migââ
The rest of it is lost in a pained gasp. His teeth sink into your neck. Bright sharp whiteness blinds your vision and excruciating pain sears through your nervous system. Every ounce of strength in you goes with it, your muscles turn slack as you lose control over your own body.
Everything goes dark again.
Dedication & Credits: To my most beloved and bestest of clown @thirstworldproblemss. I love you dearly and I am running out of ways to tell you just how much. You're so special to me and I'm so grateful to have you as a friend and collaborator and muse and everything in between.
I donât have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!
đ°đđŤđ§đ˘đ§đ đŹ: incubus!sukuna, witch!reader (sukuna's only), monster fucking, double dick, fingering both holes, sukuna cums on you, sukuna's hand mouth and stomach mouth, dacryphilia, mocking, light pain kink (Sukunaâs only), double penetration (anal and cunt), sweet soft choso, reassuring and checking in if your ok, riding, choso has a dick piercing, size kink, daddy/beautiful/little witch, praise
đđđ˛: so after almost starting a bedroom fire with my laptopâs charger I have no laptop for the next however long. So after a lot of tears and some frustration then self care to calm my ass down here we are! Because AINâT NOTHING GONNA BREAK MY STRIDE AINâT NOTHING GONNA SLOW ME DOWN OH NO I GOT TO KEEP ON MOVING!!! Also I took Kento out because Iâm just not that into him anymore đ¤ˇđ˝ââď¸ so it would come across passionless
đđŽđ¤đŽđ§đ
âYouâre lucky you're hot." The look of hunger in his eyes made it clear you'd invited a ravenous predator into your home. You want to be his breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert.
It's overwhelming the way Sukuna is fondling, biting, and stretching two of your tight, wet holes with his thick fingers. You're a toy in his large rough hands, laying beneath his massive muscular 8-foot tall stature.
He could easily rip you apart. The power imbalance turns you on as much as the sweet painful pleasure of his hands' mouth biting the soft squishy fat of your breasts. His warm tongues flicks your sensitive nipples. Pleasure and pain are becoming one and the same.
Thick tears trickle down the sides of your face. Sukunaâs smirk spreads, showing his sharp fangs. "You're being such a crybaby after having the audacity to summon me?" You can feel Sukuna's lust growing with your tears. His lust is heavy, intoxicating consuming, and hot, blurring the lines where your emotions lie.
Fucking three thick fingers into your squelching, quivering cunt. He remarks with a groan, "My little witch is an empath?â He has the excitement of someone opening a gift.
âFocus on my lust more, let it mix with yourâs and drive you mad. Iâll fuck you till your body canât keep up and you pass out." Closing his eyes, his jaw-dropping with a loud groan. Your sensitive cunt clenches from seeing his muscular body tremble over you through his large muscular body.
Looking down at you with more hunger than before. "You just keep tasting better." He's stroking your sensitive, puffy clit with his stomachâs tongue. "I can feel how close are as if I'm about to cum." It's getting harder to separate your lust from his. And you don't care to anymore.
The second you allow yourself to plunge into the deep end you're creaming. Squirting for the first time onto his thick fingers. "Feels-feels so gooood! Wanna keep cumming, gonna cum, wanna cum, gonnnnnn!â He groans fucking your spasming, squirting cunt through your peak.
Gliding his fingers out of your ass. Pushing down his pants, stroking one of his thick, tattooed veiny cocks. Urging thick white cum to shoot out onto your belly. "Lucky for you it takes a several times before my cocks go off. Heh I canât believe you got me off just by cumming. Youâre little cock sleeve body was meant for mine." Your eyes widen, your jaw dropping in disbelief. How are both supposed to fit?
Jerking your hips away in overstimulation as his tongue rubs your clit faster. He grabs your thighs firmly holding you in a mating press. "Did you think there would only be one?â He drags his fingers through his thick cum on your stomach.
No wonder he wanted to stretch you out with three fingers to loosen up both your holes. Yet it doesn't stop you from claiming, "You're too big, it's-" He stuffs his cum coated fingers into your mouth.
"Ok and?" He lines both cocks up with your holes, whilst tightening his grasp on your thighs to keep you from going anywhere. âYour slutty little holes are going to take me anyway, and Iâm going to fuck them till youâre gapping.â Roughly rocking his hips forward, thrusting both cocks in. Both tips start with a soft round point making it easy for him to glide in.
He slips his fingers out of your mouth to hear your cries from the gradual stretch of his cocks. Getting thicker with each inch till it reaches the knot-like base. Your holes offer resistance too unable to take it just yet.
đđĄđ¨đŹđ¨
Pushing his boxers down, you bite your lip tensing up beneath him. His pale thick veiny thick pierced cock is beautiful but ďżźďżźintimidating. And ever since the first picture youâve wonder how the warm metal is going to feel inside you.
Choso looks you over, concern etching into his handsome face. A wrinkle forming between his thin brows. His voice is gentle and comforting. âIs this ok? Do we need to stop and cuddle?â But your nervous bubble up all the same.
Glancing to the side, biting your bottom lip. He gently cups your cheek, swiping his thumb, trying to soothe your jumble nerves. You look into his loving purple eyes, the warmth and admiration within them captivating.
Breathing in filling your lungs then breathing out, "Youlookedtoobiginthosepictures." You had amassed a collection of pictures and videos showcasing his beautiful veiny cocky. From cum shot, to jerking off, to pre-cum dripping from his cock you had it all. Youâve gotten off to Choso more times than you care to count.
Refusing to let your nerves stop you now when you so close to having your first time with Choso. "I want you to fuck me, I'm just worried it won't all fit. Or that it will hurt. Youâre so big Cho.â His cheeks flush pink, his dark eyes widen, biting into his bottom lip.
Choso leans down, kissing forehead. âHow about you ride me beautiful? Iâll only move if you ask.â The answer is easy to give.
âPlease daddy.â For the first time nickname slips out effortlessly. His compassionate, caring and understanding nature. Choso gently kisses you groaning loudly. The sound makes your cunt clench around nothing.
Whining aching to have your sensitive cunt filled up. Whilst your nerves trickle into excitement over just how big your boyfriend is. His broad chest and shoulders, well defined abs. His thick, sculpted arms, and muscular thighs. A thick, long heavy being cocks like his is suiting for his stature.
Parting your lips for him to glide his tongue past. Slipping your fingers into his soft, dark hair. He grabs your hips, squeezing your squishy hipâs crease.
Pressing his warm, thick cock to your soft, soaking wet cunt. Rutting his hips, rubbing his warm cock head on your sensitive clit. Breaking away, looking down at you wondering,
Choso is incredibly sexy with his hair down and messy. âAre you sure you want this beautiful?â Reaching between grabbing his cock lining him up. His eyes widen the second his fat head touches your quivering hole.
âNnn I do! Want you so badly daddy!â Choso glides just the tip in his abs clenching as he restraints himself from thrusting deeper into you. Shifting your hips from the pleasurable stretch of his cock head gliding inside. You can feel the soft ridges line of his cock head slipping inside you.
âDarling, youâre so wet and soft.â Picking you up by your hips, without moving you on his cock Choso carefully switches positions. Placing you on top his lap, straddling his thighs, loosening his grasp on your hips.
Rocking your hips, focusing on the feeling is his warm cock head stretching your cunt. âThat itâs beautiful, take your time taking Daddyâs big cock. You going so good. You feel so good!â He clenches your hips, digging his heels into the bed.
Getting used to being so split open, just his cock head alone feels too good. Rocking your back back, splaying your fingers on hus âDaddy! I wanna be stuffed full of your beautiful, thick cock.â Taking a little more, groaning as his warm barbell glides into you. Choso trembles, jerking his hips up.
Rubbing your clit, making your sensitive cunt clench. âSorry beautiful. How are you feelinggnnnn!â You bounce your hips, gliding him in and down. The beautiful look of pleasure on Chosoâs handsome face getting you off.
Moaning, âIâm so full of your cock daddy! It feels too good. Please move, slowly.â Planting his feet, gently guiding you with his hips. Gliding half his cock into you, letting your cunt get used to being so full before giving you another inch. Watching your expression for any hint of pain.
