#...okay i would still do that now in my 30s

[babyrdie]

Okay, I have something to confess… none of the deaths in The Iliad were sad for me. Aside from the amount of randoms dying, let's consider Patroclus and Hector here because I honestly don't remember the rest.

Patroclus: I genuinely couldn't be sad. Sure, I was sad about the characters' reactions to Patroclus' death (for example, Antilochus running and crying and Achilles' depressive episode), but not about his final battle itself. I'm sorry, guys, but it was funny to read him about to die being petty and saying to Hector something like "you idiot, you only killed me because Zeus and Apollo helped you. Face me alone and I'll kill you! I'll kill you multiple times! Anyway, Achilles is going to kick your ass hahahahahaha he's going to kick your ass SO MUCH". Like, dude, you're DYING. What's YOUR problem, you looked your KILLER in the face and said "actually ☝️ I can kill you". And okay, even if we think it's true that two gods helped Hector… MAN, WHAT KIND OF MIND DO YOU HAVE TO HAVE TO DECIDE THAT YOUR LAST WORDS ARE GOING TO BE ACCUSING YOUR KILLER OF BEING WEAKER THAN YOU. If I were Hector I would respond something like "man, fuck you, you're dying!!!"

Hector: I also couldn't be sad about the death itself. It was sad to see Priam begging, Andromache talking about being enslaved, etc. But the moment of the battle? Sorry, the battle was hilarious. In Book 16, Patroclus was there spitting blood and dying while still using his last breath to be like "I didn't lose, YOU will lose" to Hector (man that was petty) and Hector was like "Achilles? He's not going to kick my ass, I AM going to kick his ass". And then he goes and prepares to fight Achilles alone, despite his understandably worried parents, because he needs to defend the city and it's a touching moment and you understand Hector's decision, but you still feel like it's suicidal, but hey…he seems confident. And you think that this is where the typical epic fight will happen, especially since he responded to Patroclus' threat by insinuating that he would defeat Achilles. But no, he sees Achilles approaching with a murderous aura around him and decides that he's going to run. And he DOESN'T stop. They run around the walls of Troy while the Trojans watch…what is this, a stadium where you watch the action from above? And then you're like "man, how long are they going to run?" and apparently Athena thought so too because she goes and tricks Hector into stopping running. And then you think okay, now it's the epic fight. But no, they're throwing spears at each other and exchanging harsh words while Athena shows her favoritism by helping Achilles. And then Hector is dying and he's like "Paris and Apollo are gonna kill you!!!!" and Achilles is like "bitch, look at my face and tell me if I look like someone who wants to live."

And as an honorable mention, we have two other funny no-death-all-teasing moments!

One of them is Achilles running after Apollo. Bitch, I know you're mad, but that's a GOD. Hurting a god is already a rare feat, do you really think you're going to be able to kill him or something? You got your ass kicked by Scamandrius despiste your confidence (another hilarious scene, actually), man, Apollo isn't on your level. I KNOW YOU'RE MENTALLY UNSTABLE IN THIS SCENE, BUT MAN. Apollo actually taunting Achilles is also hilarious. He is a god that's thousands of years old and he's arguing with this guy who can't even be 30 years-old. This guy who, like, Apollo's stepmother (Hera) acts like he's just Thetis' baby (Hera defending Achilles be like: well, he was suckled on the divine breasts of Thetis! Thetis, a goddess! Goddess that I raised!!!). Like, man, I know you want to kill him, just kill him. No need to trade taunts like you're in the same position or something. My theory is that Apollo was in a bit of an Book 1 Achilles situation. Achilles wanted to kill Agamemnon, but Athena stopped him, so the only option left was to curse him. Apollo wants to kill Achilles, but fate exists and it's not Achilles' time to die. So okay, he'll do the second best thing: provoke him. Like, it is SO personal lol

The other moment is Aeneas. Apollo encouraging Aeneas to fight Achilles because his mother is Aphrodite and Achilles' mother is Thetis, and since Aphrodite is more powerful than Thetis, surely Aeneas is stronger than Achilles, right? Aeneas then goes on and gives Achilles a huge speech. He goes on and on about how his mother is Aphrodite, about how he won't be intimidated, about how he won't be just another one... then Achilles kicks his ass SO hard that Poseidon has to step in and take Aeneas away. And Achilles cares SO MUCH about Aeneas that he's like "oh, a god helped you. Okay then" and goes back to fighting. And let's face it, if Achilles had any interest in Aeneas, he wouldn't care that the gods want Aeneas alive. He literally commits sacrilege with Hector's and tries to go after Apollo, he just didn't go after Aeneas because he apparently doesn't care enough about him. Man, Aeneas, that was humiliating. All that confident speech for that.

I'm seeing a pattern here, actually:

Patroclus "I could kill you!!!" to Hector while being killed by Hector. Okay, man…but dead people don't fight! At least you can brag that you beat Sarpedon if you care so much about proving your skills even while you're dying, I guess.

Hector "hahaha I'll kick Achilles' ass, that threat doesn't affect me!" to Patroclus and then running after seeing Achilles. Running for his entire life if it weren't for Athena. Is this the swift-footed Hector we see running for the third time?????

Achilles "I'm the best of the Greeks! I'm the peak! I'm THE MAN" to Scamandrius and then having to desperately be saved. Dude was defeated by SCAMANDRIUS and thought he could chase APOLLO. GUY IS THE SON OF A NEREID AND ALMOST DIED IN THE WATER.

Aeneas "my mother is Aphrodite, your mother is Thetis. I'm the chad, you're the virgin. That's how we are, you understand?" and then having to desperately be saved. It's even funnier when you think about how he was like "well, his mom is Thetis and she is a Nereid, not a Olympian…" BITCH DIOMEDES ISN'T EVEN A DEMIGOD AND YOU WOULD DIE IF IT WEREN'T FOR APHRODITE. HOW THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOUR MOTHER BEING APHRODITE WOULD MAKE YOU STRONGER THAN ACHILLES IF YOU WERE NOT STRONGER THAN A GUY WHO IS NOT EVEN A DEMIGOD.

But well, Hector, Patroclus and Achilles are all characters I adore. Aeneas I don't have a strong opinion of, truth be told (no, I haven't read The Aeneid). And yes, this post is completely immature. I've made many posts giving serious opinions, let me be honest about how I felt in these scenes even if they weren't written to be funny.

[gr0ggy]

ᖴOᖇ YOᑌ (​ᗰIGᑌEᒪ ᙭ ᗷᒪK!ᖇEᗩᗪEᖇ)

warnings: 18+, dbf!miguel o'Hara, age gap (reader is 25, Miguel is 44), all characters are adults exept for gabriella, dad’s best friend Miguel, sexual content, gabriella exists, no use of yn, miguel x reader, Miguel is spiderman, Miguel is a whore, black reader, descriptions of hair and skin, slow, swearing, mother father and brother’s name mentioned, not set in 2099

wc: 4.8k

Series Masterlist | Blog | Masterlist

Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ９： Ｋｎｉｃｋｓ

art cred: _insomniac_red_ on ig, nightmare_fuell on twt,  _peachyypie_ on ig, sberrymango, Mamba

_________________________________________________

There was silence for a few minutes. You and Miguel were looking at each other, his cum seeping out of you as he held you in his arms, tangled together on your couch.

"You still want to shower?" 

"Yeah, just...give me a second." He said. 

Finally, a few minutes later, he sat up, running a hand through his thick brown hair. His eyes were pointed at the ground. You put a hand on his back, gently soothing him.

"Everything okay?" 

No, everything was not okay. He was having post-nut clarity. Especially after what your dad had said. He had a 'reputation.' In the moment, when Miguel's with you⎯kissing you, fucking you⎯he completely forgets about the idea of you being James' daughter. He was feeling guilty, and it had just now started to weigh on him. The dichotomy between the way he looked at you hardly 30 minutes ago versus the way he was looking at you now was like taking a bullet. 

"Yeah, I—I just... You're my friend's daughter, y'know?" He leaned onto your couch, throwing his head back.

"I know..." you replied. "But I'm also an adult who can make my own decisions." You scooched closer to him. 

"I can't. I shouldn't." Miguel wasn't telling you; he was telling himself. 

"What's up with you? Why can't you make up your damn mind?" You were starting to get irritated. 

"I mean, one day you're begging me to stay, and the next you're balls deep in me..." You paused. "And now you 'shouldn't'?" 

"I know, I'm—" 

"Do you want me, or not, Miguel?" 

"Of course I want you." His voice was low and gruff, his gaze flickering down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

"That's the fucking problem," Miguel huffed. "It's not right, but god, I can't stop myself from wanting you." That made your stomach coil, because you knew you couldn't stop yourself either, no matter how hard you tried.

"Look, I understand what you're feeling, but if we both want each other, I don't get why we can't keep going." You crossed your legs on the cushions, his mess still inside you. You really needed a shower.

"Because if he finds out, he'll kill me." He said. "He already thinks I'm trying to—" 

You cut him off before he could finish. 

"He doesn't know anything." You paused, realizing how much your father's words had gotten to him.

Miguel let out a deep sigh, dragging his hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the guilt that clung to him. "He doesn't need to know anything," he murmured, his voice more to himself than to you.

You shifted closer, your knee brushing against his thigh. "Exactly. What we do, what this is, has nothing to do with him. It's between us, Miguel."

He looked at you then, his dark eyes clouded with indecision. "It's not that simple," he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. "James is... like family to me. I owe him more respect than this."

"Respect?" You scoffed, throwing your hands up. "Respect would be you treating me like the adult I am and letting me make my own choices. Or does that not count because I'm 'James's daughter'?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Miguel said, his jaw tightening.

"Then explain it to me," you pressed, your frustration bubbling over. "Explain why you're so terrified of wanting me when it's so obvious you do."

His gaze locked with yours, intense and unyielding. "Because you're dangerous," he said quietly. "You make me forget myself. Forget my principles. Hell, forget my sanity."

You tilted your head, lips curving into a small, defiant smile. "Then stop fighting it. Stop pretending you don't crave this as much as I do."

Miguel's hand twitched at his side, as if caught between pulling you closer or pushing you away. Finally, he exhaled sharply and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands.

"You make it sound so easy," he muttered, his voice muffled.

"Because it is," you said, leaning in until your lips were just inches from his ear. "It's only complicated if we make it that way."

Miguel froze for a moment before his hands slowly dropped from his face. He turned to you, and the conflict in his eyes was clear as day. "You don't get it," he said, shaking his head. "If this goes wrong, I could lose him—his trust, our friendship..."

"You won't lose me," you said firmly, cutting him off. "And honestly, Miguel, if you're that worried about what my dad thinks, then maybe you should just stop seeing me altogether."

The challenge in your voice hung heavy in the air, and you knew you were testing him. Pushing him. Forcing him to decide, once and for all, if he was willing to fight for this or if his fear would win.

Miguel stared at you, his jaw tight, his breathing uneven. Then, finally, he muttered, "You really don't make this easy, do you?"

You smiled, leaning back slightly. "Never said I would."

And just like that, the tension broke. Miguel let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair again. "You're gonna drive me insane, you know that?"

"Good," you replied, crossing your arms. "Maybe then you'll finally stop overthinking everything."

He looked at you for a long moment, something shifting in his eyes. It wasn't guilt or fear anymore, it was something closer to resolve. He was giving in. He couldn't help it.

"Fine," he said, his voice steady. "But if we're doing this, we have to be careful. No slipping up. No giving anyone a reason to suspect anything."

"You kinda screwed the pooch already with Benny," you said, grinning.

Miguel sighed, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. "That was... instinctual."

"Instinctual? Really?" you teased, standing up and stretching.

Miguel's eyes flickered over you, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Go take your shower," he said.

You smirked, turning toward the bathroom. "Come with me," you called over your shoulder.

Miguel let out a soft laugh, watching you disappear down the hallway.

"No, I'll take one after you." He called out. Miguel knew that if he followed, you'd end up having sex again, and he didn't think his conscience could take that tonight. 

 For all his protests and doubts, one thing was clear, you weren't going anywhere, and neither was he.

_________________________________________________

For the past few weeks, Miguel had been asking you to babysit Gabriella more often than usual. It was odd—especially on Saturdays. Saturdays had always been sacred to him, a day he'd reserved solely for Gabriella ever since he vowed to be more present in her life. After that heart-to-heart with Peter about balancing work and family, Miguel had taken that promise seriously. So, for him to suddenly need you on a Saturday? Strange, to say the least.

He hadn't given you much of an explanation either. Something had "come up," he said, and it was urgent. He needed to head back to the lab. So, like the good friend (or... whatever) you were, you went to his place. But before you could even get a word in, he was already halfway out the door.

"Hey," you greeted, smiling as he brushed past you in a blur of movement.

"Sorry, I really gotta go!" he called out, his voice rushed, his breathing slightly ragged as though he'd been running around. He didn't even stop to make eye contact.

Before you could respond, the door clicked shut behind him.

You stood there for a moment, blinking at the door. What the hell was that about? Miguel was always composed, always in control, and seeing him so frazzled was... unusual. Your mind immediately started spinning with possibilities. Was he seeing someone? No, that couldn't be it. He said he was going to Alchemax. Maybe there was some kind of emergency? Something he couldn't tell you about?

Before you could dwell on it too much, a little voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Look! Daddy got me new dolls!" Gabriella chirped, emerging from her room with two dolls clutched tightly in her small hands.

You smiled, instantly softening at the sight of her. "Wow, they're so pretty! Can I see one?"

She handed you one of the dolls, her face beaming with excitement.

"Do you want to play dollhouse with me?" you asked, crouching down to her level, your curiosity about Miguel temporarily shoved aside.

"Duh!" she replied with a dramatic little eye roll, making you chuckle.

Grinning, you grabbed her hand and led her to the living room, where you both set up her dollhouse.

As you were arranging furniture and placing the dolls inside, you absentmindedly clicked on the TV for some background noise. The first channel that popped up was the news, and you were about to change it to something more kid-friendly when the reporter's words caught your attention.

"Spider-Man stops local gang threat," the news ticker read. The headline was accompanied by shaky footage of the masked vigilante swinging through the city, effortlessly taking down a group of armed thugs.

You froze for a moment, staring at the screen. Spider-Man. You'd heard of him, of course—who in the city hadn't? But you'd never really thought much about him. Your world was consumed by work, fashion, and the chaos of your own life. The masked hero was just... there, a part of the city's fabric you hadn't paid much attention to. Then again, the guy was new. He just kind of showed up out of nowhere about 4 months ago. 

"He's so cool," Gabriella said, her wide eyes glued to the TV. She hugged one of her dolls to her chest, her small face lit up with awe.

You glanced down at her, smiling. "He is, isn't he?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "I wanna meet him one day!"

You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe you will."

But as the footage continued, something about it stuck with you. The way Spider-Man moved—quick, deliberate, with an almost predatory grace. It reminded you of...

No. That was crazy.

You shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. But the more you watched, the harder it was to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

"Do you think Spider-Man has kids?" Gabriella asked suddenly, her innocent question pulling you from your spiraling thoughts.

You tilted your head, considering her question. "I don't know, sweetie. Maybe. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged, fiddling with her doll's hair. "He's really busy, but he still helps people. Kind of like Daddy."

Your breath caught for a moment, and you forced a smile. "Yeah, kind of like your dad," you murmured, your mind now racing in a completely different direction.

Could it be? No, it was absurd. Miguel couldn't possibly be—

"Your turn!" Gabriella interrupted, shoving a doll into your hand.

You shook off your thoughts, focusing back on the game. But as you continued playing with Gabriella, you couldn't help but steal glances at the TV whenever Spider-Man's image flashed across the screen. The doubt, the curiosity, it was all starting to gnaw at you.

_________________________________________________

By the time Miguel returned that evening, looking just as rushed and distracted as when he'd left, you couldn't stop yourself from studying him more closely. His stance, the way he moved, even the slight cut on his knuckles that hadn't been there earlier.

"Everything okay?" you asked casually, trying to mask the suspicion brewing inside you.

"Yeah," he said, his tone clipped as he brushed past you to check on Gabriella.

You watched him, your heart pounding as the pieces began to fit together in a way you didn't want to believe.

Miguel... Spider-Man?

No. It couldn't be. Could it?

You were smart, you knew that. And you had the intuition of a voodoo psychic. If your gut was telling you something, you listened. But this... this was just too far-fetched. Spider-Man? Miguel O'Hara? It sounded like the setup for a bad rom-com. Yet, the idea wouldn't leave your mind. It lingered, whispering doubts that refused to fade, no matter how ridiculous they seemed.

You tried to brush it off, shaking your head at yourself as you followed Miguel into the kitchen. Gabriella had already darted ahead, excitedly showing her dad the tower of blocks she'd built while you babysat. He gave her his full attention, kneeling down to admire her work, his tired face softening into a genuine smile. It was a side of Miguel you were used to, gentle, caring, and utterly devoted to his daughter.

But your eyes kept straying to his hands. Strong hands, capable hands, hands you'd seen lift Gabriella effortlessly, hands that had gripped your waist with precision and strength more times than you cared to count. Now, you noticed the faint bruises on his knuckles, the subtle stiffness in his movements, the tension in his shoulders. They weren't the signs of a man who had just spent hours in a lab. No, these were the marks of someone who had been in a fight.

"Rough day?" you asked, leaning casually against the counter, testing the waters.

Miguel glanced at you, his expression unreadable. "Something like that," he said, his tone curt. He straightened up, ruffling Gabriella's hair before turning to the fridge.

"Lab work get physical these days?" you pressed, keeping your tone light, almost teasing. But your heart was racing.

He froze for a split second, just long enough for you to notice. His shoulders stiffened, and when he turned to look at you, his expression was guarded. "What are you getting at?"

You shrugged, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. "Nothing. Just curious. You've been so busy lately, and now you're coming back looking like you've been in a boxing match." You motioned toward his hand. "What happened there?"

His eyes flicked down to his knuckles, and for a moment, you thought he might actually tell you. But then he sighed, shaking his head. "It's nothing. I just... hit it on some equipment at the lab."

The lie was so obvious it made you want to laugh. Equipment? Really? But you kept your face neutral, biting back the sarcasm that was threatening to spill out.

"Right," you said slowly, your gaze narrowing slightly. "Well, next time, maybe try not to punch the equipment. Seems counterproductive."

That earned you a smirk, but it was fleeting. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned against the counter, his posture still tense. "You're overthinking it."

"Am I?" you asked, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter opposite him. Your eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The tension between you was thick, and you could tell he knew you weren't buying his excuse.

Gabriella's voice broke the silence as she called out from the living room. "Daddy! Come see my drawing!"

Miguel gave you one last look, something flickering in his eyes that you couldn't quite place, guilt? Frustration? before pushing off the counter and heading toward his daughter.

You stood there, your arms still crossed, watching him go. Your gut was screaming at you now, every little detail clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle you hadn't even realized you were assembling. The bruises, the sudden late nights, how Spider-Man only started showing up when Miguel moved back from Texas.

His build.

_________________________________________________

 A Few Days Later...

Your dad had invited everyone to the penthouse to watch the Knicks game. He had always been a die-hard basketball fan, ever since his high school days, and now that the team was finally in its best shape in over a decade, his excitement was practically contagious. You were comfortable, in a groutfit with your curly dark hair in a messy puff atop your head. 

You and your mom were in the kitchen preparing a massive tray of nachos while your brother, Clay, and your dad were already glued to the TV, loudly arguing over the starting lineup.

"So..." your mom started casually, her tone teasing.

"So?" you replied, not looking up from the skillet as you focused on browning the beef, hoping to dodge whatever line of questioning she was about to throw your way.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Her voice was innocent, but you could feel her eyes on you.

"What? No," you said quickly, almost too quickly.

"Oh, you just seem..." She waved her hands in the air, wiggling her fingers dramatically. "...happier. Like someone's been keeping a smile on your face."

You let out a nervous laugh, hoping it sounded genuine. "Nah. It's probably all the time I've been spending with Gabi."

Your mom softened at that, her face lighting up. "She's such a sweet girl, isn't she?" she said, stirring the homemade nacho cheese in a silver pot.

"Very," you said, hoping to steer the conversation back to nachos and away from anything Miguel-related.

Before your mom could press further, your dad let out a groan, not at the TV, as you first thought, but at his watch.

"He's gonna be late!" he grumbled.

You cocked an eyebrow, confused. "Who's gonna be late?" you called out from the kitchen.

"Miguel! I invited him over to watch the game."

Your stomach sank, and a rush of panic swept over you. "What?" You turned to your mom, eyes wide. "Mom, did you know about this?"

"Of course I did," she said, her tone calm as she shrugged. "Why do you sound so concerned?"

"I'm not," you replied hastily. "It's just... I thought this was a family thing."

"Miguel is family!" your dad shouted from the living room as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You stared at the cheese bubbling in the pot, trying to collect yourself. Miguel. Here. At the penthouse. Watching the game. With your dad. Great. Just great.

Things were already tense between you after you got on his case earlier that week.

A knock at the door pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. You froze for a second, the spatula still in your hand.

"Can you get that, sweetheart?" your mom asked, smiling knowingly.

Your heart raced as you wiped your hands on a dish towel and made your way to the door. When you opened it, there he was—Miguel, standing in the doorway, his towering frame clad in a Knicks jersey and dark jeans. His hair was slightly disheveled like he'd run his hand through it one too many times, and his brown eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Hey," he said.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the door. "Hey. Come in."

Miguel stepped inside, the faint scent of his cologne hitting you like a wave—clean, sharp, undeniably him. As he walked past you, his shoulder brushed yours, and you couldn't help but glance back at him.

"Miguel!" your dad's booming voice called out. "Get over here! Game's about to start!"

Miguel turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. For a split second, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes, hesitation, maybe? But it was gone just as quickly. He nodded toward the living room and made his way over to your dad, who greeted him like a long-lost brother.

You stayed rooted to the spot, your fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe. You weren't sure if it was panic or excitement, or maybe both, but whatever it was, it had your heart pounding.

"Sweetheart, come help me with the nachos!" your mom called out, breaking your trance.

You closed the door and made your way back to the kitchen, stealing one last glance at Miguel as he settled into the couch beside your dad. He fit in so seamlessly, laughing and talking like he'd been part of the family for years.

But you knew better. You knew the tension between you wasn't going away, no matter how hard you tried to bury it. 

_________________________________________________

When the nachos were done, you and your mom carried out the platter and some plates. The warm aroma of melted cheese and seasoned beef filled the room, earning a collective "Mmm" from the couch.

"Done!" your mom said in a sing-songy voice, setting the platter down on the ottoman. "Dig in!"

"Thanks, babe," your dad said, leaning over to kiss her cheek as she took her place beside him. Clay was already reaching for a chip, crunching loudly as he focused on the game.

The only open seat left was next to Miguel. Clay was on his other side, lying down with his legs sprawled selfishly, leaving just enough room for you to squeeze in. You hesitated for a moment before sitting down, feeling the subtle brush of Miguel's broad shoulder against yours as you settled on the couch.

You would’ve sat next to your parents, they took the big couch, but they were being far too lovey-dovey with each other and it made you slightly uncomfortable. Or maybe that was just an excuse.

Miguel glanced at you, offering a quick, fleeting smile before looking away, his expression immediately composed. Your legs were barely grazing his, but you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the space between you suddenly feeling far too small.

You sat there silently, grabbing a chip and nibbling on it as the conversation flowed around the room. Your dad was loudly dissecting the Knicks' defensive strategy, and Miguel chimed in every now and then, his deep voice commanding attention. You couldn't help but notice the way his jaw flexed with every word, the way his dark eyes shined with focus as he engaged in the discussion.

It was maddening, sitting so close to him yet pretending like he didn't consume every thought in your mind. You had to remind yourself to look away constantly, worried that someone, your dad especially, might catch you staring at him like he was the most mesmerizing thing you'd ever seen.

"You want some?" Miguel's voice suddenly cut through your internal monologue, low enough that only you could hear. He held out a chip with all smile, the corners of his lips teasing as he tilted it toward you.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Uh, no thanks," you said, shaking your head and looking away quickly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Did he really just do that here? a big part of you was scared that your dad would actually kill Miguel if he found out. But it was as if Miguel had forgotten everything he said a few days ago.

He chuckled softly, barely audible under the sound of Clay shouting at the TV.

Minutes passed, feeling both too long and too short, before Miguel leaned over slightly, his voice brushing against your ear. "You okay?"

His tone was casual, but his words sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded, keeping your eyes forward on the game. "Yeah. Why?"

"You seem... quiet," he said, his voice dropping just a fraction, making your pulse race. "Unusual for you."

You shot him a glance, narrowing your eyes playfully. "I can be quiet sometimes, you know."

"Mm-hmm," he murmured, leaning back into the couch with an amused expression. "If you say so."

You were about to respond when your mom called out, "Sweetheart, can you grab some more napkins from the kitchen?"

Relieved for an excuse to break the tension, you stood up quickly. "Sure."

As you made your way to the kitchen, you felt Miguel's gaze follow you. You grabbed the napkins from the counter, but before you could head back, you heard the soft creak of the floorboards behind you. Turning around, you found Miguel standing in the doorway, his large frame leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Need backup?" he asked, his tone teasing.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile that crept onto your lips. "I think I can handle napkins on my own, thanks."

He stepped closer, his expression shifting to something more serious. "You've been avoiding me," he said softly. Luckily the apartment was so big that no one could hear him over the TV.

Your heart skipped a beat. "I haven't been avoiding you, I'm sitting right next to you," you said, though the defensive tone in your voice betrayed you.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. "You barely looked at me all night. You don't think I notice that?"

"I was just trying to... keep things normal," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're here with my dad, Miguel."

"I know, and here I am," he said, stepping even closer. His proximity was overwhelming, the heat of his body making it hard to think straight. "Following you into the kitchen like an idiot."

You stared at him, your breath hitching as the air between you grew heavy. "Miguel... we can't—"

"Okay," he interrupted, his voice low and filled with frustration. "But that doesn't stop me from wanting to."

You'd noticed something was different about him, he's more insistent. The whole week, you'd been having sex almost every night. it was like he was a teenager, like his hormones were on overdrive. 

"Weren't you the one who said we had to be careful?" You whispered through your teeth.

Before you could finish, the sound of your dad shouting from the living room broke the moment. "Hey! Where are those napkins?"

Miguel sighed, running a hand through his hair as he took a step back. "Guess we'd better get back."

You nodded, grabbing the napkins and brushing past him, your heart pounding as you returned to the living room. 

_________________________________________________

The Knicks game ended with a victorious cheer from your dad, who clapped Clay on the back with a grin wide enough to light up the entire room. Your mom started collecting the empty plates and glasses, humming softly as she moved around the living room.

"Well, that was a good game," your dad said, standing up and stretching. "I think that calls for some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

Clay yawned and nodded, getting up and heading toward his room. Your mom followed shortly after, pausing to kiss your dad on the cheek before disappearing down the hallway. It wasn’t long before your dad turned to Miguel, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder.

"You staying the night? You know the guest room’s always yours," your dad offered.

Miguel smiled politely. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Never is,” your dad said with a chuckle before looking over at you. “You staying up?”

You hesitated, glancing at Miguel, who avoided your gaze. “Yeah, just for a little bit.”

Your dad nodded and headed off to his room, leaving the living room eerily quiet except for the faint hum of the TV still playing highlights from the game.

You sat back on the couch, pulling your legs up beneath you as Miguel remained where he was, his elbows resting on his knees. Neither of you said anything for a moment, the weight of the silence making the air feel heavier.

“You don’t have to stay up,” he finally said, his voice low and distant. “I can manage on my own.”

“I wasn’t staying up for you,” you lied, your tone sharp enough to make him glance at you. “I just… wasn’t tired.”

He smirked faintly, his lips twitching at the edges. “Right.”

You stood abruptly, heading to the kitchen under the guise of needing water. You could feel his eyes on you as you moved, your body hyper-aware of his presence even as you tried to seem casual.

When you returned with your glass, he was still sitting on the couch, but his posture had changed—leaning back now, one arm draped across the back of the cushions. His tie was loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, exposing the smooth line of his collarbone.

“You’re not good at hiding things, you know,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You froze mid-sip, lowering the glass. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged, his dark eyes catching the light from the TV. “The way you look at me. The way you avoid looking at me when your dad’s around.” His voice dropped lower. “The way you left the room earlier, like you couldn’t breathe.”

Your stomach twisted, your throat dry despite the water you’d just drank. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You sure about that?”

You set the glass down on the coffee table, your hands trembling slightly. “Miguel, we can’t do this here."

“I know,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “But it doesn’t change anything, does it?”

You sat down on the edge of the couch, careful to keep some distance between you, but even that felt like too much. The magnetic pull between you was undeniable, and no amount of logic or self-control could keep it at bay.

“Miguel…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. 

Before you could protest, he closed the gap between you, his large hand brushing against yours. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you hated how much you wanted him, despite everything. He leaned into the crook of your neck, kissing it lightly. You gave in, turning your head to meet his lips. You closed your eyes, the kiss soft. 

Then, it starts to pick up, your hand finds the back of his neck, tugging him closer. 

You pulled away suddenly, pushing him away playfully. "Stop kissing me when my dad's upstairs."

"Stop kissing me back."

_________________________________________________

To be continued...

Taglist: @keidilla @deputy-videogamer 

I'm so bad at world building, but I decided to make Miguel a late bloomer when it comes to spiderman. Instead of him becoming the hero in his mid 20's I chose to make it later in his life because I can idk...

[marius-lepual]

every time matt describes ludinus being intimidating and ancient i just think about essek telling him "why don't you make some friends and maybe you'll calm down"

(let's not talk about the fact that ludinus took his advice and now he's got a cult trying to help him kill all the gods)

[wrathful-reptile]

Some dragons I've drawn recently! (in order of drawing them, left to right) They are Lazarus, Hurim, Zahara, and Cloud Chaser!

These dragons are from the discontinued interactive novel/game series "Riders of Abauruth" by @13leaguestories

Click the images for better quality!

[cranberrymoons]

.

[cuteniarose]

The consequences of my poor financial decisions are here!!

[prodbyton]

hi toniiswrld nation i am having the worst fucking day but how are you guys 😇‼️

im gonna rant in the tags so feel free to ignore😁

[ambersky0319]

I am. So fucking annoyed.

[thecomet-and-themeteor]

I don't know how much sense this makes but I need a Langelique Cinderella AU, I think it'd work pretty well

[widevibratobitch]

moments like this when im really glad im a sad little cynic who always considers the worst possible outcome and never lets herself truly get comfortable and trust the good things in her life to stay there and builds her life around trying to soften the blows of the eventual disappointments just waiting around the corner lol never leaving my edgy teenager era peace and love

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Okay okay so. Thinking.

I've mapped out how I want to pay off my credit cards, which means I'll only be getting new stuff pretty sporadically, which means I need to appreciate the zero cost things in my life, like:

- the 2.5 foot tall stack of unread books I have

- the violin I might finally actually pick up again

- the 500+ drawing prompts I've been hoarding

- the list of anime I still need to watch

- the 3000+ songs in my watch later playlist

- the stickers I've been neglecting to cut

- yarn??? I have a lot of yarn

- all the pink fabric leftover from moth cosplay

- the candles and incense I also already have

In short, time to actually use the stuff that I have 😭

[fingertipsmp3]

Save me skincare routine. Save me stupidly expensive skincare routine in tiny bottles

[gachaparadise]

ahhh the Penacony leaks are really coming in now.

*chuckles* I'm in danger.

[larrysballetslippers]

.

[neonacidtrip]

[image ID: a screenshot of a discord chat with username “wenge (when-gay)’ carrying out a one-sided conversation expressing her reluctance and fears regarding driving at 1:08 a.m. the other person in the conversation’s responses are not shown]

[caliboron]

oof. I just relapsed pretty badly