#please help there’s a spider and it’s running

[muiitoloko]

Halo! sorry if I bother you, I just want to know if the Eli X daughter reader has a part 3? because first and second parts already broke me and now I want to know what happened to the reader and Eli also I'm really angry with Barkley 😭

If there is a part 3, take your time ok! Bye bye!

Title: Unspoken Words.

Summary: Many things remain unsaid in your new reality.

Pairing: Eli Michaelson & Daughter! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Envy and secrets.

Author's Notes: Hey there! No bother at all, I’m always happy to chat! 😄 As for Eli X daughter reader, a part 3 is definitely on the horizon. I know Barkley is the worst, right? He’s making everyone’s blood boil! 😭 So stay tuned—I promise more drama and hopefully some resolution are coming your way soon! Thanks for your enthusiasm! 🌟

First, Second and Third part here.

Also read on Ao3

You looked out the window, observing the landscape outside the school windows. It had been a week since you had returned to school, a week of receiving pitying looks as you feared. Confined to a chair, unable to play or even write like the rest of the class, Eli and Sarah had hired a teacher and caregiver who would take care of you at school and help you with your studies. She practically did everything for you while you just talked, unable to move your limbs. You hated it. You hated all of it. You didn't want to go back to school, being isolated and watching others run and play while you were alone, with Barkley teasing you. It was all so stressful.

The teacher then announced that there would be a new student in the class and that everyone should welcome him. You watched as a short, hazel-eyed, blond boy carrying a backpack introduced himself to the class, looking quite cheerful and dorky.

"Hi everyone, my name is Sinclair Bryant, but you can all call me Clair," he said with a bright smile. "I just moved here from London, and I love reading comic books, playing video games, and collecting action figures. Oh, and my favorite superhero is Spider-Man because he's super cool and always saves the day!"

He continued to chatter excitedly, sharing more about his hobbies and interests. "I also love science, especially chemistry! My dad used to take me to science museums all the time. And did I mention I have a pet lizard named Spike? He's awesome!"

The teacher had to interrupt him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Sinclair. We're happy to have you here. Everyone, please make Clair feel welcome."

As Sinclair took his seat, you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy and sadness. Here was someone who seemed so full of life and excitement, while you felt trapped in your own body, burdened by your condition.

During recess, you watched as Sinclair made his way over to a group of kids, striking up conversations and making friends with ease. He seemed to fit in so naturally, his laughter and enthusiasm infectious. You sighed, turning your gaze back to the window, feeling a sense of isolation wash over you.

That comic event had ruined everything. If only the Spider-Man statue hadn't fallen on you, you wouldn't be quadriplegic. You hated the convention, the statue, and the superhero himself for bringing you to this point.

Your caregiver, Mrs. Watson, gently tried to coax you into eating your snack. "Come on, [Your Name], you need to eat something," she urged softly, holding out a piece of fruit.

You turned your head away, refusing to open your mouth. "I'm not hungry," you muttered, your voice tinged with frustration.

Mrs. Watson sighed, a look of concern crossing her face. "I'll go get a bottle of water. I'll be right back, okay?" she said, giving your shoulder a gentle pat before walking away.

You ignored her, continuing to gaze out the window, lost in your thoughts. Moments later, Sinclair Bryant, the new boy, approached you with a curious look in his hazel eyes.

"Hey there," Sinclair began, his voice bright and cheerful. "Why aren't you eating your snack? I would never waste food!"

You turned to look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. He seemed completely oblivious to your mood as he continued to babble on about food. "I love snacks. My favorite is chocolate chip cookies. What's yours?" he asked, shifting topics so quickly it made your head spin.

The bitterness in your heart grew, and you looked away, not wanting to engage. But Sinclair's next question caught you off guard.

"Do you like Spider-Man?" he asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

"I don't," you replied bitterly, your voice cold. "I hate him."

But Sinclair didn't seem to hear the disdain in your tone. Instead, his gaze shifted to your electric wheelchair, his curiosity piqued. "Whoa, that's a cool wheelchair!" he exclaimed, leaning in closer to get a better look. "How does it work?"

His enthusiasm and ignorance about your pain only made you feel worse. Here was this boy, full of life and curiosity, unable to understand the weight of your suffering. "It's not a toy," you snapped, your voice laced with anger. "I need it because I can't move."

Sinclair's face fell slightly, but he quickly recovered, a determined look in his eyes. "Well, it must be really handy to get around in," he said, trying to find a positive spin. "I bet you can go super fast in it!"

You glared at him, wishing he would just go away. But Sinclair's relentless optimism made it clear he wasn't leaving anytime soon. "I know it must be tough," he said more softly, his tone surprisingly earnest. "But if you ever want to talk about comic books or anything, I'm here."

You stared at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor. There was something genuine in his eyes that made you pause. Despite your bitterness, you couldn't help but feel a tiny flicker of warmth at his words. Maybe, just maybe, not everyone would treat you with pity or scorn.

After a moment of awkward silence, Sinclair walked away, his curiosity still lingering. As he returned to the group of new classmates, he couldn't help but glance back at you, seeing the sadness in your eyes as you stared out the window.

"Hey, who is she?" He asked one of the boys, nodding in your direction.

The boy, eager to share the latest gossip, leaned in and whispered, "That's [Your Name] Michaelson. She's Barkley's twin sister."

Another girl chimed in, her voice tinged with pity, "Yeah, she's crippled. My mom said it's the worst thing that could happen to someone, not being able to move."

The kids continued to gossip, their voices low but filled with speculation and sympathy. Sinclair, however, tuned them out. His eyes were fixed on you, observing the way the sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on your hair and making your eyes shine. In that moment, he thought you looked beautiful, despite the sadness etched into your features.

Sinclair made up his mind right then and there. He decided he was going to be your friend, no matter what. You needed someone who didn't see you as a burden or an object of pity, and Sinclair felt he could be that person.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of recess, Sinclair approached you once more. This time, he wore a determined expression. "Hey, [Your Name]," he said softly, his voice gentle and sincere. "I know things are tough right now, but if you ever want to talk about comic books, or just anything, I'm here. And... I think Spider-Man is pretty cool, but maybe we can find another hero that you like."

You didn't respond, but Sinclair wasn't deterred. He gave you a small, encouraging smile before heading back to class, already planning ways to make you smile. He was determined to break through the walls you had built around yourself and show you that you didn't have to face this new reality alone.

As the school day ended, you navigated your electric wheelchair toward the exit, Mrs. Watson walking alongside you. The routine was familiar by now, but it didn't make it any easier. You were already dreading the evening ahead, knowing it would be another night of frustration and resentment.

Just as you reached the school entrance, you heard a voice calling out, "Hey, wait up!" You turned slightly, recognizing Sinclair Bryant running toward you, his backpack bouncing on his back. Mrs. Watson paused, giving Sinclair a polite smile as he approached.

"Hello, Mrs. Watson," Sinclair greeted warmly before turning his attention to you. "Hey, [Your Name]. I wanted to ask you something."

You looked at him with a mix of curiosity and irritation. "What do you want, Bryant?" you asked, your tone clipped.

Sinclair's smile didn't falter. "I was wondering if you wanted to be friends with me. I think we could have a lot of fun together."

You felt a surge of bitterness well up inside you. "No," you replied flatly, already starting to move your wheelchair again.

But Sinclair wasn't easily deterred. He trotted alongside you, talking a mile a minute. "Oh, come on, being friends with me has lots of perks! I love comic books, so we could talk about our favorite heroes. And I have a pet lizard named Spike, who's really cool. Plus, my dad takes me to science museums all the time, and I could tell you all about the stuff I see there. And I'm really good at video games, so I could teach you some tricks!"

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how his enthusiasm never wavered. He genuinely seemed to enjoy talking, filling every silence with his animated chatter. Despite yourself, you found a tiny part of you appreciating his persistence, even if you didn't want to admit it.

"We're friends now, you know," Sinclair insisted, a confident grin spreading across his face. "Whether you like it or not, I'm going to be around."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help a small smile from tugging at your lips. Sinclair's energy was infectious, even if you weren't ready to admit it.

As you reached the school entrance, Sinclair suddenly stopped talking. His eyes lit up as he spotted someone waiting for him – a well-dressed man standing beside a sleek car. "There's my butler!" Sinclair exclaimed happily. He turned back to you, his smile even brighter. "See you tomorrow, pretty girl!" With that, he dashed off, his backpack swinging wildly behind him.

Mrs. Watson looked down at you with a soft smile. "He seems like a good boy, [Your Name]. Full of energy and kindness."

You huffed irritably, turning your gaze away. "He's just feeling sorry for me," you muttered, unwilling to acknowledge the warmth Sinclair's words had stirred within you.

As you and Mrs. Watson made your way to your own car, you couldn't help but replay Sinclair's words in your mind. Maybe, just maybe, his offer of friendship wasn't solely out of pity. But for now, you weren't ready to let your guard down. The walls around your heart remained firmly in place, even as a small crack of hope began to form

Meanwhile, on the way home, Sinclair chatted animatedly with his butler, James, who was driving the sleek car through the busy streets.

"So, Master Clair, how was your first day at the new school?" James asked, glancing at Sinclair through the rearview mirror.

Sinclair's cheerful demeanor dimmed slightly. "It was okay, I guess. I don't like it that we're always moving around. It's hard to make new friends when you're constantly changing schools."

James nodded understandingly. "I know it's tough, Master Clair. But your father did say this would be the last time, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did," Sinclair replied with a sigh. "I hope he means it this time."

"Did you make any new friends today?" James inquired, trying to lift Sinclair's spirits.

Sinclair's face brightened again. "Yes, I did! I made a few friends, and there's this one girl... she's really pretty. We're friends now."

James smiled knowingly, catching Sinclair's excitement in the rearview mirror. "Oh, really? What's her name?"

"[Your Name]," Sinclair said with a big grin. "But... there's something different about her. She's in a wheelchair."

James's expression softened as he continued to drive. "Is she now? That must be challenging for her."

Sinclair nodded, his enthusiasm undiminished. "Yeah, I heard some kids saying she's... quadriplegic," he said, stumbling slightly over the word.

James glanced back at Sinclair, his curiosity piqued. "Quadriplegic, you say? Do you know what that means, Master Sinclair?"

Sinclair shook his head, looking a bit puzzled. "Not really. What does it mean, James?"

James took a moment to think, choosing his words carefully. "Well, Sinclair, being quadriplegic means that she can't move her arms or legs. It's usually due to a serious injury to her spinal cord. It can make life very difficult, but it doesn't change who she is as a person."

Sinclair's eyes widened with a mix of understanding and sadness. "Oh, that's really tough. No wonder she seemed so sad. But I still want to be her friend. Maybe I can help her feel better."

James smiled warmly at Sinclair's determination. "That's a wonderful attitude to have, Master Sinclair. I'm sure she could use a friend like you. Just remember to be kind and patient. Sometimes people need a little extra time to open up when they're going through something difficult."

Sinclair nodded earnestly. "I will, James. I promise. I want her to know that she's not alone and that she can still have fun and be happy."

As they continued their journey home, Sinclair's mind was filled with thoughts of how he could be a good friend to you, determined to bring some joy and comfort into your life despite the challenges you faced

Meanwhile, at your own home, Eli welcomed you and Barkley, saying goodbye to Mrs. Watson as she left for the day. He greeted you both warmly, his eyes filled with concern as he asked about your school day. Barkley eagerly began to recount his adventures, his voice full of excitement, but you remained silent, ignoring your father and avoiding his gaze.

"Go wash your hands, Barkley," Eli instructed, his tone gentle but firm. Barkley obeyed quickly, running up the stairs to his bedroom. Meanwhile, you pressed the button on your wheelchair and navigated through the house to your bedroom, which was now separate from your brother's. Since Barkley's bedroom was upstairs and you couldn't go there alone, your new room was downstairs, converted from Eli's old office.

Eli followed you into your bedroom, his expression filled with a mix of determination and sadness. He knelt beside your wheelchair, helping you take off your sneakers with practiced care. "Mrs. Watson told me you didn't want to eat again today," he said softly, his voice tinged with worry.

You remained silent, staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. Eli's heart ached at your stubborn refusal to engage with him. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his frustration in check. "Sweetheart, I know this is hard for you," he continued, his voice gentle but firm. "But you need to eat to stay strong. We want to help you, but we can't do that if you don't take care of yourself."

You turned your head away, the silence between you stretching uncomfortably. Eli reached out to gently touch your shoulder, his fingers trembling slightly. "Please, [Your Name]," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Talk to me. Let me help you."

But you remained resolute, your eyes fixed on the wall as you shut him out. Eli sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his own helplessness. He stood up slowly, his mind racing with thoughts of how to break through the barrier you had built around yourself.

"I'll be right back with dinner," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a mix of determination and sadness. "I hope you'll join us at the table."

As Eli left your room, his heart heavy with the pain of your silence, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and regret. He vowed to find a way to reach you, to show you that you were not alone in this struggle. But for now, all he could do was hope that one day, you would let him back into your world.

Eli moved to the kitchen, his mind a whirlwind of emotions as he prepared dinner for the children. The familiar tasks of washing vegetables, boiling water, and setting the table offered a brief respite from the turmoil in his heart. He meticulously prepared each dish, making sure everything was just right. Barkley, already seated at the table, was eagerly flipping through his comic book, his excitement bubbling over as he waited for Eli to join him.

Eli placed Barkley's plate in front of him and forced a smile. "Here you go, champ," he said, his voice warm despite his inner turmoil. Barkley looked up, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

"Dad, can I tell you about this cool comic I read today?" Barkley asked, his voice brimming with excitement. "It's about a hero who—"

"Sure, buddy," Eli interrupted, nodding as he set the table. "I'd love to hear about it."

Though Eli didn't understand the appeal of superheroes, he was grateful for the distraction Barkley provided. He listened intently, trying to keep up with the details, even if they felt foreign to him. The animated way Barkley described the hero's adventures was a stark contrast to the heavy silence that often surrounded his interactions with you.

As he finished setting the table, Eli called you to dinner. The soft hum of your electric wheelchair grew louder as you navigated into the dining room. The sound was a constant reminder of the changes in your life, a reminder that cut through Eli every time he heard it.

You approached the table, and Eli quickly moved to help you get settled. He placed your plate in front of you and took his seat next to you, ready to assist with feeding you. Your eyes, still avoiding his, were focused on your plate.

Eli hesitated, his heart aching as he watched you struggle with your emotions. "Mom's working late tonight," he said gently, anticipating your question. "She’ll be home later."

You nodded slightly, acknowledging his answer but remaining silent. Eli’s heart clenched at your reticence. He knew that mealtime was often a battleground, a time when your frustration and resentment surfaced most strongly.

Across the table, Barkley continued to chatter enthusiastically about his comic book, oblivious to the tension between you and Eli. "And then the hero used his super strength to lift this huge truck! It was so cool!"

Eli forced a smile, trying to engage with Barkley's excitement. "That does sound pretty amazing, Barkley," he said, though his attention kept drifting back to you. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness as he watched you silently chew your food, refusing to meet his gaze.

Desperate to include you in the conversation, Eli tried to bridge the gap. "So, [Your Name], anything interesting happen at school today?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of hope and anxiety.

You remained silent, your expression closed off. Eli's smile faltered, his frustration mounting. He didn’t want to push you, but the constant silence was wearing on him. "Come on, sweetheart," he urged softly. "You can tell me anything."

Your jaw tightened, a flicker of anger passing over your face. You looked up briefly, your eyes meeting Eli's with a mixture of defiance and hurt. "Nothing happened," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just leave me alone."

Eli's heart sank, a wave of frustration crashing over him. He clenched his fists under the table, struggling to keep his emotions in check. "I'm just trying to help," he said, his voice strained. "I want to know what's going on in your life."

You turned your head away, refusing to engage. The silence stretched painfully, the tension thickening in the air. Eli's frustration simmered beneath the surface as he attempted to focus on feeding you. The silence between you grew heavier with each passing moment, making the simple act of eating feel like an insurmountable task.

Barkley, sensing the tension but too caught up in his excitement to fully grasp its gravity, interrupted eagerly. "Dad, there's a new kid in our class!" he announced, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. "His name is Sinclair Bryant, and he's really cool. He likes comics too, and guess what? His favorite hero is—"

"Enough, Barkley!" Eli snapped, his voice sharp and cutting off his son mid-sentence. Barkley recoiled slightly, confusion and hurt flickering across his face. Eli immediately regretted his harsh tone but couldn't bring himself to apologize. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "Let's not talk about heroes right now, okay? Let's just focus on dinner."

Barkley nodded reluctantly, his excitement dimming as he returned to his meal. Eli turned his attention back to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and frustration. He carefully scooped up a spoonful of food, bringing it to your lips. "Come on, sweetheart," he urged softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "You need to eat something."

You turned your head away, your expression hardening. "I'm not hungry," you muttered, your voice barely audible. The defiance in your tone only fueled Eli's growing frustration.

Eli's patience, already frayed, snapped under the weight of your rejection. He grabbed your chin firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he forced you to look at him. His eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and desperation. "You will eat," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I’m tired of this. I’ve tried to be patient, but I can't take it anymore. I won't let you destroy yourself. You’ll eat, even if I have to shove the food down your throat."

Your eyes widened in shock and fear, tears spilling over as you struggled to free your chin from his grip. "I hate you!" you cried, your voice breaking with emotion. "I hate you, Daddy!"

Eli's heart clenched painfully at your words, but he didn't release his hold. His grip tightened slightly, his frustration and helplessness boiling over. "Hate me all you want," he snapped, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. "But I won't let you waste away. You need to eat, and you will eat."

The tears streamed down your cheeks as you continued to struggle, your small body shaking with sobs. The sight of your distress cut Eli deeply, but he forced himself to hold firm. He knew he had to be strong, even if it meant being the villain in your eyes.

"Please, sweetheart," Eli murmured, his voice softening slightly as he tried to rein in his anger. "I just want to help you. I don't want to see you suffer like this."

You continued to cry, your sobs echoing through the room as you finally stopped struggling, defeated by your own helplessness. Eli's grip on your chin loosened, and he carefully brought the spoon to your lips once more.

"Open your mouth," he instructed gently, his voice strained with emotion. "Please, just a little bit. For me."

With tears still streaming down your face, you reluctantly opened your mouth, allowing him to feed you. Eli's heart ached with a mixture of relief and sorrow as you finally took a bite, your small frame trembling with the effort.

Eli continued to feed you in silence, his own tears threatening to spill over as he struggled to maintain his composure. Each bite felt like a victory tinged with defeat, a painful reminder of the gulf that had grown between you.

Across the table, Barkley watched in silence, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. The usually lively dinner table had become a battleground, and the weight of the unspoken tensions hung heavily in the air.

As Eli finished feeding you, he set the spoon down with a shaky hand, his heart heavy with the weight of your words. He reached out to gently wipe away your tears, his touch tender despite the turmoil in his heart.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "I just... I can't stand to see you like this."

You turned your head away, the pain and anger still etched into your features. Eli's heart ached with the realization that his attempts to help had only driven a deeper wedge between you. As he sat back in his chair, the silence between you stretched unbearably, a chasm of pain and regret that seemed impossible to bridge.

In that moment, Eli felt the full weight of his failure as a father, his heart breaking under the strain of your suffering. He had wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh realities of the world, but in his desperation, he had only succeeded in pushing you further away.

As the darkness of the evening settled around them, Eli could only hope that someday, somehow, he would find a way to reach you, to heal the wounds that had been inflicted by the cruel hand of fate. But for now, all he could do was hold on to the fragile thread of hope that bound you together, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

Later that evening, the house was cloaked in the quiet calm that settled after dinner. Eli carefully navigated you from the living room to your bedroom, your electric wheelchair gliding smoothly across the polished floors. The day had taken its toll, and you were visibly weary. He gently helped you into bed, tucking the blankets around you with a tenderness that belied the day's frustrations.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Eli whispered, his voice tinged with exhaustion and sorrow as he kissed your forehead.

You stared at the ceiling, your eyes betraying the turmoil within, but you didn't respond. Eli sighed softly, standing up and turning off the light, casting the room into a soft, comforting darkness.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Barkley was engrossed in his video game, his small hands deftly maneuvering the controller as he battled digital foes on the screen. The flashing lights and triumphant music filled the room, a stark contrast to the heavy silence in your bedroom.

Eli moved to the kitchen, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He started washing the dishes, the rhythmic sound of water and clinking cutlery providing a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

"Dad!" Barkley's voice called out from the living room, his tone eager and filled with anticipation. "Come play video games with me!"

Eli paused, his hands submerged in soapy water. He glanced toward the living room, feeling a pang of guilt at Barkley's request. "I don’t know how to play those games, Barkley," Eli called back, his voice tired but gentle.

Barkley’s face scrunched in disappointment as he peeked into the kitchen. "I can teach you, Dad. It’s really fun. Just give it a try."

Eli shook his head, his focus returning to the dishes. "Not tonight, Barkley. We can play something else later, okay?"

A frown creased Barkley's face, and he grumbled under his breath, his frustration bubbling over. "You'd play with me if I were the cripple."

Eli froze, his hands stilling in the sudsy water. The air seemed to crackle with tension as he slowly turned to face Barkley, his eyes wide with shock and anger. "What did you just say?" Eli's voice was low, trembling with restrained fury.

Barkley met his father's gaze defiantly, his small chin jutting out in stubborn resolve. "You always pay more attention to [Your Name]. Never to me. If I were the cripple, you'd play with me. But you don't care about me."

Eli's hands trembled as he set the dish aside, drying them hastily on a towel. He moved towards Barkley, his heart pounding with a mixture of disbelief and anger. "How dare you talk like that, Barkley?" Eli demanded, his voice a harsh whisper as he knelt to look his son in the eye. "Do you understand how hurtful that is? Your sister is going through something terrible, and she needs us."

Barkley's eyes glistened with unshed tears, his lips trembling as he tried to hold onto his defiance. "She’s always getting all the attention. I can run, I can play, but nobody cares about that! I hate her! I wish she would just go away!"

Eli felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him. His heart ached at Barkley's words, the raw emotion in his son's voice cutting through him like a knife. "Barkley," he began, his voice heavy with sorrow, "I know this is hard for you too. But wishing harm on your sister isn’t the answer. You have to understand, we love you both."

But Barkley's resentment only seemed to deepen. "You don’t get it, Dad. She takes everything! You never have time for me anymore. I wish she would die!"

Eli recoiled as if struck, his breath catching in his throat. The words echoed painfully in the quiet kitchen, hanging in the air like a dark cloud. "Enough!" Eli's voice broke, a mixture of anger and heartbreak etched into every syllable. "Go to your room. Now."

Barkley’s face crumpled, but he held his ground for a moment, his eyes flashing with a final spark of defiance. Then, with a choked sob, he turned and ran upstairs, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Eli stood frozen in the kitchen, his mind reeling with the weight of Barkley’s words. The dishes lay forgotten in the sink, the water growing cold as Eli grappled with the bitter reality of his son's resentment. The enormity of the situation pressed down on him, threatening to crush the fragile hope he clung to so desperately.

As the house settled into an uneasy silence, Eli's thoughts turned to you, lying alone in your room, and to Barkley, wrestling with his own tumultuous emotions upstairs. The fragile balance of their family had been shattered, and Eli could only wonder how they would ever find a way to heal the wounds that had torn them apart.

Sarah arrived home later that evening, her expression tense and her movements restless. Eli wasted no time in approaching her, his face etched with the weight of the day’s turmoil. He saw the briefcase she carried, a constant reminder of the hours she spent at work, and the exhaustion in her eyes mirrored his own.

"Sarah, did you find out anything?" Eli asked urgently, his voice filled with the desperate need for answers. He grasped her arm lightly, searching her face for any hint of hope. "Can we sue the organizers? They need to be held accountable for what happened to [Your Name]."

Sarah’s eyes darted away, and she hesitated, wringing her hands nervously. The soft light of the hallway cast long shadows across her face, accentuating her unease. She took a deep breath, her shoulders tense as she met Eli's gaze.

"Eli," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "I went to the convention center today. I spoke with their security team and asked to see the footage from the cameras." She paused, her eyes flickering with an emotion Eli couldn't quite place.

"And?" Eli pressed, his anxiety mounting as he watched her closely. "What did you find out? Can we hold them responsible for what happened to our daughter?"

Sarah swallowed hard, her hands twisting the strap of her purse. She took a step back, her eyes clouded with a mysterious, almost evasive look. "It’s not what we thought," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "The footage... it shows that [Your Name] caused the accident herself."

Eli's breath caught in his throat, and he stared at her in disbelief. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice rising with a mix of anger and confusion. "How could she cause her own accident? She’s just a child!"

Sarah flinched at his tone, her fingers tightening around the purse strap. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes as she spoke. "She was playing around the Spider-Man statue," she explained, her voice strained. "The footage shows her climbing on it, trying to... I don’t know, maybe get a better look or something. It wasn’t stable, and it fell."

Eli felt the ground shift beneath him, his mind reeling with the implications of her words. "No," he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "That can’t be right. [Your Name] wouldn’t do something like that. She’s careful, always has been."

"I know," Sarah said, her voice cracking with emotion. "But that’s what the footage shows, Eli. I watched it multiple times. It was an accident, but it was... it was her own doing." Her hands trembled, and she glanced around the room as if searching for something to ground her.

Eli staggered back, his legs threatening to give way as the weight of the revelation crushed him. He sank into a nearby chair, his head in his hands as he tried to process the news. The image of his daughter, broken and confined to a wheelchair, flashed before his eyes, and he felt a wave of grief and guilt wash over him.

"No," he murmured, his voice barely audible as he struggled to contain his tears. "I can’t believe this. It can’t be true."

Sarah approached him cautiously, her movements slow and deliberate. She reached out to touch his shoulder, her fingers cold against his skin. "I’m so sorry, Eli," she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet sorrow. "I know how hard this is to hear. But there’s no one to sue, no one to blame. It was just a terrible accident."

Eli looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and anguish. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat, strangled by the knot of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Sarah’s gaze was steady, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something Eli couldn’t quite identify.

"Why are you so nervous, Sarah?" he asked finally, his voice trembling with suspicion. "You’re not telling me everything, are you?"

Sarah’s eyes widened slightly, and she glanced away, her hands twisting in her lap. "I’m just... I’m worried about [Your Name]," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "This whole situation is tearing us apart, and I don’t know how to fix it."

Eli watched her closely, his mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions. He wanted to believe her, to find solace in her words, but a nagging doubt gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. There was something in her demeanor that didn’t quite add up, a shadow of unease that lingered just beneath the surface.

But Eli shook his head, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall the events of that day. “No, Sarah,” he said, his voice firm despite the tremor of doubt creeping in. “I remember clearly. She wasn’t climbing anything. She was sitting on the ground, playing with her Doctor Octopus doll. I had just left the diner and saw it happen. The statue fell on her while she was sitting on the floor, not climbing the statue.”

Sarah’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of panic flashing across her features before she quickly masked it. Her hands twisted the strap of her purse more tightly, her knuckles white. “Eli, you were so shaken that day,” she insisted, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to maintain her composure. “You don’t know what you were thinking. It was chaotic and traumatic. Maybe you just misremembered.”

Eli ran a hand through his hair, his confusion deepening as he tried to piece together the fragments of his memory. “I saw it, Sarah,” he repeated, his voice growing more uncertain. “I saw the statue fall on her. I don’t remember much else, just the pain and the sight of her bruised and broken...”

He trailed off, his eyes searching Sarah’s face for any sign of reassurance. But instead of comfort, he found only a deepening sense of unease. Sarah’s evasiveness, her refusal to meet his gaze, only heightened his suspicion that there was more to the story than she was letting on.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape. “Eli, I know you’re struggling with this,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a mysterious, almost desperate urgency. “But you have to trust me. I watched the footage myself. There’s no one else to blame. It was just a tragic accident.”

Eli felt a cold knot of doubt twist in his stomach. His own memories were hazy, clouded by the overwhelming shock and grief of that day. He remembered the statue falling, the sickening thud as it struck you, and the sight of your small, bruised body beneath the wreckage. But beyond that, everything was a blur of pain and confusion.

He looked at Sarah, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read the expression on her face. “Why are you so nervous, Sarah?” he asked, his voice low and probing. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Sarah’s eyes flickered with a momentary flash of guilt, but she quickly averted her gaze, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m just worried about [Your Name],” she repeated, her voice trembling slightly. “This whole situation is tearing us apart, Eli. We need to focus on helping her, not on dredging up painful memories.”

Eli clenched his fists, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. He wanted to believe Sarah, to trust that she was telling him the truth. But the nagging doubt in the back of his mind refused to be silenced. Something about her demeanor, the way she avoided his gaze, made him question everything he thought he knew.

“I’m going to get some air,” Eli muttered, his voice tight with frustration as he turned away from Sarah and headed for the door. “I need to clear my head.”

As he stepped outside, the cool evening air washed over him, providing a brief respite from the turmoil churning inside him. He leaned against the railing, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting memories and emotions. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something crucial he was missing, some piece of the puzzle that had yet to fall into place.

Meanwhile, inside the house, Sarah sank into a chair, her hands trembling as she clutched her purse. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with the fear that Eli was getting too close to the truth. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself as she tried to think of a way to keep her secrets hidden.

Unbeknownst to both of them, Barkley stood at the top of the stairs, his small frame hidden in the shadows as he listened to their conversation. His eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and guilt, his heart pounding as he replayed the events of that fateful day in his mind.

He had been jealous, consumed by the belief that you always stole Eli’s attention. In a fit of anger and resentment, he had pushed the Spider-Man statue, not realizing the terrible consequences his actions would have. And now, as he watched his parents struggle with their own confusion and grief, Barkley’s guilt gnawed at him, a silent, unbearable weight he carried alone.

As Eli stood outside, lost in thought, and Sarah grappled with her own fears inside, Barkley retreated to his room, his mind swirling with the realization that the truth he held could shatter their family even further. And in the quiet darkness of the house, the weight of that secret hung heavy, casting a long shadow over them all.

[turquoisesea01]

It’s nice to know that the guy you’re crushing on have the same fear as you… well—

Harper belongs to @campwillowpeak !

[baselicoc]

A small spider-man 2099 reading guide

Just watched atsv and wondering where to start getting into Miguel O’Hara? Hate trying to figure out comic timelines? Well hopefully this guide can help a little bit. Please note its far from a definitive guide and could probably use some work but I'm hoping it helps someone out! Also not including spider-verse appearances or those in most other comics, because we could be here forever listing every comic appearance and this is meant to be a quick guide Miguel's original appearance was in Amazing Spider-Man #365, but that was more of a preview than anything else. I've split it pre-2000's and post-2000's, but listen to me if you have to pick one comic to read out of all of this make it the original 1992 run. You basically cannot go wrong with just reading 1992. A few have been marked with asterisks because you really don't have to read them but it felt wrong to not include them on the list.

Pre 2000's

Spider-man 2099 (1992): Literally Required Reading. Keep in mind that the last two issues had different writers and are kinda disregarded by just about everyone. Issue #16 starts the crossover event Fall of The Hammer, a mini-guide to which I've included below. The Special and Annual take place in between issues but it's easiest to just read them last.

Spider-Man 2099 Meets Spider-Man (1995): It's short, it's sweet, give it a read.

*2099: World of Tomorrow (1996): At the time this was meant to close off all the 2099 plots, theres lots of other 2099 characters in here but a fair bit of Mig.

*2099: Manifest Destiny (1998): Further closure to the 2099 world, again lots of other characters but still a solid read. Basically waves away the last two issues of sm2099 (1992) in a slightly hilarious way and worth reading just for that.

Fall of the Hammer crossover mini-guide:

Spider-man 2099 (1992) #16

Ravage 2099 #15

X-men 2099 #5

Doom 2099 (1993) #14

Punisher 2099 (1993) #13

Post 2000's

*Superior Spider-man (2013) issues #16-19: Largely set up but its cool too

Spider-man 2099 (2014): You can read this without the Superior Spider-man setup but depending on your prior comic reading experience you may be a bit confused. If you're a seasoned reader and used to taking weird comic shifts in stride due to missing some random issues of a completely different comic you'll be fine

Spider-man 2099 (2015): Solid run, I don't have much to say about it honestly

Marvel's 2099 (2019 event): you are better off looking up a separate guide for this one it is not my ballpark

[monty-glasses-roxy]

What if I made an AU of the Sewerhell stuff that just has everything? Like horses, dinosaurs, more birds, fucking I dunno cows or something and a dragon? Like Roxy just goes into storage one day and every new room is a different type of animal. It's like a fucking petting zoo down there.

Just for the absurdity. I keep thinking 'what if I add more lil guys' as if I don't already have enough so I'm thinking this would get it out if my system lmao

[sp1interbeeitchy]

If I was Spiders Georg, would you be 10,000 spiders so I could eat you every day?

[kitausuret]

How are you enjoying Miles’ Ultimate run thus far?

Hey friend! Thanks for checking in on me and inadvertently holding me accountable. I finally got to reading and I've completed the first two issues!

Despite my reservations, I did indeed decide to start with Ultimate Comics Spider-Man (2011) by Bendis and Pichelli. It definitely has the very Bendis-tastic long strings of dialogue bubbles that drive me up the wall, but it's also good and honestly Sara Pichelli is one of those artists where I'll give almost anything a try for her.

I'm doing a liveread on one of my Discords, but here are some highlights from what I read:

(from issue #1) Osborn is terrifying in every universe, huh? Also weirdly petty. I don't know anything about him but apparently he's inescapable in Spider-Man.

THIS scene hit me in the feelings. By the time this comic was published, I was already out of high school, but as someone who also grew up broke and whose parents were always worried about us having "opportunities"? Wow, yeah. This hit me like a ton of bricks.

I just liked this panel because it made me laugh. If I saw a ginormous fucking spider biting me on the hand with "42" on its abdomen I would also react that way.

(issue #2) I have a very strong feeling Miles and Ganke are going to be one of my favorite dynamics in the entire series. I'm predicting that now. I also felt awful when Ganke watched his best friend destroy three weeks of work. RIP. I admire anyone who has the patience for Legos.

And lastly, I loooooove Miles' dad. One of the few good dads in Marvel, I would say. I hope Jefferson survives, because I feel like they often don't. I hope he sticks around forever.

Overall, it has its Bendis-isms but it's not too bad and I really enjoy the cast of characters so far. Pretty much everything I know about Miles comes from Into the Spider-Verse (film), the Miles Morales game, and a good chunk of Champions comics. I think it'll be nice to see where he comes from then, so I think I'll stick with Miles for at least a little while longer.

[kissitbttr]

miguel can’t help it when you’re wearing his clothes

summary: miguel o’hara x f!reader

warning: 18+ stuff but not too overboard

-

miguel is trying really hard to concentrate. he really is.

being a superhero and the leader of spider society is not an easy task. sometimes he’d go days without sleeping. you can either find him at his office or the gym doing his daily workouts because that’s the only place he can take his stress out.

days of scanning over reports and the hours he put in to enhance the new spiderman suit should not go to waste. his eyes are tracking back and forth to the amount of papers scatter all over the table. not to mention a kid he has to take care of named ‘miles morales’ added to his list is almost enough to make his brain explode.

but how could he focus on his work when you’re standing five feet away from him? fixing yourself up a small snack in the kitchen with nothing but his t-shirt and his boxers.

his greedy eyes running through your body shamelessly, finding himself getting lost in his thoughts and he has to snap himself out of it a few times otherwise he won’t be able to finish off all the reports that must be done that night.

yet, he can’t help but admire the way your curves are accentuated by his shorts. how your thick thighs and plump ass filling them in instead of it being too big on you. the way your soft cheeks are slightly peeking underneath the grey cotton material,

he grunts a low ‘fuck me’ when he sees you bending over to put the cookies in the oven. are you doing this on purpose?

had enough of the distraction you’re giving, he slams a folder down and turns his attention on you. “mi vida, can you please don’t stand like that?”

“huh?” you cock an eyebrow, confused to what makes this grumpy man scolding you at this hour. “what’d i do?” you crane your neck to look over at him, with a frown look on his handsome features.

“you! ay dios mio you’re making me hard to focus here! i have so much work to do and you’re being a distraction.”

licking off a cookie dough off your finger, you put your hands on your hips. “how am i being distracting?! I’m literally just standing here making cookies!”

“you know what it does to me when you’re wearing my clothes, mami. I can’t control it. please please stand at least ten feet away.”

“oh?” your voice sounds playful. a small smirk graces upon your lips as you tip toe around the counter to get closer to him.

he knows what you’re up to.

shaking his head in disapproval, he put his large hand up and looking away. “para por favor, cariño. i know what you’re about to do and i cannot afford any distractions right now. stay right where you are.”

“hmm, no.” you giggle, walking towards where he is and you can hear him groan slightly. “whatchu doooing?”

he smiles a bit at that. no matter what you do, he can’t get mad at you. it feels like you put a spell on him or something, he can’t work it out. but he doesn’t complain at all.

he’d break jaws and tear down the fucking universe for you.

he admires the way your thighs rub against each other when you walk, jiggling slightly before you manage to sit yourself comfortably beside him. tucking your legs underneath your butt and make your legs look even thicker

miguel lean himself back a little while his fingers go up against your cheek, grazing it ever so softly. his smile grows when you peck him on the lips.

“how you doing, papi?” you ask, removing a strand of hair from his forehead. “are you feeling okay? you’ve been working far too hard lately, I’m worried.”

he sighs in pure bliss when you run your fingers softly underneath his scalp. feeling himself melt away against your touch.

“always better when you’re around me, mi amor. but you know you can’t be wearing that anymore when I’m working.”

he has to hold back the urge to pick you up and fuck you against the wall when you pout at him.

“you like seeing me in your clothes”

“que sí, baby. but your ass is distracting me far too much in that when I’m working, you know how i get when i see you wearing my boxers. I can’t contain it.” he responds, large hand coming up to rub your exposed thigh, finger toying with the loose hem of his shorts,

“theeen, maybe it’s a sign you should take a break” you suggest, tilting your head lightly. “come play with me, miggy,”

he swears he almost cum right there and then when you say it.

“i will, baby. i promise. but i gotta finish this first, yeah?” his eyes bore into yours as he promises. he wants so badly to leave his work but he knows he can’t. not right now.

with a small huff, you nod. “fine. I’ll wait.”

“good girl.” he leans forward to kiss you again on the lips. “just a few more minutes, yeah?”

“yeah yeah.” you say, “don’t forget to eat. please don’t skip it this time. dinner is on the table, I’ve prepared it for you. also there’s some leftover brownies for dessert if you want it, papi.”

“what do you mean? I’m looking at my full course meal right now, cariño.”

you roll your eyes playfully, blushing a bit as you smile at him. he’s giving you that infamous smirk of his with his eyebrow raising. showing you he’s not playing when he says that,

“aish. such a sweet talker you are. be quick baby” you shake your head, standing up from the couch before heading to the bedroom with your fingers fixing down his shorts to cover it more. your ass moves from side to side as he watches.

god, he fucking loves to see you walk away.

-

a/n: i will give him kids enough to create a football team

[messylustt]

౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 1.3k words

fic masterlist pt one next part

i’ve gotten some help with my spanish and have approved/fixed accordingly (if you have any suggestions on the spanish please speak up!); enemies to lovers trope; not obvious, but subtle jealous miguel; human(not spider-person)!reader; spanish term of endearment ‘chaparrita’ — miguel o’hara has never liked you—a human—joining the team as the ‘person in the chair’. he’s made his distaste for you clear. but when he speaks certain spanish words you don’t understand, he reveals that his annoyance of you is by the fact that you make him feel ‘hot’. soon, a deal surfaces, his promotion benefitting you both.

Miguel watches as you fiddled with the different tech machines, tapping with a focused gaze. He tilted his head, staying by the large spider, having spread out screens filled with the many mission's info.

He had a slight scowl on his face, his expression usually one considered moody. But this time he had a reason for it. You.

You were a pain to Miguel, far too nice to every spider-person. He hadn't liked having you here the moment a few of them recommended you. They described you as the 'person in the chair'. You were smart, sure, but Miguel didn't think you belonged here. You weren't a spider-person like the rest of them, you were human.

He jumped down, landing beside you. You look to your left, having to tilt your head up at his sheer height. You gulp. You've always been nervous around Miguel O'hara. You didn't think he once smiled, his gaze only seeming to harden, especially when you would speak.

So, you kept it minimal. Only talking to him when it was required. "O'hara." You nod, turning quickly back to your work. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Nothing you can help with, y/l/n." His small jab at your inability in many areas, such as swinging from buildings with web, made you straighten your spine.

You ignore his tone, again not daring to meet his gaze. "Then, I'm sure Jessica will be here soon to help with anything."

Miguel's eyes wander your stiff posture. He could tell that he made you nervous, and part of him relished in that. It helped him think that you knew your place.

When you noticed that he wasn't leaving, you go to say something else, when Hobie and Peter burst into the room. Both yours and Miguel's attentions shift. Hobie easily moves towards you, making you smile. He reached his hand out as you did what many would call a typical 'bro handshake'. But Hobie instead chose to call something far from normality, in his prominent british accent.

Hobie was one of the ones who recommended you for this job. And you've been beyond grateful since.

"How's ya bloody borin’ shit goin’?" Hobie asks, leaning down to see whatever nonsense you had typed up.

"Describe 'boring shit'." You say, your tone turning smug.

He scoffs, eyeing the screen again, before giving up and grabbing your chin to turn back to the tech. "Keep working."

You chuckle, just as Miguel speaks. "Aren't you supposed to be out?"

Hobie looks to Miguel, straightening his guitar strap. "What—should I start callin’ ya boss, and kissin’ ya boots?"

Hobie has always been one to 'do his own thing' and completely bypass the rules. Miguel looks unimpressed, as Hobie holds his hands up in fake innocence. Peter chimes in. "He doesn't wear boots."

Hobie glances at him. "Thanks Peter. I didn't know."

Peter doesn't have time to respond before he's running after his swinging daughter. "Just get back to work." Miguel says. "That includes you, Peter. And didn't I say not bring her here?" He sounds exasperated, as he pinches the bridge between his nose.

You spin in your seat watching as Peter sends back a 'sorry', as he disappears, running through the large exit door. Hobie is quick to follow sending you a nod and a smile.

You wave them off, feeling the tension flood back into the room now that it's just you and Miguel again. You swiftly spin back in your chair, your fingers going back to tapping, as your legs spread comfortably.

Miguel looks back at you, before running his hand down his face, muttering. "No abras las piernas como una invitación." (Don't open your legs like an invitation.)

You pause, glancing at him. "What was that?"

He glances back at you, eyeing your confused expression. You, of course, didn't know spanish.

He places his hands against the desk, leaning a fraction closer to you, his gaze fluttering across your features. "Podría decirte cualquier cosa en español y no sabrías lo que quiero decir." (I could say anything to you in Spanish and you wouldn't know what I mean.)

"You know I don't know spanish." You mutter.

"I know. And the thought of you being so unaware, makes me want to tell you..." He leans closer to your ear, making your pulse beat rapidly. "....cuanto me haces arder, cariño. (how much you make me burn inside.) And it’s beyond annoying.”

You sigh, pushing slightly away from him. "Look, I know you find me annoying." You begin. "That's fine. But just...can you at least give me somewhat of a chance?"

"Do to what?" He asks, crossing his arms, as he leans back against the desk.

"To prove I'm helpful."

"Helpful?" Miguel asks, tilting his head. "You want to be helpful?"

"Of course."

"Then find a more suitable job." He stands to walk away.

"If you want me gone, then why don't you fire me?"

He pauses for a moment. "Sadly, I need a proper reason for that. So, if you want to be helpful to me. Then fuck something up."

"But while you're here being useless you should probably learn spanish." Miguel says as he walks out the door.

You huff, staring after him, watching as his back muscles contracted in a way that made you look away, gulping. Fucking Miguel O'hara.

;;

You sit, feet up by the tech, as you tapped away on your phone. You got a congratulatory 'ding' whenever you got a word or sentence right, and a rather loud 'booing' sound when you got a word or sentence wrong.

Yes, you're trying to learn Spanish. You sadly hadn't remembered word for word what Miguel had said to you, so you couldn't put it through translation. He must have purposefully spoken fast so you wouldn't have time to catch each word and remember.

'Me gusta ir al museo.' Your phone spoke. It translated to 'I like going to the museum' You had gotten it wrong, putting ‘park’ instead.

You groan, your head knocking back as your eyes shut in annoyance. You were only smart in certain areas. You let your phone drop to the desk, as you stretch, keeping your eyes shut tight, as if you could find the Spanish language hidden behind them.

"Spanish?" A deep voice spoke, making you jump, swiftly getting to your feet and spinning.

Miguel stands in his signature spider suit, your phone in his grasp. "I didn't think you'd actually listen to me."

You snatch it back, switching it off, as you scratch the back of your neck. "I was just..." You drift off sighing. "I like this job."

Miguel watches you closely. "You're committed, I'll give you that."

You smile, the word 'progress' swirling in your brain. "I learnt a sentence." You say, brows creasing in remembrance. "Me gusta...ir al...musio?" (I like going...to the...musio?) You say this more so as a question as you meet the amused gaze of Miguel.

"Ir al museo." (To the museum) He corrects, knowing the generic 'hobbies' sentences most kids learn.

"…I was close." You say, smiling, before you realise who you're talking to, your nerves returning.

Miguel nearly kicked himself for feeling warm at the small smile that you gave. You were trying to learn spanish—loosely—for him. "Can I make you a deal?" He suddenly asks.

You narrow your eyes a fraction. "What kinda deal?"

"One where we can help each other." He mutters, stepping closer. "You want to stay, correct?"

You nod.

"Then you're gonna have to convince me that you'd do anything for a mission."

You straighten, eyes widening at the chance to prove your worth. "I lead most missions, so loosely, you'd have to do anything for me."

He's much, much closer, eyeing you. "But we can make this a ‘give and take’. Let me teach you Spanish—something you'll need working here, close by me, and in return for every lesson, you have to do something for me."

You eye him. "Like what?"

"Anything." He answers. "Because you'll have to do anything that's required for those missions. Call it practice, or proving your worth, chaparrita."

You lick your lips thinking. You can't see anything inherently wrong with this 'deal', so you nod. And that earns you the very first smile you've seen from Miguel O’hara.

i know this is short, but I just wanted to see if any of you guys would be interested in a full fic like this…

also if you would like to be in a taglist for this story — just comment

[not-the-cheese]

one sentence summaries of every TMA episode

(1-60 i'll add more soon)

part 2 up!

world's most effective anti-smoking PSA

man DOES NOT open coffin. everyone claps.

woman is judgemental towards neighbor even though she has hobbies that are just as weird.

book makes multiple people fall off chair.

man finds bag of teeth and decides he absolutely needs to fuck around and find out.

worm sti.

there was a SCARY MAN in the WAR.

fuck this tree

well at least ted bundy was a great father :)

i'm like 55% sure vampires are real and i'm willing to take those odds

bitches be dying. you're next.

we kill this man because he made the soda too warm.

sorry ur husband's dead. maybe get some help.

Unbox with me ! (GONE WRONG)

hah i'm safe from this one because i have decided to Never Go Into a Cave Ever.

man is so annoying about this spider that even his cat can't be bothered

man's bully finds a book about a Bone Turner and subsequently begins turning people's bones.

this guy sucks at DIY home improvement

aw maybe this priest didn't do anything THAT bad!

oh fuck nevermind

THE SKY ATE MY SON.

the worms stole my identity. i haven't left the house in days.

man beats german children at game of bravery and wins a coin (he later loses this coin)

my ex boyfriend gets casted in the muppets and dies

sorry mom, i've abandoned jesus for a new religion : jesus in the dark.

tall squiggly and HANDsome

old man arm wrestles demon through door knob

the buzzfeed unsolved guys finally catch a ghost but it's their sound tech

immortality but at what cost

working at the big meat factory was so traumatizing it made me vegetarian

i go to america and get almost killed by a furry

well if you love that wasp nest so much why don't you MARRY it (and then she did)

antisocial boat crew bands together to exclude one guy from a midnight party. he dies from the rejection.

bone apple teeth

remember when that norwegian guy threw a tantrum about us not digging a hole? turns out we were right to not dig that hole.

babe come over my parents have taken ill and passed away

man fucks around and it costs him everything

HOMOPHOBIC CHINESE VASE

oh god oh fuck the worms are here

thank you for participating in worms! please rate your wormsperience from 1 to 10.

the wormsperience has left me deeply scarred. i'm going to get lost in a tunnel about it.

🎸music makes me loose control🎸

spooky stories to tell at the next police slumber party

child threatens to run away and join the circus one too many times, and now the circus has come to cash in.

these mosquitoes are mad sus

man frequents local barnes and noble and then dies(?) after liking a book too much.

realtor gets eaten by the backrooms twice. it's a terrible shame.

both me and this weird goth dude have an unsatisfying italy vacation

guy who turns people's bones gets a new job where he continues to turn people's bones.

man who should never be allowed to build prisons builds a prison.

Something Big Is In The Water.

what if u heard me about 15 feet behind you fumbling around and calling out ur name 😳 (and we were both prison guards)

i'm going to be honest i didn't retain anything from this episode except that this guy has the silliest old man voice ever

everybody hates the tax man, including these creepy taxidermy animals

hmmgh. ant house.

so turns out being only 55% sure that vampires are real in my career as a vampire hunter has had some consequences.

the only thing keeping you company in space is your abandonment issues

🎶 the snack that smiles back 🎶 (my husband!)

maybe the real treasure was the house siblings we encased in spider web along the way.

your dead brother wrote books about ancient myths and WHAT

Part 2

[coryosbaby]

Who Has a Face Like Smarty Does?

—“Why don’t you just listen?”

Fandom: “Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse”

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem! Spider! Reader

Summary: You don’t know when to follow orders.

Cw: dubcon/cnc, nsfw . spanking, daddy kink, age gap, spitting, size kink, biting, marking

🩷🤍

“You’re such a fucking brat.” Miguel pounds into you at a restless pace, fangs bared sharp and scraping against your jugular. “Why don’t you just listen? Huh? Are you that fucking stupid?”

Your eyes roll back as his incredibly thick length bruises your walls. You know you’ve been bad; going directly against his orders to help Miles is probably the worst thing you could do. And getting sassy about— having an attitude— definitely didn’t help. So when he threw you into his office and ripped the crotch of your latex suit, exposed your puffy cunt to the room, and bent you over his desk, you knew you were in deep trouble.

It hurts, the way he’s fucking you. But you know he doesn’t want you to feel pleasure. You know he wants to break you. Blood coats your tits in thick red stains, bite marks running along your neck and jaw from where he sunk his fangs into you. Aphrodisiacs, they are; and when they sink into you all you can think of his thick, hard cock, bulging muscles and handsome face. You’re like a bitch in heat.

“‘M sorry, daddy!” You cry out. It’s too much, but you know he won’t stop.

“Oh, you’re going to be sorry, little girl.” He growls. “Daddy’s gonna fill this fucking cunt up. That’ll teach you to mind your manners, won’t it?”

“Yes daddy- fill me up! Please fill my pussy up, need it s’ bad..”

It’s all you can say. His hands curl up into the position they make when he’s about to shoot the webs from his wrists; the sound of the sticky substance landing on your shoulders makes your mouth gape as he uses his own webs to lift your body firmly off the wooden desk. Your nipples barely graze it as he speeds his pace up. A damn near impossible speed for a normal man, but Miguel O’Hara is not normal.

He moans when he looks down and sees your creamy spend leaking down his cock and balls. His thick thighs are hitting your ass as he ruts into you. “mi amor, estás chorreando…” translation: My love, you’re dripping.

Other harsh disgusting words spew from his lips. Your gaping snatch is closed tightly around him as he sinks his fangs into you again.

Your eyes roll back, a pained but also pleasured cry leaving your soft lips, legs shaking and cunt drenching him. His claws dig into your sides and then he reels back and slaps your ass. You gasp, and begin fucking back onto him when he does it again.

“Oh, look at you,” Miguel teases. “You want more of my slaps, little one? Do you want to be punished?”

You nod, and his hands come down onto you again.

“Miggy..”

“I want you to cum, mi amor.” He states breathlessly. “Rub your clit and wet my fuckin’ dick.”

You don’t understand why he’s letting it happen so soon. Wasn’t this supposed to be a punishment? But you listen to him anyway, and begin to rub the swollen nub with harsh strokes. Your orgasm has you practically screaming— and afterwards, Miguel doesn’t let up. He abuses your womb over and over until you can’t even breathe. It’s borderline painful, and your body feels completely spent and used.

By your tenth or eleventh orgasm, he’s got you pinned to the wall by his webs with his arms holding your neck in a chokehold. He eats your cunt out with his bloody mouth, and your eyes are rolling back, little nghhhs sighing out of you as he slurps your sopping wet hole. Your vision is going fuzzy, but you don’t care.

“Are you learning your lesson, mami?” He groans, as he pulls away from your cunt and rubs harshly on your clit with his thumb. You sob, nodding, drool leaking out of the corners of your plush mouth.

“‘S.. ‘s too much, miggy. Please, I can’t take it anymore..” you whine, but his fingers harshly slap your pussy and you jolt with a cry.

“You take what I give you.” He says, and then he’s ripping the webs from your body and letting you slide down the wall onto the floor with the help of his strong hands. You cry, legs trying to run away from him; you know you want it, but your body is drained.

Miguel growls, his claws grabbing you in a loose grip and dragging you back to his cock.

“Don’t run away from me, little bitch. You need to be fucking disciplined! This cunt is going to cum again whether you like it or not.”

You pant against his crotch as he shoves your face into his pubic hair. The smell of his pheromones makes your eyes roll back.

Your cunt pulses again.

—fuck, you’re in trouble.

© 2023 bratty-lxndry444 🤏🏻 all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, repost, or claim as yours !!!

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [TOUCH STARVED]

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A/N: Photo/Fanart Credit to @/Nyer_roth on Twitter (hiatus)

[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ FEM/CAT HYBRID DEMON READER ]

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Touch Starved Alastor prefers your presence over anyone else’s in the Hotel. His shadows linger by your side if he’s not physically there and when he is it’s quite obvious to everyone how closely the Radio Demon is guarding you.

No one dares to breathe a word about his behavior but the moment he’s out of sight or ear shot Angel will tease you endlessly. “Seems you have Mr. Fancy Creep wrapped round your little finger, toots.” Your face flushes ten shades of red as the spider demon nudges your side while giggling at your flustered reaction. He knows -well everyone knows how you feel about Alastor- but you’ve made it a point to never let the overload onto your attraction to him.

Even if he already is aware of it…

Angel’s teasing doesn’t help your little crush dissolve as you wished it would, so with a huff and a rushed whisper you excuse yourself from the group. “N-no I don’t Angel and…I’m heading to bed. Goodnight…” Angle snickers at your deliberate deflecting, but says nothing else as you waltz up the staircase, barely listening to Charlie yelling “good night” to you, and failing to notice the dark mass of spectrums trailing your every step.

Touch Starved Alastor listens in on those pesky conversations the others have when it comes to you and him. You’re always so skittish and docile under their prying, blushing at the slightest implication of his attention being on you, and to say it intrigues him would be an understatement. Alastor isn’t one to entertain those who show him affection, let alone acknowledge it, but when it comes to you the overload’s mind runs rampant with devious desires. At first he ignores them, content with keeping your connection to him cordial, and that works for a time.

It doesn’t last forever though.

Especially when you unconsciously tend to him so reverently. You’re a people pleaser by nature -he’s sure of that- but the immediate stars in your eyes whenever he instructs you to do something strikes just the right nerve for him.

It’s always the simplest things, tedious tasks he burdens you with just to see your eagerness to please him on repeat, “My dear, would you be so kind as to hand me that book over there?” Your head lifts, hopeful eyes staring at him as you nod with a genuine smile, “Of course!” You chirp, walking right over to the bookshelf without question to acquire the item, and Alastor watches your every move.

The flutter of your lashes as you pinpoint the object, how you stand on your tip toes to reach it, and the gentle sway of your hair as you finally grasp the book. You’re so sweet, so gentle with everything, and Alastor spends hours trying to stop himself from thinking about your tender embrace being spared his way.

Touch Starved Alastor starts to lock himself in his room or radio tower more often than usual when he can’t seem to keep his distance. His shadows still lord over you but are never seen which makes it that much easier for him to watch you from afar.

His sudden disappearance and lack of socializing affects you heavily. You don’t smile as much and when you do the light in your eyes wanes. You’re still kind to everyone, but choose to sit alone during group activities, or wander the halls humming to avoid them all together.

Alastor takes notice of every frown adorning your face when someone mentions him or inquires as to where he is and for a split second guilt creeps its way into him seeing your energetic mood dwindle at his hands.

He can’t let this go on forever, not when you look so betrayed at the sound of his name, and mindlessly wander towards his empty room every night as if to check on him just to leave in fear of embarrassment.

Enough is enough.

Touch Starved Alastor finds you alone on a rare stormy night in Hell, an old book opened up to your curious eyes as you lay flat on your front across the parlor’s couch. He watches you from the shadows for a long while, studying the slight scrunch of your nose as your gaze happens open a certain line of text, and the way you gently kick your feet as your chin rests on the back of your hands.

He’s seen and met a mass amount of beings in his time in hell and not one has ever emitted anything close to your ethereal beauty. You swear you’re not a fallen angel to anyone who asks and it baffles him how a soul so light could end up here.

Unruly luck….maybe?

Fate, possibly?

He’ll figure it out one way or another.

“Hello, my dear, late night reading I see…” Alastors voice grasps your attention immediately, his usual staticky tone leaning towards normality as you peer up at him with a growing smile. “Yes…I couldn’t sleep,” you respond quietly, relatively shy around the overload, and trying hard not to seem overexcited to see him. You missed Alastor dearly the past few days but it would be embarrassing to show that longing outright….

The deer demon picked up on your excitement right away despite your attempts at casualness, his smile softening as you held his stare and bit your lip. Delicate fanged canines poking out just enough to prick your lower lip.

How adorable, Alastor inwardly muses at your nervous habit and continues with his light hearted interrogation. “Hm, I suppose a restless night can have that effect. ..Would you mind if I joined you then, darling?”

Touch Starved Alastor is elated when you nod gently, shifting to sit up properly, and give him a space beside you. “Of course Alastor…it gets lonely staying up by yourself. I’d appreciate the company.” Your sweet tone dazes him for a moment as he sits next to you, unconsciously disregarding his aversion to interpersonal space…

Odd…

He never situates himself this close to you, always looming, but never actively seeking your side. It’s strange to you at first but as he visibly relaxes you don’t mind the deliberate position he’s taken.

He could very well be tired or you might be hallucinating that he was putting an arm around your shoulders.

Either option didn’t ease the rapid pace of your heartbeat..

Alastor was careful with you, incredibly gentle as he pulled you to his side, and rested his chin on the top of your head. “Such a sweetheart you are, my dear.” He speaks quietly, oddly calm as you hum in agreement, your soft ears flattening as you breathe in his scent.

A smidge of brimstone mixed with the aroma bourbon and pine.

He smelled just like a lovely forest, a secure scent you wouldn’t mind getting used to, and tried to commit it to memory just in case Alastor never let you get this close to him again.

Touch Starved Alastor chuckles lowly when you breathe him in, finding your feline tendencies endearing, and listening to your soft purring become a vocal indicator of how comfortable you felt with him. You’d long forgotten the book, nuzzling your head under Alastor’s chin instead, getting lost in your innocent desire to be under him, and he makes no move to stop you.

If anything the radio demon welcomes your touch, sliding you onto his lap with ease, and that never ending smile of his becoming genuine when you absentmindedly compliment him. “…You smell…sweet,” you hum, speaking more to yourself than him, but he hears you and responds promptly. “Is that so, darling?”

You nod, head lifting to stare up at him through your lashes, “Mhm…I missed it..I…” you pause, face flushing red as the deer demon peers back at you, red eyes glinting with dormant affection as he studies your expressions.

“Come now, use your words dear…” he reassures you his patience isn’t waning with a gentle hum.

Alastor is tempted to watch your plush lips move as you struggle to speak up but it’s hard to resist when you finally whisper a confession -one you think he’ll be off put by…

“W-well I missed you entirely Alastor… a lot actually.” And there you go again, eyes wide with apprehensive hope, and ever present adoration. He’d felt his fair share of adrenaline rushes, experienced the “blood rushing to your head” urges that sinners and demons alike couldn’t resist, and though Alastor prided himself in remaining in control of such things…

You brought them out of him without even trying.

Ridiculous, truly…but the longer you fawned over him the less cordiality Alastor maintained.

Touch Starved Alastor lets his smile soften, deeply appreciating your timid vulnerability, and much to your relief he lets you know it. “Missed me? Well, I must have quite the effect on you to instill such a sentiment,” His tone is abundantly softer than usual, quietly echoing in the hotels parlor, and tickling the nerves in your ears.

They perk up along with your tail as he rests his hands on your waist, pulling you impossibly close until the only proper place you can latch your hands onto is the back of the carved mahogany frame of the couch. “Al…” you sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut as his grip on you tightens a tad in response.

When had he gotten so touchy? Better yet, why?

All logical questions that you were asking yourself weren’t granted answers as the overlord inhaled heavily. Breathing you in just as you’d done to him moments ago.

Your unsteady pulse, rising lust, slight confusion, and underlying fear of him coursing through your veins in waves. Alastor identified each emotion, practically tasting them on his tongue, and his hunger rose again from it.

He could just eat you alive at this rate and from the whine you let out as he trailed his hands down to your thighs, claws ripping right through the sheer white thigh high socks you’d paired with a modestly short nightgown made it abundantly clear to him you wouldn’t mind if he did.

How sweet you’d taste?

How the shaky whines you were letting out now could turn to bashful screams?

How sickeningly perfect you’d look broken, bloody, and marked by him and him alone?

He’d wondered about these things constantly…feverishly…

Touch Starved Alastor lets his mirage of being a “true gentleman” dissipate entirely when you subconsciously roll your hips down on him for much needed friction -and in an attempt to dissolve the pain his scratches on your skin brought.

Fuck. This. Alastor curses himself, swiftly repositioning you both in a blink of an eye. Your back hits the velvet cushions with a gentle ‘thud’, earning a soft gasp on your part that’s inevitably silenced by one of his shadows wrapping around your mouth, and another gingerly snaking round your waist. He chuckles as you squirm underneath him, clearly wanting to be in control of your own body, but what would you ever need that autonomy for?

He’s here for a reason, right?

Why grant you more agency than required?

“Comfortable, my dear?” The leering stag above you chides, grin wide as you groan in frustration, eyes sliding shut as he slips between your parted legs. His red irises show brighter as your lower halves press flush against each other and you shudder from the contact -inwardly congratulating yourself for not wearing much underneath your nightdress to begin with.

Alastor allowed your hands to reach for him, your delicate claws gripping his suit collar as firmly as possible, tugging him lower as you shifted under his weight to grind against him. “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart,” he half reprimands half teases as your bare slit passes over the crotch of his black dress pants. There was no doubt your slick was leaving a stain and if it were anyone else -in any other situation- Alastor would’ve had their head for ruining his attire.

Luckily, you were to receive anything but his wrath.

How fortunate…

Touch Starved Alastor feels himself going mad when you mindlessly use any part of him you can reach as a bid for more pleasure. Eyes watering, begging him to touch you, help you, and it’s one hell of a sight to see in his opinion. “Desperate aren’t we, darling?” His cooing drives you insane, large hands wandering under your nightgown to trace your warm skin -not helping your dazed state at all.

Alastor purposefully claws at your body, placing surface level scars on it, letting the small droplets of blood that escape his cuts paint your skin and his fingertips. You struggle every soften, train of thought lagging as pain and pleasure start to intertwine.

“….please don’t stop..”

“What a sick & twisted little thing you are..”

Tears run down your face, drool dripping from the corner of your lips, and your cunt leaking all over him and sofa. Blood starts to seep through your nightdress in random streaks and it’s only then that Alastor decide it’s redundant to keep it on you. “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?” That’s all the warning you get from the radio demon before you feel his claws shred it to pieces.

Thank heavens you hadn’t chosen your favorite one tonight or you’d be devastated…

“Much, much better, ma chère,” Alastor praises you as if the task was at your own hands -and to some degree it was for letting him get this far- and yet your face flushes a deep shade of red as you nod in agreement.

The shadowy tentacle covering your mouth tightens its grip, shifting sharply to expose your neck to him, and Alastor seizes the opening immediately. Taking his time finding your sensitive spots, marking them with his teeth and tongue until there’s dark bruises left behind, and you nearly came undone from the relentless precision of love bites he inflicts on you.

Touch Starved Alastor allows your hands wander wherever they please, quite taken with the feeling of your dainty claws raking down his back, or shifting up to pet his ears. They flicker about at your touch, ever so sensitive, and heightening the pleasure he gets from torturing you. Every sound you make, the shuddering moans against his lips, and the muffled cries that build in your chest when Alastor toys with you muddles his focus further.

Bit by bit you’re chipping away at his sanity by simply enjoying his caress and offering him yours.

Alastor isn’t one to succumb to pleading easily but when you’re given the chance to use your voice and beg for release without a second thought….he hasn’t got the gall to deny you.

Not when you’re looking up at him like you might die if he denies you, so worked up that you stutter, and shake uncontrollably.

“N-need to….p-please let me…come,” you whine as quietly as possible, ears laying flat on your head as he hums melodically in false consideration for your plight.

It’s fueling his already massive ego that you’re poised to come undone when he’s barely done a thing to you and he has half the mind to pull away and watch you fall to pieces…

You’d surely give him a show then, pouting helplessly, or cowering from embarrassment realizing how much of a mess you’ve made of yourself for him.

It’d be pure entertainment.

However, why waste a prime opportunity to see you utterly satisfied by him?

By his mere presence even.

The deer demon refuses to pass up such a rare occurrence, flipping your position again so your smaller frame sits atop his larger one. “F-fuck..” you hiss as you settle on top of him, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he guides your hips to keep riding him at a rough but languid pace. Alastor observes you above him for a long moment, smile widening when your hair falls in front of your bright eyes, and your hands splay across his chest to keep yourself steadily upright.

The scratches he’s left on you are still fresh, mixing with the tears that flow down your face, and your arousal pitifully dribbling down your inner thighs as well.

Exactly how he pictured you time and time again.

“You may,” he finally exhales, static completely gone from his voice, and hearing it elicits a newfound spark of heat in your core. Your legs shake involuntarily, hips stuttering in tight circles over his clothed erection as you chased your high. Alastor watches you intently, tonguing his cheek to keep from groaning, and his body running hotter than usual as your cunt drags against him.

Touch Starved Alastor can’t fathom how a soul as tender as yours can dwindle to filth in the midst of cumming. Head lulling at an angle while your back arches just right to define your silhouette in the dark room.

The coil in your stomach snaps faster than you can gauge a reaction. A scream threatening to leap from your chest as it washed over you, but his shadows return, clasping tight enough to muffle it. “Easy, my dear…you wouldn’t want to disturb the others, hm?” Alastor bucks his hips upward to make his point clear and you visibly jolt from the overstimulation he causes.

It was clear he needed his end met too and that brought a grin to your face as his shadows receded from your lips when you quieted down. “No…” you sigh, inching a hand lower to trace over the rise in his pants. Alastor stiffens under your touch, nearly snarling when you palm him slowly, eyes never leaving his as you do. Tempting and sweet as always, “Careful, Mon Cher,” he warns, voice thick with allure.

He’d only come to seek a warm body to torment, assuming he’d take care of his own needs later, but you -the ever so caring sinner you were- seemed intent to shoulder the task now.

You licked your lips, tongue grazing your fangs as your peered down at him defiantly with a warm smile, “M’ not one of your little puppets…” Alastor raised a brow at that, noting the mischievous glint in your eyes as you leaned forward, “….and I never will be.” You finish your statement, smiling wider before lowering yourself down his body. He lets you do as you please, stuck between observing, and enjoying the attention you give him.

It’s very rare to see the overload so willing to be tested, but you made your stance clear with a singular lick up his clothed length with the softest smile on your lips. “Fuck…” he groans then, static nonexistent again as you playfully repeated the action until he became agitated enough to fist a handful of your hair and drag you back up to face him.

“It’s not very polite to tease, sweetheart.”

You smirk and reach for his belt, skillfully undoing it without breaking eye contact, feigning humility through half lidded eyes“Then would you be so kind as to correct my manners then?”

“It’d be my pleasure, darling,”

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My head was all over the place with this one ❤️ I need some sleep…

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

He’s a literal walking red flag 🚩 and unfortunately my favorite color is red 😭 Credits to the creator 🖤

[pucksandpower]

Blackmail Material

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you love your boyfriend more than life itself but who can blame you for keeping a folder of all the blackmail material he has given you over the years … just in case

You hear a bloodcurdling scream from the other room. “Y/N! Come quick!” Charles yells.

You rush over to find him standing on top of the couch, a look of sheer terror on his face. “What’s wrong?” You ask.

He points a shaky finger at the floor. “Sp-spider!”

You look down to see a tiny little spider no bigger than a blueberry crawling across the hardwood. You have to stop yourself from laughing at the sight of your brave Formula 1 driver boyfriend absolutely losing it over this tiny critter.

“Really? That’s what all the fuss is about?” You don’t bother to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Don’t laugh!” He says indignantly. “It’s a monster! Kill it, please!”

You kneel down and take a closer look at the offending arachnid. “Aww, it’s just a little jumping spider,” you say. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

Charles makes a strangled sound of disbelief. “Cute? It’s a beast from the depths of hell! I want it gone!”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “You race cars at over 300 kilometers per hour, but you’re scared of a little spider barely bigger than a piece of lint?”

“Yes! Spiders are my worst fear. Now stop teasing me and get rid of it!” He gives you his best pleading look from his perch on top of the couch.

“Alright, alright,” you acquiesce, grabbing an empty glass from the coffee table. You gently trap the spider under it and slide a piece of cardstock underneath, trapping the spider safely.

“Is it dead? Please tell me you killed it,” Charles asks hopefully.

“Of course not, I’m just going to let it go outside. Spiders are good, they eat other bugs.”

Charles visibly shudders. “Well get it out of here! I don’t want to see it ever again.”

You carry the spider carefully to the sliding door and release it on the balcony. When you come back inside, Charles is still standing on the couch looking suspiciously around at the floor.

“The horrible beast has been banished, you can come down now,” you say.

He hesitantly steps back down onto the floor. “Are you sure it’s gone? You didn’t just give it free reign to run wild in the apartment?”

You try and fail to hold back a laugh. “Yes, I’m sure. Your life is no longer in peril.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “This isn’t funny! Spiders are evil creatures with too many legs and eyes. They should not exist.”

You go over and wrap your arms around him comfortingly, though you’re still struggling not to giggle. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. But you have to admit, it’s kind of silly that someone who races cars at death-defying speeds could be so terrified of a tiny spider.”

He huffs indignantly. “It’s a completely rational fear. They’re all legs and eyes and they move so fast and erratically and some of them can be venomous. Absolutely horrifying.”

You smile indulgently and kiss his cheek. “Okay, I get it. I promise I’ll protect you if any more evil spiders invade our home.”

“Thank you,” he says, finally relaxing into your arms now that the threat has passed.

But you just can’t resist teasing him a little more. “It was just so small!”

He pulls back and gives you an unamused look. “You’re not going to let this go anytime soon, are you?”

You grin impishly. “Letting my big macho boyfriend stand on the couch and scream because of a teeny tiny spider? Yeah, probably not gonna let you live this one down for a while.”

Charles groans. “This is so unfair. The guys will never let me hear the end of it if they find out.”

You pat his shoulder sympathetically. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone that Charles Leclerc is terrified of itsy bitsy spiders.”

And if you happened to save evidence of his freak out just in case? Well … it’s not technically telling anyone unless you share the video.

***

You can’t help but grin as Charles paces back and forth in your New York hotel room, running his hands through his hair in distress.

“Chill out babe, I’m sure the airline will find your luggage soon,” you try to soothe him.

Charles whips around, eyes wide. “Chill out? How can I chill out when my La Mer is missing? Do you have any idea how long it took me to perfect my skincare routine?”

You stifle a laugh at his dramatics. “I mean, it’s just skincare products. Not the end of the world.”

“Just skincare products?” Charles looks at you in horror. “That’s like saying a Ferrari is just a car! La Mer is the cream of the crop, the holy grail of skin care! My face needs it to survive!”

You can’t hold back your grin anymore. “Wow, didn’t realize I was dating such a high maintenance diva,” you tease.

Charles huffs, crossing his arms. “I am not high maintenance, I just have discerning taste and an appreciation for quality.”

“Uh huh, sure,” you say. “Is that why you made us stop at three different Whole Foods on the way here from the airport until you found your favorite protein shake?”

“That is completely different,” Charles protests. “My skin is very sensitive, I can’t just use any old drugstore products.”

You laugh and pull Charles onto the couch next to you. “You’re cute when you pout.”

He tries to keep a straight face but ends up cracking a smile. “I can’t help it, I’m freaking out! Do you know how dry airplanes are? My skin is going to be a flaky desert by tomorrow.”

You run a hand through his hair. “Aww poor baby. However will you cope without your six hundred dollar moisturizer?”

Charles narrows his eyes at you. “You joke, but this is serious stuff. Do you want a boyfriend with wrinkles and acne?”

“I mean, a few wrinkles never hurt anyone,” you say, kissing his cheek.

He gasps dramatically. “Don’t even joke about that! I’ll be twenty seven soon, wrinkle prevention needs to start now.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Most twenty seven year olds aren’t this worried about wrinkles. But I guess Formula 1 drivers really are high maintenance.”

“With good reason! We can’t have crows feet interfering with our vision,” Charles says matter-of-factly.

You give him a look. “You’re just making things up now.”

Charles holds your hands, looking deeply into your eyes. “Mon amour, you must understand. Athletes age in dog years. We need anti-aging products just to keep up.”

You burst out laughing, shoving him playfully. “You’re so full of it!”

Charles grins cheekily. “But you love me anyway.”

You lean in and give him a soft kiss. “Yeah I do. Even if you are a high maintenance diva.”

Charles puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I thought girlfriends were supposed to be supportive! My skincare is obviously very important to me.”

You snuggle up next to him, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Tell me all about this super special moisturizer.”

His eyes light up. “Well first of all it contains like crushed up diamonds or something. And they freeze each jar before shipping it to keep the ingredients ultra fresh.”

You make a mental note to Google this later, since it sounds completely absurd that diamonds would be an effective skincare ingredient. Though with Charles, you can never be too sure.

“Uh huh, diamonds. That’s totally normal,” you say, playing along.

“Exactly! And the founder makes sure each jar charges under the energy of a full moon before it’s sold. It’s really an intricate artisanal process.” Charles sighs longingly.

You smile and kiss his pouting lips. “You’re cute. I promise your skin will survive one night without magic moon diamonds.”

Charles snuggles against your shoulder. “I know, I know. Skincare is just part of my routine, it makes me feel relaxed and put together. And smelling like citrus blossoms is an added bonus.”

You kiss the top of his head. “I get that. Hopefully the airline finds your stuff soon. But in the meantime, want me to see if anyone sells La Mer nearby?”

Charles perks up. “Ooh yes, let’s check! I saw they have a Dior down the block too.”

You laugh and take his hand. “Of course they do. Come on, let’s go spoil you with new overpriced skincare products until yours turn up.”

***

You walk into the kitchen and see your boyfriend standing at the counter, a pile of uncooked spaghetti next to him. He takes a portion in his hand … which he proceeds to snap in half before dropping it into the pot of boiling water on the stove.

“Charles! What are you doing?” You exclaim in shock.

He turns to you, confused. “What do you mean? I’m just making sure the pasta will fit better in the pot.”

“But you can’t break spaghetti before cooking it!” You say incredulously. “That’s like a cardinal sin in Italy!”

Charles laughs. “Oh come on, it’s not that big of a deal. The pasta will cook just fine this way.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Il Predestinato is out here breaking pasta. Do you have any idea how offensive Italians would find this?”

“I’m sure they will survive the absolute tragedy of some broken spaghetti,” he jokes.

You nod to your phone. “It’s a good thing I’m recording this for posterity then. The whole country needs to know about this travesty.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. “What? No, don’t record me!” He reaches for your phone but you spin away, giggling.

“The people of Italy deserve to know the truth about their hero!” You declare dramatically.

“Mon ange, please give me the phone,” he pleads, trying to grab your arm. You dance out of reach.

“Truth and justice will prevail!” You continue recording as Charles chases you around the kitchen island.

“Come on, delete it! This could start an international incident if it gets out!”

You pause to catch your breath, phone held high. “An international inchident? Wow, look at you being all dramatic now. I thought it wasn’t a big deal?”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I didn’t think you’d actually record it as blackmail material! Please, mon amour, I’m begging you, delete the video.”

You pretend to think about it. “Hmm I don’t know … this seems like prime viral video content. Scuderia Ferrari Driver Destroys Pasta, Enrages Italy. Can you imagine the views it would get?”

“Y/N!” Charles lunges forward and tackles you onto the living room couch. You shriek with laughter as he tries to pry the phone from your grip.

“Noooo my video!” You yell dramatically.

Charles pins your arms above your head with one hand and reaches for the phone with the other. “Give it to me!”

You squirm underneath him. “Never!”

He leans down until his face is just inches from yours. “What’s it going to take for you to delete that video, huh?” His voice is low and gravelly.

You catch your breath, hyper aware of his body pressing against yours. “I don’t know, what are you offering?” You ask cheekily.

Charles brushes his nose against yours. “What if I made you your favorite dinner tomorrow night?”

You tilt your chin up in defiance. “That’s all I get for deleting potential internet gold? I don’t think so.”

He moves even closer, his lips just barely grazing your cheek. “Okay, what if I take you out for a nice date too? Dinner and a show at the opera, your choice.” His breath is warm against your skin.

You close your eyes for a second, affected by his closeness but not ready to give in yet. “Tempting, but I think this video is worth even more than that.”

Charles makes a small noise of frustration before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. You melt into it for a blissful moment before pulling back slightly.

“Well that’s certainly a start,” you murmur, your heart racing.

Charles lets go of your hands to cradle your face tenderly. “Mon cœur, please delete the video. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything.”

You search his eyes intently. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he confirms fervently before kissing you again, deeper this time.

You wrap your arms around his neck and give yourself over to the kiss. After several heated moments, you gently break away.

“Okay fine, I’ll delete the video on one condition.”

Charles looks at you warily. “Name it.”

“You have to let me drive your Ferrari.”

Charles groans and drops his head against your shoulder. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

You laugh and pat his head consolingly. “Those are my terms.”

He lifts his head to grin ruefully at you. “You drive a hard bargain. But for the sake of Italian nonnas everywhere, I accept your deal.”

You lift up your phone and pretend to wipe away a tear. “The souls of broken spaghetti can finally rest easy.”

Charles just shakes his head before leaning down to silence you with another deep kiss. As you lose yourself in the feeling of his body against yours, you quietly move the video into an encrypted folder. After all, you never know when it might come in handy.

***

You raise an eyebrow as you watch Charles carefully pour Red Bull into his Ferrari water bottle. “Do you buy those in bulk?” You ask with a laugh.

Charles gasps in exaggerated outrage. “Buy from the enemy? Never!” He screws the cap on tightly and gives you a sly grin. “Max and I have an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” You echo in surprise. This is news to you.

Charles nods, looking pleased with himself. “Yes, a secret trade deal. I provide him cappuccinos from the Ferrari cafe and Max supplies me with as much Red Bull as I need.”

You burst out laughing. “Are you serious? You and Max smuggle each other contraband caffeinated drinks?”

“Shh, not so loud!” Charles glances around furtively, but the motorhome is empty except for the two of you. “It must remain a secret.”

Still chuckling, you lower your voice conspiratorially. “So the great Charles Leclerc betrays his team for energy drinks. The Tifosi would riot if they knew!”

Charles winces dramatically. “Do not say such things! It is not betrayal, merely … creative problem solving.” He takes a long swig of Red Bull and grins. “The taste of the enemy is sweet.”

“I can’t believe you drink that stuff. And I can’t believe Max is your supplier!” You shake your head in amusement. “Does anyone else know about this arrangement of yours?”

“Only Lando. We needed a neutral third party to broker the deal and make the exchanges.” Charles leans in with a playful smile. “So do not be getting any ideas about exposing our scheme, yes?”

You mimic zipping your lips. “My lips are sealed … as long as you share some of that!”

Charles pretends to think about it for a second before breaking into a grin and handing you the bottle. The carbonated liquid fizzes pleasantly on your tongue, the familiar flavor mingling with the surrealness of drinking Red Bull from a Ferrari bottle. You take one more sip then hand it back to Charles.

“Just don’t let Fred or Christian find out,” you warn teasingly. “Pretty sure this counts as treason.”

Charles just laughs. “They turn a blind eye. The team knows I perform best when properly caffeinated.” He caps the bottle and adds, “But no more for you, ma belle. I only have a limited supply!”

You pout dramatically. “Fine, keep your precious Red Bull. I guess I’ll just have to tell everyone what’s really in your water bottle!”

The can of Red Bull that Charles rushes to give you tastes even sweeter than usual.

[luveline]

If you’re still up for requests — could you maybe do one where peter or remus comes home after a visibly bad day and the reader misinterprets his behavior and assumes he’s upset with her instead ?? like she’s walking on eggshells, silently fussing around trying to figure out what she did, meanwhile all he wants to do is hold her and decompress 🥺☹️

absolutely no pressure! <33

“Oh my god.” Peter lets out a pained groan at the door, followed by the plastic crinkle of shopping bags hitting the floor. “My back. Jesus.” 

You look up in surprise from your book at the table. “I thought we were going together?” 

“I couldn’t face coming home and going out again.” He drags the bags to the fridge and pauses. “I figured you’d be okay with not having to go?” 

“Sure,” you agree immediately. He has a black cranky fog around him, you can practically feel it as you get up to help him unpack the bags. He doesn’t seem best pleased with you.

He rubs his eyes, rubs his mouth, and turns to the sink. He runs the faucet, pulling one of the glasses back off of the draining board to fill, and wincing at the harsh sound when he turns it too fast. Peter forgets his own strength every now and then —usually when he’s not feeling well. 

Peter gives you a funny look as you step into his space. You quickly step out of it and start to load groceries into the fridge and cabinets, pleased to find he’s bought the things you would’ve gotten yourself and even some things you’d have wanted but not allowed yourself. Maybe he’s not that mad after all—

“God damn,” he says, rolling an empty bag into a ball in his hand, “I forgot the fucking laundry detergent again.” 

“That’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, you’ve asked me to get it three times this week.” 

“I was just reminding you,” you say, fingers tingling with the potential of an impending argument. “It’s fine. We haven’t run out yet, we can squeeze another wash out of it. I’ll get some tomorrow.” 

He sits down in the chair you’d been sitting in and moves your book and plate of snacks aside, neither gentle nor rough about it. “Damn,” he says again, dropping his face into his hands.

“Pete…” 

His eyes must be sore by now he’s rubbing them so much, hands held to his eyes and fingers scratching into his hair. He tips his face toward the table and lets himself sit with whatever it is that’s getting him down. Me, you think worriedly. I shouldn’t have asked him to get groceries today. You knew he had a longer shift than usual, and that he’d want to do some Spidering afterward. 

You’ve sorry on the tip of your tongue when he lays his face heavily in one hand, elbow on the table barely keeping him up, and holds the other out toward you. Rejecting him doesn’t even cross your mind. 

“Fuck, I missed you today,” he says, taking your hand as soon as you offer it and dragging you toward him. You peer down at him with wide eyes as he wraps his arm around you, his nose quick to hide in the linen of your shirt. His voice tickles, “I just wanted to be with you. I knew this would make me feel better.” 

There’s a little dry barb at the back of your throat you can’t speak past. Peter doesn’t notice, rubbing his cheek in your side as he repositions you for optimal hugging. He lets out a self-pitying whine, second arm joining the first in a lock behind your back. “You smell amazing.” 

“I do?” you ask finally. 

“I think you’re just made for me, angel,” he says, voice dragging with fatigue. “You always smell good.” 

You squint with lips pursed, blinking in confusion as you bring your hand up to his hair. “Thanks for going to the store.”

“You’re welcome. I can’t function without groceries either, anyways.” He sighs with the particular Parker brand of lovelorn contentedness, a familiar sound. He makes the same noise when you’re tucked up in bed together on the weekends with nowhere to go, or holding hands on the subway travelling home, knee to knee or intertwined. “Can’t believe how quickly you make me feel better,” he murmurs. 

“I kinda thought you were mad at me,” you confess, matching his tone.

“You have some strange wires crossed in your brain,” he says. His sympathy and affection for you is palpable; his hand tracks a soft line down the curve of your back. 

“Yeah, I know. Do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask, pressing your face to the mop of his thick hair. 

He hugs you tightly. “You’re my dream girl.” 

[madschiavelique]

Hi dear, how are you?, could you write an imagine onde reader mentioning offhand how much she would love a whole family. Four, maybe six children? Girls and boys split right down the middle, but the second Miguel hears this (maybe the reader is on the phone, or talking to lyla. or someone at HQ) and Miguel loses his mind

1) Miguel can't help himself and he would grab you and put you on the mattress for a very long time...... or

2) torture himself for two weeks before telling her why he was avoiding her please.

HIHIHI BREEDING BARK BARK (sorry this took so long to write anon zehfrfgh i pulled an all nighter to make this one so also forgive me if there are some mistakes in this gksffgjgbf)

summary : miguel learns you want kids, a lot of kids, so he breeds you

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex - unprotected (be safe kids), breeding kink, soft!dom miguel, obsessive!miguel, no use of Y/N, fem!reader word count : 3,2k

tag list : @fandom-ash @haradasaya

Miguel was on his way to see you. He'd heard that you were back from your mission and that everything had gone well, so he'd come to get you to take you out for lunch.

He was taking advantage of the little free time he had to visit you, even though he would obviously pass this visit off as work-related in everyone's eyes. He had to always, always remain professional and keep everything under control so that everybody could do their bit.

"Six?!" asked Jess, the word choking in her throat.

Well, you were indeed back with Jess.

"Mhm, six," you affirmed as you both busied yourselves filing a report.

What were they talking about? He leaned against a wall. He knew it wasn't very polite to eavesdrop, but the word got around here. Most of society's building had cameras, and everything that was often said or done was recorded here.

He just wanted to listen to you, wondering if there were any topics of conversation that you weren't having with him and with the other spiders. Yes, he was manic, and probably a little too obsessive.

In any case, he wondered what you could have said to Jessica to make her exclaim like that.

"The more the merrier," you laughed softly.

"I hate this sentence so much," sighed Jess.

"Why so?" your voice was sincerely interrogative.

"In this context, it's really not my preferred idiom one might say," she replied as Miguel heard her tapping on a pad to enter more information.

What on earth could they be talking about? he wondered. What subject could suggest that six was far too high a number for Jess's judgement? He knew that Jess was an oragnised woman like himself, with a lot of tact and a fair amount of authority.

Was it perhaps a consecutive number of days doing an activity? Six days of marathon running might have been a bit much, but six days' holiday was never too much. He breathed in very softly, it had been years since he'd had time for such a thing. Did you want to take him on a holiday? If so, the number of days was inordinate. He would never be able to get away from his work for more than three days.

Maybe it was something else then. What was too much in Jess's mind with six?

Six empanadas perhaps? Miguel would obviously disagree. You can never have enough empanada for his taste. But Jess would probably disapprove.

Six... Six pets? It's true that having six pets might be a bit of an exaggeration, at least in Miguel's eyes of course.

Perhaps six books? No, that didn't make sense. Although Jess wasn't a huge reader, she did have a book in her hands from time to time.

So what was it? He was intrigued, that's for sure.

"You know, in my opinion, one kid is already way too much to handle," she sighed, "but six ? Nah, that's some good way of ending your life while still being alive."

But Miguel had barely heard the rest of the sentence, his mind having been caught by a single word: kid. He immediately froze, his heart skipping a beat.

Kid, like... children ? Like, actual human beings ? Small human beings ?

His eyes were wide, his mouth parted. No, he must not have heard correctly, although he dreamed that it was indeed that word that had been uttered.

"Why not? Surrounding ourselves with life is good," you said softly. "I'd love to see six little heads running around. I want three of each, three girls and three boys."

He wasn't mistaken: the discussion was really about the number of children you wanted. Six, he thought, six, six, the word echoing in his mind. He put both his hands on his hips, as if to hold on to something.

He pictured you, your rounded belly, stroking the hair of a child, your child, his child... both your children.

He swallowed, however, as another, immensely more tantalising vision took hold of his mind.

The vision of your cunt, glistening with your desire as from between its lips dripped little by little his own cum, his own seed leaking from you, your belly full of him...

It made his dick twitch for a hot second, and he couldn't remove that image, he didn't want to get rid of that image. The idea that your belly could be full of him, that he could breed you until he had no strength left was magnificent.

"What an egalitarian spirit," Jess noted wryly, "Well, it's all in order."

His thoughts were riveted on the image. He could almost hear in his own mind the sweet melody your moans would make as he came inside you again.

No, it was now impossible for him to think about anything else, he told himself that maybe he shouldn't be thinking about this. Except it's a well-known fact that if you tell someone not to think about something, they'll think about it.

He knew what breeding was, obviously, but what about you? Did you even have a clue what it was?

He tried to pull himself together, he had to either leave here or come towards you and pretend to come naturally. Would he be able to hold it together and act as if nothing had happened? Did he really have a choice in the matter after all? He breathed in, tightening his jaw as he decided to come towards you.

He walked purposefully, his usual grumpy face set surprisingly naturally as he advanced towards you.

"Ah, you're back," he sighed as if pleasantly surprised to see you both here, "how was the mission?"

"Excellent," Jess affirmed, "we've just finished the report, the anomaly has been taken care of as it should have been since we arrived."

He nodded, his serious face opening a control pad to check what she was saying and opening the file in question, pretending to read its contents. He had the impression that everywhere he looked the image came right back to him, on every tile, on every screen, everywhere in his mind.

"That's good work," he breathed.

"Damn right," nodded Jess. " Well, I'm off to join my own little demon, take care you two."

"See ya," you replied as she headed for the exit.

He wondered by what superhuman strength he managed to remain unwavering and stoic.

You moved closer to him, hugging his back and comforting yourself in the embrace.

"How was your day?" you asked, squeezing him in your arms.

Unwavering and stoic, Miguel, you have to remain unwavering and stoic.

You put your hands on his body, and with one touch his concentration was simply wiped out.

He turned to you, smiling a strange, uncertain smile as he stroked your hair, a little tense.

"You know how it is, just a lot of work," but his eyes were watching yours strangely, a flash of a vision where they were filled with desire looking back at him.

You studied him for a moment, noticing how distracted he seemed, his eyes looking at you in a strange way. You could feel a kind of desire there, a kind of longing, but you couldn't work out what it was.

"Is... everything alright?"

He shuddered, obviously his little show wasn't going to last much longer. He broke away from your embrace, he couldn't keep looking at you like that.

"Hey," you said softly, "you know you can tell me everything, right?"

Could I tell you this ? he wondered. He looked at you for a moment, another flash of you all moaning and covered in hickeys and marks on your body as you breathed his name. He looked away, closing his eyes in the hopes the flashes would stop.

"I'm afraid I cannot speak about this..."

But how he wanted to speak about this, to tell you how much he wanted to fuck you until you were full of him, until the only thing present in your mouth was his name and how much he wanted to see the sight of your round belly.

But you wouldn't listen to his silence. So you walked over to him and took his hand.

"Miguel, look at me. you asked, and he looked at you, his visions mingling with the reality where you were looking at him, worried. "Tell me."

He sighed. He couldn't run away from his ideas forever, run away from these images that he wanted to see in reality and not just in his mind. He wanted to raise his idea from the theoretical to the practical, and it was with an almost guilty breath that he admitted:

"I want to breed you."

There was a slight silence, his eyes plunged into yours, desperate to know what you were thinking. But above all he was met with confusion.

"What's breeding?" You had an idea of the term, usually used animalistically for the subject of... reproduction and maintenance of species. But just to be on the safe side with Miguel, you preferred to ask him anyway.

His lungs swelled like sails, did he really have to go through this?

"Why don't you ask Lyla what it is?" he suggested.

"Because I want to hear it from you, with your words" you assured him, your tone a mixture of strictness and curiosity.

He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek, slightly afraid of your reaction. You were practically hanging on his every word, waiting for him to explain.

"Breeding is... the act of a male and a female animal having sex, also known as mating, to reproduce..." he explained, pausing, "and procreate."

Your eyes widened slightly, and the possibility that he had overheard your previous conversation with Jess came to mind. All the same, you looked at him almost inscrutably, and he couldn't work out what you were thinking.

But now that the words had been said, he could no longer hide, no, he no longer had to hide. His thoughts were finally out, burning on his skin and lips.

He moved forward a little more, his gaze suddenly darkened by the desires he was no longer hiding.

"I want to fill you up with my cum and make sure you get pregnant."

Your lips were parted, your surprised eyes looking into his, black with desire and longing. A silence filled the air, both your hearts beating loudly in both your bodies. Miguel waited for an answer, unaware of the warm cloud that had settled in your lower belly.

He chuckled a little, an understanding smile gracing his lips as he said:

"See, your silence tells me enoug-"

"Breed me," you cut him off.

He stopped moving immediately, the statement immobilising him just like when he had understood what you and Jess were talking about.

Had his mind and his fantasies come together to play tricks on him? Or had you actually agreed with what he'd just said?

"What?" he said, his pronunciation almost slurred as he turned his attention to your next words.

"Breed me, Miguel" you repeated, determined as you swallowed in anticipation. "I want to carry you... in me."

The gleam in his eyes was almost predatory, but after all, wasn't that the very essence of breeding? The raw nature of it, the bestiality, the quenching of the oldest instinct that ever was.

You only had time to see his eyes turn red as he lunged for your lips, kissing you with his mouth wide open as your teeth almost clashed and he attacked your tongue.

The power with which he kissed you made you take a step backwards, but you weren't going anywhere, because Miguel immediately placed his hand in the small of your back to make sure he had you close to him.

He let out grunts between kisses, his hunger for your skin lengthening his canines as they brushed almost dangerously against your tongue.

Then he lifted you in one swift movement, placing you on his shoulder as he headed for the door leading to his quarters, his impatience growing faster than ever. You bit your lip, already swollen from his kisses, his hand gripping your thigh firmly as he led you to the bed.

He laid you down, following every movement of your body as he kissed you again. He stood back for a moment, watching your body.

"Do you have sentimental value for your suit?"

"What?" you asked, confused by the sudden question.

"Just answer," he asked through clenched teeth.

"I mean it's old but I can live withou-"

You hadn't even finished your sentence when he ripped off your suit with an ease that sent shivers down your spine, ripping the fabric covering your cunt, tearing your panties and throwing all the rags into the rest of the room.

"No questions about the sentimental value of my underwear?" you laugh lightly.

"I'll get you some new ones," he breathed, a carnivorous sneer inhabiting his lips, "I'll take great care in chosing them."

You swallowed as he kissed your neck, nestling in and marking your skin with thirst. He straightened to kiss your lips, and whispered against them:

"Turn over, get down on your elbows and knees".

You complied, his instructions increasing the size of the cloud of heat in your belly. You placed your folded arms flat on the sheets, your knees slightly apart.

"Lift your hips for me, nena," he commanded in a tone as soft as cotton.

You listened, arching your back as you lifted your hips, your ass gloriously up just for him to fuck. He swallowed, his hand coming to grip one of your buttocks and pulling it apart, pressing it between his fingers and gripping your skin full hand.

"Already so good and wet for me," he mused, one of his fingers passing between your folds.

Of course you were already wet, the way he had introduced the concept to you making you all fuzzy and warm in your belly. You'd never been against the idea of Miguel being a bit more violent, and to be honest you were excited by the idea of him being so from now on.

Once he'd coated himself sufficiently, he pushed one finger into you, soft moans falling from your lips filling the room. He added another one, and your lust was growing by the second. You were getting impatient too, but you couldn't help noticing that Miguel simply couldn't wait any longer.

Miguel was always very keen about taking his time, preparing you well apart from the few moments when one of you needed a quicky, but here eagerness was getting the better of him, and above all his most instinctive desires buried deep inside him had taken the reigns of all his actions.

The thought of him being in you through your core made him feel so drunk on you. These ideas had already been marinating in his mind for a while, it had only taken this conversation between you and Jess to flip the switch. And he observed in adoration, seeing you like this, underneath him with your much smaller frame, sitting up and ready to take him.

"Hands behind your back."

His orders became more and more urgent, his tone wavering with envy. It was impossible for him to formulate a whole sentence.

So you laid your face on the sheets, cheek pressed to your side as you brought your hands behind your back, joining your wrists together like you were imagining yourself handcuffed. You shivered as his hand, whose fingers had previously been inside you, reached out from between your folds and took both your wrists at the same time, locking them in this embrace. His hand was obviously big enough to hold both your wrists together and prevent you from breaking free from his grip.

He had locked you completely.

He had blocked out any possibility of you making a move other than squirming around him. Miguel would never tire of this control, this hold he had over you right now. You were his, nobody else's, and he would let eveybody know this by fucking his seed into you and get as many babies as you wanted.

That's when you felt the head of his dick coating itself with your juices, preparing to burry himself into you. You couldn't see Miguel like this, but you could hear him. Dark growls vibrated in his throat, deeper than you'd ever heard them before, and it felt intimidating.

He thrust, pushing his tip into you, and you let out a groan of relief that sank into the fabric of the sheets. You breathed softly, letting Miguel's thick, long cock sink into you. No matter how many times you had done it, taken him like that, you still couldn't get used to it.

His lower belly finally touched the skin of your ass, his dick deep inside you. And you felt him pressing against your stomach. You knew that if you brought one of your hands to your stomach, you'd feel the shape of his cock against your skin.

He was so deep in you, an almost bestial growl escaped him as he slowly began to pull back before thrusting in hard.

You let out a little cry of surprise and pleasure that echoed around the room, and he repeated the same gesture. He kept bearing down on you until he touched your slick on his lower belly and pulling away, pushing back in the next second until it'd touch his balls.

Your body was burning, unable to do anything but arch your back more and groan. Your hands were gripping the void, and the impossibility of finding a foothold in all this was making you feel out of control. But you were enjoying the sensations he was giving you, and so was he.

He listened to the symphony of your voice as he picked up the pace, the feeling of your gummy walls wrapping all tight and warm around him was absolute perfection to him.

He knew it wouldn't be long before his first cum would hit, but he needn't have worried. Miguel could go on for a long, long time, and he just hoped that you could keep up, although he had no doubt that his best girl would live up to his expectations.

He could no longer string a sentence together properly, the words he was trying to whisper as he sank deep inside you coming out as if chewed up by his long fangs.

He grunted, his rhythm and the tilt of your two bodies giving you both exceptional sensations. The knot in your stomach tightened, threatening to burst as Miguel came closer.

And the world stopped spinning for a second.

You came together, your walls closing spasmodically around him as you felt him spill into you. Because that's what you wanted, right ? That's the one thing you desired, and he was going to give it to you entirely.

He pulled out, just for the pleasure of seeing the work he had so long dreamed of seeing. And the satisfaction was superb, his white creamy cum slowly pouring out of your wet cunt, still pulsing with desire.

A dark laugh rose from his throat as he sank back into you and you let out a startled moan. He lowered himself, his lips pressing against your ear.

"I hope you thought of six names."

It would be a long, long night.

[vaspider]

Look. A little advice.

Once you get to a certain amount of Known on the internet or a subsection of it, or even in a subsection of a RL group of people, there are going to be people who will make up a version of you which exists only in their heads and which has absolutely nothing to do with who you are. It might better resemble who you were twenty years ago or it might never have had anything to do at all with who you were then or are now.

You cannot stop this. You cannot prevent this. Once you get a certain number of followers or a certain amount of attention, that's going to happen: people will make up stories about you which either look through a fun-house mirror at some small aspect of who you are and twist it and blow it up until it doesn't resemble you at all, or which just have absolutely no basis in fact whatsoever.

This is just another kind of parasocial relationship; it's the kind which really sucks to deal with, because it's so negative and so pervasive. It's very real, and the frustration you feel about it is very real. Nobody wants to be known incorrectly.

But. You can't control this. It's gonna happen. No matter what you say, no matter how precisely you say it, the people who want to misinterpret you will find a way to do so. This doesn't mean 'don't pay attention to what you say,' or 'don't be purposeful and precise with your language,' but it does mean 'don't obsess over the people who are determined to get you wrong.'

You can be the most anodyne, run-of-the-mill, unremarkable human being, and the people who are determined to hate you will find something that they can point to and say 'ha ha! I told you that Spider danced with the devil at midnight! I witnessed it myself!' (It will not help the situation if you are, say, self-admittedly stubborn as fuck, long-winded, and sometimes kinda fucking obnoxious, but please realize that in the end, it doesn't really matter. This is gonna happen no matter what.)

The people who matter will look at what's being said, wrinkle up their foreheads, and say, 'uh, man, it looks like Spider was actually playing with his dog at 9 am?'

That said, if you don't have elephant-thick skin from being a marginalized-gender human being who's been on the internet since before the web had pictures, there are some things you can do to make it easier when people making things up about you starts to get on your nerves:

Establish protocols for when it becomes too much: have someone read your messages, turn off your notifications, have time where you purposefully disengage.

Establish protocols for how you interact, period: "I will block people without guilt if they engage positively with the people who spread untruths about me." "I will answer everything in public so people can't lie about what I said, because it's right there in public." "I will not answer work-related stuff in DMs, that has to go to the work email." Whatever it is, create some boundaries for yourself. Stick to them. The people who push you to bend them aren't doing that for your benefit but theirs.

If you get someone who really hits your Weirdo Alarm, trust it. Yeah, block and report, but also, take screenshots and store them somewhere that isn't easily erased. I have an 'Internet Weirdos' folder, which makes it a little easier to deal with when people start doing things like 'making threats of physical harm to me and my family.' Don't fuss, just take a screenshot and chuck it in the folder. Having that record makes it easier to just forget that it ever happened, because you have a paper trail if anybody starts doing something Real Weird.

Spend time offline, with people who do actually know you.

Don't get lost in the version of you that someone else makes up in order to make up for the shit that's missing in their own life. You aren't required to play the part that someone else is trying to script for you. It is never to your benefit, only to theirs; you gain nothing by standing in that role for them, and you lose precious seconds of your one irreplaceable life.

You could be using those seconds to look at this video of how to pick up a duck, which I think we can all agree is a better investment of your time.

[fangswbenefits]

Comfort

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: Miguel has been having nightmares as of late and seeks a level of comfort only you can provide.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. Lactation kink. Breastfeeding as comfort. Needy Miguel. Based on this ask.

The scream tore through your head like a knife. You jolted awake at once and turned around to see Miguel writhing all sweaty and mumbling incoherently.

“No… no, no, no! NO!”

“Miguel… wake up,” you immediately placed one hand on his bare arm, squeezing lightly in an attempt to snap him out of yet another nightmare.

He stilled for a moment before springing from the matress with a loud gasp, chest heaving as his breathing became erratic.

“I’m here,” you cooed.

Miguel blinked a couple of times at you. “I’m sorry… I…” he stammered as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into an embrace.

“Shhhh,” you whispered, feeling your heart drop as he trembled wretchedly against you. “It was just a nightmare. You’re safe.”

Fortunately, his screams hadn’t woken up your baby daughter that was sleeping in the other room.

The nightmares had been getting worse and more frequent. He wouldn’t talk to you about them, but he didn’t have to… you had heard him call out his daughter’s name many times.

You remained in that position for a few minutes as he came down from the state of anxiety, running your fingers along his scalp reassuringly.

Miguel pulled back and you eased your arms around his neck, but one of his hands had come to tug at the opening of your nightgown.

You knew that gesture all too well.

Miguel had been resorting to you nursing him back to sleep whenever things got this extreme.

He had visibly calmed down, but even in the poorly lit room, you could still see the silent plea on his face.

That look was your undoing.

“You don’t have to ask,” you say, undoing the buttons. “I know this helps.”

The moment one of your breasts was exposed, he leaned to place a kiss of gratitude to your cheek before capturing a nipple in between his lips, suckling on it lightly.

Your hand came to rest on his face, wiping a few beads of sweat and tugging strands of unruly hair behind his ear.

You could hear him swallowing your milk with every gulp, and you had to bite down on your lower lip to suppress a moan. It filled you with such relief knowing that breastfeeding him could bring him the comfort he sought.

He broke the perfect latch, a few droplets of milk coating his lips before sliding down his chin. His tongue darted out to collect the liquid, not wanting to waste any of it.

“Do you need more?”

He settled back down against his pillow and nodded. Your eyes roamed along his body and you spotted his cock hardening.

“Can I fall asleep suckling on it?” his voice was low and raspy.

You offered a comforting smile. “What about that?”

His eyes followed yours, landing on his cock that stood hard but covered by the bedsheet. “It’ll go away… just… please…”

You then leaned over him, bracing your weight onto one elbow near his shoulder, and he promptly aligned his mouth with your nipple, latching hungrily.

The sensation was enough to have you clenching around nothing, clit throbbing and mouth dropped open.

“Easy, Miguel… easy…” you almost begged, caressing his cheek in absolute adoration.

His eyes fluttered shut as he brought one hand to wrap around your waist, pulling you a bit closer to him and allowing you to feel his cock.

You nearly moaned from the sight of him being so needy and desperate for the comfort that only your milk could bring.

After a while, you noticed the suction had eased and that he was merely suckling on your nipple as a habit, drifting back to his sleep.

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