unfair, controlling, hypocritical — miguel o’hara. drabble based on this writing prompt request.
your breath caught the moment you saw his back stop. all your words, you wish you could swallow. the silence was almost strangling before his low voice decided to break it. “you wanna repeat that?”
you manage to simultaneously shake your head and nod. why were you nodding? you didn’t want to repeat what you had said. you had been angry. you are angry. maybe that’s why. miguel has slowly turned, his visible fangs and blood red eyes seeming more prominent as his shoulders flex.
his question still lingers in the air. he hadn’t seen you shake/nod your head. that was probably for the better. “is silence all i’m getting now?” miguel asks, voice still weighed heavy with tension.
you gulp. “do you want me to repeat it?” you quietly manage, because now he was nearing, your feet sliding back. and just as you feel gravity pull you down with a slip to your foot—the edge now scraping your sole — miguel’s hand grips around the middle of your suit. he’s holding you up by some material, his claws probably ruining the stitching.
“do you really think that i want to hear you repeat how i’m some fucking unfair, controlling, hypocritical bastard?” he sneers out the words. his face inches closer to yours as you hold your breath. “i’d love to hear those words come out your mouth again, cariño.”
at one point you thought you could feel the graze of his fang against your lower lip. but to be fair you’re fraction dazed by his proximity. blame it on that. delusions, because miguel would never—
his free hand harshly tilts your head up, your lips now most definitely brushing against his canines. “so you think i’m unfair?” miguel practically speaks to your mouth. his hand that is gripping your suit material is still making you lean slightly over the ledge, your hands now gripping his biceps, as your heart picks a quicker beat.
his hand on your chin slips down your waist. then your body jolts, his fingers having found a placement between your legs. “is this position unfair?” he inquires far too innocently. all your words are choked. “if i let go you’d fall. you’re reliant on me to keep you up…does that make me controlling?”
the pads of his fingers lightly graze back and forth over your covered pussy, making your breathing catch. “is me…touching you like this unfair?”
and through the slight shake of your body you manage a few words. “hypocrite. you forgot hypocrite.” your words are some what of a form of you trying to get your own back. to stand taller, despite the clear lean of your body.
miguel actually manages a chuckle. though it’s dipped in mocking and utter power. “of course. a hypocrite. because despite all of what i’m saying, and what i’m trying to prove…” he pauses, gaze flickering across your features, and then down to your slightly parted lips. “i want to hear you say how much you want me to touch you like this…”
your gaze slightly widens, as you meet his red, now determined eyes. “what?”
“so you were right. i am a fucking unfair, controlling, hypocritical bastard.” miguel’s breath is now fanning over your mouth, as he tugs you closer. “and i’ll show you just how much that title suits me.”
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I think Gwen calling Miles parents by their first names really show the difference between white and black culture.
Gwendy girl I love you but get your shoes off the bed. Have you lost your goddamn mind
Idk if it's just me, but in a lot of wider (white) culture the idea is that a host must cater to the guest, making sure the place is inviting and the guest is taken care of. It's the hosts responsibly look after their guests
However in a lot of POC cultures, it's the inverse. To us, Guests must cater to the host, because we understand it firstly as their space.
In our culture, we as guests are there as visitors. And it is on us to act appropriate towards the host. Rather than the host acting appropriate to us.
When we walk into a house, we talk off our shoes.
When she comes over she sits cross-legged on Miles bed with her shoes on.
When we enter someones house or space as black kids we're told to go to the adult of the house and introduce yourself, shake their hand.
When Gwen comes to the cookout, Miles parents have to approach her first and ask who she is. And then she calls them their first names!!!!!
We're even told that as guests we have to ask to get water or open the fridge - or the host can get it for us for their privacy.
Gwen comes in and rips open one of Miles' collectables and don't even think about it after.
And Miles is SHOCKED because he's probably never had a friend act like that in his house before.
As POC we see ourselves as guests given the privilege of being in the space. Whereas general culture sees guests as someone to invite in, and that the guests experience - not the hosts' space - is the primary focus
Gwen is probably acting that way because in her culture the idea is that "Oh - I'm at a friend's house. Let me get comfortable."
Whereas for a lot of us its "Oh - I'm at a friend's house and I want their parents to like me enough to let me in their house again lol"
Idk I just found that interesting
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